D'Ancanto

Chapter 4

"Marie! Our perp from--whoa! Since when did you turn into a hacker?" Charlotte put her hands on her hips, eyes wide at the array of laptops and hardcopy files surrounding Marie.

"It's just two extra laptops," said Marie.

"The gearhead working on two laptops and a desktop; that's as close to hacker as you get."

"I can search faster this way."

Charlotte peered over one of the screens. "You're going hacker to look for the Guild?"

"It's a side thing."

"That's what my uncle said about the Bermuda Triangle and the next thing we all knew, he moved his whole family down to the Caribbean to follow a hunch. Now if I can drag you away from your crazy, we have a breakthrough on one of our real cases."

Marie clicked on two promising links, something about contract brokering between the Guild. "Which one?"

"Only the ones we're doing around now. The ziff case with the car we impounded and the two perps we picked up. You're failing me, rookie."

"Detective," Marie corrected with a smile even as she got up to follow Charlotte out of the main offices.

"Yeah, you detect your ass into 303. He won't talk without you in the room." She rolled her eyes.

"How come?"

"I'm a police officer and baseline. At least you only have one strike against you." Charlotte snagged a cup of coffee from the dispenser near the stairs and pocketed a handful of cream and sugar packets. "Rock-paper-scissors over who brings in the coffee."

"You bring the coffee. You're better at playing good cop. It's your maternal air."

"I will get maternal on your ass."

"Woo-hoo! Do it!" came a shout from the peanut gallery.

"And your ass is in fridge duty for a month, Ziegler!" Charlotte yelled back.

"Aw, man!"

"Maternal my ass." She handed Marie the coffee. "You're good cop. I'm bad cop."

Marie sighed as dramatically as she could muster. "Fine, I guess you do have a lot of years of experience with being badass. A lot more years. Decades, in fact."

Charlotte was still sputtering in outrage when Marie opened the door to Interrogation Room 303. "Karl Lykos? I'm Detective Marie D'Ancanto. You've already met Detective Charlotte Jones." Gently, she deposited the coffee cup to his right. "It's pretty strong but it keeps us working. I've got cream and sugar, too if you need it. Oh, and a straw."

"Thank you," said Lykos. He looked considerably less Dino-Man today; Marie wondered if his mutation was time-related self-controlled. His beak was shorter, his wings more like arm webbing and his fingers, while clawed, looked baseline human. They wrapped around the coffee cup nearly twice around; long, baseline fingers tipped with talons. Green still tinged his skin colour but the texture was less leathery. He sipped the coffee through the straw.

Charlotte tossed a file on the table then crossed her arms, impatient. "You wanted her here to babysit while you talked. So talk."

"Jusssst her," said Lykos, pointing at Marie.

"It's all right, Jones. He's cuffed," Marie said.

"He also accused you of police brutality and purposefully spreading ALD," said Charlotte.

"That was then, this is now. I can handle it, honest. If I can't, we've got security cameras and your back at the door, right?"

"Right." Charlotte leaned forward. "You do anything to mess up my partner and I make sure you go to county instead of the cushy, mutant-friendly city lock-up."

"I will be a model ccccitizen," Lykos promised. He sipped his coffee, eyes wide with attempted innocence.

"Right." Charlotte patted Marie's shoulder on the way out. "We're right outside."

Marie nodded, never taking her eyes off Lykos. She took the seat across from him as soon as the door closed. "You're looking all right. City's treating you okay?"

"Jail's jail and you know it," said Lykos. "Forearm likes it but he'sss been on the streets all hisss life. He doesssn't know better."

Marie glanced at one of the briefs from the file. Michael McCain, preferred name: Forearm. "He was born with his mutation?"

Lykos nodded. "And he'll sssob about it to anyone unlucky enough to hear. But I had a life. I was a doctor. Second year resssident, bessst in my class. I was going to sssave the world, Detective."

"And then?"

