Disclaimer: I own nothing
Title: Born For Bad Luck
By: Peanutbutter
"Boys I'm most done travellin', Lord I'm at my journey's end
B'lieve I'm most done travellin', Lord at my journey's end
Well I been lookin' for me a good partner, bad luck is my best friend..."
(Born for Bad Luck song by Brownie McGhee)
Chapter 5: 'T Ain't Nobody's Bizness If I Do
There ain't nothing I can do, or nothing I can say That folks don't criticize me
But I'm goin' to, do just as I want to anyway
And don't care if they all despise me
(T Ain't Nobody's Bizness If I Do Song by Bessie Smith)
It swirled in front of him, the answer to questions he didn't have, the end to his connection to Nathaniel Essex, gray and in a small clear bottle. Fingers closed over the contents taking it from Remy's view and forcing him to face the bottle's holder. Essex was grinning. The inhuman smile of filed teeth and empty eyes of scorching red told Remy all he needed to know. Essex wanted something. Something more than the regular jobs he and John had been working on. Bigger than petty theft and small demolitions. This was something big. Essex was giving back the one thing he took the most joy in, experimentation. The bottle, after all, was how Remy'd gotten mixed up with the man in the first place.
"Do you know what this is?"
Remy swallowed. There was no use trying to appear indifferent. Essex was a master at getting what he wanted. Remy hated that he always fell into the man's hand like fresh clay. Essex was molding him into something new, something he didn't necessarily want to be. He nodded, too worried that words would give away his desperation. The bottle was a clear break from the man, and there was little Remy wouldn't trade for it.
"I have another job for you."
He wasn't surprised. He knew when Excess had proposed the end of their agreement there would be a steep price. The bottle was merely proof that he meant it.
"As you know I do a little research at my lab, small favors for subjects, most willing participants. Much like yourself."
Remy had seen the lab, blood splashed tables, and sticky utensils. He cringed to the think of the reasons behind them, the reasons for the screams that followed his entrance into the main room. Desperation could drive people to do crazy things. Remy had felt the desperation first hand.
"I have come across something in my research that disturbs me. There is a group that contradicts some research I've done. They made quite an upset in my theories." He looked away for a moment his brow furrowing over his fathomless eyes. He tightened his fist around the bottle. "It gives me an opportunity to give you something you want for something I desire. I will no longer call on you after this is done. You or the Pyro."
"What does dis job entail?" A little caution was all he could muster.
"I need you to get some files from Xavier's School for Gifted Children. The school is a cover for someone I think you are familiar with. The X-men aren't exactly discrete."
Remy couldn't force air past the lump in his throat.
"Morlocks are what they call themselves. A community of mutants with," he paused and grinned, his smiles were never reassuring, "unusual circumstances. I need that file."
"Do we have a deal." He opened his closed his fist revealing the bottle for just a second to reiterate his point . Remy took a breath. He could finish this. He'd never have to do a job for the man again, would never have to worry...
"Dat all, Remy t'ougt dis was gonna be somet'ing hard." His body churned with anxiety.
Essex laughed. "There's just one more thing, a side job. I need a few men found."
Rogue jerked awake her hands desperate to cover her face, to brush the man's gaze away from her, but her hands wouldn't move. Her hands were bound; her feet tied. She wasn't in her room. She took a calming breath as she remembered who she was, and why there were strange memories living in her dreams. Balling her hands into a fist, she rolled onto her back and struggled to an up right position, using her hands as a pivot. Her hair flopped in front of her eyes with the effort, and tickled the edges of her mouth and nose unpleasantly. She blew at the hairs, but all the air did was push them up and back into her face again. She growled and gave up. Her resolve broken, she curled her legs underneath her body intent on think of a way out and a way to warn the X-men.
Hands were on her face. Rogue jerked away. The identity of the offender covered by the barrage of hair and darkness. He didn't back off and his fingers were merely brushing her cheeks, hardly enough to enact her powers. It still made her tremble. Touch, though something she craved, had never been more terrifying.
"Just, tryin' ta help ya, belle."
"Ah didn't ask for it." She spat. She would have moved away but the ropes pretty much rendered all movement to something resembling an earthworm frying on a hot sidewalk.
Remy held his hands up, gloved, and backed away. He may have his hands protected, but his chest was bare. She could barely see the red rust of dried blood on his shoulder and down his back as he walked away. Even in the dim light the three slash marks where distinguishable, Logan.
