InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "Death to Smoochy!"

Remy LeBeau (ace_of_clubs) wrote in vas_captio_rpg,
@ 2009-06-19 23:47:00

Entry tags:

!complete, day 12, insider, location: barn, remy lebeau

Who: Remy LeBeau & The Insider
What: The Insider checks up on Remy and Remy notices.
Where: In the tunnels beneath the barn.
When: 0108 - Day 12
Rating: PG-13
Status: Complete

It had been a long day for Gambit. The barn had been.. sort of taken care of, and was more livable now. He'd had to sacrifice his make-shift room, so he no longer had the privacy that he had the following night. Instead, he'd let Jack, Ianto and the Doctor have a few of the couches that were closer to the standing walls, beneath the cover of the creaking tin roof. Gambit had chosen, instead, to sleep on a couch near the open part of the barn, where there was a nice breeze. In order to do that, he'd had to move the couch there -- which moved it off of the trap door, only by a few feet. No one had taken notice, really, because it was so perfectly seamless, melding into the floorboards. And Remy hadn't given it a second thought. He'd just wanted to push the couch into the shade of a tree hanging over the barn (to block out the dim moonlight) and into a nice spot that would let the wind blow through. Sure, it wasn't as safe here.. something could fall on him, a wild animal could eat him, or some crazy, beautiful Amazon could capture him and drag him off to her secret mountain lair and force him to make sweet, sweet love to her on a regular basis, every hour on the hour, for the rest of his life, while torturing him with fantastic head while they were taking breaks in between....!

That would be just.. awful.

Hopefully, if anyone had to suffer that terrible, awful fate, it would be the unfortunate Cajun who had picked the spot away from the others, reclined on the couch on his back, sock-covered feet propped up on one arm, while his head rested on the other, as a pillow. His boots were next to the couch, neatly lined up, and his belt was folded and tucked into them. He'd worn his jeans and his tank-top to sleep, and was using his leather trench coat as a sheet of sorts. It was actually pretty comfortable.. but then, the cat-like Cajun could have slept on a flight of stairs and been fine. He was boneless and languid that way, all lanky limbs and grace, even sprawled out now on the dingy yellow couch, head lolled some to the side, a bit of that long red hair blowing some into his face. He'd picked a nice, breezy spot alright. Thank goodness for that. But the young man was a light sleeper, despite how easily he could pass out (like a narcoleptic), and it was often that the smallest noises could wake him.

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inside_mind
2009-06-19 11:25 pm UTC (link)

As quiet as a mouse, the Insider crept through the tunnels, picking through the darkness as lithe and careful as a cat would maneuver a dark alley. Instead of the glowing eyes of a cat, the Insider wore the compact night vision goggles of a distant future, face covered in the thin, yet seemingly magical face scrambling mask. Little to no sound issued from the boots worn, in spite of the stumble here and there due to injury in the recent earthquake. It had been too bad that there had been no rescue, no solace from that. Being injured was not conducive to stealth.

It was with as much silence as possible that the Insider slid up through the trap door into the barn. The black jacket worn made it next to impossible to see the form, let alone the correct shape of it, as the Insider let the door fall as quietly shut as old, dry wood would go.

Protected eyes adjusted to the pale moonlight as the night vision goggles were removed at the sight of the red-haired man asleep on the couch so near. The Insider stood, breathless, to watch the sleeper. The mission had been to slip from the barn and into the woods for a new destination unattainable by the underground tunnels. It hadn't been expected that the one who had been so flirtatious via the journals and so considerate as to leave food would be right there in view. The Insider ventured forward two steps and stood over the sleeping figure. One hand reached out as though to touch his face but withdrew. This was not the time or place for connections. Especially with the other three sleeping not far away.

The Insider began to back away again into the darkness, bending to find the release for the trap door again.

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ace_of_clubs
2009-06-19 11:46 pm UTC (link)

It was the soft noise of the trap door lifting and the way it made the air push back towards him, that woke the Cajun. Not in a start. Remy rarely woke up all at once, unless he was being dumped out of a bed, or woken by an angry woman who wanted to know why he was still there. That hadn't happened in a while, come to think of it. Not in at least a month, anyway. And it was one onyx and ruby eye that slid open first, staring up at he moon that had shifted to be shining down on him now, avoiding the branch that had been offering shade before. Huh. The other eye slowly opened, and he breathed in deeply through his nose and stretched his legs out. It was still night time, so why had he woken?

It wasn't until he caught the bit of movement out of the corner of his eye that he turned his head to look to his right. He just barely caught the closing of the trap door, and it caused him to sit up, pushing his coat off of him. His shoulder instantly began to protest, but he only rubbed his gloved hand against the bare flesh and moved on silent, sock-covered feet for the trap door. A glance was spared to the others sleeping on the couches not far away, then he turned to look briefly into the woods, where he knew Logan was.. then he was very carefully lifting that trap door and slipping down the steps as well, bending at the waist to be able to close the door behind him before he'd even come all the way down the steps.

Of course, this left him in complete and utter darkness and the Cajun shuffled a step forward, one hand moving out to make sure he wasn't going to walk into anything. He considered lighting something up, but didn't want the light shining through the floor boards of the trap door and alerting the others. So, against his better judgment, the red-head remained completely in the dark, sliding another sock-covered foot forward in a sickeningly graceful move. The top button of his jeans were undone, causing them to slide lower on his hips, but he'd pull them up in a moment. Right now, he was more worried about not having his head taken off by a stranger. A stranger he hoped was L'Initié.

"Sont vous là?" Quietly asked into the darkness.

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inside_mind
2009-06-19 11:47 pm UTC (link)

The Insider had barely had a chance to get down the ladder and back against the wall before someone followed. It had to be Remy. Slipping on the night vision goggles again, the Cajun came into sharp focus in the darkness. His hand waved through the air, very nearly touching the Insider's face. Insider raised a gloved hand and brushed, light as the wind, at the red hair as Remy passed. Teasing.

Then it was only two shuffling steps to safety in the alcove and they were taken as silently as could be. Except the crate was below eye level. Heavy boots slammed into the wood with a somewhat loud crashing of cracking wood.

"Yes, that would be me," the growl of a voice responded as it was impossible to pretend not to be there now that all the noise had been produced. A sigh was tendered and the Insider moved past the alcove so as not to be near enough to be touched should Remy decide to reach out in the direction the androgynous voice.

