D'Ancanto

Chapter 8

Marie awoke to Logan chewing on the end of cigar. He glared down at her. "Why is it every time you beat the bad guys, you wind up in the clinic?"

"It's my process."

"Well, your process stinks." He stalked out, shoulders held stiff. MacTaggert stood behind him, as unimpressed but without the cigar. She flashed a light into Marie's eyeballs again.

"So, Doc, what extra-special snowflake did I become this time?"

MacTaggert's lips thinned. "I'll have to process your blood work to be sure."

"Best guess? And please just let me know; you know I'm not the type to go into hysterics at bad news."

"You'd do yourself a favour if you did," the doctor retorted. "You manifested several powers at once while seemingly absorbing energy by eye-contact not only skin-to-skin. Off the cuff, this type of super-charged mutant ability smacks of--"

"Legacy," Marie said around the burning in her chest.

"Yes. But it can't be because you don't have Legacy. I've run multiple types of tests at least twice and backwards, too, and you don't have the ALD virus. What you do have are those dang antibodies that look like they could attack ALD except when I put them in a Petri dish filled with the stuff, they float around inert. I have no idea what's going on in your body because your body has no idea what's going on after all these years you decided to friggin' bathe in Novomane and then save the world one a twice daily basis! Who the hell do you think you are, the goddamn Wolverine?!"

Marie blinked. "Only sometimes?"

Laughter cracked MacTaggert's frustration. "Lord help me, you'd think I'd be used to you folk driving me half mad with worry. You may not have ALD but you are clinically exhausted. When you can feed yourself without shaking, you can take the IV out. Until then, rest yourself up."

"I've got paperwork to do."

"Your partner's already warned the clinic against letting you near any computers."

Too tired to argue, Marie nodded. She trembled with excess energy. Or maybe plain old fear. "Christ, Storm's gonna love throwing this in my face every time I visit."

"Oh, so you'll visit now?" MacTaggert winked to take the sting from her words.

"I can't complain about the service." Then she remembered. "I need to talk to Logan again for a sec."

"No! No more working, you damn daft twit of a woman!"

"It's about the last mission."

"Oh for--" MacTaggert flipped her phone open and pressed a button. "Logan, you have five minutes to speak with Detective D'Ancanto after which she is banned from all communication devices including cups on a string and her own damn voice."

He stomped in a few minutes later, still smelling of cigars. "What?"

"I have something for you in my uniform," said Marie. "Looks to me like a security fob for wireless encryption access."

"Where'd you get it?"

"Out of Trask's pocket." She winked.

"You picked his pocket?" Logan shook his head. "Tell that Cajun to stop fucking with your head."

"I might keep him around a while. He has a lot of useful talents."

Logan only sighed and rubbed his face. He couldn't age, of course, but he looked quite old right now. Tired. Marie reached out to give his fingers a squeeze.

"Hey. I'm okay."

"Kid, you---" He covered her hand and squeezed almost hard enough to hurt. "I'm just getting sick of only seeing you during major disasters."

"Well, get this asshole and maybe we can grab a chilidog after a minor disaster."

"Yeah, yeah, big talk from someone who's gonna sleep through the heavy lifting." There might've been shininess in his eyes but Marie couldn't be sure because he had leaned down to kiss the top of her head. "Rest up."

"You'll call me when you get the asshole?"

"Marie, go to sleep!"

"All right, all right!" She rolled to her side and closed her eyes, smiling.

She slept through Trask's arrest but Charlotte filled her in using glorious technicolour.

"Whatever's on that encrypted server has the Feds, spooks and the goddamn United Nations doing the blame-him dance. Not bad for the second ever National Mutant Summit. Half the government wants to commend MacTac, the other wants to dismantle it, and every other country with a half-assed analyst put their two cents in. Timmy's gonna do a report on it for Global Studies."

"How's the captain handling it?" asked Marie.

"You know him. He's shining. You'd think he was an Oscar contender or something. FYI, if you want a raise, I'd ask for it now while you're still a hero"

"Ha. Do you think the charges'll stick?"

"The crimes against humanity stuff? Probably not. Trask's people are bargaining. If the White House protects him from international injunctions, he'll plead guilty to ties with organized crimes. Your man, Salvatorre, is a locked box though. Any ideas what'll crack him open?"

