Gambit perched on the lab's counter, one leg pulled up to his chest, a cigarette dangling unlit from his lips. He had one arm wrapped loosely around his leg. His trench, clean but battered hung open, exposing a few pockets that didn't come standard with the model. He wore jeans and a Saints tee-shirt. His sunglasses perched on top of his head, holding back the bangs that usually fell into his face. He studied the Marauders who were on the tables in front of him.

"We really goin' to be raisin' them from the dead again?" he asked his boss, the scientist commonly known as Mr. Sinister.

Sinister didn't bother to answer. "You may smoke if you like. There's nothing flammable here."

"Merci." With a minor application of power, the cigarette sprang to life. Gambit inhaled the smoke gratefully. It was hot and sharp across his tongue, which was at least sensation. "They ain't the same. Every time y' bring them back they come different."

"Of course they are not the same. I have been improving them. For instance, I'm taming down some of Scramblers more independent thoughts. He's quite the rebel." The words were almost affectionate, despite the contempt they showed for the body on the slab. Gambit wondered if he'd been brought back once. It was an explanation for why he'd stopped trying to get out of the man's employ. "No," Sinister answered the unspoken question, "I've never needed to modify you like this, old son. A little telepathic nip here and there to get you back on track. A little conditioning while you were recovering from your injuries. A much simpler process. Once I am assured of your stability, I will be modifying your healing."

Gambit shivered. He still didn't move, though the thought of leaving and roaming the world filled him with homesick longing. He missed being able to travel the world on his whim as opposed to orders. He wasn't willing to cross his boss. He thought fondly of his Tante Mattie and her stories of zombies. Maybe those stories were true. Maybe Sinister was just a bokor who'd brought him back from the dead without his own free will. He'd been sure enough close to dead when the Seattle theatre had come down on his head. He rubbed idly at a smudge of grease on the back of one hand.

"I assume the vehicles are in working order?"

"Oui, M. Essex."

"There is a stack of data entry on your desk. Have it completed by tomorrow."

Gambit nodded an acknowledgment of the order, but didn't leave. He would stay until his, what were they really? They weren't friends, except for maybe Scalphunter. They weren't teammates because they'd just as like kill him as work with him if the price was right. Co-workers perhaps. Yes, he decided, coworkers. He'd stay until they were resurrected. They wouldn't remember their deaths, but they remember everything up until the last mission. Sinister wouldn't bother to explain anything which meant they'd be looking to him to fill in the gap. He was almost used to it.

Sinister set the machines humming. "They'll be done in two hours. Join me for tea."

It wasn't a request. Gambit nodded. He hopped off of the table and followed Sinister to his office. The office was nothing like the lab. It was appointed in a rich wood mixed with state-of-the-art computer equipment and monitoring. Still, there was nothing sweet or soft in the place except the portrait of the woman who had once loved the scientist. Gambit gave her a respectful nod before settling in the chair beneath her portrait. Sinister set the steeping tea on the table and set out a selection of the cookies Gambit and Vertigo had made during some down time. "Since they were unsuccessful, I will need you to gather the information from Xavier's. They will be on high alert because of the recent attack on X-force, but that can't be helped. As soon as possible Gambit."

"Oui, M. Essex."

"Your biokinetic charge should obscure your mind enough to keep you from Xavier's watch. If you feel it is necessary, take the neural inhibitors you stole from the lab last month."

Gambit poured the tea, adding the cream to the bottom of the surprisingly delicate teacups before he did so. It was the same way his father took his tea. He wondered if that was one of the reasons Sinister allowed him to handle the Essex silver. They drank their tea quietly. Gambit was already planning his entry into the X-Men's headquarters. Only Essex and the gods knew what the other man was thinking.

"Gambit," Sinister's voice brought him back to the present. There was something akin to amusement in the man's eyes, but it wasn't real. At least, it was nothing that the thief could sense.

"Oui, M. Essex?"

"Data entry before your assignment."

The thief ducked his head in acknowledgement. "Anyt'in' else, M.?"

"No, you may go continue your sulk in the lab."

Gambit rolled his eyes, but went to wait for his co-workers to revive.

****

Scalphunter's eyes opened. He tensed, unsure why he was laying on the cold metal of the operating table. He smelled smoke. He turned his head to find the thief. Gambit was sitting cross-legged on the lab table, a laptop on his lap. A pile of cigarette butts littered the floor. A black stain of ash marred the silver edge of the table from where he was stubbing out the obviously chained smokes. "Gambit," he croaked.

The young man's head snapped up. He smiled. There was no light in his eyes though. The man who'd once been known as Old Crow hurt for the cocky teenager he'd known before they'd gotten mixed up with Sinister. The spark of humor and pleasure that had lit Remy's eyes was gone. He was like a walking dead-man. The Marauder known as Scalphunter, however, recognized what had happened. "Fill me in."

"Y'all was killt. Le docteur brought y' back. He done some stuff t' y', makin' y' better." There was an eye roll at that.

"How?" He pressed as the young man hopped off the table and brought him some water.

"Way I recon it, y' got in the way of a TK blast that crushed y' throat and chest. Scrambler was killt by a lucky blow. Arclight fell and snapped her neck. Malice and Polaris brought y' back then collapsed. Looked like a bullet-hole. I'm guessin' from Domino."

"Vertigo?"

Gambit frowned. "She's out doin' somet'in' f' the doc. She's wit' Chatton."

Scalphunter drank the water as his body returned to full functioning. He nodded. "Go on. I'll brief the rest of them."

Gambit shrugged. "Long as it ain't me on the slab, I ain't gonna worry. Y' want some dinner?"

"Chinese."

The young man gave him a flourished bow that ended with his middle finger extended. "I live t' serve."

****

"Goin' somewhere, Punk?" Victor Creed, better known as Sabretooth, growled into the thief's ear as he caught him by the scruff.

"Got a job, me."

Creed snorted. "Doc lettin' ya off yer leash?"

Gambit shrugged. "Doubt it. Probably one of his tests. Make sure whatever he done t' me takes."

Creed's thumb caressed the scar on the back of the young man's head in a parody of affection. "If ya run off, he'll have me find ya. Just remember that."

"Ain't runnin' away from home." Remy turned his head to peer up through his bangs. "What y' care anyway, homme? Ain't like I owe y' money."

"Nah. Just don't want anyone else killin' ya. I staked my claim."

"M' wife's got first rights," the younger man said carelessly. "See y', Chatton."

Creed let his claws bite into the young man's neck lightly before letting him leave. He cleaned the blood off his claws, as finicky about their neatness as a cat, enjoying the coppery taste.

****

Gambit rubbed at the stinging marks on his throat. Damn Chat's claws anyway. He slipped his bag over his head and mounted his motorcycle. He could get Sinister to open a tesseract, he assumed, but it would be better for him to have a quiet approach. At least he wasn't in the Seattle lab. He smirked, blowing the lab sky-high had been one of the few pleasures since he'd entered Essex's control. He put on his helmet, more for anonymity than safety and headed North. He'd cross over into New York from Ohio. Maybe he'd stop at his drop in Cleveland and pull some cash from his reserves.

The weather grew brisker as he closed in on the lakes. He was glad for his trench. He stopped at a shopping mall and perused the sweaters until he found a simple navy blue sweater that would fit under his coat. He paid the clerk with the cash he'd pick-pocketed on the way into the mall. He added the layer and continued on toward New York. The fall leaves swirled in the eddies his bike made, but their colors didn't excite them the way it used to. The crisp blue of the sky was wasted on him. He thought he should be upset by that realization, but he wasn't. He was just numb.

He found a small motel and took a room for a week. He tucked his things into the room, hung out the do not disturb sign and went to get the lay of Westchester. Unlike Scalphunter, he was going to need a back door. He didn't have anyone to bring him home if he were captured. That in mind, he made sure that the tracker Sinister put in his watch was destroyed. It wouldn't stop the man from finding him, but it would keep it from giving him away if the X-men were half as paranoid as they should be. He found the closest coffee-shop and the closest bookstore first. Then, he found the biggest hardware store available and went to browse. He needed to know their security layout too. Not all of his tools were specialized. Some of them he picked up on the cheap from the local hardware stores. He peered over his glasses at the price on the duct tape and shook his head. Colored duct tape was just weird.

He wandered the streets at random, smiling and nodding to the pretty girls and some of the pretty men who took the time to give him a second glance. None of them ever saw that the smile didn't reach his eyes or that he was barely paying attention to them in return. He came to Xavier's School for the Gifted by happenstance. He walked right by the front gates and on down the street, noting that there was a keycard entrance on the side and a pin entrance at the main gate. There was a camera by the door and an intercom, probably to allow guests to be let in remotely. Soon enough he was back on the tree-lined residential street that led back toward his hotel.

****

Professor Charles Xavier frowned at his second in command and son Scott Summers. "Scott, there is a new mutant in town."

"And?" Scott prompted.

"And I cannot get a fix on his location or his mind."

"Meaning?"

"He is either a telepath or there is some biological interference from his powers."

"And his powers are?"

"Unknown."

"Is there a possibility that this new presence is related to the attack on X-Factor?"

Xavier's brows rose. "That's incredibly paranoid of you. More likely it is a possible student or someone here on business."

Scott smirked at him. "Like recon, perhaps?" His voice was almost innocent, but his paranoia was genuine and understandable. His son had been attacked, after all.

"Take a small team and check out the traces."

The young man considered for a moment. "Did he walk by the campus today? Say around two o'clock?"

Xavier was startled. "Yes, I believe he did? Did the cameras pick someone up?"

"There's usually no traffic on the sidewalk. People are scared of this place. There was a young man who walked by without seeming to be aware of the school. He'd have to be new to the area. The neighbors cross the street to walk by."

The bitterness in Scott's tone was hard to take, but it was a true observation. Likely it was that which hurt most. For all Xavier's attempts to push mutant equality, people were still frightened. The local neighbors were wary of the Mansion and the destruction that had recently been rained down on the property. Finding workers willing to repair the structure was getting harder and harder. The team had taken to doing most of the work themselves. Xavier nodded. "Keep in mind that there may be no connection between the two."

A fleeting smile crossed Scott's face. "Sir, we aren't that lucky."

****

Gambit ran a hand through his hair. It was starting to get long. It had taken nearly a year for his hair to recover from the surgery Sinister had done. He avoided the scar on the back of his head absently. He didn't like the reminder. He sipped his coffee, wishing for Chicory. He scanned the business news on his laptop. Half of his attention was taken up with determining how to approach the school. The rest was determining how his assets were fairing. He managed an appreciative smile for the redhead who passed by him. Jean Grey, the little file in his head informed him. That meant the school was going to contact him. He couldn't have planned it any better. He watched her through his bangs, a flirtatious smile tilting his lips upward. Her boyfriend frowned at him as he followed a short while later with their drinks.

Scott Summers, his files informed him again. Sinister's favorite son was engaged to Jean Grey. Gambit hated him. No, that wasn't fair. He didn't have the energy to hate anyone. He disliked that Summers was Sinister's favorite. He disliked being judged against a man whom his boss liked simply because of his genetics. He couldn't compete against a genome. Damn Sinister for teaching him to understand genetics in the first place. He'd signed up to be the man's thief, not his research assistant. Now, there was no way that Xavier had sent only two of his students to look for him. Where was the rest of Summers' team.

It was nearly twenty minutes and two pastries later that Wolverine and his pet Jubilee came in. Jubilee was talking a mile a minute. Logan was carrying her shopping bags. He gave the girl a father's smile and Gambit dropped his eyes. He couldn't watch that, not when he didn't have anything like that left in the world. He was a pet to Sinister, a target to his wife, and a disappointment to his father. The financial headlines scrolled across his screen. He needed more coffee. He stood up. Setting his laptop to power-save mode, he closed it and tucked it under his arm. His backpack went over the other shoulder. He stood in line to place his order. Wolverine took over his table. Didn't that just figure. He'd stumbled onto the X-men when all he'd wanted was a cup of coffee and some time to think.

The teenager in front of him was bobbing her head in time to the music the shop was playing. She turned her head. She looked him up and down. "Well, hi there. You're new."

He raised his brows.

"Nice shades." She dropped a pair of pink shades over her own eyes. "There, now we match."

Wolverine was glaring at them. He could feel the itch in between his shoulders. Jubilee looked at her partner.

"God, there goes over-protective big brother mode. Just ignore him. This line takes forever, but it's totally worth it. Nice laptop. Apple right? I didn't think they did color."

Gambit shook his head. "Just got t' pay extra, chere. Black suits m' better'n white."

Her eyes widened and her mouth opened in mock-surprise. "He speaks! And if God likes me he'll keep speaking. The accent is delish."

"Jus' where I grew up. What's a California girl doin' in New York?"

"Well, short, light and growly over there picked me up off the streets after my parents died. We traveled together."

He frowned. He knew the whole story, but it sounded wrong when she put it that way.

"Ew, not like that. Brain. Gutter. Out," she ordered. "Like I was saying, we take care of each other. I'm going to school in Boston now, but I'm here to visit Logan. Oh, I'm Jubilee."

"Remy," he offered. She held out her hand. He kissed it, just to make her laugh.

"And a gentleman too," she giggled. "So, what brings you to New York? Visiting?"

"Business," he replied. "Got t' check in on m' investments. An' visit MoMA," he added. There was no reason for him not to keep his hand in if he was in the area.

"No family in the area? Cuz the accent isn't from around here."

"New Orleans," he answered the unspoken question. "Well, more the bayous. Mon pere picked m' up off the streets too." He grinned. "Course, I was in the gutter at that time." He urged her forward. "Your turn, petite."

"Will you at least help me stave off boredom while I wait for my drinks? No bolting as soon as I turn my head."

"Scout's honor."

