Callous
Chapter 06 – Joueur [1]
She came.
Four weeks and one hour and seventeen minutes late. But she came, nonetheless, a molasses-and-cream dream entering Spades, willingly placing herself into his domain. A gamble was being played by both. Cards had been dealt. The stakes were as high as they came and it was time to show each other's hands.
She came.
She was dressed down, it seemed. Casual and comfortable and still all her own. His eyes trailed up from her worn black docs and up the soft line of her black jeans-clad legs. His eyes traced the slight swell and dip of her slim hips and waist. He admired the charm of her covered arms, from the black gloved fingertips all the way up the long sleeves of her black shirt, to the first breathtaking glimpse of her creamy skin, where the neckline of the shirt edged her shoulder. That flash of skin was a delicious treat that was only interrupted by the thin black straps of her tank top wrapping the curve of her obstinate and delicate shoulders from under the tee. Otherwise, his eyes had the taste of the dessert that was her bared shoulders and neck and face. Well, except for the makeup applied on her face. Some people may have been turned off by it, but Gambit understood the sensual beauty of its esthetic appeal. Some people felt compelled to gawk or let their gaze slide off her face, because of the white and purple make up, like they had seen something slippery and disturbing, but not Gambit. He appreciated her contrasts. She was resilient and vulnerable. She was hard and soft. She was brave and scared. She was independent and needing. She was wild and begging to be tamed. She was light and dark, the Ange Noir to his Diable Blanc, daring him to cheer and tame her while threatening to trust and crave him. In so many ways, she tasted of him, and yet even those things failed to turn him away from her. He doubted much would likely ever diminish her beauty to him.
She came.
She graced right by the check people at the door. Not one of the three bouncers checked her ID, asked for a special invite, nor collected a cover charge from her. With dread, Gambit noticed that not a one of them had even rested an eye on her. Even as she paused a few feet inside, other patrons took no notice of her. They just merely moved around her without so much as a brush of clothing or a flicker of acknowledgment of her blocking their path. But, creepier to him, was the lack of tension the phenomenon incited in Rogue. It seemed… it seemed… it seemed, well, mundane for her. That made bile rise in his throat… and cause a shiver of thrilling happiness for her through him. She was permanently altered from Milbury's grotesque experiments, but she was also dealing with them, living with them, maybe even thriving with them.
She came.
It didn't seem as though anyone else there could see her… nobody but him. He watched her from his usual spot on the couch in the dim corner. He watched her look around the room for him. The more he watched the faster his heart beat. As her eyes rounded the room, nearing him, his heartbeat became a hummingbird flutter, though nobody would notice his nervousness, his anxiety, his fear, or his hope were they to look at him. Outwardly, he was the same: nonchalant, at ease, confident, independent, and in control. They wouldn't ever guess that to him, his entire future lay in the motion of those emerald orbs of hers, rested in the miniature reaction that was soon to appear and alter her curious scowl, and depended on the tenuous fleeting whims of her emotions. It took every ounce of his pride and his will to refrain from touching her with his charm powers, his empathy, for he didn't want to force what he wanted, what he needed her to feel on her own. He wanted her to return his affections. He wanted it to be real.
She came.
He never thought to question his own growing feelings for her. She had entered his life as merely a worthy adversary. Then quickly she had become a worthy challenge. But at what point, at which moment did he become so reliant on her glance for his breath? That, he couldn't answer. No more than a dozen sentences had ever passed between them, but he could no longer deny that she had somehow entwined herself in him. Could he even exist without her drifting through his thoughts, if not his sights? Did he ever even have a choice in how he felt about her? Was it fate? Was it destiny? Was it arranged?
She came.
He had wagered everything on this moment. Didn't moments like these always feel that way? He thought so, but did she? He would know soon enough. He would know the moment her emerald orbs reached across the club, around and between dancing, drinking, laughing bodies, to meet his ruby on onyx orbs. Closer and closer they came and faster and faster his heartbeat fluttered. Almost there… ALMOST. Panic seized him. What if—too late. The club melted into a velvety void. The universe ceased to exist.
She came.
Penetration—her gaze enveloped his.
She came for me.
Emeralds filled him to brimming.
She came for me and saw me.
Now he could breathe.
She came for me and saw me and didn't bolt.
Now he could live.
She came for me and saw me and didn't bolt and didn't frown.
Now he was whole.
She smiled.
He was whole.
SHE SMILED.
As far as Gambit was concerned, he won this hand.
Four days later…
Most of the inhabitants of the Institute, being teenagers, didn't tend to watch the news very often. Xavier, however, kept a very close eye on the news, especially, since that fateful day that the existence of mutants had been revealed to the world in one fell swoop. He had managed to alter the minds of the immediate populace that came in contact with his students on a regular basis… Other students, their parents, their teachers and other school employees, and so on. It had been an enormous undertaking for him to do so. It was physically and emotionally draining in more than one way. The action of doing it took its toll on him, sure, but going against his ideals and beliefs… forcibly changing the memories of all those people… that was his greatest regret and, thus, his greatest sacrifice, his greatest act of kindness he could ever perform for his students. As cliché as it had become, they were the world's future, the world's hope… for mutant kind especially. And he owed it to them, and then some. Could he ever do enough for them? Could he protect them as they are training to protect their kind? His kind?
He would try. He would damn well try.
