Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men. Original characters are mine.

Author's Notes: This story is a continuation of all my previous stories. If you've read them, you'll be current on characters. If not, this universe is derived from Claremont's 'The End' story line which he continued with 'GeNext' mini-series. Oli, Raven, and Meg are Claremont's . Bekka Boudreaux is an original character of mine. She's the daughter of Bishop and Bella Donna and was named "Hero". However, as the story line moved from 'The End' to 'GeNext', I realized Hero was very similar to Bekka Munroe, so I swapped them.

Chapter One: Of the Night

Rhythm is a dancer, it's a soul's companion
People feel it everywhere.
Lift your hands and voices, free your mind and join us.
You can feel it in the air.
Oh, it's a passion.
(This is the rhythm)
-"Of the Night" by Corona

New Orleans
Remy was walking to his ex-wife's crypt when a telepath crashed into his mind like a fiery asteroid.

'Dad!'

"Oli?"

'You answered-' Suddenly overcome, tears choked him.

Remy's blood ran cold. "What happened? Oli! Talk-"

'We're surrounded…'

"Where?!"

'It's too late.'

"Arrêtez! Breathe and think. What's your move?"

'Honor can't leave, but she wants us to. I can't leave her! But if we stay… I'm so scared. I don't know what to do! They tortured Vaughn and-'

"Stay wit' her! Be there in-"

'That's not why I called. Dad… I'm sorry for everything. I don't blame you for mom. And I'm not mad about the kiddies. Hating you was an easy excuse and I'm sorry I used it. I love you.'

…

Thirteen months earlier…

Another late night phone call.

Detective Mackay rode in a trance through the midnight streets of New Orleans. Highest murder rates in the nation. Every night, another murder.

Tonight it was an apparent robbery gone wrong. The clerk had been held at gunpoint by two masked assailants. As he emptied the register, he set off the alarm. A shotgun blast to the chest ended him instantly. Tire marks indicated a quick escape.

Mackay, a middle-aged white man with a heavy center and balding crew-cut, quietly passed the crowd gathering around the weak yellow tape. A young officer waved him through. His grim, lined face tightened as he reviewed the scene.

Latino man, early to mid-thirties, five and a half feet, with a neat haircut and faded work uniform: dead from apparent shot to the chest. Brown eyes, still open. Any panic he'd experienced was gone from his eyes, but worry lines creased his brow. He'd known this was coming long ago.

"Miguel Lopez," Mackay told the surrounding officers.

"That's right. You knew him?"

"Informant."

The sorrow hit home: a combination of regret and satisfaction. This man had taken a hit because the NOPD couldn't protect him, but it was a risk he took to avoid justice.

After the evidence was marked, photographed, and collected, the body was bagged and sent to the morgue for autopsy. Neighbors were interviewed. Local gang members rounded up and interrogated. No one "knew anything" and no one would. It was the "code of honor" these people lived and died by.

As the sun rose over another miserable day, Mackay sat alone smoking a cheap cigarette.

"Coffee, Detective?"

He turned and saw a young brunette woman in a clean suit, carrying two paper cups of piping joe.

"You take it black?" she asked.

"As long as it's hot, that's good enough. Thanks."

"Detective Rizzoli. From Boston."

"You're RICO?"

"Officially, I'm just Boston PD, but if your victims are related to mine – as I suspect they are – and if the perps are the same, we just may have a federal case on our hands."

"If the Feds are gonna come sweepin' through here, they oughta do it sooner rather than later."

"Nothin' worse than doing all the leg work for none of the credit," she agreed. "I know your shift's almost up, but if you've got a sec, I'd like to review my case with you. See if you can spot something I've missed."

"Sure," he shrugged.

She walked so quickly that her hair bounced, and if he'd been a younger man, Mackay might've appreciated other bouncy parts, too. But he was an old man and she was a colleague. Let those Yankee hardasses "appreciate" her.

"Thanks for your time," she said, unlocking her temporary office. "Everything's set up for the presentation tomorrow, but I'd like your input."

She turned on the lights, closed the door, and Mackay approached the cork board with mug shots and details written in large, black letters.

"You know them," she said, observing his face.

"Everyone does," he said. "Been following this family for decades. Arrests lead nowhere. Attempts to infiltrate have all failed, and when someone turns, they end up like Lopez."

"I'm not discouraged. A family of murderers and thieves are still murderers and thieves. I don't care how many wealthy senators they sponsor."

"Amen."

"So who have we got?" she asked, turning her attention back to the board.

Photographs were lined up in a pyramid with the most powerful members at the top. Mackay started there, acknowledging a candid snap-shot of a young white female.

"Honor LeBeau. Oldest child and ring leader of her sprawling gang. Her passport picture's better. I can get you a copy."

"I ran her name-" she started, reviewing her files.

