Ma Soleil
Chapter Fifteen: Trust Beyond Circumstances
Disclaimer: All Marvel Characters are the property of Marvel. This is a work of fanfiction, not an attempt to infringe on Stan Lee's personal arsenal of hotties. I can wish all I like, but Sabes is never gonna show up to collect me, and that's that. Oh, yeah, I'm making zero profit off this and if you want Beck, just ask.
And again, to anyone who's managed to read so far and understand what they're reading, I'm looking for a beta. Someone frank, someone unafraid to put a serious opinion into print, someone in between Simon Cowell and Mister Rogers, like Cowell in the sense that they're candid, but like Mister Rogers in the respect that they have SOME tact.
As always, the lifeblood of the fanfiction author is reviews. I will respect constructive criticism, but flames are sincerely unappreciated. My e-mail address is seraph_taurus@thekeyz.com. Thanks for your time and God bless.
XXX
Rebecca unlocked her apartment door, balancing the heavy bag of take-out in one hand and her backpack in the other. As she swung the door open, she telepathically scanned the area, as she had been doing ever since she'd gotten back from the Institute. Instantly realizing neither Guillaume nor Warden were within, she dropped the food and backpack and headed silently toward her bedroom, where she opened a drawer and tugged out a belt with several firearms attached, some of which bore the legend "The Maker," which she had bought from Forge several years ago and which were still some of the most powerful pieces in their class. Stripping calmly down into her underwear, she opened her armoire and brought out a suit of full body-armor, a black expanse of reinforced unstable molecules and Kevlar, with an emerald-green utility belt and violet trimmings. It was styled rather similarly to the late Psylocke's second uniform, with a cape and hood, but with soft-soled cat-boots, as opposed to the heels she usually favored.
Arming herself and checking her utility belt to be assured that she was well-equipped, she tugged on her gloves, marched into the kitchen, ripped off a paper towel, and methodically wiped every surface in the apartment that could have been touched. When she had finished, she searched for any clue as to where Warden could have gone. When she found nothing, she grabbed her cell-phone and an always-packed overnight bag, and, after locking the apartment securely, clambered out her window and lifted herself into the air, dialing a number on her cell phone as she did so.
XXX
"Hello, this is Xavier's. . ."
"Yeh, yeh. Hello, this is Soleil Étoile, and I'm calling for Jubilation Lee."
After a few moments, the line clicked off and another opened. "Lee. Talk fast, Starsmore."
"My partner's been kidnapped. I need to use Cerebro."
"Fair enough. When're ya gonna be here?"
"Few hours."
"Need a lift?"
"I can get there faster with my T.K."
"All right. See ya in a few. Forget the doorbell, land on the roof."
"Will do." Soleil hung up, and, streamlining her body, tightened her cloak around herself and sped off into the night.
XXX
Chris Warden woke up in an institution-like room, with blank walls and tiled floors. He was in a narrow twin bed with hideous sheets and no blanket, and the pillow was stuffed with a mixture of polyester and something he was allergic to. The air around him smelt like urine, rotting flesh, and sanitizer. There was an intravenous feed in his hand, and he ripped it off, dubious as to what the liquid might contain. Standing up, he inspected his clothes. They had been replaced by a starched hospital robe and a pair of flimsy blue-cloth pants. He cursed internally, as if he had only retained his clothing, he might have had a chance to escape from wherever the hell this was, as he always stitched "a little something" into the linings of whatever he wore.
However, as it was, he had nothing, and began examining his surroundings more thoroughly, scanning for anything, a vent, a window, or even a drain-hole. There was no bathroom, only two buckets in the corner, one empty and one filled with water. Scratching his chest, Chris sat back down on the bed heavily. There were no outlets from the room except for the door, which he was hesitant to touch lest it have some sort of electric force-field surrounding it. *Well, this is what I get for lusting after someone that hot,* he reflected, a smile spreading over his face as a picture of l'Rivière popped up into his mind. "Spicy," he murmured aloud, against his own volition.
I'm so flattered dat y' t'ink I be so desirable, mon ami, echoed a voice in his mind.
I didn't know you were a psi.
Expatiated shape-shifter. I be anyt'in'. I wan', mon ami.
