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The Doctor ([info]fromgallifrey) wrote in [info]vas_captio_rpg,
@ 2009-06-21 19:29:00

Previous Entry  Add to memories!  Tell a Friend!  Next Entry
Entry tags:!complete, day 12, location: barn, remy lebeau, the doctor (ten)

Who: The Doctor and Remy LeBeau
What: Friendly fight
When: Day 12: 8AM
Where: Forest, nearest landmark, the Barn
Rating: PG

Status: Complete

The Doctor hadn't slept well. The night before he knew was leading into an even numbered day; an experiment day. It was sad that his mind kept on it like that; kept turning with the desire to anticipate and thwart a foe he could not see. Perhaps that was why the Doctor had such a difficult time pushing his eyes open. He didn't want to wake and see his friends snatched up for someone's trivial idea of a game. He blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. What was once the barn was still cluttered with musty couches and spread out among them were the people he'd come to call friends. Each were dozing quietly.

The Doctor saw his opportunity and he made good on it. Pulling on his trainers and slipping out the door he was headed out into the woods. He hadn't forgotten the plans he'd made for the people in charge. He was going to make good on them. Today. Twigs and brush crumpled beneath him as the Doctor moved quietly through the trees. He didn't want to take the road. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He had a singular focus and not one iota of it included anyone else within the glass bubble. Well, unless that person happened to be the Insider.

 A not so quiet sigh escaped the Doctor. The silence was good company in the sense it didn't make his head hurt any more though also bad as it didn't do anything to still his mind. Wheels kept turning at a furious pace. He needed to go to work on things other than barns. He needed to stop being so attached to the people here, even Jack and Sarah Jane perhaps, and do whatever needed to be done. Would there be collateral damage? How about what he'd do to that 'Insider' when he managed to find them? For a man who didn't like battles or wars or violence the Doctor was finding himself sliding into the darker parts of his mind where things didn't reside in the moral - where they just needed to be done.

Today he would start with the Post Office, he would look through the nooks and crannies there, and then he and his torch would head down into the tunnels where he would find the Insider. He would find the insider and he would find out everything that they knew. He would then continue his search for those working with the insider and force them to return everyone. Following that he would destroy the town and it's bubble so that it would never be used again. Finally, he would deposit those behind it all in a cell on Rigaula Seven where they would never age, never know freedom, and never have any hope for rescue. It was those thoughts that kept cycling through the Time Lord's head. Running through on loop again and again. It was like a mantra. Insider, puppeteers, escape, prison. Those same thoughts caused the distant look in the Doctor's eye and the setting of his jaw. He would have his way.

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[info]ace_of_clubs
2009-06-21 06:47 pm UTC (link)
Maybe he would, but not any time soon. Because the Cajun, who had left only a short while to give the Doctor some time alone, had come back. In fact, he'd been watching the distant man for a few moments now, and finally had decided that it was time to step in. Whatever the Doctor was thinking, it certainly couldn't be good. Not with that look on his face. Gambit had read the journals, read people's reactions to the Insider, he'd sat back and been amused. Why threaten someone? Why get angry? It wasn't going to change anything.. getting angry wasn't going to scare the Insider into releasing them.. and besides, Remy thought the Insider was being truthful. That he hadn't put them all here.

Slow, silent, graceful steps slid his lean body up alongside of the other man, the American standing just a bit taller, but with the way he slumped a little, like a lazy animal in the sun, it made them just about the same height. He didn't mind so much being the same height, but he hated being shorter. Maybe it had to do with feelings of insecurity, maybe not. But whatever it was, Gambit wasn't interested in exploring it right now. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jean pants and breathed in deeply to announce his presence, in case the other man hadn't heard him walk up.

"Wha' you t'inkin', mon ami?" The smooth, thickly accented voice questioned, those dark eyes finally turning side onto the Doctor he'd questioned. "Ain' look good. Ain' bein' real helpful, like 'dis. An' you scarin' 'de wee ones." Jack and Ianto, he meant.

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[info]fromgallifrey
2009-06-21 06:49 pm UTC (link)
The Doctor may or may not have heard Gambit approach. If he'd heard, he'd ignored. If he hadn't heard, he'd still ignored. He was trying to remember when he'd last been stuck into a cell himself and what he'd have to do to navigate to the precise moment he had escaped in order to deposit the people behind the curtain there. He had a feeling that the cell would become very cramped.

Chewing in the inside of his cheek a little the Time Lord turned his attention slowly to the man who'd slid up beside him like a feline taking up the last miniscule of space on the couch beside their caretaker. Cats, afterall, had no masters. He'd blinked a few times, bringing himself back into the infuriating present, taking a deep, long held breath of the night air. His lungs had burned he held the breath so long before releasing it.

"I'm thinking about how exactly I'm going to repay the people who brought us here," he replied flatly. It was consuming him, this desire for vengence. The Doctor didn't want battle in any sense of the word. There would be no need for it as he was going to swiftly and effectively take care of those powers that be. They'd underestimated him, and they didn't know by how far. They would know. They would find out in short order why people heard his name and ran.

"You're right," again his tone reserved. "It isn't helping. I shouldn't be doing this," he gestured to the barn behind them. "No, there are far more important things I should be taking care of." This wasn't like a modulator. This wasn't like trying to seperate the atoms of the wall. No, this was about taking very exacting measures against a foe he had never met. It was consuming him from the inside.

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(no subject) - [info]ace_of_clubs, 2009-06-21 06:50 pm UTC
(no subject) - [info]fromgallifrey, 2009-06-21 06:51 pm UTC

[info]ace_of_clubs
2009-06-21 06:52 pm UTC (link)
The Doctor was a clever man. Very clever. And when he paced away from the Cajun, it made the red-head breathe in through his nose and lift his chin, he wasn't simply going to stand back and take this. The Doctor had been the voice of reason when he'd gotten here. The Doctor had been smart. He'd been clever. He'd been nice. And he'd been eager to help these people. And now that he was stewing in his own rage, the younger man couldn't just stand back and watch. If they wanted to get out of here, if they wanted to win this game, they were going to have to do it together.. his wandering around through the tunnels had made him realize that. And there was no way that he was going to allow himself to become the good guy. And the only other person he'd met here, who he was sure could take on that responsibility, was the man staring off into the distance like he was contemplating a blood bath, and that wasn't something that would go over well, even with the Cajun, who had killed his fair share, in those short years of his life.

