Author's Notes: This story primarily deals with Gambit trying to solve the mystery surrounding his birth parents. In other stories, I followed Claremont's vision of Sinister cloning himself to create Gambit, but that version exists in another universe. Here, I'll be sticking more closely to the 616 MU. Right now Marvel's doing 'Civil War II', which barely uses Gambit at all, so I'm not deviating too much. This chapter's pretty mild, but future installments warrant the rating. Enjoy!
"The possession of knowledge does not kill the sense of wonder and mystery. There is always more mystery."
~Anais Nin
Pieces of Me
The order to evacuate came long after the Chinese hospital had emptied. Nearby, a team of superheroes was battling, and patients had poured in until every bed, room, hallway and chair was filled. Someone… no idea who… started a rumor that the nearby battle was coming. Had the invaders prevailed? Would they want to finish off the wounded? As you might imagine, that sort of rumor quickly sparked panic. The living bolted.
Which was exactly what I needed.
Typically speaking, I aim for more subtly, but I didn't have the luxury of "blending in" with the locals. As a white man over six feet tall with demonic eyes, wild hair, and a flamboyant uniform, my usual baseball cap and sunglasses wouldn't cut it. Nor did I have an inside man. Hell, I didn't even speak the local dialect well enough to seduce a nurse! I needed those files and I needed to walk boldly through the building to find them. Since I couldn't hide, I removed the need to hide.
I don't know what I stole. Medical files, I know that much. But it didn't matter. And the less I knew, the less guilt I carried. Alias wanted them and he had something I wanted, too.
Simple as that.
On my way out of the country, I visited my old friend in Madripoor. She always treats me right. In retrospect, I suspect I was dragging my feet. I must've known nothing good would come from the exchange, but I couldn't help myself. I had to know.
The medical files had been sealed in a fingerprint lock safe, which I traded for a wooden chest with a brass lock – like a pirate's treasure chest.
"You sure this is it?" I asked.
"Got any problems, you know where to find me."
I carried it home to my apartment in Manhattan. The kitties were happy to see me, those gluttonous bastards. Jubilee said any single man living with three cats is either queer or a super-villain. I don't know about "super"… But I've gotten very comfortable with my unique role.
After a week of Eastern spices, I was elated to dine on red meat, potatoes, and carrot cake while catching up on the news. I shared with those merciful bastards. They hadn't peed on my pillow this time. They had, however, shredded the toilet paper and a door jam, but I was willing to forgive these minor offenses. Piss on the pillow was so personal.
Then we piled on the couch for a movie. I can't remember the name of it, but I remember thinking Robert De Niro must be in a pinch. Then I wished Rogue was nearby so I could tell her my lousy joke. She'd have a quick retort ready and we'd talk over the awful dialogue. Instead, I had alpha-cat Lucifer purring beside my head and his tubby brothers cutting off the circulation in my legs.
And the chest.
Closed and locked with a lifetime of secrets. I was waiting for someone to swoop in, attack me, and steal it away. Perhaps I even wanted it to happen. But it didn't. It was mine now.
'Let's move, people!' Cyclops must've said a million times. He was dead but his authority lived on.
With tingling legs, I knelt and opened the chest.
My birth certificate.
Only once in my whole life did I ever ask Jean-Luc about my birth parents. I was a man. Ready for the truth. Were they monsters like me? Luc sent me on a wild chase that he didn't think I'd complete and when I did, he destroyed any evidence of my blood family. What I knew wasn't pretty. Before Luc, I ran with a gang; before the gang, I was at an orphanage with no official records; before the orphanage, I belonged to a medical facility with ties to Sinister… Maybe Luc was right in protecting me from the truth.
Born April 3, 1913. Father: Jean-Luc LeBeau of New Orleans, USA. Mother: Lena LeBeau of Nice, France.
"Who's Lena?" I asked Luc over the phone.
"Where'd you hear dat name?" He sounded like a tea kettle ready to scream.
There was also a death certificate issued to 'Remy LeBeau' two days after birth. I didn't mention it.
"You know so damn much," Luc steamed, "Tell me, fils de pute!"
I was relieved when he hung up. My father didn't often lose his temper, but when he did, he got quiet. He'd never raised his voice at me in anger; he'd never called me hurtful things before… I wasn't hurt. Stunned more like it. This sort of reaction made him seem primitive when he wasn't.
"Sorry I lost m' temper," he said when he called back. Sounded like he'd been drinking. "Can we meet?"
"I'm in New York," I reminded him.
He was in France. "Somethings need said in person."
Two days later, he arrived at my apartment. I had the chest and its documents hidden with a friend. Jubilee had been hoping to receive the cats, and I'm sure they would've preferred her to Luc. Couldn't put it past him to destroy or steal this copy, too.