"You're not gonna get anywhere with him. He's a lifer. Worse. He's a lifer in love."

"Man, I hate those."

Marie glanced at the now-empty hospital cot across her own. "I might be able to swing something though."

After a bit of begging from MacTaggert, Marie made her way to the roof. She held her arms out on either side, picking her steps around the moss pillowed between the slate shingles until she reached the far gable where Gambit sat. He tilted his head to the right but otherwise didn't acknowledge her presence.

"You're going to break your fool neck, you know that?"

"Aw, sha, I knew you cared."

She snorted. "Moira's going to kill me if I let one of her patients die after all her hard work. What the hell are you doing here?"

"Taking in the view. Come on. Keep an old man company." He patted a spot on the roof at his left.

"I can keep you company just fine back here."

"Suit yourself." Gambit leaned back. "It's a good place, here. Room to run, place to swim, trees to climb... no end of mischief to get into."

"Ain't that the truth."

She did sit down because it felt a lot steadier than standing, but a foot or so away. Stretching her legs out a bit further for balance, she looked out into the northeast acres where the woods thickened. To the south, the setting sun stained the lake orange to match the turning leaves. A car pulled out of the Institute's small parking lot, circled around the driveway fountain, and headed out to the wrought iron gates meticulously free of Boston ivy.

"So, what'll you do now?" Marie asked.

"Don't got much choice but to lie low," replied Gambit. "Got money in places the Guild don't know about. Maybe move more out before they catch on. I think I got maybe three to six months before I gotta really dance."

"Hmmm."

He turned to cock an eyebrow at her. "I was already thinking of retiring even before you mind-whammied me."

"That right?"

"I never liked the Guild's strings. It's why I let Belle take the crown."

"I've never met a retired thief," said Marie. "At least one that ain't in jail. Or dead."

"I pride myself in being one of a kind," said Gambit.

"You and all the rest of us who used to listen to indie rock." A familiar news jingle floated up from the rec room, reminding Marie of her date with the television. "I'm going downstairs to watch Trask get his head shoved up his ass. You should come watch."

"I'm flattered by your invitation, Detective."

"Don't be. I don't want the Institute wasting more money replacing your hip."

Marie didn't make it in time for the introduction but Pete kindly rewound the newscast. The others moved around the sectional to make room but she pulled a barstool up behind the loveseat instead.

"Senator Simon Trask was taken into federal custody from his home today," said the commentator. "Senator Trask is the head of the Citizen Protect Program and one of the more controversial attendants at the Second National Mutant Summit in New York City."

"While he's in custody, I'm gonna slap him with contempt or sexual harassment on top of conspiracy against the American people, misappropriation of public funds, colluding with organized crime, and being a skeezy person," Marie said.

"With a fake tan," Jubilee added.

"A lousy fake tan. Look at it crinkle behind his knuckles."

"Probably adds to the skeezy."

"You kidding? He skeezed me at 'hello.'"

Pete hushed them, turning the television volume up. "Although the FBI has not released official information about the arrest, speculation is rampant regarding InterPol's involvement after this video was leaked on the internet. A word of warning to our viewers: the following video clip has graphic images of nudity, torture and medical procedures."

The shot changed to handheld footage of a brilliantly sterile operating room. Young men and women lay bound and insensible on multiple tables, their nude bodies partially opened to reveal cybernetic parts. Masked medical personnel scurried around them, some holding scalpels, others wrenches. More machinery hung from the ceiling.

"As you can see, Operation: Bastion is coming along nicely. The subjects anesthetised, of course, but they are conscious in order to ensure proper neural wiring. Here's one that's ready for some demonstrations."

The camera swung to the left where a young woman stood, again nude. Matte grey rectangles patched her cheeks and upper thighs. Circular ports tracked in double rows down her chest and legs. Her forearms and shins were encased in the metal. Another strip encircled her forehead leading up to a pair of what could only be antennae on her crown. Her eyes were closed but she muttered a barely audible mix of Hindi and English.

"Turn that off, will you?" the bodiless camera man requested.

The young woman's lips pressed shut.

"Okay, let's see its paces."

From the right came the command, "Sentinel, ten paces north."

The woman walked and stopped abruptly.

"Sentinel, yellow alert. Respond."

She stretched her right arm out. The metal around her forearms telescoped around her fist, forming a canon.

