Author's Note: This is my first X-men Evolution story, so please be gentle with me.

A lot of the characters and situations are heavily based in comicverse. As far as this chapter goes, the only people mentioned that I own are Mercy's parents and siblings, most prominently Marie Thibeau.

This is a work in progress; apologies for the short first chapter. Any feedback will be greatly appreciated!

Thanks again, and please read, review, and enjoy! —Alex

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Like just about everyone else, Mercy Thibeau was struck dumb by Henri's brother.

She had been expecting a redhead, or at least someone with reddish hair. Her boyfriend's auburn hair was only a few shades too dark to label him a ginger, and the way he talked about his younger brother made him seem like a less mature version of Henri himself.

But Remy's hair was brown, and his eyes were further from Henri's brown than Mercy could have imagined. Even though it took a minute to coax off the sunglasses, assuring him she'd seen it all, she only realized after he slipped the glasses back on with a sly smile that she hadn't really ever seen anything.

He disappeared back upstairs, but not before giving Mercy a look over the glasses with his breathtaking eyes that made the breath fly out of her.

Henri wrapped a large hand around her elbow.

"Y'okay, catin?"

Mercy nodded. "Is he always that... that..." She shook her head. "Does he do that to all the girls?" Henri chuckled.

"Oui."

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Somehow, Henri found it perfectly reasonable that Mercy would be susceptible to his little brother's charms.

"I don' know a single femme immune to his charms except Tante Mattie, and even she's got a soft spot for him."

"It doesn't bother you, though? I mean—"

"I couldn' be happier, catin." He wrapped his arms around her, and she hummed contentedly as his fingers played through her blond curls. She felt him smile against her neck.

"When can I meet your little brother?"

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Mercy had never really been close with either of her younger siblings.

Michael was only a year younger than her, but the fact that both of them were born in the seventies did nothing to alleviate the tension between them. To be honest, there was a certain tension between Mike and their parents, too.

Their father, Paul Thibeau, worked at a high-end men's clothing store. Mercy had loved visiting his store when she was younger, running her hands down the seams of perfectly tailored pants and vests and shirts. Mike had never really gotten into it like she had— he was too busy playing with toy cars and, eventually, computers to care much about what he or anyone else wore.

At some point, Mercy couldn't pinpoint exactly when, Mike discovered dance, and at that point he stopped being home most nights until past midnight. She might have understood if he was clubbing, which she did every one or two weeks, but he was doing something called swing, and she had no interest in something called 'lindy hop'.

When he went off to technical school in New York, Mercy stayed in New Orleans.

She got a birthday card and an occasional e-mail, but other than that, Mike disappeared as easily as if he'd never belonged to the family.

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"You don't really wanna meet Michael."

Henri propped his head up on his arm. "Pourquoi pas?"

"He's... not your type. Anyway, he's in New York."

"Th' city?"

"No, Rochester. Near Buffalo."

"D'ac." He twirled a curl around one of his fingers. "Et ta soeur? What about Marie?"

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Marie.

Marie, Marie, Marie.

Mercy had tried harder to be nice to Marie than she'd ever tried with Mike, even though the only thing they'd ever had in common was their blond hair— and even that wasn't completely true anymore. Mercy was eight when Marie was born, and the entire family doted on her. Almost everyone was amazed at how healthy baby Marie was, especially considering how old their mother Caroline was when she was born. With the attention constantly on Marie, however, Mercy found it harder to be nice. But she tried.

Now, Marie was fifteen, and even though she still hadn't finished high school she was making more money than Mercy wanted to imagine racking up in her sister's bank account. Between her logic and her math, Marie was easily the smartest in the family.

Mercy's only real comfort was that no matter how much smarter her sister was, she would always be the prettiest.

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"So what about Marie?"

Mercy shook herself out of her thoughts. "I'm supposed to take her out to lunch on Saturday."

"Alors bring her here. We can play cards or somet'ing." Henri laughed. "Remy'll win, though. You mind?"

"Me? Not at all. I'm terrible at cards." She smirked. "Marie might give Remy a run for his money, though. No one beats Marie."

"Vraiment?"

"Really, really."