"Lena was my sister," he said. "An orphan with Guild ties, m' parents took her in. She slept in de nursery wit' me and my brother; grew up wit' us – we loved her like blood. Everyone did, she was a saint." He laughed bitterly. "It was a problem… I was workin' in Russia when she wrote sayin' she was in de family way. By a colored man. If Daddy found out, he'd kill her and de babe. So she came t' me. I was t' hide her condition and find a home for the child, but she delivered early. Never made it t' Moscow. Then the Great War kicked up and I was stuck. Took two months t' travel and by then, she and the babe were dead."
So it was a dead-end. All my work bore no fruit.
"Why were you listed as the father?"
"Ain't no thing t' have a baby out of wedlock now. Back then, it was a massively bigger thing." He held his brass cigarette holder in his hand, flipping it over repeatedly without realizing what he was doing. I kept waiting for him to ask me to step outside so he could light up, but he never did.
"How'd I get her child's name?"
He swallowed thickly. "If I'd had a daughter, I would've called her 'Lena'. Got two boys instead. Seemed right. T' remember 'm by."
"That's right, you had two boys. Why didn't you name Henri 'Remy' if you liked it so much?"
"Tilde wanted t' name 'm for her father." He smiled painfully. "Always got her way."
Henri's mother hemorrhaged during his birth and passed way hours later. I only know this because Tante Mattie told me. She said Luc hadn't been present at the birth – men never were then – but as Tilde bled, he broke in and held her and made her final moment's happy ones. She said he was the bravest man who ever lived. A man's world is the field and books and war, she said, men aren't built to birth babies and love them and bury them. Those were women's burdens. Luc entering the birth room was like a woman charging into battle. Blasphemous but brave.
"I want you to take the Guild," had been Tilde's final words. Again, according to Tante Matte, the Thieves Guild had been a sore spot in their otherwise blissful union. She wouldn't marry him because he already had a wife – his profession.
Tante reckoned Luc might've harmed himself if Tilde hadn't said what she said. And I could picture him now, prepared to surrender every battle – she could name their son, he would denounce his birthright – in exchange for her life.
How cruel to lose two women he loved in child birth.
I know no one remembers their own birth, but I think Henri must've remembered something. All his life, he feared pregnancy. I used to imagine myself with five or six kids, but Henri never wanted any. Said I could have his share.
With trembling hands, Luc finally opened his cigarette case. No smokes. Instead, it held an antique picture of three children.
"That's her. Beautiful, non?"
The people looking back at me could've been anyone. Which boy would grow up to become my father? I couldn't say. No, the taller one – he had Luc's eyes. Nothing else matched. The girl, Lena, had fair hair and maybe dark eyes. She'd been moving when the picture snapped, so her face was blurred. I couldn't discern whether or not she was "beautiful".
"After the Second Great War," he continued, "It was my mother's dyin' wish that Lena should come home. Wanted her buried in de family crypt. I went myself t' open de grave. She and de babe were supposed t' be buried together… But the coffin was empty."
"Do you think… She survived?"
His laugh was heart-wrenching. "Nothin' so dramatic, I'm afraid. Grave robbers more likely. Use t' be big business, takin' bodies for medical students t' dissect."
I handed the picture back to him.
"Keep it. I can't look at it and I want somethin' t' remember her by."
Henri, Tilde, Lena… In all cases, Luc lost his mind when they died. I remember he destroyed every picture and possession of my brother's when he passed. Mercy didn't speak to him for three years, she was so pissed. Imagine he did the same with all of Lena's things and Tilde's. It was a small miracle this picture survived, although truthfully, it meant nothing to me. I didn't know these people.
He boarded the next flight out, and I let him depart with his dignity.
But I knew he'd lied.
Luc always got the upper hand. If his sister had needed him, he would've flown straight to her. He would never have asked a pregnant woman to travel across the world – alone. And if his father had tried to hurt her, Luc would've kicked his ass.
My father conveyed genuine emotion and I'm sure certain elements were true, but I knew him well enough to know this tale didn't fit his character.
"Gotta be honest, kid," Fence said, eyeing me warily, "Never imagined you for the drug-taking type."
I lifted the bag of MGH – mutant growth hormone – from his heavy hand.
"Would you believe it's for a friend?" I asked.
He laughed, gladly taking the bait. I hadn't lied, but had offered him the gift of deception. Later, he'd remember me saying the MGH was for a friend.
No, I used it. Why? My ability to convert matter into energy always was my signature power, but my other abilities – charm, agility, time travel - were less predictable. Ever since Sinister had removed part of my brain, the last trait had been mostly dormant. And I needed it in full force.
