Thick as Thieves - REVIEW THIS STORY

Written by Valerie Jones and Lori McDonald
Last updated: 01/02/2007 02:01:11 AM

Chapter 5

Bobby fidgeted outside the closed door, trying to convince himself to go in. He raised his hand to knock, then lowered it. For a strange moment, he had the inexplicable feeling that he was crossing a threshold that, once past, he would never be able to return. Then he shook it off. Geez, it was just Gambit's room. All he wanted was a little favor-in exchange for not telling the X-Men about the New York guild. He raised his hand again and knocked.

"Oui?" came the muffled response.

"Remy?" It was time to be friendly. "It's Bobby. You mind if I come in?"

"Door's open."

Bobby grimaced. Great. Here he was bearding the lion in its den, and the lion was grumpy. But he couldn't walk away. As much as he disliked it, he needed Gambit's help. Cautiously, he poked his head around the door. Gambit was dressed only in jeans, and was in the process of toweling his long hair dry. Bobby was surprised to see the dark bruises that decorated the majority of his back and shoulder.

"What happened to you?"

Gambit glanced at him, expression neutral. But Bobby had the distinct impression that the eerie red eyes were seeing straight through him. Then he shrugged, though only with the uninjured side. "Got a little carried away in de Danger Room."

Yeah, like I believe that. But Bobby kept the thought to himself. Gambit almost never got hurt training.

"Did y' wan' somet'ing?" Gambit asked after a moment. His accent was especially thick, and he sounded tired.

"Yeah, I. . ." Bobby forced himself to speak. This was obviously a bad time, but he just had to get Gambit to help him. "I. . . wanted to ask a favor."

That got the Cajun's attention. His eyes narrowed. "What kind of favor?"

"I need you to talk to someone at that club we went to." If he weren't so nervous, Bobby would have chuckled at Gambit's suddenly baffled expression. He hurried on to explain, "You have to get me onto the list to get in. I tried to go there a couple of nights ago, but they said I'd have to talk to you." His ears still burned when he thought about that. The door goons remembered him, all right, but they weren't about to let him through without Gambit's express approval.

Gambit's expression remained baffled. "Why in de world y' wan' t' be goin' t' a place like dat?"

Inexplicably, his reaction made Bobby angry. "I just. . . do, all right? Look, I haven't told anyone about you being up to your neck in thieves when you're supposed to be retired." Gambit's eyes narrowed to slits, but Bobby pressed forward. "I thought that might be worth some kind of . . . consideration." Bobby held his breath. He'd actually done it. Played his little hole card against Gambit. He could feel his heart pounding as the Cajun studied him, lips drawn into a thin line. After a moment, Gambit cocked his head to the side, his expression sliding from angry to appraising.

"I s'pose it is," he answered. "But I can' let y' go t' de club. Sorry."

"Why not?!"

"B'cause dey'd see right t'rough y'. Y' ain't no t'ief. An' den it'd be bot' our butts on de line." His accent was thick enough that Bobby was having some trouble understanding him. He realized suddenly that Gambit must be on the verge of falling over. He also realized that this was probably the best chance he would have of convincing him. It was a pretty fair bet that Bobby could make himself obnoxious enough that Gambit would agree to anything just to get him to go away.

"So? You could show me how to act like a thief, right? I mean, it's just a nightclub. It's not like they're going to expect me to do anything while I'm there."

Gambit snorted in disgust and tossed the damp towel over the back of a nearby chair. "Y' can' act like a t'ief. It's somet'ing y' are. It's a-" he struggled to find a word, "a-mindset. A way o' t'inking." He gave Bobby a direct stare. "It's not somet'ing y' can fake. Not around dese people."

Bobby was beginning to feel desperate. He'd thought that Gambit would have to do this for him. But instead, he kept sliding around the issue. He wasn't actually saying no, but he was telling Bobby that it was impossible, and implying that it was because of Bobby, not because of his own refusal to cooperate. And that, Bobby realized with a start, was an extremely slick way to argue. If he hadn't been completely determined to get back into that club, Gambit would have talked him out of it already.

Bobby countered the slick argument with the only thing he could think of-sincerity. "Remy, please. I have to go back there."

"Why?"

Bobby felt himself blushing. Normally that would be bad, but this time, it would only add to his appeal. "Because, I . . . met someone." He couldn't quite meet Gambit's gaze. Which was probably good, because Gambit began to laugh. He sank onto the bed and laughed raggedly, one hand pressed against the ribs on his injured side.

"A woman? A t'ief woman?"

Bobby nodded and tried to ignore the fact that Gambit was laughing at him. But after a moment, Gambit's mirth died. Bobby looked at him, and was surprised by how solemn his expression was.

"Bobby, dese people are de real t'ing. Dey'd tear y' apart if dey found out what y' are."

"Then show me how to be a thief." Bobby wasn't sure who was more surprised by his words. Gambit simply blinked at him.

"F' real?"

"If that's what it takes to walk into that place, then yes. For real." A cold pit was starting to form in Bobby's stomach. He'd just jumped into some deep water, and he had no idea yet whether he was going to be able to swim.

There was a strange ache in Gambit's eyes that Bobby couldn't identify. "Is she worth it?" he asked softly.

Bobby formed an image of Diedre in his mind's eye, and he knew the answer instantly. "Yes."

