Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men. Original characters are mine.

LeBeau Legacy: The End

Chapter One: The Heirs to His Heart

"It is good to have an end to journey toward: but is the journey that matters, in the end."
~Ernest Hemingway

Remy had his fortune told when he was thirteen-years-old. Rumor boasted this woman as "the best". Jean-Luc's favored son didn't put faith in things he couldn't understand, but Belle fueled his curiosity. She said the fortune teller knew things that Belle had never told anyone – not even Remy.

He couldn't stand knowing that. He was charming when he wanted something, and even though Belle wouldn't tell him what the woman said, he was confident he could find out from the source. His sights narrowed on the gypsy with her playing cards wrapped in purple silk.

"Whatchya seekin' t' know, chille?" the woman asked, shuffling her old cards with even older hands.

"I wanna know… who m' parents are."

"Liar," she smiled and her eyes faded into shadows. "Dat girl gonna be y' wife one day. By den, y' gonna know everyt'ing about her… Even know what she not say."

"Dat's amazin'!" he exclaimed. "How'd y' do dat?"

"Magic."

She tapped the table, ordering him to pay before she spoke further. After a slight hesitation, he obeyed, and she ordered him to select three cards.

"Y' past is dark and empty. Nothin' good dere. Y' own all y' need and will get all y' want. Wealth. Love. Passion. Power.

"I see an army. Weapons and soldiers and mansions and towers and land y' never seen will be under y' spell. And de femmes. Y' love women and dey love you. And children… dozens of 'm!

"You will be patriarch t' a new generation. But dat's de good bits. Wanna know de rest?"

He chose three more cards.

"Dere's a trail of blood and tears and broken hearts. Y' try t' bury 'm in de past. Best t' keep your skeletons buried or dey will bury you."

Remy awoke startled.

Beside him, Anna slumbered undisturbed. He sighed and dropped his head into his hands, but the shadows were smothering him. He moved deftly through the darkness and stepped outside to the deck overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Nowhere left to run. Valle Soleada was as far from New Orleans as he could move his family, but regrets were harder to escape.

When those broken promises and hearts finally caught him, they wouldn't bury him alone. He had a family now. Sweet Anna-Marie had given him two sweet tempered children: a boy named Olivier, and a girl they called Becca. There had been a still-born boy after the twins, whom they'd named Henri and buried in New York. At the time, they'd been living happily in a house Remy built especially for his family.

But last year, their family changed. Remy's daughter by Belle, Honor, had left for college in the city. Belle re-married and left, taking her two younger children. They were greatly missed. Remy couldn't look at Honor's tower or Belle's wing without yearning for them, and that wasn't fair to Anna. So they moved to the last place that had truly been theirs: Valle Soleada, California.

With beachfront property, two superhero pensions, and a growing family, many people thought they were living the dream. They were still young, too. Not as young as they'd once been, but Remy was in fantastic shape for a man pushing forty. He lacked the spare tire his peers had slowly acquired, and his hair was still thick and shaggy. Lately, he'd let his perpetual gruff grow into a beard – it matched the Southern California vibe – but he wasn't keen on it. One perk was that it helped conceal his black and blood colored eyes, but it was also an Anna-magnet. She loved the look.

Anyone who watched his voluptuous young wife run her fingers through his salted cinnamon hair would think they were madly in love. Everyone who met his beautiful, well-behaved children and saw his enormous house by the sea went green with envy. But there was a cavern in their home. Somewhere between New York and California, a vast gulf came between how things appeared and how things were.

It was now painfully clear to Remy how much had changed. Somehow, he'd had more privacy with a full house. When he vanished, everyone assumed he was with everyone else. He could work, which provided for the family, so nobody questioned him. Now he had nowhere to hide and Anna had no one else to spend her time with.

He held back.

She got lonely.