"If you were a scout, I totally missed out." She gave him a bright smile. "Of course, now I have some interesting thoughts about knots."

"Y' too young f' m', chere. Talk t' me once y' get legal."

"Will ID work?"

"Not while y' papa's watchin'."

Jubilee ordered for her and Wolverine. The Canadian's glare didn't waver as she stayed to listen to him order. "Honey? How's that taste?"

"Not so good as the chocolate," he told her, "but better'n sugar."

"I'll have to try it." She collected her drinks and waited for him to get his black coffee with honey. "Come sit with us, since you're here alone."

"Chere."

"Don't try it, bub. I've made up my mind. I'll send Logan after ya if you run."

"Y' a cruel woman, petite."

She gave him a smug smile and led the way back to his table. "Shove over and let Remy have a seat. Logan, this is Remy. Remy, this is Logan. There, introduced. Now, tell me about how you get from New Orleans to New York."

"Well, y' see, they got dese t'ings callt air planes. Y' order a ticket an' they take y' from one city to another."

"Abuse of sarcasm," the teen declared. "Still, you're hot so I'll forgive you."

Gambit tucked his chin down and looked into his coffee.

"And you *know* you're hot, so don't play coy about it."

He smirked. "Most de ladies like the coy game."

"I ain't most ladies. Heck, I'm not even a lady. What's behind the shades? Black eye from a jealous hubby?"

"Now, petite, y' don't even know m' that well." Remy pouted at her. It was all a sham, but he didn't mind. Flirting didn't take any brainpower or any real energy. It was more like a default setting. Logan growled. "What's wrong, cher? Y' want ole Remy t' flirt wit' y' too?" Remy tilted his head to the side, tucking his chin down toward his chest. He looked through his long bangs at the man. The effect was likely ruined by his sunglasses, but Creed always seemed to like it. It made Remy look defenseless or maybe just submissive.

Logan snorted. "Don't pull that crap on me, bub. I know ya ain't serious."

Remy considered that. He shrugged and straightened up. "Ain't serious wit' Miss Juiblee here neither. Don't mean it ain't fun." He sipped his coffee.

The small man's lips curled up. "Tell ya what. How's about ya flirt with that pretty red-head over there? Do that boy's heart good to get pissed off."

Remy felt a smile creep onto his face. It wasn't a nice smile. In fact it wasn't really a smile at all. It was more of a sneering smirk. He'd shared it with killers and thieves and mercenaries. He didn't know why it had appeared so suddenly. Logan's ears nearly flicked forward and his eyes grew more attentive. "That ain't nice, Logan. Tryin' t' send an innocent boy t' his doom."

"I don't think 'innocent' describes you, boy," the Canadian stated. "Last time I saw a smile like that was about the time I got into a fight with Sabretooth."

Remy laughed at that a much more real smile crossing his face. "Reckon that's the last time I used it. Chatton killt one of m' girls."

"Ya got balls callin' him 'kitten', boy."

"Well, ain't got no sense of self-preservation. Mon pere always said so. Right b'fore I got grounded usually. Maybe I was supposed t' learn somethin' from that."

Jubilee laughed. "Maybe. Sure he didn't spank you?"

"Well, he don't like spankin' kids. Usually just told m' brother to bat me around." Remy tapped his cheek in a mock-thoughtful manner. "Course, mon frere, he callt his wife who *did* spank kids so I guess that worked out. Never gave no quarter that woman. Tante neither."

Logan snorted. "How'd ya meet up with Creed?"

Remy's face went flat. "Killt m' girl. Nearly killt mon frère. I ain't too fond of him."

"Why'd he kill her?"

"T' get somethin' I had. Connard." The word was without heat. Rage was one of the emotions that he hadn't felt in awhile, even when confronted by Creed. He looked into his coffee. "Y' still in the business, M. Logan? Same business as Chatton?"

Logan shook his head. "Sorry, kid. Ya wanna kill him yer gonna have to do it yerself."

"Merde. Y' probably the only one who could make it last."

"So what is hidin' behind the shades, Gumbo?" Logan asked, voice soft and almost kind. Remy pulled them down and looked over them to let them get a glimpse of his eyes. "Thought it might be somethin' like that. What business brings ya to Westchester?"

Remy pondered that for a moment. "Checkin' in on some business contacts." He shrugged. "Got t' see what's new at the museums. See if they still got m' favorite paintin'. Westchester's supposed t' be nicer t' stay in." He looked over at Jean Grey who was sitting at the high table and laughing at her fiancee's quiet comment. "Leastways it's got good scenery, non?"

Logan snorted. "She's got great legs, that's fer sure."

"Hey!" the outraged teen sitting with them snapped. "Stop leering. It ain't nice."

Remy smirked. He leaned into her space a little bit and murmured. "Remy ain't a nice boy."

Her smile went sly. "Yer sure the ID won't work?"

"Positive, chere. No way yer legal. Still, let m' put y'r birthday in m' book. I come give y' a special present."

Her cheeks flushed. "Wow. Okay. That line's actually working."

"Y' boyfriend needs more practice, obviously."

"You give lessons? I'll scrape up the money."

"Who ya datin', kiddo?" Logan asked mildly.

"Oh, no. I'm so not telling you. The last one needed therapy."

"He kissed ya."

"Over-reaction, Logan. I'm fifteen." She shook her head, her large earrings clacking. "That would be July 12. I accept all gifts, especially cash."

Remy laughed. "Y' raised a good mercenary, M. Logan." He sipped at his coffee. It had cooled down enough not to burn his mouth. "Now, I got a feelin' that we bein' watched by those two over there. Least we bein' watched by her boyfriend. Don't think he likes you leerin' at his femme."

Logan snorted. "Ain't stopped me yet. I'm hopin' she'll come to her senses before the wedding."

"Engaged? Y' live dangerously."

Jubilee grinned. "Well, we all know he's a hopeless romantic, so Scott's safe enough. So tell me more about you, cutie."

"Well, petite, ain't much t' tell. A freelancer me." He shrugged. "Chatton, now, he calls Logan somethin' else and I hear rumors of who he works for. Y' gonna think I'm paranoid, oui, but this feels like a set-up, chere. Y' want t' tell ole Remy what's goin' on?" He looked Logan in the eye.

Logan snorted. He hooked his thumb in the direction of the happy couple. They were deep in conversation, but looked up at the movement. "They weren't sure if yer interested in refinin' yer skills. Me, I just want t' know what name yer goin' by. I'm thinkin' we got contacts in common."

"Might at that, M. Logan. Most folks, they call m' Gambit."

Logan's eyes widened in surprise. He cocked his head to the side. "Huh. Yer younger than I expected."

"Most folks say that. Y' got work y' need from m', homme?"

The former-mercenary studied the thief for a long moment. When he spoke it was in Canadian-tinged French. "Listen up, boy. These folks, they don't take kindly to your kind of work. D'accord?"

"Oui, M. Remy understands. Why are you there then? I'd think your work would be less appealing than mine." Remy's French was tinged with the Cajun flavor of his home.

"They're rehabilitating me. I don't figure that you're looking for that."

Remy frowned. He'd say the feeling in his stomach was regret, but it wasn't. It was disappointment. He'd have to break in to get his information. "Non," he said finally. "I won't stop stealing. It's what I do and I'm good at it. Doesn't mean I can do without friends. Can I call you friend, Logan, or do I have to watch my back?"

"We're fine, kiddo. Anyone who's got the balls to cross Creed and is still alive's fine by me. Don't hurt me and mine and I'll let you be." The Canadian considered. "I'll even take you drinking before you leave town. So we can talk without the kids listening in."

Remy summoned a smile for him. "Bien."

Jubilee rolled her eyes. "Hello! I'm still sitting here. Can we at least take him home for dinner before you start plotting behind my back and threatening to gut him for looking at me?"

"I ain't threatened him at all. He ain't like those tomcats in heat at yer school."

Remy smirked into his coffee. He felt a slight probe touch his shields and looked up suddenly. It didn't feel like Essex's touch. Grey looked over her shoulder at him with a considering tilt to her eyes. The touch pressed more firmly now, asking for entrance. He denied it. He didn't want any spook in his head. She turned and spoke to her fiancée. Summers looked over at him and shrugged with a "women, what are you going to do?" half-smile. He got down from the bar stool and strolled over to the table. "Jean says it's time to lay out the invitation. Would you like to join us for dinner? Give me a chance to counter-act all of the lies these two have told you?"

Logan swiped lazily at Scott's side. "Dinner? So soon, cher? But we hardly even met." Remy looked up coyly at the man. There's was a few years between them. Maybe five or so, if he remembered the file correctly.

"Dinner. Homemade or take-out, whichever you'd prefer. Although, I recommend the take-out it's my fiancée's turn to cook."

"I heard that," Jean said. She stopped just behind Scott. "We come in peace."

"Shoot to kill," Scott muttered.

Remy perked up. He looked down. "Well, I ain't wearin' a red shirt, so I recon I'll be safe enough."

That got him a surprised but pleased smile from Summers and a confused frown from Grey. "Scott Summers. This is my fiancée Jean Grey. Welcome to Westchester."

"Remy," he replied.

"Just Remy?" Scott probed.

Gambit snorted. "LeBeau."

"Nice to meet you. Well, Jean's pretty sure that Logan won't kill you. And I'm sure you'll be able to find a toilet to drown Jubes in when she gets too annoying, so I'll see you at dinner. Chinese, Thai, Greek, or Italian?"

"Greek."

"Good enough. See you at 630. Xavier's. The big house with the iron gate with an X in the middle."

"Till then, cher." Summers nodded and headed off, car keys in hand.

"Nice to not meet you," Jean said with a smile. "I look forward to meeting you this evening."

Remy smiled at that with a genuine flash of humor. He inclined his head at her. "Good t' not meet y', Mademoiselle." She was off after her fiancée who was more than likely going to get an earful about dishing on her cooking. "Now, this been fun and all, but Remy's got business t' attend t'. I'll see y'all t'night." He kissed Jubilee's hand and gave Logan a more solemn nod. His schedule was going to be very tight if he had a chance of pulling this off. At least he'd get a look at the inside of the place. And damn, he'd have to find a way to dampen his scent too. Creed had warned him about Wolverine once or twice. It was more along the lines of a possessive, "don't let him kill ya, that's my job," but still if Logan's nose was as sensitive as Creed's it was going to be a pain to get into that house.

****

"Looks like you found the place alright," Summers said, smiling. He offered his hand. "My fiancée is currently pouting in the kitchen because I won't let her touch the mousakka."

"If she's anythin' like my girl used t' be, I wouldn' leave her alone in there." Remy shook hands with Sinister's favorite.

"Come on. The dining room's this way."

Remy followed the man, assessing the military-precise set of his shoulders with a rueful smile. His own shoulders were loose and his back relaxed as he swept the halls and rooms they passed with a professional eye. The antiques and art made him think of his father's home, tucked back in the bayou plantation, holding the treasures of his station and his professional career. Remy'd considered becoming a forger once, just so that he could be surrounded by the paintings he liked without having to steal them. He'd been twelve at the time and already learning to be a thief. His father had chucked him under the chin with a finger and told him to stop being lazy. He'd still learned to forge paintings with a talent that surprised him, but he rarely used them. He'd done more in the past year than he'd expected. Painting was something Sinister felt was a harmless indulgence that allowed him to monitor for any motor damage the brain surgery had done.

Soon enough, they'd gone past the parlor, the headmaster's office and the library. Just beyond that they were in the dining room. The kitchen was at the far end of the room, leading to the back of the house. He'd studied the blueprints of the place. He knew were all of the rooms were and he knew the security schematics that he could find. He hoped they'd improved them. He didn't see any cameras, but that meant nothing. Cameras could be hidden anywhere and it was a thief's duty to figure out a way to hack their feed. He needed to get to where they kept the files Sinister wanted though, and he was certain that meant either the head-master's desk or Summers'. Unless they had a hidden mainframe elsewhere, which wasn't out of the question.

"Havin' some work done?" he said, nodding to the stack of wood in the hallway.

"Trying to do it ourselves. I'm beginning to think it's a mistake. It's like a Three Stooges skit."

Remy snickered at the thought. "And just why did y'all invite me in t'night? Y' that bored?"

Scott shrugged. "We're just open and generous like that."

"That didn't even sound like BS. Y' good, cher."

"Have to be. I'm the one who has to keep track of all the folks here. Bobby, put it down. Warren, stop baiting him. And they're supposedly adults."

Bobby Drake was holding a bottle of wine over Warren Worthington's blond head. He slowly put it down. He put on a bright smile, that was echoed by a warm, welcoming burst of emotion. "A new victim? You are too good to me, Slim."

"Hey, no scaring him off, Drake," Jubilee snapped. "He's got more class than you."

"Why, chere, y' gonna give this po' boy a swelled head." He bent over her hand in greeting and she giggled at him. He nodded a greeting to Logan. The Wolverine was chewing on an unlit cigar.

"Let me introduce you. The one with the wine bottle is Bobby Drake. Don't let him worry you. He only pulls pranks on family. Warren Worthington the Third is the blond next to him. Betsy Braddock is the purple-haired beauty. You know Logan and Jubilee. That leaves my fiancée, Jean Grey. Charles Xavier, who is the head-master around here. Ororo Monroe is the lovely lady with the flowers in her hair. And, if someone remembered to lure him out of his lab, Hank McCoy should be here soon. Everyone, this is Remy LeBeau, try not to scare him too badly."

"Take off yer shades, kiddo. Ain't no one here who cares."

"Mais, the lights are a bit bright. Mebbe later."

Logan snorted. Just then a large, very blue and furry mutant in a lab coat and Bermuda shorts entered the room. "Greetings. A new friend to our humble gathering. I am Hank McCoy. You must be the young man that's had Jubilee atwitter all day."

