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Chapters
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
 
 
 

Thick as Thieves - REVIEW THIS STORY

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

Chapter 19

Bobby slouched in his chair at the corner of the kitchen table, quietly munching on a piece of toast. He was conducting a sort of experiment-something Remy had suggested to him at some point-and today he was giving it a try.

Most of the current residents of the mansion milled about in the kitchen, filling their breakfast plates and talking. Tension was running a little high because Gambit was in the room, but as far as Bobby could tell, the thief was happy to ignore it. He and Storm had entered together, talking animatedly, and Bobby was glad to see that Storm had taken his advice. And with her usual flair, he thought, remembering his brief and somewhat bleary encounter with Gambit the night before. He did wonder just what part the champagne and roses had played, though. Tsking to himself, he steered his thoughts away. They were both consenting adults. And if anything interesting had happened, he was certain he could get it out of Remy eventually.

So far, not one person had said good morning to Bobby. He found himself wanting to laugh at how blindingly simple it was, but that would ruin his experiment. He was, for all intents and purposes, invisible. Except to Gambit, who he was certain had noticed him, though he had given no sign. Bobby suppressed his grin. It was the true art of invisibility. Even Wolverine, though he could certainly smell him, hadn't consciously registered Bobby's presence, and until Bobby did something to bring attention to himself, he probably wouldn't.

"Ah heard somethin' interesting on the mornin' news," Sam said, stirring his eggs with his fork. As always, he seemed a little bashful, as if he felt he might be speaking out of turn. Ears perked up though, since Sam rarely started conversations at the table.

"Is this interesting-good or interesting-bad news that you have to report?" Hank was already halfway through his second plate.

"Uh, good ah suppose."

The X-Men watched him with collective interest as the other conversations around the room stilled. Sam blanched ever so slightly. "Ah heard they made an arrest in that jewel heist."

Around the room, eyes snapped to Gambit, who leaned casually against the sink, chewing on a piece of bacon. He returned their gazes with flat disinterest.

"Who was it?" Logan asked.

Sam shrugged. "Ah don't right know. Some guy in Chicago. They found a bunch o' the diamonds in his apartment."

Bobby frowned to himself. Who in the world did the police arrest? The fence?

Scott turned to Remy, and Bobby could read the suppressed anger in his face. "Why didn't you just tell us you didn't do it?" he demanded.

Remy snorted and tossed the half-eaten slice of bacon back onto the plate. "'Cause den y' would have t'ought I was a liar as well as a t'ief."

The two men stared at each other in tense silence until Remy pushed himself away from the counter and strode from the room. Scott watched him until he had disappeared from sight and then turned back to the table with a frustrated sigh.

"He should have said something," he said to no one in particular.

Ororo cocked her head and regarded him coolly. "On the contrary, Scott. He should not have needed to."

Bobby fiddled nervously with the cuff of his shirt while Remy watched him in amusement, the heavy folds of an ornate cloak draped over one arm. Bobby wasn't used to the archaic styles that the Guild used for its ceremonial dress, and the strings that held the linen shirt together itched intolerably.

"How much longer?" he asked Remy for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"A while." Which was all the answer Remy had ever given him to that particular question. Bobby wasn't sure whether it was because he was being purposely vague, or if he just didn't know.

They were standing in the center of a small anteroom off of the main Guild Hall. Bobby had been in the Hall only once before, and found the atmosphere daunting. It was a bit like being in a cathedral. The anteroom was reassuringly small, with soft carpet and a couple of padded chairs. Not that Bobby could sit. He'd tried it once, only to jump up five minutes later and return to his restless meanderings. If the induction ceremony didn't start soon, he was certain he would die of impatience. It seemed like they'd been waiting forever.

Remy finally stirred himself and shook out the long cloak he was holding. "Here. Y' might as well put dis on. I'm gon' have t' go in a minute." The cloak was made of some kind of heavy black cloth and trimmed in coarse black fur. An abstract-looking design was stitched into it with gray thread. Bobby knew that the pattern was the Guild emblem, but he had yet to decipher exactly what it was supposed to be.

The cloak was even heavier than Bobby expected, and he shifted his shoulders uncomfortably while Remy gave him an appraising stare.

"Y' sure y' wan' do dis, Bobby?" The question was gentle.