He wasn't destroyed by her unfaithfulness, but he was afraid of losing his family. They took a vacation, which worked, and this guy was out of the picture. Without a word, Anna had chosen her husband. Did she have regrets? Had she been in love? Every time he wanted to ask, the words caught in his throat. She would respond with loveless eyes that were no longer blinded to his shortcomings. He wasn't angry and had no right to be hurt, for his betrayals had been far, far worse.

Unable to face his failures, he disappeared into the night.

…:::…

Charles Xavier Hospital
San Javier, California

Visiting hours ended long ago. Certain tricks could circumnavigate the security of other hospitals, but this one was extraordinary. Xavier would be proud; he always valued vigilance. Remy already knew these nurses couldn't be charmed and the roof couldn't be accessed. The linchpin was the military precision of the security guards, which he'd memorized and slipped through.

Inside the shadowy embrace of empty corridors, a chill ran down his spine. This place was a prison. Every time he unlocked a door and heard it lock behind him, he feared he'd been trapped.

Room 465.

The sounds of content, methodical life support machines greeted him, and the pungent scene of rubbing alcohol quickly followed. Soft lamp light illuminated the bed. The patient's large, masculine body had once served as his weapon. Now, it was too large to support. Like a snail dragging a cumbersome shell, John Greycrow waited for a chance to abandon the old tool. His face bore deep lines of suffering. His hair had turned white and thin, as if to lighten the load of flesh. But his eyes were still sharp, and snapped to Remy at the first sound.

"What time is it?" asked Scalphunter.

"Late… How you feelin'?"

"Like death warmed over." A pause. "No news?"

"There's a lead in Russia. I'll be gone a while. Afterwards, m' family's got a thing back home… So if ya ain't gonna make it, lemme know now. I'll save myself the trouble."

Scalphunter gave a rare smile. "Can't stand it, can you? Sickness. Weakness. Neither can I. Death would be so easy. But I'm not waking up in anymore clones, you hear? You gave your word and you'll keep it or I'll haunt your ass."

…..:::::…..

LeBeau Residence
Valle Soleada

It might as well have been Christmas. The children had gotten no sleep the night before, having bounced between rooms to convey their secrets in excited whispers. Anna heard them from her pillow. Rustling blankets, tentative footsteps, softly opened doors, and finally their sweet voices beckoning to each other through the warm California night. Remy would've had a fit, but he'd already left without a word. He couldn't understand how difficult it was for Becca and Ollie to separate after sharing a bedroom for the first seven years of their lives. Before a room, they'd shared her womb. They had been conceived together, and that's how they would live.

Anna adored their sleeping mass of freckles and chestnut locks, softly snoring like purring kittens. Last night they'd been a proper litter. Emma and Scott's children, Meg and Alexander, had also stayed the night, and the energy was positively electric until dawn.

Responsible for four children under age eight, Anna was in her element. She didn't envy Remy and his moonlighting. She didn't begrudge Emma and her free night. Anna had found her role in the universe: at the eye of a child-care hurricane. Under the guise of selfless compassion, she gathered the children under her roof and silently listened to their bonds deepen. She somehow felt desperately lonely and painfully fulfilled at the same time.

As the sky lightened from velvet to pink, Remy swept in and cleared away the shadows. He desperately needed sleep, and dropped into bed like a boulder.

"Y' take de kids today," he grumbled into his pillow.

"Nuh-huh. Ah had 'm last night, you have 'm today. That was the deal."

"Maybe dey'll sleep in…"

"Wake up, Momma! Wake up!" Two little voices shrilled. "Happy birthday!"

Rogue was just a lump beneath the covers, as content as a turtle sleeping in its shell. She brushed the white bangs from her green eyes and reached out a tattooed arm for Ollie and Becca.

