D'Ancanto

Chapter 6

"It's a right mess in here."

Marie opened her eyes. White surrounded her, endless white, very nearly camouflaging a woman dressed in tightly tailored white suit.

"Um. Who are you?"

"Emma Frost. I'm here to clean up." She crossed her arms. "But where to begin? Your baggage is quite something to behold."

"Thanks."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"I caught that from the curl in your lip." Marie got up. Her bones ached. "What happened to me?"

"First, you were stuck in foetal position about to tear your hair out. When you snapped out of it, your body shifted merrily between powers. Last I checked, you were knotting metal medical equipment and setting the linens on fire."

"That's impossible. I absorbed those powers years ago. They're out of my system."

"Obviously not." Emma spun in a slow circle. "You have a good base, creating a neutral mindscape, but you don't have enough mental strength to maintain it. Not entirely your fault; living with telepaths tends to strengthen even baseline minds passively and, conversely, living apart weakens those shields."

"We have a telepath at work," said Marie.

"I'd suggest regular exercises with him or her. Meanwhile, let's see what I can do in here. Watch your step."

Squares sank under her feet, hollowing out into boxes. Emma strutted on the seams between them; Marie followed suit, minus the attitude. Some of the boxes melted together to create larger ones.

"I'm going to do this for you now but I want you to watch so you can do yourself from now on." Emma's grin imbued the sentence with innuendo. "Now where are those psyches?"

The nearest box darkened. Lumps sharpened into a large grill, steel-doored cupboards, a six-element stove top over low ovens, vegetables scattered over a marble island, a warming rack-- Emma didn't wait for the people-shaped shadows to coalesce before waving her hand over them. A translucent white sheet covered the box, trapping the memory.

One by one, Emma filled and covered the boxes, trapping memories she thought she'd lost in high school. Some never fully went into focus but they were there. They never went away. Marie didn't know whether she wanted to cry or punch a wall.

"Do this last one," Emma said. "It's quite old."

Tiny flowers sprouted on the sides of the box which melted into carpet as it reached the bottom. A white iron headboard rose up from the base, carrying with it a bed covered in pink and green striped sheets and brightly embroidered pillows. A shadow of a girl kneeled up on the bed, pointing at the wall. Her features were indistinct but her voice, unmistakable.

"--gonna to go up through the Rockies then head straight up to Alaska.," Marie's younger self proclaimed.

"Why d'you wanna do that?" asked an unseen voice. David.

"Because it would be an adventure, silly."

The shadow of teenage-Marie drew closer. Her lips came into focus.

Marie waved her hand over the little box, covering the memory just as David's whole world shrank into that one, anticipated moment.

"Well done," Emma said.

"How do I keep them that way?"

"I highly recommend regular training sessions and an end to that nasty Novomane habit." She covered her mouth. "Oh dear, did you think I'd miss that while I was sorting things out?"

"I get enough lectures from Storm, thanks," said Marie.

"While I believe power nullification is stupid, it's your life. I'm still pissed off that we can't smoke in restaurants any more. Triple the recommended dosage is a bit much, though. How much do you hate yourself?" She studied her nails. "That was a rhetorical question; I don't actually care. Let's move on. I want to see how you handle the livelier ones."

"I appreciate that so much." Sarcasm coated her words. Her next sentence held a little more trepidation. "So, you're held under the same patient-doctor confidentiality, right?"

"I'm no doctor," said Emma. "But I know the value of indebtedness. I'll keep your secret, Detective. Just know that at some point in the future, I'll come to collect."

On Day Four post-absorption, Marie returned to MacTac headquarters. While she didn't quite leave against medical advice, Dr. MacTaggert had given explicit instructions to stay away from work for the rest of the week. Gambit still hadn't awakened and while the two boys, Angelo and Julio, were conscious, they had trouble accessing their powers consistently. Marie managed to lounge at home until after lunch when Charlotte updated her on the Ziff Car case.

"We didn't get approval on the five-day search warrant for the Worthington Avent-Smythe facilities in California which I pretty much expected but the judge okayed a warrant for access to their staff list. We can at least look for the name there."

"I getcha. You're thinking Gris-Gris works for Worthington and sells Novomane on the sly to make ziff," Marie said.