"I have not been 'atwitter'," the teen protested.

Hank offered his hand. Remy shook it. "A pleasure, M."

Hank settled down at his place. "And what brings us to our humble abode besides the atwitter Jubilee?"

"I promised him edible food," Scott said. He set down several plates. Jean handed him a few more. By the time the table was loaded it looked more full than a formal feast. Remy hadn't been at a family style dinner in years. The Marauders didn't spend that much time together if they could help it. He remembered his Tante Mattie's cooking with vague fondness. This was a family. He should miss that. He should be getting homesick, but he hadn't felt anything like that since he'd awakened in Sinister's care. He bent his head during the moment of silence that the older professor requested. He automatically ran through the prayer Mattie had hammered into his head in the process of civilizing him from the street rat he'd always be at heart. When he looked up, he met Xavier's eyes.

//I mean you no harm,// Xavier said telepathicly.

Remy's sunglasses hid the narrowing of his eyes. He took a small plate of food. He was surprised when the doctor simply reached across the table to add more to it. //Stay out of my head,// he thought at the wheel-chair bound man.

//Will you speak with me privately after dinner?//

//Oui.// Remy slammed his shields up as high as he could and saw the three telepaths wince. Good, served them right for wanting to snoop. "M. Docteur, perhaps Remy ain't that hungry."

"And perhaps he is at least fifteen pounds under-weight," McCoy answered sternly. "I cannot change how you eat outside of this home, but while you're here, I will."

"I ain't under-weight. Just fine-boned. Not like M. le Wolverine there."

Logan chuckled. "Creed not feedin' ya?"

Remy pushed his shades up to the top of his head so that he could glare. "Don' even go there, M. Logan."

"I can smell him on ya."

The thief started. "I didn't get no blood in m' hair last time we fought. I done had my coat cleaned. So tell ole Remy where exactly this smell be comin' from?"

"He scent marked yer backpack and yer shades at least."

Remy's nose wrinkled up. Jubilee spoke for him, "Like, ew."

"Oui, chere."

Logan tipped his head to the side. "How long were ya in the hospital?"

Remy hid his hands under the table to hide the fine tremor that he could sense. "Y' enough t' put a boy off his dinner, M. What say we discuss dis over sabres?"

The Canadian stiffened. "I ain't gonna fight ya, kiddo." He held up a hand. "Sorry."

McCoy glared at Logan. "Be nice."

Remy considered the revelations while he nibbled on his dinner. Drake had started a cheerful story involving a Twinkie and a lab rat that had Summers' lips twitching. This was turning out to be less an exercise in stealing than one of simply getting out of the house alive. If Logan and Creed were anything alike, he'd best be leaving right after dinner. That resolved, he turned his attention back to the story.

****

Remy settled into the comfortable wingback in Xavier's office. He accepted the brandy with a polite smile. He studied the chess set that was in the middle of a game. He cocked his head to the side. He'd never seen that particular attack before. He'd have to try it out. "Do you play?" Xavier asked, stopping his wheelchair next to the board.

"Oui. I play some. Mon pere taught me."

"Mine did as well. What brings you to Westchester?"

"I got some business in the City an' Westchester's prettier. So y' sent y'r kids t' talk t' me and bring me home like a puppy, oui? T'ought I smelled a set-up."

"I knew there was a new mutant in town. We do our best to put a hand out to our brothers."

Remy warmed his brandy with his charge. It tasted much better that way. "Y' suspicious, oui? Not just because le Wolverine?"

"Scott was wary of your presence due to the recent attack in DC. You've heard of it?"

"Oui."

"Then, tell me, how long have you been working for Sinister?"

Remy blinked lazily. "I work f' a lot of people, M. Xavier."

"Charles."

"Charles," Remy purred. "It's what I do."

"Logan tells me you are a professional thief."

"Oui. Y' have business f' me then?"

"I may. I would rather assure myself that nothing negative will come of this dinner."

"Only negative ole Remy sees is a whole bunch of busy-body goody-two-shoes have started fussin' over him."

Xavier inclined his head. "We are curious, yes. My students find themselves increasingly isolated in this town. A new face that will not judge them for their mutation is always welcome."

"I take care of myself."

"Again, how long have you been working for Sinister? Logan informs me that you smell of all the Marauders, not just Sabretooth."

"Chatton ain't a Marauder. He's a contractor," Remy countered. "He don't like teams. Seems he got burnt by the US Military. Same t'ing that got y' Wolverine all messed up. Chatton is a psychopath though, Logan ain't." He sipped his brandy and contemplated the chess board. "Can I offer y' a game, Charles?"

Xavier nodded. He set up the board. "Which color?"

"Black." Remy quirked a smile.

"You do realize that you're clinically depressed, Remy."

The thief shrugged. "Don't know what y' mean." Their first game was quick and without conversation.

"I underestimated you, Remy."

"Merci." The second game was much slower, more thoughtful. "Charles, y' have access t' information that could make several people very happy. If y' let Remy act as y' agent, he get y' a good price f' it."

"The information I have is held in trust. I have good reason to keep ahold of it."

"Oui, of course. It is important information." Remy rolled a bishop in his fingers. "Important t' more than just y'."

Xavier smiled. "And what sort of fee would you take for this negotiation?"

"Twenty percent. Gives m' incentive t' get y' a good price."

"And I do not believe the federal government should have any access to the information," Xavier's voice hardened.

Remy snorted. "They don' pay f' information. They shoot y' an' take it."

"I would worry that the information in my databanks would result in the creation of more stringent anti-mutant measures in the wrong hands."

"Y' mean like the zoning commission that's goin' t' throw y' out if'n y' keep gettin' destroyed? Check in t'ree."

Xavier frowned at the board. "I would need guarantees that the information would not go to certain parties."

"Y' work up y' guidelines and we talk t'morrow, Charles?"

"Yes, I think that will do nicely." Xavier knocked his king over in acknowledgment of the coming defeat. "I believe Logan wanted to speak with you."

****

Remy lit up his cigarette with the tip of his finger. He leaned against the post of the back porch. Logan saluted him with his beer. "You have Xavier fixed up?" he asked in French.

"We're going to talk tomorrow," Remy replied. "A little business, a little chess, and some delicious brandy. I spent worse evenings."

"Tell me about your team."

"I ain't got a team. I got some folks I happen to work with." He shrugged. It was a careless gesture that reminded him that he was finally healed. His body was under his own control.

"Why have you been spending so much time in the hospital?"

"Lab." Remy looked out at the back lawn. "I do office maintenance to keep busy. Ordering supplies and all."

"You been sick."

"Always was, M." Remy winked. Logan snorted. "So tell me, Logan, you really being rehabilitated?"

Logan shrugged. "Seems like. They're good people. It's a family." The former Weapon-X looked at the younger man for a long moment. Remy tensed, ready to run if the man moved toward him. "I'd guess you're looking for something here or you wouldn't have come to dinner."

"I'm hoping I'll be able to get it from your professor. I'd hate to have to steal it." Remy gave the older man a sly smile. "Only because you're here of course. The rest of these folks ain't a challenge."

Logan chuckled. "You create security too?"

Remy blinked. "Been known to do it."

Logan nodded. "Come over here."

"Non, merci. Remy'll stay right here."

"I'm not going to hurt you, kid. Just let me get a good whiff of your scent." The thief crossed the porch to stand in front of Logan. Logan took a deep breath. He nodded. "I've never seen you fighting with the Marauders," he said bluntly, "but I can smell them all over you. You their pet spook?"

Remy cocked his head to the side. "Intelligence and supply officer, sil vous plait."

"Thief," Logan said with a twist of his lips. "You've been ill. Hank sees it. I smell it."

"Not your concern, homme."

"Yes, it is. You'll be safe if you stay here. Hank will do any follow-up you need." Logan sighed. He extended his claws on his right hand and studied them sadly. There was such pain and grief there that Remy had to step back. He hadn't felt anything like that against his shield since Arclight had been modified to forget her nightmares. He hadn't sensed anything but glee, anger, lust, and bloodlust since then. The realization should have sickened him. He knew that on an intellectual basis, but he didn't feel disgusted. Logan reached forward and stroked down Remy's chest without actually touching him with his claws. He should have been afraid. Logan studied him. "You've either got balls of steel or you're the stupidest man I've met."

"You won't hurt me, M. Wolverine. Not like this. It's not your style. If you were Chatton, maybe that would be different."

"We'll go catch that beer tomorrow, kid." Logan switched to English.

"Y' givin' m' orders, ole man?"

"Yup."

"Tomorrow then," Remy confirmed. He walked around the outside of the house to get back to his motorcycle. He noted the security cameras and motion-sensitive lights. If they were monitored they might be an issue. Still, all the current X-Men he knew of were had been at dinner. That meant security monitoring was lax, if at all. That was with Summers being paranoid. It was insulting.

****

"So what does he want to steal?" Scott asked Logan. The field leader rolled a beer between his hands.

"Don't know yet. He talked to Chuckles about it. Might just buy it outright if the Professor accepts it." Logan smirked. "Only reason he ain't breakin' in is me. I can smell him." Logan sobered. "He's why the Marauders' are gettin' more dangerous. Surprised Magneto ain't recruited him."

"Well, he is Eric's type, but I don't think his rhetoric will fly with our thief."

"Nah. We might be able to snag him though. He's been sick, Scott. The kind of sick that gets ya stuck in a bed. He says he does office work for Sinister."

Scott raised his brows. "You think he wants something of Hank's?"

Logan shrugged. "I'm takin' him fer a beer tomorrow. I'll see what I can get out of him."

"You want to keep him too." Logan looked up sharply. "Charles wants to keep him. He thinks he can be helpful. He wants me to challenge him to a chess match. He thinks we'd find it 'enjoyable.'"

Logan smirked. "He wants you to flirt. Thought he was beyond whorin' you out for recruits."

Scott snorted. "Worked on you."

"Yer too tame fer Gambit."

"Which is why you're the one who's taking him out to get drunk and spill secrets. See if you can get intel on the Marauders. And tell him to stop looking at Jean. She's mine and I’m not sharing with some long-lost Summers brother."

Logan laughed outright at that. "Drake?"

"Yeah. Says he looks just like I did when Charles took me in. I told him to go to the attic and find the pictures."

"Which won't happen because?"

"They're on the shelf over there behind you. And I looked *nothing* like him."

"I'll have to check yer evidence on that."

"You could just ask Jean."

"Ask Jean what?" the telepath asked from the doorway.

"Bobby thinks Remy is a long-lost Summers."

"It's the hair," she replied, a smirk tugging her lips up. "And the flirting. See, we remember when you were a little less staid and respectable."

"If I were staid and respectable I wouldn't be leading a bunch of mutant freedom fighters." Jean settled on his lap and stole his beer. "What did you get from him?"

"A headache. He has incredible shields. And Ro wants to adopt him."

"Of course she does. She wants to adopt him right into her bed."

"Scott!"

"It's true," Logan countered. He pushed himself to his feet. "I'll leave you kids to cuddle." He smirked. "When ya get tired of pettin' come see a real man."

Scott grinned at that. "Sure. But I think Jean'll have a problem with it."

****

Remy wondered idly why he was walking in the front door. He could easily just break in and be waiting for Xavier in his office. He rang the bell. Ororo answered. "Welcome, Remy," she said, offering him a soft smile.

"Bonjour, Ororo." He stepped into the foyer.

"I had hoped that you would join us for dinner again." There was real disappointment in her voice.

"It weren't not'in' t' do wit' y' company, chere," he said as he offered a smile. He ducked his head and looked up through his bangs at her.

"I will walk you to the professor's office."

"What's a bon femme like y' doin' here?"

"I am learning to be part of a team," she answered after a moment's thought. "Charles has opened a new world to me."

Remy offered his arm and she accepted it. He let her drift in her private thoughts. He didn't want to hear any more recruitment speeches. He kissed her hand when she left him at Xavier's office. He was surprised to find Summers lounging on Xavier's window-seat with a file folder and a red pen. The leader of the X-men looked up with a friendly smile. "Dinner's usually at six. You have an open invitation," he said, then turned back to his file. "Interesting reading here. Did you really manage to steal a jet?"

"And who's been tellin' tales about po' Gambit?" Remy affected a pout.

"Wolverine. He got them from someone named Calypso?"

"That woman lies like a cheap rug, cher, an' don' forget it."

Summers' lips quirked into a smile. "Charles was delayed. Game of chess to pass the time?"

The thief snorted. "Bored? Oui, let's play. Y' get black."

"My favorite," Scott drawled. Remy set up the board. They didn't talk much during the game, just the occasional stray bit of gossip about familiar places and news stories. "Check."

Remy frowned at the board. He cocked his head to the side. "Tricky, cher." He considered for a long moment, then knocked over his king.

"You want a drink?"

"Non. M. Wolverine informed m' that we're drinkin' t'night after I seduce, I mean talk t' Charles." The thief gave Scott a small smile. The leader of the X-men shook his head.

"If you do manage to seduce him, watch your back for Magneto. He's a jealous SOB."

"Xavier and Magneto? Y' ain't serious, cher."

"Oh, yeah, I am. They've been off and on with lovers' spats and flirting since I was a teenager."

"So tell m' your story, cher. I know Charles wants t' recruit m'."

Scott waved that off. "I'm sure you know my story."

"But I only know it the way y' know ole Remy's story. From a file. I don' know it how y' tell it."

"Not much to tell. I ended up in an orphanage. I was fostered out to a crazy bastard. Xavier took me in after I killed the aforementioned crazy bastard. One thing led to another and now I'm a mutant rights proponent."

Remy cocked his head to the side. "Terrorist, y' mean."

"Freedom fighter." Scott smirked.