She was more grateful than she should've been to have normal children. Her twin children were beautiful, healthy, and happy. They had bright hazel eyes, thick chestnut hair that curled past the ears and a healthy dose of freckles across the nose and cheeks. If they grew into mutants, they could still pass for baselines. They would never know the discrimination their parents had been forced to overcome. If they were especially lucky, they might not grow up to be mutants. Anna fondly imagined her children passing through puberty without ever causing an explosion or fire; without ever turning green or transforming into some animal-human hybrid. Oh, Remy would be disappointed. The more eccentric, the better, in his opinion, but Anna's mutation caused her to suffer a solid decade without human touch. It was a fate worse than death, and she'd give anything to protect her babies from it.

"So how old are you?" Becca asked, settling on her mother's left side.

Ollie climbed onto her right. Subconsciously, they each moved closer and closer to her, competing for her attention.

"Ah'm this old." She flashed ten fingers three times.

"That's a lot of candles!" said Ollie with wide eyes and a naughty grin.

"How many? Let's count," she encouraged.

Numbers were Becca's specialty. She quickly counted: "Ten, twenty, thirty!"

"So if Ah'm thirty and you're six, how many years are between us?"

Again, Becca was the first to figure it out. Ollie wasn't stupid, he'd just come to rely on his sister always figuring out the puzzle first. Likewise, she'd come to depend on him for whatever they wanted. A trip to the toy store, an extra scoop of ice-cream – Olls could charm the scales off a snake. Becca hadn't yet discovered that he sometimes used this weapon against her: getting the toy he wanted or talking her into giving him her extra scoop of ice-cream, and in fact, Rogue herself had only just realized it. The kid had a knack for getting his way.

"How old is Papa?" asked Becca.

"Thirty-seven."

"That means there's seven years between you!"

"And how many years between you and your father?" Before Becca could answer, she quickly added, "Ah want Ollie to try this one."

His little freckled face panicked and then relaxed again. "Today isn't about Papa, it's about you. And you're not that old. I only asked 'cause Papa only got you two candles for your cake-"

"Olivier!" Becca snapped. "It's supposed to be a surprise!"

He coolly dealt his next card. "Momma already knew about that party, didn't you? She's only pretending to be surprised…"

Remy, who'd been pretend-asleep, finally spoke up.

"Think it's time t' get dressed. Before you two spill de guest list, eh?"

They trampled out like a pair of gazelles.

Remy settled into his usual camp on their enormous bed, and Anna noticed an uncharacteristic heaviness in his limbs. She knew him well enough to know his weariness wasn't from physical stress. She stroked his hair, but he tensed at the contact and she instinctively pulled away.

"Did ya get any sleep?" she asked. "I wanna know what greedy man's keepin' my husband."

"Ain't a pinch. I couldn't get work if I tried… Wasted de best years of my life wit' a bunch of do-gooders, and now there ain't a team that'll take me."

"So it's a woman. Is she pretty?"

"Pft. Ladies can't keep their hands off me. A wife. Kids. Work. My responsibilities drive 'm wild."

The doorbell rang and Remy groaned.

"That'll be Em," Anna said, rolling out of bed. "She's early… Grab a shower and Ah'll get the coffee."

…..::::…..

New York City

In a plush Manhattan penthouse overlooking Central Park, a young woman stood nude in front of her window and watched the sunrise. Tess knew she should've been grateful for every sunrise and especially thankful for the view.

Born to improvised parents in a war-torn village in the Middle East, her life choices were limited and predetermined. It took a tragedy to propel her into the States, where she'd made the life she wanted for herself. At fifteen, she was a self-made millionaire. At sixteen, she was emancipated and joined the ranks of the elite Hellfire Club. Now nineteen, she was Mr. Shaw's personal assistant, and as such, entitled to endless privileges like this sun rise. But the sun felt cold to her, and it was about to get colder.

She heard a soft click and smelled a cigarette burning. Her blood ignited.

Tess turned to her bed, where Honor laid naked beneath 1200 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. Well, almost naked… There was one blue sock which they'd neglected to discard in their haste to disrobe. It still held on to her left foot, making her look childish and a little disoriented. But that was Honor.

