(Three)

Jael sat on his throne, unhappy. It had been an exciting past few days and he was finally coming down from the high of it. First there was the invigorating battle at Trishnar's, how he had enjoyed that in spite of being so badly injured. He might have lost the sword fight itself, but he had won the battle and had shown his superiority. Then there was the matter of his Shalayesk armor. He had fully recovered from his injuries in a matter of hours thanks to Star's magic, but when he went to remove the armor, he discovered that some of the inner pieces had permanently bonded themselves to his body, no doubt a result of the angel child's energy fusing with it. It might have been more disturbing if it weren't for the unshakable feeling he had that it had done so to protect him. He now had fixed shield coverings on his arms and legs and around his torso where he'd been injured the most severely. It would take a lot more than a metal sword to hurt him again like that.

After the battle with Trishnar, Jael had returned to his underground lair outside of New York City. He wasn't merely returning home, he was closing this lair of his permanently. Now that he had four such large Command ships there was no need for such a fixed and limited base. It would be so much safer for him to stay mobile. He would be impossible to find and could strike from anywhere. This was a large base with a lot of equipment and he was going to be here several days at least to pack it all up.

What was making Jael currently unhappy was the last update he had received from Razel a few hours ago. The news was not to his satisfaction. He had sent a couple of people down to New Orleans to search out the Siskans he suspected were missing from Trishnar's harem. He assumed they were hiding in the woods nearby or some such but they hadn't been found. He hadn't thought it would take this long to retrieve them. Siskans were weak, hopelessly dependant on a Master to guide them, they couldn't have run far. He had no doubts that they had existed though he had no evidence to support that, it was just a whisper in his mind. So the question remained, if the missing Siskans weren't in New Orleans, where were they?

Jael figured it wasn't out of the question that they would run to Westchester and to Remy. If the thief's bonds with Trishnar were as strong as he suspected, they just might try to contact the one they thought might best protect them. To that end, Jael intensified his intelligence gathering on the X-men. Word was that the Westchester Xavier complex was now strangely almost empty, how mysterious. Why would Charles abandon a place of safety, one that Jael himself had not been able to penetrate? This was perplexing to Jael as he hadn't gotten concrete intelligence of any departures, his spies had no pictures of ships or planes or buses. It was like folks had just disappeared gradually, each day there were less and less people about until finally, there was only a skeleton crew — one he suspected wasn't going to be there much longer. Jael knew some things about Xavier's crew and it was most likely that they were either being teleported out or removed by some other means. What Jael didn't really know of course was that Charles had in his arsenal the Lucky Dragon, a transport vessel that could easily be cloaked to fly in and out undetected by normal standards.

Jael's follow up attempts to locate where the X-men may have gone to had produced mixed results. Sabertooth's tracking devices placed him in the Arizona desert, but they were not pinpoint accurate. Jael also had Mary Green in a position to infiltrate the Westchester Complex and he knew she had been taken to where ever folks were disappearing to. She had at least been able to confirm the location was in fact in the Arizona desert, but little more. He had received nothing further from her other than a single check in where she said she had arrived safely and was so far not under suspicion, something that had raised his spirits. She was talented and worth every penny he was spending on her. Her global positioning device was malfunctioning she said, she was going to try and figure out another way to pinpoint her exact position. That and she was going to try and track down Kimble. After that, nothing.

"My Lord?"

Jael looked up at the soft spoken request made by his Second, Razel. "Yes?"

"I have news. Something that I hope will make you feel better."

Jael couldn't help but smile at the genuine concern he heard there. "What is it?"

"Cortland got a lock on Mary Green's bio-signature."

Jael wasn't without his own resources as well. Cortland was mutant tracker, a walking mutant detector. Bent on a goal, he could locate almost anyone anywhere in the world.

"Yes?"

"She was in Arizona when he had her last coordinates."

"Your use of the past tense means...?"

"Cortland believes she is dead, my Lord. They must have detected her."

"But you have the exact location?"

"Yes. An Industrial Complex in Costin, sir. I'm having Kyria look up the deeds for all the facilities there, sir. We should have her intel within the hour, sir."

Jael brightened at that, his gloom dissipating at once. "Excellent."

"So we'll be going in, sir?" Razel asked, his eyes gleaming. How he had loved seeing Jael tear Trishnar apart and steal his wealth. With Xavier gone in the same fashion, the whole world would be theirs.

"No," Jael replied simply, his voice a bit thoughtful. He said nothing more.

