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Chapter 8

Gambit, huh? Sexy. Weird, but still sexy.

"Well…Gambit. Nice to meet you. I'm Cayden."

"The pleasure is all mine, ma cheri. Tell Gambit now, does ma petit have another name? A mutant name?"

Good question! No.

"Nope, never really had the need for a call sign. Tell you what though. If you really do pull off this jail-break and we all make it out of here alive, you can definitely do the honors of naming me. How does that sound?"

I can practically feel him grinning, clearly pleased with the proffered reward. It's strange. I don't know him, or anything about him really, but something tells me that he's one of the good guys. It's the same kind of intuition that lets me know that Erik and Mystique aren't out of this fight, yet. I try to pay more attention to that feeling and as my focus narrows I begin to realize that the "intuition" has more substance to it than I originally thought. At first, it's barely perceivable but as my attention tightens, so does the image? No, it's not an image its…it's a sound!

The sound begins to intensify and with it comes a rhythm. The beat is quick, light and energetic. I hear…holy shit, I hear music. Why the hell do I hear music? It feels incredible on my raw senses. I hadn't realized how tired I am until now and this music feels like rain after a long, brutal drought. I chase the sound, wanting it louder, wanting it to fill my mind and…

I'm suddenly shaken out of my hyper-focus by a strong grip on my face. Wade has both hands pressed firmly to my cheeks, nearly squashing my mouth into fish-lips. My eyes focus sharply on his and he seems to realize what he's done, a grin forming on his own mouth. Punk! I feel him squeeze a bit more and his lips begin to unconsciously mimic mine. There's only one thing to be done about this. I sucker punch him in the stomach.

"Oomph."

"Just say no to fish-lips."

I follow this up with a pout and crossed arms. He smiles widely at me and I can't help but return it.

"What was that about?" I ask Wade.

He glances over to Erik and I am once again struck by how little attention I've been paying to the three of them. That's just bad form on so many levels. It's stupid of me to think that I'm safe enough in this room with these three…questionable characters to give so much free rein to my internal world.

"You were staring off into space again. Seriously, I'm going to start getting jealous here. Am I not enough for you? I can change! I can be a better man. Really just give me a chance. I swear! I can do this thing with my tongue you wouldn't beli…"

I slap my hand over his mouth, already expecting him to lick my palm like the four-year-old boy he is.

He does.

I suffer through it and raise a Spock-brow at him. I can do it. I'm a Trekkie. He seems impressed by my staying power and settles in for my explanation.

"Wade, darling. It's not you…it's me. There's…there is someone else. But it's not your fault! He's…he's…going to get some help and break us out of here. In the mean time, we all need to play along with the Wonder Twins and do our best to look like properly defeated mutants."

The relief on Wade's face is quickly replaced by confusion and then, to my surprise, irritation and the jealously he warned me about just moments before. Adorable!

"So, there is someone else. Is this where you've been when you 'go out with the girls.' Honestly, what does he have that I don't, huh? How's he gonna break us out of here if he doesn't even know where we…oh, right. I told you where we are and you told him. That makes sense. Fine. FINE! He can break us out but that doesn't mean I'm giving up on our love, firefly. I am a man of my convictions and I am convicted to you!...That sounded funny, why did that sound funny?"

I am cracking up by the end of his rant and can't muster the air to point out the difference between convictions and commitments. Erik and Mystique do not appear to be in any mood to help him and Mystique instead focuses here attention on me. Oops.

"Okay. So you've been communicating with someone on the outside, you've given them our location and they have agreed to help break us out. In the mean time, we play along with Dumb and Dumber; Erik and I playing the helpless 'cured' mutants while you do your…think with Wade and attempt to make some progress on his condition. Is that an accurate summary?"

I nod. She's scary. I feel like I should salute, stand at attention, bend over and cough…something.

"Very good. So, who is this individual you've been talking to and why did you start humming the last time you zoned out?"

Humming? I don't remember humming.

"His call sign…handle…whatever is Gambit? And I didn't know I was humming. I just realized I could hear music and was trying to figure out where it was coming from."

"My dear, there is no music in this retched room. Just us and this antique equipment."

Erik looks genuinely offended that the digs aren't more upscale and I honestly can't blame him. If I'd worked my whole life to be a super villain I would expect people to shell out the appropriate cash to capture and kill me.

"However, you have managed to contact a fairly competent mutant when it comes to this particular mission, as he is the only one to have ever escaped Three Mile Island while it was still in operation. He may also have some powerful connections which bode well for us. I would imagine he wasn't pleased to hear of the resurrection of this particular program?"

While Erik is talking, he seems to take particular interest in examining Wade. He walks around the muscular man, eyeing him with a critical gaze. What the hell? I know Wade's pretty but this kind of blatant eye-fucking is a little intense for me. Should I be jealous? I realize that Erik must be wondering if "programming" included any metal implants. Can he sense them? What does that mean? How can he sense them if he's been 'cured'? Why am I assuming there are implants? I don't really know what to do with it so I fall back on my #1 coping skill: talking.

