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BROTHERS AND CATS
Of course, as soon as Laura had mentioned Gambit had cats, the ragin’ Cajun jumped a lot higher on the list of Laura’s friends Gabby wanted to meet. Laura shouldn’t have been surprised. But she kind of misses Gambit too, so she’s not going to look at a gift horse in the mouth. Things are so easily arranged that she wonders why she didn’t try to reach out to her friend sooner.
She’s not exactly sure how it comes up in her weekly phone conversation with Daken, but when she mentions bus changes to go there and the fact she doesn’t like the way people tend to stare at Gabby’s scars in the transports, her brother simply answers, “I have a car. When are you going, exactly?”, still managing to sound on the verge of polite (dis)interest. It makes her feel warm and fuzzy.
OoOoOoOoO
Said day, on arriving to her friend’s building, looking up to the windows of the seventh floor, Laura reaches over Daken’s arm while he parks in order to honk. He spares her an annoyed glance, but she can tell he’s not really upset with her. She immediately spots Gambit, lured outside and waving from his balcony. It feels nice to have been expected with anticipation. She smiles even though she thinks he can’t see her through the opaque windows of the luxury car. As for Gabby, she waves back enthusiastically, leaning through the open window of the stopped car, straining her safety belt. And Laura likes to notice the Cajun’s smile only grows larger at her sister’s antics.
Gabby is untangling herself from her belt, ready to bolt outside, when she notices Daken still hasn’t made a move to leave the vehicle.
“You’re not coming?”
“Why would I?”
“You don’t want to meet Laura’s friend? He has cats!!!” She is shaking his shoulder above the driver’s seat in her elation.
“One, I’ve met him. Pretty boy and I, we don’t particularly care for one another. Two, hardly an incentive. I’m not particularly a pet lover.”
“You like Jonathan,” Laura points, neutrally, not exactly wanting to take sides. She might be a tad relieved because she has trouble to imagine Daken playing nice with Gambit, but on the other hand, it feels wasteful not to get the most of her brother’s company when he is actually here. But Daken doesn’t take kindly to be roped into things.
“I put up with Jonathan. For your sakes. Be grateful.”
“Ho, we are,” Laura serenely answers, rewarded with this confused glare Daken sometimes addresses her when he is not sure she’s making fun of him. (She totally is.)
“Won’t you be bored?” Gabby asks. It’s touching to see that though she is anxious to be gone to see the kitties, the perspective of leaving her brother alone puts a damper on her mirth.
“I have a book.” Daken’s tone is final.
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Gambit falls in love with Gabby on sight. She is a little bubble of happiness suddenly brightening his place and working his cats to a frenzy of feline fun, all the while carrying on a complete discussion with him and Laura from her spot on the plush carpet. In a lull in the conversation, he crosses gaze with Laura and sees his fondness for the girl reflected in hers.
“Mon dieu, I wish I had been able to make you look dat happy when I first met you…”
“I’m happy now,” Laura says, and it warms his heart, because she looks so certain. She was X-23, once, but she is different, now. There’s a gravitas to her, an assurance… She is unashamedly and fully herself and she is beautiful. He has a lot to catch up with.
“I think Daken is happy, too,” Gabby pipes up.
“Most of the times, I guess,” Laura allows. But Gambit sees the thoughtful frown on her face. “It’s just… he talks a lot but never says much about himself.”
“It’s OK. He’d complain if he weren’t content to wait for us down there, for example. You may not know when he’s happy, but you’d sure know if he weren’t,” Gabby remarks. One cat dangles from her claw (Lucifer), one is on her shoulder, nuzzling her earlobe (Figaro), and the last one (Oliver) is rolled into a fur ball in the hollow of her crossed legs. It doesn’t affect how serious she is while considering her brother.
Down there? What?! Perhaps Gambit has just misunderstood.
“You think?” The Cajun hears Laura ask of her sister while he’s grabbing another beer for himself and sodas for the girls from the kitchen. He takes a little detour by the balcony and throws a look to the parking. You can’t miss him, that devil. He is in plain sight.
“Why is Daken at the foot of mah building?” he inquires at large of the girls inside.
“He is our ride,” Laura answers, joining him outside.
“Right.” His dubiousness must show.
“He is my brother. Brothers do nice things for their sisters. He has driven us. Said he’d wait to bring us back home.”
“Won’t he be bored?”
Just the same as Gabby. Laura almost smiles, a hint of dimples floats on her cheeks. “He has a book,” she says, her tone light.
Gambit leans farther on the banister. Without mercy for the shine of his car, Laura’s brother is sprawled in the sun on the hood of the red Ferrari with a paperback. The picture he paints wouldn’t be amiss on a calendar (or even in a racy magazine).