"Ain' un'erestima'in' myself, bein' truthful." It only took a few short, graceful steps, silent and even, as the cat-like Cajun slunk off of the floorboards and onto the grass, moving after the Doctor. And he was able to fist his hand suddenly, firmly, in the back of the Doctor's coat, and he moved forward, forcing the shorter man forward as well. Surely, the Doctor would turn when he was pushed, which worked perfectly for Remy, because his other hand came up, fisting into the pale dress shirt that the other man was wearing, and he forced him back suddenly, until the blue suit hit against a tree and the red-head stepped right up. "'De fuck you doin'! You gon' get pissy an' angry an' refuse t' use your fuckin' brain, an' you gon' brin' 'dis place down on our hea's! Don' play games wit' me, an' don' play games wit' their life. Ain' no one 'xpec'in' you to save 'de worl' wit' no help, but we 'xpec'in' you to keep a level hea', an' let 'dem help you." Them.

He pushed him a little firmly back into that tree when he said that, but not hard enough to hurt. He was looking to stun, to get his attention, to shock him back to reality.

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[info]fromgallifrey
2009-06-21 06:52 pm UTC (link)
The Doctor felt what he assumed was Remy's fist impact the middle of his back between his shoulder blades; the muscles tensing instantly. The rest he'd had the night before had been good for his back; but the stress of the day and all the lifting had brought him nearly right back to where he had been before with a knot and little spitfires running up and down his spine. His teeth clenched as he made to turn, a slow and labored movement that ordinarily should have been much more graceful only to find the Cajun's hand reaching out and grabbing him by the shirt.

The shove from the marginally taller man was relented to as a tree came up behind him. At least he could lean a moment and try and will his muscles back into submission. If Gambit had realized the pain he'd cause, the Doctor doubted he would have done such a thing. Upon catching sight of those miscolored eyes the Doctor saw only what he recognized as frustration there. Frustration, an emotion he could all too easily understand in that moment.

he Doctor's hands came up to grab at Remy's wrists, willing them off his shoulders. Instead, he found himself with a Cajun screaming at him and slamming his battered back into the hard trunk. "You think I don't know where we are? What this is?" He spat, pushing from the tree with his heel and pawing his way out of the Cajun's grasp. "There's a reason I travel alone. When I'm alone nobody gets hurt." Recently he hadn't been alone for long; yet, he could clearly remember the freedom of not having to watch out for someone else and yet here Remy was telling him that whether or not he'd become attached to these people perhaps some of them had become attached to him.

"You think I'm not level headed?" It was an accusation, not a question. "If I wasn't level headed I would have brought that barn down on all our heads thanks to that friend of yours. I would have stormed off yesterday and taken down every building of this town until either they removed me from it, or came down to try and take care of me. I would have..." The Doctor stopped. His shoulders momentarily slumped and he turned again, running a hand back through his hair.

He was yelling at Gambit. Why? He was yelling becaue he was angry. He was angry and tired. Tired of being challenged and sidestepped and impotent. He was raging at the darkness and swatting at the wind.

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[info]ace_of_clubs
2009-06-21 06:53 pm UTC (link)
"You woul'a wha'?" He narrowed down those oddly colored eyes, slitting them like a lion blocking out the sun while it stalked it's prey. But the Doctor wasn't prey, not by a long shot. He kept his hand fisted tightly there, but when he realized the Doctor was grabbing at his wrist, it dawned on him that he must have been in pain, and his eyes widened just some, face becoming slack for a second as he uncurled those long, thin (but strong) fingers, and withdrew his hand. A breath escaped him but he tightened his jaw and breathed in again, narrowing his eyes down once more. He felt guilty, for hurting the other, but didn't want it showing. Didn't want the Doctor to know. It could be, and would be, perceived as a weakness in all of the places Gambit had ever been, so why was this any different? Still, he rolled back his good shoulder and lowered his voice. He had realized that he was yelling, only when the Doctor had started yelling back.

"He ain' my frien'. He wan' me dea'. He hate me, un'erstan'?" He brought his tongue out in a quick swipe, to wet down his lips, allowing straight, white teeth to graze over his bottom one for only a brief second before he spoke again, just as quietly. "Ain' impor'an'. Wha' is impor'an' is 'dat you gotta be here, wit' us. Can' be t'inkin' 'bou' not'in' but doin' wha's gon' help. 'Dese people, 'dey angry. An' 'dey scare', an' 'dey t'reatenin' someone they ain' never met, don' even know 'xist's. 'Dey wan' kill 'em. Et c'est stupide. Et il est incorrect. An' you know it. You tear off, an' you mess 'dis place up, an' 'dey come here, 'dey gon' hur' someone else' Maybe 'dey hur' you, an' no one wan' 'dat. Maybe 'dey hur' one o' 'de petite, non?" As if Gambit himself weren't one of the youngest here, "Ain' gon' live wit' 'dat. But maybe you hur' 'dem. Maybe you win. Maybe you get your 'venge. Wha' 'dat make you? Make you not'in'. Make you wron'. Make you 'dem." It made him the Cajun.

"Ain' no one here wan' 'dat. No' me, no' you. No' your frien's. I ain' gon' let you mur'er no-one here. Ain' gon' let you hur' 'dem. Not 'de people in 'de box, not 'de people outta 'de box. Jus'ice one t'in'. 'Venge is ano'ter." It was only then that black and red eyes lowered away from the Doctor's lighter set, and slowly, Remy was lifting two hands, some fingers gloved, some naked, so that he could deftly, simply fix the Doctor's rumpled shirt, giving him somewhere else to focus his attention.

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[info]fromgallifrey
2009-06-21 06:55 pm UTC (link)
"Friends and enemies, sometimes it's difficult to tell the difference," the Doctor had long ago decided that of all the people who knew him, perhaps the one who knew him best was the Master. It was a derranged sort of knowlege; but, still there was a certain sort of ability to anticipate an longtime foe that even friends could not easily mimic.

"Of course they're scared and angry," his voice was quieter. His temper had flared enough earlier and while by no stretch of the imagination had the Doctor's mind been swept away from his plots of the keepers of Vas Captio, for the moment his temper had ebbed. "You think I haven't dealt with worse than this place? Than these people?" Still quiet, still almost to himself. "One of 'them'" he repeated, it wasn't like anyone was even sure what they were. Kidnappers, certainly. Murderers, perhaps. Heathens? Maybe that, too. The Doctor knew that he certainly didn't fall into the category with any of that lot.

