Gambit perched on the lab's counter, one leg pulled up to his chest, a cigarette dangling unlit from his lips. He had one arm wrapped loosely around his leg. His trench, clean but battered hung open, exposing a few pockets that didn't come standard with the model. He wore jeans and a Saints tee-shirt. His sunglasses perched on top of his head, holding back the bangs that usually fell into his face. He studied the Marauders who were on the tables in front of him.
"We really goin' to be raisin' them from the dead again?" he asked his boss, the scientist commonly known as Mr. Sinister.
Sinister didn't bother to answer. "You may smoke if you like. There's nothing flammable here."
"Merci." With a minor application of power, the cigarette sprang to life. Gambit inhaled the smoke gratefully. It was hot and sharp across his tongue, which was at least sensation. "They ain't the same. Every time y' bring them back they come different."
"Of course they are not the same. I have been improving them. For instance, I'm taming down some of Scramblers more independent thoughts. He's quite the rebel." The words were almost affectionate, despite the contempt they showed for the body on the slab. Gambit wondered if he'd been brought back once. It was an explanation for why he'd stopped trying to get out of the man's employ. "No," Sinister answered the unspoken question, "I've never needed to modify you like this, old son. A little telepathic nip here and there to get you back on track. A little conditioning while you were recovering from your injuries. A much simpler process. Once I am assured of your stability, I will be modifying your healing."
Gambit shivered. He still didn't move, though the thought of leaving and roaming the world filled him with homesick longing. He missed being able to travel the world on his whim as opposed to orders. He wasn't willing to cross his boss. He thought fondly of his Tante Mattie and her stories of zombies. Maybe those stories were true. Maybe Sinister was just a bokor who'd brought him back from the dead without his own free will. He'd been sure enough close to dead when the Seattle theatre had come down on his head. He rubbed idly at a smudge of grease on the back of one hand.
"I assume the vehicles are in working order?"
"Oui, M. Essex."
"There is a stack of data entry on your desk. Have it completed by tomorrow."
Gambit nodded an acknowledgment of the order, but didn't leave. He would stay until his, what were they really? They weren't friends, except for maybe Scalphunter. They weren't teammates because they'd just as like kill him as work with him if the price was right. Co-workers perhaps. Yes, he decided, coworkers. He'd stay until they were resurrected. They wouldn't remember their deaths, but they remember everything up until the last mission. Sinister wouldn't bother to explain anything which meant they'd be looking to him to fill in the gap. He was almost used to it.
Sinister set the machines humming. "They'll be done in two hours. Join me for tea."
It wasn't a request. Gambit nodded. He hopped off of the table and followed Sinister to his office. The office was nothing like the lab. It was appointed in a rich wood mixed with state-of-the-art computer equipment and monitoring. Still, there was nothing sweet or soft in the place except the portrait of the woman who had once loved the scientist. Gambit gave her a respectful nod before settling in the chair beneath her portrait. Sinister set the steeping tea on the table and set out a selection of the cookies Gambit and Vertigo had made during some down time. "Since they were unsuccessful, I will need you to gather the information from Xavier's. They will be on high alert because of the recent attack on X-force, but that can't be helped. As soon as possible Gambit."
"Oui, M. Essex."
"Your biokinetic charge should obscure your mind enough to keep you from Xavier's watch. If you feel it is necessary, take the neural inhibitors you stole from the lab last month."
Gambit poured the tea, adding the cream to the bottom of the surprisingly delicate teacups before he did so. It was the same way his father took his tea. He wondered if that was one of the reasons Sinister allowed him to handle the Essex silver. They drank their tea quietly. Gambit was already planning his entry into the X-Men's headquarters. Only Essex and the gods knew what the other man was thinking.
"Gambit," Sinister's voice brought him back to the present. There was something akin to amusement in the man's eyes, but it wasn't real. At least, it was nothing that the thief could sense.
"Oui, M. Essex?"
"Data entry before your assignment."
The thief ducked his head in acknowledgement. "Anyt'in' else, M.?"
"No, you may go continue your sulk in the lab."
Gambit rolled his eyes, but went to wait for his co-workers to revive.
****
Scalphunter's eyes opened. He tensed, unsure why he was laying on the cold metal of the operating table. He smelled smoke. He turned his head to find the thief. Gambit was sitting cross-legged on the lab table, a laptop on his lap. A pile of cigarette butts littered the floor. A black stain of ash marred the silver edge of the table from where he was stubbing out the obviously chained smokes. "Gambit," he croaked.
The young man's head snapped up. He smiled. There was no light in his eyes though. The man who'd once been known as Old Crow hurt for the cocky teenager he'd known before they'd gotten mixed up with Sinister. The spark of humor and pleasure that had lit Remy's eyes was gone. He was like a walking dead-man. The Marauder known as Scalphunter, however, recognized what had happened. "Fill me in."
"Y'all was killt. Le docteur brought y' back. He done some stuff t' y', makin' y' better." There was an eye roll at that.
"How?" He pressed as the young man hopped off the table and brought him some water.
"Way I recon it, y' got in the way of a TK blast that crushed y' throat and chest. Scrambler was killt by a lucky blow. Arclight fell and snapped her neck. Malice and Polaris brought y' back then collapsed. Looked like a bullet-hole. I'm guessin' from Domino."
