Part 3
It was dark, and the street was empty. Neither of which disturbed Remy LeBeau as he crouched in the shadows with Storm and Wolverine. His red-on-black eyes absorbed light and cut through the dark easily, boring into their target. A federal savings bank. The building was a square structure, its front face covered almost entirely with glass. Twin columns stood like sentinels guarding the double-door entrance. The lights were off inside and the bank sat quiet and deserted, pretending to be no more extraordinary than any of the other buildings nearby. But Remy knew better.
"Y' sure it under de bank?" the man who went by the name of Gambit in times such as these asked. His eyes glowed an uncanny red, hinting at the whirlwind of emotions within him.
"Yes. The origin of the signal Cerebro believes to be Sinister is directly below it." Storm answered quietly, looking down at a tiny, hand-held computer that blinked and flashed in the dark.
There was a soft growl as Wolverine crinkled his nose. "No... It's definitely the real Sinister. His scent's all over this street, maybe a week old. I'd know that stench anywhere."
Gambit couldn't help the sharp intake of air upon hearing this. So it really was Essex. He stared again at the bank, its form ominously lit by the street lamps lining the sidewalk around it, and felt the gathering rage as he imagined the geneticist dissecting innocent victims... dissecting Rogue.
"If I know Sinister..." he said after a moment, "den he have a secret entrance somewhere nearby... but it gonna be real well hidden. I t'ink our best bet is t' jus' break into de bank an' go down t'rough de floor..." He turned to glance at Storm and saw her hesitation. "Don' worry Stormy... ain't like we gonna steal anyt'ing. We jus' passin' t'rough, neh?" He watched her consider this for a moment before she finally nodded her consent.
A mischievous grin slithered across Remy's face as he shuffled through the contents of his bag. This was something he could handle. B&E's were his specialty and he'd been sure to bring all the necessary equipment. All the best, most expensive, high-tech equipment. It sure wouldn't do to be caught because he didn't have good enough tools. But as important as nice equipment was, none of that would mean anything if he needed to break into Sinister's base directly. That place was sure to be protected with security systems even his nifty gadgets couldn't help against. It would be a very big challenge, despite his skill. But a bank? A bank was a piece of cake.
"It be best if I go in first t' disable de security. More people'll only increase our chances o' detection. I'll call y' when I'm ready f' ya." He tapped the small silver combadge he wore. The one that Henry had whipped together at the last minute for communications.
Storm nodded her agreement, but held his gaze a moment longer to give him a concerned, heartfelt look. "Be careful, my friend."
"Yeah, and ya better not 'accidentally' end up in the vault while yer at it Cajun," added Wolverine.
"Who? Me?" Remy grinned, treating them all with an innocent look. And then he was gone, slipping into the shadows as if they were a second skin.
§ ¨ © ª
The bank was well protected. Cameras peeked out from hidden corners in the building, straining to catch a glimpse of anyone who dared to cross their threshold. Mentally, Remy switched into thief mode, crouching just beyond the circle of light created by a street lamp. His emotions clenched together, huddled into a tight knot—anticipation, worry, fear, excitement—all thrown together into one volatile ball of anxiety. He pushed it away, forced it deep within himself, into a locked chest where it couldn't escape.
A pretense of professionalism fell over him as his mind focussed on a single goal: breaking into the bank without being detected.
Unimportant details slipped away into oblivion, sorted out by his experienced brain. But they were never ignored so completely that he could miss some disguised sign of danger. Concentrating, he listened carefully to the world around him, noticing background noise and then ignoring it as such, but always paying enough attention to notice even a miniscule change. He felt detached in a way, yet completely exhilarated by the experience. He felt powerful, a being of focused energies and attentions captured so completely in his task that none could sway him, yet at the same time fearful. It was the fear that was his safeguard. The day he lost it was the day he got sloppy, the day he got caught, the day he possibly met his death. He was confident, yet not overly cocky. It was so easy for an outsider to mistake the two. He could not. To do so would mean failure, and failure was not an option. It never was for Gambit.
Slowly, carefully, he circled around the perimeter of the bank, searching with a trained eye for the perfect entrance. He desperately wished he had blueprints for this place; that would be the smart way to do a B&E, the safe way. Too bad he wasn't at liberty to be smart or safe. This was a rescue mission above all. An urgent rescue mission that required speed.
There... He stopped suddenly, spotting what he was looking for. A small metal door sat, sunken into the back of the bank and tucked away from any casual, passing glance. An entrance most likely used by employees. And therefore an entrance in the immediate vicinity of the alarm system, strategically placed so that employees could quickly disarm it upon entering. Perfect.
He could see a camera facing his chosen entryway, aimed so as to record the image of anyone who tried to use the door. No problem. Slipping his bag off his shoulder, Gambit pulled out a small black box that had on it a digital pad and display screen. No lights lit the buttons; that would make the object too easy to spot and threaten the discovery of the thief who used it.
