Disclaimer: I neither own, nor am I making money of off Gambit or any other X-Men who may or may not appear in this story. They are firmly, as they should be, Marvel's property.
As further disclaimer: This is just a one shot story, reimagining how Remy joined up with Xavier's Merry Band of Mutants. Hope you enjoy.
A New Beginning
Jordan Lang’s day started much like every other day in his life. He pried himself out of bed at 6:30 a.m., took a warm shower, fixed some eggs and toast, and left his house by 7:45 to get to his jewelry store early enough to run a check on his registers and inventory before he opened at 9.
Usually business bounced somewhere between painfully slow and nonexistent until roughly noon, at such time he invariably ended up with a laundry list of antiquated watches in need of life support and once-pristine jewelry requiring a severe cleaning before being shown off at some big-time, high-roller party that night. Jordan could count on one hand the number of times a Catholic priest waltzed into Lang’s Jewelers at 9:12 in the morning and still have five fingers left over.
Jordan pasted on a smile he certainly did not feel at this time in the morning and greeted the priest. “Mornin’ father.”
The priest’s smile lit up much more naturally, probably because he had more practice faking it at this hour than had Jordan. “God be with you, my child.”
“What can I do f’ ya t’day?”
Walking up to the counter behind which Jordan stood, the priest stopped and admired a gaudy, oversized necklace made of gold and drenched in diamonds and rubies. The price tag brought a slight wrinkle of pain to the priest’s twinkling eyes. “Yes, I believe this one will do nicely,” said he, nodding at the piece.
Jordan ignored the urge to ask what a priest wanted with such an expensive necklace, citing to himself the ills of poking his nose in the business of an ordained man of God, especially being Catholic himself. “An excellent selection, father. It’ll be $1,400.”
“But the price tag says $1,600.”
Jordan gave the priest a conspiratorial wink. “We’ll jus’ call it a divine discount.”
Fishing in his robe, the priest produced an impressive wad of crisp hundred dollar bills and counted out fourteen onto the glass counter. Jordan picked up a few of the bills and scrutinized them thoughtfully in the light. Noticing the odd look playing across the priest’s face Jordan blushed hard. “I’m sorry, father. I didn’ mean t’ question ya integrity. Standard procedure an’ all dat.”
The priest laughed. “Of course, my child. I fully understand. We live in an age of iniquity and wanton morals. Less cannot be expected from those who wish to protect their business.”
“Thank you, father. Here’s ya necklace.” Jordan boxed and bagged the necklace and handed it to the priest. “Have a good day, father.”
The priest took the bag, and walked toward the door with a paternal grin and a wave. “Go with God, my child.”
No sooner had the priest exited Lang’s Jewelers than a thick accent stopped him in his tracks. “Dis shtick again, Grady? I thought maybe you get smarter by now.”
The priest, named as Grady, looked up to see an angular man dressed in black slacks and a buttoned down white shirt, topped off with a long trench coat. The man grabbed Grady and steered him back inside the emporium. “Pardon me, but did dis man jus’ purchase somethin’ from you?”
Frantically, the possible priest/possible Grady tried to wiggle out from the other man’s sure grip. “I have not. Tell him I haven’t.”
Jordan froze for a second, unsure what to do. “Uh, who are you? And what’re ya doin’ t’ dat priest?”
“De name’s Doug Simoneaux. Detective Doug Simoneaux, Louisiana Bureau of Investigation,” said the man, displaying a glistening badge. “An’ dis here’s Greasy Hands Grady McConnell. Been trackin’ him fo’ a while now. So I ask you again: Did he buy anythin’ from you?”
Shock poured out of Jordan in waves, he had almost been taken by a con man posing as a priest. Iniquity and wanton morals indeed. “Yes, detective. He jus’ bought a diamond and ruby necklace. Paid fo’ it in cash.”
The detective shot a hard glare at Grady. “You got de bills handy, sir?”
“Uh. Yes. Dey’re right here,” said Jordan, handing the stack of hundred dollar bills over to Detective Simoneaux, who examined one with a magnifying glass.
