This was always one of the quieter streets in New York, if any part of the city could ever be called quiet. The street light was cut off when he rounded a corner, disappearing into a dark alley where the unpracticed eye wouldn't be able to see. This was what people were calling a "dangerous" part of town now. If anyone ever asked why, they wouldn't get a clear answer. The truth wasn't something anyone wanted to say first. It went without saying that "dangerous" meant a high concentration of mutants. It could be argued that it was just easier this way. After all, if the neighborhood was mostly mutants, they wouldn't have to hide. From that perspective, mutant neighborhoods were good.

Gambit knew better.

This was how it always seemed to start. The mutants would all move into certain areas, chasing everyone else out. Then, that place was given a label and the reputation people whispered around. Next thing you know, the whole damn city is divided up, each group trying to wall the other off. Xavier saw the change happening. He was trying to tear the walls down before they had a chance to go up. No matter what side they were on, people always seemed to respect him for that.

Nice dream I guess, Gambit thought. Just not how the world works.

The darkness of the alley was cut into by a small yet harsh purple light coming from the sign up ahead of him. As he walked toward the building, the pavement seemed to rattle slightly with the bass of the music coming from inside. A glance up at the sign made him scoff every time he saw it.

The Ace of Clubs. Cute.

Knocking loudly on the door seemed to do the trick, since it was quickly thrown open by the security for the evening - a large man with an almost reptilian appearance given his yellow slit-pupiled eyes and green tinted skin.

"Here to see Phantom," Gambit explained coldly, keeping the rim of his hat low to shadow his eyes from the minimal light.

"Who's looking?" the door guard growled out in a raspy voice.

"Gambit."

He let out a smirk as he looked up at the reptilian guard enough to make eye contact. Upon hearing the name and seeing the red and black eyes of the visitor, the doorman's slit eyes grew wider. He quickly nodded and stepped aside to allow the guest entrance.

"Must be new," Gambit scoffed lightly, walking further into the building.

The harsh oddly colored lighting of the sign was a theme that seemed to carry throughout the club, each of the different balconies sporting different neon colors. In the center of the tables, parallel bars on either side of the ground floor, and sectioned off VIP areas was what could probably have been called a dance floor. The sparsely occupied space was easy enough to maneuver through. His sight was set on the spiraling metal staircase toward the back of the club, which had lights beaming out from under each black step, making it stand out. Making it to the spiral, he cast a glance up around at the balconies. It took less than a few seconds to find the right one. As always, the center balcony on the top floor was set aside for guests of particular financial influence at the club. While Belle didn't run the club itself, it was her money that opened the doors and kept them that way. Lucky for Remy, she was already up there.

When he walked up to the balcony entrance, the two hired hands on either side were quick to move out of his way, not needing an explanation. There were two women on the balcony, overlooking the main floor below. The woman dressed in black and blue with blue streaks in her hair and the glowing pattern of a circuit design on her skin, who he recognized immediately as Fidget, one of the Belle's old friends. The other was just the woman he wanted to see. Walking up beside her with a casual ease, he leaned sideways on the railing and flashed a signature smirk.

"Buy you a drink, Cher?"

"You're early," she laughed, turning toward him with a bright smile.

"Well, I wanted to come see you. Been awhile since ah was down here," he explained, "Gotta say, ah missed it."

"There's always a spot open for you at one of the players tables downstairs," she reminded him, "And, since you always play for the house when you're around, it really pays off to have you here."

"Here ah thought you just missed me, Belle" he sighed with a fake pout.

"I'm not happy you're here for the poker or the...other games," she admitted, "It's just not everyday you call in a favor. Is it bad?"

"No one's after me, if that's what you mean," he replied casually, "Bit more personal than that."

"We should talk upstairs," Isabelle suggested, "If there's a problem, I want to help."

"Hey," he smiled, running a hand up and down her arm, "It can wait. There's nothin' worth ruinin' a nice evenin' out with a beautiful woman. How about that drink?"

"A few drinks and then you tell me what's going on," Isabelle counter-offered.

"Deal."

There were a few advantages to owning one's own nightclub. Remy's favorite was that Isabelle's apartment was a few floors up above her club, making it a short trip from the Ace and a good place to disappear. This particular evening, he was glad for the short trip because, for the first time in a long time, he couldn't help but to just feel tired. He could all but feel the large couch at her place calling to him as he followed Belle down the hall.

As soon as the apartment door shut behind them, she cast a glance around the room. There was already a dufflebag and a jacket sitting on the far side of her couch.

"I'd say make yourself at home, but it looks like you already did," she smirked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Least ah called first," he shrugged, before his tone turned a bit more sincere, "And, thank you, Belle. Again. For...all of this."

"You know you're always welcome to hide out here. You feel like telling me what it's about this time?"

Dropping his hat on the side table and sitting down on the couch, he let out a deep sigh.

"Startin' ta think ah stayed in one place too long."

Isabelle walked over to sit next to him, tracing a thumb over his jaw as she turned his face to look at her.

"Hey," she smiled sweetly, "Tell me."

"Same mistake as always," he admitted, "Tried to be somethin' else. You know how it is when the world likes ta tell you what you can and can't be. Me: ah'm never gonna be anything more than what ah've always been."

"A devilishly charming hustler?"

"A no good thief."

Belle grew quiet for a moment, and it was obvious she was trying to process his answer without getting mad at whoever set him off this time.

"This is one of those situations where you'd rather drown the problem in bourbon than talk about what happened, isn't it?" she guessed.

"Do ya even have to ask?"

"On it," she nodded, standing to walk over to her kitchen bar, "Funny. You were just here yesterday morning, but that feels like weeks ago."

"Been a long couple of days for me too," he commented, walking up behind her and snaking an arm around her waist.

