Fic Amnesty: Equilibrium, Part 4/6 (Gambit/Wolverine)

AUTHOR: Kuria Dalmatia
CODES: Post-X2, Remy & Logan, Jubilee
SUMMARY: Wounds from the devastating loss of Jean have not healed. Can the return of an "Unofficial" X-Man bring the team back together?
RATING: R for language and m/m
SERIES: None
STATUS: Complete 2003

See Introduction for disclaimers and comments.


************(((((((((((((( )))))))))))))))))************

After his chat with Logan, Remy retrieved his duffle from the trunk of the car, picked up the blueprints from where he'd placed them in the kitchen, and made his way up to his new room. He set the duffle and blueprints on the bed, tested the locks, opened the window and calculated how he could escape without hurting himself, and finally took off his coat. The lighting was adequate, not too bright for his sensitive eyes, and he spread out the blueprints on the bedroom floor, using four decks of loose cards to hold down the curling edges. He then settled down on the floor and began taking notes again.

He heard the footsteps bounding up from the bottom of the stairs. They skidded to an unsure halt and were followed a shy knock at his door. He had deliberately left it open, just to see who B if anyone B would visit.

Remy glanced up and stood with practiced ease. "Bon soir, chere."

"Hi, Remy," Jubilee said shyly before she tackled him with a hug. "Does this mean you're staying?"

"For a bit, petite."

"That is so cool. I mean, having you here and stuff." She released him, a blush tinging her cheeks. "Um... sorry... I... uh...."

"Don't mind, chere. Family good for that."

She glanced down at the floor, to the blueprints. "Is this what you're going to be helping the professor with?"

"Oui. Security."

"Is that what you do?"

"For this, yes."

Jubilee looked away, perhaps upset at his short answers. "Oh."

He gestured to the floor. "Mais, Remy has to work on this, non?"

Her skin turned to the palest pink in a second as she took a shaky step backward. "Oh." Then a flood of words. "I just wanted to see if you wanted to come downstairs or something and hang out because it's your first night and everything and stuff and I've got my homework done and everything but you're like a grownup so...."

"Remy didn't ask you to leave, petite," he said gently, recognizing her need to simply talk to him, perhaps about what happened. How many times had he ghosted by his papa's door at all hours of the night, too afraid to go in and too scared to leave? He gracefully sat down on the floor and then motioned for her to join him. She let out a squeaky sigh of relief and the plopped unceremoniously down across from him. "How's the hand?"

"Dr. McCoy says it isn't too bad. He said that the second and third metatarsal... no.. metacarpal? Oh, whatever." She shook her head. "Two bones were broken." She held up her cast. "He even found yellow to wrap it in. Cool, huh? Anyway, he said it should heal up in a few weeks and it shouldn't hurt my powers or anything."

"That's good then, non?"

"Yeah." She peered at him quizzically. "You ever break your hand?"

Remy offered her a small smile, then made a quick note on the blueprint. "Non, petite."

"So, you're, like, doing security and stuff."

"Oui."

"Wow." Another lapse in silence. He continued to work and was well aware that she was staring at him the whole time. "Kitty said you kicked Wolvie's butt today."

"Petite, word of advice from ol'Remy?" He met her gaze. "Don't call M'sieu Logan 'Wolvie.'"

"But you *did* kick his butt. Kitty said you didn't use your powers until the end of the fight and that's when Logan called it. Logan never calls a fight. Ever."

"Petite, this was not a fight. It was sparring. Difference." He circled the stone wall by the swimming pool. "If it was real fight, Remy would've been skewered on the first pass."

"But you would have sparked him first."

Remy glanced up at her. "Sparked?"

"You know. Used your powers. Kitty said it looked like..." she focused on the mechanical pencil he was holding, "it looked like mine." She shyly glanced up at him.

"Mebbe."

"Oh." She sounded crushed. "You don't like talking about your powers."

"Non, petite."

She whispered the next questions, "Are you embarrassed about them? I mean, um, are they dorky like mine?"