He slapped the table, his talons scoring the surface. "And then Black Tuessssday happened! I lossst it all-- my girlfriend, my job, my home. Everything! All because of thisss." He held his hands out. "And thisss." He pointed to his face. "And thisss." To the rapidly darkening green of his skin.

"Yeah. I'm sure the three domestic violence complaints had nothing to do with it," said Marie.

"The powers make me... irritable."

"Two of those were prior to Black Tuesday."

Lykos's beak shouldn't have been able to pout but he managed. "Do you want to hear about the ziff dealers or not?"

Keeping her expression bored, Marie asked, "Ziff?"

"That's what you're arresting everyone for, isn't it?" Lykos' confident tone seeped away with every word of the sentence.

"Ziff is a major problem in today's streets, Karl. Speaking of streets, your file says your street name is Sauron. Do you prefer I call you that?"

"Karl isss fine," he snapped. "Do you want drug dealing information or not?"

Marie smiled and gestured for him to continue.

"You want Griegry. Anything coming from Griegry's sssupposed to be the best. Pure stuff. Power high without the nasssstier side-effectsss."

"Is that a person or place?"

"Persson."

Marie arched her eyebrows.

Lykos withered a little more. "I'm... pretty sssure it's a perssson."

"Where does Griegry operate out of?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know." Marie clicked her tongue, tapping a quick beat on the files with a pen. "I gotta tell you, Karl, that's not a lot to go on."

"What do you mean? You have a name. You didn't have one before."

"I can tell you that I've been up to my eyeballs in everything involved with ziff for weeks now and a random name like Griegry is like a needle in a haystack. How do I know you didn't pull that out of your ass?"

"Why would I?"

"To get out of jail. Look," she threw the pen down and leaned forward to look him as straight in the eye as possible. "I get that you're not like the others in prison and I do want to help you. But with your previous record and the drug-dealing charge, you've got to give me more to work with than a name you overheard around the urinals."

Lykos' claws dug deeper on the table. "That's all I have."

Sighing, Marie said, "I'll give it a try and if anything pans out, I'll put in a good word for you. For now, lie low and maybe you can get out earlier for good behaviour."

"But... but that's not how it's supposed to work!"

"Despite what you've seen on TV, this is exactly how it works, Karl."

"No!" He banged on the table with both his hands, the chains on his cuffs clanking. Marie edged away. His beak elongated slightly, taking on a rougher texture as did his hands.

"Take it easy, Karl."

"I am!" he shouted.

Charlotte rapped at the door. "Everything okay in there?"

Marie stared Lykos down. He visibly slowed his breathing down, his eyes fluttering shut. "We're fine, Jones."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. We're sure, aren't we, Karl?"

Lykos' eyes slitted open. "Yessss. I am... sssorry, detective. For losssing my temper. I... sssupose I need some anger management classesssss."

"That's a good idea." She stood. "Let me escort you back to your room upstairs. Lunch is about to start; I'll tell them to order you a tray."

"Thank you again," he said as the doors opened and his previous escorting officers entered with keys for the chain restraints under the table. "You're a sssshining beacon of our kind."

"Don't push it, Lykos." Marie handed the file to Charlotte, who pointed to the other chair. She wanted to stay in the room after Lykos left, probably to talk about the interrogation.

"I mean it, detective. I'm indebted to you." He grabbed her hand as he passed by, shaking it vigorously.

Bemused, Marie returned the shake. Then her arms buzzed with a pins and needles sensation, similar to the times when her Novomane dose wore out. She pulled away but Lykos held on, the boney parts of his hands digger into her hands. "Let go, Karl."

He narrowed his eyes and held on tighter. The tingling sensation increased. His guards pulled at his arms but Marie only tripped forward with him. Charlotte slammed her elbow down on Lykos' forearm. He released her right hand but kept a ridiculously good grip on the left. He didn't seem quite so pleased any more. In fact, he almost looked hurt. Almost like his veins throbbed and his energy was being drained away. Marie kicked him in the stomach. Lykos fell backwards; his guards failed to hold him up.

