beginning notes: this story takes place directly after the film "x-men origins: wolverine." it is going to follow gambit as his life continues, and will involve some comic book/cartoon aspects and some that are completely and utterly fictional. some characters will be legitimate and used in their proper settings. some characters will be original and therefore used in their proper settings. some characters will be legitimate, but will not be used in their proper settings. capiche? i suppose it's just easier to take them as they come. the quotes at the beginning of each chapter are taken from various parts of Joseph Heller's Catch-22.

i hope you enjoy this! leave a review if you so desire.

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But Yossarian knew he was right, because, as he explained to Clevinger, to the best of his knowledge he had never been wrong.

--

Remy LeBeau considered himself to be a smart man. After all, you don't sneak your way out of a top-secret-mutant-experimenting-on base by being stupid. But as smart of a man as he was, Remy simply could not figure out why Logan would act so strange.

He couldn't ignore the feeling of regret as he flew away from that blasted island, leaving the strange Canadian behind. Something was most definitely wrong with Logan, but Remy did not consider himself qualified to assess the issue, since the only psychology training he had received had been from watching reruns of Oprah with his Tante Mattie while waiting for his adoptive brother Henri to get home from school.

And so, Remy obeyed Logan's final wish, leaving the feral mutant to his own devices as to getting off the island. The flight back to New Orleans was much quieter and much more lonely, with Remy praying to whichever god that chose to be listening at the moment for Logan's safety. For some peace for the poor guy. Three hours later, he landed the plane smoothly at the dock, inwardly congratulating himself and his experienced hands on another landing well done. He exited the plane, tying it up appropriately so that his beloved Sofia (he had purposefully neglected to tell Logan that he had named the plane - Logan had made fun of him enough for less embarrassing things) did not float downstream only to be picked up by some backwater bayou trash that would definitely not be gentle enough on her. She was a delicate thing - only Remy truly knew how to treat her. That's why she flew for him and not for her previous owner.

Remy leaned his hip against Sofia, idly watching the sun as it began its descent over the horizon. He made a mental note to watch more sunsets in the future, as this was truly nature at its best. As the last golden rays begin to melt away, Remy pushed off the plane, walking steadily down the dock. It was time to go back to work. Tyrone, his rusted green pickup truck, eventually roared to life, startling the black birds in a nearby tree and scattering them into the inky twilight sky. Tyrone, unlike Sofia, was a machine that ran completely on human hope. Each day Remy would sit in the skin-searing hot leather front seat and hope he would start, then turn the key and listen as the engine turned over a couple times. Remy would hope harder, and the engine would turn over a couple more times. Remy would hope some more, and then it would finally catch (1). And so reason number one of the list entitled "Why Remy Was In Trouble With His Boss" was that he was late to work, seeing as Tyrone, being his usual, drama-queen, temperamental self, took seven tries before deeming Remy's hope levels to be high enough. This was after the coaxing, the angry yelling, and the pleading. Reason two on the list "Why Remy Was In Trouble With His Boss" was that Remy had not come in to work the night before. As the top dealer in the house, this was completely unacceptable. Reason three on the list was that the night before Remy went absent without official leave, he had started some sort of fight with a burly Canadian man that ended with a rather large hole in the wall of Remy's boss's establishment.

"Don' bother, LeBeau." Chief (said boss with said list) said as Remy wandered in a good half hour late for his shift. Even though the actual action in the gambling house didn't start for another half hour, Remy was expected to show up an hour before doors open in order to help set up. At the sound of Chief's voice, Remy stopped moving, right in the middle of picking up his lucky fedora - which was still in its place from when he left it two nights ago.

"Pardon me, sir?" Remy asked, trying to play up the Southern boy charm. Unfortunately, Chief had four daughters, and was therefore immune to Southern boy charms in any way, shape, or fashion.

"Ah said, 'don' bother, LeBeau.' Yo' deaf as well as destructive now?" Chief asked sarcastically.

"Now, sir, about that little tiff from a' couple nights ago..." Remy began, feverishly trying to think of an explanation.

"Don' bother, LeBeau." Chief said, shaking his head. There was a warning in his tone now.

"Very well, sir." Remy said with a nod, placing his lucky fedora on his head. "Ah thank ya fo' ya time." With that, Remy turned on his heel and calmly exited the gambling house, wondering exactly what he was going to do next. As if on cue, his stomach growled loudly, making his decision for him.

