Diamonds Etched in Blood—Author's Notes
Disclaimer: The characters used in this story are the property of Marvel. The interpretations are mine. No profit is being made by me and these characters are being used without permission.
Special Thanks: A google of thank you's to my wonderful beta readers, Faile and Skyflare. I love you guys, and I thank you for all the help you've given me to make this story complete. You both are great friends and talented people who deserve recognition for all your hard work. Thanks again.
Author's Notes: Diamonds Etched in Blood is part of a larger arc of stories that I am currently working on, all of which center of the X-Man, Gambit. This particular story is post-Antarctica. It takes place about 2 months after the Trial in the period of time following Operation Zero Tolerance. All of the X-Men are involved in this story, but the focus is Gambit and the other characters are used mostly to explore his character. This story starts with the assumption that Gambit does not realize that it was his self-hate that caused Rogue to leave him in Antarctica after she absorbed him with her powers. This story is NOT primarily a Gambit and Rogue story. Though the couple is addressed, the main focus is Gambit. I think that covers everything. If anybody has any questions, just ask!
Well, that's it. Enjoy!
-Galaxia Alpha-
Part 1
The cold bit at him like a ferocious monster, but still he walked on, white snow coming up around his legs and melting against his numb skin. Frigid wind swept up his long red hair, the icicles that filled it tingling slightly as they broke. Sharp, retching pain afflicted his lungs, cold air freezing them as it did the rest of his body.
But still he walked on.
His brain had lost the ability to entertain idle thoughts, or even to consider his predicament and how he had come to be here. All his energies centered around one purpose. Survival. Even if it was hopeless.
He could barely see through the falling snow. It swept into his eyes and blocked his vision, his eyelashes having long ago been ripped out in his attempts to open frozen eyelids. He tripped in a deep, white drift and fell, one bare arm reaching out to break his collision with the ground. The other hand was closed in a fist, lifted protectively away from the snow. Curious, he opened it, seeing inside a small tattered card with a printed picture of a woman and a Q in the corner. The heart on its face caught his attention. Its dark red color burned his eyes, reaching into his chest and grabbing at the empty space there. He wondered at the reaction but couldn't remember where the card had come from, even though something told him he should. He was too tired to really care anyway. Weakly he staggered to his feet, pushing onward and still holding the card because something inside him just wouldn't let it go.
Through blurry vision he gazed around him, white hills of snow filling all directions as far as the limited visibility would allow him see. He didn't know where he was going, moving forward only because instinct told him it was better than staying still. But he was so tired. Trembling, he took another tiny step... and stumbled again, lying face down in the snow. For a moment he simply stayed there, and in a detached, delusional way, wondered if he were not already dead. He felt so empty inside...
He tried to get up, but couldn't, body refusing to work through the numbness. So tired... His eyes closed against the white pad of snow. Mouth pressed firmly against the cold, icy substance, his lungs screaming for air. But he was too exhausted to lift his head. He'd be asleep soon anyway. Closing his hand around the mysterious card, he let go of the last weak threads that held him so tenuously to awareness. Vaguely, he knew that he was dying, but no fear erupted within him at the thought... for in reality he was already dead... had had the life sucked out of him weeks earlier...
Tired... Dizziness embrace him from lack of air... Sleep was so near, a tangible black hole over whose edge he peered longingly... Another step and he would be swallowed up in it... So near... and suddenly he was falling, swimming in murky darkness, unconsciousness rolling over him and surrounding him like a lover's arms...
Until he woke up gasping desperately for air.
§ ¨ © ª
Remy LeBeau sat on the side of the bed. His hands shook violently and he pressed them against the plush surface to keep them still. Breaths came in ragged gasps as he tried to collect himself. The red irises of his strange eyes glowed brightly in the dim light of the early morning. He'd had the nightmare again. The reoccurring one that featured everyone's favorite vacation spot: Antarctica. Bitterness cocooned his thoughts as he remembered the cold winds and frigid air. As he remembered the emptiness he'd felt after Rogue had left him to die for his past sins.
