Feedback: Yes. It’s gladly received, thank you.

Archiving: Sure, ask our permission and I’m sure we’ll say yes.

Warnings: Not much, just language and implied m/m sexual relationship.

Dedication: To everyone who’s e-mailed to tell us you’re still reading. J

A/N:   :: denotes telepathy ::

Black Magick – Part Fourteen:

 ~ The present ~

Sean leant against the side of the Jeep, deep in thought. Fifteen hours had passed since he and Logan had left. Twenty hours since Creed had taken Remy. Fifteen sleepless, foodless hours and still they had nothing. No clue as to the whereabouts of either Sinister, Creed or Gambit. All the people Logan had talked with – and threatened – either didn’t know anything, or were too scared to talk.

And upon seeing Logan’s steely blue eyes as he stomped out of the current dark bar hosting the right figures of the underground, Sean knew this potential informant was the same failure.

During their time spent travelling across New York state, Logan’s positivity had gradually deserted him. Now all that was left was his grim determination. One way or another, no matter how long it took, they were going to find Gambit.  Sean had quickly realised that Wolverine’s concern for Gambit was more than just that of a teammate’s. They must be close friends. The anxiety that clouded every single one of Logan’s actions made that obvious.

Wolverine stood next to Sean and drew his hands through his thick unruly hair with a tired sigh. Sean opened his mouth to say something comforting, or at the very least inspiring, but instead his stomach grumbled loudly. It was surprisingly loud to Sean, so there was no doubt that Logan hadn’t heard it too.

“Ya wanna get some food and drink? Charge up a bit?” Logan knew he’d been pushing them both non-stop over the last five-six hours, and he also knew deep down that they had to take a break sometime.

Sean nodded gratefully, and reached into the back of the jeep to get his wallet from his jacket.  He counted what little cash he had left, while Logan spread the road map over the bonnet; marking off another section. He was surprised to notice Logan’s hands actually shaking, this in itself was just another clue that Gambit’s kidnapping was more than Logan would let on.

Logan looked up to see Sean’s gaze, and quickly put his hands in his pockets. He actually felt embarrassed. “What?”

Sean was lost for words, he didn’t know what else to say except… “We will find him, ye know.”

Logan barked out a laugh that held no humour.

“Oh, I know we’ll find him. Just don’t know what state he’s gonna be in when we do.”

“We might find him quicker if thar rest o’ the X-Men were helping us…”

Logan looked up and met Sean’s gaze, a foreboding glint in his eyes that caused the hairs on the back of Sean’s neck to prickle.

“Nah. I told ya, they’ve put the Cajun through enough shit already. Stuff he…,” Logan faltered, clearly fighting down intense emotion, “Stuff he can’t ‘ave deserved.”

“I know he’s a good friend o’ yours Logan but –“ Sean stopped as Logan’s whole demeanor changed, and he smiled a sad, cryptic smile; “… more ‘an a good friend?”

Logan folded the map back up, and chucked it on the front seat, before turning to the diner.  Sean put a light hand on Logan’s shoulder to stop him. He half turned, almost not wanting to hear what his best friend had to say. The question was hesitant, and Sean felt vaguely surreal asking it. Asking if the Wolverine had fallen for a supposedly slutish, promiscuous kid.

A kid that was *male*.

“Maybe. Ah Christ Sean, I don’t know.” Logan rubbed his tired eyes with the back of his hand. “It’s such a fuckin’ mess and now with Creed in the picture.. all I know is that I want Remy safe and happy, an’ with me.”

“You love him.” Sean said it as if he was talking to himself.

“No. I – I… Ah hell yeah, I really think maybe I do Sean. I think I do.”

Sean nodded.

“Wow.”

*****

~ 5 hours earlier ~

Warren cursed lightly and gratuitously stuffed papers upon papers into the shredder. The pile on the antique mahogany desk was still up to his chin. This was how it was so often now. The X-Men had been called away suddenly on a mission and he couldn’t help because he wasn’t in quick travelling time of the Mansion. He was in a huge, clean and thoroughly unpersonal house in Mexico City; dealing with paperwork.

His mobile rang and he had it up to his ear by the second chirrup, his wings shifting uncomfortably against the back of the hard chair.