One way he did that was by watching the news for the immediate repercussions of that fateful day in which the combined X-Men and Brotherhood members fought Magneto and Trask's Sentinel, all in the public eye of news cameras. Their secret was out. And it was the most delicate moment for human/mutant relations in this country… perhaps the world. It seemed the USA was the first to go public about mutants to the world and now the whole world was watching for how the American people would react. Well, at least the American people thought they did. Sure, the government already knew about the existence of mutants. How else would Trask's people have been able to get the funding for building the Sentinel and the research and holding facilities… no, not holding facilities, but prison facilities? Sure, there were many high level geneticists with knowledge of mutants. How else could Trask's people have designed the Sentinel to specifically target mutants? How else could scientists like Moira McTaggert, Dr. Milbury, and the few others leading the field possess the knowledge that they already did? But with the broader public's awareness came broad public scrutiny and broad public opinion. And that… that was where it all mattered.
And speaking of awareness and public opinion…
"…A community awareness meeting will be held on Wednesday at 7 pm," the anchorwoman's bland and precise voice sounded from the small television in Xavier's study. "Dr. Henry McCoy, a former teacher of Bayville High School who had left his position at the school in order to research the mutant phenomenon, will be a guest speaker…"
The anchorwoman's pre-written announcement continued as the screen was then filled with the address and other vital information for attending the meeting, but Xavier ignored it. His thoughts had turned to his concerns for Hank speaking at the meeting. An image inducer, much like the one Kurt used in public, was prepared for Hank, and Xavier's adjustments of the community's memories had included any possible recognition of Hank's transformation into the blue furred Beast that he and the other mansion's inhabitants had come to trust and consider their warm hearted friend. But, Xavier had not changed everyone's memories. He just couldn't account for every person in the general area of Bayville or every person they may have come in contact with following the initial broadcasts several months ago. He'd managed to make the local news station's employees keep from remembering they ever had a copy of the broadcast after he convinced them to destroy it. But still… it had already been re-broadcasted across the country. It would only be a matter of time before it made its way back into Bayville…
"There's some traffic slowing on I-95 past the… uh, Frank, you may want to get this!"
And the office faded into a velvety void. The universe ceased to exist… except for the video replay that was appearing on the television screen. There was Jean, Wanda, Pietro, Kurt, Hank, Rogue, Evan, Ororo, Todd, Fred, Kitty, Lance, Magneto, and Magneto's new team of three. All of them were there, in full use of their powers. Fighting. The Sentinel was seen as well, and the government troops attacking his students and the Brotherhood.
"Control… This is News Chopper six. We've got some stuff for the network feed. The whole world's got to see this [2]!"
The video made it look like the kids attacked the troops. It showed civilians scurrying away like helpless and terrified victims. It seemed as though the troops were protecting the public from the frighteningly powerful teens. And Xavier knew, right then and there, he knew what public opinion would be in Bayville. It would be just as it had become for the rest of the country. Fanaticism had a new name: MUTANT HYSTERIA. All forms of media were filled with propaganda.
"He's got a gigantic robot, using their super powers [2]."
"Who are they? Where are they from? Government investigators are looking... [2]"
"Rest assured we are doing everything in our power to get to the bottom of this [2]."
"What's your take, Senator? Are they men or monsters? And if they are humans, can we trust them."
"Alien invaders? Or some kind of strange mutation [2]?"
The plague of racism had gained a new strain to match the new strain of human evolution. Geneticism was born.
Xavier lowered his head into his palms.
Three months… no four months was all I'd gained for them. Erasing the specific memories of Bayville's residents hadn't been enough. The reward hadn't been worth the sacrifice that Xavier had made. I cannot do it again. His dream of a world where mutants and humans could coexist peacefully, contentedly, depended on his students' participation. I cannot do it again.
The war was coming and he could not prevent it. He could only fight in it, now. That was all.
I cannot do it again.
He pulled out the business card he'd found on his desktop less than a week ago. He had no idea how it had gotten there. Logan smelled a faint scent of someone, but he lost it at the edge of the woods that bordered the institute. In the end, it didn't matter. Xavier knew who had left it. Maybe not the specific person, but whom the person represented. He had left the appropriate phrase in the message on the voice mail of the number Moira had given him on the night that Rogue had shown them that her legs, physically healthy as they were, refused to hold her weight. Finding the card on his desk two days after that, the night following Rogue's thank you dinner, had thrown them, made them weary in pursuing assistance from the perhaps too sneaky Thieves Guild. But, that was before the video had resurfaced in Bayville.
Feeling at a loss for options, Xavier dialed the number on the latest card now.
"This is Xavier," he said when the line was picked up.
A clipped reply, "Tonight. Midnight. Your office. Alone." Then the line was dead.
Xavier had no idea as to who had spoken, specifically. The voice was heavily accented, but it was none he recognized, as had been intended. Even if he had used his telepathy, even with Cerebro's aid, he would not have been able to identify who had spoken. The distance was too great and the precautions taken, too painstakingly precise.
I will not do it again. Xavier replaced the card in its hiding place and slumped back in his chair. But I will try something else.
Xavier had lost this hand… and the one before it, and the one before that, and before that, and before that. Ever since Mystique showed up at the asylum, he'd been losing time and time again [3]. But he had one more hand to play.
And if this one failed… well, maybe he could find one more… Xavier would not give up.
Fourteen weeks and two days ago...
The whir of the hydraulics on the arm went unheard by all the interested parties in the room. Well... Trask may have heard them... but, Gambit? Gambit heard none of it. Yes, somewhere in his thief-trained awareness, he acknowledged it, but he was so focused on watching Rogue that he flinched when the woman's hand was pulled away from Rogue's bared stomach by the mechanical arm.
Remy stared at that place on Rogue where the contact had been made. There was no mark, no branding of any sort to show the damage that had occurred there. Dere should've been somet'ing, non? How could somet'ing so traumatic leave no mark on her physical being, somet'ing dat would give me a clue to her well-being? Did she suffer as much as de fine tremor dat had run through her de entire time of de transfer suggested she had? Had she suffered more? Had she suffered less... or at all? He'd hoped not, but he also knew that it was too much to hope for. Still, he hoped anyway. He stared at that splash of perfection that was her stomach and hoped.
