Disclaimer: Standard don't own anything but my own imagination, etc, etc.

Stockholm Syndrome

A X-Men Fanfiction

Written by RogueMoon

Chapter One

::: :::

"Day four. Cold. Never been colder. Louisiana Bayou boy chillin' in th' Antarctic. Go figure. An' whose fault is it you're in this mess? Your own an' you know it. Can't even get the power to come back on. No lights. No heat. An' did I mention--no food?! Glass is half full, plenty of water, just wedge some ice under my armpit until it melts. Wouldn' want my legacy t' be nothin' but whinin', after all...an' what will my legacy be? A life of takin' things. Stealin'. But never buildin' anything. No real friendships. No lasting loves. And family? Any family that didn' betray me...I ended up betrayin'. No chance t'tell them how sorry I am. No guts t' tell them when I had the chance. Woe is me.

I really hate the morose Gambit.

Let him die here, figuratively, if not literally."

- Gambit's Recorded Journal; Annual Gambit 1999

::: :::

It was a steady beep, annoying in its consistency, that first stirred him from his rest. Other sounds slowly filtered into his ears, all of them muffled. A low chorus of noise that eerily reminded him of hospitals and laboratories. His breathing somehow the loudest, like the lead vocals of a haunting tune made to make a man shiver.

He didn't like hospitals. Hated laboratories more. Some sort of mask was covering his head, pressing into the skin of his face along his cheeks. He tried to move, open his eyes. Only darkness, blank and absolute greeted him.

It occurred to him that he was floating. This thought was followed by a sharp pang of dread. A laboratory, and he had the worst feeling that he knew who it belonged to.

He was less groggy now, not quite wide awake, but his head was clear enough to think. He tried to move his arms, realized they were strapped against his chest in some sort of straight jacket. Smart move on the part of whoever had him. His legs bound together at the ankles and knees.

He could hear the sloshing of liquid as he shook his body. Strange how he didn't feel it against his skin. Meant he had been in it long enough to become acclimated.

He heard a tapping nearby, echoing around him. He tried to orientate his head toward it. The mask over his eyes, making him blind, becoming more irritating by the second.

"Ah. You are awake," the voice echoed through him, conducted by the liquid. He knew that voice and his worst fears were confirmed. "That's good. You've taken longer to recover than I had originally anticipated. I do apologize for the accommodations, but I only have so much space and a desire to not have my equipment blown up on me."

He hoped the man could feel his glare through the mask.

"Don't look at me like that, LeBeau, I saved your life. You owe me," a rumbling chuckle, almost sounded like he was telling a joke. "And you did say you'd be willing to deal with me once more."

The sound of a click, and then his own voice, weak and desperate and delirious, filtered into his ears, "-ast room... Haven't been able t'get into...maybe somethin' there... Food--a plane--anythin' be nice about now... Make a deal wit' th'devil himself at this point..."

The fear and dread dropped like a brick to the pit of his stomach, tightening the muscles, making him nauseous.

"I told you I'd be there when you needed me," Sinister's baritone echoed again. "And I wasn't lying, Remy. I've kept my promise. If you agree to be amiable and not blow anything up, I'll let you out now."

Gambit nodded slowly. The Devil had found him, heard his plea, and saved him. He was indebted once more. Despite the feelings curling and twisting inside him, he didn't allow himself to feel shame or guilt. It was better than being dead and at least he knew if he cooperated for the time being, he'd be treated well. Well enough, anyway.

He felt the liquid draining around him, leaving him chilled as the air hit his wet skin. He no longer floated, was suspended by something, probably cables. Then he felt himself being lowered, feet slowly pressing against the slick floor. The bindings around his legs released first so he could get his balance.

He waited patiently as the cables or whatever it was that had been suspending him were detached, followed by the breathing mask.

"Close your eyes."

It was the only warning he received before the blinder was removed. He kept his eyes shut while the bindings on the straight jacket were released and the sleeves pulled off. A large, soft towel was wrapped around him and Sinister began rubbing his arms through it, warming him, helping circulation as he began to shiver uncontrollably, his body finally reacting to the change in temperature, the system shock setting in.

Strong arms were open to him and he leaned into the doctor as his knees began to give out. He couldn't hold his own weight any longer and he wondered how long he'd gone without muscle stimulation. Sinister said nothing as he accepted the Cajun and hugged the man to him, hands continuing to rub his body through the towel, keeping him as warm as possible. The action was, thankfully, clinical despite what he imagined it looked like.

