Disclaimer: Uh....

So, I've gotten to a point where my schedule is so busy, it's a choice between doing really great review replies or getting chapters out at a reasonable rate. I'm going for chapters. Is that okay with everyone? I'll still reply to questions anyone has, and certain reviews are just too awesome not to reply to, but overall, just know that I'm sayin' "Thanks for reviewing, and you rock the kazbah!" even if I'm not actually saying it. Because, you do all rock the kazbah, whatever that actually means...

Oh, and the winner of the contest was... YOU! Wait, not you, just... yeah, move a little to the side, yeah, you back there... YOU! Congratulations. However, I gave away your prize to RandiRogue because I stole her song. Sorry.

Reviewer Quotes of the Week:

Wanda W: He may be trying to hold back, but his final request that she remain with him was very revealing and I hope she picks up on it. Ah, those double meanings... glad you picked up on that.

Chica De Los Ojos Cafe: That's the spirit, just think of the future stabbings to come (note the sarcasm). Remy is such a dork! The Ragin' Cajun takes great offense to being called a dork.

Hey everyone, according to my calculations, today is Chica's last day of school! Everyone give her a high-five, or a fist-bump, or a man-hug, or something! Woot Woot!

A tiny part in this chapter is inspired by imagery presented in Tamarai's Collision of Coincidence. I'll note it specifically at the end. But you should recognize it if you've read the story, and if you haven't, well... what are you doing here? Go read that story!

Chapter Ten: A Greater Purpose

"What da hell are we watchin', anyway?" Remy asked suddenly, as three set of surprised eyes turned to him. Twenty minutes before, he had slipped into the den without a word and dropped with boneless ease next to Rogue on the couch, draping an arm over her shoulders and turning wordlessly to the movie that she, Kurt, and Kitty were already watching. He'd remained silent until his unexpected question.

"Uh… it's Oliver, the musical," Kitty responded from the other couch, where she sat with Kurt.

"Huh," Remy responded. He scrunched his nose at the screen.

"What, you don't like it?" Rogue asked.

He turned to her. "It's, uh…" He searched her face, trying to read from her expression her opinion of the film. He'd learned from past mistakes that it was a bad idea to make fun of anything she liked. His southern spitfire did not take too kindly to gentle teasing. Not being able to discern anything from her expression, he decided it was best just to avoid the topic completely. Truth was, he cared very little about the movie. "It's fine. Besides… don' care what's on, Remy jus' wanted t' sit here close t' his belle Chérie." He leaned in closer, pressing a slow, lingering kiss into the hair near her temple.

Kurt groaned from the other side of the room. "If you're going to slobber all over meine Schwester, I'd appreciate it if you didn't do it in front of me. Besides, ve're trying to take notes here," he stated, gesturing at the notebooks in his and Kitty's laps.

"It's for a school project," Rogue interjected before he could ask.

"Yeah," Kitty piped in, "We have to do a paper on Oliver Twist, any topic we want, so Kurt and I are comparing it with the musical adaptation."

Remy turned back to Rogue quizzically. "So why you watchin' it, Chére?"

She shrugged nonchalantly, her focus back on the television screen. "I like Dickens."

He turned to the screen as well, eyeing the young boys who were dancing around a dirty London street. "Which one o' dem boys is he?"

Rogue chuckled lightly and snuggled closer to Remy, slouching down further on the couch and resting her head on his shoulder, her eyes remaining ahead. "Charles Dickens is the guy who wrote it, Rems."

He pouted slightly, his eyebrows pinched together, before turning his attention back to the movie. Come to think of it, the name sounded familiar. He should have thought about it before he said something. He hated looking like an idiot in front of Rogue.

On the screen in front of them, a group of young boys in exaggeratedly oversized clothes and carefully applied dirt smudges were prancing around singing, accompanied by an unnaturally ugly man with a scraggly beard. "Have no fear, attack the rear. Get in and pick-a-pocket or two!" Remy smirked, and a quiet snicker slipped out before he was able to suppress it.

"Not a word, Remy," Rogue seethed warningly.

"I'm sorry, Chére," Remy forced out between restrained chuckles. "It's just… dis ain't for a history assignment, right?"