"Food time, then." Remy muttered to himself with his gentle Southern lilt, fishing out his wallet. A frown graced his handsome face as he opened his said wallet only to find his expired driver's license and social security card, both of which were pretty much useless in his endeavor to find money for food. But this was New Orleans, Remy thought to himself as he passed a street performer with an open guitar case in front of him. Surely he could use his...skills to find a way of obtaining a meal.

Remy inconspicuously cracked his knuckles, scanning the half-filled street for a target. He zeroed in on a man in a pin-striped business suit who was sweating like a mouse in a cat convention. The man distractedly dabbed a white handkerchief at his face, checking his gold Rolex to see how late his intended appointment seemed to be. Perfect. Remy stuffed his hands in his pockets, keeping his head bowed so his eyes would be hidden beneath the brim of his hat. He was just a few steps away from the man now...

"Sorry." Remy grunted as he dropped a shoulder on the man, imperceptibly grabbing what he believed to be the man's wallet. The man barely moved from the impact, and apologized as well. Remy's hand (and the man's wallet) was back in his pocket before he completely passed the guy. He was home free. He was in the clear.

Until he heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked right behind him.

"Give it he'e, boy." the man said menacingly, moving so that Remy could feel the cold steel of the gun right on the back of his neck. Remy smirked, raising his hands up.

"What do ya say to a game o' cards?" he asked, flicking out a deck from his jacket sleeve. The man pressed the barrel harder into Remy's neck.

"You don't wanna gamble with me, punk." was the verbal response. Remy's smile widened as he flipped out a card - eight of clubs, a solid choice - and held it between his first two fingers.

"Au contraire, mon ami," Remy drawled in Cajun-French, his eyes flashing red in the darkness as he charged the card. "Ah'd take that gambit any day." He charged and threw the card in the air with a precise flick of his wrist, listening in happiness as the card whined on its way back down in a strait nose dive towards the man. The man dropped the gun in order to avoid getting blown up, giving Remy the opportunity he needed to turn and face his opponent, charging more cards and sending them one after another at the man, making them pop on the sidewalk around his feet like firecrackers. He laughed and was just about to tease the overweight man for his awkward dance steps when he heard five distinctive clicks behind him. Remy dealt himself five cards, charging them as he slowly turned around. He was met with the sight of five revolvers, all pointed at his head.

Now, a smart man can admit when he as been wrong. Remy, later, would be able to admit that his following actions probably weren't some of his most shining moments.

With an expert toss, all five cards were sent to their specific targets. As the men were distracted by the flaming missiles, Remy dropped to the ground and swept the legs of the nearest opponent out from underneath him, using what little momentum he retained to leap into a spinning round-house kick that landed right in the face of the man next to his now fallen comrade. However, reason dictates that in a five-on-one competition, most likely the one is going to lose due to the fact that one cannot watch all five at the same time. This would explain why Remy would suddenly collapse to the ground as his knee was kicked out of place by the opponent that had been just past his peripheral vision. Remy could feel four gun barrels on his neck, and immediately regretted his decision to try and fight his way out of this.

"Uncle." Remy gasped out, trying not to show how much pain he was in.

"Yo' uncle ain't he'e, boy." one man said.

"Mercy?" Remy tried again.

"She ain't he'e neithe'." came another voice. Remy swore under his breath.

"Tante?" he tried once more, earning him a smack in the head with a gun. He swore louder this time, sitting up straighter so that the blood trickling from his temple wouldn't drip into his eyes. An unknown hand reached into his pocket, fishing around for the stolen object. "Whoa there, friendly. Don't ya think ya should buy me some supper first?" Remy asked cheekily as the wallet was retrieved from his pocket. The men surrounding him were silent for a moment, and Remy got the feeling they were discussing something without him.

"Boys?" he asked, sitting up a little straighter. The pain in his knee was slowly ebbing away. "Care t' share with the class?"

"Shut up." one man said, roughly grabbing Remy by his long hair and pulling his head back so that Remy could see the shiny silver metal of the revolver being pointed right at his face. "Do ya wanna tell me who ya workin' fo'?" Gun Man asked.