“Dat he has.” Gambit can’t see which book from here. The cover his rolled in Daken’s left hand. It’s intriguing. What does a guy like Daken even read?
“So, you go for this family thing with psycho-wolvie, now, but you don’t want Remy to get more acquainted with you’ brother. Petite, Remy is hurt.”
“Fine,” Laura replies, a tad testily. “Remember you asked for it. Daken is an acquired taste.” A taste she acquired, and that’s the problem. But she doesn’t know how to explain this to Gambit.
She doesn’t want to do that. She doesn’t want to tell Daken what to do, even if it’s only this little thing. Tell Gambit how much it matters to her that Daken never feels trapped by her. He might refuse, he might simply leave, and he might never come back, just like that.
She leans forward, lightly rapping the metal of the balustrade. The sound is soft, but from afar Daken raises his gaze immediately. Eyebrow arched.
What .
Laura waves, signaling him to come to them.
Do I have to? (It’s hardly a frown, albeit a very expressive one, Gambit has to admit.)
Yes, you DO. Laura’s emphasizing gesture with her arm seems to do the trick.
Daken moves at last.
Still seated on the hood but not sprawled there anymore, Daken fixedly looks at them a bit longer, though. Gambit feels the tiniest hint of unease, there’s a tension in his lean frame, subtle but there. And the Cajun knows his body language. This disconcertingly reads a like a moment caught between fight or flight.
Laura seems to deflate a little beside him. Her hand seems to still. Falls back on the metal of the balustrade. She smiles. A sad very tiny, very soft thing. A silent:
Never mind, it’s OK.
Daken still stares in their direction. A flash of anger washes over his face, a fleeting instant, and Gambit has the feeling it’s rather directed inwards, to Daken’s own self than Laura’s. Which Gambit can understand. Had he caused that expression on Laura’s face, he’d feel like an asshole too. Daken jumps from the car, and in the same movement buries his paperback in one of the pockets of his greatcoat.
But instead of reaching for the car door, as Gambit fears he might for a second, he strides purposely towards the entrance hall of the building without sparing them another glance.
Gambit reports his attention to Laura. He catches her small relieved sigh. She looks surprised but happy. He feels a surge of fondness for her. The siblings just have had a conversation without exchanging a word. This, above everything, tells him how serious this family thing of Laura has become.
OoOoOoOoO
“Bonjour, mon ami!” And yes, Gambit might be a tad grandiloquent, bowing and all, gesturing the half-Japanese man inside, but now that Daken is here, with his cold assessing gaze, the Cajun doesn’t know exactly how to make things comfortable. And, he is the one who insisted to invite Junior inside. He’d kick himself.
“Watashi wa anata no tomodachi wa arimasen ,” Daken answers. “And it’s not very polite to address guests in a foreign language. See how that feels.”
“It’s annoying, sometimes,” Laura easily agrees with her brother but without any resentment. “When I wasn’t used to talk that much with people, I was always afraid it was my fault when I couldn’t understand you, Gambit.”
“Never thought of dat dat way, petite, Ah ‘m sorry.” The Cajun winces, realizing he is doing it again.
“But, Daken, please,” Laura continues. “Play nice. He was my brother when I had none.”
Her new brother stares intently at her. As for him, Gambit feels… floored. So moved by Laura’s claim he has no idea how to express it.
“That, I can respect,” Daken slowly says. Reluctantly. Averting his gaze suddenly.
“Yes, Daken, play nice. He’s totally your type after all,” Gabby quips.
“Remy is everybody’s type,” the Cajun preens without missing a beat. That, it’s easy.
“There’s so much wrong in this sentence,” Daken sighs. Gambit could swear Laura's brother just aborted the gesture of raising his hand to his forehead.
“Whose?” Laura inquires, quite seriously.
“Both of them’s, actually.”
“You called him a pretty boy,” Gabby argues.
“Believe me, when Gambit and I call each other pretty boy, it’s not a compliment.” Daken’s disgusted expression mirrors so much his father’s when confronted to the Cajun antics, that Gambit almost mentions it. But he thinks better of it. Mostly because he catches the moment of distraction and goes for Daken’s pocket, on the pretense of brushing past him to get to the living room, showing the way to his new guest.
Unfortunately, a grip on the verge of painful engulfs his wrist.
“Did you just try to steal my book?” One second, Daken’s eyes look feral. He doesn’t let go, crowds Gambit even more.
Gabby seizes the moment to grab the paperback from Gambit’s trapped hand for herself. “It’s in Japanese,” she announces, her curiosity disappointed. “It’s in Japanese,” she repeats, like an accusation, looking at her brother.
Daken smirks at her, all trace of anger vanished. He brandishes something brown above her head.
“Trade you. My book for Gambit’s wallet.”