The skin was white, was cream against the molasses black of the shorts and sports bra. Her skin nearly blended with the white medical tape that held the sensors to her. If he'd let his eyes go blurry, it appeared as though the wires of the sensors sprung out of her, smoothly, like her arms and legs sprung from the trunk of her body. He was so caught up in his view of her that he hadn't noticed the steady rumbling growl erupting from deep in Logan's chest or the steady monotone beep from the monitoring machines... beyond that which his thief's training had subconsciously acknowledged. He hadn't noticed the woman's arm being replaced in the gurney's restraints. He hadn't noticed the hustle and bustle of the gaggle of scientists as they made notes, checked and removed the sensors on the woman. The woman he had known. She had agreed to help him pay a visit to Rogue only a few short days before. He had turned her in to Milbury when Milbury had caught them conversing in hushed voices in an unoccupied office that was off limits to both he and the woman. But, since the contact of that woman's arm onto Rogue's bared skin, the woman had ceased to be anything more to him other than a shell in the form of a body of the female gender. She was nothing more than The Woman... if she was even that much, anymore.
Beep.
It was quiet. It didn't even echo in that concrete room. Even if it had, Gambit wouldn't have heard it beyond the scope of his thief's training acknowledging it.
Beep.
It was there again... and this time, the room went still. Even Logan's growl lowered, though it hadn't disappeared altogether. Gambit, though, he was still focused on Rogue, and hadn't noticed. If he had, would that small sound have been enough to ignite the stirrings of hope as strongly as Rogue had ignited other things in him, things Milbury and Magneto had hoped to squash.
Beep.
"I've got a pulse!" That was one of the eager-beaver scientists. He announced it like he'd discovered the New World.
Gambit didn't take it like that. For some reason, in his current narrowed view of the world, Gambit took that as some significant sign to Rogue's well-being... or rather, her possible not well-being. And so, expectantly, his gaze snapped up to Rogue's, and he lost all feeling below his neck. Or was dat from my heart on down?
Rogue's head was lolled back and a little to the side, cradled in its stiff-yet-boneless position between her arms, which were restrained at full extension above her head. Her eyes were wide open, the whites showing fully as they were rolled back.
"She's alive?" That was Milbury. And he wasn't happy.
For a moment, Gambit couldn't breathe from the relief, but once he'd registered the angry surprise that had been present in Milbury's voice, he knew that Milbury had not been speaking of Rogue. Milbury cared nothing for Rogue, the person, but Gambit knew well enough that Milbury cared very much for Rogue, the test subject. Milbury wanted Rogue alive so he could continue his experiments upon her. Gambit, however, cared only for Rogue the person. As the scientist that had made the exclamation—and nearly every other person in the room—paused in pregnant fear from the tone of Milbury's disappointed question, Gambit flicked his eyes to Rogue's chest. He watched it rise and fall with her breath several times before he let his relief settle in for real.
It was the pompous Trask that had the gall to break the silence. "Had you meant to kill her?"
Milbury said nothing to Trask in response. He threw a look so full of impatience and hate at Trask that Trask actually stumbled backwards over his own feet. Milbury then slowly turned to his eager-beaver gaggle of scientists and said, "What does the EKG say?"
Gulp. It was audible. The scientist attending the EKG nervously wiped his brow then quickly examined the readout. "It says she's... um-m..." He stammered as he rechecked the readout twice.
"Well?" Milbury's voice was too reminiscent of the man Gambit knew him to truly be. Milbury was close to giving himself away.
The EKG scientist cleared his throat, using that moment to examine the readout once more to be sure, then said, "She has almost no brain functions, sir." He sighed and flopped his arms in a defeated-yet-exasperated manner. "By all accounts sir, this says she should not be breathing. She should not have a heartbeat. That's how little brain activity she has." He turned his eyes once more to the readout. Thorough confusion contorted his face. "She should be dead." It was hardly more than a breath.
Ironic, and amusingly deceptive, the offices of the Patriarch of the New Orleans Thieves Guild resided on the upper levels of the tallest bank building in the CBD of the Vieux Carre [4]. Who would've ever thought that the leader of some of the best-trained thieves in the world had the gall to operate out of a building that housed a bank that boasted having the best security system in the entire state of Louisiana? Ironic and brilliant, it was. Too bad Jean-Luc couldn't appreciate it anymore since the person's who's idea it had been to set up operations there could not step foot into it. Maybe not ever again.
If anyone who hadn't known better had looked at Jean-Luc LeBeau in that moment, he or she would've mused at how much Remy had inherited his father's mannerisms. Jean-Luc was perched in the bay window, watching the dusk settling like a wool blanket over a steam bath. One foot was planted solidly on the hardwood floor and the other one was planted just as solidly against the frame of the bay window seat about a foot up from the seat itself. One arm relaxed on the knee of that raised foot. The other arm hung limply at his side. He was leaning back, head resting against the frame opposite the side his foot was planted against. All at once, he appeared completely at ease, in deep concentration and reflection, and tensed and ready to spring out the opened window at any second. It was a pose that, indeed, his son had often been seen in when he was still living in New Orleans. The similarity of mannerism, personality, and attitude of Jean-Luc and his son truly were uncanny. However, Henri was the only child whom Jean-Luc ever sired. And though resemblances showed between Henri and Jean-Luc, it was Remy, Jean-Luc's adopted son, whom would've been mistaken so completely as a younger version of Jean-Luc.
"It's set," Emil, one of Jean-Luc's nephews, said after hanging up the phone, "Tonight, midnight, Xavier's school, just like y' said."
