Episode 4: Divided

The poker game broke up about two am. Remy was satisfied with the outcome. Normally he sent the other players out of the smoky back room with empty pockets, but this time he came out ahead with the players eager to play again.

Remy put his glass down on the table and put on his long coat, the last to get up. "Played good, Jacques," he said, tucking his winnings in his pocket.

"How d'ya know when Ah'm bluffin', LeBeau?" he asked, tucking his own smaller roll out of sight.

Remy chuckled as he followed him out. "Ah can't tell y'dat, Jacques, ah got t'keep mah secrets!"

"Ain't fair, y'know," Jacques retorted, lighting a cigar under the streetlight. "Game was fair, but it ain't right you dealin' fah Boudreaux an' da Assassins."

"It's hell, but ah ain't talkin' 'round it no more," he said turning down the offer of a cigar. A shadow caught his eye and he lowered his voice. "Go on, Jacques, ah gotta deal wid da devil."

Jacques glanced at the shadow. He blew out smoke, shaking his head. "Julius be in a foul mood t'night, LeBeau. If y'need me, ah'm always 'round."

Remy clapped a hand on his shoulder as he left, staying put as Julius Boudreaux prowled into Jacques' place beside him.

Julius was the same height as Remy, but carried himself like he was as tall as they came. "What's da cut, LeBeau?"

Remy was only 18, but he dealt cards like a shark for the den Boudreaux ran. He dug out the bill fold. "Came out up as always. Got mah 20%. Ah" –

Julius snatched the wad of cash, clamping his fist over Remy's painfully. "All of it."

Remy glared at him, tightening his grip on the money. "Hey, ah won it, an' Ah did it fair an' square. 20%."

Julius grimaced and blasted Remy with a waft of rum-laden breath. "Mah place. Mah dealah. Mah cash."

Remy weighed his disgust of the man and the price of that money. A small $2100 and breaking Julius' teeth would cost a feud, the murder of his father, and most likely his own life. Taking a breath, he loosened his grip. "Ya' cash."

Julius grinned and suddenly gave Remy's wrist a blindingly painful twist, clenching the money in his fist. "Damn right, LeBeau!" He pocketed it and walked off. "Watch y'self, mutant boy. Ain't safe fer ya' kind 'round here no more!"

Remy only checked his wrist after Julius left, letting a pained hiss out through his teeth. It didn't look as bad as it felt, and thankfully it was still functional.

He hoped no one saw, and he looked around for any bystanders. Thankfully there weren't any, but that wasn't typical in New Orleans.

As he headed up between two buildings to the narrow cobbled street, the common crowd was out. The street lights pooled on the stones in front of the narrow sidewalks and the wrought iron railings of the buildings there in the French Quarter. The lonely strains of the last jazz horn sang out before dawn from a street corner as he greeted the blind psychic in her window who waved before he spoke. Old Darius was starting his early morning baking and Remy walked slower past the storefront for the smell of the biscuits and beignets. The city did make him smile.

It had changed some, especially lately. He knew several mutant newcomers who couldn't walk about as freely as him. Even then, he was better accepted at night. He and others had to take advantage of the fringe life to make a living… as gamblers, artists, and whatever specialized work they could get with their unique talents.

Remy wound around the city. It was quiet now since even the streetcars weren't running. He slipped between buildings to take alleys he'd been stalking since he was a child.

Once his mood evened out after Julius, he took his phone from his pocket and checked the messages. He had two phones, one for the Boudreaux business and Julius' sister Bella Donna, the other for friends and family. Most of all, his second phone was for Anna.

A message was on it and he smiled, quickly putting it to his ear.

Anna's voice came on with its sweet Mississippi swing. "Hey Cajun! Y'gotta tell me how the game went t'night, an' if y'got home safe. Text me, or Ah'll come down there an' beat you silly!" Remy chuckled when he heard her laugh. "You be good, now, an' we'll talk in the mornin'." She finished with a kiss into the receiver and he was beaming even when the message clicked off.

"Damn, Cher," he grinned to himself and dialed back. Just as he expected, it went straight to her voicemail. After the tone, he left a message. "Good girl, Cher, goin' t'bed like y'should. God, Ah love hearin' ya' voice! Poker went fine, don'cha worry. Ah'm headin' back t'da 'partment now, but ah'll be up by six t'wish y'good mornin'. Sleep well, mah Cher." His smile softened and he wished she could be there. "Ah love ya, mah Cherie." He quietly hung up, aching for her. He deeply felt the long year it had been since her last visit, but hearing from her was too wonderful to dwell on the emptiness that followed.