"As it so happens, Ah'm in between jobs at the moment." Remy responded, earning a kick to the gut.

"Try again." Gun Man said.

"Look, buddy, Ah'm seriously confused." Remy grunted, trying to recover the air that had forcibly been removed from his lungs. "Ah'll be honest witcha. Ah was tryin' to steal Stony Malone over there's wallet so Ah could buy me a cup o' gumbo from that corner stand three blocks from here before goin' back to my apartment and catchin' up on mah Tivo'd episodes of Grey's Anatomy."

Gun Man chuckled mirthlessly. "Wise guy, eh? Looks like ya wantin' this the hard way."

With that, Remy was knocked unconscious.

--

Remy awoke with a loud groan. However, the noise made the drummer in his head angrier, and so the groaning was subsided at once. He took a moment to collect himself, taking mental count of all pains and positions. His head was the most noticeable pain, closely followed by his knee, which still ached terribly. It seemed he was sitting in a chair, hands tied behind him. Nothing surprising at all. It was a little chilly - who had removed his leather jacket? - but other than that, there was nothing else in the environment besides an annoying semi-darkness.

He clenched his eyes tightly shut, hoping the pressure would relieve some of the pain that was tackling his temples. He felt the dried blood lightly pulling the skin of his cheek, which was the most obnoxious sort of pain he had ever felt. He shook his head to try and clear the cobwebs, but that only seemed to anger the gremlins now residing in his skull. Another clench of his eyes, and Remy LeBeau was officially tired of his head hurting. He fingered the device constraining him and smiled - really, these crazy fools believed they could hold him by a simple length of rope? Another brush of his fingertips and the rope was charged, breaking with a pop like a firecracker. Remy felt the residual stings on his wrists from the small blast, but ignored them, choosing instead to loosen the ropes at his ankles. A quick charge of the lock and freedom was easily obtained. Remy checked either direction in the brightly lit hallway, seeing nothing but an empty white expanse of tile and doors. Apparently his captors did not have much faith in his escapism. However, one step into the tiled hallway and alarms began blaring, not helping his headache at all.

Remy quickly chose to go left, running down the hallway towards the end, where there would be stairs more than likely. There were no windows, so he assumed that he was currently underground. He heard a door at the other end of the hall crash open, and heard the sound of bullets escaping from their chambered holds. One whistled by his ear, crashing into the wall next to the stairwell door. Another door, much closer, crashed open as more men came running to recapture him. Remy thought quickly, grabbing a card out of his back pocket and charging it, flicking it at the wooden hand railing of the stairs. Once the blast secured a long enough piece, he kicked the hand-rail-turned-bo-staff free of its hold, grabbing it just in time to whip it around, one end clocking the first man hard in the face. The second man came in without hesitation, and Remy quickly knocked the gun out of his hand before twirling his pole and hitting the man in the stomach, shoving the doubled-over man backwards and knocking over the third guy, who was on his way into the stairwell. In their moment of jumbled confusion, Remy was able to close the door, carefully angling his rail-staff so that they would be unable to open the door. Well, unable at least for the ten seconds he needed to race up the stairs.

He crashed through the door to the ground floor, the plush carpet muffling the heavy thuds that his boots caused as he ran down another empty hall. He seemed to be in someone's mansion, and before Remy could fully register why someone who owns a mansion would have such a strange basement (or why this house seemed so familiar), he heard the distinctive sound of a Benelli 12 gauge gun being pumped.

"Whe'e ya goin', LeBeau?" an oily voice slithered into the sudden silence, and Remy suppressed a shudder. He placed his most convincing smirk on his face, turning slowly to face his opponent. The man was shorter and more wiry than Remy, definitely not strong enough to win in hand-to-hand combat. That fact, however, was useless, considering he was the man holding the shotgun.

"Julien. How nice ta see ya again." Remy said cheekily. "Was just on mah way out o'yer humble abode here. Don' wanna cause any trouble."

"Yea, because clearly trying to steal certain plans of ours isn't causing any trouble." Julien said, blue eyes ablaze with anger.

Remy's brow furrowed. "Ok, now Ah really don' know whatcha talkin' about, Julien. Ah was just tryin' ta grab some gumbo money. Perfectly honest work."

