A/N: It comes out of nowhere, strikes without warning: the urge to write a Gambit-centric short story when a) I have several projects going, fanfic-related and otherwise, and 2) the only time I've ever written about him before was, very briefly, in Peace of Mind. And I didn't even get inside his head there (even though one of my characters tried!). In retrospect, it would seem that I have kind of a thing about Remy LeBeau and mind control. Anyway, enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Men. Credit for this fic goes to Rogue31; the final scene of her story "A Walk in the Park" inspired me to write this.
Footsteps sounded on the ground behind him. Remy LeBeau whipped out a card and charged it without hesitation.
"At ease, comrade." Piotr Rasputin, called Colossus when he was in organic-steel glory but who was in his conventional flesh-and-blood form now, held up a hand.
"Sorry."
"As Magneto would say, your training has paid off.," Piotr said with a smile. "It is a quiet night, yes?"
"Oui."
"You are in charge, Gambit," Piotr told him. "I am going inside."
Remy barely nodded.
Colossus' endurance came in handy when any one of their stronger enemies seemed to be getting too close. Sabretooth and Pyro were happy to oblige whenever Magneto would settle for random destruction. (Which, unfortunately, was often.) And Quicksilver was trusted with nothing more nor less than keeping those delinquents in Bayville from destroying everything the Brotherhood had worked for… or, more likely, from destroying each other. Spineless, arrogant little daddy's boy had been Remy's take on young Monsieur Maximoff before the two had even met.
The boy was superhumanly fast, but had trouble standing still for very long and was anything but subtle in his actions (except when it came to selling out his friends, a move that his new teammates all had a grudging respect for). Yet when you were hoping to stop a potential breach of Acolyte security before it started, subtlety was key. A near-lifetime of thieving on the streets of New Orleans had given Remy that knowledge and the skills that came with it, not to mention almost clairvoyant reflexes and a keen eye for bounty. Hence, he had been assigned to permanent nighttime sentry duty. Magneto never seemed to care what his disciples wanted or cared for, and so he would not have changed his mind even if Remy was unhappy with his "position."
But he was not unhappy. He enjoyed solitude, something to focus on, and the exhilaration that came from tracking potential intruders. True, he rarely got to indulge that last; he thought sometimes that the night watch was next to unnecessary (and wouldn't the boss love to hear that, he thought as he paced the ground in the shadow of the gate). The building was hidden from prying Homo sapiens eyes, and he doubted that any of the X-Men knew where their new base of operations was located. Relocating after Nightcrawler had broken in had been a minor inconvenience. Better safe than sorry. Remy would not have protested if he had wanted to.
What makes me so loyal to him? It was a question he tried not to ask. Although human beings had not been kind to him over the years (with the exception of Jean-Luc, whom he'd once been foolish enough to view as a father), but there was nothing in them for Remy to hate. He had no idea whether it was the same for the others. Unlike those fool X-Men, who cringed when humanity looked their way and most-likely engaged in heart-to-hearts at the slightest excuse and less of an opportunity, the true soldiers for the future of mutantkind knew better to make sentimental connections. They didn't think, they didn't talk, they just did, even when temptation reared… what was the expression? Reared its ugly head, that was it, and especially when temptation had two-toned hair and smoldering green eyes.
He didn't know what it was about that girl. He didn't even know her real name, and had exchanged one longer-than-necessary period of eye-contact (during a battle, no less) and a few words with her, yet her face seemed to pop into his mind at the most inappropriate moments. On both occasions, he had almost been able to taste her feisty determination and… here was something else he couldn't find a name for. It was certainly more that dissatisfaction with her place in the conflict, but not quite a yearning for something more. Those and other emotions had hung around her like an aura, and they said more than words ever possibly could.
Yet he knew it could never go beyond a flirtatious smile and a "Cherie" tossed over his shoulder in her direction. Aware that Avalanche had once actually switched sides in order to be closer to the girl he fancied, Remy was in no mood to go into any silly Romeo and Juliet routine with Rogue. In his wildest dreams, dreams he could barely admit to himself that he was having, much less to the others, he could not imagine how it could possibly end well. It was ridiculous, really. He barely knew her.
And even if they hadn't been fighting on opposite sides, he had all the faith in the world in his ability to charm a girl, but was not so sure of his ability to open up to her, to trust her, to… No. He would not let himself think that word. Not about her. Not about anyone.
Pursuing domination of humanity satisfied his thrill for the hunt. The power that had been promised him, that even appealed to him on a gut level, was his bounty. Yes, that must be it. That must be why.
Nothing he set his sights on had ever escaped him. Ever.
In the next second, all thoughts of Rogue, Magneto, the other Acolytes, and his own past, were driven from him.
The attack didn't come from in front of him, or behind, or from the side, or from above. It came from inside, and it took him completely by surprise. Invisible hands seized his brain, tore at his thoughts, held on tight and wouldn't let go. It was invasive, worse than painful, it reached into the center of his consciousness where no one but him was ever supposed to be able to touch. He grabbed his head and swore, not sure whether he was speaking French or English, trying to build up the defenses that would keep the likes of Xavier out. But he wasn't locking himself away from this presence that had latched onto him like a bloodthirsty leech. He was locking himself in with it.
Stop struggling, swamp rat. I am in control now.
His mind seemed to rebel against him, rejecting his own thought-patterns in favor of whoever or whatever this was. As unexpected tears of fear and exertion blurred his sight, he caught sight of a tall, dark-cloaked figure standing a few feet away from him.
Standing, he thought hazily. So it's not Xavier, after all. He closed his eyes, shutting out the image, shutting out the night, shutting out everything.
When he opened them, the figure was still watching him. Everything seemed sharper, clearer, easier to understand, easier to conquer.
Gambit stood and awaited his instructions.
!!