"I'm going to do whatever it takes to get us all out of here. Though, with the display in that barn, I'm quite certain I'll be much better suited doing it on my own." For as much as the Time Lord ought to dislike the feeling of loneliness it had become his only near constant companion. He was always alone in the universe; in his understanding and feeling of time there really wasn't anyone else who could really parallel him.

The Doctor made no motion as Gambit reached out and righted his shirt. "I wouldn't murder anyone," he retorted terminally. It was truthful. Nothing in his plans involved murder. If anything, quite the opposite when it came down to their stint for eternity.

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(no subject) - [info]ace_of_clubs, 2009-06-21 06:56 pm UTC
(no subject) - [info]fromgallifrey, 2009-06-21 06:56 pm UTC

[info]ace_of_clubs
2009-06-21 06:57 pm UTC (link)
Shit. He let out a little panted laugh and rolled his eyes up, clearly an embarrassed move. "Non, no psychic, it's feelin's, ain' t'ough's. Can' rea' your min'. Can feel t'in's you feel, an' t'in's ot'ers feel, an' I can.. well. Sugges' people 'gree wit' me. 'Das all." He certainly wasn't psychic, nor very strong, unless he was influencing a feeling, and even then it only worked if people didn't know about it. But still, when the Doctor announced that he didn't want people getting hurt, Remy waved a hand, as if he was annoyed.

"I ain' gon' get hur'." Was it his way of offering to help? Maybe. Maybe not. He lifted his chin a little though, as if in challenge. "You can' jus' run off all 'lone. Ain' good for you. Ain' good for no one. You sayin' 'dey depen'in' on someone t'get 'dem outta here, an' 'dats all 'dat matter? Ain' all 'dat matter to me." He rolled his shoulder again. It almost seemed like an uncomfortable gesture, like he wasn't sure about laying his cards down on the table like that.

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[info]fromgallifrey
2009-06-21 06:58 pm UTC (link)
Empathic then, at least, that's how the Doctor clasified it. He may not have been psychic but Gambit had a pretty good bit of ability to even scratch the surface of the Doctor's mind. The Doctor thought with practice the mutant could probably actually manage all those things he'd rattled off he couldn't do. It'd take work, though the potential was certainly there.

"You're not now? You call that thing with your arm not being hurt?" The Doctor didn't mean to sound quite as mean as he did about it. He tried to swallow his words immediately. He knew it wasn't his fault that Gambit had been injured to start with, but what about if he managed to get hurt worse? The Time Lord was by no stretch of the imagination invincible - he just happened to have a couple of aces in the hole just in case. From the best the Doctor could tell, the Cajun wasn't quite as fortunate.

What precisely the Cajun was trying to say wasn't lost on the Doctor, he just didn't feel the need to acknowledge it. "My friends, Jack and Sarah Jane, they know better than to worry like this. I've been through worse, much worse." The Gallifreyan, it seemed was trying to talk Gambit out of whatever sense of nervousness or whatever had crept in. He wasn't trying to be tough-guy; no, he was just being honest. He had, in fact, been through worse.

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(no subject) - [info]ace_of_clubs, 2009-06-21 06:59 pm UTC
(no subject) - [info]fromgallifrey, 2009-06-21 06:59 pm UTC

[info]ace_of_clubs
2009-06-21 06:59 pm UTC (link)
"'De good guys." He agreed simply, and nodded again when the Doctor asked if that was that. That was that. "An' oui, 'de wall. Don' worry 'bou' 'de person in 'de tunn'ls. I'm gon' take care o' 'dat." He crossed his arms over his chest simply, though it caused a twinge in his shoulder. Man, that was starting to hurt. He needed to stretch it out. "'Dat's wha' teams do, 'dey work toge'her. 'Dey spli' t'in's up, 'dey share, non?" He stepped in closer, swaying as he did, an oddly graceful move. Almost playful. He was done being serious. "I seen movies. Ba'man got Robin, oui? You can be Robin." This came with a brilliant smile and the Cajun stepped in closer, then was turning to slide his arm over the Doctor's shoulders in an intimate move.

"You clever, oui? I ain' stupi', nei'ter, so we gon' t'ink 'bou' 'dis. Ain' gotta get mad, don' t'ink as well when angry, cuts off par's o' 'de brain, an' you don' t'ink as good. You gotta be smar'." He wasn't saying, of course, that the Doctor wasn't smart.. he was just saying that he had to be more thought than anger. "Time t'stop t'inkin' 'bou' 'venge, gotta t'ink 'bou' keepin' 'dem safe, protec'in' 'de people can' do it 'demself, oui?" Even as he said it, he was guiding the Doctor away from the tree he'd had him pinned against earlier, hip bumping against his, thanks to their bodies being so close, but after a few steps, Gambit found the rhythm of the other man and they no longer bumped, but rather moved together. He'd simply matched the Doctor's stride and the way he walked, to make it more smooth.

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[info]fromgallifrey
2009-06-21 07:01 pm UTC (link)
"You're going to take care of that?" The Doctor's face had turned into an odd sort of contortion. "How exactly is that going to work?" The Doctor's pose mirrored the Cajun's as he tried to speculate what sort of plan he'd managed to come up with. "I know what a team is." He did, he really did. He also knew what their strengths and weaknesses were. The Doctor, consequently, wasn't especially good at sharing. If the pair of them were on a road trip, the Doctor would always be the driver.

The mutant, in an unprecedented move, slid his arm over the Doctor's shoulders. That was... different. The Doctor hugged, he high fived, on occasion he kissed when the moment allowed. But arm across shoulders? Hadn't had someone try that in centuries. Quite frankly no one had been either brave or tall enough to do so. "I happen to think better when I'm angry. And when it's the last possible moment to do something. And when the world is at stake. And the universe. And..." The Doctor stopped his ramble. His brain hurt.

"I thought you didn't much care for being helpful?" The Doctor mused, he was actually letting himself be guided back in the direction of the barn. If that didn't speak volumes about the level of exhaustion the Time Lord was experiencing, nothing did.

