Thick as Thieves - REVIEW THIS STORY

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

Chapter 18

Remy LeBeau raced his neon yellow ferrari down the road at breakneck speed, barely hearing the roar of the engine or the scream of the tires as he accelerated even more into a turn, taking the car wide into the far lane and almost sideswiping a pinto as it tried to get out of his way. He didn't care and pushed the accelerator closer to the floor. The car responded with an even higher acceleration and his mouth set into a wide grin.

He loved the speed, the rush of adrenaline, the surge of power in the engine and the roar in his ears.

Beats sittin' on dat damn roof.

So what if the X-Men didn't trust him? It wasn't like they ever really did. He was used to that, and while it annoyed him, and Stormy's reaction cut him deeply, it was too beautiful a day for him to let it eat him up inside. He had far too much living to do.

The ferrari went around another corner. Perhaps their mistrust was partly his fault, he thought. He hadn't exactly been fully honest with them about who he was and what he did with his time. But then again, neither was Wolverine, and for the entire time she was with the team, they never found out Rogue's name. He was really no different from them and he refused to be treated differently. He would not spill his soul just to earn the respect of anal retentives like Scott Summers, because he never would. He knew his type. Perfection could only be achieved as he defined it, and Remy already stood outside the boundaries of his definition of trustworthy.

Remy's grin widened as the car went flawlessly through a series of hairpin turns. Someday, he'd actually have to tell old fearless leader about how he was the professor's eyes and ears into the mutant underground. Just to watch them pop out behind those ruby glasses. It'd be fun, but it'd be pointless, and more trouble than it was worth. It was better by far to evade demands to know where he went every night than to have Scott decide he couldn't do this himself and stick his nose in.

At least he had the professor's trust, and his alibi. Without it, he'd be sitting in a police station trying to talk himself out of being arrested permanently, a situation that he'd found lost its charm back when he was thirteen. And by taking the blame on himself without ever admitting he did anything, at least he could protect Bobby. He was used to the flack, but that poor kid was going to have enough problems dealing with the Guild and his new position. Shoulda tol' me, Bobby, he mused, going over a hill so fast he was momentarily airborne. He'd have to check the suspension when he got home. He had no idea how he'd have protected him without risking all of the status he'd worked for, but he could have come up with something. He closed his eyes, trusting to his powers to guide him as he pushed the car to its maximum. Bobby was just a pawn to Michael, a way to get at HIM. At one point in his life, he might have cut him loose, let him try and make it on his own as had been done to him so many times, but he wasn't that man anymore. Wasn't that boy, for no 'man' would do that to his own. As long as he was his mentor, Robert Drake would pay none of the Guild's prices, whether in money, blood, or soul.

It was raining in the garden. Just in the garden, on a patch of land barely a meter across, and on the bowed head of Ororo Munroe as she knelt in the middle of it, staring at her roses. Bobby gaped out the window at her, forgetting the halfmade sandwich in his hand. "Uh, what's wrong with Storm?" Behind him, Wolverine puffed on a cigar, ignoring the rule against not smoking in the house. "Don't know. She ain't said and it doesn't look ta me like she wants nobody askin'." Bobby turned to look at the smaller man. "But this is weird. Normally she just lights up the sky and sulks in her room when she's upset." "So? Woman's allowed her moods. Leave her alone until she wants ta talk about it." Belatedly remembering his sandwich just as the tomato threatened to fall on the floor, Bobby hastily slapped the other slice of bread on it and froze it solid. Wolverine didn't even blink. Nor did he when Jean breezed into the kitchen for a glass of water, grabbed his cigar, dunked it out in his coffee cup and stuck it back in his mouth, end first, after which she breezed back out again.

Knowing better than to laugh, Bobby followed her.

Finally, his curiousity got the better of him.

It wasn't just curiousity. In the midst of one of his speeches on what lockpicks to use, how to bribe a border guard into not checking what you've got in that unconspicuous suitcase, and what kind of wine goes with souffle, Remy talked about trust. Trust as a nonabsolute.

