Ch11:
He rolled over onto his back and stared at the smog filled night sky.
'What de Fuck was dat?'
Sitting up he looked back to where there was a crater left on the side of the road, where just a moment ago there used to be a bench. He stared at his hands, his gaze an accusation of betrayal, until he remembered that he never touched the bench. The thought that his latent powers might somehow be re-emerging past the control that Sinister had given him set him on edge; he was suddenly hesitant to touch anything. The realization that he didn't used to need his hands was an afterthought, at this point he was driven by pure paranoia.
'All of it would be for nothing, every thing dat I did for Sinister to get dis control would have been for nothin, he took every t'ing from me, an the only excuse dat I had for doin' what I did is goin' away too. All dem lives, dey be lost for nothin'.
He snapped out of his contemplation, he had little time for self pity right now. Despite any demons that were in his past, or any that had ever surfaced before him, he was always ready to display the firm countenance of solid determination. His concentration was never broken easily, his training as a thief had ensured that, he wasn't about to start abandoning that training now. With a great mental effort he pushed his feelings to the back of his mind where he knew he would have to deal with them later, most likely with the help of a familiar aid in the form of alcohol.
He didn't intentionally start drinking more heavily than usual these days; it had just developed over time. He couldn't remember a time when there wasn't a bottle to turn too, in the guild culture societies laws were something that were non-existent, only the rules of the guild applied, and their was nothing saying that you couldn't enjoy a drink regardless of what age you were. But it had started well before that for him, before he was accepted into the guild and was permitted entry into their social establishments, before he was even adopted by Jean Luc.
Liquor was a popular currency among the Wino-Os and bums of the street. He had often seen alcohol exchanged in place of hard cash on numerous occasions; he couldn't have avoided dealing with the stuff if he had wanted to. As a young child he was accepting bottles of cheap whiskey for goods that he had lifted form tourist, he always kept the cash but on occasion he had wallets, coats, purses or other vairous miscellaneous items left over from a mark and he couldn't just waste it, to waste on the street was to invite misfortune. He was always curious about the stuff, he had seen the groan ups go through extraordinary lengths to attain it; in fact it was what drove most of them to do the things they did, that and drugs. As a young child it was only natural that he was curious.
The first time that he tried it he thought it was the most fowl tasting thing that he had ever experienced, it burned his throat and made him gag, but the feeling of warmness that followed made it worth the initial discomfort. So like it was bad medicine he would endure the discomforts so that he could experience the desired after effects. But since it was valuable in exchange for cash or other goods he could never afford to drink much and only did so sparingly, he had only gotten into it heavily after the night that showed him a glimpse of how terrible the world really was, a glimpse that he found to be just the beginning in his later years.
Child prostitution was not rampant, nor was it as uncommon as it should have been, yet those endeavors were left to children who had no other value, the ones who couldn't earn on the street by stealing. Remy being an accomplished pickpocket never had the burden off worrying about such things; he could pull in ten times as much revenue in half the time that someone pulling tricks could. The thought that their were twisted men on the streets who never thought about paying for something they could get for free never crossed his young naive mind. When they left him behind a dumpster broken and bleeding he turned to the only thing that he could think off to take away the pain and submerse the memories in a wonderful pool of mind numbing effectiveness.
Since then when things were at their worst for him emotionally he would turn to the bottle, it was a habit that he never abused at other times, but at the pinnacle of his misery it was always there waiting for him. Antarctica wasn't the worst place that his old friends and family had left him, by far the more devastating location that he was abandoned to was the personal hell of his own misery and self deprecation.
After he was certain that he was able to continue on with no distracting thoughts, Remy glanced down at his watch.
'Damn, 30 minutes, bes' get movin homme, no time for a cab after de Fireworks.'
Remy located the nearest car on the street and casually walked toward it, drawing out his tools in the process. The mechanism to the door was sprung so quickly it looked to the casual observer as if he used a key. He ripped off the steering wheel column cover and crossed the appropriate wires, it was up and running in a few seconds.
'Good ole 'merican made cars, can' hotwire em like dis no mo'.'