And she'd almost succeeded. Had it not been for that Inuit man sent by New Son to find him, Remy would most likely be a frozen popsicle somewhere on the bottom of the world. Course, that didn't mean he was better off alive than dead. He owed a debt to New Son and he didn't even know who the guy was. And if he failed to fill that debt? Remy knew of much worse punishments than death.
After New Son had saved his life he'd immediately made good on the deal, sending Remy off into the Savage Land to do his bidding. Once that was over he just kind of left the Cajun thief to fend for himself. Said he'd be in touch. Meanwhile, Remy was struggling with a particularly nasty case of pneumonia. He managed to find his way back to the New Orleans Thieves Guild where Tante Mante spent months helping him recover. It had been the only place he could think to go.
He had made his father, Jean Luc, call the X-Men for him once, just in case anybody still cared to know he was alive. He hadn't had the guts to do it himself, but he'd needed to know if he had any friends left there, which surprised him. Why did it matter so much? Anyway, it had been worth calling. He still smiled at the memory of his father telling him how Stormy had resorted to threats in order to get him to let her speak to Remy. Talking to her had been comforting; at least he knew they all didn't hate him. By the end of the conversation he'd even felt relaxed enough to call her Stormy again.
Speaking to Storm had also given him a chance to find out the latest news on the team... and on one member in particular. Apparently, Rogue had left the X-Men immediately after she'd returned from Antarctica and hadn't been seen since. But once, when the X-Men were searching Antarctica for him, Wolverine had caught her scent on the winds. At least he knew they had searched for him, but unfortunately Antarctica was a very big place and no one had been quite sure where the Citadel was...
Remy forcibly pulled himself back to the present, to his little Hotel Room in New York City. Normally he tried to avoid being this close to Salem Center, but the pay for the thieving job he'd completed here last night had been too good to refuse. Hey, a man had to buy beer somehow, right? He smiled bitterly. There was a time when he would have needed money for cigarettes too, but his recent case of pneumonia following his little excursion to Antarctica had forced him to quit. If he tried to smoke now, his still healing lungs would most likely brutally protest, leaving him coughing and gasping for air on the floor. He knew. He'd tried it once. Had nearly gotten himself rushed off to the hospital as a result.
Remy stood and walked unsteadily to the tiny bathroom. He was soaked with sweat from the nightmare and a shower was definitely in order. Funny how he could dream about freezing to death and still wake up sweaty. Slipping out of his boxers with the adorable little Budweiser frogs (which he had worn to bed simply because they were so darn cute), he stepped into the warm misty water that emerged from a tiny, silver showerhead high on the shower wall. The steamy water streamed over his body, helping to relax the tightly twined muscles.
After washing himself with a flower scented bar of hotel soap and a shampoo/conditioner that didn't quite do the job of untangling his hair, he got out of the shower and left the bathroom wrapped in a fuzzy white towel. His luggage sat in the corner, happily awaiting its owner, and Remy dug through its contents until he found a clean pair of jeans and a white T-shirt. He dressed and sat down on the bed again. Wincing, he looked at the clock. Only eight in the morning. He was crazy to be up this early, but after that nightmare he really didn't feel much like going back to sleep. What to do... What to do...
He tapped his fingers restlessly against the nightstand next to the bed. His flight back to California where his employers resided wasn't until 5'o clock that evening and until then he had absolutely nothing to occupy his attention. His stomach growled angrily at him for being ignored. Okay, okay, he had one thing that he could do... There was a McDonalds down the block from here and miraculously he was up in time for breakfast.
Getting up from the bed, Remy walked to the full-length mirror and checked to make sure he was presentable. He smiled admiringly at the tall, lean, handsome man that stared back at him. "Remy y' are one good-lookin' homme," he said to himself. Then his smile flipped upside down. "Too bad de inside ain't nearly as pretty as de outside." Taking the dark Raybans from the table to hide his unusual mutant eyes, he turned and left the hotel room.
§
¨ © ªOne order of hotcakes and a cup of coffee later, Remy sat at a small table talking to a rather pretty woman. She was young, about his age, and sported a thick bob of red hair. He sat across from her, comfortable in the hard, rigid chair, easy confidence scrawled across his face as he flirted effortlessly with her.