After a few moments of careful observation and some randomly intervaled grunts, the detective grabbed Grady and slapped a pair of cuffs on him. “Best work I’ve seen from you yet. Too bad dat’s your last batch.” He then turned to Jordan. “’Fraid I’m gonna hafta take de money and the necklace as ev’dence.”
“Of course, detective,” said Jordan. And in a few minutes Jordan was holding an official Louisiana Bureau of Investigation receipt, and Detective Doug Simoneaux was herding a wanted conman and forger into an unmarked police car. The car had no sooner pulled into traffic than Jordan called his girlfriend to tell how he heroically aided in the capture of a vicious criminal.
In the back of Detective Simoneaux’s car Grady removed his shiny silver bracelets. “Did you have to put ‘em on so tight?”
“Oh stop your whinin’, Terry. We got what we came for, non?”
Terry held up the bag containing $1,400 and a nice new diamond and ruby studded necklace. “That we did, Remy. That we did.”
* * *
Remy and Terry split their profits and then split ways. Usually Remy LeBeau preferred to work solo, and grifts were not exactly his favorite flavor of thievery, but he owed Terry a favor and tried to make a habit of lending a helping hand to friends in need. It did not hurt matters that Remy ended up walking away from the deal $1,600 dollars richer.
After dropping Terry off to meet his fence, Remy ditched his ‘borrowed’ unmarked police car, and returned to the tastefully decorated, three-story house in the French Quarters he occasionally referred to as ‘home’. Of course this was not so much Remy’s home as a place to go when he got tired of Guild business, and right now Remy was decidedly tired of Guild business.
Remy had been a part of, or at least around, the New Orleans Thieves’ Guild for as long as he could recall. He quickly learned to call Jean Luc LeBeau, the Guild’s Patriarch, ‘Papa’, and mastered the tricks of thievery at an alarming rate. Yet when Guild members spoke Remy’s name it was not to marvel at his incredible abilities; it was to wonder about his obvious physical peculiarities.
Trying to forget the last spirited debate between some of the Guild’s clan leaders and his adoptive father Remy shrugged out of his coat, peeled off his shirt and twisted the shower knobs to ‘really hot’. Thick steam quickly filled the room and coated every available surface in fuggy perspiration. Remy finished undressing and, upon entering the shower, leaned his head and arms onto the tub’s slick porcelain. As the almost scalding water poured down Remy’s back, he imagined the strings of water were melting away his concerns, forcing them to spiral down the drain only to be lost within the intricate plumbing. He knew this was not the case, but it did give him some small pleasure.
Eventually Remy climbed out, began the arduous task of toweling off, and for the 231st time this month, swore to start taking cooler showers. Remy wiped away the thick condensation from his mirror and stared at the green eyes of his reflection. For a moment he lost himself in his visage, but the fantasy fell apart as his left eye began to twitch with irritation. He paused briefly, as if hesitant, and then removed a pair of full-eye contacts to reveal two burning red irises floating on a sea of black.
Idly he wondered how many other people’s eyes garnered for them the grief his retinas tended to provide. Half the Guild considered him an abomination, a harbinger of the underworld here to signify the end of all things. The other half, which included his father, hailed him the answer to prophecy, the one to usher in a new age of unending peace and prosperity. Remy rather sensibly thought they were all wrong, for he knew what he was. He saw a Nightline special on a few years back that detailed growing numbers of genetic anomalies among the human populous. The name given to those possessing such anomalies was: Mutant.
Thoughts still askew, Remy decided here was not where he wanted to be and elected to try walking off his problems. Remy dressed quickly, tossing on a pair of well used blue jeans and a nondescript solid black t-shirt, and pulled his long auburn strands back into a ponytail. On his way out the door Remy stopped by his nightstand, pulled a pair of dark glasses, the type that usually suggested a medical condition, out of the drawer, and covered his obvious mutation.
As Remy walked out into the balmy cool of a mid-October afternoon, he felt incrementally better. Something about cold air just made him feel more alive, but still the weight of possibly Guild shattering arguments hung over his head much more ominously than the grey clouds currently blocking out the sun.