To make the matter worse, rather than giving it back to him, the Cajun sees, appalled, the kid keeping the wallet and going back to sit with the cats in the living room to leaf through it. Ten seconds later, Lucifer is ripping dollar bills to shreds.
“Really, Gambit?” Laura asks, a mild frown of reproach marring her face.
Gambit groans. Mortified. That he got caught picking pockets, that he got pick-pocketed back… If his father – or the guild – ever were to hear about it…? He shudders a little.
OoOoOoOoO
Fortunately, his faux pas is soon forgotten. Laura grabs her brother’s hand to join Gabby in the living room, and the Cajun catches Daken’s startled look as he watches their entwined fingers. He doesn’t try to disengage himself though. Soon his attention is drawn elsewhere as he considers Gambit living arrangements. It’s not that the place is that huge, but the light flows in from the respectable bay windows, and the view is nice from the last story. Furniture is stark and sparse but in good taste, a few touches of a homey feeling brought by carpets and throws, all brightly colored.
There’s art here and there, a few knick-knacks of sentimental value, some pictures, of people Gambit loves, X-men mostly. Daken sneers a little but stops in front of one of them, obviously. The one of Laura, standing on a boat, hands gripping ropes, the sea bright in the background, not exactly smiling but serene, head slightly turned towards the horizon, a picture of hopefulness. A candid shot, she hadn’t known Gambit had snapped the picture on their way back from Madripoor, after their meeting with her brother. Daken resumes his tour without a comment. After righting the frame slightly.
The mutant reminds Gambit of Oliver, each time his grey cat discovers a new place. Caution and curiosity all rolled in one. His eyes seem to glide over things, but he sees everything. Laura’s little sister interrupts: Gambit has to introduce his cats again. Gabby insists to have her brother pet each of them. And gets away with it. Daken even admits that their names suit the cats well.
“Oui, everything’s better than Spot anyway.” Given the ambivalence of his feelings for Daken, Gambit is hardly surprised that a memory of something Quicksilver once mentioned when they were part of the same team at Serval resurfaced. The two men give him the exact same type of headache.
“None of your cats have spots,” Gabby remarks, scrunching her cute little nose. Gambit really, really wants to boop it. (Daken beats him to it, and the Cajun tries not to feel envious.)
“Exactly!” Gambit says.
The main piece of décor, though, which draws Daken to itself soon enough, is a huge painting hanging off a wall in majesty, characters quasi life-sized. Merlin and Nimue. Gambit loves the canvas, but its appeal is bittersweet. It’s him and Anna-Marie, in his mind; it’s her towering above him, who loves her, and can’t touch her without losing everything, all his powers, his life drained from him, like this half-lounging man looking at the love of his life taking everything from him, as he lets her.
“The Beguiling of Merlin ,” Gambit says to his guest.
“It’s beautiful.” There’s a hint of awe and surprise in Daken’s voice. He leans so close to the painting he oddly looks about to kiss Merlin’s face from the angle Gambit watches.
“A connoisseur, then,” the Cajun remarks. Not exactly surprised by that, but rather by the fact that art seems to elicit a genuine emotion from Laura’s brother. She soon joins him in front of the canvas. She had hardly taken notice of it before, but her brother’s attraction for the picture seems to intrigue her.
“Why, Remy,” Daken replies. (Gambit inwardly winces. The use of his forename sounds loaded with some kind of implication.) “Good art is actually the only thing I’m willing to pay for.” (Which I know you didn’t is implied so loudly that Gambit can’t help glancing at Laura, but she seems oblivious of the subtext.) “By Burne-Jones, yes, I’ve recognized it. It looks as good as the original, doesn’t it?” Daken adds, holding his gaze. His smile shows a hint of canine, stuck between appreciative and mocking.
The Cajun is grateful Daken doesn’t make plainer that he knows he stole the original painting to hang it in here. He is quite sure that Laura wouldn’t react better than Logan if she knew. Not that he is not a little worried that Daken is doing him a favor.
“They’re pretty but it doesn’t look like a healthy relationship,” Gabby remarks, shimmying under Laura’s arm to have a look too.
It startles a laugh out of Gambit, because it is so very true.
“You like art,” Laura tells her brother with this odd inflection of hers which makes affirmations sound like questions.
“Yes,” Daken simply humors her, face slightly bent towards hers, waiting for his sister to elaborate what she means.
“Tell me.” She sighs at Daken’s blank stare, irritated with herself, trying to reformulate better. “Tell me why you like it.” It’s plain she is not exactly sensitive to the image, but if it gets her to know her brother better… Which Daken seems to get. And he starts telling his sisters more about the painting, weaving hard facts and surprisingly smart insights on what he sees in it, his love for the subject plain to see. It makes Laura glow and enthralls Gabby. This is odd how a misanthropist like Daken can worship some very human achievements like books or art so much, Gambit muses.