The doctor picked him up after several minutes, holding Remy tucked against his broad chest. Gambit kept his eyes closed, not daring to open them. He wasn't sure he'd be able to handle the light yet if he couldn't even stand. He felt himself placed on a hard surface and concluded that it was probably an examination table. The towel was secured more firmly around him, covering his chest and tucked under his sides. A second, heavier cloth settled over him and was also tucked against him, making him feel like he was wrapped in a cocoon. A blissfully warm cocoon.

His head was lifted and a soft pillow pushed under it as another towel settled over his head and Sinister began drying his hair with gentle but firm motions. Remy could almost imagine he was getting a spa treatment. He smirked and chuckled involuntarily at that.

"Is something I'm doing amusing to you, LeBeau?" Essex inquired mildly.

Remy's body shook with more laughter, "Jus' had a thought is all. Chez Diable Noir for all your surgical and pamperin' needs. Specializin' in scalp massage and removal."

Sinister didn't reply but Gambit got the feeling that the doctor was now sharing his smile. Eventually the hands and towel disappeared from his head, only to be replaced with another, drier one.

"You may open your eyes now. The cloth should filter the light enough not to cause too much discomfort," Essex's voice sounded further away than it should and Remy realized he was feeling very tired. He nodded, the towel moving with him, but didn't open his eyes. He was nearly asleep again, no point in opening them now. The sounds of the lab faded in his ears as oblivion over took him once more. This time it was welcomed.

::: :::

When he next woke he was in a proper bed, blankets wrapped around him and his body was curled in on itself. Fetal position. It was how he learned to sleep on the streets, a safe way of keeping a body to itself and warm and protected. It was hard habit to break, even when he was in his own bed and knew he wasn't in any danger. But it left him sore and needing to stretch out.

Remy pushed weakly at the cloth over him, surprised at how heavy it felt and how hard it was to move. He felt as bad as he had when he first woke from the coma Rogue's kiss had put him in and it made his mind wander back to the thoughts about how long he'd been in Sinister's care.

Maybe he had actually died and this body of his was a clone like the most of the Marauders. The thought dismissed itself because Sinister kept better care of his specimens. They left their growing pods in perfect health and with a disposition of absolute loyalty to the doctor. Gambit was clearly not in perfect health and he certainly felt no loyalty to Essex. Some grudging appreciation for the rescue, and bitterness that it had been him and not the X-Men that found him, but no loyalty.

He should of known better than to think the X-Men would try to rescue him, but his heart wanted so badly to believe that they were his friends. That they would still accept him back and give him another chance. That he hadn't burned all his bridges with them, with Rogue, with Storm. His Stormy.

The door opened and he realized he hadn't even noticed that there was a door until that moment. Sinister stepped through, not closing it behind him as he approached the bed with a metal box in his hands, "Glad to see you awake once more. You worried me some when you fell asleep so soon after being released. It's been less than a day since then."

Gambit nodded, eyes half lidded in exhaustion from the previous effort to move the coverings.

"I need to check your vitals and then you need to sit up and try to eat some solid food," The doctor continued, pushing on Remy's shoulder, rolling him onto his back. He stripped the blankets away from the Cajun's body to gain access to his arm. His fingers gripped the thin wrist lightly, taking his pulse.

Gambit felt like he was at a regular doctor's office for a physical. A small pen light was shone into both eyes and he was asked to follow a finger, then say how many fingers were being held up. His heart and lungs were listened to while he took deep breaths. His throat looked at while he said 'ah'. He shivered a bit from the feel of the air on him. It was still too cold.

Sinister helped him sit up and wrapped one of the blankets around his shoulders before allowing him to lean back against the wall. Out of the box came a small tray of food and the smell set Gambit's stomach rumbling. He was suddenly very aware of how hungry he was.

He couldn't even lift the fork long enough to get a bite from the tray to his mouth. Essex ended up taking the utensil from him and feeding him after Remy's third attempt to do so. The Cajun accepted the treatment, not allowing himself to feel pity at over it. The doctor certainly didn't seem to care and he definitely wasn't being insulting or rude about it. The feeling of detachment more welcome than outright concern would have been.

Remy wondered if the X-Men would have been so kind about it were they the ones having to take care of him during his recovery. Beast's face at the trial appeared in his mind; so shocked and appalled. He didn't think they would.

