Boston, Massachusetts
The Past, Three Weeks Ago
Gambit smoked a cigarette. He told himself it wasn't technically cheating because it was Sunday, and Sundays didn't count in the forty days of Lent. Gambit often gave himself a lot of excuses for the sins he committed. It wasn't technically his fault that the Morlocks were killed, because he didn't know what Sinister's ultimate plan was, and he technically didn't have a choice in the matter. He technically never cheated on Rogue because at the time, neither one of them had spoken the word "commitment" aloud. He technically never betrayed the X-Men because he never lied about his past, he just never came forward with the information. Gambit was pretty sure that when he stood before Saint Peter at the pearly gates, he wasn't going to get off on a technicality.
Gambit had lit the cigarette with a small charge from his forefinger and drew the blessed concoction of chemicals, smoke, and nicotine into his lungs. He felt the tension in his neck and shoulders loosen as he exhaled a plume of smoke into the March air. Gambit was leaning up against the brick wall outside the doughnut shop. He'd stopped by on the way back to the apartment with the vague hopes that Dickie might have a job for him...any job. He'd rescue some kittens from a tree. He'd steal candy from a baby. Anything to stay out of the apartment. Gambit wasn't avoiding Jean. He wasn't. He just needed some space is all. And Jean didn't seem to have any concept of personal boundaries. She wanted to share everything: living quarters, food, every thought that passed through her mind...
Gambit thought the cigarette a small concession considering he had passed up a chance to have sex with one of the most beautiful women he had ever encountered. All the X-Women were beautiful, naturally. They were in peak physical condition at the prime of their lives. He would be lying if he said he wasn't attracted to any one of them. Jean was undeniably beautiful in an effortless way. With her conservative clothing, her precise hairstyle, and her fastidious manner, her beauty shown through in the way she carried herself, naturally, not overtly. In short, she wasn't the type of woman he was attracted to. And Gambit wasn't attracted to Jean. He wasn't. What had happened between them was a mistake. Gambit thought he must have lead her on in some way, taken his flirtation as an overture to something more.
He found himself observing Jean carefully for any flaws, to prove to himself that there was no attraction. She was a little overbearing, she liked things to be just so. She liked to follow a controlled plan. She was tidy and anal. She couldn't cook (deal-breaker). Most of all, her open earnestness was anathema to him. Gambit thought that sex would have been less intimate than the late-night conversations they shared. But he was not going to think about intimacy with Jean, or of Jean kissing him, or the press of Jean's body against his own. Instead he should imagine being incinerated by one of Cyclops' optic blasts while being simultaneously eviscerated by Wolverine. He should not be thinking about unfastening the pearl buttons on Jean's modest pink pajama set.
All of this, whatever was happening, could not be trusted. Gambit knew that when it came to women, he was a temporary solution to an unresolved problem. Soon enough, a better alternative would come along. Jean would come to her senses, and Gambit would stand on the sidelines and wave her goodbye. Jean's head was a mess, she was alone, and after all that she had gone through, Gambit was conscious of not being seen as taking advantage of a really unfortunate situation. She was clearly transferring her feelings, her fears and wants and loneliness, onto him. Gambit knew himself well enough to recognize that he suffered from a severe savior complex, particularly when it came to beautiful women in need.
With a glance at the muted yellow light shining through the clouds, Gambit realized the morning had faded into afternoon. He should probably go back to the apartment now. The cigarette had burned down to the filter. Gambit flicked the butt into a nearby dumpster and returned to the car. He drove a circuitous route to the safe-house, let himself in, climbed the two flights to the upstairs apartment, and opened the door.
Jean had broken into the safe.
Gambit took in the sight of Jean guiltily snatching her hand away from the safe as she turned. She was standing on the couch cushions before the wall safe. There was a pile of pink laundry around her feet and spilling onto the floor. Gambit closed the apartment door, feeling a growing sense of frustration building in his chest.
Nosy! He thought. She was overbearing, controlling, anal, and nosy! How could he forget nosy?
He asked her irritably: "What de heck you doin'?"
"I got the safe open." She smiled in a crafty sort of way, as if she was just so clever.
Gambit struggled to get a grip on his anger. He felt his jaw tighten. "I can see that," he said lowly through clenched teeth. "Did ya think t'disarm de alarm?"
"There's no alarm," Jean answered smartly, properly annunciating her 'r's.
"Uhm...yeah, dere is," Gambit said, his tone might have become a tad waspish.
