Thick as Thieves - REVIEW THIS STORY

Written by Valerie Jones and Lori McDonald
Last updated: 01/02/2007 02:01:11 AM

Chapter 17

Bobby hummed to himself as he watched the saleslady wrap up the yellow dress. It was obvious that she knew it was supposed to be a present. She hadn't even asked Bobby before wrapping the garment in decorative gold colored tissue and putting it in a similarly styled gift bag. She fussed with the tissue that stuck out the top of the bag for a moment, and then, seemingly satisfied, pushed the package toward Bobby. With the other hand, she held out the receipt.

Bobby took both and thanked her. He still felt a little strange, knowing that he'd used money Michael had given him-money that ultimately came from the diamonds they'd stolen.

Bobby pushed the thought aside. So what? He'd gone with Michael to protect Remy, not because he wanted to steal. And if he was reaping a little benefit from that, where was the harm? Besides that, the diamonds were insured. The people they'd stolen them from would be reimbursed for the full value.

But as he left the little shop, a voice deep inside kept telling him that he'd done something he was always going to regret.

Hesitantly, Diedre took the gift bag from his hand. "Bobby, you shouldn't. . . " But despite her protest, her eyes glowed and Bobby found himself flushing.

"Go on. Open it." He tried to cover his embarrassment by guiding her toward one of the plush chairs. They were in Michael's living room. Bobby refused to think of the house as Michael and Diedre's, despite the fact that she lived there. Everything in it was arranged to Michael's taste, so it was just Michael's house.

Diedre sat and began to open the present. Her eyes went wide as she pulled the last of the tissue away and spied the yellow cloth. She shook out the dress and held it out in front of her, staring at it in wonder.

"Bobby, it's beautiful. . ." She glanced over at him and then away, shyly. "Thank you." Slowly she folded it up into a neat pile in her lap. She seemed almost afraid to look at him.

"So, go try it on." Bobby hoped he didn't sound to eager, but he was dying to see her in that dress again.

"Oh no, I couldn't." Diedre gave a small shake of her head. "Michael hates yellow."

Bobby's normally simmering hatred of Michael flared to life. "Well, I'm not Michael," he said stiffly.

Diedre looked up at him in surprise, as if he'd said something illuminating. She blinked several times, and then agreed, "No, you're not." He couldn't identify the emotion in her voice.

His heart started hammering as she stood. But all she said was, "I'll be right back." His panic began to abate when he realized that she had taken the dress with her. He wasn't sure if she was mad at him or what. She didn't sound mad, but she didn't sound happy either.

Frank watched him with a poorly hidden expression of sympathy. After a moment, Bobby got up to wander the room, giving some kind of vent to his overwhelming uncertainty. He'd had this mental image of Diedre wearing that yellow dress and throwing herself into his arms. Of feeling the bare skin of her shoulders beneath his hands. . . He cut that thought off savagely. That wasn't someplace he was allowed to go, and he would only drive himself insane fantasizing about it.

A small sound from the other side of the room alerted him. He turned to see Diedre standing in the doorway. She was dressed in yellow. The short skirt flared about her bare legs as she walked slowly into the room. Several paces away from Bobby she stopped and did a gentle pirouette, watching him over her shoulder as she turned.

"What do you think?" she asked. Her blue eyes watched him eagerly.

There were no words for what Bobby really thought. Nothing could accurately describe the sensation in his heart.

"You're beautiful," he managed in a whisper.

Diedre flushed and looked down. "Really?"

Bobby swallowed convulsively and nodded. "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

Diedre's head snapped up and her eyes sought out his. It was as if the simple compliment had awakened a kind of hunger in her. Bobby found himself mesmerized by her gaze. He would have been perfectly happy to stand there and stare at her forever.

His heart nearly went into convulsions as she swayed a step nearer, and then another, until she could reach up and put a delicate hand on his chest. She was at just the right distance for him to put his hands around her waist, so he did, and she leaned into his grasp. He didn't dare breathe as she stretched up onto her toes, putting them at the same height. Their faces were a mere inch apart. Bobby could feel the warmth of her breath on his mouth and smell the perfume of her hair. Her eyes stared directly into his, filled to overflowing with emotion. Then her gaze dropped away and she tilted her head. Bobby felt the gentle touch of her lips at the corner of his mouth, and was stunned by the electric thrill the kiss sent through him. But before he could respond, she was moving away, sliding out of his arms and taking a step backwards.

Her eyes had not lost their warmth, though. She smiled happily at him. "Thank you."

The clock on the wall chimed then, shattering the moment. Diedre started violently, and her smile turned rueful. "Aren't we supposed to be practicing?"