While he'd been on the phone he'd about finished his walk. He took a turn down a dark street where someone had shot out the street lamp. He headed toward the only lights on the block. They were the dull glowing windows of his apartment complex.

The place weighed him down, especially seeing filthy people eye him as he walked around to the fire escape in the back. Girls with wailing babies on their hips watched every man with skeptical eyes and the men weren't always the most stable in the head, in Remy's experience.

Once around back, he used one of his mutant gifts. Charging the kinetic energy in his feet and the ground, he gave a short run and took a graceful ten foot leap onto the second floor landing. Straightening up, he pulled his key and unlocked the door to number 227.

The lights were on inside and it smelled like cigarettes. He frowned, irritated. Bella Donna was already there. Julius' younger sister got anything she wanted, and almost three years ago she decided she wanted Remy. He knew some people on the outside thought he should be grateful. She was from a powerful family, he lived on her money, and he had a job. In reality she was spoiled, abusive, and if he left her his father would be murdered. A big part of the draw for Bella Donna was Remy was the adopted son of a rival clan of criminals.

Remy heard the shower running and he shed his coat as quietly as possible, hoping she wouldn't be hungry for attention. The last time she'd come to his hovel for the night, he had long scratches that bled and she'd bitten him and left marks. She was a cruel 16 year old mess.

There was no avoiding her eventual demands except refusing to sleep with her. He'd been trying that lately. It had been enough to shock her, but he still wanted more strength to hold up against her. Remy went to the tiny kitchen and reached up to his hidden bourbon bottle.

A couple of shots later he sat on the couch. He felt odd. Two were generally just enough. But he felt off. Dizzy, fuzzy. His vision swam and his arm went the wrong way when he tried to touch his face to feel if it was still there.

A slim tan shape absorbed his vision and settled on his lap, wrapping around him before everything dissolved from focus.

The pounding in his head woke him up. The dark back of his eyelids seemed to throb, but when he opened his eyes the dim light in the bedroom was ten times worse. "Oh God," he moaned and put his forearm over his eyes.

When he moved, he realized he was far from alone. He peeked out the corner of his eye to see Belle clinging to him, her arm draped over his chest.

It made him so nauseous he just prayed his insides would stay in. He hauled himself from the bed and about ran his head into the wall, feeling the world pitch and reel under his feet.

"Somethin' else was in dat bourbon," he thought, steadying himself and blearily looking for his boxers. "She got t'it first… damn it! Nevah nevah ag'in!" He pulled on his boxers, noticing the new scratches on his body.

He looked back at Bella Donna in the bed snoring with her narrow self and blonde hair sprawled out. To anyone else, she'd be attractive. They could have her. He would happily send her and her selfish, violent moods and underhanded tricks anywhere he wasn't.

Remy slowly made his way to the couch and collapsed on it, his mind still fevered and head pounding. "It's pas' six. Ah missed Anna's good mornin', an' she's prob'ly losin' it. God, why?"

A voice, familiar and supportive, cut through in his mind. It was Professor Charles Xavier. "I'm so sorry, Remy," he said. "Are you alright?"

Remy was immensely relieved to have a friendly thought, but he limited himself to a small grin. "Ah'm okay, Professah. Been awhile."

"You're not alright, Remy," he replied. "Don't lie to me. She drugged you?"

"Yeah, she got t'mah bourbon. Her bruddah rip me off too. Not mah bes' day. Tell Anna ah really didn' mean t'miss her at six."

"She knows," Charles assured him. "You know you are always more than welcome here, Remy. You have always had a place with us."

Remy heaved a sigh. "You know ah can't do dat, Professah."

"I know. You're right to protect your father. But if and when the day comes that you need to run, this is your safe place."

He smiled. "Safe's a fairytale, Professah. Safe is somethin' ya make for yahself."

Charles' mental chuckle danced in Remy's mind. "Or safe is something people create for one another. This is part of why I contacted you."

Remy carefully got up, feeling he was dreadfully thirsty. "Y'all need somethin'?"

"We have some information that there are some anti-mutant activities going on in your area," Charles said, "and it's a growing trend. Have you noticed anything like that?"

Remy chugged at a water bottle, avoiding the sour milk in the fridge. "You say it, Professah. Da place ain't as friendly, an' the Assassin Guild's mood t'us is sourin' more an' more."