He drove to the landing strip, stretching out his spatial awareness as far as it would go. He pushed it to the normal limit that he had been accustomed too but found that he had a little more range than usual and kept pushing. The farther out he pushed the less defined objects and movement became, he was still surprised none the less at the range he was achieving, it was starting to take too much concentration so he pulled it back a bit and began feeling for any police vehicles. When he was satisfied that he had found no police, his foot found the accelerator. He began dodging in and out of traffic, speeding up the whole time, he had to be careful to remember that his reactions were superior to the handling of the car and to not over exert its performance capabilities. He had to get to the chopper in case the sedative failed and Creed woke up, he would hate to do it but if Creed blew his cover he would have to take out everyone, he hoped that it wouldn't come to that, but ever the pragmatic he knew there was now more at stake than the score that would set him on top of the thieving world.
He made it back to the airstrip with ten minutes to spare; he ditched the car after wiping it down for prints and went out to the helo-pad on foot. He was impressed to find his team already waiting for him and ready to go, and relieved to find that Creed was locked into full body containment chamber that more resembled a coffin than anything else.
"He wake up homme?" His hands nervously brushed against a deck of cards in the pocket of his duster.
"Na, whatever they put in the system for sedative kept him unconscious, I've never seen anyone take a round straight to the head and not die, its unbelievable what these muties can do, guys like this make the job worth while, that and the pay".
He breathed an internal sigh of relief, it looked as if he had enough time to finish what he started without any collateral damage.
"Fo sure homme, dis ones one of de wors', lets get him back to de facility so we can hit de bar."
"Jesus Gambit, is that all you ever think about?"
"Non, but dis one has lef' a bad taste in my mouth, need ta wash it out wit some'tin strong eh?"
"I hear you."
Fox gave the pilot the signal to take off, and the five teammates plus one unwilling passenger took to the air and headed back to the facility. He thought about sleep but doubted it would come to him, he began visualizing the layout of the facility and how he was going to get into the clean room to lift the files that he had to retrieve to fill his contract. It was all starting to become anti-climatic, there was going to be no daring break in, no secret agent mission impossible scenarios, in fact he could very well find himself in the situation to just walk in and take what he wanted. If anyone knew how hard it was for him to get on the inside they would appreciate the difficulty of the job, it wasn't often that infiltration was in a Thief's repertoire, it was a little less glamorous than his usual M.O. but it was essentially unavoidable in this case. He glanced back at the containment unit, and for whole ride back Gambit had to fight the conscious urge to charge the metal containment unit that held Creed prisoner.
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"It is starting, just as you said it would, it seems that Sinister's meddling is not as strong as he thought."
: "Sinister had nothing to do with The One's power suppression; he only allows it to happen because he is afraid of his full potential".
"Then what was the release that we witnessed? His powers inadvertently activated."
: "Yes, it seems that his recent mental state had something to do with that, apparently guilt is not weighing as heavily on his mind as it once was, by attempting to end the life of the one known as Creed he has freed himself of some of his burden".
"What will happen then, if he succeeds in his design to destroy Creed?"
: "He will advance beyond what he has ever known, his powers will most likely return in full force, even if he does not, I believe that Sinister will be successful in restoring them to their full potential."
"I thought you said that Sinister's meddling had nothing to do with it?"
: "Yes, but The One does not know that, in his mind he will loose the ability to control his power, he will believe that he cannot contain them and they will flare out of control as a result."
"And if that happens?"
The one who had been watching Gambit for his entire life looked as if all the despair in the world were suddenly laid before her.
: "If that happens then for the sake of this world we will terminate his existence, leaving this world for the rule of Apocalypse would be better than seeing it destroyed in it's entirety."
"Is there no other way? All of this will be for nothing then?"
: "Not entirely, there is a possibility... perhaps, but it is too remote to place any faith in, and it remains entirely in his hands, we shall wait and see the how he plays the course that is laid before him."
"You already know."
: "I suspect, nothing more."
"You do not look hopeful."
: "...I suppose that I do not."
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One advantage to his metal wings was that he did not tire, which was good, because the farther west that he flew, the stronger the call became, until stopping was nothing more than an afterthought. Even the throws of sleep did not affect him, because his blinding rage drove him on to find in his mind the greatest evil that walked the Earth, Gambit. He did not know what force it was that was beckoning him, he hardly cared. He only knew that it was strong, and he could not deny it's calling.