Walking to nowhere in particular, Remy allowed his mind to churn and spin and occasionally reach a possible solution that he would ultimately deem too foolhardy or idealistic to work. Somewhere between where Remy started and where he ended up, a faint cry brought Remy out of his self-ruminating trance. It sounded much like a young child screaming in the alleyway at his parents, and Remy was ready to write the kid off as just that, until a harshly wailed fragment of the conversation caught his ear.
“—I’m not gonna do it. Not giving you the combination.”
A man, who may or may not have been the boy’s father, leaned down and spat something into the child’s ear, while the woman, who more closely resembled the guy’s girlfriend than anyone’s mother, rolled her eyes and moued at the sky.
“No! His daughter’s sick. I saw it. You’re not gonna—”
The boy’s vehement protest was cut off by a smack to the face, and his bravado gave way to tears.
As a general rule, Remy refused to get involved in disputes not involving him or the Thieves’ Guild, unfortunately for these two mooks Remy possessed no tolerance for hitting children.
The man had pulled his hand back for a return trip across the child’s face, but as he swung it forward he found a fingerless glove hindering his swing. “Hey,” the man barked.
“Ain’ no way t’ be treatin’ a child, tu capo.”
The man answered by pulling his captive arm back toward him while firing his other fist at the bespectacled intruder’s nose. Remy ducked the man’s punch easily enough, and, in doing so, rammed his shoulder into the man’s midsection and flipped him over Remy’s back. The man landed, with an impressive string of profanity, on top of a trashcan.
During the tussle the boy took off running down the alley, heading for the freedom of the street. The girl started to chase after him, but a well timed foot slammed into the wall in front of her before she made much progress. The girl fixed Remy with a disgusted ‘as-if’ look. “Yeah. Like you’re really gonna hit a lady.”
Remy glowered, “As much problem as you didn’ have hittin’ dat boy, I ain’ so sure you qualify as a lady.”
The confrontation was cut short by the sharp screeching of breaks from the main road. Remy turned just in time to witness the boy catch a glancing blow from a small truck, which did not stop. At this the girl decided to cut and run, evidently the man shared her sentiment.
Remy ignored the two and rushed to where the boy lay crying on the pavement. With an expertise gained from a botched mission or two, Remy carefully poked and prodded at the child, checking for serious injuries. Finding none he cradled the boy in his arms and quickly got his bearings.
“Should I call an ambulance?” asked a concerned looker-on.
“Non. It’d be quicker if I jus’ ran him myself. But if you’d call 9-1-1 an’ let ‘em know ‘bout de accident, dat’d be a big help.” Remy did not bother waiting for a reply. He sprinted down the sidewalk, ducked down an alley and used a dumpster to bound over a fence. The end result of his frantic scurrying landed him at the front entrance of University Hospital.
No sooner had he entered the hospital than a nurse bumped into him. “Excuse m--. Oh my God, is he okay? What happened?”
“He was hit by a truck, few blocks over. Don’ think anythin’s broken, but I figured you could tell better’n I can.”
The nurse was already walking past the entrance desk. “Sure. Follow me. We’ll him taken care of and worry about the paperwork later.”
A few minutes and a ton of medical jargon later Remy stood outside the boy’s room with the nurse at his side. “Don’t worry. Dr. Jansen’s one of the best children’s doctors in the state. He’ll take good care of…uh, you never did tell me the boy’s name.”
Remy smiled a guilty little grin. “Mostly ‘cause I don’ know it.”
“What? He’s not yours?”
“Non. I jus’ happened t’ be dere where he got hit. So I brought ‘im in.”
“So you don’t even know who his parents are?”
“Not a clue. But if dat guy I saw hittin’ him was his dad, den he ain’ much of a father to begin with.”
The nurse placed her hands over her gaping mouth. “You cannot be serious. Please tell me you aren’t serious.”
“’Fraid I don’ joke ‘bout things like dat.”
“Oh, that poor kid.”
“Look, if you don’ mind. I’d like t’ stick around a bit. Not so sure I feel good leavin’ de boy alone. ‘Specially if dear ol’ dad comes lookin’ for him.”
“You realize that, legally, outside of calling child services, there’s not much we can do if his father shows up.”