"As y' say, cher." There was something flickering in the back of Remy's mind. It was a warning of danger that he wasn't yet apathetic enough to ignore. He was up and moving toward the window before he could think. He stared out at the side yard, calculating the distance to the wall.

Summers' voice startled him. "Security report," he barked.

"We have activity on the east side," it was Grey's voice. "Looks like some stupid vandals." Gambit shook his head.

"Negative, Red, look again. To the west."

"Full alert. X-men scramble. Incursion team in the west, distraction team to the east."

"Storm, Rogue, round up our distraction team. Wolverine, Iceman, with me to the west. Beast prepare for incoming. Psylocke north side. Angel south side. Jubilee, back up in security. Now." Summers looked at the thief calmly. "Are they yours?"

"Non. Not m' style, cher."

"Stay here." Scott's lips quirked. "Feel free to play solitaire if you want." He was gone an instant later.

Gambit looked at Xavier's desk and its unprotected computer. It wasn't right. It was probably something his Tante would chide him about. Still, he sat down at the desk and turned on the computer. He pulled up the solitaire program first. He could hear the sound of violence in the distance. He scanned through Xavier's documents, pulling up his thoughts on the current form of the mutant registration on a whim. His eyes started to drift off the page to the picture of Xavier with Summers that sat on the large wooden desk. He closed his eyes. I just want to go home, he thought.

****

Jean monitored the fights, not surprised that the vandals were hurried off the grounds with nothing more than Storm's glares and Rogue's more belligerent unspoken threat. They were just teenagers after all. On the other side of the Mansion, the fight was a little more dangerous. The team was well-coordinated, but not the Maruaders or the Brotherhood. She tried to scan the men attacking, only to find they were using screening technology. That meant they were either high-cost mercenaries or government. She passed the information on to her fiancée.

Closer to home she scanned the Mansion. She caught a stray thought from their guest thief. //I want to go home.// It was filled with such longing that she wanted to pull the young man into a hug. She resolved to spend her own time with the young man and find what Logan, Scott, and the professor wanted, a way to keep him. They wouldn't understand. She touched his mind lightly to see if she could catch anything else. All she heard were snatches of the professor's latest monograph and she turned her attention elsewhere.

//Rogue, Cyclops and Wolverine have some trash that needs to be dumped.//

//I'll get them out of the area as soon as they're stripped, sugah.//

Scott and Logan were stripping the unconscious attackers of their weapons, ID's, and equipment.

//East, clear. South, clear. North, clear. Angel, fly some duct tape out to Cyclops, please.//

//Sure thing.//

She monitored the cameras until Rogue had the last of the invaders in the air and on their way to the beach where they'd wake up with no memory of getting there. She checked on Gambit once more. He was adding comments to several of the professor's articles. She brought the camera from the professor's office to the large part of the screen. Yes, the thief was busy annotating the professor's documents. He'd even gone so far as to pull a few books off of the professor's shelves for reference. It was probably the cutest thing they'd ever had an intruder do. She wanted to pinch his cheek and tell him how adorable it was. She shook her head at the thought. She checked in on Scott who was buzzing with adrenaline. That washed the sweet, den mother ideas out of her head. //How fast can we get the professor home to deal with Gambit?//

//Not soon enough,// Cyclops informed her with regret. //Your turn to entertain him. I need a shower and to get my ribs wrapped.//

//Fine.// "Jubilee. You've got the cameras. I'm going to the professor's office."

"I wanted to talk to him," the teen nearly pouted. "Please?"

"Maybe if we can get him to come for dinner tomorrow."

"Fine. Whatever."

****

Remy glanced up. "Trouble all done, then, chere?"

"Yes." Jean looked uncertain. "The professor's car broke down. He'll be awhile."

"Fine. Ain't got anywhere t' be t'night. I'll jus' finish up tellin' Charles how foolish he's bein' wit' footnotes. Mebbe, Dr. McCoy'd be willin' t' talk wit' m'? Show me 'round his lab?" It would be interesting to contrast the two doctors. McCoy was already far ahead of Essex in terms of personality, but he wondered what the man was cooking up in his lab. There were so many possibilities and every one of them sang the sweet song of money. Besides, McCoy's lab was probably much closer to the information Sinister wanted. He could just lift or copy some of the data that was there and be out of this job that much sooner.

She relaxed. "I think he might enjoy having a new victim to lecture. I'm afraid we're all too used to him."

Remy gave her a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He didn't like telepaths, no matter how pretty they were.

"I'll walk you to his lab."

That was vaguely amusing. "So who y' have watchin' the cameras?"

"Jubilee. She has a crush on you." The red-head rolled her eyes.

He shrugged. "Happens from time t' time. She'll grow out of it. She got herself a boy already's what I hear." He finished up his comments and hit save. He tucked the books back into their places. "Now, y' sure le docteur will talk t' m'? He ain't got better t'ings t' do?"

"Of course he'll talk to you." Jean smiled gently. Remy ignored it. He followed her to Dr. McCoy's lab with a healthy measure of trepidation. A tour of M. Essex's lab normally meant you'd end up on the slab with him deciding to study you for a few days. The smell of antiseptic and bandages lay under the smell of coffee that filled the room. "Hank, Remy was wondering if you'd show him around your lab."

The big blue doctor looked up with a smile that lit up his eyes, but had the unfortunate effect of also showing off his fangs. They seemed much sharper in the light of the lab. Remy was reminded of Creed in that moment. He focused on the reading glasses that were perched on the man's nose instead. He offered a shy smile. "I'd be delighted." Jean left him there with such alacrity that he had to smirk. He had a good idea of where she was headed. McCoy shook his head. "You'd think they'd be more discrete wouldn't you?" He chuckled. His voice had the soft, gentle accent of the Midwestern state he called home. It was a nice change. "Now, let's see. This is the med-room, not the lab. If you'll just come through here. I think Bobby's labcoat will fit you."

Remy took the offered coat and slipped it on. He peered into the pocket on the left. "Do I want t' know why there's candy in here?"

"Bobby has a bad habit of snacking in the lab. It's why I don't allow him in when I'm in the midst of certain trials."

"And what y' workin' on, M. McCoy?"

"Hank, please."

"M. Henri?" Remy said smoothly.

"What am I not working on? I've got some beginning research on the Legacy virus, Logan's healing factor, the rates of mutation in the world population as it changes, the rate of mutation between generations, the mutability of the x-factor in general," McCoy shrugged. "And what do are you interested in?"

Remy considered. "How do folks actually convert energy? Like Summers. How does his body change sun t' energy?"

The doctor considered. "I haven't looked at that in awhile. I've gotten caught up in the Legacy virus. You've heard of it?"

"Oui. Another reason t' wear a condom." He shrugged. "Ain't no more dangerous than AIDS. Ain't like y' can get it from kissin' and all."

McCoy blinked at that. "So, you're interested in bio-energy conversion. A personal interest?"

"Oui an' non. I jus'… the docteur I been talkin' t' ain't so good at explainin' things. He gets irritated when I don' understand all he done tole m'."

"Ah, I see. You'll have to tell me when you don't understand. I have a tendency to ramble."

"Oui, M."

"And I do have a price."

Remy's eyes narrowed.

"A vial of blood for my database."

"Y' all alike ain' y'? Y' feedin' y' young on the blood y' take from y' patients."

"You've stumbled onto the nefarious truth. In medical school they change the residents into vampires."

Remy snorted. "Oui, M. Henri. I'll give y' some blood. Y' give Remy information."

****

Charles found the thief in Hank's lab, peering through a microscope. "So why it do that den?" he asked. "Move t'gether like that?"

"That clotting is caused by the way the thrombin interacts with the platelets. They create fibrin which creates the clot you see there. It's exactly what's happened on your arm to keep your blood inside. Only we're looking at it on a much closer scale."

The thief nodded slowly, frowning. "So it happens faster in folks like le Wolverine an' Sabretoot', oui? Healin' factor."

"Oui," the doctor confirmed. He smiled at the younger man. "I think I have a textbook or two that might interest you. You can scan through the contents and see if you can find the questions you're trying to ask. That might make things easier for you."

"Merci, Henri." Remy turned. "Y' ready f' that talk, Charles? Got y' list all ready?"

The professor inclined his head. "I do. But don't hurry on my account. I'll be in my office when you're done with Hank."

Hank laughed at that. "Somehow I doubt that. We haven't even finished the first day of the circulatory system." Remy looked a little alarmed at that. "It barely scratches the surface of the basic question of energy conversion."

"Merde. What'd I get m'self int'?"

"Now, now, my friend, it won't hurt a bit as long as you remember to come back tomorrow." Hank looked over his glasses at the young man.

"Oui, M. Henri. Y' get t' lecture more t'morrow." The young man took off the lab coat and draped it over the hook by the door. Then, slowly, as if he were pulling the words from somewhere half-forgotten, he said, "Merci, Henri, f' takin' time t' explain t'ings."

"My pleasure, Remy." Charles was aware of a swirl of thoughts hiding behind the interference of the young Cajun's powers and shields. Hank went into his office. He returned with two heavy texts. The thief held the books to his chest.

"Merci," he said quietly, eyes down. Xavier wondered how Hank had managed to capture the young man's attention. Perhaps it was simply Hank's enthusiasm for having a student. Remy paced himself to Charles' wheelchair. He hadn't seen the hoverchair yet and wouldn't unless he agreed to join them as at least a part time member. The professor prodded Scott's mind and received something that was almost conscious thought layered with pain from a set of lovely cracked ribs. He received the report on what had happened while he'd been delayed. "So, Charles, tell m' 'bout who y' do and don't want t' sell information to."

"Let me pour the brandy first. Have a seat." They spoke for several hours, delineating the deals in which Xavier was interested. The professor sat back, impressed with the breadth of the young man's knowledge.

"Satisfied, Charles?"

"Yes, indeed. Shall I inform Logan that you won't be able to join him for a drink tonight?"

The thief startled. "It ain't that late."

"Ah, but it seems you have homework."

Remy snorted. "Don' worry M., Remy'll talk t' Logan his own self."

****

"So, where y' takin' Remy t' drink?" the thief asked. Logan looked up from the newspaper. The young man looked like a college student with a pair of thick books sitting on his hip and his sunglasses hanging from the front of his shirt.

"Someplace where they ain't gonna check ID, I'm assumin'."

"Hey, now, M., Remy's got good ID."

Logan's brows raised. "But they ain't real."

The young man shrugged carelessly. "Y' the one that wanted t' talk."

"Yer right. Come on. I'll drive."

"Remy'll follow y'."

"No." Logan was firm on this point. The kid would either come back to the mansion and sleep it off or Logan would pour him into a cab at the end of the night. He wasn't driving. The red eyes blinked once, then twice. The man shrugged again.

"Whatever y' say, M. Logan."

Now that was interesting. There wasn't any hesitation in his submission. "Ya wanna leave yer books in my room?"

"Non. I'll put them in m' saddle bags." A careless shrug followed that. Logan led the way to the garage. A short time later they had a booth in the back of a bar that was not Harry's and nowhere Logan would have brought any of the X-men, except maybe Jubilee. Remy though, he seemed at home here, blending in with an ease that was frightening. "So, M. Logan, what y' want from po' Remy?"

"Knock off the pout. I ain't Creed. I don't fall for that stuff."

That earned him a wan smile. "So what do y' fall f'? Just f' future record?"

"Why ya workin' fer Sinister?"

Another shrug. Logan growled. The young man didn't even blink. "Remy keeps his word, M."

"So ya ended up makin' a deal with the devil and now yer afraid to break it."

"Non. He ain't the devil. Not really. Just focused on what he wants. Met worse'n him. Sort of self-centered, oui?"

"Ya been sick. I can smell it."

"Why y' so hung up on m' health?" The young man's jaw tightened.

"Because if yer stickin' with him because yer sick, then it's somethin' that we can help with. And if ya been sick fer this long without gettin' better it's time fer a second opinion."

The thief was quiet, occasionally sipping from his beer. Logan let him have the time to think. Most of the folks at the mansion never did do that. They treated every question like a crisis. "He near unt' raised m' from the dead, M." The red eyes were hidden behind his shades, but years of dealing with Cyke made that no barrier to reading the pain and fear there. "Hired him some mercs. He keeps ole Gambit from killin' folks when he gets mad, so it work out, non?"

"What happened?"

"Pullt a theatre down on m' fool head. Killt about twenty people includin' une bebe. Dey left m' t' die and good riddance." There was a fine tremble in the long fingers that ran up and down the beer bottle, pausing only to pick at the peeling label. "M. Essex, he make it so that won't happen again, oui? So, I work t' pay f' that."

"Those mercs are killin' folks."

"Y' t'ink I don' know that? Dey ain't got souls left after what he's done t' them! Jus' raise them up once their dead. Change 'em. Make 'em what he wants." The words were forced out in a harsh, rasping whisper. Logan studied Gambit for a long moment. He didn't see the professional thief there anymore. He saw a teenager with shaking hands who smelled of antiseptic and too many cigarettes. "Goin' out f' a smoke me." The Cajun headed for the side door. He ducked outside, kicking the block of wood into place to hold it open. Logan considered following him. Instead, he settled back to contemplate what he'd learned. He didn't like the picture it made.

****

"Stupid," Remy muttered to himself. "Why y' agree t' this outing, boy?"

"Talkin' to yerself's a bad sign, Gumbo," Creed said from the shadows by the dumpster. "Doc sent yer meds."

"Brought m' pills with m'." Creed crossed the space between them in two steps. He didn't loom over the thief. Instead he held out a pill bottle. Its white cap shone in the weak street-lights. Remy tucked it into his pocket. "So what he want wit' sendin' y'? Y' ain't gonna help m' credibility and y' ain't gonna be useful on this op."

Creed smirked. "Got anything fer him?"

"He'll get it when I do. Tell him t' be patient. Art ain't something y' rush."