Thoroughly wrung out from his afternoon with Diedre, Bobby drove in through the mansion's main gate. More than anything, he wanted to find someplace where he could be alone for a while, to try to sort out what, if anything, had just happened between them. His heart told him that she had made some kind of decision about him. The only problem was, he had no idea what it might be.

Despite his preoccupation, he noticed the unfamiliar car in the driveway as he passed, and his heart sank. Visitors. These days, that was rarely a good thing, and he didn't feel like he had the energy to put on the ordinary-run-of-the-mill-private-school facade for whoever it might be. Hopefully he could just walk right through and up to his room without anyone noticing. Scott was in charge of handling visitors.

He walked in the door, and was immediately struck by the amount of tension in the room. That was his first observation, before he took in anything else. Everyone there was very, very uncomfortable. Gazes snapped to him as he entered.

Bobby looked around. The visitors were a pair of men that Bobby's instinct immediately labeled as cops. His heart froze. They know was his first thought, but he forced himself not to panic. He would give himself away for sure, then.

"What's going on?" he asked Jean, who was standing closest to the two men. Other X-Men were scattered about the main entry, watching with wary curiosity. The two men pretended to ignore them.

Jean waved him over. "Bobby, these are Detectives Bulle and Dalton. They want to ask Remy some questions." Her voice held a quiet dismay.

Bobby blinked in surprise. "Remy?" Not me? "What about?"

One of the men-Detective Bulle-gave Bobby an appraising stare. "And you are. . . ?"

"Robert Drake." Remy had told him repeatedly not to give the cops trouble. About anything. It only made them suspicious.

"And you're also a student at this. . " he waved his pen at the ceiling, "establishment?"

Bobby ignored the subtle slight on the legitimacy of the school. "Yes."

That seemed to satisfy him for the moment. He turned away from Bobby and went back to studying the room.

Bobby took advantage of the chance to move away from the two detectives. He found himself drifting over to where Logan stood with Sam. Ororo stood a few feet away from them, her expression troubled. She seemed to be wrapped up in a blanket of solitude, despite how close she was.

"What do they think Remy did?" Bobby couldn't help but ask Logan in a low voice.

Logan shrugged. "Haven't said."

Bobby wanted to ask another question, but he didn't know what. And he didn't get the chance as Logan turned toward the door that led to the west wing of the house. After a moment, the door opened and Scott pushed Professor Xavier into the room. Bobby was only momentarily surprised by the ordinary wheelchair. They didn't often have guests at the house that didn't know about the X- Men. Gambit entered behind the Professor, his expression closed. He looked somewhat disheveled, as if Scott had gotten him out of bed.

Considering the condition he came home in yesterday, that's not surprising. Bobby watched as he crossed the room a step behind the Professor, noting with interest that he no longer appeared to be limping.

"Detectives, I'm Professor Xavier. I am Headmaster at this school." The Professor looked between the two men.

Detective Bulle nodded, but his eyes were fixed on Gambit. "You must be Remy LeBeau."

"Dat's de rumor." Remy stood casually, with one hand resting lightly on the corner of the Professor's wheelchair. Bobby envied him his calm. He was a nervous wreck, and the cops weren't even interested in him. But at least the Professor was there. He was known to be an influential, if somewhat withdrawn, member of the scientific community. He was also wealthy. The police wouldn't antagonize him unnecessarily by mistreating one of his students.

"Mr. LeBeau, do you mind if we ask you some questions?" That was the other detective. His tone was far more polite.

Remy shrugged. "Non."

Detective Dalton dug out a small notebook from his jacket pocket and opened it. "Where were you the night before last?"

Bobby's gut twisted. They had to be talking about the diamonds. Remy's expression never changed. "Queens."

The detective's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "All night?"

"Oui."

"Did anyone see you? Could anyone verify that you were there?"

Remy snorted. "I doubt it." Then he cocked his head. "Y' wan' tell me what dis is about?" He sounded genuinely curious.

The sheer flatness of the detectives' expression made it clear that they did not believe Remy for one minute. "Nearly two million dollars in diamonds was stolen from Hierman Direct Imports last night." Detective Bulle paused as a ripple of surprise ran through the room. The only people who didn't react, Bobby noticed, were Gambit, the Professor, and himself. Even Logan's expression narrowed as if he were entertaining thoughts of Remy's guilt for the first time, and Bobby felt a sharp stab of regret. Were the X-Men going to believe that Remy had gone back to stealing, even though he was innocent?

Detective Bulle looked at his notes for a moment before continuing, "The Special Investigations Unit looked the place over. Pretty slick job." He looked up at Remy, expression unyielding. "According to the experts, there's a moderate list of people who could have done it, and a much shorter list of people who would've done it that way. And guess what? Only one of the people on the short list lives in New York. That would be you." He pointed the capped end of his pen at Remy.