"What the hell was that?!" Charlotte demanded. Turning swiftly to Marie, she asked, concerned, "Let me see your hands."

Pulling away, she said, "I'm fine."

"He's got talons, Marie."

"I didn't get cut. Really, it was like arm wrestling with Ortega; all huffing and puffing."

"Then let me see."

Marie lunged away. The pins and needles had moved up to her shoulders, more like nails and screws. More nails drove into her temples. "I said, I'm fine!"

"Then why won't you let me see your goddamn arm?"

"What's your power?" Lykos interrupted. His guards pulled him away but he yelled back at her, "You mussst tell me!"

"Lock him up and forget the goddamn lunch tray!" Charlotte hollered back.

Her whole body was-- Marie shuddered. She felt blanketed in pulses of electricity but, staring at her arms, she saw nothing. She wiped her sleeves just in case.

"What is it?" Charlotte wanted to know but Marie only shook her head. "Don't fucking give me 'I'm fine' because you're freaking the hell out. What's going on, Marie?"

"I... I feel..." She felt her powers returned. Oh God. Oh God, no. "I have to go home."

"Let me take you."

"I can go."

"Shut up. I'm taking you." She swung her arm around, presumably to sling it around Marie's shoulders like she always did at the end of the shift when they had a chance to relax and kid around but Marie could only think of the throbbing in Lykos' veins and how they seemed the bulge through his skin and--

"Don't touch me!" she screamed.

Charlotte immediately backed away. Arms held up, she spoke softly and slowly, "I'm not going to hurt you, Marie. Just... just please, girl, tell me what you need."

"Gloves," she said. Was she panting? She was panting. Marie made an effort to slow her breathing down. "The nitrile ones are okay but they need to go over my skin. You can't touch my skin, okay?"

"Okay. Everett, hold out that box of gloves for Marie."

Snatching a handful out of the container, she pulled a pair on and stuffed the rest in her pockets. She touched her neck. "I should get a scarf."

"It's too hot--" Everett began but Charlotte said, "Just give the woman a damn scarf."

Marie yanked her hair down over her nape. Why did she cut it so short? Long hair covered her skin so well. Did she really think she'd escape this forever? She'd been too damn cocky. She'd grow her hair out again. The hassle of brushing and braiding would be worth the safety.

"Why don't you button your shirt all the way up for now?" suggested Charlotte. "The collar covers up a lot. Ev, you got a car. Can you drop D'Ancanto off at her place?"

"Sure," he said.

Marie realised how many people surrounded her. They'd all been watching her lose her shit completely. Great. As if her job wasn't difficult enough. "I'm fine," she repeated, hoping she sounded less hysterical this time. "I think... I think maybe I should go for a walk or... or maybe a nap or something. I don't need to go home after all."

"It's not a problem. Traffic isn't crazy around this time," said Everett.

"I'll tell the captain what happened," Charlotte said.

Marie tilted her head back, groaning quietly. "No, no, no that's the last thing I need, Jones!"

"Pulling rank; not listening to you."

Helplessly, Everett pointed to the stairs. "I'm parked just across the street."

With a defeated huff Marie left but not without one of the laptops. She still had work to do.

As soon as Everett dropped her off at home, Marie changed into a pair of jeans and a light, long-sleeved top. She couldn't keep wearing the gloves from work; blue nitrile called for attention. She'd burned all but one of her gloves during her high school graduation camping trip with Jubilee, Bobby and Pete. That one pair, the elbow-length opera gloves she'd worn one her hitch-hiking trek out of Meridian, lined the bottom of her jewellery box. Rings and chains trickled down the material as she pulled them out; some jagged gem edges caught and clung. She plucked them off, her own breath catching. The cool satin slipped over her fingers. The seams traced her tendons. Black satin absorbed tears very well.

Fortunately, the nearest Novomane clinic was in Brooklyn and only ten minutes' drive away. Marie had heard the excuse of "having a couple drinks makes me more careful" in the occasional DUI roadblock. She felt the same now, riding below the speed limit, parking in perfect parallel on the chance that an accident could reveal her skin. In the reception area, her number clenched in her fist, she read her magazine hoping she looked the opposite of how she felt. Likely not.