She easily slipped from his grasp, turning to hand him a drink. She moved to grab another glass and pour her own drink from a more elegant bottle.

"What kinda drinks?" he wondered.

"The wine is expensive and French and the bourbon is cheap and southern."

"My kinda woman," he smirked playfully.

"Here's to no one deciding what we are but us."

She raised her wine glass happily.

"Ah'll drink to that," he agreed, lightly tapping the glasses together.


Morning was probably one of the busiest times at Xavier's School for the gifted. It was the junction when all of the early morning training for the older students was finished and when all of the younger students woke for classes. The most evident example of this was in the main kitchen. There were traffic jams at every corner as half the students went for the fridge and the others to the cabinets. Today of all days, the chaos was the worst that some of the instructors had ever seen there. It particularly affected Scott and Jean, who had just been trying to reach the coffee pot, and Logan, who only wanted out of that room.

"This is chaos," Jean noted, carefully levitating the mugs and coffee carafe over to them, since they couldn't physically get to the counter.

"What the hell happened?" Logan called to them from where he was trapped by the crowd on the opposite side of the island.

"I don't know," Scott shrugged, "There's always been a schedule for breakfast. Now, it's a feeding frenzie and no one seems to want to clean up after themselves!"

He added a loud emphasis to the last point, but was ignored by the swarming students.

"How does the kitchen fall apart so fast?"

"Really?" Jean scoffed, "You don't know what this is about?"

When Scott gave her a black look, she rolled her eyes at him.

"Scott, the kitchen fell apart, because Gambit ran the kitchen," she explained, mild irritation obvious in her voice, "He did most of the cooking, all of the meal planning and schedules, and got the kids to clean everything up. It's not just the kitchen either. Half the rec room is dead. We're short a combat instructor. Storm's trying to handle all the shopping and food on her own, and I can't help because I had to pick up the extra classes."

"So, this is all because of Gambit?" Scott huffed, "Where the heck is he?!"

"Quit," Logan grumbled, finally making his way close enough to join the conversation, "Stuff disappeared when he did. Didn't exactly leave a note on the fridge."

"How's Laura?" Jean wondered, concerned with how the girl was handling it.

"Wait, wait, wait," Scott cut back in, "He just quit?! What was he thinking?"

"Probably had something to do with you bein' a dick," Logan shrugged.

Jean choked on her coffee, trying to contain a harsh snicker at the comment.

"Logan's right, Scott," Jean added on after setting the coffee aside, "Sure, we can all be hard on each other, but you've had it out for Gambit since day one. I kinda miss him already."

"Alright, so let's say for a minute that he did leave because of me," Scott argued, "That doesn't change the fact that maybe this is good. I mean, we might have to work a little bit harder to figure out the kitchen stuff, but it can't be that hard."

"Tell you what, Scott," Jean suggested, "Since you're so happy he's gone, you won't mind taking care of the kitchen. Only about a few hundred dishes left to do. I've got a class to help with."

She started making her way toward the door, looking back over her shoulder briefly to enjoy the expression on Scott's face. Logan, with a smirk, smacked Scott on the arm and left as well, leaving Scott in the midst of the chaotic mess.

Logan walked outside toward the garage, lighting a cigar as he went along. With a huff, he looked out toward the road on the other side of the main gate.

"Where the hell are you, Cajun?"


The balcony off of Isabelle's apartment was a decent place to think, even with the cold morning air still clinging to it. The glowing embers from the end of the cigarette seemed to draw his attention, as Remy stared at the damned thing in his hand. Sure, they were supposedly death rolled up into a small package, but some old habits just didn't die on days like this. Isabelle wouldn't be happy with the choice, he already knew, but right now the smoke in his lungs seemed to be the only thing keeping him grounded. It was a surreal feeling to have nowhere to go. It wasn't about fear, since he knew he'd always get by. It was about an overwhelming sense of freedom that reminded him of just who he used to be. Still, why did freedom have to have such a bitter kick to it now? What changed?

"I thought we talked about that," Isabelle's voice cut through his thoughts.

He turned to look at her, where she was now standing next to him on the balcony, leaning forward on the railing.

"We did," he admitted, "Long time ago."

"Remember what I told you then?" she wondered.

"That you wouldn't date an ashtray?" he smirked, remembering her words when they'd argued about it in the past.

"Not quite," she corrected, "I meant the part about me worrying about you. That didn't change. I still do."

"Ah never asked you to do that," he sighed.

"You've never had to."

She gently put a hand on his arm and offered a small smile.

"And as always," he huffed, "You win, Belle."

He held the cigarette out over the balcony a bit, watching in flash red before the whole thing scattered into ash.

"Happy now?"

"Happier," she admitted, "Look, Remy, this isn't easy for me. I used to always know what you were thinking. Now, I don't have a clue what's going on in there. It would make my life a hell of a lot easier if you would tell me."

"Thinkin' bout you," he answered simply.

"Me? Why?"

"Ah ask m'self that question all the time. Only answer I can come up with is that ah'm thinkin' about you because ah always do."

Isabelle fell silent, unsure of what to say. She settled for waiting to see if he wanted to say more.

"What are we, Belle?" he asked after a pause.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what ah asked."

"We're friends."

His quiet chuckle seemed loud in the silence after she answered.

"Friends, huh?" he huffed, "Last time ah checked, friends don't do half the things we've done."

"Okay, fine," she accepted, "We're good friends."

He turned toward her and stepped closer, leaning in with his lips a breath away from hers.

"And what if ah didn't wanna just be "good friends" anymore?"

"Then I'd miss you," she answered, turning away to walk back inside.

Remy casually turned his attention back to the view of the city, leaning against the glass behind him as he let the time pass. He smirked to himself at one last thought on the matter.

Ah do not understand this woman.