It shouldn't have caught him off guard, especially after what she'd said in the Jag that first night, but it did. He hadn't used his kinetic ability when he'd taken down those punks. She didn't know just what he was capable of, just as she probably didn't quite know what she was capable of herself.

"Non," he answered, but realized belatedly that she probably thought it an answer to the last part of her question. Remy then picked up one of the decks. He quickly shuffled them, knowing she was watching his hands intently. He pulled one out and held them between the forefinger and middle finger of his right hand. He applied the charge to it, making it glow intensely, and then pulled the energy back in. "Jubilee, your powers aren't dorky," he told her firmly yet quietly. "You just need to work on controlling them, oui? Trust Remy on this, oui?""

Her mouth was hanging open, her eyes still focused on the playing card. She reached out tentatively and touched it, her expression now more shocked. "It's not hot."

"Non. "

"*Cool.*"

He put the cards back and sighed, "Petite, remember what Remy said in the car, that you have to work on your self-defense?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Ever play poker?"

"Huh? What does poker have to do with powers?"

"Everything, petite. You see, when you're playing poker, you're to bluff. You only show your hand if you have to. My eyes...." He waited until she met his gaze. "Remy defend himself all the time because of them. Having devil's eyes is one ting. Being able to 'spark' something is different. You show your power, they come after you harder. Trust Remy on this, petite."

"Oh."

A lengthy silence ensued. He continued making notes, occasionally glancing up to find her intent on his movements.

If she had been any quieter, Remy would have missed the question. "Will you, um, still take me... shopping?"

"D'accord, petite. Remy promised you."

Her smile was almost as blinding as her yellow jacket. "You're really cool, you know."

************(((((((((((((( )))))))))))))))))************

His first night back at the Xavier Mansion, his second home, and Remy couldn't sleep.

Nerves got the better of him. Him. Remy LeBeau. Master Thief. Ranked second in the world only behind his papa, Jean-Luc. Exiled Prince of the New Orleans Thieves Guild.

The man who had thieved from countless high security buildings, classified areas, and you-name-it-he's-been-there places was too nervous to sleep in this safe haven.

Simply because it wasn't.

Why in the hell was he back here?

"Everyone deserves a home, my son."

"I am the son of no one, sir."

"You will be my son. I will be your father. Henri will be your brother. Mattie will be your tante. We will be your family. This will be your home."

Remy understood the oddities of family. Not the related-by-blood-and-therefore-have-no-choice type of family. His own childhood had been harsh, filled with scars and terrors that still haunted him. This place, this Mansion and all its wonders, was family in the sense that he understood.

Family by choice.

Family by shared understanding.

Xavier's unconditional acceptance. The professor's faith.

He sighed deeply.

Maybe. Maybe tomorrow night, he'd be able to sleep. Tonight... tonight he would verify the fundamental flaws in the current security system.

Perhaps even pay a visit to the professor.

After all, he couldn't sleep.

The only challenge now: sneaking past Logan.

************(((((((((((((( )))))))))))))))))************

Logan distinctly remembered the day he had made the request to be moved to the third floor. He'd stared at Chuck and said with ferocious bluntness, "I can hear every goddamned thing, and it's driving me fuckin' nuts."

The third floor had been bequeathed to him without so much as a bat of an eyelash. It was Logan's territory, Logan's alone, and he preferred it that way.

Until the Cajun moved in.

Tonight, he'd been prepared for the worst. He was ready for the noise, just like it had been before he'd demanded seclusion. He was ready for the shuffling and stumbling, just like it had been before. The snoring. If that damned Cajun snored...

Yet it had been nearly silent. Ghosts of sounds. The barest creak of the floorboard, but never in the same spot twice. The squeak of the door hinge just once.

Thief, he reminded himself. *Master* Thief. They're supposed to be quiet.

That spicy scent that couldn't be hidden by cologne or ammonia or Ivory soap, was the only tangible thing that he could sense.