"Thank you for the treat. I'd better be going."

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ace_of_clubs
2009-06-19 11:58 pm UTC (link)

He felt the hand brush by and turned his head in that direction, but there was no use. No matter how wide his eyes got, straining to see through the pitch dark, he wouldn't even get an outline. Nothing. "Est cela vous?" Again, it was asked to the darkness around him, and for a second he thought he wouldn't get a response, though he could feel the movement of someone, better yet, he could feel them inside his head. Gambit wasn't all explosions and mayhem, he had his charm, the slight empathy that went with it. Nothing too strong, unless he was using it to sway someone's decisions, to make them agree with him, or to disagree with someone else. To make them want him. It was something he did too often, honestly. It got him into a lot of trouble. But thankfully, he'd been smart enough not to use it here. Once someone knew about it, it was completely ineffectual on them. A drawback. So he used it sparingly, and only when alone with someone.

But then the noise came and the Cajun turned quickly, another graceful movement, he wasn't unbalanced for even a second. He was good at what he did. However, when he felt the other body move past, heard that voice, he didn't reach out. There was no point to it. He was at the clear disadvantage here, and if the other didn't want to be touched, they wouldn't let it happen, no matter if Remy reached out or not.

"Je vous en prie. J'ai plus, en haut." His voice was still low, quiet so they wouldn't alert the others, but both hands were still up partially, about level with his chest as he slowly slid another step forward, to assure he wasn't going to run into anything. He was following the voice, but wasn't reaching out. "I can' see." Master of the Obvious, as well as Master Thief? He was certainly holding a lot of titles lately. "Wha' you doin' here?" Had the Insider come for the food? Just picked it up, perhaps? Or had the Insider been coming for something else? Or maybe had come through the forest, and down into the tunnel. But why come into the barn, with people sleeping in it, and risk getting caught?

[*Translation: You're welcome. I have more upstairs.]

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inside_mind
2009-06-20 12:14 am UTC (link)

"You should close your eyes. The longer your retinas struggle to find light that isn't there, the faster they will burn out and you will be blind forever," came the growling voice again. Then several steps were taken in another direction to keep away from any reaching hands that most likely wouldn't come as the Insider had not seen Remy reach out the first time. Still, better safe than sorry. This was a dangerous game being played now. The Insider knew that many tunnels and turns should have been between them already. Yet there they were. Dancing in the darkness.

This was like playing one's fingers through the flame of a candle. It felt dangerous but was only as dangerous as one allowed it to be. The Insider knew that withdrawal was an option at any time. So curiosity was the winner in this equation, keeping the heavy boots in place rather than running away through the darkness. Maybe it wasn't prudent but this was Remy. This was the man who had charmed and perhaps even flirted through the journals first with attempts to bargain and then with outright temptation. There was no way that the Insider could not be interested in seeing this interlude through a while longer.

"I came to find something. I didn't expect anyone to be in the barn tonight. Je suis désolé que j'ai interrompu votre sommeil." I'm sorry I interrupted your sleep. The Insider was indeed sorry to have disrupted the sleeping man. Especially now that it looked as though there was no avoiding talking unless being counted a coward was on the list of things the Insider desired to accomplish before the end of the day. Being on half of the residents' hit lists was no treat either but that was more relished because it inferred power of some sort. Power that the Insider did not exactly have when not under that particular title.

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ace_of_clubs
2009-06-20 12:28 am UTC (link)

When the Insider suggested in that quiet half-growl that Gambit close his eyes, he opened his mouth to protest.. but then closed it. It wasn't like having his eyes shut was going to make it any darker, and he didn't know anything about medicine, or about the eyes, aside from the fact that they made you see. Brilliant though he was, Remy LeBeau was not schooled and there were many things he had no idea about, many things that grade-schoolers knew, that would baffle the street-learned Cajun. He did, though, eventually let his eyes slide closed. They remained that way for a few seconds before opening again, straining in the dark. It was hard, to force yourself to close your eyes when around someone who could probably do you some serious bodily harm, if not kill you. This person said they were L'Initié, but he couldn't be sure. Couldn't know that, really. He also couldn't know that L'Initié wasn't planning on doing something very unfriendly, and he didn't want to be one of those faceless bodies they'd said they'd found.

However, the threat of being blinded loomed over him and the red-head was finally closing his eyes, at least for now. "How you ge' so smar', Initié?" The name sounded thicker coming from his accented tongue, not light and airy, as the language meant it to be. But that was Cajun for you, nothing floated, everything crashed to the ground.. and left craters. It wasn't a beautiful accent, but it was an attractive one.

Though, when the other apologized, Remy broke into a wide grin, flashing his teeth in the darkness as he slowly lowered his hands, forcing himself to try to relax -- but even as he did, the lithe muscles in his arms were bunching under the skin, tensing and relaxing in a nervous fashion. It was one reason he always wore the coat. He had a great poker face, but his body gave away his emotions. The Cajun was nervous. And he had every right to be.

"Gla' you in'nerup'. Been hopin' for 'dat coffee, non?" Though he knew there was no coffee, it at been a good attempt at a joke, from their talk over the journals. "You come to fin' me, you foun' me. You come to fin' somet'in' else, you outta luck, oui?" The smile widened out then and he shook his head a little, good arm lifting to push the red strands from his face. Not that it mattered.. he couldn't see anyway. "Ain' gon' run off on me, are you? Gon' stay a bit? Make a man feel unwan'e', tryin' t' run off like 'dat. Gon' make me chase you in 'de dark, in 'de tunn'l, in 'dese socks." He wiggled his feet some. "Migh' die, chasin' you. Trip, break my neck, an' be all corpsie. Ain' 'tract'ive. So you better stay, non?"

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inside_mind
2009-06-20 12:43 am UTC (link)

The Insider watched Remy struggle with the concept presented. It looked as though he didn't want to trust what he was being told. Which was more than understandable. The Insider was not offended. Just as the Insider was concerned with possibly being caught and outted, so Remy would justifiably be afraid of being attacked so that the mysterious identity could remain safe. It was a closely kept secret that the Insider was not naturally violent. There would be no attack but there would be no reassurance either. Better the guise be in place than be in danger of being underestimated.

"Smart? Take enough tours of irrelevant monuments, caves and mysterious places on school trips and you learn all manner of things." Which was true. That was where the tidbit about retinas burning out in pitch blackness had been learned.