Remy cracked a harsh smirk. “Maybe dere ain’ much you can do, but I can do plenty.”
“Fine,” the nurse said with a knowing smile. “Besides, it wouldn’t hurt for the kid to meet his savior, now would it? But, if you’re going to stay, you could take the glasses off, you know. Might make you look a bit less mysterious and menacing.”
“Maybe so, but I can’t. Bad case o’ photophobia. Don’t take much contact with light t’ set me on a monster of a headache.”
“Oh. We could get that looked at if you like.”
“Naw, dat’s okay. It’s already been looked at an’ looked at. Though if you could point me at some food, dat’d be great. I got me some fierce ahnvee.”
“Not a problem. Um…If you could…maybe wait a minute…let me talk to the doctor…I might could…join you?”
“I think I could live wit’ dat.”
***
As Remy and the nurse, who he now knew to be Misty Roberts, 25, a very single Virgo from Cleveland, Tennessee, returned from lunch they found Dr. Jansen standing outside in the hall, obviously keeping his distance from the man and woman currently looking into the boy’s room.
Upon seeing Nurse Roberts, the doctor hurried over to her. “Misty, we have a problem. A big one.”
Nurse Roberts instinctively turned to Remy. “Is that the man you saw hitting the boy?”
“Not even close,” Remy responded.
“They’re from the Xavier Institute,” said Dr. Jansen.
“Dat bad?” asked Remy cluelessly.
Nurse Roberts took a step away from Remy, regarding him with a cautious gaze. “Did you know?”
“Did I know what?”
Misty’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Did you know that boy was a mutant?”
Remy turned to look at the tall slender, red-haired woman and her lanky male companion with an unruly mound of blond that could only loosely be considered a ‘hairstyle’. “Non,” he finally answered. “But what does dat matter? He’s a boy. He needs help, mutant, human, or otherwise.”
“It matters a lot,” Misty almost screamed. Dr. Jansen cast her a ‘please quieten down’ look as she continued. “Do you have any clue how dangerous it is, having a mutant patient in here? What’s to say he doesn’t blow the roof off the hospital when he wakes up? Not to mention if certain people found out we were treating mutants in here. A few weeks ago a hospital in northern Massachusetts was bombed by a group calling themselves ‘Purifiers’ because they openly treated mutants.”
Remy was stunned. “But--”
“She’s right,” Dr. Jansen interjected. “It’s unfortunate, but it’s how it is. The boy can stay overnight, but tomorrow he’s got to go. I will not place this hospital, these patients, in harm’s way.”
As Remy continued arguing and angling with the two medical professionals he noticed the tall, slender redhead stealing glances in his direction.
Trying to avoid being too obvious she turned back to looking into the boy’s room. “Sean, I know the Professor sent us here for Matthew here, but--”
“But what?”
“That man. Arguing with the doctor. I can’t read him. At all.”
“Could be wrong, Jean, but I’m fairly sure Ol’ Charley wouldn’a like yeh pryin’ ‘round in people’s heads uninvited.”
Jean’s face twisted into a guilty, yet heart shattering, frown. “It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it like?”
“Usually I have to focus to keep from hearing other’s thoughts, and even then I usually still pick up a few stray ones here and there. But with him…I don’t know…it’s like a steady buzz of mental static.”
“Are yeh thinkin’ he’s one of us?”
“I think that’s a strong possibility.”
Down the hall Remy’s discussion was reaching a much less pleasant ending. “Don’ worry, doctor, I’ll make sure de boy’s outta your hair before it gets blown off.”
“Remy--,” Misty started to plead.
“Don’,” Remy said, shaking his head in disgust as he started walking toward the strange couple. “I’ve heard more dan enough. Outta both o’ you.”
“He’s comin’. Am I t’ guess yeh’ll be handlin’ th’ PR work?”
Jean fixed Sean with an all-American-girl smile warm enough to spark lasting world peace. “Don’t I always?”
“Careful, luv, yer gonna give th’ diabetics a fit.”
Remy casually parked himself a few inches to the left of the red-head’s sultry left elbow. “De not-so-good doctor says he’ll only keep de boy over night.”