"Under alias 'Rita Sanchez'. A little dated, but a better visual."

"That'd be great."

Off to the side was an old mug-shot of Honor's father, Remy LeBeau, with 'deceased?' written underneath. He had been his daughter's age when the picture was taken, maybe younger, and the resemblance was striking.

"I didn't know Gambit had been arrested," said Mackay.

Rizzoli beamed. "Under alias 'Kevin Mackenzie III'. Misdemeanor. Easy to miss."

"You should have Bella Donna here, too."

"Isn't she deceased?"

"These people live in the past, Miss Rizzoli. If you want to understand them, you should know that. 'Deceased' doesn't mean they don't wield power… I can get you her passport, too."

"Mrs. Rizzoli, and that won't be necessary. I can't arrest a corpse. Anyone living I should be concerned about?"

He pointed to another unplanned snap shot of a jubilant black man with dreadlocks gathered at the nape of his neck. "René Boudreaux. Technically, co-ringleader. Actually… Further down the chain."

"His wife makes all the calls," said Rizzoli, pointing to the petite bi-racial woman in the picture beside Boudreaux. "Marie-Therese. Bella Donna's protégé."

"Christ! Call that French?"

"Thought you Cajuns were supposed to be charming."

"You're not charmed?"

"Not even close."

"Tough as nails woman. You'll need that. But you also need to obey the law. These three-" he pointed to the younger siblings: Olivier Raven, Raven LeBeau, and Hero Patel aka Bekka Boudreaux. "-are under age. Any involvement is excused."

"I disagree. They broke a law, they serve a sentence. Anyway, how do you know they're underage? No birth certificates."

"Get real. You arrest them for petty theft, they turn on their family, arrest their family, and it all falls apart in court. You cannot tear a family apart. No jury will let you. Not in this town. I've seen it happen a hundred times. And the twins do have birth certificates, but under their birth names. Olivier and Rebecca LeBeau. But you wouldn't know that unless you've known this family because their adoption records are sealed."

"Adopted by the mutant terrorist Raven Darkholme, aka 'Mystique', and you think they're innocent?"

"Ha! If you think pegging a crime on this gang is tough, try to hang one on Mystique. Frankly, she's not a small reason to take down those photos. You know what she's capable of?"

Rizzoli smiled. "I don't scare easily."

"Look forward to working with you, Detective."

They shook hands, and as Mackay departed, he felt more hopeful than he should have. Maybe, just maybe, they could expose this family after all.

The following night, Mackay and Rizzoli sat in a surveillance van down the street from the LeBeau residence. A large party was buzzing in and around the enormous Southern mansion. There wouldn't be a better opportunity to cage the Guild, but the police had to wait for the warrant. Mackay puffed impatiently on a cigarette. Every passerby was a potential spy, and every early leaver was a lost potential witness. But Mackay wasn't going to lose his whole case over a technicality.

The chief called.

"Bad news. Judge refused to sign off on the warrant. I didn't get this directly… But I think the denial came from the governor. This warrant isn't getting signed. By anyone. Not tonight."

"This is bullshit!" she threw open the van door and charged towards the house.

Mackay considered following her, but before he could make a decision, someone else climbed into the van and slammed the door shut.

"Let her go. It's okay. No one's gonna bother her."

A young white woman, approximately six feet tall and early thirties, climbed into Rizzoli's vacant shotgun seat. She wore a pale blue ball gown and had her strawberry blond hair pulled up, although it was long. Mackay knew the length of her hair. He knew everything about her. When she leaned back and causally smiled, casting her red-on-black eyes at him, he saw her parents.

Remy LeBeau and Bella Donna Boudreaux, both deceased, had built a criminal empire for their brood. Honor was the eldest and most dangerous. She had her father's legendry grace and charm, and her mother's insight and ambition. She was also a sociopath. One day she'd forget to discard a crucial piece of evidence or she'd double-cross the wrong person, and when she did, he'd be ready to seize it.

"We haven't been properly introduced, Detective Mackay," she said, extended her gloved hand.

"Miss LeBeau," he shook her hand. "Don't you have a party to host?"

She shrugged. "You've wasted all night on me. I can waste a few minutes on you… By the way, it's Mrs. LeBeau-Mohmet. And you should've known your warrant wouldn't float."

He looked at her, puzzled.

"Wondering how I know?"

He snorted. "You've got half the East Coast in your pocket. So you've got someone in my department, too. I'm gonna find 'm."

"Someone? Mackay, I've got everyone but you. Straight and narrow. I can respect that. No, I mean it – the world needs more cops like you. Another man would've planted drugs or said he heard screams, but not you. Because you know that an enemy on the streets is another enemy for your brothers in blue. You don't wanna throw me in a cell to win this war because you know there's gonna someone to replace me. You wanna scare me. Convince me to turn my life around. You've never let my job distort your opinion of me, and I respect the hell out of that."

