Forsaken

by SassySnow1988

Rogue's not afraid of her powers anymore. She and a new "friend" are gonna paint the town red, to hell with the consequences. Whatever will the X-Men do? Oh, and Remy returns to New York...Special Guests: The Hellfire Club. Romy, Lancitty, some Jott, etc.

1. Prologue: Till Death Do Us Part

Forsaken

A/N: Hi there! This is my very first X-Men: Evolution fic! It's basically gonna be centered around Rogue, Remy, and… Sorry, but I can't tell you just yet who the other major character is! It'll ruin the surprise! :-) Oh, this fic occurs post-series (after the events of season 4, "Ascension"), the prologue beginning about 6 months after "Cajun Spice." The italicized parts are flashbacks and the bold parts within that section are thoughts during the flashback, normally thoughts will be simply italicized. One last bit of useful info: Translations from French/Spanish to English are listed in order at the end of the chapter (translations provided by b-a-b-e-l-f-i-s-h DOT a-l-t-a-v-i-s-t-a DOT c-o-m and then corrected by elfeleroux).

Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men, X-Men: Evolution or any of the characters therein. They all belong to Marvel and Stan Lee. I also don't own Interview with the Vampire or Queen of the Damned (the novels or the films), they both belong to Anne Rice and their respective production companies; I just love them both and use them for inspiration. The title of this fic was inspired by the song of the same name from the film version of Queen of the Damned: "Forsaken" performed by David Draiman of Disturbed.

Chapter Rating: Mature (Violence, language, legal consumption of alcohol, smoking, and gore)

Special Thanks: I have to thank The Past! Her amazing fic "The Black Piece" was what first inspired me to write a fic about Rogue going…well, rogue (forgive the pun). However, this fic is NOT based upon hers; this insane little fic sprang up entirely within my own imagination. Also I wanna thank Wiccamage for being the first to like my idea for a Romy X-Men: Evolution fic, as well as helping me out by reading my rough drafts and giving me her thoughts. Without her insight this would've taken a lot longer to write and been a lot crappier, so be thankful she helped me! lol And check out her amazing fic "Getting Warmer." It's freakin' awesome! And last, but certainly not least I've gotta thank y-o-u-t-u-b-e DOT c-o-m for supplying this neurotic writer with tons of music and funny videos so that I can get these things written and not pull my hair out while I do so! :-) lol

Written While Under the Influence of: David Draiman-Forsaken, Shinedown-No More Love, Percy Sledge-When a Man Loves a Woman, The Righteous Brothers-Unchained Melody, Meredith Brooks-Bitch, Love Spits Love-How Soon is Now, Screaming Trees-Look At You, Neurosonic-So Many People, Neurosonic-Fearless, Fuel-Wasted Time, Avenged Sevenfold-The Beast and the Harlot, Daughter Darling-Broken Bridge, Des'ree-You Gotta Be, Enya-Book of Days, Alicia Keys-No One, Snow Patrol-Chasing Cars, Evanescence-Tourniquet, Sting-Every Breath You Take, Styx-Renegade, Another Animal-Broken Again, Apocalyptica-Hope, Journey-Wheel in the Sky, Whitesnake-Here I Go Again On My Own, Nazareth-Love Hurts, Monster Magnet-Space Lord, Lisa Gerrard-End Theme (Man on Fire), and Johnny Cash-When the Man Comes Around.

And now we pull back the curtain and begin the show! :-) Enjoy!

Prologue: Till Death Do Us Part…

Preternatural red-on-black eyes smoldered like embers as they gazed at the reflection of the full moon upon the dark, stagnant waters of the bayou. The young man stood alone on the outskirts of an antiquated Southern mansion; the edifice crudely curtained by clumps of Spanish moss that hung from a multitude of nearby cypress trees. The centuries-old vegetation towered like gigantic wooden sentinels over the property, effectively concealing it from prying eyes. A worn brown leather trench coat hung off the man's rangy frame, the tails fluttering listlessly about his ankles with the slight breeze that swept across the still waters. The wind tousled his short brown locks, causing them to fall into his eyes. He irritably shoved them back out of his line of sight then reflexively smoothed his fingers over his goatee. A lit cigarette, burnt down almost to the filter, dangled precariously from his fingertips.

This was definitely not how he imagined he'd be spending his wedding night, he thought as he allowed the spent cigarette to slip from between his fingers and fall to the ground below. He crushed it beneath the ball of his foot and pulled another from the pack that rested beside him atop a wooden fence post. Today should've been the happiest day of his young life, and had he been asked that very question just a few hours ago he undoubtedly would've said yes. But now…now he was absolutely certain that this day was the darkest of his often morbid existence.

When Remy LeBeau awoke that morning he'd been filled with ecstatic anticipation.

Today he'd be marrying the woman he'd been head-over-heels in love with ever since he was 10 years old and, in doing so, bring an end to the ceaseless fighting between the Guild his blushing bride belonged to and his own. No longer would the streets of New Orleans run red with the spilt blood of Assassins and Thieves for the sake of a feud so ancient no one even remembered how it all started. And no longer would he be labeled an undeserving adopted thief who didn't truly belong, even among his own Guild. Remy would've finally earned the immense gift that the man he called father had bestowed upon him when Jean-Luc LeBeau took that dirty, gangly boy with the odd eyes in off the streets and brought him into his family and home.

Even though Remy didn't often agree with his adopted father, especially when it pertained to matters of Guild relations, he was still eternally grateful to Jean-Luc for the vastly improved life the leader of the Thieves' Guild had given him nearly a decade ago without question.

But now he was an orphan once again. He'd been thrown out of his family and home just hours after he and Bella Donna Boudreaux became man and wife.

Heaving a barely audible sigh, he placed the new cigarette between his lips and removed a Zippo decorated with the Ace of Spades from an inner pocket of his trench coat. The pad of his thumb pushed down on the grooved surface of the lighter as he brought it to the tip of the cigarette. Almost instantly a flame caught and he inhaled deeply, welcoming the toxic smoke into his lungs and reveling in the nicotine-induced calm that accompanied it. As the wispy, blue-gray clouds of smoke rose into the inky blackness around him, he could swear that he saw Bella Donna's beautiful face etched into each one.

His handsome features twisted into a grimace at the memories her face brought to the forefront of his mind.

XXX

The reverent quiet of the church surrounded him, pressing down upon his body like a physical weight and causing his raging heartbeat to sound even louder in his ears. The flickering candles along the walls bathed the entire room in an otherworldly glow and cast long amorphous shadows over the hardwood floors. The overwhelmingly saccharine scent emanating from the dozens of roses lining the aisle in front of him tickled his nose and made him want to gag at the excessive sweetness. The hateful glares the Assassins were subjecting him to from their side of the church burned into the pit of his stomach and only served to intensify the anxiety he already felt. The discomfort of the too-tight bowtie around his neck made his fingers itch with the desire to loosen it. The comforting presence of his older brother and best man, Henri, at his side helped to alleviate some of his stress, but not nearly enough.

All these details mercilessly bombarded his senses as Remy stood before the pulpit trying not to get reacquainted with his breakfast while he waited for his bride to appear.

Remy took a deep breath and willed himself to relax. He was getting married, not walking to the gallows. He really needed to calm down before he made himself sick. Henri would never let him live it down if he tossed his cookies right there in the middle of the aisle, especially since his brother had managed to make it through his own wedding while combating the mother of all hangovers from his bachelor party the night before without even once throwing up.

The groom allowed his gaze to shift to the side of the church where the rest of his family was seated in an attempt to take his mind off his own nervousness. Henri's wife, Mercy, sat at the end of the first pew, her soulful brown eyes drifted to his and twinkled as she offered him a warm, encouraging smile. Hitching his haughtiest smirk into place, Remy lewdly winked at her just so she'd glare at him. Her expression instantly changed into an exasperated frown; one perfectly shaped eyebrow quirked itself up high onto her forehead, nearly disappearing beneath her feathery bangs. He bit his tongue to hold in the laugh that bubbled up in his throat. It was absolutely hysterical when Mercy gave him that mock-glare. Although his sister-in-law had been brought up as an assassin herself, she'd never actually hurt him, the petite blonde presently casting him a death glare loved him far too much to do so.

In the space next to Mercy was the woman who'd been the closest thing to a mother Remy had ever known. Mattie Baptiste—or as Remy and every other child of the Guilds knew her, Tante Mattie—was a Cajun mystic and healer, as well as a Traiteur to the Guilds. But more importantly, she'd taken care of him as though he were her own son since the very first day she met him just after Remy had been adopted.

Remy never knew either one of his birth parents, having been abandoned at a New Orleans hospital when he was only days old, but Tante had more than made up for that loss over the years. She doted on him, much more so than any of the other children that she took care of. Remy suspected it was because he was truly an orphan and Tante had no biological children of her own. The other kids all had at least one parent in the Guild, but seeing as Remy had no one, Tante had taken a special liking to him. She'd spoiled him absolutely rotten at times, but she also endeavored to teach him to be what she called a "Southern gentleman" and would come after him with a wooden spoon any time he conveniently "forgot" his manners. Henri often informed Tante that while her attempts to reform a scoundrel of Remy's caliber were truly noble efforts, they were ultimately futile.

The old Creole woman fixed her coffee-colored eyes on him and beamed with pride. Twin crystalline tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and cascaded down the bronzed skin of her cheeks. Tante had traded in her usual outfit of a thin cotton, off-white blouse and long print skirt for the dress Remy had bought her specifically for this day. Lavish, royal purple silk fabric embellished with intricate designs trailed over her stout form. He knew that she didn't ordinarily wear such extravagant things, mostly because she didn't see the point of owning something that she'd only get to wear on special occasions, but Remy simply couldn't resist returning the favor to spoil her back just once.

The young thief squared his shoulders and made sure to stand up straight so that she wouldn't pull him aside after the service and berate him for slouching. He also ordered himself not to even think about loosening the tie that was intent on choking the very life out of him with Tante sitting right there, otherwise she'd undoubtedly skin him alive.

Remy then turned his gaze to the man sitting beside Tante Mattie, Jean-Luc. His adopted father wore a finely tailored gray suit with a matching vest and a crisp, high-collared white dress shirt beneath it. Legs primly crossed with his hands folded in his lap, the expression on his face was the very epitome of the word "stoic." He stared blankly ahead, his neon green eyes held nothing within their shining depths. Not happiness, not pride; they were completely devoid of any emotion.

Remy recognized that look.

It was the same one Jean-Luc donned when he played poker: his face transforming into an emotionless mask that even someone as good as Remy couldn't read. Normally that expression just frustrated Remy because it meant he'd very likely lose the game they were playing, but now it unnerved him. He wanted to believe that his father had resorted to that look so as to not reveal that he was on edge about having so many Thieves and Assassins together or that he was portraying the strong, impervious Guild Leader in public, but deep down he was secretly proud of his "son." However, Remy knew better, Jean-Luc was never that simple or direct. If something was bothering him it was highly unlikely that the younger thief would ever find out exactly what it was.

Suddenly the immense mahogany doors at the back of the cathedral opened, ending Remy's contemplations, and in walked…Belle… She'd never looked more beautiful to him than in that moment as she strode down the aisle toward him. A traditional white wedding dress graced her lithe frame, ivory-colored lace and tiny pearl-like beads crisscrossed the bodice and tumbled down the skirt. The sleeves hung below her shoulders and billowed out in soft satin waves, tightening into decorative cuffs embossed with more lace and beads at her wrists. The train was nearly the entire length of the church and for one horrifying instant he wondered if his prankster cousin, Emil Lapin, would be able to resist the temptation of stepping on it as Belle walked by. The flowing veil that covered her from the chest up was translucent enough to reveal the outline of what lay beneath, but still hid her golden hair and gorgeous face from his view.

