This story is part of a arch of stories, in the next story,  Brotherhood of the Dark Guide. This story will be crossing with a GDP AU.
This story is for Gail, Casey and Chrissie.

With thanks to Connie for the beta reading, and for Mary for the help with the French.

All mistakes are mine.

Warning for adult situation and language, h/c

Part One
In the near future the genetic code of man will begin to change, and soon a new species of man will walk the earth, Homo Superior, gifted, or cursed, with powers beyond those of normal man, they will be hated and feared, and unless determined people take a stand, it could be the end for everyone.  Battle lines had been drawn.  On one side Professor Charles Xavier, vocal spokesman for the integration of mutant and humans sharing a joint destiny.  On the other, Dr Nathaniel Essex, a powerful mutant himself who believed that in the mutant gene, only the strong could be allowed to survive, to create the Homo Superior that would take their place as the elite of the planet, and he was willing to do anything to achieve his dream.

Dr. Nathaniel Essex looked at his newly acquired mutant. He believed with a fanatical passion that the gene pool of mutant life should be kept pure, and those mutants that failed to fit his profile should be destroyed, before they could breed and pollute the gene pool.

This latest addition would serve as his enforcer. The Canadian Government had created him as their ultimate weapon, a killing machine that never failed in its mission, Weapon X.

The mutant was secured to the examination table, the restraints were holding, but for how long? The cuffs kept his wrists and hands secured flat to the table to prevent the three, twelve inch adamantium retractable claws that emerged from the back of both hands from being used to help him escape.  The same metal covered his entire skeleton, which, coupled with his mutant healing powers, made the man nearly impossible to kill. The punishment he could take and survive was legend in the Weapon X program. Now all Essex had to do was turn Weapon X into his own private weapon of destruction.

Essex was lost in thought when he smelled the cigarette smoke, turning on his heels, he glared at the newcomer.  The tall young man was leaning against the doorjamb, his handsome face showing no emotion, one hand in the pocket of a full-length black duster.  Without reading his mind, he knew that Le Diablo Blanc would be fingering the pack of cards that he always had with him.  In the hands of this particular mutant, a simple plastic playing card could blow up a car, and a pack could take a building down.  Le Diablo Blanc was an Alpha mutant, and more and more Essex was beginning to believe that he might even be that most rare of all mutants, an Omega.  The young man had quite formidable shields to his mind, but nothing that Essex could not batter down, taking what he needed. He sent that message now, and saw the minute shiver run through the lean frame.  He backed it up with a verbal command.

“Get out.”

The young man tossed the cigarette away and it exploded like a firecracker, and then he left.  Essex made a mental note that he would be punished for that; later Le Diablo Blanc would learn his place.

Now Essex was alone with his new prize.  He heard a low, deep-throated growl, looking down into hazel eyes that had changed to yellow, and a feral rage burned from them.  “Good morning Wolverine, its time you met your new master.”

0-0-0-0-0

The two young girls sat in the cell.  They could not see the lab from there, but they could hear the screaming, and somehow that made it worse. Mandy and Katherine had been kidnapped while on a holiday with their uncle and aunt in Chicago.  They had been drugged and brought to god knows where, and all they knew was that somehow they had to escape.  So far the Doctor had kept his hands off them, it was as if he was waiting for something, but they knew that the clock was ticking.

On the plus side, the Doctor would not know how powerful telepaths they were, and what they could do when they linked, and that might just be the ace up their sleeve.

Hearing footsteps they looked up and saw the man that had lead the gang of Marauders that had kidnapped them.  He was walking slowly, an ever-present cigarette burning in his hand, still wearing the floor length coat.  Come to think of it, they had never seen him without it.

Kat linked with her sister, forming a circle of power between them, and then she reached out to grasp his mind, and manipulate him into helping them. But she cried out in pain as he threw her out of his mind, “Merde, petite, y’ can get hurt in dere, keep out of places you’re not invited.”  His smile had a sardonic edge to it, which made Kat take a step back, they had seen what he was capable of doing, and he seemed to be on a hair trigger

Kat felt the shock wave of a telepathic strike, it was like a tidal wave rushing towards him, hitting with a physical impact, the man’s body arched, the cigarette dropping from his fingers as he fell to his knees, his hands clawing at his head as he screamed.

Too late Mandy realized that they had not severed their attempted link to the Marauder, and the telepathic backlash struck out at them. She grabbed her sister’s arm, and clung onto the bars of the cell to keep them upright.  The link between the three was stronger than before and his emotions washed over them.   His shields had been reduced to rubble, and he was broadcasting a raw sexual attraction.

Her face flushed bright red, she shook her head to try and clear it.  With a groan of pain, he managed to drag himself up his feet and stagger out. The heavy door at the end of the hall slammed shut behind him.

Leaning on each other, the girls managed to make it to bed. Kat was still out of it, as Mandy tried to break the link between them and the Marauder, but instead it was growing stronger. She grabbed hold of her sister’s hands as through the link she began to see images from him, blurred and indistinct.

The other Marauders, Essex’s clones of his first team, men now long dead, were drawn to the younger man, circling him, attracted by the raw sexual heat he was broadcasting.  He was outnumbered, but fought as they tried to attack him.  Glowing cards flashed through the blurred fog that surrounded the images.  Cards flashed and people died, then he was brought crashing to the floor, a kick to the stomach sent him flying across the room.  He tried to roll to avoid the follow up kick, but received a glancing blow to the head that left him defenseless.

His attackers closed in to enjoy their prize, only to fall under slashing claws as a creature from hell swept them off the now almost unconscious Marauder.  When the newcomer turned, Kat screamed, and Mandy mentally pulled her sister back from the link, so that she could no longer feel what he was feeling.

But she has seen the vision from hell, his claws covered in blood, dismembered bodies scattered on the floor round their Marauder.  The creature was kneeling down, reaching out, his claws ghosting over the Marauder’s face, then bending he gathered the man into his arms, one clawed hands holding him almost gently in his arm, and his head coming up, growling at another presence that only the creature could see.  The Marauder’s hand pressed against the creature, charging his shirt, blasting the man away from him, the younger man hit the floor hard, and he knew nothing more.

Sometime later, drained, the girls fell asleep.  Mandy woke first, the link was raw, just outside the bars she saw the Marauder, curled on the floor opposite them.  With almost a physical shock she realized that he must have, on some level, followed the thread that connected them back to their cell.  He was huddled on his side, slowly rocking, his arms wrapped round his waist, hugging his coat round him, his long hair like a veil across his face, and he was still broadcasting his emotions, unable to raise his barriers to protect his mind.  She blushed bright red, uncomfortable with the sexual heat from his emotions and shook her sister awake.

“Mister,” Mandy tried again, “Mister.”

This time his eyes opened, and she found herself looking into the demonic red on black eyes that showed so much pain.  “We can help,” when he looked as if he was going to ignore them she added, “Please Mister.”

She reached a hand out and for a long moment it just hung in space, and then, in great pain, he crawled over, she pulled him closer against the bars. Kat was already awake.  “Mister, we’re going to try and boost your shield okay?”

They took his hands, making their circle, but this time including him.  Mandy would act as the anchor while Kat went in, at that moment it didn’t matter that he was a Marauder, he was hurt, and would be hurt even more if they could not shut the sexual lure off.  Even though he had accepted their help, entering his mind was still dangerous.

The mental shields that had thrown them effortlessly out earlier were blasted apart, and in his mind Kat ducked through the hole in them, moving deeper, her sister acting as her lifeline.

Memories flooded through to her mind, some were horrific, so working quickly she began to patch the hole in his shields, gradually feeling the sexual heat fading as it was blocked out.

Getting out was going to be harder, so far he had not made an psychic appearance, passively allowing her to help him, but she got a bad feeling about this. All the time she was working she was looking round for him, waiting for the other shoe to drop.  She pushed back any idea of trying to leave an implanted thought in his mind to make him let them go, it was too dangerous.  With one final look at the shields, she began to withdraw along the anchor line only to find that the shields were moving, rippling like water, his mind was now coming back, and she was trapped.

.

Mandy swore but hung on to Kat’s essence as she felt the change.

Still in his mind Kat felt his presence, no longer dormant, but active; she whirled round to see him stood there, leaning against the shield, dressed exactly as he was in body.  She watched him light a cigarette, and then slowly exhale the smoke.

She knew it was not real, but the mental projection of her self still batted the smoke away.

 “Why y’ doin dis chile?”   His tone was curious, his accent heavy, she could not place it, and then gave up trying, realizing she was becoming sidetracked.

 “Duh, trying to help you, don’t know why, since you’re the one that got us here.

“Den why?”

“Look mister, you were hurting and broadcasting,” she could feel the embarrassment and he was not going to help her, “sex okay, you were broadcasting sex.”  She shifted uncomfortably, “ didn’t seem right.”

“Mon memories?”

“I didn’t see anything,” she saw the look on his face, “Okay, a bit, but nothing I understood,” she shuddered, “whipped cream and chocolate, and that thing,” her hands making a vague shape in the air, “was impossible, it would be impossible right?”

A slight smile twisted his lips, “Sure cher, impossible, time to lower de wall.” There was a hint of mischief in his voice.

“Er, I wouldn’t, its like being propped up at the moment, if you don’t mind giving me a back door, I would appreciate it.”

He gave her smile and pointed behind her.

“Thanks mister.”  She approached the door.

“Merci cher.  Ne pas renonce l’espoir, y’ nevuh know.”

Kat pulled back from the link and gave her sister’s hand a squeeze, as his eyes fluttered open and they looked into the red on black eyes again, but there was calmness in them now.

“Wow,” Mandy muttered, the effect was breathtaking.  Quickly she checked the link, pleased that this time she hadn’t broadcasted her comment to the older man.

There was a noise coming from along the hallway, “Gambit get your ass in here.”  It was Fitzroy, the Doctor’s assistant, a sleazy creep.  Shakily the Marauder got to his feet, he was clinging to the bars of the cell.  For a heartbeat his face showed the pain he was in, then he shut it away, pulled himself upright, and walked out, only Mandy and Kat knowing what it cost him.

0-0-0-0

Dr. Essex didn’t like the crudity of what he had done, but Gambit was a loose cannon, he always had to learn the hard way, and blasting his shields so that he could not control his empathy, or what the ignorant barely literate swamp rat called his ‘Charm’, had been a way of punishing him, until he was needed.

Weapon X was like an feral animal, the Canadians had pointed him at the target, programming him with the information he needed to complete the mission, afterwards his mind would be wiped clear until the next time, each time losing a little more of the man, until only the animal remained.   They had kept Weapon X in a cell, denied any human contact other than that of his sadistic guards, until the next time he was needed.

But to Essex it lacked finesse, Weapon X, code name Wolverine, was the world’s most dangerous killer.  He would be Essex’s enforcer, his own personal assassin, but he needed a keeper, and the journals in front of him had given him the clue that he needed, which had just been verified by Wolverine himself.

Essex smiled to himself.  He had released Wolverine when the Marauders had attacked Gambit, putting the creature in direct conflict with his own men, and it had been educational.

He pressed the button to replay the tape, Wolverine had been like a rat in a maze given two exits, one would take him to the surface, if Essex had been disposed to let him escape, and the other would take him to Gambit.  Wolverine halted, his claws sliding in and out with a soft snitk sound, his head coming up, and he inhaled deeply.  Turning, he began to run down the hallway.  A bare foot had sent the door to the mess room flying open, and he had attacked, at the end of which only one other man had been left breathing, that had been Gambit.

It has proved the report, now was the time to step up the experiment, anger replaced the smile as he saw Gambit standing in front of him, he had to make an effort not to show his total disgust at the idea that he had to use the Antiquarians personal whore to achieve his goal.  He snarled, “go and shower. To Weapon X you smell like the Bourbon Street whore you were when I found you.  Once you’re finished get back here and meet your new partner.”

The Doctor enjoyed the fear that he felt flood through the tall Marauder, but

he was also puzzled, Gambit’s shields should have been destroyed, but instead he detected they had been re-erected, not strong yet, but back up.  He toyed with crushing them again, but he needed Gambit back in the laboratory, and if he shattered his barriers, the other Marauders would try to jump his bones.

Once Gambit had left, the doctor concentrated on Weapon X, the man’s mind was so fractured that he was unable to read it fully.  Revenge, death and hatred of all that was human burned through him, the man replaced by the feral Wolverine at this moment, the hazel eyes were yellow.  Without the restraints he would have been slicing the doctor open without a second thought.

Essex ran a hand over the metal gloves that kept the three 12-inch adamantium blades from extending from Weapon X’s hands, the same metal that wrapped every bone in the Canadian’s body, making his skeleton unbreakable, a formidable weapon indeed and one that Essex was determined to control.

Finally leaving his prize, Essex returned to the report by Dr. Blair Sandburg of Rainier University, Cascade, Washington.   The Doctor had uncovered a new type of Sentinel, the only mutant one long accepted by the human population, a people that saw the enhanced sensed Guardians as the only defense against the rabid mutants that threatened their lives.  But Sandburg has set academia on its head when he had discovered the Sentinel Primal, the Dark Sentinel, who had shared so many traits with Wolverine that he had seen Sandburg’s work as a way of controlling the feral beast

Key to his plan was the Cajun Marauder Gambit, a strong empath, a level 10, he was going to be perfect, the trigger for the ultimate weapon.  Once bonded or joined their minds would merge, and Gambit would support Wolverine’s fractured mind, filled with so many lies and half-truths programmed into it, that even memories were nothing more than a snapshot of untruths.  The only truth the feral wolverine would accept would be that Gambit was his partner, and where the Cajun led Wolverine would follow. Gambit would give Wolverine the stability he needed for the man to return to dominance over the feral beast.