"Like, what's that supposed to mean?" Kitty asked innocently.

Remy stifled his grin as Rogue turned to glare at him. He tightened his hold on her with the arm around her shoulders, giving her a reassuring squeeze and a charming wink for good measure. "'s not'ing, Chaton," he answered without looking. "Jus' watch y' movie."

"No, like, wait a minute," Kitty pressed, suddenly intrigued. "You were a pickpocket, right? When you were an orphan on the streets? So, like, what are you saying? Is this not what it was like for you?"

Remy tensed up instantly, coolly looking down on Rogue, who was now distinctively avoiding his gaze, snapping her head back towards the television purposefully. The X-men knew a sketchy outline of his history, but he was pretty sure he'd only shared the details with Rogue. Apparently she'd had loose lips with her roommate. "Not exactly," he replied, still glaring at Rogue, wishing she would look him in the eyes as he tried to smother the anger that was beginning to simmer in his gut.

"Ok," Kitty continued, apparently not noticing the sudden tension between the two southerners, "like, what was different?"

Remy closed his eyes, took a deep breath and let it out slowly, calming himself forcefully. Opening his eyes once again, he turned to Kitty with a casual grin. There was no point in getting angry over this, if he could avoid it. Things had just gotten back to normal, maybe even better than normal, with Rogue, and he didn't want this little incident to spoil it, especially since he could probably get the subject dropped in less than a minute.

"Well, for one t'ing," he responded flippantly, keeping his voice carefully relaxed, "I don' recall doin' so much dancin'. Alt'ough, I did do some singin', but dat jus' be because I happen t' have a trés belle voice."

Unfortunately, Rogue seemed to mistake his attitude as willingness to speak on the subject. "But a lot of things were the same, right Remy? I mean, ya were in that child pickpocket guild, and the guy who ran it was named Fagen, just like in Oliver Twist."

Rogue's statement surprised him, and he momentarily forgot he was trying to bring an end to the conversation. "Wait, dere's a guy in dis movie called Fagen?" He really hadn't been paying much attention to the movie. The t-shirt Rogue was wearing had a slightly scooped neck, and from his position next to her, if he tilted his head at just the right angle, he could see all the way down between the crevice of her cleavage. Of course, if she shifted slightly, his line of sight would be thrown off and he was forced to readjust. It was an all-consuming activity, and as such, the details of the movie had pretty much been pushed to the side.

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Yeah, Rems, that guy there." She pointed at the screen. "The old guy singin' the song. He's the leader of the gang and his name is Fagen."

"Oh." He remembered vaguely that the Fagen he knew had been given the moniker by the Guilds, something like a nickname. "Guess dat's where he got da name from, hein?"

"So Dickens wasn't that far off, right?" Rogue pushed.

Slowly, Remy was beginning to remember his irritation. "It jus' wasn't da same, okay Rogue? Jus' drop it."

"How was it not the same, Rems?"

"It's just wasn't!" he snapped. "I mean… I don' know Rogue, it was jus' different! We weren't like a gang, or somet'ing. Dere were ot'er boys, yeah, but it's not like we all hung out toget'er. 's not like we were friends."

"Why not?" she questioned, her big green eyes wide with interest.

"Why da hell would we be friends?!" he practically shouted in exasperation. "We weren't a softball team, Chére! Dey were competition! F' food, marks, a place t' sleep…"

"But y'all lived with Fagen-"

"Nobody lived with Fagen!" he seethed. "T'ink about it, Chére. What kind o' guy likes spendin' time wit' a bunch o' young, defenseless boys? You t'ink anyone wants t' live wit' dat?" A voice in the back of his head was telling him to stop talking, shut his damn mouth already, but it was useless. As if a dam had been opened, the words just kept pouring out of him. "We lived on da streets. Fagen's was jus' a place t' crash when da weat'er got bad or t' hide out from Social Services. Y' pay y' dues, y' get protection. Dat's it."

"Wait a minute, you hid from Social Services?" she questioned, her eyebrows knit in confusion. "I know foster homes suck, but it would have a lot been better than everythin' ya're describing."