So what's your business kidnapping me like this?
It's de op.
Pardon?
I need a legit hostage fo'e somet'in'. Y' be a U.S. citizen, non?"
Yeah, I am.
Magnifique, den y'll be quite perfect fo'e dis lil' con. Oui, certainment.
If this is an op, will you please tell me what's going on?
De job is, y' stay 'ere fo'e a coupl'a days, I get de mark y' help me get wit' yo' imprisonment, I let y' go, den y' 'ead out, guns blazin', an' take de homme out.
I don't do assassinations. Soleil does.
She's gotta a long way t' go, mon ami. She ain' gonna fin' me.
Am I getting paid for this?
Mais, oui.
You should have left a note for her.
Woulda looked too chummy. I need t' fool ev'yone, includin' y'.
So who's the mark?
Y' don' need t' know.
I'm going to be murdering him. I DO need to know. Otherwise I won't go with the op.
Y' don' really 'ave a choice, mon ami.
Soleil's going to find me, you asshole. And when she does, she's gonna tear your balls off, flash-fry 'em, and feed 'em to ya!
Y' 'ave a really imaginative mind on y', mon ami, Guillaume replied, a note of frustration coloring his even tone. Doe I t'ink y' shoul' be mo'e docile den dis wit' one o' de mos' powerful Lords dis side o' de Assassin border.
Are you referring to the Guilds?
What do y' t'ink?
I thought they've had relative peace since LeBeau was run off their turf for killing Boudreaux.
I see y' know y'r histoire, M'sieu' Warden, but I'll 'ave y' know dat "relative" means jes' dat. It ain' absolute. But I didn' bring y' 'ere t' discuss politics. I've already credited yo' account in Zurich wit' four million dollars fo'e dis kidnappin'. I'm willin' t' add ten times dat amount if y' be willin' t' hit dis mark fo'e me.
I'll have to counsel with Soleil on that.
Dere's no time fo'e dat. I be closin' dis deal t'morrow afternoon. Make a choice, mon ami.
And if I refuse to make the hit?
I've pumped enough nitro int' yo' blood t' blow y' up on command.
Nitro?! Warden's eyes zoomed in on the IV stand.
Non, Warden, not in dere. Did y' t'ink I was dumb enough t' put explosives in de cell wit' y'?
B. . .but won't it kill me even if you don't blow it up? The stuff IS poisonous!
When y' pretty-boy mercs gonna wake up an' do yo' research? It's 2025, mon ami! An' money buys a lot o' interestin' t'ings.
Fine. I'll think about it. If Soleil manages to initiate contact before the op goes down, will you let me negotiate?
Sure. But dat won' help de fact dat dis mark's gonna be dead wit'in forty-four hours.
That's all I'm asking for.
D'Accord, den. I'll send some'un in later on t' brief y'.
XXX
Soleil Étoile fitted the helmet of Cerebro securely over her cranium, reveling in the initial buzz the machine generated. Jubilee's lips twisted into a wry smile at the other woman's purr of pleasure as her already prodigious powers were amplified and altered according to the pattern programmed into Cerebro. "Would you like me to leave?" she inquired silently.
"No, your presence is. . .bracing." the last word was uttered with an odd inflection, almost as though Soleil were asking a question. Jubilee nodded, centering herself for the surge of psionic power that shafted through her, despite the fact that she was not wearing Cerebro.
Soleil's mind reached out, searching for Chris', that familiar Prussian blue and violet psionic signature, with smatterings of hot pink. . .an undoubtedly male signature, aggressive and banal, with no excuses for who he was. Her partner, her almost-friend. She envisioned the world, wrapped her telepathy around it like a blanket, made sure not to probe too hard, frowned when she sensed enemies and relaxed when she felt friends. She scanned signatures and surface thoughts, until she'd narrowed her search down to two or three, but after a more thorough probe, she realized that wherever Warden had gone, he had some reason for shielding himself from her. She sighed, and set to looking for Guillaume. She found him soon enough, lounging in his office, taking a moment away from his obscenely busy schedule to have a cigarette and a bit of scotch.