"Well, I can't hear anything," she told him, rolling her eyes skyward while pretending to listen for an alarm, her hand cupped to her ear.
That did it.
"On account of it bein' a silent alarm!" Gambit shouted at her.
"Oh," Jean startled. Her shoulders rose and fell in a sad kind of shrug. "Uhm. Whoops?"
Gambit gripped fistfuls of his hair and let out a frustrated cry. Jean became contrite, expecting him to immediately concede to her America's Sweetheart appeal with her apologies. He could hear his own responses to her escalating in volume and exasperation. He hadn't been so aggravated...so frustrated since – since...
Before he knew it he was gripping Jean's shoulders. He pulled her close and heard her gasp, saw a flash of surprise in her bright green eyes. He pressed a hard kiss against her mouth, expecting her to throw him across the room, or at the very least, slap him. She would realize what a mistake she was making. And then she would leave – him – alone! Instead her lips softened against his, her mouth became inviting, and her hand knotted in his hair and pulled him closer. Gambit observed that his plan was backfiring when he felt her tongue trace his lower lip. He felt the last of his resolve and denial weaken, and his arms went around her. They stood together, trading kisses the way they traded words; with her pushing for more and him pulling back, then rushing forward with more passion than he'd intended to give.
Gambit thought he heard alarm bells and he jolted, breaking the kiss. He realized it wasn't an alarm, but the ringing of a phone.
Gambit pulled back and looked at Jean's flushed face. "Don't answer it," she told him.
He shook off his stupor as he returned to the harsh sound of reality.
Gambit sighed. "I know for whom de bell tolls." He turned and made his way to the kitchen.
Gambit lifted the receiver of the cordless phone and spoke into it. "'Ello?" Gambit said reluctantly.
"Remy, my dear son," a voice spoke coolly. "Your father wishes to speak with you."
The voice was strangely distorted through the crackle of the phone. Gambit felt a stir of confusion. "Père?" he inquired. Had his father managed to track him down? How did he know where he was? Did Richard go and tell on him?
The voice gave a short laugh. "Return to the shop, lad. At your earliest convenience. I advise that your earliest convenience be immediately."
The phone call disconnected and Gambit was left listening to the faint crackle of static. He stared at the receiver for a moment, then replaced it in the cradle.
"What is it? Is it very bad?" Jean asked from the doorway.
"It was my father," he told her. He wandered past her through the hallway and back into the living room. He made his way towards the door. "I got t'go back into town."
"I could just explain – ," Jean said as she followed him.
"Dis ain't about de safe," Gambit interrupted and pulled open the door. He had a feeling his father had a few opinions about his son's after-hours work at NABC. Gambit didn't really want to compound his troubles. "And if I bring you along, I'm sure to get one of his lectures."
"What lecture is that?" Jean asked.
Gambit sighed and looked Jean over, seeing her as his father would. Jean-Luc would take one look at Jean and read the writing on the wall; one beautiful woman plus sad expression multiplied by Remy LeBeau equals a really big problem. He explained: "De one about me, and women, and how much trouble women always seem t'cause me on account of I can't help myself."
He closed the door behind him, leaving Jean behind.
Gambit returned to the shop plagued by a sensation of unease. There was something not right about the phone call and the strange cadence of his father's voice. He parked the car before the front window of the doughnut shop. The parking lot was dark, as was the shop itself. The 'open' sign was unlit. Gambit cut the ignition, staring into the darkened shopfront. Had Jean-Luc ordered the shop closed so he could lecture his son without chance of interruption? Gambit stepped from the car and started for the front door. He pulled open the door and found the shop to be seemingly empty. The interior was dark, but there was a light on in the back room behind the counter. Gambit could see the square window of light in the swinging door. He started towards the counter. Gambit felt his heel slip slightly on the linoleum tiles. He looked down to see a dark puddle spread across the floor. He paused, processing the dark puddle and where it had smeared, as if something had been dragged from this point towards the counter. With a sudden flash of adrenaline, he realized he was standing in a puddle of blood. Gambit inhaled sharply, his eyes flashing to the back room. A shadow had passed before the window. The door swung open slowly and a man stepped out to stand behind the counter. He was inhumanly tall, with long dark hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and was garbed in strange Victorian clothing.
"Cruller?" Sinister asked, proffering a doughnut in Gambit's direction.
Gambit felt himself freeze in place, his feet held fast to the floor as if they had rooted to the spot. It was nothing that Sinister had said or done that prevented Gambit from acting. Just a sick sensation of both fear and panic. His mouth went dry, his heart ratcheted in his chest, his airway constricted.
