Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews guys, always appreciated! I am basing my initial concept off of Gambit Limited 1 and some Unlimited 1, but this is by no means a retelling of those stories as I'm taking the film's more realistic approach, i.e., no Tithing storyline.

James Nesbitt as Henri LeBeau

Chapter Two

London - Westminster

A man walked down a paved walkway which took him around the famous fountain of water nymphs at Queen Mary's Garden's in London's Regent Park, though this time of year it was turned off due to the cold early-February temperatures. He was a simply dressed man, slacks, polo, a light jacket, nothing to make him stand out one way or another from the tourists and Londoners alike. For a person of his trade, this was the strongest weapon he had, well that and his tendency to check behind him every minute or so.

Henri LeBeau was older than his adopted brother, thinning on top, and nowhere near as stylish, but that suited Henri just fine. Thieves don't like to be noticed, any thief other than Remy that is, and Henri was more than happy to hide in his brother's shadow in that respect.

Several more casual steps later and he reached the meeting point, a foot bridge over a creek which ran through the park. A couple of tourists where moving on from snapping pictures, and no sign of Remy. Perhaps he was early, maybe Remy was late, if asked, both where there exactly when they were supposed to be.

"Mon cher frère," a voice called from behind him.

"Knew you were there," Henri chuckled as he turned. Once upon a time Henri would only pretend that his little brother could get one over on him…

"Course you did," Remy smiled and moved forward, capturing Henri in his interpretation of a bear hug.

"Good da see you, little brother," the older LeBeau smiled, hugging the man tightly. "It's been too long."

"It has," they pulled back and took stock of each other. Remy likely noticing Henri's continuously thinning hair and only slightly widening middle. He was doing less stealing and more politics lately, it was having an effect. Didn't help he was built like his mother.

His brother was just as he always was, half a shade ruffian and two shakes a scoundrel, but he wasn't as troubled looking as he had been the last time they had met, though only Henri would notice such things. Perhaps his little brother was finally getting over the past, not that it was an easy thing for anyone to overcome. Remy's mutant abilities made him tougher than most, but then it's hard to break something already broken.

"So," Remy was grinning, "how's da family?"

"Mercy's good," Henri smiled at the thought of his wife, as he always did. "Lifted a Picasso from dat collector in San Francisco a few months back, anniversary present."

"Heard about dat," his brother chuckled, "thought it be Mercy, had her style."

The two of them took a second to enjoy the moment but they both knew the only reason for a face to face meeting was never for good news. "Father is thinking of retiring."

"Is he now?" it was a stalling statement, casually spoken but made to mask the silence as Remy's mind ran the consequences of that statement through his head and Henri let him.

"Hasn't said it directly to da Council," Henri eventually admitted, "but you know father, he doesn't let any rumors run about he doesn't want da be dere."

Remy nodded slightly, "Dat would make you heir to da Patriarch position."

The older man gave a half laugh, "It's not exactly hereditary."

"No one gonna challenge ya," and his brother was right. "You'd make a great Patriarch of da Thieves Guild. Congratulations."

"Don't congratulate me yet," Henri sighed, leaning against the railing, there was too much going on, something wasn't right in New Orleans and he hadn't figured out what. "I think father might be having pressure put on him."

"By who?" Remy said too quickly, giving away his hand. The younger man may not be on the best of terms with his father, but it was still his family. "Marius?"

The Patriarch of the Assassins Guild would have been Henri's first thought too, but, "Non, don't believe da Assassins Guild has anything to do with dis."

"Would be da first time," his brother scoffed.

"Da truce has been strong since…" Henri trailed off, last thing he wanted to do was bring up that old memory. "I don't think anyone in da Guilds themselves want to see a return to how it was before."

"Da Assassins be da only ones to gain from instability," Remy said just as quickly, and as much as he loved his brother he sometimes did jump in head first and brain last.

