Stark Tower, New York City, New York

The Past, Ten Weeks Ago

When God was divvying out mutant powers, Gambit felt he must have been misdirected to the wrong queue. Converting the potential energy of any object to explosive kinetic energy was not a skill a thief could really use. Having glowing red eyes which drew unnecessary attention to oneself was also something of a detriment when you were trying to remain inconspicuous. It made the Thieves Guild rule against tattoos, piercings, and acquiring other identifiable physical characteristics somewhat moot in Gambit's case. Either God had an ironic sense of humor when he gave Gambit his powers, or He was trying to tell Gambit something. As if having His instructions on what "thou shalt not" do carved out in stone, re: point number seven, wasn't explicit enough.

What Gambit wanted right now was to be gifted with the power of invisibility. Such a power was wasted on a woman like Sue Storm who should remain very visible at all times, in Gambit's opinion. Would that he could trade powers with the Invisible Woman now. Gambit could usually count on his fellow X-Men to ignore him. He'd embraced his role as a minor player, where he often went overlooked. But there was an Avenger looking at him now. That made him nervous. This whole situation made him nervous.

I'm invisible. I'm not here, Gambit thought as he stared upward into space, assuming an expression of boredom while gnawing on a toothpick. Pay no attention to the man in the trench coat.

They were gathered together in a large conference room, or that is what the room would have been called if they were at The Jean Grey School. Gambit supposed a better word for this place would be The War Room, because this wasn't any school but Avenger headquarters. Several of his compeers were seated around the table while others stood. Storm was seated with her spine ramrod straight, hands folded before her on the table. Rogue was also seated, her back to Gambit. He couldn't see her expression. Captain America and Wolverine stood, vying for command of the room. Gambit was slouching in the corner with his arms crossed and not looking at anyone, like a student who didn't know the answer to a question and was praying not to be called on during class. There was a disagreement amongst those gathered and everyone had voiced their opinion. Gambit wanted no part of it.

"Have you nothing to say?" Captain America pointedly asked, his tone accusatory. Gambit was somewhat stunned to realize the question had been posed to him. Gambit looked at Storm, eyebrows raised, silently pleading with her to do something. Storm focused her eyes on Gambit, pinning him to the wall with her gaze. No help there; she seemed to expect him to respond to the question.

"I'm not de one on trial here," Gambit snarked. Rogue's shoulders stiffened. Gambit noted that Cannonball rolled his eyes behind his goggles, his expression conveying that he had expected no better response from the thief. Gambit returned Cannonball's clear disdain with a wry smirk. It spared Gambit from having to look at any Avengers, their swanky digs, or remind himself that he was in way over his head.

Wolverine's hands gripped the back of an empty chair. His eyes flashed and his expression was grim as he focused on Captain America. "We were having a discussion."

"I was taking the rest of your team into consideration," was the Avenger's reply. "Everyone else has had their say."

Wolverine gave Cap an incredulous look. "Oh, well, go right on ahead and see if you'll get a coherent answer out of him. Don't say I didn't warn ya."

"Gambit, please provide your perspective in this situation," Storm said. Gambit knew for a fact nobody gave a damn about his perspective but for whatever reason, Storm was calling him out. Gambit wasn't going to be forced to participate; he had no horse in this race.

"I choose to abstain," Gambit answered flippantly and waved his hand in dismissal.

"Is that an option?" Marvel Girl said, her tone bitter. If Gambit wanted to say anything, it would be to show sympathy for Rachel Grey. Considering whom they were arguing about, it wasn't fair for them to force her to voice an opinion either.

"According t'de Board of Education of de state of New York, abstinence is de only guarantee t'keep yo'self out of trouble," Gambit responded. "At least that's what I've been instructed t'teach."

"I told you so," Wolverine told Cap.

Wolverine was staring daggers at him. It seemed the man's go-to solution to a problem was to stab it. Was there nothing or no one he wouldn't impale on those claws: teammates, teenage girls, and enemies alike?

"If you do not wish to contribute, perhaps you should go," Storm told him. Gambit looked at her gratefully, but she did not return his glance. She seemed to be angry with him.