Escorting the bride was her father and patriarch of the Assassins' Guild, Marius Boudreaux. The massive man wore an immaculately pressed black suit that made him look as though he were attending a funeral rather than a wedding. His chin-length, graying brown hair was slicked back and his hard, ice blue eyes were all business as he walked his only daughter down the aisle. When he finally reached the front of the church, Marius gingerly lifted the veil and pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. Turning to Remy, he extended her hand and simultaneously shot the younger man a glare cold enough to freeze the Dead Sea solid.

Ignoring him completely, Remy gazed down at the revealed form of his soon-to-be wife. Her flaxen locks tumbled about her bare shoulders in loose curls and elegant, tear-drop pearl earrings hung from both ears with a matching choker wrapped around her slender neck. Lilac colored eyes shining with tears of joy stared up at him adoringly, painted red lips turned up into a broad smile when he brought one of her delicate, lightly tanned hands to his lips and placed a lingering kiss upon her knuckles.

The ceremony went off without a hitch—which was saying something since the entire congregation was comprised of Thieves and Assassins who'd been taught to hate each other with a passion since birth—and afterward the reception dinner was held at Remy's childhood home, the Thieves' Guild mansion. For the first time in over 300 years, Thieves and Assassins sat at the same dinner table, telling jokes and at least pretending to enjoy one another's company rather than grabbing the first available weapon and killing as many of their rivals as was humanly possible.

Remy was blissfully happy, he had a beautiful wife whom he loved more than life itself at his side and he'd just single-handedly brought an end to centuries of bloodshed. Life was as close to perfect as it was ever going to get for this thief.

But as with all good things in his life, it too would come to an end. And that end came in the form of a livid Julien Boudreaux.

Julien was Bella Donna's older brother whom Marius had forbidden to attend the ceremony because he vowed that he'd stop at nothing to ensure that the marriage wouldn't happen. Red-faced and wielding a sword, he stalked between the rows of white clothed tables toward Remy. The tip of the foil scraped along the cobblestone pathway behind him, a menacing screeching noise shadowing his every step.

Marius bolted upright, overturning his chair as he bellowed, "JULIEN! I forbade y' t' come here!"

"Non, pére! Y' tol' me I couldn' be at de weddin', y' didn' say not'ing 'bout after!" Julien retorted with a maniacal sneer as he marched closer to Remy.

A single nod from Marius was all the motivation needed to spur two of his trained killers to rise from their seats and detain Julien. The heavily-muscled men grabbed him from behind, wrapping their large arms around each of his to prevent him from attacking them instead of his intended target. Various expletives shouted in Cajun French erupted from his lips as he fought violently in their grasp.

"Julien, stop dis now! Y' are embarrassin' not only y'self, but Bella Donna as well!" Marius roared again, hoping that the mention of Julien's beloved sister might somehow diffuse this situation, but his son paid no heed to his words. If anything, the younger assassin only doubled his efforts to free himself.

"Y' jus' allowed Belle t' marry dat filthy mutant t'ief an' y' say I'M de embarrassment?" Julien spat the word "mutant" like it was acid as he glared murderously in Remy's direction. "I will not let dat enfant de pute ruin my sister's life!" he continued to rant, flinging one man off and sending him flying straight into a nearby table, reducing it to kindling upon impact.

"Je suis désolé, ma chère sœur," he began, casting a remorseless glance to the flabbergasted bride, "but t'day y' b'come a widow!" Julien screamed at the top of his lungs as he finally broke free of the other assassin's grasp and raced toward Remy.

The rogue assassin leapt onto the table and swiftly advanced on his new brother-in-law, the sharp metal tip of the sword in his hand primed to pierce the thief's heart. Remy brought his long legs up and kicked the table in front of him, intentionally turning his chair over backward with him still in it to evade Julien's attack. Unable to slow his momentum, Julien fell forward and the blade plunged into the heavily cushioned back of the chair just as Remy rolled out of it, narrowly avoiding what would've been a fatal blow. Remy sprang to his feet only to see Julien muttering curses as he planted his foot on the upturned seat and yanked his sword free of the chair back.

Remy immediately vaulted over the table with Julien hot on his heels as Thieves and Assassins alike merely gaped at the spectacle occurring right before their eyes. Many of them would've loved to join in and turn this day of happiness and love into a bloodbath, but for the sake of the Nonaggression Pact that the Guild leaders had finalized in the weeks prior to the wedding they remained seated.

While on any other day Remy would've relished the chance to publicly humiliate Julien in a fight, this was Bella's wedding day and he didn't want to ruin it by forcing her to watch her brother be carried away bruised and bleeding. So Remy resolved to go easy on Julien for her sake, even though he would love to thoroughly kick the arrogant bâtard's ass both for what he'd said and for making such a scene on today of all days. Remy quickly sprinted away from the party and toward a nearby swamp, for fear that Julien might hurt someone else—namely Belle—in his blind quest to kill the mutant thief.

Once they were a safe distance from the party, Remy turned to face Julien. The enraged assassin instantly lunged at him, lashing out with a blow to the head, then thrusting the sword at his midsection. The thief easily dodged the first swing of the long blade, then ducked to avoid the next

Although Julien was indeed a talented assassin, he was way out of his league against the likes of Remy LeBeau, pride of the Thieves' Guild. Unlike Julien, Remy had grown up on the streets of New Orleans, stealing whatever he could and duking it out with other street urchins just to see the light of another day. Then the young pickpocket had been taken under the wing of the patriarch of the legendary Thieves' Guild and trained from the tender age of 10 to move with all the grace and precision that his future profession would require. The combined knowledge of his life's experiences had molded the young mutant thief into an exceptional fighter; so while most people would be terrified of facing an assassin, Remy was merely cautious.

Besides, he knew Julien too well and had beaten the older man too many times when they were children to be frightened. The young assassin had always been short-tempered and Remy had always been able to use that to his advantage by taunting him until Julien acted rashly out of anger and practically handed him the victory.

"If yo' opponent is o' choleric temperament, seek t' irritate him," Remy quoted silently from memory with a broad grin (1).

But he was still attempting to follow his mental promise not to hurt Julien too badly, so the plan would be to simply frustrate his brother-in-law until the assassin exhausted himself and gave Remy the opportunity to disarm him. That unfortunately meant no powers, but that wasn't a problem. Remy didn't need his mutant abilities to beat Julien.

Dis is gonna be fun, Remy thought, stifling a chuckle and simultaneously sidestepping another swipe of the sword at the last possible second.

The fight quickly fell into a predictable rhythm; Julien would rush him, and Remy would maneuver out of the way just in time. And with every intended hit and miss, the assassin grew increasingly incensed and allowed his anger rather than his training to dictate his moves, resulting in wild, erratic strikes that were even less difficult for Remy to avoid than the previous ones.

Wish I had one o' dose bull-fightin' capes, Remy mused idly, planting his hands on Julien's shoulders and leap-frogging over his brother-in-law's head as he thrust the rapier at his chest.

Remy's lips curled into a humored smirk as he finished the move by kicking Julien squarely on his tailbone, sending him careening forward. Growling through clenched teeth, the assassin turned and hastily swung the blade toward Remy, who spun out of the way with obscene ease. Julien leapt at Remy, bringing his knee up mid-air and aiming it at the thief's chin. Remy flung himself out of the way with a back flip, landing in a crouched position a few feet away, grinning like a Cheshire cat. He balanced perfectly on the balls of his feet with his elbows resting upon his knees and his hands casually hanging between them. Raising one hand, he waved Julien forward.

Dat's it, come on, come an' get me, Remy silently urged.

Snarling in pure frustration, Julien took the bait and raced toward Remy once again, hauling the blade up over his head, intending to cleave the smirking thief in half.

Parfait, Remy thought as he quickly flopped onto his rear end as Julien advanced on him.

He caught the assassin in the chest with his feet, lifting him up off the ground before catapulting him away as Remy rolled back onto his shoulder blades and pushed off with his hands for added force. Julien soared through the air then landed in an undignified tangle of arms and legs a few feet away. By the time the assassin managed to extricate his limbs from one another then shove himself to his feet, Remy was already standing with his arms crossed over his chest waiting for him.

The thief casually removed the bowtie from his neck and flung it away then unfastened his top collar button. Wearing a smirk that would give the devil himself a chill, Remy took off his tuxedo jacket and turned it so that the black silky lining was facing Julien. He stood with one arm outstretched and his hand holding the jacket open out to his side while the other grasped the opposite end of the collar in a flawless imitation of a matador's pose.

Ruffling the jacket at Julien, he called mockingly, "Toro!"

Remy saw Julien's gray eyes flash with anger at the thief's cavalier approach to a duel to the death and the thief was almost unable to keep his poker face in place at that moment. The expression Julien wore was absolutely priceless; the vein in his temple throbbing to the point that it looked as though it'd explode momentarily and his jaw clenched so tightly, Remy was certain the assassin would chip a tooth before this was all over. Reversing his grip on the hilt of the rapier, Julien darted toward him, swinging the sword sideways in a wide arc as though it were a sickle.

"Olé!" Remy shouted sardonically, dodging Julien's approach and flinging the jacket in the assassin's face as he nimbly danced away.

Angrily ripping the garment out of his line of sight, Julien spun back to face Remy, the hatred he felt for the thief almost palpable in the air around them.

Remy simply raised one eyebrow at the man as if to say, I know y' hate me, so what? Y' gonna do somet'ing 'bout it?

Julien ran at him one last time, suddenly swinging the sword at Remy from one side and then another. Remy jerked his body quickly to the right and then the left, causing Julien to hit nothing but air. Growling like an angry pit bull, Julien thrust the sword toward the middle, hoping that by some miracle he might catch the cocky thief by surprise.

Suppressing a laugh, Remy stepped effortlessly out of the way of the ill-aimed blow to his chest, then slammed his elbow into the arm that was wielding the sword, knocking it to the ground. He promptly followed that strike up by smashing his fist right into Julien's face. As Julien collapsed on the grass from the force of the blow, Remy deftly plucked the sword off the ground. He didn't intend to use it, he just figured Julien would be less apt to continue this fight unarmed. Protectively cradling his now bleeding nose, Julien glared at Remy as he maneuvered himself into a crouched position. Flashing Remy a bloodstained grin, he reached into his wrist-gauntlet and pulled free a long dagger. Chuckling derisively he stood, the blade glinting menacingly in the late afternoon sunlight.

Even though Jean-Luc had insisted that he learn to use all manner of weapons in combat situations, Remy never did like sharp pointy objects, which was one of the reasons he favored a staff as his weapon of choice. But he'd left his collapsible bo staff upstairs in his bedroom because he couldn't fathom why he'd possibly need it today, so he was now stuck defending himself with a sword that was much sharper than he would've liked. Or he could go up against Julien empty handed, but against a dagger his margin for error would be much less in a fight that'd undoubtedly get even more up close and personal.

Not much choice here… Remy thought as he brought the sword up in front of him and moved into a defensive stance.

Both men circled one another cautiously, their bodies tense in anticipation of the inevitable attack. Julien cracked first and leapt at the thief with a loud battle cry. The metal blades collided with a harsh, discordant screech and a shower of sparks as Remy deflected Julien's attack with his commandeered sword. Julien pushed the point of his blade down toward Remy's exposed fingers, hoping to at least nick him. Remy summoned all his strength and shoved Julien away before the larger man could cut him.

