I think this particular story needs a little bit of an explanation.

Earlier this year, I wrote a story titled "Looking at a Woman", wherein Bobby came down on Gambit for driving Rogue away. I figured that story would be the end of it, but Valerie read it and liked it so much that she asked me if she could write a sequel and invited me along for the ride. I figured "What the heck" and said yes.

So, together, we hashed out a plot and broke it up into chapters (we even got to meet in person during this part) for each of us to write. I got the even numbered chapters, Valerie got the odd. The end result turned out pretty well and I hope all of you like reading it as much as we did writing it.

Enjoy

Lori
:)

---

Hmmm. Well, I'm supposed to add something here. I guess I should let you know that the story is set somewhere after X-Men #45 and before Onslaught.

As for why I liked "Looking at a Woman" enough that I wanted to write a sequel. . . . I think I was fascinated by how powerful Iceman really is, if he (and Marvel!) would decide to make full use of his powers. Lori and I had a short discussion back when I first read her story about whether Bobby could take down Magneto. We eventually decided that he could, given a reasonable set of circumstances and some intelligence on Bobby's part.

"Thick as Thieves" doesn't have anything to do with Magneto (sorry to all the fans :) but it is supposed to be a study of Bobby's personality and the reasons that he doesn't make anything close to full use of his powers. I wanted to use Gambit as the person to contrast Bobby with, one, because I like Gambit (no surprise there) and two, because they are very much opposites in terms of using their powers. Gambit makes full use of a couple of non-earth-shattering powers, adds some intelligence and craft, and comes out a lot better than he probably ought against the really big guns. Bobby has the potential to maybe be one of those big guns, but he's usually considered one of the least powerful of the X-Men instead.

O.k. Enough deep thought. I hope you enjoy the story.

Valerie

Bobby Drake stepped out of Che Merrin, hoping he didn't look as much like a loser as he felt. It was nearly eleven, and he had realized nearly an hour ago that Clarissa wasn't going to show. He should have known better than to let Jean set him up on a blind date.

He stood under the tasteful burgundy awning and watched the rain. He didn't really feel like going back to the mansion, even though it was likely he wouldn't run into Jean at this hour. Mostly, he just didn't want to admit that the night was a complete failure. The valets watched him, but didn't approach. They knew they hadn't parked a car for him when he'd come in. Bobby imagined he saw ridicule in their eyes. Ridicule for the stupidly hopeful young man who'd gone in alone, and had come back out the same way.

Something familiar caught Bobby's eye, and he peered into the rain, trying to identify it. All he saw was a dark shadow, a silouette on the street, that moved away from him with a well-known, cocky stride. Gambit. Bobby stared after the retreating figure, then he stepped into the rain and followed. What could Gambit be up to on a night like this? Bobby chuckled to himself. Almost anything. Gambit always had a hidden agenda. Bobby was one of several at the mansion who were more than a little concerned that that agenda might not include the best interests of the X-Men.

Bobby kept his hands in his pockets and his head down, glancing up every now and then to keep his quarry in sight. Gambit didn't seem to be paying particular attention. He had the collar of his long duster flipped up against the rain, and was moving down the street with long, purposeful strides. However, that could only mean that he had someplace to go, and didn't much like being out in the rain. Bobby wondered where his bike was. Of course, considering the rain, he'd probably taken a cab from the mansion. Still, that didn't answer why he was walking to his destination instead of having the cabbie drop him off at the front door.

Gambit paused at the street corner ahead and looked around with apparently casual curiosity. Bobby dropped his head a little lower and tried to shuffle his steps. He'd had a rather painful lesson in how much the man knew about the art of hiding in a crowd in that Friends of Humanity debacle. After a single sweep of the surroundings, Gambit turned into the narrow street. Bobby glanced at the signpost, but it was empty of green placards. Lovely.

After a moment, Bobby went to the street corner and looked around. He just barely caught a glimpse of the top of Gambit's head as he descended a flight of stairs below street level. It was a basement entrance to the building Bobby had just passed, a brown brick monstrosity that appeared to hold several shops on the ground floor and appartments above, to judge from the small balconies adorned with the occassional wind chime or potted geranium.

Curiouser and curiouser. A girlfriend, maybe? Bobby went to the top of the stairs. The door at the bottom was gray, made of badly pitted metal. He paused, debating. How much right did he have to go snooping around Gambit's business? Then he stepped down onto the top step. But just think what an addition it would be to the gossip pool! It would hardly be any less than Gambit deserved anyway.

Bobby walked down the stairs and opened the rusted door. It was dark inside, unsurprisingly, and there was a light at the end of the short hall where it turned. Bobby tried to walk as quietly as he could, since Gambit could be just around the corner. He paused just shy of the corner and listened, but didn't hear anything. Hopefully that meant that Gambit was gone, and not waiting to jump out at him and yell "Boo!". That would fit the Cajun's sense of humor.

Bobby walked around the corner. He saw a flash of motion that resolved itself into two men. Both were very large, very mean, and very well armed. Bobby was thrust against the wall with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs, and he felt the distinctive pressure of a gun barrel in the hollow beneath his chin. Only a tiny rational voice in the back of his mind held back panic and kept him from transforming to his ice form. It had been drilled into him: Don't show your powers against a human threat unless you absolutely have to. These days, it bred more paranoia than ever. And Bobby wasn't entirely certain that going ice would protect him against a bullet to the head. He thought so. Emma had taught him that he could heal wounds during the transformation, but he wasn't sure he could handle having his brains blown out. So he held still and tried not to let the snarling visage in front of him intimidate him too much.

"What're ya doing here, boy?" the man who held the gun on him asked. The pressure on Bobby's throat intensified, nearly causing him to gag.

"I'm with. . . . LeBeau," he managed to gasp out. "He just - he just came through." And man is he gonna be pissed. But Bobby kept that thought to himself.

The two men exchanged looks, and the other one turned and went through a door at the far end of the hall.

"What's your name?" The pressure eased minutely, but the menacing snarl was still at full bore.

"Drake. Bobby Drake." There didn't seem to be much point in resisting. As much as it hurt to admit it, the wisest thing was going to be to wait and let Gambit bail him out of this goon's hands.

"So, Bobbo, is Mr. LeBeau expecting you?"

Before he even registered the question, Bobby thought, "Mr." LeBeau? But then he gathered up his wits.

"Geez. I was late, o.k.?" He tried to put as much attitude into it as he could. "And the name's Bobby. Or Robert. Or Drake."

The goon didn't seem impressed. Just then, the door opened again and the second goon returned, followed by Gambit. Gambit's eyes narrowed to angry slits, then, just as quickly, the expression vanished.

"Oui, he's mine," he said, sounding disgusted. He glanced at Bobby. "Y' late." Then he turned and walked back through the door. Goon One released Bobby and stepped aside.

Trying to hide his nervousness, Bobby walked past them and opened the door. He found himself in what looked for all the world like a coat check. A pretty young woman sat at a small counter with racks of coats, primarily raincoats, hung behind her. The view was ruined, however, by Gambit, who leaned against the wall, scowling.

"Y' want t' leave y' coat?" he asked in a deceptively mild voice.

"Uh, sure." Bobby started to shrug out of his very damp sports coat. What in the world? But he decided not to push it. He'd already stepped in it big, and the expression in Gambit's eyes was decidedly unfriendly. The coat check girl smiled at him when he handed her his jacket.

"Inside." Gambit stepped up right behind him, making it impossible for Bobby to try to start a conversation with the girl.

"Right." He went to the door on the far end of the small room and opened it. He was immediately engulfed in a wave of noise. Half was music, the other half, voices. He would have paused for a moment to adjust, but Gambit nudged him rather forcefully from behind, and he stumbled forward into the room. How did Gambit find these places? Bobby looked around in mild awe. He was standing at the entrance to a very large casino in full swing. He saw craps, card tables, roulette wheels, pool tables. Two giant tv screens dominated two corners of the room. One displayed a boxing match, the other—and Bobby had to doublecheck—ping pong. The competitors were asian, and the commentary, Bobby thought, was in Japanese. There were people everywhere. Most were dressed to the hilt. It was a sea of black ties, happily interruped by mostly lovely and highly be-sequined ladies. It was only then that Bobby realized that Gambit was dressed for the party. Except for Scott and Jean's wedding, Bobby couldn't think of another time that he'd seen the Cajun in a monkey suit. Unfortunately, he wore it pretty well, judging from the covert, and not-so-covert, looks the nearby ladies were sending his way. Dressed more casually, Bobby suddenly felt like a gawky country cousin.

"Now, y' want t' explain what y' were doin' followin' me?" Gambit stood slightly behind Bobby and to his left. Bobby wondered, if he turned around, would he find a gun, or perhaps a charged playing hard, aimed at his back. That was certainly what Gambit's tone implied. What was normally a nagging dislike coalesced. Bobby absolutely hated it when Gambit took that superior tone with him. He was an odious, obnoxious, lowlife scum criminal, and Bobby would never understand why the Professor let him stay.

"I'll bet this place is highly illegal, eh, Gambit? What else goes on here, huh? Drugs, maybe? How many of these women are whores?" A spike of pain shot through his elbow and up into his shoulder as Gambit's fingers clamped on his elbow.

"De only reason I didn' let dose boys outside blow you away is 'cause you're an X-Man, hear? Don' give me reason t' change m' mind."

Bobby glanced over at him and was startled by the expression in his eyes. It was anger, mixed with fear. Bobby almost crowed. There was something here that Gambit definitely didn't want the X-Men to know about

"Fine," he agreed shortly. Let Gambit think he was cowed. Gambit seemed to buy it. His grip relaxed.

"I got business t' do here, an' den we be gone. So you jus' sit over dere at de bar an' stay out o' trouble. Dese folks don' take too well t' outsiders."

Genuine curiosity caught Bobby for a moment. "Tell me one thing, Gambit. What is this place?"

Gambit snorted. "A playground o' de New York Thieves Guild. Now will y' behave?"

"Yeah. Sure." Bobby tried to hide another stab of triumph. Gambit was still stealing. Wait til the prof heard about this one. So much for his "Great Success". Almost happy, Bobby made his way to the bar. Gambit went the other way, and stopped to talk with a slim man who bore an alarming resemblance to a knife blade. He was sharp faced, and had his dark hair greased back, showing a prominent widow's peak. He could have been wearing a flashing sign that said "criminal" across his chest and it wouldn't have been any plainer, Bobby thought. The man nodded at something Gambit said, and then the two of them disappeared through an archway into another room filled with gamblers. Bobby shrugged and turned around to face the bar, silently debating whether to try to follow Gambit further. He finally decided against it. Gambit was going to be in plenty of hot water as it was already. Personally, Bobby couldn't wait.

Remy was still muttering curses to himself as he stepped into the brightly lit office behind Shrew. Shrew was called Shrew because he looked like one, and because he was just about as bright. He walked all the way up to the monolithic desk that dominated the room and said, "Gambit's here, boss."

The man seated at the desk looked up at him slowly. "Thank you, Shrew." If he was annoyed, he didn't show it. In fact, he was completely expressionless. But Shrew bobbed, obviously pleased by the notice, and then left.

That left the man and Remy to face each other across the wide expanse of mahogony. Remy was always amazed at how much Michael reminded him of a shark; cold, slick, alien, and driven by a hunger that couldn't be reasoned with. He was one of the most dangerous men Remy had ever met.

Michael's lips curled upward in a smile that came nowhere near his eyes. "Bad night, Remy?"

Remy sighed. "Don' get me started."

"Who is he?"

Remy was expecting that. "Jus' a kid I got saddled wit." Which was true enough. If you looked at it a certain way.

"You don't look too happy about taking on an apprentice."

Remy snorted. "Apprentice? Not hardly." At Michael's curious look he added, "One, de boy got no sense. Two, he hates me. Three. . ." He was ticking the points off on the fingers of one hand.

Michael threw back his head and laughed. That was another thing about Michael. His moods could be mercurial sometimes. Remy had seen him put a knife through the heart of a man he had been hugging a moment before. He had made it a point to keep his relationship with the New York guild on a purely business level. Michael had no mistaken impression that they were friends.

After a moment, Michael's laughter died. His face became still once more. "So what did you want to see me about, Remy?" he asked.

Remy crossed the short distance to the desk and took a brown folder out of his jacket. He turned it around, and laid it down in front of Michael. Michael picked up the fairly thick folder and began to examine it. Remy simply crossed his arms and let him read.

He read quickly, scanning the forms with practiced ease. When he was done, he looked up. "I see."

Remy nodded. "Y' gon' have t' put a stop t' dis, Michael. De police are puttin' de pieces together. Dey know dey got a group o' mutants pullin' off high-dollar jobs. How long until dey start seein' de real picture?"

Michael considered him gravely. "I'll take care of it."

"Good enough." Remy was eager to be gone. The longer he was away from Bobby, the more nervous he felt. But as he turned away, Michael stood.

"Is anyone else beginning to suspect?" His hands rested casually on the desktop, the perfectly manicured nails reflected in the lusterous surface.

Remy cocked an eyebrow.

"Your X-Men, for example?"

Remy shook his head. "Dey blind t' everyt'ing dat don' fit dere 'dream'. Don' worry, Michael. We a long way from bein' discovered. . . so long as you c'n control y' guild, neh?"

Bobby ordered a beer and sat down at one end of the bar. The bartender set the amber bottle down in front of him with a thunk and a scowl. Bobby tried not to stare. The man had a scar that ran from the corner of his eye all the way out to his ear, which was mangled, and the scowl made it twist like a living thing.

"Thanks," Bobby said. The bartender only grunted. Must be a union job Bobby thought. At least he'd popped the top on the beer. Bobby examined the label curiously. He'd ordered an obscure microbrew—one he'd never heard of, in fact. The name on the label was Hefeweizen. It was a strange looking beer. Cloudy, almost. He took an experimental sip. Well, it was different, but not too bad. Then he chuckled to himself and took another drink. After all, Hefeweizen was better than no weizen at all.

As he lowered the bottle, his eyes met those of a woman who sat just around the corner of the bar from him. He paused. A line from a song wandered through his mind without identifying itself. "Cerulean blue eyes, so fair and so shy." She was stunning, though Bobby wasn't certain he would call her beautiful. Her hair was nearly as white as Storm's, but much finer. It fell to just below her shoulders in a wispy pageboy. The blue eyes were framed by lashes of the same color, which somehow stood out against her pale skin. She had a short nose and pink lips, though Bobby didn't think she was wearing lipstick. A dusting of freckles crossed her cheeks, which was good because they were the only thing that made her look like a human being instead of a china doll.

Bobby realized he was staring and tore his gaze away. But the wall behind the bar was lined with mirrors, and Bobby found himself studying her more covertly. She didn't seem to notice as she ran one finger through the condensation from the base of her glass. He risked a direct glance in her direction. She was dressed in one of those really mini-dresses - the kind that looked painted on. Black. It was a horrible color for her, he thought. She was pale enough as it was, and the dress was so. . . cheap. A thought occurred to him then: she might be a prostitute. He looked away again. What would she do? Ask him to dance? Or would she be more direct? Maybe he would be better to move down the bar a ways. Then she would have to follow him if she wanted to make a proposition.

Bobby snorted to himself in disgust. Yeah, right, he could be chased away by a woman who was, as far as he could tell, completely ignoring him. If Gambit were there, he'd probably be laughing so hard he'd have fallen off his stool by now.

Bobby stared at his beer, ears burning. But something touched his senses, made him look over at the woman once more. He was shocked to realize that a line of frost followed her finger across the polished wood, swirling in an intricately beautiful design.

"Hey, you're a mutant!" he said before he could think about it. The woman's head snapped up and she snatched her hand back into her lap. Luckily, it was loud enough in that place that it was unlikely anyone else had heard him, Bobby thought angrily. What a stupid thing to say!

"No, it's o.k.," he tried belatedly to reassure her. "So am I." He touched the rim of her glass and froze her drink solid, despite the alcohol content.

The woman stared at her frozen gin, eyes narrowing. Bobby couldn't begin to guess what was behind that expression. Then she looked over at him. "How do you do that without breaking the glass?" she asked. Her voice wasn't anything like Bobby expected. It was much lower. Not masculine, but throaty. It was gorgeous.

The bartender set another drink down beside the frozen one without a word, and turned away. The woman seemed to withdraw into herself. She picked up the new glass and slid off of her stool. She didn't even glance at Bobby as she walked away.

Bobby hmphed and took another drink, annoyed. He could now say that two - count them - two women had stood him up tonight. Just then a hand clamped down on his shoulder and he jumped about three feet. He whirled to find Gambit standing right behind him.

"Man, don't do that!" he groused. He was sure Gambit just loved scaring him out of his skin.

"Let's go," Gambit said.

Bobby levered himself to his feet. "Yeah, sure." He would be more than glad to get out of this weird place, and put an end to a rather miserable night. But he couldn't quite shake the first image he'd gotten of that woman— piercing blue eyes staring into his. And she had ice powers! He knew he should tell the Professor about her, but felt oddly reluctant to. As he followed Gambit to the door, he decided that it might be to his advantage to keep this little secret for a while. At least until he knew more. And it certainly wouldn't hurt his feelings to have a hole card to play against the Cajun.

For the first time since the evening had begun, Bobby smiled.

For a week he'd debated what to do. Tell the Professor that Gambit was up to something or not.

It was the lack of decision that finally decided him. After a week of not saying anything, if he talked now, people would wonder why he kept it quiet for so long. The last thing he wanted was to have everyone think he was in on it. Not too likely a result, but he'd been spending a lot of hours thinking of the worst that could happen, as well as the best. Besides, Remy had been behaving himself, as far as he could tell. At least, he hadn't made any snide comments near him since they came home. In fact, he'd been avoiding him entirely.

Probably afraid I will tell, he thought smugly.

Smiling to himself at the thought of the Cajun actually fearing him, Bobby leaned against the counter in the kitchen, running his finger around the lip of his glass. A touch of ice rimmed it and he found himself remembering the woman from the bar that he'd followed Gambit to, and the way she'd created ice crystals on her own glass. She'd definately been a mutant, he was sure of it. She'd been pretty too, though he still cringed at the thought of such a pale woman in that much black.

Why am I thinking about some whore? he wondered. Because she's a mutant with powers like mine and she's a woman, that's why. He sighed. Jean had apologized profusely, explaining that Clarisa had missed the date because her old boyfriend decided he wanted her back, but he wasn't convinced. Not that he thought Jean would ever lie to him. She wouldn't. But Clarisa, he was sure, lied to her, and Jean wasn't one to use her telepathic powers on a friend.

Probably saw me sitting in the restaurant and ran for it, he thought sourly. More ice filtered into his glass and it cracked.

Muttering to himself, Bobby picked up the glass and tossed it into the garbage, careful that it wasn't obvious to anyone who looked in. Then he went to the freezer and pulled out half a loaf of bread and some jam. Getting the jam out of the jar and onto the bread was awkward, since it was too cold to spread easily, but he sighed with pleasure once he bit into it. He liked cold food, the colder the better. A chicken leg with ice crusting it was his idea of a favourite snack.

Gotta admit, it makes cooking easy. Sometimes, he froze whatever dinner the others made. They thought he was nuts when he did it, so most of the time he only iced his snacks.

A hum sounded from the door and the Professor came in, seated in his high-tech hoverchair. He was dressed in an exercise suit with a sweatband around his head. Having the chair do everything for him was really convenient, but it meant his body got no exercise at all. To compensate, he usually tried to spend an hour exercising each day, with the X-Men taking turns coaching him. Today had been Bishop's turn and the man tooked like he'd been sent through a wringer.

"Good morning, Bobby," he said wearily.

"Morning, Professor. You look wiped."

Charles smiled faintly. "Yes, well, Bishop is thorough." He pulled a book out of his lap. "If you're going into Salem today, would you please return this to the library for me?"

Bobby took the book. "The Real Humans, by Graydon Creed," he read. "You actually read this?"

"Know your enemy, Bobby. Knowledge gives you strength."

Bobby shrugged, thinking again of what he knew about Gambit, and all the different ways he'd thought of to use it, if he only had the nerve. "You got that right. Yeah, I'll take it back for you."

"Thank you." Charles got himself a glass of water and turned to go. "You might want to consider checking something out of the library yourself."

Bobby nodded without saying anything. Over twenty years old, and the Professor still treated him like a kid. Finishing his sandwich, he went to find the keys to one of the mansion's cars.

The Salem library was in an old building, now labelled a heritage site, which meant it couldn't be torn down no matter how useless it became. It was nowhere near large enough to hold the library's contents comfortably, but as Bobby went in through the old wooden doors, he had to admit it had a certain level of charm.

Dropping the book in the drop box, Bobby wandered into the library. It seemed kind of a waste to come all the way out here just to drop off one book and head back, and he was feeling nostalgic. He'd spent a lot of hours here when he was still taking classes at the mansion, usually bored out of his mind. He remembered shooting paper clips at Hank a lot, or snowballs if he thought he could get away with it. Hank had put up with it silently, determined not to break the unspoken 'no fun' rule of the library, until he finally had enough. He'd locked Bobby in the men's room for about three hours. The doors there were so thick, no one heard him scream for help, and he didn't understand his powers well enough at the time to free himself. Hank went on to get yet another A on the history test they'd been studying for. Come to think of, so had he, since he had nothing to do in the bathroom except study.

Bobby smiled as he took the stairs up to the mezzanine two at a time. He'd used to have a favourite spot in the library to curl up with a good book. It was a cubicle desk in the far end of the mezzanine, where he could see out over the entire library, but was hidden himself. It'd become 'his spot' and he'd committed his first act of vandilism there by carving his initials into the wood.

I wonder if they're still there? He wondered and wandered down the halls.

A lifetime of training with the X-Men stopped him before he walked around the final turn. Stopping just at the end of a stack, he peered curiously through the shelves. There was a man standing at the end of the hall, just before his cubicle. He was a big man, dressed in a cheap suit with his hair slicked back and a no-nonsense attitude on his face. He had the word 'goon' written all over him.

I wonder what he's guarding? Bobby wondered, since it was obvious that was what he was doing. Peering a little closer, he saw there was someone in the cubicle, but he couldn't see who at this distance.

Here's where all those extra hours with Storm pay off, he thought with a grin.

Holding up his forefinger, he grew a thin shaft of ice from the end of it, the end enlarging into a circular lens. The ice shifted like a living thing, growing clearer and smaller until he finally had a servicable binocular. Grinning at his success, and wishing there was someone around to show it to, he put it to his eye and looked again.

There was a girl in the cubicle, reading a book. She was dressed in a soft, thick pullover, the kind women wore that were ten sizes too big for them, with jeans and sneakers. She wore no makeup, and it took him a minute to recognize her.

Hey! It's the hooker from the club! The one with the ice powers! He blinked, belatedly making the realization that if she were being followed by a bodyguard, then she obviously wasn't a hooker.

Bobby, you idiot! Why didn't you ask her out! Or even what her name was! Kicking himself mentally, he peered at the girl. She was really quite pretty, soft and delicate, like an ice crystal, but warm. Bobby found himself wanting to meet her quite a lot, if he could only get rid of the bodyguard. But freezing him in a block of ice would probably not put him on her good side.

Man, she'd never want to talk to me.

The girl leaned back in the chair, her lips moving silently while she read. She pushed a lock of hair back from her face and Bobby found himself fascinated by the sheer delicacy of her fingers and how she tucked the hair back behind her ear just so.

I don't care. I gotta meet her.

The girl shifted in her seat, frowning, and looked up at the goon. She said a few words and he nodded. She stood and he walked ahead of her down the corridor.

No! She can't be leaving!

Bobby ducked back amongst the stacks as the two passed, then found himself sneaking after them. He watched her walk towards the stairs with a lump in his throat, wondering if he had the nerve to just jump out and ask her who she was, goon or no goon, before she left. Then she passed the stairs.

Yes! We have another chance! And the crowd goes wild!

Whooping mentally, he watched her go into the ladies room while pretending to go down the aisle looking for a book. The goon stood outside the door, looking like he planned to break a few bones of anyone who tried to pass him.

Well, she's alone, Bobby thought. I guess it's now or never. Just as quickly came the thought, I can't go into a woman's bathroom! He remembered the last time he'd tried that, dared to back in grade school by some boys he'd tried to impress. The bathroom had been cleaner than the boy's room, with less grafitti and no urinals, opting instead for more stalls. There'd been no girls either, a great disappointment though at the time he'd not been too sure what the great attraction was. Instead he'd run into Mrs Ross. The oldest, meanest and ugliest teacher in the school. She'd marched him off to the principal, his parents had been called and he wound up spending the next week in his room without television, plus a sore butt for the first night. The memory was old, but it was still strong. Some places were inviolate, like churches.

Gambit would be in there in a flash, he thought, remembering when the Cajun had taken him to a church that'd been converted into a dance club. The memory of how the other mutant humiliated him there turned his fair cheeks red and he clenched his fists.

"Okay," he muttered. "I'm going for it."

Concentrating, he let the ice take him, but not all the way. His skin froze and melted, turned white with frost, then transparent, and soft. Storm had trained him to understand that it was not only ice that he controlled. He could create ice shields and snowballs with ease, but it'd never occured to him that the temperature needed to make those two things was different. He could control his own temperature and he controlled it now. It was hard, harder than making the binoculars, but he made himself into only water, not ice. Transparent, cold without freezing, maintaining his form only through sheer force of will.

Had he had an actual head in this form instead of the memory of one, it would have been throbbing. Instead he felt something like pollution would feel in a river. That this was wrong. It was the ice he wanted, the freeze of it. This was too warm, too unnatural. But he resisted the urge and let himself go, maintaining his awareness as he poured into a puddle on the floor.

At first, the sensation terrified him. He'd never done this outside the Danger Room before, and in there he had only gone to slush, and kept his shape as well. Storm said it was possible for him to take any shape, but he hadn't been willing enough to try it. The idea of not being able to pull himself back together terrified him.

A puddle on the floor, Bobby's perceptions changed. He heard as though he were underwater, and saw as though he were that way as well, with his whole body. Spread across half the mezzanine floor at an inch deep, he saw the door with the goon, and all that he passed at any point in his flow.

Bizarre, he thought, curiousity overcoming his nervousness. I wonder how deep I can get. The thought of filling something like a pothole and waiting for someone to step in him amused him briefly, until he wondered what splashing some of him away from himself would cause.

Careful not to let any part of himself get away, Bobby stretched out thinly, barely coating the floor as he flowed along the tile to the bathroom, past the goon and under the door. It took a while for him to get all the way in, though it was hard to perceive time this way. Once inside, he flowed together into a puddle and began to rise out of it, taking on human form again as he did so. He looked around at the bathroom as he did so. Everything was bigger, but essentially it looked the same as the bathroom he'd been caught in back in grade school. Instead, this bathroom didn't have a Mrs Ross. Instead it had a beautiful blond girl who was gaping at him with her mouth open.

Bobby smiled at her sheepishly. "Um, hi," he managed. Is that ALL you can say to her? You idiot!

She blinked, and slowly her face brightened into a fragile little smile. "How did you DO that?" She gasped. "That was wonderful."

The young mutant gaped back at her. "Really?''

She giggled and clapped her hands, looking for an instant like a little girl. "Really. Oh, I wish I could do that."

Bobby grinned. "I could show it to you. It's really easy."

"Oh, no, the best I can do is make an icecube."

They both stared at each other in silence again, then, on cue, they laughed. "Why are you in here?" she asked.

"Toilets in the men's room were flooded," Bobby answered immediately. Her eyebrow raised and he stammered. "Uh, I mean I wanted to see in here. I mean, see you. I mean meet you."

She looked confused. "Why in here?"

Blushing, Bobby gestured at the door. "Uh, I figured your friend wouldn't like me talking to you otherwise."

She smiled, and it was like a light went off in Bobby's heart. It started beating like mad and he wondered if this was what love felt like. As though he was going to yell with joy and throw up at the same time. He found himself wondering how he ever thought she was a hooker.

"I suppose you're right," she admitted, a little sadly. "What's your name?"

"Bobby Drake."

"Bobby." She smiled again. "I'm Deidre. I saw you at the guild meeting last week, with the Cajun."

"Um, yeah."

Her eyes sparkled. "You must be good to be his apprentice. I've heard about him. He's supposed to be the third best in the world. Only two masters beat him."

Bobby puffed up in spite of himself. There was just something about her that screamed Brag, boy, brag! "Yeah, I know." Third best? Yeesh, we're lucky we still have a house!

There came a heavy knock on the door and she started. "Um, I have to go."

"What, already?" A definate whine crept into his voice. "Will you be back here again?"

She shook her head, moving towards the door, her head down so her long hair hid her face, her arms up before her chest. "I won't be back. It was kinda just luck that I came at all."

He caught her arm. It was chilly, like his, wonderfully cold. "Can I meet you again somewhere?"

"N-no, I don't go out much, and I'm always watched." She caught the door handle and looked back at him for a moment with shy, lonely eyes. "I'm always at the club meetings. Ask your mentor to take you. Just- don't say you met me here. I might get in trouble." Then she was gone.

Bobby stared at the door, smiling. I'm in love, he thought happily. This is it, the real thing, the big kahuna, true and all. He watched the door open and a librarian equally as old and tempermental as Mrs Ross walk in. And I am in serious shit.

"I am impressed," Storm said as Bobby restored his human form. It was easier, this time, to turn himself completely to water, spreading out into a nearly invisible film on the danger room floor.

"Thanks." Bobby tried not to blush. "I've been. . . practicing."

Storm nodded. "So I see. I believe this would be a good time to end today's session. You have made significant progress."

Bobby felt his smile widen. Storm didn't hand out praise lightly. He really was becoming more powerful, more capable. It was a tremendous feeling. Not that he wasn't floating already, but he had at least managed to banish thoughts of Diedre long enough to finish the training session.

"Robert?"

"Huh?" Bobby jerked out of his reverie, flushed in embarrassment. "Sorry."

"Is everything all right?"

Bobby simply couldn't help his smile. Diedre's blue eyes danced before him, momentarily obscuring Ororo's own. Storm studied him for a moment, her lips quirking ever so slightly. Then she turned on her heel, smiling secretively over her shoulder at him.

"It is time for breakfast. Are you coming?"

"Yeah. Sure." He trotted a few steps to catch up with her.

Storm strode through the metal hallways, her eyes fixed straight ahead. Bobby was left wondering what she was thinking about. As always. Storm was inscrutable. For a brief moment, he wondered if he should tell her about Diedre, but then he decided against it. She was too observant, and might very well ask him questions he couldn't answer without embarrassing himself. Where did I meet her, Ororo? Oh, well, in the women's bathroom at the library. Yes, the women's. What was I doing there? Um, y'see. . . Better yet, Actually, it was in a club run by the New York thieves' guild. I was spying on your favorite Cajun. Yeah, right. He wasn't going to be able to tell anyone about Diedre until he'd come up with a pretty good story.

The elevator door slid aside, and they emerged into the first floor hall. It was panelled in wood rather than metal, and accentuated with a subdued Victorian print. Personally, Bobby thought it was atrocious, but he was no interior decorator. Everyone else seemed to like it. Well, the women, at least. He'd never yet heard one of the men comment about wallpaper.

His train of thought was broken by the sounds of an argument. It was obviously coming from the other end of the house, and someone was doing an awful lot of yelling. Storm's brow creased in concern. She said nothing, but her pace increased Bobby broke into a trot to keep up. After a few moments, he realized why she was so disturbed. The voice belonged to Gambit.

As they drew nearer, Gambit's voice became clearer, but Bobby still couldn't make out what he was saying. Or who he was yelling at. There were occasional pauses in the tirade, but no other voice filled in the spaces. It was unnerving. Bobby couldn't imagine anyone in the house taking that without some kind of response.

When they reached the scene, Hank was standing just inside the doorway, a stack of papers cradled in his arms. He was watching the loud argument with a rather bemused expression. Bobby's alarm faded some. If Hank wasn't disturbed, it couldn't be too bad. Bobby stepped into the room just behind Storm and stopped beside Hank. He had to cover his mouth to suppress a snigger. Gambit was yelling into a phone. All that worry, and he wasn't yelling at an X-Man at all. And the reason he couldn't make out the argument was because it was in French.

Bobby glanced at Hank, then leaned over to murmer, "Any idea what that's about?" Storm, too, looked to the Beast.

Hank grinned. "I'm afraid my knowledge of the language has been well exceeded at this point. But I belive our cajun friend is having a disagreement with the French government. Something about an export tax."

"An export tax?"

Hank shrugged. "Funny, that's exactly what Remy said. Though the conversation has obviously deteriorated since then." He waved in the direction of the fuming Cajun. On cue, Remy slammed the phone back into its cradle, then stood there for a moment, glaring at it.

"Remy?" Storm took several steps toward him.

He glanced over his shoulder at her, then turned abruptly. "Two hundred an' fifty thousand francs, Stormy! Dey wan' two hundred an' fifty thousand francs t' release my car!"

She raised an eyebrow.

"Dat's outrageous! It's extortion! Plain an' simple!"

Bobby couldn't resist the opening. "For a con man, Remy, you seem awfully surprised."

The red eyes snapped to him, and Bobby sucked in his breath as the man's anger transferred momentarily to himself. But then Gambit seemed to catch himself. A thin smile appeared on his lips.

"Gov'ment's de best scam of all, sure `nough," he said in a tight voice. "Don' mean I like bein' taken." He paused for a moment. "Not gon' be, neither."

"Remy?" Ororo's brows were arched in curiosity.

"I'd pay half dat in bribes, chere." He gestured wildly.

"I admit it's a sizable sum of money," Professor Xavier said in a mild voice. Gambit's gaze snapped to him in surprise and Bobby realized that he hadn't noticed the Professor's approach. Bobby had seen him, but he had a wider field of view from his position by the door. "However," the Professor continued, "I would be willing to supply the other half. I would rather not have anyone bribing government officials of any country while a student at my school."

Bobby nearly choked trying to hold in his laughter. The Professor had really stuck it to Gambit this time!

Gambit simply blinked at him, his expression frozen in a flat mask. After a moment, he crossed his arms. "Nevermind, Professor," he said quietly. "I'll take care of it." His voice, too, was studiously neutral. Without another word, he turned and left, his long coat snapping about his boots as if that were the only way he could express his chagrin.

Bobby and Hank joined the other two. "Remy is not much for government, is he?" Hank inquired with a smile.

Ororo regarded him cooly. "Remy is. . . something of a closet anarchist. It comes of being a thief."

Professor Xavier studied her with interest. "And you disagree?"

She gave him an oddly enigmatic smile. "No, Charles. I find I often agree with Remy's politics."

Why do I get the feeling I've been missing the more interesting conversations around this place? Bobby thought, but aloud he said, "You do?"

Ororo turned to him. "You forget, Robert. I used to be his partner." And on the heels of that odd statement, she, too, left. Bobby could only stare after her retreating figure. After a moment, he turned to the Professor.

"Isn't Gambit going to get into any trouble over this?"

The Professor cocked his head. "Is there any reason he should?"

Bobby gaped at him for a long second. "But. . . but you and Scott and everybody else would rip me up one side and down the other if I said something like that!"

Xavier frowned as he considered, and then agreed, "Yes, we would. But you are not a trained thief."

Bobby was starting to get angry. "What difference does that make?" he demanded.

"The difference. . . " the Professor paused as he considered his reponse. "The difference is that Remy's value cannot be measured against our normal standards." He began to turn away. "I believe it's time for breakfast, if either of you would like to join me."

"But--" Bobby glanced at Hank for support. Hank only shrugged and then went to join the Professor. Effectively cut off, Bobby could only stare at their retreating forms in sullen anger. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all.

Diedre ran the brush through her straight hair in a steady rhythm. Her gaze was fastened on her reflection in the mirror, but she wasn't really looking. She had learned the trick of appearing attentive when, really, her mind was far away.

Noises from the hallway beyond her door brought her back to herself. She tensed, but the door didn't open. After a moment, she forced herself to relax. She still had a few minutes. She studied her reflection in the mirror, for once managing to ignore the chromed metal tube that formed the mirror's frame. She hated techno. But Michael had given her the vanity, and he would have been angry if she hadn't kept the tangle of chromed steel and glass.

Delicately, she adjusted the shoulder of her dress. It was new, and she was nervous about wearing it. She knew it was too frilly for Michael's taste. But maybe it would be all right. It was tight-the pale yellow material hugged her like a second skin. A small triangle of lace bridged the gap where the neckline dipped dangerously low, and she angled her shoulders for a moment to study the effect in the mirror. She smiled a real smile that died at the sound of the doorknob being turned.

Michael walked into the room. He was dressed in his black Armani, and Diedre couldn't help but admire his clean, graceful lines. He was still one of the most beautiful men she's ever seen. She stood to meet him, self-consciously smoothing her short skirt.

Michael looked her over, and she knew instantly that he didn't like the dress.

"Take that ugly thing off," he told her.

Diedre tried to hide her disappointment, and turned toward the walk-in closet. Yellow was her favorite color, perhaps because it looked so good on her. Any pastel was flattering to her pale features, but Michael like the dark colors-black, navy and verdant-that made her look like death warmed over.

Diedre closed the closet door behind her, careful to do so gently. But once safely away from Michael's hawklike gaze, she kicked off her shoes with vehemence and stripped off the dress in one motion, dumping it in a heap on the floor. Her eyes began to burn, and she fought back the tears by holding her breath and focusing on the line of dresses hanging in front of her. After a moment's indecision, she grabbed one and slid into it. She adjusted the fit, then took a few calming breaths, though her hands were clenched into fists at her sides. This one was Michael's favorite. He'd bought it for her birthday. Maybe he would forget about the yellow dress. Then she could quietly return it, and he would never see it again.

With one last deep breath, she squared her shoulders and stepped out of the closet. Michael's expression of annoyance hadn't changed. He looked at her and then nodded once.

"Much better. You look beautiful, Didi."

Diedre let her breath out slowly, relieved. For once, the nickname didn't bother her too much.

"Let's go. We're late." Michael gestured for her to come, and then turned away. Diedre followed him out the door, trying to be as invisible as possible. All she'd managed to do tonight was annoy him. Now, all she wanted was to get to the club so he would get involved in business and forget about her for a while.

The club was in full swing when they arrived, and the noise hit Diedre like a hammer. She winced invisibly. For once, she was grateful for the people who converged on Michael, dragging him away to take care of whatever their particular emergency was. He went without a glance in her direction. Diedre sighed and made her way toward the bar. She climbed onto one of the tall stools, crossed her legs.

"The usual?" Yosa asked, and she nodded at the scarred barman. Ice tinkled musically against the side of the glass as he set the gin tonic down in front of her. Diedre drained it as quickly as she could stand to. She set the glass down and tried to ignore the burning in her throat as she waited for the first flush of the alcohol to hit her. It was good to be numb, she thought. Like ice. Cold, hard, beautiful ice. Like diamonds, only better. She'd said that to Michael once and he'd laughed at her. What can you buy with ice? he'd asked scathingly.

Yosa refilled her glass, but this time she sipped it. Michael would be mad if she got too drunk. The ice in the glass captured her attention again. No one understood. Except maybe that sweet young man she'd met. Bobby. She'd been absolutely astounded to see him appear like that. She was still amazed-he could turn his whole body to ice! And when he was flesh, he had been so cute. She couldn't remember the last time a man had looked at her like that. The memory made her smile.

Unconsciously, she scanned the crowd, searching for a familiar blond head. She was disappointed when she didn't find him. But, she reminded herself, if he was with the Cajun he wouldn't be there very often. Gambit had his own business. He came and went. She knew that Michael didn't like him very much. Diedre herself had no real basis on which to judge the man. She'd hardly said hello to him. And Michael was always edgy if she were anywhere near him. She'd always thought it might be because of his reputation for womanizing, but he'd never been anything but politely distant with her.

At least Bobby hadn't treated her that way. Like she had a "Do Not Touch" sign plastered to her forehead. For a few precious minutes, she'd felt like an ordinary girl again. If she ever saw him, she decided, she'd have to thank him. The thought of his reaction if she simply walked up and planted a great big thank-you kiss on him made her giggle.

Considerably heartened, she drained the last of her drink and waited for Yosa to fill it.

