Chapter Text
Hiding behind her glasses, Dr. Frost looked at her clients, and she kept waiting, trying to be patient. They sat on the couch in front of her, building this awkward silence in the room, with two kinds of completely different poses and styles. In some certain strange way, that’s almost a kind of privity actually.
Then one of them gave up the impasse finally. Dr. Frost turn to the right for the young man, who gave back an overly sweet smile at her immediately.
"All right, I'll go first, " he said with a hint of southern descent, and made it sound like flirting unconsciously.
"Remy Lebeau, madam, at your service. That guy over there is James Howlett, my dear husband. "
His husband, the veteran who had been sitting stiffly with his arms around his chest in a cold, defensive posture finally expressed his disgust: "A waste of time. "
"It's like the annual inspection of a car. Be patient, mon cher. " His young Lover lean over to comfort him, then turned to Frost.
"You see, doc, there's nothing wrong with our marriage, and James feels the same way. He’s not a man with good temper, not mention patience. But he's not that bad. "
The husband of the young Frenchman didn’t argue anymore.
"On a scale of one to ten, what would your marriage be? "
The younger one heard the question, as if he had found a new game. Turning his head, and even leaning his body to the other side, he gave his husband a light tap on the shoulder.
"Ready? "
The veteran did not lower his arms, but visibly, he had relaxed the tense posture. He gave a short, sarcastic, noncommittal sneer, "Ha. "
His young husband looked back at Frost with the corners of his lips raising, as if he’s been reassured. Quick as thought, they answered.
"Eight. "
"Eight. "
"How often do you have sex? -- If you don't mind me asking. "
Apparently they do. Silence. Frost got her answer. Silence means zero. The young Frenchman's flirtatious smile was frozen on his face. The very first time he had not come forward to answer her question, and his husband's frown deepened.
"What the hell is this? " His husband finally said, rudely. And he acquiesced to him.
"Tell me about the first time you met? "
The young Frenchman began with a short and accurate description of the whole scene: "It's in New Orleans, my city. Bars, casinos, a good hand. "
His husband added another information: "Five years ago. "
The smile of the younger one couldn't be more stiff: "... six years ago. "
"Five or six years ago. "
New Orleans. Five, or six years ago.
Gambit had just completed his mission. Bypassing guards, infrared, robots, and other random security measures, in 15 minutes he was able to sneak into Mr. Borya Cich the swindler 's big iron box, and took a small piece of his ill-gotten gains -- an ancient Egyptian statue, a small piece of art that his client had craved for so long. Gambit only waited until the client was desperate enough to offer him something more worthy of his reputation before he started to move, taking his time.
It was far more easier than he had expected. An unexplainable explosion distracted guards from him as he disappeared in the crowd, which made him want to kiss Lady Luck's hand.
The deal was going down on his home court later. In the middle of the night, When this big city full of bright lights, with a noisy bar and just enough time for changing a suit before Gambit settled down at the table.
The reward and the corresponding hush money were wired into his account, and Gambit, in a careless game of chance, threw the losing piece, with intended regret and surprise, and pushed the case over.
His client didn't even open the case, just nodded at him, then grabbed his loot and left Gambit alone on the table.
It was the time when everyone realized that there was a greater chaos pouring in from the outside. Whispers passing through tables, Gambit instinctively picked up a few words-- name of the former owner of the statue, and words like "assassination" and "death".
Cich's men went through the chaos, searching for single travelers. Gambit’s client, who had just take a few steps, had to step back and sat down again, kicking his case under the table. Gambit smiled, and reopened a game for him.
It was also the first time Gambit had seen HIM.
The man entered the bar a minute or two ago, just before Cich's men, asking for a beer at the counter right in front of Gambit’s table. Gambit's hands shuffled quickly as if having their own thoughts, and he whistled, scanning the stranger's tangled hair, broad shoulders, bulging muscles under the t-shirt and that tight waistline.
The sound was so light that Gambit was only meant to amuse himself, but the stranger apparently heard it, and, clutching his beer, he turned around as Cich’s men approached. The pair of fierce, troubled eyes met Gambit's flirting gaze.
Gambit raised his eyebrow and held out his hand to give the man a sign to sit down. The man sat down smoothly.
Before he could speak, Cich's men were standing at the table.
"We're in this together, gentlemen. Would you like to join us? " Asked Gambit, still looking at the man across the table, even when he began to deal.
Cich’s men whispered a few words, left quickly.
"Large blind a hundred, small blind fifty. May I deal you in? " Gambit smiled at the man and noticed that his brown eyes appeared an almost golden green in the lamplight, a color could only be seen in wineglass.
The man was clearly not a regular of casinoes, as he began to feel in his breast pocket half-jokingly: "what can I do for…uh, seventeen bucks? "
And Gambit did not even notice when his client left. He laughed at the stranger's not-funny joke, lowered his eyes before giving the answer, and raised them again: "buy the right to know my name? "
"Sounds fair. I'll bite. " the man said.
"Remy, " Gambit smiled. "Remy LeBeau."