Julien immediately dove at him again, rapidly striking at him from different points, making it nearly impossible for even someone as skilled as Remy to avoid every hit. Eventually the thief miscalculated, and Julien took full advantage of his momentary lapse in judgment.

He struck at Remy's right shoulder, which the thief easily blocked, but then Julien quickly dropped the blade, allowing it to fall into his other hand rather than pushing against Remy as he had every other time they locked weapons. Before Remy could react and get out of the way, the assassin had already darted forward and sunk the dagger into the left side of his abdomen. Remy had managed to just barely twist his body in the opposite direction, attempting to lessen the blow, when he felt the cold metal bite deeply into his flesh then glance off one of his ribs.

"REMY!" Belle's voice screamed.

It was then that Remy noticed the crowd of Thieves and Assassins that'd gathered around them, all watching with varying degrees of interest. The Assassins couldn't hide their satisfaction at the fact that he was injured, while the Thieves simply stared at him apprehensively. Remy's eyes locked on Belle as she struggled through the crowd toward them. Just as she broke through the sea of bodies, a thickly-muscled arm clad in black fabric wrapped itself around her waist and prevented her from moving any closer. Marius pulled his daughter to his chest as she fought against him, trying desperately to go separate her brother and her husband.

"Non Belle, y' goin' in dere would only cause more harm dan good, chérie. Y' better off over here," Marius stated in a voice so calm it sent a shudder straight down Remy's spine.

If Remy didn't know any better, he might think that Marius actually didn't care if Julien killed him. Belle continued to resist Marius' attempts to keep her there, and for once Remy agreed wholeheartedly with the older man. He fixed his blazing eyes on Belle's own deep blue irises and silently urged her to do as her father told her.

Listen t' him, p'tite. Don' wan' y' t' get hurt, Remy thought as he backed up his unspoken request with the slightest fraction of his mutant charm abilities.

Belle instantly relaxed in her father's arms, but continued to watch the two men in the middle of the crowd anxiously.

Julien apparently tired of no longer being the center of attention and twisted the dagger that was still buried within the side of Remy's abdomen to bring him back to the situation at hand. A low growl erupted from Remy's throat, his entire body tensing at the agony Julien elicited with a mere flick of his wrist.

Julien almost gleefully yanked the blade out a moment later, relishing the stunned look of pain that still resided on Remy's usually jovial visage. Remy stumbled backward, his left hand clamping down on the thin abrasion near the bottom of his ribcage. He could feel hot blood soaking through the fabric of his white dress shirt as he clenched his jaw against the throbbing ache that reverberated throughout his entire being with every little movement he made. Julien held up the bloody dagger, a cruel sneer hitching his lips up on one side, and bared his teeth at the thief.

"So y' mutants bleed red after all… Well, lessee if we can't get some more blood outta y', shall we (2)?" Julien goaded as he moved closer to Remy once again.

And just like that the tide of the battle turned. Suddenly Remy was on the defensive and the assassin had claimed the upper hand. That one little slip up of Remy's had given Julien back his confidence, and he was now fighting like the assassin he'd been trained to be. That wound was like blood to a shark in the water, and he was single-mindedly pursuing Remy now that he knew the mutant thief wasn't truly as infallible as he'd seemed. Attacking swiftly and without warning, then taking his time as he circled his opponent looking for another weak spot, Julien reveled in his newfound dominance.

Deciding that going back on the offensive was the only way he was going to make it out of this alive, Remy abandoned his earlier promise to not hurt Julien as well as the submission to the agony he felt from the sluggishly bleeding wound in his side. Standing to his full height and hissing in a breath quickly as a twinge of pain washed over him, Remy fixed his burning glare on the assassin. Julien smirked at him and mockingly beckoned him to come closer by waggling the dagger at him. Clenching his jaw shut and grinding his teeth to block out the shocks of pain still coursing through him, Remy started toward his brother-in-law with the sword gripped resolutely in his free hand.

Growling against the agony, Remy attacked, swinging the sword down toward Julien's chest. The assassin parried with the smaller blade of his dagger, then aimed a kick at Remy's injured side. Remy anticipated the blow a second before it came and hastily rammed the hand that'd been stemming the blood flow to his side into Julien's own ribcage twice, knocking the breath out of the assassin and sending him staggering away. Julien glared at the mutant thief as he doubled over, trying desperately to catch his breath. He hadn't expected Remy to be able to use his left arm to attack him, and that'd given the thief the opening he needed to strike first.

Surprisingly, punching Julien had actually caused Remy more harm than good. Almost the instant he completely extended his arm, he felt the wound to his side tear and gape larger. Remy immediately replaced his hand on the wound, staunching the bleeding once again as he blinked away the tears springing to his eyes at the intensified pain now emanating from the open laceration. He drew in desperate amounts of precious oxygen via shallow, ineffectual pants as his entire face contorted into a wince.

His own blood was a warm viscous fluid that poured into the crevices between his fingers, coating them in the sticky substance. His shirt was plastered to his torso with a mixture of sweat and drying blood, that concoction along with the natural humidity of a mid-summer afternoon in the swamps of Louisiana making him lightheaded. Remy could barely coordinate his feet to keep himself standing, let alone continue fighting. His fatigue didn't go unnoticed by Julien, who was still hunched over, struggling to even his own breathing out. Taking one last deep gulp of air then standing to his full height, Julien smirked at his opponent's distress and moved closer.

Believing victory to be within his reach, the assassin recklessly sprinted toward Remy, thrusting his dagger at the injured thief's chest for a killing blow. Julien crashed into Remy mid-stride, tackling him and sending them both sprawling into the grass until Julien slammed Remy down onto the ground…hard. Remy let out a startled cry of pain as the back of his head smacked into the ground, but more so because of the sharp twinge that lanced through his left hand. Turning his head to the side, he discovered the source of his pain.

Julien's dagger had pierced completely through his palm, pinning it to the ground below. Fresh blood bubbled to the surface and pooled around the metal blade still submerged in the palm of his hand. When Julien had run at him, Remy raised the hand that was covering his side in an attempt to deflect the dagger aimed toward his chest, but in the ensuing struggle Julien must've stabbed his hand instead.

Remy glared up at Julien as he tried to formulate some way to push him off and not allow his brother-in-law to strike him again while he did so, but the assassin's eyes were locked on his own chest. He wasn't even paying attention to Remy. Curious as to what would have Julien so captivated at a time like this, Remy glanced down and his breath caught in the back of his throat at what he saw.

His sword was sticking halfway out of Julien's chest.

Belle clamped both hands over her mouth.

Marius released his hold on her and stared dumbly at the two men.

The rapier had punctured Julien's torso in the center of one pectoral at an angle, then exited his back in between his scapula and spine. Remy could clearly see the tip of the sword just over Julien's left shoulder, the metal blade completely coated in a slick, dark red, almost black liquid. A gurgle emanated from the assassin's mouth as he choked on the blood welling up in his throat. All color drained from Remy's face as he stared at Julien incredulously. Julien's shaking hands wrapped around the hilt of the sword as crimson blood trickled down the blade and dripped onto Remy's shirt. The droplets soaked into the pristine white fabric, staining it in scarlet patterns that resembled the slowly unfurling petals of a blood red rose.

Gray eyes slowly rose to meet the red-on-black ones staring fixedly at the assassin. Remy watched in quiet terror as various emotions flitted across Julien's face: confusion, denial, fear, and sadness. Finally the first wave of pain overtook the adrenaline in his system and Julien's face contorted in agony as blood dribbled down his chin. When he next opened his eyes that eerily calm expression of realization dominated his features as he stared blankly at Remy.

Remy could only gape at Julien helplessly as the familiar sequence of emotions common to someone about to die played upon the assassin's face. After all, this wasn't the first time the thief had watched as a person died right before him.

Non, s'il vous plaît de Dieu, non… Not again, Remy thought as the memories filled his mind.

XXX

Wide brown eyes set in a small tanned face stared up at him in horror as the boy's lips screamed his name. Tiny fingers stretched out toward him, tear-filled eyes pleaded with Remy to save him. To protect him as he always had before.

XXX

Bright blue eyes gazed out from a beautiful porcelain face and wisps of long brown hair whipped across her pale cheeks as gravity pulled her farther away from him. Even as realization dawned on her face that she was as good as dead, this woman that he'd used for his own purposes continued to look lovingly upon him.

XXX

Remy's freezing cold fingers released their hold on the hilt of the sword as the faces of his own ghosts appeared before his mind's eye. The instant Remy let go of the rapier, Julien fell to the side like a marionette whose strings had just been cut and rolled over onto his back, driving the sword up and into his chest. A feeble cry of pain tumbled from his lips as he clutched at the bloody blade sticking straight up in front of him. Belle suddenly let out a hysterical shriek and raced toward Julien.

Remy reached the trembling fingers of his right hand to the dagger. Gripping it firmly, he pulled as quickly as possible while trying to keep the blade straight as he removed it from his left hand so as to not injure himself further. His mouth stretched open in a silent scream of pure agony as he carefully extracted the dagger from his flesh, a sickening sucking sound accompanying its removal. Remy instantly dropped the small blade onto the spongy earth below, panting heavily as the aftershocks of the most excruciating pain he'd ever experienced flowed through him.

Remy turned onto his knees then pushed himself to his feet using his good hand, dazedly making his way over to where Julien and Belle were huddled together on the ground.

"Julien? Julien, look at me! Y're gonna be fine, okay?" Belle spoke in a wavering voice, her clean white dress forgotten as she knelt on the muddy grass beside her brother.

Her hands flitted over Julien's sweat-slick face as she tried desperately to prevent him from losing consciousness. Julien's own hands grasped the sword and weakly pulled at it, only succeeding in moving it about half an inch and causing more blood to gush out of the wound.

"Non! Leave dat alone!" Belle cried as she placed her satin and lace clad hands over the wound on either side of the long blade.

Remy had only gotten about a foot closer to Belle and Julien when he heard Marius' enraged voice shout, "Vous bâtard! Vous AVEZ ASSASSINÉ mon fils!"

The man strode toward him, furious blue eyes boring into him as the Assassins' leader drew back his fist and aimed it at Remy's face. The thief made no move to defend himself, nor did he try to explain to Marius that it was an accident. That he never intended to hurt Julien, or any of the others before him. But deep down Remy wanted to be hit, he wanted to suffer for all the pain he'd caused to others—albeit unintentionally—so he just stood there.

Seconds before Marius' fist could make contact with his face, the Creole assassin known as Gris Gris grabbed Marius' outstretched arm and began hauling him backward. Marius struggled against the large young man as he pulled him away from Remy. Gris Gris muttered an apology in advance for his actions to the patriarch of his Guild then maneuvered Marius' arm behind his back, applying sufficient pressure to keep it in place and to cause Marius enough pain so that he wouldn't try to pull away again.

Remy watched impassively as Marius was taken away and Tante Mattie bustled past him toward the Boudreaux children. Belle's beautiful face was streaked with tears and her voice broke when she turned those watery eyes up to Tante and begged for the first time in her life, "Help him…please."

The older woman pried Belle's bloodstained hands away from the wound and knelt down to survey the damage to Julien's chest. Her brown eyes widened for an instant before she regained her composure and tossed a glance over her shoulder to the idle Assassins standing around behind her.

"Get him upstairs, quickly!" Tante commanded in a voice that left no room for questions.

The entire crowd jumped at the sudden shout and three Assassins immediately stepped forward. Two crouched on the ground on either side of their fallen comrade and the other knelt beside Julien's legs.

"Be careful wit' him an' don' jar dat sword none, else y'll hurt him worse," the Cajun mystic advised as she rose to her feet and pulled Belle up with her.