“Worthington.”

“Sir?”

Ah, Cyndi, one of his personal secretaries. She sounded uncertain, definitely not good news.

“Yes, Cyndi?”

“Mr Worthington… I’m not quite sure how to tell you this but…” She really didn’t want to tell him, she was certain he’d fire her just for being the messenger.

“Out with it Cyndi, I have a meeting in half an hour.”

She finally decided on just blurting it out. “There’s been a robbery at your New York penthouse.”

“What? When? What’s been stolen?” Warren straightened in his chair; all thoughts of meetings and paperwork quickly forgotten.

“We’re not sure. Everything was fine when the caretaker left three days ago, and then when he went to check today… It’s just, well, along with some paintings and cash; your mother’s locket is gone.”

Warren didn’t answer the young woman. His throat went suddenly dry with shock, sadness and a raging ire. He had precious few memories of his mother as she had died before his fifth birthday, and he kept the diamond encrusted locket of hers in his bedroom at his home near the X-Mansion. He treasured it above any of the priceless pieces of art he owned; above nearly all of his belongings. And someone had taken it just to fill their probably already bulging bank accounts with more money!

“Sir? Did you hear me?” Warren clenched his fist and tried to make his voice sound normal.

“Yes Cyndi. I don’t suppose anyone knows who the perpetrators of this crime are? I trust the best police and private detectives are on it?”

“There was a… well, a card left,” she laughed nervously, “I thought that kind of thing only happened in crime novels.”

“What card?” He nearly snapped.

“An Ace of Diamonds.”

*****

~ 4 hours later ~

A memo from Warren Worthington III went out. Not to his board members. Not to his employees. But to the kind of contacts that weren’t written in one’s address book; contacts in the underworld. Contacts every good multi-millionaire businessman should have.

It was short and precise, and could be summarised thus:
A thief’s calling card. Ace of Diamonds. Who’s? A reward.

He had gotten a reply; or a ‘meet me’ to be exact.

And that’s where he was now. Waiting for the arrival of his source; all senses heightened in a strained alert, vigilant for any sign of a trap.

“I didn’t expect you to meet me personally, even though I stipulated that you should.”

Warren whipped round to the direction of the voice. A pro if he could sneak up on an X-Man. His eyes struggled in the dark to pick out any features on the shadowy outline of a figure.

“I’m not in the habit of having others do my dirty work for me.”

The figure stepped out into the flickering glow of the unreliable streetlamp.

“No; I suppose you’re not. Angel.”

Warren raised an eyebrow at the use of his codename. The man in front of him was tall, six foot or more; and heavily built with the kind of hard muscle that could only be maintained through rigorous exercise. He possessed an aura of quiet confidence, and an evident self-discipline that seemed Army-engendered to Warren. And a darkness lurked in the depths of otherwise bright blue eyes; this man had seen and done things that probably crept back in the dead of night. Warren could sympathise.

But he knew the face. Oh, he knew the face…

“You can turn the image inducer off now, Mr Worthington. You’ve nothing to fear from me; I’m a man of the law. And besides, I obviously already know who you are.”

‘A man of the law’. Synapses connected within Warren’s brain and he remembered who this man was. Frank Castle, who called himself The Punisher. The X-Men had never run into him, at least not with Warren, but stories had been told. A vigilante, constantly haunted by the rage and injustice he felt at the deaths of his wife and children. A good man, as far as Warren could guess.

He flicked the inducer off. This wasn’t the type of informant he had expected, but his curiosity was most certainly piqued.

“So you know who I am, as I do you – why are you here?”

Frank huffed quietly in annoyance.

“I believe we both have similar aims. The thief who leaves the Ace of Diamonds after his heists is a criminal, and active in an underground ring of thievery I’ve only recently discovered. I want him brought to justice, and I don’t have any scruples about how that’s done. His name’s LeBeau, I believe you know him.”

Warren looked at the man in front of him, his right fist clenching and his fingernails digging into his skin. Gambit! A fury started uncoiling in his stomach, but he kept his face stoic.

“You’re sure of this?”

Castle couldn’t read any reaction in the mutant’s eyes and it unsettled him slightly.