Gambit did his best to chew the food placed in his mouth, eyes sliding shut so he didn't have to waste the effort of looking at anything. Just let his mouth fall open after he swallowed and wait until the next tiny bite was placed against his tongue. Close his mouth and pull the morsel off the fork with his teeth as the utensil was pulled out.

It was almost like being babied by Tante Mattie when he had a cold as teenager. He smiled at the memory, mouth falling open again. The difference being that Tante's food had kick and, of course, he would have been in his own bed back home.

He didn't have a home anymore.

Remy pushed the thought away, focusing on his memories of Tante taking care of her precious little trickster. Nursing him back to health. Hugging him and rocking him to sleep. He wondered if Sinister would do that if he asked him to. He laughed at the idea, almost choking on the food in his mouth.

"I am certain that whatever you are thinking of is quite entertaining, but you really do need to concentrate on finishing this meal," Sinister's voice held only an edge of annoyance, inconvenience at the outburst.

"Desole," Remy murmured back, opening his mouth obediently for the next bite. He didn't know how long they sat there like that. But he knew it had to be a while, the doctor was feeding him very slowly. Gambit understood the reasoning. It was so his body wouldn't reject the food from eating too quickly. So he didn't throw up and cause more harm to himself.

He heard the fork clatter softly against the tray and the cool steel moved off his lap. Sinister's hands were on his shoulders, pulling him forward. Remy didn't resist, he was really far too tired to do so. But he did feel better now that he had eaten. The doctor helped him lay back down and tucked the blankets back around him. He was asleep again before Essex had finished packing his equipment into the box.

::: :::

The soft click of metal on metal roused him a third time and he was just aware enough to open his eyes as Sinister was leaving the room, door sliding shut behind him. Slightly confused, Remy looked around him and spied a metal covered tray on a small table in the corner opposite the door. He didn't remember the table being there before, or the chair next to it.

With considerable effort he pushed the blankets away enough to sit up and put his feet on the floor. He didn't like that such small actions left him breathing so heavily. Taking a few moments to catch his breath and push away the dizzy feeling, Remy slipped off the bed, stumbling the short distance to fall into the chair. Blankets hanging haphazardly from his all too thin frame.

It took several more minutes of heavy breathing and leaning against the wall before he had the strength to sit up enough to eat. The lid was flipped off the tray with little regard and it went clattering to the floor, the sound sharp and harsh. He winced, covering his ears until the echo of the lid faded away. It was like having a hangover and he didn't much like it.

By the time he got a small amount of the chopped meat, chicken from the looks of it – maybe pork, onto his fork, hunger was biting at him. Gambit had to be careful as he lifted the utensil to his mouth. His hand was shaking from the effort and he worried that if he tried to move any faster he'd just drop the food on the floor. And while the room was guaranteed to be sanitary, he didn't much like the idea of eating off the cold steel like a dog. It might exhaust him, but he was going to eat like the person he was.

Remy didn't realize he had fallen asleep at the table until a hand shook his shoulder. His eyes blinked open and he shivered from the onslaught of the cool air, the blanket having slipped off him at some point.

Sinister's fingers gripped his chin lightly and lifted his head. He got the feeling the man was examining his eyes, carefully noting his reaction time, he couldn't focus enough to be sure. The hand left his chin and lifted the dropped fork, stabbing into some food, "Open your mouth."

Remy did as he was told and the meat was placed against his tongue. He let his eyes shut and Sinister's hand laced through his hair, pulling sharply, forcing his eyes open from the pain, "Do not close your eyes, stay awake."

Gambit swallowed the food he had been given and opened his mouth again. Didn't argue, didn't try too. He didn't meet the doctor's eyes, but he didn't close his own, obeying the man. He accepted the help finishing his meal, feeling better once the last of it was making its way down his throat.

Sinister moved the table away and pulled the blankets back up around Remy's shoulders before wrapping his arms around him. Gambit couldn't stop him if he wanted to and allowed himself to be pulled up, lifted into the arms, head lolling against the firm shoulder.

He wanted to shut his eyes, to fall asleep again. But Sinister had told him to stay awake and something in the back of his mind said that if he didn't obey he might not wake up again. The thought scared him. He didn't want to die, didn't want to find out if hell really existed, for he was certain that if it did, that's where he'd be going. He'd sinned too much to go anywhere else.