Gently working their hands beneath the limp body, they lifted him off the ground with Tante barking orders every step of the way and Belle following closely behind them, the front of her wedding dress covered with splotches of blood and dirt.

Marius watched as his son was carried away from him, the hilt of the sword still visible above the heads of the men that moved his lifeless body to the house. The assassin glared at Remy and jerked toward him yet again, but Gris Gris held him firmly in place. Jean-Luc stepped forward from the crowd with a stunned Henri and wide-eyed Mercy right behind him. Remy could feel his father's calculating green eyes rake over him, calmly appraising his soiled and bloody appearance.

The demon-eyed thief hadn't moved from his spot and stood with his hands out to either side of his body, both coated with his own blood and Julien's. Crimson fluid poured from the hole in the palm of his left hand, flowing quickly down his fingers and dripping to the ground below. The wound to his side had stopped bleeding, but threatened to gush once more with any sudden movement.

Jean-Luc turned to his biological son and daughter-in-law then stated coolly, "Henri, Mercy, take Remy upstairs an' get him cleaned up, s'il vous plaît."

Henri nodded and removed a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his own tuxedo jacket as both he and Mercy started toward Remy.

Remy was vaguely aware of Mercy lifting his right arm gently and placing it around her shoulders as Henri hastily bound his injured palm in the handkerchief. Henri then positioned his arms around Remy's left side, carefully supporting him lest he faint from blood loss, but remained cautious of causing any abrupt movement to his brother's injury. Remy vacantly allowed them to guide him along, still disbelievingly ruminating on the events that'd lead to this moment.

"Jean-Luc! De Pact is now null an' void! Yo' 'son' has defiled it, jus' as he does everyt'ing else he touches! Mon fils hovers on de edge o' life an' death an' it is HIS fault, I demand retribution!" Marius screamed as he fought against Gris Gris hold once more.

Unperturbed by the assassin's outburst, Jean-Luc responded evenly, "Marius, go be wit' yo' son. Gris Gris' expertise would be better served by helpin' Mattie rather dan keepin' yo' temper in check for y'. Y' an' I will discuss de Pact later, it can wait till t'ings have calmed down a bit."

Marius reluctantly relaxed and Gris Gris released his hold on him, but remained nearby as though he expected to be forced to seize his leader once again. The patriarch of the Assassins' Guild glared at Jean-Luc then turned on his heel and marched in the direction his Assassins had carried Julien with Gris Gris a few steps behind. Remy managed to glance over his shoulder at Jean-Luc, the expression on his father's face remained as unreadable as ever. Tiredly, the mutant thief hung his head and limped along as Henri and Mercy helped him across the expansive grounds toward the mansion.

Jean-Luc watched dispassionately as both his sons moved steadily away from him. He heaved a massive sigh and dropped his head into his hands when they disappeared behind the backdoor of the house. Fine lines of worry creased his forehead and he grimaced at the memory of the tormented expression that'd appeared in his adopted son's eyes on a day that should've been filled with nothing but happiness. The leader of the Thieves' Guild couldn't help but blame himself for this. He'd been the one to urge Remy to marry Bella Donna, not because he knew his son loved the girl—even though Remy did—but rather for the greater good of the Guilds. He'd selfishly sold his son's life for the betterment of friends and enemies alike, and now Remy was going to pay for Jean-Luc's actions with his own blood.

Tears sprang to his eyes at the mere thought of watching the boy he'd come to love as his own son die for the sake of a peace that was fragile at best to begin with. Angrily blinking the drops away before they could trail down his tanned face, Jean-Luc set his jaw and purposefully strode toward his home. He was not going to let that happen, no matter what he'd save Remy from the hell he'd so eagerly placed him in.

XXX

"Mercy, get de door would y'?" Henri grunted once they reached the first room they found at the top of the stairs.

"Got it," Mercy replied as she swung the door open wide and the trio maneuvered in, then moved over to the large bed in the center of the room.

Henri and Mercy gently sat Remy on the edge of the bed and aided the injured thief in staying upright. Mercy gingerly untucked Remy's shirt then lifted the hem to get a look at the wound to his side, but the fabric stubbornly clung to his flesh. Applying more force as she pulled the shirt away from Remy's bloodstained and sweat-soaked torso, the garment finally peeled away—taking newly formed scar tissue with it and eliciting a hiss of pain from her patient as she did so. Worried brown eyes flitted to blazing red ones, then examined the gash that ran along her brother-in-law's ribs. At first glance all Mercy saw was a congealed mess of dry encrusted blood and raw flesh that oozed fresh crimson fluid.

"Henri, grab a towel from de bathroom," Mercy instructed as she inspected the wound, trying to mentally gauge its depth and the extent of the damage that'd been done.

Henri practically dove into the adjoining bathroom and reappeared seconds later with a fluffy white towel in hand. Mercy lifted Remy's shirt higher and placed the soft cotton fabric firmly against the cut. Remy clenched his jaw shut when another dull throb zigzagged through him at the contact and pointedly stared straight ahead at the wall over Mercy's shoulder.

"Remy? Remy?" Mercy called, placing her hand on his cheek and directing his gaze to her.

"I need y' t' keep pressure on dis while Henri an' I go get y' de first-aid kit an' some clean clothes, okay?" she asked once she had his attention.

Remy nodded and placed his uninjured right hand over the towel, applying pressure as she'd requested. Henri and Mercy exited the room a minute later, leaving Remy alone. As he sat there his eyes trailed over to his free hand atop the bedspread, staining the fabric scarlet with his blood…and Julien's. Suddenly the all-encompassing desire to wash his hands came over him. He needed to get that blood off of him, right now.

Gingerly pushing himself up off of the bed, Remy staggered into the bathroom and twisted the hot water knob as far as it'd go. He smoothly removed the towel from his side so that he could clean both hands, but as he placed the stained cotton fabric down onto the porcelain sink he noticed for the first time just how much blood was on his hands.

The blood had for the most part dried and was now a rust-colored, sticky substance that entirely coated both his hands from the tips of his fingers all the way to his palms. Just the mere sight of someone else's blood on his hands—this time literally—was causing his stomach to churn and his heart to race as more memories he would've rather left forgotten reemerged. He thrust his hands underneath the scalding flow of the faucet to drown his thoughts out, wincing as the too hot water made contact with his broken flesh beneath the flimsy barrier of Henri's handkerchief.

With angry motions Remy grabbed a bar of soap and rapidly worked up a lather, furiously cleaning away every trace of his brother-in-law's blood while scraping his own flesh raw with the effort. He ignored his own discomfort and rinsed away the thick bubbles from his hands, grimacing when he could still see specks of blood caked beneath his fingernails. He fumbled for the soap again and began digging underneath his fingernails to remove the stubborn fragments.

Remy could feel his breath quickening as he continued his single-minded quest to destroy every trace of his latest sin, but with every move he made to erase what he'd done, he saw Julien's face all the more clearly in his mind. The way he'd looked at Remy as his own blood poured out of the hole in his chest and from his mouth…

Waves of revulsion crept over the thief and a thin sheen of sweat broke out over his forehead as he continued washing his hands.

You killed him.

The thought came unbidden from deep within the recesses of his mind as he watched the swirling pink water form miniature whirlpools in the sink before disappearing down the drain.

His blood will always be on your hands, no matter how many times you try to wash it away, it will always be there. Just like Etienne… Just like Genevieve… Only this time you were the one to actually get your hands dirty. There is no one else to blame but you… You are a murderer, Remy LeBeau.

The voice taunted as he hunched over the sink, gripping the cool porcelain sides in both hands as bile rose up into his throat.

It felt different this time, didn't it? With the others you didn't really perform the act of killing them, you just happened to be the cause of it. But with Julien, you got the best seat in the house this time. You got to see it all… The look on his face, the way his blood dripped down onto you, marking you out undeniably as the one who killed him… The smell; that thick, fetid metallic scent…

That last bit was the final straw and Remy retched into the sink, emptying the contents of his stomach. He stood vomiting until there was nothing left in his stomach to bring up, but he still heaved dryly, his abdomen clenching painfully as he wobbled on unsteady legs.

He is dead because of you, and there is nothing you can do about that. Wash your hands all you want, some things don't go away no matter how hard you scrub… The truth will always be there, just below the surface…killer.

Remy's already tenuous grip on the sink slackened and his knees buckled underneath him as he passed out, sending him sprawling onto the tile floor below just as Mercy and Henri returned to the room. The last thing Remy consciously knew before the darkness claimed him was the high-pitched scream that erupted from Mercy as he collapsed on the floor with his head and shoulders sticking out from the bathroom.

XXX

Eyes with bleary crimson irises set against jet-black sclera slowly opened then flickered over to the presence he instinctively knew was at his left side. All he found was a blond blur. Blinking rapidly to allow his unique eyes to focus, Remy discovered Mercy sitting in a chair beside the bed he was laid out on, diligently stitching up the gash in his side. His torn shirt had been removed and lay in a dirty, wrinkled heap on the floor. On the nightstand there was a bassinette with a bloodstained washcloth hanging halfway out of it. The first-aid kit was open, its contents scattered over the bedspread beside him. Mercy hadn't even noticed that he was awake and continued to gently guide the needle and thread through his skin, slowly and carefully sealing the wound securely shut.

Remy focused on the slight stabs of pain whenever she poked the needle into the first few layers of his skin, then the odd sensation of the thread passing through the outer tissue and dragging—there strangely was hardly any pain evoked by this action—across the raw flesh beneath. He watched Mercy casually as she attentively worked on his injuries. Finally feeling his gaze, his sister-in-law looked up. The blond former assassin gave a slight jump, then leaned toward him, concern creasing her brow.

"How y' feelin' now? Y' was burnin' up when Henri an' I found y' on de floor," Mercy began as she reached for the washcloth and dipped it into the bassinette, wrung it out, then placed it upon his forehead.

The cool fabric felt wonderful against his overheated flesh, and his eyes closed of their own volition.

"Y' jus' about gave Henri a heart attack passin' out like dat. I had t' send him off somewhere else b'cause he was pacin' so much dat he was startin' t' make me jumpy," Mercy added with a small smile making its way onto her lips.

A humorless chuckle tumbled past Remy's lips for her benefit before he winced as the new stitches pulled.

"Be careful!" Mercy chided as she pressed her hands against his side gently. "I jus' now put dose in, don' y' go an' pull 'em out jus' so I can do 'em all over again."

Remy smirked at the obvious irritation that laced her tone as she picked back up the needle and thread then moved to finish stitching up his side.

Just as she had the needle poised to puncture his flesh again, she stopped and regarded him apprehensively. "Do y' wan' somet'ing for de pain now dat y're awake?"

"Non, 's not dat bad. Jus' go ahead an' get it done, y' know Remy can't stay still for very long," he responded with some of his usual humor as he removed the now lukewarm washcloth from his forehead and dropped it back into the bassinette.

Mercy smiled and went back to work with the needle and thread. Remy busied himself with inspecting his hands while she finished closing up the wound in his side. His hands were clean. There wasn't a trace of blood anywhere, not between his fingers, or underneath his fingernails. Mercy must've washed his hands for him. Part of him was grateful, but the rest of him was strangely disturbed that she'd taken it upon herself to do that for him. He should've had to clean up his own mess, not Mercy. Glancing at his injured hand he saw that Henri's handkerchief was gone. In its place was clean, white gauze wrapping all the way around his palm and the back of his hand. Mercy must've sanitized his hands so that she could stitch up the cut in his palm without giving him an infection.