Good Christ. No wonder Xavier thought him so valuable. Magneto had been right. Gambit could have snuck in and out, taking far more valuable things than simple information. He could have kidnaped one of the kids without anyone realizing it.

The soft knock at his door surprised him. Why would the Cajun be knocking on his door after midnight? Curious, Logan answered.

"Gambit gonna be moving around, mon vieux," the thief said without preamble. "Just the outer perimeter."

"Can't sleep, Cajun?"

The other man shrugged. "Non. Doing my job m'sieu."

"What? Want company?"

A quirked grin. "Non. Jubilee says you do rounds. That you've Been doing rounds every night. Didn't want you to skewer po'Gambit when he be working."

He blinked. Could the man's accent get any thicker? Then, "You do anything to spook them, I'll kick your ass."

************(((((((((((((( )))))))))))))))))************

Three days later....

All Cyclops had said was, "Catch him."

Just that. No elaboration. An unusual order, one Logan would have normally blown off if the challenge hadn't been so enticing. There was something positively thrilling about chasing down prey that could blow one sky high with a flick of a wrist. Then again, Logan was a quintessential adrenaline junkie and such a thing did generate a ton of adrenaline.

What had led up to Summers' order was the challenge the thief had apparently issued in a closed door meeting with Xavier and Summers: the Cajun would continue to infiltrate the mansion and the lower levels as part of his "research" and if Summers had a problem with it, he was more than welcome to try and catch him. End of story.

The fact that Summers had deferred the actual job to Logan was initially surprising.

It still didn't explain why had Remy given him his cell phone number earlier. Was it because wherever the thief had disappeared to this evening didn't involve breaking into the mansion as Summers obviously believed? Remy had mentioned a meeting this evening with business associates but nothing more specific. So a meeting in town was a distinct possibility, unless Remy knew about Scott's ultimatum and was using the phone number thing as a ruse.

So there Logan was, with the blueprints of the mansion's grounds spread out on the kitchen table, and studying it carefully and realizing that there were just too many points of entry. It was then he noticed the barely visible spoke marks by what corresponded to his own bedroom window, as if the thief had puzzled out Logan's line-of-sight from that particular post. There were no other marks like that around the mansion on the blueprint, only those from his room. Logan traced the line out to the mansion grounds, then found the lightly penciled arrow at edge of the blueprint. He remembered what he said to Remy when asked if he had overheard that conversation about his wife, "heard your car a half-mile out." He flipped to the blueprint underneath, the one that detailed the property five miles in all directions. He saw the faintest circle around the mansion, exactly one-half mile around the property.

One of the best in the world indeed.

Logan broke into a wide smile.

At that moment, Drake had entered the room and saw the look on Logan's face. He stopped dead in his tracks. "Sir?"

The kids had a tendency to be more formal with him when Logan bared his teeth in a smile.

Logan's grin turned almost feral. "Wanna prank a Cajun?"

************(((((((((((((( )))))))))))))))))************

The frost glittered in the pale moonlight. Remy couldn't help but laugh. They were waiting for him. Scott had been pushed far enough to warrant cajoling Bobby to ice the lawn in order to narrow the possible routes to the mansion. Not that it would take much to have Bobby frost up the lawn; they probably cloaked it in the guise of a prank because, as Kurt had warned him that first night, all "new" arrivals were pranked, regardless if one was student or teacher. No one had pranked Gambit yet, the operative word being "yet." Else maybe they didn't consider him new.

Else, they were afraid of him. Who knew?

The secondary escape routes were either lined with trip wire or iced shut. When Remy checked the oldest of the tunnels, the one not found on the blueprint and known by a handful of students from when he was at the School that first time, he knew that Scott hadn't set the trap.

It was Logan.

He grinned like an idiot.

A challenge. Logan was challenging *him* to break in and not get caught.

It made his nerves burn with excitement. He debated on the best way to get to the mansion and back. Sure, he could use the tunnel, but why play that hand now? Remy mentally recalled the landscaping and figured out his course of action.

It was time for the armor.