"Maybe not, mon frère," Henri ran his hand through what hair he had left. "Been doing some investigating, looking at both Guilds, transactions, contracts… things ain't adding up."

Now his brother decided to take a moment to think about what that meant. "Hostile takeover?"

"Da New Orleans Guilds are two of the oldest, last, remaining guilds," Henri nodded, "da world is changing, many would see us gone, or repurposed."

Remy let out a low sigh, "Father and Marius, dey won't let it happen."

"Exactly," Henri glanced out over the water, the garden a peaceful place, and for a moment he considered bringing Mercy there next time they were in London to steal from the Museum. His thoughts then turned back to the problem at hand. "Yet father is thinking of retiring and Marius hasn't been much active lately in Assassins' Guild work from what I hear. Someone has gotten to both of dem."

Another silence settled between the brothers.

Eventually Remy asked, "What you want from me, Henri?"

"I…" he took a slow breath, "I don't know. But if I recall, you always were da one better at getting out of a pinch, course, you were also da one getting us into trouble… but if da Guild is gonna find itself in difficulty—"

There wasn't so much pain as enormous pressure. A swelling unlike any other that pressed against his back and tore into him, driving the air from his lungs.

"Henri?" Remy's voice trembled, it never did that, must be bad news. "HENRI!"

The older man pitched over into his brother's arms as another thud pressed into him, this time he choked, the cough spilling flecks of blood onto Remy's shirt as the younger man helped him to the ground and out of the line of fire.

"No, non," his brother mumbled, but he could see it in his eyes, as much as he could feel the life leaving his body, this was it. Not the way he expected he'd go, but when you're a professional thief, you can't be too terribly surprised when fate puts two bolts into your back.

"Stay with me Henri," Remy pleaded, cradling him in arms, his normally red irises darker, deeper and angry…

"Protect dem, mon frère," Henri managed through half a lung, "protect da family."

"I will, mon cher frère," there were hidden tears in his brother's eyes and Henri knew Remy would protect the family, protect the Guild… and with that his last thoughts were of his sweet, sweet Mercy.

Good thing he was dying, otherwise she'd kill him.

…

Remy LeBeau, Le Diable Blanc, held his brother in his arms as he took his last breath on this Earth.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Henri was the cautious one, the smart one, he'd live a hundred days to Remy's one, so why now was he dead, two painfully obvious cross bow bolts to his back?

Memories came flooding to the forefront, a painful wound torn open and made worse.

This was family.

…

The assassin hit his mark, twice, at least one lung punctured, the liver as well, assessment was a sure kill. Contract fulfilled, time to move on.

The crossbow was a bit bulky but it was a requirement of the contract and he had plenty of practice with the somewhat archaic weapon. A new modern design allowed it to collapse easily and slide into a large messengers bag. Now all he had to do was casually slip away like a member of the crowd.

That's one thing thieves and assassins had in common, both were perfectly happy simply blending into the world, did their best work that way too.

There was a brush of leaves and whistle of wind. Instinct led the man to duck as an item went flying over his head to partially imbed into a tree before puffing out in an explosion.

Remy LeBeau.

It was risky to take the shot while the brother was there but that too had been part of the contract, that's why he was paid extra.

That's why now he ran.

Another charged playing card flew at him and he dodged, running down a path towards his escape route. Outrunning the younger LeBeau was not an option, his profile had him listed as athletic and quick, but he was mad as hell and that would make him prone to mistakes.

Avoiding open areas the assassin dodged through a worn path, trying to put distance on the Queen Mary's Gardens and get into the urban district just beyond and to the south. He'd have a better chance at loosing LeBeau that way.

Sirens called out in the distance, either the body had been found or LeBeau's explosions were attracting attention.

Moving from the park to the city proper, the man ran to the end of the street and turned into the colonnades of Park Crescent. True to its name, the column-lined structure wrapped in a crescent, cutting off visuals after a thirty degree angle. The assassin ran down the stone walkway in front of closed doors and an almost empty street. This time of day the students that lived in the housing complex would, should, be in classes. Not the best ambush point, but he worked with what he had.