"Have you noticed any new influences in New Orleans?"

"Some," Remy admitted after some thought. "Ah seen some strange folk hangin' out with Julius an' his men."

"I know you have a full plate," the Professor said as Remy headed to the shower, "but it would mean alot if you would find out what you can about who and what is in play down there."

Remy stepped into the hot shower and let it run over his head. "You got it, Professah. Ah was hopin' to get t'da bottom of dis nasty feelin' mahself."

"Keep safe, Remy," Charles said kindly. "And keep us informed."

Remy smiled to himself, pleased at his concern. "Y'can bet on it."

That night, Remy arrived at the wharf where he'd heard the meeting was happening. The Professor had told him about a possible meeting having to do with the anti-mutant groups, and he'd confirmed it with a few questions to the right people in the city.

It was a dingy, foul-smelling place, especially in the dark where he was glad he couldn't see what his boots might be slipping in. Just the smell of the industrial shore soured his stomach, and he slid quickly from shadow to shadow toward the warehouse he wanted.

Scoping it out, he figured the right window was the only one lit. It sat high above the wharf in the isolated top rooms.

Remy looked over the building with its sheer wall and rusted out pieces of fire escape. The saltwater wind and damp air did a number on metal like that and he had to look elsewhere for a way up.

A smaller building nearby had a reasonably high roof, but Remy could handle that. He took a small, silent run and charged the ground when he leaped. He landed silently atop the building and quickly spied a wider window nearer the warehouse window. Another leap and his fingers caught the ledge. Swinging up, he skillfully sized up the final leap to the top of the warehouse and took it.

Directly above the window, he held still for some time to be sure he wasn't heard. He breathed silently and his touch was light on the roof to allow no betraying creaks. After a few long minutes of silence, he retrieved a listening device from his pocket; a suspended microphone hooked to a recorder and a single ear piece.

Remy situated himself behind the edge of the roof and lowered the mic level with the window, tucking in the earpiece.

"We're bein' overrun," a deep voice was saying, and Remy pegged it as a more Tennessee tilt, not a local creole blend. "Aint' no way them mutant filth gonna run our world, y'see? All them be rackin' up friends'n followers what get sucked int'thinkin' they be jus' like us. Ah tell ya, it ain't so!"

Another voice chimed in, a woman, adding to the voice of the first. "Some ain't the kind y'can see bein' mutant. They be unnatural smart an' some been learnin' t'use their freak skills t'get b'tween good folks an' what be rightly theirs. They been swayin' folks, an' up north a city fell so deep fer their tricks, a mutant lookin' like a blue Bigfoot got elected t'public office! He ain't there but t'look after his own!"

Remy heard Julius next, grumbling his agreement. "Ain't what we want nowhere. Ah lean wit' y'all, but ah ain't worried 'bout no place up north. Deal me straight, what do y'all want wit' me an' mah city?"

It sickened Remy to hear Julius speak so boldly of New Orleans. Even ole Boudreaux, the head of the Assassin's Guild and Julius' father, would have a few things to say about that. If the people in the city heard it, there would be a real riot. All things considered, Remy didn't feel that Julius getting torn apart by public mob was altogether a bad thing.

"Big things're comin' fast," the man said. "We ain't sittin' by while they get up their crews and come together all organized."

"We," the woman said, "want you an' yer people with us, an' in on alla what's goin' down."

Remy heard Julius grunt skeptically. "What d'ya got fer me, den?"

"We have friends in high places, Mr. Boudreaux," the man said with a smile in his voice. "With us, there ain't a man who can touch you."

Julius was unimpressed. Remy listened to the seconds of silence before his reply.

"Ain't no man alive kin touch me now. Ah don' need yer fancy connections as ah've got mah own!" Remy heard him stand, pushing his chair away with a loud clatter. "Ah'm the biggest damn dog in Louisiana!"

Remy flinched at his volume and took the earpiece out briefly before listening in again.

"If all y'all want anythin' round mah city, y'all gotta go t'rough me," Julius was now demanding. "Anythin' gets done, its cuz ah say so, an' nothin' goes down wit'out mah say so or ah'll get mah"-

Suddenly a gunshot rang out, the bullet striking less than a foot from where Remy hunched. With his thief's reflexes, Remy took flight.

He took the fastest escape route he'd planned, vaulting the small ledge onto the fire escape. He heard men yelling and shouts of alarm strike up and get louder.