She touched his mind softly, so he'd know it was her, and that she was scanning for him. Within moments, he had morphed into some random telepath and sent, Bonjour, chère. What a lovely surprise. Great of y' t' drop in.
What's going on, Checkmate?
Scuse me, chère?
My partner's missing.
Y'. . .y' mean Chris Warden?
Yeah.
De homme dat was hittin' on me on de phone?
The very same.
Well. . .I DID t'ink it was odd dat no one was home at de address y' lef' me, but I figured mebbe y'd had a better offer someplace else.
How do you mean?
I mean dat no one was home when I arrived at yo' apartment.
I left Warden there, Guillaume.
Lissen, y' soun' upset. Mebbe I shoul' have some o' my people look fo'e him.
No, that's not necessary. I'll be fine on my own.
But chère. . .
I'm still known as Rebecca Creed to most mercs. They'll back me up. I have contacts, too, Guillaume.
Well, if dat's what y' wan', chère, I can' stop y', but I don' t'ink dat you'll fin' yo' partner wit'out m' help. she caught the subtle nuance in his tone and her eyes sharpened.
What have you heard, Guillaume?
Pardon?
Don't insult me, I know you better than that, Checkmate, she hissed, her psionic voice suddenly accompanied by a sharp prod.
Mon Dieu! Didn' know y'd stoop t' stickerin' an ol' friend jus' t' get yo' partner back. Y' ain' even sleepin' wit' him, chère.
Damn it, Guillaume, don't dance around with me. I'm getting really pissed off right now, so just give it to me straight up.
I know y' ain' really mad at me, y' jus' be angry wit' de circumstances, so I'll be soft wit' y', Soleil. I know where Warden is, he's in my employ, on a commissioned op, E's bein' paid fo'e it, and y'll split de profits if dat's how he wants it. However, if y' attempt t' recover him, he'll be executed.
Soleil forced the lump past her throat and knew what she was getting into. This was like playing chicken riding a moped while Guillaume sat in a semi-truck. Not smart. Can I ask what the op is?
It's a hit.
You know I'M the one who does the hits, Guillaume, not Warden. He doesn't have the backbone for it.
Oui, but I couldn' 'ave y' runnin' around, fuckin' wit' m' plans. Dat ain' how I run t'ings, pétite. Y'd be too smart fo'e me, I'd 'ave t' kill y'. Warden ain' like y'. He don' t'ink like dat. He's tryin' t' protect himself, an' de mark. Don' know why.
You WANT him to protect the mark. You want an excuse to kill him, don't you?
Non! Why woul' I do dat? Jus' t' waste a friend of yours? I ain' after petty revenge against an ol' lover, chère. I meant it when I said I loved y', an' I can accept de fact dat y' don' exactly reciprocate m' feelings, but I jest wan' dis opportunity t' make a point, an' it ain' t' you. I needed a hitman an' a hostage, and Warden jus' happened t' fit de roster perfectly.
Why not someone else? Some superhero? Someone else, not Chris. He doesn't deserve to be caught up in one of your schemes. I don't know what it is you're after, but whenever anyone gets involved with you, they can never get uninvolved.
True story, chère.
So let him go, and take me.
I t'ought I explained dis t' you, Soleil. Tol' y' dat he fits m' profile, he's de tool I need t' make m' point, an' don' worry, I won' kill him so long as he don' do anyt'in' you'd do.
Anything stupid, do you mean?
Mais, oui. Y' always frightened me wit' yo' tendency t' read m' mind.
Funny isn't it?
I won' 'ave 'im kill anyone important, I promise.
Do they deserve it?
De bastard murdered t'ree innocent people under m' command.
Does he have children?
Non, he's one o' dem lone wolf mercs. Jest need some time t' waste 'im. Den y'll get yo' partner back all safe an' sound, even minus de explosives I planted in 'is bloodstream.
You didn't.
I did.
Why have you got to coerce HIM? He doesn't take well to pressure.
Den he shouldn' 'ave b'come a mercenary, chère.
You're picking on me, Guillaume.
Non, I swear, I'm not. his tone softened, and she felt him sigh. Listen, Rebecca, if I could've used someone else, I woul' have. But he was so fuckin' perfec' dat I couldn' pass up de opportunity. All right? He'll do de hit, cry a lil' bit, an' run int' yo' waitin' arms.