"Really, Rogue? You t'ink wit' dese eyes it'd be a good idea t' jus' hand myself ova' to da government?" He stood up angrily and began pacing in front of the couch, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "Hell, Fagen's kids beat da shit out o' me every chance dey got, but I bet t'ose boys at S.H.I.E.L.D be real gentle…" Suddenly, he stopped his pacing, a soft scratching sound catching his attention. He turned to Kitty, who was still sitting, scribbling away furiously in her notebook. "What da hell are y' doin', Chaton?"

"Like, taking notes!" she responded gleefully, not looking up from her paper as her pen continued to move across the page at an inhuman rate. "This is way better than the musical angle! A real-life comparison will, like, totally get us an 'A', don't you think, Kurt?"

Kurt, for his part, had sat in stunned silence for the entire exchange, and was now staring at Kitty in horror. His look seemed to portray that he wanted in no way to be associated with her or her 'brilliant' project idea

Remy stormed across the room and grabbed Kitty's notebook out of her hands, ignoring her surprised yelp as he ripped out the page and threw the notebook back into her lap forcefully.

"Dat's MY life, Chaton. Y' got no right!" He crumpled the paper into a tight ball, tossing it into the fireplace as he stormed out of the room.

"Remy, wait!" Rogue called out desperately from behind him.

"I'm goin' out f' a smoke. Don't follow me," he called back to her.

He was grateful he'd left his coat downstairs as he marched out the main entrance and down the front steps. He stopped at the bottom, relieved to find that Rogue had honored his wishes and remained inside. His temper may not be as quick as hers, but it certainly could be fierce, and at that moment, he wanted to hit something. Hard. He didn't like the possibility of that 'something' being Rogue.

He turned to the stone wall that bordered the front steps and slammed his fist into it forcefully. Instantly he felt the skin on his knuckles burst open, and the sharp pain in his hand began radiating up his arm. It felt good. This was a pain he was comfortable dealing with, unlike the Pandora's box that Rogue had opened up.

He didn't pretend not to remember what his early life had been like, and it would have been silly to do so. He just didn't dwell on it. The first half of his life had been tiring, lonely, and extremely painful. It was a constant fight for survival, and maybe as early as five years old, he'd begun to wonder whether it was really worth it, the struggle to make it to the next day.

Remy took a cigarette and an antique lighter out of his pocket, igniting the cig and placing it in his mouth. He took a long, slow drag, letting the nicotine spread through his system like a calming wave. Somewhere inside of him, he'd always had a strong sense of self-preservation. Somehow, it had been enough to keep his dire thoughts at bay. That's what you had to do in that type of situation: look out for yourself. Because there was no one else to do it. No one else to give a damn about whether you lived or died.

Of course, that strong sense of self-preservation also had a downside. Isolation, loneliness, an inability to trust, selfishness, and a callousness that made it hard to see value in the needs of others… these were all side-effects. And if he was completely honest with himself, he'd never really gotten over it.

Deciding this was a dangerous path for his thoughts to wander, he took another deep drag of his cigarette and cleared his mind. Rogue. He could think of Rogue. Part of him wanted to say that she had no right to pester him about his past. It was his, and he had a right to it, no one else. Another part of him knew it was unfair to judge her. He was forming a life with her, he'd given her his heart, and more importantly, he had shared with her the very basic details of his childhood already. It was natural for her to be curious. It was the fact that she'd brought it up with strangers that was the most damning. But really, given all the crap she put up with from him, he'd be a fool to hold it against her. 'You're going to let this one slide, Remy', he told himself as he smoked, 'because you love her, and when it comes to the forgiveness count, you're seriously trailing behind.'

"Remy?"

Her cautious voice floated down from her position behind him at the top of the steps. He sighed, examining the dying embers on what little was left of his cigarette. His anger was dying with them. He tossed the stub to the side with a quick flick of his wrist.

"Y' can come talk t' me now, Chére. I won' bite no more."

He turned to face her as she descended towards him, stopping at the bottom step so they were almost eye to eye. She was hesitant, her eyes fixed on her hands as she wrung them together nervously in front of him. "Remy, I'm… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

He cut her off quickly. "No, Rogue, I'm sorry. I lost m' temper, an' I shouldn't have done dat. I didn't mean t' yell at y'."

