Remy trudged along through the snow, not knowing which was worse, walking on the slushy roadway or walking through the ankle deep snow alongside it. He had a vague sensation that he'd somehow found himself walking through the snow in another lifetime, similarly underprepared, the way he spent most of his life (lives?).
Remy had seen quite a few scenarios play out while looking into infinite possibilities, most of them ending with his abrupt and untimely death. Dead at two, sent to the bottom of a bayou. Dead in a tank in a lab. Dead in a holding cell. Stabbed in the gut with a sword. Stabbed in the chest with a spear. Frozen on an arctic tundra. Blown to unrecoverable pieces. Take your pick. The best case scenarios seemed to end with insanity, with him too oblivious to the current timeline to even form coherent sentences (which were already a stretch for him). He'd resolved, given what he'd seen, to make the most of the time he had and not spend too much time dwelling on the possibilities. Instead, he should spend his efforts on random and nonsensical diversions, making the most of a bad situation. Turn that frown upside-down.
He wasn't too cold. For a while he'd worn a heavy mantle of righteous indignation and wounded victimhood, ranting to himself.
"Keep an eye on me! Oh, really, Logan? Send a woman after me to do your job!"
"'Ah trust you with mah life!' What a load of malarkey! Trust that damn no-fun sad sack sorry sonofabitch Wet Blanket, don't ya? Your trust ain't worth shit!"
"See what's what now that you've got other options! Damn couyon, me! Like I'm de last resort before celibacy!"
Then he grew kind of nauseated about coddling his own anger, like staring too long at the scene of a grisly car accident, without feeling empathy for the victims, just sick fascination. After that, he let go of his anger with a deep sigh and continued walking, letting the wet snowflakes pelt him because he still was a glutton for self-flagellation. Feeling not anger, but instead really sad that he'd lost his kind-hearted lover, his cantankerous friend, and his could've-been home in one fell swoop of stupid misunderstandings and jealousy, like a damned soap opera.
The further he got from the School, the more his headache increased. It got to start feeling like someone was trying to lobotomize the right half of his brain. Remy clutched a hand to his right eye as his vision blurred. He stumbled and fell into the snow alongside the road. He drank in the cold air, hoping to cool his head, stop the rising nausea in his gut.
Remy heard the swish of tires on wet pavement, then a screech as a car stopped and reversed, backed up beside him.
"Hey!" called a voice as the passenger-side window of a late-model sedan was rolled down manually. "Hey, John-Remy whatever your name is!"
Remy looked up to see the reference librarian, Lara, in the car. She was seated in the driver's seat, leaning towards the passenger door. "What the hell, dude? Why are you in the street?"
She shoved open the passenger-side door. "Get in the Da-Nasty!"
Remy blinked and saw the vehicle she was driving was a blue Dodge Dynasty. Slowly, he climbed to his feet, staggered into the car. When he pulled the car door closed after him, he felt his headache lessen significantly.
"Thanks," he said, his voice rough from ranting.
"What happened to you?" she asked, turned on the heater to full blast, and put the car into drive.
"Ugh," Remy said, rubbing his eye. "I think I've been expelled."
"Are you serious?"
"Let's just say, de dean didn't approve my electives."
Lara glanced sidelong at him. "Dude, you're a mess! Are you hurt? I don't see you bleeding. But your clothes are shredded! Did someone put you through a woodchipper?"
"Electrical...not up to code."
"Oh my gosh, I should take you to a hospital!"
"No!"
Surprised at his reaction, Lara sobered, her panic forgotten. "Okay, chill. We'll go to my place."
"I have an apartment-," Remy began.
"Look, I'll feel better if I keep an eye on you. You're super pale and your eyes look weird."
"That's how dey always look."
"No, I mean like glazed, two different colors or something. You're not on drugs, are you?"
"You'd know!"
Lara exhaled, almost laughing. "Recreational use, my friend! Not trying to obliterate my brain cells. I need those babies staying sharp so I can answer random and nonsensical questions! Oh, man, you look like you could use a toke. Jeez, you don't even have shoes!"
"I won't smoke a joint. I will accept a cigarette."
"Those things'll kill ya!"
"How about a drink?"
