Remy FanFiction

by R3Ml

This is basically a story of Remy LeBeau's a.k.a Gambit past and history. Almost none of it is real as far as I know, but if so, I credit whomever wrote the stuff. How does that sound? I will try to edit it regularly and add more to it. Peace, Gambit.

Part one

Almost there, Remy thought as his already blistered feet slammed on the hot pavement. I gotta be close. Running for at least three hours on end had its ups and downs. The downs: getting worse by the mile, or less. While, on the other hand, quite a few of the ups included his destination and current location, both of which made him a little more enthusiastic about his situation. This situation happened to be not as bad as you might think, but for Remy, it was more than likely a life or death sort of thing, causing panic.

Before I say any further about the pickle that Remy's in, I suggest you listen to this: a little, well…background history, I guess.

Remy was born in New Orleans, which, in case you haven't noticed already, is in Louisiana. (This is assuming you've caught up on that state report in history you have yet to complete.) When at a very young age of 14 months, Remy Jacques LeBeau was abandoned. Not by a stork on a porch step or any of that nonsense, oh of course not. No, he was left on the backstreets of New Orleans, also known to most Homeless Organisms Beyond Orthodontists, (H.O.) "That place where them real full dumpsters are!" However, just to stay clear, normal humans would call them alleys. Unless you are, IN FACT, a Hobo, then that's a totally different story.

Okay, that's enough about hobos; let's get back to the explanation. Remy was found on the streets by a man who worked in Baton Rouge. He ran an orphanage there, and, because Remy was obviously an orphan by now, took him back with him. Remy was raised there, and stayed until 7 years old. It was then that he realized what an orphan really was. It was then that he recalled all those times he'd asked where his mommy and daddy were. And now he knew why he had been answered with a simple "there on a trip": he had no parents. It was as simple as that. There was nothing wrong with that. But Remy took it the wrong way. He started to call himself and all the other orphans freaks, because they all had no parents. And he took to the streets once more.

This is where we find him now: running for three hours strait, possibly more, back to New Orleans, although he did not know this. He had always been told that he was raised in Baton Rouge. (But no one said anything about born in.) So off he was, and he's still running. This is where we continue with this somewhat-of-an-adventure.

Panting from exhaustion, Remy slowed to a jog, and then a complete stop. Sitting on the edge of the now gravel road, he thought about the one thought that had been stirring in his mind for at least an hour now: food. That was officially his number one priority in life. Food. Just saying the word made his stomach scream out for anything edible, just to stop shortly afterward with realization that there was nothing for miles. Not only this, but then his throat joined in the chorus longing for water. It struck him like a wrecking ball. Dehydration. He was on the verge of collapsing on the edge of some crazy road in Louisiana. How much betta can this day get? Remy thought as he saw, to his utter surprise, a truck. A Ford F-150 with tinted windows and spokes. What the crap? And, in case this wasn't surprising enough, it drove up next to him and stopped. By this point, Remy was dumbstruck. The widow rolled down a crack and then a deep, buff-guy voice said, "Hey, kid, watcha doin' out here by yo'self?" After the man got no answer, he continued, "Well? You gonna answer or not?"

Remy thought about his options: he could say his reason for being out here, if he knew what exactly that reason was, or he could stay quiet. Remy decided to answer with a simple shrug. Apparently, that wasn't satisfying enough for the buff man. He started throwing out other questions, most of which Remy didn't know the answer for, and Remy was pretty much forced to answer with at least a complete sentence.

"Watcha name?"

"Remy. Remy…LeBeau."

"Remy, eh? Why, that a fine name. Very mature for a boy of your age."

"Thank you…sir."

"Ah! And very nice manners as well. Where ya from?"

"Um…Mr. Alvarez always say I is from Baton Rouge, sir."

"Really?"

"Yes, sir, but I ain't real sure."

He seemed to pause with the questions after Remy said this. Remy was confused. Why would some random truck pull up, turn out to be a buff dude with a brain so chock full of questions that once he got the answers, he was all twisted up in his own mind to even notice? And not to mention actually talking to Remy. Even that wasn't normal.

After a while, he asked another intricate question that made Remy pause this time before answering. "How old, in months, are ya, Remy?"...Um…Remy needed to do arithmetic for this, and he wasn't really good at really big numbers. Well, let's see, Remy started counting on his fingers, one year is twelve months, and so…seven years is…SEVEN TIMES TWELVE? How was he supposed to do that? Even if Remy was pretty average at math, he had just begun second grade when he bolted, and even then he was homeschooled.

Finally, Remy admitted to his problem. "I ain't sure, sir. What is seven times twelve?" The man puzzled this like a fly staring its death right in the face, trying to figure out what side of the bug zapper to go for. He got out this thing Remy had seen only in the store for forty-five whole dollars: a calculator. It was small, not big like the store one. After a few faint clicks, he said, with a tone of satisfaction in his voice, "Seven times twelve equals seventy-two. So you seventy-two months old, huh?" How was Remy supposed to put this nicely? "Um, yes, sir, but dontcha think dat seven years old sound betta? More…" Oh drat. What was that really big word the man used? "…mate-chure." The man chuckled slightly before saying, "Do ya mean mature?" Oh. Remy said, feeling the redness come up into his cheeks, "Yes, sir. I real sorry for bein' so bad at English." The man gave a hearty laugh. "It's okay. Ya didn't finish yo' school lessons, boy. Say," he continued, "do ya need a ride back? It ain't hard to see you in a jam."

The truck was much bigger inside than out. "Da fancy work on the outside was done jus' to make a scene." the man had explained earlier. Remy hadn't answered any other questions, though, because by that point, he had been looking about the truck. It wasn't filthy, and it definitely wasn't spotless. Remy thought of the word "cozy" to define it. (Cozy, in this case, meaning one could call it their own little slice of heaven.) The seats were stained black leather, the dashboard was most likely mahogany or birch, and the radio was chrome. Definitely.

The man was buff (duh) and wore a ripped white "tank top" (girly vocabulary.) He looked like the Greek god of war, Ares, but without the buzz cut. (Read Percy Jackson.) His hazel eyes stuck out from the rest of him, though. They made him look friendly, which probably was embarrassing one way or another.

"Sir, I sorry to ask, but wat yo' name? How old you? And why you bein' so nice to me?" The man looked shocked, almost hurt, if it was even possible to be hurt when you're that buff. "Well," he started, "I'm Mike, but mos' people call me Master Mike." Whew, wat a name. Wit a name like dat, you could turn heads for three reasons! Remy thought to himself. Mike continued without noticing Remy's eyes get wide with sarcasm. "I'm…t'irty-seven and a quarter, and I bein' nice so you live another week." It was now that Mike looked over at Remy, and noticing his shock, said, "Not like ya would die or nutin'." This made Remy a little easier.

A couple minutes more into their ride, Master Mike asked the question Remy had hoped would never come up, which of course made it a fact that it was going to get asked: "Why are ya eyes red?"

Okay, freeze right where you are. By red, it means that his iris is red. Ta Da. You see, Remy's a mutant, which means he has a special ability that normal humans don't. In his case, he could "charge" any inanimate object with bio-kinetic energy, which appears to the human eye as a reddish color. Hence his eyes being red. He can't use the powers yet, but he was still born with red eyes, because the energy is still stored in his body.

"I ain't sure, Mr. Mike, sir. Mr. Alvarez say I was born like dat. I wanna know why I gotsta have no parents, sir. I a freak of nature. Nutin' make sense no more!" Remy sort of curled up as silent tears escaped his tear ducts and fell to his chin, dripping onto his knees. Mike seemed to respond like most tough guys when they see people cry. He wasn't sure what to think. "Aw, hey kid, you ain't a freak. You is jus' born like dat, jus' like Mr. Alvarez says. It's okay." Really what was going through his head was Ya, dat sound good. He a kid, he can't tell. He was right. Remy was seven, and it's not like he's Einstein, either. Remy took this as encouragement. He sometimes gave himself advice like that when he felt crappy. Now would be a good example.

After a while, Mike realized that he didn't know where Remy was to go. They had just been driving along, not sure where they were. They did know, however, that there was absolutely no way that they were out of Louisiana. Did that help them at all? No, no it didn't. So, Mike took the time to ask. "Yo, Remy, where we goin' anyway? Ya didn't tell me where you was headed." Remy noticed that flaw as well, and considered it a major issue. Trying to fill the silence, he gave an honest answer. "Um, I ain't really sure, sir. I guess anywhere besides Baton Rouge." This surprised Mike and took out something else that Remy couldn't identify: a phone. Mike messed with it, concentrating really hard on his radio while doing so. Then finally, he announced, "Well, the nearest city from here is New Orleans. Will dat satisfy ya?" Something about hearing New Orleans being used in a normal sentence made Remy pause. It was deadly familiar, but why? Why was it almost like…no, there was no way. "Sure…That's, that's fine…" Remy finally managed, swallowing hard.

It was beautiful. Everything was lit up as if to say "Hi! Come on in and make yourself a drink!" As they passed the welcome sign, Remy read to himself, "Welcome to New Orleans: Crawfish capital of the country, and soon the world." He didn't know what a crawfish was, but it sounded like food. All the shops were open, even though it was at least 8:00. That was when Remy was used to turning into bed, but he could never fall asleep at eight. He would lie there in his little cot for who knows how long. It would be at least ten before sleep even crossed his mind. He would usually stay up and gamble potato chips with his buddy, Marcus. He always won. Always. And when he would pass any girl, they'd swoon and walk off giggling. Why, Remy wasn't sure, but it was really cool.

When the truck came to a stop and Mike got out like he was a superstar, parked in the middle of the street, Remy stepped out, too. Almost immediately, some of the women passing wearing gowns of purple, gold and green looked his way and lowered their feather and glitter-clad masks. They would wink at him and smile. They would point his way and blow kisses, then cover their faces, leaving their eyes clearly visible, and walk off once more just to show off their flashy make up. Whoa…Remy thought as he would simply look back and wave shyly, what's wit dem?

