Title: Long Way Down
Authors: M/G & B/C
Rating: PG – a bit of death and violence, just like home
Disclaimer: Until Marvel answers any one of my three thousand letters begging for the rights to the X-Men, I'm just borrowing them, and not making any money from this.
Wolverine woke up a few minutes before noon on Friday. After lying in bed for ten more minutes, he groggily stood up and stretched, a last yawn sweeping over him. He picked up a random pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt, and waded through his dirty laundry to the door. After a quick stop to the bathroom, he walked downstairs.
He no more than reached the landing when children tore past him, nearly knocking him off of his feet. Wolverine braced himself against the stair rail and stared out the front door after them for several confused moments before walking over and closing it.
Is it recess already?
He looked at the grandfather clock next to him. 12:16.
Guess so.
Wolverine walked through the swinging doors into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and rummaged through the items. Milk, apples, eggs, cheese...He opened the cupboards...Bread, peanut butter, chips...
How come there's never anything to eat around here?
He found a package of beef jerky he had hidden in the back and took it over to the counter. He pulled out a strip of smoked meat and chewed on it as he looked out the window.
I should polish up my bike today...
He snatched up the bag of jerky then ran up to his room and grabbed his leather jacket. Rogue passed him as he went to the garage, effortlessly carrying a large oak dresser she'd picked out for her room. Logan greeted her and walked on. The air was getting colder by the day and Wolverine gave a slight shudder as he stepped into the shade of the garage.
Inside, he grabbed an old rag and walked over to his bike, kneeling down next to it. Logan spit into the rag and started to rub the cold metal on the bike until the surface was reflective once more. Logan stood back to admire his work.
Then he noticed that the McLaren was gone again.
Maybe Gambit took it. Haven't seen 'im today...
Wolverine left the garage several hours later. The sun had already started to set, giving the sky a harsh orange hue. As much as he wished it were possible, Wolverine couldn't survive on beef jerky alone, and his deprived stomach growled in protest. He cringed at the thought of taking his newly cleaned and tuned bike out to look for dinner, but a quick sniff of the air told him chicken was cooking inside the manor. He jogged to the door, his breath making white clouds in front of him.
Jean was almost finished preparing dinner, so Wolverine quickly ran upstairs and took a shower.
He walked back to the kitchen ten minutes later; most of the mutants were already at the table. He scratched his wet hair as everyone greeted him.
"Geez, Wolverine, you look like a drowned rat," Cyclops sneered.
"So do you, Cyke," Wolverine retorted.
Cyclops turned to Jean and rolled his eyes.
The rest of the night was spent around the table eating the chicken, rice and rolls, followed by a two-tiered devil's food cake, conversation accompanying it all. Afterwards, the mutants all went to their rooms; nobody felt up to a movie, despite Jean's pleading. Wolverine noticed that Gambit had not yet come home. He fell onto his bed, not
bothering to undress, and waited for half an hour, hoping to hear the front door open.
Nothin'
So, he fell asleep.
Cyclops knocked loudly on Wolverine's door, waking the Canadian up with a start. He groaned. Scott's muffled voice came from behind the closed door.
"Danger Room in fifteen."
Wolverine looked at the digital clock on the stand next to his bed. It read 8:44.
"Just five more minutes, ma," Wolverine responded.
"Just get up, Logan." Cyclops proceeded down the hallway, repeating the announcement at each door.
"Hey, Kurt, Danger Room in fifteen."
"Ja wohl. Already there!" Nightcrawler shouted, and with a loud 'poof' he was gone. Wolverine could smell the sulfuric vapors that always accompanied Nightcrawler's teleporting.
Cyclops knocked on Iceman's door, shouting the wake up call again.
"Yeah, yeah, almost ready."
"Danger Room in fifteen....Gambit?" Scott knocked again.
Iceman came out of his room, scratching his tangled hair.
"Bobby, have you seen Gambit?" Cyclops asked.
"I dunno."
Wolverine lifted his head from his pillow and lowered his eyebrows.
He's gone again?
Scott came back to Wolverine's door.
"Wolverine, where's Gambit?"
"I wouldn't know, Cyke. If you couldn't tell, you just woke me up."
Logan heard Cyclops walk away.
Eventually Logan stood up, washed his face in the bathroom and put on his costume. He met with Iceman on the way to the Danger Room.
"We ain't getting' paid enough for this crap," Bobby grumbled tiredly.
Wolverine chuckled.
They walked into the Danger Room, the others turning to face them.
"Thanks for joining us, guys," Cyclops called from the far side of the room. "All right! Let's start!" he shouted.
It was a standard exercise: a group of Sentinels attacking out of nowhere. The X-Men, used to the scenario, in the Danger Room and in the field, quickly took care of it with no problems. Wolverine noticed a difference without Gambit's quick actions. The fight seemed longer.