Remy flexed the fingers of his left hand, feeling the tiny jolts of pain that shot up his arm as he did so. His hand was a little stiff and his fingers moved sluggishly, but he could at least feel everything. Hopefully that meant there was no long term damage to his bones or nerves. Without his hands, Remy would be practically useless as a thief.

Guilt hit him squarely in the chest like a Mac truck at his thoughts. Here he was thinking about his own future when Julien was dying, or could already be… Remy didn't even allow himself to finish the thought.

He turned to Mercy, who'd just finished the final stitch and was cutting the excess thread away, and asked, "How's Julien?"

Mercy's wide brown eyes stared into worried red ones, before dropping suddenly to her hands. "I dunno. I've been in here wit' y' pretty much de whole time. Henri might know. Lemme wrap some gauze 'round yo' stomach, den I'll go check, okay?"

Remy shook his head and began to push himself up, teeth digging into his lower lip as the stitches strained against his movement.

"What did I jus' get finished tellin' y'?" Mercy yelled as she planted her hands on his shoulders and stopped him from moving.

"Look, jus' b'cause y' ain't dat badly wounded, don' mean y' can be up traipsing 'round like not'ing's wrong! Y' been stabbed. TWICE! Now y' gonna keep yo' ass right where it is till I get finished wit' dis, comprenez?" she demanded, her usually warm brown eyes narrowing with anger.

Remy knew better than to argue with Mercy at this point and nodded in agreement. The blonde accepted his gesture with a sharp nod of her own and an audible huff of frustration. Picking up a new role of gauze from the bedspread, she told him to lift his arms so she could wrap it around the stitches in his side. He gingerly complied and sat quietly while Mercy wound the soft surgical dressing around his midsection. She secured it with white medical tape, then handed him the T-shirt and blue jeans that Henri had brought from Remy's bedroom.

Mercy left the room a moment later, taking the bassinette with her, to give Remy some privacy to change his clothes. It only took him two full minutes and a dozen or so curses to change out of his dirty black slacks and into the faded jeans and black T-shirt.

He wanted to march straight to wherever Julien was and see with his own eyes if his brother-in-law was okay, but he was truly afraid of what he might find. So he kept himself busy with replacing the medical supplies that were spread out across the bed back into their proper place in the first-aid kit. He'd just closed the metal lid on the small white box when Mercy entered the room with Henri following closely behind her. The shorter thief strode directly toward him and enveloped him in a bear hug. Remy accepted the suffocating gesture for a moment then thumped his older brother on the back and wiggled his way out of Henri's grasp.

"Y' all right?" Henri asked with genuine concern knitting his brows together over his hazel eyes.

"Other den de ribs y' jus' broke wit' dat hug, fine," Remy retorted with a smirk as he brushed his damp brown hair off his forehead.

Henri's face flushed with embarrassment as he shoved his hands into his pants pockets and stared at the floorboards. Remy snorted amusedly then clamped his good hand around Henri's shoulder and playfully pulled him into a loose headlock.

"Merci, for takin' care o' me. Both o' y'," Remy added as Henri gently wriggled out from under his arm.

"Je vous en prie, jus' try not t' scare de ole man so bad next time y' feel de need t' almost get y'self killed. Y' keep dis up an' I'm gonna go bald from de stress," Henri joked as he wrapped an arm around Mercy's shoulders.

"Hate t' be de one t' break dis t' y', but Remy don' t'ink it's de stress dat's makin' yo' hair fall out," Remy shot back shrewdly as he hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and raised one eyebrow at his brother.

"Hey!" Henri cried indignantly.

"Don' pay him no mind, cher. I like yo' hair jus' de way it is," Mercy purred as she fingered the short, spiky strands of Henri's brown hair.

"Merci, belle," Henri murmured into his wife's hair before planting a lingering kiss on her cheek.

Mercy cast Remy a baleful glare over her husband's shoulder, prompting Remy to shrug in badly faked ignorance, but his eyes twinkled mischievously belying the innocent expression he wore. They both knew Henri was sensitive about his thinning hair, but Remy simply couldn't resist poking fun at his older brother to lighten the mood. That and he was jumping on every opportunity he could find to prolong the inevitable trip down the hall to meet his fate; was he a killer or was Julien going to be okay? The question played through his mind endlessly like a CD on repeat, and Remy wasn't altogether certain he wanted to know the answer. But deep down he needed to know the answer, despite whatever momentary respite was brought on by the relative bliss of his ignorance (3).

"Have y' heard anyt'ing 'bout Julien?" Remy blurted out suddenly, all the while keeping his gaze fixed upon the floorboards.

The lighthearted mood of moments before abruptly plummeted the instant the words left his mouth.

Henri glanced down at Mercy anxiously. She gave him a slight nod of encouragement before turning her face into the warmth of his chest and closing her eyes. Henri cleared his throat loudly then licked his lips, his hazel irises darting toward Remy's but shifting off to the side at the last second so as to not look him directly in the eye—which Remy recognized as a sure sign of his brother being uncomfortable with a subject.

"Non, mon frère. Tante an' Gris Gris are in dere wit' him now, an' y' know dey be doin' everyt'ing dey can for him. He couldn' be in better hands," Henri finally replied, trying to infuse his voice with as much conviction as possible.

Remy couldn't tell if his brother was trying to convince him or himself with that vote of confidence, but either way it wasn't working. What Henri had just told him only served to feed the growing unease swirling around in the pit of his stomach to the point that Remy suddenly marched past the still embracing couple and out into the hallway. He heard Henri call out to him, but he continued walking, his uncharacteristically heavy footfalls the only sound in the disconcertingly quiet hallway. He didn't know which room Julien was in, but he'd find him. He had to find him.

Remy skidded to a stop when a door a few feet away brusquely opened and Marius strode out.

The leader of the Assassins' Guild slammed the door shut behind him with enough force to rattle the hinges, if not rip them from the walls outright. He stepped forward, breathing heavily and scrubbing one hand across his face. Marius stopped dead in his tracks when he finally noticed Remy standing there. The older man's pale blue eyes bore into him and Remy could plainly see that Marius was fighting back the desire to attack him right then and there. The middle-aged assassin gave an audible huff, then turned on his heel, cursing under his breath as he stalked toward the staircase at the end of the hall and quickly descended to the first floor.

Remy allowed the breath he didn't even know he'd been holding to leave his lungs in a whoosh, then slowly moved toward the room Marius had just exited. He stared at the richly varnished wood of the heavy oak door for a moment, his heart pounding a fierce staccato in his chest as he reached for the decorated brass knob and turned it.

The overwhelming smell of incense combined with a myriad of pungent herbs assaulted his nose the instant he opened the door. The room was lit solely by random clusters of white wax candles that cast iridescent shafts of light about the darkened room. The candles were of varying lengths with long streams of melted wax drizzling down off the sides in a slow progression to the hardwood floor below. In the dim light Remy could barely make out Gris Gris' massive form just beyond the doorway. The taller man—who sported rows of thick, gold adorned dreadlocks that fell well past his broad shoulders—stood with a long black cloth held out in his hands. Slowly, he stepped forward and placed it reverently over the large mirror that sat atop the bureau. His lips moved wordlessly as he did so, head bowed respectfully as he stood there praying mutely.

Tante was crouched before a wooden chest that rested at the foot of the large bed in the center of the room. Her eyes were closed as she rocked back and forth with her hands clasped together in front of her mouth, chanting an incantation feverishly into her cupped palms. Remy heard the light clacking sound emanating from her hands as she shook them, then watched as she dropped eight or so chicken bones onto the top of the chest a moment later, apprehensively leaning forward to stare at the pattern they made atop the wooden surface. She sat back with a grim expression tugging down the corners of her lips, eyes falling shut once more as a wrinkled hand reached for the tarnished gold crucifix she always wore around her neck.

Terror instantly welled up inside Remy. He knew exactly what Gris Gris and Tante had been doing.

Gris Gris covered the mirror because as a houngan, or voodoo priest, he believed that when someone died their spirit could get lost inside a mirror rather than moving on into the next world.

Tante was practicing a form of divination with bones from the ritual sacrifice of a rooster; reading the way in which they fell so as to gain some insight into Julien's ultimate fate and what help she might be able to provide.

Remy's glowing red irises flew toward the bed that was enshrouded with a sheer, canopy mosquito net. Incense burners sat on the nightstand and cast long, ghostly tendrils of smoke into the air. A human skull sat on the edge of the night table, its gleaming white teeth sinisterly bared at him in an eternally twisted facsimile of a grin. The assassin who'd tried to kill Remy lay unmoving on the mattress with a cream-colored sheet drawn up to his bare chest and thick layers of gauze encircled his torso, but Remy could clearly see the glistening, dark splotches where blood had soaked all the way through them.

Julien's shoulder-length brown locks were plastered to his face and neck by the thin layer of sweat coating every inch of him that Remy could see. The young man lay upon the bed with his eyes closed and his arms outstretched. His face was blessedly devoid of any pained expression and looked so tranquil, that had Remy not known better, he would've thought Julien were simply sleeping. In fact the only clue to his true state was the sickly gray tint that the skin of his face and torso had taken on since Remy had last seen him.

Belle knelt on the floor beside him with her elbows balanced on the edge of the bed and her head held in her hands. Her shoulders heaved as she sobbed silently into her hands, the pale skin of her palms still stained with her brother's blood.

"Tante?" Remy croaked as he took a tentative step into the room.

The Creole woman slowly stood, her fingers never leaving the cross around her neck as she did so, then turned toward him. Her dark brown eyes shined with unshed tears as she glanced at him.

"Is he…?" Remy trailed off, unable to finish his question although he already knew the answer simply from Tante's saddened expression.

His surrogate mother didn't reply, instead she bowed her head and walked past him. Tante Mattie slowly approached Belle, placing a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder when she reached her. "Belle?"

The blonde lifted her face from her hands at the sound of her name. The usually perfect, lightly tanned complexion of her face was blotchy and smeared with a combination of mascara and eyeliner from her time spent crying. She turned slowly to face the older woman, the flesh around her blue eyes swollen and bright red.

"Belle, c'mon get up offa dat cold floor, chile," Tante spoke in a warm voice, while giving the girl's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Belle wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand then pushed herself to her feet using the mattress as leverage. "Don' worry 'bout me, Tante, it's Julien dat needs y' now."

"Belle, dere's not'ing more I can do for him… He gone, chérie. 'M sorry," Tante replied as tenderly as she could.

"NO! Dere has t' be somet'ing else y' can do!" Belle cried, her desperation evident in each word.

"Belle, y' know dat if dere was anyt'ing more dat could be done for y' brother I'd do it, but dere's not'ing else t' do," Tante said calmly as she placed her hands on Belle's shoulders, trying to soothe the devastated girl that stood before her.

Fresh tears sprang to the female assassin's eyes as she gazed up at the old Creole woman, her bloodstained hands clasping one another tightly before her chest. "Tante…please… 'M beggin' y', Julien…he…he can't be gone. He's strong, y' jus' gotta keep tryin'. Bring him back, I know y' can do it."

Tante hated to squash the hope she could see deep within Belle's eyes—hope that Julien could somehow survive this—but knew that she had to. It would only hurt the girl more in the end when she realized that her brother was never returning.

"Belle, I can't. Julien is gone. Him soul has moved on, chile," Tante stated quietly, her voice breaking as she spoke.

"Den bring his soul back!" Belle shrieked caustically, slapping Tante's hands away as her piercing blue eyes fixed themselves angrily upon the older woman. "Y're a healer! Y' supposed t' be able t' help him!"