Then, to make things even better, a rich looking man scurried over with a friendly expression. "Hallo, fine gentlemen, may I show you to a vine hotel? It vould be my tveat." Man, this guy's accent was creeping Remy out on an extremely high level. Why can't he say an "R"? Or "w", or even "f"? As Remy pondered this, Mike answered in an almost normal accent, "Please do, sir, for we are tired of searching near and far throughout Louisiana for a decent place to stay." What would have been Remy's answer was, "Uh, sure, I guess ya should, 'cause ya offered.".

The strange man's car was really big, much better than Mike's truck. It was long and black, and had tinted windows like the truck. As Remy looked out of the strange car, he rolled down the window and saw lots of green, gold, and purple decorations, like the ladies' dresses he'd seen earlier. There were floats of the same color, and paper lanterns hanging from the telephone lines, in the same colors. Then Remy caught a glimpse of a banner that read, "Marti Gras!" "What's Marti Grass?" he asked Mike. Mike turned to look and said, "Marti Gras is a special celebration where everyone dresses up and goes to parades. Isn't it great?" Um, yea, sure it is, Remy thought when really he said out loud, "Why do all the chicks stare at me?" After a puzzled look from the fancy dude and Mike, Remy regretted saying that. "Sorry, sir, I wasn't thinking when I-" He was interrupted by the lady that was driving, while the weird German guy and Mike still stared, "I believe I have an answer to that, Mr. LeBeau."

The lady was British, which got the men to turn to her. She didn't like this at all. "I'm sorry, but I do believe your attention should be focused somewhere else, gentlemen." She said sternly but calmly. Hold on, Remy thought, she don't sound like a grown up person. She pretty short, too. That was true, she was short. In fact, she looked only a little older than Remy. I guess dat skin cream they show on TV really makes ya look younger, Remy guessed. He'd seen lots of ladies use it on the commercial. Then they compared two pictures of the same person, one was a person with wrinkles and acne, and the other was supposedly the same person, but without all the stuff.

Remy thought about this while looking quizzically at the steering wheel. Why, he wasn't sure because he was playing the skin cream ad in his head. Then it struck him: she didn't have her hands or knees on the steering wheel. It was just gliding along on the streets, and whenever they would go around a curve, the wheel would just move without her touching it. He, again, didn't think before saying, "Why does da wheel move by itself? You ain't even touching it, ma'am." She looked at him, and then an even stranger thing happened: in his mind was a voice, the lady's voice! It said, "Now, do you really want to blow my cover?" Remy wasn't sure what to say, so he thought, Wow, dat was creepy. I thought I heard that lady's voice, but her mouth didn't move. He looked at her, and again he heard her voice.

"Hey, I heard that, you know. That isn't very nice, calling me creepy."

"Um, sorry, ma'am, I didn't think-"

"-that I could hear your thoughts? Yes, yes I can, Remy."

"Wow, okay…"

"Don't be alarmed, I'm not going to hurt you, or anything."

"Okay…So, why does da wheel move by itself?"

"I'm not sure…Why are your eyes red?"

That was a weird question, because he didn't really know. He had never been told why or anything, except Mr. Alvarez saying he was born with it.

"I know you were born like that. What I asked was why?"

" I don't know! Why can you hear me? Why can you drive, but not, huh?"

"Because I'm a telepath, that's why."

"A…what?"

"Te-Le-Pa-Th. Do I have to spell it out for you?"

"No, I ain't a good speller, dat'd prob'ly kill me."

"Oh, good grief…Listen, I already know why your eyes are red."

"Then why'd ya ask?"

"It was rhetorical, Remy."

"Wait, I cain't even hear you…Did ya say, ya know why I'm a freak?"

"What? You are not a freak, Remy, you merely have a gift that you haven't discovered yet."

Before he could answer, the car stopped abruptly. "Oh drat!" she said out loud as she grabbed the steering wheel and took it clean off the car. This, Remy guessed, was the result of a tele-whatever getting off task. She quickly reacted, though, and calmly placed it on her seat as she opened her door without touching it. She walked to the back of the car, and opened Remy's door. "Remy, I need you…NOW." All he could do to reply was nod before she yanked him out of the car, using her hands. This was when he got a good look at her.

She wore a white tank top with a white shrug. She also had a white skirt and even white boots to tie all it all together. What was weird, though, was that her eyes were a dazzling light blue. She was older, but only by about four years, making her eleven years old, if Remy's math was correct. Her hair was really really really light. It had to be blond because in the light you can see a light yellow tinge. Even so, it looked almost white. She was wearing a pale blue lip stick with a white gloss (Remy figured coconut.)

She read his thoughts about the lipstick, and replied out loud, "You are correct, it is coconut. You are quite a ladies' man if you can see what lip gloss a girl wears, Remy." Remy felt himself blush. He didn't have to have good grammar to understand what that meant. "Thanks, ma'am." After saying that, he noticed that he didn't know her name. Before he could ask, she answered, "Emma, my name is Emma Frost." That would explain some things, Remy thought. He could tell that she heard that, because she sort of grinned after looking at him.

"So, wat'd ya need me for…Emma?" Remy said after a while. Emma looked back at the car, and said, "Well, it seems that there is a little road block." She pointed to a giant landslide slurred across the road. "I need you to 'move it'." That was surprising. How was he supposed to move all of that? Apparently she read his thoughts again, because she answered, "I want you to use you little gift, Remy." Excuse me? "Well, um, how I do that? I mean, you said it yourself, I haven't figured out what it is yet." She just smirked and did a gesture with her hand. Remy started to get a head ache. Not just a normal one, either, it was really bad. He was probably crying, but he couldn't tell. [To tell you the truth, he wasn't crying.] From Emma's perspective, he was glowing red sort of. She started to regret doing this, because he was only seven. But she laughed when he stood up with a "what-the-heck" look on his face. "Ta-Da. You know what it is now. Go 'move it'."

He understood this time. He was a freak, but not in a negative way. Emma had cleared it all up. He knew his gift, and enjoyed it very much. Remy walked over to the rock slide and picked up a small stone, just to test. He concentrated hard, but not for very long, because he felt the energy flow through him and to his hand. Then the rock started to glow. Perfect, Emma and Remy both thought. Finally, once it was glowing nice and bright, he threw it up in the air. Then, BOOM, it exploded, and the dust fell onto the road. Remy looked at Emma, and she smiled. He bent down to touch one big rock. It glowed with such brightness that all the rocks started to glow. Before he let go, however, he looked wearily at Emma and nodded. She understood and put a diamond cover over the car and herself, and then (just in case,) she put up a force field. He stared at her. She was even prettier in diamond. [Don't tell Remy I put that.] She gave a glittery thumbs up and he let go. He ran for the back of the car, and just as he rolled behind it, the whole thing blew up. The force was so strong that the car was actually pushed backwards.

After the explosion, Remy noticed he was really tired. He stood up and leaned against the trunk, put his elbows on it, and closed his eyes, focusing hard on his breathing. His eyes remained closed as he lifted his head, just like if he was to look at the stars through his eyelids. He heard Emma cough slightly as she took of the force field and diamond casing. After she didn't see him emerge from the back of the car, she said in her head to Remy, "Where are you? Why haven't you come back to the front?" He replied, panting even in his mind, "I'm *pant* at *pant* the back…*pant* Why you *pant* asking?" After this being said, Emma came and sat on the trunk next to him. "Because," she said looking at him, "I was worried. You were great, that being your third time using you ability and all…"

"What? *pant* Third time using it? *pant* I only did it twice."

"No, you used it three times. You got that head ache, which was the affect of using it on your first try. You had just used it, and there is still a crater in the road."

He opened his eyes, still panting slightly, and looked over at the road. She was right, Remy thought, there is still a crater. This was surprising to him. How did he do that? She smiled and said, "Wow, Remy, I think you got taller." She giggled. What? He sat on the trunk now, with his breath fully returned to him. He was seven, there was no way he hit his growth spurt yet. Even so, he was shorter then Emma by a couple inches (seven inches, to be exact.) However, when she grabbed his hand and jumped off the trunk, taking him with her, he was taller. Taller than her! "Um, wow, I-" she put her finger over his lips and smiled. "I read your thoughts." He felt himself blush. "Also," she said, putting her finger down, "you aren't seven anymore, you're twelve. Get used to it, Remy." She blew a kiss, giggled, then walked to the car, as casual as if nothing had happened.

They'd been driving for about an hour now, and on every stop sign or stoplight, she'd look in the back and, according to what she'd said to Remy in her head, "check up" on all of them.

Mike started getting nervous because they hadn't gotten to the hotel yet. "When are we gettin' to da hotel, Miss Emma?" Emma got to another stoplight before turning around and, after glancing at Remy, replying, "We shall be arriving in fifteen minutes, Mr. Mike, sir." This was good news. Remy would finally get some sleep. It was at least midnight when they got back in the car after the rockslide. He had almost fallen asleep about twenty-five minutes ago, but Emma had aroused him with her telepathy thing.

"We are here, sir."

"Thank you, Emma. Here is your pay."

"Oh, thank you, sir!"

The man gave her twenty dollars, and she now opened his door. It was raining, so when he stepped out, Emma opened an umbrella for him, using her hands so the doorman didn't get suspicious. Then she repeated the process with Mike. But when she got to Remy, she simply made a hand gesture (different from the one with the landslide,) and then put up a force field around both of them. "Won't the door guy-" Remy started, but Emma read his thoughts ahead of time again, and started replying in the middle of his sentence. "He thinks we are rich folk holding fancy umbrellas in nice suits, so shush." Then she walked up calmly to the doorman and handed him the twenty dollars. "Thank ya kindly, ma'am!" he said excitedly as she blew him a kiss and entered the building.

The lobby was huge, with fancy chandeliers and tables. The front desk was very neat with a little golden bell sitting next to a nametag that read "Bella Donna Boudreaux, Front Desk Assistant". Emma touched the little bell twice, and it wrung twice. Then a blond girl popped up with clipboard. Remy knew her! Bella Donna was a girl at the orphanage who always talked with Remy beyond the grounds. They were like best friends!

"Emma, turn off da shield, or wateva."

"What? You know that everyone will see-"

"-I know, I know. Listen, I know her!"

"How?"

"I just do, okay? Now turn it off!"

"Fine."