"So, umm... where are you from?" she asked. It was a casual question, but he knew she was feeling him out; New Yorkers were by far the most suspicious folk on the planet.
Remy put on the straightest, most serious face he could muster. "De great state o' Alaska." He could see the suspicion growing on her face.
"Really?" she asked, trying not to seem too skeptical despite the unbelieving way her eyebrows were raised.
"Non... but I always did wonder what it be like t' live in an igloo." He smiled at her then and her countenance cracked into a chuckle.
"You are one of a kind, Mr..."
He smiled at her again, though this time it was more of a smirk, but said nothing, waiting for her to press the issue. Her emerald green eyes sparkled as she looked at him curiously and he had to force himself not to look away... They reminded him too much a certain someone he didn't want to think about right now.
"Well?" she persisted. "Aren't you gonna tell me your name? My coffee is now officially cold and I've been so busy talking to you that I've neglected to fulfill my daily caffeine requirement. The people at work are gonna want to know the name of the man responsible for turning me into a terrible caffeine deprived monster."
"Guess," he answered simply.
"Your name?" she asked. He nodded in reply.
"Okay." She squinted those brilliant green eyes at him for a moment, face scrunched slightly in the pretense of deep thought. "Wilbur," she said finally and then laughed at the horrible face he made at her.
"Wilbur!?" he exclaimed.
"Hehe... relax. I'm just kidding." She smiled mischievously at him. "You're too cute to have a name like Wilbur. Okay, seriously now. You're wearing sunglasses inside McDonalds and you don't look like you've shaved in a week, so you gotta have one of those big macho names... But you're also somewhat civilized so it can't be something like 'Spike' or 'Bubba'..." She laughed as he made more horrified faces. "And you say stuff like 'chere' and 'merci' so you must be French or something..." She paused for a moment, brow wrinkled in concentration. "Oh, I don't know... Pierre?" she ventured hopefully.
He laughed at her. "Give up?" he asked.
"Yes!" came the exhasperated answer.
"Remy."
"Remy?"
"Yup."
"Oh."
"Well?"
"Well, what?"
"Aren' y' gonna tell me your name? It's only fair, chere."
She smiled at him sweetly. "Guess."
"Okay," he answered, not the least bit perturbed. "You got nice legs, beautiful eyes, good figure, cool colored hair..." She was blushing bright pink by now. "...and a certain reddish tint to your face that I'm just now noticing..." He grinned as she gave him a look. Then he pretended to think for a moment until he nodded his head slowly, as if a conclusion had finally been reached. "Yep, y' gotta be an 'Lizabeth. An Elizabeth McTannel t' be exact"
Her eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open in shock. "How?" she gasped. His smug look only increased at her disbelief. "What are you? A psychic?" Her emerald eyes widened further and their depths almost made him recoil in their familiarity. A look of fear found its way onto her pretty features, and her voice dropped to a whisper. "A stalker?"
"Non." He held up a small black wallet before her. "Jus' a t'ief."
"You stole my—." She reached out and grabbed the little leather object from his hand, immediately checking to see if her money was still there.
He watched with an amused expression. "If Remy wanted t' steal de lovely lady's money, he wouldn't have bothered t' give her wallet back, non?"
She glared at him angrily, putting the wallet into her purse. "When did you take it?" Her voice was cold, threatening.
"When I bumped inta y' after y' got your order." He watched the realization bloom on her face.
"You made me spill my coffee... Then you insisted on buying me another cup. You used apologizing as an excuse to sit with me..." She looked shocked at the revelation.
"I know. Kill two birds wi't one stone. Get a wallet an' a pretty girl." He also knew that arrogance was seeping from his pores. But no matter, so was the charm.
"You bumped into me on purpose!"
"Yup."
"Ugh, I think I'm gonna be sick."
"Don't worry..." He looked down, searching his pockets. "I t'ink I have one o' dose barf bags de airlines like t' give out somewhere..."
His fake sincerity was too much and, unexpectedly, she burst out laughing, though it had a decidedly nervous edge to it. "You really are on of a kind!" she managed between giggles.
He smiled and began to stand. "Well, I t'ink my work here is done. Time for me t' move on an' terrorize some more be'utiful women."