Quietly, Bobby stood in the doorway to the X-Men's laboratory and watched his best friend work. It wasn't something he could do with any great regularity, as Hank's experiments went way above what he remembered in science class. In fact, Hank's whole mind was beyond what he could comprehend. It amazed him that his old spit ball partner could look into a microscope and find things that would never occur to him in a million years. Of course, Hank was so smart, he'd realized he had no hope of matching him long ago, so he never tried. Never trying meant never failing and Hank stayed his closest friend. Still, he couldn't watch him without becoming incredibly bored and needing to say something.

Today was no exception.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"Hmm?" Beast looked over at him, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose under his glasses. It was something he always did when he'd been thinking too hard and lost touch with reality, though he denied it vigourously. "Oh, I am examining the viroid which causes one of the many strains of the Legacy Virus."

Bobby had been listening to Hank speak for so long that he understood exactly what he was saying. His vocabulary had to improve for them to communicate, even if he didn't use it himself. On Hank, it was a personality trait, on him it'd just look silly.

"Right. Um, can I ask you something?"

"Indubitably ."

Bobby came into the lab, stuffing his hands into his pockets selfconsciously. "Hank, do you remember when we were kids, and we had the treehouse in the woods behind the mansion?"

Hank grinned. "Of course, with the secret handshake and passwords designed to keep it hidden from girls."

"Except the only girl we had to worry about was a telepath who knew about it anyway."

"And in the first rain, it all fell down?" Hank sighed. "I had forgotten about that. Ah, childhood memories. They make me feel SO old." He chuckled.

Bobby smiled. "Um, do you remember the promises we made to each other?"

The big blue mutant leaned back in his chair. "Besides the resolve to stand up to the local bullies, which I believe we backed out of at the last minute, and put snow in Scott's bed? If I remember, it was to tell the other the moment one of us experienced 'love at first sight'. I think we felt it must be something akin to stomach discomfort."

Bobby shrugged. "Yeah. I just don't want it getting around that I broke any promises to you other than not running from Brian Hathaway at the mall."

Slowly, Hank's eyes widened. "Bobby, are you telling me that you have experienced l'amoure? The big arrow in the heart? The pizza with all your favourite toppings and your name on it? Bobby, are you in love?!"

His head ducked, he nodded quickly. "Iceman! You devil!" Before Bobby realized what had happened, Hank scooped him up into his arms and danced around the lab with him, white coat flapping, singing at the top of his lungs and somehow managing not to crash into anything.

Laughing, Bobby struggled to get down, but Hank was taller than him and his feet wouldn't touch the floor.

"Hank, put me down! Come on, please?"

Finally, as the song either ended, or more likely, Hank couldn't remember the words, he put him down. Or, more precisely, he plopped him down so he was sitting on the edge of a table and they were eye to eye.

"So, tell me," he asked in a conspiratorial whisper. "Was it like we hoped? Was it like walking on air with an angel at your side, or more like you swallowed your gum?"

Bobby sputtered with laughter. "More like the angel thing," he gasped.

"Hmm. No wonder Warren always had so much luck with the ladies. So, where did you meet this flower of womanhood, this lady love? The movie theatre, in line for postage? Dare I say it, at the checkout stand with the week's groceries?"

"In the ladies room at the library."

Hank's jaw dropped open and stayed that way for a few seconds before he closed it. "Obviously, I've been trying in the wrong spots. Is there any particular reason you met her in the ladies room, or is there something about your weekend activities you haven't been telling me?"

Bobby turned red. "That's twisted, Hank."

"Oh, I don't know. You'd probably look quite fetching in a nice summer dress and pumps."

"Hank!"

"Sorry, sorry," the Beast said, not looking sorry at all. "So, tell me, what is the name of this vision of loveliness?"

Bobby hesitated. He really wanted to talk about Diedre, but he was afraid to tell too much. He didn't want anyone knowing about the club, because he didn't really have a good explanation for why he'd been there. Or why he couldn't go back. He'd tried earlier that night to get in, but had been refused admittance. He'd demanded to see the manager without luck and actually been thrown onto the sidewalk by a bouncer he was convinced was a mutant with superstrength. The only piece of information he'd been able to get out of them was that apprentices weren't allowed into the club without their master's permission.

Besides, he'd finally come to the conclusion that he'd left talking about it too long. He didn't want to deal with the questions of why he followed Gambit, then didn't tell anyone. He didn't want to deal with the looks he'd get. The whispers of how maybe he was involved. The look of disappointment on the Professor's face, and on Scott's. He knew exactly how Scott would react, and he wanted to deal with one of his lectures even less.

More, he was afraid of what the X-Men might do. The club was obviously a spot for illegal activites, so what would they do? They may report on it, which would bring the police in. The thought of a raid being made on the club, of Diedre being arrested because he was an idiot who couldn't keep his mouth shut, worried him. Besides, she'd asked him not to tell anyone he'd met her. She was obviously shy and he had no desire to make her a topic of mansion gossip.

Hank took his hesitation as meaning something very different, though. "Um, she is a vision of loveliness, is she not?" He flushed, though you could barely tell through his thick fur. It quivered a little though, showing his embarrassment. "Not that that is important. I'm sure she has a wonderful personality." His fur quivered even harder.

Bobby glared at him. "She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, if you must know."

Hank looked as though he didn't know whether to be even more embarrassed or relieved. Obviously, he decided to drop the whole thing and go on to more questions designed to embarrass Bobby instead of himself.

"So, what's her name? Porticia, Daisy-Mae, Tito...?"

In spite of himself, Bobby laughed. "Where do you come up with this stuff?"

"It is a calculated attempt to make you still your guts, figuratively speaking. My next technique will be the tickle attack if you do not start talking."

Bobby threw his hands up in mock defense, wondering how far he could go, how much he could tell him. "Okay, okay, her name is Diedre."

"Diedre." Beast grinned and stepped away, flopping down in a chair expectantly. "A beautiful name, how it rolls off the tongue, how it..."

"Beast?"

"Yes?"

"You're laying it on a little thick."

Beast barked a laugh. "Come now, how often is it my best friend comes in here to tell me he's in love? Don't answer that." Bobby rolled his eyes. "What does she look like?"

Bobby hesitated again. This was a normal question, he decided. He could answer this one. "Um, kinda innocent-looking."

Beast's eyes widened. "She isn't a minor, is she?"

"No!"

"Wonderful! Define 'innocent'."

"Ur, blond, thin, pretty."

"Excellent. Can you give me any more detail than that? Come now, I need to know for the mansion gossip pool. Does she live near here? where does she work? Does she like you? Has she agreed to have your children? Is she allergic to cats? I do hope she isn't, otherwise she's going to have a bad reaction to my fuzzy blue self. When are you bringing her here?"

Bobby blanched at the words 'mansion gossip pool'. How could he have forgotten how Beast loved to talk, about anything and everything to just about anybody? He'd have news of Diedre over the house in an hour, and the second Jean heard, she'd light into him for even more details. He'd never be able to keep knowledge of the club away from her. Then she'd tell Scott and he'd have the place busted. Scott was not one to allow any place he knew was illegal alone. And unlike the Hellfire Club, he didn't think that little club had enough power to defend against him. Also, it'd probably get him on Gambit's bad side, even more than he already was, which was a realization that surprised him. Still, with his failure to get back into the club on his own, he knew that Gambit was his only link to Diedre. He had to stay in his good graces. The thought of that left a sour taste in his mouth, but Diedre was worth it. She had to be. No other woman made him feel the way she did without even trying.

"Um, look, Hank. I'm kinda new at this falling in love business, and I don't want to ruin it. Can you please not ask me any more, and especially not tell anyone?" He couldn't look at him as he said it, and there was no force in his voice.

Beast was silent for a few moments, then Bobby felt his hand on his shoulder. "Of course, Bobby. I've always respected your wishes."

Bobby breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Hank. Um, I'll leave you to your work now." Without looking at him, he turned and hurried out.

Bobby went upstairs, wondering what to do. He was in love with a woman he couldn't get to and couldn't talk about without endangering her. And the only man who could get him together with her was one he couldn't stand being near.

Love sucks sometimes, he thought. An image of Diedre's face filled his mind's eye, as she'd been in the bathroom, surprised and pleased, and genually happy to see him. But it's worth it!

Grinning, he went to find Gambit, determined to get him to take him back to the club. So what if he had to swallow a little pride to do so. It wasn't as if he cared about the Cajun's opinion. He was still scum.

He heard voices in the living room and looked in the door. Gambit was sitting on the couch across from Warren, talking about... investing?"

"Non, mon ami," the Cajun said. "Real estate ain' no good. I prefer more port'ble assets."

Warren nodded in slow agreement. "Yes, but without real estate, you don't have anywhere to go."

"Well, I will grant y' dat one."

Bobby's jaw dropped open in surprise. He had a degree in accounting and he knew when someone was bluffing about finances. The Cajun wasn't.

Warren looked at his watch. "My tea must be boiling by now. Do you want some?"

"Merci."

Warren walked past Bobby, who quickly followed him to the kitchen, his surprise still on his face. "You're talking investments with Gambit?"

Warren started pouring hot water in a tea pot. "Yeah. I must admit, Remy may turn my stomach most of the time, but he knows money. I've made a tidy bundle off some of his suggestions. I think he's taken some of my advice too."

"But, how?"

"I dunno. He's close mouthed, but he's let a few hints drop. I think he has as much money as I do. He may have as much as the Professor." He grabbed two cups, some sugar and cream, and put them all on a tray. "I haven't asked where he got it all in the first place, though. I don't really want to know."

Warren headed back to the living room as Bobby sat down. Pulling out his wallet, he looked at his pitifully small ATM statement and wondered about the financial rewards of theft versus obedience.

Bobby fidgeted outside the closed door, trying to convince himself to go in. He raised his hand to knock, then lowered it. For a strange moment, he had the inexplicable feeling that he was crossing a threshold that, once past, he would never be able to return. Then he shook it off. Geez, it was just Gambit's room. All he wanted was a little favor-in exchange for not telling the X-Men about the New York guild. He raised his hand again and knocked.

"Oui?" came the muffled response.

"Remy?" It was time to be friendly. "It's Bobby. You mind if I come in?"

"Door's open."

Bobby grimaced. Great. Here he was bearding the lion in its den, and the lion was grumpy. But he couldn't walk away. As much as he disliked it, he needed Gambit's help. Cautiously, he poked his head around the door. Gambit was dressed only in jeans, and was in the process of toweling his long hair dry. Bobby was surprised to see the dark bruises that decorated the majority of his back and shoulder.

"What happened to you?"

Gambit glanced at him, expression neutral. But Bobby had the distinct impression that the eerie red eyes were seeing straight through him. Then he shrugged, though only with the uninjured side. "Got a little carried away in de Danger Room."

Yeah, like I believe that. But Bobby kept the thought to himself. Gambit almost never got hurt training.

"Did y' wan' somet'ing?" Gambit asked after a moment. His accent was especially thick, and he sounded tired.

"Yeah, I. . ." Bobby forced himself to speak. This was obviously a bad time, but he just had to get Gambit to help him. "I. . . wanted to ask a favor."

That got the Cajun's attention. His eyes narrowed. "What kind of favor?"

"I need you to talk to someone at that club we went to." If he weren't so nervous, Bobby would have chuckled at Gambit's suddenly baffled expression. He hurried on to explain, "You have to get me onto the list to get in. I tried to go there a couple of nights ago, but they said I'd have to talk to you." His ears still burned when he thought about that. The door goons remembered him, all right, but they weren't about to let him through without Gambit's express approval.

Gambit's expression remained baffled. "Why in de world y' wan' t' be goin' t' a place like dat?"

Inexplicably, his reaction made Bobby angry. "I just. . . do, all right? Look, I haven't told anyone about you being up to your neck in thieves when you're supposed to be retired." Gambit's eyes narrowed to slits, but Bobby pressed forward. "I thought that might be worth some kind of . . . consideration." Bobby held his breath. He'd actually done it. Played his little hole card against Gambit. He could feel his heart pounding as the Cajun studied him, lips drawn into a thin line. After a moment, Gambit cocked his head to the side, his expression sliding from angry to appraising.

"I s'pose it is," he answered. "But I can' let y' go t' de club. Sorry."

"Why not?!"

"B'cause dey'd see right t'rough y'. Y' ain't no t'ief. An' den it'd be bot' our butts on de line." His accent was thick enough that Bobby was having some trouble understanding him. He realized suddenly that Gambit must be on the verge of falling over. He also realized that this was probably the best chance he would have of convincing him. It was a pretty fair bet that Bobby could make himself obnoxious enough that Gambit would agree to anything just to get him to go away.

"So? You could show me how to act like a thief, right? I mean, it's just a nightclub. It's not like they're going to expect me to do anything while I'm there."

Gambit snorted in disgust and tossed the damp towel over the back of a nearby chair. "Y' can' act like a t'ief. It's somet'ing y' are. It's a-" he struggled to find a word, "a-mindset. A way o' t'inking." He gave Bobby a direct stare. "It's not somet'ing y' can fake. Not around dese people."

Bobby was beginning to feel desperate. He'd thought that Gambit would have to do this for him. But instead, he kept sliding around the issue. He wasn't actually saying no, but he was telling Bobby that it was impossible, and implying that it was because of Bobby, not because of his own refusal to cooperate. And that, Bobby realized with a start, was an extremely slick way to argue. If he hadn't been completely determined to get back into that club, Gambit would have talked him out of it already.

Bobby countered the slick argument with the only thing he could think of-sincerity. "Remy, please. I have to go back there."

"Why?"

Bobby felt himself blushing. Normally that would be bad, but this time, it would only add to his appeal. "Because, I . . . met someone." He couldn't quite meet Gambit's gaze. Which was probably good, because Gambit began to laugh. He sank onto the bed and laughed raggedly, one hand pressed against the ribs on his injured side.

"A woman? A t'ief woman?"

Bobby nodded and tried to ignore the fact that Gambit was laughing at him. But after a moment, Gambit's mirth died. Bobby looked at him, and was surprised by how solemn his expression was.

"Bobby, dese people are de real t'ing. Dey'd tear y' apart if dey found out what y' are."

"Then show me how to be a thief." Bobby wasn't sure who was more surprised by his words. Gambit simply blinked at him.

"F' real?"

"If that's what it takes to walk into that place, then yes. For real." A cold pit was starting to form in Bobby's stomach. He'd just jumped into some deep water, and he had no idea yet whether he was going to be able to swim.

There was a strange ache in Gambit's eyes that Bobby couldn't identify. "Is she worth it?" he asked softly.

Bobby formed an image of Diedre in his mind's eye, and he knew the answer instantly. "Yes."

Gambit stared at him, his red gaze intense. Slowly he nodded. "Den I do what y' ask. On one condition."

Bobby's heart had leapt into his throat. "What's that?" he asked, not really caring what it might be.

"Dat y' do what I say, when I say it, an' y' don' ask questions. Understood?" Bobby started to nod, but Gambit cut him off. "I wan' y' oath. By whatever c'n bind y'."

Bobby was taken aback. He felt suddenly like Gambit was asking him to sell his soul. But the momentary chill passed, and he couldn't help but feel elated. He was going to get to see Diedre on a regular basis. It was going to be more work than he expected, but that was o.k. He would swear to Gambit on anything he wanted for that.

"All right. How's this? I swear, on my honor as an X-Man, that I'll do my best to learn how to be a thief."

Gambit gave him another one of those appraising stares, but then he nodded. He almost seemed amused, but all he said was, "Go `way, Bobby."

Bobby was too happy to be insulted by the abrupt dismissal. And Gambit looked like he'd been run down by a truck, so it wasn't really something he could hold against him. That thought brought back an earlier question. At the doorway, Bobby turned.

"What really happened to you tonight?"

Gambit flashed him a humorless smile. "Y' find out soon enough, neh?"

Remy settled quietly into the overstuffed chair that fronted Professor Xavier's desk, trying not to let his stiffness show. Serves me right f' fallin' two stories down an air-conditioning shaft. Least I got away. And what he had gotten away with was what brought him to the professor this morning. Normally, he would be more subtle, but this one wouldn't wait for the right time.

"Good morning, Remy." The professor was pouring himself a cup of tea from the service perched on the corner of his desk.

"'Mornin', Professor."

"Tea?"

"Non." He declined with a small shake of his head. The less he moved, the better. And the less likely it would be that the X-Men would know he'd gotten hurt. Except Bobby. Remy cursed himself yet again for that particular bit of stupidity. What in the world had possessed him to invite the boy in before putting a shirt on? But he'd simply been too exhausted to think straight. Yet it seemed that a quirk of fate had saved him this time. Bobby wanted to learn the dark ways-to get to a woman. And like a fool, Remy had agreed. He still wasn't sure why, except that the expression in Bobby's eyes had been so full of yearning-of desire, and hope- that he simply couldn't refuse.

"Remy?"

Remy came back to himself with a start. "What? `M sorry Professor, I was-"

"A million miles away." The professor smiled.

Remy cleared his throat, uncomfortable. He found himself letting his guard down a little too much around the professor. They had a certain. . . understanding, to be sure, but Remy kept finding himself wanting to treat Charles as a friend.

If Charles noticed his discomfort, he didn't let it show. But Remy wasn't fooled. Charles took a sip from his cup and sat back in his chair, waiting for Remy to speak.

"A couple o' weeks ago, y' asked me what I thought about Draxar Technologies, an' `bout dem wantin' y' t' chair dere new foundation." Charles had said almost exactly that. He had called Remy into his office and described Draxar Technologies and their newly established Genesis Foundation, for which they wanted Charles as their Director. Remy had said that he didn't know anything about Draxar and didn't have an opinion. But that was how those conversations between them always went. It was Charles' oblique way of asking Remy to look into it. It also meant that Charles had his own doubts about the company already, or he wouldn't be looking for information of the sort Remy could provide.

Charles said nothing, only nodded. Remy decided that this wasn't the time to be edging around the subject. There were a lot of things Charles didn't know about him, but his abilities at espionage weren't on that list. Remy had much bigger secrets than that to keep, and this gave Charles the illusion that he knew the "truth" that Remy worked so hard to keep buried. Still, as intelligent as the man was, Remy often wondered who was playing who.

Remy sighed despite the pang in his side, and got on with it. "On de surface, Draxar checks out. Dey got several big government contracts for biotech research, but dere f' t'ings like bacteria t' eat up oil spills an' improvin' livestock. De Genesis Foundation's supposed t' be devoted t' improvin' de quality o' life through genetics. Even t' developin' way t' predict mutations an' maybe control dem." Remy couldn't help his acid smile. "Parents could pick dere kid's powers before dey even conceive him."

That elicited a frown from Charles. "That sounds. . . dangerous."

"Yeah, well, de real danger's in dere black bag. It runs real deep, if y' get my drift."

"How deep?" Charles knew the terminology well enough to know that a "black bag" referred to money that was never officially declared on the income statement.

"Four hundred million a year."

Charles drew in a sharp breath. That was a lot of money, even for a corporation the size of Draxar. "And they're using it for . . .?"

Remy shrugged. He'd gotten the figure. Finding out what was really going on behind that great big dollar sign would be a very risky venture. He'd need a lot more reason than the professor's curiosity to try it. But the odds were good that it involved mutant research. Remy knew perfectly well that he'd just put Draxar on the X-Men's top ten list of interest. Even if Cyclops would never know how Charles knew there was trouble brewing there.

Charles thanked him, and Remy excused himself quickly from the room. The last thing he wanted was to get caught in a casual conversation with the professor. Mostly because he hated hiding things from the man. But even Charles would never understand the reasons for some of the things Remy did. Sometimes, he wondered himself. Still, he had the opportunity to walk away from it all. He could devote all of his time to the X-Men and never step into the darker side of life again-but he knew that his conscience would never let him do that.

Over aeons, ice crept across the planet, crushing everything below it in a sheet of frozen water a mile thick. Animals and protohumans fled before it or died, or adapted, learning the tricks of warm fur, hot blood, or fire. Evolution forced into action by the threat of a permanent, icy grave.

In the Danger Room, the ice age came much faster.

With a shriek of grinding ice, Bobby grew a tree of frozen moisture in the center of the Danger Room. It sprung up in its artificial spring, growing up towards the ceiling and branching out, dropping frozen fruit that set down their own roots and grew themselves until the entire room was a forest of cold, or perhaps a cave with its stalagtites and stalagmites of white.

Bobby stared at the cave he'd created for a moment, then forced the screaming ice into new shapes. Into a castle complete with ramparts and flags, into an alien landscape, into the visages of his teammates. Frowning, he looked at them. Betsy stood closest, with her straight hair and almond shaped eyes. Almost without thinking, he lengthened the hair and reshaped the face, to be rounder and thinner with larger, sadder eyes. Diedre's face stared out at him. He glanced at Rogue beside her and did the same to her face. Storm was next, then Jean. Soon, all the X-Women wore Diedre's face and he sighed.

I gotta see her, he thought. I don't care what it takes. He glanced to his right and started.

He'd created the male X-Men as well and Gambit stood only a few meters away from him. But the Cajun wasn't quite right. In a setting filled with jewels he was stealing while the formless owners pleaded with him, he wore Bobby's face.

"Hi, Storm. Whatcha making?"

Ororo looked up as Bobby wandered into the room, his hands shoved into his pockets and his blond hair, badly in need of a trim, falling across his eyes.

"I am making some tea. Would you like some?"

"Sure, thanks." Bobby seated himself at the table and watched her pour two cups of the dark tea. Taking a bowl of honey, she put a teaspoon of the gold in her cup and looked at him with an eyebrow raised.

"Three, please."

She smiled as she put the honey in. "Having some tea with your honey, I see," she teased.

"Hey, I like it sweet," he protested. Picking up the cup, he sniffed the warm, steaming drink, and froze it until ice crusted the top. Breaking it with the honey spoon, he took a sip. "Ah, that's the stuff."

Storm shook her head, but didn't say anything. She was used to seeing Bobby freeze his food before eating. "Bobby, I have always been curious." He looked at her. "If you always eat your food cold, why do you bother to cook it?"

He shrugged. "It affects the taste. Cold cooked food tastes different from cold raw food. Besides, I want to make sure any little germs are killed first."

"True. That is a prudent course of action." She sipped her tea, savouring the taste. "How are your studies going with your powers?" She asked. She'd started assigning him solo training sessions to, as she put it, 'encourage independent development'. If Bobby hadn't known her so well, he would have thought she wanted to get away from him.

"Not too bad." He thought of the dozen Diedres he'd made. "I think I'm getting better at small details."

"Excellent. You do not look very happy though."

He shrugged and swallowed. "I guess I'm just tired." He paused. "Ororo, there's something I've always been meaning to ask you."

A single eyebrow rose. "Yes?"

He leaned back in his chair, trying to look nonchalant. "Why did you stop being a thief?"

She blinked for a moment. "Why?"

"Yeah. I mean, you've always said how good you were. Even Gambit admits you're a better pickpocket than he is. Why stop?"

She smiled and sipped her tea. "I needed to become a thief, but I did not need to stop being one. When my master found me, I was starving and penniless. I would have died without him and I loved him for giving me my life, as well as his teachings and his love. I became the finest pickpocket in Cairo for him.

"But I only stole for him. For myself, there was nothing. A bit of satisfaction in escaping with what I took, but very little that lasted for long. It was a quick fix, actually. And I was finding as I grew older that I very much came to dislike what I did. I could see my marks, after all, and I came to sympathize with them. When I reached my thirteenth year, I decided that I had had enough and left. I remembered my mother telling me of her people in Kenya and so I went to find them. I discovered my powers along the way and they made me a Goddess." She smiled. "Quite a step away from being a thief, but at least they made it so I did not have to steal again." Her look turned thoughtful. "Or perhaps I merely stole in a different way."

Bobby forgot his tea and leaned his elbow on the table, his chin in his hand. "What about Gambit? He doesn't think stealing is wrong even now."

She laughed. "I doubt Remy will ever feel that stealing is completely wrong. He is far too addicted to the pinch for that." Her expression was briefly sad. "But he recognizes the rights of his marks in his own way. When I lived in New Orleans with him, we only stole from criminals."

Bobby blinked. "I didn't know that."

"Oh, yes." The smile returned with the memory. "We would only steal from criminals. From drug dealers and bookies and gangs. Remy had a certain philosophy. Family is inviolate, even if they are criminals. As are people he saw as being innocent. Ordinary people such as we X-Men protect. And then there were those who harmed the innocent without being family. Those were his targets."

Bobby shook his head. "But he lets his family get away with stealing."

She nodded. "True. But do not forget all the times the X-Men have broken the rules of society. And Remy has put his past behind him. He does not, after all, steal any more."

Bobby looked down and sipped his tea, wondering if convincing Gambit to teach him to steal had been the wrong thing to do, not for what it would do to him, but for what it would do to Remy.

Wearily, Bobby climbed up the stairs to the men's wing. It had gotten late while he thought and he wanted to get some sleep before the morning, when Scott had one of his early hour Danger Room sessions planned. The man seemed to think everyone was as much of a morning person as he was, no matter how much they all tried to convince him otherwise.

Yawning, he walked into his room, flicked on his light and almost swallowed his tongue. Gambit stood in the center of the room, dressed in ordinary street clothing. Red on black eyes pierced his and he tossed him his jacket.

"Get dressed," he ordered. "Y' first lesson be t'night."

An hour later, they arrived at a seedy building deep in the Bronx. Remy had ridden his bike into the city, Bobby hanging desperately onto the back as he peeled around turns at high speed, but he'd left it behind blocks ago. They'd walked the rest of the way, taking such a roundabout route that Bobby had no idea where they were.

"Are you trying to make sure I can't find my way back here?" Bobby snapped.

"Nope. Makin' sure we ain' bein' followed."

Suddenly nervous, the young man looked behind him.

"Don' worry, homme. It safe."

Turning into an alley beside the building, Remy sauntered by a homeless person and hopped onto an especially battered dumpster. From there, he leaped up and caught the end of a fire escape ladder and pulled it down so they both could use it. With Bobby following uncertainly, he climbed up to the roof. Bobby came much more slowly, not entirely sure he wanted to touch the ladder. He'd never seen anything so filthy.

The roof was even worse. Covered in soot and filth, with little piles of human and bird shit, there was garbage everywhere. Bobby stepped over a bunch of broken beer bottles and hopped back away from several used needles and a couple of condoms. He looked in disgust at Gambit, who was sitting down calmly with his back against a vent.

"You gotta be kidding me. Why are we here?!"

The Cajun glanced at him. "First lesson. Don' question me. Jus' sit down an' wait."

Diedre. Think of Diedre...

Carefully, Bobby made his way over to him and cleared a patch of ground with his foot. Sitting down, he tried to relax.

"Okay, what now?"

"I tol' you. Wait."

Grumbling, Bobby did as he was told and the minutes crawled by. He glanced over at one point and saw that Gambit was leaning back with his eyes closed. He was about to make some comment about how he didn't come all this way to watch him sleep when the Cajun winced and he realized he'd been feeling his bruised ribs.

"Those aren't going to heal if you keep doing that," he told him.

Gambit smiled. "Don' worry. Dey heal pretty fast. Bruises ain' much t' worry 'bout."

Bobby glanced away at some grafitti, blushed and looked back at him. "How did you get those? I mean, I've seen you take on Magneto without getting a scratch."

"Does it matter?"

He frowned. "It matters if I go home with the same bruises."

Gambit chuckled. "Don' worry, Bobby. I not dat bad a teacher. I not take you anyplace dat I don' t'ink y' c'n handle."

Bobby turned away, embarrassed by the compassion he heard in his voice. "Sure," he muttered. "You just take me to a junkie's paradise in the middle of downtown Bronx at 2 am."

"Jus' wait, Bobby."

With nothing to do, Bobby leaned forward and fiddled his thumbs, left over right, right over left, back and forth. He thought of his lessons with Storm and how there was no way he was ever going to be able to stay awake for that morning's Danger Room session. Most of all, he thought of Diedre.

Never went to this much trouble for a woman before. He smiled. But it's worth it. He heard a scream. Then again... He looked at Gambit. "Are we going to do anything about that?"

The Cajun had been sitting up straight, eyes unfocused as he concentrated. Then he relaxed. "Non. She got away."

Bobby hesitated, not sure that letting her attackers go free was the right thing to do. "How can you be so sure?"

Remy hesitated, then tapped his temple. "I can sense her runnin'. It's one a my powers."

"But..."

"Wait, Bobby."

"Wait, yeah, sure. All I ever do is wait."

More time passed and the hour creeped to one o'clock, then one fifteen, and finally one thirty. At one fourty five, Gambit looked at him. "Well?"

Bobby had been dozing off listening to the music from a club several blocks away. He started awake. "What?"

"Y' learn anyt'ing?"

He blinked. "What's to learn?"

Gambit grinned. "Why y' t'ink we been out here? I don' like t' sit on dis roof any more dan you."

Bobby huffed. "Well, what am I supposed to learn? Patience?"

"Nope. T' listen."

"Listen?"

The Cajun nodded, serious again. "Oui. Listen."

Confused, Bobby listened.

"What y' hear, homme?"

"Uh..." he concentrated. "I hear cars, and music from a club."

Gambit was relentless. "What else?"

The sounds of the music and cars fading into his subconscious, and then under that, a low rumble, growing louder, then fainter as a subway car passed them at the nearest point in its course.

"I can hear the subway."

"Closer."

Beneath the mechanical sounds, human movements. Someone's footsteps on the pavement. The rhythmic slap slap slap of a young teen's tennis shoes. Occasionally scuffling. A sloppy sound. That was how he knew it was a teen, he realized. Then, as the footsteps disappeared into the distance, the uneven burr of the bum snoring beneath them, along with maybe a paper rustle as he turned over on his bed of torn grocery sacks.

He focused, harder than he ever had before. He'd never been so aware of sound. "I hear someone walking down the sidewalk, and that bum snoring in the alley."

"Closer dan dat."

Bobby sighed in frustration. "I don't know!"

He searches for more to hear, finds nothing.

"Yes y' do. Find it or dis de last time I try t' teach you."

Bobby glared at him. "That's not fair!"

Gambit raised both eyebrows. "I be teachin' y' t' be a t'ief, boy. If y' can' pick up even de simplest t'ings, den dere ain' no point in tryin', neh?"

Bobby cursed and tried again, remembering things Storm has been teaching him. To be still and concentrate. To listen to the sounds of nature and to her Goddess. Then he began to hear the wind...

The wind. He could hear the wind. Softly blowing, rustling the newspapers scattered over the roof, whistling in the vent, making something bang down below them on the side of the building. He frowned, his brow furrowing in deeper concentration. "I hear something."

"What is it?"

"I... I'm not sure."

"Listen t' it, Bobby. Forget everyt'ing else and just listen t' dat one sound."

Bobby did, listening to the soft, intermittent banging.

"Listen t' de sound."

It was wood.

"Ignore everyt'ing else."

Heavy wood, banging softly on wood.

"It right below you..."

Wood against wood, knocking at the whim of the wind, right below them on the side of the building.

"You know what it be."

"It's a window," he said at last. He was surprised to discover he was covered in sweat. He normally never sweated, his powers keeping him cool. "It's an open window, banging against the frame when the wind hits it."

Remy grinned, looking inordinantly pleased. "Oui, it is. An' it's our way in."

They climbed down the edge of the building to get to the window, using a drain pipe to reach it.

"Why don't I just use my powers to get us down there?" Bobby called.

"Non! Y' never use ya powers on a job! Dat's de rule of the Guilds. Y' use y' powers an' y' put out a neon sign t' anybody on how t' identify y' an' to watch f' other mutant t'ieves."

"But, I thought the only mutant Guild was in New Orleans."

"Ain't talkin' just 'bout New Orleans."

Bobby chewed on that enigmatic statement as Gambit checked the window and hallway beyond, then slipped in. Nervously, he followed. This wasn't like one of his usual assignments. He didn't have the power of the X-Men if something went wrong this time, just one mysterious Cajun.

The hall inside the building wasn't much better than the roof. The walls below the single working bulb were dingy and grey, strewn with graffiti and dents. The floor was linoleum that sucked at their every step, cluttered with paper and garbage. Bobby looked down at a headless doll and shuddered.

"Hard to believe people actually live here."

"Sometimes y' got no choice. Sometimes y' t'ink y' got none." Remy flipped up the collar of his duster and walked down the hall. "Come on, de contact be waitin' f' us."

"Contact? Who?"

"Somebody I need t' talk t' t'night. He lives here."

Bobby heard a rat skuttle through the shadows and shuddered. A baby wailed plaintively in the distance. "What do I do?"

Remy stopped by a door midway down the hall. "You wait out here an' keep y' eyes open f' trouble. Dis guy not gonna be wantin' t' talk in front of a stranger. An' remember, no powers." He handed him something cold and heavy. "Use dis if y' have to. But yell f' me first."

Bobby looked down at the squat black gun he'd handed him. He'd only ever used one in the practices Cyclops insisted they all take. He'd never thought he'd ever have to carry one for real. "I didn't know you carried a gun."

The Cajun chuckled. "I carry two. I still got de ot'er one on me. Now be careful. Dis place ain' safe."

He knocked on the door three times, waited a moment, then knocked twice and stood back so whoever was inside could see him through the peephole. A few seconds later, the door opened and he vanished inside.

It was immediately a lot darker in the hall without him there and Bobby had to resist the urge to coat himself in a nice safe layer of ice. "Dis place ain' safe," he mimicked. "No shit, Sherlock."

Gambit was gone for only ten minutes. Ten minutes that seemed to last forever as the young mutant shivered in the hall and tried to think of Diedre. Anything that would keep him from getting out of there now. Maybe it was his imagination, but there was a malevolence in that place that he could almost feel. Did feel in fact. It was something evil and it was in the room with Gambit.

I knew he was nuts.

Finally, the door opened again and the Cajun reemerged. Bobby had a brief glimpse inside of a smoky room filled with shadows, but Gambit closed it before he could get a good look. Leaning back against the door, he lit a cigarette and puffed heavily on it.

"What happened in there?" Bobby asked uncertainly. The Cajun looked the same as always, but Bobby has the nagging suspicion that he was very disturbed by something. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what by though.

Gambit shrugged. "I asked some questions an' got some answers. Dat's all y' need t' know." He pushed away from the door and started heading back to the window.

"But-" Bobby gestured at the door. "Whoever you were talking to wasn't human, was it?"

The Cajun gave a dry laugh. "No more dan us an' probably less." He sat on the window and looked at him calmly. "Y' got any more questions?"

"Yeah. Why did we wait so long for a ten minute interview? Just to teach me to listen?"

"Dat's de way I learned it, homme." He ducked out the window.

Not wanting to be left alone there for even a moment, Bobby hurried after him. Why do I get the feeling that's not all of it? The more he thought about it though, the more he thought that the wait on the roof wasn't just to give him a lesson in listening.

It was for Remy to work up his nerve to go inside.

Once away from the building, the Cajun's step began to slow and he walked quietly by Bobby's side, smoking his cigarette.

"So," Bobby asked nonchalantly. "When are you planning to go back to the club?"

Remy grinned. "Y' mean, when am I plannin' t' take you?"

"Well, yeah. I've been working really hard, you know."

"Oui, dat's true. I take you soon, I promise." He wandered over to the side of the street, where two men were drinking beer and laughing. "But not t'night."

Without warning, he lashed out, driving his fist into the face of the first of the two men. He went down spitting teeth as Remy spun and roundhouse kicked the second as hard as he could.

"Jesus!" Bobby yelped. "What are you doing?!"

Remy left the two unconscious men and walked back to his side, continuing down the sidewalk as though nothing had happened. "Remember de woman we heard scream?"

"Yeah."

Well, dose were de two guys dat tried t' jump her."

Bobby gaped at him. "How do you know that?"

The same grin appeared on his face he always wore when he was being enigmatic. "Easy. I listened."

Bobby adjusted the bowtie at his throat one more time and tried to ignore Gambit, who was grinning at him with all the cheerful menace of the Cheshire Cat. He had the horrible suspicion that he looked like a high school kid on his way to the prom. He felt like a high school kid on his way to the prom. Complete with horse- sized butterflies in his stomach and sweaty palms. But it was Saturday night, and they were less than twenty feet from the door to the club, and hopefully, Diedre.

"So, does this place have a name? I feel like a dope just calling it `The Club' all the time," Bobby said.

Gambit glanced back over his shoulder at him as they descended the stairs. "Don' got another name." He shrugged. "You ever meet anybody dat don' know what y' talkin' about, dey too small-time for y' t' be botherin' wit."

Too small-time for me to be bothering with. Bobby rolled the words around in his head. They were. . . exhilarating. But then all other thoughts were banished as they reached the door to the Club, and Bobby found himself facing his favorite goon squad. The larger of the two nodded at Gambit.

"Mr. LeBeau. Mr. Drake." Then he stepped aside and resumed his perfect pose.

Bobby tried not to stare as he followed Gambit past the two men. Mr. Drake? At Gambit's say-so, he'd suddenly become Mr. Drake?

They passed through the coat check room, and a different girl smiled at them. Bobby barely noticed her. His eyes were fastened on the far door. This was it.

The noise hit him like a hammer, despite the fact that he'd been expecting it this time. The scene was identical to the one he'd been confronted with before, except that his attention was immediately drawn to the bar in the hopes of spying a certain pale face at the end of the long black counter. To his supreme disappointment, he didn't see her.

"Bobby." Gambit nudged him to get his attention. He turned. "Go find y' ladyfriend, eh? I've got some t'ings t' take care of, maybe take an hour. You jus' stay low an' keep y' mouth shut, non? Anybody give y' trouble, y' send `em t' me."

Bobby could feel the hairs on the back of his neck begin to bristle, and Gambit seemed to sense it. He caught Bobby's elbow. The expression in his eyes was fierce. "You're riskin' my life here too, boy. Don' forget it."

Bobby nodded, sobered. "Got it." He'd never really thought that it was dangerous, what Gambit was doing bringing him here. But he had to admit that he really didn't know what the people here were like.

He made his way toward the bar, trying to look casual. He still couldn't see Diedre anywhere. He paused to watch a couple of spins of the waist-high roulette wheel, wondering if he dared place a bet. Then he realized that he didn't have the faintest idea how much any of the chips were worth, nor what the true rules of the game might be. The only roulette he'd ever played had been at his parent's church's Casino Night.

"Black twelve," said a voice over his shoulder. Bobby turned in surprise to find a young man with long, sandy blond hair standing behind him.

"What?"

"Black twelve," he repeated, and as he did, the white marble settled into the appropriately marked groove.

"How did you know that?"

The young man tapped his temple and smiled. "It's my power. I can predict statistical occurances. The wheel's not rigged, so I always know."

"You're a mutant?" Bobby wasn't certain why he was surprised. Gambit had warned him that there would be a lot of mutants.

"Of course. Just like you." He held out his hand. "Alexi Markeno."

"Bobby Drake." He returned the handshake.

Alexi nodded. "LeBeau's apprentice. I know."

"You do?"

Alexi chuckled. "Everybody knows who you are. We don't get too many new faces."

Bobby found himself looking around sureptitiously, which elicited another chuckle from the young man beside him. Alexi clapped him on the shoulder.

"Have you met Michael yet?"

"No." The thought made Bobby a little nervous. Gambit had told him about Michael, and had been very explicit that Bobby was to keep his distance. He hadn't painted Michael in a very kind light.

"Well, c'mon. I'll introduce you." Alexi grabbed him by the coat sleeve and began dragging him toward the far side of the immense room. Not certain how to resist, Bobby followed him.

"Michael's my mentor," Alexi explained as they wove their way through the crowd. There was a clear note of pride in his voice. "He's a Master thief-- the only one in the city."

"Except Gambit," Bobby reminded him obliquely.

Alexi shrugged. "Yeah, well, Gambit's something of a rogue. He doesn't have a guild."

Bobby grinned at the unintentional play on words, but decided that he'd never be able to explain. And he had yet to figure out this emphasis on "guilds" and "clans". Remy had tried to explain-- somewhat, at least, but to Bobby it all sounded like so much gobbledegook.

They managed to wind their way to a small raised area off to the side of the giant television screens. Small round tables were scattered about in imitation of a small cafe. Bobby was only slightly surprised to see that a real rose decorated each glass-topped table. The tables were mostly filled, and Alexi led him toward the center of the crowd.