Remy shivered and pushed himself against the warm body carrying him, tried to find safety there. The doctor terrified him at the best of times, but at the moment, Sinister was the only one keeping him alive and he at least appeared to be genuinely interested in helping his former employee. Current employee. Remy was indebted again, he had to remember that. Didn't want to think about it.

Gambit was placed on an exam table, surprised to find himself happy to be there. It meant Sinister wasn't going to let him fall into the eternal sleep of death. But maybe the eternal sleep was better than serving the man. The doctor's hands found his head again, lifting it and slipping a collar around his neck. It was secured and he felt the static slip away from his mind.

Then the doctor's fingers were pressed against his temples, voice soft as he spoke, "Drop your shields, let me in."

Gambit shut his eyes and resisted. He didn't want anyone inside, especially the devil.

::: :::

A sharp pain cut through the psychic noise of his mind and Sinister's voice was echoing through the astral plane, "Drop your shields, LeBeau. Your mind is wandering too far from your body and I need to anchor it if you are to continue living and being of use to me."

Remy's fear was a tangible fog that blanketed his mindscape, the French Quarter at dusk. He huddled in the center of the Quarter, arms wrapped around himself, trying to hold on as he felt himself slipping away into the sky.

"LeBeau, let me in."

The voice was insistent, almost worried. Remy imagined that it was worried, that someone was worried about him. That he hadn't burned all his bridges, that someone cared for him. He liked that thought. It meant he wasn't alone.

Too bad it was Sinister.

Pain washed through the Quarter. The pain of loneliness and loss and regret. He didn't want to feel it. He didn't want to face the fact that he had no one, no real friends and no family. Not anymore. Ice appeared, freezing the fog, covering everything in a thin layer of frost.

"Remy!"

The voice was further away now, sliding back from him, fading into the fog and ice. The fear was overwhelming, fear of being forever alone, of dieing alone. But the ice was helping. It was covering him, and where it touched he went numb. He couldn't feel anything, not fear, not loneliness, not pain. Emotion draining away. He felt like closing his eyes forever and escaping into that numbing cold, never having to hurt again. Maybe there was no heaven, no hell.

Something needled at his mind, broke through his shields, melting the ice as it approached, ignoring the fog. Remy tried focusing on that presence, willing it to go away and leave him to the cold. The lack of pain and fear. Whatever it was fought back and he could feel his body convulse from the force behind the counter attack.

The ice began to burn, a black flame sparking with red diamonds. A fierce warmth that melted the ice but left him as dull and numb as he had been in the cold. The King appeared before him, walking out of the swirling fog, pushing it away with his presence. Remy just sat there, huddled and encased in the black flame.

"Your mind is fractured, Remy," The King of Diamonds told him. "It is making you weak, exhausting you and killing your body."

Remy shrugged. He didn't feel like caring. He didn't feel anything.

"Do you want to die?"

He was going to shrug again. He was going to say he didn't care. But he couldn't. He didn't want to die, he just didn't want to hurt anymore, didn't want to feel like this. He shook his head, "No."

"Then why are you letting this happen?"

Remy stared at the King of Diamonds in confusion for a long time, finally asking, "Why do you care?"

The King raised an eyebrow, "You can hardly serve me properly if you're dead." It sounded so obvious.

"You could just clone me and program my obedience," Gambit killed the argument.

The King chuckled and shook his head, "But then all my efforts to save you would go to waste. I'm protecting my investment in time and resources."

"Why protect it at all? Why save me? Why-"

"Why not?"

Remy shut up. Lowered his head. Murmured into his arms.

"Louder, my boy. I didn't hear you."

He shrugged, "I'm not worth it."

"Do you really believe that? Or are you simply taking the easy way out? You never struck me as the kind to give up so easily."

"THEY LEFT ME TO DIE!" He was standing, hands gripping the King's coat. Pain and anger and all the emotions that the ice and fire had kept away flared back through him. Betrayal. He lowered his head against the King's chest, gasping at the pain. "I wasn't worth saving. They left me."

"I didn't."

And that's what hurt the most. Everyone he had ever cared about, loved, had left him, but the one person he hated above all others was the one that always came to his rescue. He shivered at that, tucking himself against the man, hating how good those words made him feel, made him feel valued. Hating himself, always hating himself and regretting his actions, his choices. It was no way to live. He didn't want to be like that anymore.

"You don't have to," the King of Diamond's voice was quiet, insidious, whispering in a faded echo.

He was right.