When her father moved out West, she'd pierced her nose. After her mother re-married, she'd gotten a tattoo of a spade wrapped in belladonna flowers inked behind her right shoulder. She was better than all this teen angst behavior, really, and it was a little pathetic that she would act out this way. Otherwise, she would've been very pretty. Her hair was strawberry blonde, instead of Tess's black; and her body was endlessly generous in every way, unlike Tess, who struggled to fill the corset of her predecessor. They both had pale skin marred with scars, but Honor's were mostly on her body, while Tess's worst scars ran proudly down her cheeks. But Tess's favorite thing about Honor was her cupid-bow mouth, which was irresistibly kissable… When it wasn't smoking a disgusting cigarette!

"How many times have I asked you not to do that in here?"

Honor exhaled a breath of smoke and turned her red-on-black eyes with distain.

"What's the matter?" she asked. "Afraid you won't get your deposit back?"

Tess sighed.

Of course she knew. Honor had possessed pre-cognitive skills for almost a decade. She knew Tess was relocating to Europe with Shaw. Honor would feel abandoned once more and resent her enormously. The hate, Tess could and had lived with, and she hoped the distance would give them both some clarity.

"You could've told me," Honor said, flicking her ashes into a glass of water. "I still would've let you fuck me."

Tess wished Honor could understand. She was her dearest friend, her lover, and soul mate. They only needed to exist to be united and understand each other. But sometimes the distance between them was insurmountable. Like now. Honor could never understand that Tess had no choice but to go where Shaw led. Her only means of support were her wits. If her boss didn't like her, then she wouldn't have a job. If she didn't have this job, she was dead. She didn't have a world of opportunities and a life to chase them like Honor did. Sadly, for being psychic, her understanding of the world was rather narrow.

"I'm sorry, honey," said Tess, "I still love you."

"Fuck love."

…..::::….

Valle Soleada

"Earmuff alert," Emma said, "Here comes Gambit."

Hovering over twin mugs of steaming coffee, Anna and Emma created a sweet picture of the oldest, truest friends… No one would ever suspect that two years ago, Emma had tried to erase his mind. But if Remy kept account of petty spites like attempted assassination, he'd have no friends at all.

"Ain? Y'all don' pouponer on m'account, 'ear?"

Emma shuttered. "I don't know how you tolerate this garbage!"

"Gar ici, chere, you in m' house. And speakin' of, why you here so early?"

"I'm taking your wife baby shopping. Scott and I are expecting again. Twins this time. Girls, I think."

"You know already?" he asked. "You ain't even showin'."

"Not me. God, no! We're using a surrogate this time."

He looked to Anna, who remained silent.

"Thought I knew all there was to makin' babies, but what de hell's a surrogate?"

"You don't know?" Emma asked. Her brow arched superiorly before she smoothed her face and replied coolly. "A surrogate is a woman who agrees to carry a child conceived from my egg and Scott's sperm. For all legal and biological purposes, the child is mine. I just won't be required to sacrifice my body this time."

"So y' don't gotta feel it growin' in your belly and get attached to it-?"

"Remy!"

"-or risk your life to bring 'm into the world?"

"This is a fifty thousand dollar investment," Emma countered, "I'm as invested as any mother."

"Ah'm sorry," Anna apologized for her husband.

"What did I tell you, dear? Southern men have very narrow minds."

"S'cuse me," he turned for the door, "Dis narrow-minded swamp-rat gotta find a Hallmark card dat congratulates you for cheatin' nature."

Once outside, he watched the children playing in the surf. They caught him and, like an army of ants, the LeBeau and Frost-Summers children brought him crashing into the frothy ocean. They were breathless from laughter and bright-eyed from victory.

Remy smiled, remembering his own days of teamwork and glory. He repetitiously tossed off duel teams of Ollie and Meg, Becca and Alexander, taking care not to seriously damage their tiny fists and bare knees. Their little laughs were infectious. For him, the exercise was an echo of older memories, but for the children, it was new and enduring.