Unable to penetrate the Cajun’s mental shield Jean silently tried to read his expressions. Remy continued. “Said you’re here ‘cause de boy’s a mutant. What interest your Institute got in him?”
The last question caught Jean’s curiosity. “You’re familiar with the Xavier Institute?”
“Non, de doctor mentioned it.”
“The Xavier Institute is a school for mutants, a safe haven where they can learn about their mutant abilities, both how to control their powers and how to interact with the general population.”
“Dat’s a catchy line, hope it’s in de brochure. Ever think maybe pullin’ de boy outta society ain’ exactly de best way t’ teach him how t’ deal wit’ society?”
“I’m sure yeh’ve got tons of experience in helpin’ young mutants t’ cope with a world that hates and fears ‘em, but I’ve seen Professor Xavier’s work personally, and I’ll promise yeh, he’s got ages more experience than yeh do.”
“If you call wallin’ up in some Institute, hidin’ from de world, ‘experience’, den I’m sure he’s got it in spades.”
“Arrogant lil prat. Yeh think yer world weary at th’ ripe ol’ age of 20. Yeh don’t know nothin’ ‘bout nothin’. An’ th’ sad thing is, yeh don’t even ken that yeh know nothin’ ‘bout nothin’.”
“Guys, if we could keep this a bit more civil, maybe holster the extra testosterone for a few minutes. We’re not here to start any arguments. We just want what’s best for Matthew.”
“An’ you think dis Institute o’ yours is what’s best?”
“Yes, I do. But I don’t expect my words to be enough to assuage your doubts.” Jean paused briefly to let the thought sink in before continuing. “Why don’t you come with us, see the place for yourself? Then you can see what we’re about and make a choice with all the information.”
“I. I don’ know. Never been a big fan o’ exclusive clubs.”
“How’s this: The doctor said he’s releasing Matthew tomorrow morning, sleep on it tonight, meet up with us in the morning and we’ll respect your decision either way?”
“An’ de boy?”
“Th’ last thing we’re gonna do is force th’ lad t’ go with us against ‘is will. We ain’t criminals, but then, yer not exactly ‘is da, are yeh?”
For several nonblinking seconds Remy locked gazes with the Irishman. “Fine. We play dis your way. But I come back an’ de kid’s missin’, we’ll start a new game.”
“Then it’s agreed,” said Jean, offering her hand.
Remy warily eyed the proffered hand before turning to walk away. “I only shake wit’ people I don’ trust.”
Jean retracted her hand with a shrug. “Fair enough.”
***
Hospitals are typically not well known for their festive exterior coloring, but bathed in the jaundice of pale security lights the University Hospital’s façade radiated a foreboding sort of glow. And if the security guard assigned to patrolling the grounds was not too busy watching reruns of ‘Seinfeld’ in the break room to do his job he might have noticed the black-clad figure picking its way across the yellow-lit back parking lot toward the ‘Employee’s Only’ entrance.
Once at the entrance the shadow reached into a pocket and produced a small swipe card that once upon a time, as recently as earlier that afternoon, belonged to Nurse Misty Roberts. As a general practice Remy tended to not steal from lithe, attractive, very single females unless he was forced to, or severely needed to, or really wanted to, or was just in a proper mood to. Regardless, the fact that Misty turned out to be a boisterous, anti-mutant bigot certainly made pocketing her ID card easier on Remy’s conscience.
Remy slid the card through the reader and slipped noiselessly inside. Once in, he ducked down a side hall and found a door that opened into a changing room, exactly where Terry said it would be. With disgusting ease Remy popped a locker and liberated a set of scrubs. After sliding his disguise on Remy reentered the hall and found a door marked ‘Stairs’.
Remy followed the stairs until he reached the third floor, where he casually walked past Matthew’s room, past the nurse’s station and into a patient’s room. Stopping by the bed, Remy gently touched one of the wires attaching the fast asleep woman to some medically looking device. After a few seconds Remy walked out of the room and back toward the nurse’s station, and a few seconds after that most of the nurses were scampering into some sleeping woman’s room, trying to find out why a wire on one of their medically devices had melted.