Bobby identified Michael while they were still a good ten feet away from his table. He looked exactly like the predator Gambit had described him to be. His hair was jet black and slicked back to reveal a sharp widow's peak. His eyes were just as dark, and reminded Bobby of a hawk's. But it was the woman seated beside Michael that caught his attention and held it in an iron grip. Diedre. She was dressed in a blue so deep that it seemed darker than Michael's black suit. Her lips were blood red, and a small voice inside Bobby cried out that it was all wrong, wrong. The colors were an abuse of her delicate beauty, covering her like bruises.

As he took the last few steps, Michael leaned over and kissed Diedre's bared shoulder. Bobby felt like his heart had suddenly turned to stone. Diedre smiled at Michael with those awful lips, but it was a thin, tired expression. Then Michael looked up, taking in his guests with a single glance. His gaze fixed on Bobby, who found himself skewered by one of the most frightening stares he'd ever encountered. In a sudden moment of epiphany, Bobby realized that there was nothing remotely human in the heart of this man. He couldn't say how he knew it or why, but the conviction grabbed hold of him and refused to let go. To see Diedre even sitting next to him was disturbing. To think that she might be with him. . . He shoved the thought aside and tried to hold on to his composure. For perhaps the first time in his life, Bobby desperately wished that he had Gambit at his back. Gambit, who had more than enough arrogance to absorb Michael's deadly stare.

Alexi was completely oblivious to Bobby's thoughts. He greeted Michael with cheerful cameraderie. Michael returned the greeting in a more restrained manner and then rose, proferring his hand.

"You must be Bobby."

Bobby nodded and shook his hand. He forced himself to meet Michael's eyes instead of the pair of pale blue ones beside him. Diedre was watching him intently, her expression unreadable. And in a moment of pure terror, Bobby wondered if he'd completely misread her at the library. But he'd been so sure of what he thought had passed between them.

"Uh, it's a pleasure to meet you. Sir." Bobby managed through a dry throat. Michael chuckled.

"Michael is fine. Please, sit down." He gestured toward the empty chair that occupied a spot at their table. Bobby did so, as Alexi pulled over a chair from another table and settled next to him. Bobby wasn't sure whether to be grateful or annoyed by Alexi's somewhat posessive demeanor. It was almost as if Alexi were a pup bringing a prize to lay at his master's feet.

Michael gestured toward Diedre. "This is my wife, Didi."

Bobby swallowed convulsively, but managed to keep his expression still. "It-- it's nice to meet you."

She ducked her head shyly, but didn't speak. Michael glanced at her appraisingly, then seemed to decide that that was introduction enough. He turned back to Bobby.

"Now." Michael picked up his drink. "Tell me about yourself."

Bobby blinked at him and tried not to panic. This was exactly what Gambit had told him not to do. He didn't have any idea what to say. He couldn't exactly tell Michael about the X-Men. Or about Diedre for that matter.

"Uh, what do you want to know?" A waiter came by at that moment, rescuing him for a few precious seconds that he needed to think. He ordered a beer-- that Hefeweizen that had started all of this. Then he answered Michael.

"I grew up in Maine -- kind of a middle class, ordinary place. I came to New York because I didn't want to live that kind of life." Well, that was nice and vague, at least, he thought sourly.

Michael nodded. "How did you meet Remy?"

Bobby thought furiously. "He was sort of a friend of a friend." Which was even true, since Storm was his friend and she was the one who had brought Gambit to the X-Men. "She just brought him home with her one day."

Michael chuckled knowingly, and Bobby mentally patted himself on the back for such a creative use of the truth.

"You and she were lovers?" Michael asked, and Bobby nearly choked on his beer at the blunt question.

"Uh, no." He searched for some more of that creative truth. "Just roomates."

"Ah." Michael's gaze wandered for a moment, drifting out over the sea of people. Bobby took advantage of the brief lack of attention to glance at Diedre. He so very much wanted to ask her if he was being a complete fool-- if there was any real reason for him to be there. But she was inscrutable, her gaze locked on the table before her. She seemed so. . . lifeless here that it scared him. He wanted to reach over and shake her until she reacted to him.

"So what's your power, Bobby?" Alexi asked suddenly. Bobby had almost forgotten he was there.

"My power?" he replied cautiously. There weren't many places in the world where mutants would discuss their abilities openly.

Alexi nodded vigorously. "You are a mutant, aren't you? I can't imagine Gambit taking on someone who wasn't."

Michael's attention returned to them. His expression was curious. Bobby glanced between them and then, finally, over to Diedre.

"I'm a mutant," he admitted.

Michael did not look surprised. He leaned back, somehow seeming to lounge in the straight-backed chair. "Perhaps a small demonstration?" he suggested.

Bobby stiffened. The words were casual, but the challenge beneath them was unmistakable. Michael wanted to know what he had. Bobby considered him, his stomach tightening. What could he do? Build an ice statue on the table? But that would hardly impress Michael. And he didn't think that ice slides or barriers would do it either, despite their size. Maybe just going ice himself, right there? But that, a tiny voice inside told him, might be giving too much away.

He stared at the table, mind rushing, and finally settled on the ice statue. But just as he was about to begin, inspiration struck. He'd been working hard on his abilities and done a lot of sculpting lately. Why not do something really astounding?

Ice exploded in a thick column directly behind Michael's chair. It grew rapidly, branching out as it reached toward the twenty-foot ceiling. Michael looked up in surprise as the heavy column of white became a dragon that spread irridescent wings of ice and reared back, raising clawed talons to strike down at the man beneath it. Then, just as quickly, it flowed into a new position, lowering its body and dropping its wings to wrap gently around Michael in a protective cloak. Michael did not move as the crystalline wings enfolded him.

Bobby bit his lip as he concentrated on building the image his mind saw. It was probably the most intricate thing he'd ever done, especially to change it so fast. He held the ice dragon in its final pose for just a moment, then released the moisture back into the air with a sigh of relief. The dragon simply evaporated in a cloud of white.

Stunned silence greeted his display, making the loud music seem even more garish. Then, slowly, a smile spread across Michael's face and he began to applaud Bobby in a measured rhythm. Soon, the people crowded around them joined in, and for the first time in his life, Bobby found himself the object of an ovation. He blushed hotly and looked away from Michael, only to find himself staring directly into Diedre's eyes. They were full of amazement and wonder, and her unguarded smile was brilliant. Bobby knew in that instant that he would do whatever he had to to see that expression on her face again. It didn't matter that she was married. Not if her husband didn't make her glow like that.

A hand closed on Bobby's shoulder, startling him. He looked up to find Gambit watching him, his expression vaguely disapproving. "Y' showin' off, Bobby?" he asked casually.

"Hello, Remy," said Michael. Bobby did not miss his sudden coolness.

"Michael." Gambit nodded in acknowledgement of the other man. It was about like standing in the middle of two circling lions, Bobby thought. He wondered if he shouldn't find a way to get out from between the two before the charged cards started flying.

Gambit nudged him. "Let's go. We got t'ings t' do tonight."

Uncertain whether to be disappointed or relieved, Bobby rose from the table. He managed to make the proper goodbyes without stumbling over them, and began to turn away when a soft voice stopped him.

"Do you--" Diedre glanced at her husband. "Do you think I could learn to do that?" Her eyes were alight.

Bobby stared at Michael, not knowing if the question had been aimed at himself or the other man. His throat had gone dry, to the point where he almost hoped it was Michael who would answer. But Michael remained silent, his expression unreadable. Finally, Bobby shrugged in what he hoped was a casual manner.

"All it takes is practice. But I'd be happy to show you," he couldn't help but look to Michael, "if it's all right."

Michael cocked his head and frowned. "We can talk about it later." The words were stiff and Diedre deflated. "Nice meeting you, Bobby," he added a moment later.

Bobby turned away with a chill, wondering just what he'd gotten himself into. Gambit had warned him that these people would tear him apart if they ever found out he was a fake. Now, he believed it.

"Non, non. Y' can' force it, comprehende? Y' gotta be gentle, an' delicate." Gambit watched intently as Bobby worked the lock. "Nudge de tumblers into place and voila!" Bobby gaped in amazement as the lid opened. "Ya in."

"I- I did it!"

Gambit grinned. "Y' sure did. But pickin' de lock on my chest simpler dan any lock y' gonna find dat's really s'posed t' keep somet'ing hid. Still, y' done good." He slapped his shoulder and stood up. "Come on, I get y' a beer."

Iceman followed the Cajun down the stairs, still amazed as he slipped his lockpick into an inside pocket. It'd been three weeks since Gambit started teaching him and some of it actually seemed to be sinking in. It made passing himself off at the club a lot easier. They'd actually settled into a routine. Three days a week, his butt belonged to Gambit for training, though working in the time without the X-Men noticing usually required them to be up until the wee hours of the morning. Three nights were his to do with as he pleased, though he never knew ahead of time which nights were going to be his and which ones would have the Cajun knocking on his door, and one night a week, they'd go to the club. Or rather, one night a week Remy would take Bobby there, to be sure he didn't do anything stupid and get himself killed. On his free nights, however, Bobby went on his own. And every night he went there, Diedre was there as well, with a shy smile reserved just for him. He even got to sit with her, on the pretense of teaching her about her powers, and Michael allowed it, with only a snort of derision and some comment or other about it being his time to waste.

Wow. I'm actually pulling it off!

"In de case, homme!"

Bobby looked up to see Remy glaring at him. Blushing, he pulled out the pick and put it back into its tiny traveling case. "Oops, sorry."

Remy grimaced. "You de one gonna be sorry if y' on a job an' find y' pick's busted. Dose t'ings are expensive t' replace."

"I thought they were cheap."

The Cajun snorted. "Cheap tools only good for cheap jobs. Dat t'ings worth 'bout $500." Bobby blanched and he grinned. "My whole set cost 'bout a quarter of a mil."

"A quarter of a... you're nuts!"

He shrugged. "Paid dem off on de first job."

"Holy shit!"

"Shh." The Cajun led the way into the rec room, where Logan was playing pool and Scott and Jean were watching television with Betsy and Warren. Remy made his way over to the little portable fridge and pulled out a beer for himself and Bobby.

"Better throw one a those my way," Logan growled. Remy grabbed a third and tossed it to him. Logan caught it without looking.

Jean looked at them over the back of the couch. "Well, you two seem to be spending a lot of time together."

"Uh." Bobby tried to think of a lie that would fool the team's best telepath, but Gambit just shrugged. Bobby envied him his reserve.

"He m' friend. Dat okay wit' you?"

Scott looked at him and frowned. "Just so long as you don't get him into trouble."

Gambit slammed his beer down on the edge of the pool table in anger. "Hey!" Logan barked. "Watch it, bub."

The Cajun ignored him. "What? Dat what y' t'ink of me? Dat I'm gonna get him into trouble? Dat I'm corruptin' him? Dat nobody c'n be around me?"

"That's not what I said."

"Sure what it sounded like, homme." He walked out.

"Cajun's sure in a mood t'day," Logan pointed out, swigging his beer. "Can't say as I blame him." The last remark was directed at Scott.

Cyclops didn't answer him, turning his attention to Bobby. "Don't you think you're spending too much time with him, Bobby?"

Bobby hesitated. "What do you mean?"

"He's a bad influence." Logan growled and Jean looked annoyed. Warren and Betsy looked alternately smug and embarrassed.

To his own surprise, Bobby felt himself getting angry. "You don't think I can take care of myself?"

"No, that's not what- Why does everyone keep putting words in my mouth?"

Logan grinned. "'Cause yer too busy putting in yer foot?"

Bobby snorted. "Well, I'm getting along fine with Gambit. He's an interesting person once you get to know him and maybe I want him to get me into trouble. Did you ever think of that?" He walked out too.

The shock hit him three steps later. My God, what did I do? He'd never stood up to Scott that way before, and for Gambit! He didn't even like the man. Why defend him?

Feeling slightly guilty, Bobby wandered through the old mansion and out onto the backyard patio. Staring at the sunlight that flickered on the pool, he took a gulp of his beer.

"I don' s'pose y' brought my beer out wit' y', neh?"

Bobby looked around, then up. Gambit was sitting on the roof above him. The same place he always went to when he was feeling troubled. Everyone in the house knew it for he'd spent a lot of time up there after Rogue left him. Even down on the ground as he was, Bobby felt like he was intruding.

"Sorry," he admitted. "I think Logan grabbed it."

The Cajun sighed. "Dat's no big surprise. Oh well."

On impulse, Bobby tossed his own beer up to him. "Here, have mine. I was done anyway."

Gambit caught the bottle neatly, his expression unreadable as he wiped the mouth and took a swig. "T'anks, mon ami."

Bobby hesitated. "Um, you called me 'friend' back in the rec room too. Did you mean it?"

The Cajun was silent a moment, then shrugged. "Sure. Why not? Not dat Scott wanna let me."

"He really gets to you, doesn't he?"

A flash of a grin. "Oui. T'inks he's superior t' anybody who don' measure up t' his moral code. Pers'nally, I don' t'ink he measure up t' mine."

Bobby stepped farther back so he could get a better look at him. The Cajun squinted down at him, his eyes obviously hurting in the sunlight.

"What's your moral code, Remy?"

He shrugged. "Love wit' all y' heart, protect y' friends and fam'ly and s'vive no matter what, so long as de first two are kept safe." He took a swig of the beer. "I t'ink Scott sacrifice us all if he t'ought it de right t'ing t' do. Or let us die if it meant he had t' do somet'ing he didn' agree wit'."

Bobby shook his head. "No, he wouldn't do anything like that."

"Maybe not. I don' know de man ver' well, really." He took a drink and tossed the rest of the bottle down to him. Bobby barely managed to catch it. "You up f' a late night?"

Bobby looked back up at him. "What sort of late night?"

The Cajun grinned again. "De kind t' make Scott squirm."

"So, what do we do, homme?"

Bobby stared at the monolithic museum before him, then gaped at the man by his side. "Why are you asking me?"

"'Cause you de one wants t' learn t' be a t'ief."

"We're going to rob the museum?!"

"Keep y' voice down. Of course we not gonna rob it. Not f' real. We just gonna have a li'l fun."

The Cajun sounded terribly amused, but Bobby was scared half out of his mind. They were crouching on a building beside the museum, dressed head to foot in black with masks pulled over their faces. A duffle bag filled with equipement sat at their feet. He tried to swallow, but his mouth felt too dry. Pulling his mask up to expose his face, he created an ice cube to suck on for moisture.

Remy batted it away. "I said no powers. Now, y' wanna do dis or not? 'Cause if y' don', we c'n turn around right now and go home."

And never go out on another lesson again. Those were the unspoken words, but Bobby understood them. Remy wouldn't let him chicken out or do less than his best even once. If he did, there'd be no more training, and no more Diedre, and his heart couldn't bear that punishment. If he went along with this, it would have to be all the way.

It's not real, he told himself. We're not really going to take anything. With the cool wind drifting past him and the grey stone of the museum filling his eyes, though, it definately felt real. What's to stop us from getting arrested? He wondered. What's to stop us from getting shot?!

Remy stared at him intently, only his red on black eyes visible. "You wanna go home, Bobby?" He asked gently. His words were kind, but the threat was still there. Do it now or never do it at all.

Think of Diedre, he thought, his mantra. Think of Diedre.

"What do I do?" He whispered hoarsely.

Remy grinned. "Dat's de spirit. You jus' tell me what t' do an' follow 'long. If y' tell me t' do somet'ing I don' think I c'n get us outta, den I won', but otherwise you be callin' de shots."

Bobby nodded, almost breathing a sigh of relief. If Remy wouldn't let him do anything stupid, there was a net below him after all. "Is this the way you were taught?" He asked.

The Cajun chuckled. "On m' first job, yeah. Was thirteen years old."

"Did you succeed?"

He shook his head. "Non. Tol' my fat'er t' cut de wrong wire on a sec'rity camera. He got 'way, but I got busted. Fingerprinted me an' t'rew me in the slammer an' everyt'ing t' try an' scare me inta never doin' it again."

Bobby blanched. "You got out?"

"'Course. Y' can' send t'irteen year olds t' jail after all. Wen' home an' got my butt reddened for screwin' up."

He couldn't believe it. "Your father beat you?! But he's the one who cut the wire!"

"So? I de one told him t' do it. Never made dat mistake again."

He sounded so matter-of-fact, Bobby wondered if he'd let him fry to teach him such a lesson. Oh, God.

Remy saw the look in his eyes and chuckled. "It's gettin' late, homme. What d' y' wan' me t' do first? Y' should know if y' been payin' attention."

Think of Diedre.

Nodding slowly, Bobby told the Cajun what he desperately prayed was the right thing to do.

It wasn't nearly as hard as he'd thought it would be. It was difficult getting over to the building and past the security, certainly, especially since Gambit wouldn't let him use his powers, but no more so than some of the missions with the X-Men he'd been on. Yet the reasons were all different, and for the first time in his life, Bobby was the one in charge.

"See that camera?" he whispered, wedged side by side with Gambit in an airshaft in the ceiling. The heat was stifling and he was tempted to put just a thin sheet of ice over himself, but he knew Remy would know.

"Where?" Remy whispered back, a hint of humour in his voice. Bobby felt a brief annoyance, but realized that was silly. Remy wasn't laughing at him. He was enjoying himself instead, and pushing him to do his best. It was a little disconcerting.

"At eight o'clock below us."

"Oui."

Bobby struggled a bit farther forward to get a better view. Half crushed against the side of the vent, Gambit let him.

Bobby studied the angle of the camera and their placement. "There's no way to get by it from here, is there?" He realized.

"Non," Remy gasped. "Not wit' de tools I trained you wit'."

Bobby bit his lip. "So, what do we do now?"

Glowing red eyes watched him silently, and Bobby sighed. "I know, I know. We go back and try again."

"Dat's my boy."

Back on the roof of the museum, Bobby sucked in the cold night air. "Damn," he muttered. "This is impossible." Quickly, he turned around to see if Remy had heard him, but the Cajun was sorting through the contents of his bag and didn't pay attention. "You know what I wish?" He asked.

"What?"

He paced on the roof, careful to keep away from the edge and safely in the shadows. "I wish I'd known about this beforehand, so that I could think to go get the building plans for this place." He looked at the Cajun to see him hiding a small smile. That sneaky, bloody...

"Okay, hand them over."

Gambit grinned widely as he yanked out a folded set of blueprints from his bag and gave them to him.

"You know, you could have told me you had these thirty minutes ago."

Gambit tried to look innocent, which was hard to do with blood red eyes on black. "Moi? I'm jus' along for de ride. 'Sides, dis is more fun."

"You rotten..." Bobby spread the blueprints out. "I should freeze your underwear."

"Can't," he replied smugly. "No powers allowed."

"Just wait 'til we get home then," he muttered darkly.

It turned out that the airvents were indeed the right route to take into the building, Bobby had just taken a couple of wrong turns. They bypassed the alarm systems, Bobby sweating every time he had to tell the Cajun to cut a wire, and crawled in, Bobby drawing on everything that Gambit had taught him to spot the traps and get by them. Without his X-Men training and what he'd learned from Remy, he knew he never would have made it more than three feet into the building, and there were still a few occasions when he had to guess on what to do, which wire to cut, which setting to use. But his luck was holding well and he didn't do anything to set off the alarms.

Unless they're silent alarms, he thought, glancing at the Cajun. Remy looked calm, but Bobby knew he'd trip the alarms in a second if Bobby guided him wrong. However, he was pretty sure he'd get out of there fast once he did, so he tried not to worry. It wasn't easy though. His throat was tight, his hands were soaking in sweat in his gloves and under his mask and his heart felt like it was going to jump out of his chest every time he moved. He badly had to go to the bathroom and for some inane reason, he kept thinking that he was going to crawl around a corner and run right into Diedre, out on a job herself, and that she would then laugh at him. That was silly, though. Diedre may have been married to a master thief, but she was no thief. She'd admitted that to him willingly.

Why am I doing this for a married woman? He wailed silently. He hadn't told Remy that part. While he was sure Remy wouldn't care if he chased a married woman - he'd cheated on his own wife after all - he didn't want to know what he would think of Bobby for doing so.

I love her, he thought. And I could tell she wasn't happy with him. He sees her as an object. He thought of her smooth clean limbs and tremulous smile, the wonderful chill that came from her when she relaxed and let her body temperature drop. It was a turn on for him, though everyone else would avoid them and the cold in the air. Even Michael. I could never do that.

The sound of Remy cutting wires interrupted his reverie. That was a little odd, the Cajun had been waiting for his guidance up till now. He looked up to see Gambit had cut into the wall of the vent and was holding the wires which led to an air vent in the floor right before them. Bobby peered closer to see him closing the wire cutters around a red wire near the front.

Panic stabbed through the younger mutant. "What are you doing?" He hissed. "That's the wrong wire! You want the green one!"

Gambit looked back at him somberly. "It is?"

"Yes!"

"You sure?"

Bobby hesitated, not wanting to second guess him and screw up. He thought it was the wrong wire, but he wasn't sure, any more than he'd been completely sure that the others were. He'd always been that way, second guessing himself and others. He stared at the wire now fearfully.

Is he really cutting the right wire, or is it the wrong wire and he's just seeing if I'm paying attention?

The Cajun waited patiently, but his gaze was intent. Bobby realized something.

He's checking to see if I've been guessing.

Bobby pulled the mask a little bit away from his face to get some air. Blinking away sweat, he peered at the wire, following the route of it, remembering all his training. I'm not sure! he wailed silently. I'm not sure of anything!

"Well?" Gambit asked.

Bobby bit his lip. Be sure. You have to be sure. Trust in yourself for once, you frozen popsicle.

With a supreme effort, he forced down all the little doubting voices and said, with as much confidence as he could muster, "It's the green one."

He flinched as Gambit cut the green wire.

"Was it the right one?" He whispered.

"What you t'ink, homme?"

Bobby took a deep breath and listened. All he heard were the normal night sounds of a building at rest. "I think it was."

The Cajun chuckled. "So, how do I get dis vent off?"

That part was easy. Now that the security system was overridden, a simple screwdriver let them remove it. Once that was done, Bobby could clearly see that they were in the ceiling of a tall gallery, filled with statures in glass cases and paintings. Shadows filled much of the room, except for little lights illuminating the various treasures. Probably to make it easier for the guard to see if they'd been stolen.

"Which one are we going to take?" He asked.

Gambit shrugged, wedged side by side with him again. "I t'ink de one right below us be good 'nough."

Bobby peered down at a tiny statue about 30 feet down. He couldn't make out what it was, but he wasn't going to argue. "Sounds good. I... guess I better get down there, huh?"

To his surprise, Gambit shook his head. "Non, we don' have de time anymore. I go down an' get it. You have t' lower me, and make sure I don' trip anyt'ing on de way down."

Bobby gaped at him, but the only thing he could think of was Oh, thank God!

As the Cajun started removing lines and climbing belts from the pack, Bobby stared down at the gallery. He could see the cameras below, but they were watching the multiple enterances and none were actually pointed at the center of the room. He doubted they expected anyone to come through the ceiling, but it still seemed odd.

There's got to be something else, he thought, staring at the great expanse of open floor. Pressure plates? Nah, too many people walk on them all the time. He frowned, remembering how the mansion grounds were protected, and how he usually detected that sort of security in the danger room. "Remy?"

"Yah?"

"Do you have any powder, or anything that'll make a mist?"

"Why?" The Cajun sounded interested.

Bobby twisted around to look at him. Gambit had backed up and was putting on his climbing gear in the enclosed space. Bobby was immediately glad it wasn't him doing it for another reason. He was nowhere near as flexible as the Cajun. He never would have been able to get the stuff on without either making a hell of a lot of noise or dislocating something.

"Um, I think they've got lasers down there. I want to check."

Even under his mask, he could see the Cajun's broad grin.

Hey, I guess I did something right. Heartened by that, he took the can the mutant handed him and sprayed downwards and around into the gallery. The can released some kind of smoke that spread out thinly and widely, and as it went down it highlighted dozens of lasers around the room.

"Jesus," he whispered. "It looks like a scene from Star Wars. Are you sure you want to lower yourself into that?"

"Oui." The Cajun sounded amused again. "But first y' gotta give me a little room."

Bobby looked back to see he was ready, but with the extra bulk, he couldn't squeeze by him. Carefully, with nowhere else to go, Bobby crawled forward, over the open vent to the other side.

He was halfway across when he slipped.

SHIT!! He wailed inside as he fell through the vent, desperately grabbing for the edge. Barely, he managed to grab it and the relatively thin metal buckled from the sudden stress, almost causing him to lose his grip. For a second, Bobby felt ice start to creep over him. He wouldn't be hurt if he fell in that form. But somehow he stopped himself.

No powers! he thought. No powers! He looked down and his vision whirled. Oh, god, I'm gonna die!

The next thing he knew, Remy grabbed the back of his coat and hauled him far enough into the shaft that he could get the rest of the way in himself.

"Are you all right?" Bobby didn't answer, gasping in reaction. "Bobby!"

Bobby looked back. Remy had pulled his mask up to show his face and he looked genuinly concerned. No amusement, no guarded emotions. Just worried for a friend. Bobby swallowed. "I'm okay. Thanks."

Remy tilted his head to one side. "No problem. Y' wan' t' go home?"

Bobby hesitated, then shook his head. "No, let's just get this over with."

Remy nodded and pulled his mask back on. "It y' call, mon ami."

Five minutes later they were ready, and, braced in the vent with half a dozen levers letting him control the Cajun's descent without having to hold him up fully with his own strength, Bobby lowered him down. Headfirst.

He's a loon, he thought, but the words didn't hold as much force as they did before. He was too worried. Worried that the Cajun would fall, that the guard would walk in and see him, that he'd swing him into a laser beam and he'd get caught. If he did, he knew, he'd blame himself.

I got him into this, he realized. I have to make sure he gets out.

It felt weird, to be concerned about Gambit of all people, but Gambit had been kind to him. He didn't patronize, or laugh at him. He laughed at some of the things he did, certainly, but he didn't seem to think that they meant Bobby himself was any less of a person. And he didn't judge, the way he always felt he was being judged by people like Cyclops. He expected his best from him, but somehow, Bobby didn't think he'd care if he didn't give it. He wouldn't teach him anymore, that was true. But he wouldn't think any less of him.

Shit, Bobby realized. He actually thinks of me as a friend. That was amazing. In all the time Remy had been at the mansion, he'd made two friends. Storm and Bishop. He wasn't sure Rogue counted, since she'd left him, but now Bobby himself made three. He'd never have expected it, and he wasn't sure he felt the same way, but there was a kind of honour in it, that Remy could see him as a friend, when everyone else just saw the scroundrel facade of his, and treated him accordingly.

It's amazing the things you realize about a person when you're lowering them on a rope, he thought and smiled. He may never really like Gambit, but even if he never managed to get together with Diedre, at least he'd learned something new. And not just about how to steal.

"Could y' move me a bit t' de lef'?" Remy whispered through the receiver in his ear. "Y' 'bout t' dump me right in a laser, an' I hate strip searches at de cop shop. Dey never let de women cops do dem."

Bobby looked down, to see Gambit was just inches away from a laser. "Shit!"

"No need t' yell, homme. Dese receivers are pretty sensitive, neh?"

"Oh, sorry."

Bobby shifted him over a bit and started lowering him again. "Okay," the Cajun called. "Dat's perfect."

Bobby stabilized the lines and looked down. Remy was hanging right beside the case, not slowed down at all by the fact that he was upside down as he carefully bypassed the alarm on the case and cut through the glass. How does he do that? I would have passed out by now.

"Uh, isn't the blood rushing to your head?"

"Only when y' tell me it should be."

Bobby bit his lip and waited, watching the exits for any sign of the guards as Remy broke into the case, lifted the statue out and put it in his bag, wrapped in bubble tape. Then he laid a small card down where it'd been.

"Okay, pull me up. An' don' go too fast. I could still swing into one of dese t'ings."

Bobby did as he asked, and it was three agonizing minutes before Remy was back in the shaft with him. Immediately, the Cajun began struggling out of his gear and repacking it while Bobby screwed the vent back into place.

"What did the card say?" He asked.

Gambit chuckled. "It say better luck next time an' has a key t' a bus station locker 'cross de street."

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Bus station?"

"Sure." He grinned at him. "Y' not plannin' on keepin' de t'ing, are ya?"

"Uh, no, of course not." He was glad he was wearing a mask as he blushed hotly. "How long do you think it'll take us to rewire all the security systems and get out of here?"

"'Bout five minutes wit' me doin' it. Sorry, Bobby, but we only got a few minutes b'fore de guards figure out what happened an' go tearin' 'cross de street t' get dere bauble back."

Oh. man...

Turning, he slapped the wiring for the vent alarm together faster than Bobby would have ever thought possible, turned, and scurried at full speed back the way they'd come. Bobby almost hurt himself trying to keep up.

Once outside, the Cajun ran to the line they'd strung between the building and the one they'd originally started from. It was the bus station Remy had mentioned, a fact which hadn't had any significance until this moment, and swung across. He barely waited for Bobby to follow before he pulled the line down after them and ran into the shadows.

"Quick now, strip. I hope y' remembered t' wear y' street clothes under dat."

Frantically, Bobby pulled off the black clothing to show ordinary jeans and a tee-shirt underneath. Already changed, Gambit emptied the black bag, turned it inside out to show the words Adidas on the side and refilled it, stuffing the black stuff on top. Switching his gloves for ordinary biking gloves, he slung the bag over his shoulder, ran to the stairwell and let them both in, locking the door behind them. He was moving so fast that Bobby was nearly panicking, imagining all the things that could go wrong. Oh, God, they're going to be waiting for us, I just know it!

Remy ran down the stairs two at a time, hesitated at the door, and quickly walked out, Bobby behind him. The bus station was mainly empty at this hour, most of the patrons over boarding a bus headed for Atlanta. Ignoring them, Remy walked over to the lockers, picked the lock on one and put the statue inside. Relocking it, he grabbed Bobby's arm and pulled him over to the line up for the bus, handing him a ticket as he did so.

"We're going to Atlanta?" Bobby hissed.

"Y' rat'er stay here?" The Cajun murmured as several security guards raced into the station towards the lockers.

The last ones on the bus, they settled into their seats, quietly leaning back as the bus pulled out and away from the station, to the sound of a dozen sirens headed in.

"I did it," Bobby murmured several hours later after the bus had pulled into a reststop to refuel and they'd accidently wandered off in spite of the driver's warnings that he wouldn't wait for anyone. "I actually did it!" He yelled to the heavens. "What a rush!!"

My God, I actually want to do this again! What would Scott think? Who cares?

Walking at his side, Remy laughed. "Didn't know what de pinch really felt like, did ya?"

He shook his head, still grinning. "I had no idea. And you used to do this all the time?"

Remy's face sobered. "Yeah," he said sadly. "Kinda miss it too."

"Whoo, that was incredible. You really had me going at the end, though. We cut it so close!"

His teacher smiled. "I probably shouldn'ta told dem it was dat close, but it didn' matter. Dey woulda got dere 'bout de same time we did irregardless of where we left it an' least dis way I know how long it take de average cop t' show up. In a real good pinch, de mark don' know 'bout de pinch at all 'til y' long gone."

Bobby frowned. "I remember you telling me that once, when we were on that mission to FOH headquarters."

"Oh, dat! What a foul-up!"

"Yeah," He looked down. "I guess I should apologize for that."

He glanced at him. "Y' already did."

"I meant I should apologize and mean it."

"Oh." He looked at an approaching car and stuck his thumb out. It passed by without slowing. "Nuts. I was hopin' for more trucks. Dey're de most likely ones t' stop f' a body at dis time a night."

Bobby yawned, though he still felt exhilerated. "We're not going to get home until noon tomorrow at this rate."

The Cajun chuckled, grinning widely. Bobby found himself returning the grin. "Hey, don' worry. Dere's a hotel couple a miles up de road. We not get a ride by den, we take one."

"You're going to steal a car?"

"Hey, we bring it back, neh?"

Jean Gray Summers sighed to herself and raised a hand to scratch her forehead. The tiara that went with her costume always itched when she was annoyed. She wasn't sure why she kept the stupid thing anyway. Nostalgia, she supposed. But on mornings like this one, nostalgia didn't have much of a voice.

#REMY!!# she roared mentally. She was standing in the Danger Room with Scott and the others gathered around. A few were still trickling in, but that was normal for early morning sessions. As was having to drag a certain Cajun butt out of bed. Normally, she had a more tolerant view of Gambit's tendency to hibernate until noon. But she'd been up late herself last night, and if *she* had to get up this early then so would he.

Unfortunately, she couldn't just dump her thoughts into his head like she could with any of the others. He was a telepathic ghost, impossible to grab hold of. So all she could do was aim her thoughts in his general direction and shout. Most of the time that was enough to wake him, if she threatened enough mayhem.

#REMY LEBEAU, I SWEAR IF YOU DON'T GET OUT OF BED I'M COMING UP THERE WITH A BUCKET OF ICE CUBES AND ALL THE TELEKENESIS I CAN MUSTER.#

She felt his sleepy chuckle. You don' tell Scott, den neither will I. And then he was gone again, burrowing back under the warm covers.

Jean growled some rather unlady-like curses, making Scott's eyebrows rise. "Problem, Jean?"

She smiled grimly. "Nothing that an experienced Den Mother like myself can't handle," she assured him. Then she turned. "Bishop!"

The mutant in question turned away from a conversation with Beast and Logan. "Yes?"

"Would you mind very much fetching Gambit for practice this morning?" Her tone was saccharine.

Bishop's expression didn't change, but Jean imagined that she saw a glint of humor there nonetheless. It was obvious to her that Bishop bore some strange but deep affection for Gambit. She was at a loss to explain it, but on mornings like these, it came in handy. Gambit was the only person in the house that Bishop would treat so disrespectfully as to drag him bodily out of bed.

"Phase Two," she muttered to herself as Bishop left the room.

"Is there a Phase Three?" her husband asked.

Jean glanced at him and smiled. "I'm sure I can invent one if Phase Two ever fails." Her expression elicited a chuckle.

"Remind me to stay on your good side."

Jean's smile widened. "Well, you know, I can always be bribed with sexual favors."

Scott laughed, slightly embarrassed. "I'll remember that." Then he looked around.

"Are we missing anyone else?"

"Bobby's not here yet." Logan adjusted the fit of one long blue glove.

"Perhaps his alarm failed this morning," added Beast.

Jean made a quick pass through the house, searching for the Iceman. She found him where she expected to-in bed, still asleep. She shrugged. "I'll have Bishop knock on his door while he's up there."

A terrific booming noise dragged Bobby out of darkness. Then a thunk. And a thud. It sounded like someone was breaking furniture. But just as he was about to wake up enough to get alarmed, a voice added to the mix, cussing someone in a mix of languages. Bobby relaxed and let the sleepy dark reclaim him. That was Gambit. And if he was making that much noise, he wasn't in any serious trouble.

Bobby drifted off into a dream of snowflakes. Big, fat snowflakes, the kind that would fill up the yard in no time, filling the world with white. And Diedre in the midst of it, laughing.

BAM! BAM! BAM! The booming noise was back with a vengeance. Bobby groaned and rolled over as the sound resolved itself into someone banging on his door.

"Go `way," he mumbled and tried to get comfortable again. He didn't want to lose his dream. And besides, it couldn't have been more than ten minutes since he'd lain down.

"Bobby, you are supposed to be in the Danger Room," said Bishop through the door.

Bobby absorbed the meaning of the words after a few moments and then groaned again. He'd forgotten about that completely. He and Remy hadn't gotten in until after three, and the practice session was scheduled for seven. He cracked an eyelid and was dismayed to find that sunlight was, indeed, streaming through his window blinds.

Bishop's fist pounded on the door again, and Bobby winced at the noise. He was stiff and sore from the workout Gambit had given him-they'd broken into some kind of office building that had more security than Bobby would ever have imagined-and his head ached from the lack of sleep. All the racket Bishop was making just made his headache worse.

"Okay, okay, I'm up already!" he told the door. The words had the desired effect. The noise stopped. With a sigh, Bobby closed his eyes again.

When he next opened them, it was to find Bishop's face less than ten inches from his own. "It's time to get up," Bishop told him calmly.

Deciding that he wouldn't win an argument on the issue, Bobby rolled slowly into a sitting position and put his head in his hands. He tried to wave Bishop away. "I'm coming. I promise."

He felt Bishop move away. "I will wait outside for you." Bobby was glad his hands covered his expression. Bishop was like a glacier. Big, solid and inescapable.

When Bobby was finally dressed and feeling at least partly human, he opened the door to find Bishop leaning against the wall, facing away. Bobby glanced down the way to see what Bishop was watching, to discover Gambit just emerging from his own room. He didn't look any better than Bobby felt, though he did appear to have taken a shower, at least.

"After you, mon ami," he said to Bishop, gesturing for the big man to precede him. His tone was studiously neutral. Suddenly Bobby wondered what all the racket he'd heard earlier had been about.

Bishop glanced at Remy, then back at Bobby, and Bobby could almost imagine the gears turning over. He grunted once, and then did as Gambit had suggested. Bobby darted a look at Remy behind Bishop's back Does he suspect? he wanted to ask, but dared not. Remy shrugged lightly. It was a gesture Bobby had come to know meant something like "Maybe yes, maybe no. It's not important either way."

Still nervous, Bobby followed the other two down to the Danger Room. He was beginning to wonder who would find him out first-the Guild, or the X-Men. And he wasn't entirely sure which one might be the better option.

One. Two. One. Two. Stop. Turn. One. Two. Duck, cause he'll be coming from your blindside. Bobby dodged the blow, stepped back. One. Two. He counted his steps, sticking doggedly to the rhythm Gambit had taught him. And again. Turn. Block. They were dancing back and forth across the grass, and for once, Bobby was doing a pretty good job of holding his own. Of course, he knew this wasn't anywhere near the limit of what Gambit could do-not with those reflexes-but they were at a normal person's equivalent of full speed.

"Arret!" Gambit stepped back, held up his hand. Bobby slid to a stop, breath ragged. Gratefully he bent down, bracing himself with hands on knees as he gulped the sweet early-morning air. Almost unconsciously, he spotted the vicious kick aimed at his head and dove to the side, rolling to his feet in a ready crouch.

Gambit looked pleased. "You payin' attention."

Bobby straightened. "Yeah, well, I figured it was good for my health." Remy had given him several painful bruises as the result of his inattention. He seemed to have a knack for knowing when Bobby's mind was wandering, and that was when he was most likely to spring something like that kick on the unsuspecting young X-Man.

Bobby had been surprised to discover that his training was going to include hand-to-hand fighting. He'd learned the basics, of course, with the X-Men, but he'd never put much emphasis on it because his powers were so much more useful in a fight. But the "no powers" rule made him glad that he was getting a chance to sharpen up. He was beginning to feel like he could take on a skilled opponent without having to resort to his powers to save his hide.

"C'mon. Let's get cleaned up." Remy started off across the park. It was midmorning now, but he and Bobby had beaten the sun there and had been able to spar in relative peace. Central Park was never completely deserted, though, unsurprisingly, no one had approached them. Bobby was incredibly curious as to what could have enticed the Cajun out of bed at such an early hour.

They fetched their bags from the very un-Gambit sedan that they'd taken from the mansion. Bobby hadn't asked about it. He knew if he stayed with Gambit he'd probably get the answer eventually. And Remy was more willing to volunteer information if Bobby had put some effort into figuring it out for himself first.

They walked across the street to one of the many skyscrapers that surrounded the park. On the second floor was a rather exclusive gym that Remy was a member of. Bobby had been there several times already-apparently a great deal of business was conducted between the cross-country ski machines. It never ceased to amaze Bobby that Remy knew all these things. He knew where to go and who to see for just about everything.

They passed the doorman who greeted them both by name, and went directly to the stairs. Bobby spent a fleet moment wishing that he would get enough time to soak in the hot tub for a bit, but he had the feeling that Remy had other plans for them for the rest of the day.

Bobby hummed the Army theme "Be All That You Can Be" as he changed into the suit Remy had suggested he bring. He snugged the tie into position and turned around to find Remy standing quietly behind him, impeccably dressed and apparently waiting. Having gotten used to that sort of thing, Bobby simply asked, "So where are we going?"

Remy's expression didn't change. "De bank."

Well, that explains the suit, at least, Bobby thought. He followed Gambit back to the car, wondering silently if he weren't also trying to include a little fashion sense in his training. Bobby had always thought that he had pretty good taste-at least for a man. But after spending some time in a few of the upper-class places Remy favored, he had begun to realize that there was a whole other level to these sorts of things. Even a nice suit from Sears looked shabby next to designer silk. Bobby kept his sigh to himself as he spotted his reflection in a storefront window. There were some drawbacks to not stealing for real.