Bobby hadn't been entirely convinced. To Remy, trust was an iffy thing. He trusted his family, and his friends - Bobby liked to think he trusted him as well - but his trust was less than Bobby would have expected from an X-Man for his teammates. But in the world of the Guilds, you could never be sure that you weren't about to get sold out by those around you. It'd happened to Remy, he remembered. So he'd learned to keep an eye even on the people he loved. To watch for suspicious behaviour, and to always be there for them. Not just to be a friend, but to be close enough to spot if something was about to go sour. It was a cynical view Bobby hated, but the Cajun's teachings had soaked into him, even when he didn't approve of them. So finally, near dusk, he grabbed an umbrella and went outside to talk to Storm. To be there if she needed him, and to make sure there wasn't an explosion coming on the horizon.

"Hey," he called softly as he walked up behind her. "I brought you an umbrella." It sounded lame, but he grinned nevertheless. Storm was only rained on when she wanted to be, but he hoped she'd appreciate the jest.

Ororo just sat in the grass, her arms folded around her drawn up knees. With her white dress plastered to her skin, as well as he flowing white hair, she more closely resembled a little girl than the woman she was. "Thank you, but no, Robert," she said softly. Bobby knelt beside her. "Do you want to talk?" He asked softly. "About whatever's bothering you, I mean."

She shook her head. "Again, thank you but no."

She'd always been so formal, so tightly controlled. She had to be, to keep control of the weather that responded to her every mood. He didn't know anyone who could get her out of one of her rare funks, except Remy.

He decided to try the same approach. "You realize," he teased. "That we're going to need a bigger house."

She looked at him oddly.

"For the animals," he explained. "They'll be coming in twos. The mama bear, and the papa bear, and the elephants, and the giraffes, and the dirty politicians, 'cause you know they GOTTA be another species..."

Faintly, a smile touched her lips.

Encouraged, Bobby pressed on. "We'll have to put in hay, and stuff, and find places to put them all. You think Warren would mind giving up his closet space? I mean, it's not like he'll need all those clothes, and it'll be hard for him to fly with all this rain. He'll be like a winged rock in the air, I think."

Ororo smiled a little wider. "I get the point, Robert." The rain eased up, then vanished.

Bobby grinned, using exaggerated motions to fold his umbrella and lay it beside him. "There, now that we don't have to worry about flooding the whole basement, hangar, Morlock Tunnels, etc, what's up? And I warn you. I'm prepared to use the dreaded tickle attack if you don't answer my questions." He'd heard Remy use that one, but somehow it sounded a whole lot less innocent when he did it.

Ororo looked away. "It is a personal matter."

"Tell that to my wet socks. Come on, Storm, it's obviously bothering you. Tell me and I'll buy you an ice cream." He face took on a wheedling expression. "Please..." he whined. "Pretty please with a cherry on top and lots of whip cream and..."

"Robert!" Ororo shook her head. "You are impossible."

"Well, yeah," he grinned. "That's part of my charm."

He was getting to her. He could see it, and it amazed him that he was becoming so perceptive. Carefully, he sat close and put an arm around her. "You can tell me, Storm," he promised. "I swear I'll keep it to myself."

She caved. "It is Remy," she admitted. "I have been horrible to him."

Confused, Bobby cast back through his memory of the last twenty four hours. As far as he could tell, Storm was the only one who HADN'T been whispering about Gambit, in spite of the Professor's order. Even Bishop was doing it, though usually to declare loudly that if it HAD been Gambit, there wouldn't have been ANY clues left behind. Bobby was faintly insulted by that.

He shook himself mentally. "Come again? How?"

The Wind Rider sighed. "I doubted him. The police came here and accused him, and I doubted him in my heart, and he saw it in my eyes. I cannot forgive myself for that betrayal." It began to rain again.

With his free hand, Bobby grabbed the umbrella and opened it over both of them. "But you don't now."

"No." She whispered. "And I never should have. I once worked with Remy. I knew he only stole from those who were criminals in his mind. He would never steal from the place which was robbed."

Whereas I would. Bobby thought. Crap. He hugged her, for both her and himself. "Well, make it up to him."

"How can I do that?"

Bobby shrugged, not aware that she was asking him with the same belief and respect she would have Professor Xavier.