"You're leaving?"
"Yup. Check out for m' hotel is at 10:00am." He looked down at his watch. "An' dat leaves me exactly half an' hour to get dere an' get out."
"Oh," was all she could manage, being taken aback by the abrupt ending to the conversation.
"Bye!" he said, somehow working some cheerfulness into his voice despite the unnerved feelings inside of him. Turning, he deposited his garbage in a nearby container with the words 'Thank you' thoughtfully printed on it, and left.
"Bye.." she called weakly after him, not quite sure how she should respond. "Wow. Was it something I said?" she mumbled. "That was really weird. And after all that he didn't even ask for my number." She stared after him until he disappeared beyond the view of the restaurant windows.
§
¨ © ªThe smile faded from Remy's mouth the moment he knew he was out of the redhead's view. He walked quickly down the crowded street, trying to ignore the queasy feeling all the moving people created with his spatial sense, and took a deep breath to calm his nerves. He'd had to get out of there. The green eyes on the femme had been so brilliant, so deep in their richness that he'd felt like he might fall into them. But they hadn't been hers. They had been Rogue's. The perfect shade of emerald. Cold, judging, hating as she sentenced him to die alone in a deserted, unforgiving, wasteland. And he had run from them now as he then, running through endless drifts of snow trying to escape the image of them in his mind, finally stopping only when exhausted drove him to his knees at the foot of the Citadel.
Remy knew the girl in McDonalds wasn't really Rogue. But those eyes made his heart believe she was, bringing him back to the painful memories. So he had left, albeit a bit abruptly, but it was all he could do. Somebody bumped into him on the bustling city street bringing him back to himself. On reflex he automatically checked his pockets to make sure his wallet hadn't been swiped. Still there. Good.
The sprawling monolith of the hotel rose before him and Remy pushed through the rotating doors at the front to find himself in a busy lobby. He swung over to the left, just barely making it into the full elevator before the doors closed. Plush, red carpeting covered the floor and he could feel it sink a bit under his weight.
The walls surrounding him were made out of mirrors and Remy stared at his reflection, singling it out from among the other passengers'. He was more critical of it now, than he had been earlier. The face that looked back at him was a bit thinner than it should have been, cheeks sunken in a little too much. He'd lost a lot of weight between starving in Antarctica and being deathly ill with pneumonia. Enough weight that despite his hard work to gain it back and find health again, he was still shy of the normal scale reading by 10 or 15 pounds. Remy had always been lanky at best, standing at 6'1 and having a lean frame, but now he was outright skinny. He actually scared himself sometimes when he took off his clothes and found bones protruding under his skin in places where there should be flesh to hide them. Of course, growing up an orphan on the streets of New Orleans, Remy was no stranger to starvation... but it had been so long since he'd last been forced to experience it. It wasn't something you ever got used to.
A heavy sigh escaped his lips and he averted his eyes from the reflective glass. It would be better soon. He just needed time. Given another month he should be back to normal. Physically at least. The ringing of the elevator bell interrupted his thoughts as it signaled its stopping. Stepping out onto the 13th floor, Remy wandered down the hallway to his room.
Inside everything was exactly as he had left it. Collapsing onto the soft bed, he took off his sunglasses and retrieved his wallet from a pocket in his tight jeans. Going to a particular compartment, he pulled out a single tattered playing card from between the brown leather. The queen of hearts stared solemnly at him from her place on the marred cardboard. The edges were frayed and a whole corner was missing. There was also a big line through the middle of it where Remy had angrily ripped it once, and then later carefully taped it back together. But despite all this, this one card had the power to send him into a blind rage... or leave him in a deep pool of depression. It was the card Rogue had given him as a symbol of her love before she had found out about his involvement in the Mutant Massacre.
Flipping it over in his hands, Remy was careful not to do further damage. She had promised to love him unconditionally, despite the dark secrets the he held within him, but once she'd found out about the atrocities he'd been a part of, she'd left him to die. How dare she make him believe that he had a chance at true happiness, at true love, only to viciously rip his heart from his chest when he was most vulnerable? He hated her for that. And still, despite it all, he couldn't help but love her too.