"Sure," Lara said, pulling into the parking lot of a 60s-era apartment complex. "Come on up."
He opened the car door, stepped onto the frozen pavement. He cringed. By now, the late afternoon sun had been hidden behind low gray clouds. It might just as well have been night. Yellow lights on the outside of the apartment building illuminated the parking lot. "Won't your boyfriend be mad about you bringin' home a half-dressed man?"
"Nah," Lara said, leading him to an exposed stairwell. "I threw his ass out."
Remy padded up the cold metal staircase after her, his arms wrapped around himself. She took him to her apartment door, unlocked and opened it.
"Broke up?" Remy asked.
"He told me he decided he was polyamorous. I told him, he could 'poly' himself off somewhere else."
"Sounds like a real jerk loser...no offense to you."
"Yeah, well, everyone's got a thing. I just don't want any part of his." Lara turned on the lights revealing a small living room with a couch, recliner, overfull shelves with movies and books, a variety of potted plants, and a small television set. "Come on in, have a seat. Let me see if I can find you some clothes that don't have holes. I think my ex left some of his shit in the closet."
Remy hesitated before sitting on the couch, as wet as he was. He perched on the edge of a cushion. There were two cats on the couch, one on the back (skinny, black) and one in the center cushion (pleasantly plump, gray). They both stared at him.
"Here you go," Lara said, handing him some gym clothes. "Uhm, he was considerably larger than you. But there's a drawstring."
"Thanks," Remy said.
He moved to stand when Lara exclaimed: "Holy shit, there's like a nail in your leg!"
Remy looked down at his thigh. "Oh, yeah," he observed.
"Doesn't that hurt?"
"Well, now dat you mention it, it's messin' with my chi."
"I should have taken you to the hospital!"
"Nah, nah, it's fine. Look, I need your help pulling it out. I don't do so good with pointy things getting stuck in me."
"Who would!? I'm not pulling that out. You need a surgeon and a tetanus shot!"
Remy sat down heavily and put his head between his knees. "Uggh."
"Okay, don't pass out! Oh, my god, Lara…This is bonkers!" she said to herself.
"Lara, I promise, you can pull it out and it'll be fine. I'm a mutant. It will fix itself."
"Oo-oh boy," Lara said, sat beside him. "Okay, if I can put ear drops in Roger's infected ears, then I can do this."
"Your ex-boyfriend's name is Roger?" Remy asked.
"No! My cat's name is Roger. This is Roger, right here. That one on the back is Siskel."
"I can feel them judging me already."
"Polydactyls see, two thumbs up."
"I get it."
"Okay, pulling out the nail now." Lara put her fingertips to the nailhead and closed her eyes. "Oh, my god, I should wash my hands, get some hydrogen peroxide or something!"
"Lara! Just take it out!"
"Aagh!"
"Aagh!"
"It's out, it's out!"
Remy flopped back onto the couch.
"Are you sure that didn't hurt?" Lara asked, looking at the long, bloodless nail.
"Well, it didn't feel good!"
"How is your leg healed? What is that glowing stuff?"
"Some kinda energy-aura...thingy. I don't know. Physics!"
"Why did I fail that class?"
"I thought you said you got a D?"
"You said this was some kind of a construction accident?"
Remy drew a shaking breath.
"Someone did this to you?" Lara said incredulously.
"You got to keep your voice down, chère. I got a headache."
"John-Remy, you have to call the police!"
Remy shook his head, he was laying back against the couch cushion. Siskel put a paw on his shoulder in commiseration. "Callin' de police...would have negative ramifications on de others involved."
"There are others involved? Are they hurt?"
"No, well. Yes, but. He has regenerative healing abilities too."
Lara dropped the nail onto the coffee table. "This is all kinds of messed up."
"Is it? Or is it just what it is?"
"It's not okay, okay is definitely not what it is!"
"Maybe in your world, chère."
"You can't go back there," Lara told him. "This is some crazy level of abuse!"
"It was an accident," Remy told her. "A misunderstanding."
"Just because you-I mean, I am guessing based on hearsay...Just because you are all mutants, doesn't mean you have to-stick with your own kind!"
"A boy like that, who'd kill your brother...Forget that boy, and find another. One of your own kind. Stick to your own kind!" Remy sang flatly.