She looked up at him. "No, I deserved it. I shouldn't have been askin' ya about yer past. I know ya don't like ta talk about it. I'm just… I'm interested, ya know?" She reached up and gently brushed back his long bangs from in front of his eyes. Any anger he might have been holding would have disappeared completely with that action. It melted his heart every time. "It's a part of you. But I understand if ya're not ready ta share it, if ya're never ready. I hope ya will, eventually, 'cause I just want ta understand everything you've been through. I want ta understand you. But you got a right to yer past, like ya said. I won't push ya."

For a moment, Remy thought about mentioning her sharing things with Kitty, but wisely decided to drop it. The argument had gone far enough. He smiled back at her.

"Merci."

They shared a comfortable silence for a moment before Rogue looked down at his hand, intrigued.

"Since when do ya use a lighter?"

He realized suddenly that he had been unconsciously playing with the lighter in his left hand, flipping it open and closing it again, over and over. He must have subconsciously picked up on the action during his time with Pyro.

"Oh, uh," he stumbled. "I found it in one o' m' pockets. Forgot it was in dere. Took it as a souvenir on a job in Boston when I was a pup, don't remember 'xactly when… I just like it, I guess." He shut the lighter with a distinctive snap and placed it back in his pocket.

"Huh."

Fortunately, Rogue didn't push the subject further. Unfortunately, she wasn't the only one who noticed his change in behavior.

Two days later, Logan kept him back after the team Danger Room session.

"Alright, you kids get off to school. Gumbo, stick around for a sec. I need to talk to ya." The other mutants gave Remy sympathetic looks as they filed out; when the Wolverine decided you needed to talk, it was rarely a good thing. Remy stood silently, waiting for the room to empty, his shirt soaked with sweat and his side hurting more than he cared to let on. It was his first day back training since his accident, and even though Logan had kept the session light, he was definitely feeling the effects of both his injury and the near month of downtime.

Once all the students had left, Logan turned to him, his arms folded over his chest.

"You wanna tell me what's goin' on, kid?"

Remy glared back defiantly. "Got no idea what y' talkin' 'bout, Wolvie." Truthfully, he had a pretty good idea.

Logan rolled his eyes. "Did ya think I won't notice? You didn't use your powers once in that whole training simulation. I've been watchin' ya for a while now. You haven't blown anything up since you were attacked. You gonna tell me why not?"

Remy scoffed. "It's not a parlor trick, Logan. Jus' cuz I can do it, don't mean I need t'. Somet'ings are best done da ol'-fashion way. Jus' easier."

"Right," Logan stated sarcastically. "So you're tellin' me that takin' out six robotic ninjas, by yourself, using hand-to-hand combat, on your first day back from a stabbing is 'easier' than just blowing them up from twenty feet away?"

"Yeah," Remy replied morosely. Okay, so maybe this argument was going to be harder to sell than he thought.

Logan chuckled sardonically. "Alright then, Cajun, if you really got no problem with it, why don't you just blow something up right now? Pull out one of your damn cards or something."

Remy glared at him. "Like I said, it ain't a parlor trick."

"Oh come on, Gumbo, it'll be fun." A sadistic smile was starting to form on Logan's lips. "Hey, I got an idea." Suddenly, he unsheathed his claws with their trademark 'shnikt'. "Let's see what happens when you charge these babies up."

Remy's eyes widened in horror. "No."

"Geez, kid, with all the crap you give me, I thought you'd be jumping at the chance to blow me up." His eyes flashed wickedly. "Let's see how long it takes for all my bits and pieces to come crawlin' back. It'll be like one of those zombie movies you and Stripes love so much."

"No!"

Logan retracted his claws, wiping the smile from his face. "Kid, we ain't going anywhere 'till you either blow something up or tell me what the hell is going on."

"Not'ings goin' on," Remy snapped, "so jus' leave me da hell alone!"

He turned on his heel and marched out of the Danger Room as fast as his aching side would let him. As he raced towards the elevator, he could sense Logan close behind. He took little consolation in the fact that he made it into the elevator alone; Logan would simply take the stairs. Sure enough, as soon as he exited the elevator and began climbing his way up the main staircase, Logan was at his heel.

"We ain't done talkin', Gumbo."

"Yes we are!"