"Can ya at least untie mah hands?"
"Non," Remy shook his head to reinforce his words. He turned back around, straddling the chair in front of her and blocking her view of his mutilated back. What was he looking at her for anyway? She turned away from him.
"Dey'll fade?"
Rogue raised a brow, "What?"
"De memories, of moi, dey'll fade, right?"
Rogue really didn't want to be talking to him about this. She remembered the bloody eyes, the filed teeth. Eyes like Remy's in color but different in every other way. She shivered, goose bumps rushing over her covered arms. She wanted to rub the unnatural chill away.
"They don't really fade, just, become less focused." She swallowed and kept her eyes on the bed, refusing to look at him. She didn't even know why she was talking to him.
"So de blur, until you can't recognize dem anymore?"
Rogue frowned. If only it was that simple. She shrugged. She wasn't going to tell him that Sinister would haunt her dreams for a long time. That Remy's scariest moments in life would probably filter though when she slept. That he would forever be a part of her just like everyone who had ever touched her, trapped forever in her mind.
"Why do you work for him?"
She looked at him now. She wanted to see his face when he answered, to see how he justified it. He was still leaning on the chair, bare chested, his chin resting on his folded arms. He raised a brow.
"Money," he answered after a moment. His eyes flashed, bright for a moment, before dulling back to their normal red.
"What is he going to do with those files?" If he was uncomfortable with the question he didn't show it, not like John who would have shot to his feet, pacing and mumbling. Remy was used to being composed. She was sure there was a reason for it, something swimming in her head, waiting to be found.
"De Gambit have a don' ask don' tell policy."
Rogue narrowed her eyes at his indifference. He could ignore the files but there was something else swimming in his memories. Sabertooth, others that she could only see and not name. He couldn't justify them.
"What about Sabertooth? Ya think he's out ta do some good?"
"De jobs are unrelated." Remy did get to his feet this time. He walked toward the table, exposing his back, and grabbed a deck of cards. He started to shuffle them. Ignoring her.
"Those slashes on your back, I know who did that."
He stiffened slightly but he continued to shuffle, indifferent and smug he even smiled when he turned to face her again.
Rogue felt her temper flaring. "Ya think that's the worst that will happen to ya when your caught, 'cause Logan's going to find ya. The X-men are goin' to stop ya."
He laughed, short and barking. "We jumped de gun a little with you, petite. Dere a lot dat you don' know."
Rogue closed her mouth, reining her temper. "I know enough."
"Oui, on dat we can agree." He grabbed the chair he had been straddling and pulled it in front of her.
Rogue watched him warily as he straddled it and started tossing the shuffled cards in her direction.
"You play cards, petite?"
Rogue shook her head, "Ah'm not your poker buddy. Ah'm not playing cards with ya."
"You don' have ta be friends ta play poker, chere."
"So enemies work better."
"Dere no hard feelins' when ya loose, so oui, enemies work de best." He stacked her cards into a pile in front of her. "I'll pick 'em up so you can look at dem."
"Ah'm not playin' cards with ya."
Rogue tried to push herself away from him, but it was hard. Her hands ached, her legs were falling sleep, and her ankles were killing her. She hated this, hated that she was see helpless, and hated him, and John too.
"What do ya say, you win and I untie your hands."
Rogue tried not to look too eager when she turned toward him.
John had always heard it wasn't good to solve your problems with violence. He grinned as his fist crumpled against his assailants face, bone against bone, his fist burned, knuckles split and bleeding, but he'd never felt better. Violence was the answer, damn he'd never felt so good.
"Ya damn mutie!"
Why was it everyone always blamed the mutants? I'm getting his ass kicked, damn the mutants! I spilled my drink, damn mutants, mutants were the worlds favorite punching bag. It didn't matter if was actually a mutant. The man didn't know that. John hadn't once used his powers, though that statement made him want to set the man's pants on fire, how much would he wail while his crouch was on fire. John laughed, short, and humorlessly, he would probably wail a lot louder.
John ducked a punch, and turned to his right kicked out. His foot caught the man in the chest propelling him into the pool table and scattering the balls across the floor. God, that felt good. Remy had been right, hand to hand, it was the fucking shit. Listening to Remy's amused laughter and barking orders had been worth it after all.
The man didn't get back up. Out cold against the table, his buddies hung back unsure of whether they should try again. Secretly John urged them forward. He was still a little pissed. Rogue's words were still spinning in his head and he was still pissed that it bothered him.