"Got it in one. I've got forty-eight hours to go through the directories; I'm supposed to get access to the database by two this afternoon. So much for making it to Timmy's parent-teacher meeting."

"I'll be right over to help you out with that." She hung up before Charlotte could protest.

Her partner scolded her half-heartedly when she came in, but within ten minutes the only sound coming from their desks was key-tapping. Marie hadn't known how large Worthington Avent-Smythe was. Its two dozen health care, toiletry and cosmetic subsidiaries produced nearly everything in her bathroom. Forty-eight hours didn't feel like enough time. Charlotte disappeared for two hours in the evening for the parent-teacher meeting but returned with take-out dinners.

"Any luck?"

"Nothing but I'm still in the medical facilities," said Marie. "Maybe we should cut out the cosmetics companies, or at least punt them down the bottom of the list. We need people who have access to Novomane. Cosmetics are a bit of a stretch."

"Good idea. But keep looking through packaging and shipping, too. It'd be just as easy to 'lose' a box of rejected meds in a delivery van as it is in the lab."

"What about military contracts?"

"With pharma?"

"One of my snitches told me about military-funded drug experiments back in the day."

"Like the LSD, ESP stuff that the conspiracy nutcases yell about?"

"Yeah, only with powers." Marie scrolled through the company's digital folders, "He said there was a project that started in World War II, looking to make super soldiers."

Charlotte rubbed her face and around her neck. "Girl, something like that if it's true is probably buried so hard googling it is gonna get the CIA at your door."

"Maybe on the government end, yeah. But what about private businesses?"

"Yeah, you keep shining, crazy diamond. Me, I'm officially scraping the barrel and looking through the C's in case we're not hearing the name right."

But searching the staff directories into the night produced no true productive leads, just a few names that might be Griegry or Gris-Gris if the name was typed on a broken keyboard at midnight during a blackout. Marie's back popped as she finally stood up and out of her desk. Her eyelids gritted against her eyes every time she blinked sleep away.

"I quit," Marie said, extending her arms far over her head to stretch out more kinks, only to collapse back into her chair.

"Promises, promises," said Charlotte. "I can't believe we're doing this again tomorrow."

Megs more data spread over several external drives threatened Marie's sanity; she clicked lackadaisically at the next one on the list. Another file lower down on the browser, titled "board of directors," caught her eye. She clicked that one open.

"Face it, it's looking like one of those cases we're gonna shelf for a week or five until something else pops up," Charlotte continued.

Nothing of worth there but Marie's gut told her to keep going. She followed the link to the previous year's board. And the year before. And the year before that all the way to six years ago. "Jackpot."

Charlotte leaned over Marie's shoulder. "Dr. Simon Trask, member of the board, former regional head of R&D in New Jersey. This is supposed to be significant."

"Trask is the guy--" Marie stopped. If she told Charlotte about Gambit's previous visits and what he wanted her to do, she'd hit the roof. Not only because of the meetings' highly illegal nature but also because Charlotte was Charlotte. She was Marie's mentor the same as Logan. She'd react to this secret probably in the same way but with a louder, more extensive vocabulary. "When I called all you guys out on the street to help arrest Gambit, it wasn't the first time I met him."

Charlotte raised both her brows then leaned back, arms crossed.

"He's broken in my place twice. He wanted me to... He has this crazy idea that I'd be willing to kill Simon Trask for the right price. So he broke in to try to hire me to assassinate him. When that didn't work, he tried to blackmail me, too."

"And you didn't call it in?"

"That's why they call it blackmail!" Marie snapped. Calmer, she added, "I was going to. I had him voice recorded and everything for evidence. But we got busy. And he didn't show up for a few days. I figured I had time or he'd lost interest."

"Blackmailers don't work that way."

"I know. I just... it's different when it's you. Anyway, what're the chances that the guy some super-gang wants me to assassinate is also connected to our ziff drug ring?"

"We need dirt on the good Senator," said Charlotte. "Interesting as this is though, we're both going home and getting some rest."

"But--"

"I admire your dedication, young padawan, but we aren't getting paid and we've already lost half our minds. Go home, get some sleep, and I expect you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning."

"I'm not sure what a padawan is but it doesn't sound good," Marie muttered. "And besides, aren't I in charge of the case. I don't have to sleep if I don't want to even if I could. Did that make sense?"