"Where does it reload?" asked the cameraman.

"Right now, we can fit six magazines in each gauntlet but there's superficial damage with full automatic. Division 4's looking into it."

"Good. Good. We need these ready soon."

"Hey, you can't rush genius."

"Jesus," Marie breathed. To her right, Pete had blanched. Only his cheeks and the tips of his fists remained pink. He jerked to his feet and walked out of the room. Marie had a feeling there would a tree somewhere in the forest beaten to firewood. "He's right. Fast forward through this."

Sam did as was asked. The talking head resumed her narrative. "The relationship between Senator Trask and this video has yet to be confirmed but prominent human rights groups such as the Global Elders have called for a full investigation into what has been called 'one of the sickest violations of human rights since the Nazi concentration camps.' The UN Council has announced the formation of a committee to investigate this so called Operation: Bastion--"

Sam changed to another news channel.

"-- our sources indicate that this video was taken from the office of Senator Trask himself. Trask's party has distanced themselves from the Citizen Protect Program, citing gross human rights violations and undue interference with international affairs."

"And I think that's the touchiest subject of all, Cathy. If Trask or CPP is connected to this-- and please remember this is all speculation at this point-- this is American funding of human experimentation--"

"Supposed American funding--"

"Yeah, yeah, but do you think they're adding 'supposed' to the news feeds outside of the States? We've just gotten back on track with international relations. Something like this is a PR disaster. I would not want to be Secretary of State right now and I'm telling you, if Madame Secretary wants to smooth things out, she's going to let Trask get nailed to the wall."

"I just don't see Washington just giving him up--"

Sam switched channels again. This news feed showed a huge protest outside CPP's headquarters. Mutants and humans hooked arms and sang protest songs.

Turning to Marie, he said quietly, "I think we won."

"I hope so," she replied. She turned around. Gambit stood leaning against the door jamb. Anyone else would think he was the picture of nonchalance but with his psyche crawling around her brain, Marie spotted the tells of his tension. A furrow high on his forehead. The last two fingers of his left hand curled in. Seeing her, he turned and walked away.

She followed him.

"He's going to get away with it," she called out.

His stride barely broke.

"The government's going to back him against the UN and Indian prosecution. It's the only solid we have right now. All his stuff about the Guild, that's circumstantial. Even if it's coming from my brain 'cause I can't tell anyone about you."

He paused but didn't turn around. "Why not?"

"I promised you I wouldn't," said Marie. "We had a deal."

"Keep a deal with a Guild member. And I thought you were a smart detective."

"Only in some cases." She stopped less than a foot behind him. His breathing was too loud, too ragged. "Help us. He's going to get away with this and that... that sick, twisted program's going to keep going. It'll keep taking poor kids from poor countries and setting them against kids in this country whose only fault is to be born with something a little extra."

Gambit shook his head, slowly at first then with the wildness of a dog shedding rain from his coat. "You ask too much of an old man gone too long flaunting the rules."

"I don't think so." Taking his hand, she pressed Charlotte's business card into his palm and folded his fingers around it. And she backed off. No need to push that feral dog too far. Besides, she had one last person to talk to.

"Sha?"

Marie looked back. Gambit had his hands in his pockets, his posture once again the picture of cockiness.

"I do this, you gonna sit in ol' Remy's lap again? Maybe watch some Baywatch reruns and eat nachos while we're at it?"

She made a face. "Pervert."

"Pig."

"Swamp rat!"

"Hick!" As she walked away, he called out, "This is a start of a beautiful friendship, Marie! Don't deny it!"

She flipped him the bird without looking back. If she did, he might see her grin.

#

As requested, Warren met her at the front steps leading up to her apartment building. His detail stood quite inconspicuously half a block away, one reading a paper, the other staring at his watch. "I'm ready to be amazed, Detective."

"Hold your horses, Mr. Mayor." Marie knotted a light scarf around her neck then smoothed the wrinkles out of her gloves. He gallantly opened the passenger side door and she seated herself, willing her hands to stop fidgeting.

She took him to District X and Nani's café where they ordered a box of assorted pastries and coffee. Laden with treats and two large, steaming travel mugs, Warren entered Marie's apartment. "Just put everything on the table," she invited, holding the door open.

"I've got it," he said. "Nice place."