"Uh, no. He wasn't that excited about the prospect, I'll have to admit. Glad to hear he's the right mutant for the job though. That's cool. Really cool, actually. You said he was here before? How long ago was this program first started? This is so weird. How do I make a connection with the one mutant on the planet that would know how to get us out of here? I'm not even a telepath. I don't have a clue how I'm even talking to this guy. Well, I guess it didn't start out as talking. It started out more like a…presence. Yeah, a presence, and then some emotions, and then talking, and now music which I still don't get and…"

"You two have the same disease."

Mystique is clearly annoyed with my rambling and turns away from us to prowl around the room. Probably looking for something to make a bomb out of …a toilet paper roll, band aids, eyebrow wax…who knows?

Wade turns to me, giving me an odd look before asking. "Disease? Is it sexually transmitted? Have we met…before?"

He wiggles his eyebrows, with the most lecherous grin on his face and hops up on the hospital bed with me. Inching closer and nudging me with his broad shoulder.

"Baby, if we had, you'd remember."

He barks out another laugh and I can't help but notice how much I'm beginning to like that sounds. This guy needs some serious therapy, more medication than a zoo full of animals on a cargo ship and probably an adult-size body harness with retractable leash. Just my type. His eyes hold a strange mix of confidence and vulnerability, as if he's only sure of himself in very specific contexts.

I can certainly relate to that fragmented self-image. I remember being an athlete in college and feeling like a total badass on the field. But, when you put me in a dress and make up, suddenly all that confidence is gone and I feel like a kid trying to play in the big leagues. Nothing was more painful than being full of strength one minute, only to have it robbed from me the next when the circumstances changed. It was as if I knew who I was as an athlete but not as a woman.

It's becoming clear to me that Wade knows how to flirt and fuck, but not what to do in between, or when fucking isn't an option. He wants me to like him, but doesn't know how to present himself as anything other than a sex toy or a killer. If I were his therapist, I would say he needed some serious identity and integration work. However, I'm not his therapist, I'm his co-prisoner, so I keep these thoughts to myself and instead appreciate how much he and I have in common.

I wonder what would have happened had I been snatched up by some creeper like Stryker. Would I have turned out the same way Wade has? A killer, just a wing flap away from bat-shit crazy? Probably.

I take his warm hand in mine and close my eyes. Might as well start with the cancer curing business now. If I can get a "feel" for what I'm working with, I might have a better idea of how to go about this. I close my eyes and let the warmth of his hand seep into my skin. My focus begins to narrow again, like it did when I was listening to Gambit.

Side note: It's nice to have a name for that guy.

Wade has gone still beside me, probably realizing that I'm trying out some of my mutant voodoo on him. I wonder for a moment what I must look like from his perspective, holding his hand and staring at it as if it holds the secrets of the universe…or in this case, the secret to curing cancer. For a moment I can almost picture myself from his eyes, and then I hear it. The music is back, but it seems different than last time. The rhythm is different and the tones are more…gritty. This seems so much more fitting to Wade's personality than the playful jazz I was hearing before.

The music must be connected with the individual. I suppose it would make sense that my Cajun would be old school New Orleans jazz: spicy, sexy and full of life. Wade's music is much darker, sexy but much dirtier than Gambit's. There's a pounding base in the background and I get the impression that someone could definitely use this song as their sextrack (sex soundtrack). I realize I've heard this song before but I just can't place it. I try to hold on to the music and turn up the volume but I'm knocked out of my Zen when Wade suddenly jerks his hand nearly out of my grasp.

I look up prepared to apologize, mortified that I'd lost track so quickly and done something that most would consider invasive. I may not be a telepath but it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that what I'm picking up on is extremely personal.

"Shit, Wade I'm…"

"It's okay, really. It just started to tickle. Kinda like my skin was vibrating. Uhhh, you were humming again. Sounded like a good song. What was it?"

I breathe out a laugh in pure relief. Tickles, huh? Good to know, I guess that means I'm making some progress, not that I know exactly why tickling would be a good thing but still, at least I'm not just perving on his brain-music.

"You tell me," I shoot back. "It was your song."

He looks intrigued by the notion.

"My song, huh? What does that mean? What were you doing? Not that I mind. It was kinda cool, actually. You looked…happy."

Happy?

"I don't really know what it means. I've worked really hard to stay off the mutant radar, not that it worked apparently, so I've never tried what I can do on other people. What I do know is that my mutation is grounded in sound, or sound waves to be more specific. I can generate and manipulate sound waves in simple or more complex ways."

"What?"

Dork

"I first realized I was different when I about 10-years-old. I was snapping my fingers, just for fun, and cracked a glass that was sitting on the table in front of me. I was lucky. I was a latch-key kid, parents worked and I took the bus after school, would do my homework and wait for Mom to come home.

Fortunately I had my mutation-manifesting emotional meltdown while Mom was at work. It took me a few more tries and a broken glass to realize that I could direct the "sound" of my snap at the glass. The sound waves focused into a force, like a mini sonic boom and broke the glass. When I snapped harder, it did more damage.