"Well, if I've got your permission then..," Gambit disengaged himself from the wall and strode out of the conference room. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the bob of Rogue's ponytail as she turned to look over her shoulder at him. Gambit continued from the room without a glance in her direction.

It seemed like an eternity had passed since he'd been in a situation very similar to this one, gathered in a room with his fellow X-Men debating the fate of another mutant. That time hadn't included any damn Avengers however. And the mutant in question had been Mystique and that shape-shifting coquette had had a personal vendetta against him.* He might have preferred that situation over this one, though his memories of that time were lost in a haze of anxiety, fear, and anger. At least back then they were keeping their troubles within the family and not making a federal case out of it. This time they were literally making a federal case out of it.

Gambit had chosen to abstain because he was not going to stand on any kind of jury, or be forced into any kind of judgmental hypocrisy.

Instead, Gambit was going to go make a sandwich.

This place did have a kitchen, and Gambit had an uncanny sense about food and how to find it. He had the sandwich on a plate alongside a smallish green apple and the cheese crackers he'd found in the back of the pantry. There were several levels below-ground. He took the elevator down to the lowest level and stepped off into the hall. It was dimly lit, the walls smooth and featureless, the flooring utilitarian and nondescript. Despite the generic surroundings, the corridor felt somehow familiar. He hesitated for a moment, his footsteps slowing as he acclimated to the strange sensation that he'd been here before. Gambit shook off the feeling and continued down the hall.

When he came to a closed door he stopped. He held the plate in his left and put his right hand to the smooth black surface of the lock beside the door, allowing his palm and fingerprints to be scanned. He saw the readout on the screen spell out a name in red digital letters and the door emitted a short beep. There must have been some error with the system because it wasn't Gambit's name, but someone else's. He smiled. Later, Gambit would have to go into the security system and purge any record of the scan, the recordings of the cameras no doubt focused on the door, and erase any sign that he'd been here.

The door before him hissed open.

"Knock, knock," he said with false lightheartedness. "Mind if I come in?"

Cyclops was seated on the thin pad of a mattress set on the cot bolted to the floor. He had his back against the wall of the holding cell, arms folded loosely across his chest. He regarded Gambit without expression.

"I suppose I couldn't stop you," Cyclops responded with no inflection in his voice.

Gambit lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. "A man's entitled t'de privacy of his own thoughts if nothin' else. I'll have de courtesy to not intrude on yours and go if you want. I did bring you a sandwich though, in case you're hungry."

"You didn't have to do that." Gambit took that to mean that Cyclops didn't want him to have done it.

No, Gambit didn't have to do anything for Cyclops. Nor did he want to, just like he didn't want to speak on Cyclops' behalf in the conference room either; to defend him or accuse him. But Gambit didn't say anything about that. Cyclops rose and took the offered plate, returned to the cot and sat it down beside him. Cyclops palmed the apple, but did not move to eat it.

"How did you get in here?" Cyclops asked. He had an excellent poker face. It was probably a good thing that Gambit had never played a game of Texas Hold'em with the man.

"There's an oversight in de security system. Probably should talk t'Stark about that," Gambit responded. He continued: "They're all up there jabbering on like monkeys in a tree. Been at it for a while yet."

Cyclops asked: "Why are you here, then? Shouldn't you be with them?"

"Didn't see any need t'be. I don't really see as I have anything to say in de matter."

Cyclops considered him a moment. "What makes you say that?"

Gambit offered a lopsided grin. "Enh, who cares what dis Cajun thinks anyhow? And besides, feelin' a bit out of my element." This was only partially true. The whole truth was that Gambit knew Wolverine hated anyone getting a voice in a situation when he wanted complete control over it. Especially when Gambit had a contrary opinion. Wolverine would see it as nothing but a challenge to his authority. Everyone was going to have to go along with what Wolverine decided anyway or risk fragmenting the teams even further. Gambit added: "This is bigger than de X-Men, what wit' Avengers involved. A whole national or global issue 'r somethin'."

Cyclops frowned at him. "It's that kind of thinking that keep mutants on the fringes of society, Gambit. That left us on the sidelines."