"Belle, when de soul has left de body o' natural causes dere is not'ing more dat can be done. Not'ing good, leastways. T' bring back de soul o' someone dat's already moved on…dat's dark magic. An' if I did do it, Julien wouldn' be de same. He wouldn' be yo' brother no mo', but somet'ing else…somet'ing evil. Now y' gotta let him go, chile. It was him time… Him at peace… (4)" Tante explained sternly, knowing that Belle was a breath away from all out hysteria.

The female assassin locked her jaw as her eyes brimmed with tears. She'd always been stubborn and was accustomed to getting her way, so hearing that there was absolutely nothing that she or anyone else could do to save Julien was difficult for her to accept.

Remy, who'd watched the entire exchange in stunned silence, suddenly stepped forward and reached out to place one of his hands upon his wife's shoulder.

"Belle…I am so sorry…" he began as his fingertips touched the soft skin of her bare shoulder.

The instant their flesh met, it was as though a switch had been flipped inside Belle's mind, she quickly turned and slapped him soundly across the face. Thoroughly unprepared for the blow, Remy's head jerked sharply to the side, his cheek stinging painfully from the forceful hit. When he turned back to face her, Belle's blue eyes bore into him like knives, but still shined with tears as her body shook with the potent combination of rage and grief.

"Don' you say dat! You don' get t' apologize for what y' done! Y' don' deserve my forgiveness! An' don' y' dare touch me!" she hissed at him, her chest heaving with the effort of restraining herself from attacking him.

"Chère…" he started again, but she flung herself at him, her fists slamming into his chest.

"NO! Don' y' call me dat! Julien is dead b'cause o' you! It's all yo' fault! It should've been YOU!" she screamed as she pounded on the solidity of his chest, tears streaming down both sides of her face.

Remy allowed her to take out her frustration on him, his face an expressionless mask. Only the first few hits actually hurt, and after that she was just barely making contact with him so he didn't really need to restrain her. But it was her words that got to him. He knew that Belle was upset about her brother, devastated really, and that whatever she said right now she probably didn't truly mean. But still, maybe she did mean it.

What if she hated him now? What if she could never forgive him for what he'd done, even though it'd been an accident?

Remy had no answers to these questions, so he just stood mutely with Belle exhaustedly slapping at his chest, a tremendous sob escaping her throat and transforming into a guttural howl of sadness. Finally she collapsed against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her lithe frame before she could slide onto the floor, hauling her back up his body and bringing her even closer to him. He rubbed her back in comforting circles and stroked her hair as she tried unsuccessfully to pry herself out of his embrace. After a few moments of fruitless struggling, Belle bowed her head into the warmth of his chest, sniffling and sobbing softly.

As he held her, Remy's mind was whirling around him. Julien was dead, Belle was an emotional wreck, and Marius was out for his blood. And as Belle herself had told him just moments earlier, it was all his fault. He deserved everything he'd gotten so far and much more. He had no right to ask Belle her forgiveness, even though Remy desperately wanted her to forgive him. But how could she?

Her husband had killed her brother right in front of her, how could life possibly get back to anything even remotely resembling normal after that? Over time she might come to terms with it and even get over it, but right now the wounds were too fresh, the pain too great to expect her to willingly accept his apology—regardless of how sincere it might be—and take comfort in his presence. Remy hoped that was true, but he doubted it. If the roles were reversed and it'd been Henri who died at Belle's hands, intentionally or accidentally, would he be able to forgive her?

Remy's brother mattered more to him than just about any other person on the planet, and he knew almost instantly that he'd hate any person that ever hurt Henri until his very last breath. Even if that person were Belle. Remy frowned at that revelation and tightened his arms around Belle's shoulders in response. He knew that it was now useless to ask for her forgiveness a second time, because if he could not forgive her had the situation been different, how could he possibly expect her to react any differently than he would?

He couldn't, and more importantly his very presence might hurt Belle more than anything else right now, so he nodded to Tante and reluctantly allowed the Creole woman to take his bloodstained bride away from him. Truthfully, it hurt like hell to let her go, but Remy would rather endure any kind of pain imaginable than subject the woman he loved to more suffering than he already had. So he stood alone in the gloom, glowing red irises following as she walked away from him, all the while fighting back the wetness that pooled around his dark eyes.

XXX

Marius stomped in the direction of Jean-Luc's study, somehow knowing that he'd find the Thieves' patriarch there. He barged into the room without bothering to knock, slamming the heavy door behind him. Jean-Luc stood next to one of the large bookcases that lined two walls of the room, a crystal tumbler filled with amber liquid in hand. The thief glanced casually over at the livid man fuming just a few feet away and drained the contents of his glass in one gulp. He reached out for the bottle of Jack Daniels that sat on the small table beside him and refilled the tumbler.

"Julien is dead," Marius stated in a low voice.

The glass froze halfway to Jean-Luc's lips and shook imperceptibly before the thief deposited it back on the table. He turned to Marius, his green eyes tired and face grim. "I am truly sorry for yo' loss, Marius."

Marius accepted the other Guild leader's sincere words with a sharp nod and looked away, holding back the tears that prickled behind his eyes.

"Y' know what dis means, Jean-Luc," Marius began as he turned back toward the other man. "Dis will destroy de Pact an' de Guilds will be back at war by sunrise unless we do somet'ing 'bout dis."

"I understand, Marius, but it's not dat simple," the thief replied around a sigh as he reached for his glass again.

"De Pact is very clear, Jean-Luc: 'T' preserve de peace 'tween de Guilds, any form o' aggression will not be tolerated. Dose who violate de agreement pay a price equal t' dere crimes.' Don' see dat as bein' all dat ambiguous really," Marius retorted coldly, folding his thick arms across his equally wide chest.

Jean-Luc glared at the assassin over the lip of the tumbler then downed half of its contents, wincing at the way the alcohol burned the back of his throat. "Remy will not be executed. I will not allow it," he declared sternly.

"Dat's not yo' decision t' make. My son died b'cause o' him, de Pact says his life belongs t' me now, t' extinguish as I see fit," Marius shot back antagonistically.

"Non. Yo' son violated de Pact long b'fore Remy ever touched him. Julien came here t'day intendin' t' kill him, an' my son merely defended himself—dat's not against de Pact, so y' have no claim whatsoever on Remy," Jean-Luc argued calmly.

"Y' may see it dat way, but de rest o' de Assassins don'…an' neither do I," Marius responded menacingly as he took a step forward. "De Assassins' Guild will not allow one o' its own t' die unrevenged."

"Remy will not die for dis; de Thieves' Guild will not allow dat," Jean-Luc said coolly.

Marius growled in frustration and glared at Jean-Luc. The thief merely stared back at him, idly swirling the contents of his glass.

"Are y' willing t' see de Guilds go t' war again? T' endanger de lives o' family an' friends jus' t' protect a boy dat ain't even yo' own son? B'cause dat's what it'll all come down t'. Even if I denounce any violence against Remy, de Assassins will see him going unpunished as a slap in de face. Dey'll want revenge, an' dey'll seek it out in any way dey can," Marius announced in a forcibly calm voice as he stepped closer to Jean-Luc, his repressed anger still plainly written across his features.

"Jus' b'cause he ain't blood don' mean he ain't my son in every way dat matters," Jean-Luc murmured, planting one hand on the varnished wood surface of the small table and leaning into his arm, using it to support his weight.

"Don' pull dat crap wit' me! We both know de real reason y' adopted de boy, an' it don' have anyt'ing t' do wit' y' paternal instincts, Jean-Luc. De boy wit' de devil's eyes as is mentioned in de ancient texts… L'Diable Blanc (5)… Y' took him in so dat he could fulfill de prophecies an' eventually unify an' lead de Guilds, but dere's no way dis side o' hell dat he's gonna do dat now, so why are y' still fightin' so hard?" Marius continued to press, a morosely amused grin pulling at his lips.

"Dat may've been de reason I adopted him, but dat's not de only t'ing he is t' me now," the thief responded solemnly.

"So y're willin' t' put yo' other son, by blood, in harms way for yo' adopted son?" the assassin questioned with a raised brow.

"Are y' threatenin' Henri?" Jean-Luc demanded in a dangerously low voice.

"Non, I wouldn' do not'ing o' de sort. De only man whose life I seek is Remy's. But I can't guarantee dat people won' get hurt, on both sides, if y' don' honor de Pact," Marius retorted bitterly, the thinly veiled threat of both his words and tone slapping the Thieves' patriarch across the face.

Jean-Luc heaved a labored sigh then downed the contents of his glass, slamming the empty tumbler down on the small table with more force than necessary. He strode over to the large bay window that overlooked the ruined party. The sun had set sometime after everyone had retreated into the mansion and now darkness began to creep over the world. Lightning bugs took to the skies, their positions revealed by the tiny pinpricks of green light that flashed low to the ground. The overturned tables, stained tablecloths, and abandoned dinners were just barely visible in the distance. The old thief took a deep breath then turned back to face the other man, hating himself for what he must now do, but knowing that it must be done to save the life of his son.

"I propose a compromise, Marius. De life dat has already been lost is quite enough an' neither o' us want t' see any more o' our fellow Guild members die b'cause o' dis," Jean-Luc stated in his usual calm tone, effectively masking the torrent of emotions within him.

"Far as I can tell, Julien flagrantly disregarded de words o' his father an' patriarch an' interfered wit' a matter o' great importance t' both Guilds. He den attacked my son, attempting t' kill him. Now y' an' yours may not see his death as what it is, an act o' self-defense, but I do. No murder or act o' aggression occurred, at least not from my son, so we are not dealing wit' dat issue here. Julien's death was a great tragedy, but was not'ing more dan an accident. Dere is no need for vengeance here," the thief continued to explain, his voice unwaveringly strong and confident.

"If y' t'ink y' can talk Remy's way outta dis y' are sorely mistaken, Jean-Luc LeBeau!" Marius shouted, seemingly insulted by the other man's utter dismissal of his claims.

"I am merely stating de facts, Marius," Jean-Luc replied, waving one hand in a placating gesture. "I agree dat somet'ing must be done t' keep de Guilds from overreacting t' de situation an' gettin' into somet'ing dat will only cause more pain for everyone involved."

Marius regarded the thief skeptically, then pursed his lips and folded his arms across his chest again before responding carefully, "'M listenin'."

"If Remy's presence here will incite de Guilds t' violence, which neither o' us want, an' I will not allow him t' be executed, dere is only one solution dat'll solve our problem. Remy must leave New Orleans," Jean-Luc declared as he slipped both hands casually into his pants pockets.

"Banishment?" the assassin asked incredulously. "Y' would banish yo' own son?"

"If dat's what it takes t' preserve de peace, so be it," Jean-Luc confirmed grimly, a hint of emotion making its way into his voice as he spoke.

A conspiratorial smirk twisted the corners of Marius' lips as he stepped forward. "De terms o' de banishment be thus: Remy must leave New Orleans by sunrise t'morrow an' never return t' dis city. Otherwise he will receive de full punishment under de Pact t' be carried out by de Assassins' Guild."

Marius extended one hand, waiting for Jean-Luc to accept his part of the deal. The thief didn't immediately move, nor did he argue the assassin's terms, he just stood there in quiet contemplation. After almost a full minute had gone by, Jean-Luc stepped forward and gripped Marius' proffered hand, shaking it firmly, cementing the deal and sealing Remy's fate.

To save the life of his son, Jean-Luc would send him away. In an attempt to ensure his safety, Jean-Luc was going to cast Remy out of the only real family the boy had ever known. It was entirely plausible that Remy might never understand why Jean-Luc did this. He might even hate his adopted father for it. But that was a risk Jean-Luc was willing to take if it meant that Remy would live.

