(Five)
Wolverine walked into the seedy Boston bar, his eyes squinting from the smoke. He could hear a small crowd gathered at the back. He made his way there and waited patiently, watching the goings on with a tiny smile. It had taken almost three months, but finally Seth's efforts had borne fruit. Gambit had been found.
Seth had come to him early that morning, an excited gleam in his eye. He had located the thief from the clues Logan had given him. There had been a string of house robberies of suspected drug dealers in the Boston area. Jewels, money and paintings were taken. It corresponded with a rise in anonymous donations to the local orphanages, also given in cash and jewels, something unusual. Whomever it was, had left wrapped gift boxes of the valuables out on the steps. Of course, the drug dealers weren't about to report the losses, half that stuff was stolen to begin with anyway. Seth found reports of the robberies from asides on police reports when the dealers were arrested and from the SHIELD computers. Somebody was wondering if this was mutant related because of some explosive damage done to the safes - explosive damage with no chemical residue.
Seth created a map triangulating all of these factors and gave it to Wolverine. Logan circled some areas where the robberies had taken place, it was close to where some low end bars were located and some cheesy hotels. It might be a good place to start looking. He had some photos of Remy he could use if he had to, those and a SHIELD badge that was actually current and active if anyone questioned why he was asking. Most of the senior X-men had them, a trade-off for some favors done. So long as they weren't abusive with them, the badges stayed current.
Two days before, Kennedy had brought Wolverine a present as well, a disc he had acquired from some of his buddies at SHIELD. It showed a break-in in a Friends of Humanity office in Baltimore. Normally, he could've cared less about these things except that it showed a clear view of Kyle Franks and his team pulling the job. Kimble had been included. It had been that same three months since they'd had any word of Kimble and the relief was overwhelming. At least it had been until he saw what the pilot had done on the disc. Kimble was in trouble, deep trouble. Now that Wolverine knew the pilot had resurfaced and where, it was more important than ever to go collect the wayward Cajun.
Logan was grateful for all of Seth's work, but didn't want to do the search for Remy on his own. He might need an extra set of hands if the thief was less than cooperative. Someone who could drive Remy's Jeep back if he had to shang-hi the boy and beat the crap out of him. He wasn't sure who to ask but was inspired when he saw Max out front on the steps, still playing with Gambit's Game Boy. Gambit had given him the tiny console since he enjoyed it so much.
Logan looked down at the teenaged boy and poked him with his foot. "You got a licence, son?"
"I got a learner's permit. I'm going for my road test next week," he offered with a hopeful smile.
"You drive a stick?"
"Sure."
"Good enough. Let's go for a ride."
Wolverine said nothing to anyone, but took off with Max on his own. His bike was gone so they took one of the team vehicles, an Explorer. Max turned out to be quite a capable driver. He had a knack for weaving in and out of traffic with ease and wasn't intimidated in the driver's seat at all. He had brought an image inducer along to hide his wings, but it still made him the same size. He was kind of scrawny and almost seemed too small behind the wheel.
"You ever think of working out, kid? Looks like ya could some size," Logan grunted with a laugh.
"I dunno. You think it would help me?"
"Looks like you could use all the help you could get. I could show you a few things in the gym."
Max beamed. "That would be great! You think you could show me how to ride a motorcycle, too? You look so cool on your bike, Mr. Wolverine, sir!"
His poor bike. He would lament the loss. Logan poked Max's scrawny looking ribs and teased, "Sure, but ya gotta bulk up first, son. You lay that bike down the way you are now, it's gonna squash you flat."
"I got my powers," Max said confidently with all the arrogance of youth. He was doing well in his telekinetic training classes.
"Powers only get ya so far. 'Sides, chicks dig a guy with muscles."
Max chuckled softly and kept driving. They made it into Boston without mishap and a few well pointed questions soon got them going. They spoke to a priest who said a strange man kept coming in late at night to pray. He always wore sunglasses in spite of the dark and left small bags of money. When he tried to approach the stranger, he would leave quickly without speaking a word. His late night visitor dressed in dark clothing and wore a long duster trench coat. It made him easy to recognize. The priest had later seen him coming out of several bars in the morning, drunk and sometimes battered from fighting. The church was located in a rough part of town and the bars were close by. He gave the names of the bars to Logan and away they went.