Remy knew he'd been spotted, but he couldn't waste time or thought on that. Another shot, from the ground this time, made him duck as it hit over his head.

When he ducked, his weight shifted and a rusted panel on the fire escape gave out.

His leg went through the hole, then his weight broke two more panels and he fell down the side of the building, grabbing for anything to slow or stop his fall.

After slamming into many of the rusted metal bars, Remy hit the ground hard, though he took most of the force in a roll, gaining a good start to his desperate run. The guards had multiplied and many were close on him, giving him no time to recover or hide.

If their vulgar yells weren't enough to deafen him, he felt the pounding of their feet as they closed in. Remy's lungs burned and he quickly pulled out his short staff. It was retracted and he swiftly spun around to face the mob. In a split second, he planted his feet and extended his staff to full length, charging it till it glowed. He wasn't about to go down a like a running rat.

The first few men had the wind knocked out of them, and one from the back of the pack went flying and landed several feet away. The crew of eight was stunned by the blows and confusion, but Remy didn't hesitate to swing his staff and crack it across several heads as they rebounded toward him in fury. With skillful blows he flung weapons from their hands and dealt whirlwind attacks with his long rod.

Remy was wounded and winded. He only kept up long enough to make the men good and dazed. He saw an escape and threw a charged playing card in the short space between him and them before slipping into a dark alley. The card exploded and the leader roared at the men until they pounded off in pursuit, passing right by Remy's narrow hiding place.

Remy's heart pounded and he held his side weakly, watching them go. "Damn fools," he muttered, pleased with his escape. "All da same… dere ain't no reason for pushin' mah luck now." He went to a manhole cover and slipped into the New Orleans underground for a more leisurely stroll to where he could reach the apartment in peace.

When he came up and headed to the apartment, he was frustrated. It was a fractured rib, he was sure. There was a large, shallow scrape on one hand, and a road burn along his back. It would be hellishly sore and red in the morning.

He had the audio file for the Professor, but he had hoped to get at least a picture of the stranger. He never wanted to disappoint Charles. Never. Whatever he got never felt like enough.

"Hey, Boy."

Remy looked up as he reached the top stair. He blinked in surprise, but smiled. "Daddy! What you doin' here?"

Jean Luc LeBeau, Remy's adoptive father, put out his cigarette and gave Remy a small grin, meeting him halfway. "Hey boy, what you bin doin'? Busy?" He saw Remy's odd limp and frowned at the way he was holding his arm. "Y'alright, boy?"

Remy shrugged and shook his head. "Ain't nothin' serious. Nevah you min'." He quickly changed the subject. "Ah ain't seen y'down dis way fer weeks yet, daddy. Ah t'ought ya was holed up for a time longah?"

Jean Luc shook his head. "World bin shiftin' Remy. City bin shiftin'. Don' spect you had t'much listenin' doin' lately, what wit' yer work an' Bella Donna's lead on ya, but Julius bin makin' more enemies den friends."

"Oh dat so?" Remy was intrigued and watched his mentor's face curiously.

Jean Luc nodded. "Mmhm. Boudreaux bin steppin' down of late. Bin handin' the reins t'junior. Julius don' run like his papa. Ain't no brains b'hind dat boy's plans!" He shook his head, looking down for emphasis.

"What all's he doin'?" Remy asked. "Folks don' tell me no news. Dey know Julius got me workin' an' fetchin' fer Belle."

"Julius, he be actin' like dem Yankee gang men," Jean Luc said. "He t'reaten an' fight wit' good people an' make 'em pay fer him t'leave em alone! How dat right, Ah ask ya?"

"Ain't right no way," Remy agreed.

"No it ain't!" he repeated. "Now da men an' ah been goin' 'round helpin' where we all can. Been gettin' help an' many folks be lookin' fer a way out… dey be lookin' fer da N'awleans from our days, Remy," he said, his voice low and confidential.

Remy shook his head. "Ain't dat way no more…"

"But it could be, boy!" he said earnestly. "We been growin' strong an' b'fore long, ah'll have ya outta here! Outta here an' maybe yer lady from up North can come an' be with ya!"

"Y'fulla stories, daddy," Remy shook his head. "Been gettin' bettah f'years now, but ain't no way da city's gonna buck Boudreaux 'less it come to front they be hatin' all us mutant kind. With dey claws in me, dey got reason t'prove dey be friendly and toleratin' us."