A normal man would've taken a vacation, I reckon. Being head of a global criminal organization while my race was being exterminated was stressful enough to warrant one. But a day at the beach wouldn't cut it. I was going back in time to find out what happened to Lena and her baby.
1901 New Orleans
The sun had set and the moon was high, but the summer heat hadn't cooled and the occupants of the LeBeau household were still busy. Wide windows and wooden doors were propped open to allow the air to circle through. I caught sight of two boys leaning out to feel the cool wind and heard a woman fuss at them.
"Leon! Luc! Get your worthless hides away from the window before you fall and I've gotta clean you up!"
"Fall from here won't kill us," Luc retorted. "Just break my arm again. That ain't no worse than baking t' death."
"If I've gotta climb those stairs with this bum knee, I'll break both your arms!"
"No you won't, neither! 'Cause I'll run back downstairs and you'll never catch me!"
She cursed their rotten souls and they laughed at her impotent fury.
On the street, other servants from other homes carried out wash or trash. I hid at first. When it became apparent I should've been seen, I stopped ducking and walked around with them. They focused on their tasks, content to ignore me, but when they spoke, I realized they had no idea I was standing right beside them.
A horse-drawn carriage came slowly, loudly down the stone street, and parked in front of the LeBeau home. The servants vanished. I walked up to Jacques and Rochelle, confident no one could see me. Could they hear or feel me? I didn't yet know. My other time traveling experiences had been vastly different. This Scrooge-esque method of watching but not interfering was – to my understanding – something new.
A small girl with white-gold hair and tiny white hands emerged from the carriage. She bashfully looked up at two towering adults.
"It's a sin that she's so pretty," Rochelle said. "She'll bring us nothing but shame."
Jacques returned to the house, saying: "She's just a little girl."
1903 New Orleans
Everyone was in the library. Lena stood in the corner, weeping. My would-be-father, still a boy with a falsetto voice, stood between her and his mother. He shouted in defense of Lena and Rochelle raised her hand to smack him.
Luc covered his face, but his father grabbed Rochelle's wrist.
"Strike him and I'll whip you like a dog!" Jacques thundered.
"It's not natural!" She screamed, "The devil has this house! The devil has claimed us with the sin that you permitted!"
"The only devil here is your female hysterics. Submit yourself to your husband and love your children as the Lord commanded."
"She's bewitched you! We're all damned!" Rochelle screamed and slammed the door behind her.
Jacques sighed. "Is it true, son? Were you kissin' Lena?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then I'll have to whip you. Her, too. That what you what?"
"No, sir."
"Then knock it off, boy. What's the hell's wrong with you?"
The room darkened as if a cloud had rolled over the sun and I smelled the threat of rain.
1994 New Orleans
I knew this alley. I knew it well. This is where I "met" Bella Donna when we were kids. Some men tried to kidnap her – at least that was the premise – but I swooped in just in time to watch her clobber them. She'd been eating an ice cream cone and I hadn't had a haircut in nine months. When she retrieved her knife from the brick wall, she grinned at me. There went my heart.
The world darkened once more – like a TV with a weak bulb. Slowly, more and more of the picture faded away until I floated in darkness.
I heard a constant humming. Like a refrigerator. Short red carpet spilled out in every direction, but when I looked up, I saw a range of stars. Open space pulled me into infinity.
The USS Enterprise.
Fuck yeah!
"This is a first," Fontanelle said. She was standing behind me with a glass of scotch in each hand.
"Am I dreaming?"
"You and me both, tiger," she winked and handed me a drink.
Gloria Dayne, the dream-therapist mutant known as 'Fontanelle', had once been hired to spy on me. She was an old hippy with delusions of grandeur. Even in dreams, she was always wearing too much make-up and drinking too much.
"What're you doing here?" I asked. "Come to kill me again?"
"I didn't come to you, baby, you came to me! Opening portals, sucking people in, shaking up the time line continuum."
"Oh. Shit."
"I know, right?" She finished her drink. "How do I refill?"
"Computer. Another."
It appeared and she smiled. "Hot damn! I'd warn you to knock it off, but you probably wouldn't listen anyway, would you?"
"Probably not."
"Yeah, I thought so."
I took a sip. I knew it would be unwise to continue… I couldn't control my time travel and already knew too much… But I'd started this to find Lena and give my father and Rochelle some peace. She must've felt terrible about how she treated the girl. Maybe they'd never been united in life, but they could come together in death. Besides, I couldn't give Fontanelle the pleasure of thinking I was a coward.
"How long we got?" I asked.
"You tell me, Captain."
…
To Be Continued…
…