They walked into the bank twenty minutes later. It was one of those massive stone buildings, and the interior was enough to take Bobby's breath away. The ceiling was a full forty feet above their head, and from it hung two chandeliers the size of automobiles. The floor was marble, veined with gold. Dark paneling covered the walls, which matched the antique-looking furniture exactly. Their footsteps echoed in the massive space, and Bobby found himself trying to step more lightly.

"Relax, mon ami," Remy commented with a smile. "Dey make it intimidatin' on purpose. Even gets t' me, an' I could break dis place."

"Is that what we're doing?" Bobby asked in an undertone. A fairly alert-looking security guard was watching them, so Bobby tried to keep his expression easy.

Remy chuckled. "Not today. I jus' need t' get some cash."

"What? You couldn't use the ATM?"

Remy didn't answer as they approached the reception desk and the very lovely blond seated there. "Good morning, Mr. LeBeau," she said with a blinding smile. "What can we do for you this morning?"

"Withdrawal, please."

She took a ledger from her desk, opened it to a half-filled page and scribbled something. "The amount?"

"Two million. Cash."

Bobby tried not to choke.

"U.S. currency?"

"Oui."

She finished writing and turned the ledger around. "If you'll just sign-" she indicated the spot with the pen, "I'll let Mr. Raymond know you're here."

"Merci." Gambit accepted the pen and signed the book. The receptionist laid that brilliant smile on them again as she reclaimed her ledger. Then she gestured toward the waiting area, a cluster of leather couches and hardwood tables.

"Please have a seat. Can I bring you coffee? Tea?"

"Non," Gambit declined, apparently for both of them.

As they walked over to the couches, Bobby hissed, "Two million?"

Remy sat down, crossed his legs and picked up a copy of the Wall Street Journal from the side table. Bobby blinked in surprise. It was like he'd suddenly switched personalities. This was a high- power executive, a lawyer. Maybe a commodities trader. Not the somewhat scruffy ex-thief and general troublemaker that Bobby was familiar with.

"Remy, sometimes you scare me."

Remy glanced at him over the paper. "Really? Why's dat?"

Bobby only shook his head. "So what's the money for, anyway?"

"We got business t' do tonight. Gon' need it."

Bobby bit back his curiosity. This wasn't the place to discuss details, even if Remy were willing to. He settled himself to wait. It turned out to be a good thing, too. The process of prying that much cash out of a bank was a long and boring one. They spent a total of four hours at the bank, most of them waiting to see someone or another, before an armed guard set a black briefcase down in front of Remy.

Remy flipped the catches and opened the case. Bobby tried not to stare at the neat rows of crisp, new fifty dollar bills. It was definitely the most money he'd ever seen at one time. Remy nodded and closed the case.

"Do you want an armed escort, Mr. LeBeau?" the banker asked.

Remy shook his head, and Bobby tried not to smile. "No t'anks. I c'n manage."

They walked out into the midday sun and Bobby heaved a sigh of relief. "I'm glad that's over."

Remy grinned that disconcerting grin of his. "Dat was de easy part."

They pulled into the drive of a truly spectacular mansion just as the sun was setting. The flaming orange and red of the sky was reflected in the windows, almost making it seem as if the place were on fire. It was a huge house that, honestly, was the closest thing Bobby had ever seen to a castle in the United States. He continued to stare at it as they pulled to a stop in front of the wide marble steps leading up to the front door.

"It's jus' a house," Gambit commented as they stepped out of the car.

Bobby glanced at him over the car's roof. "Who lives here?" All he knew was that they were Upstate somewhere. He'd dozed too much of the trip to know more than that.

"Let's go inside." Remy handed his keys to the valet that approached him. Then he started up the stairs, and Bobby followed. He had the briefcase, Bobby noted.

They were met at the front door by two men in suits. Both were large and solemn, and Bobby had no trouble recognizing their type. Not that the noticeable bulges under their jackets wouldn't have given them away also. Bobby had learned enough about what to look for that he knew that those bulges were much too big for simple handguns. They had to be sporting some kind of uzi-like small automatics.

Remy handed the briefcase to the first, then spread his arms wide and allowed the rather thorough weapons search without visible reaction. Bobby tried to copy his detachment when it was his turn. But he absolutely hated the process. It was. . . violating. But Gambit had drilled it into him-if you're going to let them search you, let them search anything they want. Never react. So he stared at the wall and forced himself to be still until it was over.

The goon that had searched Remy also examined the briefcase. He had Remy open it, and then made a careful search of the money and the case. Finally satisfied, he relocked it and returned it to Gambit.

The goons turned them over to an assistant of some sort, who led them into the house. The foyer emptied into an immense gallery that appeared to run the full depth of the house. Bobby tried very hard not to gawk, but it was more impressive than the Smithsonian. He didn't know enough about art to know how much the paintings were worth, but he could guess. Statues and sculptures lined the walls in individual niches, and there were occasional pedestals displaying smaller pieces. There was even an airplane hung above their heads, though Bobby wasn't certain what it was or what historical significance it might have.

Gambit noticed him staring up at the single-engine plane. "It's a Zero," he said.

"What?"

"A Japanese Zero. World War II fighter. De Kingpin's an airplane buff. Dat one's his favorite."

"Oh." Then Bobby registered the statement in full. "Wait a minute. The Kingpin? The Kingpin?" The X-Men had files on the Kingpin, master of organized crime in New York. But even they didn't know where he lived.

They left the gallery and stepped out into the crisp evening air. They were in some kind of covered colonnade that crossed through a garden area on its way to another part of the building. Their guide had said nothing up to this point, and continued the trend as they went through the door at the far end. Bobby was surprised to find himself in a pool room. The pool itself was lilypad-shaped, with a multitude of slides and diving boards ranged around it. A fully-stocked wet bar occupied a small island at the center of the pool, but none of that was what grabbed Bobby's attention and refused to let go.

The pool was in use. By something close to a dozen of the loveliest women Bobby had ever seen, X-women included. And every one of them was completely naked. They sported in the water, laughing and splashing. An occasional playful shriek echoed across the room. Sometimes someone would climb out of the water to go to one of the slides, bouncing all the way. Bobby felt like he had walked into the middle of a porno flick.

The sharp elbow Remy planted in his ribs brought Bobby out of his reverie. "Let's go."

"But--?"

"Dey wallpaper, Bobby. Ignore dem."

Bobby stared at Gambit in surprise, but his expression was as flat as his voice. He turned and followed their guide without so much as a glance at the pool. Not certain what to think, Bobby tried to copy him.

"Hello, Remy." The Kingpin's voice was a deep, resonant bass.

Not surprising, Bobby thought, considering all the room it has to echo around in there. The Kingpin was not a small man. Bobby estimated him at about four hundred pounds.

"And you must be Bobby Drake." Bobby's heart froze at the sound of his name. The Kingpin knew him? How? From the X-Men? Had he somehow given Remy away?

Bobby tried to control his sudden burst of panic. He nodded in response to the question, forcing himself not to look toward Gambit.

"Bonsoir, Kingpin," Remy replied. If there were any reason to panic, Bobby couldn't tell it from his voice.

The Kingpin sat behind a truly monstrous desk. It seemed to have been custom fit to his bulk. Remy walked up to the desk, set the briefcase on top and opened it, turning it around so that the Kingpin could see the contents. The Kingpin nodded and Remy closed the case again, pushing it off to the side. Then the Kingpin reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a large manila envelope. He slid it across the desk to Remy, who picked it up.

"So how's the day job?" the Kingpin asked conversationally as Remy opened the envelope and began examining the contents. It appeared to hold several official-looking documents, though Bobby couldn't tell what type.

Remy shrugged without looking up from his reading. "De usual."

The Kingpin steepled his fingers in front of his lips, his expression amused. Bobby wondered why he was the only one who felt like panicking. The Kingpin had to be referring to the X-Men. Did he know that Gambit was an X-Man? Worse yet, did Remy give out information he learned as an X-Man to people like the Kingpin?

The Kingpin's gaze shifted to Bobby. "They call you Iceman, correct?"

Bobby couldn't help but look toward Remy. How was he supposed to play this? But Remy was still engrossed in that cursed envelope, and didn't seem to be listening.

"Yes, they do."

The Kingpin's expression of amusement had not faded. "You don't look like a thief."

Bobby could only stare at him, completely at a loss. Was the Kingpin trying to trick him into giving something away? Or was it just an innocent observation?

"Dat makes him perfect, non?" Remy quickly folded up the papers and returned them to their envelope. He tucked the package inside his coat. "Never seen a security guard look twice at him."

The Kingpin chuckled. "Maybe so." He paused, changing subjects. "I hope that is satisfactory." His nod seemed to indicate the mysterious envelope.

Remy didn't seem very eager to talk about it. "It's as much as I was expectin'," he said. Bobby had become familiar with the guarded expression on his face.

Remy began to turn away, but the Kingpin went on, "Then I'll add this to it for free."

Remy turned back, and Bobby found himself tensing in expectation, though he had no idea what kind of trouble might be brewing.

"You're stepping in over your head on this one." The Kingpin said simply. "I know how much you value this mutant crusade of yours, but I doubt that even the X-Men can tangle with this and emerge unscathed."

Remy watched the Kingpin without expression. "You got interest in Draxar?" he asked, and Bobby was left wondering who or what "Draxar" might be.

"Not enough that I will take sides." The Kingpin leaned back in his chair. "I'm giving you this warning because I appreciate the way you do business. Do with it whatever you like." And with that, he pulled out a folder and opened it, apparently dismissing them.

They left without further conversation. Bobby was never so glad to get out of anyplace in his life. The Kingpin's manner had set his skin to prickling, and set off every warning instinct he had. And, unfortunately, had also set him to wondering why such a powerful criminal knew so much about the X-Men.

"How much does he know about the X-Men?" Bobby asked the moment they were in the car.

Remy shrugged. "As much as he wants to." He put the car in drive and started away from the house. The casual way he spoke, combined with Bobby's growing suspicions, ignited a small fire of anger deep in Bobby's stomach.

"Do you - do you sell him information out of our files?"

Remy looked over at him for a moment, then slowly nodded. "Sometimes."

Bobby's anger blossomed into full-blown fury. He thought he'd begun to understand Remy. He'd certainly begun to trust him. And now to find out that he had betrayed the X-Men's secrets to someone like the Kingpin. . . . He was unaware as he transitioned to his ice form, spreading out into a sort of spiderish shape that gave him excellent balance and mobility in the car seat.

Gambit slammed on the brakes and the car skidded to a controlled stop on the side of the driveway. He turned to stare directly at Bobby, apparently unaffected by his sudden shapechange. The hand that Bobby could see glowed with power, though Gambit wasn't currently holding anything.

"Where y' wan' go wit dis, Bobby?" Remy asked softly. Bobby understood in that moment that Gambit would meet him on whatever terms he set. If he wanted a fight, he would get it. If he wanted blood, he would get it. He was stunned to realize that Remy would kill him, if pushed to it.

"I just want an answer," he finally said.

Remy stared at him. Then, "Do y' have any idea what's really important t' a man like de Kingpin?" he asked.

"Money," Bobby answered promptly.

"Exactly."

Bobby watched him warily. "What does that have to do with you selling out the X-Men?"

Real anger flickered behind Gambit's eyes and Bobby watched him warily. He thought he had the advantage in this tight space, but Gambit was just so unpredictable that he wasn't going to count on it. His heart was pounding in pure terror at the thought of taking Gambit on. Not so much out of fear for his own safety, though he knew he'd need an advantage like the last time they'd fought or he'd never be able to take the Cajun. It was more from the realization that he would be destroying the tenuous friendship they had developed. Bobby hadn't imagined until then that it might be important to him.

Remy seemed to relax slightly, as if reading Bobby's reluctance. The glow of his hand faded and then disappeared. "De Kingpin don' like trouble-from mutants or anybody else," he said in a fairly normal tone of voice. "It's bad f' business." He shrugged. "Sometimes, de trouble c'n best be handled from dis side o' t'ings. A little pressure from someone like de Kingpin. A little money. A favor here or dere."

Remy paused to dig a cigarette out of his coat. He didn't bother with a match, but simply flicked the end with one finger. The flash of pink was immediately drowned in a flare of orange as the tobacco lit. "If it's mutant trouble, de Kingpin's boys usually come t' me. If I t'ink he's got de means t' keep t'ings from getting out a hand, I'll sell him de info he wan'. Den his boys c'n do de X-Men's work for dem, business stays good, an' everybody happy. N'cest pa? I even make a little off de deal."

Bobby stared at him, uncertain what to believe. Remy sighed, blowing smoke, and shook his head. "I wouldn' give him anyt'ing dat give him a handle on de X-Men. Don' worry. I'm not stupid."

Bobby found himself relaxing. What Gambit said made sense, in a certain kind of way. "That's o.k., Remy," he found himself replying. "I was only questioning your loyalty, not your intelligence." He had the satisfaction of seeing Remy's eyes widen, as if he weren't certain whether to take the comment seriously or not. Unfortunately, Bobby couldn't' quite hold a straight face, and Remy's lips quirked into a wry smile.

The last of Bobby's tension drained away. He leaned his head back against the rest, suddenly exhausted. "Let's just go home, all right?"

Remy continued to watch him for a moment longer. Then "Right," he agreed, and put the car in gear once again. They made the long drive home in silence.

It was only long after they had arrived back at the mansion that Bobby realized that he'd never asked Gambit what was in that envelope that was worth two million dollars.

Bobby yawned hugely as he stepped out the front door of the mansion. He'd actually gotten a chance to sleep in for once, and had enjoyed taking full advantage of it.

"What's going on?" Bobby came up beside Hank and glanced at his friend. Hank grinned and waved toward the large truck that was parked in front of the house.

"I believe Gambit's car has arrived."

"And everybody came out here to watch?" Nearly all of the X-Men were gathered on the front porch. "Doesn't anybody have a life anymore?"

"Oh, hush," Jean made shushing motions at him. "Besides, we've got a pool going as to what kind of car it'll be."

"Considering all of the trouble Gambit has gone to in bringing it here," Ororo added, and Bobby turned to stare at her.

"You're in the pool?"

Ororo chuckled. "I could not resist."

Bobby was beginning to feel a bit excluded. "So why didn't I hear about this?"

"Probably because you're never around these days," Scott said, staring at Bobby over his wife's head.

"Scott!" Jean elbowed him lightly. "Be nice."

"I am being nice. It's true."

"So? Bobby is entitled to his own life."

"Thank you Jean." Bobby gave her a mock bow and she smiled at him.

"It's about time," Logan growled from where he leaned against one of the columns that supported the porch roof. Bobby turned to follow his gaze and saw that the workmen were lowering the ramp on the truck. When it was down, Gambit climbed nimbly up the steeply sloped surface and disappeared into the dark interior. After a moment, they heard the roar of an engine.

Well, it sounds fast. Bobby leaned over to Beast. "So did you bet in this pool?"

"Indubitably." That had to be Hank's favorite word, Bobby thought.

"What'd you pick?"

Hank grinned. "Something classic. A restored treasure."

Bobby simply raised his eyebrows.

"A 1967 Corvette Stingray."

"Geez, you picked years?"

"And colors. Red."

Bobby couldn't help but laugh. "I really haven't been around enough."

The metallic clanking of the ramp as the car's tires hit it brought Bobby's attention back to the truck. He watched in mild shock as Gambit backed the car slowly out of the truck and onto the mansion's drive. He pulled over to the edge of the pavement, then killed the engine and stepped out.

There was nothing but silence on the porch for several seconds, but then it was broken by a snort from Wolverine. Logan walked down the steps and approached Gambit. "Ya mind?" he asked, waving at the front of the car.

Gambit shrugged. "Help y'self."

As the other X-Men, including Bobby, drifted down the stairs, Logan went around to the driver's side, reached in, and popped the latch on the hood. Like every expensive European sportscar, the hood was hinged at the nose. Logan pushed it open, then busied himself examining the engine beneath.

Jean stopped several paces from the car and crossed her arms. "Remy, I do believe that that is absolutely the. . ." She paused, searching for the appropriate term.

"Yellowest?" Sam supplied helpfully.

Jean grinned. "-- car I've ever seen."

"You should have warned us to bring sunglasses." Scott was, indeed, shading his eyes.

"You're already wearing sunglasses," Bobby reminded him.

"I do not believe that `yellowest' is a real word, Sam." Hank put a hand on the young man's shoulder.

"Hey, it fits don't it?"

"Well. . . yes." Hank, too, shaded his eyes as he studied the car. "Though I must admit that once one recovers from the color, it's quite attractive."

Chuckling to himself, Bobby walked over to Gambit. "Do I dare ask why you own the world's only neon yellow Ferrari?" It really was an obnoxious color, especially with the bright sunlight reflecting off it like that. Gorgeous car, though."

"Hey Gumbo!" Logan's voice echoed slightly beneath the hood. "Who built this engine for ya?" He straightened and looked questioningly at Gambit.

Remy grinned. "TRD."

"Who?" Bobby asked.

"Toyota Racing and Development."

Bobby almost laughed at the idea of putting a Toyota engine in a Ferrari, until he saw the respectful lift to Logan's eyebrows.

"Nice work," he said.

"Toyota?" Bobby couldn't help but ask.

Logan carefully lowered the hood. "Best engines in the world, boy. `Specially a custom job like this."

"I didn't know that yellow was a favored color," Beast said as he stepped up behind Remy.

"It's not," Gambit answered.

Hank's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Really? Then why not have the vehicle repainted? Red, perhaps?"

"I'm sensing a theme here, Hank," Bobby muttered to his friend.

Gambit gave Hank a particularly sly look. "Let's jus' say dat it's. . .. highly visible, an' leave it at dat."

"And here I thought that'd be the last thing you'd want in a getaway car." Warren had come up next to Scott. His expression said that he was impressed and hating it.

Gambit's lips thinned. "A getaway car? Dat what y' t'ink dis is?"

"Isn't it?"

To Bobby's surprise, Gambit began to laugh. "Non. A getaway car's f' some sorry excuse f' a t'ief dat don' got de skill t' get out clean." He patted the sleek yellow car. "Dis is an alibi."

"I don't get it." Scott was frowning. Bobby had to admit that he didn't understand either.

Remy shook his head. "Look, it's simple." He sounded like he thought he was explaining something to children. "Dere's only one a dese in de world. De plates are custom, even. It's a great big flashin' sign dat say `Remy LeBeau be here'." He pointed to an imaginary spot on the hood.

"And apparently this is a good thing." Hank's brows were drawn together in a thoughtful frown. Bobby had the feeling that he was trying to puzzle out the reasoning before Remy explained it.

"'Course." Remy was getting that Cheshire grin again. He was enjoying the chance to brag a little. "I'd go to a party, mix it up f' a little while. Make sure t' talk t' everybody. Den, once t'ings in full swing an everybody's gettin' boozed up, I could leave quiet-like. Leave de car in de lot. Come back in a couple hours, an' start makin' de rounds again. Everybody assume dey jus' didn't see me f' a while. An' anybody at de party asks where I been, I c'n smile an' say `Hey, had a private invitation, n'cest pa?'. Dey c'n decide f' demselves who dey t'ink I was wit."

Scott frowned, but his tone was light. "Now, this was before you retired, right?" Bobby shot him a startled glance. Scott teasing?

Remy gave Scott a dirty look, but didn't interrupt his story. "Later, when it all said an' done, de cops c'n ask anybody who was dere about me an' dey'll all swear up an' down dat I was dere de whole night. Dey'd be tellin' de truth, least as far as dey concerned. An' since de car's been dere de whole time. . . " He grinned. "Voila! De perfect alibi, non?"

"That is absolutely despicable," Warren said after a moment.

Something in the superiority of his tone touched a nerve in Bobby. Warren didn't have the faintest idea how Gambit lived. He certainly didn't have the right to call him "despicable".

"Actually, it's slicker than snot," Bobby told him. "You just don't have any imagination." Then he brushed by the startled X-Man and walked back into the house, completely unaware of the stares that followed him.

With a thunderous sneeze, the bodyguard began to shiver, trying to stay warm in his thick coat, scarf, gloves and boots.

"I think Frank is cold," Diedre giggled.

Bobby grinned. "Then maybe he'll leave."

Diedre smiled up at him, her eyes shining. They were at Michael's penthouse in the outdoor swimming pool that had been emptied for the winter. After two months of showing her little tricks in the Club, enough people had complained about the cold that Michael had finally relented and ordered Bobby to come and train his wife here. Gambit had almost had a fit, all but telling him not to do it, that it was too dangerous, but Gambit still didn't know that Diedre was the woman Bobby was in love with. Even if the Cajun had flat out ordered him, Bobby wouldn't have obeyed, and the older man had finally given in as well, after three straight hours of arguing hadn't gotten him anywhere. It was the first time Bobby had really won a serious argument with him without feeling like he'd only done it out of luck, and in fact, he'd left Remy wondering why teaching the Guild Master's wife could be so important. Seeing confusion on the Cajun's face had actually caused him to laugh out loud, then get hit in the face with a lightly charged pillow. Gambit was at home on 12 hour monitor duty right now, as punishment from Scott for skipping out of his last three assigned duty sessions, and to make up for the time he owed. Remy hated nothing worse than sitting in front of a screen doing nothing. Bobby would have felt sorry for him if he wasn't so happy right now.

"Be nice," Diedre whispered, glancing up at the shivering Frank where he paced along the edge of the pool. "Frank is my friend."

Bobby struck a gallant pose. "But does he know about us?"

She giggled again. It was a wonderful sound. "Of course he does. He's empathic."

Bobby deflated, suddenly envisioning Michael descending on him for daring to be in love with his wife. "He is?"

She nodded and tapped his nose. "And exactly what us are you talking about, Teach?"

Her words almost caused him to deflate further, but there was a shy glimmer in her eyes, a glow he knew was reflected in his own.

Oh, God, I want her, he thought. I want to spend the rest of my life with her. I want to make love to her right now. Somehow, though, he doubted Frank would let anything that obvious just slide by. It was far better to concentrate on business and not let himself touch her at all, or else he'd lose all control.

Some teacher I'd be then.

Stepping regretfully away from her, he held up his hand, and slowly grew a icy candle out of the center of it, complete with dancing flame. "Try this."

Diedre nodded and concentrated. She wasn't as powerful as he was, or her powers were stunted from lack of practice, and he'd found that she wasn't really capable of creating any of the elaborate sculptures he was. Nor could she cover herself with ice. The below freezing temperature in the pool was his work, to make it easier for her to use what powers she could.

As she worked, Bobby let his eyes drift over her. Unlike her bodyguard, she was dressed in a black miniskirt and a white camisol. She'd taken the accompanying black jacket off before they got into the pool, and while the black made her look drained, the white shimmered nicely with her hair. She was prettier than he'd seen her since the library.

Yellow would be the perfect color for her, he thought happily. Yellow or maybe pale blue, but definitely yellow. I'd kill to see her in that color.

"I did it!"

Bobby shook out of his reverie to see she'd created a little stub of a candle in her palm, only a few inches high and definitely slanted to one side, but with a tiny flicker at the top. A little haze of snow fell around her, settling into her hair.

"Good work," he congratulated her. He'd been able to do better since before he joined the X-Men, but for her, it was a real accomplishment.

She laughed, something he never saw her do in the club. "That was hard. That's the closest I've gotten to making something look like I want it to." She blushed. "Most of the time I wind up with mutated icecubes."

He laughed too. "Icecubes are good. That's what I started with too." He turned his hand over and icecubes rained out from it to the bottom of the pool, changing to a polygon shape. "Here you go, diamonds for my lady."

Her breath caught and for a moment, she looked so beautiful Bobby almost fell to his knees in awe. "Oh, Bobby, thank you."

"You're welcome," he stammered, and on impulse, reached out to her, tracing a finger along her collarbone and leaving a trail of ice diamonds behind, forming a necklace for her. "I wish I could give you the real thing."

She shook her head, trembling. "No. These are just perfect. I don't want any of the real ones, they're not... cold enough."

For a long minute, the two stared at one another, blue eyes to blue eyes as snow fell around them. Bobby noted happily that her breath didn't mist in the cool air any more than his did. She was as cold inside as he was. He thought of holding that icy cold body and shook himself.

"Uh, do you want to learn anything more tonight?"

She smiled dreamily. "I want to turn to ice, the way you did at the library."

He chuckled. "I think that's a little advanced for you yet, but we'll get there."

She pouted for a moment, then smiled again. "Then I want to play," she decided and threw a snowball at him.

Bobby sputtered, spitting out the snow as she laughed and ran, though of course the ladder was too high for her to get out of the pool without help unless she went to the shallow end. She was headed for the deep end though, and Bobby took that as permission to chase her. Whooping, he did so. Diedre was fast, though, kicking off her heels and running around in her bare feet, dodging away every time he tried to grab her. He wasn't sure what he'd do with her if he did catch her, but for the moment it was good enough just to run, to feel the cold and to chase the woman he loved.

Finally, he had her backed into a corner, though he wasn't sure if that was because of his skill as an X-Man or because she'd let him. He desperately hoped it was the latter. She giggled at him as he advanced, hunching over with his hands outstretched and hooked like claws.

"I've got you now, little girl," he boomed in a mock deep voice.

She gasped in pretend horror and suddenly bolted to one side. He lunged for her and suddenly slipped and crashed to the ground.

"You froze the floor!" He cried, inordinately pleased.

"I had a good teacher," she yelled, headed for the other side of the pool.

"Then learn this!" he cried and sent ice shooting after her, a forest that towered out of the pool as it raced after her, forming itself into curves and swirls in a thousand shades of blue and white. It was as if the entire surface of the pool had suddenly exploded with thousands of icy hands that raced after Diedre in a tumbling wave that mutated and changed, reforming itself as it went. Diedre shrieked as it surrounded her, catching her around the waist and lifting her off the ground. The crystalline hands wove together as they rose, building an incredibly elaborate, whorled structure, so complex that it almost seemed to take on a life of its own. Sunlight reflected from a million icy facets, filling the air with rainbows.

Without thought, Bobby transformed to his ice form. An ice slide brought him to the base of the structure while it was still rising, and it was almost easy to join it. He melded his slide into the ever- changing lattice and let his own form behave similarly. Elongated, twisting and turning, he rose inside the structure, weaving around and through the geometric perfection. He reached the top of the tower and returned to the more familiar human ice-shape.

Diedre was cradled by the ice in a little pocket that was hidden from the sky, though the ice refracted the glow from the pool lights so that it was as bright as day. Brighter even, though neither of them were bothered by the glare that shone off of the ice. Diedre sat quietly in the midst of the chrysalis, her expression awed.

"Oh, Bobby," she whispered.

"What?" He asked, a little self-conscious.

"You're so beautiful."

There was very little room in the pocket, and she made no move to resist as he knelt over her, the cold rising off of him. "Thanks. No one's ever said that to me before. But I'm nowhere near as beautiful as you."

She smiled. "Silly."

Forgetting where he was, who she was, he bent over her. "Am I?" He whispered.

Only a inch from his own, her lips parted slightly and she swallowed. "We shouldn't be doing this," she whispered.

"Why not?"

"I'm married."

He reached down to hold her hand. She didn't pull away, the only woman who ever hadn't when he was in his ice form.

How can I feel so hot when I'm so cold? He wondered.

"I don't care," he whispered back. His ice lips barely brushed hers and she clutched his hand tightly.

They heard Frank cough from somewhere above them on the pool edge.

"Michael's coming."

Instantly, Diedre went absolutely white. Bobby collapsed the ice tower with such speed that it felt like they were plummeting into the empty pool below. Diedre barely seemed to notice. Struggling away from him, she squirmed out of the ice and out of the pocket, climbing up toward the edge of the pool where Frank helped her out. Sighing, Bobby turned back to flesh and blood and followed her. He'd just gotten out of the pool himself when Michael walked out onto the patio and stopped.

"Cripes, why is it so bloody cold out here?!"

Blushing, Bobby gestured at the pool and the ice he'd created dispersed back into water molecules in the atmosphere. The temperature quickly climbed back to normal and Michael walked over to kiss Diedre sparingly on the cheek.

"I take it you've managed to learn something of value?"

Diedre blushed and held out her hand. Proudly, she recreated the candle she'd made earlier, complete with flame.

Michael barely glanced at it. "A cheap party trick," he commented and turned to Bobby as she wilted behind him. "Why haven't you taught her anything useful?"

There was nothing more Bobby wanted to do than freeze him solidly into place, but behind him, he saw Diedre shake her head no and he resisted the urge. "She has to learn the basics and build up her strength," he told the thief. "But she's making real progress. You should be proud of her." Michael frowned and he thought desperately. "Uh, I think it may be possible that she'll be able to learn to supercool metal, and do things like shatter locks and maybe vault doors." Diedre looked stunned, but Michael nodded.

Michael lifted his chin. "Very well. You may leave." He turned his back. "Didi, we have an engagement at the symphony tonight. I expected you to be dressed already."

"Sorry, Michael," she apologized. "I lost track of time. I'll be ready in a minute." She hurried into the house, and without another look at Bobby, Michael followed her. Frank looked at him sympathetically and did the same.

Left alone, Bobby sighed and did the only thing he really could. He went home.

Remy stared mindlessly at the monitor screen, elbow on the table, head on his hand.

Dis is what I get for f'getting t' show up f' monitor duty t'ree times in a row, he thought with a snarl. Scott had offered to let him make up the time over several nights, but no... he had to decide to do all three sessions at once.

Least I got an 'xcuse f' bein' a basketcase t'morrow morning, he thought.

Leaning back in his chair, he thought of the reasoning behind twelve straight hours staring at a computer which he was sure would function just as effectively without him being there.

Dis is all Bobby's fault. He's de one who should be sittin' here.

The thought was somewhat petty, but he was cranky enough he let himself revel in it. He'd skipped out on monitor duty so he could train the younger man, and he was sitting here now so that he wouldn't miss out on working with him for the rest of the week.

Why you tryin' so hard t' make him a t'ief, miseur LeBeau? he wondered to himself. It not like he goin' t' be makin' a livin' at dis.

When it came down to it, he trained Bobby because he enjoyed it. He'd had no idea how much he'd enjoy it, passing his skills on to someone else, just as his father did with him. It was something he'd already concluded to himself he'd never be able to do, what with turning his back on stealing himself when he joined the X-Men. As well as the increasing likelihood that he'd never have any children to pass anything on to.

Remy sighed. Bobby may have only been a little younger than him, but he was willing to learn, for his own reasons, and Remy wanted to teach someone. Just as he had been teaching Storm before she remembered she wasn't a little girl and that she'd sworn not to steal. It'd hurt when he saw his little protege transformed back into her adult form. Until that moment, she'd been his immortality, the repository of everything he'd learned.

Now he had Bobby. The reasoning was different than his own, but the knowledge was still being passed on. Bobby would be able to continue on after him.

He smiled. Y' ain' dat old yet, y' fool. An' Bobby prob'ly won' see it de same way. Still, it felt good. He had to admit that.

The computer blipped and he glanced at the screen. Sam was walking across the patio in the backyard. Whoopee. Briefly, he considered turning on the defense grid and giving the boy an impromptu Danger Room session, but he sensed that Scott would disapprove.

Prob'ly have m' balls hangin' by breakfast, he thought with a grin. It might be fun though. Getting into trouble just to see what happened was one of his favorite pastimes. It also landed him in the hospital most too.

Boredom decided him against it. Yawning, he slouched down in his chair and closed his eyes. He was a man capable of staying awake for days at a time, of holding still without moving for hours and of having the patience to get past a motion detector by moving slowly enough that it didn't sense him. But monitor duty always put him to sleep. It wasn't a big deal, he mused to himself as he nodded off. He was a light sleeper. He'd know Scott was coming long before he caught him.

Though, he didn't actually know for sure if Wolverine was in the mansion.

"Women are wonderful."

Remy leaped out of a sound sleep at the sound of that voice, his heart hammering like the Blackbird's engine at full throttle. "I'm awake!" He cried before the tone and the words sank in. He turned the chair around.

"Bobby?"

Iceman looked at him skeptically from the doorway. "You know, Scott will have you on monitor duty for the next month if he finds you sleeping at your station."

To cover the fright he'd had, Remy stretched and grinned. "Nah, he won' catch me. 'Sides, who wants someone who sleep sittin' in here?"

"Uh huh. I know Scott. He'll stand right behind you for your whole shift just to be sure you stay awake."

Remy considered that and his grin faded. He knew Scott too. "Yeah, yeah. Well, you look happy," he said to change the subject. "Y' see y' ladyfriend t'night?"

Bobby's face melted into a sappy smile that Remy was getting very used to seeing. "Yeah. It was great."

The Cajun raised an eyebrow, feeling very much in a teasing mood. "If it so great, why you home so early?"

Just as he'd expected, Bobby turned red. It was a little harder to make him look like a beet than it used to be, but it could still be done. "She's not that kind of girl!"

"Uh huh." Remy suddenly didn't have the heart to tease him, not about this. He'd romanced a lot of women in his time, without really caring for most of them, and the only one he'd truly loved was the only one he hadn't slept with. Thinking of her still hurt and he wondered if he'd ever gotten Bobby's goofy grin on his face when she still lived in the mansion. "Y' still sure y' love her, neh?"

Bobby came over and sat in the other chair. "Completely. You can't know how it feels to love someone so totally." Remy raised an eyebrow and he blushed again. "Sorry. But I do love her. I want to spend the rest of my life with her. But I don't know if I can." He stared at his hands. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to even touch her," he murmured. "You know how that feels?"

In a moment of complete understanding and totally open camaraderie, Remy reached out and gripped his shoulder tightly. "Yes, I do," he said.

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

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

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

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

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

"Are these people all thieves?"

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

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

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

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

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

"They just duke it out?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What's the force field for?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What, mutants?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scott sighed. "It's almost twelve."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wild oats?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jean!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is Lance an alpha mutant?" Bobby asked.

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

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

"Mild telepathic spike," Remy commented.

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

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

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

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

"So's callin' him off."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Remy?" Bobby asked after a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Smiling, Bobby admired himself in a mirror. Always a little too thin, with constantly messy hair and too much baby fat on his face to look mature, he'd never really liked his appearance. But he had to admit, in a five thousand dollar suit, he looked good.

Turning slightly, he looked at the cut of the splendid jacket. It made his shoulders look broader than they were. Even his baby fat was diminished.

"Please stand still," the tailor said politely, kneeling down and holding the cuff of one of his pant legs.

"Oh, sorry."

A low chuckle sounded behind him. Remy was lounging in a chair in a corner of the private fitting room, tapping the cigarette he wasn't allowed to smoke against the hard oak of the arm. Unlike Bobby, he was dressed in ripped jeans and a leather jacket, with his scuffed biker boots and sunglasses. The store owner had almost turned him away at the door, until he pulled out his charge card.

"Be patient, homme. Let de man finish."

Bobby grinned at him. "I can't believe this suit. I can't believe you're buying it for me."

Remy chuckled again. "Ain' not'in', an' y' needed somethin' decent t' wear."

"Hey, I've got suits."

He smiled, a smile Bobby had once thought was arrogant, but now only saw as friendly. "Dose are suits an accountant would wear. I'm tired of y' emberassin' me in public wit' y' clothes."

Bobby looked pointedly at his jeans.

Remy grinned wider. "Don' get flip wit' me, boy. I ain' paid for dat t'ing yet."

The tailor stood up, coiling his measuring tape. "I have the measurements I need. If you will remove the suit, I will have it ready for you by tomorrow afternoon."

Bobby blinked at him. "But it fits."

Remy shook his head. "Chil'en. Dey don' know nothin'. Dis ain' de local suit shop, Bobby. Dat's an Aramani. Dey get fitted t' y' 'xactly."

Bobby sighed and hopped off the pedestal he'd been standing on. The tailor took the jacket and went out of the changeroom as Bobby began unbuttoning his shirt, stepping behind a screen so that Remy couldn't see him. The Cajun chuckled again.

"I can't wait to see Hank's face when he sees me in this," Bobby said as he changed back into clothes to match Remy's. "Or the rest of the X-Men either."

"Ain' gonna see you in it."

Bobby looked around the screen at him. "But I look great in it! Why not?"

"'Cause dere no reason an' no way f' de X-Man Bobby Drake t' go 'round in a $5000 silk suit. Y'd stand out like a sore thumb. I t'ought y'd learned dat bein' discrete de name of de game. Why you t'ink I train Bobby an' not Iceman?"

Bobby flushed. "But you wear suits like this."

"Not at de mansion I don'. T' de X-Men, I'm jus' a scruffy Cajun wit' a problem wit' author'ty."

Yanking on his sneakers, Bobby walked back out to him. "Why is that? Why make them think you're something you're not? Why hang out with the Thieves Guild if you're not a thief anymore?" These were all questions he'd wanted to ask for a long time, without knowing how. "Why always pretend to be something you're not?"

Remy tilted his head to one side as he regarded him, thinking. Bobby faced him squarely, waiting for his answer, if one came. He'd gotten to know Remy well enough to know that he didn't answer anything he didn't want to.

Finally, the Cajun sighed and pulled his sunglasses off, his red on black eyes squinting in the bright overhead lights. "Why you t'ink I do it, Bobby?"

"What?"

The Cajun's grin gleamed in challenge. "You tell me why I keep secrets an' hang wit' de Guild, an' if y' right, I'll tell you."

He wants me to play twenty questions? Bobby wondered and looked at him. No, he wanted him to think rationally, take what he knew of his personality and his actions and come up with a hypothesis. It was another lesson. And like all the lessons the Cajun taught him, it was one the younger man couldn't afford to let himself fail.

"I think I need to think about that one for a while."

"Take all de time y' need." He stood. "C'mon, I bought you clothes, you can buy me lunch."

"Great, McDonalds it is!"

Remy looked at him in hopeless despair, then shook his head and laughed.

"Y'know, when I was a kid, I used t' have nightmares 'bout workin' in a fast food place, wearin' a stupid hat on my head an' askin' ev'body if dey wan' fries wit' dere meal." Remy looked at his burger in disgust. "Used t' get nightmares 'bout eatin' de food too."

Bobby glanced at him over his shake. "So ask them to cook it Cajun style and burn it."

"Ha ha. Ver' funny."

"Thanks, I thought so."

Remy shook his head at him, wrapped the half eaten burger up and tossed it across the room, right past a startled diner's head and into the garbage can. "You be awful playful t'day. T'ings goin' good?"

"Things are going great." Bobby sighed dreamily. "Diedre is great."

He heard the familiar Cajun chuckle. "Sounds like I'm gonna have t' meet dis woman someday."

Bobby sucked on his shake noisely. "And watch you use your Cajun charm to steal her away? No chance!"

Remy smiled, a little sadly. "Don' worry, homme. I ain' lookin' t' get involved wit' nobody right now."

Bobby put his shake down. "Are you alright?"

"Yah."

He was looking out the window, a sure sign in the Cajun of approaching depression. Bobby knew exactly why, too. He'd once tried to freeze the man on a rooftop because of it.

"She'll be back," he said softly.

"Maybe."

The word was barely a whisper and Bobby struggled to think of what to say to him. Finally, he shoved his fries at him. "Here, have a fry. They'll make you feel better."

Remy blinked at the fry and laughed, already looking more like himself as he took one. "Maybe it will at dat."

After lunch, the two X-Men wandered out of the restaurant and down the sidewalk. Bobby didn't know where they were going, or even if they were going anywhere at all. It was just nice to walk down the street pointing out good looking women and idiots with a friend. He'd used to do the same with Hank, but Hank was too busy in his lab now, and even when he had time, he tended to wax philiosphical about beautiful women in a way that was not only confusing, but a little embarrassing, since it was out loud and often overheard. Remy was far more subte, indicating the passing of a beauty with a quick elbow in the ribs and an incline of his head. There also seemed to be more of the beauties around as well. Strolling down the sidewalk with the Cajun definately got more womens' attention than being with Hank did. Even with an image inducer, Hank looked a lot like himself.

It suddenly occured to him that, on one level, he was closer right now to Gambit, who had time for him, than his best friend, who didn't.

Passing by them, he saw a gorgeous woman in elaborate makeup and a strapless dress walking a trio of afghans on a leash. He looked back over her shoulder as she passed. "Now, that is a woman I wouldn't mind chasing," he admitted. "If I didn't have Diedre that is." She didn't even compare, but she was still pretty sexy.