Emma turned it off, and then Bella Donna jumped up. "Remy!" She ran over and hugged him. "It so nice ta see you! How ya been?" He couldn't really answer, because Emma said, "We need two rooms: One for Mike Anderson and friend, and one for us." She gestured to the men, and then to Remy and herself. "Oh…Okay, so then…Remy, who is dis?" Bella Donna asked sternly. "Oh," Remy said, then jabbed Emma in the ribs. "Ow!" She yelped. "I-I'm Emma Frost, just a friend, you know." This seemed to satisfy Bella Donna, because she simply said, "Okay den! You got rooms 102 and 104." Emma said thank you, grabbed Remy by the shirt and dragged him down the hall.

Their room was huge, with floor-to-ceiling windows. The beds were a regal red color with a beautiful golden fringe and an amazing golden pattern. The walls were red, also, and there was a cherry wood desk with a black leather office chair in the corner. A large flat-screen television was mounted on the wall above two sets of drawers. And, best of all, there was a mini-fridge stocked with ice-cream! Yes! Emma and Remy both thought to each other. Then they blushed, looked at each other, and started laughing hysterically.

"So, what now?" Emma asked. Remy couldn't answer because he was laughing so hard. Finally, he had a long enough gasp of air to say, "I don' know. Maybe we can go-" but he couldn't finish. They just sat there laughing and smiling. Remy liked being twelve. It was really fun. He could get away with not answering or not smiling when being told, and stuff like that. Remy collapsed on his bed and dug his face in a pillow to suppress the laughing, but this just made Emma laugh harder. It helped, though, and soon they were lying on his bed side by side and chatting and occasionally laughing, making sure it didn't get out of hand again.

"What were you going to say before?" Emma asked, sitting up and looking at him. "Wat? Oh, I was gonna say we could go down to da pool, but den I notice I'd havta swim in my clothes." Remy replied. Emma laughed, "And that would matter, why?" He looked at her and made some random hand gestures like she always did when she was talking. "'Cause I'd havta sleep in wet clothes, duh! Den I'd hurt in da mornin'!" More laughing from Emma was called for, so after they laughed for a couple seconds, she said, "Well, we could go buy you a swimsuit." Then, Remy said, to protect his "Manly-ness", "Okay, first of all, it ain't a 'swimsuit', dat for girlies like you." Emma laughed, and Remy continued, "Dey known as 'trunks', okay?" Now she went hysterical. So much laughing was happening outside that she had to answer in her head. "Uh huh, I'll remember that the next time you even say the word 'swimsuit', Mister Smarty-Pants."

Even at three in the morning, the shops were lit up in New Orleans. They went in the swimsuit store and Emma started to tease him. "So, which pair of 'trunks' are you going to choose?" Remy laughed sarcastically, "Ha ha, very funny, Emma. You just have to torture me here, dontcha?" She giggled and replied, "Oh, no, of course not, Remy. I would never do that to you in public." He gave her a playful little slap on the back of the head, and walked to the back, and she followed him.

"Which do you prefer, waves, or fire?" Remy asked holding up two pairs. Emma laughed, read some of his mind, and then said, just to tease him, "How about potato chips?" Remy shrugged and said, going along with it, "Well, I ain't sure dey got dat, chere." Emma looked at him quizzically, and asked, "What did you say?" Remy regretted saying that. In fact, he didn't even know what it meant, it had just come out. "Uh…I ain't exactly sure. Could you tell me?" Emma seemed like she wanted to tell him, so she repeated his answer. "You said, well, I'm not sure if they have that, chere." She emphasized chere like it was hard to say, or it was an insult. "What does dat even mean?" Remy thought to himself, which meant Emma heard it. "It's French for 'dear'." Emma replied. "Okay….Dat a little creepy. Sorry, Emma." Emma wanted to say, that's okay, I kind of liked it, but instead, she saw the perfect swimsuit for him. "Remy, how about those?" She pointed to a pair with a spade on each side, each on fire, with a flame background.

On their way back to the hotel, Emma and Remy had a decent conversation.

"So, did they fit?"

"Uh, yeah, why else would I of bought 'em?"

"Oh, duh. Gosh I'm such an idiot."

"No you ain't, Emma, you da smartest person I know, and dat sayin' somt'in."

"Really? Thank you, Remy."

"Yeah."

"So, do you like cards?"

"Yeah, I do. How'd ya know?"

"Telepath, Remy."

"Right, I should've remembered dat."

They got back to the hotel just before five o' clock in the morning, which meant that as soon as they got in their room, Remy turned on the TV, then crashed on his bed. Emma wondered how he could possibly sleep like that. He was leaning against the headboard with his arms crossed, his knees were bent like he was doing sit ups, and yet he was asleep! How in the world…? Emma thought as she stared at him. He's not even under the sheets! As far as she was concerned, he just was not normal. Of course, that was a prejudice assumption.

"Remy? Remy, wake up, we need to go to the pool as soon as possible!" Emma shook him slightly, which seemed to wake him up. "Wat? Please don' tell me wat time it is." Remy muttered, half asleep. Emma didn't need to even look at the clock before she said, "Remy, it's two o' clock." He sat upright and stared. "Wat? Dat ain't even possible; we got back at five, didn't we?" Emma slapped her forehead, and then said, fighting the urge to slap him, "Not two in the morning! It's two PM, Remy, you missed breakfast and lunch." Oh great, really? Two PM? I'm starved half to death, Remy thought. Emma heard this, and said, "Yeah, I'm so going to believe that you haven't eaten in seven days. Come on, get dressed."

The pool was beautiful. With lots of beautiful girls to match, Remy thought, and then Emma slapped him. Then Remy shoved her in the pool. She had no choice but to just fall and give a little yelp, because if she used her powers, people would start to freak out. She crashed in the water with a splash. When her head appeared above the water, her blondish-white hair gleamed in the sunlight. Before Remy could do anything, though, Emma yanked his arm, and he fell in, too. He swam underwater below her, and before Emma could tell where he was, he tickled her feet and she shot up like a rocket that found out it was crash-landing in the ocean and tried to do something about it.

"Not, funny, Remy." Emma said, even though she was laughing. Remy's head poked out of the remaining waves from their falls. "Hellooo," Remy said playfully. "Okay, now you're gonna get it!" Emma shoved him underwater and used her powers to hold him down. He grabbed the strap of her bikini and it started to glow. Emma forgot completely about her powers and said in his head, "You wouldn't…would you?" Remy thought back, "Oh, I don't know…I might, if you don't let me LIVE." She understood, and they swam back to the top.

[Author's note. Remy has another power, but it's passive: any girl that sees him (unless they have the same power,) falls in love with him. So, you can imagine what he'd look like to a girl in a bikini with a spray tan and dark brown hair, or something like that, right? Well, if not, here is the perspective of a girl named Chloe Vista, who is currently observing Remy.]

*"OMG, Hannah, I swear he was looking at me!"

"I don't know, Chloe, he's pretty occupied right now. He might have been looking at something else."

"No way, he was totally looking at me, I swear!"

"Yeah right, it just so happens that the one guy you happen to think is hot looked at you."

This made Chloe a little depressed. What if Hannah was right? That guy might have looked at something behind her. But I know he looked at me! She thought, we made eye contact, I know it! He seemed to look over again, so she waved shyly, and he waved back! Chloe couldn't wait to tell Megan!*

Remy had glanced at this one girl once or twice, but Emma wasn't happy. "Why do you keep staring at that girl?" Remy saw her wave to him, so he smiled and waved back. "'Cause she's really-" Emma interrupted, "-cute? Or maybe hot? How about stunning?" Now Remy understood: she had read his mind again. "Why do you keep doing that?" he snapped. "Because I want to know exactly what someone really thinks, and not just what they lie about." Emma calmly answered, not concerned at all that she wasn't paying attention to what she was saying. Remy waving at that girl reminded her of when she had seen that cute boy in Colorado trying to ski. She had waved to him, and he had waved back, and then fallen off the skis. Emma remembered that often.

*"HANNAH, HE WAVED BACK!"

"Okay, okay, Chloe, calm down. I saw it."

"OMG, OMG, OMG-"

"SHUTUP!"*

Another girl was with the first one, and she was getting pretty upset. "Wat wit her?" Remy asked. Emma said, exasperated, "How am I supposed to…" She read their minds, and then started laughing. "Wat? Wat is it? Wat goin' on?" Remy wanted her to tell him but she was too busy laughing. So he took this as an opportunity to go dry off for a little bit. Then he noticed where their chairs were: a couple chairs down from those girls he had watched. Oh, just perfect, he thought sarcastically. He picked up his towel and walked toward his chair. As he walked past the girls, getting a little water on the cute one [Chloe,] he tried to dry off his hair a little, making him look cuter than normal.

*"OMG, he walked right past us! Did you see that? He has red eyes! That is SO cool!"

"No, it's not cool, it's creepy. He must be a mutant."

*Anything with stars is from a different perspective, and should not be mistaken for the same perspective as before, unless it is showing a passive action. (ex. *pant*)*

"So what? He's still really cute."

"Chloe, you're hopeless." Hannah said as she stuffed her lotion, towel, sunglasses, magazine, and makeup in her tote bag and walked back to the hotel.*

Remy saw that other girl leave, so now only one was left. Bingo, Remy thought. Then he did a cannonball into the pool. After a brief chat with Emma, Remy got out again and sat down on a chair next to the girl, who was now supposedly reading a fashion magazine. He was wet, so his hair had a certain "angelic" shine to it. [Chloe would call it awesome.]

"Hey, what's up wit your friend?" Remy asked her as he tried to get a glimpse of what she was reading. She didn't answer, obviously avoiding the subject. "Okay, so watcha readin'?" Not noticing who it was, she said, "Just a comic book, but don't tell Hannah that, because she's trying to teach me to be more girly." Remy saw what comic it was and sort of smiled. He read one of those when he was seven. It was a Superman comic book. "Why Superman, Mon ami? Surely ya got a reason." When he used another French term without thinking, she looked up from her comic book long enough to see his red eyes. Then she jumped a bit, and soon calmed down long enough to say, "Um, wow, I…uh, h-hi…" Remy just smiled and, to make her feel better, said, "Let me guess, it the eyes, ain't it?" She just shook her head slowly and tried to talk again. "Um, n-no, it's just…I-I've been, um, watching, you. Not on purpose, or anything, but, uh…" She just blushed hard after that, and Remy couldn't help but feel her pain.