I tried snapping, whistling, humming, clapping…all with the same results. It took me years and more than one science class to realize that sound could be manipulated in more than one way. I was playing with volume…the speed at which the sound was traveling across space. But, I learned that I could also manipulate frequency, how high or low the sound was, or the speed at which the wave was vibrating.

Eventually I learned how to make an impact at a frequency too low or high for humans to hear making it look like I am telekinetic. Another science class taught me that atoms vibrate all the time, and movement in space creates sounds as long as it has something for the sound waves to travel on, like air. That's when I realize that I didn't have to be the one producing the sound waves.

I went back to practicing on glasses again, and learned how to make them 'sing' without ever touching them, like those people who 'play glasses'."

I've been talking the whole time without really looking at Wade or Erik. I expect that Wade's eyes have glazed over by now and am shocked to see genuine interest there, instead. Erik looks the intrigued and Mystique has rejoined us. I know both of them have already begun to calculate what damage we can cause with a mutation like mine.

"No wonder they tased you. You could take out a whole snatch-team with an ability like that and all you'd have to do was clap…or scream."

"Screaming is so dangerous, especially when it's fueled by fear and not just practicing. I could scream and take out every window and eardrum in 100 yards without even meaning to. Sure I could get away from my attacker but who knows what kind of collateral damage I could cause. Besides, I know they figured out that I'm a mutant from some blood work but they've already proven more than once that they have no idea what my mutation really is all about. They don't know what I can do. They were guessing. So the tasing was still rude and unnecessary."

Mystique nods her head in agreement and resumes her pacing, though I notice she has much more purpose in her step. Clearly, she's been motivated by the implication of my mutation, as has Erik. The move to another part of the room and begin talking in whispers, presumably formulating a plan of escape.

"It's really cool that you know the science behind your mutation. Knowledge like that makes you stronger than you could have ever been just guessing on your own."

Wade is looking at me with a kind of admiration and respect that I've never seen before. I've never explained what I can do to another person, much less another mutant. I don't know what I was expecting, but this isn't it. This time my smile is shy and all I can muster is a whispered thanks.

"So, wanna hold my hand and hum again?"

Talk about a tension breaker. What a goof!

"Sure thing, hot shot."

He offers up his hand again, wiggling fingers and all, and I have to chase it around a bit, trying to catch the flailing limb. Our laughter echoes across the room and the bed rocks ominously with our shifting and wriggling. Finally, I catch him, though I suspect it's more because he let me than because I was fast enough.

"Come on, baby bird. Give me another humming hand job."

"I never!" I squeak in mock-offence at the blatant sexual-reference and pinch his side in retaliation, gratified when he ducks away and begs for mercy. I settle back onto the bed with his hand in mine, filing away the fact that he's ticklish for another day.

Once again, I turn my attention back to his hand and listen for the music. It doesn't take long to catch the tune again and I'm pleases that knowing what I'm looking for seems to make the process go more quickly. Tracking the sound through is hand and into the rest of his body, I begin to realize that the music emanates from every part of him; his skin, his blood, his very bones. Incredible! This feels so suddenly intimate that I can't help the blush that rushes across my cheeks and down my chest.

"Pretty," I hear Wade murmur from a distance.

I don't know how much time I spend listening to the melody of Wade's body but eventually my focus begins to fray and I lose track of what I'm trying to do. Shaking my head, I pull myself out of my Zen place only to realize that Wade has long since fallen asleep and is drooling on my shoulder. I don't know why I expected anything different.

Erik and Mystique have given up their investigation and have taken seats on the cold concrete in the corner of the room furthest from the only entrance and exit. Safety first! With the last of my focus, I reach into my mind and call out for Gambit. Even my mental voice sounds exhausted.

"Ma fée, how are you? You sound tired, non?"

"I'm okay," I reply, whispering in my mind. "Just not used to focusing this long and this hard. How are thing coming with the epic rescue?"

"Coming along, jus fine, ma petit. Gambit should be on his way ta ya shortly. Today es Thursday, by da way but I should be there to ya by tamarra afternoon."

"Hmm, thank you" I reply in a sleepy purr. "How come your accent changes?"

"Ah, yes. Depends on who Gambit haz ben talken to. Been talken to some Cajuns so de accent es thicker, oui? Do you like it mon petit chaton?"

"Hell yeah," I reply, not really realizing what I'm saying. "Itssexy."

"Will keep dat en mind. Sleep well, ma fée. Gambit will see ya tamarra."

"Night, night" I mumble back, not sure it that last bit was in my head our out loud.

With that final statement, I lean down and arrange myself on the bed, absent mindedly yanking Wade with me. After a bit of shoving and more than one "accidental" boob-grab, Wade and I are situated well enough the thin mattress, he on his back and me tucked into his side. Just as I drift off to sleep I hear Wade whisper,

"Good night, princess."

I smile and kiss his chest without really realizing what I'm doing.

Good grief, he's warm. I could get used to this.