Gambit would be the keeper of the animal, and only when ordered would he allow the feral animal to come forward, it would prevent the berserker fury that had seen Wolverine kill 20 guards when he escaped the Weapon X compound, and happened every time the animal lost control to berserker rage.

Now was the time to re-introduce them, and bring the experiment to its logical conclusion.

0-0-0-0

Mandy was thoughtful, “you know it would be a lot easier if he spoke English,” she paused and looked at her sister “do you have any idea what he said?”

“Don’t give up hope,” Kat shrugged, “at least I think that’s what he said.  I hope that’s what he said,” she added with feeling.

0-0-0-0

Gambit tugged the black body armor from the bag by the side of his bed, and for a moment just looked at it fingering the dark red stripes at the top of the sleeves. They were the mark of a Guild that would never accept him, and had a contract out on him, his very existence was an insult to them.

The Cajun Marauder pulled his armor on. He knew what they had planned for him and Wolverine, Earth Quake had made sure of that, for some reason the man liked him, and had even watched his back during their missions together.  He had been about to flee when he remembered the girls, he could not leave them now.

0-0-0-0

The explosion threw the girls from the beds.  As they got up the hall was flooding with smoke and through the murky light they saw the tall Marauder.

“Stand back chile,” the warning was given just before he pushed a glowing card into the side of the lock and an explosion blew the door open.

He grabbed Mandy and pulled her out, as she dragged Kat with her. “We’re out of here.”

“What the hell,” Kat muttered, what did they have to lose, they rushed through the maze of hallways, twice Marauders got in the way, but went down in a flurry of cards.

“Gambit,” the name was roared, striding towards them was Dr. Essex.

The Cajun pushed the girls behind him, “get out of here.”  They only got half way down the hallway when they turned back, the Cajun was charging and throwing playing cards, which exploded with the force of hand grenades but seemed to have no effect, Dr. Essex would stagger back, but keep coming.  Mandy threw her sister to the floor as she saw him discharge a full deck at exactly the same time that Essex discharged a ball of energy.  The two collided in mid air, the floor jumped up and then everything began to collapse, a hole opened up and the Cajun disappeared down it.

“Shit,” Kat screamed.  Coughing, fighting for breath, visibility nearly zero in the dust clogged air, they crawled back, the man had helped them and they could not leave him. The red emergency light flickered and then went off for one heart stopping moment, and then it came back again.  At the edge of the hole they looked down, all they could see was flames, but the link was still there, he was alive.

“Gambit,” Kat yelled his name. Then she saw movement a little further down, the floor had collapsed and crashed down through two of the lower floors, The Marauder was laid unmoving on a narrow ledge, and time was running out.

Carefully, Mandy balanced her sisters powers, as they struck down into his mind, his body arched under the pain, getting ready they struck again, his head arched back and he screamed, as the telepathic strike cut through his mind, and his eyes flashed open.

“Up here Mister.”

0-0-0-0

Weapon X looked down from his vantage point, as he saw the two young females and the other older male emerge from the billowing smoke, across the river from where he had emerged.  The male was leaning heavily onto them; both the females had and arm round him, supporting him as he choked on the smoke. Blood coated the side of his face from a head wound, and blood oozed from his mouth and nose.

A snarl rumbled from the throat of Weapon X as he watched his soul keeper heading away from him, but the river blocked him, and the sound of sirens cut through the air, others were arriving now to prevent him stalking the man and reclaiming what was his.  But he would find him one day soon, and then no one would part them.

Part Two
Ten months later

Charles Xavier had located a new Alpha Class mutant in the city of North Lynn, just north of Westchester.  The city was a flash bed of violence with a strong anti-mutant league that had wormed its way into the structure of the City’s administration.  With his X-Men on a mission he needed a contact and pick up to be made quickly, this could not wait.

Alpha mutants were not as common as the newspapers would have the human population believe, most mutants just having low grade powers, if that.  Usually it was just a physical change in them, green skin, blue feathers instead of hair, gills. But in an Alpha Class they have powers that could be lethal, and they needed to be collected before they hurt themselves or the population.  If he failed there were other people, less scrupulous, who would recruit them. His dream, his passion, was for humans and mutants to live together as one, and along the way Xavier had recruited helpers, human and mutant; friends willing to put their lives on the line for the greater good.  And tonight he was going to need one particular friend.

0-0-0-0-0

Paul Taylor picked up the phone.

At 52, Taylor was a Police Detective for the North Lynn PD, and had helped Xavier in the past.  He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, “Hello Charles,” there was a pause, “How can we help? Another Alpha?  Any idea what his or her powers are?”  He felt his wife’s hand on his arm and mouthed Charles name, she nodded. “Okay, we’ll start looking.  Can you give me a fix on their location, right... give me thirty.”   Paul put the phone down and smiled, his wife was already out of bed and getting their warmer winter clothes out.

“How did we get into this Ruth?”

His wife picked up her thermal boots, “remember it started with a phone call about a man called Logan.  Nice young man, short, dark and feral.  Now if I was only twenty years younger,” she teased.

Paul could not help but laugh, “then I would have to fight him for you dear, you know, I think I could win.”

He didn’t take offence when his wife laughed.

He snatched the jumper out of the air as it arched towards his face.  Ruth was already out of the door heading downstairs, pleased that both their daughters were currently at their friend’s house.

As Ruth stepped out of the house, she pulled her woolen hat on and waited while her husband backed the car out of the garage.  It had been snowing for the last week, and the street had that sterile unearthly look to it.  She shivered in the cold, hating the idea that some child out there was running for their life.

They had it down to a practiced art form; Paul would drive while she talked to Charles on the cell phone, relaying the instructions on the location of the new mutant.

Paul had the police radio on low enough for him to monitor the traffic.  There had been a big explosion in the West End where the main banking and jewelry shops were situated, and the alarm calls were coming in thick and fast.

From the radio traffic the perps had been identified as the Marauders, a renegade mutant group, and one of them had blown half of an empty building down.  That amount of power was frightening, Paul gave his wife a worried look, as it seemed that Charles was steering them straight into the war zone.

He pulled the car over and turned the sound up on the radio.  The Marauders had been flushed from the area, and the Mayor’s ‘Special’s’ had been brought in.  Paul’s mouth went into a harsh line, like most police officers the Specials brought a nasty taste to his mouth.  They were nothing more than paid bullyboys who enjoyed smashing heads, god pity any mutant that got in their way.  But the Specials were a political move by a Mayor up for re-election who knew that for humans scared of mutants, they gave the illusion of security.

Ruth handed the cell phone across, “I know Charles, but if your mutants in the middle of that, it’s going to be hard to get them out.”  He thrust the cell phone back, “they’re on the move.”  He put the car into gear and pulled off, fighting the slight sideways motion as they hit the iced road.

0-0-0-0-0

Following instructions they slowly began to track the mutant, his mind, Charles had said several times, was shielded, he or she was like a will of the wisp, hard for the Professor to pin down, even with his telepathic powers.

The figure came out of the side alleyway, Paul only had time to hit his brakes and pray as the car began to slide across the road.  The figure vaulted onto the hood of the car, their booted feet thudding into the window screen, than over the roof and off the boot, they landed, lost their feet on the ice, went down hard, but rolled and came back up and running.

“What the hell,” was all that Paul got out, Ruth swung round in her seat, catching a glimpse of the man; she was pretty sure it was a man, with a long, floor length black duster, boots and flying hair.

She turned back to the cell phone.  “Don’t yell Charles, we see him, fast on his feet.”

A group of the Special came round from the direction he had come.  One hammered on the side window, making her pull back, the hatred on their faces and the need to spill blood was scary.  He backed off when he saw her husband’s police shield.

“Sorry Sir, did you see the way that mutie went, he took the whole building down, he’s fucking dangerous.”  Quickly he apologized, “sorry Madam he injured three of my men, and did the building all with playing cards.  If you see him, bring him down on sight.”  A yell brought the man back to the chase.

Paul exchanged a look with his wife. “He can’t have gone too far, we go round the block we should cut across him.”

Smaller explosions followed the sound of gunfire; it was easy to track the progression of the pursuit.  Looking up Ruth saw a figure silhouetted on the skyline just for a second, then it sailed through the air from one building to the next, and Paul pulled the car to a halt.

“Ruth, the other door.”

This was a calculated risk, the same they had taken when they had confronted a man with a trio of twelve-inch metal claws coming from each hand, and hell bent on slicing and dicing them.

The fugitive mutant was trapped, in the dark of the alleyway he would have to leap the car to get clear, and already the yelling was getting closer.

“Pile in kid, or do you think that you can keep running all night?”

The mutant dived into the back seat of the car, slamming the door behind him, then ducked down into the dark interior.  Paul floored the accelerator and the car was already pulling away by the time the Specials came pounding round the corner of the building.

“Pull over homme.”

“Not yet kid, too much security, unless you would like to explain what was happening back there?”  Paul put it levelly, watching their unhappy guest in the rearview mirror as he sank deeper into the seat.  He frowned; he thought he’d seen a flash of red eyes glaring at him.  He caught a flutter of white in one of the leather-gloved hands, as it came out of a deep pocket in the duster.

“Don’t think about it kid, or I’ll hand feed the card to you.”  Paul put it in his police growl, the one that Ruth always kidded him about, the ‘his way or the highway’ tone.  Now was going to be the hardest bit, getting the kid to stay long enough to talk to them.  He couldn’t see much of their guest, he looked young, long hair, pulled back by some kind of black band, his eyes were now covered by wrap-around dark glasses, his clothing all black.  His hand rested on the back of the passenger seat, and Paul was surprised to see the glove had been cropped back to expose some of his fingers, leaving the others covered.

Ruth turned slightly in her seat to keep an eye on him.  His coat was filthy and from what she could see of his boots and trousers, they were also encrusted with dirt and dust.  She could smell him this close, he could not have washed in days, overlaying it was the smell of smoke that seemed to cling to him, there was heavy stubble on his chin, and she could hear his nails scratching across it as he rubbed his face. He fished out a battered packet of cigarettes, pulled one, and lit it with the tip of his finger. Inhaling with a sigh, he seemed to settle back down, exhaling slowly, savoring the taste of the tobacco.

She beat her husband to the punch; reaching back she took the cigarette from the younger man’s hand and crushed it out in the ashtray.  “Nasty habit stunts your growth.”

Paul had to look away quickly; the young man’s express was priceless. Considering the guy was over 6 foot it was rather a moot point. He just shrugged and seemed to ease down another impossible inch on the back seat, his knee now braced against the back of the passenger seat.

To be on the safe side Paul had decided on a looping course home, because he was getting the feeling that this one wasn’t going to come willingly.  This was no street urchin with out of control powers, this was something very different, and he had just surfaced on his cop’s radar, it was like an itch he could not scratch, and it would not go away until found out what was causing it.

Getting him out of the car safely when they got home was going to be a problem, the kid didn’t look a psycho, but you could never tell.

He felt an increase in the heat in the car and understood, the kid would be cold, perhaps freezing, because that duster didn’t look all that warm. The heat would make him groggy, and perhaps slow him down that fraction of a second that might give them the edge, and he had the feeling that they might need it.

Trying not to be too obvious, Ruth slide her hand into her coat pocket and closed her hand round the stun gun that Charles had given them for their own protection. Sometimes it had been the only way to calm a frightened mutant down until they could be reasoned with.

Keeping her voice pleasant she said,  “Okay young man, we’re home.”

The man was fast, trying to push the door open even as Paul hit the central locking.

“Fuck dat!” The young mutant’s hand snapped up from his pocket; a card glowing was pushed into the lock side of the door, and he threw himself sideways.  The whole of the car’s electrics fried, he twisted, his booted feet smashing into the door, sending it flying open.  Then he froze, as the barrel of the stun gun rested against the side of his head.

“Freeze mister, sit back and keep your hands where I can see them, up and empty.”   She didn’t dare take her eyes off him as her husband managed to get himself out of the driving seat.  “Great, $400 for the system and he fries it. Help a mutant and get your car trashed.” He worked his wife’s door open taking the stun gun off her as she got out, the last thing he needed was the mutant to hurt her if he tried to escape.

“Out you get kid, now it’s either under your own steam, or we knock you out, and you get carried in, it’s going to be dawn soon, so you don’t have a lot of time.”  Paul shrugged, “your choice.”

The man in the duster nodded, slowly easing out of the car.  He was just starting to straighten when he was hit by the stun gun, his knees went from under him, and he hit the ground. A glowing card tumbling from his hand, Paul only just had time to grab the younger man by the scruff of his duster, and drag him clear before the card exploded.

 “Don’t say it Ruthie, I didn’t have a choice.”  Bending he changed his hold on the unconscious man, threw him over his shoulder, and carried him inside before the first of their inquisitive neighbors got to their windows to see what the noise was.

Somehow he managed to manhandle the younger man onto the sofa, and for the first time that night they got a good look at the man they had been hunting.

Despite the half-light in the car they had been right about their impressions, he was young and good-looking. Paul put his age as 23 or 24.  His build was rangy, perhaps a little too slim, dirt mattered his long auburn hair.

Paul opened up the duster, it contained deep pockets, and with his training he was inclined to remove the garment altogether, rather than waste time frisking him, when he could miss something.

Carefully he rolled the man onto his stomach and eased the long black duster off, putting it over the back of one of the chairs well away from him.  The boots the mutant wore had extra protection, and he was dressed all in black, the material had the feel of Kevlar to it.