"May I ask why not?" Razel dared to ask when he realized Jael wasn't going to elaborate.

"Because I have decided that Xavier will suffer as I have suffered. He is not worthy of the Game. I will make him give Kimble to me, one way or another. I will destroy everything and everyone he loves until he begs me to take Kimble off of his hands."

These were not empty words. He had in fact already composed and sent another letter of warning to Xavier that the man should be getting any day now. Jael had made his intentions very clear, Kimble would soon be too expensive for Xavier to keep. There was going to be much blood. The X-men would pay for all the deaths they had caused in his ranks every time he had tried to attack them. They were just defending themselves, he knew this, but they would still pay and dearly.

Razel had not been privy to the letter his Master had composed and was bit surprised to hear what Jael had said. He knew Jael could be ruthless at times, but this? It had to be the new Command ships they had acquired. It was true that Jael could probably take Xavier down now at his leisure. The thing of it was, the longer the delay, the greater the chance of something going wrong. It seemed better to Razel to eliminate the threat right away.

"Don't worry, Raz," Jael gently chided. "Good things come to those who wait. Did you bring me my newspapers?"

"Yes, Master," Razel said, dumping the stack on a small table next to the throne. "You might find the USA Now of particular interest."

Jael grunted an acknowledgment and selected that one first. On the front page was a large spread covering the current mutant crisis. As per usual, Jael's terrorist group was mentioned, but no photographs of any of his members were included. So far none in the media had been able to capture an image of Jael nor his men, not even the sword fight in the middle of Central Park had brought no usable photographs of himself, something that pleased him. His anonymity was one of his safeguards. According to one of the articles, he was considered the strongest mutant threat since his group was responsible for the highest number of human casualties, something that made him swell with pride.

There were other articles as well, one that was most notable - an article that directly quoted Butch Madison, the free leader of the Outkasts. The Outkasts was a mutant group not unlike Jael's own. They did not fight for mutant rights so much as making their way merrily plundering the human world of its vast riches. They were quiet, not striking out in the open, but had mastered several coups behind the scenes, manipulating world governments to better suit themselves. Jael's intelligence was far reaching and he had heard rumors that it was the Outkasts who had stopped the North Korean nuclear march and had whisked away those pesky nukes. None of this was substantiated of course.

In the article, Butch was making some rather bold statements. He was responding to the recent push to instate the mutant registration act and some of the other proposals being made, most notably, the suggestion that mutants should be quarantined in camps or perhaps even be forcibly sterilized. "If you establish any of these protocols," Butch was telling the world, "...you will see a war like none you have ever witnessed before. You think Jael is so tough? He's nothing more than a dog's chew toy squeaking for your stupid attention under my feet. I am ten times more powerful and far more lethal. Do not underestimate me just because I do not flaunt myself in front of you as he does. You haven't seen anything like the apocalypse that will be unleashed at my command should any one of my mutant brethren be harmed!"

Jael bristled some at Butch's bold words. It was true that no one really knew just how powerful the Outkasts really were, but that didn't give the little twerp the right to badmouth him in public like that.

"Don't worry, boss," Razel was saying as if he could read Jael's mind. "We'll show him. Once the Game is done, we'll kick his ass."

Jael smiled at that. Nice to have others show their faith. "Yes, we will indeed."

They both looked up as Marcus came in, carrying some papers, updates for Jael. "Cortland gave the Xavier coordinates to Kyria and she did a quick check on the location. It seems our pal Xavier purchased a large amount of Industrial property in a Complex out there over the past several years. He owns four or five large buildings there all next to one another. Kyria is doing a check on the adjacent properties, maybe we can pick up something close by to occupy and set up some intel operations."

"If we can't, what is the terrain like there?"

"The area is fairly remote, surrounded by mountains and scrub desert. If we had to we could move in a couple of the Command ships there or dig in."

"We don't have time to dig in, that would take months. We have weeks. I understand we have to prepare, but I don't want to give Xavier's team any more time to build up than we have to."

"Yes, sir. Do you want me to call for the Cloud Jumper? We can start scouting out the area."

Jael nodded. Of the four ships, he liked the Cloud Jumper the best and he intended it to be his new headquarters. "Yes, at once."

Marcus nodded and left.

"So we are going out there?" Razel asked, testing Jael's mood.

"Of course," Jael replied, looking up at him with his cat's eyes gleaming with anticipation. "I never said I wouldn't. I just plan on making this as excruciating as possible for our little friends. I am looking forward to it most happily."