"Not even remotely." She paused. "Is it your mutation? The voices and all that?"

"I'm good. I got it fixed. Not my actual mutation--" she explained, seeing Charlotte's gaze dart to her gloved hands-- "but the psyches are under control."

"That guy was blackmailing you about your powers, wasn't he? Don't look so surprised; I have been at this longer than you. You're a pretty open person but you don't talk about your mutation unless someone pushes you like Everett in his idiot mode. If you had a deep dark secret, that would be it."

Marie made a noncommittal noise.

"Are your powers back for good?"

"I don't know."

Charlotte studied her the same way she did suspects. "Even if it is, you wouldn't let it affect the job. You're a lifer, like me. You like the stress too much."

Marie laughed. "This is painfully true. But like you said, it's late and we gotta be here for more sexy police work in the morning like data entry and number crunching."

"That was an awful way to change the subject."

"I know. I'm tired is all. I'll do better next time."

"You better. I'm freakin' embarrassed for you, rookie."

They left the office arm-in-arm. Charlotte, Marie noted with relief, didn't hesitate this time.

She called Boston as soon as she got home. Warren answered with a distracted, "Worthington."

"It's Detective D'Ancanto. From Mutant Crimes in New York."

"Yeah? Oh, yes! Marie, hi." Muffled noises suggested he had company.

"Is this a bad time?" Marie asked.

"No, I can talk. Let me just go into my office." More shuffling and the sound of a tumblers clicking shut. The outside noises ceased. "I had a few colleagues over for dinner but they're all out the door now. How can I help you, Detective?"

"I have a few questions regarding Worthington Avent-Smythe's board of directors."

"Am I on the record?"

"Yes. It has something to do with my main case." To encourage his cooperation, she added, "I have more information on the Guild as well."

"Fire away then."

"Is it true Simon Trask was a member of the company six years ago?"

"Yes," replied Warren. "He was the director of R&D for a long time. I remember him even from when I was a kid; I stayed at the office a lot."

As a guinea pig, Marie guessed. "Did he leave on good terms?"

"I believe so. I haven't heard otherwise anyway and my dad's usually pretty good at complaining. I kind of got the idea of running for mayor from him. If he could do it, I had a chance."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing too ominous," Warren said, chuckling lightly. "Just the fact that he didn't have a political background. He got involved in more civic organizations later in his career to ease his way into politics. If I recall correctly, he left the company because he'd been hired as a councilman in New Jersey. One of his steps. Simon always had steps."

"You sound like you know him well."

"My dad likes to entertain his people. Managers and directors were like family, especially fellow scientists. They always--" Abruptly, he said, "Look, maybe we should continue this at MacTac headquarters tomorrow with my lawyer present."

"You're not a suspect, Warren."

"I know but I can't risk anything I say or do being turned against me," he said lightly. "Not as the Good Little Mutant Posterboy. No offence meant, Detective."

"None taken, Mr. Mayor. I can reserve a conference room for the end of this week or early next week."

"I'll get my assistant to confirm the time. We can grab a bite to eat afterwards in a less professional setting."

Marie swallowed a cough. "Well. Um, thanks."

"I hope I wasn't... I mean, I do think you're quite..." He chuckled softly. "I think you're damn impressive. And beautiful. So, yes, Marie, I'm asking you out to dinner."

She had to cough again. "That's really nice of you, Warren--"

"Oh, man, not 'nice.' Anything but that word."

"But you're a possible witness in an open case. I can't have anything but a professional relationship with you, especially if you're that concerned about your posterboy status."

With a final, nervous chuckle, he said, "You really are something. Brilliant, beautiful and ethical to a fault."

Guilt burned in Marie's stomach. "If I was as ethical as that, I wouldn't be offering you more information on the Guild."

"I'm not without my own charms, Detective."

"We have a few people we can question about the Guild. From what we've gathered--" or rather, what she had gleaned from Gambit's psyche-- "they aren't as large as rumours indicate. We're pretty sure their territory only runs on the east and south-east right now. Where did you hear about them again?" she asked.

"Here and there. Urban legends around the office. Funny how fifty years ago, mutants were an urban legend, right?"

"True."

"Well, if we can't have dinner, let me at least offer a cup of coffee when I come over," Warren said. "I hope what I know helps."