::: :::

He opened his eyes to reality as the Devil pulled out of his mind. Remy watched the doctor through dull, half-lidded eyes. Didn't wince as his arm was held and a needle pressed into the vein, pulling blood out. The table, the instruments, his presence in the dungeon of science wasn't so frightening anymore. He was tired of being afraid, tired of regrets.

Sinister pressed another needle into him, on the other arm. Hooked him up to an IV. Little plastic and metal discs were stuck to his body at various points. Machines started beeping, beginning the soft tune sung by every hospital he'd ever been in.

The doctor said nothing to him while he worked. And Remy said nothing, just watched as Sinister did whatever it was he was doing. The Cajun had little understanding of the what was happening. Only that he was being poked and prodded with fingers and needles and the machines were rattling off numbers and displaying odd pictures. He had never learned what all the hospital readouts meant. Didn't usually take hospital jobs.

His mind drifted, thinking about the last job he had done for good pay. It had been a little over two years. Just before he met his Stormy in Cairo. He'd done some odd jobs in between, but not for good pay. Becoming an X-Man had taken over his life. Given him something better to hope for.

He felt a tear slip down his cheek, burning a trail of grief he couldn't hold back. He missed them, missed being a hero. He liked being a hero, being something more, better than he had been raised to be in the streets of New Orleans. And now that path was gone to him. He wasn't an X-Man. He was in debt to the devil. How could he possibly be a hero anymore?

It took him several minutes to realize Sinister was watching him, roused from his self-pity by the feel of the man's thumb wiping the tears from his cheek. The doctor's eyes gazing down at him without judgment. Remy's heart contracted in his chest and his jaw clenched with the effort of suppressing the pain, the betrayal. He hated himself, hated this Gambit.

Sinister brushed his hair out of his face and rubbed the back of his neck. It was a small gesture of comfort. His knowledge of the doctor telling him it had to be a calculated action to affect him on a subconscious level. A way of earning trust and make him question himself and what he knew of the man. Make him doubt that Sinister was as bad as he thought. Make him feel like trusting the man.

It was working.

It was working and he wanted it to work. He wanted to believe the man next to him could be trusted, cared for him, wouldn't leave him to die because he had a life and regrets before becoming an X-Man. Before loosing his heart to them, to her.

Sinister didn't say anything, didn't make noises of comfort. He wasn't like that, would never be. He just kept rubbing Remy's neck in a gentle manner, occasionally brushing loose hair away from his face as the Cajun shook with repressed sobs, angry tears burning down his face. He laughed through the tears, bitter humor at what his life had come to.

::: :::

The next day, he assumed it was the next day, he woke up to find himself once more in the plain room. This time he was strapped loosely to the bed with the blankets covering all but one arm, which had the IV still attached. Remy tested the bindings and found he could remove them with little effort and concluded they were there more to keep him from knocking the IV out during his sleep than to tie him down.

He unlocked all the straps and carefully pushed himself up, doing his best not to jostle the drip. He found himself dressed in white scrubs and even had socks on. The table and chair were gone and the door was open. The smell of hot food drifted in and his stomach rumbled.

Holding onto the IV support, he pulled himself to his feet and leaned against the wall. His legs were still weak and it took a lot of effort to walk out the door and toward the enticing smell. Remy wasn't sure how long it took him to get there, but he was ready to fall asleep again when he did, completely drained physically. His growling stomach, pinching at him and groaning with hunger pains, was all that kept him awake.

The room was a small one, set up like a traditional dining room. Dark oak table with finely crafted chairs, enough to seat four comfortably, sat in the middle of the room. The walls and floor were still the white steel found throughout Sinister's base, but there was a soft rug that took up most of the room, leaving about six inches of uncovered floor around the edge. From the ceiling an antique light fixture, Victorian from the looks of it, hung elegantly over the center of the table.

There were three place settings, and two of the seats already filled. Sinister sat with his elbows on the table, hands clasped in front of his chin, watching Remy's approach to the seat that waited for him opposite his employer. The other person was a man of average height and appearance, messy black hair and equally dark eyes. To this man's credit, he looked very nervous about being in Sinister's presence and apparently about to have dinner with him.

Gambit raised an eyebrow at the doctor, who gestured to the empty seat, but did not stand to help. Remy struggled to stay standing and force himself not to fall on his ass while he made his way over and claimed the chair as his own. Sinister was probably putting on a show for his – their – guest. Or maybe he just didn't care enough to help Remy now that he could get around on his own, however slow.