(Reply to this) (Parent)


[info]ace_of_clubs
2009-06-21 07:02 pm UTC (link)
"'L'Initié an' me? We got t'in's worke' out, non? Been talkin', been workin'. Ain' jus' sittin' 'roun' doin' not'in' all 'de time, Docteur." He nearly purred out the other man's name, suddenly much more like a contented lap cat than the panther who'd backed the Doctor up against the tree just a moment ago. He was all boneless grace and ease right now, contented to slowly lead them to the barn with slow, calculated steps. He enjoyed the feeling of the warm body beside him, so he kept that arm draped over the other's shoulders. Casual. Easy.

"Well, ain' 'de las' possib'l momen', is it? We got plen'y o' time, worl' ain' collapsin' ye', an' you scare people when you all angry. Ain' scare me," He wanted to make that very clear. Gambit had certainly not been scared of the sulky Time Lord. Maybe he should have been, but he often should be scared, when he wasn't. It got him into trouble -- it also got him out of trouble. "But you scare 'de ot'ers. Ain' 'de time t'be despri'e. People still safe, 'dey hur', but 'dey safe, non?"
FreelancerTexas: The pair swayed towards the town, away from the woods, and only once they'd cleared a step over one of the many fallen trees, did that Cajun finally release the poor Doctor and slink away a few steps so that he could turn his body back towards him again, for a proper conversation, that charming smile having easily slid back into it's proper place. "Don' care for bein' helpful. 'Dis ain' 'de normal si'ua'ion, oui? I ain' no hero, tol' you 'fore. Ain' into savin' people, ain' into carin' 'bou' people. 'Dey ain' mine, 'dey ain' my business." A hand waved absently, as if that would better make his point. "I only do t'in's gon' benefi' moi." Both eyebrows lifted and his smile filled out. Oh, but the Doctor could read between those lines. "An' gettin' us outta here defini'ly benefit me. D'accord?"

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(no subject) - [info]fromgallifrey, 2009-06-21 07:03 pm UTC

[info]ace_of_clubs
2009-06-21 07:05 pm UTC (link)
The distance between them had started out at a normal three feet. A complete yard stick. Almost the same distance as a meter. It was a comfortable distance for two people to stand at. But the Cajun had never had the same personal space bubble that others had, and he ended up swaying his body closer, taking small steps as the Doctor spoke, until he was too close for comfort. Well, perhaps for other people's comfort. Standing this near was perfectly fine for the red-head, who had always kept shorter distances between himself and others, for several reasons. One, it was easier to steal from them this way. Two, it was easier to Charm them this way. Three, it was easier to convince them to have sex with him, when they could better see what he had to offer -- so that he could steal things from them, once they'd fall asleep afterwards. Hard life, being a Thief. Still, that wasn't why he'd ended up so close to the Doctor. He just felt more comfortable close up, and if the Doctor didn't, he was going to need to speak up. Even then, Gambit might not back off. At this distance, he could feel the warmth radiating off of the other man, and the mutant, like that contented lap cat, was drawn in by the warmth, especially in the slightly colder weather.

"I been scare' before, mon ami. Bu' ain' scare' of you. Ain' go' no reason t'be. You gon' hur' me?" He slowly lifted his eyebrows. "Gon' 'ttack me? Gon' turn in't my wife? Non. You gon' stan' 'dere, an' be warm, an' won'er why 'de Hell I'm doin' 'dis. Ain' gon' hur' me. So I ain' go' no reason t'be scare'. People scare' o' me too, no' for 'de same reason 'dey scare' o' you. An' 'dey go' reason to be scare', m' dangerous, oui? Bu' ain' gon' hur' 'dem. 'De same t'in' wit' you." Even as he said that, the Cajun was smiling again, as if he'd just found a stockpile of gold some where. Like he'd just won the lottery. The smile stretched across his face and made those oddly colored eyes crinkle at the corners, teeth showing easily.

Gambit, unlike the Doctor, though, was not wearing his trench coat. Just that tank-top, and his gloves. The gloves stopped just before his wrist-bones, exposing the entire length of both lithe, well-toned arms, and the large bruise spanning the entire width of that left shoulder. It hurt, but it certainly wasn't as bad as it could have been. "Can' have it bot' ways? Have 'fore. Tricky, oui, but it works.. sometime." It didn't always, and he had scars to prove it. A few were pale and littered over his arms, harder to see if you weren't looking for them. But they were there. He had plenty of battle-won badges. However, his eyes were dropping to observe as the Doctor pushed his hands into his pockets. Gambit did that too, but it was always to pull something out, in an offensive manner -- or, in times, a defensive one. But he'd misread the signals, maybe a bit, before red eyes lifted again to brown.

"Ain' scare', are you, Docteur?" Again, the words came out in more of a purr than anything else. This was the Cajun contented. And it was lucky Jack wasn't around, because that purring tone clearly had.. an effect on the other man.

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(no subject) - [info]fromgallifrey, 2009-06-21 07:06 pm UTC

[info]ace_of_clubs
2009-06-21 07:06 pm UTC (link)
"Leave moi?" The question was quiet, and the mutant tilted his head down some, but still had his eyes lifted to meet the Doctor's lighter set, almost in an innocence act, but that wasn't it. It was almost curiosity, the way he tilted his head just some, hair sliding over his shoulder. He was very animalistic, more easily noted when the person watching had nothing else to focus on, and could watch the thickly accented American in his daily dance. "Non, mon ami." The way he said it though, so thick and low, it wasn't like he was announcing that the Doctor wasn't allowed to leave him. And it wasn't like he was announcing he'd chase after the Doctor, like Jack had -- he wouldn't chase him down and leap on that Phone Box and hang on for dear life. No. He was simply stating, quietly, confidently, that the Doctor couldn't leave him. Like it was a fact of nature, like it was saying that gravity made things fall to the Earth. It was simple, it was quiet, and it was sure. No, Doctor, you couldn't leave him.

And when the slightly shorter man backed away, Gambit moved as well. He didn't follow him, didn't move after him. He moved with him. The time delay was so minimal it was barely noticeable. With those red eyes locked onto brown, the Cajun's foot had moved forward when the Doctor's had moved back, a fluid, graceful movement that kept him the same distance away. That kept him close enough to feel that heat radiating off of the other man. He wasn't giving up the minimal space between them that he'd earned.