Two hours later, the physician's assistant finally ushered her into an examination room. "I just need a prescription refilled," Marie said.

"I'll let the doctor know."

But when the doctor arrived, he had a frown. "Marie. Is this your patient number right here?" He showed her the medical documents in his file.

"Yes, that's me."

"I'm sorry but you're capped for the next six months."

"I know but there was an accident at work. I think another mutant jack-started my powers and I don't have any doses left."

"Our records say you should have enough to last until early next year."

Marie swallowed and closed her eyes briefly. "I've been having some problems with the meds. I'm needed them more often to nullify my powers."

"That's in our records, but we did increase the dose. You're receiving the highest safe dose."

"It's not enough! When my therapy first started, I only needed a boost once a year. A couple years ago, I needed one every six months. This year, with the increased dose, I still had to take it every twelve weeks. Something's got to be going on!"

"I agree," said the doctor. "But that doesn't explain why you no longer have a six-month supply. Marie, you have to understand, this is a controlled substance for the safety of all mutant humans. I'm not saying you're doing this but there are people who buy more doses than they need then sell it on the streets or online to places like Canada where it's illegal. As such, this clinic has to be able to answer for every dose we give out; it all goes into a national database for tracking. I'm afraid there's no way to explain the amounts you're asking for."

"But someone stole mine!"

The doctor frowned. "You said you needed more because they weren't working."

"That's true. And someone stole my supply, too."

"Hmmm." The doctor scribbled on her file probably something along the lines of "WARNING: possibly a lying liar who lies." Marie's palms started to sweat and it had nothing to do with the temperature. "It says here that one of the effects of your gift is the absorption of psychic and bio-energies with medically detrimental effects on the other person. Have you touched anyone since this... accident at work?"

"No, I've been really careful." She held up her gloved hands.

"Cloth is a sufficient barrier?"

"Yeah. I used to warn people too so they wouldn't do things like touch my cheeks."

"And before the advent of Novomane, you lived with your mutation for seventeen months."

She saw where this conversation was going. "You're going to tell me to hang tight for six months, aren't you?"

"I'm sorry but yes. And even if we could give you more, your insurance won't cover it until the next fiscal year. The market value of each milligram is--"

"I know how much it'd cost," Marie snapped. She stood, slung her purse over her shoulder and held her arms close to her chest. "I'm sorry for wasting your time. Both our times."

"We have an excellent support group for--"

But Marie didn't want support. She wanted to get rid of her damned gloves again. Stalking out of the clinic was rude but she knew she'd break down again if she stayed there any longer. She wasn't a big enough ass to think that her condition required emergency doses but, dammit, this damn power would steal her life away again in paper-thin layers so subtle, she wouldn't notice until her soul rubbed raw. She couldn't live without touch again nor with the constant fear that she'd hurt someone and they'd scream at her from inside her head. Not again.

The office laptop along with her security key provided access to a database of all the controlled substances in NYPD lock-up. Marie searched the lock-up database for Novomane stores that night, covered head to toe with the fans blasting in her apartment. There weren't many dealers on the East Coast; those that existed had been lifted from out-of-towners. Still, they were there. If she looked around at One Police Plaza, no one would question her, not with her excellent work record and her current case files. There were so many things in lock-up, no one really kept track of it all. She listened into water-cooler talk. Sometimes, little things got misplaced and people turned a blind eye. Those vials of Novomane were pretty small...

Her phone rang. "D'Ancanto."

"Marie? It's Warren. Warren Worthington."

"Warren, hi! Look, I haven't gotten anything for you yet. It's been kind of a crazy few weeks."

"That's all right. I actually called because I have something for you."

"Oh?" Marie shifted on the couch. "What's up?"

"I had dinner with my dad today," he began incongruously, "Nothing official, just catching up. Funny how much better we get along when we live apart."