"I guess just say you're sorry."

Remy arrived back at the mansion well after midnight. Still a little pissed at the other X-Men, he didn't bother to try and keep quiet, but instead revved his ferrari up the drive and screeched it to a halt in front of the main doors instead of the garage, just where Scott hated for vehicles to be left. It was petty, but sometimes petty was fun.

Whistling to himself, he strode up to the door, swung it open, and was greeted by the sight of candles.

What de hell...?

Slowly, he stepped inside and closed the door softly behind him. The foyer of the mansion was filled with candles, all different sizes, different lengths, various colours; some scented, some not, some in ornate holders and candelabras, some stuck on old plates or saucers. Remy appraised them with a raised eyebrow and grinned. Pretty li'l fire hazard.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated, letting his awareness move out through the house, touching each member in turn. Warren and Psylocke were asleep in his room- no, Betsy was awake, he could feel her stroking her lover's wings, which he had wrapped over her in place of a blanket. A few doors down, Bobby slept, unmoving as he'd tried to teach him. A thief who may have to sleep anywhere couldn't afford to roll around too much. Neither could an X-Man for that matter.

In another room across the hall, Cannonball hadn't learned that lesson. The youth was rolling over repeatedly, trying to get comfortable, and only succeeding in wrapping himself in a cocoon of blankets. Wolverine lay almost imperceptably in the room beyond him, only apparent to Remy the way the breathing of a wild animal would be seen by him.

In the centre of the house, his mind grazed Charles's body, to see he was in bed as well. A sleepy question came his way, but he dodged it. He wasn't in the mood for conversation.

In the left wing of the house, there was no movement, and he swallowed a pang. All the women had elsewhere to sleep, and the wing was empty. He didn't dare let his mind touch the room at the near end, and the pain of feeling the emptiness in Rogue's bed.

There was movement in the trees behind him, Bishop on guard duty. Scott and Jean he assumed were in their boathouse at the lake, but it was beyond his range of detection. Beast was barely detectable in his lab below ground. Storm sat in her loft.

Remy grinned. That was everyone accounted for, so obviously, the candles were meant for him.

"I wonder what goin' on?" He mused as he went to the nearest candle, an ornate beeswax of the palest blue. Gently, he bent over it and blew it out with a faint breath of air.

He blew out all the candles, one at a time, admiring the craftwork in some of them as he did so, but they'd done their job of greeting him and he wouldn't want to see them melted all away to nothing now that they had.

Candles led the way down the hallway and he followed them, blowing each out as he went so that he was always stepping from the darkness into the light. They led into the kitchen, where a bucket of ice holding a champagne bottle waited, by two crystal goblets. He ran a finger around the rim of one, savouring the song the crystal sang to him, then picked them both up with one hand, the bucket with the other.

The candles led through the dining room, where they'd been arranged in a pattern that led him around the room to blow them all out, past pictures of the X-Men hung on the walls to one small one in a wood frame that sat on a shelf on the far wall. If was a familiar picture and he grinned at the two people mugging for the camera in it. He'd had his suspicions who had laid this lovely gauntlet for him to run. Nice t' see I was right. Chuckling, he left the two candles flanking the picture lit and continued on, following the glowing trail.

The candles led the way through the dining area to the side enterance to the living room, where again he had to follow them through the room to the coffee table where a bouquet of white roses lay. His smile broadened with pleasure. White roses weren't his favourite, but he knew whose they were. Juggling the bucket under his arm, he picked up the bouquet and continued on.

The path led to one of the back stairs up to the second floor, into the women's wing. He remembered it was empty sadly, but the path avoided Rogue's door, leaving it in shadow, and instead led down the hall, lighting every other door. At Jean's old room, there leaned a broken droid, one used long ago in a Danger Room session. It resembled Jean and he laughed. He remembered that session, one of his first as part of the new blue team. He'd beaten her, thinking she was the real Jean, and stolen a kiss. Right before he got blown across the room. Cyclops had been unamused, but Jean had loved it, he recalled, and teased him for weeks afterwards, which he'd loved.

