Thick as Thieves - REVIEW THIS STORY

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

Chapter 20

Bobby walked down the sidewalk to Diedre's apartment, his heart pounding in his chest. Part of him still couldn't believe what happened the night before. The ceremony, the blood. The fact that he now had more ties to the Guild than to the X-Men. Not loving ties to be sure, but he could leave the X-Men if he chose. He could never leave the Guild.

It's worth it, he told himself again. For Diedre it is. She was worth it. He'd do a thousand things worse than be a thief to win her love.

Reaching the apartment building she lived in, he went inside, smiling at the guard by the desk. He'd come by enough that they all recognized him, but they didn't stop watching him. Not maliciously, though. Everyone seemed to know he was a tutor of some kind. No one apparently would ever dare to even start a rumour that he and Michael's wife were doing anything other than lessons.

*At least I've got that in my favour,* he thought ruefully. *Michael considers me to be such a weenie that I couldn't possibly try anything with his wife.*

Sighing, the young man got in the elevator and went up to the penthouse. Getting out into the foyer, he knocked on the door, and grinned as Frank opened it for him.

"Hiya."

Frank's expression was bleak. "She's upset," he said. "I'll go take a walk."

Worried, Bobby pushed past him as he went out the door. "Diedre?" It was cold in the apartment, a thin layer of ice on the windows. She IS upset, he thinks, and headed through the apartment, searching for her, before he finally reached the bedroom.

It was the second time Bobby had seen Diedre's bedroom, but he didn't get a good look last time and as he knocked and stepped into it, he saw that it was, like the rest of the apartment, Michael's room, not hers. The carpet was a thick, rich maroon, the walls paneled in heavy, dark oak. The bed was of the same oak, almost black, with silk bedsheets of a maroon the same shade as the floor. Dark paintings lined the walls, with photographs of Michael shaking hands with important people. If Diedre was in any, she stood in the background, demure.

Diedre herself sat on the edge of the bed, dressed in black with kohl around her eyes, looking like death in a room that could never suit her beauty.

"Diedre?" he whispered, and her name echoed in the cavernous room.

She looked up at him with eyes that had been crying. "Bobby?"

He nodded, coming over to sit beside her worriedly. "Yeah. You okay?"

To his horror, she flinched away. "Just go," she told him. "I don't want to see you again."

Delicately, Remy sipped at the cup of tea, fully aware that the porcelain cup itself was priceless, and supposed to be in a museum in Hong Kong. *Pro'ly tryin' t' piss me off. He know my feelin's 'bout dat kind o' stealing.*

"Merci for de tea," he said, trying not to show the extreme care he used in placing the thousand year old cup back into its equally delicate saucer. "An' de meetin'."

Michael smiled regally, his eyes slightly narrowed as he regarded his unwelcome visitor. Remy had to fight down a surge of excitement. It was a very dangerous game he was playing and that always got his blood flowing. Especially this one. Michael wasn't a man to cross, not if one wanted to stay healthy. But then again, neither was Remy.

"You said you wanted to see me?" he asked smoothly.

Remy nodded evenly. "I did. I been talkin' wit' some friends an' dey tol' me 'bout some int'restin' t'ings."

Michael's brows rose, his hands steepled before his face. "Really?"

"Really." Remy nerved himself to take another sip. "Dey hear 'bout a job dat go down at de gold depository for de city. Int'restin' work."

The Guildmaster's head tilted to one side. "How so?"

He knew what he was talking about, they both knew that, but still the game of dance and insinuate went on. Remy shrugged. "Ten million in gold bars stolen. It not hit de papers yet, might not ever if we lucky." And if the million in bribes he'd scrounged up just that morning for everyone who knew held.

"Ten million. That's quite impressive." Michael downed his cup nonchalantly and poured himself some more, showing his indifference to the value of his belongings as he let the teapot he used bang against the rim of the cup. The word 'clumsy' flitted through Remy's mind, but he didn't say it.

"Oui. Spec'lly de way de deal go down." He leaned back in his chair. "Somebody cut a hole in de side o' de wall into de vault."

"Oh?" Michael filled Remy's cup. "What did the thief use? Acetylenes? Lasers?"

Remy smiled grimly. "Mut'nt powers."

"Really?" Even if Remy hadn't known what really happened, Michael's comment sounded fake. But of course, that was also part of the game. Michael was challenging him, to see how he'd react, what mistake he would make. They'd been playing this game since Remy came to New York, long before Bobby stepped into the picture and became just the newest pawn. A comment here, a laugh at the wrong tone there. Cut, parry, dodge, swing. Verbal and mental fencing that held the fate of a city as the reward for the other for one wrong move. Desperately, the Cajun hoped he wasn't about to make that one. Michael had more experience than even he did, and a mind that encompassed a thousand possibilities all at once. He wanted the younger mutant dead, but so far, he didn't have the excuse he was digging for. Remy had to be careful to stop him without giving him one he couldn't get out of.