Now, a few bars later, Wolverine finally caught up with their quarry. He had Max wait in the Explorer, he was much too young to get in here and the place was really rough. Max wasn't happy about it, but didn't complain too loudly. It had been a privilege just to be asked along.
Logan made his way to the back of the bar where the crowd was and stood with a smile. Gambit was putting on quite the little show.
Remy sat at a small table, his ruby eyes exposed and glassy from drink, a smug smile on his face. He was rumpled and dirty, his filthy fingers dressed in the fingerless gloves, a cigarette burning and ignored in one hand. His face was scruffy and tired. He sat opposite his opponent, a table full of cards and a large pile of money in between them.
"Yo' call, y'all," he drawled arrogantly.
His challenger lay his cards down. Two pair.
Remy grinned and lay his hand down. Royal flush.
"Dis jus' ain't yo' night, Kevin. C'est trop mauvais. P'etetre, you bes' try some other game."
"You cheated!" Kevin shouted, standing.
Remy lay slouched and still in his chair as he had been, unmoving except for the broadening of his smile. "Dis goin' get ugly now? It ain't Gambit's fault you cain't play cards worth a damn."
The man drew a gun.
Remy never moved, didn't even blink. "Quoi que. Go on den, shoot me. I could give a flyin' fuck," he said with complete sincerity.
Kevin's resolve wavered. This was not what he had expected. "You ain't worth the trouble," he said and grabbed for the pile of money.
Gambit clicked his tongue and waved a finger back and forth in a negative gesture. "Non. Dis my money. Gambit won it fair 'n square. You want it, you kill me or you jus' walk out dat door, mon ami."
"You're crazy," Kevin sneered. "I've got the gun. You can't stop me."
Remy's eyes burned wickedly as he laughed a cheerless chuckle. "Oh Gambit,'e crazy all right."
Kevin grabbed at the money again.
The table exploded in chips and money as Remy kicked it viciously, throwing it up into the air and out of the way.
Kevin fired off two shots in his terror, but he never hit his mark, Remy was much too fast in spite of being so intoxicated. He had moved swiftly with his liquid feline grace and swooped around his prey, grabbing Kevin's wrist and snapping his arm with a quick, painful gesture.
Kevin howled and dropped his gun, gripping his arm in agony.
Remy chuckled mirthlessly and released him, watching Kevin scurry away without triumph. He bent down and slipped Kevin's gun into his pocket. Kevin had left it and he wasn't about to let any of these thugs take it. He started grabbing at the money on the floor. He missed some of it, his eyes still watchful on the crowd. "Anyone else, ey? Gambit's got plenty more where dat came from."
"I'm yer huckleberry," Wolverine teased, using Remy's favorite movie line.
Gambit looked up at him as the crowd parted. He snorted derisively, finding no humor in Logan's unexpected appearance, and went back to his money. He stood and jammed the rumpled bills carelessly into his pocket, dropping some of them as he swayed unsteadily. He was so drunk...so drunk. "What you doin' 'ere, eh? Slummin'?"
" 'S not every day you get to see your teammate damaging helpless norms like that. Real classy."
Gambit sniffed and wiped at his nose impatiently. He staggered past Logan, giving him a shove. "Go fuck y'self, man. 'Ave a good time fo' once."
Wolverine followed him, wrinkling his nose in surprise at Remy's stink. It had clearly been a few days since Remy saw the inside of a shower stall. This was something that sent alarm bells ringing in Logan's head. Remy was no fool, he knew he was handsome and kept himself well groomed, not wanting to be unprepared if a beautiful blonde or brunette opportunity should present itself. His clothes were always clean and in good condition. Logan had never seen him wear anything that was ripped or torn. He showered often and wore a nice aftershave, a common habit for a smoker. What Logan saw now was alarming. Gambit wasn't well.