Jean Luc opened his mouth to reply, but Remy's phone began to ring.

"Who dat, boy?"

"It's mah Cher!" Remy said, fumbling to pull the phone from his pocket, despite the pain it caused to his scrapes and aching ribs. "Dat's her ring!"

"Ain't it Tuesday night?" Jean Luc asked. "Ain't she got her schoolin'?"

Remy answered as fast as he could, pressing the phone to his ear. "Dat you, Cher? Hang on jus' a minute, ah'm goin' inside!"

Jean Luc grinned and held up a hand in farewell before leaving. Remy smiled gratefully at him before shutting the door behind him. The place was dark and quiet, free from any sign of Bella Donna.

He flipped on the light and hurried to sit. "Ah'm here, mah Cher. What you doin' awake?! It's a'most four in da mornin'!"

It was glorious to hear her voice, but she was tired. "Oh ah know, Cajun, but that's when y'get in from work. Ah wanted t'hear yer voice…"

"Anythin' wrong, Cher?" he asked, worried.

He heard her yawn. "Nah, ain't nothin' wrong, Ah guess. Jus' the usual."

Remy settled, relieved. He sat back and winced at his wounds, but they were the last thing on his mind. "Tell me 'bout it, Cher. Ah wanna know."

"School's been okay, but Logan's on me 'bout mah grades," she said, sleepily." Since we got pegged at the movies, kids at school bin downright cruel t'Kurt. Ah bin threatenin' right'n left an' ah got called t'detention three days this week."

"What?" Remy frowned. "Gettin' da paddle defendin' Preacher?"

She laughed lightly. "Nothin' like that, Cajun. They don't paddle up North!"

He chuckled, but it hurt his ribs. "What else Ah bin missin'? Last Ah heard, da blonde Barbie bin moved in da school."

"Oh, yeah, she's still here," Anna said sourly. "She an' Warren broke it off an' she's bin smilin' her way t'good graces 'round here. Professor says she's here t'stay."

"Damn," Remy shook his head. "Sorry, Cher."

"She jus' fake," she said. "Ah don' do fake."

Remy smiled. "Ah know, Cher."

She yawned and he could hear it was a wide one. "Hey, Cajun, ah gotta sleep, ah'm sorry. Kurt's gonna git on my case if he hears me on the phone."

"Den get t'bed!" Remy insisted. "Don' you git in trouble on mah account, y'hear?"

She giggled and it warmed his heart. "Ah won't, ah jus' don't like hangin' up. You go t'bed, mah Cajun." Her voice lowered a little with affection and it made his heart beat faster. "You work too hard, darlin'…"

He smiled warmly, pleased, and pictured how she might be in her room although he'd never been there. "Don' ya tease me, Cher," he chuckled. "Ah'll call when ah can t'morrow, ok?"

"Not b'fore five tomorrow night," she said, still with a purr in her voice. She knew what it did to him. "Ah got detention, r'member? Til tomorrow!" She kissed the receiver.

"Ah love you, Cher," he said, smiling.

She giggled. "Right back atcha, Cajun!" After that, she hung up.

He slowly put his phone away, smiling to himself at how the world seemed to float after he heard from Anna. He almost never remembered what he said to her, only that it made her giggle and talk to him in that gorgeous, special voice. He wished he could be where she was and touch her hair, even hold her gloved hand…

The door rattled as it was unlocked and he was jolted from his imagination as Bella Donna let herself in.

"Why you gotta lock it, Remy?" she snapped. "Ya gotta know ah was comin' t'see ya."

"Ah don' wanna get shot up in 'ere," Remy snipped back. "An' it won' hurt y'none t'knock, y'know!"

She dropped her bag by the door, slumping her strapless shoulders petulantly. "Don' you yell at me, Remy! Ah don' like it! Ya always come in wit'out knockin', an' ah pay fer this place since ah jus' love y'so much…"

Remy glowered and stuck his personal phone out of sight.

"What's dat y'got, Remy, bebé?" She hurried around and stopped when she saw him from the front. "Gawd, what happen' t'you?"

"Ah'm fine, y'hear?" Remy said pushing away her hand when she reached to touch his scratches. "Ah'll git cleaned up an ah'll be right in no time" –

Bella Donna climbed next to him on the couch. "Oh bebé, y'gotta let me take care'a dem cuts! Don' you worry," she purred, pushing his hair out of the way with one hand while her other slid down to his inner thigh.