A harsh bark of laughter answered that. "Just remember, I can always find ya fer the right price." The leonine mutant leaned closer. "Go get some sleep. Yer pushing yerself again."

"What y' care anyway?" Remy made shooing motions with his hands. "Go 'way, Chatton. Let m' work."

Creed cocked his head to the side. "Don't let them get to ya, kiddo. Yer not cut out fer hero-work."

Gambit looked at Sabretooth over his sunglasses. "And y' saw the devil buyin' a bobsled. Go on, cher." A few more puffs on his cigarette and it was time to go back to Wolverine.

****

"I ain't drunk, Logan. I can drive back t' m' hotel," Remy insisted.

"Ya ain't walkin' in a straight line. Yer sleepin' here tonight." Logan ignored the scowl. "Got plenty of room. Come on, kiddo."

"Y' annoy m' so, M. Logan. An' folks t'ink Chatton's a pain?" Remy waved a negligent hand. His motions had gotten looser and looser as he'd finished off most of a bottle of rum. "Non, Chatton, he's just a predator."

Logan's lips quirked up. "And what am I?"

"Y' a mother hen. Cluck. Cluuuuuck."

"And yer drunk. This way. Don't make me do this the hard way."

Remy's eyes narrowed. "Been drinkin' f' years. I know m' limits. I ain't drunk."

Logan grabbed the fine-boned wrist and pulled the taller man behind him. The thief laughed. "Y' a border collie, M. Logan. Dey wrong 'bout y'. Y' ain't a Wolverine. Call y' M. Sheepdog instead." Logan growled which he knew didn't help his case, but if he got the kid into a guest bed and kept him off the road, it was worth it. He let go after a final powerful tug that pulled the Cajun into the room. He nodded his head toward the bathroom.

"Bathroom's over there. Bed's got clean linens. Toiletries under the sink. See ya in the mornin'. Breakfast's served at nine."

"Got m' stuff at m' hotel, M. Sheepdog. Don't need a bed f' the night. Merci."

"Kiddo, it's two a.m. Just go to bed. Fight in the mornin'."

"Y' the type t' sit there until po' Remy's in bed too." The kid pushed his shades to the top of his head. His eyes were narrowed.

"I am."

"Merde. Fine. In the mornin' I'm goin' t' my hotel an' y' can tell M. Henri I won't be back until late." Remy decamped to the bathroom.

"I'll be outside until I hear ya fall asleep."

Logan didn't bother to listen to what the grumbled curses actually were. He simply grinned to himself as he settled outside the room in the lotus position. He waited until the young man's breathing evened out. Then, he went to his own bed.

****

Jean was on over-night security detail. Never let it be said that Scott wasn't fair in his duty assignments. She watched the door to Remy's guest room and redirected the outside cameras to watch the window. She wanted to know the instant he decided to leave. She did a gentle scan of the sleeping occupants of the house. Everything was quiet so far. She pulled out a new skein of yarn and added it to the afghan she was working on. The spiral pattern was so offensively colored that only Scott would be able to look at it for any length of time. She smirked. That should mean that it would actually not be stolen by anyone this time. Every time she made a blanket for Scott it ended up wandering into someone else's room. It did make her eyes water a bit when she hooked in the neon orange, but the end result would be worth it.

She watched the monitors, hands moving in memorized patterns for nearly an hour before the light telepathic trace she'd placed on their guest started to quiver with a nightmare. She stowed her project. She bit her lip. Well, it was almost time for Scott to be up anyway. He had watch at four. She prodded him to wakefulness. //Honey, I need to check on our guest.//

//Fine. Go. Leave aspirin on the monitor table.//

//I'll keep a net up.//

//Let me know if anything triggers. Remind me again why Hank won't use the Shi'ar machinery on cracked ribs?//

//Power supplies.//

Jean made her way to the guest room. She entered without knocking. The young man was curled up on his side hands protecting his face, knees protecting his stomach. His lips were pulled into a frown and his cheekbones were sharply defined. Without his personality making up for it, she could see the illness that Hank and Logan swore was there. "Remy, sweetie," she called softly. "Wake up. It's just a nightmare." She laid a hand on his upper arm, ready to bolt back if he threw a punch like a just woken Scott. He curled up more tightly on himself. Jean put one knee on the bed, approaching from behind him this time. "Remy, wake up." She shook his shoulder.

He only woke partially. Relaxing his defensive position as Jean stroked his hair as if he were a child like Kitty'd been when she'd joined them. "Lorna?" he murmured.

Jean's heart clenched. Lorna Dane has been missing for two years. Alex had been heartbroken over it and they were still looking for her. He rubbed his head against her hand and she started stroking his hair again. Was Lorna really comforting him when he had nightmares? Was it their Lorna or someone he'd known as a child. She'd have to ask him when he was awake.

"It's Jean," she said quietly. "You're at Xavier's. You're safe here. I'm going to pull up an extra blanket now." His skin was cool to the touch. She tucked the quilt around him. "It's okay. Go back to sleep." He fell back asleep without ever really being conscious, but the nightmare had dissipated. She sat on the edge of the bed. She cupped her hands over her stomach, protecting the children she'd never had and never would. Scott couldn't bear the idea after losing Nate and she wasn't willing to give him up.

Her eyes drifted to the pale light from the desk lamp he'd left on next to the bed. There was a pill bottle there. It rattled as she picked it up and her eyes darted to the sleeping young man. He didn't stir. The bottle was unlabeled. She bit her lip. She opened the top and plucked one of the pink pills out. The closed bottle settled with a soft snick as she settled it back on the nightstand. She reached out to see if Hank were awake. He was in his lab looking over results with his usual over-caffeinated attention. He'd be able to analyze the pill.

"Sleep well, Remy," she said quietly.

****

"Gumbo, food," Logan called through the door.

There was a muffled curse that loosely translated was telling Logan to leave him alone. Logan ignored that and knocked on the door again. Eventually, a sleep-tousled, but not hungover thief peered out at him. "Somet'in' burnin'?"

"Nope. Time for breakfast. I'll wait fer ya."

"I ain't interested. I see y'all t'morrow. Give Henri m' apologies."

"I'll wait fer ya." Logan gave the statement a hint of malice. The young man's eyes narrowed. His nostrils flared.

"Fine." Gambit spun on his heel and went to the bathroom. Logan didn't have long to wait. The long russet hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail. The young man pulled on his clothes from the day before. He pulled on his trenchcoat, then scooped a pill bottle up from the side table and tucked it into his pocket. He did a quick survey of the room. He waved at Logan. "Off wit' y', M. Sheepdog."

Logan extended a claw. "I let ya get away with that when ya were drunk. It ain't gonna happen again."

"Right. I'll stop callin' y' 'Sheepdog' when I stop callin' Creed 'Chatton.' Y' just deal wit' it." The young man pushed the claw down with two fingers. "Y' don't scare m', M. Sheepdog. Y' all bark and no bite."

"You and me gotta spar, kiddo." Logan smiled, showing a few too many teeth. The thief gave him an ironic lift of the lips in response.

"Sure, homme. Sounds like fun."

Logan snorted. He herded the young man to the breakfast table. The young man homed in on the one person he hadn't met. "Bonjour, chere," he said with a blinding smile.

Rogue looked at him with raised brows. "Why hello, sugah. Logan drag ya in to dry out?"

"Bah. M. Sheepdog just got it int' his head that I weren't an adult." Remy waved the concern away. "Name's Remy."

"I know." Rogue crossed her arms over her chest. "My mama taught me not to get involved with thieves and I'm gonna listen t' her."

Remy pouted at her. He turned his attention to Storm as if Rogue had never existed. "Now, it's a beautiful mornin'. Good mornin', Ororo." He kissed the weather goddess' hand and settled next to her in what was usually Logan's seat. Logan smiled almost indulgently as he went to get coffee. They'd make a cute couple.

Jean looked over her mug at Remy. "I caught a stray thought last night, Remy."

"Oui?" He looked at her with his head cocked to the side. "Well, M. Sheepdog is probably good in bed but I'm pretty sure y' have t' put up wit' his chatterin' at y'."

Jean's cheeks flushed. "Not *that* one. And you're right he's a talker."

"Hey!" Logan snapped. The two glanced at him and promptly ignored him.

"What t'ought then, chere?"

"You were thinking about a Lorna and I was wondering if it were the same Lorna I was thinking about."

The thief blinked. "She got green hair?"

"Yes."

"I'm guessin' it is then. Why?"

"She's been missing for two years."

Remy blinked. "She was hired about a year and a half ago. Got some asshole doin' a body-share with her callt Malice." He shrugged.

Jean looked down at the table. "That wasn't what I'd hoped to hear."

"Y' know her well then, chere?"

"She was going to be my sister-in-law when she disappeared."

"In-laws ain't all what they're cracked up t' be," he pointed out.

"She was a good friend. She made Alex happy. He didn't deal well with her disappearing."

Remy shrugged. "She ain't been cloned yet, so there's a chance the girl y' know is still in there."

"And have you been cloned?"

"Le docteur says non." He stole a piece of bacon from Logan's plate as the Canadian sat down next to him.

"Get yer own, kid."

Remy bit sharply through the bacon. "Food from other folk's don't got calories. Ain't these femmes taught y' that?"

Warren and Bobby both looked at Jean, "Is that why you never order your own desert?" Warren asked, blue eyes narrowed. "That's low, Red."

She batted her lashes at them.

"I would be happy to share breakfast with you," Ororo whispered into the thief's ear. He leaned into her space to murmur a thank you. Logan hid his amusement behind his coffee.

****

"Sorry, M. Henri. Got t' go back t' my hotel and change. Mebbe I be back this afternoon. Remy'll look through the books y' lent him, oui?" Remy looked up at the doctor through his bangs. He was genuinely sorry to break the tentative appointment. Hank McCoy was one of the most genuinely nice people he'd ever met. He hated to disappoint good people.

McCoy smiled. "Of course. I'll be in my lab when you return."

"Merci." Remy hurried to his bike. He had to get out of this madhouse before he lost all of his common sense and what shreds of sanity he had left.

"Dinner's at six," Summers said, barely looking up from the garage's work table. "You have an open invitation. And if you break Storm's heart, I'll break every bone in your body."

Gambit did a double-take. "Funny. Y' don't look like her papa."

"Just consider me a big brother." Summers looked up with a smirk.

"Y'all are crazy." Remy straddled his bike. "Ain't sure I'll be here f' dinner. Give m' regrets t' Ororo, oui?" He batted his lashes, then put on a pair of dark shades that both protected and hid his eyes. He didn't put on his helmet and was surprised when he didn't get called on it. Relief flooded his body, loosening his spine and easing the tightness in his stomach as he left the campus.

He made it to his hotel room. He dropped the books on the bed. He changed into something a bit cleaner before picking up the manila envelope on his table. It was from Creed, delivering whatever message the doctor had for him. Remy sat on the bed and reviewed the documents Essex had sent to him. His eyes narrowed as he continued to read. It was a list of information Essex wanted and what he was willing to pay for it. It looked as if he'd finally trained the man. He'd have to go out on trips more often. He rubbed the back of his neck. Providing the information to Essex should get him off the leash for awhile longer.

He curled up on his side to catch the rest of his interrupted sleep. Maybe Henri would be kind enough to explain why he was tired all the time. He'd have to ask.

****

"So, what is the pill, Hank?" Scott perched on the lab table. He munched on some peanut M&Ms.

The doctor leaned back. He frowned at the field leader. "Am I to understand that you did not bring enough M&Ms for everyone?"

"I might have a bag for you. If you have a report for me."

Hank studied the field leader's black cargo pants with narrowed eyes. "It was a unique compound of neural inhibitors, muscle relaxants, and hypnotics, which leads me to believe our new prospect has some form of epilepsy that may be exacerbated by his powers."

Scott frowned. He fished the bag of M&M's from the pocket near his ankle and handed them over. He cleared the lab table behind himself so that he could sit for a longer explanation. "If he he's epileptic should he be driving?"

"Yes, the pills seem to be an adequate control for any seizure possibilities, but I got the impression," Hank paused. "Computer, lock lab door." The door locked with a soft click. "This is need-to-know."

Scott blocked the link he and Jean had been maintaining since they were teenagers. He nodded. "Continue."

"I got the impression that our young thief underwent surgery to control his powers. He didn't come out and say it, but some of his questions seemed to indicate it. He is woefully under-weight, which I believe is attributable to his emotional state not his metabolism. Without knowing more about why he needed medical intervention, I cannot give any recommendations."

"Logan said he dropped a building on his head."

Hank blinked. "He brought down a building?"

"Yes. It nearly killed him."

"And we believe Sinister saved him from that?"

"He's given us that understanding, yes."

"Interesting." Hank leaned back. He ate his M&M's slowly. "The implication being, of course, that he is working for Sinister out of a sense of duty not loyalty."

"Or he's just playing us to get access to our information."

Hank chuckled. "Indeed, Oh Paranoid, Yet Beloved Fearless Leader, that is possible. I would point out, however, that he had the opportunity to peruse the Professor's computer and did nothing more than argue against one of his speeches. He also had the opportunity to pump me for information about my research, which he did not do. Instead he asked questions about biological energy conversion, something you and he both do although with different results. He has met with the professor and formally requested information."

"Misdirection." Scott frowned at his empty bag of candy. He crumbled the package and dropped it into Hank's waste basket.

"To what end? What do we have that Sinister would want and cannot get in some other way?"

The field leader leaned his head against the wall. "Cerebro. The Shi'ar machinery. The Blackbird, but they don't have a pilot. Genetic material?"

Hank considered. "Possibly the last. I'll move the samples from where he saw me place his."

"You have a sample of his blood?"

"I do."

"And what have you learned?"

"That he is not related to anyone in our records."