(break)

That same morning, Remy sat at his own kitchen table, not quite dressed for work but getting there. He was drinking his first cup of coffee of the day and munching on bacon while reading the paper. He wasn't used to Arizona news and was reading the national section, taking in the word on the mutant crisis. Of course there were calls to bring on the Mutant Registration Act and even some quarantine camps. One spokesmen for the cause of humanity was calling for forced sterilization of mutants, something that really stuck in Gambit's craw, especially with Molly pregnant now. No one was about to tell him he did not have the right to have his kids.

Some of the articles were the same as the ones Jael was reading. Remy read with interest the statements from Butch Madison, the leader of the Outkasts. He read as Butch threatened that if the mutant containment camps went into effect, there would be some serious terrorism in response, repercussions so profound, that they would make Jael look like a pussy. Remy wasn't that familiar with the Outkasts as he was with other mutant factions. He had run into a couple of them on Thieves' Guild jobs before he had joined the X-men, but not recently. One of the Outkasts had even offered to bring him to see Butch Madison himself and at that time he had been tempted. He had heard stories underground that Butch's crew was the most powerful, most secret group of mutants gathered, that most of them were omegas.

There were three classes of mutants. The first of these were betas, those whose gifts were surface only and ornamental, like horns or scales. They did not possess extra strength or mental powers, they simply looked different enough to be cast out of the normal society. These were the weakest and the most vulnerable since they had no extra skills to defend themselves.

Then there were alphas like Remy was and most of Xavier's crew. This middle class had enhanced strength or they could fly. Iceman could manufacture ice from the air and Nightcrawler could teleport. Remy could produce bio-kinetic energy, but it was limited to whatever small objects he could put in his hands. He couldn't blow up buildings or shoot planes down from the sky. Most alphas brought up their standing by adding to their talents with martial skills and were well educated. They used their talents to do more than just get by in the world, they gained some personal wealth and were not so easily intimidated by their normal human brethren.

The omegas were their own class and not to be trifled with. Xavier, being a most powerful telepath was certainly in this class. But there were others who could blow up buildings with a thought or stop someone's heart just by wishing it. Some like Magneto, could disrupt the planet's natural ecosystems enough to destroy them all. Others could walk through walls or turn their bodies into ghostly vapor and were untouchable. No prison would ever hold them. Sabretooth in his glory might have been in this class. For the most part he had been virtually indestructible, coming back from whatever punishment was delivered. Omegas were the most feared of all the mutants by the ungifted populace and with good reason, there was no real defense when an omega went nuts or had a secret agenda. Butch Madison's threats were very real and had to be taken seriously.

Remy was nervous enough, mostly due to his limited information on the guy. He had heard that Butch had a thing for energy producers. Remy had no reason to doubt this since he had been approached at a time before Sinister had modified his powers and brought them down and back into control. It was true that Gambit had never fully explored the limits of his power before it had spiked, who knew what he might have been capable of then? Butch had certainly been interested in him, but afterwards? Remy had never heard from him again, presumably he had been made too weak by Sinister's alterations to be of any further value. Not that Gambit cared at being passed over, as fucked up as he was, he had never had an inner desire to be a terrorist or work for one, no matter what the financial reward. It just wasn't in him.

Gambit looked up from his paper when he heard a soft knock on his door. Molly was asleep in bed, still not feeling so good. She had spent most of the night heaving and being perfectly miserable. Henry gave her some medicine to help with nausea and it made her sleepy. She had finally fallen asleep and Remy was happy to let her be. Angel was at school so Remy was pretty much by himself. He set his paper down and answered, surprised at finding Seth at his door. The Siskan was alone and empty handed except for his small backpack, the one where he carried his energy cubes.

"Bonjour. What's up buddy?" Remy greeted, unsure as to why Seth was here.

Seth shifted nervously, not quite meeting his eyes. "Oh, not much. I was bored and I remembered you saying that you would teach me some things. You know, like picking locks."

Remy smiled at that, he had forgotten, but was more than willing to honor his promise. He had a feeling that wasn't what Seth really wanted but he let him in anyway. He could see some strange murkiness in Seth's shine, the same unease that had been there since that last fight with Fallen, when Kimble was first taken into custody after Mary's death. Remy wasn't sure what it meant, only that it had to mean Seth wasn't very happy. Remy didn't need to read just his shine to tell him that, he could see it in Seth's eyes. He figured that Seth just needed some attention right now and was happy to give it.