Cyclops commended them all for their work and they left the Danger Room at 11:00am. The girls – Storm, Rogue and Jean – had decided to go shopping at the mall, leaving the men to fend for themselves for lunch. Beast played out the day down in the lab and Scott read a book in Jean's favorite spot by the fireplace. Iceman had retreated into his room and Nightcrawler decided to take a walk outside. Finding himself relatively alone in the mansion, Logan decided to get some work done around the house.
He grabbed a can of oil, a hammer and a box of nails from the toolbox he excavated from the murky depths of his closet. He oiled all of the door hinges and replaced the older ones, installed a new shower head, then went outside where he sanded and stained Rogue's dresser. He was about to put his tools away when he remembered Jean had asked him to put up a screw and anchor just outside the kitchen so she could hang her new picture on it. He drilled a hole began tapping the anchor in with a hammer. The noise was just loud enough to mask the sound of the front door opening, but Wolverine's noise was working just fine. He turned to look.
Cajun.
"Hey, Gumbo, where've ya been?"
"Oh, nowhere really. Jus' takin' car' o' some t'ings. But Ah t'ink Ah jus' gonna go up t'ma room now. See ya lata'."
Wolverine frowned and when Gambit flew up the stairs, he turned back to the project. When it was finished and the picture was hanging level on the wall, he packed up his tools. Before he could get to the stairs, though, Rogue and Storm came through the front door.
"Hello, Logan," Storm said. "We thought we saw Gambit come in just now. Did...?"
"Yeah. He's up in his room."
"Oh. Well, we need your help," Storm said humbly.
Rogue nodded. "That ol' car got a flat tire a piece up the road. Jean stayed with it, but none of us gals know how to change a tire..."
"All right. I can help," Logan responded gruffly, setting the toolbox a small table near the door.
Rogue scooped up Wolverine, ignoring his protests, and the two women flew back to the stranded car. Wolverine squinted at the wind that slammed into his face. He saw Jean and the red car far below and they descended.
Wolverine nodded an acknowledgement at Jean then opened the trunk and removed a tire and a metal tool kit. He set the objects on the street next to the flattened rear-left tire, removing it and tossing it in the trunk. Storm and Jean watched as Logan screwed the new tire into place. Rogue just sat in the car rummaging through the items she had bought.
Wolverine patted the tire. "There ya go. All set."
"That's wonderful, Logan. Thank you. But..." Storm trailed off.
"What? What is it?"
"Well..." Jean continued. "We were wondering if..."
Rogue popped her head out the window. "C'mon back to the mall with us, sugah! We found some stuff we all think you'd like!"
Wolverine looked up the road, knowing his only choices were to get in the car or be put in the car. The former seemed at least more dignified, so he gritted his teeth and opened the car door.
Jean squealed with delight and even Storm smiled broadly at their victory.
The girls took him into a dozen men's clothing stores where he bought more pairs of blue jeans and some solid-colored shirts, one of which he wore on his way out to stop the women whining about his grease-stained white tee. He was surprised to see the sun was long gone when they left the mall; the experience hadn't been quite as unbearable as he'd expected.
Sunday passed by uneventfully. It was the Day of Rest and the X-Men did just that. After breakfast, Jean, Scott and Bobby watched a movie in the den, and other mutants joined them as the afternoon progressed. Nightcrawler was away at church, as per usual. Gambit was MIA again. And Logan decided to attempt to clean his room.
Where the hell does that kid keep running off to?
He picked up dirty clothes that lay strewn about his room, throwing them into a hamper he'd been surprised to unearth in his closet. He started to pick up empty food wrappers until he saw the true extent of the accumulation on the ground.
Screw it.
He tossed the wrappers back to the floor.
On Monday, things returned to normal: the kids were back in school and there was work to be done in the mansion. The teachers lectured the children all day, while others prepared food and checked mission equipment.
Gambit joined the team for breakfast, a welcome surprise for the X-Men, but then went back to his room for the rest of the day. Logan watched him go.
He's really starting to bug me.
Logan had gone outside to meditate, a relaxation tactic he had picked up while in Japan. He sat cross-legged on a wooden stump as the sun beat down on his face, but the air was cold. When the sky began to darken, Wolverine went back inside. As he entered the house he scented the aroma of Jean's delectable tomato sauce.
Spaghetti!
Wolverine helped set the table and eyed an extra seat.
Cajun gonna eat with us?
He went upstairs and knocked on Gambit's door.
"Oui? C'mon in."
Wolverine entered and looked about Gambit's room. It was neat and organized – a sharp contrast to the last time he was there. He eyed the balcony doors warily, making sure they were closed.
Gambit was putting on his gloves, already decked out in his favorite trenchcoat and boots. He turned around and smiled at Logan.