"Hey Chloe! I'm sorry for earlier, and-Oh, my, gosh!" That girl must be Hannah, Remy thought as she went up to the speechless girl and they started to whisper madly to each other. After a while, the first girl asked, "Um, hey, uh, Hannah wants to know what your name is." That last bit went really fast like she just wanted to get it over with. Then she quickly added, "And she wants to hear you talk, so she knows what you sound like." Hannah looked at her hard then muttered, through clenched teeth, "Yep, and Chloe wants to marry you." Remy just sort of laughed at that, and said, just to play around, "Oh is dat so? Den why don' she ask herself, Miss Hannah?" Chloe giggled hysterically while Hannah just wrote down her phone number and shoved it at her. Chloe got the number, and signaled Hannah to leave. She did, and then Chloe apologized for Hannah's behavior.

"I'm sorry, Hannah just, is really impatient, you know? She can't really drive a point across because she's constantly arguing and-"

"Hey, it all good, chere. She gone an' you don' gotta stand up for her jus' cause she won't do it herself."

"Oh, wow, thanks…Um, what's your name?"

"I'm Remy, Remy LeBeau. And you are…?"

"Oh, I'm Chloe…Vista. Chloe Vista."

"Cool name, I like it."

"T-Thanks…Remy."

"No problem. Say, you here jus' ta read 'bout a super hero, or you getting' in? 'Cause I tell ya wat, it'd be a shame if dat suit went ta waste."

"I guess I could get in. I mean, it is really hot today."

"Dat da spirit, now come on in."

She got up, set her towel on her chair, and then slid her flip-flops off. "Okay, I'm ready," she announced when all Remy did was stand up. "Okay den, let's go." Chloe slowly waded in, while, on the deep end of the pool, Remy did a full flip in the air, and then did a cannonball strait into the pool. Chloe got wet because of the landing, and she laughed after going over to him and chatting about how in the world he could do that and not kill himself. Remy's answer was somewhere along the lines of, "Well, I can do lotsa t'ings like dat, including run almost clear up a wall and then flip off." Well, she really wanted to see that, so he did it. He got out, ran toward the closest wall, and did a horizontal dash across it. At the end, he did do a flip: into the pool. Chloe laughed and congratulated him. Eventually, Emma left, feeling very irritated as she collected her things. The two swam until ten at night, laughing and falling deeper in love, (at least for the time being.)

"Remy, get up, I need to talk to you."

"Uh huh…"

"Ugh…good grief, Remy. I know why you weren't back at seven o' clock like I asked you to be yesterday."

"Huh?"

"I know you and that girl stayed out there."

"W-Wat…?"

"GET UP!"

Emma furiously yanked him out of bed using her powers, and then threw him up against the wall. As he slid to floor and groaned, he accidentally started to charge some random object he all of a sudden had in his hand. "Oh great, I hope he doesn't have a concussion." Emma walked over and, putting a force field around the object, took it out of his hand. She had to strain to keep the thing from exploding on impact. "Ach…" she was having some difficulty, but she managed to release just enough energy to see what it was: it was a playing card. Emma stared at it in amazement, watching the shining movement of the path the energy took around each little detail in the card. Remy stood up and rubbed his head. "Aw, Emma, dat hurt." She jumped out of surprise, and the delicate little card fluttered out of her reach, landed with a soft swish, and exploded, leaving a little pile of black.

Remy watched as she picked the remains off the carpet and threw then ceremoniously into the trash. "Um…I didn't-" But again, Emma had her finger against his lips, forcing him to be quiet. "How…How did you do that?" Remy didn't understand. How did he do what? "Um, I don' know wat you mean, Emma. If you mean da card-"She stopped him and nodded. "Uh, I jus' charged it like normal, dat's all. Why dat important?" She tilted her head slightly, like a dog does when then want to play fetch. Then she whispered forcefully, "Where did you get it? It wasn't there and then it was. How?" Remy couldn't answer, she would never believe him.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, there was a knock at the door. Remy was going to say "come in", but Emma opened the door with her powers before he got the chance. Even as she did so, she got up and walked to the door, to make it sound from the outside that she opened it manually. "Oh! Hello, Emma, how have you been holding up lately? We haven't heard from ya," Mike asked as she looked him up and down, and then bowed sort of. "Hello, sir, we have been just fine. Do you need anything?" She seems so innocent, Remy thought, but even as he thought that, Emma turned on him. "Remy, why don't you go 'downtown' for a bit? I've noticed that you've been a little stressful." Remy had no idea what she meant, but he nodded anyway, and left, passing Mike and some really strange characters as he did so.

As he walked down the hall, Remy saw that Bella Donna's fancy nametag was gone, and in its place was one almost the same, but it had a different name: Toby Macintyre, Manager. "Hey," Remy asked him as he emerged from the back room, "where Bell'?" Toby laughed, and said, "Oh, you mean that scrawny Bella Donna girl? I fired her yesterday. I couldn't stand having a mutant work at my hotel. Do you know her?" Remy wanted to throw something at his pudgy messed up head, but instead of even hinting that little idea, he answered through clenched teeth, "As a matter of fact, I do. Where is she?" He smiled evilly, then answered, "That little runt's off to a facility in Vancouver, I'm guessing. If not, I'll say she's roaming the streets, just waiting to get arrested by the cops."

Unfortunately, Remy's temper got the best of him, and he had another playing card in his hand. As it started to glow, Toby snapped, "Mutant! There's a mutant in my hotel! Someone call the cops!" Then he grinned like a maniac and mouthed, "See ya in jail, Mutie." He waved politely as he went to the back room once again. Remy was about to throw that card strait at the back of his head, but he heard a snap. He turned like a rocket, card still in hand, and saw what Toby's calling had done. Almost all the cops in New Orleans were on him, and they had their guns loaded. Well, looks like we got company, Remy noted. At that point, all the bystanders were shoved to the sides walls of the hotel, and some had bolted for the halls. There were more cops coming in, and by now, Remy was gonna have to let go of that card, because it was starting to get too powerful for him to handle.

The sheriff walked in calmly, holster empty and rifle in hand. He was a fat man, with many shiny badges and pins on his tan uniform. His mustache was slick and black, and he had a cigar lit. He was pretty much your average fat cop, like the ones you see eating donuts in their car, except something was different about him that Remy couldn't name. Before anything was said, Remy's hand started taking the energy back in. And as the card slowly went from brightly glowing to faded white, the cop laughed, "So, this is the mutant Toby's worried about? Heh heh, we got dis one, no problem." He pointed the gun at Remy's throat, and mumbled, "Pretty reasonable size, but I ain't sure he old enough to go to actual prison." Then, as calm as he came in, the sheriff started asking questions, like most cops do.

"What your name, sonny?"

"Well, it ain't Sunny, I'ma tell you dat."

"Are you gunna to be difficult ta handle, or can we jus' take you in?"

"You ain't takin' me nowhere."

"Oh, is dat so? Well den, I s'pose you betta tell me why you here."

"I got a room a while back, with three other people."

"Did you, now?"

"Yeah, didn't you hear me? I swear cops ain't supposed to be deaf as a dead rat."

This set him off. "You jus' violated a rule, sir. Bein' disrespectful to a cop is breakin' da law." All Remy muttered as a reply was, "Dumb rule. Why would anyone not be disrespectful to a fat cop?" Well, the "fat cop" heard this, and commanded, "Alright men, take 'em, he under arrest." Oh no I ain't, fatso, Remy thought as the cops tried to pull one on him. He charged a card and aimed. It flew at a cop and hit him square in the head. Then the cop sank to the floor.

Just then, Chloe, Hannah, Emma, Mike, and some of Mike's friends walked into the lobby. Emma gasped and ran to Remy to help with the situation. All guns were aimed immediately at her as she walked up to him. "What in the world is going on?" Emma whispered as Mike and Chloe put their hands up in the air, followed shortly after by Hannah and Mike's friends. "Apparently, mutants ain't allowed at da hotel." He whispered, reaching to his pocket for another card. "Ma'am, who are you? Why you tryin' ta interfere wit an arrest?" Emma looked at Remy in shock. "Interfere with an arrest? Remy, what did you do?" Remy said to her, "Not'in! I asked dis Toby guy where Bella Donna was, and den he went psycho! I mean sure, I charged one and aim it at him, but I mean, come on!" Emma turned to the cop, laughed slightly, then asked, "Now tell me: how old do you think we are, gentleman?" He just sort of stared. Then answered honestly, "I don' know, he probably 17. But you, on da other hand…"

It took him a while to get an answer, but finally, he asked, "Are ya 14?" Emma put in his Remy's head, "When you hear him yell, 'MUTANT!' run, okay? Or attack, that works, too." He nodded, and she put in the cop's head, "No, but you might want to look out. Remy likes to throw things." He freaked out, and did just like Emma said he would: he yelled, "MUTANT!"

Remy flashed, then almost instantly, cops were on the ground and cards were everywhere. He had a staff out, and he was knelt on the ground like you might after pole vaulting across a pit of fire. He was panting and his auburn hair was slightly over his face. Emma was really flexible, and she took five at a time out with one punch or kick. Her powers helped her, too, and the diamond casing was really awesome. Then all you could hear was pounding, explosions, guns firing, and screams as the hotel was slowly turned into a battle field for WWIII. Firemen and backup policemen were starting to crowd the entrance where Remy and Emma were headed. Remy wiped them out no problem, but he was really tired himself. Also, he wasn't aware that he'd been shot two or three times. It seemed like it would never end.

Remy and Emma bolted as soon as the door was unguarded. Emma accidentally took off her shield and was shot. She fell with a scream. "Emma!" Remy was about to go back to help, but Emma put in his head, "It's okay; I'm going to be alright. Go save yourself, Remy, you are badly injured as well." Remy couldn't believe what he was hearing. "NO! I ain't gonna leave you to die, Emma." She struggled to get up, and then fell. They had shot her leg twice. Remy ran over and knelt down to help, but she just sat up, and then said, "Remy, I told you, I'm going to be fine. Go…Go h-help your, self…" She fell again, and tears came to Remy. They didn't flow, but he was very close to crying. "No, I ain't leaving you-" And she stopped him. Not with her finger this time.