Gambit grabbed a bundle from the long coat he had draped over the back of his chair. He always carried a few sets of picks and other light tools in a rolled up cloth, never knowing when they might come to use. His apartment was a two bedroom just like Fallen and Seth shared, and he brought the bundle over to the spare room door, motioning for the young Siskan to follow him.

As he set out his tools, Remy asked casually, "Where's Fallen at?"

Seth's Mistress usually didn't let Seth out of her sight. Gambit had never agreed with Fallen's policy of hiding Seth away. He understood the why of it, Kimble was kind of nuts after all, but wondered if some of it was a response to Fallen's former husband Valentin being abusive of her. Victims of abuse were forever changed and they reacted to it in different ways. Fallen might not have followed with physical abuse herself, but she was very controlling of Seth, the way Valentin had been controlling of her. She had to know every little thing Seth did and where he was at all times. She was unnaturally possessive of him, to the point of smothering. She limited his contact with others and therefore controlled who his friends were and who he associated with. Seth was a prisoner of the Ristle cubes, really. Fallen was a female, but she was far more powerful than Seth, who couldn't even physically defend himself against her.

Seth answered Gambit's question, "She had to run Karen to Westchester. She should be back in an hour."

Remy knew this already, but he asked anyway, "You needed to get out?"

Seth smiled at him. "Yeah."

Remy had his tools ready and he made sure Seth was looking at him when he said, "Now, I'm not learnin' you dis so y'all can get in trouble, neh?"

"I'll be good," Seth promised, his eyes merry.

Remy was happy to see it, some of the swirling in Seth's shine had dissipated and Gambit felt better about doing this. He gave Seth a spare set of picks and began to explain what each one was and how it was used. He placed his own set of picks in the lock and showed him how to use them to manipulate the tumblers there. It was a cheap lock, too easy, but it was the best for a beginner like Seth.

"Bien, now you 'ave a try, fils."

Seth took his picks and moved up to the lock, doing his best to imitate what Remy had just shown him. Remy watched him, not so much to observe his technique, but was still wondering what was going on with him. He wondered why Seth was really here and hoped that the Siskan would get around to speaking what was on his mind.

Seth didn't answer Remy's thoughts, he was working. He wiggled the picks around, but wasn't even close to matching Remy's smoothness. He slipped and fumbled one of the picks in his uncooperative fingers, snarling a curse under his breath. He was used to learning things quickly, having a computer chip for a brain was ever so helpful, but he always struggled with physical things and this was obviously not going to be an exception. His hands were slow and stupid, every motion a struggle to get right. He hadn't a prayer of equaling Remy's nuances, his simple manual grace. Once again, Seth was reminded of his personal failure to alter his codes properly, it was a humbling he did not want or appreciate. His attempts to work this simple lock were humiliatingly feeble and he felt a surge of self loathing rip right through him, it was enough to bring a shine to his eyes, threatening tears of frustration.

Remy was startled enough by the soft curse from Seth, this Siskan seldom if ever swore. Seth was passive, always mild mannered and even tempered. Not so today, it seemed. But it was the sudden swirl of black through Seth's shine that made him move. He had seen that too many times in Kimble not to recognize it for what it was, Seth was angry at himself and not in a good way.

"Easy dere, fils," Remy said, coming up behind Seth to better show him what to do. He scrunched his chest to Seth's back, bringing his arms around Seth on either side to place his hands over the pilot's. He released a light vibration of soothing calm, hoping to take the edge off of Seth's anger. He said nothing about that, he had a feeling it was better not acknowledge what he'd seen, he didn't want to add to what Seth might be feeling as a loss of face. Instead he gave gentle instruction as he carefully moved Seth's hands to the task. "Light light touch. Soft, jus' like touchin' a woman, n'est ce pas? Like dis."

The moment Remy's arms came around him, Seth's anger slipped away. It was nice here like this as it always was whenever Remy was close. It was simply impossible to stay mad with the playful and patient Cajun around. He chuckled softly at Gambit's joke, not consciously feeling Remy's vibrations of calm melting away his anger, but knew it when his smile brought a strong vibration of affection from the thief. It wrapped itself around him, mingled with the heat of Remy's body now enclosed around him. It made him warm and happy, his love of warm things a trait he shared with his brother, Kimble.

Seth's clumsy motions became more refined under the thief's careful instruction and the lock gave way with a satisfying click. "Hey!" Seth gasped in delighted wonder.