"Oh good. Tell Bobby that he's not a Summers so I don't have to drown him. And?"

"And he is mostly healthy and has had all of his shots and a few more besides."

"So, to summarize, he's epileptic, but that might be related directly to his powers and clear over time, and he's not my little brother."

Hank laughed. "That's a fair assessment."

"I like to keep things simple." Red flashed against the red crystal – a Cyclops wink. "So, what do you think of him and Ro. Will they make a good couple or should I derail her?"

"They'll be fine. They might not fight as often as you and Red do, but they'll be fine. Or it will be a fling and I'll have to pick up the pieces of her heart in my manly and white knight manner."

Scott cocked his head to the side. "And would that be a bad thing? Or are you still hoping Bobby'll come around?"

The large blue doctor frowned. He looked over his glasses. "I do not hold you accountable for the things you say while intoxicated, I deserve the same privilege."

"You were stone-cold sober. I was too drunk to walk. I blame Warren. Still, you said it. I remember it." The man smiled. "Besides, you're my friend and inquiring minds want to know while their girlfriend is ethically bound not to listen in."

"Gossip."

"I prefer to consider it intelligence gathering."

"Either of them would make me happy, but yes, I'm still waiting on Bobby and will still be waiting on him until the day one of us passes on, the delightful and sweet women we've dated not-withstanding."

Scott nodded. "Okay. I'll make a note to beat him."

Hank shook his head. "Don't give me more work, or I won't further interrogate our young Cajun when he returns for his lessons."

"I'm better than that."

****

Remy woke, eyes still heavy with fatigue. His body ached as if he had the flu. He rubbed at his eyes, stretched, then went to take a cold shower. He had work to do. Showered, shaved, and neatly turned out with a preppy combination of chinos, a white shirt, and sweater, he headed in to New York City for a little wheeling and dealing. It wasn't until he'd settled in a corner booth with a checked table cloth and a bottle of house red wine that he actually started to perk up. The rush of being surrounded by men who could and would kill him with little provocation made him smile. He flirted lightly with his waitress and waited. He could hear the whispers swirling. Someone would gather up the balls to approach him. He was unarmed. At least by traditional standards. His pasta came out while he was still determining whether he should get dessert or not if no one approached.

"Well, well, well, what do I have here?" the fat man in a far too expensive black suit said. He looked down at the thief. "You've grown a bit since I saw you last." He frowned. "Is that all you're eating?" He shook his head and waved for the waitress. "Lucia, bring him soup and bread. He is far too thin. His father will think we're starving him."

"M. Baglitoni, merci, for y'r hospitality." Remy inclined his head and looked up through his bangs. It wasn't to look coy or seductive, but rather to look young. Let Baglitoni think he was there on behalf of his father and his Guild. He moved to stand up, but the gangster waved him down. The last time he'd seen the man he was thirteen. He supposed that was enough for him to be classified as being like his own son.

"Your father has always taken good care of my men. I can do no less. You're in town on business?"

"Oui, M."

Baglitoni nodded. "I'll send Masterson over. You will be staying for dessert." It was a gentle order. "You must try Mama's pudding."

Gambit smiled. Well, that was a decision he didn't have to make. "Oui, M."

"Be a good boy and stay out the areas Masterson tells you about."

Gambit nodded. He fixed on his best mock-choir-boy face and received a smile and laugh for his trouble. He occupied himself with eating until Masterson sat down with two plates of desert. Lucia followed up with two cups of strong coffee, her phone number, and a wink. He gave her a slow smile. Masterson shook his head. "Be careful. She bites." They talked for nearly two hours over black coffee.

****

Scott raised his brows when he found the thief in the professor's office. "You called, sir?"

Charles nodded. "Gambit has found some interesting schematics."

Remy gave a small wave from the window seat. He was looking out at the lawn, a stack of papers on his lap. There were blue-prints spread out across the couch. "Government black bag project. Looks more like y'all's gig." Scott inclined his head in acknowledgement. He stepped over to the blueprints, eyes narrowing.

"A new Sentinels program? At least they're making them smaller. Might decrease the property damage."

Remy snorted. "Right. Got the financials here too, if'n y' want them. Might be somethin' more in my line though. They got a lot of petty cash disappearin' int' this project. No oversight." The thief's lips twisted into a sly smile.

"Where did you get these?"

"There's a CDC lab down the road. I got a request f' a copy of their data on Legacy."

"And how much will it cost to get a copy to Hank?" Scott considered. It would be nice to have a thief on the payroll.

Remy looked down and away. "Don' worry. Got him a copy. F' puttin' up with Remy's questions."

"That's very generous of you." The professor's voice was gentle. "And have you had any luck on the items we were discussing?"

"Oui." The young man wave a hand. "Ain't no trouble. Y' willin' t' pay what I want f' it?"

"Yes, of course." Charles smiled. "Tell me, would you be willing to trade for the information?"

"Depends on what y'r offerin'."

"The files you requested. In return for the information you're gathering for me."

Remy chewed at his lip. His eyes focused somewhere beyond Scott's head. Scott could practically see the calculations happening. He settled down with the blueprints and let the rest of the conversation wash over him. He had Sentinels to defeat and a black-bag project to derail. That would mean getting Betsy and Jean on it. They were the best at convincing people to do the right thing. All they needed were one or two well-placed leaks to get the congressional backing to fail. They'd done it before.

"Deal, then, M. Charles. A pleasure t' do business wit' y'." Remy seemed pleased. His smile was small, but genuine when Scott looked up. "Glad I don't have t' work 'round M. Sheepdog's nose."

Scott's lips twitched. "M. Sheepdog?"

"Oui. M. Sheepdog. He done herded m' int' a room the other night." The thief shook his head. "Don't rightly know what he's thinkin'."

"That you're still young enough in his books to need a keeper." Scott rolled his eyes, even though the action would be wasted. Charles laughed with paternal affection.

"One must make allowances."

"He knew damn well that I was over twenty-five when he started his bullshit."

"That is still rather young for a man of Logan's likely background," Charles observed. "It's very young to me as well."

Remy shook his head. "Crazy. All of y'all. Y' talk t' M. Henri about those files. I go get the rest of what y' asked f'." He offered a hand to Scott. "Won't be 'round f' dinner." They shook. "And try gettin' a leash on M. Sheepdog, oui? Don't mind talkin' t' Henri, but I'm gonna have t' fry his balls he keeps treatin' m' like his pup."

Scott felt his smile get a little cruel. "I'll schedule a sparring session for you."

"Y' do that, cher." Remy left them with a formal nod.

"What are you asking him for, Professor?"

"We'll see how much of it he's able to procure. I don't want to give you premature information."

"Right. Any information is useful."

"Go to bed, Scott. The blueprints will still be here in the morning and you've a lovely woman waiting for you."

"She's already asleep."

"Still."

"Yes, sir." Scott gave an exaggerated salute.

"Goodnight, Scott."

"Goodnight, sir."

****

Creed lounged on one of the beds in the nondescript hotel room. LeBeau sat cross-legged on the other bed with a set of blueprints spread out on the chintz coverlet. He had a notepad of yellow legal paper on his knee for taking notes. He hadn't written much down. There were a few sketches that seemed to be relatively unconscious. "M. Chatton, y' get us some dinner?"

The older man pushed himself up. "Sure." He paused. His nostrils flared. That strange smell of ozone was back. He hadn't smelled it in nearly three months. A frown crossed his face. "Kiddo, lay down."

Gambit shot him a startled look. "Quoi?"

"Just do it."

The thief blinked, then moved his papers aside and laid down on his side, knees pulled up. "Merde. I ain't smellin' cigarettes am I?"

Remy normally smelled smoke or tasted gumdrops before his seizures started. Seemed he'd started getting complacent. "Nope." Creed settled down at his back. He wouldn't do anything but make sure Gambit didn't fall off of the bed.

"Tell le docteur the pills ain't workin'?"

"I will."

The seizure was painful to watch, but familiar. There was a reason the kid wasn't allowed out on his own. Remy's limbs jerked like a spastic puppeteer was pulling on his strings. It lasted no more than a minute. There was nothing glowing and nothing exploded. That was a move in the right direction. The red eyes were dazed and unfocussed when Creed checked him carefully. "Remy." He kept his tone soft and gentle. He didn't want to startle the young man. It took a few minutes, but eventually the young man blinked back into awareness.

"Fuck. How bad?"

"Just a minute. Nothing went boom. You need to go home?"

"Non. Jus' sleep?"

"Yeah, you sleep." Creed pulled the chintz off of his bed and spread it over the young man. He had a report to make and dinner to find.

****

"Got somethin' f' y', Charles," Remy said. He made the flash drive dance over his knuckles. "Y' got somethin' f' ole Gambit?"

The leader of the X-men nodded. He smiled. "You will need to give me a few minutes to download the information. Perhaps you'd enjoy speaking with Hank?"

The thief bit his lip. "Oui." He pocketed the drive. "We'll do the exchange soon as y' ready. Got t' make a delivery or two." He made his way down to the lower level where the lab was located. Hank was peering into a microscope. Remy perched on the lab table. He folded his legs up and made sure that his coat was carefully contained. He put a cigarette between his lips, but didn't light it. He didn't think Henri was as forgiving as M. Henri. He waited patiently.

Henri turned to fetch a new sample and jumped straight up. He automatically caught the bar that was there for him to hang from. "Ah, my dear Remy, I didn't hear you come in."

Gambit smiled wryly. "Oui, M. Henri. Remy's a quiet one. Can wait 'til y' finished. Ain't like I got somethin' important."

Hank shook his head. He smiled with bright, sharp teeth. "There is nothing in these samples that need to be looked at today. Let me store this away and we can continue with your tutoring."

"Y' willin' t' talk t' me over email, cher? I won' be stayin' too much longer." The thought of leaving to go back to Essex's lab was like a small knife sliding up along his ribs. He couldn't stay. He was done with his job and it was time to return to where he belonged.

"Of course. Make sure I give you my address before you leave. But do you truly need to leave? We could use your talents. And I always appreciate a good audience." Hank tapped his cheek thoughtfully. "I could argue to the professor that you would make a wonderful lab assistant for me. You have a good grounding in the sciences and have indicated no only the motivation, but the ability to learn."

"Y' tempt m' so, cher. Y' don't even know." Remy sighed. "We talk some. Got someplace I need t' be. Still got debts t' pay. Y' understand, non?"

Hank nodded. His eyes were compassionate. "Now, do you want to take up where we left off, or did you perhaps want to discuss something else?"

"What do y' know 'bout epilepsy?"

Hank smiled. "Let us retire to my office where we can access the articles and texts more easily."

"Oh, merde. Did I just open m'self up f' homework?"

"Oui, M. LeBeau. That you have. I'll expect a paper will be a part of our correspondence."

"Y' got such high expectations, y' gonna be disappointed."

"I will point out that I do speak French as well."

"That ain't gonna help y' none when I write it in Japanese."

Henri's laughter was bright, clear, and echoed easily off the walls.

****

"Got y' information, M. Essex. Y' want m' t' hand deliver it, or t' send it ahead?"

Sinister considered. "Send it ahead. I have a new list of information to be accessed from DC. Creed will accompany you."

There was silence on the other end of the communicator. "Oui, M.," the young man said finally. His voice was soft. "Had a seizure the other day. That why y' want M. Chat lookin' after m'?"

"Exactly. I'll have a new formulary sent to you for tomorrow. And Gambit? Try not to get too attached to the X-Men. They'll do you no good."

"Now that ole Gambit already knows."

"Don't be impertinent." Even though the sarcasm was a good sign, it wouldn't do for Gambit to forget his place.

****

DC was a busy as Remy remembered. The executive building was filled with people working late and cleaning staff. He strode through the halls with a forged badge around his neck and a messenger bag over his shoulder. A large cup of coffee in a disposable cardboard cup completed the disguise. His sunglasses were small, round and dark. His hair was neatly pulled back. He knocked sharply on the door before opening it.

"Mr. Harrison?"

The man behind the desk, looked up with a scowl on his face. His eyes were small. Their blue color was clouded by the beginnings of glaucoma. "You're late."

"My apologies. My flight was delayed." Remy's fake accent called forth the soft summers of California. "Let's sit down and discuss how we're going to solve the problem." Harrison waved to the seat in front of him. The chair was a hard-backed, red leather affair that had been rescued from some other office's redecoration. Remy leaned back in it. He set his fake coffee on the floor by his right foot. He fished out a notepad and pen.

"Talk to me, Mr. Harrison. Give me all the details."

It was like popping the cork out of a bottle of champagne. Remy took notes with one part of his mind, while the rest wandered around the office. The computer was Microsoft based. No issue there. There were passwords aplenty tucked under the keyboard. Personal photos of Harrison with various senators and VIP's littered the walls and every flat surface. The two locked file cabinets were from the eighties. He'd learned to pick those locks when he was twelve. This was almost insulting. Still, he needed access to the lists of supporters and the financials before he left the man to flounder in his own pathetic stew of hatred.

"Please take off those glasses." Harrison folded his hands with surprisingly manicured fingernails over his ample stomach. His salt and pepper toupee was barely noticeable. If it hadn't called to Remy's powers he might have missed it.

"As I informed you during our negotiations, I have had vision correction surgery and need to wear the glasses for at least a year."

Harrison's eyes narrowed. Given his own failing eyesight that had been the tipping point that had gotten Gambit the job. He didn't have to fake the interview. "How do I know you're not a mutant?"

"The same way I know that you aren't." Gambit curled his list up in a sneer. It was a calculated risk.

Harrison's back snapped straight, a scowl of distaste on his lips. "That's insulting."