"Dat woman would eat you f' lunch. Hey, watch it, homme!"

Bobby turned to see a scruffy man in a torn coat bump into the Cajun, almost dancing around him to try and get past. "Sorry," he apologized.

Suddenly, Bobby saw the man pass Gambit an envelope. It was subtle. If Remy hadn't drilled him for so long on noticing little things, he never would have seen it. He was sure no one else did. A moment later, the man was past them and continued on out of sight. There was no sign of the envelope as Remy kept walking down the sidewalk, just as he had been before.

Bobby looked back the way the man had vanished, then hurried to catch up to the Cajun. "What did he just pass you?" He whispered.

"Shush," Remy hissed.

Immediately, without resentment, Bobby shut up, actually embarrassed that he'd forgotten himself and asked such a question in a public place. Then he blinked and smiled. The Cajun had definately had an effect on him, and obeying his orders was becoming second nature.

Suddenly, a frightening thought occured to him. What if Scott and Remy each were to give him contradictory orders? Scott had been his leader in the X-Men for years, but Remy was his master and mentor, as well as his only way to get to Diedre. Who would he obey?

Chewing on that thought, he followed Remy across the street and into a park. The Cajun led the way down the jogging trails into the woods, then off the path into the bushes. They reached a clearing and he closed his eyes, turning around slowly. Bobby's eyes widened. Remy was using his spacial awareness sense to detect if there was anyone watching them or in the area. He almost never used his powers outside of the X-Men, so whatever this was, it was serious.

Finally satisfied, Remy looked at him coldly. Bobby hesitated, then dropped his head. "I'm sorry," he apologized.

"For what?"

Bobby flinched. "For drawing attention to the envelope." He was blushing bright red.

"Good."

There was no recrimination in the Cajun's voice, no sign that he held it against him once he apologized. He just wanted to make sure the younger man understood, and Bobby did. If anyone had been tracking them or that man, they may have missed the pass, until he stupidly pointed it out. He'd potentially put them into a lot of danger, but this was the last Remy would mention it unless he were so incredibly stupid as to do it again. If it was Scott, however, he'd have to sit through some long lecture. Still, he wasn't sure which of the two men he'd rather be chewed out by. Both of them left you feeling like a little patch of dirt on the ground, Scott more so than Remy, but at least Scott didn't have a mental tally in his heads on how many times he'd let you screw up before he gave up on you.

Remy pulled out the envelope and opened it and Bobby sucked in his breath at the sight of the thick wad of green bills in it. He didn't think he was a newbie in regards to seeing large amounts of money anymore, but certainly not large amounts received like this. Remy removed out a folded letter and tossed him the envelope. "Count dis," he ordered and proceeded to read.

Bobby blinked at the money he held and proceeded to count it. There was five thousand dollars there, in new, unmarked bills. He looked at the Cajun, who was just finishing off the letter.

"Why would a scruffy drifter give you five thousand dollars?" He asked. A sudden thought occured to him. "He was just a messenger, wasn't he?"

Remy tapped the folded letter against his cheek. "Yup. F' someone who wants t' remain nameless. My guess be de Kingpin or some ot'er big crime boss, but dat's jus' a guess. He's pretty good at coverin' his tracks, an' I don' got no reason t' ferret him out."

Bobby's eyes narrowed. "He isn't buying more information off you, is he?" That still bothered him.

Gambit grinned at him. "Nah. He wants me t' stop a gang war."

"What?!"

The Cajun sighed. "'Cordin' t' dis, the Pythons an' de White Cranes are goin' t' have a rumble t'night. Dis money be payment f' me to go an' negotiate a peace 'tween dem."

"Why would they listen to you?"

"'Cause I got a reputation f' bein' fair, neutral, unbribable an' havin' de power t' beat de shit outta anyone who cross me."

Bobby sniggered in spite of himself. He'd seen Remy fight, he could believe it. "Are you going to do it?"

He grimaced in disgust. "F' five t'ousand? Dis guy's cheapin' out on me."

Bobby gaped at him. "But, people could get hurt!"

He cocked his head to one side and regarded him. "So? Gangs ain' nice, Bobby. Dey loot an' steal an' sell drugs, 'mong other t'ings. De man who be tryin' t' pay me wants dem at peace so dey can keep workin' f' him. He don' care if dey live or die normally. I'm a little surprised dat he don' just let dem fight it out an' sell dem guns in de process, den put de winner under his foot. Somet'ing mus' be up." He looked thoughtful.

Bobby bit his lip. The Cajun was serious. He'd turn his back on this if Bobby couldn't convince him otherwise. Worse, he saw a lot of reason in what he'd said.

"Remy, what about the innocent bystanders?" He tried to sound logical when he just wanted to grab him and shake him. He knew that wouldn't go over at all well though. Remy had a serious problem with people telling him what to do at the best of times, and as his apprentice, Bobby wasn't even supposed to be questioning him. "If the gangs fight, they won't just keep it to themselves. It'll spread out and a lot of people who aren't even involved will get hurt. Sure, they do a lot of shitty things, but there's always the chance they'll learn to change, and you can't do that when you're dead. It's just like the X-Men stopping mutants from fighting before they destroy a city or something."

Remy seemed to be considering his words, but Bobby detected a faint smile on his lips.

"You bastard, you already plan to stop them!"

Remy laughed. "Yeah. Jus' wan'ed t' see what you t'ought 'bout it."

Bobby groaned. "Does everything has to be a lesson?"

Remy looked sad for a moment. "When everyt'ing in life a struggle, den yeah." He stuffed the letter in his jacket, along with the money. "I got 'til ten but I wan' t' get dere early an' get de lay a de land. You go back t' de mansion an' play dumb. You don' know where I went to."

Bobby nodded. "Right. What time will you pick me up, or do you want me to meet you there?"

"You ain' goin' on dis one, Bobby. Take de night off."

The younger man blanched at that. "You're not going alone, I'm coming with you," he decided.

Remy suddenly seemed cold and distant, as intimidating as Magneto, or Apocalypse. Bobby had to quench a sudden urge to run. "Dis ain' Gambit asking Iceman. Dis is Remy LeBeau, Master T'ief, orderin' his apprentice t' go home. You goin' t' challenge me on dis?"

Bobby closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at that overwhelming presense. He knew if he didn't acquiese right now, the training would be over. Diedre... he thought desperately. He wanted to, but he couldn't. For all his skill, Remy wasn't all that powerful a mutant. If two gangs decided to kill him, he'd die. Bobby owed him too much for that.

And perhaps there was a way to reason with him and not lose everything he'd worked for. The Guild was steeped in ritual and tradition, Remy had made sure he understood that. And while an apprentice had no say in the decisions of a master, especially not his own master, there were ways for one to ask for the right to plead his case, though it would require him to swallow his pride. With the mood Remy was in, though, it was the only thing he'd be likely to listen to.

"Please, Master," he said softly, words he'd heard other apprentices speak to Michael. "Let me speak." He kept his head bowed and his eyes closed.

Gambit hesitated. "The apprentice may speak," he said at last, formally.

Bobby took a deep breath. "It isn't my place, I know, but I have to disagree. If anything goes wrong, you'll need backup. I can give you that, watch your back. Please let me come. I won't shame you, I swear it."

There was silence for a long moment, then Gambit sighed. "Lift y' head, Bobby." He did, to see to his surprise that the Cajun looked ashamed. It was an expression he'd never seen on his face before. "I'm sorry, mon ami," he said, and he knew it was sincere. "I spent so much time trainin' Bobby dat I forgot he still Iceman. I won' give you orders like dat again an' you can come." His face hardened. "But you gotta keep silent an' 'bey me instantly."

Bobby grinned. "Whatever you say, Boss."

"Jesus, Remy. They look like they're going to start World War Three! Why aren't we down there?!"

"Easy. Dey won' start until dere leaders get here."

Bobby stared at the Cajun's intent face, then down at the floor of the old warehouse where the rumble was to take place. It'd been abandoned for years, all the windows smashed and garbage clogging the corners, but the main floor was relatively clean and it was filled with angry men.

The White Cranes were Asian, dressed in unripped fatigue-type baggy pants and military boots, some with quilted vests over long sleeved shirts with the sleeves pushed up, others with t-shirts. Fingerless gloves were common and many of them carried motorcycle helmets in one hand, weapons in the other. The Pythons were Black. They wore lots of leather and denim, with lots of rips and holes. The bandanas they wore over their heads were all of the same color and pattern. The Pythons outnumbered the Cranes, but from the look of it, the Cranes were better armed. They stood down there and hurled insults at each other.

Bobby whistled. "It's a race war."

"Jus' like mutants an' humans."

"How are you going to stop them?"

The Cajun's smile was cold. "Dis is a fight to see who de biggest kid on de block. I'm gonna show dat I'm bigger dan either of dem. Den I'll reason."

The younger man gaped at his mentor. "You're not powerful enough to take them all on!"

"Dey don' know how powerful I am." He turned blood red eyes on dem. "'Sides, how you know I'm not?"

"I've seen you fight."

He smiled. "Not when I don' gotta worry 'bout who's gonna get up later."

Bobby felt his blood run cold.

Suddenly, the front doors to the warehouse opened and Remy straightened a little where he crouched behind a crate on the walkway just below the warehouse roof. "Dis is it. De Python leader here. De Cranes' not be far b'hind." He shifted slightly. "Now, I'm gonna go down dere alone. You stay here and stay outta sight. If I need y', I'll let y' know. Un'erstand?"

Bobby nodded, his heart racing. This wasn't like what the X-Men did. That tended to be straight action, immediate attack and withdrawal. There was little waiting and certainly no one would hold back while one of their members walked in among overwhelming odds. It felt positively unnatural.

"Be careful," he whispered.

Remy grinned. "Never."

Below, the door opened a second time as Remy slunk away into the shadows, vanishing as silently and quickly as Wolverine would. Bobby hunkered down to wait.

"Fuckin' goddamn motherfuckin' asshole, thinkin' y' can come in my territory an' interrupt my business..."

The leader of the White Cranes smiled. "If you were so good at business, there wouldn't be room for me, now would there?"

Remy stood in the shadows around the stairs and watched them. He'd seen it a thousand times. Both groups hated the other and wanted them out, while refusing to see any other alternative. He'd grown up in that kind of environment, when he and the other New Orleans Thieves fought the Assassins. They'd at least tried to settle their differences. He had no doubt that he wouldn't stop any hatred between these two groups tonight. At best he'd keep them from killing each other for a while. Which was something, he supposed, if he didn't know he'd see at least some of their bodies in the future.

He narrowed his eyes, peering at them. They were angry, their body temperatures up like a bright red glow in the torso of each of them. It was time.

"Gentlemen!" He called.

Immediately, they all spun towards where he still stood hidden in the shadows, only his glowing red eyes visible, and he found himself the target of close to fifty guns.

"Who's there?" One of them demanded.

Hoping that Bobby wouldn't panic and flash freeze them all, he walked forward, his arms held slightly away from the sides of his trenchcoat. Startled by his presence and his eyes, no one stopped him as he walked over to a crate partway out to the centre of the warehouse, gang members making way for him uncertainly.

"Who the hell are you, white boy?" The Python leader demanded.

Remy smiled slightly and hopped up onto the crate. Raising his voice so that they all could hear him, he called. "I am Gambit." Murmurs and whispering started up. He cocked his head at the two leaders, both of whom stood a wary distance away from each other while they stared at him. "I see some of you have heard a me." He let his red eyes sweep over the crowd. "I am here t' listen t' ye beef an' keep y' all alive."

"Bullshit! Gambit is a legend."

He raised his hands and they began to glow. "I seem t' fit de description pretty well, n'est pas?"

Gang members began backing away.

The leader of the White Cranes spat on the floor. "We didn't ask for any arbitration."

He pinned him with his gaze. "Neverdeless, I been paid t' give it an' I will."

"And what if we refuse?"

Remy shrugged and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with the tip of one glowing finger. "Den a lot a people are gonna die t'night who don' have to, and dere's a very good chance de two of you be 'mong dem." He looked at them intently until one swallowed and the other took an involuntary step back. He had them now.

He hopped off the crate and walked over to the two frightened men. "Killin' an wars don' do business no good. Dey jus' get valuable people killed an' waste money an' ammo, plus riskin' de loss of territory t' any third party dat come in. I give y' my word dat if you talk wit' me, both of you walk out of here alive."

The Crane looked at him critically and nodded a fraction of a second before the Python growled a low "Whatever, I got time."

The Cajun smiled. "Excellente. Now, wait here a moment an' I be right wit' you."

He turned to face the assembled gangs. "I see y' grouped y'selves on either side of de warehouse already. Dat's good." He walked down the open area between the two gangs to the warehouse doors.

"Why don't we just kill him?" Someone asked.

Someone else snorted. "Either that guy's seriously fucked in the head or he has something we don't. Either way, I'm not messing with him."

Remy reached the doors and bent over, tracing his finger along the dusty floor as he walked backwards towards the opposite wall. The men stared at him without speaking, and especially at the glowing line he left behind him. When he reached the wall, he made another parallel line, leaving a 20 foot wide strip between the two gangs, with the leaders and himself in the middle.

He raised his voice again. "If anyone cross dese lines," he called. "I will kill him." He saw a flicker in the upper levels as Bobby reacted to that. "If he cross in person, fires a bullet, t'rows a knife or hurls an insult. Not'ing cross dese lines. Any problems wit' dat?" He swept his gaze over the crowd, but no one said a word and he deliberately turned his back on them, trusting to his powers to let him know if anyone tried to put something sharp between his shoulderblades. He rejoined the leaders.

"Let's talk."

Jesus, they're terrified of him! Bobby crouched in the shadows and stared down at Gambit as he and the two gang leaders sat down on some crates to talk. He couldn't hear what they were saying and considered trying to sneak closer and overhear, but Remy had done a thorough job of intimidating him as well.

With that kind of presence, he could run the X-Men. Hell, he could run half the world. If Remy wanted that much power, though, he'd have it already, and he breathed a sigh of relief for small favours.

For the first time since the gangs entered, he began to have real hope that they weren't going to start killing each other, and all because of one man. One special man. Bobby had no illusions that he could do what Gambit had just done. Then again, he used to believe that his powers were limited to ice slides and snowballs, and that he was a loser. Remy had already shown him the lie in that. Maybe he had other potentials he hadn't tapped as well.

Quietly, he sat there and began to smile.

It was about territory. The White Cranes were being pushed out of part of theirs and were retaliating by trying to take over the Pythons. It was simple and familiar, but something bothered him about it.

"How come y' not fighting f' y' space? Why move out t' new areas dis quickly?"

"Because they're cowards," Cliff, the Black, said.

Remy looked at him. "What I tell you 'bout bein' polite?" The man flushed and he sighed. "I heard y' problem. Y' should take y' people home."

Cliff glared at him. "Not 'til I know that motherfucker ain't gonna try and push into my business anymore!"

"I said I'd handle it!" Remy was annoyed that he'd had to raise his voice and Cliff seemed to sense it. Quickly, he stood and left, taking his gang with him. The other gang, wary of Remy's warning, didn't make a sound.

Remy turned to Han, the Asian gang leader. He was more polite than Cliff, but in his mind, somewhat slimier as well. Still, he could tell that something was seriously scaring him.

"Why y' not fight?" He asked again.

"You think we haven't tried?" Han hissed. "There's a goddamn three block radius in my territory where anyone who goes in doesn't come out. No bodies even. They just vanish."

Remy raised an eyebrow. "Dis don' sound like gang work or even family. What 'bout de peope who live in de area?"

Han snorted. "Nobody lives there now. It was all condemned and bought up by some company called Draxar months ago. They're the ones killing my people and the cops don't even care worth shit."

Remy stared at him, feeling cold. "Draxar. You sure dat's de name of dem?"

"It's the name on the trucks I see going in."

Draxar. That company again. I gotta get off my butt an' finish checkin' dese people out. Dey're startin' t' make me nervous. He'd been spending too much time with Bobby, and too much time in the Guild trying to keep Michael from exposing their powers for profit. He'd learned a lot from the Kingpin about Draxar, but only enough to realize how deep their roots went, and how well hidden their real owners were. He had some contacts he could use, world class hackers. Maybe he should set some of them loose and see what they could come up with. But first he'd take a little firsthand look himself.

Han looked at him suspiciously. "You know what they're doing?"

Remy smiled at him. "Nope. Jus' a li'l weird is all. You got no clue what dey're doin' in dere?"

"None. They got goons telling people politely to keep back. If you don't, you vanish. So we're moving into Python territory." He stared at him defiantly.

Remy sighed. "Fightin' de Pythons get as many people killed as dese Draxar characters. Pull back an' I see what I c'n do."

"Why should I?"

"You really want me t' answer dat?"

Han hesitated, then shook his head. "I'll give you six months, then it's war."

"Dat'll be fine." Remy watched Han and his gang leave. Six months was plenty of time, especially when his gut was telling him time would run out long before then.

"I think I've figured it out."

Remy looked at Bobby as they both walked back to where Remy had hidden his car. "What's dat?"

Bobby frowned. "Why you do it. Why you stay a thief even though you aren't one anymore."

The Cajun smiled. "And why dat?"

He stopped and looked at him. "Because you're in a position to help people in a way no one else really can. You can stop gang wars because people have heard of your skill. You have the political clout and know how to keep an eye on the Guilds, to make sure the mutants in them stay safe." He felt like a light had gone off inside him. "The Professor knows you're doing this, doesn't he?"

Gambit looked surprised. "What make you say dat?"

Iceman shook his head. "You've been feeding information to Kingpin in exchange for his info and dealing with mutant threats." His mind raced to keep up with the realization it was coming to. "But all of our information is kept in the Ready Room and you have to be a telepath to get to half of it. The Professor has to be helping you. But why?"

A final realization came. "It's because the Guilds are mutants. Mutants banding together for protection who wind up on the wrong side of the law because there's no other way for them. So much on the wrong side of the law and so determined not to let anyone know they're mutants that they'd never respond to anything like the Xavier Institute or the X-Men. So you're the Professor's only link to them." He shook his head again, in stunned disbelief and awe. "I'm right, aren't I? It takes a thief to talk to a thief."

Remy looked at him intently, then smiled. "You're becomin' a very wise man, you know dat?"

"Thanks!" He swallowed. "Uh, does the Professor know about me?"

The Cajun grinned at him slyly. "I don' know, but if he calls y' t' his office..."

"Yeah?"

"Start t' sweat."

"Great..."

Remy just laughed and led him the rest of the way back.

What are you doing, Bobby? Remy is going to kill you if he finds out about this. The young man know as Iceman took a deep breath and carefully snipped the wire he was holding. He watched the small meter he had attached, looking for a spike in the system current that would give him away. But the needle only quivered, and Bobby released his pent breath in a silent sigh. His hands were much steadier than he felt as he unclipped the meter and put it away, along with the wire cutters. That should be the last circuit. Should be. This was the first time he'd ever gone solo, and he found himself wishing for Gambit's steadying presence, and the stupid jokes that were so good for distracting Bobby from his fear.

With the alarm circuit re-routed, Bobby checked the window and then slid it upward with a gentle scrape. He froze, waiting for an alarm from the guards he knew were inside. After several minutes of silence, he climbed through the window and crouched in the darkness, studying the room. A grand piano dominated the floor, opposite a huge, but currently unused fireplace. Bobby rose and walked soundlessly across the lacquered tile floor. The stairs were off to his left. He took them one at a time, placing his feet near the edge since that was where they were least likely to creak. But it was really a matter of balancing his weight properly and not moving too fast that would let him climb like a ghost up the spiraling staircase. He remembered vividly doing this at the mansion in the middle of the night-up and down, again and again-until he could run the stairs without making a sound.

He emerged on the upstairs hallway and hesitated. There would be at least one guard outside the room. Bobby expected him to be sleeping, which, as he peered down the hall, he appeared to be doing. That was good. Bobby reached into his bag and pulled out the small syringe he had taken from the mansion infirmary. Hank had been more than happy to let his old friend help with restocking the emergency medical supplies, and Bobby had simply filled an extra for himself. It was just a sedative, but it was extremely fast acting because it was intended for use on mutants who could do significant amounts of damage in a few moments of delirium.

Bobby slipped closer to the sleeping guard. He started to bend over the man, then paused in sheer terror as he became suddenly aware of where he was and what he was doing. What if the guard woke just then?

Don't think, man! Just do it! he snarled at himself and covered the guard's mouth with his hand. The man's eyes flew open. Bobby jabbed the syringe into the base of his neck and felt the rigid form relax almost instantly.

Bobby allowed himself a short moment to close his eyes and catch his breath, but then he went past the sleeping guard and rapped very gently on the door.

"Yes?"

Bobby opened the door a ways and peeked around it. "Hi."

Diedre's eyes flew open in surprise. "Bobby! What are you doing here?!" Her expression was a mixture of delight and alarm. She came to the door and grabbed his arm, nearly dragging him inside. Her gaze fell on the sleeping guard.

"What--?"

"He's just sleeping," Bobby hurried to reassure her. She looked up at him, then back at the guard. Quickly she shut the door. Bobby was amazed at how natural it felt to draw her into his arms and hug her tightly. Diedre returned the hug with enthusiasm, but then she pulled back to look up at him.

"Are you insane?" she asked, her blue eyes wide and wild. "What if Michael found you here?"

"Michael is out of town." Bobby gripped both her shoulders. "And I had to see you."

Slowly, Diedre began to shake her head. "You shouldn't have come here." She pulled away from his grasp, tightening her robe around her as she did so. The robe was silk, the color of warm chocolate, and although it made her look pale, it also brought out the color in her hair and lips.

"Why not?" Bobby felt betrayed. Breaking the security on Michael's private residence had not been easy. "I thought it might be nice to have a little time alone."

Diedre stared at him, lips trembling. Then she came back to him in a rush, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face against his chest. Bobby simply held her, wondering at the feel of it.

"Why don't we sit down." There was a divan in the room, and Bobby guided her toward it. That seemed much more appropriate than sitting down on the bed. Diedre settled next to him, and with a small smile, twined her fingers into his. Bobby wondered if he looked as dizzy as he felt. He squeezed her hand, and her smile widened.

"I can't believe you broke into my house."

Bobby felt his cheeks redden. "Yeah, well. . . " Neither can I. "Let's just not tell anybody, o.k.?"

"O.k." She curled her legs up on the divan, tucking her bare toes beneath the hem of her robe. After a moment, she giggled.

"What is it?"

Diedre patted his hand and sighed. "Bobby Drake, what am I going to do with you?" Her blue eyes were full of mischief and laughter.

Bobby began to laugh himself. "Do you want suggestions?"

It was her turn to blush as her smile faded. "No." She turned to look directly at him. "That would hurt too much."

"Diedre?"

She untangled her hand from his and stood up, crossing her arms over her breast as she walked toward the center of the room. When she turned back toward him, her eyes were shining with tears. "I haven't felt. . . the way you make me feel for so long, I'd almost forgotten what it was like." She made a helpless gesture. "But I'm married, Bobby. I can't do this."

Bobby stood up and walked over to her, but didn't try to touch her. "Why do you stay with him, then? Michael doesn't love you."

Diedre flinched and turned her face away. "I guess. . . I guess I knew that. Almost since the day I married him."

Bobby had never felt so much helpless rage. It boiled around inside him, but it didn't threaten his sanity or his self-control. It simply made him sick inside to see how much Michael had hurt this woman Bobby loved.

"Why did you marry him?"

Silent tears spilled down her cheeks as Diedre turned to look at him. "Because I fell in love with him." Slowly, she hung her head, and Bobby could see her shoulders quivering. "Now, he doesn't even use me for sex." It was barely more than a whisper.

Bobby felt like a knife had been driven straight into his heart. He wrapped his arms around Diedre, swearing to himself that he would never let her go. She jerked like a startled deer in his embrace, then stood still, rigid within the circle of his arms. Bobby could feel her swallowing convulsively against the sobs locked in her throat, and hugged her harder, until he was afraid her would hurt her. But then the strings on her heart snapped. They sank to the floor together as violent sobs wracked her. Bobby pressed his lips against her hair as she clung to him and finally released the anguish she had held inside for so long.

Bobby had no idea later how long he sat in the middle of her floor. Diedre eventually fell asleep as her sobs diminished to small, shuddering breaths. Bobby stroked her hair, his mind empty. Eventually, he rose with Diedre in his arms. He took her to the bed and laid her down in it, then pulled the covers up around her, tucking her in with all the gentleness he possessed. She stirred only slightly, her lips curving into a sweet smile. Nearly in tears himself, Bobby leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips.

"Good night, my love."

In a small, windowless room at the other end of the house, Frank reached over and pushed a button beneath the TV monitor. The picture of Bobby kissing Diedre goodnight disappeared in a flash of snow as the videotape popped out of the recorder. Frank pulled the tape out and slid it into another slot. The high speed rewinder whirred like a tiny jet engine as it cranked the tape backwards. When it was finished, Frank retrieved the tape and pushed it back into its original slot.

"Oops, sorry boss," he murmured to himself as the image returned, this time of Diedre sleeping peacefully, alone. "I guess I got the tapes mixed up and put the old one back in." He grinned. "Wasn't nothin' on it though. I was watchin'."

Professor Charles Xavier scrolled once more through the Danger Room program commands for the next session, then closed down the window. Scott, who had been leaning over his shoulder to read the list, straightened and looked down into the Danger Room as Charles started the loading process. Five X-Men were currently in the room below. They were taking advantage of the opportunity to rest, stretch and prepare for the next session. This morning, they were doing round-robin four-on-one scenarios, which meant that each of the five took a turn being singled out and assaulted by four of his fellow X-Men, along with whatever else Charles decided to throw against them. It was an attempt to train the X-Men to react properly when cut off from the rest of the team.

The door behind Charles and Scott slid open and Gambit walked in. He was in uniform, and still sheened in sweat from the last round. At Charles request, Bishop had just taken his place in the Danger Room. Charles glanced up as Gambit came up beside him at the console. He did not need his powers to identify the defensive anger crackling in the young man's eyes.

Gambit's gaze flicked between Charles and Scott. "Y' wan' tell me why y' pulled me out?"

Scott's jaw tightened. "We thought it would be best for Bobby if you weren't in on this one."

Charles winced mentally. These two never missed an opportunity to take a shot at the other. What Scott said was true, but he'd managed to phrase it in as insulting a manner as possible. Gambit's red irises lit with that unsettling glow as the barb struck home. But before he could retaliate, Charles jumped in.

"I wanted you to be free to observe the session, Remy. I was hoping that an additional perspective might help me to determine the best direction to take with Bobby's training."

The anger dimmed as Gambit considered his words. Then his mouth quirked into a wry smile. "Time t' see how much he's learned, eh?"

"Yes. Storm has been very pleased with his progress."

Gambit didn't answer, but turned to look down into the Danger Room. Charles had grown used to his abrupt silences, and was not offended. But Scott, he could sense, was annoyed. He didn't show it, though, as he also turned toward the window, clasping his hands behind him in a casual parade rest stance. Charles observed both men surreptitiously. So different in personality and appearance, he wondered which would be most disturbed by the remarkable similarities Charles saw in them. The mental image that thought conjured brought a smile which he quickly hid as he busied himself at the controls. With a final typed command, he started the next scenario.

The four facing Iceman in a loose semi-circle were Phoenix, Storm, Bishop, and Wolverine. They waited as their surroundings shimmered and darkened, slowly filling with the ruins of a city. Mounds of rubble supported the remains of skyscrapers. Wrecked vehicles lined the street on which the five X-Men stood. It was a desolate scene, one filled with shadows and corners. A perfect place to hunt down a lone mutant.

The area just behind Iceman was piled high with scraps of rusted metal and huge chunks of cement. They leaned drunkenly against each other, leaving just enough space between the misshapen pieces for a person to crawl through. Charles had designed the acre-long pile as a kind of maze. There were dozens of entrances, and a true warren of tunnels throughout the junkpile.

As if on cue, Wolverine took two steps to his left and disappeared into the shadows between buildings. Jean began to rise in a telekinetic bubble, Storm following on her winds just a few yards away. Bishop moved in the opposite direction as Wolverine, his gun held ready. To Charles' surprise, Iceman did not immediately switch to his ice form. Instead, he noted the movements of the other X-Men, and ducked into the maze of wreckage. He quickly became invisible to the naked eye, though the Danger Room thermal sensors painted him as a clear red form on Charles' console. Charles was pleased. The maze seemed like an easy place for Iceman to become trapped, but it was also gave him access to several parts of the Danger Room environs that might be more favorable to his powers. Charles had purposefully set the X-Men in an area almost entirely hemmed in by broken buildings, where Bobby would have limited room to maneuver.

Wolverine and Bishop spread out toward opposite ends of the maze, climbing nimbly over the wreckage. Charles could tell from their postures that they felt that Bobby had neatly trapped himself. Jean and Storm formed the other two points of a square with their grounded teammates. They both circled the ruin slowly, searching.

Charles waited quietly, allowing the combatants a few minutes to maneuver. Then he hit a switch, sending a flight of robots armed with lasers and miniature missiles after Iceman. They made their first run past the piles of twisted cement and metal, raining explosive darts. Charles felt Bobby flinch as the missiles tore chunks out of his shelter, but he could sense no panic from the young man. That in itself was unusual. More often than not, Bobby maintained a state of barely contained terror in combat. But right now, he continued to work his way through the maze, making slow but purposeful progress. He seemed to be headed for an open area beyond the ring of buildings, where a section of a broad street cut through the ruins.

"Can ya spot him, Jeannie?" Wolverine's question came to the observers through the comlinks the four searchers were wearing. Charles' display put Wolverine nearly a hundred yards from Iceman's position. As he watched, Wolverine hunkered down for a moment, sniffing.

"He's in the western quadrant of this pile somewhere, but I can't pin him down better than that." Jean pointed to indicate the place when Logan looked up at her. He nodded and moved that direction at a jog. Bishop saw her signal as well, and started working his way from the other side. Mentally, Charles shook his head. Bobby had stayed in there too long, and was quickly losing his advantage. Charles had the horrible suspicion that they would flush Iceman like a rabbit once he realized how close they were getting. Nor was he wrong.

"There!" A lightning bolt followed Storm's pointing finger as Bobby darted out of the sheltering ruin. It struck just behind his crouched form as he sprinted toward the opening that would give him access to the street area. He dove around the corner of the building, disappearing from sight once more. Then the thermal image of him went blank as he transitioned to ice. No more than thirty yards away, Bishop and Wolverine increased their pace to follow him. Momentarily blocked by the highrise building that Bobby was using for cover, Jean and Storm split up, circling the structure to take up positions on the far side.

Jean's voice through the comlink was full of surprise. "Where'd he go?"

"Is there a problem, Jean?" Bishop asked.

Charles could see her bobbing midair as she studied the far side of the building intently. "I don't think so, but I don't see Iceman anywhere. He has probably gone ice since I can't sense much from him any more. You and Logan be careful."

Scott turned to Charles, his frown hinting at hidden worry. "I don't like this, Professor."

"Why not?" Charles was feeling stirrings of alarm himself. Despite his fear, or perhaps because of it, Bobby was always quick to jump into a fight.

"It's not like Iceman. Can you sense anything from him?"

Charles touched the controls before him, switching the displays to a new set of cameras that clearly showed the street Iceman had turned onto. Bobby was, indeed, nowhere in sight.

"I don't sense anything unusual," Charles said. "He seems to have some kind of plan." And he did. Charles could not pry that deeply while Bobby was in ice form since the transformation vastly modified the operation of his brain, but even on the surface Bobby's thoughts were organized and purposeful.

Storm dropped to hover only fifteen feet above the street. She turned a slow circle, her iris-less eyes scanning every detail of the scene. Wolverine reached the corner of the building and looked up at her, but she only shrugged. Cautiously, he started down the street, claws extended. He moved with the fluid grace of a predator, his head swinging from side to side as he searched the empty street for signs of his quarry. Bishop followed a short distance behind, walking backwards to keep the area behind Logan covered.

They were smart. They were careful. They never stood a chance.

In the observation room, Gambit began to chuckle. It was a surprisingly gleeful sound from the normally solemn young man. Charles glanced over at him, curious.

"Care to share the joke?" Scott asked sharply.

Gambit didn't take his eyes off the scene below. "Jus' watch, mon ami." For once, he didn't take Scott's bait. He seemed entirely enthralled by the two mutants who moved in disciplined unison down the center of the street below.

Just then, the street seemed to ripple, as if seen through a heat mirage. Charles glanced involuntarily at his readouts, thinking that the holographic projection equipment had failed. But then his gaze jumped back to the street as it gave a mighty heave, tossing Wolverine and Bishop into the air like mismatched dice. A wave of ice rolled beneath the uprooted surface, making it crack and shudder. Charles was a bit surprise by how forcefully Iceman had ripped up the section of cement, but he was pleased by how effectively Logan and Bishop had been thrown off guard.

The two men curled up midair in anticipation of a hard landing, but before they had even reached the top of their trajectories, tentacles of ice tore through the remaining chunks of the street, wrapping around the two mutants until they were completely hidden from view. The bundles looked like strange cocoons, each one sitting neatly atop a pillar of ice. Ice spread around the base of the pillars, and from this surface Iceman rose with fluid grace, taking shape directly out of the thin layer of ice.

A white bolt of light struck the pod holding Bishop. Ice chips exploded from the surface in a cloud of vapor, but when the mist cleared the surface appeared to be only slightly damaged. As Charles watched, the gouge seemed to repair itself.

Iceman created an ice slide, rising quickly to Storm's level, but keeping a cautious distance.

"Tag! You're it!" he called to her. With a gesture, he sent a flight of ice arrows shooting towards her, forcing her to defend herself. A sudden gale shattered the arrows, but Bobby was already diving away from her, leaving a trail of ice across the sky. Storm turned and flew after him.

The two pods shattered under Jean's telepathic assault, and she lowered both men to the ground. Both were unconscious, which Charles had known since the moment it happened. He was impressed. Bobby had lowered both men's body temperatures just far enough to put them out without harming them. And with one simple stroke, he had eliminated two of his pursuers.

Jean gave each man a cursory inspection, then she looked up toward the observation booth. "Bishop's temperature is already back to normal. Logan is still cold. His healing factor seems to have kicked in to keep frostbite at bay, but Bobby was actually holding him unconscious with the temperature." She sounded impressed herself.

Scott turned to Gambit. "How did you know he was going to do that?"

Remy shrugged. "Easy. De street looked wet."

"The street looked wet?" Scott repeated in disbelief. "Since when has Bobby been turning himself into water? That's the only way he could have fit beneath the street without deforming it."

Gambit shrugged again, apparently unaffected by the vague accusation in Scott's tone. "Dunno." Then the smug grin that had been fading from his face returned in full. "But if I had ice powers, dat's exactly what I would have done."

He turned back to the windows, leaving Scott fuming silently. Charles reached over and put a placating hand on his arm. "Relax, Scott. You must admit, it's a creative solution."

Scott glanced down at him, and Charles could feel his disapproval. "I'd call it cowardly. It was an ambush."

Gambit snorted. "So? It worked, didn' it?"

"Yes, but that's not the point."

Gambit's eyebrows quirked comically. "'Not de point'? Den what is de point if it ain' survivin'?"

Scott sighed. "Forget it, Remy. You wouldn't understand."

Gambit's eyes flared to life as he stared at Scott. "Try me." His expression was dangerous, and the eerie red glow to his eyes only made him seem more threatening. Briefly, Charles wondered just how much control Gambit had over that effect. His eyes tended to glow whenever he was angry or upset, making it seem like an involuntary response, but Charles knew how effectively he could use his appearance to intimidate. When it came time to fight, Remy tended to look more like a prince of Hell than a mere mutant, and Charles was curious how much he'd done to cultivate that.

Events in the Danger Room distracted Charles from his musings. Bobby had brought his slide to a stop near the roof of the Danger Room. He stood on the lip of the slide, watching Storm as she hovered a short distance away. Ororo gathered lightning around her hands in two glowing balls. Specifically with her in mind, the ceiling of the room was made of non-conductive material, so she was unhindered as she threw twin bolts of electricity at him. One was aimed at the ice slide beneath Bobby's feet. The other was aimed directly at his chest.

In the split second as Storm fired, Charles saw Iceman's normally opaque form become translucent and take on an oddly shimmering quality. The lightning bolt struck him squarely and then disappeared, save for a puff of vapor where it hit. Charles smiled. Storm had been telling him how much control Iceman was gaining over his state. And now, as he maintained himself as a being of water instead of ice, he became a perfect conductor of electricity. Storm's lightning was no longer a threat to him.

The second lightning bolt, however, shattered the ice slide. Bobby's human form lost definition as he suddenly plummeted toward the floor in a cascade of water.

#Charles!# Jean's mental voice was tight with alarm. #Should I catch him?#

Charles paused, uncertain. But he answered, No, Jean. Then he watched in mild terror as the amorphous ball of water struck the ground. It splashed down, spreading out across the street in a widening circle that darkened the cement as it ran toward the lowest places.

Silence reigned in the Danger Room as the two women settled on the ground just outside the limits of the circle of dampness. Jean dropped to her knees, extending a hand so that her fingers almost, but not quite, touched the wet ground. Charles, too, spread his mind wide, searching for Bobby's presence on the astral plane. If he hadn't so recently seen Iceman pull himself out of the pores of this very street, he would have believed him dead. But now he was almost certain that the young mutant somehow remained a living entity despite his current scattered form.

A hand of ice reached out of the street and grabbed Jean's wrist. She yelped in surprise as it dragged her forward, unbalancing her. Then a foot materialized out of the ground, completing the maneuver and throwing her bodily across the street. Jean protected herself with a telekinetic shield as she slammed into a car parked on the curb. As she regained her footing, Iceman seemed to roll out of the cement. He came to his feet in a crouch, then slowly straightened. Behind him, Storm drew her hand across her throat in the universal signal, and Charles shut down the Danger Room.

Scott glanced over at the Professor. "Why is she stopping the session?"

Instead of answering, Charles touched the control that would patch them into the comlinks. "Storm, is something wrong?" he asked. He found himself very curious what Ororo's answer might be.

"No, Charles." She looked up toward the observation booth.

"Then would you like me to restart the scenario?"

Storm cocked her head. "I do not see that it would serve any purpose, Charles." There was something almost. . . sad? in her voice. And when he brushed her mind, he felt a sense of joy, of pride in the accomplishment of a friend, but also a deep-seated melancholy. Charles made a mental note to ask her about it later, when they had an opportunity to talk privately.

"Very well. If Bishop and Logan are ready to rejoin us, we'll go on to the next rotation in a few minutes."

He turned to the men who stood on either side of him. "Reactions?"

Scott shook his head. "Amazing."

Gambit turned to Scott, his expression one of surprise. His tone held a note of mockery. "What? Didn' y' know de boy was invulnerable?"

Charles felt Scott's general annoyance with Remy crystallize into anger. "Of course! I've known for years."

"An y' jus' never said anyt'ing?" Remy's expression had grown skeptical.

Scott took a deep breath, fighting for control. "We didn't think that Bobby was ready to cope with the real extent of his powers." He managed to sound reasonable, though his jaw remained tight.

Charles didn't think Gambit liked that answer very much, true as it was. Charles himself had been much in favor of shielding Bobby from too much awareness of his powers, in the hopes of introducing them to him slowly, over time.

Gambit had crossed his arms, and was looking between Charles and Scott as if he didn't entirely believe what he was hearing. "Let me get dis straight. You-" he pointed at Scott, "have been purposefully tellin' de boy he's not'ing special b'cause y' didn' t'ink he could handle his powers?!" There was outrage in the gaze that suddenly snapped to Charles' face. "An' you been approvin' o' dis?"

Charles met his blood red gaze and realized that the words stung. He had done what he thought was best for Bobby, but it was difficult to have that belief challenged. Especially when he was being confronted with true, righteous anger from a man that Charles did not consider to be particularly moral. But Remy was a mass of contradictions that Charles had not yet figured out, and his reactions were sometimes very puzzling.

"Please, Remy," he tried to placate the young man's anger. "Try to see this from our point of view. Bobby came here as a very young man. A very insecure young man who was inside terrified of the powers that had been given to him. We had hoped to allow him the time to mature before he was forced to take on the full burden of his powers. It is a tremendous responsibility and we," he motioned to Scott, "did not want to see him harmed by trying to take it up too early."