Jean-Luc didn't even turn to Emil. He merely nodded his head. Anyone who hadn't known better would've thought it was sad. But Emil had been a member of the New Orleans Thieves Guild since birth, as most members had been, and knew Jean-Luc almost as well as Henri and Remy did. Emil was a cousin to Henri and Remy, so his familiarity with Jean-Luc was to be expected. Emil was also third in line to replace Jean-Luc as head of this branch of the Guild. As part of the LeBeau clan, by way of his mother, Emil was every bit royalty as Henri and Remy were. Still, even royalty knew their place under their leader. And Emil was very loyal.
"Was dere anyt'ing else y' wanted t' add," Emil added hesitantly. "Perhaps, a message y' would like me t' pass along?"
Emil was loyal, but he was also family. Loyalty and family were very important things in the Guild. Family was the highest of priorities. It was the only thing ranked higher than loyalty to the Guild. It was above all else. Absolutely, above all else. In the Guild, upon age of ascension, each member must swear a vow to uphold first his clan, then the Guild, then the Antiquary, and finally, the trade, the art of thievery. It wasn't just duty that had prompted Emil's question to Jean-Luc. Emil missed his cousin as well. He missed his partner in mischief. He missed Remy Etienne LeBeau.
Jean-Luc released a long sigh, his shoulders slumping, his head bowing to rest upon his forearm. He exhaled the last of his regalia along with that breath, and inhaled another twenty years with his next intake. Even though the dim light of the Vieux Carre didn't show it, longing and regret etched deep lines into his forehead and dug dark circles under his eyes.
"I can't," Jean-Luc said. It was haggard. It was pained. It was sure. The issue had officially been closed.
Emil picked up the phone and dialed. Out of the corner of his eyes he watched Jean-Luc. He wished he could ease Jean-Luc's burden. But he knew of only one way to do that, and he knew it was impossible. They had yet to find a loophole that would allow Remy to return to New Orleans, even for a daylong family gathering. No matter how much they tried to retract it, Diable Blanc, The Ragin' Cajun, Gambit... Remy Etienne LeBeau was banished.
Banishment was severe in the Guilds. It was the most severe Guild sanctioned punishment next to death. It severed the recipient of the punishment from his friends, from his family, from his home. But it was a location severing only. Family was clan. Clan was top priority. And the only way to ever break from the Thieves' Guild permanently was to die. And Remy LeBeau was very much alive. But that, at that moment, was of little consolation to Jean-Luc, Henri, or Emil. Heck, there were a few femmes that were at a loss from the lack of Remy's presence in New Orleans.
Jean-Luc, however much he yearned for his son's presence, his son's voice, and his son's happiness, couldn't bring himself to actively participate in his son's life. It was just too painful a reminder of what would never be again. Guild business was the only contact between the two of them since Remy had been banished. And even then, the contact was through a third party. It allowed the distance to be more thorough. But, as much as Jean-Luc had hoped the distance would make the separation easier, it didn't. In some ways, it made it worse. Every time a third party connection was made, for a contract, for whatever, Jean-Luc was reminded of the loss of his son. And it hurt.
But he still held hope. If the banishment were lifted, he would welcome Remy home with the biggest party New Orleans had ever seen.
"Contract's accepted," Jean-Luc heard Emil say into the phone, "Tonight. Midnight. Institute office."
Another deal dealt... but sometimes it just ends in a tie.
Fourteen weeks and two days ago...
"Just get on with it, already!" That was Trask, of course. He didn't even try to disguise his impatience. It had been nearly an hour since the woman on the gurney had been drained. She was no longer in the room. She had been taken to another room to be studied at a later time. For the moment, Milbury and his gaggle of doctors focused on analyzing Rogue's readouts.
"Science cannot be rushed, Trask," Milbury said sickeningly calm, a childlike glee lighting his face. "There is much to be studied from this test before submitting her to the bonding process... if indeed she is ready for that."
"If?!"
Milbury raised a hand to shush Trask's outburst. "I only mean that we may be able to accomplish much more than just the bonding with this one."
"I don't see how or why these experiments—"
"Additions, Trask," Milbury interrupted, "Don't be so small minded."
"—Additions," Trask amended, then continued, "Can't they be done after the bonding process is completed?"
"So narrow a view possesses you, Trask," Milbury said as a whimsical expression settled into his entire body. It seemed as though a pleasant reverie had encompassed him, as though the greatest sense of accomplishment and peace had filled him entirely... completely.
It was enough to make Logan shiver. Remy may have as well, if he'd been watching, but he hadn't. Remy's entire focus was still on Rogue... At least that's how it appeared to Logan and everyone else in the room. If Jean-Luc or Henri or Emil had been there, they would have had a difficult time to keep from chuckling over Remy's deception. Sure, Remy was focused on Rogue. She was obviously the most important thing in the room to him. But, Remy was not oblivious to everything else that was going on. Remy was a master thief. Remy knew of everything that was occurring in that room. Everything. And he didn't even need to access his kinesthetic sense, the power he'd hidden from everyone, to do it. No, he hadn't needed to use his power for this. Instead, he merely used a trained skill of his, one that he'd first acquired when living homeless on the streets of New Orleans, one that he'd honed to perfection after being adopted into the New Orleans Thieves Guild by the Guild's head, Jean-Luc LeBeau. Remy was simply aware.
"This child is a geneticist's dream, Trask," Milbury continued in his whimsical way. "The possibilities are endless. Endless..." Milbury was quiet for a long moment as he fantasized about that statement. Finally, the reverie snapped, but Milbury's childlike glee did not leave him. "We will get to the bonding process if you still insist upon it. But, it may not be necessary. Think of this mere child NOT as a disgusting mutant or merely a husk to be transformed into you puny vision of a weapon. Instead, think of her as a lump of clay that could be molded into your most unattainably perfect being."