Julien laughed derisively. "Ya never worked an honest day in yer life, LeBeau. And now ya never hafta." He raised the gun, pointing it directly at Remy's chest. Remy raised his hands, keeping up the calm facade even though his heart was beating a mile a minute.

"Now, now, Julien. Ya don' wanna kill me here." he said, mentally preparing for the speed he was going to have to exhibit in a moment. "You'll get blood all over the carpet."

"Eh, it can be replaced." Julien said with an eye roll. "However, not sure Ah'll evah get this kind o' opportunity again-"

"Julien!" At the sound of his name being called, Julien was momentarily distracted, and Remy was able to pull out another card, charging it and sending it directly at the gun all in one move. The ensuing blast enabled Remy to drop and roll away. He quickly rolled up, taking two steps before skidding to a halt in front of Marius Budreaux, leader of the Rippers clan.

"Marius. Always a pleasure." Remy drawled, glancing nervously back towards Julien, who had recovered and was now stalking towards them, shotgun still in hand.

"Julien, leave him be." Marius said as if Julien was simply annoying Remy by poking at him or something.

"But Father, he-"

"Ah am aware of what he did, and negotiations are bein' made." Marius said calmly, his eyes never leaving Remy's. From behind Marius, another taller man slinked out of the shadows, coming to stand next to him. Jean Luc, while being tall and willowy in frame, gave off a dangerous and powerful air, especially when he trained his angry sights on Remy.

"Pere!" Remy said, putting forth a jovial front.

"Don' 'pere' me, boy. Yer adopted." Jean Luc said shortly, his anger evident.

"Now see, most parents wouldn' hold that agains' their chil'en." Remy said.

"Jean Luc, Ah am growin' weary of his sass." Marius said.

"Try livin' with him." Jean Luc replied. He reached by Marius, roughly grabbing Remy by the arm. "You are ta leave here right now and go back ta the house. We'll talk later." he said, pushing Remy towards the exit to the Ripper house. Remy stumbled out, his head still aching horribly, as well as quite a bit of the rest of his body. The sounds of Julien's whining could still be heard as Remy spilled out onto the front porch, the streets of New Orleans dark and desolate. It would be a long limp home.

Forty-five minutes later, Remy quietly let himself into the mansion belonging to the Theives Guild, the door closing with a soft click. His footsteps were light on the old wooden floors, his movement silent for all intensive purposes. He took the liberty of letting himself into Jean Luc's study, flicking on the desk lamp and collapsing in one of the plush armchairs stationed in front of the desk. He groaned as his body sunk in exhaustion, the pain in his head coming back. He leaned his head on one of his hands, trying in vain to get into a comfortable position. He knew that any negotiations involving the Rippers would be taking a while.

Two hours later, Remy was almost asleep when Jean Luc slipped into the study, slowly lowering himself into the large black office chair behind the desk. He steepled his fingers, staring at Remy with a cool, detached look.

"Ah take it ya got somethin' figured out?" Remy asked after a few minutes of silence. Jean Luc sighed loudly.

"What were ya thinkin', Remy? Tryin' ta steal from the Rippers?" he said, some of his earlier anger returning.

"Now, pere, Ah swear Ah didn' know that guy was a Ripper, Ah was just lookin' fo-"

"Ah don' care what you were lookin' fo', Remy." Jean Luc interrupted, holding his head in his hands and sighing again. "Ya don' accidentally steal from the Rippers."

"Apparently that's jus' an added bonus ta mah mutation." Remy retorted, getting fed up.

"Don' sass me, boy. Do ya know how long it took me ta convince Marius that we weren't tryin' ta get in on some weapons deal they pullin'? The sacrifice Ah made to save yer sorry hide?" Jean Luc yelled, slamming a fist on the sturdy oak desk in front of him.

"Ah woulda gotten out eventually." Remy muttered, slouching in his seat and looking away from his adoptive father. Jean Luc groaned in frustration.

"Can ya be even more spoiled?" he yelled. "Ya disappear fo' two days, leave no note, got yer Tante Mattie and the rest o' us all riled up cause we ain't got no idea where ya are-"

"Ah had some business to take care of. Mutant kind." Remy said, his gaze sparkling in his rising anger.

"Ah don' want that crap after Ah just spent two hours arguing with Marius!" Jean Luc said furiously, his hands turning into fists.