"Oh...uh, Gumbo, were you gonna eat with us? Spaghetti...?"
"Non, merci. Gambit gotta go out fo' a bit. T'anks, do'h."
"Yeah, all right. See ya around." Wolverine left the room and closed the door behind him.
That's right...it's Monday...back to that bar.
He scratched his chin and went to his room down the hall.
A few minutes later, he heard Gambit exit his room and casually shut the door. Wolverine listened as the Cajun walked down the stairs, then slowly opened his own door, leather coat and workboots on. He stood at the top of the stairs until he heard the front door open and then close again, then descended the staircase as sneakily as possible, feeling for all the world like a child playing spy games.
Wolverine passed by the kitchen as walked toward the front door, and Jean spotted him.
"Oh, Logan. Are you going somewhere? I thought you were going to eat," she said.
God, it smells so good!
"Yeah, I'm sorry, Jean. I gotta go take care o' somethin'. Be back later."
"Oh...ok. Bye." And she walked back into the kitchen where the other mutants were engaged in conversation at the table.
Wolverine opened the door. He heard the sound of an engine start then rumble away. When he was sure that the coast was clear he jogged to the garage. He fished the keys out of his pocket and hopped onto his motorcycle.
Gambit laughed as he sped down the deserted road. He opened his window and reveled in the blend of frigid air and blaring music surrounding him. Life had finally shaped up and he was actually happy. Gambit stuck his head out of the car, wind smacking his face, and yelled with glee as loud as he could.
Wolverine parked his bike in front of the bar and approached the door. There were no windows and the door was made of thick oak; even with his superior senses he couldn't make out any sounds coming from inside. He hoped the Cajun wouldn't see him walk in. Logan had no idea what he'd say if confronted by Gambit.
I already felt drunk just lookin' at the place. I couldn't even say the name.
Logan grinned at his own wit, then pulled open the heavy door. The lights were dim and smoke hung densely in the warm air. Wolverine quickly scanned the crowded room and spotted the unmistakable brown coat that Gambit always wore at a far booth. He was talking with that other man – Nicolas – again, sitting with his back to the door. Logan relaxed a little, then made his way toward the bar. There were at least two dozen men in the pub. Some sat at the bar, while others sat on wooden benches around the squat tables that were placed haphazardly around the room. The buzz of conversation filled the small bar, but Wolverine found he couldn't understand any of it. They were speaking French.
Wolverine pulled up the collar of his leather jacket and, as inconspicuously as he could, walked past the table where Gambit sat to take a seat on the far side of a burly man at the bar. He was fairly sure the Cajun wouldn't be able to see him, but he didn't dare lean around the flannel-clad giant to check. The bartender walked over to him.
"Just a beer," Wolverine said as quietly as he could; only enough for the man behind the counter to hear. Logan slightly turned his head to the left, seeing if he could pick up any of the conversation at Gambit's table. He smiled.
Loud and clear.
"...'ow ya been?" Nicholas asked.
"Not so good. Y'know 'ow it is," Gambit replied. "Wha' 'bout you?"
Nicholas shrugged "Not bad," he said dismissively. "So, you go' some friends up 'ere? Or ya mee'tany jeune filles?" He smirked into his glass while keeping his eyes on the other man.
Gambit gave a half smile and rubbed the back of his neck. "No' really."
"Oh, c'mon you ol' charmeur," Nicholas chivvied him slyly. "Wha' 'bout doze folks ya live wit'?"
Gambit looked down at the table and, after a long moment, replied. "Non. Dey don' notice Remy," Gambit realized he was worrying his friend, and quickly flashed him a smile.
"Bu' you a goo'dami, Nicholas."
Nicholas gave a weak smile but said nothing.
"Excusez-moi, Monsieur."
Wolverine suddenly realized he was almost leaning off his stool watching the two men and pulled himself back to the bar where the bartender waited with his beer.
The old Canadian fumbled in his tight pockets and pulled out a ten dollar bill.
"Urm...keep it," he mumbled dazedly to the barkeep.
"Oui."
He took a sip of the amber liquid, letting it coat his dry throat, then tilted his head back towards the conversation. They were talking about old times again, just like last week. The stories all sounded the same to Wolverine: old families, huge heists, close calls.
He turned back to his drink and contemplated one of Gambit's answers.
No friends. "Dey don' notice Remy."
Wolverine had often noticed that the young Cajun wasn't really a part of the mansion life, but he'd always thought it was by choice that Gambit didn't associate much with his team members, not the other way around.
Wolverine leaned back and looked at his introverted teammate. He was laughing heartily and his white teeth practically glowed in the bar's weak light.
Smiling to himself, Logan took a gulp of his beer.
No friends, eh?...I din't know that meant so much to 'im. I'll talk to 'im when we get home.