Remy's expression of faint interest never changed. "I t'ink y' must have me confused wit' somebody else."

Anger sparked in Bulle's eyes. "I don't think so, Mr. LeBeau." He managed to make an insult of the honorific and Bobby found himself bristling. But he was too terrified of what the police might do to him if he confessed, to step out and defend Remy's innocence.

Bulle turned his attention to the Professor. "Do you mind if we take a look around?" he asked casually.

The Professor's response was mild. "Bring me a search warrant and I will show you whatever you would like to see." Bulle's polite smile died and Bobby cheered silently. Thank goodness the Professor trusted Gambit. It was painfully obvious from the faces around the room that no one else did. Bobby was surprised by how angry that realization made him. Even Ororo watched the scene as if she believed that Remy had done it. The sadness in her eyes would not be there if she did not. Bobby knew that she would not love Remy any less, but her disappointment was apparent. Bobby's gut twisted. This was his fault, but he wasn't sure what he could do to fix things. Even if he told the X-Men that it was him, not Remy, who had stolen the diamonds, they would still hold Remy responsible because he had been the one that taught Bobby how to do it.

Lost in thought, Bobby barely noticed as the two detectives asked a few more questions and then took their leave. On some level Bobby was almost titillated to realize that he had made a pinch on his own, and had left no real evidence for the cops to find. They would have arrested Remy if they'd had anything. But most of him was frightened and angry. At himself. At the X-Men. At Michael.

Bobby's head snapped up in alarm as Scott turned on Remy. His anger was unmistakable, but more than that, Bobby could see a kind of hurt, as if Scott was taking all of this as a personal failing. "I think you have some explaining to do," he said stiffly.

"Not t' you," Remy retorted, and Bobby saw Scott's jaw tighten. The two men locked hostile gazes until Professor Xavier cleared his throat.

Remy shot the Professor what Bobby would have sworn was a warning look, and Bobby wondered. What in the world had Gambit been doing? Obviously, the Professor knew, but Remy didn't seem to want him to say anything in his defense. It didn't make any sense.

Without another word, Remy turned. His flat gaze swept the room and the assembled X-Men. His expression was unreadable, but Bobby had spent enough time with him to see the tiny flinch as Storm looked away from him. He walked silently across the hardwood floor, the gentle rustle of his clothing the only sound in the stillness. Then he was gone, and Bobby found himself letting out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

The Professor watched the door for several moments, as if waiting for Remy to move out of earshot. Then he turned to Scott.

"Unless the police return, I would prefer that this subject not be mentioned again."

Scott's jaw dropped. "But--?"

The Professor shook his head. "That wasn't a request." Something in his expression was indefinably sad.

Scott stared at him for several moment. "Sir. . . do you really think it's a good idea to ignore. . .?"

"I am not ignoring anything, Scott. I promise you." The Professor folded his hands in his lap, almost as if he were forcing himself to be calm.

Scott accepted that reluctantly, and the X-Men in the room began to disperse. Bobby was ready for the speculation that sprang up even before people were through the door, but it still made him mad. And it made him wonder. As much as he now knew about Gambit, it seemed that there was still an awful lot he didn't know. But maybe it was time to remedy that. Remy had shown more of himself to Bobby than to anyone else, and maybe now it was time to repay some of that trust. Perhaps he couldn't exonerate Gambit in the other X-Men's eyes, but at least he could be honest with the man.

Unnoticed by the other X-Men, Bobby slipped out of the room and headed for the stairs.

Bobby knocked tentatively on Gambit's door and was rewarded with a curt "What?" from inside the room. It was obvious Remy couldn't think of anyone he wanted to talk to at the moment. Bobby couldn't blame him, and he had the sneaking suspicion that Remy wasn't going to want to have anything to do with him, either, once he'd heard what Bobby had done.

Before his stomach could twist itself into even tighter knots, Bobby grabbed the doorknob and stepped inside.

"Um, hi," he told the figure that stood with its back to him.

Remy spun on his heel to face Bobby, and every warning instinct that Bobby had began to scream. But Gambit was simply too fast. Before the alarm could travel from his brain to his limbs, Gambit was across the room. A hand closed painfully tight around his throat, and he felt himself being shoved against the closed door behind him. His breath whooshed out of him as he hit the door, but the hand pressing against his throat made it nearly impossible to draw another gulp air. He gagged, fighting his panic response that prompted him to strike out at Remy with any and all weapons at his disposal. Whether thief of X-Man, Gambit had the right to be angry.

Gambit's red irises glowed as he stared into Bobby's eyes from a distance of mere inches. But despite their demonic appearance, Bobby found that he wasn't afraid anymore.