"Thanks. And thanks for coffee. For goodness sake, put it all on the table. We're going to eat them now anyway."

"I've got to admit, this is pretty... well, let's just say, I expected to have several dinners and a half dozen lunches before you even let me walk you to the door," said Warren. "I'm trying to take this as a good sign."

"I guess I wanted to get you alone. To talk," Marie blurted out, seeing Warren arch his brows. "Alone to talk. You better sit down."

"I think I know what this is about," said Warren. "I know you're having some problems controlling your powers. If you're going to scare me off about lack of physical intimacy, I want to reassure you that I'm here with absolutely no expectations and no ulterior motive. I like you, Marie. I don't know much about you but what I do know, I'm quite frankly blown away by. I'm not looking for a commitment but neither am I looking for a fling. I'm just here, in the moment, to be with you."

Marie swirled her coffee with a cookie. He had to go on being a great guy and make this even harder than ever. "That's... That's really... Thanks."

He leaned forward, obviously expecting more of a reaction. "Okay. Why do I get the feeling that I've stuck my foot ankle-deep in my mouth?"

"No, no, it's not... That's not what I was going to talk about. I mean, it's nice of you and all but I was really going to... Crap." Taking a deep breath, she started again. "I got to thinking about who would benefit the most from Trask's arrest. Heck, from his death."

"Besides all of mutantkind?"

"Yeah. And also, who'd know all that stuff about Novomane and its components. Who has the most at stake." She pulled the cookie out. A small chunk, the tip, fell back into her cup. "It's you, Warren."

Warren furrowed his brow, adorably confused. He slid his cup around and around between his two hands. "What are you talking about?"

"For all that you and your dad disagree on mutant politics, you're still close. You always have been; yet another reason why you're a golden boy. Your dad probably told you the real reason he asked for his former best friend's resignation. He'd been skimming some of the products for personal projects, maybe even some actual cash. You knew he was part of the Worthington Avent-Smythe's weaponised Novomane plans, even way back when you first met the X-Men. But it didn't stop at the Cure cartridges. Is there any truth to the super soldier programs in the Forties, Warren? Did Trask get all those plans from your granddaddy back in the day? Maybe ziff is only a couple grams of crack away from the Operation: Bastion shit they pumped into those street people. But who cares, right? They're not Americans."

He met her eyes with a sad sort of smile, his hands cupped around his mug. "Yes, I know my dad's company has some sketchy military contracts. I told you about them. It's only one of the many reasons I don't want any part of it."

"Did you hire the hit on Trask before or after you went to bed with the Guild?"

He stilled. "What?"

"I should've known as soon as you mentioned them that something was up," said Marie. "You knew too much about the Guild. They're a cop's fairytale."

"And I told you, I got the information from Boston PD."

"No. You couldn't have." She took a sip of coffee for strength. "We keep that story close. Tight. So the rookies don't hear about it. It's not just a hazing ritual, it's a way to gauge ability. You don't give away the answer sheet to the exam. So, what the hell, Warren?"

"What the hell's with me? What the hell's with you? Why are you accusing me of these blatantly untrue, albeit incredibly imaginative, crimes?"

"I may not have hard evidence but there's enough circumstantial for me to go to my superior and start a case file. Posterboys fall fast and hard, remember? I'm not happy about this; I don't find joy in dragging people through the mud, not even when they deserve a good kick in the gut. I just want to know why, Warren. You've got so much going for you; why did you do this?" Her voices almost broke at the last sentence but Marie held Warren's gaze.

His stoicism didn't last as long as she anticipated. After a few seconds, he looked away; the fingers in his left hand trembled. "Do you know what was supposed to come after the Cure guns? Something called Operation: Zero Tolerance. Federally sanctioned gene therapy for all pregnancies that tested positive for the X-factor. They were going for abortion but it wouldn't make money and is a pretty hard sell for the pro-life contingent. Mandatory Novomane shots for all children who test positive later in life. And after that, mandatory sterilisation for all mutants. Bastion was considered less drastic."

Marie didn't respond to the comparison. Red-washed visions of concentration camps flashed through her mind; she boxed it up like Emma taught her. "And that's why you chose to side with a mutant-friendly mafia instead."