No, he won't cry, Guillaume. He's killed before. That's precisely why he doesn't do anymore hits. I do, because I can block it out, but he feels nothing when he kills, and that terrifies him.
Is 'e any good?
He's brilliant. No one would employ him because he wanted to stop killing, but that was his main qualification. But I needed someone who was as sick of the business as possible without wanting to quit it entirely, and I made him my machinery and technology buff.
So e'll get de job done?
You know it, you right bastard.
Dat's de Soleil Étoile I know! All right, den, I guess y'll see 'im in a few days or so. De op goes down t'night.
Tonight?!
Oui, can' wait too long.
All right. I suppose I'll see you. . .some other time.
Oui, but don' coun' on seein' me too soon. I wanna wait till y' calm down b'fo'e seein' y' again. . .y' might try t' drop a psionic bomb on m' mindscape.
She allowed herself a weak laugh. Just keep Warden safe, Guillaume. That's all I'm asking. I want my tech support back, all right?
O'course, I won' break de homme. she felt a whisper of his smile against her mind, and then she pulled out of his, back into her own, and lifted Cerebro from her head, smoothing her hair and turning back to Jubilee.
"Did you get anything?" the older woman inquired.
"I think so."
"Do you need backup?"
"No, he's just. . .on vacation. Somewhat."
"Vacation? I thought mercs don't have vacations."
"Warden does whatever the hell he wants. He's sometimes a bit troublesome to work with."
"I can understand that. So, did you want to say hello to anyone here? Jono misses you, ya know."
"I don't think I can stay."
"The Professor's due to return in a couple of days from the Shi'ar Empire."
"Oh?"
"Yeah."
"So they diagnosed his problems?"
"Yeah." Her face fell.
"And they found a cure?"
"Something like."
"And?"
Jubilee seemed to cringe, and her hand reached for Soleil's, taking it softly and squeezing gently. "Come on, I'll tell you in the kitchen. You should be sitting down."
XXX
Chapter Fifteen: Trust Beyond Circumstances
Disclaimer: All Marvel Characters are the property of Marvel. This is a work of fanfiction, not an attempt to infringe on Stan Lee's personal arsenal of hotties. I can wish all I like, but Sabes is never gonna show up to collect me, and that's that. Oh, yeah, I'm making zero profit off this and if you want Beck, just ask.
And again, to anyone who's managed to read so far and understand what they're reading, I'm looking for a beta. Someone frank, someone unafraid to put a serious opinion into print, someone in between Simon Cowell and Mister Rogers, like Cowell in the sense that they're candid, but like Mister Rogers in the respect that they have SOME tact.
As always, the lifeblood of the fanfiction author is reviews. I will respect constructive criticism, but flames are sincerely unappreciated. My e-mail address is seraph_taurus@thekeyz.com. Thanks for your time and God bless.
XXX
Rebecca unlocked her apartment door, balancing the heavy bag of take-out in one hand and her backpack in the other. As she swung the door open, she telepathically scanned the area, as she had been doing ever since she'd gotten back from the Institute. Instantly realizing neither Guillaume nor Warden were within, she dropped the food and backpack and headed silently toward her bedroom, where she opened a drawer and tugged out a belt with several firearms attached, some of which bore the legend "The Maker," which she had bought from Forge several years ago and which were still some of the most powerful pieces in their class. Stripping calmly down into her underwear, she opened her armoire and brought out a suit of full body-armor, a black expanse of reinforced unstable molecules and Kevlar, with an emerald-green utility belt and violet trimmings. It was styled rather similarly to the late Psylocke's second uniform, with a cape and hood, but with soft-soled cat-boots, as opposed to the heels she usually favored.
Arming herself and checking her utility belt to be assured that she was well-equipped, she tugged on her gloves, marched into the kitchen, ripped off a paper towel, and methodically wiped every surface in the apartment that could have been touched. When she had finished, she searched for any clue as to where Warden could have gone. When she found nothing, she grabbed her cell-phone and an always-packed overnight bag, and, after locking the apartment securely, clambered out her window and lifted herself into the air, dialing a number on her cell phone as she did so.
