Thick as Thieves - REVIEW THIS STORY

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

Chapter 11

Bobby settled into his seat with a sigh. It was only ten o'clock, and already it had been a long night. But the amphitheater Remy had brought him to was enough to make him forget his tiredness for a while. The room was enormous-he had once taken a girl out to see a ballet in a similar-sized place, but this one was more than three hundred feet below street level. Even the rumble of the subway was almost entirely muted. The cavern was at least partly natural, judging from the stalactites, and had been filled with rows upon rows of seats. Light in the seating area was provided by gas lamps on tall iron posts, but the center of the amphitheater was lit by halogen spotlights. More than anything, Bobby felt like he was going to the thieves' version of Wrestlemania. Only the ring in the center wasn't a standard boxing arena. It was just an area of dark sand ringed with a low iron fence. Cases of electrical equipment sat at intervals around the ring, and Bobby guessed from the projection disks he saw that they were force field generators of some kind.

They had a great view. Gambit's rank of Master gave him-and his apprentice, thankfully-a spot on the raised platform near the ring. Michael and Diedre were already seated when they arrived, along with two of Michael's apprentices. Alexi had greeted Bobby warmly, and Bobby had tried to let the younger man distract him from the blond angel who sat with her head down and her fingers clasped together in her lap. Diedre had barely looked up at their arrival, but Bobby understood her terror that Michael might realize what was going on between them.

And just what is going on between us? he asked himself as he stared down into the empty arena. To all but an astute observer, he was fairly certain they would appear to just be friends. But the expression in her eyes when she looked at him was a lover's gaze, not a friend's. Bobby did not understand why she stayed with her husband. If she loved Michael at all, it wasn't in the same way she loved Bobby. He was torn between respect for her loyalty to her marriage, and fury that she wouldn't leave a man that treated her so cruelly.

Not that you've actually asked her to leave him, Bobby reminded himself. He wanted to, but he was afraid of the consequences. He hadn't even kissed her. And he would be asking her to leave everything, and everyone, she knew. And then, there was Michael, who wasn't likely to just let his wife walk away.

The noise level in the amphitheater was rising as the seats filled. Bobby guessed that there were about three thousand people in the cavern. He shook off his earlier train of thought, and leaned over to Gambit.

"Are these people all thieves?"

"Non." Gambit shook his head. "They all part of de clans, but only a fraction actually trained t'ieves."

"Well, that's a relief." The idea of an organized group of thieves, three thousand strong, was a little intimidating.

Gambit said nothing. He seemed to be wrapped up in his own thoughts. Come to think of it, he'd been quiet all evening. Not that Bobby had to guess why, or which particular green-eyed, flame-haired beauty was on his mind. Knowing his own feelings for Diedre, Bobby couldn't blame Remy for his occasional bouts of anti-sociality. But, he also felt like he should be doing something to snap Remy out of it.

"So, just what are we doing here?" He tried to keep his voice down to avoid Michael's notice.

Remy seemed to come back to himself with a start. "What? Oh, dis is called Blood Match. `Bout twice a month, people come here t' settle dere grievances, if dey can' manage t' work it out peaceably."

"They just duke it out?"

Remy nodded. "Dis de only place violence `gainst anot'er t'ief is allowed. Otherwise, y' risk bein' noticed by de cops, and de Guild can' afford dat."

Bobby mulled that over for a bit. "I guess that makes sense. Why haven't we come to this thing before?" Bobby had been a regular at the Club for more than two months now.

Remy's grin was empty. "Dis ain' my idea of a good time, neh?"

"Doesn't seem like it's much different than going to the fights at the Garden."

"Dey don' let people kill each ot'er at Madison Square Garden."

Bobby stared at him in disbelief. "You're kidding."

Remy's expression was flat and empty. He could have been talking about the weather. "Don' happen very often, but it's not against de rules."

A sudden noise over the loudspeaker system distracted Bobby. He looked down to see that a man had stepped into the fenced ring. He was dressed oddly, in a long cloak that swirled about his feet. The design on the cloak was a white wolf with sparkling blue eyes. Sapphires, perhaps? The rest of the man's dress seemed archaic as well-the tunic, pants and boots all seemed to date back to a much earlier century. But he seemed comfortable with the microphone in his hand, and proceeded to announce the contestants for the first Blood Match.

"Are we supposed to know what they're fighting about?" Bobby asked. He hadn't recognized either name, though the face of one of the men now entering the ring seemed familiar.

"Most folks don' care, but if y' pay attention, y' can usually pick up on de gossip."

Bobby scowled. Remy never missed an opportunity to chide him about paying attention to his surroundings.

A low hum filled the auditorium as the field generators were powered on. They formed a translucent shimmering dome over the ring.

"What's the force field for?"