"Vertigo?"
Gambit frowned. "She's out doin' somet'in' f' the doc. She's wit' Chatton."
Scalphunter drank the water as his body returned to full functioning. He nodded. "Go on. I'll brief the rest of them."
Gambit shrugged. "Long as it ain't me on the slab, I ain't gonna worry. Y' want some dinner?"
"Chinese."
The young man gave him a flourished bow that ended with his middle finger extended. "I live t' serve."
****
"Goin' somewhere, Punk?" Victor Creed, better known as Sabretooth, growled into the thief's ear as he caught him by the scruff.
"Got a job, me."
Creed snorted. "Doc lettin' ya off yer leash?"
Gambit shrugged. "Doubt it. Probably one of his tests. Make sure whatever he done t' me takes."
Creed's thumb caressed the scar on the back of the young man's head in a parody of affection. "If ya run off, he'll have me find ya. Just remember that."
"Ain't runnin' away from home." Remy turned his head to peer up through his bangs. "What y' care anyway, homme? Ain't like I owe y' money."
"Nah. Just don't want anyone else killin' ya. I staked my claim."
"M' wife's got first rights," the younger man said carelessly. "See y', Chatton."
Creed let his claws bite into the young man's neck lightly before letting him leave. He cleaned the blood off his claws, as finicky about their neatness as a cat, enjoying the coppery taste.
****
Gambit rubbed at the stinging marks on his throat. Damn Chat's claws anyway. He slipped his bag over his head and mounted his motorcycle. He could get Sinister to open a tesseract, he assumed, but it would be better for him to have a quiet approach. At least he wasn't in the Seattle lab. He smirked, blowing the lab sky-high had been one of the few pleasures since he'd entered Essex's control. He put on his helmet, more for anonymity than safety and headed North. He'd cross over into New York from Ohio. Maybe he'd stop at his drop in Cleveland and pull some cash from his reserves.
The weather grew brisker as he closed in on the lakes. He was glad for his trench. He stopped at a shopping mall and perused the sweaters until he found a simple navy blue sweater that would fit under his coat. He paid the clerk with the cash he'd pick-pocketed on the way into the mall. He added the layer and continued on toward New York. The fall leaves swirled in the eddies his bike made, but their colors didn't excite them the way it used to. The crisp blue of the sky was wasted on him. He thought he should be upset by that realization, but he wasn't. He was just numb.
He found a small motel and took a room for a week. He tucked his things into the room, hung out the do not disturb sign and went to get the lay of Westchester. Unlike Scalphunter, he was going to need a back door. He didn't have anyone to bring him home if he were captured. That in mind, he made sure that the tracker Sinister put in his watch was destroyed. It wouldn't stop the man from finding him, but it would keep it from giving him away if the X-men were half as paranoid as they should be. He found the closest coffee-shop and the closest bookstore first. Then, he found the biggest hardware store available and went to browse. He needed to know their security layout too. Not all of his tools were specialized. Some of them he picked up on the cheap from the local hardware stores. He peered over his glasses at the price on the duct tape and shook his head. Colored duct tape was just weird.
He wandered the streets at random, smiling and nodding to the pretty girls and some of the pretty men who took the time to give him a second glance. None of them ever saw that the smile didn't reach his eyes or that he was barely paying attention to them in return. He came to Xavier's School for the Gifted by happenstance. He walked right by the front gates and on down the street, noting that there was a keycard entrance on the side and a pin entrance at the main gate. There was a camera by the door and an intercom, probably to allow guests to be let in remotely. Soon enough he was back on the tree-lined residential street that led back toward his hotel.
****
Professor Charles Xavier frowned at his second in command and son Scott Summers. "Scott, there is a new mutant in town."
"And?" Scott prompted.
"And I cannot get a fix on his location or his mind."
"Meaning?"
"He is either a telepath or there is some biological interference from his powers."
"And his powers are?"
"Unknown."
"Is there a possibility that this new presence is related to the attack on X-Factor?"
Xavier's brows rose. "That's incredibly paranoid of you. More likely it is a possible student or someone here on business."
Scott smirked at him. "Like recon, perhaps?" His voice was almost innocent, but his paranoia was genuine and understandable. His son had been attacked, after all.
"Take a small team and check out the traces."
The young man considered for a moment. "Did he walk by the campus today? Say around two o'clock?"
Xavier was startled. "Yes, I believe he did? Did the cameras pick someone up?"
"There's usually no traffic on the sidewalk. People are scared of this place. There was a young man who walked by without seeming to be aware of the school. He'd have to be new to the area. The neighbors cross the street to walk by."
The bitterness in Scott's tone was hard to take, but it was a true observation. Likely it was that which hurt most. For all Xavier's attempts to push mutant equality, people were still frightened. The local neighbors were wary of the Mansion and the destruction that had recently been rained down on the property. Finding workers willing to repair the structure was getting harder and harder. The team had taken to doing most of the work themselves. Xavier nodded. "Keep in mind that there may be no connection between the two."
A fleeting smile crossed Scott's face. "Sir, we aren't that lucky."
****
TBC