“Yeah. Apparently the cards have some meaning or something. Some occult shit. LeBeau’s means money, and the ‘reappropriation’ of it.”

Warren was no fool, but all of this sounded just like the kind of game Gambit would play. He recalled ‘Ro telling him and the team some stories of when she and Remy thieved together, taking from the rich and giving to the poor; supposedly. A fancy way of saying reappropriation.

“And you’re sure this is Remy LeBeau, not his father?”

“His father’s not in the habit of leaving calling cards, so that only leaves the son… Of course, if you want to give me the card I can have it analysed.”

“I have the resources to do that myself.” Warren snapped.

Frank shrugged indifferently. “Now; I’ve told you everything. What are you planning to do about him? I know you can get close to him.”

Warren nodded, “I can, but there are complications. I need some time to think things over, I’ll contact you soon.”

Castle chuckled. “Better make it soon Angel - there are plenty of other jobs out there paying a sweet reward, or opportunities for the hand of justice to come calling.”

Warren imagined Gambit pawing over his mother’s locket, and anger welled up inside him, until he felt as if he would explode.

“Don’t worry Castle; I won’t.”

*****

The Blackbird touched down in its subterranean hangar and the team descended the ramp lethargically. Jean sighed and massaged the back of her neck. Her husband smiled at her.

:: Another small potential disaster averted. All in a day’s work, huh? ::

:: Only for us superheroes :: She sent back, laughing.

:: We should try and find Logan :: Scott sobered slightly, some irritation passing through their bond. :: I wish he’d be more responsible, I asked him to check in with us regularly. ::

She activated Cerebro when they entered the Mansion.

“Where’s Wolverine?”

-X-Man Wolverine is currently not on the grounds- Cerebro’s mechanical voice informed her.

Jean frowned, “Last known whereabouts before leaving?”

-X-Man Wolverine’s last known location…  Boathouse-

Scott raised an eyebrow at her. She shrugged.

“Is Gambit at the Boathouse?”

-Negative. X-Man Gambit is currently not on the grounds-

Scott mumbled under his breath and turned heel, heading towards the Boathouse. The rest of his bewildered team followed.

*****

Bobby sucked in his breath upon walking into the Boathouse. Jean and Scott stood frozen beside him.

“Holy… what the hell happened here?”

Furniture was broken and overturned, the contents strewn all over the floor. Walls were splattered with random patterns of blood. What appeared to be a dresser or chest of drawers was smashed up at the bottom of the stairs and Storm walked out of the bedroom, ashen faced and holding fragments of blood soaked rope. Beast quickly took it from her, and gathered samples to test for what had transpired.

Entranced within the chaotic scene in front of them half of the X-Men jumped when the Boathouse door shut after someone else walking in. They all turned on Warren, glowering.

“Why are we all gathering in the Boathouse…” he looked through the gaggle of spandex clad mutants in front of him, “oh. What happened?”

“We don’t know,” replied Cyclops through clenched teeth, the oh so familiar veering towards pissed off tone in his voice, “Storm, Rogue, look upstairs for clues; Iceman… help Hank collect some blood samples if you can. The rest of you back to the Mansion, we have a debriefing to take care of.”

Bobby rolled his eyes. ‘Efficient little…’

*****

The doors to the War Room opened and Beast entered, carrying various printouts and looking thoughtful, in an albeit anxious manner.

“Hank. Are those the results?”

“They are indeed, our fearless leader.”

“Wellllll?” Moaned Bobby impatiently.

“There were blood samples from three different individuals, and each produced a match within the database. I confirmed them as Logan’s, Remy’s and… Sabretooth’s.”

“A visit from Sabretooth and now Wolverine and Gambit are missing.” Mused Cyclops.

“Damnit! That little rat!” All eyes shifted to Warren, questioning. “Well isn’t it obvious? How could Creed have caught Wolverine off guard? Why was Logan at the Boathouse in the first place? He was in on it! LeBeau, that bastard. Traitorous; thieving little *bastard*!”

“Now hang on a minute Warren-“ Scott began, taken aback by his friend’s fiery animosity.

“What exactly are you accusing my brother of Angel?” Ororo’s ice cold voice interrupted Cyclops.

“You think that Remy would work with Sabretooth in order to what? Just abduct Logan?” Jean voiced the questions swirling round most of the team’s heads.