Remy stormed into his room, slamming the door noisily behind him. He heard Logan growl from the other side as he threw himself down on his bed, crossing his arms hotly.

"Damn it, Cajun!"

"Go away!" he shouted back. He wondered if he was coming across as much like a petulant child as he felt.

Logan burst in the door. "I just got through this stage with Jubilee, so don't you be startin' this shit up."

"Leave m' alone!"

"Remy…" Logan growled threateningly.

"Fine!" he shouted, jumping off the bed and retrieving his packet of smokes from the bedside table. He took a cigarette out and charged the end with the tip of his finger before putting it in his mouth. "Dere… Y' happy now?"

"Once you take that thing outside, I will be."

Remy took the cig out of his mouth and blew his smoke out slowly, flipping Logan the bird as he examined his cigarette with sudden interest.

Logan sighed irritably. "We ain't done here, kid. Sooner or later, you're gonna have to talk to me." With that, he turned and left the room, leaving Remy to sulk by himself.

As soon as the door was closed, Remy went to the window and opened it. He stubbed out the cigarette on the sill before tossing it out the window. He hadn't actually been in the mood for a smoke, and his lungs were still raw from the morning's training.

It hadn't been a conscious decision, not really, not at first. But the truth was, he was tired of being a mutant, and after so much time had passed without him using his powers while he was in recovery, it just seemed like a good idea to keep it that way. Of course, logically he knew that not using his powers would not make him any less of a mutant. Hell, his demon eyes were the marker that pegged him for discrimination, and there was nothing he could do about that. But as silly as his actions were, part of him didn't care. His damn powers had been nothing but trouble, from the very beginning. Sure, they sometimes came in handy. It certainly made him a better thief. But really all that meant was that he was a better tool to used by his father. No, in the end, his mutation was nothing more than a curse.

Bobby had stated many times that he thought Remy's powers were "like, totally cool", but all that happened to Bobby when his powers manifested was that he got a little frostbite. When Remy's powers manifested, he'd nearly blown his damn hand off.

It was so new, so unexpected. A fire unlike anything he'd ever known had engulfed his whole arm, and when he looked down at his hand, he had felt his heart stop in horror. The single playing card he'd been holding had disappeared completely. In it's place was something like out of a war movie. All the flesh had been blasted off his right hand and part of his forearm, the red, raw tissue underneath exposed. The muscle oozed blood, a deep rich red that mixed with the blackened tissue that was singed around his fingernails. How ironic that his hand now matched his eyes. He tried to scream, but the pain and fear had seized his lungs, and he was trapped in horrific silence. His father, alerted by the explosion, had burst into his room and immediately scooped him up, his own shock somehow triggering him into action. He was rushed to the Guild's private clinic and right away put under for an entire two months. It couldn't be risked that he would awake and blow up his bandages before his skin grafts had begun to heal.

Three years. Three years he'd been off the streets, and had been afforded a somewhat sense of comfort, of peace. Just enough time to realize what it meant to be young, what he was supposed to be. Enough time for him to begin to forget for a few short moments each day what kind of so-called life he had thought he would be forever doomed to, and begin to accept the somewhat normality of his new surroundings as familiar. Three short, measly, insignificant years. That was all he got. Three years of happiness before it all went to hell again.

The years of training to reach full control, his tragic overload, Sinister, a life-time of persecution and segregation, and now, some stupid late-night stabbing… it was all too much. He'd had enough. Sure, looking back, his recent stabbing seriously paled in comparison to everything else he'd been through because of his mutation, but it was the straw that broke the camel's back.

He could understand why someone like Xavier would be proud of being a mutant. What was the worst thing that could happen to a telepath… a bad headache? Mutants like Xavier had it easy, and that's why he could dream of such silly and pointless things as a peaceful and understanding existence between mutants and humans. Remy saw very little value in the fight. He was here for Rogue, and maybe because a part of him yearned to be a part of something that, while fruitless, was, at the very least, honorable. But in his mind, Xavier's was nothing more than a pipe dream. Hell, he hated his own mutation, so how could he expect any less from baseline humans?