Looking up he said, “He’s wearing some sort of flexible body armor.”  His hand traced over it, there was added protection round the neck.

Feeling further down the side of the other man’s body, along the thigh, attached to the armor that fitted him like a second skin, he felt a metal tube.  Paul pulled it out and passed it back.  Ruth took it curiously, in length it was only about 12 inches long, she ran her fingers down it and then with a gasp jumped back as it snapped out to five foot in length. “What the hell?”

“It’s a Bo-staff, I remember seeing a demonstration on one of these when they were thinking of replacing the night stick with them a couple of years back.  Put that in one of the pockets of the coat.”  With a click the staff contracted back on itself.

Paul picked up one of the kid’s hands, checking them over. They were grimy and the nails bitten back.

His wife disappeared only to return a few minutes later with the cell phone.  “We got him Charles, he appears to be able to charge up things, and they said that he blew a building down with playing cards.” She paused, “It’s called bio-kinetic energy?  So it’s no good putting cuffs on him.”

Her husband followed her side of the conversation, and motioned for the cell phone.

“I agree we can’t have him running around with that sort of power,” Paul thought for a moment, “I think that if he blows us up it’s because he wants to do it, and not by accident. This kid has full control on his powers, I would bet anything on that.”

Just then he heard a low moan.  “Kid’s waking up,” Paul said as he waved his wife back from the sofa, at the same time switching the cell phone off.

The young man’s eyes opened and with a cry of pain, he threw his hands up to protect his eyes. He was in agony as the light burned the retinas of his eyes.

Ruth scooped up the dark glasses she saw on the floor, pushing them into his hands just before her husband grabbed her, pushing her behind him.

Still keeping his eyes firmly closed, the mutant slipped on the dark glasses.  Slowly the pain began to leave his face.  His handsome features took on a look that was hard to read,

“We were asked to find you by the Professor”; He only got that far when the younger man reacted suddenly.

“Non, no labs, no experiments non!” The younger man tried to pull away from them, looking for an escape route, before he could act  Paul put in quickly.

“You’re safe kid. We can offer you a warm bed, food.”

“So y’ want dis Cajun to spice up your bed? If so y’ can’t afford dis Cajun.”

Ruth tried to calm him, “It’s alright, Professor Xavier isn’t like that, and he helps mutants.”

“Not interested so Y’ let dis Cajun go now, okay.” His tone dropped slightly and there was an edge to his voice, like honey soothing.

Ruth suddenly pulled back, she could feel herself drifting,  “Look, if you don’t want to accept our help alright, but at least have something warm to eat, and get cleaned up, have a bath.”

“Take my clothes off.”

“Of course, you can’t take a bath with them on.”

“Still want to get into my pants oui.”

Ruth had had enough, hands resting on her hips, she pulled herself up to her full height, “Young man do not flatter yourself, it’s below zero out there, and you’re going to freeze if you’re on the street, and that mister is not going to happen.  If you feel happier with your cards take them, but you will get into the bath, change into clean clothes, then join us for something to eat.” She paused, “Good, Paul show mister,” she paused and cocked her head in the younger mans direction.

“Gambit”

“Right,” Ruth acknowledged the name with a small smile of triumph.

Paul smothered a chuckle his wife the unmovable object. The kid was lost the minute he stepped into the car,

“Alright, Paul show Gambit up to the bathroom, and young man,” she looked straight at him, “I am sorry that we had to stun you, and I know that you were hurting before that, so get cleaned up and we will patch you up.  You’re not a prisoner, so there is no need to run.”  She had decided not to try and deal with the gash now, there was time for that later, at the moment she knew that Gambit would not let her get close.

Paul cut in, “this way.”  Somehow Ruth knew that Gambit was not going to run, that coat he had left with her was more than just warmth, although she doubted that a duster would keep him very warm, it was some connection, more personal.  He would not leave that.

Gambit followed the older man up the stairs, somehow Ruth’s honest indignation cut through to him more than any honeyed words. He had tried to sway her, but she had pushed past his influence, and he regretted what he had said, but he still didn’t completely trust them, after all who opened up their house to a street rat.

“That’s the bathroom.” The man’s voice jolted him out of his line of thought, as he thrust some thick towels into his hands.  “You’ll find soap and shampoo in there, see you later.”  He gave him a smile and then started down the stairs before turning back.  “Gambit?”

“Oui?”

“Why the dark glasses?”  Paul asked..

Gambit raised a hand and pulled them off and looked straight at him.

Paul gasped, his eyes were red on black, he had thought he has seen red in the car but that could just have been reflection, they had an almost demonic look to them, but then this was no demon this was a lost, and frightened young man.

“Impressive kid.”

“Y’ not frightened of Gambit?”

“Why?  They’re okay, a little spooky, but okay, I’ve seen worse.  See you downstairs,”

For a moment Gambit just watched him leave, with a shake of his head he turned into the bathroom. He could feel no hostile vibes from them, if anything they wanted to help, what he could not understand yet was why.  They were human, 100%, so why would they be helping a mutant?  There was more to this than the surface, but in the meantime he at least could have a hot meal, a warm bath, and a place to sleep tonight, away from the Specials and the dangers of the street.  So he might as well take advantage while he could.

Part Three

Paul Taylor had driven across to Westchester first thing the next morning, leaving their newly acquired mutant at home, to give a personal report on the newcomer.   Now he sat across the desk from the Professor, who was one of the most powerful telepaths in the world, but he never feared that these secrets would be plucked from his head, if anything the Professor had too many scruples.

“So Paul what’s he like as a person?” Charles folded his hands and leaned his chin on them, looking like a wise Buddha.

“Gambit, that is his street name, is volatile, really fast on his feet, very agile, and his reflexes are like lightening Charles.  But there’s a lot of baggage up here.”  Paul tapped his forehead.  “He’s not the trusting kind. He’s tactile by nature, but pulls back if he thinks there is going to be contact.  I certainly think that if he’s cornered he could be very dangerous. He knows how to look after himself.”

“You sound impressed Paul.”

“I am. I had a look at the damage he caused, and read the reports, very impressive.”

“Did he show any violence towards either of you?”  Charles already knew the answer; Paul would never have left Gambit alone with his wife if there were the slightest question about him.  But he wanted to hear Paul say it.

“Not really, he blew the electronics in the car, but that was flight or fight.”  Paul smiled “one thing, your life is going to get interesting, with two of them in the Mansion.”

“Two of them?”

“The kid’s more like Logan than Scott.  I would bet that in the first 32 hours he will have violated every code of conduct you have in the school. The kid will be pushing the boundaries and, oh by the way, he’s a chain smoker, so good luck Charles.”

The chuckle from the Professor was unexpected; “Scott is going to find Gambit very interesting and perhaps educational.”

For all the Professor loved Scott Summers, the leader of the X Men, like a son, he was all too aware that Scott was rather inflexible in his thinking, expecting all of them to live up to the code he did.

Scott’s first shock had been their resident Canadian, Logan, code named Wolverine.

Logan was a cold-blooded killer, trained by the best to be the best; he had joined the X-Men only eight months ago.  In the X men to kill was a last resort, for Logan it was second nature.  He could be brutal and vicious when needed, and anyone that has seen the animal side of his nature released, when he went feral, never doubted how dangerous the man was.

But they had soon found that Logan has many sides to his nature, he had been hurt and betrayed too many times to allow his defenses down. His trust had to be earned, but under it all was a man worth knowing, a strong and loyal friend. The Canadian’s bad attitude was legend but it was off set by the fact that he did have a sense of humor, which you had to be able to survive long enough to actually appreciate.  He had become a valuable member of the X Men.  Now it looked like Scott’s headache was about to be increased by one.

Paul continued, “He’s Cajun, speaks French and English. His accent is pretty heavy, at times, he’s intelligent, but very closed mouth, and he’s got tons of attitude.

“Attitude?”  Charles echoed.

“You have to see it to believe it. Let me tell you what happened after we got him to the house, remember, I was saying that we had to zap him.  I know, I know, we should not have, but that kid was going to rabbit on us. And believe me he was in no condition to do it.

Earlier Morning..

Paul looked up at the ceiling of the kitchen above which was the bathroom, and the young man called Gambit they had rescued.  He turned to his wife watching her prepare a meal for a man who at this minute was probably riffling their bedrooms before leaving via the nearest open window.

“Quit worrying dear, I am sure that everything is going to be alright. I have a good feeling about this boy.”  She picked up a mug of coffee adding milk and honey.  “Now take that upstairs and make sure he did not drown in the bath.” She waited until her husband reached for the mug and then added.  “Make sure you knock, I think seeing a strange man that close might be bad for him.”

“What did you pick up?”

Ruth shook her head,” just a lot of pain someone’s, hurt that boy in the past.”  She didn’t class herself as a mutant, she just had what she called insight into people, and the moment the young man had come near her, she had felt the need to look after him.

He paused outside of the bathroom door, none of the other doors on the landing looked as if they had been opened.  Paul pushed the door open, and it hit some clothing, he eased in.  The air was heavy with condensation from the hot water.  Gambit laid in the bath, one knee was resting on the edge of the bath, his ankle hooked round the cold water tap, his other leg straight out, one arm hanging down the side of the bath, his head back he looked asleep.  The dark glasses on the closed toilet seat near the bath, where he could easily grab them.  Paul moved further into the bathroom, he could see a burn scar on the younger man’s chest; it disappeared down under the water. On his thigh were several deep claw marks still scabbed and healing, heavy bruising on his hip, again disappearing under the water, and claw mark on his left shoulder.  For a moment he wondered what to do, he didn’t want to make the younger man self conscious, so he eased back out of the door and then knocked hard. As he did it he missed the red on black eyes flicker open and watch him leave.

Paul put his head round the corner of the door, “you awake kid?”  He saw Gambit appear to wake with a start, almost going under the water, catching the side of the tub. He groped for the dark glasses unable to meet the police officer’s eyes until they were covered.  His body was tense, and his hand rested on a wooden scrubber

Paul tried to ignore the fact that he was sure the wood was glowing slightly.  It was to be expected for what his wife had hinted earlier. So he just continued as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Ruth thought you might need this to help warm you up.  It’s alright, don’t worry about the hot water, we have plenty.”   He handed him the coffee and then went out only to return with a clean pair of sweats.  “Put these on and we’ll get your stuff cleaned up.”  He collected the black clothing and took it down with him. As he walked down he was examining the sleeve of the suit, and the four deep red bars on the side; the top bar was a pocket, and inside some more playing cards. In his memory something began to stir.

Gambit yawned. He was tired, and between the heat and warm bath, he was almost asleep. He took a sip of the coffee, and yawned again.  He had let the older man talk, giving him a chance to wrap his charm factor round him.  All he had felt was the honest need for the man to help him. But there were nerves as well; the man was concerned for his family. And for that reason he could forgive him for creeping in the first time.

Getting out of the bathtub, Gambit caught a glance of himself in the mirror; at 24 his body already bore the scars of a hard life.  Twisting slightly he could see the bite mark on his left shoulder, already badly infected it had burst and was bleeding.

Without a second thought he searched through the bathroom cabinets, finding paper tissues and tape he managed to pad the wound and then struggled  into the sweatshirt and pants.  When he stepped out into the corridor, his duster was laid on the floor; he pulled it on, wrapping it round him, his hands frisking the pockets to find out what had been removed.  Everything was in place; even the Bo-staff was lying next to it the coat was the only thing that he owned. It was his most treasured possession.

The cough made them both jump, they were use to visitors stepping on the creaking steps, but the young man had by luck or choice missed them all.  Looking at that smug expression on his face, Ruth was willing to bet it was by choice.

“I wasn’t sure what you wanted so I made a little of everything,” Ruth told him as she ushered him to a seat and placed a large plate of food in front of him.  . She nodded towards the door; silently telling her husband they had to leave Gambit alone to eat, and give him time to think and perhaps decided to stay.

0-0-0-0

“Why y’ help Gambit.”  The young man stood in the doorway to the living room, in his hand a cup of coffee,, between the food, and the warmth of the bath, he was beginning to feel human again. But he still needed to know what was going on. Lowering his barriers, he tried to get a fix on the two other people in the room.  No one went to all this trouble just from the goodness of their heart, like this Professor they were talking about. Sure.  Professor or Antiquarian, all the same they all wanted a piece of him.

“You needed help Gambit, and we’re just glad that we were able to do it.”  Paul answered.

“Rig’t” The sarcasm in that one word was almost like a physical blow.

He eased himself down in the seat furthest away from them, the duster pulled round him, his hand rested just near one of the pockets.

Then with a sardonic smile he removed his dark glasses, and Ruth found herself looking into the red eyes that seemed to burn right through her. She made herself meet his gaze.  He was waiting for her to react to them like everyone had done until this evening, when the man had showed no fear of Le Diablo Blanc.

Ruth closed the distance between them and crouched down, so that she was level with him, her hand resting near his, she reached out and her fingers just lightly touched the side of his face. Again the flinch but he didn’t pull away. “Beautiful eyes, I can guess why you keep them covered, but in this house you don’t have to. Just be yourself, no one is going to judge you.”  As she started to stand up, Gambit caught her, his long slender fingers wrapping round her wrist, she immediately stilled.  It was then Ruth felt it again, warmth fused her face, “there is no need for that.”  She covered his hand, and lightly patted it. Only then did he release her hand and sink back into the chair.

When she turned her back to her husband, she mouthed, “I am all right.” But deep down she was unsettled, there was something more to Gambit than just the ability to charge playing cards and use them as weapons, and this was the second time she had felt it projected at her.