“Yes! It makes perfect sense.”

“I’m not so sure, my dear cohort… Perhaps you should take a few deep breaths and-”

“No Hank!” Warren snapped, eyes afire with maniacal rage, “Not this time. None of you will silence me this time. I know I’m right. There can be no other logical explanation.”

And with that, Angel vacated the room, running down the corridor with his mind racing.

*****

Warren pounded Castle’s number into his cell phone once he was free of the Mansion. The second ring was cut off when a gravelly toned voice answered,

“Yeah?”

“Mr Castle,” Warren began, his voice slick with confidence; the evidence of his vaunted self-image, “I have an offer for you. I’m afraid LeBeau is no longer at the Mansion; he might be with a villain called Sabretooth. Send it out that I want LeBeau, alive, for a fully negotiable sum.”

“Alive? You know how slippery that thief can be?”

“Fine…  I’ll make it easier for you. I want that gutter whore brought to me! And I don’t care how many pieces he’s in, just so long as one of them can talk!” Warren cut the connection before Castle could reply.

*****

Frank Castle took a long draught of his beer, savouring the smack of its taste, the fizz of the texture. He despised this – having to spend time surrounded by the very type of people he’d happily have locked up or shot if he could. It was as if the greed and evil that consumed them festered within their body and came out upon their breath, souring the very air that everyone else around them had to breathe.

But he didn’t have to worry on that now. He was close to another victory. And yet, the man he had met in this dank pit of filth had complicated things a touch. LeBeau wasn’t working with Creed; he was being held by him. Not so much of a problem as long as it didn’t change Worthington’s mind…

His hand hovered over his phone, ready to contact the man, but he stopped and punched in a different number instead. There was no point in giving Worthington the chance to fuck this up.

“Santha honey; it’s Frank. I’ve got a job for you babe, if you think you’re up to it…
   … Glad to hear it. I want a meeting with Victor Creed; as soon as possible….
  …. Oh, just tell him he’s in the running for enough to bribe the whole of Congress.”

A soft chuckle bubbled up and he said his goodbyes, but died swiftly. Even with Worthington’s cash practically in his hands to offer, he’d still have to utilise all his persuasion power very soon.

*****

Sabretooth smiled a toothy grin and ran his tongue round his sharp, lengthy canines. Nothing pleased him better than the chance of a good fuck, a little maiming and a bundle of bills all wrapped up in one red-eyed hell of a gig. And who knows, maybe if he kept his wits about him, perhaps a bit of a kill.

‘Or a lotta of a kill’, he laughed and pumped the syringe he was holding full of Sinister’s own brand of Gumbo-tried-and-tested sedative.

He loped off down the shining grey corridors, and snuck, as much as he ever ‘snuck’, into the small holding cell where the Cajun was currently secured. He saw the red-haired mutant lying on the floor. Little street rat was still dazed from Sinister’s earlier examination. He grabbed the brat by his hair and held him in a neck-hold, ready to jab the syringe into him.

Remy’s eyes quickly opened and he slammed his foot into Creeds’ knee and twisted away, making sure to knock the syringe from Creed’s grasp. He watched it skid across the floor and under the cabinet. Creed chuckled, and got back to his feet. He loved the way this Cajun’s spirit never seemed to break. Was such a challenge to the likes of him. “Oh you’re so gonna wish you hadn’t done that kid.” Remy tried to answer back, but his throat was still sore from all the tubes sinister had forced down his throat earlier.

Creed lunged for him, but Remy dipped at the last second, to slip between Creed’s legs and head for the door, but before he could reach it, Creed swiftly grabbed a handful of hair and pulled him back into the room. He briefly thought of having a little fun with his red-eyed bitch now, but his senses picked up the distant steps of Sinister. He dragged the kid across the floor by his hair, somewhat grateful for the silent screams. He easily pushed the cabinet aside with one hand and picked up the syringe.

“What de…” The boy mouthed as the sedative took effect.

“Decided ta give ya a present, an’ take ya out of Sinny’s hands fer awhile. On yer feet now punk,” he laughed as Gambit slackened in his grip, “We’re goin’ walkies.”
 

~ TBC ~