Since he'd joined with the X-men, things had for the most part been quiet, and his faith in the Professor really hadn't been put to the test. The closest he'd come to having to put his life on the line for the cause was to help Logan and Storm break up the occasional scuffle between a human and a mutant, the likes of which usually amounted to a few weak punches and a lot of drunken name-calling.

He only had to wait three days for Logan to exact his revenge for the whole no-talking/temper-tantrum incident. Remy was enlisted to join Logan in accompanying the Professor at his lecture in New York City. While there had been no major anti-mutant uprisings since Apocalypse, Xavier was still one the major faces of the mutant rights campaign, and as such, was a target for retaliation. Usually Storm or Beast would join with Logan to serve as protection for the Professor, and Remy was grateful, seeing as the last place he'd like to spend his time was in a boring lecture hall. But as they say, payback is a bitch, and Logan was not one to let sleeping dogs lie.

Remy was thankful that they took the Blackbird, cutting their travel time down to less than a half an hour, as opposed to the almost two hours it could sometimes take to reach the city with traffic. The less time he had to spend on this so-called 'mission', the better. As they began disembarking the plane, Logan stopped him.

"Take the sunglasses off, kid."

Remy immediately tensed up. He always wore his sunglasses out in public. Nearly twenty years of gasping women and crying children had gotten old.

"No. Why?"

Logan stepped towards him. "Because," he said, as he unsheathed his claws, "we're here today as mutants. Take 'em off."

Remy hesitated for a moment, but finally, he took the glasses off with an irritated growl. 'We're here as mutants'. In other words, they were supposed to be muscle, Xavier's bodyguards. It wasn't the first time his eyes had been used for intimidation. Jean-Luc frequently brought him along on contract negotiations with unfriendly clients. He still hated it every time.

He walked back into the plane and tossed his sunglasses on his seat. When he returned to the ramp, he found Logan and the Professor staring at each other in silence, which could only mean they were having a mental conversation. That was never a good thing.

After a moment, Logan turned and looked up to Remy. "Leave the gloves, too."

Remy's heart froze. "What?! No!"

Logan stepped towards him menacingly. "Leave 'em, Gumbo, or your ass will be stuck in the Danger Room at 5am every morning for the next two weeks."

Remy glared at him in frustration for a few moments before giving up with a disgruntled "Fine!". He peeled off his gloves and tossed them back inside the plane. "Can we go now? I just wanna get dis damn t'ing ova' wit'…"

He crossed his arms angrily as they made their way inside the lecture hall, his right hand securely hidden under his other arm. 'Next time they ask me to do this, I'm playing sick. I'll fake leprosy, or something…'

Despite his discomfort at losing his security blankets, the job was fairly easy. All he and Logan had to do, the latter still keeping his claws exposed, was stand on either side of the stage, looking dangerous. The Professor's speech was as boring as Remy had predicted. 'We're all equal', 'a peaceful coexistence', a few historical comparisons and medical research… the usual rigmarole. After twenty minutes, Remy tuned him out, turning his attention to the crowd in front of him. The lecture hall was surprisingly full, considering it was the middle of a weekday, most of the audience consisting of middle aged men and women, professionally dressed, a few taking notes. As his eyes scanned the group in front of him, something unusual suddenly caught Remy's eyes.

Sitting about ten rows back was a small boy, and he was staring straight at Remy. In the middle of a group of adults, the child stood out like a sore thumb. Remy was horrible with ages, but the kid looked like he might be old enough that he should have been in school. But instead, he was sitting in a lecture hall in New York, huddled close to a woman whose deep red hair, the same exact shade as the boy's spiky mane, indicated her as his mother. And he was staring at Remy unrelentingly.

This irked him to the core. Why the hell had Logan insisted that he keep his eyes uncovered? This was the exact thing he was trying to avoid. He tried glaring at the little boy, hoping he would look away, start crying, anything. Instead, he just continued to stare, his eye line locked and unmoving.

Remy suppressed an irritated groan. What was wrong with this kid? And what was wrong with his mother?! What kind of parent lets their kid sit there and gawk at a stranger's disfigurement? It was just plain rude. He would bet that a million dollars that the little snot-nosed brat was the kind of kid who stared and pointed at people in wheelchairs. 'Just wait 'till Xavier comes out from behind the podium, then it'll be his turn', Remy thought cantankerously. After another half hour of enduring the obnoxious kid's scrutiny, he was beginning to think that Logan's 5am Danger Room sentence might have been a better option.