Bobby paused, thinking. Remy was giving him one more chance to walk away, and that in itself was significant. He wasn't the type to repeat himself. Unconsciously, Bobby rubbed the back of his neck. Remy had walked him through the steps of the ceremony, and had explained in detail the commitment Bobby would be making to the Guild. Remy had tried to impress on him the fact that, after tonight, he would never be able to walk away. No matter what life he lived, he would be marked permanently as a member of the Guilds. It was a stigma-and, oddly enough, a responsibility-that he would never be able to erase. But it was also a doorway to a world Bobby was only just beginning to see. A Guild thief had access to people and information that most of the rest of the world didn't even know existed. And, it was his only access to Diedre. It seemed strange that he was willing to make a lifetime commitment to something that went against everything he was raised to believe was right, just for the chance to spend the rest of that life with her. But Bobby knew that it was more than that. Yes, Diedre was part of his motivation, but the truth was that he wanted the life Remy had shown him. He knew it would cost him his middle-class, suburban innocence, and maybe more. But there were amazing resources out there, and people like Gambit had so much more power to help mutants than even the X-Men.

"I'm sure," he answered, and thought he saw a flicker of approval in Remy's eyes.

"Den I'd better get goin', neh?" He flashed a grin and turned toward the door.

"Uh, Remy?"

The other man paused with his hand on the doorknob and looked back.

"In case I forget to tell you later. . .thanks."

Remy turned all the way around. His expression was skeptical. "F' makin' y' a t'ief?"

Bobby shook his head. "Not really. For. . . opening my eyes." He grinned self-consciously. "For having a little patience. For believing in me when nobody else did."

Remy looked away, seeming almost embarrassed. "Wasn' not'ing." Then he looked up, his expression unreadable. "Besides, maybe it should be me t'anking you."

"What for?" It didn't seem like Gambit had gotten much besides trouble from the whole thing. Even now, Bobby didn't really understand why he had done it.

Remy only shrugged, but a teasing smile leaked around the edges of his poker face. "F' havin' a little patience. F' believin' in me when nobody else did."

Bobby blushed hotly and Remy chuckled. Then his smile faded. "Y' done good, Bobby. Don' let anybody tell y' different."

Bobby took one last, deep breath and started down the path marked out for him. To either side, seven-foot candles shed uneven light on the ancient wood of the Guild Hall floor. All around him, outside of the limits marked by the candles, stood the thieves. They were silent as only those trained to it could be, and they seemed more like a gallery of shadows than real people. Bobby tried to ignore them and to ignore the fluttering in his stomach. Instead, he forced himself to focus on the way in front of him.

The candlelit pathway brought him to the front of the Hall, where he paused. The floor before him had been marked with a giant triangle, perhaps six feet on a side. He was standing exactly at the midpoint of the base, with the boundary less than a step away. A robed figure stood at each point of the triangle, their faces hidden by folds of cloth. The two that stood at the corners of the base were dressed in gray, and a brazier stood in front of each. Bobby looked briefly at the glowing coals, stomach twisting, then forced himself into motion.

He stepped into the triangle and walked to the center, equidistant from each of the figures. As custom required, he bowed first to the figure at the apex. That was supposed to be Remy, but Bobby couldn't tell beneath the encompassing black robe. Then he turned to his right and bowed to the second figure, who should be Michael. Finally, he bowed to the third figure. The approval of three Masters was required to complete the ceremony, but Bobby had no idea who Michael had invited to take the third position. Even Remy hadn't known.

The circle complete, Bobby stood facing Remy once more. Now, he took the four steps that brought him up to his Master. In the silence, he was certain Remy would be able to hear the nervous hammering of his heart.

Remy reached up with black gloved hands and pulled the hood away from his face. He smiled briefly at Bobby, an expression that disappeared as he raised his head to look out at the assembled Guild. His eyes lit with their familiar red glow.

"Does de Guild hear?" he asked, his voice ringing in the giant room.

"We do," the crowd answered in unison. The knot in Bobby's stomach tightened another notch. The entire Guild was assembled, and all of them were watching him. How he carried himself through the ceremony would determine, initially, at least, his position among his new peers. It wasn't an official ranking, but this was when most of the guildmembers would form their opinions of him.

Remy turned his attention back to Bobby, who straightened unconsciously. "Robert Drake, what is y' petition?"

Bobby fought down the urge to clear his throat. These questions were ritual and he knew the answers to give, but that didn't keep him from being terrified.

"Master, I seek position in the Guild." His voice came out nearly normal, and a lot more confident-sounding than Bobby expected.

"What do y' offer for y' acceptance?"

Bobby reached into the single pocket sewn into the cloak he wore and pulled out the lumpy velvet bag inside. He opened the mouth and poured the contents into his palm. The candlelight reflected from the thousands of facets, making the pile of diamonds glow with unearthly brilliance. Bobby knew he was staring at something close to a million dollars, and that they were a portion of the diamonds that Bobby himself had taken.