The Insider smiled beneath the mask. It was an unintentional, natural reaction to the charming way in which the man spoke. There was something about being played and knowing you were being played that appealed to the Insider. It meant there was the possibility of lively conversations and adventurous ideas lurking beneath the surface. It was a tension between them that was different from most personal tensions the Insider had known. This was playful and serious at the same time. A different dance in the darkness. One more welcome than the constant shifting of positions along the walls of the tunnels.

"Perhaps I will run off, perhaps I won't. Perhaps you'll figure out what you want to know and it won't matter either way. Non?" the voice rasped in the velvet darkness. Was it just the imagination or was the air growing thicker? Was there an electric hum of anticipation? The Insider was primed to either run or laugh. It all depended on what Remy was going to do or say next. The game was afoot and it was great fun.

"I'd like to see you try to chase me in your stocking feet. There are some nasty outcroppings along these tunnels in places." The smile was transparent in the tone even if the voice was graveled and disguised.

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ace_of_clubs
2009-06-20 12:56 am UTC (link)

"Oui, an' I trip on 'dem, cut myself, an' blee' to deat' an' no one ever know. Be a shame. I look so good in uh suit, be pretty at my fune'rl, non?" His grin stayed easily in place though he took a careful step forward, fingers on his good hand curling as he itched to charge up the glove he was wearing. To get some light. But he knew it'd just make the other run, and that wasn't something that he wanted to happen. He wanted L'Initié to stay right here. He wanted to talk to the other.

Remy's eyes opened involuntarily, needing to try to look around again, in case there was new light. But there was nothing to see, and the darkly tinted eyes were closing again, as he swallowed. The muscles in his neck helped push it down, and he rolled his good shoulder, then shook his good arm, trying to ease out the tension there. He didn't like being all bunched up like this. He was a relaxed, easy-going person by nature. So this was odd for him, he was only ever on-edge when fighting. And this certainly wasn't a fight.

However, when he found his voice again, it was quieter this time, as if afraid the others would hear.. though, if they hadn't come down into the tunnel with the sound of the crashing crate, they likely weren't going to come down at all. But if Remy had wanted to alert them, it would have only taken a yell. A shout. A burst of light.

"Wha' you doin', Initié?" it was clear, though, that he didn't want to know what the other was doing right now, it was a more general question. "'Dese people, 'dey ain' happy. You taun'in' a angry beas', mon ami," Someone needed to teach this boy proper grammar. No. Really. They did. "Vous pouvez me venir." You can come to me, he'd said. "You be safe. I ain' no kitten, d'accord? M' dang'r's. 'Dey don' know you anyway, oui? Ain' be no trouble you to come share my couch, cela? Ain' no one gotta know. I ain' gon' say not'in'. Jus' you an' me. Miss 'de warm body nex' to mine, hm? Avancer. Or I go wit' you, maybe you gotta ma'ress?" Silk sheets, and room service-- No. Now wasn't the time for that. No fantasizing about room service, Remy LeBeau.

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inside_mind
2009-06-20 01:09 am UTC (link)

The Insider was fully aware of Remy's capabilities. They had been listed in detail in the files that the Insider had been privy to before being found out and terminated. It was to his credit that he hadn't sprung into full action mode. The Insider could respect that especially in the desperate situation of injury and hatred that filled the present. The tunnels had been fun before that point in time. Now they were a necessity for reasons even the Insider couldn't completely understand no matter how self-aware.

"What am I doing." There was a pause because it wasn't a repeated question so much as a thoughtful statement. It was an interesting provocation to ask why it was necessary to taunt the people who were already hurting. There were probably a dozen reasons that could be given. A dozen more that could be created and contrived to hide the real purpose. Something compelled the truth in this situation and therefore nothing could be said in response off the cuff. It had to be thought out and carefully spoken. There was a long silence as the Insider held a breath.

Then, "People thrive when there is a singular entity to focus anger on. What I've done is give people a reason to survive. Nothing else." It was a partial truth but there was no way to discount it because the eyes that would betray the half-insincerity were hidden in the dark. The Insider felt the level of self-confidence raise inside and stood a bit taller, shoulders pushed more firmly back. Let the dance continue.

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ace_of_clubs
2009-06-20 02:33 am UTC (link)

"People t'rive when 'dey go' hope, too. An' when 'dey scare', an' when 'dey angry, an' when 'dey shoul' jus' curl up an' die. People t'rive when an' where 'dey shoul'n'. Ain' jus' 'cause of one reason, if it ain' you 'dey hate, 'dey fin' someone else. Maybe me, qui sait? Maybe someone else." The Cajun shifted again where he was standing, opening his eyes once more, but forcing them not to strain in the darkness. He was focusing down, about waist-level, but having his eyes open would help to relax his tensed, eager body. He wanted to turn and leave, wanted to take himself somewhere he could see. But his mind and his wants outweighed his instinct and his needs. This was where he was staying.

"I know wha' you tryin' to do, petite, an' I get it, I un'ers'an'. Done it myself. But I ain' had no one lookin' out f' me. I ain' had no one 'roun' wan'in' to help. Personne d'autre. An' I ain' offerin' 'cause I'm uh goo' person, I ain' a goo' person. I'm offerin' -- I'm askin', 'cause I'm selfish, an' ru'e, an' bad. Et je veux vous garder. I wan' keep you." He repeated the French words in English, as if it would make more sense.. which, really, was foolish thinking on his part. He knew French, he knew how to speak it properly, even if his accent made it a little hard to understand. But his English? Not quite as nice. "An' wha' I wan', I get. Non?" He flashed another grin, lifting his right hand to rub at his sore left shoulder, rotating it a little. It hurt so damn much. He'd have to thank Logan for that later, by kicking him good and hard in the... knee. Right.

"'Side, all 'dis meetin' in 'de dark'n tunn'ls? It sexy. Turnin' me on. Feel like I shoul' be in han'cuff an' you shoul' be spakin' me, or somet'in'. Vous pouvez me voir, n'est ce pas? Leave me at a dis'van'age. Not use to bein' on 'de si'e wit' 'de emp'y han'. Use to havin' aces in my pocke'." Literally. Now, he had nothing but some lint in his pockets. He didn't even have his belt. Which reminded him -- both hands were lowering and he was carefully rebuttoning the top of those jeans, Lord knew he didn't want them sliding down any further over his thin hips.

[*Translation: You can see me, right?]