************(((((((((((((( )))))))))))))))))************

"I don't see him, Logan."

The kid didn't sound too scared, but simply nervous. It was one thing, Logan supposed, to pull a prank on an adult with your buddies, but to be invited by Wolverine to prank Gambit? Maybe the kid figured out it wasn't really a practical joke after all, that there was an underlying reason. If so, the kid had refrained from any such comment.

Remy had pulled up to the mansion gates twenty minutes ago and then had backed the car away. Obviously, he'd seen the not-so-subtle icing of the gates which was now melting. It was nearly 1 a.m. and Logan sincerely hoped the rest of the mansion's residents had gone to bed. It would be pretty tough to explain just what they were up to.

Logan had handed Drake a headset and binocs, and ordered him to watch the front while he took a position out the back. Perhaps it was then that the kid realized this wasn't so much a prank after all.

"How good's the frost?" he asked, adjusting the headset so it wouldn't be so painfully loud.

"Still there," came the curt reply. Coating the lawn with ice crystals had taken longer than expected, but the kid held up remarkably well. His control had been really good too. Logan seriously doubted that Remy would approach so directly, frost or no frost, given what was *not* indicated on those blueprints.

"Don't worry, kid. He can't resist."

"Are you sure Cyclops isn't going to be mad about the hallway?"

"Got orders, kid."

"Oh." A beat. "Wolverine?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"It's Iceman."

************(((((((((((((( )))))))))))))))))************

They probably hadn't thought to ice the tree branches; after all, Ororo would probably have their heads if they had done more than frosted the grass. So that's how he snuck up to the mansion, leaping from branch to branch, always pausing just long enough to see if his motion triggered a reaction. He felt as if he were some kind of squirrel.

Remy adjusted the lightweight goggles, which enhanced his night vision so that he could see both lasers sensors and the more distinct heat patterns from a body. The tree branches took a more than a bit of finesse, but there was nothing like the exhilarating thrill of this kind of challenge even though it was proving to be much less of one than he initially thought. It wasn't Logan peering out of the third floor bedroom; the heat signature was wrong. It was probably Bobby Drake, who was responsible for the white autumn.

He entered the mansion from the first floor administrator's office, ruffled through files and found something useful to pilfer as proof he had been there. As he checked the door for traps, he found the water puddling ever so slightly at the base of the door. They'd iced the hallways.

Remy only smiled.

He applied a light charge to the wood, just enough to heat it up slightly, before drawing the energy back into himself. The ice proved somewhat of a difficulty for the thief, merely because he hated cold and tracking water throughout the mansion. Still, he ghosted up to the third floor, entered Logan's room....

A gloved hand covered Bobby's mouth as the other removed the earpiece. The younger man tensed.

"Bon soir, Iceman," Remy quietly intoned, deliberately using the code name of the boy wearing the black leather uniform. And they said Xavier was such a virtuous man, but how virtuous could an old man be by dressing young men and women in tight leather? An all-American boy in black leather no less. Laws be damned B wait, the records said the boy was legal, no? ah, but well. There was something to say about experience. Still, Remy found himself almost tempted. Instead, he whispered, "To catch a thief?"

Iceman nodded once, dejection and shame settling across his shoulders. Gambit only waited, waited for the other mutant to use his powers or at least attempt to fight back. The boy didn't. Gambit sighed inwardly.

"Where's Logan?" Gambit breathed the question, lips brushing the shell of the boy's ear.

The younger man flinched, then gave a hard shake of the head. He wasn't going to give up that bit of information so freely.

"You sure, mon ami? The rules? They say Gambit have to tie you up." This time the shiver ran all the way through the boy's body. "Blindfold you." Another shiver. Gambit just couldn't resist adding, "And gag you."

Angry embarrassment flashed in the blue eyes as they locked with his. More than the boy bargained for. Much more. But he didn't say a damned thing.

Gambit laughed, a low, silky laugh that elicited tremors from his captive. "Pranking a Cajun?"

The slow nod yes.

"You forgive Gambit tomorrow, non?"