As required by the ceremony, Bobby spilled the diamonds at the Master's feet. They scattered in a shower of light, the sound of the stones tumbling across the floor seeming inordinately loud in the quiet chamber.

When the sound had died completely, Remy looked past Bobby once again. "Does de Guild accept de offer?"

"We do," they answered again, and Bobby heaved an inward sigh of relief. That was their only chance to deny him entry into the Guild. But, the hard part was still ahead.

Remy looked back at Bobby, who realized suddenly that he could not even see the scruffy X-Man beneath the mantle of authority worn by this Master Thief. Remy would give him no slack because he was an X-Man. Nothing counted here except the law of the Guilds. The red gaze was downright daunting, but Bobby held his chin up.

"What oath do y' make to de Guild?" Remy asked him.

"Blood oath," Bobby answered, and felt a small chill. Blood oath was the most binding agreement. It meant that he would surrender his life before betraying the interests of the Guild or compromising the safety of its members. It also meant that the only punishment for defying the Guild was death. Remy was a very rare example of one who had gone against his Guild and lived, and Bobby's understanding was that there were some questions as to how honorably the New Orleans Guild had acted in the whole situation, so they had not pursued the death penalty.

Bobby understood that, in some ways, he had just placed his loyalty to the Guild above his loyalty to the X-Men. Yet, if his purpose in serving the Guild was to protect mutants, he would still be following the ideals of the X-Men, though maybe not in a way they'd appreciate. It was a dichotomy he wasn't yet certain how he would handle.

A slim dagger appeared in Remy's hand as if he'd conjured it. Bobby was becoming observant enough that he was fairly certain he could identify the sheath's location, despite the fact that he hadn't consciously seen Remy draw the blade.

Hoping that no one would see his nervousness, Bobby extended his arm. Remy caught his hand in a firm grip and drew the dagger across his palm. Bobby managed not to jerk in his grasp at the sudden pain. Blood oath required blood. The wood where Bobby stood was stained black with the blood of those who had gone before him. It was a symbol of unity, and a symbol of the combined commitment of the thieves to their Guild.

Remy held Bobby's hand out while a thin trail of scarlet splashed down onto the floor, coating the diamonds that lay scattered at their feet. Then the dagger disappeared, to be replaced by a strip of gray cloth that Remy wound around his hand. That done, he released Bobby, and the young mutant braced himself. There was only one question left.

Remy's gaze bored into him. "Will y' accept de mark of y' Guild?"

This is your last chance, Bobby, he told himself. If you want to run, do it now. But he was rooted to the floor-frightened of the choice he was making, but somehow utterly certain that he did not want to do anything else.

"I will," he told Remy. He could tell from the other man's expression that he could feel the certainty of his statement.

Remy nodded. "Den kneel, t'ief."

His stomach twisted painfully tight, Bobby did so. Remy mirrored him, and they faced each other across the span of a mere foot. Remy said nothing, only reached towards him. Bobby did not resist as he arranged their arms in a complex grip with Bobby's hands wrapped around the Cajun's forearms and vice versa. He thought it looked a lot like that arrangement by which two people could carry someone in a sort of chair made by their arms. But whatever it was, Bobby was grateful for the solidity of the hands holding him. His own palm burned painfully, but he didn't loosen his grip. He welcomed the distraction.

Behind him, the other two Masters approached. Bobby heard the dual scrapes as each set down the tall brazier he had carried with him. Remy's fingers tightened on his arms, but he didn't look at the older man. Instead, he closed his eyes and waited.

This was the hard part. The Guild marked its members indelibly, as it had done for centuries. In past eras, the mark was simply a brand, seared by heat. But modern technology made a simple scar too easy to duplicate. Now, the mark was a fine filament of gold polymer alloy that was fused into the bone at the base of the skull. It did not contain enough magnetic material to set off even the most sensitive of metal detectors, and would not interfere with medical equipment like a CAT scan. However, it would show up on an X- ray, though only faintly, and the scar remained as an outward proclamation of membership in the Guild.

Bobby felt hands in his hair, pulling it away from his neck. He understood now why thieves rarely wore short hair. Another hand took hold of the top of his head, forcing him to bend forward. Between the hand on his head and Remy's iron grip on his arms, Bobby found himself nearly immobilized. Just as he was beginning to wonder if something had gone wrong, he felt a tremendous stab of pain in the back of his head. He jerked against the hands that held him, but the combined grips held him down. His vision went completely red behind his closed eyelids as the smell of burnt flesh assaulted his nose. It was the most agonizing thing he could remember ever happening to him.