"Scare' for me, Docteur? Why? Ain' gon' get hur'. 'Dis Cajun, he tough." He tapped a finger against his own chest then, finally lifting his chin to be able to look at the alien across from him straight on. "I ain' human. Ain' frag'le." Remy breathed in slowly, eyes becoming slightly half-lidded for some unknown reason, almost like he was breathing in something he enjoyed smelling. But then his eyes opened fully again and an easy-going, charming smile returned. "You runnin' 'way from me, mon ami? Ain' gon' hur' you." He'd turned that around rather nicely, hadn't he? From promising that the Doctor wouldn't hurt him, to promising that he wouldn't hurt the Doctor, though it didn't seem like much of a possibility that he could.

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(no subject) - [info]fromgallifrey, 2009-06-21 07:07 pm UTC

[info]ace_of_clubs
2009-06-21 07:07 pm UTC (link)
"Non." The soft reassurance to the Doctor's earlier question of 'no?'. No, Doctor. You couldn't leave him. Even if you wanted. Even if you tried. Like now, caught there and unable to run away. The Doctor couldn't run this time, he'd realized that he'd have to fight, because turning his back on the red-head simply wasn't an option. Hiding in the tunnels? Running to find his blue box? He could think about it, he could imagine it, but he couldn't do it. And not just because he had no access to the box. He simply couldn't leave, and the Cajun was capitalizing on it, he was reminding, planting the seed a bit deeper. He was so sure of himself. That was one thing he'd always been good at. He could stand and have an argument about the sky, for hours. He could say it was red, while someone else insisted it was blue, and he could be so sure of himself, so confident and convincing, that he could even get the other person to believe. That, though, wasn't a power. It was just personality. Remy had always been sure of himself, he'd very rarely questioned his own actions. He couldn't.

"Don' t'ink so? Non. I won' get hur'." Still, he carried over that same confidence. "An' bein' human? Oui, it make you frail. No' in 'de min', but in 'de body. 'Dey break so easily, ain' righ'." It wasn't right that they were so fragile. And he knew all about them being fragile.. he'd killed one too many for his tastes. Knew the weaknesses and how to use them. Human bodies were delicate. His was the same way, but he had the skills to protect it.. normal humans simply.. didn't. And it was their downfall, when up against something as superior as a mutant.

"For my own good? You t'ink you runnin' 'way from me for my own good? Non. You may believe 'dat, but you wron'." How many times had you been told that you were wrong, Doctor? Count them on one hand? It never happened, because he rarely was wrong. But here the cocky Cajun was, announcing it so plainly. "Ain' for my own good. S' for your own good. I ain' gon' get hur'. But even if I do, what's it matter? Ain' not'in' wort' havin', if you don' gotta figh' for it. Ain' not'in' wort' havin' if you ain' gotta bleed for it. You don' get handed grea'ness, Doctor, you gotta earn it. Gotta work for 'de t'in's you wan', gotta work for 'de t'in's you need. An' sometime, people get hur'. But you pa'ch youself up, an' you get back on 'de horse. Besi'e." He slid in just a little closer, eyes lowering down over the Doctor's face before they came back up to his eyes. "Ain' not'in' wron' wit' a lil' pain, oui? Remin' you 'dat you ain' dea', when you t'ink you are."

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(no subject) - [info]fromgallifrey, 2009-06-21 07:08 pm UTC

[info]ace_of_clubs
2009-06-21 07:08 pm UTC (link)
No, he wasn't challenging to try and make the Doctor feel less of himself, wasn't looking for dominance, wasn't picking a fight. He did believe that the Time Lord was wrong. And he was convinced about it. Clearly. He thought.. no. He knew he was right. And nothing the Doctor said would make that feeling go away. Once he was sure of something, once he knew he was right, he stuck to his course and he followed through. Always. He often paid dearly for choosing to do as much, but that was nothing new. He was used to it and he was prepared for it again. But he wasn't expecting it, because he was right. And the Doctor was wrong.

However, when that even tone, the flat voice of the unamused alien spoke up, announced that he'd left two of those friends behind, Gambit just shook his head, clearly unphased. Not by the space that was made smaller between them, and not by the statement that had been made. Undeterred. Sorry, Doctor. "I ain' Jack, an' I ain' Sara' Jane. I ain' lookin' t'be your tag 'lon'. Ain' lookin' for you t' be my keeper, wa'ch over me. Can do 'dat myself. You worry 'bou' 'dem. An' not jus' for 'de safe'y of 'dey bodies, you worryin' 'bou' 'de safe'y of 'dey min's, an' 'dey 'motion's. You ain' gon' hur' me, ain' gon' chase me off, ain' gon' scare me. Ain' gon' make me cry, nor wanna run 'way. Ain' gon' hur' my feelin's. 'Dere ain' not'in' you can do to me, Docteur, ain' been done 'fore, so ain' not'in' you can do to me gon' matter. I tell you, I can take care o' myself. You ain' gotta worry 'bou' me, nor my body, nor my well-bein', or my men'al heal't. No broken hear's here, je peux vous assurer."

Gambit wet his lips almost the way a cat licked their chops. It wasn't a hungry gesture, it wasn't a nervous one, nor a curious one. It was something they did before falling into a lazy nap, something they did when they were comfortable. The mutant didn't feel challenged by you, Doctor, there was no threat, no worry. You didn't scare him. In fact, it was quite clear that he enjoyed the presence of the Alien.

However, when the Doctor questioned who was really in there, it only made the languid man smile and shake his head a little. "Nei'ter. C'est vide." It's empty. But he moved on without pause, after stating that. "Not lookin' for your offers o' a'ven'ure, Docteur. I don' wan' not'in' from you." He slowly lifted his eyebrows, lowering his head a little but keeping the eye contact, like before. "But you ain' gon' be no help to no one, all broken. All angry. All ha'e."

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(no subject) - [info]fromgallifrey, 2009-06-21 07:09 pm UTC

[info]ace_of_clubs
2009-06-21 07:09 pm UTC (link)
When the Doctor made that motion to move, the Cajun had immediately shifted his weight to.. but ultimately, that Chuck-covered food came back and Gambit had opened his mouth to speak -- and had been interrupted. The Doctor took a step back and the mutant had let him. But only for a second. He moved in after him, hands sliding forward to seat themselves in the coat pockets of the Doctor's trench and he stepped in closer, pressing the length of that boneless body against the Time Lords, every plane of his own body molding to meet with the Doctor's, as he moved his hands back behind him, bringing the jacket (and thus, the Doctor's hands) behind him as well, so they were both nearly wrapped in the same trench coat. It was a lethargic, sensual move.. but it wasn't sexual. The Cajun was a decidedly sensual creature, who could make even the most mundane thing into a lengthy, attention-worthy affair. But he'd had the other man so close before and he'd mourned the loss of the warmth and the feel of that other body. So he'd gone after it, and there he was, right back in it's presence.

