AN: I hate to do it, but the time has come to put up a warning for potential readers. I'd hoped I would never have to deal with this in any of my fics, but it is clear in this instance I need to include one, as it has been suggested to me that if I want this fic to be a 'good story' as opposed to an 'okay story,' I should change the behavior of my characters to fit within a reviewer's scope of what they should be like. I would like to avoid future suggestions of this nature, so here goes:
Warning:
I would encourage potential reviewers to be patient, and give the story a chance to develop before making any complaints about such things as 'the real x-men/real people, in this environment, at this time, would/would not have done what they did in your story...', keeping in mind not only that this is my story, and thus will be tainted by my personal views and morals, but that some actions which at the time might not make sense, could very possibly be explained in a future chapter. This is my fanfic version of the x-men. Please respect that. If you can't, that's absolutely fine. Simply press the 'back' button on your browser, and proceed to write your own story to your liking.
If you choose to read and review anyway, keep in mind that while I take all constructive criticism into consideration, even if it entails completely restructuring my story, I WILL NOT change my fic in accordance with the demands of arrogant, patronizing, fanboy/fangirl readers.
Thank you.
I awoke, as usual, to the water running in the bathroom connecting my room to my father's. Pop was already up, and from the sound of it, singing some Deep South folk song in the shower. Whether it was in English or French, I couldn't tell, but it was only seven am, so I really didn't care.
Strange isn't it, how sometimes you wake up way before you want to, but for the moment you feel wide awake? That was how I felt that morning. Just when I finally got myself back to sleep, dad walked into my room mostly-dressed, and thunked down on the bed next to me, startling me awake.
"Time t' wake up, chere. Got school today," he said, a little too cheery for such an early hour. I could hear him rubbing his hair dry with a towel.
I groaned, swatting in his general direction before pulling the blankets over my head. "Go away, Pop, I don't wanna go to school."
He chuckled, tickling me through the covers, succeeding in driving me crazy. I thrashed, trying to escape his torturous hands until I fell off the edge of my bed, taking some of the sheets with me.
"Good, you're up. Come on, don't wanna be late for breakfast, or else there won' be none left."
I groaned again, wrapping up in the sheet I had, content to continue sleeping on the floor if I had to. "That's okay, Pop, I ain't hungry. You can go along without me. I'll catch up later."
"Sadi, Sadi, what am I gonna do wit' you? What's Gambit goin' t' say when the Professor wants ta know where you are? 'Ah, I don' know, Professor. She just didn' wanna go t' school this year, so I let her stay in bed.' Ain't gonna win father of the year that way, ma jolie fille."
"You work on that guilt trip in front of a mirror all summer, or did you really just think it up on the spot?" I asked grimly, finally starting to rub some of the sleep from my eyes.
I heard Pop chuckle as he crawled across my bed, finally coming back into view from my perspective. He looked down at me lying there on the floor, his overly-bright smile extending to his red-on-black eyes. "Oh, come on. It wasn' that bad. Was it?"
I smiled at last. I'd always found his humor strangely infectious. "Non, peré, it was good. Tell you what, I'll get up under one condition," I said, holding up a single digit.
Dad propped his jaw up on one hand, still smirking down at me. "Mm hm, Gambit's listenin'."
"You gotta take me to get my license after school today," I said firmly, so there'd be no room for argument, cocking one eyebrow in challenge.
Remy mimicked me, looking thoroughly amused. "That it?"
My jaw dropped. I'd been begging to get my license since I'd turned sixteen in July, and dad had refused time and again. Why now?
"What, you're actually going to take me to get my license if I get up right now?" I stuttered, feeling thoroughly stunned. Heck, maybe I shoulda started refusing to get up in the morning a long time ago!
"That's the plan, chere," he said, a playing card appearing in his free hand. He let it go, allowing it to flutter down and make a soft landing on my stomach.
I picked it up and looked at it. The Queen of Hearts. Figured. Dad was all sappy and romantic that way. He'd been telling me ever since I was a little kid I was his Queen of Hearts, and he was my Ace of Spades.
I would often ask him why when I was younger, and his response was always the same.
"Well, chere, I figure anythings gotta be better than Aces and Eights. Gambit never had no luck playin' a Dead Man's Hand."