"T' protect de audience. Now hush an' watch." Remy stared down at the circling contestants with his usual intensity, and Bobby wondered what he was really seeing. He had the feeling that Remy's mind was somewhere in the past, and that he was answering Bobby's questions by reflex more than anything else.

One of the contestants made a move toward the other, dancing lightly across the sand and jabbing at the other's face. The second man blocked the blows and ducked away. They circled again, then closed. Bobby looked away irritably. He could tell already this was going to be boring. Boxing had never been one of his favorite sports, though since Beast liked it, he'd been dragged to a number of matches. He found himself looking over to where Diedre sat in silence. As always, she was dressed in something short and tight- and dark. This dress, at least, was green, which was kinder to her than black. But the multiple straps that formed an "X" over her breast bone before crossing her shoulders looked tight enough to leave marks in her delicate skin. Bobby had gotten a glimpse of the back of the dress, which was completely open to the base of her spine. The straps criss-crossed the entire length of her back, making it look as though she were laced into the dress. It was a daring, showy style. Bobby detested it.

A sudden flash of light from the arena drew his attention. One of the contestants staggered back, one hand raised as if he had been blinded by the flash. That gave his opponent an excellent opportunity, and he landed several hard blows before the other managed to break away. They returned to their wary circling as the one who had been blinded blinked away the spots in his vision.

The next time they closed, Bobby saw the flash of light again, and realized that it was coming from the palm of the one man. "Hey, he's a mutant," Bobby said in surprise. Remy glanced at him oddly, but didn't respond.

On his other side, Alexi chuckled. "You're not used to meeting a lot of mutants, are you?"

"Meeting them? Uh, not really." Bobby wondered what Alexi might think if he knew that Bobby lived in a house full of mutants.

Alexi's grin was friendly. "Well, get used to it. Most of us are."

"What, mutants?"

Alexi nodded and Bobby couldn't help but stare at him. He had always thought that mutants were a rarity. Even the Professor and Beast had said that mutant births were only one in a thousand or less, and that most of those weren't alpha class.

"You mean that most of the people in this room are mutants?" he demanded in a low hiss.

"Take it easy!" Alexi looked a little taken aback. "Most of the thieves are. Not so much in the clans." He studied Bobby. "Are you all right?"

Bobby forced himself to relax before he made Alexi any more suspicious. "Yeah. Sorry. I didn't mean to jump on you like that. I just. . . didn't realize there were so many mutants around. I thought I was-I don't know-- one of the only ones, I guess."

Alexi's easy grin returned. "Well, you'll never see it on the news, but we're here. A lot more mutants than anyone suspects." His voice turned conspiritorial. "Can you imagine what would happen if people found out about us?"

Images filled Bobby's mind-Genosha, Graydon Creed, Sentinels, the Friends of Humanity. He paled. He could imagine just fine. A roar from the crowd saved him from a response. He looked back to the ring to see that one of the men was lying on the ground, either unconscious or unwilling to get back up. To his surprise, Alexi leapt to his feet to cheer with the rest of the onlookers. Bobby looked over at Remy, wondering if he'd overheard the conversation, but Gambit stared stonily into the ring and ignored the young man beside him. Still, Bobby was certain that Gambit knew exactly how many mutants there were in the New York Guild.

"Did either Bobby or Gambit tell you where they were going?" Scott asked Hank as he settled on the couch next to his wife. Jean tucked her arm into his and laid her head on his shoulder.

Hank looked up from the instruction manual he was reading and frowned lightly. "No. Is there any reason that he should have?" The DSS dish and all of its parts lay scattered on the low table between them. Not that they couldn't have brought in any TV signal in the world with the Shi'ar equipment buried beneath them, but it had seemed prudent to use more conventional means while the mutant hysteria was climbing to such radical highs.

Scott sighed. "It's almost twelve."

"And you are afraid that Bobby will turn into a pumpkin if he doesn't make it home in time?"

Jean couldn't help but giggle at the gentle sarcasm. "He's old enough to take care of himself," she added.

"I know." Scott picked up the pieces he had been assembling before he went to refill his glass. "I guess it just makes me nervous that he's out with Gambit."

"Really?" Hank slid his glasses down his nose so that he could look at Scott over the rims. "I find it reassuring."

"How so?" Scott's expression was always hard to read behind his opaque quartz glasses, but his puzzlement was obvious from his voice.

Hank shrugged lightly. "I believe that Bobby has been feeling the need to establish his independence, to sow some wild oats, as the expression goes."

"Wild oats?"

"He's looking for some trouble to get into, Scott." Jean straightened to look at her husband. "He's been living here, fighting with us since he was fifteen, and as far as I know, he's never so much as gotten into a bar brawl unless it was something to do with the X-Men. I think he's tired of his clean-cut image."