The kiss lasted for a couple seconds, but she released when her body went limp. "Emma!" He knelt close to her, her body in his arms. "Emma…P-Please wake up. We can still make it…" But Emma's only answer was faint, and in his head, "L-Leave…me…h-here…G-G-Go…now…" He finally understood: she would risk her own almost perfect for his crappy one. She wanted this to happen. He leaned her comfortably up against a pillar next to the door, kissed her goodbye, and left, the queen of hearts in her hand.

Part two

H-How? Emma…she, she…I jus' can't…"

Remy hadn't slept in four days. He just couldn't go to bed thinking about Emma all that time. He couldn't get her out of his head. She was like a nightmare that had come to life, like her soul had come to haunt him. He was going mental. How…He had nowhere to go. Being stuck in New Orleans was like trying to get through the Labyrinth in one day, then getting lost. Take a couple wrong turns and boom, you've got New Orleans. He'd been running on a hurt leg, and climbing with a broken arm. Did this stop him? No, of course not, he still did it anyway. Emma was driving him mad. He hadn't thought about Chloe much since day two out on the streets. He wanted to kill himself, and he probably would've, if he hadn't seen this kid yesterday.

He had just woken up and saw this kid. He was small, maybe seven, (ah, memories…) and he looked about as shabby as Remy before he hit the streets, ever. He must've gotten lost at the store or somt'in, Remy thought as the kid walked up behind a rich man. The kid reached for his wallet, but fell a little short. Then the guy sat on a bench and his wallet fell out. The kid whispered, "Score," and reached inside. He took out all the money and the credit cards and stuffed them in his pockets. Then he slipped the wallet back in the man's pocket and he ran. The man never noticed, and the little boy was so happy. Then Remy got a brilliant idea that would help him survive.

After some practice, Remy was able to pick-pocket basically anybody. It would all happen so fast that the person wouldn't notice, and then Remy would be able to buy whatever food he needed. A lot of his money was saved, though, and he would still steer clear of any hotel he saw. If he didn't, Emma would flood his mind again, and he'd limp back to his original hiding spot while he fought the urge to scream.

Eventually, a couple weeks went by, and Remy was basically rich, but he stuck to the streets, scared of what would happen if anyone recognized him. Then Remy saw the perfect opportunity to pick-pocket this one guy in particular. He wore a long trench coat, so Remy figured it would be simple. He almost got away with it, too, but the man turned on Remy all of a sudden and caught the collar of his shirt. "An' jus' where you t'ink you goin' wit my wallet?" Remy figured there was no point to struggle, so he confessed, "I jus' wantin' some cash, but I guess you gonna go turn me in now, ain't cha?" The man laughed, then said, "Oh no, child, I'ma take you back wit me." What? Remy screamed inside as he was dragged down the street to a truck.

"Watcha name, son?"

"Remy LeBeau."

"Well, Remy, I wantcha to try dis on, 'kay?"

"Yes, sir."

The man had given Remy a coat like his. It was long and brown, with deep pockets that he dumped his already stolen cash into. The man watched in amazement as the cash was emptied from Remy's jean pocket to the cool pocket on the trench coat. "You nab all dat yo'self?" The man asked about a half an hour later, just as they stopped next to a lake with a boat dock and a couple row boats. "Uh, yeah, why you ask?" They got in one of the boats and Remy experienced for the first time what rowing a boat with lots of heavy chests and sacks was like. He concluded that it was not something he would like to do again. The man never answered Remy's question, leaving him pondering why.

Remy was led to a large maple tree in the middle of a huge, muddy yard. And then he saw, covered with ropey vines in some places, a faded, white, crumbly (definitely old) mansion with pillars and a regal wooden front door. A flight of stairs was how you got to the door. It was beautiful in a creepy, old fashion kind of way. "Well, we goin' in or ya gunna stare at it da whole time?" Remy shook his head, and then they went inside.

As soon as they stepped in, a bunch of people wearing trench coats looked at Remy. Whoa. They were probably all older than him, but Remy didn't care, they still looked cool. One guy in particular had caught his attention, though. He had red hair put back in a ponytail, and he had a friendly look on his face. He waved the man over, and called, "Jean, (pronounced John) who you got wit ya?" Remy followed Jean to the guy, and he stiffly muttered, "Jus' a kid I find on da streets. Tried ta pick-pocket me. He got a ton uh cash already, dough." The ponytail guy stared at Remy, then asked, "Is dat a lie, or not, little man?" Remy did not like to be called anything but "Remy", but he didn't care right now. He answered, "Ya need proof?" He pulled out a couple hundred dollar bills and showed the men. Everyone in the room stared at Remy as he said, "I got a lot more dan dat, ya know." The ponytail guy said, "Jean-Luc LeBeau, why in da world didn't you find him earlier? Hey, kid, come here, I wanna show ya somt'in."

Remy was led down a hallway to the left of the entrance. Then down another that branched to the right. Does dis place ever end? Remy thought as they stopped at a door numbered 203. "Here we are." The guy said as he swung the door open. "Dis da game room, but we play and store da stuff in here." It was a fairly large room, with some chairs here and there, but Remy couldn't see any games. The only thing close to a game was a pool table in the middle of the room. "Wait a sec, what do you "play" in here?" The guy chuckled and simply answered, "Wat else, kid? We got poker-Texas Hold 'em, if ya prefer dat-and pool, and a bunch o' others." Remy wondered why he didn't come here in the first place. As long as he could sleep somewhere, he was fine.

After no response from Remy, the guy added, "Don' worry, dis ain't all our entertainment. Ya know," he continued, "I don' know your name, but I bet you'll tell me if I tell you mine." This was true; Remy was just about to ask what the guy's name was when he said that. "I'm Bobby LeBeau. And you are…?" Remy was stunned. This was the second person with the last name LeBeau that was here. Maybe I got family after all, he guessed. Noticing the shock, Bobby pushed for an answer. "Well, do you have a name? Jean did say you was on da streets." Remy snapped out of it and confirmed, "L-LeBeau? Dat your last name?" Bobby seemed to laugh. "Yeah, didn't I already say dat?" They stared at each other for a minute, and then something came to Remy. Am I a only child? Do I got any brothers or sisters?

Bobby seemed to wonder this, too. Then he poked cautiously at the idea and asked, "Do I, know you from somewhere?"

"I-I don't know."

"Is your name…?"

"Remy, L-Le-"

"Yeah…Remy…"

A couple more minutes passed as the two unknown siblings stared at each other. "No," Remy started. Then they slowly came to realize the same detail: Remy's eyes. If they really were related, then why didn't Bobby have red eyes? "Do you, or can you, do anything 'special'?" Bobby cocked his head for a second, and then answered, "I don't know wat you're talkin' about. Wat you mean, 'special'?" This gonna be harder den I thought, Remy concluded, still in epic shock. "I mean…Can you, uh, do anything dat, normal people cain't?" Bobby thought a second searching for an answer. Finally, he asked, "Does walking on your hands count? I can almost do that." Remy smiled because Bobby had no idea what he was. "I'll explain later, okay? Right now, I want to ask you some things."

Remy started with a simple question, so not to confuse Bobby.

"How old are ya?"

"Twelve and a quarter."

"So, you're younger den me?"

"How I supposed ta know? How old are you?"

"Twelve and t'ree quarters, I think."

For some reason, Bobby stopped after this, and commented, "Really? You look really tall for twelve years old. Are you sure?" Remy froze. How could he have had a birthday already? Not sure what to say, Remy just looked at Bobby as if he was a strange clown at a business meeting. Just to prove a point, Bobby said, "Come here and see what I mean."

They walked out of the room, down the hall, and into room 107. There was a bunch of workout equipment and weights everywhere. In the corner was a large stand-up mirror. Even from the door, Remy could see a height difference between himself and Bobby. As they neared the mirror, Remy gasped. He was at least seven inches taller than he was earlier. Not only that, but his trench coat was smaller and tighter now. Bobby seemed to notice Remy's discomfort, because he offered, "Maybe you should ask Jean for a coat dat actually fit, Mon ami." Remy nodded and they walked back to the main room, both pondering the sudden growth spurt.

He hadn't seemed to buy it, but Jean had given Remy another trench coat, and it was two sizes bigger than his original one. Remy had demonstrated his power to Bobby, and he understood perfectly. Bobby told him that this mansion is actually the Thieves Guild, home of, of course, the Thieves.

"Dare also an Assassins Guild located farther downstream. Da two guilds have rivaled for power for over one-hundred years, and jus' ten years ago, dey agreed to participate in Tiving (rhymes with diving,) which was meant to divide da power evenly between da guilds. Each guild has a 'chosen one' dat is chosen by a woman, and dey have to give a tive box to the woman in ten years time. Give her da box when she arrive and it ain't fake, and you're power shall increase. If it fake, you die. Pleasant, ain't it?"

…

Remy had been thinking about it all day. Tiving seem so cool, Remy thought as he lay on his bed, messing with a charged card. Would he get to see it happen this year? As he thought about it, there was a knock on the door. It startled him and he let go of the card. As it made a small boom, Bobby walked in with a smug look on his face. He muttered unhappily, "Remy, you gotta start trainin' now. Meet Jean and Marceau outside ASAP." He left and Remy sat up and looked out the window. Sure enough, Jean, Marceau, and some other thieves were outside. Great, I get to train on my second day here, he thought as he got up and trudged to the door.

Marceau was a teenager who considered himself as an adult. He had auburn hair like Remy, Bobby, Jean, and most of the other thieves, as well as a long trench coat. His long ponytail held in place by a red hair band. He had a slight mustache and goatee, and even if he shaved, you could still see some red. It was sort of annoying, because Remy was probably the tallest one there, even if he was the youngest. Marceau was the tallest one there, but Remy was pretty close to his whopping 6'7''.