During the mini-commotion Remy deftly entered Matthew’s room, gathered the kid up in his arms and ducked back down the stairwell with no one the wiser.
At the bottom of the stairs Remy waited for a doctor and what he supposed to be an intern to finish their over-exaggerated attempt at tongue sex in the hall. Eventually the pair split lips, mostly because another doctor decided to use that hall to walk down, and parted ways. Once he was sure all roads were clear Remy slipped out the door, around the corner and out the way he entered. He resolutely promised himself he’d return the pilfered scrubs, sooner or later.
Halfway down an alley Remy stopped and gently put the boy down, leaning him against a wall. Matthew twitched, possibly in the throngs of a dream. Kneeling down in front of the sleeping boy, Remy placed a hand softly on Matthew’s lips and shook the boy with his other hand. “Time t’ wake up, Matty.”
Eyes still young enough to be considered innocent creaked slowly open in response to the unwelcome jostling, but sleep quickly lost its hold as Matthew realized he was no longer safely tucked away in a hospital bed. He tried to scream, but his cries were muffled under the glove covering his mouth. “Shhhh. You’re safe.” The boy’s eyes begged a multitude of questions. “De hospital was goin’ t’ boot you in de mornin’, thought you might be safer wit’ me fo’ a while. Least ‘til we can find you a place t’ call home. So, whatcha say? You up fo’ it?”
“Lance…Sherry…they’ll…”
“Dose de two you were wit’ yesterday?”
“Yeah. They’ll be looking for me. They’ll make me…”
Remy helped the boy to his feet. “Don’ worry none ‘bout dem. We’ll get you somewhere dey can’t find, but first, how ‘bout some breakfast?”
***
While Remy was busy becoming a kidnapper, Jean and Sean were both slumping over a cup of coffee in an all night diner next to the hospital. The conversation had hit a bit of a lull, but then, at 2:00 in the morning, after a six hour flight down to New Orleans and having been awake for 17 hours straight, the pair was a bit too drained to spark much in the way of interesting banter.
Sean poured himself yet another refill, completely oblivious to the fact that Jean’s eyelids were about to crash one into the other. He did, however, notice, and spill his refill, when Jean jumped from semi-conscious to fully awake and standing. “Begorrah, lass! What’s into yeh?”
“Our mystery man. And I thought you said real Irishmen don’t say ‘begorrah’.”
“Sod it all yeh gingernut. How ‘bout we leave th’ effin’ an’ blindin’ t’ me, and yeh just concentrate on not goin’ all spastic and makin’ me spill meh coffee.” Sean set to napkining coffee off his shirt when the first part of Jean’s statement finally registered with him. “Uh, what’d yeh mean ‘mystery man’?”
“That guy from the hospital, the one I thought might be a mutant. He’s taken off with the kid.”
“An’ yeh know this how?”
“Something about that man. I don’t think he trusted us. So I’ve been kinda keeping track of the boy’s thoughts, which has been not so easy from this distance.”
“Yeh crafty lass, keepin’ tap on th’ boy’s brain like that. A bit devious, don’t yeh think?”
“Devious. Cautious. It’s one of the two, right?”
“Either way yer a bleedin’ genius. Where are they now?”
“Just a few blocks over. Let’s go.”
***
True to Jean’s predictions, just a few blocks over Remy and his charge turned down yet another alley. Matthew, beginning to get a little antsy, started a game of running ahead and goading Remy to catch up. And for the third time in three alleys Matthew ran ahead and taunted the Cajun. “Come on! Hurry up! Is that as fast as you old people can walk?”
The last sentiment caught Remy’s ear hard. “Ol’? I’ll show you ol’,” said Remy with a laugh.
Matthew took off, echoing Remy’s laughter. Remy almost caught the boy in depressing short order, but just as Remy was reaching out to tag Matthew, his boot caught on a loose grate. Remy tumbled hard, and in trying to spin his way out of the fall, his head smacked off a trashcan. Slowly, Remy worked his way to seated and attempted to rub the pain out of his head.