As soon as the Professor finished his speech, Remy was ready to bolt for the door. Unfortunately, several audience members made their way up to the stage to introduce themselves to Xavier, and a small line was forming. Remy sighed. They were going to be there for a while. He closed his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose as he felt the beginnings of a tension headache forming. Suddenly, he felt a soft tug on his pant leg. He opened his eyes and looked down.

To his shock and dismay, that same little boy who had been staring at him for the better part of an hour was now standing at his feet. He looked up at Remy expectantly.

"Um, mister?"

Remy tried to suppress his irritation. Logan had said he wanted him to use his powers, but he doubted that the feral man would be very pleased if he used them to charge up the kid's shoelaces.

"Whad'ya wan', petite?"

The boy paused for a moment, most likely thrown by Remy's accent. "Um… are you a mutant?"

His question struck Remy as ironically funny, and he found himself chuckling lightly. The kid had been gawking at his eyes for the entire lecture, and he was still wondering if he was a mutant?

He smiled lopsidedly at the boy. "Do you t'ink I am?"

The boy scrunched his face in deep thought, and Remy chuckled again. "Yeah, I think you are!" the boy finally responded.

"Den y' be correct, garçon."

The boy looked down sheepishly for a moment before looking back up at Remy.

"Can I see your eyes?"

Normally, the question would have annoyed Remy, but the innocence in which the young boy asked compelled him to comply. He crouched down, his tall frame coming to rest at eye level with the child. Remy was taken aback when the boy's eyes widened, not in shock or fear, but in adoring fascination.

"Wow."

It was then that Remy noticed the boy's own eyes. They were big, round pools of clear green, so similar to Rogue's that his heart ached just a little at seeing them. The one difference, though, was that this boy's eyes sparkled. Literally, they sparkled. He hadn't noticed it from far away, but up close, the boy's eyes shimmered, as if there were a hundred tiny diamonds embedded in them, catching some imaginary light and reflecting it off in a radiant, colorful display. It was mesmerizing, and quite frankly, it was the most magnificent thing Remy had ever seen.

The boy suddenly spoke up, breaking him from his trance. "Your eyes are really cool!"

Remy smiled. "I like y' eyes, too."

The small boy practically beamed at the compliment. "Thanks!" He suddenly stuck his tiny hand out. "I'm Jason. What's your name?"

Remy laughed at the boy's antics, reaching out to shake the his hand. "'m Remy."

Jason's gaped excitedly. "Like Ratatouille?!"

"Uh, sure." Remy had no idea what the kid was talking about.

"That's my mom, her name is Marcy." The boy pointed over to where his mother stood, talking with the Professor. "She's gonna ask that guy to help me go to school. Is he your boss?"

"Well… sort of." Remy responded. "What do you mean, he's gonna help y' go t' school?"

"They won't let me," Jason answered, his smile disappearing. "I got to go to Kindergarten one time, but the teacher said I couldn't come back because I was a mutant. She didn't like my eyes."

Remy frowned. This boy had the eyes of an angel. How could anyone look at him and see anything but a beautiful, innocent child? He could understand the prejudice he himself had endured; after all, he had the eyes of the devil. But this child… he shouldn't have to go through life with that same pain, that same feeling of inferiority. It just wasn't right.

"I had to be home-schooled all this year, and it was boring. I wish I could just go to school with my friends," Jason continued. "That's why my mom is asking that man to help us. She says that maybe I can go to school next year."

"Yeah," Remy responded absent-mindedly. He was watching Xavier intently as he conversed with Jason's mom. She was handing him several papers. That seemed to be a good sign.

"Wow," Jason exclaimed excitedly, calling back his attention, "what wrong with your hand?"

Remy looked down, suddenly noticing that he was no longer hiding his hand. Jason was examining the mess of scars and ugly texture of his skin grafts with fascination.

"I, uh… I blew it up," he responded hesitantly. "Dat's what happened when I got m' powers."

"Really?!" Jason was supremely interested. "What are your powers?"