They walked out onto the street, Remy first, Logan a couple of paces behind. Gambit staggered and weaved, then paused. He took a quick turn to the side and vomited out onto the side walk, holding himself away from the building with one arm.
Logan took a step back, careful of his boots. It was all booze, Remy hadn't eaten. He wondered if the Cajun was aware that there was blood in it, but doubted it. Remy was beyond trashed. Logan snorted and crossed his arms impatiently. "Yup. That's some class all right."
Remy wiped his mouth on his sleeve and kept walking. "Go 'way. Leave dis boy 'lone."
"Kimble's alive."
"Nice try, Fur Boy. De Quitter's de one alive, Kimble's gone."
"She didn't take him down all the way, he's still alive. Kennedy brung us a disc with some video on it. Yer boy's alive... an' in trouble. Big trouble."
Remy turned and looked back at him, not daring to believe. "What kinda trouble?"
"Come on back to the house and see fer yerself."
"Non. Gambit's 'ad enough of dat place. He t'rough."
"We need yer help with Kimble, this is important."
"You screwed 'im all up an' now you wan' my 'elp? Biases-vous, abruti!" Remy turned away and kept walking. "Piss off!"
Logan followed him. "Yeah, I fucked up an' I know it. I'm sorry an' want ta make it up. I know how ya feel 'bout him. It ain't no crime. Come back and help him. Yer little brother needs you."
Gambit wasn't sure what startled him more, the apology or Logan's sudden concern for Kimble. He wasn't about to be fooled by either. "What you know 'bout it, eh? You don' know nuthin' 'bout me! None of you! Go on back de way you came, Gambit all done wit your bullshit!"
Wolverine grabbed him roughly and spun him, slamming him against the building. "What's wrong with you, huh? Since when did you turn into some kind of wuss! You ain't no quitter!"
Remy gripped Logan's wrists, uselessly trying to break free. "Lemmie go!"
"I told ya yer brother needs ya, an' I meant it. He's found a whole new world a' hurt an' as per usual it's up ta us ta come dig him out. He ain't comin' down without ya so yer comin' if ya want to or not. Be a whole lot easier if you were helpin' us."
Remy considered his options. He could sizzle his teammate and get out of this or just go along. He didn't think for a moment that Kimble was okay, the friend he knew would never have tried to hurt anyone. Logan had been burned, the building destroyed. The Lover was gone.
Logan could see Remy wasn't buying it. He leaned in close, braving Remy's stink to make his point. "Kyle brung Kimble outta that burnin' buildin', Rogue said so. Don't ask me how, that turd wasn't ever worth shit, but he got him out. More'n that, Kimble's alive. I saw him on the disc. I wouldn't fuck ya like that an' you know it."
"It wasn't Kimble, not for real. It's somebody else, one of de other ones. Dat's what you saw."
"No, it was Kimble. Kimble for real. Anya said if we got him, you could fix it."
"Anya say lots of t'ings, don' make dem true!" Remy blurted out, his pain coming out as a sharp tremble to his voice. It had gotten away from his control. He was so tired...
"What are ya talkin' about? Everything she said would happen, did." Gambit tried to wrench himself away with an angry snarl but Logan just slammed him back again. "What's yer problem?"
Gambit glared at him with a face unable to hide its torment.
Logan saw it and sighed, shaking his head. "Did it ever occur ta you that Rogue ain't the one, huh? The two of you have been dukin' it out fer a while now, maybe it's time you got the message."
"Dere ain't no one else," Remy said softly.
"No, that's you bein' stubborn. There's a great big school there full of girls. You ever once think of broadening your horizons a bit? I understand you love Rogue. I know it hurts, I do. Every guy has been where you are, includin' me. Rogue's got a head full of trouble. She can't be touched and it just plays with her mind, she makes bad judgement calls. It ain't her fault and it ain't yer fault either. You can't take it personal, you've tried yer best with her and it didn't work out. Yer supposed to move on. You gotta let it go."
Gambit tried to pull away, not wanting to hear it, but Logan wouldn't let him go.
"Let it go, Cajun. Let it go an' come help me. We found Kimble and he needs you. Don't forsake him 'cause of her. I know we can do this, we can save Kimble just like Anya said."