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inside_mind
2009-06-20 08:41 pm UTC (link)

The Insider stopped, rigidly resting against the wall of the tunnel in the darkness. Remy didn't understand either. As much as he'd acted like he had, like he was accepting, he was nothing of the sort. He had come down here to talk sense into someone he thought was wrong. That was all there was to it. The Insider's head shook slowly, unseen in the blackness around them. The night vision goggles captured his movements, his eyes opening again. This was indeed more dangerous than had been expected. He'd managed to lower the Insider's guard. Betrayal was imminent it seemed.

Backing away down the tunnel, the Insider answered, "You don't fool me, sir. I see you but you do not see me. You're just looking to capture me and expose me so that they can all crucify me in the public square. A justified killing of an antagonistic, evil force. I am not fooled, mon ami." The last words were bitten out somewhat bitterly. Rapped out in all but a whisper.

Further steps were taken away into the pitch blackness. The Insider was nearing a bend in the passageway. A stepping off point for running away and being lost to the stocking-footed Cajun. "Don't mock me, Remy. Don't try to charm me. You want your aces, you earn them."

The voice was almost inaudible in the velvety darkness. The Insider was poised to run. "Better catch your pants before they end up around your ankles."

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ace_of_clubs
2009-06-20 09:21 pm UTC (link)

"Mock?" He narrowed his own eyes down then, but it was more in confusion. "'De Hell you talkin' 'bou'? C'est la conversation idiote! I ain' lookin' to catch no one, mon ami. You ain' no evil force, you givin' y'self too much cre'it. You t'ink skulkin' 'roun' in 'de tunn'ls, taun'in' people, 'dat don' make you evil. I know evil people, I done evil t'in's. Anyone here 'serve to be crucify, it's me, so don' be actin' like you some how better at doin' bad stuff 'cause you ain'. S'my title an' you can' have it." The Cajun insisted, rolling his shoulder back some. It hurt. A lot. But he was crossing his arms over his chest in a blatant display of displeasure and stubbornness. He wasn't going to give chase, he couldn't. He didn't even know the other was attempting to run.

"Merde." He cursed softly, turning his head some to the side and causing his hair to swing. "Don' you be worryin' 'bou' my pan's." That came out in a huff. "I ain' comin' af'er you, ain' no one else, nei'ter. Know why? 'Cause I ain' yell. I ain' scream. 'Dere's t'ree people 'bove us, coul'a tol' 'dem 'fore I come down here af'er ya. I know you ain' stupi', so why you actin' like you t'ink I'm gon' hur' you? You know I ain'." He uncrossed his arms then, shuffling back a step, then another, until his heel hit the step and he slowly sat down.

"Can' believe you t'ink 'dat, Chere." He stretched long legs out, then smoothed his hands along his thighs, to his knees, where he gripped and rubbed. His legs hurt. Sleeping on the couch hadn't done wonders for the joins there. "You really t'ink I'm gon' do 'dat to you, better jus' go, non? Don' wan' be was'in' your time." He muttered a few things in French, too quiet to really be understood, but he was clearly disappointed, or hurt -- or a mixture of both. But he was tipping back and letting his body rest against the hard stairs behind him, head leaning back onto one of the steps. "Mockin' you.. You mockin' me." He tucked one arm back behind his head.

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inside_mind
2009-06-20 09:34 pm UTC (link)

The Insider almost laughed then as the man insisted on keeping his title as the evil doer who deserved crucifying. It was a silly image in the darkness. The blind eyes and the folded arms. The stubbornness in the tone and demeanor. It was enough to charm in spite of the warning that charm was not wanted or acceptible. Well this wouldn't do. The Insider could not let someone get in past the armor that easily especially with such humorous tactics. This was still a dance after all and a precarious one at that.

Normally, in any state of mind, this would have been a clinching, deciding factor. The persona in public would have fallen immediately for the way the man had backed away and all but pouted. Expressing reassurance with reminders of the people up above who could have been called for assistance. The public persona would have possibly even decided to shake hands and make friends with this man for being a savior.

This private persona was more skiddish. And rightfully so. Nothing was what it seemed when you were the traitor. No one could be trusted when you couldn't be trusted. There were people who liked the public persona. A great deal. People who would be crushed to discover that all this time, the person they'd liked was taunting them via journals. People who would have protected the public persona wanted to kill the Insider. A no-win situation.

"I mock you?" the voice finally answered from some distance away. "I, who has every reason to distrust every person trapped in this god-forsaken place because they all seek to kill me. I mock you with my mistrust?" A laugh was given that rang false and mirthless in the darkness.

"You may be an immovable object but I am an unstoppable force in the eyes of everyone in Vas Captio. We cancel each other out, do we not? I would be no more safe with you - if you tell the truth and wish to hold on to your title by protecting me - than I would be walking naked out in the streets painted with the name "Traitor" on my chest."

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ace_of_clubs
2009-06-20 09:47 pm UTC (link)

Remy LeBeau knew all about being the Traitor, and his eyes narrowed at the word, jaw tightening. He almost forgot, in the darkness, that he could be seen. And the expression was wiped clean a moment later, pushing away the feeling deep in his gut with that word. In that instant, the Cajun thought the Doctor knew nothing of rage. And he shook his head to clear it. Focus, Remy. He drew in a deep breath through his nose before speaking.

"I ain' never t'rea'en you. I ain' never say gon' hur' you. Ain' never. You mock me wit' you mis'rus' 'cause you act like you gon' be--" He paused though, to calm himself a little and rephrase. "You act like we--" Still, it wasn't going to come out right, and Remy shook his head again. That was enough, Cajun. Emotions didn't belong here. Back it off. "In 'de eyes of 'de ot'ers. Bu' ain' you, non? I tell you, I ain' gon' hur' you. Remy may be a T'ief an' a liar, bu' 'dere's honor 'mong t'ieves, mon ami. An' I keep my wor'. Man ain' not'in' if he can' be hones' 'bou' somet'in'." Still, he was closing his eyes and pointing his toes some in a bit of a stretch, trying to loosen up tense muscles, willing himself to relax. Why was he getting so worked up over this? It had to have been that word. Traitor. It hadn't even been used about him, but it'd sure had an impact.