"Breathe," a familiar voice reminded him, and Bobby struggled to unlock his lungs. After a moment, he drew a shuddering breath. I'm not sure I can do this again, he thought desperately. The Guild mark actually had two parts, upper and lower, which represented both the specific Guild chapter Bobby was becoming part of, and the Master who was responsible for his training. The first half was done, bonded to his skull with the intense heat of the chemical fires burning in the two braziers.

For a single moment, Bobby considered running. He could escape the men that held him easily by transforming himself to water and sliding out of their grips. In fact, he could simply deaden the pain by going to his ice form. But enduring the pain was part of the ritual. It was a test of his commitment, and he knew that he would be forever proven a coward if he ran away now.

But I'm not a coward, and I'm not a loser, he told himself with determination. That was, perhaps, the most fundamental thing he had learned in becoming a thief. And so he did nothing except cling more tightly to Remy, taking some comfort from his calm, solid presence.

The second time was worse than the first, it seemed, and left him dizzy from the pain. But after a moment, something cool and soothing touched him, and he realized that someone was putting salve of some kind over the fresh burns. Having seen Remy's mark, he knew that the entire thing was no larger than a quarter, but for now it felt like they had lit half of his head on fire.

The hands that had been holding his head released him, and Bobby cautiously opened his eyes. He was almost afraid to believe it was over.

"T'ink y' c'n stand?" Remy's grip eased on his arms. His voice was pitched so low that only Bobby could hear it, and filled with concern.

Bobby gingerly raised his head and met the other man's gaze. "Only if you don't mind me throwing up on your shoes."

Remy grinned. "Now I know y' all right. C'mon." He put his hands beneath Bobby's elbows and helped him to his feet.

Bobby slouched a bit further in his chair and uttered a soft sigh. Though the party that raged around him was entirely in his honor, he was not expected to do much beside sit in his place and receive the various guildmembers that came to introduce themselves or simply offer congratulations. It was a good thing, too. His head throbbed despite the thin layer of ice he'd conjured to cover the injured spot. Mostly, he just wanted to lay down and sleep, but it would be many hours before he could leave without insulting the Guild. For now, at least, he was relatively comfortable, and filled with a bizarre kind of excitement as the impact of what he had just done sank slowly in.

He noticed someone breaking away from the crowd to approach him, but didn't lift his head until the other's shadow had fallen across him. He found the third Master Thief standing before him, hand outstretched.

Bobby was sure his curiosity showed as he accepted the handshake. While watching the crowd, Bobby had seen Remy deliberately change course to avoid this man. Repeatedly. It wasn't from fear, Bobby was pretty sure, but there was definitely some bad blood there.

"Robert, it's a pleasure t' meet y'," the Master said with a surprisingly genuine smile.

"Bobby, please," he replied, even as his mind registered the man's accent. A number of details cascaded into place and he blinked in surprise. "Hey, you must be-"

"Jean Luc LeBeau." The man nodded with a sour smile. "I take it m' son didn' tell y'?"

"Uh, no. `Fraid not." Bobby looked out over the crowd, searching without success for a familiar lanky form. Jean Luc turned as well, but shrugged after a moment and turned back to Bobby.

"Dat's no surprise, I suppose." His expression was momentarily sad, but then firmed. "But it's f' de best."

"Kicking him out of his home?" Bobby was surprised by the rancor in his tone. He didn't know Jean Luc, and he had no real idea what had happened between father and son. But the lonely ache he'd seen occasionally in Remy's eyes made him angry, and here was one of the people who was most responsible for it.

Jean Luc's gaze narrowed, though his expression remained mild. He hooked a nearby chair with his foot and sat down, regarding Bobby thoughtfully. "Y' care about m' son." It was a statement, tinged with approval.

Bobby nodded. "He's a good friend."

Jean Luc pursed his lips. "Dat's good." Then he sighed. "Truth is, de Guild's too. . . small f' Remy. He'd be miserable in New Orleans." He shrugged uncomfortably. "Dere was no ot'er way t' set him free."

Bobby considered that and had to admit the point, as well as the obvious fact that Jean Luc loved his son. "I'm not sure Remy sees it that way, though," he answered.

Jean Luc gave him a smile filled with regret. "Probably not."