"I can charge da potential kinetic energy in any inorganic object."

Jason stared at him with blank confusion.

"I make t'ings go boom." Remy amended.

Jason eyes lit up. "Neat! I don't have any powers yet, but I hope I can do something cool like that!"

"It's not dat 'cool', petite," Remy warned. "Dese powers have given m' a lot o' trouble. Mos' times, I wish I didn't even have 'em."

Jason thought about this for a moment, his tiny face scrunched in confusion. "But…" he started, "if you didn't have your powers, you wouldn't be as special."

Remy shrugged. "Maybe. But maybe I don' wanna be special. Maybe I jus' wanna be normal."

"Hmmm…" Jason hummed as he bit his lip in concentration. After a moment, his face relaxed, his brilliant eyes shining even brighter. "I think I just want to be me."

Remy stared at the child in wonder. This boy, so innocent, so full of hope… he shouldn't have to live the life that Remy had. He shouldn't have to experience any of the pain, the isolation. This boy deserved better.

At that moment, Jason's mom approached them, putting a hand on her son's shoulders. "Sweetie, it's time to go. Say goodbye to your friend."

Jason turned to Remy. "Bye, Remy!"

"Au revoir, petite." Remy held out his fist, and Jason excitedly bumped it with his own before turning and scampering away with his mother.

"Mom, mom, did you see his eyes?!" he heard Jason say as he walked away. Remy laughed as he straightened back up. That kid was a freak. The only other person he knew who actually liked his eyes was Rogue, and he thought she was a freak as well.

As he waited for the crowd that surrounded the Professor to dissipate, Remy thought back on Jason's situation. It wasn't fair. He himself had had a crappy childhood, but that didn't mean that this child should have to endure the same. Jason was proud of his mutation, and Remy couldn't see any reason for him not to be. His eyes were dazzling. Yes, they were different, but that only made him, as Jason had pointed out, special. The boy should have the chance to be everything he wanted to be. He should have everything that Remy had been denied.

He remained silent, deep in thought, as he, the Professor, and Logan finally made their way back to the Blackbird. As Logan sat behind the cockpit, Remy turned to the Professor.

"Are you gonna help dat kid? Da one who's mom y' were talkin' to."

Xavier smiled. "Ah, yes, the Richmond boy. He and his mother drove all the way out from Connecticut to see me today. Yes, his case seems to be a clear violation of his Constitutional Rights. Once I've gone over the details of his situation, I will arrange a meeting with the school board in his district."

Remy pondered this for a moment. "I t'ink I'd like t' come wit' y'… if dat's okay."

Xavier nodded. "Of course. I think that's a fine idea."

Remy nodded in return, thinking back once again on Jason, and how different he was from his own five-year-old self. The stark comparison seemed right, fitting. This child would not walk the path he had tread, not if Remy could do something about it.

Maybe he wasn't ready to take on the fate of the entire mutant community upon his shoulders, but he could handle this one child. One mutant, that could be his dream. Just one step on the road towards letting go of the past, towards making things right.

So, the little ditty about Remy blowing Logan up and his bits and pieces crawling back to him is all from Tamarai. I got my Anti-Plagerism t-shirt on, people, and I'm wearing it with pride!

So, I've decided: I don't actually like torturing my readers. I thought I'd feel all happy and proud with leaving people wanting more after Chapter 6's less than happy ending, but in reality, my heart ached every time someone wrote a review saying "Oh no! What's going to happen to Remy!". And then, with my good-hearted tease of a review-request last chapter, I ended up feeling completely guilty with every first-time review I got. Seriously!! I was just trying to be cute, people, I promise!

I'm not kidding you, the guilt has been eating me up inside all week. I'm not built for this. No more teasing!!

So, now I feel guilty even asking for reviews. So don't review! Wait, but I do want you to review, but only if you want to. So, please want to, but if you don't, like, no pressure! I'm a cucumber, kiddos, as in 'cool as a'. It's all up to you. I won't push you. I'll just be sitting here, waiting, patiently, hoping that somewhere deep in your heart you have at least a miniscule desire to leave me a note, at least a tiny one, just a little somethin' somethin'...

Crap, am I coming off too desperate now? Yeah, I'm just going to shut up now.