Disclaimer: See first chapter.

Breaking Away

Institute.

That had been the word that scared him, that had been the reason he'd run, the reason he'd left the orphanage at night, slipping down the rusting drainpipe that led from his window to the wall across the back garden. He'd been heading downstairs one evening to snoop around in the fridge when he'd heard voices coming from the lounge-room. Adult voices, talking about him.

He'd stayed to listen because he didn't figure anyone had the right to talk about him when he wasn't present. The talk had centred around the word 'mutant' which somehow filled Toad with a sort of unexplainable gut-wrenching dread. Alvers had been mentioned, as had the unfortunate garage and then a man Toad didn't recognise, who seemed to have an odd mumbling American-sounding voice, mentioned the dreaded word.

"We do have a thing for this back home. An Institute, run by some guy. Takes care of … people like him."

Institute was the only word he'd needed to hear. He knew what was happening, it was Lance all over again. Lance had gone to an institute; he'd told Mortimer all about it:

"Institute. That's what they call it. Means jail for people that they want to pretend don't really go to jail. Kids, like us. So they call it an institute."

"What's it like?" Toad asked, wide-eyed and uncertain.

Lance gave an uneasy half-shrug. "I guess it's OK until someone in there decides to hate you. Then you're screwed, cuz you've got no freedom or power to do anything and they don't believe you anyway, not if you're in there for telling lies."

"But you were in there for levelling a garage!"

"Yeah but they don't know that. They assume every kid whose in there is gonna be lying and squealing and cheating and everything." Lance blew out an unsteady line of smoke and tried to look tough instead of scared, "You know the trouble Toady? They only see one type of bad."

They'd taken Lance, but they weren't going to take him. And when they started talking about how dangerous he could be (dangerous? Him? Why were they so worried? Was the mutant thing that bad?) it had been the last straw. They didn't like him, for some reason, and they were plotting to send him away to an institute, just like Lance.

As far as Toad was concerned, that kind of behaviour fit in fine with what he knew of grown-ups.

Hastily, he scurried back up the stairs, grabbed a jacket and any cash he could find, and made a break down the drainpipe. He wanted to get away, as quickly as possible, from the lies and the uncertainty and the crazy American guy who had put the idea into their heads that he could be sent to an Institute.

Mortimer Toynbee hit the streets running.

Breaking out of places was easy. Any idiot knew that, and Victor Creed was no idiot. The hard part, the real challenge, was staying out. Getting out was just a mix of half-thought-out plans, a hell of a lot of guts, some brute strength and a generous portion of luck. Getting out was the simple bit.

He had two hours now, if he was lucky. Two hours before they realised that another of their precious weapon X's had gone missing. And then the searches would start. They'd have a whole squad of men looking within a well defined perimeter for a man who didn't exactly blend in with the crowd. Staying out would not be easy.

There were two options; run or hide. Except hiding was impossible and running wouldn't last for ever. Two hours, how far could he get in two hours? He already knew the answer: not far enough.

He stumbled on, cursing under his breath that his feet were leaving nice clear footprints in the snow. How the hell had the Wolverine managed? He'd got away, no problem, and was probably now the most secretly searched-for person in America. How did you get long distances? Car, that was it, but where would he find transport around here?

Road. Road up ahead. Road was good, road meant possibly car but, even more importantly, no footprints. He was beginning to realise as well, that he had one important advantage: he was unlikely to die. Technically, this meant that if the worst came to the worst he could hide in a snowdrift or something and rely on his mutant powers to stop him freezing to death. Also, if he did get found, a shot was unlikely to keep him down. He had no weapons but, well, who needed weapons when there were trees and things around?

He stopped briefly for breath, looking up at the surrounding pines. Would he actually be able to pull up a tree, if it came to it? He had to keep running, he knew that, but a few minutes was unlikely to make a huge amount of difference, and it would be better to know exactly what his abilities and limitations were.

Hesitantly, he stepped off the road feeling a bit self-conscious as he looked at the trees. Nothing too big, he didn't want to damage his back or anything…

Damage his back? What the hell. He was Sabretooth!

Bending his knees slightly, he grabbed the largest tree around the trunk and strained. There was a slight soreness in his shoulders after the operation, but whatever they had done to his muscles had clearly worked well, it was hard, true, but he could feel the tree giving way beneath his strength, the roots were cracking, not his arms.

There was a slight catch of effort, a strain somewhere in his lower back and then, with a tearing and ripping of power the tree flew out of the ground, almost knocking him over backwards. He turned desperately, swivelling on the spot to prevent it crushing him, and dropped it with a certain amount of relief across the road.

He could pull up trees! Who were Stryker's men to try and stop him?