"Don't we all wish," said Marie, thinking of Storm.

"He told me something quite strange. Apparently, he was contacted by a member of the NYPD Forensics department regarding some substances which I assume were found at a crime scene. They didn't give him much information. Probably to protect the case, right?"

Marie opened a new browser on her laptop. "Did they tell you which lab specifically?"

Warren rattled off a serial number which Marie typed into the search engine. The NYPD database spat out a list of open cases. One of them was hers. She followed the link to the full description of the case file. It was the impounded car with the vials sewn into the passenger seat, the car possibly owned by a ziff dealer. The one that brought Lykos and his stupid powers into her life. "I called that one in to you the other day."

"I know, but Dad doesn't. He told me they needed an expert in Novomane," said Warren. "That's the reason he was on the East Coast; being one the few living creators of the drug, they wanted him to look at some samples and confirm what they were seeing."

"Which was?"

"A bastardised version of Novomane. Tweaked a little here, inserted into an inert virus there. Apparently, the design was similar to something on the company's drawing board but they dismissed the vector as too short-lived."

"I wouldn't be too surprised at a black market in Novomane-clones," said Marie. "With the caps the FDA put on the drug, it's as controlled as narcotics."

"Marie, this wasn't a clone. This is honest to God, Worthington Avent-Smythe Novomane. It's probably the third or fourth batch after the Alcatraz incident."

"How do you know?"

"Because of what Novomane is. It's DNA-- Jimmy's DNA-- slightly modified for gene therapy. The black market frankensteins the genes from different sources but this one's authentic."

"So someone in the actual company is selling Novomane."

"Yes. A highly unstable version. Whoever buys this stuff will probably nullify their powers for a short period of time, even shorter than the temporary effects of the first batch. And that's the good news. Who knows what the side-effects of the other material could be?"

"Other material?" Marie repeated.

"The serum for the drug isn't standard. I have no idea what that stuff's supposed to be for but my dad guarantees it has nothing to do with Novomane's effects."

"Maybe it's just a preservative."

"Maybe," said Warren. "I don't want to think about the possibility that they're weaponizing that stuff again no matter how lucrative the contracts."

Marie shivered. "Lucrative huh?"

"The military funds a lot of thing. For the right price, private companies can whip up anything the public sector needs. Did you know in World War II, all the USA-based pharmaceutical companies joined the military effort to create a super soldier serum?"

"Uh-huh. And that's relevant information for..."

"A game of Trivial Pursuit, Detective."

"Right." She pursed her lips. "Neither confirm nor deny, right? Any case, I'll look into the lab results at work tomorrow. Let's catch those assholes before they hurt someone, right? Speaking of assholes, I'm sorry I don't have anything solid for you about the Guild. Unless they're involved in this."

The other end of the line went quiet.

"Warren?"

"You may be onto something."

Marie exhaled. "I was joking."

"What other organization would be powerful enough to steal a highly guarded, highly controlled substance and modify it for street use?"

"It didn't take a genius to come up with cough syrup abuse, Mr. Mayor. But really, thanks for helping us process that sample," she added to soften her sarcasm. "That kind of information will narrow things down."

"Are you going to investigate Worthington Avent-Smythe?"

Marie didn't answer.

"Of course you are." She could imagine him running a hand through that pretty blond hair of his. "If they cooperate, will you keep the name off the record?"

"Warren, I can't discuss all the details of an investigation with you."

"I gave you the info!"

"That makes you an informant not a cop. Look, I'll pour everything else that I have into this Guild business, how about that?"

"I guess that's as good as I'm going to get," said Warren. "It's just that... he's still my dad, y'know?"

"I know," said Marie, thinking back on Bobby sobbing in the morgue while Johnny laughed gruesomely at them both.

Nitrile gloves were best for work, Marie decided the next morning. They were everywhere, thus easy to replace, and thin enough for her to do work properly. Sure, her myriad of gloves provided a façade of fashion in high school but a cop couldn't worry too much about looking pretty. She clipped her hair away from her face but left it otherwise loose around her neck. Scarves at work made it too easy for a perp to strangle her so hair would have to do.

