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Chapters
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
 
 
 

Thick as Thieves - REVIEW THIS STORY

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

Chapter 2

For a week he'd debated what to do. Tell the Professor that Gambit was up to something or not.

It was the lack of decision that finally decided him. After a week of not saying anything, if he talked now, people would wonder why he kept it quiet for so long. The last thing he wanted was to have everyone think he was in on it. Not too likely a result, but he'd been spending a lot of hours thinking of the worst that could happen, as well as the best. Besides, Remy had been behaving himself, as far as he could tell. At least, he hadn't made any snide comments near him since they came home. In fact, he'd been avoiding him entirely.

Probably afraid I will tell, he thought smugly.

Smiling to himself at the thought of the Cajun actually fearing him, Bobby leaned against the counter in the kitchen, running his finger around the lip of his glass. A touch of ice rimmed it and he found himself remembering the woman from the bar that he'd followed Gambit to, and the way she'd created ice crystals on her own glass. She'd definately been a mutant, he was sure of it. She'd been pretty too, though he still cringed at the thought of such a pale woman in that much black.

Why am I thinking about some whore? he wondered. Because she's a mutant with powers like mine and she's a woman, that's why. He sighed. Jean had apologized profusely, explaining that Clarisa had missed the date because her old boyfriend decided he wanted her back, but he wasn't convinced. Not that he thought Jean would ever lie to him. She wouldn't. But Clarisa, he was sure, lied to her, and Jean wasn't one to use her telepathic powers on a friend.

Probably saw me sitting in the restaurant and ran for it, he thought sourly. More ice filtered into his glass and it cracked.

Muttering to himself, Bobby picked up the glass and tossed it into the garbage, careful that it wasn't obvious to anyone who looked in. Then he went to the freezer and pulled out half a loaf of bread and some jam. Getting the jam out of the jar and onto the bread was awkward, since it was too cold to spread easily, but he sighed with pleasure once he bit into it. He liked cold food, the colder the better. A chicken leg with ice crusting it was his idea of a favourite snack.

Gotta admit, it makes cooking easy. Sometimes, he froze whatever dinner the others made. They thought he was nuts when he did it, so most of the time he only iced his snacks.

A hum sounded from the door and the Professor came in, seated in his high-tech hoverchair. He was dressed in an exercise suit with a sweatband around his head. Having the chair do everything for him was really convenient, but it meant his body got no exercise at all. To compensate, he usually tried to spend an hour exercising each day, with the X-Men taking turns coaching him. Today had been Bishop's turn and the man tooked like he'd been sent through a wringer.

"Good morning, Bobby," he said wearily.

"Morning, Professor. You look wiped."

Charles smiled faintly. "Yes, well, Bishop is thorough." He pulled a book out of his lap. "If you're going into Salem today, would you please return this to the library for me?"

Bobby took the book. "The Real Humans, by Graydon Creed," he read. "You actually read this?"

"Know your enemy, Bobby. Knowledge gives you strength."

Bobby shrugged, thinking again of what he knew about Gambit, and all the different ways he'd thought of to use it, if he only had the nerve. "You got that right. Yeah, I'll take it back for you."

"Thank you." Charles got himself a glass of water and turned to go. "You might want to consider checking something out of the library yourself."

Bobby nodded without saying anything. Over twenty years old, and the Professor still treated him like a kid. Finishing his sandwich, he went to find the keys to one of the mansion's cars.

The Salem library was in an old building, now labelled a heritage site, which meant it couldn't be torn down no matter how useless it became. It was nowhere near large enough to hold the library's contents comfortably, but as Bobby went in through the old wooden doors, he had to admit it had a certain level of charm.

Dropping the book in the drop box, Bobby wandered into the library. It seemed kind of a waste to come all the way out here just to drop off one book and head back, and he was feeling nostalgic. He'd spent a lot of hours here when he was still taking classes at the mansion, usually bored out of his mind. He remembered shooting paper clips at Hank a lot, or snowballs if he thought he could get away with it. Hank had put up with it silently, determined not to break the unspoken 'no fun' rule of the library, until he finally had enough. He'd locked Bobby in the men's room for about three hours. The doors there were so thick, no one heard him scream for help, and he didn't understand his powers well enough at the time to free himself. Hank went on to get yet another A on the history test they'd been studying for. Come to think of, so had he, since he had nothing to do in the bathroom except study.