Feeling slightly more confident, he continued down the road.

"Drop the gun Gumbo, and turn around slowly."

Merde

"You try to pull any stunts and I'll fill your Cajun ass with lead."

Oh dis is not goin' well. "What's the matter homme? I brough' your boss the goods, jus' like we said."

"Shut your double-crossing mouth. If I were you I'd try to think of a few better excuses as well, boss isn't going to be pleased with you.

It was amazing, Remy LeBeau mused as he was frogmarched down the alley, hands behind his head and a gun at his back, just how wrong things could go. This was meant to be a milk-run, drop the goods, get the cash. No trouble, no problem. Except of course, that noone had told him exactly who they were collecting the cash from.

"Boss is gonna be pleased to see you again Gumbo. We was wondering where you went to, after you disappeared so sudden that night we did the Lewis job."

That was the problem with changing allegiances so often. You tended to forget who would currently bear you a grudge. It wasn't as if he double-crossed everyone, that would be far too dangerous, it was just that sometimes, with enough money, changing allegiances became just another job. He tried to remember what had happened in the Lewis job, and had a horrible feeling that the police had become involved in someway. Selling out to other people was one thing, but as soon as police became involved a line had been crossed. It didn't make sense to Remy, who knew that police were as easy to corrupt as anyone else. Easier in some cases.

He was shoved down some stairs, and then given enough momentum by the gun at his back to stagger forward, trip over a crack in the floor and sprawl headlong into a surprisingly well-lit basement. His memory chose this point to present him with every detail it could find about the Lewis job and just what a spectacular cock-up he'd made of it.

Looks like it's gonna take more than a few sweet words to get Remy out of dis one.

"Remy! It's been a long time."

He lifted his head, trying to discretely blow his long fringe out of his eyes, "Hey Miz Louise."

"You've got a bit of explaining to do Remy. Correct me if I'm wrong, but here was little me thinking you were working for us."

"I…uh…" He tried to push himself up, but a heavy booted pressure on his back seemed to suggest that it wouldn't be a good idea.

"I thought you'd left, Remy, left us all to the mercy of the pigs, but here you are, back again!"

There were some sniggers from various corners of the room. He guessed that quite a few people were enjoying the sight of the previously cocksure favourite sprawled in disgrace on the floor.

"Guess I was wrong then. That breaks my heart Remy, such a beauty like you turned out to want to leave me after all. I guess the only thing left to console me is that you won't be taking your lying pretty looks anywhere else when Saul finishes with you. Or maybe you will but they sure won't be as pretty."

She was sharp, oh she was clever, but what she wasn't was one of the best. None of the best, Remy knew, would have a high up window in their basement. It wasn't much, it wasn't big, but it was big enough and that was all he needed. And he had an opportunity now as well, as the boot was lifted from his back and the man leant down to pull him back up.

He smashed him elbow back, giving a small whimper as it connected with hard bone, and then swung around to the front, kicking out at someone. Miss Louise gave a yell of half-surprise, half anger. He scrambled desperately to the side, aiming a punch at anyone who came his way, and then, oh there was a god after all! His hand connected with the light switch and threw the room into semi-darkness.

There was complete confusion in the room. It wasn't pitch black, but the sudden change in light levels had left most people lost and stumbling. By the time enough people had recovered, and the lights had been found again, there was nothing left of Remy LeBeau but a slightly open window and a few booted scuffmarks on the wall.

"Uh…Miss Louise?"

She didn't even grace the questioner with a glance. "Yes. Find him. Drag him back and hand him over to Saul."

"Right." The man nodded gloomily. He knew enough about mercenary behaviour (particularly the behaviour of a particular Cajun) to realise that the task would in all likelihood be a fruitless one. The man had the ability to disappear the way no kid with crazy red eyes should be able to disappear.

Unless he made some stupid mistake, Remy was long gone.

A/N: I hate Miss Louise. Hate, hate, hate her. I knew I should have made her a bloke! I just wanted the vaguely flirty talk, and stuff. Golden Rule of Fanfiction: Never Introduce a Female OC.

She's not coming back btw. She drowns in a freak yachting accident in Colorado. Yes. Involving a sudden hurricane, a small silver tea-set and a very surprised moose.

For those who don't know who Gambit is, give him a quick search on wikipedia. I would write a short description, but I am busy washing Miss Louise out of my brain with acid.

There is only one thing I like about this chapter and that is Lance's line: "You know the trouble Toady? They only see one type of bad." I am actually very tempted to cut the entire chapter except that line, because I think most of the rest is shite.

Urgg. Bleargh. Stupid chapter. Next one will be better.