Gambit slept on and off fitfully throughout the day, until he was roused by a persistent knocking at the door.
"Go'way," he mumbled, softly, into the pillow, turning over and drawing the duvet tighter around his shivering frame.
However, the knocking persisted, and was accompanied by a gentle voice; "Gambit? It's me – it's Jean. Can I come in?"
He groaned, quietly. He did not feel much better for having spent what felt like the entire day in bed; at one point he had finally gotten up, but only to change into jogging bottoms rather than his jeans, as they were warmer and more comfortable to sleep in. He really just wanted to be left alone; he'd had enough of people seeing him looking weak and helpless in the last month or so. However, he simply could not say no to gentle Jean, who was always so kind to everyone.
"Gambit? Are you in there?"
"Oui, chère," he called out, at last, wincing at how raspy his throat felt, "come on in."
The door clicked open and Jean hesitantly peered around the frame. He hauled himself up into a seated position, propping a couple of pillows behind his back, as he gestured for her to come in. She stepped into the room properly, carrying a tray.
"The Professor said you weren't feeling well," she said, in her soft, warm voice, "and Rogue left Hank a message asking someone to check on you. I hope I'm not disturbing you... I've brought you something to eat."
"Oh... t'ank you, chère," Gambit reached for the box of tissues on his nightstand, wiping his red-raw nose, and trying to straighten himself up as she approached the bed, "dat... dat's very kind...is dat coffee?"
"Tea," she smiled one of her dazzling smiles, handing him the mug, watching with affection as he took an appreciative sip nonetheless, "sweetened with honey. Also, some chicken soup, some crackers, and, courtesy of Hank, a decongestant with a mild analgesic. He promises it will ease the worst of your symptoms and help you sleep. Here – take them now and then try to eat something."
"T'anks," he nodded, dutifully taking and swallowing the two pills, washing them down with a mouthful of the tea, "when did yo' get back?"
"A couple of hours ago," she replied, resting the tray on his lap, automatically straightening the duvet over his legs as she did so, tugging it into place, before she perched on the edge of the bed, facing him, "we successfully delivered the vaccines to the hospitals along with some much needed emergency supplies. It was so nice to help those poor people... here, eat your soup, while it's still hot."
She insistently pressed a spoon into his hand, and, realising that he was actually hungry, he lifted the bowl, cupping it against his chest with his left hand, using the spoon with his right.
"Any word from Cyclops an' de others?" he croaked out, past his sore throat, stirring the soup and then taking a taste.
It was very bland by his standards and in serious need of some spices and seasoning, but he was not about to say so to Jean, simply appreciating her kindness in bringing it to him. She smiled to see him eating, but shook her head.
"Nothing yet," she sighed, "the Professor told us about this Dr. Kolton. His research worries me... we already know technology exists to suppress our mutant powers, but the thought of Friends of Humanity or the military getting hold of anything like that..." she shuddered, before adding; "it's too horrible to think about."
"Dey may not have anytin' yet, chère," he tried to sound reassuring, but mostly just came off as congested and wheezy, "Cyclops knows what he's doin', even though breakin' into places is normally Gambit's job... he'll bring back intel on whatever Kolton's cookin' in dat lab o' his."
He smothered a cough with the hand that held the spoon before taking another mouthful of the hot soup, as she nodded in agreement.
"I just..." she hesitated, as if wondering how much she should say, before rushing on; "I have a very bad feeling that something is wrong..."
Gambit lowered his spoon, his red eyes watching Jean's expressive face. When she had a bad feeling, it was worth taking it seriously; her telepathic and telekinetic abilities were unpredictable at best, but she had a close connection with her teammates, especially her lover, Scott, and she often knew when he was in trouble.
"What is it, chère?" he asked her, gently.
"Oh... nothing specific," she admitted, finally meeting his gaze, looking more than a little lost, "I just... I'm used to being able to sense Scott, through our psychic connection, but... I can't feel him at all."
"Like... he gone too far away?" Gambit tried to understand, his soup forgotten.
"Almost," Jean screwed up her face, concentrating, "it's more like... like he's asleep, or something... I can't quite reach him. But I never sensed any alarm, danger or distress from him..."
"Cyclops don' sleep on the job," Gambit offered her a small smile, which she returned, "maybe you should speak to de Professor, see if maybe he can contact de team? Can't hurt to check in, non?"
"Maybe," she nodded, unconsciously smoothing out the wrinkles in the duvet that covered his lower half, "yes, I think I will. How's the soup?"
"S'good, t'anks," he resumed eating, but his eyelids were growing heavier, as drowsiness began to creep up on him, and he hid a yawn with the back of his hand, "but... I t'ink de meds are startin' to kick in..."
"Good," Jean smiled, lifting the nearly empty bowl from his unresisting fingers, setting it, the spoon, and his empty mugs onto the tray, which she placed on the nightstand, "come on – lie back down, you need a good night's sleep, hopefully you'll feel much better in the morning."
Too sleepy to protest her ministrations, Gambit eased his aching body back down as she adjusted the pillows for him and pulled the duvet back up around his shoulders, tucking it around him. His eyes drifted closed of their own accord, even as he felt the palm of her hand, startlingly cold, rest briefly against his forehead.
"Oh, Gambit – you're very warm – shall I open the window?"
"Non, merci," his words sounded slurred, even to his own ears, "too cold out."