“So what was all the excitement about earlier?”  As a police officer Paul knew he would hear the official version of the events of the night, but he wanted the kid’s version first.”

There was marked silence.

“One of the Specials said that you took a building down, was there a reason, or did you just fancy a bit of demolition?”

“De Maraudeuhs, dey would have killed de ot’er mutants, Gambit had to stop dem.”  Gambit shrugged, “Dey we’re too many, had to brin’ de whole place down.”

“That must have been when you registered on Cerebro.”  Seeing the look Paul explained, “the Professor, he monitors for mutants, trying to locate and help them. He runs a school for the gifted.”

“Gambit too old for school.”

“Well they do other things as well.  Anyway, the Professor called us because he got a spike in this area, an Alpha class mutant, and a real power surge. We’ve helped in the past, and tried to help you.”  He paused, “looks like I interrupted you, you said you brought the building down, with a card?”

“Non, a whole pack,” Gambit’s hand disappeared into one of the inner pockets and brought out a pack of cards, he fanned them out, and they began to glow yellow with energy.

“Gambit,” there was an edge of fear in the voice that called to him.  The woman was frightened, and trying not to show it. He gives her a reassuring smile.

The energy seemed to melt back into his hand, just leaving innocent playing cards, he closed the fan, and they disappeared back into his pocket again.

“What other gifts do you have,” Ruth put in levelly, trying to control her voice, “because I can feel you, feel something.”

For the first time, the young man in front of her seemed to shift uncomfortably, but not talking.

“So you took the building down, what happened next?”  Paul took them on to what he instinctively felt was safer ground.

“Den Gambit got away. Only de Specials came, and it became interestin.” He shrugged.

“I suggest you get some sleep and we can talk tomorrow,” Paul got up, “I’ll get the blankets, you can use the sofa, and Gambit we expect to see you tomorrow morning.”

Later, sinking into bed, Paul leaned over and kissed his wife.  “Another stray in the fold.”  Cuddling down in the blankets, he held his wife close.

With only his own thoughts, he could not help sometimes to wonder at the risks they ran helping runaways, but his mind had been made up the first time he had seen a mutant kid no older than his daughter Mandy, beaten and killed for being different. He had sworn then, it would not happen again.

Downstairs, far from sleeping, Gambit sat on the sofa, the blankets pulled round him like a cloak.  He lit his first cigarette with a brush of his fingertip, and inhaled the smoke, savoring it.  He went back to shuffling his cards, before putting them down on the coffee table with a soft slap as he started one of many games solitaire, not trusting himself to sleep.

0-0-0-0

Paul rolled over and looked at the clock, it was 7:30 am, it was lucky he was on late shift today, it would give him a chance to speak to the Professor and do some research on that armor of the kid’s.

It was then he saw Ruth’s library book lying on the side table forgotten.  It was a classic Terry Pratchett book, ‘Guards Guards’, it had a wacky sense of humor that he found he was slowly taking to, due to both Mandy and Ruth being hooked on the book; ‘All about Guilds’, ‘Assassins Guide’, ‘Seamstress Guild’ and ‘THIEVES GUILD’.

 “Oh my god,” Paul breathed out loud, now he remembered, the Thieves Guild!  Reaching over he picked up the phone and began to dial. A few minutes later he put the phone down, and re-dialed, “operator, New Orleans Police Department please.”

0-0-0-0-0

Surprise, surprise, Gambit was still in the front room.  He had moved one of the chairs into the corner so that he could see both door and window, also he was placed so the light from the window missed him, and during the night he had changed back into his black armor.

His knees were pulled up and he was huddled in his coat.  With his dark glasses on it was hard to see if he was asleep, but from the rise and fall of his chest, his breathing pattern seemed to indicate he was in REM sleep.

Now came the hardest bit, waking him up.  The odds were that he would come away aggressively; it would all depend on the speed of his reflexes

“Gambit,” the moment he said the name the young man was a blur of movement, he powered off the chair, hit the carpet in a forward roll and a card was already flying towards him.

Paul threw his weight on the back of the sofa, upturned it and the card hit the underside. The explosion sent the sofa flying backwards, but absorbed the power.

“Gambit, easy boy, no one is going to hurt you.”  Paul slowly lifted his head over the top of the sofa, waving Ruth back as she rushed in, her hand flying to her mouth as she took in the scene.  He had had to stop himself from reaching for his service weapon. That would only complicate matters.

The younger man was in a crouch, his stance shouted that this was a trained fighter, in his hand were three more cards, each of them charged and ready to fly.

“Back away homme, Gambit don’t want t’ hurt y.”

“I know about the Thieves Guild, I spoke to Commander St. John of the NOPD.”

“Y’ a cop?”

“NLPD.  Easy kid, I am just getting my badge,” Paul pulled it from his pocket with his thumb and forefinger.  “No one is trying to arrest you, but I recognized your armor, and needed to know what a Master Thief is doing in my town.”

“How much y’ know, about the Guild?”

“Enough. St John...”

“St. John, fils d’une chienne.” Gambit spat the words out, the cards glowing brighter.

“Gambit, I sure hope you know what you’re doing, because I would sure hate for this house to blow up because you go supernova.”  Paul’s tone changed to the one he would have used to talk to some psycho gunman, trying to talk them down.  “So why don’t you put the cards away.”

He watched as the glowing charge began to seep back into Gambit’s hand and then vanished.

Only then did Paul get to his feet, keeping his hands clear. “Why don’t we have a chat,” he rolled the sofa back onto its castors, and coaxed the younger man into the kitchen.  As he walked past, Paul stopped to pick up Gambit’s sweat pants and top that had fallen to the floor.  He frowned; there was a bloody stain on the back of the shirt.  He folded it up on its self.  It confirmed what he had seen last night, Gambit had been hurt, but at the moment was too paranoid to admit to it.

The more he thought about it the more he knew that Gambit had to go to Xavier’s school.

0-0-0-0-00

Xavier’s Mansion.

The Professor took a sip of his tea, “I look forward to meeting Gambit, when can you get him to the school?”

“That might be a problem, he certainly doesn’t trust anyone, but we are getting there. If he stays with us a while we can start to get him to trust us, then he might accept the idea of coming to the school a little easier.”

“Try to find out as much as you can about him Paul, it all helps.”

Paul cut across the Professor, “I will let you know.  I think that if I can get the information from New Orleans that a big piece of the puzzle is going to fall into place.

-0-0-0-0-0

Back at the house.

Ruth was cooking; it was her turn to make the biscuits and cakes for the coffee morning. Straightening up, she nearly dropped the hot pan as she turned and found herself nose to chest with Gambit.  His red on black eyes seemed to burn into hers as she tilted her head up to met his glaze.

Y’ homme really trust moi.”

“Of course.”

“De man’s a fool.”

Again she felt a buzzing like sensation in her head.

“Cut that out young man!  Now I don’t think you’re a telepath, but you’re trying something, and it won’t work.  We are helping you because you need help.”  When Gambit started to open his mouth Ruth added, “don’t deny it.  Now get in that room and get undressed.”

Gambit’s lips twisted into a sardonic smile, “Y’ should have ju’st asked fore, Cher.”   His eyes flashed with mischief.

“Young man, if I were younger, and not married, then I might take you up on the offer, but as it is, I am old enough to be your mother, so.”  Ruth gave him a hard prod in the chest, “I know you’re hurting. You’re favoring your right arm, and you’re bleeding, and it needs looking at, so cut the chat, and take this off,” she tugged the duster and armor, “and let me have a look.”

“Oui Madam.”

Ruth caught his arm and turned him to the door, and gave him a push, “I’ll be there in ten.”

0-0-0-0

Ruth had been a nurse before she had had to take early retirement, it had come in useful, and some of the mutants they had helped had been injured.  She knew she was going to have to deal carefully with Gambit, as the young man was skittish.  While he slipped out of the top half of his armor she had her back to him, preparing the supplies she might need. She turned and for a second the breath caught in her throat at the scaring across his back.  Bruising and fresh cuts marred his pale skin, the trousers of his black uniform hung on his hips, and she saw the tissue paper padding.

Her voice was fused with anger, “tissue!  What were you thinking, tissue paper?”  Firmly she tugged him down to sit on one of the chair, but before she could start on the worst of the injury she heard the front door open and her daughter’s voice.  With muttered apologies, she went to meet her, she didn’t want her to walk in on them.

She closed the door behind her.  “Mandy we have company, I am just patching him up, so don’t come in, okay.”

“Sure mom.”

“Now Gambit might be with us for a little while, no need to worry,” she added quick as she saw her daughter’s expression.

“G gambit,” She stuttered.  “That’s his name.”

“Street name, it’s still early days, when he trusts us I am sure we’ll get his full name but at the moment it’s just Gambit.”  She paused, “I best go and check on him.”

“Right mom.”  Mandy took the stairs two at time, sank heavily down onto the bed and pulled out her cell phone.  Her parents had told her over and over again it was for emergencies only, well as far as she was concerned this was a ten-foot high notice with flashing lights saying this is an emergency. She hit the speed dial to ring her sister.

“Kat, it’s Mandy, get home now,” she paused, “Gambit’s here.”

“Stay put and don’t get too close to him, I am coming straight back.  Has he seen you yet?” Kat put in quickly, if he had then the damage might already have been done.

“No.”

“Good keep out of his way.”

The phone clicked off and Mandy sat cradling the phone in her hand. This had all the makings of a disaster waiting to happen.

0-0-0-0

Ruth looked at the bite wound on Gambit’s shoulder, it was deep and badly infected, “ I am not going to hurt you, but that has to be treated.”

All the time she was working on his injury, Ruth kept up a steady flow of words of reassurance,  finally stripping off the gloves she said” you need to keep that clean and I will dress it again tonight”.

She heard the front door open and close, and then footsteps running upstairs, but gave it no more thought as she turned her attention to the Cajun’s other injuries.

Kat joined her sister in the bedroom, not wanting to cross Gambit yet.

“What’s happening?”  Kate demanded.

“Mum and Dad picked up a stray and it’s Gambit. So what do we do, tell mum and dad?”  She paused, “the truth?”  Mandy was not too keen on lying to them.

“Not unless we have to, he got us out of there and nearly got killed doing it, but Dad would not understand, since he kidnapped us, but we keep an eye on him.”

The sound of the door opening brought them both round to face it, “Hi mom.”

“I thought I’d best tell you, we picked Gambit up last night.  He’s an alpha mutant, but there is no need to be worried, he’s been hurt, and the Professor wants him at Winchester, so we hope to get him to accept the offer of a place there.  Perhaps you could travel up with him, you start back on the 15th.”

“Sure mom.”

“You’re going to help with him, he needs to feel that he belongs, that he’s not an outsider.”

“Sure, yeah, sure.”

“Is something wrong?”  Ruth saw the look pass between her two young daughters.

“No, down in a minute.” Mandy put in, trying to look innocent. Their mother was suspicious but had let it go.

0-0-0-0-0

When they finally came downstairs, Gambit was settled into the over stuffed armchair in the far corner away from the window, and he had not changed, still wearing the skin tight black Armour he had been wearing when they had escaped, and the black duster was slung over the back of the chair. Both of them had seen how volatile the Cajun could be, and the result when that anger had been released.

The way he cocked his head slightly it was a good guess that he was puzzled, possibly thinking he had seen them somewhere, but thank god he had not remembered them.  It was better that it stayed that way, until they were all in a controlled place like the Mansion.

Gambit got to his feet, graceful as ever, like a giant cat.  The girls offered to shake hands but didn’t take offence when Gambit didn’t accept it, he was not being rude, it was just that Gambit didn’t trust people, and they couldn’t blame him.

The Marauder frowned, “Salut.”

“Yeah, Salut, Gambit, hope you like it here.”  Mandy shifted, slightly uncomfortable as she felt the brush of his empathy stroking across her mind, he was scanning them.  Mandy kept her thoughts neutral, and watched the tension in the rangy body ease.

“We have homework, best go and finish it.”  Kat put in.

As they left they saw the tolerant look on their mother’s face. She thought they were nervous because they were confronted by a good looking young man.  Hell, her mother should have seen what they had to do for him after the escape from the lab, but whatever she thought was better than admitting the truth.  Gambit needed a second chance just as much as anyone else.

0-0-0-0-0

The day was taken at a leisurely pace.  Ruth would go into the living room to check on her charge. He had spent most of the day sleeping. When awake he was playing solitaire but always kept more cards in his hand than he needed to play the game.  Ruth would just shrug and go back to what she was doing.

Paul had arrived home in the evening to find Gambit in the kitchen; the younger man was just reaching for a cup of coffee when he screamed, the cup dropping from seemingly lifeless fingers.  As the telepathic bolt cleaved through his mind, he was driven to his knees, his hands clawing at this head, gripping his hair, and for a moment he teetered on the edge of blacking out. .//His master’s voice// he thought bitterly.

When he slowly lifted his head he saw the Taylor’s gathered round him, for a second they morphed into Dr. Essex and the Marauders, taking pleasure at his pain, he scrabbled across the carpet.  Grabbing one of the old Wellington boots near the door he charged it and threw.

The explosion sent rubber flying in all directions, like snow.

“Gambit, chill out,” Kat lost her temper, they had been through this before, after the escape,  “and quit blowing the place up.”