Sinister considered Gambit with an arrogant air, his head slightly cocked, a dark eyebrow raised. He raised a shoulder in a sort of nonchalant shrug and took a bite of the doughnut. He chewed thoughtfully, staring at the crescent shape he had bitten into the pastry. "Pastry is one of few things the French can be trusted with," he observed.
Gambit felt his jaw unhinge slightly. He thought to respond, but nothing came to mind. The sight before him was truly bizarre. He realized he was dealing with the crazy Sinister, the one the Phoenix Force had faced. The one that had created the clone army. It wasn't the female version, Claudine Renko, that Gambit had previously encountered with X-23. It wasn't the cruel, sadistic Sinister that Gambit had grown to know and loathe. This was something else entirely.
Gambit looked down at the swath of blood on the floor. It lead straight to the opening in the counter. In the dimness, Gambit could see a hand lying palm up on the floor, settled into the pool of blood. From where he stood, he could not see the rest of the body, as it was hidden behind the counter.
"Richard?" Gambit called, his voice tentative at first. "Richard!"
Sinister glanced down at the figure by his feet. "I'm afraid he is quite dead," Sinister told Gambit, as if he was remarking on the weather.
Gambit's jaw clenched. "God – damn you, you monster!" he hissed, his hands going into fists.
Sinister made an airy gesture with the doughnut in hand. "Seems there is honor amongst thieves after all. He was unwilling to relinquish the details of your location, right through to the bitter end."
"He was my cousin!" Gambit shouted.
Sinister considered the still form. "Clearly not a blood relation," he commented callously.
Gambit took a step towards Sinister. "You evil bastard."
"I went through a great deal of trouble to find you, young man. Multiple power signatures here and there...a wild goose chase, that. New York, Paris, Istanbul, Madripor – dreadful country. I have a feeling I know the party responsible for this little misdirection. Why can he not stay dead, that little blighter," Sinister said as an aside before continuing on his soliloquy. "Fortunately, I was able to trace you here when I noticed the smallest of power fluctuations. Such a tiny little spark compared to the other energy surges, the diversions. Are you still smoking, LeBeau? Tut, tut. Such a filthy habit."
Gambit came to a stiff-legged halt. He felt his breath catch in his throat.
Sinister continued on: "Your cousin, such a recalcitrant fellow. He seemed to harbor quite a lot of animosity towards you, but was in no hurry to give you up. But, what luck! After he expired, I should happen to hear an alarm sound. An alert at one of the flea-ridden flats nearby and a telephone number, should Richard need to contact you. I thought to myself, why should I come to you, when it has always been for you to answer to me?"
"You're dead wrong," Gambit said, his voice rough. "I don't answer to you. You or anybody else." Suddenly, there was a handful of cards clenched in his fist, alive with explosive kinetic energy. The light danced on the walls and ceiling of the dimly lit shop.
"A flair for showmanship," Sinister observed with a sly smile. "Just like your father."
"You shut your mouth," Gambit snarled. He wasn't going to be diverted by one of Sinister's cryptic remarks. He pulled back his arm, preparing to release a volley of explosive cards in Sinister's direction.
"What have we here?" Sinister suddenly announced and ducked behind the counter. He emerged with a struggling teenage girl. She let out a shriek of fright. Gambit recognized the girl, the pregnant teen with the piercings who had been at the counter the first night.
"Another family member?" Sinister asked, seizing the girl so her back was pressed up to his chest. His arm wrapped around her to clutch his hand around her throat. She kicked her thin legs and clawed at his arm.
"Put her down!" Gambit demanded, a twinge of desperation in his voice.
"Mind your tone," Sinister said, his voice suddenly dropping several octaves to a dangerous, deadly level. "Now. Monsieur LeBeau. You are not the specimen I hoped to find. I sought my dear and devoted Poppet. Alas, I have discovered that someone has dispatched my little pet. No doubt, my predecessor was jealous and had him killed. And Poppet's lovely charge, my fifth and perhaps most perfect model, has been misplaced. I detected her not far from this location, but when I went to retrieve her, I found nothing but a disgusting hovel reeking of canine and human filth."
Gambit's thoughts spiraled. Sinister must have been referring to the dognapper's house. A chill ran through him knowing how close Jean had come to being recaptured by Sinister.
"Where is Five?" Sinister asked, his hand tightening purposefully around the girl's throat. The girl's cry choked off.