"Cute, Westside Story."
"How are you single?" Remy asked.
"Don't go back to that school. Sometimes you have to just make your own family, when the premade one doesn't cut it," Lara said. "Are you going settle for some wacko who'll put a nail in your leg over a misunderstanding?"
"I think you might be right. I have overstayed my welcome there."
"Good. Forget that place. It's not worth the unrelenting debt of higher-education."
Remy sighed. "You said there'd be drinks."
Lara considered him. "I have a half a thing of Fireball, and wine from a box."
"How old are you?" Remy asked. "Like, nineteen?"
"I'm thirty. Newly single. Living with two-to-five cats, in a one bedroom apartment on 27K a year. Living the dream."
"It doesn't sound too bad t'me."
"I might be able to see things in a different light, via your perspective," Lara suddenly brightened. "Oh, I know!" She abruptly departed for the kitchen. Remy used the opportunity to change his clothing in the hall bathroom.
When Lara returned, she had a bottle of wine and two tumblers. "So, my parents gave me this last Christmas. Made me feel adult. Cab. Er. Net."
"Cabernet," Remy said, taking the bottle. "Dis actually ain't too bad."
"So now you're a wine aficionado."
"Sommelier?" Remy offered.
"Bad news, I don't have an opener. Any ideas?"
Remy concentrated on the air inside the bottle between the wine and the cork. He fed a slow charge into it. The cork slowly emerged. When enough was exposed, he pulled out the cork with a soft pop. "Et, voila!" he said, handing her the bottle.
"Dude."
"That's what impresses you?" Remy asked.
Lara poured two tumblers full of wine. Handed Remy one. "Cheers," she said.
Remy took a large swallow, Lara a smaller one. She coughed.
"Wow, that's...robust," she said.
"I'd say 'full-bodied.'"
"Oh, so me and this wine have a lot in common," Lara observed.
Remy laughed. "I like it."
"I thought you were making fun of me, when you asked me out."
"Why?" Remy asked, his brow wrinkling.
"Because I'm all like...this," she gestured to herself. "A nice personality, some might say."
"You look nice t'me, chère."
"So what's up with 641.5 then? Recipe for Romance?"
"Enh?"
"The hot girl. Who likes cookbooks and pulp romance? Is she your girlfriend?"
"Better not call her my girlfriend, my wife'll get mad."
"Ha! Okay, your people might call her: 'La Rawr Rawr.'"
Remy laughed.
"So...no answer?"
"No, I'm just as confused as you are."
"All right, let's find something else to do. You like movies? These two do," Lara said, pointing to the two cats.
"Sounds good," Remy said. He took another sip of the Cab.
"I got something funny," Lara said. She selected a VHS cassette from her shelf and brought it to the player. "Do you like crazy heist movies?"
"Chère, we are vibratin' on de same wavelength."
Lara pressed a cassette into the machine. Kevin Kline's character Otto, having found the jewels he'd intended to steal all ready stolen, announced: "What do you have to do in this life to make people trust you?!...People are always takin' advantage of me!"
Lara and Remy laughed.
Kline/Otto: You pompous, stuck-up, snot-nosed, English, giant, twerp, scumbag, fuck-face, dickhead, asshole!
John Cleese/Archie: How very interesting. You're a true vulgarian, aren't you?
Kline/Otto: You're the vulgarian, you fuck!
Lara and Remy howled. The wine in the bottle was gone. They moved on to the box.
"Okay, what's next?" Lara asked, holding up two VHS cassettes. "DeNiro...or Spacey?"
"Keyser Söze, first. Then Heat."
"Good, got to get my Val Kilmer in before bed."
~oOo~
After a nutritious breakfast of Lucky Charms, Lara agreed to drive Remy to his apartment.
"You're not going to go back there, are you?" she asked with concern, meaning the School.
"I got to. Some of my stuff is there. My mode of transportation."
She made him promise to call her at the Reference Desk later that day, since she was working the afternoon and evening shift. "If I don't hear from you before nine, I will call the cops."
Remy promised. At his apartment, he packed his few belongings. He realized he'd have to completely rebuild his thieving kit from scratch. He had resolved to return to New Orleans. He called Henri to inform him of this.