"What do you mean by 'perfect'," Trask asked shakily. He was obviously beginning to be creeped out by Milbury. "She is a mutant. She is an abomination."
"You may think that now, Trask. But, if my theories are correct, we could not only make her into your vision of the perfect weapon, but we could make her into an army of one." Milbury paused there and watched ambition light upon Trask's face. Hooked, Trask was. And now, Milbury would reel him in. "An army of one that we could clone over and over and over again..."
That very same crazed but enlightened glee that had filled Milbury's only a moment before now filled Trask's face. "An army of soldiers that were each an army in their own right..."
"Exactly."
"How long," Trask asked, trying to stay rational amidst his ambition. He looked intently at Rogue and the gaggle of doctors tallying and analyzing their data. Something didn't seem right, something was wrong with what he was seeing, but he couldn't figure out just what.
"A few weeks, to be sure," Milbury said, reeling Trask in a little more with every word. "Once I have the theory proved, the process will be short. Another week afterwards, maybe less. And then the cloning would start. I figure a month or two overall." It was so close.
"But, what about—" Trask began, but halted. That Something, finally, was obvious.
"The bonding process? We could still implement that, if you insist. And with all her additions, it would—"
"What?" Trask asked, momentarily confused by the sudden split of thoughts. "No, not that," he said, getting back on track, "I mean, yes, of course we'll use the bonding process, but that's not what I'm talking about now." Trask then pointed to the place where Remy had sat immobile since Rogue had been forced to absorb Carol for so lengthy a time. "Where is your associate?"
Milbury looked, and sure enough, Remy was gone. Milbury looked to Trask, who was looking to Logan. Milbury followed Trask's enraged gaze to Logan and saw the enormous grin plastered on Logan's face.
"Where is he?" Trask stormed up to Logan. "You saw him, didn't you? DIDN'T YOU?"
"I didn't see nothin'," Logan said wryly, enjoying his petty torture of Trask and Milbury. "What could ya expect from a worthless mutie like me?"
"TELL ME WHERE HE IS!" Trask roared at Logan.
A quiet, but menacing growl that came from deep in Logan's chest was all the answer Trask received.
"Je suis ici," Remy said from behind Rogue's cylinder [5].
Logan chuckled, and it was frightening. It was part of the continuing growl. It distracted Trask long enough for Remy to have finished his task and move between Rogue and Logan. Remy gave the barest of nods to Logan, a show of appreciation that not even Trask noticed as he pushed past Remy to inspect the rear of the Rogue's cylinder.
"What did you do to it?" Trask asked accusingly, as though chastising a clumsy child.
"I did not'ing, not'ing at all," Remy said as he glided closer to Rogue. He reached up a gloved finger to stroke her cheek or arm, he wasn't sure which he wanted to soothe her more by... but he never made the contact. An image of the power test with the woman on the gurney sprung to mind and tainted that comforting gesture. So, he merely held his hand there, hovering just out of reach of her skin.
Logan's growl thickened, deepened, with Gambit's intimate gesture to Rogue, but Remy ignored it. He leaned in to Rogue's ear and whispered, "Je vous sauverai, ma jolie coquin. Ayez l'aucun s'inquiète. Ils payeront pour ceci. Ils souffriront pour ceci. Ils blesseront." [6]
"You tracked mud and leaves all over," Trask complained from behind Rogue's cylinder. "Get this cleaned up," he ordered one of the doctors as he came around the other side of the cylinder, the side opposite Gambit. He moved around in front of it, just as Remy pulled from Rogue and glided towards the center of the room in a lazy, bored manner. Trask followed closely on Gambit's heels, continuing his tirade. "Do you realize what that is? That is delicate machinery. If it weren't for that, you wouldn't be needed. You wouldn't have any purpose here! That machine is worth more than a hundred of you. No, more! A thousand of you!"
That's what Gambit was waiting for. It was just the right insult with just the right level of anger and animosity to prompt Remy's planned response of, "Merde! Se pacifiez-vous!" [7]. Remy turned on him and shoved his furious face into Trask's. "Y' precious bonding machine is fine." Gambit turned away then, to hide a chuckle at his own pun he could barely stifle, and continued his lazy glide further center of the room. "Dieu. Y' going t' blow somet'ing if y' don't learn t' relax."
The tracings of mud and leaves concealed the faint glow of a few other strategically placed leaves.
Remy, now some small distance from Trask, turned back to him, cooing and soothing Trask's warranted paranoia of Gambit by saying, "Just relax 'n everyt'ing will be fine... just fine."
Four nights ago…
Not him, not him, not him...
Rogue scanned the club in a maddening rush, but she forced herself to examine each person she saw carefully.
He has to be here... he has to...
Finally her vision crawled between dancing couples and singles, beyond a few tables, to settle on a lone figure on a crimson couch in the far corner of the club.
He came!
Four weeks after the initial invitation date.
He came!
Her eyes traveled up, drinking in the full sight of him. She almost couldn't bear it when the stubble on his chin entered her view, and still she let her eyes drift up, until finally... finally... their eyes met.
The club froze into a sparkling prism. The universe began anew.
He came.
Reflection—his gaze was hers.
He came for me.
Onyx revealed the Ruby in her.
He came for me and waited for me.
Now she could feel.
He came for me and waited for me and didn't bolt.
Now she was gaping.
She smiled.
She knew what living life was like.
SHE SMILED.
She was alive.
...And then the moment was over...
He rose and left the club, giving her a courtly bow as he passed her. She was frozen in place, her gaze on where he had been waiting for her. WAITING FOR HER! She didn't see him rush to answer his cell phone as soon as he'd passed her. Even if she had, it wouldn't have mattered to her. All that mattered was that he had shown... Four weeks later and he had still shown.