"No' 'nough." He insisted quietly. "You don' trus' me, 'dat it? Don' believe me? Personne ne fait jamais. It's norm'l." And he clearly wasn't offended, but perhaps just a little amused at the prospect. "Ain' playin' at not'in', Docteur. I ain' doin' 'dis to save 'de worl', like I say, I ain' like you. Ain' good, by no stre'ch 'de imagina'ion. Ain' tryin' to save 'de people here, I tell you 'dey mean not'in'." Whether or not that was a lie, was very hard to tell. He hadn't left them, so that was saying something. "Bu' ain' no one happy 'lone. An' you 'de lonelies' person I ever met, an' 'das sayin' somet'in'." He shook his head, just enough that his hair moved a little, before his smile returned. "You 'lone in a crow'e' room. An' 'dats 'de wors' sort, non? One t'in' to be on your own, an' 'lone. Comple'ly differen', t' be surroun'e' by frien's, an' be 'lone. And you are." He leaned his face in closer, much too close for comfort for the Doctor, surely, and he pressed their foreheads together in an intimate gesture, reveling in the heat there. "But you ain' 'lone righ' now. Not wit' me."

So, with a deep breath, the Cajun let his eyes close. Being this close was nice, and feeling two hearts beating against his chest? Well.. that was awesome. "So you ask your ques'ions, non? Remy gon' answer, hones'ly. Bes' my abili'y. 'Less you ain' got not'in' more you won'erin'."

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(no subject) - [info]fromgallifrey, 2009-06-21 07:10 pm UTC

[info]ace_of_clubs
2009-06-21 07:11 pm UTC (link)
It was good that he hadn't tried to run off, hadn't tried to get away. It would have just resulted in the Cajun moving with him, and probably both of them falling off balance and toppling to the ground. And then, it would have been a ground-dirtied Doctor with a grinning Thief laying atop him. And that would probably be a little more intimate than even the good Time Lord could handle.. or perhaps not. Remy had a way of making things seem easier, somehow. Or harder, depending on the situation. Harder to walk away, harder to fight against something. He could hold the skittish Insider at bay on the journals, and trap the stormy Doctor inside his own coat, inside his own cocoon of safety. The place where he retreated to hide his vulnerability had been invaded and it didn't look like he was leaving any time soon.

Not even when the Doctor flinched and announced that he wanted Gambit to stop. The easy response was: "Non." He breathed in deeply again, but didn't move. Didn't turn away, or release the Doctor from his clutches. The Thief didn't give ground unless he thought it would benefit him, and it wasn't going to benefit him right now. The problem was, that the Doctor thought he was being pitied, and he thought that the Cajun was there because of it. And he was wrong. "I'm tire' o' bein' 'de ghos' in 'de ballroom." Quietly announced. Clearly, the Doctor didn't want to talk about himself anymore, and Remy had fluidly changed the conversation over.

"Tire' of everyone seein' me, bu' ain' no one touchin' me." Oh, he got touched plenty. More than plenty, but that wasn't what he'd been talking about. He wanted to be touched, and felt, not grabbed and manhandled. It had nothing to do with sex and it had everything to do with intimacy. It had everything to do with need. "Ain' claimin' t'be jus' like you, Docteur.. but I been stan'in' in 'dat room wit' you, an' wit' your frien's, for days now." Two full ones, to be exact. Not a long time, but enough to make his observations validated. "Been wa'chin' you. An' your frien's see you, bu' you ain' really 'dere. You wa'chin' 'dem, havin' a good time, an' livin', but 'dey ain' wa'chin' you. 'Lone in a room full o' frien's 'cause 'dey don' see you. Bien, I see you. You ain' no'ice me 'fore today, been too focuse' on 'dem. But you see me now. An' I ain' goin' 'way."

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(no subject) - [info]fromgallifrey, 2009-06-21 07:11 pm UTC

[info]ace_of_clubs
2009-06-21 07:13 pm UTC (link)
That was exactly what the Cajun was doing. He was holding on, tying down, locking up -- and he was threatening to swallow the key. Because that, in the end, was what freedom was. To be truly free, you had to be truly alone. The Doctor coveted his freedom more than anything else, and at the same time he loathed his being alone. It was a thin, sharp line to walk, but the Doctor had managed it for a long time. Maybe that was really why he left everyone, because he couldn't be free if he wasn't alone. Gambit, though, wasn't letting the Doctor make that choice right now, wasn't letting him choose whether he wanted his freedom, or wanted to rid himself of his loneliness, because he was relatively sure -- no, he was positive -- that the Doctor would choose freedom, and to be alone. As much as the loneliness was hated, it was also needed. He'd been alone so long that he didn't know any other way to be. Luckily, the Cajun hadn't been alone that long, and still remembered what it was like to be held, touched, needed-- wanted. And he wasn't going to give up that chance now that he had it so near.

Those clutching hands were such a stark contrast to the grumbled word that Remy didn't pay attention to it at all, like it had only been an unrelated noise on the wind. The Doctor's mind and heart were fighting and the Cajun had ringside seats, and a tip on who the winner would be. He'd placed his bets and was primed to win big. He wasn't going to stop. Not now, not later, not any time soon. You were caught, little mouse, and the cat was going to keep you, and at the moment, it seemed like there was nothing to be done about it.

"LeBeau, 'das my las' name. Remy Etienne LeBeau. Fittin', non? So han'some as I am." It was a light tease in the middle of their silent battle. His hands tightened in the jacket wrapped around him, crossing his arms slightly in the back to force his body in closer, feet shuffling forward a little, as his head turned, bringing their foreheads away from one another, only to press temples together so the Cajun could whisper nearer to the Doctor's ear in that thick, drawling accent. "Ain' gon' leave. Gon' stan' here all day an' nigh'. An' even when we go back t'workin', still gon' be here." Figuratively, of course. He was insisting that even when they broke apart, he'd be right up against the Doctor, and that he wasn't going anywhere. "Ain' had no one see me in a lon' time, Docteur. I ain' givin' you up. An' I figh' any o' 'dem frien's o' yours for you. An' I figh' you for you." Like he was doing right now. "An' I don' lose. I play dir'y."