"Hey!" He said, jumping to his feet with a wince. "Ah ain't playin' dat game wit' ya now, Belle, hear me?"

Her impatience showed in her frustrated pout. "What got int' you, bebé? Ah jus wanna kiss it bettah." She smiled and stuck out her 16 year old chest, giving him a wink.

Remy's temper flared. "T'ain't 'nough y'slip somethin' int'mah drink t'git what y'want! Ah git torn up, shot at, an' ripped off by yer devil of a brother! Ah don' like bein' paraded 'round so folks can be thinkin' him an 'yer kin be lovin' us mutants! Ah don' want no part'a dat lie!"

Bella Donna's face went livid, her eyes dark and furious. "How dare you?!" she hissed. "How dare y'lie?! You know what all would happen wit'out me!"

"Like what now, Belle?" he demanded.

"Ah won't play dis game, Remy," she snapped, standing to face him furiously. "You want out, you go 'head an' run up t'dat tramp you bin hidin' up north! Let yer daddy down 'ere hold up fer hisself an' you go up dere wit' no place, no food, no bourbon, no job, an' no girl t'take any time y'want!" She softened and slid on a seductive smile, stepping up close to him. "Don' ah give y'everythin', bebé?" He shuddered as she ran her hands over his hips. "Life be good here wit' me, y'know… not a worry, work, good bourbon, an' love…"

When she pressed her hips to his, he gritted his teeth and grabbed her arm, flinging her away and to the rug. "Ah had enough'a dis!" he shouted, furious and fed up. He met her eyes with his burning red ones and the words dripped from his lips like venom. "You could nevah have me killed!"

Her eyes got wide, looking up at him in shock.

"Ain't no way you could put me on ya' bruddah's hit list fer sayin' dis', an' by God ah'm sayin' it! Ah don' love you!" he roared, venting words he'd never been furious enough to say before. "Ah hate it here an' ah love mah girl who'd nevah treat me how you do! Ah ain't no toy, damn it, ah'm bettah den all ya' shit!"

His heart pounded hard and he was shocked at how much he said, but he didn't waver at all. Every word was true and he was so fed up. He knew she was bluffing.

He wasn't, however, quick or composed enough for Bella Donna's next move.

In a flash of steel, she yanked a knife from her boot and struck it into the side of his leg all the way up the 4 inch blade.

Pain seared up and through his leg and he fell, clutching his thigh as it throbbed and grew hot with blood. His vision blurred a bit with the pain, but Bella Donna now stood over him, shouting, her eyes streaming furious tears. "Ah could kill ya mahself! Ah could do it an' not evah lose a wink'a sleep, Remy LeBeau! So y'bettah get yer drunkass mind right, or ah might jus' dump you back where ah found ya! T'ink on dat!"

She whirled to the front door and left, slamming it so hard behind her that a picture fell off the wall nearby.

Remy hissed at the powerful pain, but dragged himself to the kitchen, using the well-stocked first aid kit. The knife had caught only flesh, and he knew Belle could have opened up a vein if she really wanted him dead. She had a few hits on her record and she preferred her knives.

Remy, his leg bandaged, swigged heavily from his bottle of bourbon to cut the pain before he dragged himself to the bedroom and collapsed on the unmade bed.

Breathing hard from the effort and the dull, aching pain through his body, Remy let his mind go blank in the dark until he fell deep asleep and began to dream.

Like an angel of light, he saw a young, beautiful girl appear and come toward him where he lay on some soft place. She was curvy, well-covered with long white gloves and had a white streak of hair from her forehead among her soft brown hair.

Remy's heart filled with pleasure and she didn't have to say anything. His Anna. His Mississippi queen, his Yankee princess.

She came over and sat next to him. "You got yerself cut up, Cajun. Didn' ah tell ya to keep outta trouble?" She tended to his leg as he dreamed, then laid down next to him, allowing him to hold her hand and play with her fingers. He knew they were talking, but it hardly mattered in his sleepy bliss what it was they talked about. She was smiling, he was happy, and she was close.

Each time he reached out to touch her or get closer, she'd laugh and slide away. She shook her head at him, but it was all the more charming.

There were real dangers to touching even her cheek, but Remy wanted to use up all the dream-help he had and he grabbed her around the waist to kiss her.

Suddenly she wasn't next to him, but was running away, laughing. So he chased after, but couldn't catch up. Remy called after her and she paused, turning to smile at him with her arms open to him.