XXX

Remy didn't know how long he stood in the darkened room just staring at Julien's corpse, wishing that the assassin would get up and proclaim all of this to be a sick practical joke that went too far. He'd watched silently as Gris Gris gently lifted the sheet up from Julien's chest and drew it over the fallen assassin's entire body. The older assassin had then slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him without so much as a backward glance at Remy.

Not long after Gris Gris left, the door cracked open casting a long triangle of bright yellow light into the otherwise pitch-black room. Henri and Mercy cautiously entered, flipping the light switch as they did so, giving Remy the excuse of being temporarily blinded to wipe at his eyes. He turned toward them a moment later, hoping that all evidence of his tears had been wiped away.

"Je suis désolé, mon frère. Tante tol' us 'bout Belle an' everyt'ing. Is dere anyt'ing y' need?" Henri asked, his voice practically dripping with compassion as he approached his younger brother.

Now, Remy loved his brother and all, but if Henri tried to hug him again he was either going to have to punch him or throw up…or both, though hopefully not all at the same time.

"Non, dere's not'ing dat can be done," Remy muttered darkly.

"Belle's jus' upset right now, Remy. Y' know she don' mean anyt'ing she said t' y', dat girl's been in love wit' y' since b'fore she had de trainin' wheels taken offa her bike. Dis ain't gonna change dat," Mercy supplied helpfully.

"Y' didn' see de way she looked at me, Merc. I never seen her so mad, or so upset… An' dat's all my fault. I did dat t' her. T'ings ain't never gonna be right 'tween us now," Remy retorted forlornly as he brushed past the couple and stepped out into the hall.

Remy heard Henri and Mercy start after him and he quickened his pace, hoping to beat them to his room and forego the sympathy speech he was certain the duo had prepared for him. He'd only gotten about a foot down the corridor when a large hand clamped down on his shoulder, halting his movement. Remy turned to find Gris Gris behind him, the Creole man's glassy, dark brown eyes focused on him gravely.

"Y' wanted downstairs, in yo' père's study."

The mutant thief suppressed a shudder at the inherently ominous feel of the man's deep, emotionless baritone voice. Gris Gris had always reminded him of an undertaker or maybe even the personification of Death—minus the cloak and scythe—and the present situation wasn't helping at all to change the way Remy saw him.

Remy, Gris Gris, Henri, and Mercy walked into Jean-Luc's study less than five minutes later. The slow pace was mostly to accommodate for Remy's injured torso, but he neglected to tell them that he actually could move fairly well considering that he'd been stabbed just a little over three hours ago. However, Remy had a feeling that whatever this mysterious "meeting" would entail wasn't something he was going to like so, needless to say, he wasn't in any rush to get there. Thus, why he allowed them to treat him like an invalid for the time being.

Jean-Luc was seated in the plush leather chair behind his desk with his hands folded one atop the other on the wooden surface of the escritoire. Marius stood off to the thief's right side with his arms crossed over his chest and a very disconcerting smirk graced his drawn features. The sight was eerily similar to the poster for the film, The Devil's Advocate, which Remy felt couldn't be a more appropriate visualization given his present situation. A self-deprecating grin, that more closely resembled a grimace, twisted his lips as he stepped farther into the room.

"Remy, please sit," Jean-Luc gestured to one of the overstuffed leather armchairs that resided before the large mahogany desk.

Remy cautiously strode around the chair and gently maneuvered himself down into it, managing to only wince slightly as he did so.

"How y' feeling?" Jean-Luc asked flatly.

Remy glanced up at the detached tone of his adopted father's voice. Jean-Luc simply stared at him with glazed over green eyes that seemed to look through his son rather than at him and his lips drawn into a thin line beneath his neatly trimmed moustache. Remy didn't know what unnerved him more, his suddenly Stepford father or the fact that Marius was regarding him much like a starving cat would a blind mouse.

"Fine," Remy replied guardedly, keeping his gaze fixed on Jean-Luc because Marius was really starting to creep him out. "Y' called for me?"

"Yes, I did. As I'm sure y' know by now, Julien is dead," the Thieves' patriarch began, and for the first time since Remy entered the room Marius' face contorted with sadness, but then quickly reverted to his usual stony mask of indifference. "An' even though we all agree dat it was an accident, somet'ing must be done t' prevent de Guilds from destroyin' one another."

"What d' y' mean?" Remy questioned anxiously, already feeling the proverbial noose tightening around his neck.

"What yo' père means," Marius callously answered for Jean-Luc, "is dat we've decided on a suitable punishment for y'."

"Punishment? Y' jus' said it was an accident!" Henri exploded, shoving his way past Gris Gris as he marched farther into the room.

Both Jean-Luc and Remy merely sat unmoving in their respective chairs, sharing mirror image expressions of apathy. One forcibly controlling his emotions to spare himself pain, the other retreating within to steel himself for the fate he truly believed he deserved.

"Accident or not, a man is still dead. An assassin killed by a t'ief. Doing not'ing would only ensure more unnecessary death an' turmoil for both Guilds," Marius shot back, the insufferable smirk reappearing on his face.

Mercy lunged forward, snagging her husband's arm and holding tight to prevent him from going toe-to-toe with Marius. Henri glanced down at her pleading face, then folded his arms stiffly across his chest but continued to glare at the Assassins' leader murderously.

Marius turned his attention back to Remy, puffed out his chest, and spoke with morose satisfaction, "Remy LeBeau, y' are henceforth exiled from yo' Guild as well as de city o' New Orleans for de remainder of yo' life. Y' have till sunrise t'morrow morning t' leave dis city an' never return, otherwise y' will suffer de punishment reserved for murderers under de Nonaggression Pact, execution, t' be carried out by de Assassins' Guild."

Remy tightly gripped the arms of his chair, jaw clenched firmly shut. It took all of his will power not to urge a kinetic charge into the soft leather beneath his fingertips and hurl the piece of furniture at Marius' smug face. His dark eyes glittered dangerously as he quickly shoved himself to his feet, delighting in the stab of pain the sudden motion elicited from his injured torso. He fixed his gaze resolutely on Marius, nodded sharply, shot his father an ice-cold glare, then turned and exited the room without a word.

Dey wanted him gone, so be it, Remy thought angrily as he strode up the stairs then down the hall to his bedroom.

He slammed the heavy oak door behind him, flung open the doors of his closet and began yanking clothes out, unceremoniously dumping them in a pile on his bed. He allowed his fury to drive his movements, using the jerky, unnecessarily forceful actions to relieve the burning rage within him.

Julien's death had been an accident and they knew it! Yet they were kicking him out of the only real home and family that he'd ever known! Remy wasn't angry simply because of the blatant hypocrisy of that meeting, although he had every right to be, but rather because of the conflict raging within him. His mind and emotions were divided and so at odds that he had no idea what he was even feeling right now. A part of him totally accepted his fate, he'd killed a man and felt that he did deserve some sort of punishment for it. And simply being forced to leave New Orleans was more of a slap on the wrist than anything else, but another part of Remy wanted to march right back downstairs to his stoic father's study and demand to know why Jean-Luc was allowing this to happen. Why wasn't he fighting Marius tooth and nail on his son's behalf?

How could the man that claimed him as his own son just sit idly by and allow Marius to take Remy's life away from him? Julien had attacked him, not the other way around, and they were now treating Remy like he'd been the one premeditating murder. What the hell had they wanted him to do, just stand there and let Julien stab him to death?

Granted, Remy did truly feel remorse for unintentionally causing Julien's death, but he didn't understand how if everyone knew it was an accident why they wanted him to leave. He knew that there'd be Assassins, including Belle and Marius, that would blame him for the death. More so because of old grudges and prejudices than the fact that he'd killed one of their own in self-defense. And truthfully, Remy didn't give a damn what they thought. He'd been fighting with most of those Assassins since he was a child, so having them out for his blood wasn't anything new, but the prospect of Belle hating him did give him pause.

His guilt at causing her so much pain weighed heavily on his shoulders and made his stomach cramp as though battery acid had been poured into it. Remy remembered in vivid detail the way her face had looked when he tried to comfort her. Tear-stained and so contorted with rage and sadness that she was hardly recognizable; but the worst part was the fact that it'd been the first time Belle had looked at him with hate in her eyes. Hate directed at him. Sure, Remy had seen her mad at him plenty of times, but this was different. This had been pure, unequivocal hatred.

Remy had done something that made her hate him and he feared that he could never change her feelings toward him. He wanted to believe what Mercy told him earlier and what the hopeful voice in his head said to be true, but deep down he knew he didn't. When Julien died, Belle's love for Remy may well have died with him. His shoulders slumped forward in consternation at his newest insight. Stuffing the remains of his righteous fury at Jean-Luc and Marius down into the morass of his emotions as far as he could, he pulled a green military-inspired duffel bag down from the top shelf of his closet and began shoveling his clothes in.

Nearly half an hour later, Remy was all packed. The duffel lay in the middle of his bed, filled to capacity with clothing, toiletries, and the few possessions he valued the most. As he prepared to leave the first place he ever called home, he'd calmed down considerably. His guilt was still plaguing him, and he found it nearly impossible to placate it now, so he tried in vain to ignore it for the time being. The anger directed at both Guild leaders still resided within him, but it wasn't the main driving force behind his actions. Instead, Remy chose to rely on the love he felt for Belle to guide him through what was sure to be one of the hardest things he'd ever have to do.

Even if she no longer cared for him in the way she had when they'd taken vows to love, honor, and cherish one another for better or for worse earlier that day, he still did. Remy's feelings for her hadn't changed one bit. And those feelings were why he decided to leave.

Belle was utterly devastated right now and she needed the comfort of her family more than she needed him, that much was plainly evident by how she'd acted when he tried to console her and Remy had been rewarded with a literal slap in the face. So, because he loved her so damn much, he'd ignore his own need for her and simply walk away. That was the true definition of love after all, caring more about the needs and desires of the person you love than your own. And he did, so he pulled on his favorite trench coat, slung the duffel over one shoulder and made his way down the hall.

He stopped dead in his tracks when Tante Mattie walked out of a nearby room. The instant the robust woman's tired dark brown eyes fell upon him she strode directly toward him and enveloped him in a tight hug, burying her head in his chest as tears began to roll down her cheeks. Remy leaned down and wrapped his arms around her, running his hands soothingly along the broad expanse of her upper back.

"I jus' heard 'bout y' bein' exiled, chile. An' I am so sorry, Remy. Y' don' know how much I wish dere was somet'ing I could do t' make t'ings go back t' de way dey were," Tante murmured sincerely as she lifted her head and stared up into his dark eyes.

Even during this emotional armageddon, Remy felt a tender smile curve his lips at the genuine affection and love he always felt around Tante.

"Don' y' worry 'bout Remy none, Tante. Y' raised me right an' I promise t' behave m'self out dere in de big, bad world," he replied teasingly as he lifted one hand and wiped away her tears with the pad of his thumb.

Tante looked as though she was about to spit a snappish retort at him about hiding behind a façade of humor at a time like this, but she swallowed it and said instead, "Y' always be my lil' man, Remy LeBeau. I don' give a damn what Marius or Jean-Luc say, I love y' like y' was my own son an' not'ing anybody say gon' ever change dat. Y' take care o' y'self Remy, an' come visit me, y' hear? Dey only exiled y' from Naw'lins, not my house. Y' always welcome dere."

Remy felt a familiar wetness prickling behind his eyes at the end of her haughty statement and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead, "Y' know I will, Tante. An' I love y' too, Mattie Baptiste."