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(no subject) - [info]fromgallifrey, 2009-06-21 07:14 pm UTC

[info]ace_of_clubs
2009-06-21 07:28 pm UTC (link)
Any small move would be mimicked by the Cajun, any turn, any twist, any breath. He wasn't moving and he wasn't letting go. Like super glue, he had plastered himself to that blue suit and the man beneath. Sorry, Doctor, but you'd won yourself a Cajun, and you hadn't even known you were playing until now, had you? Dangerous game, this.

"Non." He agreed again with a soft breath. He never stopped. He never gave up. And he never surrendered -- he would certainly give the illusion of all three, but it never truly happened. "I don' stop." The quiet words were clearly smiled out, as his lips touched against the Doctor's ear, soft and intimate. He liked to touch. Liked the warmth of another body, the feel of another heartbeat, and with the Doctor -- His Doctor -- he'd found two for the price of one.

"Maybe I don' know no better, bu' ain' never been real smar'." That was a lie of course, he knew he was smart, but all the same. "Maybe I shoul' run, but I ain' gonna. I make my own choice, Docteur, an' you ain' gon' change my min'. I'm gon' stay here, 'til you change yours. C'est juste comment il est. Gon' haf'ta get use t' me bein' here. Presse' 'gains' you, layin' on you, soakin' up 'de ligh' comin' offa you. 'De flowers do 'de bes' in 'de ligh' of 'de sun, an' I'm doin' grea' righ' here. Sun ain' got no choice 'bou' it, gon' give 'dat ligh' to everyone, even 'dem don' 'pprecia'e it. But 'de flowers do. I do. Et vous m'avez. Me voici. Je reste et vous restez avec moi." He was staying, the Doctor was staying, and the Doctor was staying with him -- and that was the end of the conversation, for Gambit. He'd made his demands, he'd held on, and for him, it was his mind made up. "I deserve you, I deserve 'dis. An' you deserve me, an' all 'de bi'chin' an' whinin' an' complainin' 'dat come 'lon' wit' me."

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(no subject) - [info]fromgallifrey, 2009-06-21 07:29 pm UTC

[info]ace_of_clubs
2009-06-21 07:30 pm UTC (link)
It was only when the Doctor started shaking just that bit, that Gambit knew for certain he'd won this war. He wasn't letting go yet, though. Even when you'd won, the other side could still retreat and hope to fight back another day. He wasn't going to let that happen. Not a chance. But when the Time Lord spoke, Gambit was slowly removing his hands from those pockets and sliding his hands to the others elbows, from where they were lifted, clutching to his shirt. Up those gloved hands went, over his coated biceps, and finally to his shoulders, where he wrapped them around and pulled himself in closer, body molded near, breathing in the same pattern. His heartbeat, though, was much slower. Much more relaxed, thumping firmly against the double hearts across from him.

"You'll learn." The words were thicker, and it might take the Doctor a moment to puzzle out why they sounded different, because he was focused on the moment, and the feelings the red-head was pushing on him, not the words the Cajun was spouting. They sounded different because they weren't English. They weren't French. They were Mayan, and they were throaty. Looked like he'd learned more than just the curse words of a few different languages. He would probably astound the Doctor with the things he knew, the languages he could speak. It certainly wasn't common here, and certainly not for a boy who'd never been to school a day in his young life. And young was something he certainly was. Older than Rose, but young for a human -- younger, still, for a mutant. And honestly, he wasn't quite sure how he'd age, none of them were. Only time told. But it didn't matter to Remy how long he lived, just so long as he didn't waste his time.

And with the Doctor, he knew he wouldn't.

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(no subject) - [info]fromgallifrey, 2009-06-21 07:30 pm UTC

[info]ace_of_clubs
2009-06-21 07:31 pm UTC (link)
It was a frightening place, even for the younger man who'd hauled them both into it. The difference was, that Remy didn't let it show. He was scared, of course he was, he'd be a fool not to be, but not for the reasons he should have been. They were different. He wasn't scared of being left for no reason, or being injured, or anything of the sort. He was scared the Doctor would find out just what sort of man Gambit was inside, and hate him, wash his hands of him. That was the only scary thing, for the mutant, about all of this. But he was also relatively sure that it wasn't going to be a problem. Everyone had made mistakes, even the Doctor, he was sure -- so he wasn't certain that even if he was found out, the Doctor would blame him. Things happened. He wished everyone understood that.

And after a few good long moments of simply holding the Doctor there in his bare-armed embrace, the Cajun finally turned his head and kissed his cheek in a blatant display. And it was only then that he loosened his hold some so that the two could come face-to-face again. "Oui. It sett'l, d'accord? Le Docteur est Mon Docteur." He'd laid claim to you, Doctor. "An' you go' me. Désolé, ami, look like you got stuck wit' 'de shor' en' of 'de stick." The Cajun had claimed to have won an alien-- with two hearts-- and all of the brilliance and knowledge and adventure and light that rolled off of him in waves. What had the Doctor won in return? .. Er.. A barnacle, it looked like. A very rare type of fungus that latched on and wouldn't let go, it was hard to rid yourself of it, too. So far, none of the normal remedies worked. The Doctor was stuck, for now. And maybe, it wasn't that bad.

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(no subject) - [info]fromgallifrey, 2009-06-21 07:32 pm UTC

[info]ace_of_clubs
2009-06-21 07:32 pm UTC (link)
The Doctor didn't have to claim his prize, the Thief had given himself over willingly. More than willingly. He plopped himself down and demanded that the Doctor accept him, and that was that. It wasn't so much 'claiming' that prize, as being dumped with it, whether he liked it or not. Gambit was sure, though, that his new friend would learn to like it, if he didn't already. The Cajun was an acquired taste, even for those who thought that he was fantastic right off the mark. He had things about him, bits and pieces, that threw everyone off and he took some getting used to. However, it looked like the Doctor would have time to work it all out for himself. Gambit-- Remy LeBeau-- was staying.

When those words came, though, his face lit up like a thousand watt bulb, and that smile threatened to split his face. The Doctor had said thank you, and he was touching him-- just like that-- and it made the mutant swell up with pride. He'd gotten a thank you. And he was positively shining. "Bien." Good indeed. "Now ain' no more 'dis 'lone stuff. Got a Lap Cajun waitin' for you." Like a Lap Cat.. but with the Cajun, instead.