A little bit later, while the sisters have gone back to entertain his cats, the Cajun catches Daken alone for a minute.
“Their security was rubbish, by the way, they didn’t deserve to keep it if they couldn’t protect it better, ” he states, realizing belatedly how much like an excuse it sounds. But it’s not less true. Sentiment surprisingly echoed by his interlocutor with an ounce of disgust like a cherry on top:
“Their security was appalling.”
“Been there?” Gambit innocently inquires.
“Apparently fucking the curator’s brain out gets you a private tour,” the other mutant matter-of-factly answers.
Gambit almost chokes on his breath; because it’s exactly how he did reconnaissance, though he would never have dared to word it in such a crude way… (As for him, he would have used the words seduction and candle-lit diner of one of the nice tour guides). Daken might be his evil me.
OoOoOoOoO
It feels oddly weird to hang with other people in his own home, and curiously, Gambit realizes how rarely he invites friends over, which is an odd moment.
His cats each are particular to one of his guests, he notices.
Oliver seems to follow Daken everywhere each time the mutant gets up from the sofa to examine whatever takes his fancy from Gambit little art collection, trying to brush past his legs. Gambit sees the moment Daken caves, more to save his pants from cat hair than anything. He puts the grey feline on his shoulder, running his fingers against the small bones of the little face. His hands are distracted but skilled, the feline’s green eyes roll in bliss in the little furry skull. Oliver’s purr gets suddenly LOUD.
“Do your pheromones work on cats too?” Laura inquires, intrigued, the same moment Gabby asks, “Are you using your pheromones on Oliver?” and she, at least, has the taste to sound shocked.
“Don’t need it. The critter is as easy as his master,” Daken says, looking back at them over the cat on his shoulder.
“Ouch,” Remy winces. Did Daken just call him a slut right under Laura’s nose? But there seems to be no real malice in the comment, just a casual teasing, the guy is actually smiling a little. “And you might sell yourself short, actually,” Remy adds with a slight frown, at that. Gambit remembers Lorna. It’s not because your guests think your cats are cute than your cats will be amenable to further socialization.
Oliver and Daken, back on the little sofa facing the bay window, are content to ignore them for a while afterwards; Daken’s book is back in plain sight. The cat is busy trying to stare this human who ignores him into submission, sometimes rubbing his head against the book’s cover, falling between endearing and obnoxious. It earns him an absent-minded caress on the forehead from time to time. They’re in their little bubble of calm, remote from them all.
Laura’s brother is not trying to be impolite, Gambit feels. He rather is letting him time to reconnect with his sister without intruding. But God forbids he would show tact in an open way, right?
“It’s either an obscure philosopher or porn,” Laura whispers in the Cajun’s ear, sitting closer beside him on the other couch, catching him looking at her brother. And Gambit almost jumps. She just got back from the kitchen where she found some snacks Gambit didn’t remember he even owned, her spoils having been dropped unceremoniously near Gabby on her way back. It’s all informal, she navigates his place as if she were in her own home and Gambit likes that. Still, he is not used to people getting the drop on him.
“If he doesn’t talk about what he’s currently reading with Gabby, it’s either philosophy or porn.” Laura solemnly nods. Gambit is pained to say he has no idea whether she is serious or pulling his leg.
Figaro, who has always been the one of his cats to like calm the best, determinedly makes his way to Laura’s knees, and she sits suddenly extremely still as he plops down on them, as if afraid to dislodge him. Her hand hovers above his fur before posing itself lightly on his narrow back. It raises and falls slightly on the rhythm of Fig’s slow breathing.
Lucifer is sticking to their youngest and is having a BLAST. He totally looks like a little demon. Gabby is running her claws on the carpet and the cat tries to jump them, half-crazed with excitation. It gets a bit rough, but neither Gabby nor the cat seems to mind.
A good chunk of the afternoon is spent just like that, looking at Gabby’s antics, chatting with Laura, acquainting himself with this new version of her. It’s quiet and intimate and wonderful. The Cajun might still have some reservations about Daken, but there’s no denying that having a family does wonder on Laura’s happiness. Gambit doesn’t want it to end.
The sisters agree to stay for diner, which overjoys Gambit even though he endeavors not to let his relief show too much. (And Daken’s indifference on the subject is as good as acquiescence.) Laura and Gabby offer to get food at the restaurant they noticed down the street on their arrival. They won’t be long.
It might be the moment when Gambit starts to panic a little; he can’t really see himself left alone with Daken. Talk about awkward. The only thing justifying them being in the same space is Laura.