Hank nodded. "Rebellion is a very normal stage for a young man to go through, though Bobby does seem to be hitting it a little late."

Scott's mouth quirked wryly. "Well, I guess that makes Gambit a natural choice for him to hang out with." He took a drink. "But I'm not sure why you two seem to think this is a good thing."

Hank smiled. "Remy is many things, but he is not naive. I do not think that Bobby can get himself into anything that our Cajun friend cannot get him back out of."

Scott considered that, then finally acquiesced with a nod. "I suppose you're right, there."

Jean patted his arm. "Don't worry so much, honey. Besides, I think it's good that Bobby is starting to try to define himself. Haven't you noticed how much more confident he is these days?"

Scott chuckled. "I would have said `belligerent', but yes, I've noticed."

"And he is becoming more effective with his mutant powers as well," added Hank.

"True." Then Scott wagged a finger at Hank. "But if he gets his ear pierced and starts wearing those ripped jeans all the time, I swear I'm going to shoot myself."

Hank chuckled. "Yes, well, Remy's taste in clothing does leave something to be desired."

Jean raised an eyebrow. "Really? I think it's kind of sexy."

"Jean!"

Jean burst into laughter at her husband's appalled expression, but bit back any further reply. She knew not to push too hard. Even Scott harbored a little jealousy for Remy's easy James Dean appeal. She wasn't at all surprised that Bobby had started imitating him.

Gambit straightened and stared down into the ring as the fourth set of opponents was announced. For once, Bobby recognized both names. Lance Derrick was one of Michael's apprentices, an obnoxious, overbearing bully of a man. Bobby had done his best to keep his distance. The other was a thief that Bobby had run into on occasion. His name was Larry Something-or-other. He was a solid, uncommunicative sort, but Bobby had gotten the impression that he was fairly well respected.

"Can a thief and an apprentice fight?" Bobby asked. There was usually a sharp division between the two. Apprentices enjoyed few of the privileges that went with being a thief.

"Oui." Remy had not taken his eyes off the ring where the two men now circled warily. "Dis is not good," he muttered to himself.

"Why? What's wrong?" Bobby kept his voice low.

Remy nodded toward the fight. "Larry's been givin' Michael trouble lately `bout how loose some a the t'ieves been gettin' wit' de rules. He's a stickler f' doin' t'ings right. He was asked t' sponsor Lance dere into de Guild, but he refused b'cause de boy uses powers on de job."

"And now Lance is looking for some payback?" Bobby was a little surprised that other thieves, especially the Guild leader, were not so strict about the no-powers rule. It was beginning to seem like the only thing that protected these mutants from public notice.

"Dat he is, but Michael set dis up when he asked Larry t' be de sponsor."

"Geez, politics." Bobby hated the convoluted game of power and one-upsmanship that seemed to pervade everything and everyone Gambit knew. "So Michael's trying to punish Larry for questioning him, without letting people know that that's really what he's doing." Bobby's already abyssmal opinion of Michael dropped a bit lower.

"I hope so." The simple statement sent a shiver down Bobby's spine. Uncertain what else to say, he turned to watch the fight with a feeling of apprehension.

The two men circled warily. Larry held a long knife in one hand, and a small, clear shield in the other. It looked like a small version of the riot shields that the police sometimes carried, and Bobby guessed that it was bulletproof. Lance held a short staff, like a billy club, that he swung with arrogant ease. Larry leapt forward, slashing at the younger man with the knife. Lance blocked the blow, then brought the club around to strike Larry in the side. Bobby winced, but when the two separated, he saw a thin line of red that snaked down Lance's shirt.

Larry was limping slightly from the blow, but that didn't seem to slow him as they closed again. This time, he caught Lance's upraised stick with his shield, and cut low, slicing the other man across the thigh. Lance cried out in pain and staggered back. He dropped his club, and held both fists out in front of him at chest height. His hands glowed white for a moment, then something shot out of them. Larry raised his shield, and the white streak bounced off of it, toward the ceiling where it was absorbed by the force field with a tiny flash and hiss. Some kind of energy projectile, Bobby guessed.

"Is Lance an alpha mutant?" Bobby asked.

Remy shrugged. "Borderline. He could do about as much damage with a handgun, `cept dat de supply of bullets is unlimited."

Larry swiped at the outstretched fists, and Lance was forced to pull them back in, which, Bobby guessed, made him unable to fire another one of the white projectiles. Unfortunately, Larry overreached and Lance grabbed his knife hand. They struggled for several moments until Larry managed to twist away, though he nearly lost his hold on the knife in the process. Lance brought up his fists again to fire, then shook his head sharply and raised one hand to his temple.

"Mild telepathic spike," Remy commented.