Bobby smiled as he took the stairs up to the mezzanine two at a time. He'd used to have a favourite spot in the library to curl up with a good book. It was a cubicle desk in the far end of the mezzanine, where he could see out over the entire library, but was hidden himself. It'd become 'his spot' and he'd committed his first act of vandilism there by carving his initials into the wood.

I wonder if they're still there? He wondered and wandered down the halls.

A lifetime of training with the X-Men stopped him before he walked around the final turn. Stopping just at the end of a stack, he peered curiously through the shelves. There was a man standing at the end of the hall, just before his cubicle. He was a big man, dressed in a cheap suit with his hair slicked back and a no-nonsense attitude on his face. He had the word 'goon' written all over him.

I wonder what he's guarding? Bobby wondered, since it was obvious that was what he was doing. Peering a little closer, he saw there was someone in the cubicle, but he couldn't see who at this distance.

Here's where all those extra hours with Storm pay off, he thought with a grin.

Holding up his forefinger, he grew a thin shaft of ice from the end of it, the end enlarging into a circular lens. The ice shifted like a living thing, growing clearer and smaller until he finally had a servicable binocular. Grinning at his success, and wishing there was someone around to show it to, he put it to his eye and looked again.

There was a girl in the cubicle, reading a book. She was dressed in a soft, thick pullover, the kind women wore that were ten sizes too big for them, with jeans and sneakers. She wore no makeup, and it took him a minute to recognize her.

Hey! It's the hooker from the club! The one with the ice powers! He blinked, belatedly making the realization that if she were being followed by a bodyguard, then she obviously wasn't a hooker.

Bobby, you idiot! Why didn't you ask her out! Or even what her name was! Kicking himself mentally, he peered at the girl. She was really quite pretty, soft and delicate, like an ice crystal, but warm. Bobby found himself wanting to meet her quite a lot, if he could only get rid of the bodyguard. But freezing him in a block of ice would probably not put him on her good side.

Man, she'd never want to talk to me.

The girl leaned back in the chair, her lips moving silently while she read. She pushed a lock of hair back from her face and Bobby found himself fascinated by the sheer delicacy of her fingers and how she tucked the hair back behind her ear just so.

I don't care. I gotta meet her.

The girl shifted in her seat, frowning, and looked up at the goon. She said a few words and he nodded. She stood and he walked ahead of her down the corridor.

No! She can't be leaving!

Bobby ducked back amongst the stacks as the two passed, then found himself sneaking after them. He watched her walk towards the stairs with a lump in his throat, wondering if he had the nerve to just jump out and ask her who she was, goon or no goon, before she left. Then she passed the stairs.

Yes! We have another chance! And the crowd goes wild!

Whooping mentally, he watched her go into the ladies room while pretending to go down the aisle looking for a book. The goon stood outside the door, looking like he planned to break a few bones of anyone who tried to pass him.

Well, she's alone, Bobby thought. I guess it's now or never. Just as quickly came the thought, I can't go into a woman's bathroom! He remembered the last time he'd tried that, dared to back in grade school by some boys he'd tried to impress. The bathroom had been cleaner than the boy's room, with less grafitti and no urinals, opting instead for more stalls. There'd been no girls either, a great disappointment though at the time he'd not been too sure what the great attraction was. Instead he'd run into Mrs Ross. The oldest, meanest and ugliest teacher in the school. She'd marched him off to the principal, his parents had been called and he wound up spending the next week in his room without television, plus a sore butt for the first night. The memory was old, but it was still strong. Some places were inviolate, like churches.

Gambit would be in there in a flash, he thought, remembering when the Cajun had taken him to a church that'd been converted into a dance club. The memory of how the other mutant humiliated him there turned his fair cheeks red and he clenched his fists.

"Okay," he muttered. "I'm going for it."

Concentrating, he let the ice take him, but not all the way. His skin froze and melted, turned white with frost, then transparent, and soft. Storm had trained him to understand that it was not only ice that he controlled. He could create ice shields and snowballs with ease, but it'd never occured to him that the temperature needed to make those two things was different. He could control his own temperature and he controlled it now. It was hard, harder than making the binoculars, but he made himself into only water, not ice. Transparent, cold without freezing, maintaining his form only through sheer force of will.