"Well, what was the final decision? How much was mah freedom worth, eh?" Remy asked, knowing that odds are, there would be money involved. Jean Luc was silent for a moment.

"Marius and Ah have reached a decision." he said, then paused.

"Obviously." Remy said, annoyed. Jean Luc sighed again, but this time it sounded more tired than frustrated.

"We've decided that we need to form a truce. A way to combine our families and end this nonsense."

"Ya seriously reached that kind o' decision 'cause Ah accidentally picked the wrong pocket?" Remy asked incredulously.

"Neither one of us want any mo' deaths, boy." Jean Luc muttered ominously.

"So, what's this 'combinin'' entail? Do Ah gotta become BFF's with Julien?" he asked sarcastically. Jean Luc was silent for a moment.

"Marius has got a daughter that's about yer age..." he said quietly, leaving the sentence hanging, waiting for Remy to fill in the blinks. The younger man's eyes widened in realization.

"No, pere, ya don' mean..." he couldn't even say the statement out loud.

"Marius and Ah agree that perhaps a...union...between the two of you would be an honorable way to form a treaty, truce, and bond between the two guilds all in one go."

Remy swore loudly, standing up. "Yer kiddin' me, right? Ya just expectin' me ta take one fo' the team and get married?!"

"It's either that, o' ya dead. And Ah don't fancy killin' ya." Jean Luc replied shortly. "Yer wedding planning starts tomorrow. Ah suggest ya go get some sleep."

"Like hel-"

"Boy, that's code fo' get outta my office." Jean Luc said, struggling to keep himself under control. Remy clamped his mouth shut, turning and taking three long strides to the door. Even in all his anger, the theif within him didn't allow to slam the door shut. He stalked through the hallways, anger seething through him. He spotted the kitchen light on, and became fully intent on banishing whoever was in there before eating Jean Luc LeBeau out of house and home.

"Remy! Ya ok?" Mercy asked, here crystal blue eyes wide as she took in the sight of him. His brother's insomniac wife was perched on the kitchen counter, clutching a mug of tea.

"Not hardly, Mercy." Remy said, not able to bring himself to throw the innocent blonde out of the kitchen. Instead, he collapsed into a chair at the table and laid his head down with a resigned sigh.

"Well look at ya, yer a right mess! What happened?" she asked, the mass of curls piled on top of her head swaying ominously as she jumped down from the counter and came over to him. She began examining the cut on his temple, looking for any other obvious injuries.

"Ah went out fo' gumbo and came back engaged." Remy said shortly, waving her off. She stood back, sticking out her hip and crossing her arms across her chest.

"Well serves ya right, disappearin' and all without even callin' or leavin' a note-" she started on him.

"Mercy, please." Remy interrupted with a tired moan. "Please, just...not now."

Mercy's eyes softened, her arms falling and hanging limply by her sides. "Sorry, Remy. Ya know how Ah get carried away sometimes." she said softly. Remy sighed.

"Ah know. Ah'm sorry fo' snappin'. It's just been kind of a long three days." he said, laying his head down on his arms. He heard Mercy moving around the kitchen, gathering something. They were both silent. A few minutes later, Mercy placed a plate in front of him, a large sandwich sitting in the middle of it. He looked up at her, and she began cleaning the blood off of his face.

"Thanks, Mercy." he said softly, wincing as her hand ran over the bruise on his temple.

"What kind o' sistah-in-law would Ah be if Ah let ya wallow in yer own filth, starving?" she replied, and he smiled. "Don' think this means yer off the hook, cause yer not. But since it's been a long day, Ah let it slide 'til tomorrow mornin'."

"Dieu, what did Henri do to snag such an amazing woman as you?" Remy asked lightly.

"Sold his soul to the devil." Mercy replied automatically, cleaning the last bit of blood off his face. She turned away, dumping the paper towels in the garbage. "G'night, Remy."

"'Night, Mercy." he replied. She turned and left the kitchen, leaving him with nothing but his thoughts and a turkey sandwich.

--

(1) - reference to RHAPAW (Rode Hard And Put Away Wet), a Buick in John Green's "Paper Towns" that ran completely on the "inexhaustible fuel of human hope."

well, how did you like it? let me know! the next chapter should be up...soon...ish.....anyway, leave a review!