Remy jolted awake when his dream flashed everything away in a bright light and a crash. "Huh?!" He sat up and swore at the pain in his leg. He heard shouting next door and grunted, unhappy the neighbors broke something else and disturbed his Anna dream.

He looked at the clock and groaned again. "'Leven? Ain't no respectin' thief be awake at 'leven." His leg throbbed and he saw it was bleeding again. "Damn. Hope cousin Louis' be open dis early… best git him t'stitch it."

With great care he got up and to where his friend could patch up his leg and the wounds from earlier that night.

Not long after he was pieced back together, he stood out on the street and headed off hoping for a poker game he might join. All things considered, he hoped a good game would get his mind off what Bella Donna may do, and off of the ache his dream left him with.

Everything felt uneasy. He couldn't put his finger on it, but the day had something hanging over it. He had the feeling he did when he was being watched, or when he was watching someone else. It was the feeling of just before a strike.

He did find a game going on, and although it was small change to the high stakes games he dealt for Boudreaux. It was with friends of Jean Luc's, and in a comfortable bar at the center of the local gossip chain.

"Ya ain't bin 'round much, Remy," old Dano said, smoking as usual on the pipe that was older than the bar itself.

"Jus' bin hard worked," Remy replied, letting the familiar feel of the card deck run through his fingers.

Ray, Jean Luc's brother-in-law, took his hand of cards for the round. "Bella Donna bin hell 'round here las' night an' all dis mornin'. You give 'er hell, Remy?"

He watched Remy carefully, as did the whole table.

He paused in his shuffling, considering what to say. Every one of them knew she as good as had chains on him over the family rivalry. Remy, though, just shook his head. "Jus' a lil spat. Ain't nothin' big."

The men leaned back in their chairs, disappointed and unsatisfied.

"Y'gotta give dat girl a whippin'!" old Dano snorted, and a couple of the other older men at the bar murmured in agreement. "She goin' 'round sleepin' evah-where from da bayou t'here inna Qua'tah! Paradin' roun', loose as'a day she was born! No shame in dat'un…"

"Don' bring down on Remy none, Dano," Ray cut in. "He ain't gotta choice."

"Yeah he do!" he insisted and the older men chimed in.

"Remy got 'is manhood, don' he?"

"His daddy didn' raise him up no fool."

"Boy gotta draw da line onna woman like dat!"

As the discussion went on, Remy's attention went to the TV that was on behind the bar. They were all good men he loved and respected. He was raised under the cloud of their cigars and their well-worn advice. They were also the ones who taught him how to win every hand, coached him in his first card tricks, and the first to give him a whip with their belt when he picked their pockets.

Now, though, he knew they couldn't tell him what to do. He was in hell, stuck in a dead end road, while he knew and ached for somewhere that had hope. It just felt like that was a dream he had over and over it was always going to be just out of reach.

The ball game that was on the TV over the bar was interrupted by a breaking news bulletin and a few people looked up. Remy just kept watching.

The female anchor looked a bit panicked, but fought to hold her composure. Remy was never fooled by a poker face.

"Sorry to interrupt the game, folks, but we've received reports of a possible terrorist attack on several high schools in the New York area."

Remy's focus was completely on the screen now, and at the word 'terrorist' the entire bar went silent and tense.

"We have a feed from Baywood High School in the Westchester area, one of those hit most severely" –

Remy's heart stopped. Anna's school. Anna's school was attacked!

"Remy?" Ray said his voice far away. "Remy, what're y'standin' for? What"-

"Shuddup fer a minute!" Remy waved his hand angrily for silence, riveted on the screen. It showed a sky full of smoke, caution tape, and the lights of emergency vehicles.

A male anchor stood just in front of the tape. –"the blast took out the northern section of a hall full of students on their way to their lunch hour. Students are still being accounted for and there are several injured. We have not received word of any fatalities as of yet, though several hundred yards of the wall caved in from the blast. We have heard this is a mutant-related incident, directed toward known mutants who attend"-

Students were being herded to a clear place, going behind the news anchor and a face unspeakably dear to Remy crossed with them. He panicked inside. There was Anna! She was soot-covered with a scrape on her cheek as she fought the flow of students and paramedics. Her voice carried over the others, yelling for her brother.

"Anna!" he said, eyes wide and feeling so useless he could die.

The anchor, after the crowd passed, received a prompt from behind the camera. "Really?" He turned and suddenly pointed. "There! Over there!"