Had he had an actual head in this form instead of the memory of one, it would have been throbbing. Instead he felt something like pollution would feel in a river. That this was wrong. It was the ice he wanted, the freeze of it. This was too warm, too unnatural. But he resisted the urge and let himself go, maintaining his awareness as he poured into a puddle on the floor.

At first, the sensation terrified him. He'd never done this outside the Danger Room before, and in there he had only gone to slush, and kept his shape as well. Storm said it was possible for him to take any shape, but he hadn't been willing enough to try it. The idea of not being able to pull himself back together terrified him.

A puddle on the floor, Bobby's perceptions changed. He heard as though he were underwater, and saw as though he were that way as well, with his whole body. Spread across half the mezzanine floor at an inch deep, he saw the door with the goon, and all that he passed at any point in his flow.

Bizarre, he thought, curiousity overcoming his nervousness. I wonder how deep I can get. The thought of filling something like a pothole and waiting for someone to step in him amused him briefly, until he wondered what splashing some of him away from himself would cause.

Careful not to let any part of himself get away, Bobby stretched out thinly, barely coating the floor as he flowed along the tile to the bathroom, past the goon and under the door. It took a while for him to get all the way in, though it was hard to perceive time this way. Once inside, he flowed together into a puddle and began to rise out of it, taking on human form again as he did so. He looked around at the bathroom as he did so. Everything was bigger, but essentially it looked the same as the bathroom he'd been caught in back in grade school. Instead, this bathroom didn't have a Mrs Ross. Instead it had a beautiful blond girl who was gaping at him with her mouth open.

Bobby smiled at her sheepishly. "Um, hi," he managed. Is that ALL you can say to her? You idiot!

She blinked, and slowly her face brightened into a fragile little smile. "How did you DO that?" She gasped. "That was wonderful."

The young mutant gaped back at her. "Really?''

She giggled and clapped her hands, looking for an instant like a little girl. "Really. Oh, I wish I could do that."

Bobby grinned. "I could show it to you. It's really easy."

"Oh, no, the best I can do is make an icecube."

They both stared at each other in silence again, then, on cue, they laughed. "Why are you in here?" she asked.

"Toilets in the men's room were flooded," Bobby answered immediately. Her eyebrow raised and he stammered. "Uh, I mean I wanted to see in here. I mean, see you. I mean meet you."

She looked confused. "Why in here?"

Blushing, Bobby gestured at the door. "Uh, I figured your friend wouldn't like me talking to you otherwise."

She smiled, and it was like a light went off in Bobby's heart. It started beating like mad and he wondered if this was what love felt like. As though he was going to yell with joy and throw up at the same time. He found himself wondering how he ever thought she was a hooker.

"I suppose you're right," she admitted, a little sadly. "What's your name?"

"Bobby Drake."

"Bobby." She smiled again. "I'm Deidre. I saw you at the guild meeting last week, with the Cajun."

"Um, yeah."

Her eyes sparkled. "You must be good to be his apprentice. I've heard about him. He's supposed to be the third best in the world. Only two masters beat him."

Bobby puffed up in spite of himself. There was just something about her that screamed Brag, boy, brag! "Yeah, I know." Third best? Yeesh, we're lucky we still have a house!

There came a heavy knock on the door and she started. "Um, I have to go."

"What, already?" A definate whine crept into his voice. "Will you be back here again?"

She shook her head, moving towards the door, her head down so her long hair hid her face, her arms up before her chest. "I won't be back. It was kinda just luck that I came at all."

He caught her arm. It was chilly, like his, wonderfully cold. "Can I meet you again somewhere?"

"N-no, I don't go out much, and I'm always watched." She caught the door handle and looked back at him for a moment with shy, lonely eyes. "I'm always at the club meetings. Ask your mentor to take you. Just- don't say you met me here. I might get in trouble." Then she was gone.

Bobby stared at the door, smiling. I'm in love, he thought happily. This is it, the real thing, the big kahuna, true and all. He watched the door open and a librarian equally as old and tempermental as Mrs Ross walk in. And I am in serious shit.

 

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