“Whoops,” Kat breathed as she saw her sister roll her eyes, turning she saw her parents in the doorway where they had thrown themselves for cover, looking at her oddly. //Oh shit!//

Gambit was getting shakily to his feet. Essex had tried to blast through his blocks, and he was the only person that could do it, since he had taught him how to erect them high and strong.  They would block Xavier out, but the doctor had punched through them, and it showed the Doctor was impatient.

He managed a muttered, “Sorry,” and staggered past them into the cold night air. His stomach heaved and he threw up what food he had eaten near the trashcan, leaving him shaking.  He had to get the mission over and done and then escape. He could not go through Essex’s re-education again.  But the Antiquarian would not take kindly to him returning to New Orleans, breaking the contract with Essex, and of course the Guilds would kill him. Last time he had been lucky to get out alive.  He looked at the house, these people had taken a street rat in, and cared for him, not caring that he was a mutant, not knowing that he was going to betray them.

The part of him hidden deep down, told him that these were good people, only wanting to help and that he should run now if he was going to harm them.  Their concern registered on his empathy like a warm blanket wrapping him and keeping him safe.

//Sure,// the mocking voice told him, //they’ll care right up until they know you’re nothing more than a Thief and a whore, you’re nothing, you’ll be lucky that the man doesn’t take you in or put you out of your misery.//

Gambit shook his head as he heard the woman Ruth calling his name; he only had a use to the Antiquarian, or Essex, that was all, he didn’t belong with decent people.   He had reached the doorway when a second telepathic bolt hit him, his knees gave, just as he blacked out he was aware of Ruth catching him and easing him to the ground.

0-0-0-0-0

Next Morning

Paul looked across at his passenger, and shook his head.  Gambit hadn’t said a word since they’d left the house. He had tried to convince the Cajun that it was for the best, that after the third psychic attack, in the middle of the night, when he had woken up screaming, that only the Professor could help him.

The younger man was now curled up on himself, the duster pulled round him, his red on black eyes hidden behind the dark glasses and his head resting against the cold window as he watched the world go past.

Gambit made himself concentrate on the work at hand.  The third time Essex had gotten through and made it clear; he had to get into the Mansion and leave with a copy of McCoy’s research disc, and the database of all the identified mutants. The Cajun made himself go cold, pushing out of his mind the kindness of the Taylor’s, and focused just on the mission. He was Gambit, the mutant bastard, Le Diablo Blanc; he could not buy into Xavier’s dream.

Part Four
 

New Orleans.

Commander St. John looked at the man in front of him; Jean Luc LeBeau was the head of the Thieves Guild.  St. John would have liked nothing better than to put him in prison and throw away the key.  But nothing was that simple in New Orleans, the Thieves and Assassin’s Guilds had been fighting almost since the Arcadians had first settled there in 1755. Nothing ever changed, only one thing could unite them, and he had the information.

“I had a telephone call from a Detective in North Lynn, Washington State, he knows where Le Diablo Blanc is.”  He managed to hide his smile; Jean Luc was on his feet.

“D’at encule bastard.”  The crudity burst from Jean Luc’s mouth.

St. John knew he had hit close to home, Jean Luc was able to hide his emotions most of the time, except when it concerned Le Diablo Blanc.  He was the pet of the Antiquarian, trained by a Master Thief who had been banned from the Guild, and, when they weren’t cursing Le Diablo Blanc, they would grudgingly admit that he was one of the best thieves in the country. He did whatever job the Antiquarian wanted, and had never been known to fail; his sudden disappearance had caused ripples through the New Orleans underworld. Better the devil you could see than the one you couldn’t

What little was known about him was that he had spent his whole life with the Antiquarian, and it was well known that both the Thieves and Assassins Guild would love to kill him.

For Jean Luc it was personal. His son Henri had  nearly died at the hands of the White Devil with the black and red eyes, and Jean Luc had made no secret of the fact that when he caught him, the Devil would be praying for a quick death before Jean Luc was finished with him.

Settling down, St. John began to brief Jean Luc on what he had found out, including the fact that the detective thought the devil Gambit was Thieves Guild, and that he had not put him wise that he was not.  Jean Luc nodded his approval, this time the Devil would not slip through his fingers.

0-0-0-0-0

For Charles Xavier his interview with the newest addition to the school had been ‘different’, he had been unable to read him. The only other person that defeated him was Logan, whose fractured, scrambled mind was impossible to read. Like this young man, Logan’s mind moved like quicksilver.  Xavier could force his way through the barriers, but to do so would cause great pain, and he was not sadistic. Gambit would have to allow him in.

The Cajun had been restless even though he was sitting still, and Xavier hadn’t failed to notice that in a gloved hand he held a pack of cards, the feel of them seem to sooth the younger man down.

He had suggested that they complete the interview in the danger room, so that Gambit could demonstrate his powers. In the control room, flanked by Paul and Scott, he had put Gambit through his paces, starting at level 2, then gradually cranking it up to the highest level.

Watching Gambit work was an education, there was an elegant arrogance in how he took care of the opposition, he would make an excellent addition to the team, and his talents as a Master Thief would be put to good use.

When Gambit walked out of the Danger Room, a cigarette in his mouth, Charles suppressed a smile, “Welcome to the X-Men, Gambit,” he put a hand out, and left it hanging there.  It was up to Gambit to make the next move, the red eyes never left his but the Cajun didn’t shake hands. Xavier had had to calm Scott down mentally, as the leader of the X-Men had seen it as a grave insult.  But to the Professor it told him more than words, he would have to deal carefully with this young man, this was a man that had suffered too much in his short life, and now perhaps he had found a haven.

.

Four weeks later
 

The Danger Room at the mansion had been set up for a special training session.  The mission would only need the talents of two of the X-Men, Gambit and Angel; it was going to be a difficult entry and exit if they were going to get the files needed to track the Brotherhood of Humanity, a new violent anti-mutant group.

What was not going to help was that there was no love lost between the two men, and this was going to require a lot of trust on their part.

The Cajun, Gambit, looked up at the left side of the Danger Room, the mock up of the side of the building was around forty feet off the ground.  In reality the target building would be 60 stories, and extending eight feet out from the edge of the flat roof was enough high tech hardware to ventilate anyone trying to come over it.

The top of the roof was protected against any type of aerial insertion, so their team leader had decided that it was better to start with what should be the easier part of the mission, the extraction, to gain confidence with that first.

Warren Worthington III, code named  Angel, took to the air on his majestic twelve foot winds  and hovered in place and waited.  He was going to be the catcher in this operation.  He watched as the Cajun climbed up the side of the building mock up, made his way to the edge of the building, took a closer look at the hardware of spikes, and shook his head.

The six foot two Cajun was fast and agile, part of it was possibly his mutation, the other the training he had undergone as a thief.

Though the mission would be run at night, to start with they would do the practice in daylight, both of them wore lightweight headsets so that they could hear each other.

Gambit folded his dark glasses, slid them into his pocket, and turned to look up at Warren, “Ready went y’ are Wings.”

The Cajun accent grated on Warren’s nerves, though really everything about the newest addition to the X Men grated on him.

“Ready,” Warren breathed the one word, and then dived.  He felt the timing was wrong even as the Cajun jumped, his duster streaming out behind him, Angel’s forearm caught Gambit in the face.  The Cajun missed his grip and tumbled to the floor, twisted like a cat to land on his feet, then pitching forward onto his hands, head hanging down as he spat out blood and slowly got to this feet.

And began to climb back up the ladder to the mock roof.

Warren could hear Scott asking about Gambit, the man mumbled something and went back to his mark, waiting while Warren gained height again.

He might not like the man, but he had not meant to hurt him.

“I think I got to you too late, you were beginning to drop away.”  Looking down on the other man he added, “Okay, we can do this, once you clear the hardware, throw your hands up over your head.”

“Okay homme.”

Warren swore, he had come down faster than before, but only managed to grab one of the Cajun’s wrists, and this swung the man off balance, that pulled them both towards the wall.  He had managed to kick off from it, but with a sickening thud he had heard Gambit hit hard, and suddenly he was a dead weight in Warren’s hands.  Back stroking with his wings Angel pulled away and slowly began to descend, he felt the other man touch the ground and only then did he land.

Already the door to the room was opening and Hank McCoy, their doctor, was rushing in.

Looking up into the monitoring room Warren could see the look on Scott’s face, he was not happy.  Two attempts and on the first one he had sent his partner, god, using that word for that Cajun street trash was sickening, falling to his death.  On the second he had knocked him out cold.  He could not get the timing right.

He stalked out in disgust not bothering to check on his partner, leaving Hank to pick up the pieces.

The failures ate at Warren, he would have loved to place all the blame at the feet of the Cajun, but the truth was he was the one screwing the mission up. Feet tucked under him Warren sat on the top of the Mansion, the one place that he could have peace to think, movement caught his eye, and looking down he saw Gambit walking through the garden, the habitual cigarette in his hand.

Spreading his wings Warren came down to land in front of him, the Cajun didn’t even look surprised.

“Wings,” the Cajun took a pull on the cigarette.

“We need this to work.  Look, you ready to have another go round the block?”

“De Danger Room?”

“No here.  Look,” Warren knew he was struggling, all he could feel was the burning need to wipe the smirk off the handsome Cajun’s face, “you stay there and put that cigarette out, I am going to try for a pick up.”  He looked past the man; he needed to know if there was a safe place to dump his passenger if he made a mistake.  It was then he saw the nerves in the way the Cajun ground his cigarette out, and felt a surge of superiority, “Don’t worry Cajun, I am not going to drop you.”

“Y’ have twice.”

Warren bit back a sarcastic remark and concentrated on the job in hand.

“Just remember to relax your body before I hit.”

Warren took to the air with two powerful down beats of his wings, going vertical for two hundred feet, just savoring the feel of the air under his wings and the pure joy of flight.

Working his way down from the height like a falling leaf to kill the speed, he rolled into a perfect run, he needed to grab the man, not take him out.

This time he hit perfectly, the Cajun was facing him, and he caught him round the waist and pulled him up against chest as he went for height, the other man instinctively catching hold of. Slowly he flared out and came down, making sure to release the Cajun as they touched, in time to see him sink to his knees and throw up in the grass.

“Gambit,” he hesitated then touched the heaving man’s shoulder.

“Air sick,” two words and Warren felt a surge of relief run through him. At least the pick up had worked, but with a snarl he realized that it would not work on the roof, Gambit could not be stationary, he had to jump clear, and a moving target was the hardest to tag.

Bending slightly he caught the Cajuns hand and helped him to his feet.  Already the man was tugging out a battered packet of cigarettes and knocking one free, he lit it and savored the taste of the tabacco.

“Want to try again Gambit?”  Warren could not help but allow a smile to touch his lips.

A rueful shake of the head was all he got, he matched Gambit as the taller man started back to the Mansion. Warren shrugged, “So we can do it on the ground, but in mid air, I am missing something.”

“Me.”

Warren’s head snapped round to look at Gambit, but the quirk of the lips showed genuine humor.

“Right.”  He said the word slowly.   “Could you get higher?  I mean you’re clearing the hardware, but you’re already dropping.”  He paused, “that Bo-staff of yours, if you used that. I’ve seen you practicing,” he shrugged “if you could get higher.”

0-0-0-0

Over coffee in the kitchen they discussed the mission, for the first time Warren actually listened to Gambit, instead of writing the man off as an ill educated thieving swamp rat.

Perhaps he should try to be more friendly, maybe now was the time to bury the hatchet.

Half a hour later the two men were back in the Danger Room, the Bo-staff attached to Gambit’s wrist by a long piece of leather, this way in the air he could drop it and not lose what was an important piece of equipment for the thief.

Putting his hands about his head, Gambit stretched to his full height.  Warren dived down catching Gambit’s wrists and pulling him up in the air, he had to fight to keep his balance with the Cajuns weight, but he managed it and took his passenger high in into the Danger Room.  Looking down he saw that Gambit had paled, “keep your eyes on my face Gambit, and you won’t’ get air sick, I am not going to drop you.”

With great care he eased the other man back down, but even so he stumbled and fell

Warren folded his wings, and put a hand out to draw him back to his feet, “feel like going for the brass ring Cajun.”

The smile on Gambit’s face was not nice, “Ready when y’ are win’s”

“I was born ready Cajun.” For the first time the men shared a smile.

The metal Bo-staff hit the edge of the roof and Gambit arched up like a pole-vaulter, he cleared the eight-foot easily, and then, started down, he released his hold.  This time Warren managed to get a firm grip on the duster, he killed his height quickly, in the mission that could have caused the thief’s death, at sixty floors the coat could have slide free.

“Not neat, but we did it.”

“Dis time homme, Gambit will twist round, okay.  Like dis, hands out, y’ grab.”  He dry ran through the moves, his red on black eyes seeming to glow, and Warren had an idea that the Cajun was actually enjoying himself.

“Sure.” Warren was not too sure, but at least they had managed the extraction once without him, in theory, killing his partner.

Climbing back into the air, Angel got into position, watching as the Cajun ran and vaulted, this time flipping onto his back in mid-air, hands out, Warren grabbed and caught his hands, he had the man.  He immediately went for height, and then gradually lowered him back down to the ground.

“We did it man, we did it,” Warren thumped his partner on the back, “I can’t wait to see Scott’s face when he sees what we can do.”

“First time we do it, dree times we can tell Cyke.”  Turning on his heels Gambit started back up again.

Wings aching, Warren lowered his mission partner back down again, five out of five extractions, and he had caught him every time, he didn’t like to appear weak, but he could not keep this up any longer.

“Buy you a beer?”  The offer took Gambit by surprise, Wings had made a point of avoiding him since he had arrived, must be this mission, but he needed a drink.