Gambit's expression had not changed. "So f' de last six years y' both been tellin' him not t' try too hard so he won' figure out how much power he's really got. An' den y' disappointed in him when he don' keep up wit de rest o' de team."

Charles shook his head slowly. "I have never been disappointed with Bobby's progress."

Gambit's look was one of pure disgust. "I bet Bobby don' see it dat way." He turned and stalked out of the control booth, his boots clacking on the metal floor. The door closed behind his retreating figure, leaving Charles and Scott in silence.

Scott stared at the door. "That man really worries me sometimes."

Charles raised an eyebrow. "Why is that?"

Scott chewed on his lip for a moment as he sorted through his thoughts. "Because I think he would be willing to toss Bobby off the top of a building in the hopes that he would figure out he's invulnerable before he hit the bottom."

"Okay, lift and turn and kick and stretch..."

Diedre giggled wildly as Bobby exaggerated an exercise routine, pretending that there was music playing. Diedre had seemed down, so he'd been trying to cheer her up, and becoming silly had seemed to be the easiest way to do it.

"Stop it," she gasped, clutching her sides. "I'm going to hurt myself!"

He stopped with a grin and bowed to her. "As my lady demands."

She laughed and shook her head. "You goof."

"But of course! Still, I think we'd better get some more practice in." They'd been training in the pool again. Diedre was improving greatly and she'd even created a small ice slide today. It was too weak to carry her weight and it took her close to an hour to form it completely, but it was far more than she'd ever done before. The smile on her face as she looked at it was beautific.

Now, however, she groaned. "What, more? But I'm so tired. I feel like my fingers are going to fall off." She wiggled them for emphasis.

He shook his head. "Quitter," he teased.

Immediately, her chin jutted out into the cutest pout he'd ever seen. "I am not. I merely want to take a break for lunch."

His heart started to pound. "You want to eat here or go out?" Was this a date? Was she actually asking him out on a date? God, I hope so!

She blushed looking nervous herself. Maybe she was having the same thoughts. His pounding heart felt like it was going to jump out of his throat and strangle him. "Can we go to a restaurant or something?"

He nodded and swallowed. "Sure."

Frank followed them, of course. Discretely walking about fifteen feet behind them as they strolled along the sidewalk, not touching. Close enough to interfere if anything went wrong, but not so close that they didn't have the illusion of privacy, or as much as one could get on a New York street at noon. Bobby had gotten so used to him that he didn't pay attention to him anymore, which a small part of him warned could be a mistake. Frank wasn't stupid enough not to realize there was something going on between himself and Diedre, which gave him a lot of power over him. Remy had warned him not to let himself get into such a position where another could blackmail him, but Bobby didn't see any way to avoid it, not if he wanted to see Diedre again.

Diedre looked around herself at the buskers, and panhandlers, and the crush of people hurrying in every direction on the sidewalk, as well as the mass of cars trapped in traffic on the street. "This is so incredible," she sighed.

Bobby looked at her sideways. "Haven't you ever walked down the street before?" He asked.

To his surprise, she shook her head. "Not since before I was married. Now I go everywhere in a limo. I forgot how much I loved to walk."

Bobby felt the familiar anger grow in him. The rage that any man who'd sworn to love and cherish a woman would treat her like so much garbage. In response, the temperature around him dropped a few degrees.

Diedre stared at him, sensing his mood, and tried to diffuse the moment by pointing at a nearby store window. "Look, isn't that a lovely dress?"

For her sake, since he knew there was nothing he could do about Michael, Bobby looked. The store window had a series of anorexic mannequins in it, with perfectly coiffed plastic hair. They were displaying the latest summer dresses, in a variety of colours, from white to a dark blue. Diedre was pointing at the darkest one.

"I think that would look nice at the club, don't you?"

Bobby frowned, turning to the one beside it, a pretty white and yellow checked dress with a short, flowing skirt that fell straight but was tucked a little at the waist with spaghetti straps and a swoop neck. "I think that you'd look better in that one."

She blushed, an expression on her face Bobby couldn't quite read. Was it hope, satisfaction, or despair? "Do you really think so?"

Impulsively, he grabbed her arm. "Come on, I'll prove it to you." Amidst her giggling, he dragged her into the store.

It was much like the one where Remy had bought him his suit. Expensive, refined and biased. He saw the saleslady come towards him with an expression of distaste on her face, and looked down at his jeans and tee-shirt, then at Diedre's black shorts and halter top that made her appear so pale and washed out. Neither of them looked rich at all, and he had the distinct feeling they were about to have their butts hit the sidewalk. That irritated him, where once he would have meekly left as he was asked, then bitched about how he was treated for weeks.

Now, however, he straightened his spine and put on the same arrogant, don't-mess-with-me expression Remy had had in the other store, that regal demeanor which made him look like a king even with his torn jeans and leather coat. He was sure he couldn't do it as well, but the saleslady hesitated, her determination to throw them both out before they sullied her merchandise weakening in uncertainty. Diedre stared at him, surprised, then hid her shock and smiled at the clerk with faint boredom. Bobby was so proud of her he wanted to spin her around and hug her. In a mirror, he saw Frank walk up behind them and cross his arms patiently, the quintessential bodyguard. The clerk wilted further and was actually polite by the time she reached them.

"May I help you, sir?" She asked.

Bobby almost choked on the first sincere 'sir' he'd ever heard used in reference to himself, without it being a rub-off of the respect Gambit got, then nodded. "Yes. Would you please get the yellow dress in the window for my friend?"

"Of course. Come with me, dear. I do believe we have that one in your size back here." She led Diedre towards the rear of the store.

Bobby trailed behind them. "Thanks," he said in an undertone to Frank. The empath merely nodded and took up position near the door, where he could see everything that happened.

By the time Bobby reached the back, Diedre had already been whisked into the changing room with a half dozen dresses, each one of them yellow, he noted.

"I sent her in with some different styles," the clerk explained. "so she could see which suited her best."

Bobby nodded. "Thanks," he said and sat down on one of the antique chairs provided for bored men helping their females shop. There was a nice tee-shirt hanging on the front of a rack beside him, a short cotton thing, so idly he glanced at the price.

"Would you like some water?" The saleslady asked as he began to choke. He managed a nod and she hurried off. One hundred and fifty dollars for a frigging t-shirt?! They're nuts!

The clerk brought him some water in a small glass and he gulped it down. A moment later, Diedre stepped out of the changeroom and he almost brought it back up again.

She was wearing the dress from the window, and the yellow made her skin and hair glow as she turned, the light skirt swirling around her pale legs. "What do you think?" She breathed.

He thought she was the most beautiful thing in the world. He thought he was so in love with her the universe could die and he wouldn't care, as long as he was with her. He thought he wanted to make love with her, and make her his wife, and to hell with Michael and his guild.

"It's nice," he croaked.

She smiled at him, her eyes twinkling. "I've got to try the others on," she admitted and was gone in a swirl of yellow. Bobby slumped down in his seat, wondering how much more he could take.

Bobby was almost a basket case by the time she was done trying on the dresses and posing for him. Finally, though, she came out again in her horrid black, carrying the dresses. She lovingly stroked the fabric of the top one, then regretfully handed them to the clerk.

"Thank you," she said softly and walked towards the front of the store.

Bobby blinked at her. She's not going to buy them? He stared after her, then impulsively went over to the clerk. "How much is the top one?" He asked softly.

The clerk smiled at him, sensing a sale. "Twelve hundred dollars, sir."

He swallowed. "And the rest are the same?"

"More or less, sir."

Diedre needed a wardrobe. She needed colours that made her look alive, not the black that gave her the impression of a walking corpse. But twelve hundred dollars... where was he going to get enough money to buy a twelve hundred dollar dress? The Professor gave them money for expenses, but twelve hundred?

"Hold the top one for me," he said softly. "I'll pick it up later."

"Of course, sir," she agreed and he hurried to catch up to Diedre, praying to himself that Professor would be in a really generous mood tonight, because he wasn't sure he had the nerve to steal for real.

Calmly, Michael walked into his penthouse, tossing his sunglasses on the table, though he kept his keys with him. It'd been an annoying morning.

Gambit had been talking to the Guildmembers. Nothing overt, nothing he could use to drag him by his Cajun ears into the blood ring and rip out his heart, but he was talking. Letting the Guild know that he, master thief, felt that they shouldn't be using their powers on jobs.

He snorted, his lip curling into a snarl. They were listening, too. Damn him, he thought. Damn him to hell.

With the powers of the Guild, he'd had the resources to gain control of the entire city, even throwing down the Kingpin himself, instead of cowering in hiding and trying to eke out a living with talents any fool off the street could be trained into. Being mutants had promised them power, and him the chance to control that power. Months he'd spent setting up the Guild to defy the old traditions, and truly take its place in the underworld.

Then Gambit walked in. The only thief east of the Mississippi who had the authority to question him. Damn him! All that work gone. All because an interfering Cajun with the power to charm mentioned that now was no time for a mutant to show off his powers.

He crossed the room to the bar and poured himself a drink. He'd have laughed in Gambit's face if he could, but the man had a reputation that even he couldn't ignore. And even Guildless, he could draw on resources Michael would be hard pressed to match as quickly. He'd proven that many times, most especially with his new 'apprentice'.

Michael's eyes narrowed. Apprentice. An upper level Alpha class, and the most powerful one he'd ever seen. A boy obeying him without question while he had to make do with the arrogant low level Betas born or recruited into the Guild nowadays. When he saw the dragon that boy made from ice the first night they spoke- he'd been impressed. He didn't like being impressed when he had nothing to counter with. Alexi's luck power with the tables? Toby's ability to lift objects under one hundred pounds with his mind? That was nothing. That boy could make cold live. Shatter steel, crumble stone, kill.

And he belonged to Gambit. Gods! that irritated him. He wanted that child in his employ. To use his powers as he directed. To show up Gambit, who thought he knew best, and used Michael's own rules to tie him.

No more. He would have what he wanted and Remy and his warnings be damned. Bobby would be bound to him, and LeBeau would be shamed. Humiliated. And if that wasn't enough to get rid of him, there was always the ring.

Michael smiled slightly, then turned, the smile fading as the door to the apartment opened and Didi came in, followed by Bobby and Frank. He'd had the limo today, and the porshe was in the shop being detailed. Not that Didi had ever learned to drive the stick shift and Frank knew better than to touch his car, save to open the door for him.

"Where have you been?" He asked coldly.

Didi looked up at him, her face mirroring surprise for a moment. Bobby's had gone blank. It wasn't as good a mask as Gambit's, but it kept him from knowing what he was thinking, which irked him more.

"W-we went out to lunch," Didi said uncertainly. "I was hungry from my training."

He sipped his drink. He'd always been used to Didi being deferential to him. His rank deserved it from her. But now he wondered if there was something else behind her stammer.

"You walked?"

She swallowed. "Well, yes. It was such a lovely day and-"

"My wife," he told the apprentice coolly. "Does not walk. Ever. Is that understood?"

Bobby's face was like stone. "Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Guildmaster."

Irritated, he studied the boy's face. Young, round, with unruly blonde hair grown almost to his shoulders. He was trying to turn himself into Gambit at his scruffiest. Michael sipped his drink. Stupid boy. He'd have him cut his hair and dress in better clothes. He'd never have the full presence he needed to succeed in the Guild, but with his powers, it wouldn't matter. People would bow to him out of fear.

He saw how close the two were standing, but discarded any idea of his wife being unfaithful to him. Not Didi. She knew whom she belonged to and he knew what her type was. She was into men with power, men like himself, or Gambit.

His eyes narrowed again in thoughtful suspicion. Gambit had a reputation for the ladies even more than he did for being a thief. It'd be just like him to attempt to steal his wife. Michael found himself wishing to a degree that he had. Adultary was more than enough reason to call someone to the ring.

"How is Gambit today?" He asked the apprentice. If he'd taken Didi to some kind of illicit rendezvous with his master, he wouldn't be able to hide it.

Bobby, however, only blinked. "Fine, I think. I haven't seen him."

Too bad. Michael turned and set down his glass. Didi hadn't cheated on him with the Cajun. Still, if it ever were to become necessary, a false accusation would be just as useful as a real one if the accused was dead before any proof was called for.

God, do I want to freeze him from the inside out, Bobby thought while he stoically kept on the poker face Remy had taught him and watched Michael deride the woman he loved. He'd kill him where he stood, but he knew he wasn't a murderer, and that's what it would be. Besides, it wouldn't be fair to Didi, who he could see still loved him.

Why? He wailed silently. Why do you still love him? He'll never love you. I love you. He wanted to tell her that, but not now, not in front of Michael.

"Go to your room," Michael told his wife. "You need rest after your exertions."

"Of course, Michael." Without even a glance at him that would be far too dangerous, she walked away. At a nod from Michael, Frank went out of the room.

Bobby found himself being examined by Michael. He felt like a bug being stared at under a microscope. He braced himself for anything, then Michael said the last thing he expected. "Would you like a drink?"

Bobby blinked. "Uh? Sure."

Michael nodded and went back to the bar. He didn't ask him what he wanted, but poured him a scotch on the rocks. He picked his own drink back up and handed him his glass.

"How is Didi's training coming?"

Keep it simple! His mind screamed at him. "Good. She's developing faster than I thought she was going to. She's already able to do things she couldn't before."

"Such as?"

Bobby thought back to the lesson. "She's able to create a film of ice over about a quarter of the pool. It's not very thick or strong, but it's solid."

"Will she be able to do as much as you can?"

"I'm... not sure. Maybe." He doubted it. She was a definate Beta. She had a useful power, but not a dangerous one. The worst she could do was give someone frostbite. It was still impressive, but he doubted Michael would agree.

Michael nodded. "How is your own training coming?" He asked suddenly.

Bobby blinked at the sudden change of topic, wondering how to answer. Remy had said it was considered rude to ask about the progress of someone else's apprentice, but Masters were supposed to be exempt from some rules. He couldn't remember whether this was one of them though. Remy just told him that, when in doubt, keep his mouth shut.

"Pretty good," he told him.

For Michael, that wasn't enough. "Have you made your first real pinch?"

Officially? He wasn't sure that breaking into every museum in the city and out again was real in Guild terms. Nor would be putting groucho glasses on Michaelangelo's David, on loan from Europe. Remy had a very silly sense of humour at times. "Um, not yet."

Michael's eyes widened in a surprise too great to be wholly genuine. "You haven't? I'm surprised. A thief of your talents should have a sponsor by now." He put his drink on the table and put an arm around Bobby's shoulders. "Personally, I think it's time you did, and I am happy to volunteer. Be here tomorrow night at 10 and I'll take you on a job with my apprentices." He steered him to the door.

"But... but Gambit..."

"Can handle being alone for one night." Michael's lips twisted faintly. "All Guild masters do have the right to request an apprentice's assistance at any time."

That was true. Bobby remembered Remy mentioning that, but it'd been mixed in with so much other stuff he needed to know that he couldn't remember if that was all of it. "Uh, okay."

"Excellent." Michael steered him out the door and closed it in his face.

Oh God, what have I gotten myself into this time?

Quietly, Bobby walked into the mansion, lost in thought. He went up to Remy's room, but the Cajun wasn't there, nor was he in the kitchen, or on the roof. Quietly, he walked into the living room to see Bishop oiling one of his many guns.

"Have you seen Remy?" He asked him.

The big man regarded him stoically and Bobby found himself wondering, as usual, what he was thinking. Bishop was so good at hiding his emotions that even Remy's training wasn't enough to give him an insight into his feelings. He got the impression that Remy could read him like a book, though.

Suddenly, he realized he and the big man had something in common. They'd both started out hating Gambit, then wound up among his closest friends.

"He's outside helping Storm weed the garden," Bishop told him. He always knew where everyone in the mansion was.

"Thanks." He went out back.

Behind the mansion there were dozens of flower beds, all carefully tended by Storm and whoever she could rope into helping her weed. Right now it was Remy, kneeling on the grass with an expression of disgust mixed with friendship on his face. Bobby grinned. There was a distinct odor of fertilizer in the air.

He stood by the side of a bush, out of their line of sight, and watched them for a moment. Storm was tending the plants lovingly while Remy bitched, yet he was almost as careful as she.

He felt nervous all of a sudden. If he asked Remy for the money, the Cajun would want to know why, and Bobby didn't want him to know that he was in love with Michael's wife. He wasn't stupid. He knew the politics of the Guild well enough by now to know that what he was doing was incredibly dangerous, for both of them. Remy was his master. He was responsible for his actions, and what he was doing with Diedre, innocent as it was, could not only get him killed, but Gambit as well.

Guilt filled the young man. Remy had gone well out of his way for him, teaching him, supporting him, and not even asking any questions. He hadn't realized it until now, but Remy had never asked him anything about Diedre, other than how the relationship was going. He respected his privacy like no one ever had. He didn't know how he'd react if he knew the truth, and he didn't want to involve him any more than he already was. Or put him in any more danger.

He also didn't know if telling him about his being asked on a training session with Michael was good either. Michael was up to something, he was sure of it. It couldn't be because of any great interest in him; he had to be after Remy. But if Remy knew about it, he might get caught in that trap. Confused, he decided to handle it on his own. Remy had taught him well and he wasn't gullible. If Michael did have a trap ready, he was not going to be the bait for his master.

Quietly, Bobby turned and walked away before the two X-Men saw him. He'd ask the Professor for the money instead, and tell him some story as to what it was for. It was ironic indeed, that it would be easier for him to lie to a telepath.

"Why I gotta help wit' dis, Stormy?" Remy bitched as he weeded.

"Because you were available," was the reply. "And do not call me Stormy."

Remy frowned. "I don' call fast asleep in m' bed bein' available."

Storm smiled. "You were not. You were in the kitchen eating frozen pop tarts."

"Close enough."

She shook her trowel at him. "Besides, you did agree."

"Dat's b'fore I find out y' gonna be mushin' horse shit into de dirt, den makin' me kneel in it."

The Wind Rider sighed. "It is not horse shit, Remy. It is cow manure."

He grinned at her. "It's brown an' it comes out a de wrong end of a stinky animal. Close 'nough."

"You are impossible."

"Yup. An' it's gonna get worse if y' don' let me go."

With a smile, she regarded him out of her blue, cat like eyes. "Feel free to complain, Remy. I am very used to dealing with small children."

"Hah!" He dug his trowel into the flower bed they were working on, savaging a weed. "I know more 'bout kids dan you do. Raised y' in N'Awlins, didn' I?" He yanked the weed out, along with what he was sure was some sort of flower bulb, and tossed them over his shoulder before she could notice. Storm was rather defensive of her plants. "It was fun den, wasn' it?"

Storm was a woman of tremendous dignity and personal morals. To look at her, no one would be able to conceive of the idea that she was an expert pickpocket and a not half bad thief. Remy had met her when they both were robbing the same house, though she was in the body of a child, and he'd seen the potential for greatness in her right away. The same potential was in Bobby, too, and he idly wondered which of the two was better. Ororo, he decided, was the better pickpocket, but Bobby was better at B&E. He, of course, was better than both of them, he thought with a grin. Though Storm did give him a serious run for his money in snitching wallets.

Storm may not steal anymore, but she had enjoyed it while it lasted and her smile widened. "I seem to remember being the one taking care of you at times. I do not ever remember coming home drunk, or being captured by Nanny and the Orphan Maker in the middle of a Mardi Gras parade."

Remy blushed. "So I was havin' a bad day. Still, y' did good savin' my butt. First time I really see y' use y' powers, ot'er dan when y' lifted dat whole ol' plane an' flew it down de Mississippi on y' winds." He grinned at the memory of the people they'd seen below them, running from what they thought was a UFO. There were still stories about it being told in those parts.

To his surprise, Ororo sighed. "What's wrong, Padnat?"

"I was truly innocent then," she said as she softened the earth with her own trowel. "I had no idea what power I wielded."

"So? Y' c'n control it. T'aint no big deal, neh?"

She shook her head. "It is a big deal, for my emotions influence the weather. I feel that I have lost something with that realization, just as Bobby is losing something with the development of his powers."

He blinked, completely caught by surprise. "Bobby? What 'bout him?"

She delicately removed a weed with the same care she would use in planting a seed. "Bobby is very powerful, more so than any of us realized at first. I think his powers are almost at a level high enough to be classified as Omega."

Remy whistled. Omega classes, like Magneto, had powers which could affect the world as a whole. "Dat's pretty impressive."

Storm shook her head. "He is not that powerful, but he is one of the most powerful X-Men, if not the most powerful. I am at an equal with him, and only Rogue is stronger." She saw his jaw clench. "Forgive me, Remy. I did not mean to bring up bad memories."

"T'ain't not'ing, padnat. De memories not all bad." He dug irritably at the garden. "So, you agree with Cyke dat he should be kept in de dark 'bout what he can do."

"I do not know. I do know I do not like to see Bobby lose his innocence."

"Dat innocence won' do him much good if it wind up gettin' him killed by someone he coulda iced if he were better wit' his powers."

Storm shook her head. "You cannot be so negative, Remy, even with our lives the way they are. Bobby does not need to use all of his powers, or lose his innocence."

Remy didn't answer her out loud, still digging at the garden, though it was now weed-free. Yes he does, now dat he's walkin' in my world.

Bobby leaned back against the cool brick of the storefront, waiting patiently. Just beyond the edge of the awning, rain fell in a steady patter. It was just enough to make the night cold without sending people in search of cover. Bobby had lowered his body temperature slightly to keep from feeling the chill, but only someone touching him would be able to tell.

Or someone watching us through a thermal scope. Say, mounted on a sniper rifle. Bobby shoved the thought aside. The last thing he needed was to pick up any more of Gambit's paranoia. Not that Gambit didn't have a right to be paranoid. . . Bobby wasn't certain what he himself might be like if his name was on a few assassins' `kill him if you get the chance' list. Of course, they couldn't want Remy too badly-he'd been living in the same city for two years now and as far as Bobby knew, no one had come looking for him.

Oblivious to Bobby's train of thought, Remy stood a few feet away watching the street. Or, more specifically, watching the continuous passage of people along the sidewalk across the street from them. Against the backdrop of pedestrians who walked by with their heads down, intent on their destinations, the hookers stood out in clear relief. The brightly dressed women stood in groups of two or three, and from his vantage, Bobby could hear them calling out invitations and occasional obscenities to the cars that slowed as they passed by. A group of teenage boys lounged around the hood of an ancient black caddy parked a little further down, but they didn't look like real trouble to Bobby. Wannabe hoods, maybe, but nothing he would be worried about. Several other kids lurked in the background of the scene, nearly invisible. Most were teenagers, both male and female, and their ages ranged widely. They didn't talk to each other, but seemed simply to wait in the shadows, unnoticed. Occasionally, one of them would come out to talk to the driver of a car that pulled up, and a few moments later retreat. Bobby saw one girl get into a car, and he wished he understood what he was watching. The girl looked like a refugee from the grunge movement, her form hidden by layers of shabby flannel and her hair hanging lank and stringy around her face. She obviously wasn't in the trade, or she would have been dressed like the loud women congregated at the corner.

Just as he was about to ask Remy about it all, Gambit seemed to shake himself out of his thoughts. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, the tiny orange glow from the tip accentuating his angular features. Again Bobby got the feeling that something was bothering him. There was nothing he could identify that Remy was doing differently, but it was just that feeling he got sometimes that Gambit was highly disturbed by something.

"See de boy dere," Remy nodded toward the people across the street. "dark hair, fatigues jacket?"

Bobby searched the scene until he found him. He was a teenager, perhaps fourteen or fifteen years old. He stood a little ways away from any of the others, hands in pockets, as he watched the passing traffic. There was something hollow about him. . . something hungry that immediately grabbed Bobby's attention. An intensity that was somehow part of his cool detachment rather than being hidden by it. Bobby was stunned that he hadn't noticed the boy before Remy pointed him out. Now that he'd seen him, he found it hard to tear his gaze away.

"His name is Toby Mather," Remy said before he could ask.

As they watched, a silver BMW pulled up to the curb. Toby sauntered forward and leaned down to look in the passenger side window. After a moment, he straightened, and Bobby had the distinct impression of both disappointment and relief. The BMW pulled away and Toby went back to his position in the shadows.

Gambit's expression darkened. He dropped his cigarette to the pavement and ground it out with the heel of his boot. "C'mon."

Bobby kept his sigh to himself. He still had no idea what they were doing out here tonight, and if he wanted to keep his appointment with Michael, he was going to have to lose Gambit sometime in the next few hours. He still wasn't sure he was doing the right thing, but the decision was made. The Guild had rules about ignorance that he hoped would protect Gambit if he'd made the wrong choices. Bobby might have to suffer the punishment of an apprentice who lied to his master, but that was better than setting Remy up for Michael.

Together, they walked to Remy's car. Bobby was relieved. Maybe this little trip to the city to stare at hookers in the rain was all Gambit was going to require of him tonight. It was no more and no less strange than some of the other things they'd done over the past few months.

Bobby settled into his seat and closed the door. "So, do I dare ask- -?"

"No." Remy turned the engine over. It picked up immediately, settling into that growling purr that made Bobby insanely jealous. This time, though, he didn't pay attention. The curt dismissal was annoying. He knew better than to say anything, though. Not in this kind of situation, when he was student and Gambit was master. He counseled himself to patience, which was the best way to deal with the man when he was in a bad mood.

Remy pulled away from the curb, immediately doing a U-turn to send them back past the street corner they'd stood and watched for nearly two hours, and hopefully then on toward Salem Center. Bobby was just about to start relaxing when he pulled over sharply, coming to a stop right in front of that same stretch of sidewalk that seemed to fascinate him so.

Beside Bobby, the window began to roll down as Remy manipulated the controls on his side of the car. The sudden burst of air was cold and wet. Bobby turned up his collar against the rain drops that occasionally found him, wishing pettily that they were in England so that Gambit could sit in the rain instead of him.

A figure approached the car. Bobby recognized the nonchalant walk before he saw the boy's face. Toby. The one Gambit had been watching. He approached the car and leaned down to peer in the window, his darting gaze taking in the both of them before settling on Remy. They stared at each other, Remy cool, the boy defiant. Bobby took advantage of the moment to look Toby over more closely, but all he could discern was that the boy was badly in need of both a haircut and a bath. Finally, Toby spoke.

"Cost ya extra for two."

Gambit nodded sharply. "Get in."

A dozen questions popped into Bobby's mind, but he held his tongue. Questions had to wait until they could talk privately. He slid his seat forward, giving Toby room to climb into the Ferrari's tiny rear seat.

Remy pulled out into traffic without another word, or even a glance in Bobby's direction. That wasn't too unusual anymore. Remy tended to simply go about his business, leaving it to Bobby to keep up, both mentally and physically.

They drove in silence, pulling up in front of one of New York's many Hilton hotels. To Bobby's surprise, Remy parked the car himself rather than using the valets like he normally would. He opened the trunk and grabbed his workout bag, tossing it over his shoulder as they headed toward the entrance. It was becoming obvious to Bobby that he was trying not to draw too much attention.

They walked into the hotel lobby. Bobby surveyed the room automatically, noting the multiple exits and guessing at where they would lead. Hotels were all laid out basically the same, and in moments he had worked out two routes that should take him out of the building. He didn't see any security, and didn't expect to.

"Stay here." Remy walked over to the main desk and spoke briefly to one of the women behind it. Bobby watched the transaction in bemused silence-money for room key, signatures on various sheets of paper. He began to worry that Remy was going to keep him all night. He wasn't sure he'd be able to come up with an excuse to get him out of that. But, maybe that was for the best. Maybe. There was a part of him that did not want to let Michael do whatever he had planned tonight without at least one of them seeing it.

Remy returned to where he and Toby waited in silence. The kid was a little creepy, Bobby thought. He stood with his head down, his hands in his pockets. He was the picture of teenage boredom, except that he hadn't moved. Not one millimeter. Any other boy his age would have been wandering around, or at the very least fidgeted in place. Then it clicked. Remy had taught him that the way to become invisible to someone scanning a room was to be completely still. That kind of searching gaze picked up on motion more than specific shapes or patterns. So you became part of the background-a piece of the furniture rather than something that might stand out. Toby was effectively making himself invisible.

Following Gambit, they made their way to the third floor and a very nondescript room. It wasn't even a suite. Two double beds and a gigantic entertainment center filled most of the room, and there was a small round table with two chairs by the window. Remy tossed his bag on the bed and unzipped it, rummaging through it and coming out with a pair of sweats and the LSU t-shirt he often exercised in. He tossed them both at Toby who barely caught them.

"Clean up." He jerked his head toward the bathroom. His voice was still that same flat monotone.

Toby looked down at the clothes in his hands, then over toward the bathroom door. Without a word, he went.

"Make sure y' wash y' hair," Remy called after him. He still did not look at Bobby. Instead, he surveyed the contents of the little nightstand between the beds and plucked what looked like the room service menu from the midst of a batch of various brochures and flyers. He opened the menu and began to read through it.

"Hungry?" he asked, and this time shot Bobby a quick, unrevealing glance.

"Not really," Bobby answered. "You want to tell me what we're doing here?" Actually, he was starved, but he was willing to trade dinner for some answers.

Behind them, the shower came on. Remy turned toward the sound for a moment, and Bobby had the feeling he was tracking Toby's movements with his mutant power. Then he relaxed some and tossed the menu onto the bed in front of Bobby.

"Do y' know what de boy t'inks he been hired for?" he asked quietly. He sounded incredibly tired all of a sudden.

Bobby frowned and tried not to let his frustration show. "Not a clue."

Remy's smile was completely humorless. "He t'inks he's been hired to have sex. Wit' us."

Bobby blanched. "You're kidding." For a moment, he couldn't think of anything except that Remy had to be wrong. It was just too sick.

Remy read his reaction easily and shook his head. "Pick somet'ing t' eat." He walked over to the table and collapsed into one of the padded chairs, stretching his long legs out and crossing them at the ankle.

Uncertain what else to do, Bobby picked up the menu and settled on the edge of the bed. He looked through it without really registering what he was seeing. Finally, he put it down.

"So what are we doing here?"

Remy stared at his toes, and for a moment, Bobby thought he wouldn't answer. But then he looked up. "Most o' de kids like dat one-out on de street-dey runaways, maybe orphans, maybe dere folks on de street, too. Dey got a lot o' reasons f' bein' dere." He shrugged. "Some too stupid t' go home. Some got no place t' go home to."

He straightened a little in his chair and looked toward the bathroom for a moment. "He's one a de strong ones. Got a whole pack a kids he takes care of-makin' sure dey get somet'ing t' eat, a dry place t' sleep now an' den." Remy's stare bored into him. "An' he tricks so de others don' have to."

Bobby thought about that for a while. What would it be like to have no place to live? To be on his own so young? For all the faults he found with his parents, they had always taken care of him, always loved him and tried to give him the best they could.

The shower cut out abruptly and Remy stood. He walked over and picked up the phone. "You decided what y' want?"

Diedre wrapped her arms more tightly about herself as the cool breeze off the water curled around her. The sand beneath her bare feet was deliciously chill, and she scrunched her toes with a self- conscious smile. She had decided to take a couple of days and come out to the beach house. She needed to get away from Michael. She needed to think.

The waves rolled gently into shore, coming up almost to her toes before sinking back into the great, dark body of water. Diedre loved the ocean. It was hypnotic, soothing, but somehow violent and powerful at the same time. She often wished that she had a boat and she could just climb in and sail away, never to be seen again.

Sighing, she sat down in the sand. The sun was already invisible beneath the horizon, though the sky still glowed with reds and oranges. She admired it for a moment, but then her thoughts reclaimed her. More than anything, she wished she could figure out how she'd gotten where she was.

"Are you all right, Mrs. Tyre?"

Diedre hid a small frown. Frank always called her "Mrs. Tyre". No matter how many times she tried to get him to use her first name. But despite that, he was just about the best friend she had. The only friend she had. Except for Bobby, and she didn't have any idea what to think about him. Just hearing his name tied everything inside her into knots. She didn't know it was possible to feel so much anguish.

"Frank? Will you. . . will you tell me something?" She stared out at the rolling ocean.

"If I can." Diedre knew that was a yes. Frank didn't like to make absolute statements. He said it was because he didn't like lying to people, even unintentionally.

"Am I . . . pretty?"

Frank was silent for several moments, and Diedre bit her lip. She knew he wouldn't lie, and his silence seemed like a confirmation of her worst fears.

To her surprise, he stepped up beside her and then squatted down so they were nearly at eye level. "Why do you want to know?" he asked.

Diedre turned to stare at him. Because I want to know if it's true. She remembered the boys she went to school with. None of them had wanted to talk to the shy, pale, gawky girl until she'd started wearing her skirts so short and quit wearing a bra. They'd called her "pretty girl" and flirted with her and carried her books. At least, until she'd given them what they wanted. The first time, she thought it was just Tommy Carlyle being mean and that he would quit after a while. But he didn't. And so she thought maybe someone else would be different. But they weren't. If she offered, they'd have sex with her, but they still wouldn't talk to her at school. Eventually, they started calling her "whore" instead of "pretty girl". It wasn't until she'd met Michael that she'd even considered the idea that a man could really love her.

Michael was amazing. He was so beautiful, and when he looked at her it was like he was looking only at her, like the rest of the world didn't matter. He brought her flowers and told her that she was beautiful. He bought her expensive dresses, and took her dancing in the glittering fairylands of private clubs. And even though he was a busy man, he'd made time to have lunch with her. He was even there in the morning sometimes when she woke, and the servants would make breakfast for them both.

She almost didn't believe it was true when Michael asked her to marry him. She wanted so badly to find someone to love and spend the rest of her life with. To be faithful to, so that no one could ever call her "whore" again. And someone who would fill the aching void inside her. She'd said yes without hesitation, and her wedding day had been the happiest moment of her life.

But now, she didn't know what to think. Marriage wasn't what she thought it would be. Somehow, she had failed to be a good enough wife to Michael. He was always mad at her for something or another. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't seem to make him happy.

Frank sighed softly, and she jerked out of her thoughts. "Michael will never love you," he said matter-of-factly, "because he is incapable of loving anyone but himself." He paused, his expression softening. "Bobby, on the other hand, loves you with all his heart."

Diedre could only stare at him. Bobby loved her? The thought sent warm shivers all through her, but she wasn't sure she believed it. She wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to, but she'd been down this road too many times. And he didn't act like he loved her. He was sweet and kind, and she would call him a friend without hesitation. But he didn't. . . well, he didn't want her. He'd even come to her bedroom and nothing had happened between them. At the time, she'd been mostly grateful because she didn't want to do anything to mess up her marriage, but oh how she'd wanted him.

Whore she thought angrily. She was married to one of the most powerful, amazing men on the planet, and still she was thinking about someone else. Michael had a right to be angry with her. She wasn't much of a wife.

"You're wrong." Frank was always soft-spoken, but now she thought she heard a hint of anger in his voice. It hurt to think that even Frank was mad at her now.

"And stubborn," he added, sounding more irked now than angry.

"About what?" she finally asked.

"About Michael. Remember, I can feel what you're feeling. It's almost as good as reading your mind." He smiled as he admitted listening in on her. "So I know that you think you're not good enough for Michael."

Diedre lowered her eyes. That was very much how she felt.

"But you've got it backwards," Frank went on and Diedre was compelled to look back up at him. "Michael isn't good enough for you."

Diedre could only stare at him. Frank wouldn't lie. He wouldn't. So why was he saying such a crazy thing?

Frank watched her with disappointment written on his face. "I can tell you don't believe me," he said after a minute. "But maybe you should start paying more attention to what Michael really does for a living. Maybe then you'll start to see what kind of man he is." He straightened and looked out at the ocean.

Diedre leaned back to look up at him, the questions churning inside her. "If you don't like Michael, why do you still work for him?" she finally asked.

He laughed, a short bark of bitter amusement. "Because of you. I work for Michael because of you."

Toby wolfed down the sandwiches Remy had ordered for him, though he kept a wary eye on both men while he did so. Clean, and dressed in the oversized clothes, he looked much more like the boy he was supposed to be. Bobby could imagine having a little brother that was a lot like him.

Bobby picked at his own food, distracted by his thoughts. He was very curious what exactly Remy was going to do. He felt rather unprepared to play along, but knew that that was what Remy would expect of him.

Oh well. After seven years with the X-Men and these last couple of months with Mr. Unpredictable, I ought to be able to improvise.

Remy finished up his meal and tossed his napkin onto the plate. Then he reached into his jacket, emerging with two well-worn fifty dollar bills which he laid on the table between himself and Toby. The boy froze for a moment, but then went back to eating like nothing had happened. Bobby was a little confused by his reaction. A hundred dollars was well below market value for a trick, though he had to admit he had no idea how different this kid's market might be. He pushed further thoughts along that line aside before they gave him a serious case of the shivers. He had the feeling that Remy was offering more than Toby was used to getting.

After a moment, Toby reached for the money but Remy pinned it to the table with one forefinger. Toby froze, hand partly outstretched, and Remy slowly pulled off the black Ray-Bans he habitually wore, tossing them nonchalantly on the table.

"Better listen to de offer b'fore y' take de money."

Toby paled under the eerie stare, but slowly he nodded. Bobby was impressed by his self-control.

Remy simply nodded. "Good. You work White Crane territory, eastside by de border wit' de Ravage, right?"

Bobby knew it was a rhetorical question, but Toby nodded anyway. At least he recognized the names of the gangs and knew about where the territory Remy was talking about was.

"You seen de Black Hole out dere? Folks go in, dey don' come out again?"

Toby nodded again. Bobby didn't think he was ever going to say anything. He also wondered if this had anything to do with that gang squabble Remy was trying to resolve. It seemed like it might.

Remy nodded. "I wan' know who goes in. An' I wan' know if anyone comes out again." He tapped the money. "Dere's more of dis, every week. If I get useful information." He leaned back in his chair, pinning the boy with one of his more intimidating stares.

The boy swallowed convulsively, but then slowly reached out to take the money. His eyes never left Remy's face. "They're digging," he said quietly.

Remy's eyebrow quirked, which Toby seemed to take as an encouragement. "The dump trucks come in empty, an' go out full."

"How many?" Remy seemed genuinely interested.

Toby shrugged. "Ten, fifteen a day."

Remy flashed a smile. "Somet'ing I didn' know. You earnin' dat money already. Now get."

Toby didn't need to be told twice. He slid out of his chair and went to the bathroom to gather up his old clothes. Then he was gone.

The door closed behind him with a heavy click and Bobby looked over at Remy. "What are you expecting to get from him?" It seemed strange for a man who dealt directly with the Kingpin to be gathering information from a street kid.

Remy shrugged. "Prob'ly nothing. Don' matter. F' now, he's got enough t' keep him and his fed wit'out trickin'."

Comprehension dawned. "This was all just charity. But, why make such a production of it?"

Remy's eyes unfocused, and Bobby wondered what he was seeing. "Boy's too proud t' take handouts, neh?" There was something about his expression that said he knew that from experience rather than observation. Belately, Bobby remembered that Remy had grown up on the streets himself, before becoming a thief.

"When you were on the streets, did you . . . uh. . . ?" He broke off and flushed violet, berating himself thoroughly for asking such a rude question. It wasn't any of his business. What in the world had possessed him to just blurt something like that out? He'd just gotten used to asking Remy whatever questions happened to come to mind.

Remy didn't seem to take offense. But the smile he gave Bobby was caustic. "New Orleans' not so cold in de winter as New York, neh? Difference between livin' an' dyin' ain' whether y' got a warm enough place t' sleep." He shrugged then, as if acknowledging that he really hadn't answered the question. "Couple, three times, maybe. Could usually get by wit'out goin' dat far." His expression was flat, almost daring Bobby to react.

For once knowing better, Bobby held his tongue. He found himself unable to look Remy in the eye, though, and after a moment, he stood. He barely had enough time to get to the club before ten, and he wanted to get away from there very badly.

"Where y' goin'?" The question was friendly, as if the past few minutes had never happened.

Bobby pulled his jacket up tightly around himself. "To buy my mother some flowers." He was rewarded by Remy's chuckle as he walked to the door, but he didn't look back.

Quietly, Remy walked down the sidewalk, his hands in his pockets and his head down against the falling rain. His car he'd left behind, since this was not the sort of neighbourhood it should be brought into, not without guaranteeing that everyone on the block remembered it. He wanted to be secretive tonight; he just wished he'd been secretive enough.