"I hope your lawyer lets you help," said Marie. She hung up, a niggle in the back of her mind keeping her restless. Linking the phone to her laptop, she uploaded the conversation into the case files and put it on repeat.

With Warren confirmed for questioning on Monday, Marie technically had a little more breathing room in her caseload which made the weekend a good time to follow-up at the Institute. MacTaggert had called wanting to update her on her blood work. This time, when she passed by the security guard at the reception area, he just waved her through.

Marie took her time strolling down the hall to the clinic. Picture frames hung on every spare space on the walls, former patients, former students, professional portraits and small candids tucked neatly behind ivory matting. She turned to look behind her. Part of the grand staircase was still visible. Phantoms of her year here stampeded down the staircase and down the hallway to the former school rooms which she could see through the banisters if she craned her neck far enough. She traced the hardwood panelling, searching for the seam of a hidden passage way where they escaped Stryker's soldiers.

A sudden brisk wind whipped her hair around her neck. She took off a glove to feel for the goosebumps on her nape. Her neighbour with the labradoodle still went up in goosebumps at the drop of a hat for all that he was New York born and raised. Shoving the glove back on, Marie entered the clinic.

MacTaggert was in her office; her coughs announced her presence. Marie entered to see the doctor bent over her with the violence of her coughing.

"Are you all right?" Marie asked.

MacTaggert shook her hand. "I'm fine," she said, finally catching her breath. "Just a wee cold I've had on-and-off since winter. Job hazard. I glad you came so promptly."

"When your doctor says something's real important, you high-tail it."

"A lot of my patients think otherwise."

"A lot of your patients are unofficial pararescuers who like to dress in bondage gear."

MacTaggert laughed. "Actually, that's not true. I spend more time in the lab these days rather than the clinic. Poor Annie inherited the headache of taking care of them. I really should get around to grandfathering her practioner status, what with all the responsibilities she's taken over. But enough of that for now; here, step into my office."

Marie chose the plushest seat. Comfort helped cushion bad news.

"I've been studying your blood-work to try and understand the unique properties I found on your prior admission. If you recall, we found some markers that resemble ALD in the previous test. There's a new development in our research and I'd like to take more samples from you."

"I'm used to needles," said Marie, starting to roll up her sleeves.

"Actually, I'd like to take cheek swabs, hair samples and if you're amenable to borrowing some of Logan's healing, a bit of bone marrow."

Marie gaped.

"We wanted to track any changes in your system that might tell us if your body creates those ALD-like markers naturally or if it's a reaction to exposure to the virus," MacTaggert quickly explained. "We've exposed some of the present blood samples to various infective organisms such as ALD. We've washed some with differing concentrations of Novomane. We've also set up several controls where we did nothing at all. While these findings are in no way definitive, I thought you'd appreciate the update especially since we were interrupted earlier."

"Right. We were on blue squiggles and green spots."

"Correct. We've run more comparative analyses on your immune system's reaction to both ALD and Novomane, this time with a shape-shifter as a comparison in addition to a baseline. As I mentioned before, I believe you have shape-shifting components to your mutation working in conjunction with what Emma tells me is a low-level telepathic or empathic ability. Your gift is quite complex."

"Joy."

The doctor's tight smile mirrored Marie's. "Remember how your samples had blue squiggles? Those were our unknown. I'd've dismissed them as vesicles with junk material if it wasn't for the uniformity and high concentration in your system. We've also extracted DNA material from the vesicles and are decoding it right now. They're too small to be bacteria but too large to be viruses. The ALD-like markers we see in your blood seems to be a result of your immune system reacting to these unknowns. It may mean nothing; mutants don't always react to infective micro-organisms in a predictable manner."

Marie tried to translate and digest the information. "So, I have stuff in me that isn't ALD but my body's making stuff that it would make if I did have ALD. And taking Novomane may or may not be involved in this not-ALD stuff."

"More or less. Maybe."

"Am I contagious?"

"At the moment, it seems to be blood-borne only."

"Good thing my mutation requires gloves."

