X-Men: Beginnings and Endings, Part 2
Summary: An X-Men: the Movie sequel. This is Storm's recollection of meeting Gambit in New Orleans.
Disclaimer: I don't own Gambit (damn), or Rogue, or any of the other X-Men. They are Marvel's, and the movie is Fox's. I am not making any money from this (damn again), so please don't sue.
Author's Note: I am not a French-speaker. I just play one on TV. :) I know that I'm gonna make mistakes, so when I do, just tell me (nicely). All French comes to you courtesy of Learn to Speak French 8.0 and my friends Elisabeth and Valérie.
~*~
~Storm's Flashback Sequence~
~New Orleans, French Quarter, two years ago~
It was night. A young girl, about nine or so, stared up at an empty house. Her long white hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her blue eyes were a surprising contrast to her latte-colored skin.
She quickly opened a window and entered the house. She prowled around, quiet as a mouse. Suddenly, she realized that she was not alone in the dark room. She scrambled to a corner and cowered in the shadows.
A tall figure stepped into the moonlight, revealing his form to the child.
"Bonjour, p'tite." His voice was smooth, the French came easily.
She drew back further.
He approached her. She could see him clearer; he had long auburn hair spilling over dark sunglasses. A tan trench coat covered standard Thieves' Guild apparel. He was nearly twice her age.
"Tu t'appelles comment?" the man asked kindly. {What is your name?}
The innocent question nearly brought the girl to tears. "Je ne sais quoi je m'appelle," she whimpered, obviously struggling with the language. {I don't know what my name is.}
The man was sympathetic. "Y'wan' Remy t'talk t'y'in English, p'tite?"
She nodded. "Yes, please, mister."
He stood, and quick as lightning pocketed an object from the mantelpiece.
"C'mon. Let's go." He held out a hand for the young girl.
She stared at it as if it would bite.
"P'tite, do y'have anywhere t'go?" he asked softly.
She shook her head sadly.
"C'mon. Remy'll take good care a' y'. Dere's food," he offered.
She hesitantly went with the strange man, knowing that she had no other alternative. And something told her to trust him for some unknown reason.
Remy kept his promise to take good care of the child. He kept her fed and a roof over her head. She learned through overheard conversations that he was a professional thief, one of the best. She had heard several men use the slur "mutie" when referring to him, but it was several weeks later before she learned first-hand of his mutation.
He'd been teaching her French. Most of these lessons were of a repeat- after- Mr. Remy variety, conducted while walking to the store. She learned everything from nouns to adjectives to verb conjugations that way. That particular day, however, she was merely learning a children's song.
"Frére Jacques," sang Remy.
"Frére Jacques," repeated the girl.
"Dormez-vous?"
"Dormez-vous? Sonnez-" She broke off, realizing that Remy had stopped several paces behind her. "Mr. Remy?"
"Merde," he whispered, staring into a dark alley. {Shit.}
"Merde," she repeated cheerily, continuing the lesson.
"Non, p'tite. Not dat word. Jus'- hush." He froze, ready for action at any second.
"LeBeau!" thundered a voice, sounding as though it were from the depths of hell. "I believe you have something that my boss wants."
A playing card instantly appeared at Remy's fingertips. The ace of spades. Card of death. It began to glow a light orange-red. "Stay away from de chile!" he yelled, throwing the card at one of the alley's shadows with deadly accuracy. A long trail of the eerie reddish fire followed the ace from his hand to the impact in the alley. The girl clearly heard the resulting explosion and cry of pain. It was something that would ring in her mind for years to come.
Remy pulled something from his trench coat pocket and extended it with one smooth turn. A bo staff.
"You ready t'play wit' Gambit?" he challenged, brandishing the staff with both hands.
The girl still couldn't see into the alley clearly, all she could make out was a figure getting cautiously to his feet. Without warning, the figure began shooting bright bolts of… something… at her protector. Remy dodged them effortlessly at first, but one beam finally caught him in the shoulder. He went down.
The child gave a startled cry and began to run to his side.
"Run, p'tite," he managed. "I take care of him."
The child stayed.
"Go!" Remy commanded.
She unwillingly ran away, but stopped and turned once she'd crossed the street.
Remy had charged the remainder of the deck, which was now flying straight into the assailant's stomach.
He was not fazed. He had spotted the girl and was coming for her. He would not go until he had her.
"Fine," Remy spat, false bravado making up for the fact that he was about to collapse. "Now y'make Gambit angry. Dat ain' good f'you, homme."