"Preferred when our dirty laundry weren't aired for de world t'see, y'might say," Gambit replied, leaning his shoulder up against the open doorjamb. "I liked it better when things were on a more personal, human level." He held his hand out with his palm down, as if to lower the severity of the situation with a gesture.

"This goes beyond the confines of Wolverine's schoolyard. It was past time we had a global presence and the power to make a real difference. That we took control of the situation and were responsible for our own destiny," Cyclops told him.

Gambit continued: "So I guess you got what you were after, then. Except the 'control' part." He paused for a moment considering the man before him. He thought Cyclops' words sounded rehearsed, like a politician's canned speech. Though unlike a politician, Cyclops had the conviction of a true believer behind his words.

"I don't understand why you are here, Gambit," Cyclops told him. Gambit had to give the guy credit, he never once looked away. Cyclops focused his gaze directly on his visitor even through those strange goggles they'd outfitted him with to keep his optic-blast powers at bay.

"We talkin' 'here' as in me standin' in front of you now?" Gambit asked. "Or like, metaphysically?"

Cyclops exhaled. If he were an impatient man, it might have been a sigh.

"Y'know, de reason I never stayed on with your Utopia...I never did see myself as any part of some kinda super-squad," Gambit told him. "I don't aim to be a hero."

"Then what is it you aspire to be, Gambit? You seem to have chosen a life shirking responsibilities. Ignoring any kind of potential you might have had." Gambit really didn't take offense to Cyclops' words; it was hard to when they were true.

"Those kind of responsibilities come with some serious consequences. Made enough mistakes on my own that others have had to pay for. Don't want anybody else to have to suffer for my shortcomings," Gambit replied. He chose not to point out that his former leader had once abandoned his first wife and child, and then betrayed the second. This wasn't something Gambit felt he could really criticize Cyclops for, having left and betrayed his own wife, BellaDonna. Furthermore, Cyclops wasn't talking about responsibility on a personal level, but a very public global one. Cyclops never could see the forest for the trees.

"If you'd faced up to your shortcomings instead of hiding—," Cyclops began, then shook his head slightly. "If you'd made different decisions. Taken ownership of the power you'd been given."

"I never wanted it, much less asked for that kind of power."

"You never aspired to be anything other than a thief," Cyclops responded with flat finality.

"Maybe if your foster father'd been more of a regular criminal-type rather than a power-hungry psycho who took advantage of a teenaged kid, you might've took a shine to it," Gambit said. "A little 'B and E,' a touch of larceny here and there..."

Cyclops frowned then. It was a small expression Gambit might have missed if he hadn't been watching Cyclops so carefully. Gambit wondered if he might have struck a chord with Cyclops, talking about the foster father that had forced a teenage Scott Summers to commit crimes.** Gambit wondered if Cyclops could see the very thin line that separated them, if he was making any kind of connection at all.

Gambit tilted his head and gave Cyclops a considering stare, and then pointed at him. "Safe cracking, I bet," Gambit concluded. "You've got de patience for it. Me, not so much. Not wit' my daddy hangin' over my shoulder watchin' my every move."

"A father should want his son to aspire for more. To succeed where he failed," Cyclops told Gambit.

Gambit paused, momentarily struck with the thought that Cyclops perceived his father to be a failure. He felt a flash of anger then. "I don't think you and me are talkin' about de same thing, mon copain. My father gave me de learning I needed to survive."

"I learned on my own what was required for our survival," Cyclops told him.

Until now, Gambit had allowed his expression to remain open and engaging. He felt the muscles in his face freeze into an expression not unlike Cyclops'. "I didn't come down here t'talk mutant politics, or listen t'you try to defend what you did. I was here tryin' t'talk to you like a person," Gambit said. "Because I thought maybe the two of us could relate. Forgive my mistake."

Cyclops never did offer an apology of his own. In the end, Gambit had to let the door close behind him.

~ oOo ~

*See X-Men #171-174

**See Uncanny X-Men #39-42

mon copain – my friend/pal/mate

In Catholicism, the seventh commandment is Thou Shalt Not Steal. I understand it's different in other faiths.