Gambit stared into Sinister's glowing red eyes. "I got no idea what you're talkin' about," he said firmly. "You lunatic. Put dat girl down now."
Sinister smiled cruelly. "Perhaps you are confused," he mused. "Allow me to clarify. I am looking for a young woman. Five foot, six inches. Weight, a bit under nine stone. Hair, red. Fair-skinned. You would certainly recognize her. She may answer to the name Madelyne."
"You're de one who's confused," Gambit replied, his eyes on the girl. Her light brown eyes pleaded with him to rescue her. "I think someone left you in your test tube too long."
Sinister seized one of the girl's wrists and slapped her hand down upon the countertop so her fingers curled over the ledge. He glanced meaningfully up at the partition, which had been raised to allow him access to behind the counter. The girl struggled in his grip, not comprehending what was about to happen next. Using his telekinesis, Sinister nudged the partition. The section dropped to smash down upon the girl's fingers.
"No!" Gambit shouted just as the girl shrieked in pain. His body jolted at the horrible sound.
Sinister's hand pressed down upon the counter partition, pinning the girl's fingers. Gambit could hear the crack of bone.
"Broken," Sinister said with mock sadness. "What's a thief to do without fingers?"
"Stop it! For God's sakes! Stop!" Gambit shouted and started forward.
"Not another step," Sinister commanded as he pulled the girl off her feet by her throat. Gambit froze. "I will ask one more time, LeBeau. Where. Is. Five?" Sinister punctuated his final word by pressing harder on the girl's hand. She let out a strangled scream.
"I tell you, I don't know!" Gambit answered. "I don't know where Madelyne is. I haven't seen your brain-dead clone! And as far as I'm concerned, dis is a Scott Summers problem, not mine! Check wit' him!"
Sinister considered him for a moment, his lips pursed. He suddenly lifted the section of countertop and the girl's fingers were freed. She could not catch her breath for her sobbing. "Your words have a ring of truth to them," Sinister said.
"Let her down," Gambit said, struggling for calm. "Can't you see she's pregnant?"
Sinister lowered his arm to set the girl back on her feet, her body still pinned to his, her face cradled in his hand. Sinister reached out his other hand and lifted the girl's oversized shirt. "Well, so she is. Congratulations, my dear. Perhaps your life is not a complete waste. You at least have some potential, if only to serve as a vessel for the next generation."
"There ain't nothing for you here, Essex," Gambit told him. "Let her go."
"I've always delighted in the sight of a woman with child. There is something so – delectable – in her appearance, don't you think?" Sinister asked as he turned his face into the girl's hair. His hand ran over the swell of her belly. "I could just eat you up."
Clutching her injured hand to her chest, the girl dropped from under Sinister's arm and pulled away. Her expression was one of terror and revulsion. Gambit relaxed minutely as the girl shrank back from Sinister. But then suddenly, Sinister turned and was upon him. The cards Gambit held in his grip flared to ash to fall from his fingertips to the floor. Sinister held him by the front of his jacket and Gambit found himself propelled backwards into the coffee station. Carafes of hot coffee, packets of sugar, and a pitcher of creamer toppled and struck the floor.
"Now, to deal with you," Sinister said.
Gambit found himself unable to summon his powers. There was a terrible pressure inside his skull. One of his hands struggled to free himself from the unyielding grip on his coat while the other clawed at Sinister's face. Sinister grabbed a fistful of Gambit's hair and forced his head back. Even as Gambit struggled to push Sinister away, the bigger man loomed over him.
"You find yourself without your mutant abilities," Sinister told him and Gambit could feel his breath on his face. "A precautionary measure put in place by my predecessor. He is loathe to lose control of you again, you see. If it had been my decision to make, I would have simply killed you. Unlike my forefather, I am not compelled to keep you alive. I lack his sentiment. I simply find you a useless nuisance."
Gambit reached out and seized one of the fallen coffee carafes. He swung it to strike Sinister on the side of the head. The heavy metal canister rang with the sound of impact. Sinister's head turned slightly, revealing a dent in the side of his skull. As Gambit watched, a squirming mass of flesh-like tentacles moved to repair the damage. Sinister's face slipped into a mask of fury. Gambit was suddenly pulled forward. A backhanded slap sent him to his knees. If not for the grip on his jacket he would have been sprawled across the floor.