“He won’t eat you,” she consolingly says. She pats him on the shoulder. “Daken likes tea,” Laura then mentions. And while the other mutant had seemed to content himself with whatever Laura and Gabby had during the afternoon, it never had occurred to Gambit to offer something more to his liking, and that irks him a little, he thought himself a better host than that. He is going to remedy to it, bon sang, and, ho, it’s a plan, something to do during the girls’ momentary leave. He hands them the keys to the building and the flat and waves them out from the balcony, then scurries to the kitchen. Daken mercifully doesn’t address a word to him while he crosses the living room.
There’s a limit, though, to the amount of time you can stretch the preparation of tea. He takes a deep breath, strides into the main room and puts the tray with teapot and all on the table. Two of his cats are curled together on the couch, soaking in the warmth left at Laura’s place. He remembers the girl rolling Fig gently off her as she stood up, not even awakening him. Lucifer, drained by his games with Gabby must have joined him soon after.
He goes to the sofa. He leans his hip on the backrest, peering down at the unlikely scene. Daken now totally reclines, his feet up on the armrest, arm thrown over his eyes. Oliver is curled on his chest. Gambit has no idea whether the other mutant is really asleep or not.
“Well, well. Look at dat. Comfy, are we?” he whispers, mostly in case Daken were actually taking a nap. “I would have thought you’d feel more wary on Remy’s territory.”
But Daken’s voice is loud and clear, and so very awake, when he answers:
“I have a hefty respect for cats. They can love you, but they never blindly trust you. If you had been aggressive, he would have felt it and reacted accordingly, giving me sufficient warning, even though he’s your cat and should know better and be confident you would be targeting me and not him.”
“Okaaaay,” Gambit says. It sure gives the cute scene a slightly different meaning. But Daken’s hand then raises itself blindly and lazily to stroke Oliver’s neck and might tell a slightly different story. Of course the bastard wouldn’t plainly admit simply enjoying the cat’s company. The Cajun almost rolls his eyes, happy Laura’s brother can’t see it. “I’ve made tea,” he gamely adds, “if you feel like to have some.”
That seems to perk Daken up, who removes his arm from his face and peers curiously at him. He is about to say something, when— The cat sitting on his chest suddenly pricks up his ears, lifts his head, his eyes drawn to the side beyond the open window, suddenly all alertness… and – it’s eerie – Daken does the exact same thing. (Minus the ears thing, Gambit inwardly amends, but the head and the eyes? Daken has it down pat.) Their focused expression is an exact match. A soft growl comes from the mutant’s throat, and the cat springs from his flesh mattress and runs out of the room. The two other cats on his heels, which is frankly quite alarming. When you live with cats, you learn not to dismiss their instinct. Daken sniffs the air… and rolls his eyes.
“Damn it,” he softly breathes out. This time, Laura’s brother throws a look at him, nodding as if he was seeing exactly what he expected to see. “Gambit, you might want to stay down. You have a red dot on your shirt.”
Gambit glances down, and it’s right there on his heart. Red dot seems hell of a lot like an understatement when it actually is the laser pointer of a rifle’s scope.
“Merde!” The Cajun unceremoniously drops behind the sofa. “What the hell!?”
“Pissed someone, lately?” Daken wonders aloud, all amused glee.
Laura’s brother has gotten up, and chancing a glance above the sofa, Gambit can see his body is framed by the picture window, a willing target.
“Are you insane?” Gambit asks.
Daken turns his face briefly to him, eyebrow arched.
“Forget I said dat’… Yes, I realize to whom I’m speakin’. What’s a little bullet with a healin’ factor, right?” These wolverines, honestly.
“I’ll have a look, see what he wants. If Laura comes back before I do and complains, tell her I’ll be back in a few.”
“What who wants!?” Gambit shouts, irate, but Daken is already gone by the window. Obviously Gambit had plotted an escape route from this place when he acquired it, and from the balcony of his penthouse you can easily reach the roofs and, from there, go almost anywhere by springing from building to building. Even reach the row of tenements looking straight at his own set of windows from afar. Quite handy, that.
Gambit hardly hesitates. The crux of the matter his, even tough there is someone with a rifle and a grudge against him out there, the Cajun has no desire to explain to Laura how he lost her brother while she was gone. He runs to the roofs after Daken.
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Damn Wolverine’s scion, Gambit grouses. He is quick. He runs the roofs like it’s nothing, making jumps without thinking over seventy feet above the ground. But of course, he wouldn’t die if he were to miss his step… The Cajun is good and knows it, but almost still loses him a few times. He has the idea the other mutant instinctively is aiming for the better place for a sniper to hit his apartment (and isn’t it a sobering thought that he could know exactly where it would be). Or maybe he has other clues.
Smell, Gambit belatedly remembers. Like his father, Daken is a bloody hound. While he, has no such luck. He has to maneuver a tad slower, and his destination is a wild guess, confirmed by glimpses of Daken’s lithe form from time to time. How Laura’s brother can stay almost invisible in the open of the roofs is a mystery.