Turning on his heels he pulled a .45 Beretta from his shoulder holster and raised it ready. LeBeau should be coming into sight any second now.

Assumptions had been made about the extent of LeBeau's abilities, one of which was that like all card throwing tricks, it was about line of sight to hit the target, or at least knowing where your target was. If he lived through this, he'd have to correct the dossier.

A series of cards whipped around, following the curve of the colonnade, shining brightly, propelled by the mutant's kinetic charging of the thin paper. The assassin ducked but as he dodged to the left another suit followed closely on the heels of the others and struck him in his armored chest and arm, knocking him back against a column.

However, a good assassin never loses grip of his weapon. He brought the gun to bear as LeBeau jogged from around the columns, card in hand. The thief dodged the shot with almost inhuman speed and a charged Ten of Diamonds slammed into the assassin's wrist, kinetic energy stunning the nerves and the weapon falling from his fingers.

The younger LeBeau grabbed the assassin and pushed him hard against the column, his red irises full of fury, "Who sent you!"

The assassin didn't answer, he isn't supposed to.

This didn't make the other man happy and LeBeau threw him against another column, this time the stone cracking, "Were you after me?"

"Heh," the assassin couldn't help himself. "I never miss target."

"Russian," LeBeau said the word spitefully. "Why would your Guild want my brother dead?"

That was all the man was going to give the upstart thief.

"Tell me," the Cajun's voice got lower and suddenly the assassin could feel a tingling all over his body.

A glance down and his clothes, his holster, belt, everything, was starting to glow an ever so soft shade of pinkish-purple, the color of LeBeau's kinetic energy. The color slowly grew, deepening, starting to move from prickle to painful.

"Tell me," it was clear the man was not going to ask a third time.

Sirens again were heard, possibly coming towards them due to the gun shot, maybe heading to the park. Either way, by the time anyone found the assassin he could be literally shook apart by the mutant's kinetic energy, like he had held a concussion grenade to his chest.

He gave in and would deal with the consequences later. "I given contract. Kill Henri LeBeau with crossbow when comes to England to meet brother."

"Did your Assassins Guild issue da contract?" LeBeau asked, the energy still growing.

"We only take contract," he shook his head, "don't know who originally issued."

"No, you're just da trigger man," there was a deep malice to the Cajun's words and for a moment the assassin was sure he was dead.

"AH!" the mutant thief screamed and the energy channeled out of the assassin's clothing into the column behind him, bursting the marble into a shower of stones that struck against his back, sending them spiraling to the ground.

…

DCI Walters starred down at the scene before him. A man, mid to late thirties, no identification, laid on the ground with two crossbow bolts in his back.

"Don't see many of them anymore these days," his DI commented.

"No, you don't," he agreed, the whole thing a bit strange. It was the type of killing that was meant to send a message, but what, and to who?

"Sir," a young female DI came over, dispatch radio in her hand, "the disturbance at Park Crescent, looks like a couple of grenades went off. Bobbies picked up a man, had a crossbow in his bag, no ID, and not talking."

"This should be interesting," the other DI did like the sound of his own voice, Walters figured that out awhile ago. "What you think, some kind of mafia hit or gang thing?"

"Maybe," Walters frowned, experience causing him to scan the crowd that had gathered on the banks of the creek behind the line of policemen keeping everyone back. Too often a criminal likes to spy on his own handiwork.

Very few things in this world surprised the veteran cop. He often said he'd stared into the eyes of the devil himself in all his years of interrogating perps from across the table. But none of them held a candle to the eyes of a man standing on the bank. He was too far to really know for sure, but Walters could swear they were red, deep and angry, the kind of eyes that haunted a man until they came to collect his soul.

"Should we let them take the body now?" the DI moved next to him.

"Huh, yeah, go ahead," Walters practically blinked and the devil was gone, maybe he had never been there in the first place.