As far as Rogue was concerned, she had finally been dealt into the game.
Rogue reached back and grasped the gloved hand of the person she had brought with her for support, the person she'd kept telepathically hidden, even to HIM. She squeezed, gently, to make sure she had not been dreaming, that this had happened, that she was finally living life.
"I'm here," Pietro whispered reassuringly into her ear, pressing closer to her back as she squeezed his gloved hand. He mistook that minuscule gesture of hers as grief at Gambit's leaving. He mistook Gambit's leaving as teasing her... as rejecting her... as toying with her.
As far as Pietro was concerned, Gambit had taken the gamble too far.
Fourteen weeks and two days ago...
BOOM!
All eyes, wide, spun to the source of the small explosion... Rogue's cylinder. It was intact.
BOOM! BOOM!
Everyone ducked that time, unsure where the explosions were occurring, even though they sounded as though they came from Rogue's cylinder. But as they looked up this time, smoke and sparks and even a few flames flickered from behind Rogue's cylinder.
Logan freaked, going near feral at the sight of the smoke and flames coming from the back of the machine that restrained a still immobile Rogue. He yanked and yanked on his own restraints, to no effect, in attempt to break free and get Rogue away from the still lurking danger.
Trask stormed up to the gaggle of doctors and their monitors, roaring, "What have you fools done?"
"We didn't do anything!" and other similar exclamations of innocence burst from the gaggle of doctors.
Trask turned his fury on Milbury then, but Milbury wasn't looking at Trask or the doctors or Rogue. Milbury was looking at Gambit. A smirking Gambit. A proud Gambit. Proud until...
CREAK!
A sickening sound of twisting metal drew all eyes to Rogue's cylinder. It was falling, timbering forward. There was nothing between Rogue and the floor and the toppling weight of the adamantium cylinder that she was restrained in that would crush on top of her when it landed.
Wolverine doubled his efforts. Still, to no effect. Trask watched, mouth agape, in fear of the destruction of his precious bonding machinery. The gaggle of doctors and the dozens of guards that lined the walls of the room watched in awe. Milbury peered at Rogue's impending fate unfolding before him with the same removed inquisition he gave any of his experiments. He merely awaited the end result... the final outcome. Not a one of them made an effective move to save her from it...
Well, nobody except Remy Etienne LeBeau.
Gambit ran. He ran to her for all he was worth. He didn't even consider that there was no way he could free her before it impacted the concrete floor. He didn't even consider that he could be crushed by it as well. He ran and he slid, like a baseball player sliding for home plate to score the winning run. He slipped underneath the crested top of the cylinder without noticing that less than a foot of space existed between it and his chest, and then his head, as he slid under its falling. Going full speed as he was, his feet slammed into the base of the cylinder, which had remained locked in place on the floor, and he let his knees bend to absorb the impact of his sudden stop.
Rogue's wide-awake emerald orbs locked onto Remy's ruby on onyx orbs. Remy held that gaze as confidently as he held his outstretched hands to wrap around her as soon as she was close enough for him to do so. No thought of his own peril, either by the contact of his skin to hers or by the crushing weight of the cylinder crossed his mind. Well, it wasn't a concern of his until it DIDN'T happened.
The entire cylinder had halted mere inches from the floor.
A collective breath was released throughout the room, followed by cheers of happiness. Logan didn't cheer, but he did cease his roaring and growling for a moment as he took in the phenomenon. Rogue and Remy, the full lengths of their bodies mirroring each other, merely focused on each other's eyes, oblivious to everyone else in the room. And Milbury, he let a beaming, self-satisfied smile creep across his face.
The cylinder was hovering above Remy, which made everyone rejoice, but even more for Rogue and Remy, as they were the ones who had not been crushed. But the strain began to show on Rogue's face from her effort. Her effort, Remy realized with a start. It was the combined use of Rogue's newly gained powers of superhuman strength and flight that had saved them.
Remy flashed Rogue a cocky grin. "Much as Remy like dis position, chère, Remy t'inks y' aren't ready t' be dis up close and personal." He lingered a moment longer before he scooted out from under her and the cylinder.
He, and everyone else present in the room, watched the painfully slow rotation of the cylinder. Once it had turned over, Rogue let her body relax into the half circle of adamantium at her back. Then cylinder finished its decent.
BAM!
Midnight.
Xavier had been waiting in his office for fifteen minutes already. He was still alone. There was no buzz from the Institute's outer gates. There was no knock on the front door. There was no sense of a foreign mind anywhere on the Institute's grounds.
He shivered slightly, from the disappointment of being stood up by his last ditch effort to protect his students from the mutant hysteria that had minced the country, not just from the breeze that came from the window behind him.
Breeze?
There shouldn't be a breeze. The window was closed. It was New York in late fall, so of course the window was closed. ...He looked behind him and found the window wide open. Alarmed, he turned back, preparing to call Logan and Storm and Hank telepathically. However, the sight of a suppression collar—an exact duplicate of the ones that had been worn by Rogue, Hank, Logan, Fred, and Evan during their imprisonment—sitting inert on his desk stopped him.
Someone was in the room with him.
He flicked his eyes around the room searching the shadows with his eyes as he searched for the intruder's mind with his telepathy. There! ...In the space by the southernmost bookcase, where the couch cast an elongated shadow on top of a taller shadow made by the next bookcase over, there was the presence of a mind. The mind was shielded... incredibly well shielded. Xavier would have had to work to break through it with his telepathy. His nerves—frayed as they were from all that had happened over the last several months—egged him to press with his telepathy and take the mystery person's purpose directly from his mind. Yet, the more rational side of him noted that this could very well be his contact to Jean-Luc LeBeau—could very well be Jean-Luc LeBeau—and forcing his way inside his or her mind would most assuredly cancel this meeting.