Why did y' tell him, y' fool? He thought to himself angrily. Sure, Bobby, I used ta turn tricks 'til I was eleven. No biggie. He snorted. Least I didn' tell him I used t' jus' rob dem in dere rooms an' go out de window. Only had t' really pay up t'ree times. Those were bad memories, things he'd tried for a long time to forget. Bobby was the first person he'd ever told and he shook his head at the irony. Bobby was the total opposite of him, with nothing really in common even after all the training he'd given him, yet he'd told him one of his deepest secrets without batting an eye. Why?

The Cajun didn't even look up as he crossed a busy street, trusting to his spacial awareness sense to let him know where the cars were. He didn't know how he felt about Bobby anymore. He'd figured at first Bobby would wimp out and quit, just like he did with everything else, but he hadn't. He'd stayed with it and he was excelling. Yet he didn't fit in. Remy had never seen anyone who stuck out in a crowd more than Robert Drake. It was probably his inherent goodness, he mused. Bobby was the sort of person who'd see a boy on the street hustling his ass and never even consider the idea that he was a hooker.

Sometimes Remy wished he could be so innocent.

I guess y' right after all, Stormy, he thought. Maybe Bobby is gonna lose somet'ing from de life he lead, and maybe it is somet'ing he shouldn't. He remembered himself, just like Toby, standing on a street corner hoping and fearing for a car to stop, so he could get enough cash to feed himself and his friends.

It definately was something he shouldn't lose.

I can't believe I'm doing this. I must be a total moron!

Nervously, Bobby knelt in the shadows of the alley next to Andre and another of Michael's apprentices named Shasta. She looked - and acted - like a bubble headed blonde, and even where they were, he could hear her snapping her gum like a cheerleader, just as she had for every second of the last twenty minutes. Remy had taught him that gum chewing on the job was for idiots. Forget yourself in a moment of tension and you could be proverbially screwed to the wall. He would have told her to stop, but Michael was right behind him and he could feel his hot breath on his neck.

What is he waiting for? He wondered.

Unlike with Remy, Bobby doubted this was much of a training mission. Michael had made it perfectly clear that he was the one in command and they would do whatever he said without question or delay. Bobby had a feeling he was just along for the ride, which made him wonder why. Why take him along? Michael, he suspected, was up to something, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what.

Remy would know, he mourned. But of course, Remy could never know. It was the only protection he could give his mentor.

Finally, Michael leaned over his shoulder. "Frightened yet, Drake?" He whispered.

Bobby almost jumped, but years of being hunted in the Danger Room by Wolverine had taught him not to leap in terror at the first surprise. Of course, Logan could smell his fear and would just stalk off chuckling, but Michael didn't have that option, and he leaned back again with a noncommital grunt when Bobby calmly replied. "Of course not, Guildmaster."

Andre looked over at Bobby and winked while Shasta spit out her gum under a look from Michael.

"All right, apprentices," Michael said coldly. "It's time to move, and if anyone fucks up, I'll take it out of their hides."

Bobby swallowed and nodded with the others.

As he neared the area he'd referred to as a 'Black Hole' to the boy, Remy started to notice subtle things. The neighbourhood was no more grimy and dark than the ones before it, but there were no people out. He could sense them inside, but they stayed inside and there was a definate aura of malice in the air. Gambit stopped in an alley. Something was wrong.

For a long time, he waited, listening. Silence. An alley cat, a distant car, a crackle of a poorly wired streetlight. No hookers, no winos, no beggars. And there was NOTHING from the next block on. Just a sign saying that the area was under construction and no unauthorized personnel were allowed. There were demolished buildings and a chain link fence, but no sign of guards.

After a few minutes indecision, Remy bowed his head and closed his eyes.

Professor?

Almost immediately, Xavier's voice sounded in his mind. #Yes, Gambit?#

Remy's lip curled in distaste. Like all X-Men, Xavier kept a mental link to him, which would let him know immediately if he were hurt or if he died. Normally, Remy forced it down to a faint tickle in the back of his mind, denying Xavier access to even his pain. When he'd fallen down the air shaft earlier that year, Xavier hadn't known. If he had, a squad of X-Men would surely have shown up to rescue him and Remy wasn't one to want rescues. Most of the time.

I'm at de construction site I tol' y' 'bout, he told him. Dere's somet'ing wrong here.

#Do you want me to send Cyclops?#

He'd rather dive head first into a pool of pirahna, actually. Scott made his skin crawl. Non. Jus' keep in contact. If I get into trouble, y'll know. More importantly, if he died, Xavier would know what had killed him. He didn't usually entertain the idea of his own death, but there was something about that site...

#Remy, I'd prefer you wait for backup.#

Non. You ask me t' do dese t'ings, I do dem my way. Dat's de deal. Xavier fell silent and he nodded in satisfaction. He knew for a fact that Storm had told the Professor she would never steal for him again. Remy'd never stopped and he was the best information source the Professor had. He wouldn't risk that.

With the Professor's touch on his mind a little stronger than usual, Remy backed down the alley and ducked down a side street, coming towards the fence from one of its sides. He still couldn't sense guards, but twenty feet away, while he was still on a public sidewalk, he found a laser operated trip wire. If he broke the beam, his presence would be detected. Remy's eyes narrowed. He'd never heard of anyone setting up detectors like this outside. The damn thing would trip a hundred times an hour during the day.

But it only needed to do so once now to get him killed.

With even more caution than he usually used, Remy slipped past the sensors, bypassed the motion detectors right before the fence, climbed over it and made his way into the construction site. He still didn't see anyone, or sense any movement, but he still felt as though something was wrong. It was nothing he could put his finger on. Just a feeling.

#Are you all right, Remy?# Xavier asked suddenly.

Remy stopped, eyes scanning the shadows. Don' do dat, he thought.

#Do what?#

Walk in m' mind uninvited. If I need y', I scream.

Xavier seemed somewhat miffed as he withdrew.

Remy didn't care. For once, he was wishing he did have more immediate backup. In the form of a young mutant named Iceman.

Silently, the four mutants crept around the side of the building, Bobby right behind Michael, Andre and Shasta behind him. Letting me and Michael take the grief if something goes wrong, he thought bitterly.

Ahead of them, they could see the edge of the alleyway. Before it was a street, and across that was a big stone building with large glass windows in front. A jewelry store. Bobby swallowed.

"All right, Drake," Michael said coolly. "You get to earn your spurs by breaking us into that building."

Bobby looked at him. Is he out of his mind?!

Michael's smile was so cold even he felt it. "Do you think you're up to it?"

There was a threat in that voice, and Bobby licked his lips nervously. He had to be up to it, to prove he was a thief, or Michael might just try and come down on Gambit. He couldn't allow that. He also couldn't take even the slightest chance of never being allowed to see Diedre again.

Diedre... he thought softly and managed a smile. "Yes, Guild Master," he said, and Shasta giggled. Michael silenced her with a glare.

"Then quit stalling," he ordered him.

Trying not to look insulting, Bobby turned his back on him and looked towards the building. The front lobby lights were on, and even from here he could see the guard sitting inside. There was absolutely no way that he'd ever get them inside that way, not without using his powers. Yet Michael seemed to want him to try.

Screw him, he thought. I'm going to use my brain for this one.

"Follow me," he whispered and moved back the way he'd come. After a moment's hesitation, the others followed.

Bobby skirted the building, careful to not let anyone see him and cautious not to get too close to any outside cameras. He worked his way around the building until he saw an employee's enterance, his backpack heavy on his back. Thank God he'd brought it. Gambit's second set of tools was in it. The complete set of a Master Thief. He hadn't actually said Bobby could use them, but he hadn't said he couldn't either, and Bobby had decided not to take the chance that he wouldn't need them.

He checked the sight of the cameras while still out of their field of vision. They had a continuous look on the door. This is a stupid way to break in, he thought. I don't know dick about the inside of that building. He didn't dare look at Michael. Remy had said to never head into a building blind, but for Bobby it was just one more trap he had to skirt and hope he didn't spring.

Careful that there was no one around to see, he unslung the backpack and reached into it for a jammer. It was a neat little toy, running on battery power for a limit of twelve minutes only. But in those 12 minutes, it would send out enough interference to make any motion camera so thick with snow it was useless, and without making it seem like they were being jammed. Just a tidy little surge in the circuits.

"What is that?" Andre whispered.

Bobby allowed himself to smile at him. "Always bring the right tool for the job."

Michael snorted.

Quickly, Bobby set the jammer on the ground where it wasn't likely to be seen and aimed the transmitter at the camera. God, please let me be doing this right, he thought and turned it on. The little light on it turned to green, signifying it was working. Bobby let the breath he'd been holding out, set the cover over the light to hide it, and ran to the door, praying all the way. Nothing happened, so he grabbed lockpicks and got to work on the door.

The others joined him a second later. "Jeez, trusting, aren't you?" Shasta muttered. "I'd never trust a machine that much."

"Then you'll never break into anything major," Bobby retorted as he felt the tumblers move into place and the door unlock. He kept it closed though, and rummaged in his back for a tripper. There had to be motion detectors inside. What this toy would do is trip them, but in the wrong area, sending the guards running to check there while he and the others got in to the diamonds.

This was a sloppy way to work. Gambit would have his butt if he tried it with him, but Michael seemed to want speed, and Bobby had to give him what he wanted. More, speed was vital when you hadn't even timed the local police cruisers on their standard drivebys.

Gambit would know what they were, he thought. Even if he turned it all over to me, he'd know. I wonder if Michael does, or if he figures he can just fight his way out with his mutant powers? His thoughts hesitated. What is his power?

He didn't want to think on those lines. Setting the tripper against the door, he set it to far range and hit the ON button. Immediately, it sent out a beam that triangulated the alarms in the building and selected the one farthest away from them, setting it off.

Andre and Shasta jumped as an alarm went off. "You idiot!" Andre hissed, ready to run.

Bobby ignored him. Grabbing the trigger, he set off another jammer and ran into the room. The alarm hadn't gone off where he was thanks to the jammer, but that wouldn't hold long.

The alarm panel was in the most likely place, according to Remy's teachings. Unscrewing the cover with an electric screwdriver, he rewired it in record time and the alarm went off again. Only then did he allow himself to breathe, but only for a second.

"Hurry," he whispered. "We've only got a few seconds until they come in here to check the alarm."

His tools gathered, he shut the door behind them and led them into a nearby closet. He'd suspected the alarm controls would be by the door the employees used, or else they wouldn't be able to turn the alarm off in time when they came in in the morning. Now he crouched in the tight closet with the others and listened through the door as the guards came, muttering all the while, and checked on the alarm panel, which blinked a happy green even though it wasn't working at all.

In the center of the construction area, hidden by old, condemned buildings that had been left standing, was a cleared section with a low, flat windowless building built on it, one no more than a block wide and maybe two stories high. Remy crouched in the shadows and stared at it, wondering. Why would Draxar go to so much trouble to build what looked like a bunker? His lips narrowed. Maybe it was a bunker.

Silently, the Cajun padded over to it, and knelt in the shadows. He knew he was unseen, but he waited a few moments to be sure of no reaction before he pulled his tools out of an inside pocket of his trenchcoat, his hand brushing one of his two guns as he pulled it out. Two minutes later, he was inside.

He'd been expecting a lobby, much like in any normal building. There wasn't one. Instead there was a cement room, with a lowered floor and a walkway seperated by a railing around it. There was a balcony along the second floor, the ceiling right up by the roof, and hundreds of windows on the inside walls. It was all unfinished though.

What de hell is dis place? he wondered and spent a few seconds sending the image to Xavier before he moved on. The entire top floor seemed to consist of small empty offices, without any furniture in them yet, nor windows. The doors hadn't been installed yet and there was no carpeting on the floor. There were also labs, with heavy security on them already, even though there was nothing in them yet. Remy peered into one, but didn't enter. Some well honed instinct told him he didn't have the time.

At the back of the building was a large elevator. Remy went through a panel in the floor and lowered himself down the cable to the lower floors. He counted ten before he reached bottom. The bottom floor was much like the top. Empty, unfinished rooms with concrete walls. This floor had some warehouse space as well though, and he cautiously went up towards a machine that looked much like a dishwasher. As he got within ten feet though, in spite of all his precautions, the green light on the front turned to red and it began to wail an alarm.

Without even hesitating, Remy turned and ran, back to the elevator and up the cable. He could sense movement now, coming from everywhere. Yet he couldn't see anything and hadn't sensed anyone before. No human alive could hide themselves from him this well. And certainly not the dozen he sensed coming at him. Alarms screamed everywhere.

Professor! He shouted mentally. Keep on me!

#I am, Remy. I'm about to dispatch an X-Men team.#

For some reason, his instinct warned him that that would be even worse. Non! He cried. Hold dem back. I don' have time t' wait anyway an' I don' know what we're gettin' into.

He reached the elevator and pulled himself up through the hatch. He could hear footsteps running towards him and the gasping of an overexerted human. He couldn't see anyone in the pitch darkness yet though, and his eyes involuntarily glowed red as he tried to see. Immediately, the rhythmn of the running changed, becoming heavier, and the breathing stopped. He could also sense someone or something coming up the cable below him.

Remy never hesitated. Grabbing half a dozen cards in each hand, he charged them all, dropping half down the shaft and throwing half before him down the corridor.

They exploded almost simultaneously. Flame shot up out of the open panel in the elevator as the hall before him was rocked by explosion. Remy bolted into it, holding his breath so the superheated air couldn't sear his lungs, eyes closed to protect them from the glare, hands over his face. He sensed whoever had been charging him lying on the floor and dove over him.

Something grabbed his ankle, and the Cajun pitched to the floor, landing on his knee painfully. Gasping, he spun, reaching into his coat at the same time. He was too close to use his cards, so he grabbed his gun, aimed, and fired it point blank at a shadow he could see moving in the flames. More shadows were coming up behind it. The grip on his ankle released and he ran, ignoring his knee as he sprinted down the hall to the enterance, dropping more cards behind him as he did so. Flames leaped up behind him and chased him down the corridor. So did whatever was after him.

Remy raced out of the building and hightailed it for the fence two blocks away, dodging to avoid any incoming fire. He didn't sense any, but he could detect movement. Presences that changed. He saw flashes of men running to catch up to him, but what was behind him didn't feel like men and he could sense the humans he saw changing to become like them.

The fence was only fifty feet away, and they were right behind him, outrunning him in fact, though he still had a lead, and the cards he dropped behind him increased that by a small margin. He didn't look back though. He was already running full out on an uneven surface. If he fell or stumbled, they'd have him, and he seriously doubted he'd survive them.

The fence was right in front of him. Suddenly, someone dodged in front of him, and for an instant, he saw emotionless eyes below a bush of white hair stare at him while hands reached out to grab him. Remy shot him right between the eyes and leaped. As the man went down, he used him as a launching pad to throw himself right over the fence. His landing was one to make even Scott proud and he ran on, losing himself in the darkened alleys and back streets that made up New York city.

It wasn't until dawn, when he had backtracked and doubled over his own trail and was ten miles away that he felt it was safe enough to go home. And even that took him by a route that needed six hours to travel.

Five agonizing minutes later, the guards finished checking the alarm and left. Bobby was glad they hadn't been spotted, but disgusted at the same time. Those guys were lousy. They hadn't even checked the closet.

Yeah, right, like I'd be happier if they had.

Silently, Bobby opened the door and stepped into the room again. No alarms went off, no guards leapt out at him. He listened, but heard nothing.

With a grin, he gestured for the others to join him. The two apprentices looked annoyed at the scare he'd given them, but Michael's face was impassive and Bobby resisted the urge to swallow. He had no idea how well he was doing in the Guild Master's eyes. Even Gambit was easier to read than this guy. Then again, he wasn't worried that Remy would shoot him in the back.

Without a word, Bobby went to the door into the main part of the jewelery store and pulled another tool out of his pack, this one a tiny camera on the end of a long, flexible cord. Quickly, he unscrewed the bolts on the doorknob and lowered the half on his side of the door to the ground. Then he pushed the knob on the other side forward, just enough that he could push the camera through the gap to see the other side on a tiny display screen.

The door led to the main room of the jewelery store, filled with cases of jewelery and at least five cameras on the wall. Bobby switched the view to ultraviolet and winced at the sight of the lasers crisscrossing the room. He didn't have the option of hanging from the ceiling the way Remy had in the museum.

Or maybe he did. He certainly didn't want to touch that floor. The others were crowded around to see the screen, but they kept silent, and Bobby managed to forget they were there for a while as he went into what Remy jokingly called "thief mode". A state of total concentration. It worked in combat too, but Bobby hadn't managed to master it while enemies were trying to blow his head off.

While Michael and the others watched, Bobby reeled the camera in and put the doorknob back in place. Then he pulled another jammer out of his pack, the same as the one outside, and set it next to the door. Here was where he had to depend solely on luck. The jammer wouldn't work unless it were actually in the room. Which meant he had to get the door off, and pray that the idiots guarding the place weren't looking at the cameras when he did.

Praying to himself, he unscrewed the hinges on the door, breathed deeply, and lowered it to his side with one hand while he slid the activated jammer into the main room with the other. Then he waited, ready to bolt. Nothing happened.

Oh, thank God!!

Adjusting his mask on his face, he lowered the door the rest of the way and pulled on a pair of goggles to see the lasers. They were bulky and turned everything green, and for a moment he envied Remy. With his unique eye structure, he could see the lasers without any tech, though he wore the goggles anyway to throw people off the trail in case he were filmed.

There was a laser directly in front of the door. Bobby strapped some special suction cups to his hands and knees and belted on some climbing gear, then stepped over it and proceeded to shimmy up the wall. The cups would leave horrendous marks, but that couldn't be helped. He couldn't get through the lasers any other way. At least not quickly.

When he reached the ceiling, he bolted the climbing gear to the ceiling and began to cross it. There was no way he was going to trust those cups to support his full weight while upside down. He ony went a few meters though, over to the first case. It held more diamond necklaces than he thought he'd seen in his entire life, and he imagined one of them around Diedre's smooth neck.

Pay attention, idiot! He thought savagely.

There was a spot in front of the case about three feet wide that was free of lasers. Bobby lowered himself to it, and got to work on the alarm on the case. By the time he'd bypassed it, he was sweating. The jammer had to be running out of power.

The case opened, he started shoveling jewels into his pockets, not caring how they tangled in his growing fright. He was a sitting duck if a guard looked in.

None did, and he raised himself up to the ceiling again, quickly moving over to the door again. He was undoubtably rushing too much, but he was starting to freak, trying not to think of what he'd just done and how long he'd sit in jail if he were caught.

Once in the room, he screwed the door back into its hinges, the jammer still on the other side. The risk of retrieving it was too great, but he'd hit the self destruct as he passed. In two minutes, it would suffer an interior meltdown, he'd been damned sure not to touch it with his hands and he knew Remy would never have been so careless to.

Once the door was back up, he went and wired the alarm back to normal. He had to leave as few clues as possible and he really wished he could save the jammer. He finished the wiring and set the alarm. In thirty seconds, it would activate again as normal.

Turning, he gathered his back and equipment and went out the back door, the two apprentices, if not Michael, following in silent respect. He locked the door, gathered the jammer he'd left out there, and all three of them vanished into the shadows.

Quietly, Bobby ate dinner, glancing discreetly at the empty chair across the table and down a few places. It was getting late and no one had seen Gambit since the previous day. Bobby was getting worried, wondering if what he'd done last night had gotten the Cajun into trouble anyway.

If he's gotten hurt, I'll never forgive myself. He still wasn't sure he'd done the right thing and now that it was over, he wanted so very much to talk to Gambit about it. He'd tried looking for him at the club, but there'd been no word. No one there cared, used to Remy's comings and goings, and he was trained well enough by now not to let his own concern show.

Everyone at the mansion seemed to be treating his absence with the same lack of care as well. Am I the only one who gives a damn? He thought sulkily.

#Of course not, Bobby,# the Professor said in his mind. #Gambit is alive and well and on his way home now.#

Bobby started choking on the food in his mouth and had to grab a glass of water and swallow while Hank enthusiastically thumped him on the back. Did Xavier know? He started to panic, then forced himself to calm down. Remy had taught him not to let his emotions get the better of him. So he sipped his water and glanced in Xavier's direction, but the Professor was talking to Scott and seemed to be ignoring him completely. He must have just sensed my concern, he thought, understanding now why Remy didn't like telepaths.

Suddenly, the front door banged open and he heard a heavy, limping step come into the foyer. "Excuse me," he said and left the table.

All conviction to give Remy hell ended once he saw him. The Cajun was halfway up the stairs, limping as he helped himself along with one hand on the railing. He was filthy, like he'd been crawling in garbage, and he looked utterly exhausted.

Bobby ran up to take his other arm. "What the hell have you been doing?" He whispered. "Running around in a sewer?"

Gambit grinned wearily at him. "Duckin' inta sewers a myth. Dey're not ventilated, an' wit' all de shit down dere, dere's no oxygen either. You ever have t' duck into a sewer, make sure y' take an air tank."

He winced and leaned on Bobby as he led him down the hall to his room. "What happened?" Bobby asked quietly.

"I twisted m' knee."

Bobby opened the door to the Cajun's room. "I can see that. How?" Suddenly, he felt incredibly guilty, thinking that his master had gotten into trouble while he was showing off for Michael. He thought of his share of the take hidden under the mattress in his room and winced.

Remy sighed and let go of him, heading for the bathroom. "Lookin' inta somet'ing dat was worryin' me."

Bobby sat on the bed. It was immaculately made up, and made him wonder if Remy ever slept in it. "Is it something with the Guild?" He asked apprehensively.

The shower started inside, but the door was still open so he could hear the Cajun. "Non. Dis more t' do wit' de X-Men, I t'ink."

"Some kind of mission?"

The Cajun took a few minutes to answer, splashing water instead as he took a shower. Then he came back out, a robe on while he toweled his wet hair. He still looked tired, but far less bedraggled. "Not yet. I wan' more inf'mation first. I'm gonna talk t' some a my hackers, see what dey can't dig up." He yawned.

Immediately, Bobby stood. "I should let you rest. Whatever it was you went through," he added as he went to the door. "I wish I could have been there."

Remy grinned. "Me too, act'lly."

Suddenly feeling inordinantly pleased, Bobby went out to his own room. He closed the door and leaned against it, wishing he'd had the nerve to tell the Cajun what he'd done. He'd just have to wait until he was rested.

He heard a low hum then and curiously opened his door a crack to see, of all things, Professor Xavier letting himself into Gambit's room, then locking the door behind him.

Bobby hummed to himself as he watched the saleslady wrap up the yellow dress. It was obvious that she knew it was supposed to be a present. She hadn't even asked Bobby before wrapping the garment in decorative gold colored tissue and putting it in a similarly styled gift bag. She fussed with the tissue that stuck out the top of the bag for a moment, and then, seemingly satisfied, pushed the package toward Bobby. With the other hand, she held out the receipt.

Bobby took both and thanked her. He still felt a little strange, knowing that he'd used money Michael had given him-money that ultimately came from the diamonds they'd stolen.

Bobby pushed the thought aside. So what? He'd gone with Michael to protect Remy, not because he wanted to steal. And if he was reaping a little benefit from that, where was the harm? Besides that, the diamonds were insured. The people they'd stolen them from would be reimbursed for the full value.

But as he left the little shop, a voice deep inside kept telling him that he'd done something he was always going to regret.

Hesitantly, Diedre took the gift bag from his hand. "Bobby, you shouldn't. . . " But despite her protest, her eyes glowed and Bobby found himself flushing.

"Go on. Open it." He tried to cover his embarrassment by guiding her toward one of the plush chairs. They were in Michael's living room. Bobby refused to think of the house as Michael and Diedre's, despite the fact that she lived there. Everything in it was arranged to Michael's taste, so it was just Michael's house.

Diedre sat and began to open the present. Her eyes went wide as she pulled the last of the tissue away and spied the yellow cloth. She shook out the dress and held it out in front of her, staring at it in wonder.

"Bobby, it's beautiful. . ." She glanced over at him and then away, shyly. "Thank you." Slowly she folded it up into a neat pile in her lap. She seemed almost afraid to look at him.

"So, go try it on." Bobby hoped he didn't sound to eager, but he was dying to see her in that dress again.

"Oh no, I couldn't." Diedre gave a small shake of her head. "Michael hates yellow."

Bobby's normally simmering hatred of Michael flared to life. "Well, I'm not Michael," he said stiffly.

Diedre looked up at him in surprise, as if he'd said something illuminating. She blinked several times, and then agreed, "No, you're not." He couldn't identify the emotion in her voice.

His heart started hammering as she stood. But all she said was, "I'll be right back." His panic began to abate when he realized that she had taken the dress with her. He wasn't sure if she was mad at him or what. She didn't sound mad, but she didn't sound happy either.

Frank watched him with a poorly hidden expression of sympathy. After a moment, Bobby got up to wander the room, giving some kind of vent to his overwhelming uncertainty. He'd had this mental image of Diedre wearing that yellow dress and throwing herself into his arms. Of feeling the bare skin of her shoulders beneath his hands. . . He cut that thought off savagely. That wasn't someplace he was allowed to go, and he would only drive himself insane fantasizing about it.

A small sound from the other side of the room alerted him. He turned to see Diedre standing in the doorway. She was dressed in yellow. The short skirt flared about her bare legs as she walked slowly into the room. Several paces away from Bobby she stopped and did a gentle pirouette, watching him over her shoulder as she turned.

"What do you think?" she asked. Her blue eyes watched him eagerly.

There were no words for what Bobby really thought. Nothing could accurately describe the sensation in his heart.

"You're beautiful," he managed in a whisper.

Diedre flushed and looked down. "Really?"

Bobby swallowed convulsively and nodded. "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

Diedre's head snapped up and her eyes sought out his. It was as if the simple compliment had awakened a kind of hunger in her. Bobby found himself mesmerized by her gaze. He would have been perfectly happy to stand there and stare at her forever.

His heart nearly went into convulsions as she swayed a step nearer, and then another, until she could reach up and put a delicate hand on his chest. She was at just the right distance for him to put his hands around her waist, so he did, and she leaned into his grasp. He didn't dare breathe as she stretched up onto her toes, putting them at the same height. Their faces were a mere inch apart. Bobby could feel the warmth of her breath on his mouth and smell the perfume of her hair. Her eyes stared directly into his, filled to overflowing with emotion. Then her gaze dropped away and she tilted her head. Bobby felt the gentle touch of her lips at the corner of his mouth, and was stunned by the electric thrill the kiss sent through him. But before he could respond, she was moving away, sliding out of his arms and taking a step backwards.

Her eyes had not lost their warmth, though. She smiled happily at him. "Thank you."

The clock on the wall chimed then, shattering the moment. Diedre started violently, and her smile turned rueful. "Aren't we supposed to be practicing?"

Thoroughly wrung out from his afternoon with Diedre, Bobby drove in through the mansion's main gate. More than anything, he wanted to find someplace where he could be alone for a while, to try to sort out what, if anything, had just happened between them. His heart told him that she had made some kind of decision about him. The only problem was, he had no idea what it might be.

Despite his preoccupation, he noticed the unfamiliar car in the driveway as he passed, and his heart sank. Visitors. These days, that was rarely a good thing, and he didn't feel like he had the energy to put on the ordinary-run-of-the-mill-private-school facade for whoever it might be. Hopefully he could just walk right through and up to his room without anyone noticing. Scott was in charge of handling visitors.

He walked in the door, and was immediately struck by the amount of tension in the room. That was his first observation, before he took in anything else. Everyone there was very, very uncomfortable. Gazes snapped to him as he entered.

Bobby looked around. The visitors were a pair of men that Bobby's instinct immediately labeled as cops. His heart froze. They know was his first thought, but he forced himself not to panic. He would give himself away for sure, then.

"What's going on?" he asked Jean, who was standing closest to the two men. Other X-Men were scattered about the main entry, watching with wary curiosity. The two men pretended to ignore them.

Jean waved him over. "Bobby, these are Detectives Bulle and Dalton. They want to ask Remy some questions." Her voice held a quiet dismay.

Bobby blinked in surprise. "Remy?" Not me? "What about?"

One of the men-Detective Bulle-gave Bobby an appraising stare. "And you are. . . ?"

"Robert Drake." Remy had told him repeatedly not to give the cops trouble. About anything. It only made them suspicious.

"And you're also a student at this. . " he waved his pen at the ceiling, "establishment?"

Bobby ignored the subtle slight on the legitimacy of the school. "Yes."

That seemed to satisfy him for the moment. He turned away from Bobby and went back to studying the room.

Bobby took advantage of the chance to move away from the two detectives. He found himself drifting over to where Logan stood with Sam. Ororo stood a few feet away from them, her expression troubled. She seemed to be wrapped up in a blanket of solitude, despite how close she was.

"What do they think Remy did?" Bobby couldn't help but ask Logan in a low voice.

Logan shrugged. "Haven't said."

Bobby wanted to ask another question, but he didn't know what. And he didn't get the chance as Logan turned toward the door that led to the west wing of the house. After a moment, the door opened and Scott pushed Professor Xavier into the room. Bobby was only momentarily surprised by the ordinary wheelchair. They didn't often have guests at the house that didn't know about the X- Men. Gambit entered behind the Professor, his expression closed. He looked somewhat disheveled, as if Scott had gotten him out of bed.

Considering the condition he came home in yesterday, that's not surprising. Bobby watched as he crossed the room a step behind the Professor, noting with interest that he no longer appeared to be limping.

"Detectives, I'm Professor Xavier. I am Headmaster at this school." The Professor looked between the two men.

Detective Bulle nodded, but his eyes were fixed on Gambit. "You must be Remy LeBeau."

"Dat's de rumor." Remy stood casually, with one hand resting lightly on the corner of the Professor's wheelchair. Bobby envied him his calm. He was a nervous wreck, and the cops weren't even interested in him. But at least the Professor was there. He was known to be an influential, if somewhat withdrawn, member of the scientific community. He was also wealthy. The police wouldn't antagonize him unnecessarily by mistreating one of his students.

"Mr. LeBeau, do you mind if we ask you some questions?" That was the other detective. His tone was far more polite.

Remy shrugged. "Non."

Detective Dalton dug out a small notebook from his jacket pocket and opened it. "Where were you the night before last?"

Bobby's gut twisted. They had to be talking about the diamonds. Remy's expression never changed. "Queens."

The detective's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "All night?"

"Oui."

"Did anyone see you? Could anyone verify that you were there?"

Remy snorted. "I doubt it." Then he cocked his head. "Y' wan' tell me what dis is about?" He sounded genuinely curious.

The sheer flatness of the detectives' expression made it clear that they did not believe Remy for one minute. "Nearly two million dollars in diamonds was stolen from Hierman Direct Imports last night." Detective Bulle paused as a ripple of surprise ran through the room. The only people who didn't react, Bobby noticed, were Gambit, the Professor, and himself. Even Logan's expression narrowed as if he were entertaining thoughts of Remy's guilt for the first time, and Bobby felt a sharp stab of regret. Were the X-Men going to believe that Remy had gone back to stealing, even though he was innocent?

Detective Bulle looked at his notes for a moment before continuing, "The Special Investigations Unit looked the place over. Pretty slick job." He looked up at Remy, expression unyielding. "According to the experts, there's a moderate list of people who could have done it, and a much shorter list of people who would've done it that way. And guess what? Only one of the people on the short list lives in New York. That would be you." He pointed the capped end of his pen at Remy.

Remy's expression of faint interest never changed. "I t'ink y' must have me confused wit' somebody else."

Anger sparked in Bulle's eyes. "I don't think so, Mr. LeBeau." He managed to make an insult of the honorific and Bobby found himself bristling. But he was too terrified of what the police might do to him if he confessed, to step out and defend Remy's innocence.

Bulle turned his attention to the Professor. "Do you mind if we take a look around?" he asked casually.

The Professor's response was mild. "Bring me a search warrant and I will show you whatever you would like to see." Bulle's polite smile died and Bobby cheered silently. Thank goodness the Professor trusted Gambit. It was painfully obvious from the faces around the room that no one else did. Bobby was surprised by how angry that realization made him. Even Ororo watched the scene as if she believed that Remy had done it. The sadness in her eyes would not be there if she did not. Bobby knew that she would not love Remy any less, but her disappointment was apparent. Bobby's gut twisted. This was his fault, but he wasn't sure what he could do to fix things. Even if he told the X-Men that it was him, not Remy, who had stolen the diamonds, they would still hold Remy responsible because he had been the one that taught Bobby how to do it.

Lost in thought, Bobby barely noticed as the two detectives asked a few more questions and then took their leave. On some level Bobby was almost titillated to realize that he had made a pinch on his own, and had left no real evidence for the cops to find. They would have arrested Remy if they'd had anything. But most of him was frightened and angry. At himself. At the X-Men. At Michael.

Bobby's head snapped up in alarm as Scott turned on Remy. His anger was unmistakable, but more than that, Bobby could see a kind of hurt, as if Scott was taking all of this as a personal failing. "I think you have some explaining to do," he said stiffly.

"Not t' you," Remy retorted, and Bobby saw Scott's jaw tighten. The two men locked hostile gazes until Professor Xavier cleared his throat.

Remy shot the Professor what Bobby would have sworn was a warning look, and Bobby wondered. What in the world had Gambit been doing? Obviously, the Professor knew, but Remy didn't seem to want him to say anything in his defense. It didn't make any sense.

Without another word, Remy turned. His flat gaze swept the room and the assembled X-Men. His expression was unreadable, but Bobby had spent enough time with him to see the tiny flinch as Storm looked away from him. He walked silently across the hardwood floor, the gentle rustle of his clothing the only sound in the stillness. Then he was gone, and Bobby found himself letting out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

The Professor watched the door for several moments, as if waiting for Remy to move out of earshot. Then he turned to Scott.

"Unless the police return, I would prefer that this subject not be mentioned again."

Scott's jaw dropped. "But--?"

The Professor shook his head. "That wasn't a request." Something in his expression was indefinably sad.

Scott stared at him for several moment. "Sir. . . do you really think it's a good idea to ignore. . .?"

"I am not ignoring anything, Scott. I promise you." The Professor folded his hands in his lap, almost as if he were forcing himself to be calm.

Scott accepted that reluctantly, and the X-Men in the room began to disperse. Bobby was ready for the speculation that sprang up even before people were through the door, but it still made him mad. And it made him wonder. As much as he now knew about Gambit, it seemed that there was still an awful lot he didn't know. But maybe it was time to remedy that. Remy had shown more of himself to Bobby than to anyone else, and maybe now it was time to repay some of that trust. Perhaps he couldn't exonerate Gambit in the other X-Men's eyes, but at least he could be honest with the man.

Unnoticed by the other X-Men, Bobby slipped out of the room and headed for the stairs.

Bobby knocked tentatively on Gambit's door and was rewarded with a curt "What?" from inside the room. It was obvious Remy couldn't think of anyone he wanted to talk to at the moment. Bobby couldn't blame him, and he had the sneaking suspicion that Remy wasn't going to want to have anything to do with him, either, once he'd heard what Bobby had done.

Before his stomach could twist itself into even tighter knots, Bobby grabbed the doorknob and stepped inside.

"Um, hi," he told the figure that stood with its back to him.

Remy spun on his heel to face Bobby, and every warning instinct that Bobby had began to scream. But Gambit was simply too fast. Before the alarm could travel from his brain to his limbs, Gambit was across the room. A hand closed painfully tight around his throat, and he felt himself being shoved against the closed door behind him. His breath whooshed out of him as he hit the door, but the hand pressing against his throat made it nearly impossible to draw another gulp air. He gagged, fighting his panic response that prompted him to strike out at Remy with any and all weapons at his disposal. Whether thief of X-Man, Gambit had the right to be angry.

Gambit's red irises glowed as he stared into Bobby's eyes from a distance of mere inches. But despite their demonic appearance, Bobby found that he wasn't afraid anymore.

"Was it you?" Remy demanded so harshly his voice cracked.

Unable to breathe, Bobby could only nod. The pressure on his throat disappeared abruptly, and he sagged against the door, coughing, as he gulped the sweet air. Remy stood a few feet away, staring at him with an expression of complete confusion.

"I don't understand," he finally said. The glow of his eyes had been snuffed, and he looked more bewildered than Bobby had ever seen him.

Bobby straightened, running absent fingers through his overlong hair. It had become a habit as his bangs grew down to the point that they could fall in his eyes. "It was Michael's idea." He made a helpless gesture.

The bewildered expression vanished and Remy's eyes narrowed. "What do y' mean?"

Bobby could only shrug. "He's the Guildmaster and he ordered me. I didn't know what else to do."

Bobby watched as his mentor's expression slid back into anger. This time, it was directed solely at Bobby. "Y' could've said somet'ing t' me." His voice was dangerously soft.

All of Bobby's uncertainty coalesced and exploded out of him. "No I couldn't! If I'd come and told you that Michael wanted me to go on a job with him, you would have ordered me not to go! Admit it."

Remy didn't say anything, but his expression allowed that Bobby might be right.

"And then Michael would have had a reason to come down on you. He's looking for an excuse to kill you! So I figured if I went with him, he wouldn't have anything to use against you-or me, since I did what he wanted. And I did it right." Bobby lifted his chin defiantly. "So if you want to take it out of my hide for lying to you, then go ahead. At least Michael's got nothing on either one of us."

Remy stared at him, as if he needed time to absorb the speech. Bobby could tell that he had quit being angry, though other than that, he couldn't read anything from him at all.

"Did you make de pinch?" Remy asked after a moment. "You, personally?"

Bobby nodded, wondering why that was suddenly so important. Remy sounded like he wanted to be absolutely sure. "Yeah. Michael and the rest just followed along." At Remy's questioning look, he added, "Michael had two of his apprentices with him, but none of them did anything."

"Are y' sure o' dat? Absolutely not'ing?"

"Yes!" Bobby was almost starting to feel aggravated. "What, don't you believe I could make a pinch on my own?"

Remy pursed his lips. "Oh, I known y' been ready f' a while now. Actually, I been wonderin' how I was gon' keep hidin' it." He smiled sardonically. "Guess I don' have to now."

"What do you mean?" A small knot was forming in Bobby's stomach.

Gambit raised his eyebrows, and Bobby was terribly afraid it was out of pure amusement. "Do y' remember what I told y' `bout sponsoring in de Guild?"

Bobby grimaced. "Not really. That was months ago." Way back at the beginning when I wasn't listening to you.

Remy backed up, and then settled on the edge of his bed. He bent down to rub his knee as he talked. "Sponsorin' is de process by which an apprentice is invited t' become a full member o' de Guild. When de leaders decide dat he's ready, one o' de most experienced t'ieves will be chosen t' sponsor de apprentice. Dat means dat de t'ief takes de apprentice on his first real job. It's like a rite o' passage." Remy looked up, skewering Bobby where he stood. "Michael sponsored you." His expression quirked. "Wit'out consultin' me, which is anot'er issue entirely."

Bobby digested the information, but he had the feeling he'd missed the real meaning of what Remy was saying. "I still don't think I understand," he finally admitted.

Remy straightened and crossed his arms. "Y' were sponsored, an' y' made de pinch successfully. Dat means y' graduated."

Bobby began to understand as Remy drove the point home.

"Y' jus' became a full fledged member o' de New York T'ieves Guild. Congratulations."

Bobby nearly choked as the implications hit him. "Are you serious?" he managed to gasp out.

Remy nodded. "Dere's some ceremonial stuff t' do t' make it official, but oui, I am." He cocked his head as if considering something new. "Michael sure knows how t' build his traps."

A cold hand clutched Bobby's insides. "Did I do the wrong thing?"

Remy considered him, and then shrugged. "Under de circumstances, probably not. But-" and he pointed a finger at Bobby, "dis does present us wit' a problem. As a guildmember, y' now equally beholden t' y' Guildmaster as t' de Master dat taught y' de craft. Michael's gon' try t' used dat."

Bobby could only stare at him. "What should I do?" he finally asked.

Remy shrugged again. "Dat's up t' you. Play along f' now, certainly. Michael's not gon' try anyt'ing immediate." His eyes narrowed. "But if y' really love dis lady o' yours, I suggest y' start makin' plans t' run away wit' her. Most o' de protection I could give y' is gone now. If Michael ever finds out de truth. . . he'll kill y', an' dere may or may not be anyt'ing I c'n do about it."