Another slow nod.

"Bien. 'Cause this is business. You understand this? This about Gambit breaking in to find weaknesses. Gambit find the weaknesses and solve them."

Another nod.

"You understand, Gambit never betray you." He loosened his grip across the boy's mouth, settling his fingers across those young shoulders. "The professor gave this ol'Cajun a home. Gambit never forget that. Ever."

Iceman only said, "You're an X-Man." As if that explained everything. Perhaps it did.

"Oui." There was a very long pause. The temptation was just too great. "Gambit still gonna have to tie you up. Rules, mon ami."

Those blue eyes widened.

"Blindfold you."

The gasp was unmistakable.

"And gag you."

************(((((((((((((( )))))))))))))))))************

"Frosty? Dammit! Where the hell are you?"

A low, throaty chuckle came over the line.

Damn fuck damn shit fuck damn.

"What the fuck did you do to him, Cajun?!?"

The comm link hissed dead.

Fine.

"Game on, bub."

************(((((((((((((( )))))))))))))))))************

Perhaps what made this more challenging was that Wolverine didn't follow the rule of checking teammates in distress. Gambit supposed that if it had been Iceman looking for his partner who failed to answer the comm, the boy would return to where said partner was supposed to be.

No. Wolverine was waiting for him to make his escape from the mansion.

Iceman hadn't even struggled as the cord was wound between his wrists as his hands had been bound palms-splayed against his chest. There had been anger in those blue eyes, recognition that the way he had been situated, using his powers would probably be more detrimental to himself than anything else because simply Iceman didn't know just how far-reaching his powers were.

The thief had tried to bargain with the younger man twice, using the tell-me-and-I-won't-take-this-further speech. Iceman had steadfastly refused to give up Logan, bitterness in the way his lips pursed together. Fiercely loyal, which was of course, a good sign. Gambit had kept his features carefully schooled, making sure not to show any of the mirth that he felt. He hadn't even bound his captive in a more compromising position, such as draped enticingly across Logan's bed sans some clothes. No, there had been just enough humiliation that Iceman would learn from what had happened and perhaps try much harder next time.

And, yes, there was going to be a next time.

Gambit had ghosted down the main stairwell to the second floor, exited out of the side hall window, and landed on the tree branch a few feet away. He switched on the infrared sensor and scanned his surroundings. There was no sign of Wolverine.

He leaped to the next tree and waited, hand absently gliding into his pockets as a reassurance that he still had his bo staff and playing cards if necessary. He looked around carefully again and detecting no heat signatures, he gracefully jumped to the next tree branch.

It jangled.

Loudly.

"Merde!"

A wind chime.

A possibility he hadn't even considered.

There were times for finesse and there were times to run like hell.

Gambit knew enough about Wolverine to decide it was time to run like hell.

************(((((((((((((( )))))))))))))))))************

It was the faintest of sounds, but probably to a man with Gambit's skill, it was just as effective and deafening as a fog horn.

Wolverine grinned.

Lady Luck decided to be his whore tonight.

He'd found his Cajun.

He rounded the side of the mansion, just in time to see the tall, sinewy thief dash like a madman across the frosted lawn. Wolverine popped his claws and gave chase.

He didn't howl like he wanted to. No reason to wake up the kiddies for such a private hunt.

But damn, this was exhilarating.

Gambit had the speed, but Wolverine had the endurance. That much was simple.

The ice-slicked grass did little to slow down the thief's stride. What had Slim said about the Cajun? One of the powers was his agility. Yes, sheer agility and speed, being able to move that finely-tuned body of his. No wonder he was a master thief.

Despite all that, Wolverine was gaining ground, simply because it was a good half-mile to the fifteen or so foot wall that surrounded the property. Gambit was a sprinter, Wolverine the marathon runner.

The wall.... he'd have him trapped....

************(((((((((((((( )))))))))))))))))************

Gambit had already formulated the plan of escape. He didn't worry about the logistics or physics of it. Either it worked or it didn't. There were worse things to embarrassed about than splatting oneself against a limestone wall, weren't there? And it would be Wolverine pouncing on him, someone who would actually appreciate the chase...