"Was it you?" Remy demanded so harshly his voice cracked.

Unable to breathe, Bobby could only nod. The pressure on his throat disappeared abruptly, and he sagged against the door, coughing, as he gulped the sweet air. Remy stood a few feet away, staring at him with an expression of complete confusion.

"I don't understand," he finally said. The glow of his eyes had been snuffed, and he looked more bewildered than Bobby had ever seen him.

Bobby straightened, running absent fingers through his overlong hair. It had become a habit as his bangs grew down to the point that they could fall in his eyes. "It was Michael's idea." He made a helpless gesture.

The bewildered expression vanished and Remy's eyes narrowed. "What do y' mean?"

Bobby could only shrug. "He's the Guildmaster and he ordered me. I didn't know what else to do."

Bobby watched as his mentor's expression slid back into anger. This time, it was directed solely at Bobby. "Y' could've said somet'ing t' me." His voice was dangerously soft.

All of Bobby's uncertainty coalesced and exploded out of him. "No I couldn't! If I'd come and told you that Michael wanted me to go on a job with him, you would have ordered me not to go! Admit it."

Remy didn't say anything, but his expression allowed that Bobby might be right.

"And then Michael would have had a reason to come down on you. He's looking for an excuse to kill you! So I figured if I went with him, he wouldn't have anything to use against you-or me, since I did what he wanted. And I did it right." Bobby lifted his chin defiantly. "So if you want to take it out of my hide for lying to you, then go ahead. At least Michael's got nothing on either one of us."

Remy stared at him, as if he needed time to absorb the speech. Bobby could tell that he had quit being angry, though other than that, he couldn't read anything from him at all.

"Did you make de pinch?" Remy asked after a moment. "You, personally?"

Bobby nodded, wondering why that was suddenly so important. Remy sounded like he wanted to be absolutely sure. "Yeah. Michael and the rest just followed along." At Remy's questioning look, he added, "Michael had two of his apprentices with him, but none of them did anything."

"Are y' sure o' dat? Absolutely not'ing?"

"Yes!" Bobby was almost starting to feel aggravated. "What, don't you believe I could make a pinch on my own?"

Remy pursed his lips. "Oh, I known y' been ready f' a while now. Actually, I been wonderin' how I was gon' keep hidin' it." He smiled sardonically. "Guess I don' have to now."

"What do you mean?" A small knot was forming in Bobby's stomach.

Gambit raised his eyebrows, and Bobby was terribly afraid it was out of pure amusement. "Do y' remember what I told y' `bout sponsoring in de Guild?"

Bobby grimaced. "Not really. That was months ago." Way back at the beginning when I wasn't listening to you.

Remy backed up, and then settled on the edge of his bed. He bent down to rub his knee as he talked. "Sponsorin' is de process by which an apprentice is invited t' become a full member o' de Guild. When de leaders decide dat he's ready, one o' de most experienced t'ieves will be chosen t' sponsor de apprentice. Dat means dat de t'ief takes de apprentice on his first real job. It's like a rite o' passage." Remy looked up, skewering Bobby where he stood. "Michael sponsored you." His expression quirked. "Wit'out consultin' me, which is anot'er issue entirely."

Bobby digested the information, but he had the feeling he'd missed the real meaning of what Remy was saying. "I still don't think I understand," he finally admitted.

Remy straightened and crossed his arms. "Y' were sponsored, an' y' made de pinch successfully. Dat means y' graduated."

Bobby began to understand as Remy drove the point home.

"Y' jus' became a full fledged member o' de New York T'ieves Guild. Congratulations."

Bobby nearly choked as the implications hit him. "Are you serious?" he managed to gasp out.

Remy nodded. "Dere's some ceremonial stuff t' do t' make it official, but oui, I am." He cocked his head as if considering something new. "Michael sure knows how t' build his traps."

A cold hand clutched Bobby's insides. "Did I do the wrong thing?"

Remy considered him, and then shrugged. "Under de circumstances, probably not. But-" and he pointed a finger at Bobby, "dis does present us wit' a problem. As a guildmember, y' now equally beholden t' y' Guildmaster as t' de Master dat taught y' de craft. Michael's gon' try t' used dat."

Bobby could only stare at him. "What should I do?" he finally asked.

Remy shrugged again. "Dat's up t' you. Play along f' now, certainly. Michael's not gon' try anyt'ing immediate." His eyes narrowed. "But if y' really love dis lady o' yours, I suggest y' start makin' plans t' run away wit' her. Most o' de protection I could give y' is gone now. If Michael ever finds out de truth. . . he'll kill y', an' dere may or may not be anyt'ing I c'n do about it."