Henri was delighted with the news. "Be seein' you before Christmas, then?" he asked. "Here Mercy'd already sent you something in de mail. You'll miss it."
"You don't got to be spending money on me, Henri," Remy said, slightly annoyed. But also a little happy.
Henri let out a short laugh. "Remy, things have changed 'round here. I'll let poppa tell you in person. It's gonna be different when you come home."
"Different, how?"
"Different, better. Can I tell 'em, or do you want to surprise them? Tante Mattie will flip."
"I'd better not come as a surprise," Remy told him. "When I show up unexpected, things tend to go downhill fast. You best tell 'em. It'll take me a bit to ride down. Weather's...not so good up here. Maybe like t'ree days?"
"You okay?"
"I'll be okay."
"Eh, bien. See you soon."
Remy gathered the various papers and photos from his research on the X-Mansion. Robin was outside, burning lawn debris. He joined her by the fire, tossed the documents onto it.
She regarded him askance. "Clearin' out?" she asked.
"Weh," Remy said. "Thanks, Miz Robin. For de place. It was real nice while it lasted."
"I should give you your security deposit back," she said.
"I'd rather you spend it on your grandkids. Buy 'em something useless, bright, and loud."
Robin cracked a smile and Remy felt victorious. "Be back in a bit to collect de rest of my stuff. Got to stop by the...got to pick up a few things in town before I head out."
"Merry Christmas, then," Robin said, staring at the fire.
"Joyeux Noel," he told her, waved, and walked back up the driveway towards the garage.
He was wearing his running clothes, his sunglasses, and the roads were clear, so he started to jog. The snow had stopped, and everything, tree limbs, houses, stone bridges, was covered in a soft blanket of sparkling white snow. As he ran past a stone wall, a pair of horses wearing red blankets trotted alongside him, Currier & Ives style. Pretty as a postcard. Remy turned up Graymalkin Lane and slowed. He took the path alongside the front gate. His pace slowed to a walk. Hands in the front pocket of his hoodie, he approached the rear of the School. Remy stepped up onto the patio. Someone had shoveled it clear of snow, the shovel was still beside the back door. He approached and knocked.
Logan pulled the door open, stared at him with his mouth open for a moment. "You...you're that college kid who jogged up the path that day."
"You only just now figured dat out? Was casing de joint," Remy told him.
"What're you doing?" Logan demanded.
"Just came for my stuff, my bike, then I'll be gone. You can toss my bag out on de lawn if you like."
"I meant, what are you doing, knocking on the door?"
Remy stared at him through his dark lenses. "Seems y'didn't like me breakin' in de last time."
"Get your ass in here," Logan commanded.
Remy stepped into the warmth of the kitchen. It was Saturday, so the remnants of a big breakfast were scattered on the kitchen island, on the table. The place smelled like French toast and coffee. Logan, Ororo, Piotr, Kurt, Betsy, and Lockheed were at the kitchen table. Lockheed was licking a plate with maple syrup on it. Remy wondered if Kitty was with her family, since Hanukkah was soon to start on the 23rd, only days away.
"Sit down," Logan said. He poured a mug of coffee and set it before the same chair Remy had been sitting these last few weeks.
"Don't think so," Remy said, and moved to leave the kitchen.
Ororo reached up a hand and placed it on his arm before he could pass by her: "Please, sit beside me. Warm yourself a moment."
He relented, sat down and wrapped his hands around the coffee mug.
"Where you been?" Logan asked.
"I don't owe you any explanations," Remy informed him.
"Rogue and I went to your apartment looking for you," Logan said. "We found your trail. Looked like you up and disappeared. We thought you'd exploded yourself!"
"A perfectly mundane vehicle outta de late-80s picked me up. The Da-Nasty."
Logan half growled, half sighed. "Look, Remy…I'm-."
"Don't mention it. I'm perfectly happy never thinking about it again. Where is de Wet Blanket? So I know where t'avoid him?"
"Magnus is in his quarters," Ororo informed him. "You will certainly be receiving an apology from him."
"I won't hold my breath."
"Are you hungry, friend?" Piotr asked. "I believe there is one serving remaining. Rogue had set it aside, just in case."