XXX
"Hello, this is Xavier's. . ."
"Yeh, yeh. Hello, this is Soleil Étoile, and I'm calling for Jubilation Lee."
After a few moments, the line clicked off and another opened. "Lee. Talk fast, Starsmore."
"My partner's been kidnapped. I need to use Cerebro."
"Fair enough. When're ya gonna be here?"
"Few hours."
"Need a lift?"
"I can get there faster with my T.K."
"All right. See ya in a few. Forget the doorbell, land on the roof."
"Will do." Soleil hung up, and, streamlining her body, tightened her cloak around herself and sped off into the night.
XXX
Chris Warden woke up in an institution-like room, with blank walls and tiled floors. He was in a narrow twin bed with hideous sheets and no blanket, and the pillow was stuffed with a mixture of polyester and something he was allergic to. The air around him smelt like urine, rotting flesh, and sanitizer. There was an intravenous feed in his hand, and he ripped it off, dubious as to what the liquid might contain. Standing up, he inspected his clothes. They had been replaced by a starched hospital robe and a pair of flimsy blue-cloth pants. He cursed internally, as if he had only retained his clothing, he might have had a chance to escape from wherever the hell this was, as he always stitched "a little something" into the linings of whatever he wore.
However, as it was, he had nothing, and began examining his surroundings more thoroughly, scanning for anything, a vent, a window, or even a drain-hole. There was no bathroom, only two buckets in the corner, one empty and one filled with water. Scratching his chest, Chris sat back down on the bed heavily. There were no outlets from the room except for the door, which he was hesitant to touch lest it have some sort of electric force-field surrounding it. *Well, this is what I get for lusting after someone that hot,* he reflected, a smile spreading over his face as a picture of l'Rivière popped up into his mind. "Spicy," he murmured aloud, against his own volition.
I'm so flattered dat y' t'ink I be so desirable, mon ami, echoed a voice in his mind.
I didn't know you were a psi.
Expatiated shape-shifter. I be anyt'in'. I wan', mon ami.
So what's your business kidnapping me like this?
It's de op.
Pardon?
I need a legit hostage fo'e somet'in'. Y' be a U.S. citizen, non?"
Yeah, I am.
Magnifique, den y'll be quite perfect fo'e dis lil' con. Oui, certainment.
If this is an op, will you please tell me what's going on?
De job is, y' stay 'ere fo'e a coupl'a days, I get de mark y' help me get wit' yo' imprisonment, I let y' go, den y' 'ead out, guns blazin', an' take de homme out.
I don't do assassinations. Soleil does.
She's gotta a long way t' go, mon ami. She ain' gonna fin' me.
Am I getting paid for this?
Mais, oui.
You should have left a note for her.
Woulda looked too chummy. I need t' fool ev'yone, includin' y'.
So who's the mark?
Y' don' need t' know.
I'm going to be murdering him. I DO need to know. Otherwise I won't go with the op.
Y' don' really 'ave a choice, mon ami.
Soleil's going to find me, you asshole. And when she does, she's gonna tear your balls off, flash-fry 'em, and feed 'em to ya!
Y' 'ave a really imaginative mind on y', mon ami, Guillaume replied, a note of frustration coloring his even tone. Doe I t'ink y' shoul' be mo'e docile den dis wit' one o' de mos' powerful Lords dis side o' de Assassin border.
Are you referring to the Guilds?
What do y' t'ink?
I thought they've had relative peace since LeBeau was run off their turf for killing Boudreaux.
I see y' know y'r histoire, M'sieu' Warden, but I'll 'ave y' know dat "relative" means jes' dat. It ain' absolute. But I didn' bring y' 'ere t' discuss politics. I've already credited yo' account in Zurich wit' four million dollars fo'e dis kidnappin'. I'm willin' t' add ten times dat amount if y' be willin' t' hit dis mark fo'e me.
I'll have to counsel with Soleil on that.
Dere's no time fo'e dat. I be closin' dis deal t'morrow afternoon. Make a choice, mon ami.
And if I refuse to make the hit?