They did stare when she came in but, she told herself, at least half of those stares were because of her meltdown, not her powers. Her workmates had never seen her absorb anyone. They hadn't developed the habit of recoiling when she passed by. Not yet. Marie smoothed the gloves over her hands. She didn't have seams. How strange not to feel seams.

"You had a two-day leave," said Charlotte.

"I only needed one," Marie replied.

"You didn't even take that. That was half a day at most."

"I'd've gone crazier at home. I need to work." She flopped on her chair. "Give me work."

Charlotte threw a stapled document to her side of the desk "I have five pages of phone numbers for following-up on possibly mutant-aided burglaries around District X. Enjoy."

"Aren't we expecting lab results about those vials we found in the car?"

"Right here." Charlotte waved at a much thicker stack. "Just came through. You bribe someone in the lab?"

"I'm just that awesome. Let's have a look." Marie came around the desk to peer over Charlotte's shoulder. The first three pages listed chemicals found in the vials from highest to lowest concentration. A fourth, unprinted page, contained a spectral analysis of these concentrations on a colour-coded waveform graph.

"I feel like I've seen this pattern before," said Charlotte.

Marie nodded, tapping her chin.

"Let me bring up the usual suspects and if we can't figure it out, I'll call down to the lab for a comparative analysis against any substance with high concentrations of--"

"Ziff!"

Charlotte blinked at her.

"It kind of looks like ziff," Marie repeated. "I remember from the briefing we had after the fire. One of the slides was a spectral analysis of ziff components and I'm positive it matches this. Or at least comes real close."

"You were awake for that?" But Charlotte had already brought up her copy of the presentation. In a few moments, she had captured the graph from their mystery vial analysis and superimposed it on the presentation's graph.

"It's not a perfect match," said Marie, disappointed. "The concentrations on these trace materials are totally off."

"But these high concentrations look close enough that I want to ask for a comparative analysis anyway. Just in case." Charlotte elbowed Marie's waist. "If you're gonna lead a case, you gotta have more faith in your gut feelings, rookie. That is what we're investigating these guys for."

"So maybe Lykos wasn't bullshitting us with that Griegry guy. I'll start a name search on-- hey, do you think we can do a fingerprint residue analysis on the vials?"

Charlotte grinned. "That's what I'm talking about, D'Ancanto. You said there was, what, three dozen vials in that car?"

"Forty. Dusted and bagged in lock-up but only four of them had any prints and they weren't enough to be searchable on IAFIS."

"We could still look for trace components in their system. Shit, does ziff even leave trace?"

"The worst they can say is no, right?" Marie returned Charlotte's grin, last night's worries momentarily forgotten. "As to the major component, my contact told me that this Novomane is legit. Discard from Worthington Avent-Smythe. One of the manufacturing facilities is just down in Jersey."

Charlotte whistled. "Stolen."

"But is it an inside job or not?"

"Only one way to find out."

"One warrant, coming up." Marie pulled one up from the files and started to fill it in. "So here's what I think: At some point in creating Novomane, the folks at Worthington figure out how to give powers instead of take it away. That has a lot of military uses but no-one was paying at the time. Everyone was anti-mutant so it was risky. When mutants became trendy, someone else steals the anti-Novomane, mixes it up with whatever they can find in the medicine cabinet and has a ball. You get powers and a high."

"Sounds like something we can prove," said Charlotte. "Send the warrant with our report so far and we're golden."

"Think we'll get approved?"

"For what we're asking? Hell no. But even a partial's good enough for now. Any evidence we can scrape up might convince the judge to change his mind."

As she took her seat, Marie commented, "You'd think people that smart would find ways to be productive members of society."

"At fifty dollars for a strip of three, they made the correct financial choice. They don't even get taxed on the income."

"Ha, ha. You kiss your boy with that cynicism?"