"That's what I thought," Remy snapped back his sneer fading into an amused smirk. He let a tendril of his charm leak out to surround the man's suspicions. It didn't always work, but Harrison was just as easy to manipulate as the gangs of kids who used to beat him when he was too stupid to hide his eyes. "I'll wok on this tonight. I'll need your computer. What time do you plan to leave?"

"I'll be leaving at eight. If you're late, I'm locking the door."

"I'm going to get some dinner and some more coffee. Tomorrow morning I should have at least an outline of the website you want and a list of what needs to be done." The anti-mutant lobbyist nodded. He wasn't the head of the Friends of Humanity, but his views were easy to find. Remy paused at the door. "Do mutants actually apply to work for you?"

Harrison snorted. It made his jowls wobble a bit. "You'd be surprised. They're stupid enough to think they can change my mind by doing good work."

"What do you plan to do with them anyway?"

"Bullet to the back of the head would be best. But if they want to work as slaves, that could work. As long as they're contained, I don't mind. They just need to be regulated like the animals they are."

Remy tapped his chin. "Jim Crow laws?" It wasn't hard to think that a former KKK member from Arkansas might turn his brain to that solution for the "increasing mutant threat."

Harrison's smile was blinding. "You know your history. Good for you, young man."

"I'll see you at eight. I'll need you logged in, or I'll need a login with admin access to your machine."

"You'll have it."

The recorder in the coffee cup should give him a little more insight into the man, even if it did get thrown out.

****

Gambit settled on Charles' couch with a cup of tea with three scoops of sugar. "I wasn't expecting you so soon, Remy." Charles smiled. It was gentle and paternal and meant absolutely nothing.

"I t'ought y' might find some of the recent information I've come into interestin'. Just got back from DC, me."

Charles' brows rose. "Really. And what sort of information are you brokering?"

"Now, Charles, that ain't no way t' start these dealin's. We's supposed t' dance around the topic."

The older man chuckled. "Consider me properly chided for my lack of etiquette. Still, if you would?"

Gambit gave him a thin smile. "Y' too focussed on the FOH," he said bluntly. "I seen your notes and your speeches. They ain't the only ones out there and they ain't the most dangerous. Bunch of thugs, non? Y' want t' know who's fundin' y' politicians, cher?"

Charles leaned forward, his tea sloshing over the side. "And what will this cost me?"

"Reasonable fee, cher. Access t' the medical records f' Cyclops."

The professor blinked once, then twice. "Cyclops' medical records?"

"Oui." Gambit leaned back in the leather wing-back chair. He tipped his chin up, careful not to look too arrogant.

Xavier leaned back, mirroring his pose. "I will not make that decision for him," he said after a long moment of silence.

"Pas de problem." Remy shrugged. "I leave y' a number. When y' make the decision, y' call me. Now, I believe y' had a chess game y' wanted t' try?"

****

Summers was waiting for Remy when he went down to get breakfast from the front lobby. Remy gave him a short nod and went to collect some coffee and what passed for a hot breakfast. He wasn't going to complain. It was free and that amused him. He'd have killed for free breakfasts when he was a child. He set a bagel and cream cheese in front of Summers. He set to buttering his own bagel and nibbling on microwaved sausage.

"Charles said you're asking about me. What did you want?"

"Access t' y' medical file. Whatever M. Henri has on y'."

"Why?"

"Because that's what I t'ink the information I got is worth."

Scott shook his head. He pried the top off of the cream cheese and slathered the whipped spread onto one quarter of the bagel. "To whom is the information that intriguing that you're willing to buy it?"

"One of m' employers happens t' be a docteur like Henri. He's interested in energy conversion."

Scott raised exaggerated brows over his glasses. "In other words, Sinister's got a hard on for my information. Still."

Remy shuddered like a cat squirted with water. "Merde. That's a disturbin' way of phrasin' it. I ain't never seen the doc have any sort of reaction like that. Probably does, sure 'nough, but still."

The field leader of the X-men smirked. He bit down into his bagel. They ate in silence for a moment. "Fine. It's not like he couldn't get it some other way. He has my childhood records. If you could arrange to get those sent to Hank? I'd like that."

Remy blinked. "He got y' records? Why?"

"He ran the orphanage I ended up in while I was in my coma as a child."

"Mebbe ole Remy needs t' read this file too."

"Do you seriously want me to believe that he never showed you my file?"

"Non. He don't show Remy nothin' like that. Only shows him what he t'inks he needs t' know. More'n happy t' make m' work on his data entry, mind."

"Hank tried to do that to me once. I lost a bet and had to work for him for a week. He liked my technique better than Bobby's."

Remy smiled brightly. "They really a couple or non?"

"I'm not spilling that little secret. I've got money riding on it."

"Who's holdin' the pot? I got some bets t' make."

"You learn that when you decided to leave your last employer and become a full-time member of the," Scott paused for a moment, looking around the room, "teaching staff."

"That what they callin' it these days? We see. Mebbe someday. Still got debts, me."

"I'll tell Charles it's a deal. But I expect that file for Hank. And if you don't show up for dinner tomorrow, I'll send Jean and Betsy after you. Ro's been unbearable."

Remy considered for a moment. "So, mebbe, I take her out for lunch? That keep her happy and the girls away?"

Scott's smile grew. "That's perfect."

****

"Storm!" Scott called up the staircase.

"We have an intercom system," Jean stated, not looking up from her search for her missing earrings under the console table.

"I'm practicing my field voice."

"Which you don't need because I'm a telepath."

"Which I need in case you or Besty isn't with me. Storm!"

"Yes, Scott?" Ororo asked as she stepped out of the mud room.

"I whored you out to seduce Remy to our side. He's taking you to lunch." Scott smiled at her as smug as any cat. "And I expect you'll want to change. I think he's planning to take you to the museum."

Ororo raised her brows in elegant censure. "The museum I mentioned, to which wanted you to accompany me?"

"Did you? It must have slipped my mind. I did remind him that there was an exhibit that you might be interested in. Just doing my part to ensure the smooth running of the team."

"And avoid the museum."

"The guards don't like me."

"I can't imagine why," Jean murmured.

"Hey, aren't you supposed to be on my side?"

"The last time we went to a museum, you bribed three children into setting off the alarms to that you could get a closer look at a painting."

Scott grinned. "Well, with Remy, she won't have to worry about the alarms going off. I hear from Logan that he's better than that. Go on." He shooed Storm up the stairs. "You've got dirt in your hair and dried leaves in the hem of your pants."

Ororo shook her head with a fond smile. "We will not tell the others if you admit to being a romantic, Cyclops."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

//Sweetie, stop match-making.// Jean chided.

//She'll be good for him. And he already likes her or I wouldn't have been able to manipulate him into taking her to the museum. Maybe she'll get some food into him so that Hank will stop worrying about him.//

//So this is all for Hank's benefit, hmm? Why do I not buy that?//

//Because you are a bitter and cynical woman. I take full responsibility for making you that way too.//

//Well, you better make up for that, then.// She turned to him with a grin that was a little more wicked than he'd like Logan to see. He stepped forward and kissed her. She tasted of vanilla and cinnamon sugar.

//We have snickerdoodles?//

//No cookies for you until you stop match-making.//

//Promise. No more match-making projects.//

Jean pulled away and narrowed her eyes at him. "There's a loophole there, but I'm going to let you get away with it. Come on. I think Hank left some coffee."

****

"Bonjour, chere," Remy smiled and offered Ororo a purple orchid. She smiled and placed it behind one ear. His smile broadened. He offered his arm. "Y' chariot awaits, chere." A simple rental car stood in front of the mansion. He escorted her to the passenger's side and opened the door for her.

"Thank you," she said. He winked at her as he closed the door.

"Now, ole Remy gets the impression that Scotty didn't want t' go t' the museum wit' y'."

Ororo laughed. Her voice was musical. It was a beautiful sound. Remy could admire it like any artist. Mentally, he noted that honesty was the best way to win her to his side. If he were sleeping with her M. Sheepdog's nose would become a null point. He'd be expected to be in the house and the air vents would carry his scent throughout the house. It was something to consider if Charles didn't continue to meet his price. "Last time we attended a show, our innocent leader bribed children to cause a diversion. His wife is convinced that he merely wanted a closer look at a few of the more crowded paintings."

Remy blinked once, then twice. "What did he really want, then?"

"There was a miniature painting about the size of an index card of a lovely red-head from the Regency period. It's come to my attention that it was not removed for conservation."

Remy shook his head. "Well, well, y' learn somethin' new each day. And what part did y' play in this, chere?"

"Me? I have no idea what you're implying." She gave him a sly smile. She had to know full well that Remy was a thief. She was the second in command.

"I might, perhaps have unlocked the cabinet for him and distracted his fiancee."

"Oh, chere, what beautiful mischief we could create. If only." He shook his head. "But y' seem t' be attached t' them."

"They are my family." Her voice was quiet. She sat, serene as a deep lake as he took the corners a bit too quickly to get them into the city proper.

The admission didn't hurt exactly, but he didn't like it either. He wasn't looking to replace a family. He'd lost that opportunity when he was run out of town for fighting to protect his wife. "Forget what's that like, me," he admitted. She placed a fine-fingered hand on his arm. The traces of dirt under her fingernails and the small chips to her nail polish made him think of his Tante Mattie. He gave her a small smile, just to ease her sympathy. "And what shall we get for lunch, then?"

****

"I see you retrieved the medical information. How is the rest of your shopping list?" Sinister enquired. He was focussed on the reports in front of him rather than the conversation. Gambit would return in due time. As long as he continued to obey and the new formulary worked, there was no reason to not let him play at the end of his leash.

"Got most of the stuff from DC. And there be some interestin' directions f' funding. Might be able t' divert it y'r way."

That caught his attention. "Explain."

"Got worms in the system now. Got more'n just the lobbyist while I was there. More'n just anti-mutant lobbies out there. Got plenty of congressional idiots, non? Well, most of 'em don't know what the hell's in those pretty black bags of money. So, Gambit's got a few ideas. Already got a bit of legal grant money comin' in, non? Did that t'ree mont's ago when y' was worried about m' tryin' t' walk cross the street wit'out Scrambler holdin' m' hand."

"I could send him out to babysit if you find that Creed is not to your liking." It was a mild reproof, but had the expected effect.

"Non, M. That's okay. Remy's fine. Had a t'ought while I was talkin' t' M. Bete."

"Yes?"

"What y' done cut out of m' head. Y' notice it's near where Cyclops had his damage, non?"

Sinister's brows rose. "And you think there may be a correlation?"

"Mebbe. Got t' talk t' Henri a bit more, I t'ink. Make sure I understand what he's been sayin' 'bout Summers."

"Get a current MRI of the man and I'll assist you with the analysis."

"Merci, M. Essex. I get t' work on the fundin'?"

"Yes. You have carte blanche for funding. So long as you stay out of trouble. If you have another seizure, I'll have Creed bring you back to base."

There was silence on the other end of the line. "Oui, M. Do I got t' come right after?"

Sinister felt a smirk on his lips. "Of course, you may come after a nap. If it's severe, however, I assume that you will seek Dr. McCoy's assistance."

"Oh, oui. Y' won't be mad wit' Remy, he does that?"

"I would rather have you alive, old son. You're much more useful that way."

"Merci." The sarcasm meant the conversation was finished on Gambit's end.

"I expect your reports once a week. If you miss a call, I will retrieve you."

"Oui, M. Essex. Bon nuit."

"Good night."

****

Remy squinted at the colorful pictures on the screen. "So, this is the brain activity in Shadowcat when she's phasin'? How'n the hell did y' get that t' measure. T'ought anythin' she touched phased with her."

"Very true, but that does not mean that things fail to work. She can phase a computer while it's still on and not affect its function."

"Impressive." He frowned at the picture. "I'm guessin' there's nothin' in M. Sheepdog's brain when he's healin'?"

"No, he does not have active control over his healing abilities. In fact, his brain is normal, even when he is extending and retracting his claws."

"Somethin' in the place that activates muscles and no where else?"

"Correct."

"How 'bout you when y' comin' up with your ideas?"

"I have never been on the other side of the study," Hank admitted with a smile. "Can I convince you to assist me in my studies?"

Remy narrowed his eyes. "How 'bout we work out a trade. I help y' wit' y' research, y' help m' with an idea I got 'bout Scott and me's powers?"

Hank sat up straighter. He fixed his glasses. He frowned. "Scott has consented to your appropriation of his medical records, much to my dismay. So, that's not an issue. Yes, I will help you. But, if we find anything interesting. I will be the secondary author. Sinister will be tertiary."

Remy blinked, slightly awed. "Y' sayin' that I'd be primary author?"

"Yes."

He scowled. "But y'll want m' t' do the writin' and the data entry, non?"

"That is the function of a collaborative paper." Hank's smile was a little toothy.

"I spent near unto t'ree years avoidin' goin' t' college. Now y' and Essex both be pushin' it. Why?"

"You've expressed interest. I'm merely supporting that. Besides, it will be good for me not to be publishing on my own. It makes the professor believe that I am anti-social when I don't reach out to new colleagues."

"Y' got any grant fundin' in place? Got a few contacts me. Remy's good at convincing folks t' give him money."

"I would never refuse a new grant. So long as it is not from the Friends of Humanity."

"That y' only restriction?"

"Or any other anti-mutant groups."

"Bien. Okay, so I was t'inkin' 'bout how I finally got control of m' powers."

****

Ororo smiled when Remy settled next to her at dinner. His hair was slipping out of its pony-tail holder. He looked vaguely shell-shocked. "I take it that Hank will be joining us for dinner?"

"Mebbe. If'n his brain stops workin' f' a few. That man never sleep?"

"Not that I have seen."

"Merde. Worse'n V on speed." He shook his head. "Y' show m' y' greenhouse after dinner, non?" He looked through his bangs at her.

"I would love to share my greenhouse with you. Perhaps you can assist me with the cross-pollination project. I would like an artist's eye to look at the colors."