He was stunned. "Yeah… Well… Takes as much work to make a dirty million as a clean one."

She opened his cigarette pack, took one, lit it, and inhaled deeply.

"This the part where one of your cronies gives me two in the back?" he asked.

"And get blood on my French couture gown? No, but I have come to warn you about your death."

His chest seized. Oh god, his coffee! One of the rookies had brought it to him. If LeBeau had paid him to lace it with poison-!

"Nothing so dramatic," she said. "It's your heart. Less than a year… You really should give these up." She inhaled again off the cigarette.

"You're a telepath!"

"Nope. Psychic. But let's just keep that between us, huh? Smokes are only a part of your problem. You don't eat well, worry too much. I could just let it play out, but I like you, Mackay. I try to protect people who deserve it. Whatever side they're on. So I'm here to make a deal."

"Let's go to the station."

"Ha-ha. No, this is between you and me. Not cops and robbers."

"I'm listening."

"Retire. I know you've got the years. I know Charlene's been begging you to. And for years you've been promising yourself a house in the Keys… I know you were hoping to write a novel about how you caught 'the big one', but that'll never happen."

Mackay heard the threat beneath her pretty words: it'll look like an accident. Consider your wife, I know who she is. Life is all roses once you comply.

"Okay," he said. "After you dismantle your operation."

"Old man, you've got balls. But no imagination. An eye for an eye, that's the law. You go away and so do I."

She opened her tiny clutch purse and handed him papers folded into eighths. He opened them and saw transfer documents from the X.S.E. – the executive law-enforcement department specializing in human/mutant relations. If the X.S.E. decided they had a case here, they out-ranked the Feds. They might decide Honor was too valuable to detain and make her any offer.

He cursed under his breath.

"Nick Fury's offered me a year of probation in Wakanda."

"Where?"

"Africa. X.S.E. believes in rehabilitation over incarceration. You've already lost your case. I'm already going away. I could've let you hang and die on the job, but I respect you. Now beat it."

She climbed out of the van and crossed the street as Rizzoli was coming back. They didn't acknowledge each other.

Rizzoli looked dazed as she climbed back in.

"So what happened?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"Inside. What'd you see?"

"I… uh… I don't know."

"Telepaths!" he said, putting the van in gear. "Like we didn't have enough trouble!"

Honor threw open the front door and was loudly welcomed to her bon voyage party. The Unified Guild turned out unanimously to see her one last time for the year. Tomorrow, she boarded a plane for Wakanda – a land she'd never seen and knew little about. The opportunity was actually given to Honor's younger sister, Raven, who was seventeen and considering a career as an X-Man. She accepted, and as a protective older sister (who needed a vacation), Honor was going along.

Her place as Guild leader would go to Honor's younger brother and his wife. René reigned jointly with Honor, so the responsibility wasn't beyond his capability. With Marie by his side, the Guild was in excellent hands.

Power was constantly an issue, and everything hinged on succession. For centuries, the LeBeau and Boudreaux clans had ruled, so biology was the assumed factor. But Honor had married a woman, and after twelve years of marriage, Marie had failed to produce a child.

Eyes turned to the next in line – Raven LeBeau. She was the spitting image of her late beloved mother with honest green eyes and humble brown hair crowned in white. Gifted with super-strength and flight, she was too good-hearted to join the Guild. It was never too late to join, though, especially with popular consent.

Oli, his father's youngest child and only son, was Raven's twin. He shared her height and unique hair, but his eyes rebelled by turning red and black like his father's. He and the Guild showed no professional interest in each other. This was his extended family, nothing more. But Honor saw how he and his sister brought out each other's best qualities and improved each other's worst. She wanted him to join, but he'd spent much of his youth honing his telepathic and combat skills. Those weren't flashy experiences the Guild wanted. Likewise, he felt a stronger bond to the X-Men, who'd helped him master his talents.

The baby, Bekka, was sixteen. Born deaf, her speech slurred slightly and made her seem much younger. Like her siblings, she was orphaned, and her adoptive father had virtually abandoned her after her mother's death. Blonde, violet-eyed, and dark-skinned, she was the city's beauty. She was tall and feminine, strong and slender, both envied and pitied. Only four years ago, she'd passed the Guild's intense screening process, and had already surpassed everyone's expectations. A Master had accepted her as protégé: a prestigious position she would soon surpass.

She would be staying in New Orleans while Raven and Honor spent the year abroad. Most of the Guild accepted her as a regent, and unless Marie produced a child – soon – Bekka would become the assumed heir.

All this political in-fighting had propelled Honor toward Wakanda.

Once Mackay and Rizzoli were taken care of, Honor turned her full attention to the party.