"This coming from the woman who rolls her eyes at every Xavier Institute commercial."

"They're dumb commercials."

"Your face is a dumb commercial."

Marie stuck her tongue out at Charlotte. She retaliated by throwing an pen cap at Marie's head. The eraser bounced and landed in Ziegler's coffee. Ziegler fished the cap out and lobbed it carelessly yet somehow unerringly into a nearby pen holder. Thus began MacTac's first basketcap game.

#

Most of the high wore off by lunch, when they'd done all the calls possible in that first half hour. For now, the Mystery Vial case was a waiting game until their leads called in. The rest of morning shift comprised of phone and email follow-ups and consultation briefs from other precincts suspecting mutant-related crimes. Desperate to get some life back, Marie offered to run down the street for take-out.

"I prefer the gyros over in Queens. You want authentic, you got it there."

Marie paused briefly, recognizing Gambit's voice. She walked away as though uninterested, taking information in all the while. He had drawn away from a gaggle of double-dutchers and their admirers. A nondescript, late model sedan slowed down a touch as it passed. Across the street, a woman in an oversized jacket suddenly stuck her hands in her pockets.

Gambit fell in step with her. "The good senator's on his way up here for a conference. Seems like a good time to get things rolling 'specially considering the little hiccough in your life." He snapped the edge of her glove.

"You got rock solid ones to be bothering me two blocks from the police station," she snarled at him.

"Sha, I am that good. And also," he added in response to her snort, "that sure you'll take the contract. You heard the man. He wants to make it illegal to be a mutant."

"You don't strike me as the type of person who'd be willing to kill for your beliefs. If you even have beliefs."

"Damn, you got me pegged. What're you, some kind of detective?"

Marie rolled her eyes. The station was across the street. Hopefully, he'd be too busy being pleased with himself to notice. "I'm sure there are people out there more willing than me to do the job. Why don't you look for them?"

"You're special, sha."

"You realise at your age, pick-up lines stop being sexual harassment and just become pathetic."

"I mean it." He placed a hand on her forearm, not rough, not tugging. Almost friendly. "Listen, I went to you before other people did. People who won't be as nice about asking."

Disconcerted, Rogue didn't pull away. She stopped to face him fully, as fully as she could when he had a fedora and a pair of shades on. "You break into my place twice, try to blackmail me and now you're supposed to be my friend?"

"I wouldn't go so far as that, Detective. I am many things but I got no interest in unnecessary bloodshed."

"Barring assassination attempts."

"I said 'unnecessary' bloodshed. Tell you what; you do this for me, I give you payment and your medicine back."

"And if I refuse and arrest you right now?"

"That any way to treat a friend?"

Marie turned to walk away. This time, Gambit stayed in his place. "You walk now, the whole NYPD finds out you been nicking black market Cure."

"You'll have a tough time proving it since I haven't done that."

"Easy as planting a gun at the crime scene, Detective."

He could do it; he broke into her apartment easily enough. Sweat dampened Marie's armpits and spine. She could lose so damn much because of this goddamn man but before she had time to change her mind, three plain-clothes officers melted out of the crowd and surrounded him, holsters unbuttoned and it was too late. Things were in motion.

Marie held up her phone as a bluff. "Thanks for telling the whole station about it. You're under arrest for conspiracy to murder, attempt to extort an officer of the law, fashion faux-pas, unlawful trespass, breaking and entering, stalking, and whatever else I can hit you with, asswipe."

Gambit eyed the men surrounding him. "You got me. You're as good as I hear. I surrender." He held up his hands. One of the officers immediately pulled out his cuffs and grabbed him. Marie spotted the magenta flash in Gambit's eyes a split second too late. The cuffs touched his bare wrist.

"Wait!"

He moved so quickly no one could react at first. Magenta arced around the cuffs. The officer holding it pulled back reflexively. Gambit yanked the cuffs out of his hand, increasing the explosive glow. The chain links popped, like firecrackers, and now he had two projectiles.

"He's armed!" Marie yelled. "Everyone get back!"