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

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

Beats sittin' on dat damn roof.

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

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

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

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

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

Knowing better than to laugh, Bobby followed her.

Finally, his curiousity got the better of him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She looked at him oddly.

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

Faintly, a smile touched her lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How can I do that?"

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

"I guess just say you're sorry."

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

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

What de hell...?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Only if y' good."

"Aw!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Uh, good ah suppose."

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

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

"Who was it?" Logan asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Uh, Remy?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you want to talk to him?"

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

"We could wander over there."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Father."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hiya."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Remy smiled grimly. "Mut’nt powers."

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

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

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

He didn’t.

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

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

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

"Oui."

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

"Non. Merci."

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

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

"I’ll give you the address."

"Merci."

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

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

"That was very nice of them."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His grip tightened. "Do you now?"

Tears. "No."

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

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

"Then run away with me," he whispered.

"Would you like a scone?" Michael asked.

"Mais oui."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Michael’s face tightened. "Oh?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes. Thanks for the company."

"Don’ mention it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It had been worth it after all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time froze. Bobby stared at Michael in mute horror. He was suddenly very aware of Diedre's hand clasped in his own, and even as that endless second ticked by, he knew that there was no way for Michael to mistake what was happening between them. He saw the understanding flicker in Michael's eyes, and then the moment shattered as Michael's lips curved in a cold smile.

"It was you." Bobby could almost see the pieces falling into place in his mind.

Unconsciously, Bobby drew Diedre behind himself, shielding her. He raised his chin slightly and said nothing. There was no defense, and he doubted very seriously his ability to bluff his way out of the situation. His nerves screamed at him to react--to go ice, to attack, to run--anything but to simply stand there. But Remy had trained him mercilessly until he really understood it, that his mind was his first weapon. He didn't know anything about Michael's powers. He really needed to see what the other mutant could do before he reacted.

Michael's smile had not changed. "And here I thought Remy was being unusually discrete."

Several things came together in Bobby's mind. Michael had known--or at least suspected--that Diedre was involved with someone and he hadn't done anything. Why? Because he thought it was Gambit. Which meant that he had been waiting for an opportune time to expose the affair. And that would have been all the excuse he needed to kill Remy. As a Guildmember, even Bobby couldn't have done anything to stop him.

Bobby's mind was whirling, but he felt like he'd latched on to something to use against Michael in this deadly game. "No," he answered Michael, "Remy doesn't even know." He tightened his grip on Diedre's hand. Ignorance and innocence were equivalent under Guild law. Remy had risked his life as well as his reputation in bringing Bobby into the thieves world. The least Bobby could do was protect him from the one risk he actually hadn't known about.

"Noble." Michael cocked his head. "But not very useful." Bobby tensed as the other man reached into his coat, but all he retrieved was a cellular phone. "Perhaps I should simply ask him what he knows." He began to dial a number into the phone.

Bobby reacted almost instantly as the chain of logic fell into place in his head. An icy tentacle reached out and knocked the phone from Michael's hand. It hit the hardwood floor with a thud and skidded across the room. Bobby stared at Michael, heart pounding. There was no way Remy would stand by and let Michael kill him, Guild law or no. Not when it was solely a matter of political maneuvering. He knew Remy that well now. But even if Remy defeated Michael, he would be guilty of breaking Guild law and the Guild would crucify him for it. The only way to protect Remy was to keep him out of it entirely. But that meant that Bobby was on his own against a man that even Gambit walked very carefully around.

Michael's eyes narrowed to slits. "Very well. You and the slut can die together. I'll just have to wait until later to deal with Remy."

Bobby transitioned to his ice form as something dark but translucent took shape around Michael. It reminded Bobby of a psionic exoskeleton, save that it resembled a spider rather than a man. The long legs were folded tightly around Michael, but Bobby estimated that they would have at least an eight foot reach. In the confines of the foyer, that eliminated every avenue of escape except to retreat back into the hall, which would be suicidal.

Concentrating, Bobby drew moisture from the air in a rush. Walls of ice exploded from the ground all around him, encasing himself and Diedre in a fortress of ice. He saw little opportunity except to stand his ground and try to draw Michael out. A small part of his brain whispered that he ought to just freeze Michael where he stood, but even becoming a thief hadn't turned Bobby into a killer. He was more powerful than Michael probably suspected, and that, along with some of his X-Men experience and a great heaping dollop of luck, might get them through this unharmed.

One of the spidery legs flashed toward Bobby. The extended tip gained opacity as it neared, becoming a dark, smoky color. It struck the outer ice shield with a dull scraping sound, scattering ice chips in a small shower. It was an exploratory strike, Bobby knew, and gave him little idea of what Michael could really do. But it did give him some insight into what type of attack to expect. He didn't see any signs of telepathic, telekinetic, or other kinds of manipulatory powers. Michael appeared to have a purely physical mutation.

*Which means that if I can buy myself some distance, I can probably get a little time to think.* Twin columns rose from the top of the ice fortress, their tops jagged.

"Hang on," he told Diedre, who only tightened her grip on him. He didn't dare turn to look at her. Under his direction, the ice pylons slammed into the ceiling.

Bobby had intended to rip a hole straight through to the roof, but the structure above them shuddered under his assault and held. Pieces of plaster rained down from the ceiling as Michael grinned.

"Reinforced steel and concrete." He lashed out with one of his skeletal arms, this time gouging a deep trench in the ice that surrounded Bobby and Diedre. "Even a bomb blast won't go through that."

Bobby glanced around in dismay. *Whole penthouse is the same, no doubt, which means I'll have to use one of the doors. Or windows. And even those'll be reinforced.* Experimentally, Bobby created a flight of ice arrows and sent them shooting toward Michael. He was not surprised when they shattered against the exoskeleton, which darkened dramatically in the area where they struck.

Michael drew back on of the spidery legs to strike, then paused as Diedre ducked around Bobby. "Michael! Stop this!" Her voice was pleading rather than commanding as she held her arms out toward him. "Please! You don't love me. Just let me go."

Bobby held his breath, momentarily forgotten as the two stared at each other. "I don't think so, Didi," Michael told her, his tone reproving. "After all the effort I put into you, all the gifts I gave you. . . and you couldn't even reel me in the right fish."

Bobby's heart went cold. Was that all she'd ever been to Michael? A tool aimed directly at bringing Remy down? He was so stunned by the other man's cruelty that for a split second he didn't register the translucent leg that shot toward Diedre, its tip darkening to an inky black. But then adrenaline poured through him as he grabbed Diedre and swung her bodily around, placing himself between her and the attack. He heard the sound of cracking ice as the heavy barriers he'd erected collapsed, but before he could build new ones, he felt the skeletal arm slam into him from behind. He staggered as Diedre screamed, and he looked down in horror to see the black tip of Michael's exoskeleton emerging from his own shattered chest to impale Diedre just above the left breast. She went limp in his arms, her blood welling from the wound in a dark torrent as Michael pulled back.

"Noooooooo!" The temperature plummeted as Bobby turned to face Michael. He held Diedre cradled against him, her blood freezing as it touched his icy skin. Without further thought, he sent a wave of ice crashing toward her killer.

Remy paused in the act of lighting a cigarette as the air around him turned suddenly chill. He was seated on one of the many benches that lined the street outside Michael's apartment building, waiting for the man to emerge. It had seemed wise to keep an eye on the Guildmaster until the F.B.I caught up with him, but as a woman walking past suddenly shivered and glanced around in surprise, he found every danger sense he possessed coming alive.

Remy came to his feet, eyes scanning the street for signs of trouble. The temperature drop felt an awful lot like Iceman's handiwork, but he didn't see any sign of the young mutant.

*Please tell me dis ain' some kind o' random mutant t'ing,* he muttered silently. *I don' have time f' X-Men t'ings right now.*

Up and down the street, everything seemed normal. Remy raised his eyes, scanning the buildings. He turned a full circle, wishing that the crowds moving on the street didn't play such havoc with his kinesthetic sense. Then the sound of shattering glass brought his attention back to Michael's apartment building. One of the windows in the penthouse exploded outward, the shards of glass falling in a sparkling shower in the sunlight. But it was the jagged wave of ice that poured from the broken window that robbed Remy of breath.

*Bobby, y' idiot!* Remy raced across the street, drawing cards as he went.

The ice wave bowled Michael over, carrying him along as it crashed through the wall of the foyer and into the formal dining room beyond. Under Bobby's direction, it slammed into the far wall with enough force to make the entire building shudder. The picture window that overlooked the New York skyline shattered, though the reinforced steel frame only bent under the onslaught. Michael seemed unaffected. The exoskeleton was nearly black around him, and it expanded sharply, cracking the ice that engulfed him. He pulled himself out of the ice with those spider-like arms and began to advance on Bobby.

Bobby saw him coming, but couldn't move. His attention was fixed on the pale face of the woman in his arms. She was still alive, though barely, her breath bubbling weakly through her pink lips. >From the amount of blood, Bobby could only guess that Michael had hit her heart. The dark red stain covered her yellow dress, once again clothing her in Michael's awful colors.

"Shhh. It's all right. You're going to be all right," he whispered to her through the tears that froze on his cheeks. His mind was a whirlwind of horror and rage, and the pain in his chest had nothing to do with the gaping hole in his ice body. He could barely breathe he was so terrified-not of Michael, but at the knowledge that he was watching the woman he loved die.

Michael came closer, the spider legs assisting him as he walked across the uneven floor of ice. Bobby looked up at him, his agony becoming cold, hard rage. His eyes narrowed as the local temperature plummeted. Not just to zero or a little below, as had once been the limit of his abilities. In less than a second, the air immediately surrounding them liquefied as the temperature dropped below the vaporization threshold. The liquid air splashed down around them, coating all three mutants, and spilling out across the floor into the warm air beyond the boundary of Bobby's control. The rapid re-expansion of the liquid oxygen and nitrogen resulted in an explosion of gases that shattered the quick-frozen floor. Michael disappeared in a cloud of vapors, plummeting down into the level below.

Bobby held himself and Diedre up on a shelf of ice. Her delicate features were now coated in a thin film of ice, her blood turned to ruby crystals where it trailed down the length of her arm to dangle like gems from her fingertips.

Bobby's breath caught in his throat. The sudden freezing hadn't killed her. Instead, it had awakened her powers. He could feel her mutant power, so much like his own. It brushed feather-soft across his mind as another force extended itself into the ice, searching for anchorage.

*That's it!* Elation swept through him. "Diedre, that's it! Go into the ice! You can do it, my love." He closed his eyes, listening with his mutant power for the tendrils of her power that sank themselves into the surrounding ice. Bobby followed her with his senses, searching for any way to help her. Her body was frozen, the blood that remained in her veins trapped there by the cold. Her powers protected her--keeping her alive even as her body became something that did not live in the conventional sense. Bobby knew that transition intimately. Every time he went ice he traded his physical life--that sustained by the function of a living organism-- for a life sustained entirely by his mutant powers. Diedre couldn't become ice. Her powers just weren't that strong. But so long as she remained in the cocoon of bitter cold that Bobby had created, she would continue to live in a kind of altered state. And that was enough to make Bobby's heart soar.

"Bobby! Bobby! Are y' o.k.?"

Remy's voice, desperately worried, startled Bobby out of his reflection. He looked up to see the Cajun thief crouched at the edge of the sphere of cold, his bo staff in one hand and a set of cards splayed in the other.

"What happened?" he demanded as soon as Bobby raised his head. "Where's Michael?"

"Down there." Bobby nodded toward the gaping hole in the floor, surprised by how calm his voice sounded. "I killed him."

Remy arched an eyebrow at the pronouncement, but the worry in his eyes was fading. "Couldn' a happened t' a nicer guy." His gaze dropped to Diedre. "Is she--?"

"No." Bobby didn't know whether to be pleased or insulted that Remy didn't show the least bit of surprise that he was holding the Guildmaster's wife cradled in his arms. "She's in a kind of suspended animation. I've dropped the temperature far enough that it's boosting her powers."

The rippling edge of the cold sphere was only a few inches from the end of Remy's nose. He frowned, studying it. "How cold?" He seemed oddly analytical, and a prickling sense of warning began to crawl across the back of Bobby's neck.

"The air's liquid, if that tells you anything." Remy's gaze snapped to his at the sharp comment, and Bobby knew for certain that something was wrong.

Remy gave the sphere another, more respectful, inspection and shifted slightly away. "Can y' do anyt'ing else while y' maintainin' dat t'ing?"

Bobby shook his head slowly. The intense concentration required to keep the temperature that low, combined with not freezing the rest of the building and all of the innocent people currently in it, was already beginning to take its toll.

Remy sighed and rose to his feet. "Dat's too bad." His voice, and his expression, were grim.

Bobby was about to ask him why when he saw a long black leg rise out of the hole in the floor, followed quickly by another. His stomach twisted savagely. "But--" He looked up at Remy. "I poured liquid air on him! He couldn't have survive that!"

Remy moved away from Bobby, his attention focused on the multiple legs now scrabbling for purchase on the jagged edge of the penthouse floor. "I've heard say dat not'ing can get t'rough Michael's exoskeleton, if he don' wan' it to." The cards in his hand flared to life, becoming brilliant streaks of fire as he threw.

"Guess we gon' find out."

As a street smart punk growing up in the gutters of New Orleans, Remy LeBeau had learned that if you killed, it came back at you. You got a reputation. The law, the tougher punks, the corpse's friends... they'd all be after you, and the killing would never stop.

As a thief in the New Orleans guild, he was taught to use discretion. If you had no choice but to kill, do so quietly Cover your tracks, make it look like an accident. Don't get caught and don't start wars.

While with the X-Men, Gambit was drilled with the idea that there is no excuse for murder. No one, regardless of who they are, ever deserved to die, and to kill was the most reprehensible of acts.

Remy knew all these things. He believed.

But still the cards he threw at Michael were meant to slaughter.

A trio of energized playing cards exploded against the spider legs that were scrabbling to pull their owner out of the hole in the floor. They withstood the triple explosions, but his next cards blasted into the flooring they held onto. They vanished into the lower floor again with a crash as Remy darted across the uneven floor to a column that had once supported the roof, but now listed weakly over the gap in the floor.

His hands touched marble and the power spread. A tingle from his chest down his arms, pumping into the stone with a pink glow that hummed and growled and screamed as he charged the column to breaking. Leaning his weight against it, he pushed and dove the other way.

"Brace y'self!" he yelled to Bobby.

The explosion rocked the building. A detonation equivalent to a thousand sticks of dynamite blew out all the windows on the floor below the penthouse, sending glass and rubble out twenty feet and more into midair to rain on the street below. Dust blasted everywhere, coating everything as the structure creaked and whined, then collapsed downward, falling to crush the floor beneath. A hundred tons of reinforced concrete and steel, vaporized in the explosion, erupted from the cracks in the dying building along with a wail of released energy.

Coughing, Remy raised his head to see he was still alive. Bobby, still crouched in his bubble of frozen air, whispering icy reassurances to his beloved as he tried to coax life back into her frozen form. The building creaked around them, but it held. They were lucky it hadn't all collapsed from what he did.

Didi Tyre. Didi. Diedre. How the hell could he have been so stupid? Remy coughed and tossed the dust and plaster out of his hair. Why didn’t Bobby wait fourty eight hours? Then Michael would have been in jail and he could have loved her freely. Now... Himself, he’d always avoided Didi Tyre. Young, beautiful, trapped. Everything he’d always wanted to fall for and save, conveniently married by Michael a few months after he arrived in New York. Sometimes, watching her, he’d wondered how much of a trap she was, laid for a Master Thief who could only be legitimately killed for a crime like stealing another man’s wife. Briefly, he wondered if he would have stepped into that lovely trap if Rogue hadn’t been around to steal his heart instead. Now, Bobby was the one caught.

"How she doin'?"

Bobby looked up. "Alive. Michael?"

"Don' know."

"After that??"

He grinned. "Don' know," he repeated and closed his eyes, concentrating.

Dust, falling from the ceiling; bits of plaster tumbling. The gentle fall of shattered crystal from what used to be a china cabinet, the spark of electricity threatening to become fire in the devastated walls. The creak of the ice pillars Bobby used to keep the roof from falling on them all. People, screaming and yelling outside, running away, or running to. Sirens. A butterfly, too stupid or brave not to want to dare the dust laden air, alit quivering on a strut of metal just outside. His own heart, beating in his chest, the creak of ice around Bobby and Diedre. The spider leg coming straight for him.

Remy dodged.

Pain tore along his arm and then he was rolling across the broken floor, wishing he was wearing his armour as glass and stone cut into his back and arms and Michael's exoskeleton legs tore up the floor right before his face. Coming to the end of his reach before he came to the end of the room, Remy sprang to his feet, whirling to face his enemy.

Michael glared at him from across the devestated penthouse, his spider legs spread wide and his body encased in blackness that flickered with red. Ignoring the blood that poured down his arm even though he knew he had to do something about it soon, the Cajun grinned.

"Red, neh? Guess dat means I hurt you, n'est pas?"

Michael didn't answer, breathing deeply, his exoskeleton legs moving around him randomly.

Maybe not. Remy tensed as his motion power picked up how the legs were moving and where they'd be. He threw himself bodily to the side as four of the six legs struck the ground behind the Guildmaster, propelling him forward with the last two outstretched. His hand finding a piece of rubble, Remy charged it and threw it at the man's head. It exploded and Michael yelled.

"That's your last shot, Cajun!"

If he didn't get to where he had more room, it would be. And take Michael with him. Remy saw Bobby bowed over Diedre, all his concentration focused on the frozen bubble that kept her alive. Michael couldn't touch him. Even his exoskeleton would suffer in that kind of cold, but if they kept fighting indoors, the whole building would collapse.

Michael's arms pulled back to his body, preparing for another attack. Remy didn't give him the time. He charged and threw a dozen cards, blinding the man as he reeled from the force if not from pain, and Remy threw himself at him, slamming them both backwards through the broken window towards the street far below.

Bobby barely saw the battle, concentrating on Diedre. "Come on," he begged. "Come on..." She was unresponsive, her skin frozen, her blood ice, but still he could feel her life slipping away. "Please, don’t leave me!"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his master charge Michael, sending them both through the window. "Gambit!" he yelled, but he couldn’t go to his side where he belonged. If he left Diedre, he knew, she’d die.

"Why?" he moaned. "I wanted to keep you clear of all of this!"

Unbidden, the Cajun’s words echoed through his mind, repeating words he’d spoken from a rooftop while Bobby stood below and they shared a beer and some misery.

"Love wit' all y' heart, protect y' friends and fam'ly and s'vive no matter what, so long as de first two are kept safe."

So long as...

Bobby closed his eyes. "Oh, God, Remy, no..." Still, he couldn’t help him, and he knew the Cajun knew it too.

Thank you, he thought, barely a whisper. Thank you...

Michael bellowed at him as they plunged out the window and tumbled out of control towards the pavement far below. "You’re insane!"

"Not a’ tall, mon ami," Remy grinned, taking advantage of Michael’s momentary panic. His legs were outstretched, but he didn’t attack with them, overwhelmed by the sudden adrenaline surge. Remy kicked away from him, freefalling apart as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small device, no more than a small grappling hook attached to a box with a strap over it that his hand fit into and around. Raising it over his head, he pressed the button on the top and the hook fired, arcing up and around one of the gargoyles that adorned the sides of the building, trailing behind it a thin, file, high tensile wire cord more than strong enough to support the weight of a full grown man.

The hook caught and he was yanked to a halt, almost feeling that his arm was going to be pulled out of its socket by the sudden move. He swung towards the building, landing feet first, and looked down towards Michael.

The Guildmaster rolled over, legs flashing towards the building, and concrete tore with a scream as he was dragged by momentum down the side of the wall, legs digging deep trenches into the material. A continuous screech like nails down a blackboard sounded as his descent slowed, then stopped. He looked around, then hopped down the last ten or so feet to the rubble strewn pavement.

Merde, Remy thought, seeing his stand upright and brush the dust off his suit. He couldn’t just stay up here. If he did, there would be nothing stopping him from going inside and trying to kill Bobby and Diedre again. Or from getting away. If he did now, he’d come back later to finish what he started. Michael was a possessive man, and regardless of his feelings for his wife, he’d be sworn to kill the man who tried to steal her from him. For Bobby’s sake, he had to end it now.

Remy began to lower himself on the line, Michael standing below and smirking. He was only twenty feet above the reaching legs when he began swinging, and finally kicked away from the building and the line entirely. Flipping over in midair, he landed lightly on top of a streetlamp that had somehow survived the falling rubble from above. From there, he looked down at his adversary.

"Dere are dose who say dat a man who kill his own wife ain’t no man."

Michael’s chin lifted defiantly. "She betrayed me."

Remy grinned. "Wasn’ dat de whole point? Or you just mad her tastes run t’ blondes?"

Michael leaped at him, springing on four legs with two outstretched, just like before. Remy flipped over his head, reaching into his coat for his bo staff and telescoping it to full length as he did so. Rolling over so he’d land on his feet, he hit the man squarely on the side of the head, only to see the adamantium of it richochet off the exoskeleton. It was still red streaked from the earlier explosions, but too strong yet for him to break through. He cursed silently.

"You’re a stupid man, Michael," Remy said as Michael slowly picked himself up from the ground, not sure if he were injured enough to make an attack under these conditions likely to work. "You use y’ powers when y’ shouldn’, where y’ shouldn’. How y’ shouldn’. How long you honestly t’ink de gov’ment let mutant thieves run loose?"

"They have no powers," Michael laughed. "They can’t stop any of us, and I will use what’s mine."

"Dat’s jus’ ‘bout de stupidest t’ing I ever heard." The two men circled each other. "Power ain’ ‘bout bein’ able to pull vault doors apart. ‘Bout keepin’ y’ people alive."

Michael sneered. "Like you would know. You have no people."

"Got friends, got fam’ly. And I do anyt’ing I have t’ t’ keep dem safe. Only I ain’t compromisin’ deir honour f’ riches."

The older man smiled. "Then you’ll die a very poor man."

A leg lashed out. Instinctively, Remy slammed at it with his bo staff, only to feel the leg cut through the adamantium and slash through his side, only his reflexes keeping it from hitting him dead centre. Rolling to his feet, he backed up rapidly, getting distance between himself and his enemy while he assessed his injuries. Blood was pouring down his side, the white of bone showing where a rib had been sliced in half and was jutting out of the wound. His bo staff was missing the top ten inches, sheered clean through. Adamantium? He strong ‘nought t’ cut adamantium?? Bleeding, clutching his side and feeling faint, he watched Michael laugh.

Gently, Bobby stroked Diedre’s cheek. "Come on, Diedre, don’t give up."

She was growing weaker, her flesh dying in spite of his best attempts, her breath weakening. Already his bubble had frozen through the building that held it up, shattering whatever it touched, and he’d been forced to build supports of ice, spearing through the building and deep into the ground. It groaned around the freezing shafts, cracking, but he kept filling those cracks, spreading his roots deeper, farther.

Diedre shuddered. "Diedre!" he cried. "Stay with me! Don’t die!" Still, she weakened before him.

What if she were like me? he thought suddenly.

Diedre’s powers were based on cold, just like his. They thrived on it, but she was only beta class. She didn’t have the resources in her to do what he did. To become ice herself. But, perhaps, he could MAKE her into ice, change her where she couldn’t change herself, and, once she was ice, reform her body into one that didn’t have great wounds in its breast.

Bobby bent his head, concentrating as he never had before, pushing his powers farther than the X-Men ever wanted him to, trusting to his skill beyond all else as Remy taught him as he carefully, gently, lovingly, changed everything about his beloved that was flesh, all into a new form of life.

"MOVE! MOVE! RED ALERT! GET THE LEAD OUT, PEOPLE!"

Cyclops sprinted down the hall to the Blackbird hangar, surrounded by other members of the team. Storm, Bishop, Phoenix, Sam, Beast.

Even without Cerebro’s monitors, they’d know something was happening in New York between Gambit and an unidentified mutant. The fight was right on CNN, after all.

What is he doing?? he thought to himself. Has he gone insane?? He’d seen enough battles to be able to recognize when one was to the death. Remy was out to kill if he could.

"This is not the way the X-Men operate," he growled as he pulled himself into the ship and made his way to the cockpit. Gambit had no excuse for such a fight. And what he did to that building! Who knew how many people could have been killed.

Jean slipped into the copilot seat. "I can’t reach Remy telepathically," she told him. "He’s too busy fighting and I don’t want to distract him."

Cyclops started flipping switches, warming the bird up. "He intends to kill that man, doesn’t he?"

She sighed. "Yes. That much I can pick up."

"Then," Cyclops stated as he started the Blackbird out of the hangar, lifting off the ground and arching out over the ocean and into the sky. "It’s up to us to stop him."

Don’ pass out... wha’e’er y do, don’ pass out.

Reeling, Remy blinked through the dizziness, looking at Michael as the Guildmaster approached. Stepping back, he twirled his shortened bo staff into a ready position warily. Frowning, Michael hesitated, not quite willing to commit himself to a full out attack if the Cajun wasn’t as hurt as he looked.

Remy straightened up, snapping his arm that had been holding his wound downwards, flicking blood from his fingers nonchalantly as he grinned. "Almos’ got me dere."

Michael smirked. "I’ll have to be quicker next time then."

Still smiling, the Cajun circled with him, fighting not to stumble. "Wit’ all dese witnesses?" he gestured at the people around the rubble strewn street on the sidewalk or in their cars, staring at the two mutants in terror. Distant sirens sounded as well.

"Well, when I’m done with you, I’ll just have to make sure that none of them are around to say anything."

Remy went white. "You wouldn’..."

It might have been a bluff. It might have been true. But either way, the statement had its effect. Michael lunged, legs flashing, and one of them imbedded itself in Remy’s leg, the other through his stomach and out his back.

Gambit couldn’t even scream. Through the agony, he felt Michael lift him off the ground, grinning. "You thought you could take what’s mine?" he whispered to him. "I don’t care WHO you are. You’re nothing but a corpse now."

Gasping, Remy vomited blood, watching through hazing eyes as it impacted on Michael’s shield, though one drop fell through a crack in his armour to land on his forehead instead. Gambit grinned.

"So are you, homme."

Quickly, he braced one hand on Michael’s exoskeleton, the other reaching into his coat. Not for a card. They would explode outside the shield, killing their owner and not their target. He needed something smaller. Pulling out his gun, he pushed the nozzle against the tiny gap and pulled the trigger.

The bullet was just small enough to fit.

Confused, Diedre opened her eyes. "Bobby?" she whispered.

Immediately, an icy form smiled down at her, frozen water flowing flawlessly to mimic the movement. "How are you feeling?"

Diedre blinked, feeling... strange. "I-I don’t know. What happened?"

He hugged her gently, his ice as soft to her as a baby’s skin. "Michael stabbed you."

Her eyes widened. "What happened to him?"

"Gambit’s fighting him."

Hearing the grief in his voice, for a mentor he couldn’t help, Diedre lifted her hand to touch his cheek and gasped as she saw it was a semi translucent blue, frozen bubbles trapped inside obscuring her view of the remains of the penthouse beyond. "What??" She couldn’t get the word out. They were melded together, their torsos and legs merged into one mass, her head affixed to his shoulder as he held her, only that one arm free.

Any icy tear slipped down Bobby’s cheek. "I saved you. I turned you to ice, you’re tied into my body right now." He mimicked a deep breath. "I love you so much, Diedre."

Frozen, she smiled back at him, content, her dreams fulfilled. "I love you too, Bobby."

Gasping, trying not to fall, Remy stared down at the body. Michael’s exoskeleton had vanished at his death and he looked almost surprised at the small neat hole that had appeared between his eyes.

Leaning on his staff, hearing the not unexpected roar of the Blackbird approaching, he raised the trembling arm that held the gun and emptied the clip into Michael’s body. He wasn’t coming back to haunt any of them.

A cold breeze touched his cheek and his gaze turned up towards the frosted penthouse. "Bobby..." Man had his woman, paid his price and won her. Saved her. Remy smiled, his knees buckling and an involuntary cry coming from him at the pain of it. The cool blood that streaked his staff pressed into his cheek as he rested against it, trying to breathe though his blood was pouring out of him. It was worth it though, in spite of the hell his indiscretion would cause the Guild, and what it looked like it would cost him as well. Finally, a man and a woman could love one another and have that love survive. For that, he’d pay any price.

The Blackbird roared overhead as he tumbled over onto his side, joining his enemy in, if not the same depths of darkness, then a darkness that might still lead to it eventually.

Bobby heard the distinctive whine of the Blackbird engines with a sense of overwhelming relief. The X-Men would be able to help Remy. Michael couldn't possibly defeat them all. He desperately wished that he could see what was going on outside the destroyed apartment building, but all of his energy was tied up in maintaining the sphere of cold and the ice woman who lay content in his arms. What little attention he could spare from those was maintaining the supports that kept the building from collapsing on top of them. As much as Bobby wanted to go to his master, he knew he had to finish what he'd begun with Diedre first.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on Diedre. He stretched his awareness back into the ice that formed their joined body, and began the painstaking process of changing her back into living flesh.

Cyclops had the ramp down before the Blackbird's weight had completely settled on its landing gear. He felt stunned as he followed the rest of his team out of the aircraft. This couldn't be happening. He had always maintained that Gambit's recklessness would eventually get him killed, but to see it. . .

Scott stared at the scene in the street, absorbing it. The air was filled with a smoky haze-partly from the small fires that dotted the street and partly from the fine dust that continued to fall from the building that Gambit had blown up. The street was covered in debris. The weakened sunlight shimmered in the glass fragments that littered the ground, and the live wires from a fallen electric pole

hissed and sparked. The ruined building loomed over the rest of the destruction, it's top floors listing to one side and threatening to fall. Long fingers of ice were wrapped around the top of the building, holding the upper floors in their precarious position, and he realized with dismay that Iceman had to be inside somewhere.

The man that Gambit had been fighting lay on the street on his back in a spreading pool of blood. His eyes were open, his expression oddly surprised. The bullet hole in his forehead seemed very small, and only a trickle of blood ran from it. In contrast, his chest was a single huge red stain against the white suit shirt. Scott could see the holes in the cloth, and, almost unwillingly, he counted them. Eight. Gambit was lying on his side a short ways away, the handgun still loosely clasped in his fingers. The slide was locked back, indicating that the weapon was empty. He, too, was surrounded by a dark stain of blood.

*Scott, he's still alive.*

The moment of observation shattered as Scott forced himself into motion. Jean and Hank were already kneeling at Gambit's side, examining him. Storm stood behind them, her expression filled with fear, and Scott touched her elbow lightly as he stepped up beside her.

"Storm, take Cannonball with you and go find Bobby." He indicated the ice-capped building. "Make sure he's all right."

Storm's gaze lingered on Gambit's still form for a moment before nodding. "Of course." She turned, gesturing to Sam, and the two of them rose into the air. Scott tracked their progress for a moment before turning back to the two crouched over the injured X-Man.

"Quickly, Jean, let's get him into the Blackbird." Hank said, standing as Jean lifted Gambit in a telekinetic bubble. Together they moved toward the airplane.

Scott knew he couldn't help them, so he stayed where he was and swept his gaze once more around the street. How could this have happened? Something silver caught his eye and he stooped to retrieve it. After a moment, he recognized the cylinder as a piece of Gambit's staff, and, scanning the area, he spied the rest of it. He recovered the second half and held the pieces in his hands, frowning. At least Bobby had had the sense to use his powers to protect people from the falling building, but what could have set this conflict off in the first place?

The growing wails of the approaching emergency vehicles was his only answer, and he knew they were running out of time. They needed to collect Bobby and get out of there, fast. He was reaching for his comm badge to warn Storm when she re-emerged from the shattered upper floors. Cannonball darted out behind her, followed by Iceman. To Scott's surprise, a woman clung to the ice slide behind Bobby as he arced toward the Blackbird, and as they touched down, he realized that her dress was also stained with blood though she didn't appear to be injured.

Bobby's slide deposited himself and the woman on the street next to the Blackbird. Even from the short distance, Scott could see the sick fear in his face.

"Where's Remy?!" he demanded stridently as he crossed the distance to where Scott stood. His gaze flicked between the body of the dead man and the second blood stain on the concrete. "What happened? Is he all right?!"

"He's alive, though that's about all," Scott replied tersely. He was suddenly furious that any of his team could have done something so stupid and possibly gotten themselves killed, not to mention the dead man lying in the street. . . "What in the world happened here, Bobby?" he demanded angrily.

Bobby shook his head. He seemed like he was about to say something when his attention was distracted by the woman. She had moved several paces away, and was standing beside the dead man, staring down at him, her face pained. After a moment, she dropped slowly to her knees and bowed her head over him, though she didn't touch him. Bobby's expression shaded into a kind of mute horror as she began to cry.

"Diedre. . ."

Bobby walked over to where the woman knelt and stopped behind her. He seemed like he wanted to comfort her, but couldn't decide what to do. Scott stayed a little ways back so as not to interfere as Bobby finally knelt down and took the sobbing woman in his arms. She resisted only for a moment, and then clung to him with desperate strength.

The first police car turned the corner at the end of the block, lights flashing and siren wailing.

"Bobby, we have to go," he told the young man as gently as he could manage.

Bobby nodded in response and urged the woman to her feet. Her tears were diminishing now and she rubbed her face to try to clear them.

Scott caught Bobby's eye. "Do we need to take him with us?" he asked in an undertone, indicating the dead man with a jerk of his head. He didn't want to just leave him to the authorities if it was going to be a source of anguish for the young woman.

The woman looked up at him with her reddened eyes, and Scott was surprised by the determined expression he saw there. "No." She pressed her lips together and glanced back at the body. "Leave him."

"Are you sure?" Bobby asked, her expression intense.

She nodded, and quietly reached over and pulled a ring from her left hand. The gold band winked dully in the poor light as she held it in her hand, her expression thoughtful. Then she turned and tossed it toward the dead man lying in the street.

"I don't want to take anything of Michael's with me," she told Bobby in a voice that was hardly above a whisper.

Scott stared at the two of them, wondering what he should be seeing. He was dreadfully certain that he wouldn't like the answer, no matter what it was, but he also knew that it would have to wait until they got back to the mansion.

Bobby clung to the edge of the medi-unit as the Blackbird banked sharply, turning them back toward Westchester. He felt sick inside. Remy was dying. He could see it in Hank's face-that closely guarded expression that told Bobby that he was steeling himself against the loss.

Jean stood at Remy's head, her fingers light on his temples and her brow furrowed in concentration. After a moment, she opened her eyes and Bobby could see the glimmer of frustrated tears.

"There's nothing I can do. He won't let me in."

"What do you mean?" Bobby found it almost a relief to look at Jean instead of the devastated form on the table in front of him. Remy's wounds were as bad as anything he'd ever seen with the X- Men, and he would have found it difficult even if he weren't one of the closest friends Bobby had.

Jean shrugged helplessly. "His shields are solid. I can't enter his mind-not even to help."

Hank looked up from the readings on the medi-unit. "Distasteful though it might be, in the interest of saving a life, you might consider forcing your way in."

She shook her head. "That wouldn't work. His shields are will- based. If I broke them, I'd be destroying the one thing that's keeping him alive." She looked back down at Remy's face. "All I can do is keep calling to him in the hopes that he'll answer."

In a flash of certainty, Bobby realized that that wasn't going to happen. Whatever was going on inside Remy's mind, he knew that he wasn't going to let a first class telepath inside his head under any circumstance. He had too many secrets to keep. Too many questions whose answers would be dangerous for the X-Men to know. Too many mutants whose existence would be compromised. And even if Bobby knew in his heart that Jean would never betray that confidence, he also knew that Remy didn't trust her that much. But maybe, just maybe, he might have come to trust Bobby that much.

"Jean, can you take me with you? Into Remy's mind?"

She cocked her head, regarding him through narrowed eyes. "Do you think he'd listen to you?"

Bobby's breath caught in his throat. "Maybe."

She stared at him for a bare moment more before nodding. "All right. Brace yourself."

The world lurched sideways as Jean pulled him onto the astral plane. Bobby found himself standing in a gray place, facing an impossibly tall black wall. Jean stood beside him, hands on hips as she stared at the empty black face.

"Is this. . .?"

She nodded. "His shields. Gambit is downright paranoid about telepaths. His mind is like this anytime I'm around him." Bobby though he heard a faint note of hurt in her voice.

Bobby reached out to touch the black surface. It was smooth and chill beneath his fingertips. "It's not paranoia," he reassured her, his thoughts falling back through the past months. "It's prudence."

Jean gave him an odd look, which Bobby ignored. His attention was on the black wall that separated Remy from the person who could help keep him alive. Experimentally, he pounded on it with his fist, eliciting a dull, booming sound.

"Remy! Remy, I know you're in there!" He had an absurd image of himself standing outside Gambit's door in the mansion, pounding away. "Remy, it's Bobby! Please, let me in!"

There was no response that he could see. He glanced at Jean, who shook her head. Her lips were pressed together in a painfully thin line. "Hank says the medi-unit is maxed out, just like it did with Wolverine. . ."

Bobby stared at her. The mission to Avalon, where Magneto had nearly killed Wolverine, was the only time the Shi'ar medi-unit had been unable to cope with an X-Man's injuries. His stomach knotted painfully. Until now.

He went back to pounding on the wall, yelling at Remy to let them in, but it did no good. After a while, he felt Jean's hand close on his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Bobby," she said gently. "I know you two were close."

Bobby felt the burn of tears in his eyes as he looked up at the black wall. "He's not dead!" he snarled at Jean.

She shook her head sadly. "Not yet, but we're still four minutes away from touchdown, plus the time to transfer him to the infirmary. He's already lost too much blood for his heart to even continue beating-there's nothing left for it to push around." Her hand fell away from his shoulder. "Hank doesn't think he'll make it that far."

Bobby fought the sobs that would rob him of speech. "If I can get you inside, can you hold onto him? Keep him alive long enough to get to the infirmary?"

Her expression said that she thought it hopeless, but she nodded. "Maybe."

Bobby turned away from her, back toward the featureless black wall. There was one thing he could try, one thing that no X-Man would know to do, that might make Remy listen. He drew himself up to his full height and placed both palms against the wall.

"Master Thief LeBeau," he said quietly, in the formal cadence of the Guild. "As is my right as blood member of the Guild, I call you to account for the murder of Guildmaster Tyre. Present yourself before the Guild, or it will be known that you are without honor."

Bobby had learned the rituals, and he knew that any guildmember could call another to account for any crime that was witnessed, no matter the ranks involved. And since they were on the astral plane, Bobby was the sole Guild representative around, which meant that Remy had to come to him or forfeit his reputation and rank within the Guild.

Jean was staring at him, wide eyed, as the wall began to crumble. It collapsed with a roar, but left no rubble behind. On the far side stood Remy, his red eyes glowing with suppressed rage.

"How *dare* you. . ."

Bobby met those glowing eyes without fear. He understood now that doing what was necessary wasn't always doing what was honorable.

"Jean," he said quietly and watched as she moved past him, toward Remy. Once inside the heavy shields, Bobby knew, even Remy had no defense against a telepath of Jean's caliber. But if anyone could keep him alive, it was her. And if Remy's friendship, his trust and respect, were the price Bobby paid for preserving his life, he would pay it, though not without regret.

Bobby's arms tightened instinctively around Diedre as Scott and Jean walked into the War Room. It had always struck Bobby as a strange place to wait in such circumstances, but it was the closest room to the infirmary with chairs, and invariably it was where the X-Men gathered to await news of an injured comrade.

"So what's the word?" Logan asked, his slouched posture so casual that Bobby wanted to jump up and down for him.

"He's stabilized." Scott answered, his face inscrutable behind the visor. "Hank says that's the best we can hope for at the moment. He'll be able to tell us more in the morning."

Ororo breathed a soft sigh and sank onto the corner of the table while Logan reached over to pat her knee in encouragement.

The knot of terror in Bobby's stomach loosened a notch at the words and he pulled Diedre to him in a hug. Scott's gaze fastened on them, his intensity causing the hairs on the back of Bobby's neck to bristle in warning.

"So I believe you have some explaining to do." Bobby could see the clenched muscles in his jaw, and his stomach tightened again in apprehension. "Two people were killed in that blast, and I want to know what happened. Now."