"Ain' no one need to know 'bou' you. You done wha' you set out to do, non? You piss 'de people off, you scare 'dem. Oui, it workin'. Oui. But it don' mean you talkin' t'me, don' mean us bein' here, us--" But he stopped short once again to rethink that, before continuing more slowly. "Don' mean you can' trus' me. Oui, you helpin', no' in 'de bes' way, but I ain' no one to say you doin' anyt'in' wron', won' my inten'ion, Initié. Din' come down here t' figh'." That made the Cajun swallow and he turned some, on the stairs, drawing one leg up so the knee was pointing to the ceiling, and his heel was near his butt, while the other stayed stretched out. Felt better, that way. "I ain' gon' hur' you."

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inside_mind
2009-06-20 09:58 pm UTC (link)

There was something in that voice that made the Insider stop again. Pause in the backward steps that were meant to be the accent to the final words. Insider was supposed to run away to safety. Find somewhere else to be in the middle of the chaos and fear of being caught. The fear of being betrayed and left to the murderous hands of others. It was confusing and it caused a sudden, audible intake of breath. Could this be really believed?

"What exactly are you saying, Remy? Are you honestly saying you would keep me a secret? You would protect me from the people who would like to kill me because I had my fun at their expense in the midst of this horrible place?"

Several steps were taken forward toward the man on the steps. Night vision goggles took in the manner in which he was stationed there. Now he was the one poised to go. Probably not run but leave. Suddenly that felt undesirable. This meeting must be prolonged. The human interaction must be maintained.

A few more steps were ventured and the Insider was standing close enough to touch the dark-blinded man. Gloved hands brushed through the red hair again, teasingly. "You say you won't hurt me but what if I hurt you?" came the tentative whisper. "Would you protect me then?"

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ace_of_clubs
2009-06-20 10:09 pm UTC (link)

The Cajun heard him coming closer. Knew he was there in the dark, but he didn't move. Didn't reach out. Just as before, he knew it would be stupid to do so. It wouldn't help anything and he sure wouldn't get to touch the Insider, he'd only scare them off. And he didn't want that.

"Oui, 'das wha' I'm sayin'. Wha' I been sayin' all nigh'. I ain' gon' tell no one. No' 'bou' who you are, no' 'bou' wha' we doin'. Ain' none 'dere business." He sat up a bit then, spreading his leg a little to give some leverage if he needed it, but he didn't. He wasn't going any where any time soon. "You ain' gon' hur' me. Retourner. I'm in 'de pi'ch black, ain' got no shoes, ain' got no weap'ns, I can' see you. Bu' you can see me, you got boots," He could hear that much, and he knew what to listen for. Remy LeBeau was good. Very good. "You coul' have any manner o' weap'n, coul' take my hea' off. Coul' smash it wit' a piece o' cemen'. Kill me righ' now. But you ain'. An' you ain' run off." He lifted his chin some when he felt that hand touch at his hair, but didn't move, still. It was hard not to. His muscles bunched and his stomach twisted, and instinct told him to run and not look back.

But Gambit hadn't always been one to listen to his smarter side. Curiosity too often won out, and got him into trouble. You know what they say about Curiosity and the Cat? Goes true for Cajuns. "An' if you hur' me by mis'ake, ain' your faul'. Ain' gon' blame you. Done it loads of times m'self. Ne moi quittez pas." Softly requested.

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inside_mind
2009-06-20 10:27 pm UTC (link)

He didn't want the Insider to leave? That was strange and even more confusing. Everything in the file that the Insider had been privy to had suggested this man was a renegade. A rogue without any sort of ties of loyalty or morality. But to promise protection. To stand still while explaining the many ways in which someone might kill him. Then asking not to be left. It made no sense to the Insider. No one spoke like that. This had to be some sort of trap. The entire idea that Remy was off guard and weaponless, guileless, was ridiculous.

Yet the level of self control was immaculate. Impressive. The Insider watched as Remy held still, obviously aware of the close proximity of their bodies. It would have been so easy for the man to reach out and grab hold of the black jacket or the mask. Neither which would have helped him much but it could have resulted in a fast haul upward into the pale moonlight. The Insider felt braver now. Perhaps this was trust or maybe it was a simple dare against self. Running was still an option, right?

The Insider spoke very near the man's ear in a rough whisper. "No, I have no reason to hurt anyone. Especially not you, Remy. Especially not you."

The bulk of the jacketed body was pressed gently against the man's side. There was still no recognizable shape or form to it. Nothing to signal male or female or anything but that a body was there, warm and a gloved hand resting lightly on the Cajun's throat. No threat, merely the suggestion of power and vulnerability. "You'd really claim to be like me?"

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ace_of_clubs
2009-06-20 10:44 pm UTC (link)

The Cajun had been joking before, about the sex, and the handcuffs in the dark. But now, with that body close, and the feel of that gloved hand on his throat.. it certainly wasn't a turn-off, and the young man who'd been without for so long, was drawing up his other leg some, to make himself a little more comfortable, and hopefully keep the strain from his pants. Just don't think about it in a sexual way, LeBeau, it was only touching.

But it was so hard not to, when you were Gambit.

That voice near his ear caused his eyes to open again, but he didn't look to the side, didn't turn his face, and still didn't reach out. Yes, he was a loner. Yes, he was a renegade. And yes, he had no loyalty, no ties. No people, and no one to care about. He cared about himself and only himself. But he hadn't always been like that, and it was hard not to fall back into old ways. Very hard. Especially when it was something he'd decided he needed to have. Like a beautiful piece of art. The more you're told about it, about the security surrounding it, about it's value, about it's history, and (above all) how much you are not allowed to touch it? The more you want it for your own. And thankfully, once Gambit wanted something, the feeling didn't just dissipate.

"I ain' claimin', I'm statin'. You know me, non? Know 'bou' me, 'bou' wha' I done, wha' I am. Or maybe you ain' got 'de whole sto'ry in 'dem compu'ers, or 'dem files, or 'dem books, wha'ever you got. Mais c'est vrai. I ain' like 'dem. 'Dey ain' mine. You mine, like me. Got people call you 'dey frien', but 'dey soon kill you as look at you. Ain' got no one you trus'. Mais oui. Like you. Or maybe you like me?"

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inside_mind
2009-06-20 10:55 pm UTC (link)

The eyes opened, caught by the goggles and eyes behind them. It was an interesting notion to have that sort of power. To cause realization and action. This was a new frontier for the Insider. Something the public persona had only ever pretended to be capable of and gotten away with when bluffing because no one could call out someone like that for faking it. No, the public persona's attachment from and with others was a fluke really. They might have cared but they didn't know. Had no clue about the reality and if they did it would have been the end of a life. One the Insider was keen on keeping.