Rubbing away the fresh tears that began to roll down her cheeks with the back of her hand, Tante took a deep shuddering breath to keep herself from breaking down entirely then pulled out of Remy's arms. She nodded toward the room she'd just exited. "If y're sayin' yo' goodbyes dere's someone in dere dat y' should definitely see 'fore y' go."

Remy looked past her into the dark room and could barely make out the shape of a woman's body in a white dress lying on the bed, her form illuminated by the silver glow of the full moon pouring in from a nearby window.

"Belle?" Remy asked hoarsely, finding it difficult to speak with the lump that'd formed in his throat.

"Yes, she been asleep ever since I took her outta Julien's room. She should hear dis from y', Remy, not somebody else," Tante advised, giving his forearm a gentle squeeze.

He nodded numbly, unable to speak at the moment. Tante nudged him forward a minute later when he hadn't made any move to enter the room on his own, quietly closing the door behind him to give Remy and Belle some privacy. Remy deposited his duffel on an armchair then tentatively strode toward the bed, desperately trying to figure out what he should say, if anything, to this woman that he truly loved but managed to hurt so deeply. It didn't help matters any for him to see the evidence of her sorrow written plainly across her face in the form of two dried, dark trails over her cheeks. Clad in a stained dress, her hair tangled and hanging limply around her ashen face, smeared with her ruined makeup, and yet Belle still managed to look unequally beautiful in the ethereal light the moon cast into the room.

He stopped at the head of the bed, standing mere inches away from her. He silently crouched down beside her, nimbly balancing on the balls of his feet. Remy braced himself for whatever reaction Belle might have to the news that he'd been exiled and reached out to gently shake her awake. His hand hovered above her shoulder, but never made contact. He simply stared at her sleeping form, the mere sight of her rendering him incapable of taking any risk that might cause her more pain. A heartrending smile twisted his lips as he lovingly traced over her features with his fingers in the air, pointedly avoiding actually touching her for fear of waking her as he committed every line and curve of her face to memory.

Rocking back onto his heels, he reached for the shining gold band that encircled his left ring finger. He toyed with it for a moment, turning it around his finger, all the while keeping his gaze fixed upon the beauty before him. Remy LeBeau had never been more divided in his life. He was torn between pulling her into his arms and kissing her senseless or turning around and pounding on the wall in pure frustration at the unfairness of it all. He should be in her arms right now. They should be together in bed, blissfully happy and in love. He shouldn't be standing over her while she slept, debating which was the lesser of two evils—waking her and telling her goodbye or simply leaving without a word?

Holding back the tears that threatened to make a repeat performance, he stood. His demonic eyes never left her face as he removed the ring from his finger then gently placed it upon the pillow beside her, so that it would be visible the moment she awoke. This was his unspoken goodbye to her. She'd know what it meant when she saw it without him actually telling her.

It might be construed as cowardly to leave without explaining why he had to go to her, but at the moment he didn't give a damn what anyone else thought of him. All that mattered to him was Belle and what would hurt her the least. After all that she'd just endured, he'd willingly accept damnation and burn in hell right now before he'd be the source of her pain one more time. It was better this way, he justified as he walked resolutely to the door, picking up his duffel bag along the way. Belle would be undisturbed by his abrupt departure and could get some much needed rest. She'd have plenty to deal with tomorrow, and the knowledge that he was gone could wait until then.

Remy forced himself to keep moving toward the door and away from where he wanted to be, at Belle's side. As he quietly eased the door open, he couldn't resist one last look back. Whispering a muted "I love you," he slipped out of the room, pulling the door softly shut behind him.

XXX

Remy winced at the memory of his final goodbye to the woman he loved with all of his heart and soul, feeling his stomach flutter uncomfortably at the thought of never seeing her again. After he'd left the room where Belle had been sleeping, he tolerated yet another hug from Henri and allowed Mercy to cling to him as she bawled against his chest before exiting the mansion and disappearing into the darkness. He hadn't bothered to say farewell to Jean-Luc, since he didn't think punching the Thieves' leader in the face would be a very good way to start off his new life outside the protection of the Guild.

Glancing at his watch, he sighed heavily and walked to his motorcycle. It was almost midnight and he needed to be well clear of the city limits within the next few hours otherwise Marius would have his head on a stick by morning. He'd stood before the fence, staring at the nearly black waters of the bayou and chain-smoking for the better part of an hour now, hoping that if he waited long enough his revived anger would waft away just like the smoke from his cigarette. It hadn't; instead it clung to him stubbornly, almost demanding a destructive outlet for his animosity toward those who'd hurt him—Marius, Julien, Jean-Luc, and even Belle.

His soul was an emotional tornado right now. Up was down, left was right, the sky was green and the grass was blue as far as he was concerned.

Remy hated Marius, but that was nothing new. He felt remorse and some lingering anger toward Julien, but mostly he was too overwhelmed by guilt to allow himself the satisfaction of blaming the dead man for the role he'd played in this disaster. Jean-Luc bore the brunt of Remy's anger as well as his sense of betrayal. His own father had sold him out, and for what? Peace? What peace? There never had been and never would be peace between the Guilds, that much Remy knew firsthand now. He almost wished that he'd said no when Jean-Luc convinced him to stay after Remy had saved his father's life nearly six months ago when the Assassins kidnapped him (6). He should've just ignored his scheming father and made a break for the state line as fast as he could, but no, he'd allowed Jean-Luc to talk him into staying just long enough for things to rekindle between himself and Belle, ensuring that he'd be staying indefinitely.

But the bitterest ache was the emotions he was beginning to feel toward Belle. He still loved her, but sometime during his hour-long smoke break, resentment at her inability to forgive her own husband when he needed her the most began to course through him. This feeling of resentment only compounded his own guilt, so that he now felt guilty both for what he'd done and for his bitterness toward her.

He felt the pent-up emotions spreading throughout his body, making his hands itch with the desire to release his frustration physically.

Slinging one leg over the Chopper, he pushed the kickstand back with his foot and started the motor. Remy revved the engine a few times as he took one last drag on his cigarette then readied to crush it into the ground, but suddenly an idea came over him. Maybe using his powers would take some of the edge off. He was jittery enough as it was just because of his emotions, but expending some of his energy with a little explosion or two might just do the trick. It had before, so why not now?

Remy closed his thumb and forefinger around the half-burnt stick of tobacco, concentrating on exciting the molecules and sending them from a state of potential energy to kinetic. The paper glowed a bright fuchsia as a charge was urged into it. He held on for longer than was necessary to charge an object of such a small size, infusing it with more explosive force. The cigarette would explode with the intensity of a cherry bomb if he tossed it away now. But he didn't let go yet, more energy practically begged to be urged into the small object. Or into the rocks beneath his feet, the fence row behind him, or maybe even the gigantic sycamore tree planted before the mansion.

He'd always been able to sense the myriad, latent energies confined in the objects and people around him, which granted him a sort of perpetual spatial awareness and made it easier to manipulate those energies, but tonight was drastically different. He now felt as if he could simply thinkit and the molecular structures of everything around him would shift, fill with kinetic energy at his will, and detonate in a gaudy display of light and sound. The realization was unsettling enough to shock him back to reality and he flung the charged cigarette over the fence and into a small marsh that split off from the actual bayou below as he peeled off down the gravel drive. The cigarette exploded upon impact with the putrid water near the shoreline, sending water and muck flying high into the air.

Remy didn't notice as he turned onto the road and sped off, kicking up a dense cloud of gravel and dust as he reached 100 miles an hour in seconds. Had he stayed to watch the aftereffects of his actions he would've witnessed the small stretch of the bayou where the cigarette had landed begin to glow with an otherworldly light and bubble like a hot tub. The air filled with the keening whine of pulsating energy, that high-pitched sizzling sound cutting through the usual nighttime chorus of bullfrogs and crickets like a knife through warm butter. The explosion came moments later with a loud boom and a blinding dumbshow of light. When the smoke cleared, an expanse of what had been a waterlogged marsh was now a scorched, steaming pit filled with dead and dying fish, snakes, and frogs.

From beneath the cover of darkness granted by a grove of cypress trees, a pair of blood red eyes beheld Remy's exit and the explosions that followed. Darkly colored lips curled sinisterly, bearing rows of perfectly white teeth like a wolf about to go in for the kill.

"Bravo, Remy…bravo," the sound came as a languid, malevolent hiss amid a slow applause.

A/N: Well, that's all for now people! Hope you liked it so far! Can anyone guess who the person at the end was? ;-P You get extra points if ya get it right!

Ok, let me just say right now: I do NOT speak French, so all the translations I have here are either derived from my comics where Remy or someone else says that particular phrase in French or the aforementioned online translator. If anything is wrong please do not hesitate to inform me, just don't be mean about it.

Also, I do not practice Voodoo and my knowledge on the subject is limited, I admit. So everything I say here on the subject is what I have found either in film, television, or online information. Hopefully I've done an accurate portrayal of it here, and not completely gotten it wrong or something. Let me know what you think, ok?

Most of the way I "see" this particular chapter was derived from the Gambit limited series—Volume 1, Issue Number 2—from January of 1994. I LOVE the way the artists depicted it and it really influenced my visualizations here. Almost all of the information in this story about Gambit's past is authentic and pulled from my own comics' collection, so if I do happen to get something wrong please tell me (after all I don't have every single issue about him and I am human and will make mistakes occasionally). Now, obviously I've taken a few creative liberties (otherwise why would I be writing this?), so there are some things that are my own ideas here as well.

Oh! One last thing! I kinda hated the fact that the creators censored the name of the Thieves' rivals in Evo, so instead of the totally pussy name "Rippers" (WTF is that anyway?), I'm staying true to the comics (and 90s cartoon) continuity and calling them the right damn name, Assassins. If kids during the 90s (including me) could handle a gang w/that name and not turn out horribly scarred emotionally, why the holy-hell couldn't kids in 2000? Does anybody have an idea? Parents are so perpetuating a whole new generation of pussies with this kinda BS…

Translations (from French unless otherwise noted):

Tante: Aunt

Non, pére!: No, father!

Enfant de pute: Son of a bitch

Je suis désolé, ma chère sœur: I'm sorry, my dear sister

Bâtard's: Bastard's

Parfait: Perfect

Toro!: (Spanish) Bull!

Olé!: (Spanish) Bravo!

Chérie: Darling (feminine)

P'tite/Petite: Little one (feminine)

Non, s'il vous plaît de Dieu, non… : No, please God, no…

Vous bâtard! Vous AVEZ ASSASSINÉ mon fils!: You bastard! You MURDERED my son!

Comprenez?: Understand?

Merci: Thank you

Je vous en prie : You're welcome

Cher: Dear (masculine)

Belle: Beautiful (feminine)

Mon frère: My brother

1) "If your opponent is of choleric temperament, seek to irritate him."—Sun Tzu, The Art of War, Chapter One "Laying Plans," the 1910 Dr. Lionel Giles translation.

2) This part was derived from a quote of John Travolta's in the film Broken Arrow: "All right, you're bleeding, aren't you? Well, that's good. Let's see if we can't get any more out of you, alrighty?" Yes, the film is not exactly realistic (the fact that John Woo directed it should be a hint), but the lines that Deakins (Travolta) has are some of the best I've ever heard.

3) "Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise."—Thomas Gray

4) Tante's accent is largely influenced by the amazing Tia Dalma (portrayed by Naomie Harris) as seen in the films Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest and Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End. I absolutely loved Tia Dalma!

5) L'Diable Blanc is a big nod to the comics, as it is Remy's moniker within the Guilds. Translation: the White Devil.

6) Season 4, "Cajun Spice."

Thanks for reading!

Sassy18