"I do want you to take precautions," MacTaggert said. "Until we know what it is you have, make sure anything with your blood is disposed of in a biohazard waste bin; I'll lend one to you. If you aren't close by one, just put it in a plastic bag and throw it away when you get home. Use condoms during sex and don't share hygienic material such as toothbrushes--"

"I know the rules, Doctor. I've had to give it to the girls and boys working the streets."

Moira cupped her hands. "I know this must be difficult for you. It's only temporary until we solve this puzzle."

"That's what they said about my powers."

"Drugging yourself half to heaven helped, now didn't it?"

Marie narrowed her eyes at the doctor. "You skipped the class on bed-side manner."

"Actually, I excelled in it. That's how I know the usual platitudes won't work on you." Moira looked as if she wanted to say more but an aide slammed open the door, panting as though he'd been running.

"Excuse me, Doctor, but you told me to tell you when Gambit was awake."

Manners stayed Marie for all of five minutes before she followed MacTaggert into the patient rooms at a speed. Logan and Storm reached Gambit's room at the same time. Gambit struggled to stand up out of bed despite Annie's protestations about week-long comas and syncope.

"I don't think a fall would damage his head much," said Marie.

Gambit looked up. He grinned and opened his mouth undoubtedly to snap off another smart-alecky flirtation then his gaze passed over her right shoulder to Logan. "That you, Logan? What the shit is going on, hommes?"

"I echo the sentiment if not the precise wording," said Storm. "You have been enjoying the hospitality of the Xavier Institute for the past four days, Mr. Lebeau. I hope you won't mind paying us back in kind."

"Do you accept American Express?"

"Been a while, Cajun," said Logan. "Put on some pants. I don't need to see any more of your tattooed ass. We need to talk. Doc, is he cleared to take a walk?"

"Take a wheelchair. If he becomes concussed, it'll ruin all my good work," MacTaggert said.

They unearthed a wheelchair and a pair of pyjama bottoms. Gambit didn't protest, apparently enjoying the role of invalid as Storm took it upon herself to steer the chair. They exited through the clinic's main doors, out into the smoother garden paths. To onlookers, they were just Institute staff visiting a clinic patient; Storm probably did it all the time. Her small talk certainly covered all possible bland topics-- weather, sports teams, stock markets.

Marie slowed her pace and tapped Logan's sleeve so he would do the same. When Storm and Gambit were several feet away, she asked, "Will he talk?"

Logan shook his head. "He doesn't think of the Guild like a religion like some of the people in the lower rungs. But he's loyal. I've seen him take a bullet for a fellow Thief without a second thought."

"I'm sure the money helps."

"Sure he likes the money but there's something more. He's kind of like Cyclops except without a stick up his ass."

Marie snorted. She couldn't imagine anyone more unlike Scott Summers. "All criminals rat out eventually. That whole Godfather, honour amongst thieves thing is bullshit."

"Not to Gambit. Not if he's made it as far up the Guild as you told me."

"You're the one who first taught me that everyone has weak spots."

Logan stifled his grin into a scowl. "I also said those weak spots were my claws in their gut."

"Details."

Storm turned around just then and gestured to Logan. He was at her side in five quick strides. Marie watched them communicate, more with their bodies than words. They functioned together, like her and Charlotte or Scott Summers and Dr. Grey. She never would have guessed Storm could open up enough to do that. When Scott Summers was alive, she'd been the hierarchy-type, a place for everyone and everyone in their place.

A pair of middle-schoolers ran through the garden and wrapped themselves in Storm's skirts. She laughed, kneeling to embrace them, ignoring the dirt on her hem. Logan stayed between the kids and Gambit, obviously not trusting him with their safety which was smart. If Gambit snatched one of those kids as a hostage, he was good enough to get past the gates. Marie half-jogged closer to act as back-up but half-way there, she realised she didn't have anything to worry about. Gambit's psyche threw up a memory of changing diapers and playing hide-and-seek in a grand old mansion even as she saw him grinning at the kids, his smirk softened into a genuine smile.

Warren's donation to Massachusetts Academy. The girls playing double-dutch outside the MacTac building. The kids whispering candy-sticky secrets in Storm's ear before running back to their parents. When they disappeared, hardness bracketed Gambit's mouth once again.

By the time Marie caught up, Storm was in the middle of her Institute spiel. "... worked so hard. All we have risked is for this; for the simple pleasure of running through the streets with the carelessness of a child."