He passed a couple of thieves in the hallway, and they all stared at him. What dey're problems? He wondered as he kept walking, keeping his head low as he did so. Even if he liked the attention, feeling all their eyes bore multiple holes in his back was creepy, almost disturbing. One of the men asked Remy, "Hey, kid, you ev'r wonda why dere ain't no girls in here?" Remy really didn't want to answer any pointless questions like that with everyone staring him down, so he simply shrugged. The man gave a friendly punch on the arm, then answered, "It 'cause if we was ta love one of 'em, dey'd probably gut us, 'specially if dey Bella's." He waited for Remy to respond, but nothing happened. Remy was too busy remembering the hotel. It hadn't popped up until now. Could it be the same Bella?

Remy stayed standing there, and just as he was about to ask who Bella was, Jean, followed by Marceau, Bobby, and some stragglers that just wanted to see the result of Jean's fury, sprinted down the hall towards Remy and the men.

"Watch you doin' in here, havin' a chat over tea and crumpets? Gich your lousy butt out here, LeBeau!"

"Dey's jus' askin' me-"

"Hey! Watch yo' mouth, boy, ain't no one gonna talk like dat. I ain't done nutin' to you!"

"Sorry…sir."

"Dat mo' like it, now git out here!"

"'Kay."

Jean turned quick on his heel. "Excuse me?" Now Remy was annoyed. "Yes, sir." He emphasized "sir" through clenched teeth. It seemed to be denied by Jean, because he grabbed the collar of Remy's coat and held him to the wall. As he spoke, Remy could smell alcohol on his breath. "You better stop aktin' smart wit me, you hear me, boy?" Remy just smirked sarcastically, and laughed lightly as he nodded. "Good." Jean thrust him to the ground, but Remy did not land on his hands and knees. As he was thrown to the ground, he actually slid his foot in such a way that he maneuvered to the left, turning to the stairs. Then he threw his other foot down, shooting him at least ten feet in the air. And, with the door in sight, he kicked off the opposite wall and did a 360 flip. Just as he was about to land, he somehow had time to pull out his staff, because as he landed almost thirty feet below, he slid on his right knee with his left extended, both arms to the side. In his right hand was his staff, both hands glowing. Dust was stirred up as his speed came to a sudden stop.

All the thieves that didn't see the stunt bolted for the stairs to see if he lived. Sure enough, a loud gasp was heard as everyone saw Remy in his beautiful landing stance. "Dang, Jean, you really lucky ta have him wit ya, ain'tcha?" Marceau remarked, obviously impressed with Remy's daredevil act of agility. Jean said nothing as he descended the stairs, trench coat billowing behind him.

Remy got to his feet; panting slightly and smirking again as he flipped his staff a little then made it disappear under the coat. Jean wanted to strangle him, because he could have killed himself, but the stunt was so exuberant that he couldn't bring himself to it. He felt as if Remy was already perfect, as if he didn't need training. He felt proud, though he wasn't sure why, because he didn't do anything with Remy originally. He gave Remy a pat on the back and then whispered to him, "Listen, I'm sorry I jumped on ya, okay? But you tell anyone dat I apologized, and I'll come after ya, got that?" Remy shrugged and smiled. Jean shooed everyone to the marshy yard for training, even Remy. He didn't want to have a favorite, at least, that people knew about.

As Remy walked out to the yard, he asked Marceau, "So, who dis Bella chic? I hear she bad or somt'in." Marceau stopped dead in his tracks. He turned pale and a bead of nervous sweat appeared on his forehead. His eyes darted from side to side as he pulled Remy behind a giant oak tree. "You listen here, Remy, Bella ain't someone you wanna pal around with. She," Marceau looked around, and when he found nothing, continued, his breaths shaky. "She da leader of da assassins. Dey our enemies, we been in a battle for power for over 100 years, Remy. Bella Donna Boudreaux is no good, you understand?" Remy now turned pale. There was no way the sweet Bella Donna he'd known since kindergarten, the Bella he had a crush on since third grade, the Bella he loved at first, was an assassin. Just the thought of killing someone for money or for the fun of it was torture to Remy. Why would Bella Donna do this?

Then Remy started to remember how happy she was to see him at the hotel. He remembered her beautifully carved name tag and her shining face. Her golden hair shining in the lamplight made him sway and almost fall. Marceau caught him moments before impact with the ground. Remy noticed his situation and heard Marceau trying to ask him things. "Remy, you alright? You seem dizzy or tired or anytin?" Remy shook his head warily, but Marceau didn't seem convinced. "I gunna take you back to your room, Remy. I ain't sure you should train like dis. I'll tell ol' Jean, okay?" Remy was really tired for some reason now, and even as he stood up to go up to his room, a wave of nausea hit him as he again fell. Marceau had to struggle to catch him as he fell this time because he had somehow gotten taller again. "Man, you must be sick, Remy. We need Henry stat."

Even if Remy's bed was warm, he was cold as ice. He shook with cold even when he was hot. Why, he wasn't sure, but his condition was annoying, because if he ate anything, he would be forced to sleep afterwards if he didn't want to hurl. As frustrating as this was, he continued with this routine for a while. Bobby would occasionally come in to visit or bring food. He would tell stories of life at the guild before Remy showed up, and Remy would listen, smiling and fighting to stay awake. Sometimes he would have the strength to comment on something or to ask a brief question, but that was it. It was always depressing when Bobby wasn't with him, but he got used to it after a week.

As he lay there in bed, at least four blankets over him, someone knocked on the door. It took a couple of tries, but finally Remy managed to croak, "C-C-Come…i-in…" As the door opened carefully, he rolled over in bed just enough to get a glimpse of Bobby coming in. "Hey, brother, how you hangin' on?" Remy was going to shrug, but he couldn't even try because Bobby continued anyway. "You haven't said much lately except for when I come in. You getting' worse?" Remy shifted to where he could give Bobby some room to sit at the bottom of the bed. Bobby saw him struggling and helped him resituate. "Th-Thanks…" Bobby sat and told one of his "before-Remy" stories. This one in particular was about the cooking.

"So, before you show up with Jean," he started, "you never guess who cook: Marceau. I try ta encourage everyone dat da meatloaf ain't as bad as it look, but no one agree wit me. I could tell Marceau was sad cause he work real hard on his firs' meal ever-which is prob'ly why it sucked-and he was upset for weeks after dat. It's crazy, cause no one else know how to cook, ya know, and we had to go ta da city ev'ry day and get take out or head to da fish market. It got ta be real annoyin', but we survive.

"So aft'r dat, Marceau head off ta cookin' class. And we had such a big party with real food that night. A bunch of 'em was drunk and dancin', or tryin' to, and we basically did dat ev'ry day Marceau was gone. By da time he get back, we all gain at least ten pounds. We was all scared of what he cook us dat night: steamed crawfish in an herb sauce with shrimp and broiled catfish. I was da first ta try it, and it was like heaven next to dat garbage he cook before his fancy-shmancy lessons and all. Everyone ate wonderf'lly aft'r dat, and Marceau still cook today. Ain't dat neat?"

After a story like that, Remy couldn't say anything. It was so hilarious that he laughed almost the entire time, so now his throat was on fire. Finally, he tried to talk. "Y-Yeah, dat…d-dat gr-great." Bobby smiled at seeing his older brother speak after almost an hour. "B-Bobby…I-I…I glad y-you here wit, wit m-me…" He was exhausted from even leaning against the headboard of his bed, and before he could say anything else, his position gave away as he slid under the covers and moved no more. Bobby was starting to get concerned, but Remy muttered something completely off subject, "Emma, please, no…" Bobby just stared in wonder at his brother.

Remy kept muttering things like that for a while, so Bobby finally guessed he was asleep. He turned to leave, but as he walked out and closed the door, he heard the rustling of sheets. He opened the door again and saw Remy leaning against the corner sitting on his bed. He looked out the window; a silent tear fell as he stared out at the lake. Noticing that Bobby hadn't left yet, Remy looked at him with such depressing eyes. After a while, Bobby spoke.

"You alright Remy?"

"Y-Yeah…f-fine…"

"Somt'in botherin' ya?"

"N-No…"

"Really? It looks like somt'in messin' you up."

"I-I…I don' r-really, express t'ings w-wit p-people, Bobby…"

"Well, cain't we change dat? Come on, tell me, Remy."

"I-I…I can't. It, it too p-personal…"

"Please, Remy, it helps when ya tell someone. Trus' me."

"I…ugh…"

Bobby was just about to pry it out of Remy, but Marceau came in looking pale. "Bobby, leave." Bobby started to protest, but Marceau gave him one look and he left. Marceau quickly looked out the window and then closed the door. "Remy," he started, "it's Bella D-Donna. S-She, she…" Marceau was shaking and was spitting out words and sentences so fast that no one would have been able to understand him. "W-Whoa, M-Marceau, c-calm down…what is it?" He couldn't answer because of shock. All he muttered was, "S-She, want t-to see you." What? She wanna see me now? Remy tried to get up, but his legs were weak from lying in bed for a week. Marceau seemed to recover a little from his shock, because He tried to help as best as he could. Remy put his arm on Marceau's shoulder as Marceau held Remy around the waist. Then together they hobbled down the hall, trying to stay calm.

Just as the two managed to get to the stairs outside the door, Remy gasped. There-arguing fiercely with Jean-was Bella Donna Boudreau. He told Marceau he was fine and that he could walk by himself, but as soon as he let go, Remy had to grip the handrail for support as his knees buckled under him. Bella Donna gasped in horror as she sprinted over in her gorgeous black dress with white lace, a red bow held her ponytail in place. She fell to her knees to get a look at Remy's scarred face. Sure enough, he was gasping for breath, sweating from having his fever broken. His usually silky auburn hair was dull and grim, leaving a sort of deathly appearance to him. His coat billowing slightly in the breeze, he looked more like an angel than a thief from New Orleans. A dirty, almost strangled angel, but an angel.

Bella Donna sobbed lightly, a tear of two falling, smearing her make-up. "Oh, Remy…How? Why? Why?" She sobbed and hugged him with relief. She was glad to see him again, he could tell, and secretly he was happy to see her, too. But he didn't share this, for when he tried to speak, he would roll into a fit of coughing, and then he would clutch his chest were his heart was and hope and pray for breath. "Why did dis have to happen?" she sniffed, "You never did not'in!" He tried to respond, but he could only get out a raspy whisper as he hugged her back. "I-I-I s-sorry…sorry d-dat you gotta s-see me l-like dis…I-I…I sorry…" he started sobbing with her, relieving himself of his pain.