"You did it, fils!" Remy praised, grateful for Seth's accomplishment. The young pilot's attempt hadn't been pretty, even the most inexperienced of thieves often did better at their first try, but at least this wasn't a total bust.

Seth turned his head to beam a radiant smile on his instructor, pleased with himself. The moment his head turned, the instant he locked his pale blue eyes with red and black, a flash of an image blasted its way through his mind, unbidden. Maybe it was the excitement of his accomplishment, or perhaps it was just those warm arms around him and the smell of Remy's aftershave always so pleasant - but he saw for a moment a flash image of Remy leaning in to kiss him, a slow and careful movement, one filled with the deepest, most erotic affection. Seth flushed madly as his body surged with arousal and heat, something he couldn't hope to hide from someone as empathic as his friend.

This had been happening to Seth with an embarrassing frequency. Since his sensitivity to the vibrations had increased, so had his erotic notions of those around him. He had sex constantly on his mind, something new. Unfortunately, it was driving him nuts. Sure he liked sex as much as the next guy, but he always had other things going on - his side projects, his work with Henry. Now, his attention span was increasingly short with sexual thoughts just barging their way in ever so rudely. He would be talking to one of Henry's nurses and he would get a flash image of her naked. Henry would just touch him lightly to move him aside and there was that heat, an image of being smothered in lovely blue fur. These things bothered Seth greatly, he loved his Mistress and had never even thought of laying with anyone else, not until now. It was worse somehow with Remy wrapped around him like this, feeding him liquid vibrations of affection. They bled into him, bringing to life those erotic thoughts with a white hot suddenness, affecting him far more strongly than anyone else.

Gambit's eyes widened as he noted Seth's unexpected response. Shi'ow-ri!

/ Wow. You've sure got a way with these Siskans! she chuckled at him, ever so helpful.

Dat ain't even de least bit funny, chere! What did I do?

/ Nothing. This came from him. Something's wrong, wrong between him and his Mistress. /

"Sumptin' on yo' mind, Set'?" Remy asked, his voice deepening in an unconscious response to Seth's vibrations of arousal. Some parts of him he could not control, even in a situation as bizarre as this one. He certainly never expected to find himself here, looking into the light pools of Seth's eyes, the young Siskan's body vibrating such a desperate want.

"I- I..." Seth stammered lamely in his embarrassment, but couldn't finish. Why was this happening to him? This was so horrible!

Remy waited with what he hoped was real patience, watching with disappointment as the dark swirling returned to Seth's shine. When he realized Seth had nothing coherent to offer, he said, "You an' Fallen okay?"

"We're fine," Seth replied, not sounding very sure about that at all. Yeah, they were speaking, but he couldn't help the resentment he had been feeling towards his Mistress of late.

"She takin' care of you?" Gambit inquired, hoping his voice didn't show just how awkward this was for him. He wasn't used to thinking about Seth on sexual terms, but he was a Courtesan after all, something that was so easy to forget when the bulk of Seth's time was spent in a lab or on a computer. Kimble did not do these things, a distinction that had always made it easy to dismiss Seth as a non-sexual entity. Whatever Seth did with Fallen, it was in private. Seth was not openly affectionate, a set of behaviors he had adopted as a means to protect himself – he would not see himself ostracized or looked on with disapproval as Kimble was.

Seth couldn't possibly misunderstand the nature of Remy's question. It was there, unspoken, in the air between them. But how could he hope to realistically answer that? Were they having sex? Yeah, but not that often. Why? Because this unease he had been feeling for a while now was starting to creep in and infect every aspect of his life. He could please his Mistress, perform his duty well, but lately he wasn't getting much satisfaction for himself. He would climax only to feel that unease settle right back in, arousing him all over again and denying him full satisfaction. The constant sexual thoughts weren't helping, he was spending far too much time in a simmering sexual heat. It was like being perpetually hungry with nary a morsel of food to be had. Fallen couldn't keep up with his newly jacked up libido, she wasn't that type of girl. Once or twice a week, she was good. But Seth's new fire was burning twenty-four/seven, fueled by the fact that he slept so little. He was far too submissive to his Mistress to ask for more and so kept his troubles to himself. He tried to relieve some of the pressure himself, but couldn't get off by masturbating, something that only made him feel worse.

Not being the best at articulating his feelings, Seth didn't have a clue about how to explain any of this to Remy no matter how patient he was, so he didn't even try. He moved out Gambit's embrace in a huff, pushing himself away to the livingroom and flopping down on Remy's big sectional with a heavy sigh of frustration.