"Erik, my old friend." The professor rolled his wheelchair forward and tilted his face so that he was looking up at the helmeted man.

"Charles." Erik laughed. "What a surprise."

Gambit rubbed his card between his fingers. He could feel it buzzing with energy; almost subconsciously, he shifted so that he was almost crouching down. He braced his feet against the floor, bending his knees slightly so that he could turn on a dime or leap backwards if he needed too. The theater had mostly emptied out by then—the occupants had rushed out in one pushing, shoving, screaming mass. All who remained were the few injured by Erik's stunt with the wall, or the dead.

"What are you doing?" the professor called to his friend.

"I am making a point." Erik leapt from the splintered platform upon which he had stood, and landed lightly before Professor Xavier. His cape—a fantastically melodramatic touch—billowed around him. "They need to learn that we will not go down without a fight."

"Erik, this is not 'a point.'" The professor frowned and touched a hand to his bald head. "This is chaos—madness! Your actions…I fear that what you have done tonight will do nothing to help our cause."

Gambit frowned. They should have taken care of Magneto months ago. He was un fou—a lunatic, a killer. Magneto did not want peace between man and mutantkind. He wanted war.

But no. The professor insisted that they deal with Erik peacefully. On some level, Xavier still had faith in the "old friend" that had been so dear to him years ago.

"What I do, I do for our people, Charles." Magneto stepped towards the professor. In the distance, police sirens wailed. Gambit could hear the faint chopping noise of a helicopter. "I only want to ensure our safety."

The professor replied with something in his calmest, most diplomatic voice. Gambit tuned him out and turned his head slightly, checking the hole in the wall for any of Magneto's henchmen, or some well-meaning police man looking to be a hero.

Rubble, rubble, body, microphone, rubble, camera, body, chair, rubble, pretty girl, rubble, chair…

Wait.

Gambit's brain rewound to the bit about the pretty girl. He blinked his red eyes and sure enough, there she was, still kneeling on the stage just over Magneto's shoulder. The girl was bent over a man, with two fingers pressed to his neck. She had black, chin-length hair and was wearing some frilly pink dress.

Professor, Gambit thought, we need to wrap this up. Fast.

"…caused enough damage for one night, don't you think?" Professor Xavier raised his formidable eyebrows at Magneto, giving no indication the he had picked up on Gambit's thoughts. "You've proved that mutants can be feared. You've proven that we can be dangerous."

"I'm doing this for us, Xavier." Magneto pushed off into the air. "For all of us."

"Violence is never the answer, my old friend. Remember that."

Magneto sneered at the professor and zipped away through the great empty space in the wall. Gambit shook his head and slid his card up his sleeve to join the rest of the pack.

"Didn't even say goodbye, Professor. Next time we'll have to teach 'im some manners."

"Yes," the professor clucked under his breath. "Next time."

"D'you think—"

"Excuse me," a voice interrupted Gambit's next remark. "If you're done, I wouldn't say no to some help."

It was the girl. She was standing on the edge of the stage, feet apart, shoulders squared. Her hair was covered with a light coating of rock dust and her hands were smudged with red.

"Er…" the professor glanced at Gambit. "Of course. Remy…"

"Aye, professor."

xXx

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

Em glared at the paramedic. "Which one of you is asking?"

"Miss Jameson."

"I'm joking, joking…two fingers and a pen. Nice try, buddy."

The paramedic nodded. "I try. You're good to go."

"Thanks." She slid off the side of the ambulance and, after glancing at the people around her, picked out somebody she knew. Sort of. Ish.

Em hummed to herself, glad that she wouldn't have to wander around in a sea of strangers, and minced over to stand next to…well, she didn't actually know his name, now that she thought about it. He was the man that had helped carry her father out of the auditorium. Charles Xavier's friend. He was leaning casually up against a light pole, watching quietly as people walked to and fro. One arm was wrapped around his torso, keeping his brown canvas trench coat wrapped tightly about his person, while with the other he held an unlit cigarette between his fingers.

Em stood near him for a moment. When he didn't look at her, she scooted closer.

"Want a light?" she asked, when he failed to acknowledge her presence for a second time.

"No," he shrugged. "I'm tryin' to quit. Thanks for the offer, cher."

Em sidled closer to him until her elbow was brushing his.

"It wasn't an offer," she whispered, and snapped her fingers. The tip of the man's cigarette glowed cherry red and began to smoke.

The man raised his eyebrows. "That's some trick you got there." He switched the cigarette to his left hand and extended his right. "Remy LeBeau."

Em smiled and shook his hand. "Emily Jameson. Nice to meet you."

xXx

Record #32242

September 24, 2013

-Well, don't you look positively smashing today. What, is that a new tie?

-What can you tell me about the X-Men, Miss Jameson?

-I think I've seen it somewhere before…let me think. Abercrombie and Fitch? Calvin Klein? Wal-Mart?

-Please answer the question, Miss Jameson.

-Answer mine first.

-You are in no position to play games.

-Come on, just tell me. Sportsman's Warehouse? Cabella's? Old Navy's?

-Do you know who the X-Men are?

-No, but their costumes are freaking epic. Nordstrom?

-Have you ever had contact with the X-Men or any group of mutants who identified with or as anarchists and terrorists?

-Have you?

-No, Miss Jameson, I have not. If you don't want to talk about the X-Men…

-Macy's?

-Miss Jam—

-Ebay. Men's Warehouse. Ties dot com. Christina Aguilera's closet.

-Take her away.

-Another time out? Geez! You didn't even answer my question! Talk about bureaucracy.