Everyone watched and, to their surprise, started talking with each other about the situation. Someone in the crowd asked out loud, "Why she huggin' da enemy?" It was an assassin that had come to insure Bella Donna's safety. "Enemy?" A thief shot back at him. "We you jerks' enemies now?" A riot broke out as Bella Donna and Remy slowly and quietly talked to each other for hours, telling one another of their stories. It seemed so normal, like it was meant to be this way, even though it wasn't.

As the fight slowly came to an end, everyone turned to see if Remy and Bella Donna were still there. Much to their dismay, however, they weren't. A small trail of blood led across the field, and Bobby thought the worst. "She takin' Remy! She gonna kill him!" Jean and Marceau agreed and sprinted across the murky field toward the fancy white Assassin's Guild.

The Assassin's Guild was the same type of mansion as the Thieves' Guild, but much cleaner. The ivy twisted gracefully around the edges of windows, doors, and even shingles on the roof. It was a beautiful place, with beautiful leather furniture and everything. Remy and Bella ran up to her room. "Come on, Remy! I wanna show ya somt'in!" She pulled a frayed piece of paper out of a drawer. "Look, I still got it, Remy!" He looked closely and saw that it was the picture he had drawn her in first grade. He was a pretty good artist, at least back then. He wouldn't dare to draw anything these days, because he was worried that someone would find it. Then they'd show the whole freaking world. Remy finished his thought on this subject as he continued to stare at the picture.

After a while, Bella Donna asked exactly what he was thinking, which was bad. "Do ya mind showin' me how ta draw like that? Or will ya at least draw me something else right now? You know, while no one's looking…?" She stared at Remy intently with such pleading eyes that he figured, "What the heck? Sure." Bella Donna smiled with delight as she gave him a smooth piece of paper and a couple of pens and pencils. The moment he picked up a pen, however, he started to feel all the lost blood coming back to him. He sort of swayed, and Bella Donna seemed to notice his pain. She lightly helped him onto the bed. This seemed to help, at least for now, and Remy grabbed a random book off the shelf to bear down on. Then he set to work.

Every stroke of the pencil brought awe from Bella Donna as she watched with interest. Careful not to make too many mistakes, Remy breathed heavily and didn't move much. Bella Donna would sometimes comment or ask a question about the picture. Remy would finish his stroke and then look up at her and answer. She seemed so happy about being with him again, and he was glad he could see her, too.

As he finished up the picture, Remy asked her if they had a paintbrush. Bella Donna wondered why he asked that, but she smiled and walked out of the room. As soon as she was gone, Remy yelped softly as he lifted his shirt to see where he was bleeding. He immediately regretted it as he saw, to his utter dismay, two bullet wounds directly through his left shoulder. He remembered Emma all of the sudden and the hotel accident…and Chloe. They must be from den, Remy thought bitterly as he took his shirt off to see the damage better. He got up, a sharp blast of pain in his shoulder as well as his right leg. He walked slowly to the mirror and gasped mentally.

Both wounds on his shoulder were bleeding, but not very fast. Noticing this for the first time since the accident, he looked at his shirt and saw it covered in blood as well. Why didn't Bella notice? Remy wondered as he slowly remembered his leg. No way. He wasn't even about to check that until a bathroom was available. He paced as he put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. How I gonna fix all dis? It ain't like I can get Emma ta help…me…Remy abruptly remembered Emma's telepathic abilities and wondered if she could still hear him if she tried to.

Just as he was about to try it, Bella Donna walked into the room, a paintbrush in hand. However, noticing Remy bleeding and shirtless didn't make her even wonder. She just waltzed in and set the paintbrush down. "What, what happened?" Bella Donna asked quietly as she examined his wounds, carefully rubbing the newly opened scabs. Remy tried not to flinch as a sharp blast of pain shot through him, but a small gasp escaped his lips. Bella Donna shot back, and quickly apologizing, blushing. "I'm so sorry, Remy, I didn't mean ta hurtcha."

Remy recovered and looked in the mirror again. He didn't want to say anything, and he wasn't about to answer Bella Donna's question. It hurt mentally and physically to talk about that night or even Emma. Bella Donna seemed to notice his fidgety movements, because she came and put an arm around him, resting her right hand delicately on Remy's injured shoulder. This calmed him down a bit, but it didn't make his thoughts drift away from Emma.

"Remy, you okay?"

"Uh…y-yeah, I'm fine."

"Really? Ya seem really stressed."

"Well, it's just…somt'in on my mind and I cain't stop t'inkin 'bout it."

"Hmm…do you mind telling me what it is?"

"Actually…"

Remy stopped because he saw, to his displeasure, Bobby and Marceau walking into the Assassins Guild, accompanied by two or three assassins. Oh great, he thought as he heard the slow thump of boots getting louder as all the men came towards the door. Remy, with help from Bella Donna, managed to get his shirt and coat back on, and then sit on the bed. As he awaited punishment, Remy picked up the paintbrush and a pot of ink. Then he slowly and carefully rubbed ink onto some lines or shapes on the paper. Bella Donna watched with interest as Remy drew.

Finally, they both heard the door open, and Bobby and Marceau entered, followed by four assassins. The first look Remy got from all of them was confusion. Then anger, and then wonder. Bobby spoke first. "Remy, wat you doin' here? Don't you know dis is deir territory?" Remy looked up from his now finished drawing/painting and calmly replied, "I don' have da slightest clue wat your talkin' about." Bella Donna smiled wickedly to her assassins and commanded sharply, "Go. You aren't needed…yet." They did as they were told and walked out of the room bowing awkwardly.

Marceau was already pale and sweaty in the presence of Bella Donna, but he seemed to get worse by the second. Because of this, Bobby did most of the talking. He started a conversation, but Bella Donna finally stopped it and asked, slyly, "What are you even doin' here, Mr. LeBeau? Come jus' to say hello?" Bobby flinched when he heard her say his name. He shuttered slightly, and then replied, "No, we here ta get Remy to da hospital. Cain't you see he's bleedin'?" She glanced back at Remy, then sighed, disappointed, "Yeah, I guess he is. Alright, go ahead." Bobby thanked her with all his heart under his breath, and then carefully helped Remy stand. As the three thieves turned to leave, Bella Donna caught Remy by the collar and pulled him into a brief kiss. Remy slipped the picture he'd drawn into her hand, and waved as Bobby shoved him out the door. When the door closed, Bella Donna smiled evilly and then looked at Remy's picture. Her heart immediately softened as tears fell. It was her and Remy sitting under their favorite weeping willow, holding hands and kissing. She framed the picture, and then lay in bed, crying herself to sleep.

Remy stared at the ceiling as he thought of Emma. Remembering that day at the hotel was like torture, but the image wouldn't fade. Every time it popped up, the whole entire scene would play. Then at the end, the kiss would be the last of it. Remy was starting to wonder when Marceau was going to be ready, when Bobby walked in.

Remy sat up in bed as he and Bobby had a brief conversation.

"So, you 'bout ready ta go, brother?"

"Really, Bobby, why ya gotta call me that?"

"'Cause it true!"

"Yeah, but-"

"Yeah but nothin' Remy! It real exciting, havin' a brother, ya know?"

"I guess, but…Where's Marceau? He s'pose ta drive us dere, ain't he?"

"Aw, he'll be done in a sec, he had ta shower, that sissy."

Remy laughed as Bobby was tapped on the shoulder. Bobby turned and stumbled backward, seeing Marceau's agitated face. "Ah-hem," he cleared his throat. "Are you ready yet? I been waitin' by da front door for twenty-five minutes!" Bobby and Remy both laughed as they stood up and walked out of the room, a grumpy Marceau following close behind.

They walked briskly down the hall, passing many questioning members of the guild. As they walked out the front door, Remy heard a faint voice, the voice of a woman all too familiar. "Miss me much, Mr. Teen?" Remy froze, causing Bobby to trip. "Hey!" he barked, laughing at his own stupidity as he did so. Remy frantically looked around, turning this way and that, searching desperately for the voice's owner. He found nothing, and allowed himself to be pushed into the back of the truck where a small bed had been made for him. He lay down, and the vehicle immediately started to roar. Then they backed up, leaving Bobby and Jean waving in the field.

Remy put his hands behind his head as he watched the clouds and trees pass by as they sped out of the marshy terrain and onto pavement. The ride was smooth, but deadly silent. No one spoke on the way to the hospital, but everyone had something on their minds. Remy was thinking of how great his life would be if Emma, Chloe, and Bella Donna were all with him right now, talking and having fun. Dat would be so cool, Remy thought as the truck stopped abruptly and he was taken to the door by Bobby.

As they walked into the hospital, the all white interior almost blinded Remy and "friends". The couches were white leather loungers, and Remy was careful not to get blood on one of them as he sat and waited to go back to a room. Marceau managed to get a hold of a woman at the counter pretty quickly, and soon Remy was escorted out of the waiting room and into a long tiled hall by a brunette nurse. Everything here was white, too, but Remy wasn't paying attention to what color the walls were. He kept glancing up at the many signs they passed that said things like "EMERGENCY" or "IMMEDIATE CARE" and sometimes even "WARNING: EXTREME TESTING! DO NOT ENTER UNLESS PERMITTED."

The signs started to worry him as the nurse stopped in front of a door numbered 203. The nurse quickly scanned Remy for weapons or drugs, and then glanced at his eyes for a split second before cringing. She pulled out a color code for something that might be in a box of contacts. She forced herself to look him in the eyes as she held the chart to his face. She then reached in her pocket and pulled out a box of-guess what?-contacts. She then opened the door to the room and asked Remy to sit on the bed. He did, and the nurse told him to put in the white contacts first and then some brownish-red ones. He obeyed, and she sighed with relief.

As the strange contact nurse left, he got up and walked to the mirror. He was still bleeding, but that's not what he was curious about. As he looked up and down at himself in the mirror, he tried to find out what seemed different. Then his eyes slowly rested upon themselves. He had normal eyes. Normal eyes! They were brown on white and it was awesome, and not to mention cool.