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(no subject) - [info]fromgallifrey, 2009-06-21 07:33 pm UTC

[info]ace_of_clubs
2009-06-21 07:33 pm UTC (link)
"Wha' you mean, 'A wha'?' you hear' me, ami. You makin' fun o' me. Ain' nice." But he was smiling all the same, lifting his eyebrows. He certainly wasn't offended, though he'd said the words. And when the Doctor's hand finally trailed away, the brilliant, blinding smile returned to normal, casual but pleased. And, oddly, if the Time Lord ever wanted to see it again, it was easy enough to earn -- the smallest things, and a simple touch, could draw it out of him. The red-head was easy to please, in the end.

"Now c'mon, Docteur. T'ough' you were clever. Ain' go' no more i'eas 'bou' 'dat wall?" Gambit was physically moving a hand out then, to grasp hold of the other man's shoulder and tug him forward, so he could spin his own body, in a move that some professional dancers would watch with jealousy, and plant it alongside the Time Lord's, arm thrown over his shoulders again in a familiar gesture. The Doctor was going to have to get used to it, because his new friend wasn't going to stop, even in the presence of the others, he'd touch and toy with when he saw fit. The Doctor could ignore it all he liked, because the Cajun knew he enjoyed it.

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(no subject) - [info]fromgallifrey, 2009-06-21 07:34 pm UTC

[info]ace_of_clubs
2009-06-21 07:42 pm UTC (link)
"Ain' trapeeze, you my dancin' pa'ner." Not likely, but all the same, the (much) younger man was laughing and giving the poor Doctor a little sway to the side, using his body to push him along, before he finally released him, thanks to that jab from the others bony elbow. It caused a laughing cough and he rubbed the area, flashing a grin over to his companion. Cheeky. However, moments later he was lowering his hands and tucked his thumbs into his belt loops, lifting briefly onto his toes to stretch, before settling down again. Ballet would have suited him. Really, anything might have suited him better than thievery. But he'd been one of the best at it. And he'd been proud to do it, he still was. That was what you got when you were raised that way, though. The line between right and wrong became a little skued. Black and white mixed into gray. It was all shades of gray for the Cajun.

"L'Initié?" He quested, buying himself a few seconds of time before he finally answered, breathing in through his nose and rolling his good shoulder back, as if considering. "We talk, over 'de books. Plus que cela," He removed his right hand from that belt loop and dropped it back, to tug the pair of black gloves out of his back pocket, and lifted them up, but didn't offer them to the Doctor. "Woke up 'dis mornin', fin' L'Initié stan'in' over me, wa'chin'." How creepy would that be? He really hadn't found the Insider there, but he hadn't thought about that -- he had assumed the Insider had been watching him (though, really, they hadn't.. not for long, anyway) while he slept. It was creepy, and incredibly attractive, all at the same time.

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(no subject) - [info]fromgallifrey, 2009-06-21 07:49 pm UTC
(no subject) - [info]ace_of_clubs, 2009-06-21 07:55 pm UTC
(no subject) - [info]fromgallifrey, 2009-06-21 08:02 pm UTC
(no subject) - [info]ace_of_clubs, 2009-06-21 08:11 pm UTC
(no subject) - [info]fromgallifrey, 2009-06-21 08:21 pm UTC
(no subject) - [info]ace_of_clubs, 2009-06-21 08:32 pm UTC
(no subject) - [info]fromgallifrey, 2009-06-21 08:42 pm UTC

[info]ace_of_clubs
2009-06-21 08:51 pm UTC (link)
"Maybe. An' if so, we strin' 'de bas'ar' up in 'de middle o' 'de town an we use him like a pinata." It was strange, hearing the Spanish word from the Cajun accent. But he'd held his ground as the Doctor had spun and yelled at him. It had Gambit coming forward those few steps. "Ra'her have him as a frien' 'den an enemy, oui? Better to get volun'eer informa'ion 'den to be interroga'in'. I ain' makin' 'xcuses, I'm jus' sayin', we shoul' consi'er 'dat 'dey jus' as stuck here as we are. An' maybe 'dey lookin' for help, bu' wit' all 'de t'rea's, ain' t'ink 'dey can come ou' an offer t'help. 'Dis mornin' was 'de firs' time we met, ain' been no secre' mee'in's 'fore 'dis, Doct'r. Gimme one more day. I don' know 'nough 'bou' him t'be any use any ot'er way. I tell you everyt'in' happen.. for 'de mos' par'." Oh, Remy. He almost flinched as he said those words. He couldn't believe he'd just come out with that. Still, it was said. "He kiss me." There, it was out in the open. "An' he know me, rea' all 'bou' me in 'de files 'dey got. Know I ain' gon' be sway by some lil' kiss. I t'ink he feel somet'in' for me. If 'dis go Sou't, an' you don' trus' me no more, 'den strin' me up, he come out t'save my ass gettin' dea'."

He couldn't be more sincere, Doctor. If you wanted the Insider, after this was done, and couldn't find a way to get a hold of him, you could use the Cajun as fodder and waggle him in front of the Insider -- get the other to come out. Emotions made people do stupid things.

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(no subject) - [info]fromgallifrey, 2009-06-21 09:13 pm UTC
(no subject) - [info]ace_of_clubs, 2009-06-21 09:21 pm UTC
(no subject) - [info]fromgallifrey, 2009-06-21 09:34 pm UTC
(no subject) - [info]ace_of_clubs, 2009-06-21 09:41 pm UTC
(no subject) - [info]fromgallifrey, 2009-06-21 10:01 pm UTC
(no subject) - [info]ace_of_clubs, 2009-06-21 10:06 pm UTC
(no subject) - [info]fromgallifrey, 2009-06-21 10:18 pm UTC
(no subject) - [info]ace_of_clubs, 2009-06-21 10:26 pm UTC
(no subject) - [info]fromgallifrey, 2009-06-21 10:35 pm UTC
(no subject) - [info]ace_of_clubs, 2009-06-21 10:41 pm UTC
(no subject) - [info]fromgallifrey, 2009-06-21 10:54 pm UTC
(no subject) - [info]ace_of_clubs, 2009-06-21 10:58 pm UTC
(no subject) - [info]fromgallifrey, 2009-06-21 11:06 pm UTC

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