"Well, now you're makin' me question my decision-makin' skills, comrade."
"Good," Ororo said. "You will stay."
"No, already told my brother I'd be home before Christmas. I'm expected."
"Then you will return afterwards."
"No, sorry."
"Please reconsider," Ororo pleaded, her hand, still on his arm, squeezed slightly.
Piotr placed a plate in front of Remy. He smiled briefly at the man, reluctantly removed his sunglasses. His head was still pounding. Maybe too much wine?
"What happened to your eye?" Betsy asked.
"Migraine 'r something."
"You should check in with Doctor McCoy," Kurt insisted. "I can bring him here!"
"That's a negatory, good buddy," Remy responded. "Not gonna happen."
"Remy, you must continue on with us. You need to learn to control your mutant abilities," Ororo said.
"I need to de-escalate my mutant abilities," Remy said. "Think I got a lead on that route. It'll be my New Year's resolution."
"You can't think to rid yourself of your powers," Ororo said, aghast.
"Well, not de full set," Remy conceded.
Ororo shook her head. "Instead, learn to control what is a part of you. You cannot simply...pick and choose!"
"No, I had someone do that for me!" he responded heatedly. "Someone already messed me around!"
"What are you talking about, kid?" Logan asked tiredly.
"Found some crazy study on mutants. Funny, I should find an entry matchin' my same birth year and a reasonable approximation to my birth month-."
Remy paused: "No wonder my horoscopes never made any sense! I'm an Aries, not a Taurus!"
Betsy clapped her hands. "Remy. Focus."
Remy shook his head: "Subject had my same power set. So, you want to know my real name? One Nine Seven Six Zero Four One Eight Male A Alpha B-C Omega D Omega! Really rolls of de tongue, enh? Couldn't just give me a normal name, like James, or something."
"You can't be serious," Logan said.
"Why would I make somethin' dis like up? I'm pretty creative, but dis is real off de wall."
"It's gotta be a mistake. You're-jumping to conclusions! You've done it before!" Logan insisted.
Ignoring him, Remy said: "So I know de who, de when, and de where...but not de what, how or why."
"I am willing to trust your instincts, Remy," Ororo said. "But if the evidence you have uncovered involves mutant research, then we must consult Henry. We will attempt to hail Charles."
Remy's headache suddenly increased tenfold. He roughly pushed the plate away, the smell of it turning his stomach. He covered his eye with his hand. His vision blurred at the edges, lights were dancing in his right eye. Betsy stood, alarmed. He was handed a glass of water, which he accepted with a shaking hand.
"The infirmary, I think," Betsy said.
"Not unless you think you can do it," Remy told her.
"Do what?"
"Fix whatever's broke in me," he said.
"I don't-I don't know what you're asking me for."
"Said in Jean's file, Xavier stopped her telepathy," Remy said, his voice quiet.
Logan made a sound of protest.
"A telepathic suggestion. Not something that applies to suppressing or removing mutant abilities. He simply made her forget," Ororo said. "I do not believe that would work in your case."
"No," Betsy said slowly, then speculatively: "But maybe a telekinetic…a very powerful one…"
Remy laughed bitterly. Of course, he thought. Candra could give powers, as she had to the members of the Assassins' Guild. She could probably just as easily take them away. He muttered to himself: "Ah, I get it now. I'm de butt of some cosmic joke. Ha ha. Good one."
He drained the glass of water, set it back on the table. "Well, it's been fun, kids." Remy stood and left the table.
There was some commotion behind him, which he ignored as he went through the foyer. He trotted up the main stairwell to the second floor. The hallway was very much a wreck. He pushed his way into the dorm he'd been assigned, pulled his belongings from beneath the bed, began grabbing stray items and shoving them into his travel bag. All he really wanted was his uniform back, Pretty in Pink. His coat, from the closet. A toothbrush would probably be a good idea, too. Remy turned from the closet to walk to the bathroom he and Bobby had shared. Remy would not miss the scent of body spray.
As he turned, he saw Logan standing in the bedroom doorway. His sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows, arms crossed over his broad chest. Remy eyed him carefully. He seemed none the worse for wear. "Sorry I charged your bones...or whatever it was I did."