“Okay mon amie.”  He fell in step.

0-0-0-0-0

Bobby was waiting for his best friend to come out of the Danger Room, and was surprised when Warren steered the Cajun to the kitchen with them for a drink.  He still didn’t know what to make of the new guy.  He had been with them a month and they still didn’t know his real name. Gambit was the only name they had for him.

He made Bobby nervous, even the resident telepaths said they could not get a fix on him; it was like trying to hold quicksilver. He had seen the damage the older man could do with his cards and he always carried a pack, and seemed ready to use them.

If Gambit was not playing solitaire, he would be compulsively shuffling them from one hand to the other, and Bobby had had a glimpse in his room, and seen the box of packs of cards, he must have bought out the small local post office’s whole supply.  To Bobby that spoke volumes, Gambit didn’t trust them.

Well if Warren could make a friend of him, maybe he could as well.  It was stupid, but the reason he had not spoken to the Cajun was because he could not understand the man half the time.

Also the Cajun had full control of his powers, whereas he could still remember when he had iced Logan by mistake, he shuddered remembering Wolverine stalking towards him, ready to make ice cubes out of him.  So for these reasons he had tried to ignore the other man. But it looked like Warren had just changed the goal posts on this one.

Snagging a beer for himself, he saw the way the Cajun lowered himself into the chair, he might not show it, but he was hurting. Hiding his grin, Bobby had an idea.  The Professor said they had to show Gambit that he fitted in. so maybe this was the time.

0-0-0-0-0

Five days later

Bobby had talked hard and long to get Warren to agree, it was a guy way of welcoming the Cajun to the family, they had all had it done to them, it would make him belong.

The communal showers were empty except for Gambit, it was funny the man always was the last to hit the showers, waiting until the rest of them had gone, but this time would be different.  The Cajun was in the shower, standing with his hands bracing the wall, head hanging down between, the warm water pounding against his head and shoulders, soothing the strains and bruises, he was lost in thought.

Warren came into the locker room with Bobby, and both laid in wait.

Gambit came out of the shower, his long auburn hair plastered round his face and shoulders, one towel in his hands, another slung low rounds his hips.  The Cajun spun round as he sensed Bobby, the other man made a lunge for him, catching him round the waist, pulling him across the table, sending papers and dirty towels flying in all directions.

Forced down over the table, face down, arms pulled up behind his back to stop him from charging any of the surfaces, he was trapped. Gambit was struggling violently.

“Okay Bobby, we do him now.”

“Me first,” Bobby begged, his body plastered over the lean Cajun’s body, the towel dropping to the floor as without thinking Bobby rocked against the Cajun as he reached for the small bag in his pocket.

It was then Warren suddenly was swamped by the emotions the Cajun was broadcasting; fear and stark terror, and they were causing it.

He released his hold on the Cajun’s arms and pulled Bobby back.  Immediately, Gambit tried to get as much distance from them as he could, his hands pressed to the top of the table, charging it, his eyes never leaving their faces.  Only Gambit’s control was stopping the table from exploding as it vibrated with power.

“Back off homme, y’ n’t hurtin Gambit. Gambit kill y’ first.” There was a touch of hysteria to the voice that had never been there before.

“Gambit it’s okay, I am not going to hurt you.” Carefully he reached out. Bobby leapt and caught Warren by the waist, his momentum taking him to the ground just as the table flew apart. In the confusion the Cajun caught his duster and pulled it tight against him as he backed into a corner, clinging to it like a child with a blanket, one hand already pulling out a pack of cards, setting them pulsing with a kinetic charge.

Jean didn’t even knock as she burst into the men’s locker room with Scott in tow, she had heard the telepathic scream, and it had driven her to her knees. All she had known was that she had to get to Gambit.

“Get them out of here.” She ordered, her eyes never leaving the Cajun.

Her foot nudged the bags of soot; Warren and Bobby had obviously been planning on emptying it onto the newest addition to the team.  Their idea of an induction, showing they had accepted the Cajun into the X-Men family, but it had backfired on them.

Jean lowered herself down so that she was level with Gambit, and tried to reach out to him, but she was thrown back by the power coursing through his mind,  “Gambit, it’s okay. They’re gone. No one is going to hurt you.”

He hugged the duster closer, the power still rippling through the coat.

“You know I am a lot softer than that coat, and warmer.”

The red on black eyes fixed on her. “Y’ offerin to hug Gambit?”

“You asking?”  She turned the question round on him.

“Oui, Gambit ax in.”

Moving forward slowly, she opened her arms and pulled the man into them.  Leaning back against the wall, she tucked his head under her shoulder, his arms timidly going round her waist as gently she rocked him, her hands moving over his shoulders, soothing him.  Looking down she noticed the cards falling from his fingers, as he absorbed the power back inside himself.  What hit the floor was nothing more than pasteboard.

Scott eased the door to the locker room open, Jean’s voice in his head warning him to be careful, the last thing they needed to do was spook Gambit further. If Scott was honest he found Gambit an irritation, the man had no discipline, but he would trust him in any fight. And through his unique telepathic connection with his wife he had felt the scream, and the emotions behind it, pain and humiliation and fear, like a searing heat and no one should go through that alone.  He thought ruefully that a husband walking in to find a naked man in his wife’s arms should react a little differently than he did, Jean caught the thought and smiled back, before tucking Gambit closer, and turning her attention back to the Cajun.

Closing the door behind him again, Scott turned to Warren and Bobby, a jerk of his head indicated that they had to follow him.

“How is he?”  Warren put in, and that for Scott was a saving grace, they actually were worried about the Cajun. All those hours of working on the mission had bonded them.

“He’s settling down, the Professor wants to see you both, I’ll wait for Jean.”

Warren and Bobby listened to their mentor and the weight of what they had done began to dawn on them.  When he had finished, Warren was mortified. “Professor, we didn’t know,” he lowered his voice, “we didn’t think.  Is Gambit going to be okay?”

“He’s resting at the moment with Jean, you must,” he repeated the word, “MUST, explain what you were going to do.  He has to know that he is safe here, and Warren, I am disappointed in you, I expect this from Bobby... but you.”

Head down, Warren left, the professor was as close as a father to him, and he had let him down, he had to put this right.

0-0-0-0-0

Warren knocked on the Cajun’s door, there was nothing but silence to greet them, he traded a look with Bobby, “great, we call and he’s out.”  He was about to turn away when he paused, “just a minute, where would he go?”

The winged mutant opened the door, the room was in near darkness, and when he switched the light on he noticed the overhead light had been covered by a black cloth, he recognized it as Jean’s shawl.  The bed, just an empty frame, was moved away from the wall. He nearly missed it; the edge of the blankets and comforter on the floor on the other side of the bed, now he knew where the spare blankets had gone.  The Cajun had taken them.

Carefully he moved round the bed and looked down, the Cajun had created a warm nest of blankets on the floor behind the bed, bending, he got down on the same level as Gambit.

“Hi.”   Warren cringed, he was not being flippant, but was not sure what to say to someone he had freaked out and who had thought he was going to be raped.  Warren eased down onto the floor, “I wanted to see you, make sure that you’re okay, you had us worried there.”

When there was no answer he carried on, “Look, it was an accident, if we had known, we would never have pulled that stunt. What I am trying to say is that I am sorry.”

Bobby nodded, “Me too Gambit.” He reached a hand out; each of their moves was followed by the brilliant red on black eyes.

“You can read me.”

“Gambit no empath.”

“Okay, my mistake,” Bobby put in smoothly, but flashed a look at Warren.

Now was not the time for confrontation.

Slowly Gambit straightened up, his gloved hands resting on Bobby’s.  Bobby curled his fingers round the Cajuns hand, allowing him to pull back if he wanted too.  But he didn’t.

“We okay?”  Bobby asked

“Oui.” But the voice showed he was still not totally sure.

Warren pushed the bed back to get more room, and settled down, pleased when Bobby followed suite, now they had to make him feel that he belonged again, it was not going to be easy.

00-0-0-0-0

The practice on the mission continued, as the same time they continued to collect the intelligence needed to make it a success.

But Scott was already having problems, Gambit’s nocturnal nature was causing him concern, the Cajun was out nearly all night, coming back at 3 or 4 in the morning, not getting up until 10 or 11, missing all the early morning training sessions unless someone hammered on his door.

And that was another thing.  All the doors had locks, but just the standard sort.  Within 24 hours of moving in, Gambit had doubled the locks on his room, the fact it had been unlocked when Warren and Bobby had gone to speak to him had shown the confused state of his mind.  True to what Paul Taylor had said, within the first 72 hours he had broken every rule of the Mansion, returning with a couple of bottles of Bourbon, enough packs of cards to build the San Francisco bridge and a carton of cigarettes. And that had not included him hitting on nearly all the females of legal age in the School.

But Scott still had the feeling that there was something wrong, out of kilter with him.

Hank McCoy pushed his glasses up on his nose and favored his visitor with a smile.

The fact he was big, furry and blue, with the agility of an acrobat and the strength of a gorilla, belied the fact that he was a kind and gentle man.  He had become a doctor to help people, and since joining the X-Men had seen injuries of many kinds, not all of them of the body, some of the mind and the soul.  Looking at Gambit he had the feeling the he was going to have to tread very carefully.

“So you decided to come this time Gambit?”

“Cyke said Gambit he had to.”  The Cajun looked past him at the equipment, and seemed to suppress a shudder.

“Sit down,” Hank waved him to a seat, only then did he continue, “I know you don’t like doctors Gambit, and I want you to know that I am not going to hurt you, it’s just a standard check up, before you go on the mission.  Now you let me check your shoulder, remember?”

“Oui.”

Hank handed him a hospital gown, “I need you to change into that.”

“What for?”  Gambit tried to push it back. The doctor looked up quickly, the tone was one of total surprise. as if he could not understand why Hank would do it.

“You’ll feel more comfortable with it on.”

Hank looked up and his mouth dropped, Gambit was beginning to strip off right in the middle of the med lab.

“Gambit?”

The younger man looked up.

“What are you doing?”

“You want Gambit naked.”

Hank got up and pulled open one of the curtained off areas, “You can get changed behind there.”

The Cajun shrugged, collected his clothes, and walked into the cubical as Hank let the curtain fall back.

But it left McCoy thoughtful, it was like pieces of a jigsaw pictures, Gambit hated the med lab, and didn’t expect even the most common decency such as a gown, and he was stripping in the open, again as if he had done it before.  But what kind of doctor would allow or order that?  One thing was sure, it was an ingrained response, and he would have to be very careful during the examination.

It took longer than Hank had thought.  Getting blood from the Cajun had been near impossible, the minute he had gone near him with a needle he was off the examination table. It had taken a lot of coaxing before Gambit had allowed him to get it; the younger man had examined the syringe as if expecting some sort of trick.  When finally he had asked him to get dressed the doctor could see that Gambit was mentally exhausted.  But Hank felt that he had made some sort of break through with him, and was sure that Gambit would at least allow him to treat him in the future.

The nearer they got to the mission, the worse the nightmares became, as Essex came through at night in his sleep, showing him what would happen if he failed his master.

Warren and Hank exchanged looks as they met outside of Gambit’s door, the screaming had woken most of the people along that corridor, the only plus was that the students were in a different wing, and had remained undisturbed.  The yelling was continuing, like a soul in torment, then suddenly it stopped with a strangled croak.

Scott arrived a few minutes later, “This is going to end tomorrow, Hank.  I want you and Gambit in the War Room, we need to find out what’s going on with him.”  He hammered on the door.  “Gambit, Gambit,” when there was no answer, he tried the door, then stepped back and cut through the door lock with his eye blast and pushed it open.  Eyes searching for the Cajun X-Man, remembering what Warren had said, he moved round the bed, but the nest was empty and the window open.

Their Cajun was missing.

0-0-0-0-0

Gambit dropped lightly onto the grass below his second story window and then jogged round the side of the building.  The X-Men had good security, but nothing that he could not get round, now was the time to get out, get the information that Essex wanted and cut loose.

Essex had shown him clearly what the X-Men would do to him if they found out he was a Marauder, they would kill him if he was lucky, if not, they would hand him over to the Police and the tender mercies of the Specials, and that would be a bullet in the back of his head, in an alleyway.  He would get the data, cut loose of Essex, and then get out of Dodge, get abroad, because he would not be able to return to New Orleans and the Antiquarian, not now.

Accessing the computer in the Med Lab had been easy, although he was barely literate, he had a good brain, keen intelligence and had worked out how the computer database worked, and the idiots didn’t even bother to protect it.

Using the disc that Essex had prepared, he downloaded the data, and then was out of the Lab before anyone knew.

0-0-0-0-0

Essex was waiting, his eyes flashing with anger, he lashed out, back handing Gambit across the face, sending him crashing into the examination table in the laboratory.

“Your job is not yet finished, you will go back to the Mansion and wait my further orders.

“Gambit finished with y’.”

“Really, do you really think so?”  Essex almost purred the words, as he telepathically struck the younger man, driving him to his knees as he increased the pain.  “You will only be free when I tell you.  Now you will go back and wait further orders.”

In agony Gambit dragged himself to his feet, and stumbled out.  Only then did a smile touch Essex’s face as he picked up the disc, turned it round in his hands, and then without looking at the data, broke it in half.  It had served its purpose, Gambit had broken the trust of the X-Men, he had taken the files that could be their death warrants, and if he tried to tell them why, he would be judged.

Essex had isolated Gambit, and now all he had to do was wait for the other piece of the puzzle to arrive back at the Mansion, and his sources said that that person was currently heading back from Alaska.