Xavier bore his eyes into the space where his telepathy told him the presence stood. He could faintly make out the outline of a masculine figure. He watched that outline for movement, for breathing, for blinking, but there was none. Finally, Xavier broke the silence and said, "I know you are there."
The man chuckled. It was good-natured, mischievous, and playful. He blinked. Three sparks of red and the man's cigarette lit.
Xavier gasped. He didn't mean to. But he couldn't help himself. He thought he'd never be surprised or disturbed by any mutation, not after dealing with Mystique, Hank, and Nightcrawler. Yet, still he gasped when he saw the three sparks of red. Only one of the sparks was the lighting of the cigarette, and even that hadn't been a flame from a lighter. The two other sparks were the man's eyes. They were his irises.
"Spooked?" The man asked. He had a heavy accent, just like the man on the phone. Southern, sort of, and French, sort of.
Xavier pulled out an ashtray and slid it across the desktop nearest the man. The gesture was intended to invite the man closer. But it backfired.
"No need," The man held up a glass ashtray, identical to the one Xavier had slid on the desktop, and tapped his ash in it. He waited for Xavier to look in the drawer where he had retrieved the ashtray he'd offered the man. Sure enough, one was missing.
"What is the point of all this?" Xavier asked as he returned his gaze to the three red points of light that was all he could see of the man. It wasn't antagonistic, but rather neutrally asked, considering he was asking it of a man he did not know, a man who had formidable shields against Xavier's telepathy, and man who had just broken into the office of one of the greatest telepaths on the planet.
Xavier watched as the man took a long slow drag of his cigarette, the glow brightening the man's young, stubble-covered jaw, and the contrasting maturity of his demonic eyes.
"This was t' show y' what I do," the man simply replied.
"You are very good," Xavier admitted.
Another drag of the cigarette showed the cocky, go-lucky grin that tugged the man's lips before he said, "Oui, I am one of de best."
His eyes closed, cutting off the two points of red there. Inhale. The hand holding the cigarette dropped down, out of sight behind the cover of the couch, cutting off the third point of red. Exhale. Xavier watched the puff of smoke swirl up and up.
The smoke cleared and the man was gone.
Xavier blinked.
A hand appeared in his peripheral, on the opposite side of where he'd been looking. Xavier looked up to the cocky, go-lucky grin of the young man that Xavier was now sure was his contact to Jean-Luc and the organization he knew only as the NOTG.
"Charles Xavier, oui?" The man asked, pushing his hand to again signal his intended greeting.
"Yes," Xavier said as he accepted the hand and shook it. For someone so young and playful, the handshake was quite firm and formal. "And you are?"
"I am Jean-Luc's favorite son," he said, his eyes twinkling with mirth, "I am Gambit."
Footnotes:
[1] French: Joueur. English: player or gambler.
[2] All of these were quoted from 'Day of Reckoning'.
[3] This took place in 'Hex Factor,' of course. Which, by the way is the episode that holds the secret to Mystique's impersonating Xavier in 'Day of Reckoning.' It's there, plain as day. And it's so obvious once you recognize it. Heehee... I can't wait to explore this aspect of the 'Day of Reckoning' story arc ... eventually.
[4] CBD = Central Business District. It is a common term for the few blocks of cityscape and skyscrapers located between the French Quarter and the Garden District. VIEUX CARRE = French quarter. This seems like a more tradition and slightly more formal terminology for the famous section of New Orleans. Its use is intended to give the Guild a sense of tradition and civility.
[5] French: Je suis ici. English: I am here.
[6] French: Je vous sauverai, ma jolie coquin. Ayez l'aucun s'inquiète. Ils payeront pour ceci. Ils souffriront pour ceci. Ils blesseront. English: I will save you, my pretty rascal. Have no worries. They will pay for this. They will suffer for this. They will hurt.
[7] French: Merde! Se pacifiez-vous! English: Shit! You calm yourselves!
TIME LINE
- 14 days (2 weeks before DoR). Magneto briefs Remy, Piotr & St. John on the Brotherhood and X-Men members (Ch. 3, Pietro's memory). Pyro asks if Rogue's power is to imitate the dead (I love that!).
0 days: DAY OF RECKONING. 1st news broadcast of mutants. Rogue, Logan, Fred, and Hank are captured by the Sentinel and held as prisoners in Trask's Institution (research labs).
3 days: RAID ON THE INSTITUTE. Described briefly in prologue.
5 days: Fury sends Carol undercover at Trask's installation.
8 days (1 week and 1 day): Rogue convinces the prisoners to pass their blankets to Fred resulting in punishment from the guards: forcing an unconscious Logan's claws to pierce a collared Fred's skin and the winking guard (Renfield, Ch. 5) to break Rogue's legs (Ch. 4). Fred kept a shard of glass from the Dr.'s glasses, broken in Rogue's struggles (Ch. 4).
9 days (1 week and 2 days): Remy meets Carol and they both try to play each other for information (Ch. 5).
10 days (1 week and 3 days): Rogue refuses the doctor's many attempts to treat her festering broken legs (Ch. 5). Rogue first glances Dr. Milbury (though they do not speak to each other) while the more familiar doctor whispers to Fred (Ch. 5).
11 days (1 week and 4 days): Guards stop feeding Rogue; Fred shares his with her, exactly what they wanted to happen (Ch. 5). After giving the winking guard the nickname Renfield, Dr. Milbury formerly introduces himself to Rogue and informs her that Fred told them her name and powers, well, that she absorbs psyches (Ch. 5).
16 days (2 weeks and 2 days): Dr. Milbury catches Carol and Remy sharing information (Ch. 5).