Logan shook his head impatiently. "It was an accident."
"Weh, an all too frequent one. You survived. Kurt's among de living. Worthington, not so lucky."
"Warren...made his own choices. It could've been a lot worse, you don't know. The Morlocks, most of them escaped."
"Not de families."
"Their killers are dead. Don't tell 'Ro this, since we don't endorse killing, but you won't hear me crying over their graves."
"The killers wouldn'ta been there if not for me," Remy said.
"Explain, now," Logan said, his gaze like steel.
Remy sat on the edge of the bed. "Sinister found dem in my head, somehow. Knew every one of them murderers. One of them...he was something like a friend. I took de whiskey bottle out of his hand. Cleaned him up some. He was sober. His hands were steady when I left. Just so he could take aim at those people. Little kids."
Logan's face was unreadable. "And Creed?"
Remy's mouth twisted. "No friend, no way. Him and I met when I was seventeen. He killed de girl...I was foolin' around with. Dropped her off a building. She broke like a China doll."
Logan's posture changed, his arms fell to his sides. "He's a-fucking monster."
"No arguments here," Remy said, his voice raw. "Still, were it not for me, she wouldn't have been done like that. Or maybe he woulda just killed her outright instead of dangling her like a cat with a mouse. Because I had to make him look a fool, for my own stupid selfishness, he wanted to make an example outta me. She died, and it nearly cost my brother his life, too. So, that was the first time we tangled."
Logan looked tired then. "Do I want to know the next?"
"Sure, lemme put it all on de table. Second time, he's chasing me up dis Alpine slope. I was runnin' out of mountain and he was hot on my tail. Set a time-delay charge on a narrow bit of outcropping. Blew him clean off de mountain. He fell, I dunno, maybe two miles? He cussed me out de whole way down. I learned some new combinations I hadn't thought of. I laughed and laughed. Left me with a pretty good memory, actually. Mebbe he's not all bad."
"Kid, you can't be blamed for what those murderers did."
"You're entitled to your opinion. Could be...I might've pushed 'em all over de edge," Remy zipped his bag. "I'm gonna get."
"Get where? How do you know you won't end up hurting someone again, unintentionally? 'Ro is right, you need to do something."
"I intend to. Just, not dis second. I know my perfectly reasonable behavior is deceiving, but you'll have ta believe I am not as even keel as I seem. Got to wait for de storm to pass first."
Logan attempted to block his exit. "You're not making sense."
"Logan," Remy said quietly. "Please."
Logan sighed, relented. "Not even going to say goodbye to Rogue first?"
"No. Rather not have to admit t'myself I'll never see her again."
"You can't..." Logan gave up, sighed.
"Just another diversion, Logan," Remy said, hating himself for saying it.
Remy made to move past Logan into the hall, but he paused and turned. Remy pulled a pen from his coat pocket. He consulted his sleeve, produced a playing card with a flick of the wrist. He looked at it, smiled grimly: Three of Spades. Three of Swords (Three of Claws?). Meaning: change of plans. Splitting yourself in two. To Logan, reversed: optimism, forgiveness. To Remy, upright: heartbreak, grief. The card was meant for Logan, not Remy. Should be okay.
Logan looked confused, and Remy scribbled on the face of the card, turned it over to Logan. "That's my address in New Orrlins. My sister-in-law sent me a present in de mail. If you don't mind sendin' it back."
He continued: "Also, if you want to visit. I can show you around town."
Logan considered the address. "Alright. Always up for a trip to the Big Easy."
"Decide to come at Mardi Gras, I'll show you de proper way to do it. Fais du Courir de Mardi Gras. None of dat Bourbon Street nonsense. Hope you don't mind dressing like a woman or chasin' chickens. You might have to ride a horse."
Logan half smiled. "Haws."
Next time: the cause of Remy's headaches and the pain of more to come.
PS - non-consenual stuff in the following chapters. Not graphic, because that's not my style. Just giving you a head's up.
references:
Lara's cats are named for Gene Siskel and Roger Ebert, two film critics.
The movies Remy and Lara watch are A Fish Called Wanda, The Usual Suspects, and Heat.
That's a negatory, good buddy - Convoy