Alarmed by the clamor behind him, Matthew turned back to see if Remy was alright. The sight behind him ripped a blood-stopping scream from deep within the boy. For a second he stood there, frozen, and then he bolted, heading for the street outside the alley.
Matthew’s overreaction puzzled Remy. Until his looked down and saw a green, full-eye contact splayed across his pant leg. “Non. Wait.” Remy scrambled to his feet and started to chase down the boy, but a figure clad in green and yellow met and halted Remy’s advance. “You,” snarled Remy. “Move now, or--”
“Save the tough guy spiel, boyo. If I wanted a fight, it’d already be over. I coulda punched yeh through a wall b’fore e’re yeh saw me by jus’ raisin’ meh voice.”
“De boy--”
“Jean’s got ‘im. Not very sportin’ of yeh though. Grabbin’ ‘im an’ runnin’ like that.”
“Somehow I don’ feed de need t’ explain myself t’ you.”
“True, yeh don’t. But yeh’ve lost yer barginin’ power. Th’ boy goes with us.”
“That’s not decided yet, Sean,” said Jean, coming around the corner with a Matthew in her arms.
“What’d you do?” asked Remy, reaching in his pocket fingering a trio of small, thin rectangular objects.
Jean tried to reassure Remy by pleasantly pushing the corners of her mouth upward. “Nothing. I stopped him from running across a street, and he was being a little…difficult…to manage, so I put him to sleep.”
“How?”
“That’s right. We didn’t get around to doing the whole introduction bit back at the hospital, did we? I’m Jean Grey. I’m telepathic and telekinetic. And this is Sean Cassidy. His voice is his weapon.”
“What? He annoys people wit’ his accent?”
“Naff off, yeh bloody Molly.”
“Mon deiu, he’s good wit’ dat. Five words an’ J’ai gros couer.”
“Okay, both of you are giving me a headache. So how about you stop before I decide to practice bouncing trashcans off your heads?”
Remy and Sean exchanged a concerned glance. “Aye, she’ll do it too, lad.”
Remy nodded his head thoughtfully. “Well, stoppin’ sounds good. We’ll call it a plan. Now ‘bout de boy.”
Jean rolled her eyes. “Don’t they teach you any manners down here? Introduce yourself; then we’ll talk about Matthew.”
“LeBeau,” Remy replied, “Remy Lebeau. Now dat we’re all acquainted, can we discuss de boy.”
“No,” said Jean, “First we have to do our secret introductory handshake.”
Remy stared in blank disbelief, but Jean could not hold her joke long, and in a few seconds her laugh betrayed her completely. “Kidding. I’m kidding. Trying to lighten the mood. Not working? Fine.”
“We still think th’ boy’d be best served at th’ Institute. Xavier’s life is dealin’ with mutants. It’d be the best place for th’ boy t’ learn about his abilities.”
“But--”
“What better plan do yeh have? Can yeh honestly say yeh’ve got th’ time and resources t’ take care ‘a th’ lad?”
Remy did not respond.
“I’ll take yer silence as a ‘no’.”
“Sean’s got a point, Remy. These streets are no place to raise a child. We can give him the chance you didn’t have.”
The perceived intrusion into Remy’s mind pricked his anger. “You know, ain’ such a good trait, readin’ peoples’ minds wit’out dere approval.”
“Remy, I can’t read your mind. Somehow you’re blocking me. I was just guessing you were street raised. Why don’t you come with us? What’s holding you here? Keeping you on the streets, hiding behind glasses and contacts?”
“Look, it ain’ dat I don’ appreciate de offer, but I can already control my powers. Jus’ can’t quite hide ‘em.”
“Then maybe you could help others learn control. I’m not asking you to stay at the Institute forever. Just come take a look. If you don’t see anything you like, you can leave at any time.”
A crooked grin split Remy’s face. “An’ if I do see somethin’ I like?”
Jean matched Remy’s grin with one of her own. “Then you can stay as long as you want.”
_________________
I am Loki Scar-Lip, Loki Skywalker, Loki Giant's Child, Loki Lie-Smith.
I am Loki who is fire and wit and hate.
I am Loki. And I will be under an obligation to no one. |
