He was injured. He was lost. He had been cast from his home. She had wanted a Christmas Eve wedding, he had finally run out of excuses to delay and escape the fate determined by their fathers. Her brother didn't appreciate the situation, figured that if you don't like your future brother-in-law something would have to be done about it. Apparently her brothers opinion of him wasn't taken seriously enough because when his future bother-in-law waltzed into the back room of the cathedral where he was dressing for the wedding, nobody thought anything of it. Not until the explosion rattled the walls of the cathedral and shattered the stained glass in the enclaves.

After that was a lot of his word against a dead man's. He said that he was called out to a duel. The dead man said nothing. He said he was only trying to defend himself. The dead man maintained his silence. He said it was an accident. The dead man's sister, his erstwhile bride, cried in agony for his blood.

The family lines drawn again sharply where hope of peace had once prevailed. The assassins screamed guilt and condemned him with their princess calling 'life for life be rendered'. The thieves asserted innocence and accused betrayal. With no proof save a dead body and a living word, compromise was the only option. Compromise that left him as living dead. Remy LeBeau, the Prince of Thieves in memory only, out in the cold. Injuries notwithstanding he was ordered to flee or die. All who knew him commanded to deny him.

He fled, as he had been commanded bloodstained tuxedo covered by his black trench coat as he mounted his bike outside of that church. He felt like he was playing a deadly game of tag to get out of the city before his five-minute head start was up. The wind whipping the coat behind him as the engine of his motorcycle propelled him onto the freeway and out of immediate danger. North on Interstate 59 a path that led him most directly out of the vice created by the various lakes surrounding his beloved city.

His body and mind numb only conscious enough to follow the simple lines painted on the road. When his mind slowly began to give he pulled into a cheap hotel just of the highway in Chattanooga, TN. Paying for his room with some cash he pulled from his trench he made his way up to the simple room. Realizing his injuries as his adrenalin finally faded, he shed his clothes to see a long slash and several stab wounds across his chest bleeding surprisingly slowly. He pulled the blankets from the bed separating out the top sheet, hoping it was at least somewhat clean as he ripped lengths of it to bind the wounds on his torso, flinching as he tightened the dressing on his possibly broken ribs. Having hopefully staunched the flow of blood he collapsed on the mattress into darkness.

He woke in the morning to slamming car doors and bright sunlight glaring through the blinds that had not been closed. He realized his stupidity when he heard a Cajun drawl from the parking lot; he had not yet fled far enough. Cheap hotels usually only have one window and it is usually right next to the door, and right at the parking lot. That was the case here. He listened as the Cajun and probably assassin voices moved to the lobby entrance and realized the only way to escape would be to bolt to his bike now and hope it wasn't being watched. Luckily even in his haze the previous night he was smart enough not to park outside his door. He crept quickly up to the door flattening his back to it and looking out the window in search of anyone near his bike at the far corner of the lot. No one was there though he cursed mentally that he could not see in the direction of the lobby without moving directly in front of the window.

He bolted, it was his only option really, get out as fast as he could an hope they missed him while he was out in the open. He heard the shout of 'Gambit' as he reached his bike quickly jumping on it and gunning out of its shelter. Silenced bullets tearing through the air into the cars as he passed. Had he had the energy to spare he would have smirked at the assassins use of silencers while leaving bullet holes in all the cars, not truly subtle. The adrenaline once again coursing through him meant he never felt the bullet that lodged itself in his thigh.

He turned to the only person he trusted outside the guild. She offered every time the met, a place to stay, a place to heal, or even a new home should he ever choose to leave the life of a thief behind. Choice, what a novel idea, that was no longer his. The life of a thief could no longer be his. He traveled swiftly as his wounds seeped through the bandage on his chest, the blood welling up on his leg unnoticed.

When he arrived in the middle of the night he could see all the lights were out. His fatigued flight coming to an end his body was unable to support the weight of his bike upright as he halted at the gate. He fell one leg pinned under the bike, helpless. Blackness tore at the edges of his vision as he shoved his shaking hands into this trench pocket retrieving his phone and keying in the number he needed. The phone rang he fumbled with it pressing the speaker button, not sure he would be able to continue holding if as his fingers began to go numb.

'Hello?' came a groggy sleep touched voice from the phone as it slipped from his hands clattering to the pavement beside him.

'Stormy,' he rasped as his lungs ignited fire into his ribcage. 'm outside, help me.' The darkness won as he collapsed fully to the pavement loosing the battle with consciousness.

He woke early as the sun was just beginning to lighten the sky. Tension lined through his body preparing to fight or flee as he took in the details of his surroundings to determine if he was still in danger. Recognizing the semi familiar surroundings in Storms attic room, he let the tension seep back out, relieved to know that for now he was safe again. He gingerly tested his ribs and torso with his fingertips finding himself well bandaged with his pain at tolerable levels. As his gaze continued to sweep the room he saw Storm posed in meditation in front of a large floor to ceiling bay window.

'Mornin' Stormy,' he rumbled his voice rough with sleep.

Taking a final deep breath she turned and opened her eyes looking at him. 'Good morning, Remy,' she replied relief lighting her eyes.

Remy pulled himself upright wincing as he felt an unexpected jab of pain in his leg. He frowned pulling the sheet to the side and furrowing his brow in an effort to remember where that wound had come from.

'Bullets will do that to you,' he heard Storm say as she approached him observing his apparent confusion.

'That dey will,' he replied. 'Didn't notice that one hit.'

He swung his legs off the bed standing from the bed and dropping to the floor and starting to do pushups ignoring the unimpressed huff from his friend.

'You know Remy if you strain yourself it won't help you heal up.'

'Right,' he exhaled, 'but if I stay still I'll get stiff and if I move the increased blood flow will help it heal.'

Storm scoffed, shaking her head with the knowledge that he would march to his own drum.

'So what happened?'

'The wedding got canceled,' he said briefly.

'Let me rephrase, how did you get injured?'

'Should think that'd be obvious Stormy. Got shot at and cut up.'

Storm huffed at his roundabout avoidance of her questions.

'Fine, keep your secret. Are you planning on staying?'

'Non, not sure if its safe, just needed someplace safe to heal a little.'

'Well, I must go down to breakfast, will you join me?'

'Non, best if as few as possible know 'm here,' he said raising up from the floor.

'Alright, I assume in spite of your desire for anonymity you will want to acquire your own food.'

'Of course, hafta keep in practice in spite of everything,' he replied with a smirk.

Nodding her head with a faint smile Storm turned and left the room.

Remy sighed after she was gone. The exercise would as he said expedite healing with better blood flow, but it hurt like hell too. He walked over to the window, and opened it to the crisp winter chill. He ducked through and walked out onto the roof. Fresh air to help with the healing, high vantage to see the differences in security and layout of the school, and a cigarette because he simply felt like one. He settled in and spent his morning observing the coming and going of the residents of the mansion.