"I didn't call a hit on anyone! They already--" He bit the sentence short, flinching away. He looked so overwhelmed and for half a moment, Marie wanted to take his hand to comfort him. Then she remembered Angelo and Julio, nearly dead from ziff, and the resurging mutters against mutants because of the drug.

"They already had a hit on Trask," she finished for him. "They just wanted more information from you and your agreement to back off when they moved into Boston."

"Trask was the one giving them the rejected beta-samples of Novomane. Dad found out-- not that he was dealing with the Guild but that he'd been lifting products and falsifying records about it-- and told him to retire. I bet at least half of Trask's political start-up was from Guild deals. He's been destroying the mutant community from three fronts-- CPP for the picket fences, ziff for the streets and funding for Operation: Bastion. I didn't do anything to him that he didn't bring on himself."

"You didn't do anything to stop the Guild either, Warren. That's the problem. You have pull economically through your dad, politically through Xavier's and your job, and socially thanks to entertainment media. You could've used-- you do use all of that to help mutants and baselines. Except now you also tug strings so organized crime can cement their power. I bet they approached you, stroked your ideals and your ego--"

"You think my ego--" Warren snapped his mouth closed around the rest of the sentence. "I didn't do this lightly. I'm not going to be their puppet. I know it's not ideal but from the inside, I can manipulate their decisions--"

Marie half-rose from her hair. "Did you see what happened to Trask? You don't play with the Guild! Gambit's been in my head long enough for me to know that you'll never escape them. You'll be indebted for the rest of your life which might not be that long if they find out you're using them."

"They won't kill me. I'm too useful."

"No-one's irreplaceable. And something this dirty... this'll kill your career as good as it killed Trask's. Hell, worse! And it's wrong. It's so wrong."

Warren shrugged, his shoulders slumping. "I know. So, are you going to arrest me?"

Marie weighed the cuffs in her belt, warm from the heat of her body. She'd have to restrain his wings, too, maybe with the nylon rope in another pocket. If he tried to escape, she could always taser him. If he fell from a good height, he'd break a limb; he might even fracture one of his wings.

If he fell, the whole world would pounce on the mutant population. The Citizen Protect Program would gain support, slashing mutant rights right back down to zero. All those kids in Massachusetts Academy, heck, the ones she met every day on her beat starved for a life outside the ghetto, would lose another role model. Life wasn't anywhere near perfect right now but it was better than her childhood.

"Quit."

Warren swallowed audibly. "What?"

"Quit as mayor and I won't arrest you."

"But--"

"You say you're doing this for all mutants everywhere," she said. "Prove it. Take your power out of the equation."

"My power, as you call it, is what's going to help keep the Guild at bay."

"You don't need to be a mayor to do that. Work at Xavier's. Work at Worthington Avent-Smythe. Be a goddamn socialite, I don't fucking care just don't-- don't do that to us."

Chin dipped to touch his chest, Warren said, "I've already put a few things in motion. I can... can I just finish my term? I won't run for public office again."

"Fine." She stood up and took the five steps to her front door. By the time she opened all three locks, Warren stood behind her.

"You understand, don't you? Why I felt like I had to do this?"

She did. She honestly did. An unfair world often required grey-tinged decisions and God knew she'd made more than her share. "Good-bye, Warren."

"Good-bye, Rogue." As he walked away, his wings both touched the ceiling and trailed on the floor. She watched him wait for the elevator; he had his head tilted back and his eyes closed, his shoulders bowed under the tailored shirt and his hands in his pockets. Under the cloth, his fists clenched and opened. Only when the elevator closed did she close her door, too.

Her apartment was a mess. Marie pulled the curtains open. With overcast skies, the weak light touched a stack of books, the couch, her badge, three empties on the kitchen counter, and her old opera gloves. She gathered the gloves into a ball to start cleaning up but noises from the street drew her attention. She leaned out the window.

The neighbourhood kids had picked up a game of tag. High-pitched cheers raced up and down the road. Off to one side, a girl pulled on her friend's scaly hand. He shook his head violently; Marie didn't need to read lips to understand why a runt with spikes instead of hair and one over-sized hand wouldn't want to play with normal looking humans. As the whole mob of kids descended on the pair, she got ready to yell at them from her window. But they actually pulled the little mutant boy into the game. His friend was tagged It and the boy ran off with his new-found friends, shrieking with glee.

Marie leaned against her window and watched, her gloves forgotten.