To find an ally, one who seemed so genuinely sure that he wanted to ally himself. Well that was also a fluke. No chance in hell the powers that be had done that on purpose. It was accidental and probably to their detriment that there be someone in this place who could commiserate with a traitor. Someone who wouldn't betray a betrayer.

The Insider took a brief risk. Perhaps the action would be telling. Perhaps it would not be, depending on what one's moral compass was. Perhaps it would just be as confusing as the reassurances that the people in Vas Captio were not Remy's. It didn't matter right now as the Insider pressed a kiss through the thin mask against the Cajun's cheek.

Whispering, the voice said, "I know enough not to trust you. I know enough to trust you. It is a conundrum, n'est-ce pas? We are alike and we are different. I cannot charm anyone. I would be completely dependent upon you were I to put myself into your hands." The gloved hand dropped away from his throat to rest on the man's chest.

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ace_of_clubs
2009-06-20 11:07 pm UTC (link)

When he felt that mask press against his cheek, the Cajun allowed his eyes to close partially again, clearly having enjoyed the feeling. But when it was gone, his eyes opened again and he turned his head a bit, finally, to be facing the other. "Conun'rum." He agreed quietly. "I ain' Charm you, Initié." He couldn't, though. Not if the other person knew about it. If the intended target knew he could do it, it was a worthless power. It was all about suggestion, but it was so strong that he could influence a great many people, as long as they never figured it out. That was its drawback. And it was a dangerous one.

"Oui, you woul'." He agreed quietly. "Bu' righ' now, I'm depen' on you." Finally, he was lifting a hand, gloved (and naked) fingers curling into that jacket to get a grip, but he didn't tug, didn't charge, and didn't attempt to remove it. He was just holding on. "An' now I go' you." It was like a hollow threat. Holding up a store with your thumb and finger in the shape of a gun. But really, he could have killed the Insider. He could have charged the jacket and left it to blow, right in that instant. But he didn't. Maybe he was proving that he wouldn't, maybe he wasn't even thinking of it, maybe he just wanted to hold onto something. Whatever it was, he wasn't letting go.

"Come sleep wit' me, on 'de couch." Insisted quietly again. "Wit'ou' 'de mask, an' 'de coa', an' 'de worry. Ain' gon' know you can trus' me, 'til you fin' out. 'Til you le' me prove it. Permettez-moi s'il vous plaît de vous montrer. I ain' always a liar." Contrary to popular belief. "If no' 'de couch, 'den somewhere else. I ge' my coa' an' follow." He'd go where the Insider led him, he was willing to follow, not knowing where he was being led to. It was a scary prospect. But really, during all of this, he wasn't helpless. He always had a weapon. He was a weapon.

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inside_mind
2009-06-20 11:38 pm UTC (link)

The charm didn't have to be the inherent power Remy held over the unknowing. No, there was still a fair bit of charm in the Cajun that wasn't connected to anything but sheer personality. It was obvious that he weilded it as its own power. At least down here in the darkness where things were more left unsaid yet weighted with very obvious subtext. "You know what you're doing, Remy. You know the affect you have without any sort of magical voodoo."

The jacket was grabbed and the Insider froze. Motionless, slow, even breaths were taken to calm the fast-beating heart. This felt both like being caught and being backed against the wall with the first kisses of passion. It was both a very frightening sensation and one that was not wholly unwelcome either. The dichotomy raged inside and the Insider finally spoke again with a soft cough. "And what happens in the morning when I am where I should not be. Beside you on a couch with no mask and others awakening to find me so? What then?"

There was a hope in the whispered voice. Hope that perhaps Remy could make a convincing enough argument to make the Insider feel safe to do what the Cajun had suggested. A rest on a soft couch, close to someone who would be protective, seemed like an answer to so many problems in this place. It seemed too good to be true too. "I would like to believe you but this sounds ludicrous and I think you know it. I would be dead before I even know what was happening, wouldn't I?"

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ace_of_clubs
2009-06-20 11:48 pm UTC (link)

"'Den we say you came in 'de middle o' 'de nigh'." Which certainly wasn't a lie. "An' 'dat you foun' me sleepin'." Also not a lie. "An' 'dat I invi'e you to share my couch 'cause ain' no more open. An you accep'. End o' story." It wasn't that hard. Remy could lie his way out of anything. "Ain' no one gon' suspec'. 'Dey ain' gonna look at you, layin' nex' t'me, an' t'ink 'dat only L'Initié woul' settle wit' me. I'm a very 'ttrac'ive man." And he knew it. "An' oui, I know 'de effec' I have." Yes, he'd used the wrong word. Because he simply didn't know the difference between affect and effect. But at least it wasn't really noticeable, with his accent. "Calle' charm, wit' 'de lower-case C. Ain' Charm, wit' 'de upper-case one. 'Dat's 'de voodoo." Don't even get the backwater Cajun started on voodoo. He had all sorts of stories.

"An' someone wake us, got a prob'lm wit' it, I give 'dem a piece o' my mind, non? Ain' 'dere business who Remy sleep wit'." Third person, careful, LeBeau, that had slipped out. He'd been doing so much better about it, not being detached from himself.

"You say you wanna, 'den do it. I ain' gon' hur' you, an' I ain' gon' let no one else, nei'ter. Ain' a lie. D'accord?" He slowly released that jack, lifting his good hand, instead, to tug at the bottom of the neck that went down the other's throat, making soft 'Shhhh' noises and speaking quietly in French, reassuring nothings, as he did. If allowed, he'd get that mask up, just beneath the nose, before finding those lips with his thumb in the darkness and leaning in to meet them with his own.

How was that for convincing?

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inside_mind
2009-06-21 12:13 am UTC (link)

"Your argument is convincing enough. I believe you believe what you're saying but I think you might be a bit naive about what's happening here." The voice was dark and rough. The Insider's heart beat fast; breath a bit ragged.

A gloved hand closed over the man's questing grip. The reassuring sounds had triggered something inside with some of the most unpleasant memories imaginable. The fight or flight mechanism had been flipped on like a light switch with the whispered words. It was all a blur now and the Insider wanted desperately to run away. But the boots stood firmly in place, the eyes beneath the goggles transfixed on the man's face. Was he seeking something? Some sort of meeting of the minds between two similar people. Something that could lead beyond to attraction of a more physical kind? That seemed like it should be improbable.