Remy resisted the impulse to look over to where his father and Bobby sat, talking animatedly. It's not his fault, he reminded himself sharply. Michael did dis. Despite the widening rift between himself and his father, Remy knew that Jean Luc would never have come for the ceremony had he know Remy was involved. It was too painful a reminder of his permanent banishment from the New Orleans Guild. Michael, of course, had jumped at the chance to rub Remy's nose in the fact, all the while pretending that it was a gesture of respect to invite the Master who had trained him. And since most of the guildmembers did not know enough about Remy to understand the subtle insult, he was forced to plaster a smile on his face and make like everything was fine. But inside, he was seething.

A hand closed on his shoulder, startling him. He stifled his reaction by sheer force of will. He hated crowds-they messed with his spatial sense to the point that he had to damp it down as far as possible to keep the constant, overwhelming motion from making him nauseous. He turned to find Michael standing behind him, a smug smile playing about his lips.

"Remy, congratulations." The words oozed sincerity, and Michael nodded toward Bobby. "He's quite a credit to you."

As much as Remy detested the man, he had to admire how well he was playing his advantage. There was absolutely nothing Remy could do except be gracious, knowing that Michael was well aware of how much he hated it. He could literally see the other man gloating.

"T'ank you. I'm sure he'll be an asset t' de Guild, too." Remy managed to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. Briefly, he wished he'd been born with Bobby's powers. Then he could just freeze a couple of synapses in Michael's head and drop him where he stood. He pushed the thought away. Killing Michael was the easy solution, and he did not ever intend to take another life just because it was convenient. The X-Men had had that much effect on him. His anger dimmed as he realized something: The reason he disliked Michael so much was because he was exactly the kind of man Remy could have become had he never met the X-Men.

"There he is." Bobby spotted a familiar thatch of red hair above the sea of bodies. Jean Luc craned his head to look, then nodded. Bobby watched his expression, wondering at the brief yearning he saw there.

"Do you want to talk to him?"

Jean Luc gave him an appraising look. "Y' very observant. Remy taught y' well." There was a note of pride in his voice, and Bobby couldn't help but blush a little. Something in him had warmed up to Jean Luc immediately, and he was beginning to feel like he'd just inherited a grandfather. He sat up slowly.

"We could wander over there."

"I don' t'ink Remy wants t' talk t' me."

Bobby grinned. "That's o.k. You'll be with me, and he can't avoid me. Not tonight, anyway. It would be rude."

Jean Luc stood, chuckling, and offered Bobby a hand. "Den I t'ink we should wander."

Remy spotted the two working their way toward him with a sense of dismay. What was Bobby doing? With his trademark naiveté, he was about to put Remy in an extremely uncomfortable situation. Remy met the young mutant's gaze, hoping to warn him off. He really did not want to talk to his father-- not now, not here, and especially not in front of Michael.

Bobby returned the stare diffidently and then, to Remy's immense shock, winked. A burst of outrage swept through him. Dat brat! He knows exactly what he's doing! But the anger was quickly followed by a wash of admiration. An' f' de first time, Bobby is managing t' manipulate me. Amazin' how far de boy's come.

He couldn't help but give Bobby an appreciative smile as the two walked up. But the smile died when he turned to Jean Luc.

"Father."

"Hello, Remy." They stared at each other in silence until Jean Luc turned to Michael, his expression one of carefully maintained neutrality. "I hope you'll excuse us. We have some catching up t' do."

Michael frowned at the abrupt dismissal, but since Jean Luc outranked him, there was little he could do. He inclined his head in the barest symbol of acquiescence, then turned away.

"Dat means you, too," Jean Luc told Bobby with a smile, and Remy had to wonder about the affection he saw reflected in his father's face. Bobby had this incredible gift for making people like him, and it seemed to have already taken hold of Jean Luc. Remy felt a stab of jealousy. It had been almost nine years since the last time he'd seen that simple affection directed at himself. Their relationship had become much too complicated for that.

Bobby did not seem the least disappointed to be sent away, and he left them with a cheery wave. Prob'ly t'inks he's helpin' me by makin' me talk to m' father. Remy snorted privately. He's prob'ly right.

Sighing, Remy turned to his father. "Been a long time, neh?"

Jean Luc nodded. "Too long." They stared at each other in uncomfortable silence until Jean Luc cleared his throat. "I've missed y', Remy."

Remy looked away, unable to meet his father's gaze. Been a long time since I had somebody pushin' me t' do what I needed to. But the tight knot in his stomach loosened a notch at his father's words, and he risked a glance toward the young man walking away from them. I'm beginning t' t'ink I'll always be grateful y' followed me t'rough de rain dat day, Bobby.

 

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