The door opened as another nurse stepped in. Remy paid no attention and he gave a "manly" twirl of satisfaction after checking to see if he wasn't dreaming. Then he turned at the sound of clacking and scribbling, only to see the nurse sitting there reading over Remy's clipboard writing down some notes. She looked up when there was no more noise, and saw, to her shock, that there was someone actually in the lonely white room with her. She shook slightly as she stood and walked toward Remy, her white high-heeled boots clicking on the cold tile. As she stopped in front of him, the nurse held out her hand, and Remy took it and they shook.

The nurse was wearing a normal nurse's outfit, with the exception of her boots and mini-skirt. [Why is this familiar?] She had almost white hair and dazzling light blue eyes. Remy could smell coconut in the air and thought No…It can't be…but it was. He was shaking hands with Emma Frost, the girl he met when he was seven and left when he was twelve.

"Hello, Mr.…" she checked her clipboard and froze. "L-LeBeau…" She turned quick on her heel as a tear fell and hit the tile. She got over it though, because she turned around again, smiling. Remy found it necessary to smile back, so he did, and the nurse blushed. "Oh, I'm sorry, it's just I used to—and still do—know someone by the name of L-LeBeau." Remy understood completely, because he knew her, but she didn't notice because of his eyes. Remy thought maybe she'd remember his accent. "So, you got some dumb questions I gotta answer, or somt'in, chere?" Emma seemed to hint toward remembering him, but, she glanced at his eyes and answered his question. "A-Actually, I do, Mr. LeBeau. What is seven times twelve?" Remy froze now. Wat? Why she want me ta answer dat? "Uh…seventy-two, I think…"

"Good, you aren't clueless." Emma stated simply as she looked away, but still thought of his memorable answer. 72, which was the answer Remy LeBeau had given Mike when he was seven. Emma turned only to find Remy lying on the bed, bleeding non-stop, reading a magazine. "Your, your bleeding is severe. Why didn't you arrive sooner?" Remy sat up, a hint of red in his eye. "I didn't have time, Mon ami. Now dat I'm here, dough, can we go ahead and fix me up? I got plans next week." Emma laughed. "Okay, I'll need you to remove any shoes, eye-glasses, or contacts that Stacey may have given you, is that alright?" Remy winced. Stacey must've been dat girl wit da chart! Remy did as he was told, but didn't look at Emma after the contacts had been disposed of.

"Excellent, first I'll run the basic physical, and then we'll go into X-Rays. How does that sound?" Remy shook as he nodded, and she stepped toward him holding a stethoscope. As she held the cold metal circle in place, she frowned. Then she announced, "Oh, I can't hear anything through this coat! Do you mind taking it off? You may put it back on afterward." Remy smiled. He knew her actual intentions, but took it off anyway. To his dismay, Emma did exactly what he thought she'd do. "Oh, your shirt! It's completely soaked in blood! I simply can't work with this! We'll come back to the stethoscope later, unless…you'd like to remove your shirt for the time being." Remy fought back a laugh as he answered, even though he didn't want to. "No, dat's okay, we can come back to it. Anyt'ing else, chere?" She smiled now and laughed, "You've got a hearty sense of humor, Mr. LeBeau. It's very familiar to…to the other LeBeau. But no matter, my thoughts aren't important—"

"Oh, dey ain't? I wanna hear more 'bout dis…other LeBeau."

"Well, I suppose one story would be okay…"

"Cool."

Emma started a story about her and a boy named Remy LeBeau. She met him when she was seven, and gave him his power and a whole bunch of other stuff. Remy smiled at times that he still remembered, and flinched at bad times that he remembered all too clearly. But it got worse as Emma started talking about the fight at the hotel. Remy and Emma both shuttered at her shooting. A silent tear fell down Remy's cheek, but Emma wept like someone had died yesterday that she had known. He hugged her for comfort and she accepted it as a token of mourning.

After that was over, Emma looked up at Remy, and Remy accidently looked back at her. She gasped as soon as she saw those memorable red-on-black eyes. Then she wept more, hugging him tightly and muttering. "R-Remy…H-How, d-did you…How?" Finally, she looked up again and sighed with disbelief. "I-I, I thought you to be dead…but you m-most certainly aren't!" They hugged and laughed (and even kissed once) and had conversations that lasted for hours. It was such a happy time, and it lasted into the night, as they lay in the bed, side by side, laughing and smiling, just like the good old days.

"Where is Frost?"

"W-We aren't sure, Dr. Coleman, she was assigned to room 203 about seven hours ago."

"I know she was, but she's supposed to be in room 207 on the left wing now! And has she shown up?"

"N-No, sir, she has yet to show."

"Oh, good grief! Where is she?"

"I think I know where she is."

"Good, tell me, NOW."

"According to the records, she hasn't come out of room 203 yet."

"So…she's still in Mr. LeBeau's room?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent, get Mary, we're going to investigate."

"Yes, sir."

Dr. Coleman was pretty fed up with Emma J. Frost. She was always late, and always seemed depressed and moody. It was very annoying, especially when there was a boom in injuries the past two months. When I get my hands on her…Coleman thought as Mary walked in holding clipboard. "You called, Dr. Coleman?" He softened a little, and then turned around to face her. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I did, Mary. You see," he started, pacing, "Emma Frost has yet to emerge from room 203, right wing." He looked at Mary intently. "I need you to come with me to investigate. Will you do that with me?" She nodded and headed for the entrance to the right wing. "Excellent," Dr. Coleman commented, following shortly behind Mary.

As they entered the right wing, Dr. Coleman started to wonder. Why hasn't she come out? What is she doing in there? Surely she isn't doing tests still. That would be too long. Did something happen? What could possibly be holding her up? Could she have been injured by Mr. LeBeau and then left there as he tried to escape? Hmm…

They got to room 203, and Mary listened for any sounds coming from the room. Nothing, that's what she heard. "No sound, Dr. Coleman. Do you suppose…?" Dr. Coleman didn't answer because he had opened the door to the room, and now saw that Emma Frost was still in there, like they'd thought. But she was asleep, and so was Remy. They had fallen asleep while talking, and now Dr. Coleman was screaming in his head. The two mutants had fallen asleep next to each other.

"Well, this is…certainly a surprise." Dr. Coleman stepped into the room and shook Emma awake. "Hmm, wh-what?" She sat up still half asleep. Then—being a telepath—realized her situation. "Oh, uh…oh my gosh…This, this wasn't…this was an accident…" Emma stuttered, knowing very well that she would lose this battle. "Oh, it was? Then explain to me why you are in the SAME bed, asleep at the SAME time, with a patient? Do you know this man?" Emma wanted to protest, but she had no choice but to just give up. "Well, I know him, very well actually, but—"

"But nothing, Frost! I called for you three hours ago! And did I get a response…?"

"N-No, but I'm trying to tell you—"

"—tell me what, Frost? That you expect to keep your job after this?"

Emma looked down at Remy's beautiful shining face and sighed. "I suppose not, Dr. Coleman. I might as well be packing my things as we speak." Dr. Coleman watched as Emma carefully slipped out of the bed and trudged to the door. Just as Dr. Coleman turned to leave, Remy woke up. He turned to see Remy sitting up, but failing because of his shoulder. Quickly, Dr. Coleman ran to his side to help him up.

"Th-Thanks, Mon ami…Why it so cold all da sudden?"

"Because—my friend—your little mate left. She's packing her things right now."

"Wh-Who, Emma?"

"Yes Emma, who else? She 'slept' with you."

Remy bolted up like he'd just been shot again. "WH-WHAT? No, she cain't of—" Dr. Coleman laughed as Remy struggled to see what he meant by that. "I'll get Jean [pronounced JEEN] to work with you. She won't get off task, especially with her own kind." He turned and swept out of the room like a broom moving for a dirt clod, so eager to get out.

Remy leaned up against the wall behind him as he sighed. Why? Not'in…ever happened…Remy still wondered about that as he heard the door open once more. He looked up to see a red-haired woman with bright green eyes and a nurse outfit. "Jean?" he guessed as she opened a bag and pulled out a bunch of strange tools and some paste-like stuff. "You got it, buck-o!" she smiled as she looked at his eyes through her thin-rimmed glasses. "You're a mutant?" Jean asked as she sat on the bed, uncovering Remy's leg. "Y-Yeah, why you wanna know?" She looked as his leg, and then at him. "Because I am, too. I was just curious to see why your eyes were red and black."

She was pretty, but something was familiar about her, something he felt with Emma as well. "Are you a telepath?" She stared, and then blushed. "Um, y-yes, yes I am. How'd you know?" Remy smiled now. "'Cause I know Emma." Jean smiled and rolled her eyes. "Oh, geez, you must've been tortured in advance," she laughed. Remy cocked his head. "Wat? Wat you mean by that?" "It was a joke, dude. I was just making fun of her." She laughed again and asked, "What color do you want, Remy?" Remy tried to laugh as to say "Oh, right, ha ha!" but he couldn't do it. It made him upset that the people here made fun of Emma.

"Um…really, if you don't choose a color, I get to, and you'll probably end up with pink, so you might wanna choose now."

"Black."

"Wow, you're a dark kind of guy, huh? Well, let's small talk. I heard about you and Emma. What happened?"

"I don't even know…apparently, we were 'sleeping' together, but she jus fell asleep next ta me while we were talkin'. Does dat even count?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Remy. Besides, it was an accident, so people shouldn't talk about it too much. Does that make ya feel any better?"

Remy just nodded as Jean finished up her casting job on Remy's leg. "There," she concluded looking at Remy's new cast. "Now you'll have to lay there for at least thirty minutes so the cast can dry properly. Then you're more than welcome to call me—in your head of course—when you want your wheelchair fitting, okay?" It all sounded just peachy to Remy, but he still didn't like the thought of being three feet closer to the ground than normal. He simply nodded and lay back, thinking of all that happened today/yesterday.

As Jean got up and walked out, Remy sat up and looked at the door. He liked her company because she was nice and talked a lot. He could listen to her stories for hours and still be awake. But Jean had gone, and now Remy was lonely.