Raven, wearing a simple green gown, stood aside and let others come to her. Bekka wore violet chiffon and her mother's amethyst earrings. She moved around the room, not laughing but focused on people and what they said.

Marie and René enthusiastically greeted Honor – this was expected or nasty rumors would circulate. He begged her to stay, and she made a great show of praising his ability to replace her. Honor couldn't stop her eyes from straying to Marie's belly. She wore a loose lavender gown, but when she caught her sister-in-law's eyes, sadness answered the unvoiced question.

"Where's Oli?" Honor asked them, scanning the room.

"Is he comin'?" asked Marie.

"He better!"

Oli tried to sneak in, but everyone saw him arrive with a beautiful blond: Meg Summers.

"Oli! Meg!" Honor greeted them with a wide smile. "You made it!"

"Sorry we're late," said Oli.

"Time flies when you're on the astral plane," Meg finished for him.

Honor looked between them and wondered if they were sleeping together yet.

"Meg, run upstairs and see what's keeping Tess, please." Honor said.

She smiled complacently at Oli and slipped away.

Honor took her brother aside and said: "How's it going?"

"You're psychic. I kinda think you knew how this would go before I started."

"Said it would be difficult. Discouraged you all along… Remember?"

"I gave up a long time ago. This is all for Ray."

The pair looked at Raven across the room, laughing loudly at some stupid joke. Raven hero-worshipped her late parents. She'd spent endless resources tracking down her mother's blood relatives: drunken trailer trash and grown-over graves. But their father's family provided ample relatives. Secretly, his children knew he wasn't really dead, although he might as well have been. Lost somewhere in deep space, Oli had been trying in vain for years to reach him. The plan was for Oli to telepathically contact his father, and Honor would use her psychic skills to guide him home.

After five years, they'd made no progress. Oli was absolutely certain he'd found his father, but the man wouldn't let down his defenses to listen. Oli hadn't told his sisters. They would've been distraught. But he'd told Meg and her parents, Scott and Emma, who said: "typical Gambit."

Oli looked at his psychic sister and wondered how much she really knew.

"So where's your better half?" he asked. "Stage fright?"

Honor smiled. "Getting Tess to these things is almost as fun as showing up. At least everyone's happy to see me. Surprised you brought Meg. Won't her parents disapprove?"

"Nah. Scott trusts me."

"Don't look so arrogant. He's made poor choices before."

"Will Tess be allowed back in the country?" he said, changing the subject. "The Guild could revoke her passport."

A dark look passed over Honor's face. The Guild had given significant resistance to Tess, almost causing a schism. In the end, Honor threatened to leave, so the Guild relented. But now that Bekka, Raven, and Oli were old enough to lead, Honor didn't hold all the cards anymore.

Unfortunately, Tess had done nothing to charm her wife's extended family. She was cunning, manipulative, and too intelligent. Cold and distant, she wielded considerable power for someone officially on the out. She became the Guild's prime example of nepotism corruption. Her marriage had cost them a good alliance. Her gender cost Honor any chance of children. Her living expenses were paid by an institution she neither supported nor protected.

"Yes, they'll all be glad to see us go," said Honor. "But if they try to make our little vacation permanent, they'll discover how easily they'll be missed!"

"I shouldn't have said anything," Oli said. His banter had cut too deep and he regretted it. "Enjoy tonight."

"Nonsense. I need a good man to speak the truth. Keep it up when I'm gone. René will need it."

"But-"

"Tessa Jane! My love, you look stunning."

Honor rushed across the room to her wife.

"I'm going back to New York…" Oli said to her retreating figure.

'Tell her telepathically,' Meg thought to him.

He found her across the room and smiled. 'Can think of better uses…'

Suddenly, Meg flooded his mind. They were together, not on the astral plane, but alone in their shared minds. Their bond was soul-deep. In physical forms, they'd only kissed, but mentally, they'd gone much further. He wondered how accurate their telepathic sex was to the real thing, but of course, had no comparisons. She wasn't ready, she said. Unmanly as it sounded, he wasn't, either.

But telepathic sex wasn't bad, and at least they didn't have to worry about pregnancy.

They came together and the mental image of Meg naked gave him a physical response. He had to excuse himself to the restroom. Alone over the toilet, he started working out his erection. She kept pushing him, running her flesh against his, and groaning in his ear. When he finished, it was deep between her legs and buried in her mind. She was everything he'd ever wanted.

…

To Be Continued…

…

A/N: Mackay is taken from Bastille's video "Of the Night", although he's not named there. Rizzoli is borrowed from the Rizzoli & Isles series by Tess Gerritsen. This isn't a cross-over; I just love the character and wanted to use her.

Next Chapter: The LeBeau ladies set up in Wakanda while Oli and Meg round third base. Nate Summers joins the cast!