So why was it so difficult to step back or keep him from touching the mask in the darkness? Why was it impossible to move away and run as had been planned? Had it not been certain knowledge that Remy couldn't hold power over someone if they knew of it, the Insider would have fully believed that the man had such a spell cast.

"I- Maybe I believe you. The Doctor. Jack Harkness. They are immortal. Strong and angry. They've both seen me and they both know I should not be here. It would be impossible for me to be here. They'd know. You couldn't protect me. Whatever you say."

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ace_of_clubs
2009-06-21 12:25 am UTC (link)

"So I go wit' you." It was an easy solution. "I can walk, go' legs my own. An' I can protec' you. Ain' no one in 'dis place I coul'n' lay han's on, an' end 'dere life." Was he saying he'd kill Jack or The Doctor? Maybe. Probably not, though. It was just a statement. "'De Doct'r ain' gon' go t'rough me t'get t'you." A quiet assurance, as he kept his mouth near the others. "If you ain' gon' stay, an' you ain' gon' let me go wit' you, leas' tell me who you are, where I can come fin' you. I come at sunrise, non? All casual an' normal. Ain' not'in' strange 'bou' a trip to 'de gym." The gym. Remy had ventured that guess. If the Doctor and Jack would know that the Insider couldn't be there, that it would be impossible to be there, then that could only mean the Insider was feigning more serious injuries, in the gym.

Or that Jack and the Doctor thought the Insider was dead. Still, Gambit was fisting his hand in that jacket again, sliding his body and pressing the other up against the wall, but he didn't press his body up against the Insider's. He'd been careful not to. Even while being so adamant about finding out who the Insider was, he wasn't willing to find out by force. He wanted to be told. Wanted to find out when the Insider was ready to tell. He could have pulled the mask off, lit the place up. Could have pressed in to search for breasts or a smooth plane. Could have done a lot of things to find out who the other was. But he didn't. Hadn't. Wouldn't. That would be breaking the very thin line of trust the two had seemingly formed.

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inside_mind
2009-06-21 12:54 am UTC (link)

The Insider's breath was caught in a soft gasp. Shoulders relaxed as it became apparent that none of this was at all similar to past events. Things that had frightened or haunted. It just wasn't about that. And maybe it was worth the chance of being caught to find out just what sort of protection Remy could and would provide. Maybe it didn't matter any more being caught.

No, those thoughts couldn't be entertained. People wanted blood. Still, the excitement of this closeness, the urgency the man showed in wanted to know the Insider's identity was thrilling. More was desired, craved. One glove was removed and fingertips slid across Remy's cheeks, teasing with feathery lightness in the dark.

"You cannot come with me. I cannot come with you. C'est impossible, mon ami."

The tension between fist and jacket went slack as the Insider stepped forward. The ungloved hand slid down Remy's face and chest to take hold of the man's shirt in equal measure to the hold he had himself. There was a tug then, pulling him closer, away from the wall so that the breath beneath the mask could be felt against the Cajun's face. "Why are you so intent?"

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ace_of_clubs
2009-06-21 01:08 am UTC (link)

"You makin' me feel like Romeo, mon ami." The Cajun confessed in the darkness, so close to the Insider's mouth, beneath that mask. And he was lifting his injured arm just some, enough to cover that now-ungloved hand in his partially gloved hand, fingers curling some. The red-head had often been described as cat-like, and that showed now more than ever, with the way his eyes slit down at the feel of that hand, and the way his body leaned in, like the feline rubbing against someone's legs, needing the contact. The way his muscles stretched out slow and languid, and the bicep in that gripping arm flexed, tightening the grip in the jacket, and now helping to hold the Insider in against him firmly, as he backed up a few steps, bringing them to the center of the tunnel.

"Why're you?" The question was returned just as softly. The Insider should have run, should have gotten away when they could. But they hadn't. Why were they so intent on staying? Why were they so intent on keeping the Cajun around and talking? Probably for the same reasons. It was appealing, to the both of them, this little interlude, the chance at having someone there. Someone they could.. well.. possibly trust. It was enticing. It was intoxicating. And Remy needed it.

But slowly, his hand was releasing that newly-bared one, and was moving back to the mask again, to slowly pull it up in the darkness, if allowed, this time. Not all the way up. He didn't want to pull it all the way up. He just wanted access to the mouth beneath. And if allowed that access, he'd pull the mask up to settle on the bridge of the nose, or just below, but not high enough to obscure the Insider's vision. And Remy was meeting mouths, hopefully, for a firm kiss.

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inside_mind
2009-06-21 01:22 am UTC (link)

"I am no Juliet," came the grough reply. It was accented with a soft chuckle under the breath. The man's mouth so near was not unnoticed and the Insider's breathing betrayed the intensity felt from the closeness. This dance had gone beyond dangerous now. This nearness was sensual and liquid. There was an electricity intangible and tenuous in the air between them. And what a short distance it was now.

A soft moan issued into the blackness and the Insider fell still as Remy leaned in. If it could have been taken back it would have but there was no way to disguise that reaction or pretend it hadn't happened. No way to ignore the fact that a line had been crossed and the Insider wasn't going to run away from it. It was exactly so. Enticing. Intoxicating. Needed. So needed that there was little else to do but give in.

No, no. This couldn't happen like this. This wasn't going to work. No seduction could break the resolve to be safe. That was really why this interlude had lasted so long. Safety was the goal. The Insider knew that the secrecy could not last forever. Once the guise was gone, the Insider would be dead. It was as simple as that.

And yet. The race of a heartbeat as the mask was slid upward. The anticipation as the night vision goggles caught the intention of the man who had been so insistent. A kiss was given, not timidly but not forcefully either. The other glove lost now, the Insider pulled the man closer.

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ace_of_clubs
2009-06-21 01:32 am UTC (link)

With that insistent tug, Remy was releasing the hold he had on that jacket completely, and was instead sliding that good arm around the Insider's waist and pulling their bodies flush together, save for the final hand trapped in between. It was uncomfortable and lumpy there, but widely ignored as the Cajun was tilting his head to deepen the kiss into something more, though he was careful not to press too hard, the other was still here. He didn't want a reason to chase them away. And after a few shuffling, sock-footed steps, careful to keep his feet under his own body so they wouldn't be stepped on, Gambit was moving them towards a wall again and carefully pushing the Insider up against it, so he could lean into the kiss. Though, he left his arm around that waist, just for good measure. To bar an escape and to keep the other warm body close. Very close.