"Oui, chere." He gave her hand a light pat, then retreated into his own space. It looked like a learned behavior, rather than a preference to her eye. She reached out and placed her hand on his wrist. He did not pull back. His brows furrowed slightly, as if the action confused him. He placed his other hand over hers for just a moment. When he pulled it away, there was a queen of hearts sitting there. She carefully tucked it into her top. His eyes lingered at her breast where the card was safely hidden away in her bra.

Logan snorted. "Hey, Gumbo."

"Oui, M. Sheepdog?" Remy answered sweetly.

"You hurt her or get her pregnant without consent, I'll carve ya into little pieces and feed ya to the feral dogs in the city."

Remy blinked. "Oui, Logan. I hear y'. That before or after Summers breaks every bone in m' body?"

"After. Easier to cut ya up if he does the hard work."

"What hard work? I hit him with a couple of blasts and job done. Take me about thirty seconds. Then he's all yours." Scott closed the magazine and tucked it under the side of his plate. Rogue and Jubilee joined them shortly with plates of steaming food. "Oh, and Gambit? If you start sleeping in Ro's room? Expect chores to follow shortly."

Remy snorted. "I ain't one of y' team, Scott. What I do wit' Ororo is m' own business." He looked up at her through his lashes. "Besides. I got a hotel room wit' two beds. She wants t' get out of this madhouse, I got plenty of room."

Jubilee blushed. "Okay, enough of that. I have to look at you all tomorrow. So just stop the insinuations. Unless you're planning to get Logan to back down and not threaten my boyfriend."

"Logan and Scott just threatened Remy," Ororo informed her. "I doubt that we will be able to break them of the habit by the end of the meal."

"Too bad. He scared the last one so badly he had to see a counselor."

"Then he wasn't good 'nough for ya. You would've laughed in my face."

"And have," she confirmed. The conversation drifted on to different topics once Hank and Bobby joined them. Ororo was pleased by the fact that Remy moved closer to her as the meal continued. They shared a slice of the sinfully rich chocolate pie that was Jubilee's specialty.

****

Remy dropped onto his bed at two in the morning. Creed grunted from the other side of the room. "Jesus, kid. What did you do? Fall into a perfume vat?"

"Had sex in a greenhouse."

"Huh. I'm proud of ya. Been a long time since ya bothered to hook up. How you feel?"

"Tired. Like I just got finished runnin' a marathon. Gonna sleep late t'morrow."

Creed grunted again. "Got my own shit to do. If I ain't here when you get up, I'll see ya by the end of the week. Don't go get yerself skewered by Logan."

"Oui, M. Chatton." Remy made his voice as sweet and light as a child's.

"I'd throw somethin' at ya, but I ain't the teenage girl in this room."

"Oh, fuck y'self, cher."

Creed snorted. "So, which one did ya trip?"

"Storm."

"Nice. Her legs as powerful as they look?"

"Oui. And she got these fingers that don't look powerful, but I'm bettin' I'm gonna have bruises t'morrow. Wolverine's gonna smell us all through the house. Given how much time I been spendin' with McCoy, m' scent's got t' be all over the place. I should have the programming data and the plot of the underground by the end of the month."

He lifted his head and smirked at the other man. Creed smirked back at him.

****

Logan raised his brows at the young marauder who was standing outside the mansion looking up at the roof with a frown. "What is it?"

"That's Stormy's window, non?"

Logan looked up, tracking the pointing finger. "Yup. Why?"

Gambit smirked at him. "Plannin' t' surprise her. Y' ain't seen me, non?"

Logan shook his head. "Don't do anything stupid, kid."

The young man showed him the array of gardening magazines. "Nothin' too much. And mebbe there's a necklace tucked inside one of 'em and mebbe not."

The Canadian chuckled. He lit his cigar. "I ain't seen ya." He shook his head and headed for the woods. He didn't see the quick, sharp smile flash across Remy's face. When he looked back the young man had scaled the house and was almost to the skylight window that opened into Storm's greenhouse.

****

Remy peered at the data that Sinister had sent him. "Looks like this is all of it, cher. Told him it was f' my own project." He offered the file to Scott. "This is a copy. M. Essex got the original. Deals with as much of what's wrong wit' y' head as possible. Didn't know he had y' so young." He shuddered.

Scott snorted. "I know. Annoying thought. Makes me wonder what he did when I was in that coma. That's for sure."

"Should all be in here. He don't censor hisself. Now, I got a meetin' with Henri. Got some ideas on where the location of energy manipulation control is. Got Harpooner's MRI from the last time M. Essex done work on him too."

"Harpooner?" Scott scowled. "Is that the son-of-a-bitch with the projectile weapons that blow up?"

"Oui. Bio-kinetic charge like ole Remy. Here tell y'all got another one who t'rows explodin' t'ings in England?"

"Pete. Huh. I'll talk to Moira and Pete and see if they're willing to share data. This is only because Hank's supervising you."

Remy pouted. "T'ink it's the only reason I ain't been called back t' base. M. Essex respects M. Bete's opinions." He shrugged. It was a carelessly graceful gesture. "Figure M. Bete wants the information too, he's just nicer 'bout askin' f' it. He don't expect Remy t' understand what he wants wit'out explanations."

Scott studied the young thief. "You feeling okay? You're looking a little pale."

Remy blinked at him. "Mais. A little hungry mebbe. Won't hurt m'."

"Come on. Let's get you a snack before you faint on Hank. He forgets to eat and he'll forget to let you eat too." Scott strode toward the kitchen. He didn't look back to see if the other man was following him. Remy let himself be carried along by the man's self-assurance. It was comfortable; like it was with Crow.

"Don't know 'bout that. Seems he's tryin' t' fatten ole Remy up." And wasn't that the truth. The doctor seemed to insist that Remy wasn't eating enough when gods knew he was eating like a hummingbird.

"There's leftovers in the fridge. And there's HoHo's in the pantry. Don't try to keep Twinkies in the house. Bobby and Hank are addicted to them."

"Right, cher. So, good bribe f' Henri is Twinkies?" He ought to get the doctor a thank-you of some sort. Sinister would never let him stay in New York without a babysitter if Hank hadn't been close by. The small freedom of having a hotel room to himself was worth a box of Twinkies at least. "Where's the best grocery?"

****

It was well after midnight when Remy curled up on the first bed in the med-lab for a few minutes. Lethargy pulled at his limbs and his eyelids were so heavy that he had to close them for a few minutes. The antiseptic smell didn't burn his nose the way it usually did. The sounds of typing were like white noise. The sheets and pillow were a nice change and smelled faintly like starch and laundry detergent. He needed to change his sheets at base. Maybe he could get whatever nice lavender they used. He didn't notice slipping from wakefulness to sleep. He frowned in his sleep as someone smoothed a warm blanket over him, but Essex had occasional bouts of fussing, so he didn't wake.

The smell of fresh coffee awoke him. He blinked to clear his eyes. "I didn't mean to wake you," Hank said from his place at his desk.

"Don't y' never sleep, Henri? Ain't healthy f' a growin' boy like y'." Remy chided the doctor. He rubbed at his eyes.

"You can go back to sleep."

"Ain't tired."

"And yet, you look like a child that's pushed himself beyond bedtime. Take off you boots and coat and settle back down. I'll turn down the lights."

"Don't strain y' eyes."

Hank chuckled. "Go to sleep, Remy. I'll wake you for breakfast."

"It's four o'clock or there abouts?"

"Yes."

"F'got t' take m' meds last night. Day once a day, so four hours ain't a big issue, right?"

"You should be fine."

Remy popped the pill into his mouth and dry swallowed it. He frowned at the bitter after-taste. It was better than what happened when he tasted licorice though. He toed his boots off. The fell with solid thunks onto the floor. He curled back up under the blanket. He didn't fall back to sleep immediately. He listened to Hank's typing and the soft humming under his breath. It was some old folk-song that Remy half-remembered from childhood. A single tear ran down the side of his face. He didn't want to go back to the Seattle base and run errands for Sinister, but he couldn't stay here. Not once he stole the information he was truly after. Xavier would never sell it and if he didn't steal it, Creed would gut him and leave him to die in the alley behind the hotel.

****

Breakfast came and went without Hank's attention. That wasn't unusual, so no one came down to find him. A soft whimper of distress broke his concentration. "M. Henri?" Remy murmured. He had his eyes shut. "Recon y' already figured out Remy has seizures from when Miss Jeannie stolt one of m' pills. T'ing is, I think I'm on the verge right now."

Hank crossed the room in one bound. "Let me get your coat off. Do you have any necklaces on?"

"Non." Remy pushed himself up and let the doctor help him get rid of the long duster. He didn't open his eyes.

"Can you tell me your triggers?"

"I ain't never charted it. Normally, M. Chat can tell by smell. I taste anise. Like white gumdrops specifically. And sometimes I smell smoke. And I ain't been out back and M. Sheepdog's not here."

"I'll stay with you. Is there anything that helps during your recovery time?"

"Jus' stay near? Don't know where I is most times and I'm always so tired."

"Of course." Hank pulled a chair close. The seizure lasted nearly two minutes. When it was done, Hank fetched a damp washcloth. "Remy, I'm going to clean you up a bit, okay? I promise I won't do anything without telling you."

****

Sinister frowned at the phone. "LeBeau?" It wasn't time for his check-in, but he was the only Marauder with the direct office number.

"M. Essex?" The thief sounded young, tired. "Had another seizure me. M. Henri wants t' run tests afore he let's m' go." His words were sloppy, slurred.

"Put Dr. McCoy on the phone and take your nap, Remy." He softened his voice. The boy was usually scrambled after his seizures. Essex had been using that to advantage to place the suggestion of affection.

"Oui, M. Essex."

"Sinister? This is Beast."

"Dr. McCoy, I would like to approach this as colleagues. Please call me Essex. Or Nathaniel."

"Essex, then." McCoy's voice was soft. "Let me move to the office so I can talk without disturbing our young man."

****

"Y' want m' t' what?" Remy scowled into the phone.

"Follow McCoy's regime and start using the old formulary. You still have the bottle, I trust?"

"Oui, M. Essex." Remy fished the older bottle of pills from his coat. "Got fifteen or so left."

"McCoy will be able to formulate them should you run out. I expect daily check-ins."

"I ain't stayin' in this madhouse."

McCoy shot him an amused smile.

"You will do as you are told or I will remove you to the lab immediately."

Remy winced. "D'accord." Essex hung up. Remy took a moment before he turned off his phone. "I t'row myself on y' mercy, M. Henri."

The doctor chuckled. "Come on. We're going up to talk to Scott and the professor."

"Ain't y' supposed t' do that before y' start collaboratin' with the enemy?" Remy muttered. McCoy guided him with a warm hand in the small of his back. The off-hand gesture made something twinge in the thief's chest. The Marauders didn't touch. Oh, Creed might occasionally pet him when he was making sure Remy wasn't too scrambled, and Lorna would occasionally stroke his hair when he had nightmares and she'd stayed the night. But just gentle and affectionate touches for no reason? No, they didn't do that. Fists, and feet during sparring sessions maybe. Remy didn't know what to think about Hank's touch. Did he actually have an ulterior motive? It didn't seem like something the doctor would do just to make Remy trust him more or give up secrets. Then again, Essex had just turned him over. Maybe this was just how McCoy treated his lab projects. He shoved the ideas into a small mental box and locked it. He'd look at the thoughts later. Right now, he was heading into the office of a telepath and he needed his wits about him.

****

Their new pet Marauder was smoking on the back deck. He was staring dully out at the back yard. Logan joined him. The younger man didn't react when he was joined on the swing. "Nice night," Logan remarked.

Gambit snorted, a bit of smoke trailing out of his nose like a dragon. "Y' got better'n that."

Logan chuckled. "Hank likes ya. Storm likes ya. Jubilee likes ya. I think ya got in over yer head with Sinister and probably don't even know that ya don't want to be workin' for him."

"Y' got a lot of faith in what y' t'ink."

"Tell me I ain't right."

Gambit was quiet and Logan let him sit with the thought. He lit up his own cigar. "Don't know what I want," he said finally, voice barely above a breath. "Been numb so long. Essex got a plan with Henri. So I got t' stay."

Logan very carefully, telegraphing his move, put an arm around the kid's shoulders. Gambit stiffened, but didn't pull away. His head dropped and he looked at Logan out of the corner of his eye. Logan just held on until the younger man's posture softened. He pulled gently until Gambit shifted toward him. "I wish I could tell ya that it'll all work out, but I can't," Logan told him. "All I can tell ya is that yer welcome to stay. And I'll happily carve Creed up into bits like a woodchipper."

That got Logan a rusty laugh. Gambit put a hand to his cheek. "Ah fuck." He wiped at his face, clearing away the tears there. "Can y' pretend y' ain't seein' this?"

"That's my plan about most emotional shit, kiddo." Logan didn't let go, even as the thief pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around them before pressing his face to his knees.

****

"Henri, y' very sweet. Y' very kind. Y' very smart, but Remy ain't gonna be livin' in the lab wit' y'." Remy gave Hank his best puppy dog eyes.

Hank smiled gently. "Of course not. I expect you and Ororo will need some time together."

"Mais." Remy twitched a bit, pulling at the edge of his shirt.

"I do expect to see you ever day though. And I want you to start keeping a diary."

Remy rubbed at the side of his face. "What information y' lookin' for?"

"Physical activity. Food. Drinks. Number of cigarettes. General mood. Charted through the day. Also, when you take your pills."

"Right. Standard lab track plus emotional shit and cigarettes. Got it."

"And I expect you to do your homework," Hank added.

"And homework," Remy confirmed. "Startin' now?"

"Yes."

TBC

Back to the Meteora Page

Back to the XM Bedroom