Anna watched the pleasant scene through the window. Behind her, Emma gave a little sigh: from fatigue or contentment, she didn't know.

"A surrogate, huh?" asked Anna. "Is that how the government fines mutants for reproducing? Ain't like you to play by their rules."

"What's your excuse for not bearing as many children as your body can manage?" countered Emma.

"Ah just know when ta quit. No sense in bringin' anyone else into our messed up lives."

Emma's defensive anger vanished and she gently squeezed Anna's hand. As a telepath, Emma was privy to anyone's most private thoughts. She could easily force her way into Anna's mind, but decided against it. Anna was her friend.

"You're doing the best you can with an imperfect man." Emma paused. "How are things?... His mood swings?"

"He's fine," she said a little too quickly. Then she invited Emma into her thoughts and continued: 'Ah mean… He's been nothin' but sweet on me. But he keeps takin' off at night and won't say where he's goin'. Ah think he's lookin' for Gus.'

'Was that your lover's name?'

Anna looked around and then stopped herself. 'Ain't this the part where ya tell me Ah'm bein' paranoid?'

'Guilt, honey. It'll do that to you.'

'So why's he a time bomb ta keep an eye on, but Ah'm just peachy?'

'Because you didn't try to kill your first born,' Emma coolly reminded her.

Of course, Emma didn't mention that she'd tried to mind wipe Gambit after he'd gone mad and attacked Honor. From her view, Gambit was still the greater threat.

"No." Anna sighed and shook her hair loose. "Ah said Ah forgave him when Ah didn't because Ah thought it was the right thing to do. Ah thought if we pretended everything was alright, Ah might believe it. Ah don't even know how ta be honest with the man anymore… And Ah hate lyin' to him. Every time we're alone, Ah wanna tell him how sorry Ah am for… for somethin' he doesn't even know about."

Emma watched the empty space between them before softly replying. "I could erase those memories."

Anna smiled, grateful at last to have a sympathetic ear. The thought had crossed her mind, but Gus had been her friend before she let things go too far. He was a good man, and despite her poor behavior, she wasn't willing to forget him. He deserved better.

Purged of her secrets, the fiery spark returned to her eyes. "Ya know what Ah need? Some shopping therapy! Let's get outta here."

…..::::…..

Hezbaki Plateau, The Savage Land

The child was growing at an alarming rate. In just three weeks, it had grown to the size of a two-year-old, complete with a full and articulate vocabulary. Unlike Sarah, its skin lacked any color and its hair was blue-black. Maybe it wasn't really her child. She'd said so when she first came to him, but he didn't believe her. He should've killed her then. He still considered it, but the child was too powerful. On the night of its birth, it possessed Stryfe to murder all witnesses. How could a newborn do that? Why had it spared him?

It seemed to favor Sarah, and she favored it, too. She named him "Adam", supposedly a name the child chose for itself at birth. Styfe called it "the child", although it wasn't. It was something else: something evil.

When the child said they were going to the Savage Land to fulfill a prophecy, Stryfe was reluctant, but it insisted.

"The barbarians believe I am destined to lead them to greatness," it said, "And I shall. We must arrive together, all of us, on the Hezbaki plateau. Air travel will be necessary, of course, but I shall need other tools as well."

The little brat got everything it wanted, as usual. The grand entrance, the warm welcome – everything went as planned. But Stryfe hadn't known that someone else had already paved the way. When the faux-family arrived in the Savage Land, the tribes engulfed them. Stryfe noticed that the children were all of the same age and strongly resembled their new messiah. The bastard wasn't "making his way", it was picking up scraps from others and weaving them to his purposes! But what could Stryfe do? He was just the packing dog.

The Hezbakis lifted it on their shoulders and welcomed it like a god.

...:::...

Valle Soleada

It was dusk when Anna and Emma finally returned. Knowing they were about to walk into a party, the pair stumbled over the threshold with their legs intertwined and lips locked. The response was a rewarding "Sur-eewwww!"