He sighed, disgusted with himself, and rolled over to look at the clock radio on the nightstand. Fifteen minutes until checkout. What he supposed to do until then? His stuff was already packed and he didn't want to leave until only a minute before checkout, just to see if he could annoy the desk clerk. Tapping his fingers restlessly against the bed, his eyes wandered aimlessly across the room. And stopped abruptly on the phone that sat innocently on the nightstand. There was someone he could call. It had been a while since he'd talked to her and it would be nice to find out how she was.
Sitting up quickly and grabbing the phone before he could change his mind, Remy dialed a familiar number. One ring. Two. He hoped desperately that she would be the one to pick up.
"Hello?" a female voiced asked. A smile spread across his face.
Today was his lucky day.
Or so he thought.
"'Lo Stormy. What's u—"
"Remy! Your timing could not be more perfect!"
A frown replaced the gleeful expression. Something was wrong. "What de matter 'Roro?" he questioned cautiously.
"The X-Men have a... situation that requires the use of your... special expertise."
"Special expertise?" He couldn't help the suspicion and sarcasm that found its way into his tone.
"Yes. As you know the X-Men tend to lack in stealth. We are somewhat notorious for making our presence know. Unfortunately, our newest mission involves a sort of breaking and entering. Considering your background, your help would be very valuable."
"What would de X-Men want wit' a B&E? An' why can' y' do it. You were a t'ief once too."
"I was never as skilled at that as you were. Picking pockets was always more of my forte." There was a hesitance in her voice that perked his suspicion.
"Come on 'Roro. I know y' too well t' miss dat you're not tellin' me de whole story. What de real reason y' want m' help?"
There was a long pause on the other line. Then, "Remy, are you sitting down?"
He didn't like the strange tone of her voice. "Yah, why?"
"Are you holding anything breakable... or chargeable in your case?"
"Jus' de phone. What aren' y' tellin' me 'Ro?" His patience was running out.
"We found Rogue." Three words. Three incredibly blunt and painful words.
He felt his breath catch in his throat and he had to force himself to inhale. This was the last thing he needed. "So what does dat have t' do wit' me?" he asked angrily when he could breath properly again.
"...You may be able to provide some... insight into the situation because of your past... history... " She sighed in frustration as if she didn't know how exactly to phrase what she was trying to say. Finally she just spit it out. "We believe she is with Sinister."
He was half-conscious of the stream of curses that flew out of his mouth in half a dozen languages as the realization slammed into him. He failed altogether to notice the pink glow flowing from his hand where it rested on the bed into the comforter he was sitting on—at least not until it exploded, throwing him onto the floor. Somehow he managed not to pull the phone out of the wall. "Ow!" he whined as he landed loudly on his side.
"Remy? What was that?" came the concerned voice on the other line.
"Not'in'"
"Remy... I know this is hard for you, but despite what she'd done, as hard as it is to admit it, she does deserve a chance to be heard. I am very angry with her, but she is still an X-Man, as are you. And the X-Men look after their own."
"Yeah, yeah, save de speeches Stormy. I know."
"So you will help?"
A resigned sigh and, "Got no choice. I'd never forgive myself if I let dat madman, Essex, hurt her."
He could almost imagine Storm nodding in understanding to fill the brief pause. "I knew I could count on you my friend."
"What 'bout de other X-Men. Dey agree to me t' me helpin' out?" He deliberately avoided saying 'coming back.' He didn't plan on staying with the team any longer than was absolutely necessary.
"They... do not yet know. I believe they will tolerate it though. Where are you Remy? Will it take you long to get here?"
"Non. I'm in Manhattan."
"Good. I'll expect you here by lunchtime. Good bye until then." And then she hung up before he could argue with her. The dial tone blared almost accusingly in his ear as he picked himself up off the floor and hung up the phone. He sighed heavily as he stared at the scorched bed and noticed that, according to the clock, he had only five minutes left until checkout. Reaching down, he lifted the charred blanket off the floor and dropped it in a heap on the bed. He was about to turn and gather his luggage to leave when something on the floor caught his eye.
It was the Queen of Hearts.
And a new, long, black scorch-mark was visible on its face.
Another scar to add to the collection.
To be continued…