0-0-0-0-0

11 o’clock in the morning, Scott checked his watch for the second time, and tried to keep his annoyance from clouding his judgment, Gambit was late; he glanced at Hank, and saw the amusement on the doctor’s blue cheerful face.

“You like him don’t you Hank?”

“Our young Acadian is a very interesting person Scott, and he is fun, so yes, I like him.”

The door opened without knocking, and Gambit came in, dark glasses covering his eyes, he dropped into one of the chairs and took a pull on his cigarette.

Scott took a steadying breath.  “Gambit put that out now, you know the rules.”

The Cajun hooked a finger over his dark glasses and eased them down slightly so he could look over them, his lips pulled back into a sardonic smile,

“Bouchee moi.”  He snarled back and blew out a plume of smoke in Scott’s direction.

Scott shook his head; he had had an idea it was going to go this way. “Okay Hank what did he say that time?”  He had noticed that when Gambit was on slow simmer or getting ready to blow, he would lapse into his first language, Cajun French, and since he didn’t think to repeat the comment in English, it made it hard to understand him.

“Er... bite me.”

“The cigarette Gambit,” as leader of the X-Men, he could not let that go.

So he reached out to take it off the other man, only to have it flicked straight at his head.  He pulled back as it exploded, scattering ash all over him.  Even as he had done that Gambit was on his feet and starting to leave.  Scott caught his arm, and pulled him back into the chair, it rocked back under his weight, and Scot had to catch it to stop it toppling over.

The angry burst of Cajun French had Hank scratching his head.

 “Right, Parler I idiot Anglois.”  He knew that he might have pronounced it wrong, but the effect was that Gambit came out of the chair, pushing him backwards and was right in his face.

“Speak English Idiot!  Y’ t’ink dat Gambit an idiot?”

“Well your acting like one Gambit, now.”

“Vous voulez un morceau da moi.”

Hank cut in quickly, “Gambit, no one wants a piece of you; now calm down my volatile Acadian friend.”

For someone his size, McCoy moved with lightening speed, catching and trapping the Cajun before he could launch the glowing card he saw magically appear in Gambit’s hand, in the struggle the card fell free and blew a hole in the floor. Scott had thrown himself away from it, and got up quickly to check on the other two men.

Hank had pulled Gambit clear, and was getting up.  Using his considerable strength to keep a firm grip on Gambit by the scruff of his ever-present duster he dragged him out of the office and down the corridor to the one place it would be safe from him to vent.  He threw him into the danger room and sealed him in.  The door rocked from explosions.

Hank shrugged as he turned to Scott, “Let him blow off a little steam Slim,” the affectionate nickname dated from his first meeting with Scott Summers.

“He’s...” Scott trailed off.

“I know, but look at the fun side.”

“Which is?”

Hank grinned, “Wait until he meets Wolverine, that is going to be sooooo much fun.”

Scott smiled for the first time, “My moneys on the Wolverine.”

“Double or quits?”

“You’re on.”  The leader of the X-Men winced as the room shuddered, “Do you know how many packs of cards he had on him?”

“In that coat, at least five.”

“We’re in for a long day.”

0-0-0-0-0

Part Five
Two nights later

Warren stood on the building a block from their target, his white wings flexing as he waited for his partner to finish the checks.

It was startling to find those eerie red on black eyes fixed on him as the Cajun waited for the countdown to start.

Warren watched as the other man turned, facing away from him hands up over his head.  With a powerful downbeat of his wings, he lifted into the air, reached down, caught the Cajun’s wrists, and took him up in the air.

“Keep looking up Gambit, you’re doing fine.”  Warren kept up a flow of talk.  Once in position, he adjusted his grip, increased his speed, at the last moment pulling up, momentum throwing the Cajun forward, he cleared the hardware that could have pinned him like a moth to a cork board.  Gambit somersaulted, then landed in a forward roll, the momentum bringing him to his feet.

He was in; quick strides took him to his entrance into the building.  The tips of his fingers ran over the edge of the central heating vent, he detected the sensors just as he expected, and began to work on isolating them so they formed a feed back loop, only then did he blow the cover off the central heating duct and enter.

In his mind he carried a map of the building, his hands moving along the smooth metal surface, counting off the welded sections every time he found the join.  Now came the hardest part, there was a vertical section for two floors down to the level he wanted.  Bracing himself, his muscles screaming in protest as he inched his way slowly  down the metal shaft.

Suddenly there was a blast of hot air that took his breath away, his lungs felt they were on fire, and he fell. He tried to stop his decent, he felt the palm of his leather glove tear and the skin burn, he slowed, but not enough and he landed hard.  Blackness threatened to engulf him and he had to fight it back.  He looked at his hand as blood began to seep from the injury, he dug out a pack from his pocket and tore it open, sealing the wound, so not to leave any blood which could be traced back to him.

He crawled along the narrower ducting that ran the length of the floor to the room he wanted, then removed the grilling, checking again for sensors.  There were none, so he eased through the opening and then looked round.  His red eyes, perfectly suited to the night, flicked round the room, only one security camera, covering the main entrance to the office.  Content, he dropped to the floor and started towards the computer, when the lights came on.

Blinded as the lights burned his light sensitive eyes, Gambit threw his hand up to shield his face, even a voice spoke, the tone of the Cajun accent unmistakable, but lighter and more refined.

“Salute Le Diablo Blanc.  Long time since we met.”

Through blurred eyes Gambit saw the man, or rather the long brown trench coat, and that could only mean one thing, the Thieves Guild.  He focused and made out Henri LeBeau, son and heir of the Patriarch of the Thieves Guild, flanked by his bodyguards.

“Thank you Dr. Franklin,” he addressed the older man by his side, he kept it polite because this man had given him what he wanted, Gambit the White Devil, but he felt nothing but contempt for what the man stood for.  “For your help in this matter, we will remove this street trash for you.”  When he saw that the man was going to protest he added, his tone hard, indicating that it was going to happen his way and no one else’s.  “Remember our deal Doctor.”

Warren could hear the exchange through his headset; he circled round and unhooked the energy weapon. He had had to stop himself from calling out to Gambit when he had heard him fall, but he knew that he could not break the other man’s concentration.  They had practiced an emergency evacuation in training, and it looked like they would have to do it for real.

“Gambit, count to ten and then bail out.”

LeBeau fired as he saw Gambit’s hand move, the bullet threw the Cajun X-Man backwards, over and behind a desk.  Too late Henri realized that the younger man had grabbed a small printer as he went over backwards.

It arched towards them, glowing with bio-kinetic energy.  The men barely had time to escape as the explosion devastated that part of the building, taking down internal walls and blasting fire from the windows.

Gambit didn’t hesitate, he jumped as the window in front of him exploded, the fire chasing him as he dropped clear, plummeting the 60 floors toward the ground, only to be caught in mid-air by Warren.

“Merci Wings,” the voice had a catch to it that Angel hadn’t heard before, then the body went limp in his hands.

Warren hugged the man close to him; below them the emergency vehicle’s sirens could be heard as flames lit up the night sky.

Over the headphone he contracted Bobby who was running backup for them, the van was in place when they landed, and between them they got Gambit into the back of it.

Bobby already had the first aid kit open, the bullet had hit Kevlar and not penetrated, but Gambit was ice cold, and Bobby knew cold.  Looking up his voice betrayed his fear, “he’s suffering from hypothermia.”

“Shit,” Warren snapped and stripped off his own coat, wrapping it round the Cajun, “We have to get him warm, and now.”

“The Mansion, I could fly...”

“No, too far,” Bobby nodded to himself, “My house, it’s only a few minutes from here.”

“But...”

“Their help, you drive, now go on.”

Bobby began to try and rub heat into the Cajun’s arms and legs, than pulled him upright so, the Cajun’s head resting on his shoulder.  He began to rub his back, using his own body heat to help warm him up, but he knew that he needed more than that, he called out “Warren put your foot down man, we’re on the clock here.”

0-0-0-0

Mrs. Drake had been shocked when her son had become a mutant.  The way she talked sometimes, her husband mused, it was as if Bobby had decided to join a political party or country club, not that in fact he had had no choice in the matter.

Bobby would come home at the weekends, but never brought any friends.  That was their little deal, Bobby would never bring any of the freaks home with him, he could pass as normal, and they would not want the neighbors to know that he went to a school with them.

The knock on the door late at night brought Mr. Frank Drake to the door.  “Bobby,” he trailed off as he saw that his son had his arm round another young man that was hanging limply in his arms,  “Help me dad, he’s hurt.”

Frank’s eyes went wide as Warren followed them in, his mouth dropped open at the wings.

“Bo Bobby,” he stuttered.

“Sorry Dad, this is Warren, he’s a good friend.”

Mr. Drake accepted and shook hands, still too stunned to realize what he was doing.  “Wings,” he muttered.  Warren just nodded, the man would get over it shortly, they usually did.

“Dad,” he repeated it, “Dad!  We have to get Gambit warm, he’s freezing.”

“Bobby did you?”  His mother voice cut in as she came down the stair.

“No Mom, it was an accident.”

She disappeared and returned with an electric blanket.  Plugging it in, she watched as her son and his friend laid the other man on the sofa and covered him with the blanket.   Bobby was watching him carefully, “He used his powers and I think he drained himself. Mom could you make some hot coffee, and I’ll see if I can get that into him.”

Mrs. Drake might have had her views, and she might like to pretend that everything was normal but she could not turn her back on someone hurting, one look at the blue lips and the pale face, and she hurried to make some hot chocolate. When she returned the young man was waking up, his eyes opened then closed on the third attempted they stayed open, and she found herself looking into the most amazing eyes. She swallowed hard, but instead of pulling back, she supported Gambits head as she coaxed him to drink.  He was shivering violently so much so she had to hold the cup, when he had finished she lowered him back down onto the sofa.

A little color was returning, and his core temperature was slowly rising.  Warren meanwhile looked out the window, soon it would be dawn and without his image enhancer he would be in trouble. But if he left now it would still be dark enough for him to fly back to the mansion. His mind made up he said. “I’d best go, you can bring him in the van, I’ll make sure that Hank is expecting him.” Warren gave a nod towards the door he needed to talk away from Bobby’s parents.

“Are you sure your going to be okay here with Gambit, he’s pretty much out of it”.

Bobby looked back to the Cajun, “Moving him is out of the question at the moment, we need to get his temperature back to normal first. I’ll get him back to the mansion as soon as possible”.  Bobby paused, “What went wrong back there”.

“Some one tipped them off.” Warren didn’t offer any more information, he needed to talk to Gambit first and that could only be done later at the mansion.

Warren rose majestically into the air, and was soon lost in the night sky, turning back to his home Bobby focused on helping his team mate, the quick the Cajun recovered the quicker they could return to the mansion, and he might get a few more answers.

0-0-0-0-0

Part Six

Three days later Logan was back from Alaska.

Wolverine was still a little blank on how he had joined the X-Men, but he accepted that this was a better way to make a difference rather than continue killing for hire.  His time held prisoner by Dr. Essex was left nothing but large holes in his memory, but there was a trace of something he remembered, a scent, and a face.  Handsome and young, he couldn’t have been more than 23, and full of so much pain, each time he dreamed, this was the face Wolverine saw, it was the only thing that could calm the night terrors.

Logan was walking through the grounds, needing to reestablish his territory before he went back inside to join the others.  He nodded to some of the students that he recognized, getting the odd smile and ‘hi’ in return, others giving him a wide berth, scared of the legendary Wolveine.

Not that Logan minded, as he was more comfortable with his own company.

He inhaled on the cigar that he was smoking.  At five foot five, Logan was small compared to some of the other X-Men, but he was powerfully built.  His hair was dark and covered most of his body, mutton chop whiskers framed his face, and his dark mane always ended up in the same style, two wings of hair sweeping back from his temples.  His hazel eyes were intelligent and could flash with humor, or a killing rage.  When he went feral, his lips would pull back over elongated canine teeth, giving him a more animalistic look, as his eye coloring changed to yellow.  He took after his code name, the  Wolverine, a killer, it was completely unstoppable, pound for pound the most dangerous animal in the woods..

He was entering the house when he caught a scent.  His head went up and he inhaled deeply, filtering out the scent of the cigar.

The students got out of the way, they had learned quickly that Logan was the unstoppable force; you either got out of the way or got run over, as he ran through the corridors.

Scott was monitoring the training session; this was the first one since Bobby had returned with a Cajun Popsicle in tow.

Just then the door opened and Wolverine charged in.  As the Cajun somersaulted from the lower beam, without even the slightest loss of balance he landed with the agility of a cat he had the Bo-staff held in front of him.

If he was surprised to see Weapon X in front of him it slowed him only for a second, he knew that he had to get out of there, and to do so he had to go through him.

Gambit swung at the feral Wolverine, which gained him a few seconds, enough time to fire a pack of card into the snarling face, which drove him backwards.

The Cajun pushed home his momentary advantage, using his Bo-staff to vault up and kick him in the face.  Then he was off and running, his mission forgotten, he had to get clear of the Mansion. Wolverine would slice and dice him.

Gambit bounced off the wall as he took the corner too  fast, and leaping up the steps to the upper level two at a time, his long legs eating up the distance.  He crashed through the door without breaking stride.

He blew the French doors open, his foot hitting the top of the balcony and he was leaping into the air.  He forward somersaulted, landed on the grass, forward rolled to kill the speed and then was up and running.

Logan was on his feet and in chase, pushing past anyone that got in his way, ignoring the yells from his fellow X-Men.  All he knew was that he had a Marauder to stop.