The camera shifted, focused, and refocused on the hole in the school where two paramedics lifted out a limp form. It was a mutant, clearly blue even through the dust and the dirt. Remy's heart stopped when he saw a spade tail drooping to the ground.

The news shifted immediately back to the Louisiana anchor. "We have news a school here in New Orleans has also been attacked! Here's"-

Remy didn't listen. He grabbed his coat and shoved his winnings in his pocket in one fistful.

"Where you goin', Remy?" Dano demanded, surprised.

"Ah'm goin' North!" he snapped.

Ray caught his arm and held it.

"Don' you stop me," Remy growled, but he paused when he saw sympathy in Ray's eyes.

"Ah'll git you a plane, son," he said, gripping his arm. "All hell's gonna break loose, ah feel it. Now's when ya gotta git out if ya gonna make it alive."

"What about daddy?" Remy said, looking for help to protect the one person he was responsible for.

Ray frowned. "Don' you worry 'bout Jean Luc, son. He's d'LeBeau what will always git his way! Y'want da plane or no?"

"Ah'll take it!" Remy heard himself say, though the whole world felt like it was collapsing on top of him.

The next few minutes were a blur that felt like hours. He heard people as he went out through the city. They were yelling, moving, shouting about attacks on schools and on mutant businesses all over the country.

Remy went to the bank and took out all his money. The teller, a friend of the LeBeau name, simply wished him luck and Godspeed on his way.

"Way to where?" he thought as he went from the bank straight to the address of a man with his private plane. He didn't know New York. He didn't know there would be a place for his kind of person up there.

The biggest city he'd ever been in was Baton Rouge, and New York had the biggest, richest cities in the world!

Nervous, but terribly worried for Anna and Kurt, he thought hard. "Professah, you up dere?" He hitched a ride with a truck headed out of the city toward the friend's place. After a few minutes there was still no response from the Professor.

Remy's mind spun on the devastation of young mutants being talked about on every radio station and the danger Anna and Kurt were in. There were reports of bombs, shootings, riots. In every state there was at least one young mutant fatality and the country was in an uproar.

In the middle of it all, he was surprised he was so… calm. He knew he was leaving the only home he ever knew. He knew if he left, he could be killed for ever coming back.

He also knew he was leaving the man who raised him from a six year old orphan to a man.

He called Jean Luc several times as he made his way to the ranch and the grass airstrip. There was no answer and after leaving his third message Remy shoved his phone in his pocket and hopped out of the truck bed, thanking the man who gave him a lift.

"Harrison's out back, boy," he told Remy. "He knowed you was comin'."

Remy clasped his hand briefly. "Thanks… Ah mean it."

He nodded. "Safe travels."

As he drove away, Remy shouldered his bag and jogged around back, hearing the two-seat plane's engine revving. How could he explain to Jean Luc if he never even got to –?

"Hey! Remy!"

He stopped and stared. Jean Luc was there and apparently had been waiting for him. He ran over and embraced Remy suddenly.

Remy didn't respond right away to the hug, guilty. "Ah have t'do it, daddy, ah have to!"

"Shuddup, Remy, an' don' worry 'bout it," Jean Luc said, letting him go. He looked sorrowful, but there was a small proud smile on his lips. "The fam'ly can take dis fight from 'ere."

The expression made Remy feel guiltier. "Daddy, ah" –

"No, Remy, dis all bin goin' on too long," Jean Luc shook his head. "Don' ya be like that. Ah knowed y'could do more with ya' life if y'weren't caged up fer the Boudreaux's."

Remy was speechless and his heart ached looking at this father, thief, and very proud man admit he was wrong.

Jean Luc seemed to see that and drew himself up taller with a firm look. "Now you promise me, hear? Git good schoolin'! Love ya' woman right! An' make me proud as hell of ya! Mind me, boy?"

Remy clasped his hand and pulled him close. "Ah mind, daddy. Ah promise, Ah'll do it."

Jean Luc held him until the plane's engine revved impatiently. He let Remy go and shoved him toward the plane with a playful kick to Remy's pants. "Quit draggin', Boy, an' git!"

Remy heard his chuckle and waved as he ran and jumped in the passenger seat, swallowing tears with determination.

"Buckle in, son, we be flyin' low," the pilot said. "Air traffic's canceled, but we're flyin' anyhow!"

Remy sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. He silently prayed for the first time in years. He prayed for Jean Luc, and now for Anna and Kurt that he'd find them alive when he arrived.