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First day on the job, Mike was eager to prove himself, his cousin had pulled some strings to get him this job, it was easy work, just guard the door and don't let in any unfamiliar faces. If it worked out then maybe it would turn into something more. Either way he felt like his days of tossing boxes around in the warehouse were long gone.
When that first unfamiliar face showed up he was more than ready to deal with it, he thought. The guy was no more than 5'6", Mike always considered himself a pretty big guy, but his brothers kid probably wouldn't have trouble dealing with this midget.
"Sorry pal, this is a private place of business, no entry."
"I ain't your pal bub, and I got business inside with yer boss, you'll be steppin' aside if ya know whats good fer ya."
"I don't think you heard me little man, I said get going."
The feral grin that he was protruding beneath the brim of the mans hat gave him second thoughts about his perceived position of dominance.
As he crashed through the door on his way to a broken jaw, he wondered if they would take him back down at the warehouse.
Just as he suspected the commotion brought the rest of the guards to the front door, he counted seven in all, four up front and three concealed in the back carrying automatic weapons. He fought back the urge to release his claws, he was here on business, yet the desire to get in a good scrape was always present.
"I ain't here fer no trouble, just listen, I need ta talk ta Hammerhead, he knows me. Tell him Wolverine is here ta see em."
"I don't care who you are, no one comes barging in like this and gets whatever their asking for, who the hell do you think you are?"
A calmer man at least ten years his senior leaned over and whispered something into his ear. He looked at his questioningly; the elder man only nodded his head then gestured back to Logan.
"O.k. tough guy, we'll take you to the boss, and if you are who you say you are and he actually wants to see you then I guess you ain't got nothing to worry about."
"And if I ain't?"
The man smiled and Logan heard the simultaneous cocking of several weapons.
"Lets just say you better hope that you receive a warmer welcome than you gave Mike here. Jake, take Mike down to the hospital, if they ask any questions tell em that he fell or something. Right this way...sir."
They led Logan through a few doors, along the way he noted several men who were leaning a little to nonchalantly against the wall, protruding bulges gave them away as hired hands.
'Huh, looks like ol Hammerhead has moved up in the world since we last met. Dosen't seem like he got any smarter though if he's still surroundin himself with clowns like this'.
After a few turns they led him through a cast iron door that had two armed guards posted outside, they entered a combination onto the keypad and led him down the stairs that were on the other side of the door.
'How in the hell did he afford this type of security, I don't care if he's got an unlimited cash flow now or not, he coulnd't have strung together this operation that quick.'
The basement looked like every other part of the building, with one exception, the walls were made of solid steel and there were piles of cash laying around, the smell gave it away as being brand new, looks like he was right on the proverbial money this time.
Toward the back of the room a rather anxious looking Hammerhead was having an animated conversation with someone on the phone, after a few pointed words he slammed it down and looked up, the expression on his face was as close to priceless as Wolverine had ever seen.
"Wolverine! What the hell are you doing here!"
"Been a while bub, I take it you ain't to happy to see me."
The men who were standing around drew out their weapons and Hammerhead only got more agitated than before. He sighed and relaxed his posture when Wolverine didn't immediately attack.
"You want we should waste him boss and dump the body somewhere?"
"Put those guns away you idiots, your just gunna piss him off, I don't feel like dealin with a pissed off Wolverine today, I got enough problems as it is."
The confused guards all complied with his orders and stood around nervously.
"Don't just stand there, take a walk, if he wanted trouble you would have had more than you could handle already."
After a momentary pause and a few mumbles the guards left them to their discussion.
"I don't suppose this is a social call, an being as how you ain't roughed no body up I'm guessin you ain't just lookin for a good time, that only leaves one thing, you want information."
"Shit Hammer, ya ain't half as dumb as I remember you being."
"We'll being as how you don't remember much anyways I won't take offense to that."
"Hmpf, looks like ya got a sense of humor while you were at it, I only need one thing and then I'll leave ya to yer business."
"You an everybody else, go ahead then, I'm listnin."
"The press, who'd ya get it from?"