"No horse shit?" Gambit asked, his voiced cracked and weary. He was wasted.
"No horse shit, Remy. Let's go get yer boy."
Wolverine released him and watched as Gambit dusted himself off. It was a wasted effort. He was trashed even before this. Remy nodded and staggered over to his Jeep which was parked close by. He started to get into the driver's seat, but Logan shook his head. "Nice try, Gumbo. You ain't in no condition ta drive. Move it over."
Remy scrambled over and dumped himself into the passenger seat, leaning his head against the window. He belched softly with a groan and rubbed a fist against his belly, feeling a deep rooted pain in there. It was warm now in the Jeep and he closed his eyes, wanting now just to sleep this off. He felt horrible. He had that terrible aching pain in his guts and a rip roaring headache. He hadn't slept in two days and it had caught up with him with a vengeance. He was out like a light in less than a minute.
Logan didn't notice. He was sniffing and looking around inside the tiny vehicle. The Jeep was a mess, it was clear Remy had been living in it for the two months he had been gone. There were used food wrappers and empty bottles of whiskey all over. He reached in back to grab a blanket and as he rummaged, smelled something that made him growl softly. He looked back at Gambit, but Remy had already passed out. Logan reached back again and picked up a black velvet bag. It reeked of heroin. He opened it and his eyes widened in surprise. A collection of fine gem stones tumbled out into his hand. No drugs here, bub. Only about a million dollar's worth of fine jewelry and Gambit's Jeep hadn't even been locked. He hadn't even cared. "Jesus, Remy..."
He replaced the bag, figuring Remy had earned them fair and square, and grabbed the blanket he had been looking for. He tossed it over Gambit who had started to snore. The kid must be exhausted, he was normally a very quiet sleeper. Logan pulled out the small two way radio from his pocket and let Max know their mission had been accomplished.
He waited until he saw the Explorer come up behind him and then pulled away from the curb. He had thought to warn the kid not to do anything that would get him pulled over, Max didn't have an official license after all, but the kid seemed to be doing fine so Logan let it go. They drove off together, the Jeep in front and the Explorer behind, all the while Logan's mind on the disc Kennedy had brought. He had found Gambit, he just hoped it wasn't too late to find Kimble and bring him home. Kimble was in trouble deep and Wolverine wasn't all that convinced they were going to be able to get him out of it this time.
(break)
Five hours or so later, Remy sat on Henry's examining table, his head hanging low. Henry had given him something to help with the hangover, but he still felt terrible. His head was pounding and he had an invisible knife stabbing him in the guts.
The last two months or so that he had been gone seemed like a blur to him. The first thing he had done was get rip roaring drunk. He found a couple of loose girls and had himself a nice little "fuck you, Rogue" party. Things were going pretty well until he got a little too brave. As he worked the girls, their shines came on him as Rogue's had, whispering nice things about what a great lay he was. His ego got away from him and made him reckless. He decided to reach out with that power more than he ever had before.
The result was somewhat traumatic for him. Oh, sure, he got quite the rush. He could feel their arousal as well as his own and it was intoxicating. He was having a blast, enjoying himself immensely. The rude and frightening shock came when he began actually making love. He felt the heat of the woman below him as always, but then was blasted with the new sensation of feeling his own body slipping and sliding inside of her as well. The sense of duality, of fucking and being fucked at the same time, was more than he could handle. He climaxed violently and the two women cried out with him, struck numb from his backwash. Their climaxes crashed in on his own and he was tumbling down into blackness. He woke a few minutes later, shivering and shaking. The women had fled, terrified by his strange reaction and the way he had made them feel. Of course they took off with his wallet as well, the bitches.
Gambit, ever the optimist, figured it had been a one time mistake. He would just never try that again, case closed. He was sadly mistaken. He picked up another girl the next night and had the same result even though he had made no effort to use Kimble's gift. The duality clicked on by itself and he was quickly overcome. He tried to control his climax, killing his rush and the pleasure of it. It was enough to keep him from blacking out, but things got very fuzzy, enough to spook him badly. It seemed the door was now open wide with no way for him to close it. He grew angry and the girl fled, uncertain of what had happened.