He could hear the footsteps pounding behind him, hard and steady and growing closer.

The grass was making it far trickier than he had initially thought; the tactician in him had underestimated its purpose. It slowed him down enough, made him hesitate slightly to allow the hunter to move in closer.

Gambit sprinted towards the wall.

He pulled out the bo staff, extended it, and planted the tip in the ground.

With a prayer to the goddess of thieves and assassins, Gambit swung his body up and vaulted over the wall, clearing it by mere inches, but clearing it all the same.

He heard the howl of frustration from the other side. The sound of metal on stone as claws scraped against the wall.

Gambit couldn't help the wild laugh that escaped from his lips as he began sprinting through the woods towards his car.

The thrill burned through his veins. The night was still young. He'd find a lovely something to satiate his post-pinch lust and spend the rest of the evening working off the adrenaline.

************(((((((((((((( )))))))))))))))))************

Damn fuck damn shit fuck damn.

The thief had escaped *without* resorting to blowing something up.

He was just that damned good.

Logan panted hard, unzipping the leather to bare his chest in the cooling night air, as he trudged away from the wall that the damned Cajun had vaulted.... fucking *vaulted*.... over. He should have remembered that trick from the first night, when Gambit had smoothly gotten out of the way of a charging Wolverine.

But what frustrated him the most, what made his body ache the most wasn't the full-out run or almost smacking into the wall. It wasn't feeling like he was a rabid dog chasing a stray cat off the property. It was the flood of lust-laced pheromones that had hit his senses in the last 15 yard dash before Gambit had vaulted over the wall.

Damn fuck damn shit fuck damn.

Drake.

Damn fuck damn shit fuck damn.

Logan wondered just what the Cajun had done to the kid. There was a sharp sense of humor running through the thief, and even a devilishly malicious streak, if one were to believe the implications from Summers.

He jogged back to the mansion, took the stairs three at a time, and yanked open his bedroom door to find...

Iceman. Tied to a chair. With a pillowcase over his head.

Okay. So it wasn't too bad. The kid still had his pants and shirt on.

"It's me," Logan grunted as the full smell of painful embarrassment hit him. He closed the door, softer this time, and then walked around to inspect the thief's handiwork.

Impressive. The kid couldn't use his powers unless he froze himself, and it was obvious that Iceman didn't want to take too many chances with his control.

He pulled the pillowcase off, noted the handkerchief gag, and glanced at the kid's eyes.

The kid was now thoroughly pissed off. Embarrassed, but pissed off all the same.

"Didn't catch him," Logan said as he tugged the cording by the kid's right shoulder and the bindings neatly fell to the floor.

Iceman immediate ripped the gag off. "I didn't even hear him come in!"

"You weren't supposed to, Frosty." Logan stripped off his own leather top and turned to toss it on the bed.

The kid's voice was now sullen. "But I failed."

Logan glanced over his shoulder. "So did I."

Drake's mouth dropped open.

"You repeat that, Iceman, and I'll kick your ass across the mansion every damned day for a week."

"You tell anyone," he shook the gag slightly to make it clear what he was referring to, and with more bravado that the older man expected, "and you'll need a microwave to drink your beer."

Logan grinned. "Good. We have an understanding." He grabbed the towel from the bedpost and wiped the sweat off his chest and neck. "We'd better get this stuff back before Cyke has a fit."

"Thought you were under orders."

"Yeah, but you know how Scooter gets about equipment being in the wrong place." He picked up the leather off the bed and the earpiece from the night stand.

"Um, Logan?"

"Yeah?"

"Gambit... he's on *our* side, right?"

"Yep."

"Good."

Logan glanced up at the determined tone. "Why's that?"

"Because we're gonna prank him back good, aren't we?"

He laughed. "Yeah, kid. Prank that Cajun good."

************(((((((((((((( End of Part 4)))))))))))))))))************