I've pumped enough nitro int' yo' blood t' blow y' up on command.
Nitro?! Warden's eyes zoomed in on the IV stand.
Non, Warden, not in dere. Did y' t'ink I was dumb enough t' put explosives in de cell wit' y'?
B. . .but won't it kill me even if you don't blow it up? The stuff IS poisonous!
When y' pretty-boy mercs gonna wake up an' do yo' research? It's 2025, mon ami! An' money buys a lot o' interestin' t'ings.
Fine. I'll think about it. If Soleil manages to initiate contact before the op goes down, will you let me negotiate?
Sure. But dat won' help de fact dat dis mark's gonna be dead wit'in forty-four hours.
That's all I'm asking for.
D'Accord, den. I'll send some'un in later on t' brief y'.
XXX
Soleil Étoile fitted the helmet of Cerebro securely over her cranium, reveling in the initial buzz the machine generated. Jubilee's lips twisted into a wry smile at the other woman's purr of pleasure as her already prodigious powers were amplified and altered according to the pattern programmed into Cerebro. "Would you like me to leave?" she inquired silently.
"No, your presence is. . .bracing." the last word was uttered with an odd inflection, almost as though Soleil were asking a question. Jubilee nodded, centering herself for the surge of psionic power that shafted through her, despite the fact that she was not wearing Cerebro.
Soleil's mind reached out, searching for Chris', that familiar Prussian blue and violet psionic signature, with smatterings of hot pink. . .an undoubtedly male signature, aggressive and banal, with no excuses for who he was. Her partner, her almost-friend. She envisioned the world, wrapped her telepathy around it like a blanket, made sure not to probe too hard, frowned when she sensed enemies and relaxed when she felt friends. She scanned signatures and surface thoughts, until she'd narrowed her search down to two or three, but after a more thorough probe, she realized that wherever Warden had gone, he had some reason for shielding himself from her. She sighed, and set to looking for Guillaume. She found him soon enough, lounging in his office, taking a moment away from his obscenely busy schedule to have a cigarette and a bit of scotch.
She touched his mind softly, so he'd know it was her, and that she was scanning for him. Within moments, he had morphed into some random telepath and sent, Bonjour, chère. What a lovely surprise. Great of y' t' drop in.
What's going on, Checkmate?
Scuse me, chère?
My partner's missing.
Y'. . .y' mean Chris Warden?
Yeah.
De homme dat was hittin' on me on de phone?
The very same.
Well. . .I DID t'ink it was odd dat no one was home at de address y' lef' me, but I figured mebbe y'd had a better offer someplace else.
How do you mean?
I mean dat no one was home when I arrived at yo' apartment.
I left Warden there, Guillaume.
Lissen, y' soun' upset. Mebbe I shoul' have some o' my people look fo'e him.
No, that's not necessary. I'll be fine on my own.
But chère. . .
I'm still known as Rebecca Creed to most mercs. They'll back me up. I have contacts, too, Guillaume.
Well, if dat's what y' wan', chère, I can' stop y', but I don' t'ink dat you'll fin' yo' partner wit'out m' help. she caught the subtle nuance in his tone and her eyes sharpened.
What have you heard, Guillaume?
Pardon?
Don't insult me, I know you better than that, Checkmate, she hissed, her psionic voice suddenly accompanied by a sharp prod.
Mon Dieu! Didn' know y'd stoop t' stickerin' an ol' friend jus' t' get yo' partner back. Y' ain' even sleepin' wit' him, chère.
Damn it, Guillaume, don't dance around with me. I'm getting really pissed off right now, so just give it to me straight up.
I know y' ain' really mad at me, y' jus' be angry wit' de circumstances, so I'll be soft wit' y', Soleil. I know where Warden is, he's in my employ, on a commissioned op, E's bein' paid fo'e it, and y'll split de profits if dat's how he wants it. However, if y' attempt t' recover him, he'll be executed.
Soleil forced the lump past her throat and knew what she was getting into. This was like playing chicken riding a moped while Guillaume sat in a semi-truck. Not smart. Can I ask what the op is?
It's a hit.
You know I'M the one who does the hits, Guillaume, not Warden. He doesn't have the backbone for it.