The girl could tell he was concentrating very hard. Eventually she could make out a shoe glowing with red-orange light in the shadows. She turned away before it detonated. Various objects around the assailant charged and exploded. Eventually- and the child could see that it took a lot out of Remy- the attacker's very form began to glow, lightly at first, then very bright.
The sound nearly made her sick.
Remy collapse on the pavement; the one arm that had been propping him up had given out. The girl rushed to his side.
"Mr. Remy?" She shook him lightly. "Mr. Remy!"
"Quoi, p'tite?"
"You're alive!" she cried happily.
"Jus' ba'ley." He stretched and sat up, keeping his eyes closed the whole time. "Get Remy his sunglasses, will y', p'tite?"
She scrambled to pick up the dark glasses a couple steps away, where they'd fallen off of his face.
"Ici." {Here.}
"Merci boucoup." He held out his hand for them.
"Open your eyes first." She had yet to see his eyes and was curious.
"Non, p'tite, de sun hurts dem."
"Please?" she begged.
He opened them slowly, letting them adjust to the light. He stared at her, squinting slightly.
She gasped. His eyes- they weren't colored by any hue from the normal eye-color spectrum. They were red and black. Demon's eyes.
Remy quickly grabbed the sunglasses and jammed them on. "Sorry if I scared y', p'tite." He stood up slowly.
"Didn't scare me." They continued on their way to the store. She finally asked the question that was burning a hole in her tongue: "Are you a mutant?"
"Oui."
"Am I?"
Remy paused. "I t'ink so." He took out more cards and began shuffling them idly as he walked. "Dere is a place f'mutan' chillun like y'. I t'ink I'll take y'dere. Y'be safe dere."
"An' y'come too?" she asked hopefully. Remy noticed that her accent was beginning to fade.
"Non, p'tite."
"But Rem-eeee," she whined. "I wan' t'stay with you."
"I know dat, p'tite. I wan' y't'stay wit' me, too. I feel like y'm'own soeur or somet'in'. But dat, jus' den, was a close call. I won' always be able t'pr'tect y'. An' I wan' y't'be safe."
"When do I got t'go?" she asked quietly.
Remy sighed. "I'll take y'tomorrow."
The next day, the girl packed all of the things she'd acquired during her short stay with Remy. She climbed into the passenger seat of his car morosely.
"It not gon' t'be dat bad, p'tite," Remy told her.
She said nothing.
"Once we get close 'nough t'find de number in de phone book, I call dem and talk t'dem. If dey ain' nice, y'don' go. How dat sound?"
She shrugged.
"Mebbe y'can talk t'dem too, neh?"
She was still silent for awhile. "Don' wan' t'talk t'you none," she finally told him.
They rode the next hour in silence.
"Why don' you like me, Mr. Remy?" the girl asked quietly.
"I like y'fine, p'tite. I tol' y'before, I feel like y'm'own sister. An' I meant it. I wouldn' make y'go if I didn' care for y'. I don' wan' t'see y'hurt, p'tite. Dat all."
"Y'mean it?"
"I do, an' y'know it, p'tite." He gave her a quick sideways glance and a smile. "Bon, tu es ma soeur?"
She returned the smile. "Oui."
"So y'gon' t'be more talk'tive wit' Remy now?"
Her smile brightened into a real one. "Oui."
"So now y'gon' t'tell Remy 'bout dat weat'er t'ing y'did in y'sleep las' night, hien?"
"Wha' weather thing?"
"You was sleep walkin' 'round sayin' stuff 'bout how you controlled de winds an' rains, an' y'eyes wen' all white an' den, nex' t'ing I know, de winds an' de rains are comin' in poor Remy's window."
"Je suis desole," she apologized, hoping to score brownie points for using French. {I am sorry.}
"Pas de probleme, p'tite," he assured her. {No problem.} "But, I was t'inkin', mebbe dat's y'mutan' powers. De weat'er."
"Mebbe," she agreed, staring out the window at the wind as it tousled tree limbs. "I do feel- I dunno, connected wit'- with," she corrected herself, "the weather."
Remy laughed. "Good t'ing y'leavin' Nawlins, else y'English'd get as bad as Remy's!"
"I wouldn' care," she insisted.
"Dat's nice a' y't'say, p'tite. And I am able to speak English well when I wish to," he added in a mock-upper class voice.
The girl giggled.
"Wha', y't'ink dat's funny? Y't'ink Remy makin' a fool a'himself is funny?"
She nodded, grinning.
"Y'must a'been trés amused dese pas' couple a'weeks, den, neh?"