"Okay," she conceded, a little reluctantly, "rest now... but, please, just call me or Hank if you need anything, okay? Good night."
"Bonne nuit, chère..." he mumbled, already half asleep.
He heard Jean quietly collect the tray from beside the bed; by the time she had crossed the room and slipped out of the door, he was already fast asleep.
The next morning, Gambit awoke slowly, feeling a lot clearer-headed. He glanced at his alarm clock; he had not set it the night before and was shocked to find that it was already mid-morning; he had overslept significantly by his standards. His throat was still scratchy and his nose was itchy, but he certainly felt a lot better. He reminded himself to thank Beast and Jean for the medication and her ministrations. He showered and changed into some clean clothes, deciding he needed coffee.
When he reached the kitchen, he was surprised to find that the coffee pot was empty and switched off; clearly nobody else had made any that morning, which was very unusual. He wondered what the others were doing; certainly Beast would have made a pot of coffee, Hank got uncharacteristically irritable without his morning pint of caffeine. With a shrug, he turned on the machine, pottering around the kitchen as the coffee percolated. He checked the cupboards for ingredients; if he was going to be grounded at the base, it might be nice to cook up something special for his teammates on their return, his way of thanking them all for their kindness and support during his recovery.
He was sitting at the kitchen table nursing his second cup of coffee, wondering if he had enough energy to try to make praline brownies for dessert, when he heard the telepathic summons.
Gambit... if you can hear me, please come to my study...
Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet, topping up the mug of coffee from the pot, sending a small charge of his bio-kinetic energy through it for good measure to get it steaming hot, before obediently heading to the Professor's office, rapping his knuckles on the door.
"Come in, Gambit!"
He opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind him.
"You wanted t'see me, Professor?" he queried, trying – and failing – to keep his voice from rasping in his sore throat.
"Yes," Xavier nodded, indicating a nearby chair, "take a seat. How are you feeling?"
"Better, t'anks," he replied, taking a quick swallow of coffee to try to ease his throat and lend some strength to his voice, already suspecting the reason for his summons, "dere's somet'in wrong wit' de mission, isn't dere?"
"I'm afraid so," Xavier's voice was heavy with regret, "Jean came to see me last night saying she was worried and unable to contact Scott. We tried with Cerebro and neither of us was able to contact any of the team. She and Hank took a mini-jet in the early hours of this morning to try to reach them... about fifteen minutes ago, I received a brief telepathic cry for help from Jean, suddenly silenced. I have been unable to reach her since then, despite my best efforts."
"Den I'm goin' after dem," Gambit stated, bluntly, already turning towards the door.
"Gambit, wait!" the Professor ordered, halting him briefly, "I know you're still not one hundred percent fit and I can tell that this cold you've picked up obviously isn't helping; I can't order you to go after the rest of the team..."
"You ain't orderin' me to stay, though, Professor?"
"No... no I am not," Xavier conceded, reluctantly, "but Jubilee will remain here at the base with me. Gambit, I cannot emphasise this enough – please be careful. I simply wish to know what has become of the rest of the team..."
"Gambit will find dem, Professor," he said, firmly, straightening himself up determinedly, "I jus' go grab my t'ings and den I go."
"Good luck, Gambit," the Professor said, softly, as the Cajun swiftly ducked out of his office, "and please... bring them – and yourself – back safely."
Sprinting back to his room, Gambit swiftly shed his civilian clothes, donning his uniform black trousers, purple and black shirt, and his black hood. He tugged on his boots and gloves, then threw on his long brown trench coat to complete the look, flicking the collar up. He grabbed his retractable bo-jitsu staff, tucking it into one of his pockets, picking up two decks of cards for good measure, taking them out of their boxes and dropping the loose packs into two of his many inside pockets, selecting a few other useful tools and trinkets. He checked he had everything and then, as an afterthought, grabbed a handful of tissues from the box by the bed, wadding them up and stuffing them into another pocket.
He was running towards the hanger bay when he was accosted by Jubilee, coming from the other direction.
"There you are!" she announced, sounding relieved and irate at the same time, "Come on, what are you waiting for? The others need our help!"
"My help, petite," he corrected her, gently, "de Professor is right. You gotta stay behind on dis one."
"But I wanna help!" she pleaded, eyes wide and lips pouting, "Gambit, please, please don't leave me behind!"
"Sorry, petite," he sighed, resuming a swift pace towards the bay, forcing her to run to keep up with his long-legged stride, "not dis time. Gambit gotta do dis one himself; need de skills of a thief. Should'a gone wit'em de first time, now dey all in trouble. Don' wan' you gettin' in no trouble, petite."
"But..." she trailed off, helplessly, "but I wanna come..."
"Not dis time," he said again, emphatically, "you stay wit' de Professor. Anyt'in happens to Gambit an' de team don' come back, den you gonna be in charge of de new X-Men, eh?"
"I really hope not," Jubilee dropped her head and her hands in defeat, "just... bring them back, okay? And you be careful..."
"Gambit always careful, petite," he smirked, as he crossed to the solo jet he would be piloting, "now – go help de Professor, okay?"
"Okay," she sighed, reluctantly.
Gambit vaulted easily into the open cockpit, closing the canopy, and running through his pre-flight checks even as he was initiating the launch sequence. With a last wave at Jubilee, he opened the hanger, and launched into the sky, jetting off to find his friends.