Silence, so much silence lately, filled the room as Vertigo appeared with a tray of food. She was dressed gratuitously in a "french maid" uniform that the third man seemed to be very appreciative of, a smile lighting up his face as the green haired woman bent over the table and showed off her assets. She did not look happy with her current role. Sinister's face remained passive. Remy had seen her enough in the past not to care.

Once the meal was served, she curtsied sarcasticly to the doctor and left with a huff. The other man's head and eyes followed the sway of her hips until the door closed behind her. He looked decidedly disappointed when he all he had to focus on was the fine meal before him.

Remy picked up his fork and began eating slowly, hand shaking with the effort of getting his food from the plate to his mouth. He was somewhat thankful that Sinister had the foresight to tell whomever made the meal to cut his food into bite-sized portions.

The doctor waited until his guest began eating to do the same. Both he and the other man had a glass of Red wine in front of them, paired with a glass of water. Remy had only the water. They ate in silence.

Sinister waited until their guest was finished with the meal and Vertigo had cleared his plate, replacing it with a dessert of some sort, to begin talking. Gambit was still working on the main course.

"Remy, I would like you to meet Jacob Gavin Jr, better known as Courier. He is here on request of his employer, someone called New Son, to bargain for your services."

Gambit lifted his eyes to glance between the two, nod and go back to eating. Sinister was going to sub-contract him, fair enough.

He heard, rather than saw, Courier shift nervously in his seat, "My employer would like to have some objects... 'acquired' for his collection and-"

"And sought out the best thief in the business to do so," Sinister finished for the man. "Really, Mr. Gavin, you do not need to beat around the bush on this. We are all aware of Gambit's skills and area of expertise."

"R-right. Of course... So, um.. My employer is, of course, willing to compensate you for your services accordingly..."

Remy nodded and pointed his fork at Sinister, "Ya got ta be doin' dat kind o' talk wit' M'seiur Essex, mon ami. He own my contract right now."

The doctor chuckled softly and lifted his glass, enjoying his wine, "We can discuss the payment after you inform us what New Son is looking to 'acquire' and I decide if it is worth risking my investment."

Gambit decided that Courier wasn't very good at his job if he couldn't keep up a poker face in front of Sinister. Either that, or whomever this New Son was, didn't know what kind of playground he was trying to get into. Having never heard of the man, he was going to bet on him being a bit player with delusions of grandeur.

Jacob nodded and poked at his dessert, "Right. Well, the first item on the list is some terraforming equipment belonging to the High Evolutionary. It's currently in the Savage Lands. New Son has informed me that you, Mr. Sinister, and the Evolutionary are familiar with each other and will be able to provide a profile on his regular operating procedures."
"That is a fair assessment," Sinister commented but did not elaborate further.

Remy set his fork down, plate now empty, "Dere a time frame on dis job?"

"Two months," Courier replied, more relaxed now that they were getting down to business. "Within the next month is preferred, but upwards of two is acceptable."

"He providing transport and plans or am I expected ta do de groundwork? Savage land be a hard place ta leg about in."

"He will provide transport and as best recognizance as he can. I will accompany you-"

"I don' do partners," the response was automatic, despite not exactly being true. He'd had plenty of partners in his time.

"New Son wants me on the mission to make sure the equipment is working properly. He's not interested in it if its broken."

"Payment is still required if it is," Sinister replied. "And any injury to Gambit as a result of your incompetence will be added to the bill."

Courier nodded, frowning at the insult, "Of course." He looked over at Remy, "But you'll do it?"

Gambit shrugged, "Again, not de one ya should be talkin' to. I'll do it if M'seiur Essex tell me I'm doing it... an' he tell me dat if your employer able ta pay his price. You not very good at dis whole hirin' thing are you?"

"My name is Courier. I'm a go between. I deliver whats needed, I don't usually do negotiations, no."

"I do dis, you stay out of my way and do what I tell ya to when I tell ya to, no questions an' no complaints."

"Correct."

Remy shook his head and laughed, "Dat wasn't a question, homme. You really bad at dis." He looked over at Sinister, "We done?"

The doctor eyed him for a moment, taking in his appearance and making mental notes before nodding, "Yes. I believe we are."

Gambit pushed himself up and gripped the IV stand, slowly making his way from the room. He could hear Courier asking if he was going to be healthy enough to do the job and Sinister assuring him that as long as New Son met his price, Gambit would be in perfect condition to do whatever was necessary.

::: :::

End Chapter