The Cajun gets jumped right after a corner. Good news is, he has caught up with Laura’s brother. Bad news is, Gambit might be good with his staff at close range, but, one, he hasn’t got it with him, two, Daken is a skilled killer who has mastered hand to hand combat for longer than Gambit has been alive, if what he has heard about Logan’s son’s birth date is true. Gambit hasn’t even the time to reach for a card and charge it (and he can’t even say he hesitated to blow up Laura’s brother, he has no compunction at all blowing Daken up, he’d get over it), that the other mutant just like pops up from a blind angle and runs him into the ground. Two claws bury themselves in the concrete on each side of Gambit’s throat.
“Why have you followed? You’re making this complicated,” Daken hisses very close to his face, almost kneeling on his chest, more frustrated than menacing. Then again, with the position of his claws against Gambit’s jugular, Daken doesn’t have much more use for threat, right? Gambit, hands open and placating in spite of being pinned to the ground, closes his eyes a second and tries to compose himself and answer.
That’s when they hear the voice:
“You better not be encroaching on my gig, bastard. The kill is mine.”
Gambit could swear he feels all of Daken’s body deflate a little and a sigh’s warmth close to his own throat. Just as quick the other mutant tenses again, a fake smile that his interlocutor can’t see (but Gambit can) plastered on his face.
“Hello, Lester,” Daken sweetly croons without looking at the newcomer.
Gambit tries to wrench his head on the side to see and almost groans. Bullseye. A rifle is thrown on his shoulder.
Ho, non. Not again.
Apparently, this is his life. As if it weren’t enough that the mercenary had already targeted him once in the past, that he barely made it alive, and that with help.
“What are you doing here?” the hitman growls. He is addressing Daken, not his target.
“Meddling, apparently. It wasn’t intentional, I promise,” Daken answers with a lightness that Gambit feels is a bit contradicted by the pressure of the clawed fist on his throat, intimating him not to talk.
“You can’t help but be a pain in the ass anytime you show up, can you?” Bullseye comments, with minimal heat though. “At least you don’t intend to fight, you’d have stripped already.” He sounds somewhat intrigued.
“Ha, you know me so well,” Daken as good as purrs.
Gambit wisely stays still. Avoids attracting attention to himself. (It all sounds like a weird kind of banter? The Cajun can’t help but notice. Do these two know each other?)
“What’s your angle, here? You two-faced snake.”
(Or maybe not so much like banter. Still, the back and forth is easy.)
“You’re a hard man to fool, Lester, that’s why it’s so much fun to try…”
“I hate you sometimes.” Bullseye is starting to lose his patience, it seems.
“I know. Only sometimes, though? There’s improvement. I knew I’d eventually grow on you.” Daken hardly budges but turns his head and is finally looking the hitman in the eyes. There are too many teeth in his smile but it still manages to look strangely genuine. “It’s comforting, you know, that you never hated me for not being like my father but for being exactly who I am.”
Consummate liar himself, under the lightness of the tone, Gambit spots a strange component of honesty in there.
Daken retracts his claws and finally stands up. Gambit softly rubs his throat, still on his back. The Cajun is not pinned any more, sure, but not enough of a fool to try and get up.
“You can’t kill him,” Daken is telling Bullseye. “My sister, how misguided she be, likes him. Hell, both my sisters like him.”
“Thanks.” Gambit, even lying in the dirt, won’t hide he’s pleased; it’s not in his nature.
Daken glances at him, a little disgusted. Gambit shows his open hands again, and, in a gesture of good faith, makes sign he’ll shut up now, promise.
“They’re not my sisters, are they? Why should I care?” Bullseye sounds peeved. And then, “Since when do you have sisters, plural?” It’s said like the idea is horrifying, and all the same holds a lot of curiosity for him.
Daken ignores the last remark and, undeterred, keeps on. “Money? Triple your fee? Do you still use the same account?”
He is already playing with his phone, his back almost to Gambit who can only distinguish the bottom of his face.
“I have money,” the mercenary somewhat defensively answers. As if he had been insulted.
Daken starts to get irritated; Gambit can see it to the downturn of his mouth. It looks like it amuses Bullseye who visually perks up a little in turn. But then, one moment to the next, Daken’s body hardly shifts but seems to go loose all at once, a subtle rearrangement of limbs, like an invite. A very lascivious invite.
“Lester. I would make it worth for you.”
“Stop this bullshit, nancy-boy! When has it ever worked with me?” the mercenary hotly spits.
But he suddenly is lovely flushed, Gambit notes with morbid interest. And would he ever have thought he would ever put the words Bullseye and lovely together? Mon Dieu. The Cajun shivers.
“And what about my professional reputation?” Bullseye continues.
“Ho, don’t go all Cassio on me…” And Daken actually throws up his hands in frustration.