Anna didn't have many friends in Valle Soleada (her one true friend was the man she could never speak of), but they had all come for her. Since her stepdaughter couldn't attend, she called and teased her father about cooking food no one wanted to eat. Honor always made him smile. She wasn't wrong, either; those who had eaten Remy's cuisine before knew to pull their hamburger patties off the grill in a hurry, including Scott.

"This man'll face an army of sentinels but won't try Cajun cookin'," Remy teased.

"Now, sug…" said Anna, wrapping an arm around her husband's waist. "Some people want ta catch salmonella. Ah hear it's a great way ta lose weight."

"You guys have a great view," Scott replied. "I apologize for not visiting earlier. With Kitty starting a new school, it just wasn't feasible."

"And makin' a baby wit' another woman," Remy added.

"Emma mentioned that, did she?"

"Never knew y' as de family man, Cyke. When was de last time you talked t' Rachel?"

"And Inever knew you were the office gossip. If you'd like to do something better, I have plenty of assignments."

Anna recognized where this conversation was headed. "You mean you need some cannon fodder to rally the other cannon fodder. No thanks, sugah."

"No one could blame you for thinking that," said Scott, "If I seemed careless with your safety in the past, those were desperate times. I was desperate. That's not what this is. Besides, you two must be going crazy being walled up at the end of the world. I'm only asking you to do your civic duty."

Remy and Anna exchanged an unfinished look, which Scott took as the finale. No need to push them. He knew from experience that would only make the situation worse. The seeds of the idea were planted – now he only had to wait for it to take root or wilt away.

…..::::….

Hezbaki Plateau, The Savage Land

These people were superstitious and stupid… But they were strong. Stryfe could admire that. They taught him how to track and slaughter prey with their crude weapons, providing an excellent way to avoid the child. The less he had to endure that bizarre little bastard, the better, although he was never allowed to forget it. Sweet smelling flowers and adoration followed it wherever it went. Curiosity about it couldn't be satisfied, and everyone wanted to tell him how they'd known it in some past life.

The collective stories culminated in a re-enactment of the so-called messiah's story. Stryfe paid minimal attention; he focused instead on the herd of young children gathered in their mothers' arms. Why did they look so familiar? The favorite child was the son of the chieftain – a clumsy and stupid man – and his young, soft-hearted wife. The woman was called "priestess wife" and her child was "first son". Only later did Stryfe learn that they considered names sacred, but the bastard stood on no ceremony, calling them Laska and R'mi respectively. Undoubtedly, when it uttered the chieftain's true name, these people would piss themselves in fear.

Turning back to the performance, Stryfe saw a banshee curse the tribe with infertility. For five years, they lamented and made sacrifices without luck. He especially enjoyed the scenes of human sacrifice – the screaming slaves being forced into the bon fire and then thrashing around dramatically. At last, the woman prophet appeared from the swamps with the key to their salvation. She foretold of her father's coming, and he arrived from the sky. His seed took root in what was once infertile ground, and now the tribe was rich in children. Finally, the virile father departed with a hairy, stocky fellow and a dark woman with snowy hair.

Realization slammed into Stryfe.

Gambit had fathered these children! They were reflections of similar versions mothered by Rogue.

But Gambit – for all his charm and power – was as "divine" as Stryfe. He was no more holy than those who worshiped him. Most importantly, he was still alive, which meant he couldn't possibly be re-incarnated in this bastard.

Stryfe had it by the jugular and meant to expose it immediately. Sarah would confirm his word, and then the savages would burn it. Or, if they didn't kill it, they would certainly denounce it. But no sooner had the thought taken form in his mind when his throat suddenly clamped shut.

The little bastard turned its red-on-black eyes towards him.

'Do you know why I allow you to live, Ethan?' asked an unseen voice. 'Because I require your services. You will do as I command and keep your thoughts to yourself, or I shall find another pair of hands.'

…

To Be Continued…