"And I do appreciate it, ma'am, especially now that I'm a fellow invalid seeking help from the finest mutant-centred health-care centre," said Gambit with obvious sarcasm.

Storm threw her hands up. "You may think Trask's life is worth very little but I can guarantee the opposite as soon as your people kill him. His message will very quickly move from fringe to forefront and those who weren't his followers will just as quickly turn him into a saint. You spent time as a mere thing for being a mutant; would risk that for the rest of the nation?"

Gambit appeared to contemplate her words, his brows furrowed. Then he grinned. "You're cute when you're sanctimonious, cherie."

Storm's eyes clouded over. Logan quickly inserted himself between her and their primary witness. "Let me talk to him," he said.

"No, I'll do it," said Marie. "Whatever he tells you has a price. You can't get Xavier's wrapped up in that."

Logan eyed her expression. "Your price tag ain't lower."

"I disagree." She took up the handles on the wheelchair. "Go on back to the mansion. Mr. Lebeau and I are going to have a talk by the lake for about an hour."

"Promises, promises," Gambit drawled.

Marie didn't reply to the jibe. Considering her half-formed plan, she needed to gather her courage. No, courage wasn't quite the right word for it; more like she had to shed her personality and tamp down the fear that she couldn't take this back.

The boathouse stood at the end of a well-maintained flagstone path, a ten-minute walk from the mansion through the Italian Renaissance garden and a thinned section of forest. The last time she was here, she'd been helping Scott Summers clear the main floor out. He and Dr. Grey were going to convert it into their own house so they could have a short commute to work without sacrificing their privacy. Marie pushed Gambit's wheelchair to the front door.

"Come on upstairs," she said and turned her back to him to enter the building.

To her amazement and relief, he obeyed.

Kayaks, oars and life vests hung in ordered columns in a semi-covered area that was once a large porch. What should have been the kitchen-dining-living room now stored bicycles and camping equipment. Further down the hallway, the laundry room and second bathroom were now men's and women's showers and toilets. The staircase bisected them; Marie led the way to the second floor. According to the Institute maps, the rooms up here were still bedrooms. She opened the door to what would have been the Grey-Summers study. A twin bed took up most of the far wall near the window. A Shaker wardrobe stood at the opposite wall. A carved night-stand, a telephone, a ceiling light and a shelf of old paperbacks finished off the décor.

She gestured to the bed. "Have a seat."

"I feel like I should have some synthesizers going," said Gambit. But he sat, that salacious smile having never left his face since the mansion. "You gonna fuck information out of me, Detective? I knew MacTac made adjustments to the standard NYPd protocol but I didn't know that was part of it. Might have to rethink my position on the boys and girls in blue."

"I don't know how much you've overheard about my powers. I have a piece of you in my head now, a piece from deep down inside that can't lie. I know how you cried for your daddy after the days in the lab started blending together and you truly thought you'd never get out. I know what you stole back from the Guggenheim for Sheik Al-Aziz. I know the designs you stole for a certain company in Cupertino two years ago. Guild structure's a little more hazy but I'm sure I can piece it together from everything else floating around in my head. I got a lot of things."

"You'd have a heck of a time proving your little fairy tale, sha."

"Maybe. But maybe I don't have to prove anything." Marie pushed off the wall, shedding her sweater. "Maybe all I gotta do is knock you out again, book you for a night's stay at MacTac. The legendary Gambit, who's like this--" she crossed her index and middle finger--" with the Queen of the Guild. You get the red carpet wherever you go based on reputation alone. What do you think'll happen to that reputation once you have a record? They're going to say you're old, Gambit. Old and losing your touch. I'm sure there's at least one sweet young thing nipping at your heels, wanting to knock you off the throne. And until now, you came out on top, a combination of skills, chutzpah and sheer dumb luck. When they hear you been caught--"

She let the thought dangle, a smile playing at the corner of her lips.

"You're playing a game I perfected when you was in pigtails," said Gambit.

"Don't make it any less true. I've got my phone right here; I could take your picture and some prints and send them off to MacTac. Give me five seconds of skin-to-skin contact and I could knock you silly enough to slow you down."

"You hate your powers."

"But I can't deny they're useful. They're also much easier on all parties if the person I'm absorbing is willing."