The two men maneuvered for position, and Lance fired several more of the little missiles, which Larry was able to dodge. Bobby was beginning to relax, feeling confident that Larry was managing very well, when he missed deflecting one of the white streaks by a fraction. It struck him in the side and he fell back, just as if he'd been shot. Lance took the opportunity to pick up his fallen stick and walked up to where Larry lay on the sand, one hand cupped over the wound in his side. His knife lay several feet away where he'd dropped it. Lance didn't even pause, but swung heavily at the other man's head. Larry raised his shield with both hands, absorbing the impact. Lance continued to rain blows on the other man, many of which Larry managed to deflect to some extent, but he was slowly being beaten to a pulp.

Bobby turned to Gambit in alarm. "Isn't anybody going to do anything?"

In response, Gambit looked past him to where Michael was sitting. "You gon' call him off, mon capitan?" The sarcasm in his voice was thick enough to cut.

Michael didn't look at him. His gaze was fastened on the beating below, a tiny smile playing about his lips. "It is within the rules."

"So's callin' him off."

Michael glanced over at Gambit. "Has anyone ever told you that you're rather squeamish, Remy?"

Bobby sucked in his breath as Gambit's eyes narrowed. His mind immediately began to plan how to get to Diedre and get her out of harm's way. He had heard that Michael, too, was an alpha mutant, though he had no idea what kind of powers he had. If he and Remy decided to go at it, things would get more than a little hairy for those who were sitting in the vicinity.

The loud roar of the crowd dipped suddenly, breaking the tension between the two men. Both looked down. Lance had stepped away from the prone form, and Bobby could clearly see blood in the sand. The crowd remained remarkably quiet as Lance raised both arms over his head, declaring victory. They, too, did not approve of Lance's actions.

"Is he dead?" Bobby asked. A man and a woman that Bobby thought were probably doctors of some kind had already gone into the ring and were kneeling over the still form. Then the man gestured hurriedly to others outside the ring, who brought a stretcher. The crowd began to cheer at this sign that he was still alive. Together, the men transferred Larry to the stretcher and carried him swiftly away.

Bobby let out his breath in a sigh. He felt cold and shaken. What in the world kind of insane people had he gotten himself tangled up with? Michael stood up, and Diedre rose hurriedly beside him. They left together, and Bobby wondered why he didn't just freeze Michael's heart solid in his chest rather than let Diedre spend another moment with him.

Alexi rose a moment later, and, giving Bobby an uncomfortable shrug, followed after Michael. People in the crowd were also beginning to leave, and Bobby guessed that the Blood Match was over, though whether this was the planned ending point or not, he couldn't tell. Remy simply sat in his chair, staring at the blood- stained sand.

"Remy?" Bobby asked after a moment.

The Cajun didn't appear to have heard him, but after a long stretch of silence, he said, "You wan' know why Xavier's dream gon' fail?" He gestured toward the ring. "Well, dere it is, right dere."

"What do you mean?" Remy picked some of the strangest times to get maudlin, and he hadn't even had anything to drink.

"Ain' never gon' be peace between humans and mutants because dere too many people like Lance around. Jus' mean, even when dey don' need t' be. An' too many people like Michael who know how t' use dem."

"That doesn't mean that prejudice and discrimination against mutants is always going to exist like it does today." Bobby found Remy's analysis of humanity disturbing. "Look how much discrimination against African Americans has changed since the Civil War. I mean, it's not gone completely, but things have gotten a lot better."

Remy gave him a vaguely disgusted look. "Dere's no difference between black people an' white people, Bobby. Dere's a big difference between humans an' mutants." He paused. "If people can' get along when dey got no real reason t' hate each ot'her, what d' you t'ink dey gon' do when dere are reasons?"

Unable to find a suitable answer, Bobby just gathered up his jacket. "I don't know, Remy," he finally admitted. "But at least we're trying to make things better." He knew he sounded defensive, but he didn't care as he walked toward the nearby exit and the elevators that would return him to the sane world above. In learning the thief's ways, Bobby had seen a much darker side of life than he'd realized existed before. It frightened him to think that that might be a truer view of the world than what he saw as an X-Man, and he did not want to lose the hope that things could get better.

It startled him to realize that that was the one thing that set Remy apart from the other X-Men. All of them, including Wolverine, hoped for better days ahead. They believed that by enduring today and never backing down from what was right, they could somehow influence tomorrow. Remy seemed to see everything as being the same-yesterday, today, and tomorrow. The only difference was in how you dealt with it. Anymore, Bobby wasn't sure what to think. But rather than dwell on such a disturbing topic, he tried to push the questions aside in favor of more pleasant things. He desperately wanted to wash away the memories of Lance trying to beat a man to death, and the knowledge that it was really Michael sending a warning to anyone who would dare to defy him.

Bobby was unsurprised when Remy stepped into the elevator with him, but they rode to the top in silence.