Gambit stared at him, his red gaze intense. Slowly he nodded. "Den I do what y' ask. On one condition."

Bobby's heart had leapt into his throat. "What's that?" he asked, not really caring what it might be.

"Dat y' do what I say, when I say it, an' y' don' ask questions. Understood?" Bobby started to nod, but Gambit cut him off. "I wan' y' oath. By whatever c'n bind y'."

Bobby was taken aback. He felt suddenly like Gambit was asking him to sell his soul. But the momentary chill passed, and he couldn't help but feel elated. He was going to get to see Diedre on a regular basis. It was going to be more work than he expected, but that was o.k. He would swear to Gambit on anything he wanted for that.

"All right. How's this? I swear, on my honor as an X-Man, that I'll do my best to learn how to be a thief."

Gambit gave him another one of those appraising stares, but then he nodded. He almost seemed amused, but all he said was, "Go `way, Bobby."

Bobby was too happy to be insulted by the abrupt dismissal. And Gambit looked like he'd been run down by a truck, so it wasn't really something he could hold against him. That thought brought back an earlier question. At the doorway, Bobby turned.

"What really happened to you tonight?"

Gambit flashed him a humorless smile. "Y' find out soon enough, neh?"

Remy settled quietly into the overstuffed chair that fronted Professor Xavier's desk, trying not to let his stiffness show. Serves me right f' fallin' two stories down an air-conditioning shaft. Least I got away. And what he had gotten away with was what brought him to the professor this morning. Normally, he would be more subtle, but this one wouldn't wait for the right time.

"Good morning, Remy." The professor was pouring himself a cup of tea from the service perched on the corner of his desk.

"'Mornin', Professor."

"Tea?"

"Non." He declined with a small shake of his head. The less he moved, the better. And the less likely it would be that the X-Men would know he'd gotten hurt. Except Bobby. Remy cursed himself yet again for that particular bit of stupidity. What in the world had possessed him to invite the boy in before putting a shirt on? But he'd simply been too exhausted to think straight. Yet it seemed that a quirk of fate had saved him this time. Bobby wanted to learn the dark ways-to get to a woman. And like a fool, Remy had agreed. He still wasn't sure why, except that the expression in Bobby's eyes had been so full of yearning-of desire, and hope- that he simply couldn't refuse.

"Remy?"

Remy came back to himself with a start. "What? `M sorry Professor, I was-"

"A million miles away." The professor smiled.

Remy cleared his throat, uncomfortable. He found himself letting his guard down a little too much around the professor. They had a certain. . . understanding, to be sure, but Remy kept finding himself wanting to treat Charles as a friend.

If Charles noticed his discomfort, he didn't let it show. But Remy wasn't fooled. Charles took a sip from his cup and sat back in his chair, waiting for Remy to speak.

"A couple o' weeks ago, y' asked me what I thought about Draxar Technologies, an' `bout dem wantin' y' t' chair dere new foundation." Charles had said almost exactly that. He had called Remy into his office and described Draxar Technologies and their newly established Genesis Foundation, for which they wanted Charles as their Director. Remy had said that he didn't know anything about Draxar and didn't have an opinion. But that was how those conversations between them always went. It was Charles' oblique way of asking Remy to look into it. It also meant that Charles had his own doubts about the company already, or he wouldn't be looking for information of the sort Remy could provide.

Charles said nothing, only nodded. Remy decided that this wasn't the time to be edging around the subject. There were a lot of things Charles didn't know about him, but his abilities at espionage weren't on that list. Remy had much bigger secrets than that to keep, and this gave Charles the illusion that he knew the "truth" that Remy worked so hard to keep buried. Still, as intelligent as the man was, Remy often wondered who was playing who.

Remy sighed despite the pang in his side, and got on with it. "On de surface, Draxar checks out. Dey got several big government contracts for biotech research, but dere f' t'ings like bacteria t' eat up oil spills an' improvin' livestock. De Genesis Foundation's supposed t' be devoted t' improvin' de quality o' life through genetics. Even t' developin' way t' predict mutations an' maybe control dem." Remy couldn't help his acid smile. "Parents could pick dere kid's powers before dey even conceive him."

That elicited a frown from Charles. "That sounds. . . dangerous."

"Yeah, well, de real danger's in dere black bag. It runs real deep, if y' get my drift."

"How deep?" Charles knew the terminology well enough to know that a "black bag" referred to money that was never officially declared on the income statement.

"Four hundred million a year."

Charles drew in a sharp breath. That was a lot of money, even for a corporation the size of Draxar. "And they're using it for . . .?"

Remy shrugged. He'd gotten the figure. Finding out what was really going on behind that great big dollar sign would be a very risky venture. He'd need a lot more reason than the professor's curiosity to try it. But the odds were good that it involved mutant research. Remy knew perfectly well that he'd just put Draxar on the X-Men's top ten list of interest. Even if Cyclops would never know how Charles knew there was trouble brewing there.

Charles thanked him, and Remy excused himself quickly from the room. The last thing he wanted was to get caught in a casual conversation with the professor. Mostly because he hated hiding things from the man. But even Charles would never understand the reasons for some of the things Remy did. Sometimes, he wondered himself. Still, he had the opportunity to walk away from it all. He could devote all of his time to the X-Men and never step into the darker side of life again-but he knew that his conscience would never let him do that.