The girl just smiled. Remy took a hand from the steering wheel and put it around her small shoulders in a brotherly gesture. She leaned back and closed her eyes. "Je suis fatigue. Wake me up when we get t'eat?" {I'm tired.}
"D'accord." {Okay.}
That night, they stayed in a Tenesee motel. Remy gave the girl the single bed, and slept on the floor. It was more from paranoia and wanting to be ready for battle than chivalry, though.
In the morning it was pouring down rain. Visibility was practically zero.
"Y't'ink y'could make dat stop, p'tite?" Remy asked.
The girl concentrated hard, staring out the window. Her eyeballs clouded over to pure white, and her snowy hair began to dance with static electricity.
"Woah, y'don' need t'over'xert y'self, now, hien? Mebbe y'should jus' go back t'sleep or somet'in', neh?"
But the girl didn't hear him. She opened her mouth and a woman's voice came out, powerful, commanding respect. "Rains! Cease your pouring! Clouds! Be gone from the skies! I demand safe travel for the one I call brother and myself!"
Within minutes, the rain had stopped. The child turned around to beam at the Cajun.
"Wow, p'tite. Remy didn' know y'had it in y'. I'm very impressed." An' a bit weirded out, too.
The weather was beautiful all morning. When they stopped for lunch, they got a hold of the number for the mutant school Remy had mentioned. He called them from a payphone after they ate.
The phone was answered on the third ring. "Hello, Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, this is Dr. Jean Grey, how may I help you?"
"Allô? Can I speak t' Professeur Xavier?"
A pause. "Who is this, please?"
"Dis Remy LeBeau. He don' know me."
"Just a second."
"T'anks, chére."
He could hear muffled converation on the other end. He made out a small snippet: "…can't read him… some kind of shielding…"
Remy smiled to himself. Telepat's. Dey t'ink dey know everyt'in'.
"Hello, how can I help you?" asked a male voice.
"Allô, dis le professeur?"
"Yes, this is Professor Xavier."
"I hear y'have a mutan' school, neh?"
No response.
"I be a mutan', Professeur."
"Yes, we train mutants here," Xavier admitted.
"Bon. I got a lil' mutan'-chile here wit' me, she don' know who she is or where she from, an' dere some bad guy chasin' her, an' I kept her safe for de pas' couple a' weeks, but I don' know how much longer I can."
"She is welcome here. I assure you, we will keep her safe. What are her powers?"
"She can do dis weat'er t'ing."
"She controls the weather?" Xavier sounded shocked.
"Oui, she did it dis mornin'."
"Could you please tell me what she looks like?"
"She 'bout nine, ten, 'bout five feet high, white hair, dark skin, blue eyes-"
"Thank you. I believe I know who it is. Could you see if she responds to the name 'Ororo'?"
"Ororo?" Remy asked. The girl turned her head at the sound of her name. "Oui, she did."
"When can we expect you to arrive?"
"Few heures. We'll be dere by supper."
"Mr. LeBeau, you are welcome to stay with us as well, if you'd like," Xavier offered him.
"Non, Remy like it alright in Nawlins. M'powers ain' givin' me no trouble no more."
"Well, if that ever changes, you are always welcome here."
"Merci for dat, Professeur. Remy keep dat in mind. We be dere soon."
"Goodbye, and thank you."
"Au revior." He hung up the phone and looked down at the child. "Looks like y'finally got a name, p'tite."
Ororo smiled.
"C'mon, 'Ro. Let's go. I said we'd be dere by dîner."
Ororo followed Remy to the car and got in. In a couple hours, the mansion came into view.
Remy parked down the street and walked Ororo to the gate. She had tears in her bright blue eyes, but refused to let them spill. Behind his sunglasses, Remy's red eyes were becoming moist as well.
"You'll always be mon frére?" she asked.
"If you'll always be ma soeur," Remy responded.
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
Remy straightened, suddenly businesslike. "Well, if y'ever in any trouble, jus' give ol' Remy a call. I take care of it for y'."
On an impulse, Ororo hugged him tightly.
"I make sure not'in' bad ever happen t'y', p'tite," he spoke into her hair.
"I'm gon' miss y', Mr. Remy."
"I'm gon' miss y'too, p'tite." He drew back and composed himself. "I see y'sometime soon, neh?"
"Sometime soon," she repeated, and rang the buzzer at the gate.
"Au revior, p'tite."
Remy left and watched her from behind a bush. An older man, in a wheelchair, came to let her in. He looked around, presumably for Remy, then ushered Ororo in the mansion.
"I won' f'get y', p'tite. Not ever," Remy whispered.
~end flashback~