Gambit let her go. He was terrified and cursed Kimble. What now? Was he never supposed to have sex again without freaking out? If he allowed the pleasure to take him, he would pass out. He would lose time and be vulnerable. It occurred to him that this loss of control could prove fatal. He could be murdered by a whore looking for more than just his wallet. What if he lost control of more than just his body? What if it was his power next time and he exploded the room around him? He was filled with horror at the thought. If he held back to prevent all that, where was the fun, the payoff?
He fell into a deep depression and drank himself silly, only sobering up to pull a few jobs simply to amuse himself. He had taken more than enough money for a while (he wasn't so stupid as to keep all of it in his wallet for whores to steal), but wanted the work to keep sane. He was also done as an X-man as far as he was concerned and wanted to stay sharp. He didn't want his thieving skills to slip away.
He made his money and spent most of whatever he didn't give away to charity on booze. The drinking did little to lift his spirits. He hadn't realized it, but relocating into one of the seediest parts of Boston hadn't been the best idea. Surrounded by corruption and violence, all of that suffering was wearing on his poor tattered mind. He didn't have the proper empathic shields to keep all of that misery out. He had simply chosen the area that felt most like home – in his mind anyhow, believing himself to belong amongst the poor and down trodden – and then was left to wonder why he felt so down. He assumed it was his own guilt at having failed Kimble and losing Rogue. While both were valid reasons, neither one alone was enough to explain the deep melancholy he had found himself in.
To pass the time, he found himself falling back on old habits, buying uppers and getting a little crazy. He was not a serious drug user, but when he crashed like this, found some solace in chemicals. It carried him for a few days and he pulled some good jobs. He left the money to charity as usual, some things with him would never change. As the time passed, he grew more and more lonely. There were women all around him but he didn't dare touch any of them. It only drove him deeper into depression, one he still hadn't recovered from.
Back in the Med Bay, Gambit groaned and lay down, curling up into a ball. As soon as they got back to the house, Wolverine hauled his ass right down here. He said something to Henry about checking out Remy's stomach and walked off. Gambit knew he hadn't gone far, he could hear Logan's voice out in the hallway speaking with the Professor.
Henry walked in and saw him curled up on the table. He covered him up with a blanket and patted his shoulder. "You've been very bad, my friend."
Remy just groaned.
"I suppose if I told you I wanted to do an upper GI you wouldn't let me."
Remy groaned again and covered his face.
"While you consider that as an option, I have these small tips for you. No smoking."
Gambit cracked open an eye, shuddered and closed it again. It wasn't an agreement.
"No drinking either, not for a while. I won't even discuss the other chemicals I found floating around in your blood sample. Let's just say I hope we've seen an end to that. Looks like you're well on your way to an ulcer, my friend. You are much too young for this," he scolded gently and patted him again. "Try to sleep. I've got some medications for you to start, but they can wait until morning."
"De bed too far away...jus' leave me 'ere."
Henry sensed his sadness and pain. He chuckled softly and scooped him up like he weighed nothing. Remy couldn't help but laugh at being manhandled so easily, something Beast had been counting on. That was better. He carried him over to a nice warm bed and covered him up, spreading the blankets over him with big blue hands. He noted how Remy turned towards his touch even though he was already falling asleep. This man who was really a boy was in pain, more so than just his physical injuries. He stroked Remy's hair back motherly for a moment, making mental notes to have the Professor come in and speak the thief when he woke. Remy shouldn't be allowed to leave again, not when he was clearly this fragile. When Gambit finally settled down into a deep sleep, Beast withdrew, pulling the curtain around the bed and letting him rest.
Gambit awoke a few hours later, drenched in sweat from an awful nightmare, his chest locked up tight and a dry choked wheeze coming from his lips. He couldn't get enough air, his uncooperative lungs refusing to open. He was shuddering as he lay, praying for the spell to pass but feeling the beginnings ofthe inevitable coughing fit that had to come next, the one that showed that he was in some sick way still alive.