23 days (3 weeks and 2 days): With Trask in attendance, Dr. Milbury tests the ratio of touch-time to retention-time when Rogue, suspended in an open cylinder, absorbs Logan, strung up by his hands, in order to weigh the possibility that Rogue could survive the adamantium bonding process (Ch. 5). Dr. Milbury reveals his agreement with Trask: Sentinels provide mutant research subjects in trade for progress on the bonding process (Ch. 5). Gambit reports to Dr. Milbury that the assault on the Morlocks is complete and Rogue discovers that they work together (Ch. 5). Rogue absorbs Carol Danvers (Ch. 5), who survives, though is technically brain-dead (Ch. 6). Dr. Milbury plans to use Rogue to create an army of multi-powered soldiers (Ch. 6). Remy is nearly crushed by Rogue's cylinder while trying to save her (Ch. 6).
42 days (6 weeks): RESCUE. Mentioned in prologue. X-Men discover that Rogue has new permanent powers that allowed her to survive the warehouse collapsing on her and prevents Jean and Xavier from reading her mind (Ch. 1).
56 days (8 weeks): PROLOGUE. It is revealed that Xavier changed the memories of Bayville inhabitants to make them forget that the X-Men and Brotherhood were the mutants involved in the news broadcast of the giant Sentinel attack.
70 days (10 weeks): CHAPTER ONE. Rogue's 1st week back to school. Pietro tries to rescue Rogue from the dastardly Remy, who has so evilly trailed the Queen of Hearts card on her cheek. How horrible of him!
72 days (10 weeks and 2 days): CHAPTER TWO. Logan flashes back on his memories of the rescue, prompting him to confront Rogue about helping more with the reconstruction of the institute. Surprise, she's been avoiding using many of her new powers because she'd killed those whom she'd stolen them from.
84 days (12 weeks): CHAPTER THREE. Sleepless Pietro confronts Gambit outside the mansion. Gambit gives him advice wishes him luck with Rogue.
85 days (12 weeks and 1 day): CHAPTER THREE. Rogue skips out of the overcrowded breakfast and ends up being confronted by Scott. She explains how she hides her constant floating/flying, to keep from getting caught. Rogue/Pietro locker and lake scenes. Wanda tells Pietro he's without honor.
87 days (12 weeks and 2 days): CHAPTER THREE. Gambit slices the tarp to sneak into Rogue and Kitty's room to watch Rogue sleep. He uses his spatial (kinesthetic) sense and empathic (charm) abilities as a way to 'touch' her. Rogue pretends he didn't wake her. Logan bursts in, missing Gambit. Smell's fresh blood on Rogue, but doesn't know it's because she popped a bone claw out ala Wolverine. Gambit left a card with a note on it (see Ch. 4) for her.
90 days (12 weeks and 6 days). News report/interview with non-mutant Dr. Moira McTaggert of the Muir Island Research Center catches Xavier's attention.
91 days (13 weeks): CHAPTER FOUR. Xavier, Logan & Hank meet with Moira McTaggert, who, to inspire faith in her so they could work out a trade of services, gives them guaranteed contact to Jean-Luc for the hiring of a thief to track down some of Trask's files. Rogue and Pietro skip school and spend the afternoon on the mansion's reconstruction by themselves. Pietro throws a fit when he finds the card from Gambit. Fred gives Rogue the Hope Chest. Gambit again waits futilely in Spades for Rogue, who doesn't show (Gambit's note on the card he gave her in Ch. 3).
112 days (16 weeks): CHAPTER FIVE. Gambit decides to only wait one more week for Rogue to show up at Spades (stage and spotlight references to standing in the cones of light on the street waiting for his leading lady to show). In remembrance, Rogue runs into Evan on her way to reveal the problem with her legs and chicken's out (Ch. 5).
115 days (16 weeks and 3 days): In remembrance, Rogue chicken's out about telling the team about her legs again, this time after running into Fred (Ch. 5).
118 days (16 weeks and 6 days): CHAPTER FIVE. Rogue freaks out while trying to tell the team about her legs and Hank sedates her to calm her. She remembers several events that took place while she was imprisoned: meeting Dr. Milbury, meeting Trask, absorbing Logan and Carol, learning that Gambit worked for Dr. Milbury, being suspended in the open cylinder. She wakes from sedation during Wrestling Night (unofficial Thursday Family Night) and is plagued by the red-on-black numbers of her clock into going to meet Gambit at Spades the following night. So much so, that she stumbles downstairs to avoid them, and facing everyone, on impulse, shows them her dilemma with her legs. Psyche-Emma meets Psyche-Carol in Rogue's mindscape. Xavier calls the Guild and leaves the message as directed by the card Moira gave him (Ch. 6).
119 days (17 weeks): CHAPTER FIVE and CHAPTER SIX. Rogue makes the team a southern dinner as thanks (Ch. 5). She goes to Spades; Pietro (rendered telepathically invisible by Rogue) goes along to support her and prove he's not a complete, unrepentant jerk (Ch. 6). Though Gambit is there, they do not speak or directly interact (Ch. 6). Gambit leaves when the Guild calls him to inform him that Xavier has made initial contact via Moira's boon (Ch. 6).
120 days (17 weeks and 1 day): Xavier finds a card left by a Guild member (Gambit, though they don't know that yet) on his desk to coordinate a direct meeting (Ch. 6).
123 days (17 weeks and 4 days): CHAPTER SIX. News broadcast of the video of the Sentinel attack undoes Xavier's sacrifice (erasing the memories of Bayville). As a result, Xavier makes the final call to the Guild from the card left three days prior. Gambit is who meets him, and does so by sneaking in to prove his skills.
124 days (17 weeks and 5 days): CHAPTER SIX. Hank McCoy plans to speak at a Bayville public meeting regarding the American mutant situation.
Thank you for reading and reviewing.