"Really," he replied again. "An Alpha class mut'ant cut int' de vault and stole 'nough gold t' coat a street. Den jus' stroll out 'gain, nice an' sweet. Just one, mind. He have took more if he had ot'ers t' help."

Michael smiled. As Guildmaster, he should condemn the thief, for disobeying Guild law about using powers on a job if he were a member, for trespassing if he weren't. If he did, Remy would have him, but he doubted he'd make such a huge mistake.

He didn't.

"How fascinating," he said, sipping his tea, his gaze never leaving the Cajun. "How can you be so sure it was a mutant?"

He gave a simple shrug. "'Cause de one who did it makin' a statement. 'Don' matter what y' secur'ty. I c'n get in. I c'n do it an' not get caught. I c'n use powers and get more faster dan wit'out.' Makin' lots a statements." He smiled at him. "'Sides. I recognize de power signature."

Michael hesitated just the faintest fraction of an instant and Remy felt a surge of success. "Is that a fact?"

"Oui."

The Guildmaster nodded, finishing his cup and pouring himself a third. "Would you like some more?"

"Non. Merci."

"Very well." He finished pouring himself and sipped appreciatively. "It's a delicious brand, is it not? I have it shipped in from China."

"It an ex'llent brand. Where de location? I might get some m'self."

"I'll give you the address."

"Merci."

Michael sipped, looking at him with mild curiousity. "How did you come to recognize this power signature you speak of?"

It was part of the bribe. "I got friends in de gov'ment. De ones who invest'gate big crimes." Namely the kind that could be pinned on mutants. "Dey tell me 'bout de heist an' 'vite me t' come look." At a price.

"That was very nice of them."

"Oui. I t'ought so. So I go an' see de burn marks, an' I knew it be mut'nt work. Dey knew too."

And they were going to be searching New York for a mutant thief, he didn't say next. And they were good, really good, and they just might end up finding out about the existence of the Guild and how could you let this happen you're a stupid selfish arrogant bastard you idiot you're risking us all...

Remy smiled. "May'e I have more tea a'er all, n'est pas?"

"Of course." Michael's hand didn't tremble at all as he poured.

Bobby felt himself trembling. It was all for nothing. All the training, all the sacrifice, the mark on the back of his neck, the oaths to a Guild that went against everything he'd been raised to believe. All for nothing.

"W-what?" he gasped. "Y-you don't want to s-see me?" He could barely get the words out.

Diedre's eyes were filled with tears as she tore his heart out. "It's just... not a good idea."

"Not a good idea?" he parroted, feeling confused.

"No." She looked down, her long hair hiding her face. "You're in the Guild now."

*But I joined the Guild to be with you,* he wailed without speaking. "I - I - I - I ..."

Blue eyes he could die in looked up at him, miserable. "I - I love you," she admitted. His heart sang. "But you're Guild now. You have to obey the Guildmaster. Your own master can't protect you anymore. Not from the kind of politics Michael plays. If Michael even suspected how I felt, he'd kill you. And no one would be able to stop him." A tear he desperately wanted to brush away trickled down her cheek. "I couldn't bear that."

Bobby looked at her, the woman he loved, that he'd given up so much for. That he'd expanded his world so much for. Her smile wasn't all he'd gotten by falling in love with her that day in the library. He'd gotten Gambit's friendship, his own self respect...

An enemy who could have him destroyed without anyone who would say no, not even the X-Men who could never know about it.

He looked at Diedre, so pale, so thin, looking like a corpse in the black she was forced to wear. He looked at her and thought of her spending the rest of her life in black, dressed in mourning while she still lived to please Michael. Mourning the betrayal of husband to wife. She'd never wear yellow again, he knew. Never smile a smile that wasn't forced or had pain hidden behind it. She'd live her life as an ornament, until the lovelessness of it all destroyed her beauty and Michael replaced her with a younger, prettier wife. Bobby knew he'd wait for that moment. Take in the broken wreck who was left on the street and love her with all his soul. But because he loved her so much, he wouldn't let her go through with that without giving her a better option.

Swallowing, he took both her hands in his own. "Diedre, do you love Michael?"

Her mouth worked numbly. "I did," she said at last.

His grip tightened. "Do you now?"

Tears. "No."

His heart pounded in his chest. "And you love me."

Her eyes glistened with tears. "Yes, but-"

"Then run away with me," he whispered.

"Would you like a scone?" Michael asked.

"Mais oui."

Remy watched as Michael uncovered a basket and used a pair of silver tongs to slide a warm scone onto a plate. Taking it, he set it before himself and cut the scone in half, letting the steam rise up as he put a bit of butter on the edge of the plate and spread it over small pieces that he ate one at a time.

Michael watched him. "So who are these friends of yours?"