"Who's next?"
John raised a brow and gave his best grin. A line of blood ran down his chin, but no one moved. Their eyes were glued to their buddy. Damn, they were scared. But John knew a secret. A lot of people had no idea that you fought fear with fear. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out his lighter. The ball of fire grew in his palm and he smiled. The fear on the men's faces morphed. They were pissed, pissed because they feared him. John was used to that look, he'd seen it his entire life.
"Now," he asked again, "who's next?"
They rushed him all at once, curses hurled at him without abandon. They would have hurt, if he cared, but John had stopped caring a long time ago. He jumped onto a chair, and grabbed a pool cue. Remy had always taught him to use whatever was around him. Anything could become a weapon. John let the flame take over the stick, engulfing it in bright licks of fire. He had a few minutes with his flaming weapon before it became useless.
The first swipe missed, but pushed the men backward. He jumped to the ground. The sirens barely reached his ears. His blood was boiling so loudly it was hard to hear. The flames on the stick died. Fun over. He wasn't getting caught by the cops. He extinguished the cue's flames and dropped the charred wood on the floor. He formed another ball of fire, letting it grow in his palm.
"It's over punk!" One of the guys yelled.
John rolled his eyes. They had no idea. When he knew the ball was large enough he threw it. The men scrambled like roaches from daylight, and John made a break for the exit. They tried to follow, but they didn't get far before John lost them. The night hide him and he tried to keep his feet quiet as he hopped on a fire escape and headed for Remy's favorite escape venue, the roof. By time he huddled against the building's thick brick wall, smoking a cigarette the bar was in an uproar, but he was clear.
He couldn't leave though. He would wait for a few hours, until the night died down and then head back. Besides, the longer he was away from Rogue the better. Absently, he reached into his pocket and fingered the jump drive. Essex's files were on the drive, The Morlocks. He'd been there once. Dragged by Bobby and Storm on a training mission before everything had gone to shit. He took a long pull on his cigarette and tossed the butt over his shoulder. It sparked and died as it sailed to the sidewalk below.
They lived underground, ashamed of their appearance, or trapped by it. He'd watched them with guarded mistrust while Bobby and Storm talked to them, tried to get them to come out of hiding, to at least join forces, send their children top side. They were adamant about their life style. They had already tried to regular life, and been burned by it. They preferred seclusion. John hadn't known why life in the dark, wet tunnels was better than the surface. He had been ridiculed. He lived with it, but he also didn't have six arms, or skin the color of toilet bowl cleaner. To each their own, he had guessed. They left them alone.
John tossed the drive into the air, it glowed, metallic then red, as it tumbled back toward his palm. What did Essex want with them? John didn't know much about Essex, just what Remy had told him over too much tequila, and too little sleep. Remy had needed help a long time ago, something about his powers, and Essex had removed something in his head, fixed him. Now Remy felt he owned Essex his life, or at least a long list favors. John helped because he got paid, and Remy was really the only friend he had. This was Remy's last job. After this he was free. John knew it was big. Essex wouldn't give Remy up for anything less. Besides there was also the side job. What did Essex need with a guy who could touch you and scramble your being, kill a radio, or stop your car? Damn funny prankster, but in Essex's hands everything had a purpose. Not to mention Sabertooth. The bastard had worked for Magneto, an egotistical animal, consumed by his mutation, more of an animal than Wolverine.
He didn't really guess he could judge anyone for the Magneto thing. He'd worked for him. Had served him like the stooges he'd tried to avoid, devoted to Magneto he'd done things he didn't think he was capable of. Magneto had nearly killed Rogue, had done terrible things, things he hadn't thought mattered. He only wanted to be himself, to shine, to fight, where Xavier wouldn't let him. He'd made the wrong choice, betrayed his friends...
That wasn't something he wanted to think about, no regrets. John didn't regret anything he'd ever done. Everything happened for a reason. He would give the drive to Essex, find the mutants he wanted, and leave town. Rogue was just proof that they'd been in New York too long. When this hell of a job was over life would be so much easier.
Pulling himself to his feet he brushed his hands over his jeans and headed back toward his apartment. His face was starting to ache, and his hand was killing him. He needed to bury it in a bag of ice. Sure hand to hand was great when his adrenaline was pumping, but when he was calm the ache was almost unbearable.