"Ha, what do you really want? You still have as many contacts as I do and most of the same ones, you know damn good and well who lifted that press, it's all anyone is talking about lately, the man came out of the blue, pulled off the impossible then went back under without a word. You got any idea how many contractors have been beating my door down trying to get some contact info for him? Seems like every one in the business is trying to run through him now that they heard he was back, he's the golden ticket for every middleman and fence in the game."
"That's exactly why I'm here, I need ta know who contracted it fer him."
"No contractor, this one was freelance."
"Then what the hell are you doin with it if he pulled the job for himself."
"Hey I don't know what he was thinking, or if he was at all, alls I know is the boss paid a small fortune for that damn thing."
"Well he had to pay it to someone."
"Ya, there weren't no contractor but there was a fence, you know that Gambit doesn't deal direct, he went through a guild guy here in New York like he always does."
"I need a name."
"Can't help you, I answer to a higher authority these days, the one that you don't want to mess with."
Wolverine groaned.
"You can't mean.."
"yup, one in the same, why are you lookin for Gambit anyways, you hero types don't seem like the sort who would need his services."
Logan laughed internally at the irony of the statement.
"Just need to get ahold of him or talk to the last person that saw him."
"Well, you can either try and seek an audience with the man himself or go poking around the guild, I can guarantee you though that either option is gunna end in you left dead in an alley somewhere."
"Great, thanks for the info, you've been a big help."
Hammerhead met the sarcastic remark with one of is own.
"Any time Wolverine, I trust you can find your way out?"
"Not fast enough bub."
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Jean Grey was lounging by the pool side; there was scarce opportunity for such relaxing as of late, so she had to take it where she could get it. On top of that the weather hardly provided much chance for her to take such opportunities, Storms morose mood had usually resulted in ample cloud cover over the mansion, this must be one of the few times that her mind was not on Remy. She was slightly aggravated when a tall figure cast a shadow over the rare sun that was shining down on her.
"We need to talk Jean."
'Maybe if I feign ignorance he'll go away.'
"About what Scott? Can it wait? I need to take some time for myself the same as everybody else. I've been running myself ragged on Cerbro looking for Remy, I would have gave up along time ago if it wasn't for Ororo, it's next to impossible trying to find him, no matter how often I explain that he doesn't leave a physic signature like everyone else people still don't seem to listen."
"Actually Gambit is who I came to talk to you about, it seems like most of the rest of the team has come around and is willing to give him a chance, and those that haven't have somewhat of an excuse, I'm not buying the reason that you gave, so spill it, what's the deal?"
She stared at him in disbelief.
"Did it not ever occur to you that I can have an opinion of my own, just because my thoughts on the matter don't fit into your perfectly constructed way of thinking doesn't make them any less valid! I'm getting really tired of you trying to make everyone conform to your ideas Scott. I told you why I don't want Gambit back here, if you can't understand my reasoning then that's you fault, not mine!"
"So you're just going to give up on a teammate? You'll let him leave without even giving him a chance!"
"How could I? It's not even about the Massacre Scott! What else is he hiding? Has he given us any reason to trust him? I don't know what he's thinking, ever, he could be planning to murder us all in our sleep and we wouldn't know the difference!"
The realization suddenly dawned on him.
"You're scared."
"Your damn right I'm scared, how would you feel if someone suddenly took away your sight and expected you to walk across a narrow bridge with no rails? It's not so easy when you can't depend on something you've used your entire life."
The silence between them was heated, each staring at the other with intent, neither backing down.
"You couldn't make it without your powers; you use them like a crutch. I love you to death but you're not as strong as I thought you were."
The words hit her like a slap in the face, was the man who she loved actually belittling her right now?
"Sorry I couldn't meet your lofty expectations Scott, I guess that's something I'll have to work on."
Her sarcasm was not lost on him but he failed to see any advantage of carrying on with their argument.
"I need you to look for Warren, he's been gone for two days now and no one knows where he is."
"Fine."
"Fine."
He stalked off, the conversation had not gone as he had expected, the visions that he had of Jean coming to a remorseful realization were shattered, how could she be so stubborn? The more he thought of it the more he realized that it wasn't her opinion that angered him; it was that it conflicted with his own.
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