Abruptly, the man next to Logan who had unwittingly been hiding him from Gambit's eyes stood and left. Wolverine quickly hunched his shoulders and tried to hide his face. After a minute, he realized the young thief hadn't noticed him and chanced a look at the table. Gambit was sitting with his shoulders drooped, gaze intently focused on his half-empty glass.
"Plus, dese kidnappins...I don' like it one bit. Dese po' kids..." Gambit took a sip of his drink, searching for the right words.
Wolverine heard Nicholas grunt an acknowledgement while he lit a cigarette. Logan turned his head a tad farther to look at the man. He was staring at the tabletop, finger tracing a knot in the wood, chewing on his lower lip. Under the table, Logan saw him fidgeting with his cigarette. Wolverine raised an eyebrow.
What's up with him? They were laughin' like kids a few minutes ago...
Gambit finally spoke again.
"Ah jus' cain take dis. I have to do somethin'" he said, voice strained. "After we take care a dis t'ing 'ere, Ah gonna take ev'rybody ta New Orleans ta shut down da T'ieves Guild. Ah love Jean-Luc, bu' wha' dey do ain' right."
To Wolverine the air seem electrified. Conversations suddenly grew quieter and Gambit appeared to be the center of everyone's attention, even though not one person chanced a look at the young mutant's table.
"I really nee' ta go," Gambit said, rising from the booth. "Dey might no' wan' Remy, bu' doze kids are more important."
A distressed look crossed Nicholas's thin face.
"Maybe we get together next week, OK, homme?" Gambit said with a reassuring smile, then strode toward the door.
Wolverine looked away and lowered his head, sipping his drink. A moment later, he heard a familiar sound: the dull scrape of metal, like every time he unsheathed his lethal claws. He turned back once more to see, and inhaled deeply when he saw the blade under the table, the polished metal reflecting what little light there was in the bar.
'the hell?
"Non, Gambit. I don' t'ink we can," Nicholas said, rising, voice straining and hesitant.
Gambit turned around, confused.
"I never left da Guild, mon ami."
Nicholas held the knife comfortably at his side and took two strides toward the Cajun. Gambit's mouth was open slightly, and his eyes stared uncomprehendingly forward. His hand was held mere inches from the pocket in his coat where he stashed his playing cards, but he made no move to take them out.
Wolverine only caught part of what Nicholas said next as he advanced toward the stricken Gambit. "...bu' Ah have ta. You're dangerous." Wolverine extended his claws, knocking his glass to the floor with a crash. The patrons who had previously ignored the scene in the bar suddenly turned all eyes on him, but he paid them no attention.
"Gambit!" he shouted.
Gambit made no reply, but only watched as his friend stepped closer, the sadness in his eyes strangely contrasting the glittering blade in his right hand.
Without thinking, Wolverine jumped towards Nicholas, claws leading the way. He roared and jammed them into the small of Nicholas back, with a wet smack. The claws went straight through the unprotected nervous tissue of the spine. The impaled man fell to the floor face first, with Wolverine on his back. The knife fell out of his hands, inches away from Gambit's neck. A bowl of gumbo from the table above fell on Wolverine. The smoldering liquid ate its way into his back, but he remained on top of Nicholas, pinning him to the ground, his claws sticking in the wooden floorboards. Blood was trickling from the corner of the dying man's mouth, and he coughed several times. With a struggling gasp, Nicholas' fists unclenched and his body loosened. Dead.
Some of the other men in the bar turned to look, but many continued talking and drinking as though the bar owner was not lying lifeless in a growing dark puddle.
Wolverine panted hard, his face a wild mask of bloodlust. He finally unclenched his teeth and looked up at Gambit. The Cajun was staring at the lifeless body at his feet. His face was incredibly pale and Logan saw tears pooling at the corners of his demonic eyes.
"Mon dieu..." Gambit whispered, shutting his eyes tightly. His jaw trembled.
Wolverine opened his mouth to speak but could not. He sheathed his reddened claws and blood spewed from the new openings. The liquid shot upwards like a fountain, soaking the front of Wolverine's jeans. He could feel the warm stickiness through the fabric. He backed away from the body, breathing hard. Logan took a step toward Gambit and reached out a bloody hand.
"Non," Gambit gasped. With one more look at Wolverine, he ran out the door.
Wolverine shouted after him. He slipped on the pooling blood and fell back to the ground. "Wait!" He climbed to his feet and looked around the room.
Nobody cares.
With an agonized growl, Wolverine dashed out the oak door.
He threw it open and saw nothing except the lifeless street and the illuminated sidewalk in front of him. Wolverine looked around and, to his left, saw Scott's McClaren still sitting in the lot. He expected to see the Cajun's silhouetted head behind the wheel, but there was no one in the car.
He's gone...