Only his unique senses saved him as he swerved to avoid a lightening bolt that just missed him and tore up the lawn.

“Logan, I can’t let you hurt Gambit.”

“Fuck it Ro, I don’t have time for this,” he yelled up at the flying weather goddess.

“Gambit is an X-Man, you...”

“He’s a fucking Marauder darlin’, that’s what he is.”  He saw the shock on her face and took up the chase again.  He was aware of Ororo climbing high into the sky, than another lightening bolt speared down, but this time striking in the trees where she had seen Gambit.  Another followed as she began to drive him back towards where she had last seen Logan enter the forest, than both men were lost from her view.

All that Gambit knew was he was being forced back towards the Mansion, as lightening had brought trees crashing down round him.  At least they were now lost to sight, it was then he was hit hard and taken down to the ground, the air crushed from his body.

Wolverine was on top of him, one hand pressed to his chest, the other had two claws out, one either side of his face, the middle claw pressed against the underside of his chin, just pricking his flesh.

“Quit it bud, or I’ll gut you,” he snarled.

Wolverine looked down into the younger man’s face and the red on black eyes.  It was this scent that had sent him on the search and destroy mission, but for the first time he actually seemed to see the man he had trapped.

At the back of his mind something began to take shape, Wolverine’s eyes crinkled and then he bent down and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent, savoring it.  Under his hand on the younger man’s chest he could feel the armor and by extending his senses, the pounding of his prey’s heart.

Gambit put his hand up, resting it against the feral man’s belt buckle, and charged it.

The explosion sent the man flying backward, and the center claw popped, just missing the underside of the Cajun’s chin.  As  it carved a groove along his jaw?

The feral Wolverine came up snarling, his chest and stomach burned; his prey was already back on his feet.

The Cajun was running fast for the wall, but he knew that he was not going to make it, the moment he tried to get over it he would be caught.

Using the Bo-staff he vaulted up and flipped over the head of the chasing Wolverine.  He twisted violently to avoid the claws, but his luck was out, they sliced into his side and leg.  When he landed Gambit bit back a cry of pain and stumbled, his leg giving out, and Wolverine was on him, slamming him to the ground.  A clawed fist lashed down at his face, at the last second the claws retracted, and only the fist knocked the Cajun out.

Bending low, Wolverine gathered the fallen Cajun into his arms, his growl becoming a rough purr as he scented the man.  He remembered it!

Reaching out he touched the younger man’s face; the auburn hair was pulled back in a ponytail, held back by a Kevlar hair band. Wolverine jerked it down, a claw sliced through the band, and the hair fell free, framing Gambit’s face.  With his thumb Wolverine brushed the blood away from the jaw cut, it was not deep.

As Scott caught up with them, he backed off as he heard the distinct SNIKT of one set of claws, as Wolverine bared his teeth, protecting what was now his.  He recognized Scott as the pack leader of the X-Men, but in this he would not yield, he had caught him, and he would keep him.

With a silent apology, Scott fired the dart gun.  It took three darts to put Wolverine down, and then it only dropped him a scant three feet from Scott Summers.  It would not keep the feral man down for long, but long enough to part him from his prize.

0-0-0-0

Charles Xavier was looking at Logan, correction, the feral Wolverine.  He had come around about half an hour ago, and instead of being the man, it was still the feral, and he had already destroyed the bed, and was now slashing the holding cell to pieces.

Xavier had tried to make a connection with Wolverine, but the animalistic emotions were too primal for him to hold onto.  All he could feel was the burning need for Wolverine to get to the Cajun. There was some connection between the two of them, and Charles had to find out what it was.

0-0-0-0-0

Part Seven
 

Charles Xavier picked up the phone and began to dial.  The feral side of Wolverine was fairly unique, and the fact that he could control it so well was different from other feral mutants like Sabertooth, who could barely exist outside the feral state.

“Dr. Blair Sandburg,” the man sounded younger than Charles had imagined, but he was the leading expert on a genetic throwback to pre-civilized times, a human with five enhanced senses, Sentinels, the first mutants to ever be found.  But Sandburg had also discovered the feral Sentinel, the most primal of their kind, and he might be able to help with Wolverine.

The doctor spoke of a bonding between primal Sentinel and his Guide, an empath that could help control both the senses and the feral nature.  And that if the primal Wolverine was after this other person, than he had to be an empath.

0-0-0-0-0

Logan sat up and looked round him at the destruction in the holding cell, and met Scott’s gaze levelly, “You the one that darted me?”

“Yeah.”

“About time, where’s the kid?”

“In the Med Lab.”

0-0-0-0-0

Logan entered the Lab, walked over to the examination table, and looked down at the Marauder.  Now he remembered him, the kid had been trying to help him escape from Essex.

It would have shocked anyone that knew Wolverine to see the way that he put a hand out and lightly stroked the fine features with the tips of his fingers, careful not to wake the sleeping man.  He had heard about the injuries from Hank.  Those he had inflicted, he was pleased to hear, would leave no lingering damage.

But what now concerned Logan was the kid was an empath, he knew that now, and an empath could go insane if they lacked human contact.  They needed someone to shield them, to stop them overloading. He has no illusions, Gambit was a Marauder, more than likely sleeping around, doing anything, to get into a bed with a partner that would shield him.  Sabertooth was a strong shield, and looking at the medical report he could see that he exacted a price for it; abuse, no one would put up with the damage he had inflicted unless they had no choice.  The thought of another feral laying claim to what he considered his, made Wolverine want to roar his challenge from the roof of the Mansion.  Gambit was his and no one would take him away.

00-0-0-0

While Logan was with Gambit, Scott was called to Xavier’s office to be brought up to speed on the latest development.  “It appears that a feral like Logan needs a keeper, or ‘Guide’ to help him remain stable and to bring him out of the feral state, and for that he needs Gambit.”

“He’s a Marauder Professor, with great respect, he is here for a reason.”

“Logan had already connected with him, if what Dr. Sandburg has said is correct, no other empath can take over, it’s Gambit or nothing.”

“I don’t like this.”

“You don’t have to Scott, once connected, Gambit will not be able to run, he will need Logan to help him maintain his empathic barriers, they are exceptionally strong, but he still needs to let them go and know that he won’t overload.  It’s time for Hank to let Gambit come round; and I need to talk to him.

0-0-0-0

Charles looked at Gambit over steeped fingers, the younger man was collared to prevent him using his powers, and he looked pale and was in pain.  “Why did you come here Gambit?”

The Cajun made no attempt to answer he just looked past him and out of the window.

He would bide his time and then escape, if he gave Essex over to them he was as good as dead.

“Gambit,” Charles said the name sharply as a telepathic blast, he felt the young man shudder and the walls round his mind became stronger. “I don’t want to hurt you, but you have to talk to me,” the voice was now softer. “You’re a Marauder, why are you here?”

There was a long silence, “Information, he wanted information.”

“Who?” Charles leaned forward was he finally to get the name of the man behind the Marauders.

Gambit was silent again.

“So you can’t tell us, or won’t,” Charles felt the fear that edged the man’s mind, this person had hurt him, and hurt him badly. There were scars on the barriers that he could sense, from telepathic bolts and strikes, someone had mind raped this child.

“What information did he want?”

“Data on y’”

“And?”

“Gave him what he wanted, he don’t use it, he destroyed de disc, Gambit know dat, den he orduh Gambit back.”

Charles was about to say something, than paused, “You gave him the wrong information,” he had picked up the thought, “didn’t you?”

“Oui,”

“What if he had checked the disc?”

“Antiquarian owns Gambit, not him.”

Charles heard the bitterness in his voice, “So you think he would not have killed you?”

“Pain is only Pain.”  Gambit’s voice sounded very old.

Charles paused and made his choice  “there is a war coming, and your talents will be of great assistance to the X-Men, you have a home here Gambit.”

“I am a Marauder.”
 

”Were, you’re an X-Man now, and you said that you gave him the wrong information. You have not betrayed us, so join with us.”

“De othuh’s.”

“Only Ro, Scott and Hank know, no one else.”

“You’re an empath Gambit, we can help you here, let us.”

Leaving the younger man thinking, he pressed the intercom.

“Logan.”

Gambit turned smoothly as the door opened and Logan walked in.

“Logan, Gambit will be joining us, he’s the empath that I told you about,” a smile quirked the Professor’s lips. “I believe you gentlemen have a lot to discuss.”

“I think I can leave removing his collar to you Logan.”

0-0-0-0-0-0

Part Eight
 

The Professor had moved Logan to a corner room in the Mansion; it had easy access to the grounds but was shielded from the rest of the school.  Joined to it was Gambit’s new room, with an internal access, so that feral and Guide could be close to each other.   The moment they stepped into the room, the sourness of the Cajun’s scent got worse; it was that sharp that Logan was nearly choking on it.

He had heard about what had happened in the showers and only just managed to stop from gutting the two other X-Men.  They had hurt Gambit and there was only one answer to that, but his friendship stayed his hand.  But it answered his questions.

Logan walked near the empath, the idea of having a ‘Guide’ for want of a better word was galling to him. He had needed no one, but the truth was the feral rages were getting more and more frequent, and if Gambit gave him stability, then so be it.

He could smell fear on the younger man, souring his scent.

His Guide could not fear him, and this had to be addressed straight away.  Never one for tact Logan pressed Gambit into a chair and then straddled the one opposite him and met the black and red eyes levelly.  “How many times have you been raped because of your empathy?” Logan put in bluntly.

Silence.

“Gambit!”  Logan prompted him.

The Cajun shivered, empathy or ‘Charm’, it was the same thing, it had saved his life but it had also caused him just as much pain.  He hesitated to answer and see the disgust in the man’s face. If Wolverine knew he would not want to shield him, or if he did, he would want him to pay a price, they always did. He just shook his head.

To Logan that headshake spoke volumes.

Gambit pulled out a cigarette and then tried to find a light.  With the inhibitor collar on he couldn’t use his powers to do it.

He flinched when Logan was suddenly leaning in front of him; then he popped one claw and sliced through the collar.

“Merci.”

The Cajun felt safer now he had his powers back, he lit the cigarette with his fingertip, and inhaled the smoke.

“Lower them kid,” Logan said as he saw the look of fear on the other’s face, “trust me.”

From his jeans Logan dug out a pack of cards and tossed them to Gambit.

The younger man clutched them like his only lifeline, and then like a head rush it hit Logan, the pheromones threatening to overwhelm him.

He could feel Gambit watching him closely.

“Its okay Cajun, I am not going to jump your bones,” the older man took a deep breath.

“You’re safe”  He reached a hand out, and slowly Gambit inched closer.  What hit Logan was how could anyone harm the Cajun; there was just something about him that called out to be care for and cherish.

Once he felt the slender fingers touch his hand, he carefully closed his hand round them, and coaxed the younger man onto his feet, and guided him towards the sofa. He felt the panic.

“I am not going to hurt you Gambit,” he gave a gentle tug, encouraging the younger man not to pull back and resist.  They had to do this. “This is bonding kid, not sex okay?”

“Oui.” But there was no conviction in that one word.

Time seemed to stand still, as slowly Gambit eased down, allowing an arm round his waist to pull him close, and then when Logan’s hand guided the Cajun’s head on to his shoulder, the younger man didn’t fight it.

Logan gasped as he felt the brush of the empath across his mind; it was like a gentle caress to start with, but he was also aware of the burning sexual nature of the charm that the kid was broadcasting, it became so raw it was like mainlining lightening now as it gained in intensity.

Carefully, as the Xavier had taught him, he raised his own formidable  mental barriers so they cocooned Gambit.  Pheromones stopped leaking out, as the younger man was no longer broadcasting the strongly sexual Charm factor.  Logan kept a firm hold, but the Cajun relaxed as for the first time he felt a proper shielding.  At the moment the connection was still fragile, but later Gambit would be able to slide in and out of Logan’s mind at will, to give, and to receive support.

Now connected, Logan could hear Gambit in his head. The words in Cajun French he didn’t understand, but the feeling behind them he did.  The kid was singing softly to himself, as for the first time he felt unconditional acceptance from his sentinel,

.

Logan flinched as he felt slender, elegant fingers touch his face, tracing down his jaw, as the kid began to explore. He could feel that Gambit was unsure if his touch was welcome, so Logan kept still only claiming the hand when it went too far.

“No,” he put in firmly and tugged the hand back to rest on his chest.  “No price. You’re my Guide, kid.” He paused then added as he suddenly realized that touch was something that had been denied Gambit.

For that reason he realized that he had to put it into words for the Cajun, make sure he understood. “Never be frightened of touching me, if that is what you want.”  The Canadian paused and lightly tugged one of the bangs framing Gambits face letting the back of his fingers brush his face. “You okay with this kid”. It was a loaded question Gambit yearned to touch and be touched but was too scared to ask, by saying yes, he would give Logan permission to touch him.

“Bien, its bien.”

Gambit felt his eyes closing for the first time it seemed in his life that he could sleep without being afraid he would be hurt.

As Logan felt the taller Cajun go limp in his arms, he shook his head trying to deny his feelings, but could not keep the pretense up, he had his Guide, the keeper of his soul, and that was all that mattered, and if Essex thought he could take him, then he would have to go through Wolverine first.

Outside the Mansion Henri LeBeau checked the security system; it was good, too good for civilians.  Gambit had upgraded it, but hell or high water, he would get the Antiquarian’s pet, and the man would suffer for what he had done.

Henri tapped the driver’s shoulder and the car pulled off into the night.

The End.

To be continued in Brotherhood of the Dark Guide.