*So you c'n kill dem? I t'ink not. S'ides, I been wit' assassins long enough t' know dat no work in de end.* He laughed softly. "Jus' friends. De kind we all got."

"Of course." His smile was like ice. "What was their final conclusion?"

Cut off a bit of scone. Butter it. Eat. Repeat. "What I say b'fore. It an Alpha class energy discharger. One who know how t' disable de security systems first."

"Whoever it was must be very good, then."

*Fishin' f' compliments, Michael?" "Dey one a de best," he shrugged. "Sloppy though."

Michael's face tightened. "Oh?"

It was petty, but Remy grinned anyway. "Dey lef' signs dey been in de hall outside. No prints a not'ing. But de guard got a funny feelin' an' checked de vault. So dey knew hours 'fore de should have. Dey already got all de places it could be sold or transported in de city staked out, an' are doin' spot checks on de highways. F' drunk drivers, dey say. But de lookin' f' de gold." *Which means de ten mill in gold you got sitting in one a y' warehouses 'cause y' got cocky an' wan'ed t' keep it a while ain' goin' nowhere 'till de heat dies down. Providin' dat li'l anonymous tip I sent t' de police ain't been checked out yet.*

"Whoever stole dat gold in a whole world a shit."

Michael smiled, a very dangerous smile shielded in civility. "From you personally?"

Here it was. The true dancing. "Oui, from me," Remy replied, nibbling on his scone, his eyes never leaving his opponent. "De mu'ant who did dis Guild trained. An' if he pull dis off an' get 'way wit' it, ain' not'ing stoppin' de ot'er t'ieves from usin' deir powers on jobs too. His ident'ty not have t' come out. Jus' 'nough f' e'eryone t' know it done. Dat take de whole ball game onto a whole new level. Gonna get a lotta people ver' dead." He shrugged. "An' a few ver' rich."

Michael smiled. "How noble of you. I wish you the best of luck."

Remy grinned at him. "I make m' own luck." And with any, the FBI already had the gold back, and an arrest warrant for Michael. Not as the Guildmaster. There were no records tying him to that, Remy had made sure of that point before he fingered him. Just as a single mutant thief who thought he got lucky but instead got stupid. Michael could evade the Feds, he'd done it before, but thanks to Remy's confession that he was going to track the thief, he wanted him dead. He couldn't just outright kill him, though, not without showing everyone he was the one to break Guild law, but he would be focused on finding an excuse to bring him down. Hopefully, just long enough for the Feds to finish their work. It was the only reason the Cajun had gambled with his own life on the line.

Remy finished his scone and pushed his chair back. "Well, I'm done. You?"

"Yes. Thanks for the company."

"Don' mention it."

Diedre stared at him. "Run away with you?" she gasped. "Where?"

Bobby shrugged. "Anywhere. I just want to be with you."

Her eyes were huge. "But - Michael will find us!"

"So? I've got friends who can protect us." If the X-Men couldn't, then no one could. He'd tell them everything, take all the blame. He didn't care what it cost him so long as it got Diedre out of the hellish existence she'd been living in. He dropped to one knee before her, still holding her hands. "Please, Diedre. Come with me. I love you."

She swallowed, her hands trembling like fragile birds in his. "I - I... I'm afraid."

"Don't be. Please, don't be. You'll be safe, I swear it."

Tears glistened in her eyes. "No, I don't think I will be." She sniffed. "But a lifetime in danger with you is better than one safe here."

His heart soared, his whole body ringing until he thought he'd actually faint with relief. "You'll come?" he squeaked.

"Yes," she nodded, sobbing with laughter. "I'll come."

He crushed her to him, his lips locked against hers.

It had been worth it after all.

He finally came up for air after an endless time in the kiss, his lips pressed against her achingly soft ones, her perfume in his nostrils, her ice on his skin. "I love you," he whispered.

"I know," she smiled and pulled away. "I... I need to pack."

"Just take what you need," Bobby told her, leaping for the closet to search for a suitcase. He felt like he could fly.

"I only want to get out of this," she told him and he turned, curious, before his jaw dropped to the ground, his mouth working soundlessly as Diedre, standing behind an ornately decorated silk screen, slipped off her black dress, her silhouette reaching for a pale yellow one hidden in one of her open drawers.

"You want me to leave?" he managed far too late.

"No," she said shyly. "You can stay."

He nodded, his eyes never leaving her as she slipped on the yellow sundress he'd bought her and washed the kohl from her eyes. Even in shadow, he'd never imagined anyone could be so beautiful and the room's temperature dropped in response to his longing. Diedre giggled playfully and swept her jewelry box into the suitcase, along with a few books and undergarments. "That's all I need. Let's go."

Taking her hand with a grin he thought would never leave his face, Bobby led her out of the bedroom towards the front door, just in time to feel it fade away as the door opened and Michael stepped inside.