The remaining officers created a perimeter; one had a hand on his walkie to call back-up. It wouldn't be long in coming considering a few of their co-workers had already stuck their heads out of the windows to have a look at the commotion.

"This here? This is unnecessary bloodshed," said Gambit.

"Put the cuffs down," said Marie.

Sirens screeched from around the corner. A line of dark blue covers and button-ups inched their way down either sidewalk, some splitting away to cordon off the situation as the rest joined Marie.

Gambit held his fighting stance with the two parts of the cuffs in his hands, glowing almost white-hot with energy. "Prove me you're the wrong one for the job, sha. Let me get away again. Or prove fate right and tell them to shoot me. 'Cause I was totally lying about surrendering."

Marie glared. "Let me talk to him, guys."

The officer closest to her started but, seeing her expression, gave a slow nod. "I have your back, Detective."

She approached slowly. "You risked a lot to talk to me this time around. I guess a lot is on the line, huh?"

He cocked an eyebrow at her. The cuffs crackled.

"You're just the messenger, right? You're risking all of this 'cause the Powers That Be said you had a job to do and it's your ass if you don't do it." She inched closer. "They ask for your loyalty and they give you perks but after all these years, they still have you on their string. You're still not calling the shots. And now they've made you a fall guy for a plan that can't possibly work." Closer again. "Do I have that about right, Gambit? It doesn't have to be that way. Help me and I can help you."

"To paraphrase your own sweet self: you beat me up, you call the cops on me and now you're supposed to be my friend?" He shook his head. "I been at this at a long time, sha, since you was dandling on your daddy's knee. For all you been at that fancy school and trained for MacTac, you don't know a thing I can't get around before my second cup of coffee."

"That right?" Only four feet away now, close enough to distinguish the scant white whiskers on his jaw from the rest.

"Mais sho'."

Marie waited for the rest of his usual flirtatious come-backs. He only kept grinning. The gawkers had multiplied by a factor of ridiculous "You're not going to come quietly, are you?"

"Not unless you ask nicely."

"Please."

"Say it like you mean--" Marie cut off the rest of his taunt by covering his mouth with her bare hand.

Ten years. She knew after even a few months of no activity, muscles atrophied. Multiply that by ten years and even the bones wasted away. She'd met a few people in wheelchairs with legs vastly disproportionate to their arms from lack of use. If they suddenly regained the ability to walk again, those legs couldn't keep them up. Heck, it would probably hurt to even try.

Ten years and she had suddenly regained her powers. The professor was going to call it tactile empathic emulation, like naming it would give her control. But she was no Adam and her powers were a helluva lot wilder than any beast in Eden. It roared through her now, icy-fire coating her skin, seeping into her pores, rocketing to her brain. She'd forgotten-- how the hell could she have forgotten?-- the bigness of absorption. The double vision, the rush of memories in a barely discernible mush of senses and emotion, the shifting of her organs as new abilities seared her body, and not-so-deep-down inside, her own mental voice wailing, panicked. All of this compressed into seconds, with each passing tick of the clock increasing the onslaught.

Marie held on, frozen in a scream.

Unlike most buildings in New Orleans these days, Brasserie Les Halles in the heart of the French Quarter truly dated back to the Antebellum South. Hurricane Katrina did a fine job of messing it up but the politicians made the restaurant a figurehead in the rebuilding to the detriment of the rest of the city. It should've bothered Remy more. It did bother him but he'd blocked all that sentimentality out long ago. Job hazard, that.

He popped another itty-bitty sandwich whole into his mouth and gestured for a server to pour him another excellent cafe au lait. Information streamed upward on one side of his digital tablet; the other side played a randomized animation set to AC/DC's Highway to Hell. The tuxedo-clad server poured his cafe au lait, wiping a nonexistent droplet from the spout with a pressed linen napkin. The intimate private room kept prying eyes and ears out as well as show off the owner's impeccable collection of Norman Carlberg sculptures, most of which Remy himself had acquired for the hotel.