Remy couldn't remember the dream, but it wasn't the first time that he'd had it, or the first time that he had wakened in the throes of a full on panic attack. It had been a long time though. The waking was always the same, a vague recall that he had been trapped someplace very cold, someplace too familiar to even want to think about. He had been punished for a loss of control, that much he had remembered, but not the details of the crime. He had been punished by freezing, a punishment that had spread to the inner core of his body, his lungs frozen and frostbitten, refusing to allow him the simple luxury of breathing.
Dis jus' a dream, it isn't real, Remy tried to console himself, to will his body back into submission. He was familiar enough with the scenario to at least try and shrug it off. He covered his mouth as he coughed, trying to lessen the noise of it, as he did his best to calm down.
He forced his eyes to open and saw where he was, back on familiar ground here in the Lab. He finally relaxed, relieved when he felt the lead weight of his constricted lungs release and the warmth of the room filled his chest. He could breathe now. It had just been another stupid nightmare, this wasn't the first time he had awakened in such a high state of panic from a dream of freezing. It wasn't the first time and wouldn't be the last, not if he knew himself.
There was a soft whirring noise and the Professor poked his head around the curtain. "You okay? You sound terrible."
"Absolument. Gambit's okay. He always is," Remy said in a hoarse dry whisper, giving the ritual response, and lay back. He wiped his chin, denying the flush that warmed his face. "Jus' a little bug I picked up in Boston is all."
"Well you're in the right place. Henry will see to it you're looked after."
Remy nodded and automatically reached beside him for his cigarettes, but then realized he wasn't in his room. He remembered Henry's admonition against smoking and groaned again. This was going to suck big time.
The Professor came further inside. "It's good to have you home."
"Nobody say anyt'ing 'bout Gambit bein' home. He come back fo' de Kimble. After dat, well... we see what we see."
"All right," Charles said, trying to hide his disappointment. "You left this behind."
Gambit looked up and squinted when he saw his switchblade.
"I was wondering if you still needed it."
Remy smiled sadly and shook his head, not wanting the Professor to worry. He lied smoothly, saying, "Non. You keep it. Gambit all done wit dat."
The Professor nodded, seeing the lie but choosing not to acknowledge it. He had come to know Remy pretty well, more than the thief ever could have imagined. Well enough to know that Gambit's habit of speaking of himself in the third person was no fluke. It betrayed that small part of him that loathed himself and wanted only to distance itself. It was a disassociative trait that revealed just how smashed Remy had been from his turbulent life. An abandoned orphan, a mutant, a teenager who had made a terrible mistake. A man who felt too much, something that was made worse somehow from whatever Kimble had done to him. A man walking a real fine line, one who would have to be watched. Remy's third person habit was diminishing over time, a sign of his recovery. When he had first come here, the words 'me, myself, and I' never passed his lips. It was always "Gambit, Gambit's and his". He didn't let go of the habit completely, showing there was still work to be done. The Professor had no doubt that Gambit's battle with his self loathing and suicidal tendencies was far from over. Perhaps Remy would agree to stay longer without an argument. "Good. Try and rest. Logan wants a meeting in a short while. You need to be there."
"All right. 'Ey, Chuck?"
"Yes?" the Professor replied with mock disdain. He hated the nickname and Logan and Remy were the only ones who could get away with calling him that.
"T'anks for tryin' ta 'elp me. Merci."
"I hope you won't let it go to waste."
Remy watched as the Professor left and then closed his eyes. It was tough being back here, but not as bad as it had been out there. He had spent a lot of time trying to blot out his misery, it didn't succeed. Now all he had to show for it was a pain in his guts that wouldn't quit and a pounding headache. He had to get his shit together, at least for a little while. He would help Kimble and then try and move on. Maybe Kimble could help him out with his new little problem. He hoped so. This self pity crap was a big waste of his time and not really his style.
"Kimble, you stupid little shit," he called out softly, affection softening the harshness of his words. "Hope you ain't gonna keep makin' dis boy work so 'ard. 'E ain't so spry as 'e useta be. Don' know 'ow much more 'e can take," he complained gently and relaxed, falling asleep again.