“Cassio,” Gambit says, a little thrown himself.
“It’s in Othello,” Daken says.
While “The ‘ho, my reputation, my reputation…’ speech,” Bullseye quotes, “Ring a bell?”
Both talk in a confounding chorus and not even looking at him, too busy glaring daggers at each other.
“Yes, it does actually.” Gambit rolls his eyes and declaims on the spot, a tad mocking: “ Reputation , reputation , reputation ! Oh, I have lost my reputation ! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial. My reputation , Iago, my reputation ! I've lost my reputation , the longest-living and truest part of myself! Everything else in me is just animal-like .”
Gambit takes advantage of their surprise to sit up at last. They are staring; it’s a little uncomfortable.
“What kind of heathen do you think I am? Didn’t expect The Bard barging in the conversation, is all,” Gambit defensively mutters.
If it doesn’t shed some light on this Bullseye character and how much Daken is acquainted with him to know that well how he thinks, though… And, it would make Daken Iago, which is fitting in so many many ways, Gambit contemplates, spacing out for a moment.
“I could kill your client, nobody would ever know,” Daken offers as a compromise, after a beat of silence.
“Hey! Nobody kills nobody,” Gambit interferes. Above all not me, he adds in the privacy of his thoughts.
But no one seems to care. The other two look so involved in each other that he manages to get on his feet unobserved.
“Naaaah, wouldn’t be much better. Wouldn’t even know who that is. That’s what fixers are for.” Bullseye suddenly glowers even more in Daken’s direction. “Don’t say you can kill my fixer too. He’s useful. For a breather.”
“Fine,” Daken snaps. “He must have files. A little B&E, I get the name of the client, convince them to drop the contract.”
“Convince,” the hitman snorts.
“Yes, Lester. People like to do nice things for me with the proper incentive.”
“B&E is more my specialty, mon ami”, Gambit can’t help but point. He regrets it instantly.
Daken glances at him, as if suddenly reminded of his presence. One apparently innocent sidestep places the mutant directly between the Cajun and Bullseye.
“There was a time I broke into the Baxter Building on a weekly basis just to annoy Reed Richards,” Daken dryly says.
OK. Gambit is kind of impressed. A little bit.
Daken is actually glaring at him, now. “I know how to burglarize an office.” And once again, quicker than the mind can process, his tone changes again, on the edge of flirtation. “But thank you, Remy. See, Lester. Even Remy wants to be nice to me.”
“Kiss ass,” Bullseye mutters under his breath. Gambit doesn’t particularly like the cross way the hitman hired to kill him looks anew at his person.
“You’re serious about it, are you?” the hitman finally asks of Daken, considering him with an odd gravity.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Daken sighs.
“That enraged Cajun is trying to reach for his cards to try and get me,” Bullseye suddenly mentions, offhand, not that worried at the prospect, apparently.
Daken at once turns his head and hotly glares at Gambit. Again.
Argh, busted! Remy thinks. And he could have ended it, too! One well placed card to throw him off the roof and Bullseye wouldn’t have been a problem anymore. He reports his attention to Laura’s brother. In the background, he hears the hitman gloomily mumble, “Why does nobody ever remember that I’m the one who came up with the damn card trick!”
“Don’t. You. Dare.” Daken mouths. He slightly angles his body, actually shielding Bullseye from him this time. The hitman softly hums, something strangely contemplative on his face.
“Still like playing for both teams, I see,” he comments.
“There’s no other way of playing, Lester,” Daken snaps, his temper fraying a little.
“Now you’ve done it. You’ve ruined my buzz, asshole,” the hitman moans. “Fine, I give you three days. If the contract is till up, then, I’ll come for him. And then you.”
“Fine,” Daken agrees.
“Fine,” Bullseye concludes.
Gambit doesn’t say anything; he is not a moron. But it feels anticlimactic. Laura’s brother grabs him by the shoulder, hard, and starts to drag him in the relative direction of his flat. The hitman doesn’t make any move to keep them from leaving, to Gambit’s eternal surprise. He half-expected it was all a trick.
Daken suddenly seems to change his mind, turning on his heels. He goes to Bullseye, in confident strides, zooming in into the mercenary’s personal space.
“Thank you, Lester,” he says, grabbing the hitman’s face in his hands and kissing him. At length. Thoroughly.
Nice technique, Gambit notes, jaw slack. Bullseye seems suitably blissed out. Once again, Gambit is reluctantly impressed. A little bit. (The thief will feign he never saw Bullseye’s hand linger up in the air a moment, before it put itself on Daken’s hip. And gripped, hard.)
The second Daken is done, though, Bullseye reflexively punches him in the face.