The candles led to Betsy's room. Outside it lay some of his cards, and her sword, a reminder of all the practices they'd shared. A shredded sash reminded him of the one he was obviously supposed to remember. A battle between them that swept out of the Danger Room, through the house, and up to the roof. It was violent, vicious, and annoyed Scott to no end, especially since, in spite of the wild moves they used, no one got hurt, nothing was broken, and he only figured out it happened because the security computer recorded it. Defending each other while he demanded an explanation was the one time Remy and Betsy really got along, and they'd managed to frustrate Scott into letting them both off the hook.

The candles led the way down the passage that connected the two wings of the house. At one point, the single line doubled, but he didn't blow the second set out, suspecting they were a line to lead him back.

The candles paused at the Professor's door. Before it lay his enrollment papers in the school, which claimed his name was Gambit, with no real name, that he lived nowhere, had no references, no schooling, no next of kin, no anything. Most of the lines were blank except for a happy face next to his signature and the professor's signature below that, accepting him into the school. Remy's grin softened. He'd never expected Charles to ever make him a student, and had been halfway out the door before he was called telepathically and told he had a permanent place in the X-Men if he wanted it.

In the men's wing, the candles showed a pile of bankbooks before Warren's door, and he had to bit down a laugh. He was pretty sure that Warren had made a lot of money from his tips. It looked like his candle layer knew it too. Before Cannonball's lay a tiny toy ferrari. Sam had shown a lot of interest in his car and in return for washing it regularily, he'd allowed himself to permit the young man to drive it on the grounds. Sam had been walking high for days. Wolverine's door held two mats, plain woven ones used when sitting during meditation and before a Kata. Logan never used them, but Remy understood the reference. On some of his down days, Logan had dragged him off the roof and gotten him to do katas with him. They weren't really his thing, but he couldn't deny the inner peace they gave him in small amounts, or the effort Logan had to put out to share them with anybody. Cyclops' door showed simply a plain, regulation X-Man communicator, the one Scott always threatened to staple to his forehead if he didn't wear, so that they would know when he needed them. Bishop's door held a gun, a plain colt .45 that Remy had admired once and Bishop gave to him without hesitation. The date of that day was written on a postcard beside it and he sucked in his breath as he realized for the first time that Bishop gave him the gun on father's day. Beast's door held ticket stubs, from all the movies they'd gone to see before the scientist had to devote all his time to the legacy virus.

Bobby's door was the last. Before it was half of a friendship ring and Remy smiled. He'd never given Bobby anything like it, but he understood what it meant.

The door opened. Bobby looked out at him sleepily, then his gaze lit on the flowers and champagne he held. A mischevious look crossed his face.

"Gee, boss, this is so... so sudden."

Remy barked a laugh. "Ver' funny. Dey not f' you. I'm jus' followin' a path." He nodded his head at the extinguished candles, and those that led the way back out. "I'm havin' fun."

Bobby looked and chuckled. "Seems like it. Tell me all the gory details in the morning?"

"Only if y' good."

"Aw!"

Remy bent, scooped up the ring and tossed it to him. Bobby caught it without even looking. "Go back t' sleep, boy."

Bobby wandered back into his room, staring at the ring in his palm and Remy returned down the hall. The candles led him in a straight line now, out of the men's wing and to a door just a few meters past the one leading to Charles' apartment. Remy opened it and followed the candles that glowed up each step that was revealed.

They led into a loft and stopped. Remy blew out the last one and looked up to see that the room he'd entered was lit by moonlight filtering in through the open skylight, illuminating the expanse of plants that filled the loft and brought with them a gentle breeze that played lovingly with his hair like a woman's fingers. Just like a woman's fingers. Remy crossed to a table and laid the roses down, then uncorked the champagne bottle and filled the two glasses. With a glass in each hand, he turned.

"What's de special occasion, Stormy?" He asked.

Storm stood regally beside a flowering plant, dressed in a multicoloured sarong with her long hair flowing loose. "I wished to apologize for ever doubting you, and to celebrate my, and all of our, friendship with you."

Remy smiled, blinking away a sudden moisture in his eyes and walked over to hand her a glass. "Den, friend, let's drink t' all a us."