"You wanna touch me, honeylamb?" He shifted back so that his back rested on the wall, spread his legs to straddle the bed so his hips angled up, and crossed his arms behind his head. "Rock and roll."

Marie pulled off her gloves. "The Remy Lebeau floating around my brain also says you can function outside the criminal barter system. You can't be guilted into the usual moral debates or threatened with violence but you have your own stances. You respect money and favours but not to the point where they become your whole world. I'm willing to bet you've never raped anyone or made any contracts that required selling people." A memory flitted to the surface. "You beat a man to death, you half dead yourself, to save two kids from an assassination. One that you put together."

The muscles at his temples tightened. His nostrils flared a smidge. The nonchalant bonelessness evaporated from his posture for half a second, just long enough for Rogue to catch him about to lie.

"You got some good in you, Remy Lebeau. A tiny, bitty droplet of good."

"And you're using it up with all your talk."

"Fine then, here's the deal. You willingly let me absorb the information you can't talk about out loud and I don't officially arrest you. We get the information we need, I don't get the headache of absorbing someone unwilling, and you don't lose your reputation."

"Seems like an uneven trade," said Gambit. "You ain't such a big prize that I'd be willing to give that kind of information up."

"But I am. 'Cause I'm going to owe you." Marie dropped the other glove. "I, Marie D'Ancanto, of the Mutant Crimes Task Force and close associate of Xavier's Institute, the single most influential mutant community representative in the whole world, is going to owe Gambit a favour. How's that sound?"

He licked his lips. "Carte blanche?"

"Please, do I look that stupid? For carte blanche, I better get gold-star membership into the Guild and access to the heated pool. I don't kill and I don't do things that would lead to people getting dead."

"Fair enough. And all you want is the stuff of Simon Trask."

"That's it. I couldn't care less about the rest of your sordid past. This time."

Gambit shrugged. "I guess we got us a deal." He held his hand out but Marie shook her head.

"I gotta make sure you really are willing. Close the book, sugar, you're gonna get flies in there." She tapped one of his knees.

Bemused, Gambit pulled his legs up on the bed. "I am beginning to love this deal."

"Yeah? Wait until it hits you." She straddled the bed as well and placed his hands on her waist. A muscle on his right temple tensed at the proximity. He curled his fingers around her waist, hefting the softness of her hips, then ran his hands up over her shirt until his thumbs rested on the underside of her breasts. A test. She leaned forward until her forearms rested on his shoulders. "You ready?"

"Since the moment I started casing you."

"That is... really damn creepy."

He laughed. "Just get it over with and kiss me, Detective. You got the whole mutant population to save."

"Kiss you?" Marie made a face. "You're already copping a feel. Don't be greedy." She cupped his face with both hands.

Simon Trask stared out from his photograph past Remy's left shoulder, as though he felt the camera's eye watching. He flipped through the files: a resume, company newsletters, email print-outs, newspaper articles. He opened another file, this one embossed with the CPP logo. Inside, a welcome letter from Trask with the organization's manifesto, another newsletter featuring happy upper-middle class professionals and salt-of-the-earth blue-collar families, a donation slip, a business card, all boastingly printed on 100% acid-free, recycled paper using natural inks and--

Marie pressed her fingers around Gambit's grimace. "Give me something to work with, dammit."

He grabbed her hands, palms grinding against her knuckles. Together they pressed harder.

-- the little ones ran about, laughing like kids should. He tried to think about the upgrades he could make to his place, to several of his places, and maybe that Takashi Murakami he'd had his eye on for a while. But, damn, these people worked helped street kids. Shit, shit, shi--

Gasping, Marie released, throwing herself away. Gambit slithered off the bed, pale, his breathing shallow. She caught him just before his head cracked on the table. The movement roused him and he scrabbled at her shoulders, too weak to really grab hold. She pushed him back on the bed.

"You okay?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Good." Marie exhaled. Grabbing the nearest chair, she flopped down on it, resting her head back against the wall. She had to stay conscious. She couldn't let this absorption take over. The white boxes in her mind rose around Gambit's memories, trapping them until she could sort it out later. Much later. After a nice bath and a beer.

"Sha?"

"Hmm?"

"Was that as good for you as it was for me?"

Marie chuckled. Then she kicked him in the nuts.