"A little careful editing left you without your uncontrollable fits of explosive activity, while also robbing you of the full extent of your abilities...the manipulation of energy at a subatomic level. Some flaw, some illness," Sinister said and tapped Gambit on the head with his forefinger at the exact spot that Sinister had once placed an incision, "prevented you from controlling your powers. You are defective. But my predecessor did not go far enough. Perhaps if I were to sever some connections here...and here." Sinister mused as his forefinger drew a line across the top of Gambit's head.
Gambit jerked away. He aimed a kick at Sinister's kneecap. Sinister sent a jolt of energy through Gambit's arm, causing his body to seize and spasm. Gambit gasped for air.
"Perhaps another incision or five...and I could recreate what I have lost. I do miss my Poppet dearly. He was so eager to please, so affectionate –."
"You – sick – deranged –," Gambit choked out.
Sinister hauled Gambit to his feet so that they were eye level. "On second thought, perhaps I should send you to meet your maker," Sinister told him, his face mere inches away from Gambit's own.
"What –?" Gambit started.
Sinister smiled cruelly. "Do you know... Sinister – that is, my previous incarnation – withheld certain information from you? He had always hoped that you would seek him out for answers, to be the guiding light in your young and ill-considered life. I would prefer you to instead plunge head-first off the roof of the nearest and tallest building."
From over Sinister's shoulder, Gambit caught a glimpse of movement behind the shop counter. Not wanting to attract Sinister's attention to the movement, Gambit quickly looked away. "De feeling is mutual," Gambit told Sinister.
"Such cheek," Sinister said and softly slapped the side of Gambit's face. "He hoped to hold power over you with this information. He hoped to make you realize... that he is all you ever had and all you could ever hope for. I, on the other hand, hope this information destroys you."
Gambit pulled fitfully against Sinister's grip, his feet slipping in the spilled coffee and milk.
"Now LeBeau, do be still. I am attempting to educate you."
Gambit lashed out a fist. Sinister caught it and twisted Gambit's arm behind his back, thrusting him forward and away so that Gambit now lay face-down on the coffee station. Sinister pressed himself over Gambit's prone form to speak into his ear.
"No one else would have you," Sinister told him quietly. "Your own parents signed you away. Not in exchange for money or power. Oh, no. They paid for the privilege to be rid of you. They donated you to a scientific cause to be experimented upon, hoping that something – anything – good might come of your worthless life. Such a pair of misguided fools."
Gambit shot his arm back, sinking his elbow into Sinister's ribs. It seemed not to phase the mutate in the least. Instead, Sinister pressed his hand down upon Gambit's head, holding him down against the counter.
"The idea has come to mind that I should repay my predecessor in kind for the setbacks he has caused me. After all, he sent the younger version forward to destroy my works – so shall I send the elder back," Sinister continued.
"Augh!" Gambit cried, the pain in his head now compounded tenfold. "You're insane!"
"Insanity? 'Insanity is doing the same thing, over and over again, but expecting different results.'" Sinister quoted. "Such as assisting you, LeBeau. When time and again, you repay us with betrayal. In a short matter of time, you will no longer be of consequence to me, or anyone else for that matter. Know that even now, your young counterpart is being held by your compeers at their estate."
"What?" Gambit said, suddenly going still.
"A time-lost lad, taken from the past. Kidnapped and held prisoner by those you would call friends. Likely they will see this as an opportunity. An opportunity to change the horrible events you helped perpetrate," Sinister told him.
"You – lie!" Gambit cried. Would the X-Men have done such a thing? Taken his young self from the past, as they had the original five X-Men?
"I have not once lied, or omitted any fact since you walked through that door, LeBeau," Sinister informed him. "Do you think your leader, Wolverine, would hesitate to kill you to prevent his true friends from being harmed?"
Gambit felt a chill of dread in his gut.
"Hey, you psycho limey freak!" shouted a voice from the rear of the shop.
Sinister paused and turned. Gambit could see the girl standing behind the counter, a gun in her left hand, the grip balanced precariously in her damaged right.
"Go to Hell, you British bastard!" the girl cried and pulled the trigger.
Gambit heard the crack of gunfire followed by a blinding flash of white light. The agony inside his head suddenly exploded and he felt as if his skull had burst. The next instant he found himself falling through open space. Gambit reopened his eyes to see intense brightness, a swirling sea of red below him, and feel a terrible heat rising up to meet him.
My God, he thought seconds before meeting the surface of fiery red, I've been sent to Hell.
~ oOo ~
Next time: Jean finds the rabbit hole.
LoL, Jellyfish. I'm glad you picked up on that. Since Archer always references Wolverine, I thought it was only fitting. :-)