In fact, he'd keep that kiss going for a while before finally breaking it, and drawing his mouth along the now-exposed jaw line, and to the Insider's neck, mouthing there briefly, just above where the jacket began to cover, at the skin of the throat. It didn't last long though, and the red-head was lifting his face some, to speak against that newly exposed cheek. "Ain' smar' to be doin' 'dis beneat' 'de Doct'r an' 'de ot'ers." Because neither one was really paying attention at the moment. If the trap door opened, their reaction times would fail them and they'd be caught. And Gambit certainly didn't want that, not for either of them. "But I don' wan' stop." Even with having said that, he was kissing the Insider's mouth once again.

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inside_mind
2009-06-21 01:43 am UTC (link)

All sense of time and propriety slid away in that moment. All thoughts of the past and the future melted away until there was nothing but the darkness and that mouth, warm and perfect. That body pressing the Insider against the wall of the tunnel in such a way as to claim possession without forcing the issue entirely. A gentle captivity that was met with no resistence. There was relief in the moment as well. Something strange had just happened. Something against the normal nature of the public persona. This kiss, this release of control to another, it all went against what was supposed to be. What had been for so long.

When the Cajun pulled away, the loss of his mouth was felt with disappointment and the certainty that he was indeed right in saying they weren't smart to be indulging like this. Especially considering he was pointing out the fact that he was aware while the Insider had let go of all sense to the sensation of being close to him. The Insider's mind jerked back to reality and the jacketed body went rigid once more, squirming away from the second kiss even as the desire for it grew again.

"No, no, we have to stop. I have to go." The voice was less disguised now, faltering slightly with fear. The gloveless hands pushed at Remy's chest, levering him away so that the Insider could slip past and into the darkness of the tunnel once more. "I have to go," the voice repeated.

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ace_of_clubs
2009-06-21 01:48 am UTC (link)

Remy didn't push the issue at first, as the other began pushing away-- but he did catch one of those gloveless hands and held on as the Insider began down the tunnel, and when their arms both were outstretched, Gambit suddenly tightened his grip instead of letting go, and was stepping in and pulling at the same time, to haul the Insider back in, whether they liked it or not, and the Cajun was issuing one last firm kiss on the mouth, before breaking it and releasing that hand completely. This time, he didn't make any move to follow.

"Call me." A quip from the half-smiling red-head.. though the smile only got bigger the more he thought about it.

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inside_mind
2009-06-21 01:54 am UTC (link)

The Insider didn't resist being pulled back when Remy's hand closed over one of the retreating hands. The sudden return of his mouth sent a very noticeable shiver through the jacketed form. The Insider stood still a long moment after being released. Watching through the night vision goggles as the man stood there in the tunnel, smiling.

When it had been long enough to seem like the Insider had slipped away silently, and breathing had returned to a more normal pace, several steps were taken backward in the darkness. Then, quietly, "Perhaps I will." More steps were taken into the tunnel, away from Remy with regret. Farther still away, the voice intoned something he may or may not have heard, "Maybe I am Juliet."

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ace_of_clubs
2009-06-21 02:00 am UTC (link)

He'd heard it. The Cajun heard everything, and he hadn't heard those footsteps at first, so he knew that his companion hadn't gone yet. However, after that second bit came, as the Insider got further away, Remy took a few quick steps forward, fluid movements that nearly ended in disaster as he tripped over the remainder of that crate and stumbled forward a few more, then caught himself and broke out into another grin. Only that Cajun could make tripping and nearly falling, look graceful. Still, he was smoothing a gloved hand over his semi-wrinkled tank top, trying to regain some of his lost dignity, because he knew, while he could see nothing, the Insider could, if they were still watching. And that had been an embarrassment.

"Don' gotta go." He assured, in the same quiet tone the other was carrying now. "Maybe we fin' someplace not un'er 'de Doct'r?" But he knew he was pushing his luck. However... he had always had uncanny lucky, when he really wanted something.

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inside_mind
2009-06-21 02:12 am UTC (link)

The Insider stopped and actually put out a hand instinctively to steady Remy though it never reached its mark. The man was easy on his feet even when he was tripping and didn't need help to keep his balance. It was to his credit that he hadn't fallen on his face in the darkness. Or that he had walked this direction at all when he couldn't see anything. How many times had the Insider watched him without saying a word or breathing a sound? It felt like countless encounters had taken place yet this was the first that Remy would know of. The Insider did not want it to end.

Yet fear was winning out and there was still the possibility that Remy was exactly the opposite of what he was seeming to be. A genuine yet insistent friend who wanted to protect and be near to someone he knew very little about. "Je suis désolé, mon cher. I am sorry. But we will meet again. I promise."

With those words, Remy's face was caught between two gentle hands and kissed solemnly, briefly before the Insider turned and fled into the darkness of the tunnels, taking four turns before slowing at all to a walk as the adrenaline subsided and injuries made it more painful than anything to be upright. Then stairs were climbed, a door opened and the Insider slipped out into the moonlight to find a bed and solace once more in the public persona that was not hunted or hated. Not yet.

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ace_of_clubs
2009-06-21 02:21 am UTC (link)

It was very possible the Insider could have been around often without the Master Thief knowing. He wasn't big on always listening for everything.. unless in a situation like this. Where he knew there was someone out there. He'd followed the voice. That was all. It echoed in the halls but it came from one central point, and Gambit hadn't let himself be turned around. He could likely navigate the halls without light, though it'd be slow going. But once walking in a straight line, he could hold it without getting off of his path. But it didn't matter, he wouldn't follow. It was only once he couldn't hear footsteps anymore that he lifted his right hand and the glove started glowing faintly. He lowered it down, to be able to see two or three feet in front of him, along the ground, before he turned back to look behind him at the broken crate. Carefully stepping over, it he was following the dim light back to the stairs, but paused.

There, on the floor of the tunnel, were the two gloves the Insider had removed. It made the Cajun's smile curl up and he bent down to pick them both up with his left hand, letting out a slow breath for the pain it caused. But then were tucked into his back pocket, safely, before he found the stairs and extinguished the light from his glove. Then it was back up, and into the moonlight again, closing the trap door silently behind him. Then he turned to look back at the Doctor, sleeping on the couch ten feet away.

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