John was surprised the lights were one in the apartment when he got back. It was nearly morning, but the sun hadn't risen and he was sure Remy would have gotten a little sleep, hell one of them should have. He opened the door and was surprised to see Rogue at the kitchen table her hands untied, her feet free, shuffling a deck of cards. Remy was sitting across from her smoking a cigarette and sending her his Casanova grin.
"You're cheating," Rogue snapped and tossed the card toward the still grinning Cajun.
"How dat possible, chere, de cards, de in your hands." Remy was watching the cards slide across the table as she passed them. He waited until he had all five before finally picking them up.
They were playing cards? John was frozen in the doorway afraid to ask. He wasn't even sure they knew he'd opened the door.
"Long time no see," Remy called over his hand. "Dat a pretty bad bruise. Something hit ya?"
John shut the door and headed for his refrigerator. He still wanted that ice. "Nah," he answered and grabbed a few cubes and dropped them into a paper towel. "I fell down some stairs."
Remy snorted. "Dat an interesting excuse."
Rogue turned around, eyes narrowed as she took him in. "Ah hope it hurt."
"Yeah," John placed the makeshift ice pack across his knuckles, "I'm sure you do." He looked at Remy. "Why is she untied?"
"Ah'm still here ya know."
John raised a brow, "yeah unfortunately I noticed."
"I won two rounds," she answered.
John shot Remy a look. What was he pulling? Rogue could knock him flat with a touch of her pinky. Sure he'd untied her too, but dammit he knew enough to know it had been a mistake. Remy shrugged.
"De fille got magic powers."
"You didn't loose," John shot back and hissed when the ice rubbed his raw knuckles.
"Yes, he did." Rogue was being vocal again. He didn't remember her being so annoying.
"No," John stomped across the room and stood beside the grinning Cajun. He knew Remy. Remy never lost something he didn't mean too. He reached into the man's coat. Ignoring his protest and pushing past his half protesting hands. He pulled out a couple of aces and tossed them on the table. "If you won, he let you."
"So all that talk about a thieves honer, complete bullshit?" Rogue asked.
Remy shrugged, "Old habits chere. We did kidnap you."
"I'm tying her back up." John went toward the bed his hand falling on the rope. He started to coil it up when he looked toward the window. Crouched on the window like a wild cat was a man, claws glinting in the lamp light, lips drawn back in an inhuman snarl, he had been wrong Sabertooth had nothing on Wolverine.
"Thought I smelled ya." he growled. "I'm here for the girl."
Rogue called his name. A princess begging to be saved. Logan sounded like the name of a Knight. He leaped into the room and John knew he was dead. Wolverine didn't take prisoners.
Preview Chapter 6
The blast threw John over the baseboard of his bed, ice flying, rope incinerated somewhere in the blast, and damn if the guy didn't keep coming. His claws were slashing, trying without effect to clear the smoke. John scrambled to his feet and back toward the door. His eyes were wide like he was looking on the ghost of his grandmother, or the voodoo queen of Louisiana. It wasn't all fear, but a mixture or appreciation and awe. Obviously John knew him. Maybe if he'd mentioned him before they would have avoided the situation, but it was too late for what ifs, there were too many to think about.
The girl started to struggle, pulling for the clawed man, calling out his name, twisting, trying to pull her gloves free. Remy had to hold her tighter, knowing he was bruising her, but he couldn't have her getting away, not just yet. They weren't quite done, even if Essex had to drive they needed to get out of town before the X-men found out about the files, about the red eyed man's involvement.
He threw another card. It exploded near the hairy man, but didn't stop him.
"Aim for his face," John called as he ran up beside him a ball of fire already forming on his palm. "It's the only way we're getting away."
"John!" Rogue yelled and Remy jerked her hard, halting her cries and pulled her close to his side, tucking her against him. His other hand pulled cards out of his pocket.
John only glanced at Rogue for a moment before turning back to Remy. "He regenerates. We have to hit him fast and quick before he had time to recover."
Remy pulled the cards three cards out charging them as the man approached. John threw fire balls. They lit on the man's clothes but fizzled after a few seconds. John got was getting hot the heat from his flames growing with each toss. He was building toward something big and Remy had to make sure he was there to help him. They had one chance to get out, and even then it wasn't guaranteed.
Kind of a long chapter, but everything I wanted to happen sort of did. So there's a little more insight to Remy and John's job and lots of John inner thought. Tell me what you think.