Oui, but I couldn' 'ave y' runnin' around, fuckin' wit' m' plans. Dat ain' how I run t'ings, pétite. Y'd be too smart fo'e me, I'd 'ave t' kill y'. Warden ain' like y'. He don' t'ink like dat. He's tryin' t' protect himself, an' de mark. Don' know why.
You WANT him to protect the mark. You want an excuse to kill him, don't you?
Non! Why woul' I do dat? Jus' t' waste a friend of yours? I ain' after petty revenge against an ol' lover, chère. I meant it when I said I loved y', an' I can accept de fact dat y' don' exactly reciprocate m' feelings, but I jest wan' dis opportunity t' make a point, an' it ain' t' you. I needed a hitman an' a hostage, and Warden jus' happened t' fit de roster perfectly.
Why not someone else? Some superhero? Someone else, not Chris. He doesn't deserve to be caught up in one of your schemes. I don't know what it is you're after, but whenever anyone gets involved with you, they can never get uninvolved.
True story, chère.
So let him go, and take me.
I t'ought I explained dis t' you, Soleil. Tol' y' dat he fits m' profile, he's de tool I need t' make m' point, an' don' worry, I won' kill him so long as he don' do anyt'in' you'd do.
Anything stupid, do you mean?
Mais, oui. Y' always frightened me wit' yo' tendency t' read m' mind.
Funny isn't it?
I won' 'ave 'im kill anyone important, I promise.
Do they deserve it?
De bastard murdered t'ree innocent people under m' command.
Does he have children?
Non, he's one o' dem lone wolf mercs. Jest need some time t' waste 'im. Den y'll get yo' partner back all safe an' sound, even minus de explosives I planted in 'is bloodstream.
You didn't.
I did.
Why have you got to coerce HIM? He doesn't take well to pressure.
Den he shouldn' 'ave b'come a mercenary, chère.
You're picking on me, Guillaume.
Non, I swear, I'm not. his tone softened, and she felt him sigh. Listen, Rebecca, if I could've used someone else, I woul' have. But he was so fuckin' perfec' dat I couldn' pass up de opportunity. All right? He'll do de hit, cry a lil' bit, an' run int' yo' waitin' arms.
No, he won't cry, Guillaume. He's killed before. That's precisely why he doesn't do anymore hits. I do, because I can block it out, but he feels nothing when he kills, and that terrifies him.
Is 'e any good?
He's brilliant. No one would employ him because he wanted to stop killing, but that was his main qualification. But I needed someone who was as sick of the business as possible without wanting to quit it entirely, and I made him my machinery and technology buff.
So e'll get de job done?
You know it, you right bastard.
Dat's de Soleil Étoile I know! All right, den, I guess y'll see 'im in a few days or so. De op goes down t'night.
Tonight?!
Oui, can' wait too long.
All right. I suppose I'll see you. . .some other time.
Oui, but don' coun' on seein' me too soon. I wanna wait till y' calm down b'fo'e seein' y' again. . .y' might try t' drop a psionic bomb on m' mindscape.
She allowed herself a weak laugh. Just keep Warden safe, Guillaume. That's all I'm asking. I want my tech support back, all right?
O'course, I won' break de homme. she felt a whisper of his smile against her mind, and then she pulled out of his, back into her own, and lifted Cerebro from her head, smoothing her hair and turning back to Jubilee.
"Did you get anything?" the older woman inquired.
"I think so."
"Do you need backup?"
"No, he's just. . .on vacation. Somewhat."
"Vacation? I thought mercs don't have vacations."
"Warden does whatever the hell he wants. He's sometimes a bit troublesome to work with."
"I can understand that. So, did you want to say hello to anyone here? Jono misses you, ya know."
"I don't think I can stay."
"The Professor's due to return in a couple of days from the Shi'ar Empire."
"Oh?"
"Yeah."
"So they diagnosed his problems?"
"Yeah." Her face fell.
"And they found a cure?"
"Something like."
"And?"
Jubilee seemed to cringe, and her hand reached for Soleil's, taking it softly and squeezing gently. "Come on, I'll tell you in the kitchen. You should be sitting down."
XXX