Blood is at once gushing from Daken’s nose. He reaches for his face with the back of his hand, the other one on his knee, head bent so the redness drizzles through his fingers to the ground rather than on his clothes. A strange sound echoes. The other muant is softly laughing, Gambit realizes, and it kind of amazes him. He had never thought Wolverine’s son knew how, somehow.
“Not funny,” Bullseye crossly grumbles.
“See you 'round, Lester,” Daken simply adds before taking his leave, an odd note of warmth in his voice.
“Got that right, punk,” the himan answers, not looking at anyone in the face.
OoOoOoOoO
The silence on the way back is not strained but not comfortable either, as far as Gambit is concerned. But he still feels the need to shatter it.
“Do you trust him to keep his word?”
“Yes.”
“Do I want to know what you’re gonna do?”
“No.”
Gambit feels the headache coming back. People seem to overlook how much Daken can be like his father. He is as immovable as Logan when he wants to.
“It’s not your job to deal with someone who has a grudge against me,” Gambit reasonably points out to him. But it’s obvious Daken is making this thing his business.
“Because you’re doing such a good job of it yourself. You don’t even know who it is. Too many candidates?” the other mutant snidely inquires. “Besides, not doing this for you.”
For whom, then , Gambit wonders. Laura? Bullseye!?
Daken looks like he is already planning ahead. Eyes in the distance. His jaws clenched.
“No killing,” the Cajun feels compelled to add.
“I’ll show restraint,” Daken dryly answers.
By the time they almost reach the flat, jumping from roof to roof, Daken’s nose is healed, but there are still a few tiny specks of blood on his shirt.
Another mood shift. Sometimes, it’s dizzying to keep up with him.
“Well, I’ve met your cats, it’s only fair you got to meet mine,” Daken goes for mocking, but Gambit can nevertheless hear the underlying fondness. It’s a bit mind-boggling. (It’s Bullseye Junior is talking about, goddammit. Bullseye whose name apparently is Lester. Lester! This is too much information.)
The Cajun laughs, doesn’t know what else to do. It’s been a weird day.
Daken actually winks.
The tea is still on the table, cold by now, infused way too long, and though he grimaces at the taste, Laura’s brother still drinks it. The cats are lounging in the living room; all sense of imminent danger seems to have left them. Gambit trusts this perhaps more than Daken’s reassurances about Bullseye’s word. They got home just in time.
Let’s just say Laura frowns, very suspicious, when she comes back, arms loaded with food. Perhaps they both look a little too cozy, waiting for the girls. A little too innocent. Her eyes unerringly zoom in to the specks of blood on Daken’s collar. Her brother’s smile actually grows, as if he were daring her to ask. She sighs and seems to think discretion is the better part of valor.
“Well, apparently, you survived. Good job,” she tells Gambit a little later.
“You have no idea,” he frankly answers.
Their dinner is a lively affair thanks to Gabby, and Gambit’s ability to spin hare-brained tales out of his exploits. Laura doesn’t mention it if she notices that her brother is a little distracted. The cats give Gambit a run for his money in the thieving department and food is promptly gone.
When Gabby hugs him goodbye like they’ve known each other forever and her big sister gets on the tip of her toes to gently kiss his cheek, butterfly light, it makes it all worth it. Gambit can sincerely utter a resounding yeswhen Laura says they should do this again soon. (Even though he can see Daken smirking in the background.)
OoOoOoOoO
He doesn’t hear from Daken, neither sees hide nor hair of Bullseye again. Exactly three days later, though, he receives a text message on his phone. It’s an unknown number.
[Your old boss knows how to hold a grudge.]
It is cryptic. Gambit has to think for a second. He’s never had a boss, has he? Ho wait… He saves the number under [Laura’s asshole brother], even if he thinks he’ll never use it again after today, and types a reply.
[Harrison Snow? From Serval???]
The answer is quick to arrive.
[Yes. The contract is aborted. His wife says hi, by the way.]
Not btw. Daken has to use all the letters. Snob, Gambit thinks.
[How???]
[They’re into threesomes.]
Mon Dieu. The mental image. Never ever will Gambit admit that he is a bit titillated.
And two seconds later:
[Speaking of three… Bullseye says third time’s the charm.]
The message is completed with a tongue-lolling smiley. Gambit actually groans.
[…I hate you.]
[You’re welcome (to hate me, I mean). Chère. Feeling is mutual.]
Chère? Seriously? Gambit dismisses at once an honest mistake. Who is he kidding? It’s Daken he is talking about.
He drops the phone with disgust. Oliver, disturbed from his nap on Gambit’s belly by this tiny outburst, owlishly blinks. Yawns. His green eyes land on his owner. The cat blinks, slowly. The mutant would swear the grey cat is judging him.
“Traitor,” he tells the feline, rubbing him under the chin. “You can’t like him more than me. I forbid it.”
The END