Creeping carefully around the range of the camera, Gambit got as close as he could without being detected. After pressing a few of the buttons whose locations he knew by memory, he softly set the object on the ground. A tiny green light blinked only once to indicate that the device was working, and then went dark to avoid attracting attention. If he had shown a flashlight on the display screen, he would have seen tiny digital numbers ticking off seconds, counting down the time remaining before the jamming device stopped doing its job. And what was that job? It froze the last image before the device was activated on the camera, so that no new input could be received. If the footage from the camera was casually reviewed later, it would simply seem as if nothing had changed during the time the little device was working. In reality, Gambit would have gotten in the bank and out, long gone before the camera started working properly again.
He stepped back slightly and set his watch to match the countdown the camera would be frozen for. 15 minutes. Plenty of time if all went well. And if it didn't.... well, he would worry about that as it came.
He stepped silently up to the door, staring thoughtfully at it for a moment. His heart pounded a steady quick beat in his chest. It occurred to him that he had absolutely no idea what to expect on the other side. He didn't know what kind of security this place had, didn't know whether Sinister had set precautions or not.
Slitting his eyes, Gambit placed his gloved hands on the door. The kinetic field that always surrounded him extended outwards, feeling for movement beyond the door. He started on a large scale and then worked his way down, narrowing his field and tightening it. This was not easy for him; to use his powers to detect such subtle movements, but it was necessary. He just hoped he didn't miss a more obvious sign of danger while he was so lost in concentration.
His kinetic field grazed a long stream energy that he guessed was a laser. Normally he could only detect larger, moving objects, but the concentration of the energy allowed the laser to be barely perceptible. He focussed his field on the spot... located just beyond the door.
Sweat pouring down his face, Gambit opened his eyes and came back to reality. He took a moment to reorient himself and then went to work. Gotta hurry, he thought. Wastin' too much time. He moved carefully in front of the door as he pulled out a series of lock picks and other devices from their places in the many pockets that speckled the black, form-fitting suit he wore. It was his thieving costume; he hadn't worn his traditional X-Men one since Antarctica and didn't intend to start now. Besides, all his spare uniforms had been taken with the rest of the stuff in the Mansion by Bastion, and without the Shiar Equipment he wouldn't be able to make himself a new one. And, he thought to himself, almost smiling, do y' really t'ink fuchsia is the best color for sneakin' around in?
Both the digital lock and the manual one were open within a minute, but he didn't enter right away. Most places had a camera or motion detector guarding the inside of every entrance. The jamming device he'd already used for the other camera should take care of the one on the other side of the door, since the device worked through metal and on a 10-meter basis. But that left the motion detector. Again, he rummaged through his bag, quietly of course, knowing exactly where the device he needed would be.
This one was also black, but was very flat, almost paper-thin. He pressed a button and slid it under the tiny crack that separated the door from the ground. That'll take care o' de motion detector—if dere is one. Too bad de person who designed dis place didn' have de foresight t' make sure de door go all de way t' de ground, neh? Government'd never be so stupid in one o' dere secret facilities. Actually, he was surprised the bank had been. It was holding thousands of dollars and besides that it was supposed to be housing one of the greatest enemies the X-Men had ever faced. So what gives?
Gambit didn't have time for idle contemplation. Pulling out two mirrors, he went to work on dealing with the laser. Now he did open the door, but only pushed it slightly, sliding one of the mirrors around the heavy metal to the other side of it, and holding it there. The other he held on his side of the steel structure. He pushed the door a little more. Peering inside, he saw the laser beam, courtesy of the special structure of his unique eyes, and adjusted the mirrors accordingly, so that they would block the bright red stripe that cut across the floor. Then he pushed the door a little more. He went on like this, moving at a pace excruciatingly slow to his thumping pulse, until he had an opening wide enough to squeeze through.
The whole process took 3 minutes, and when it was done, he was inside, the door closed behind him, searching for the control panel for the security system. He found it and went to work. Another minute and that threat was also neutralized.
Taking a slow, measured breath he scanned the area. He was in a hall, a dark hall. But that didn't matter to his mutant eyes. What did matter was that there had been no motion detector at all. Only a camera and laser. For some reason that bothered him, and he couldn't place why. Normally he'd take the absence of a motion detector as a strike of good luck and move on... but tonight? It bothered him and some little voice inside screamed that something was wrong.
After scanning the area with his spatial sense and his normal senses to his satisfaction, he simultaneously checked his watch and turned on the communication badge he wore. Nine minutes and thirty seconds left before that camera outside came back on. Plenty of time. Hopefully.
There was the quiet sound of static as his communicator started working. It was silver and carved into the shape of an X with a circle around it. "K' Stormy, I'm ready f' ya. Jus' come in t'rough de employee's entrance 'round de back. Security's disarmed... 'cept f'r de cameras, but dat's taken care of." His voice was barely a whisper but sounded incredibly loud in the empty space.
"I understand," came the quick, but quiet, businesslike response. Remy had to fight a smirk. He had a feeling that Ororo was unconsciously falling back into the thief mentality from her earlier days. A pinch could do that to you. Though dis ain't exac'ly a 'pinch', Gambit mused. They weren't going anywhere near the vault. Not that this was a job Remy would ever consider taking anyway. He made it a point to only steal from criminals and con men. It didn't exactly justify his chosen profession, but it eased the pressure on his conscience some.
His kinesthetic sense flared to life, alerting him of the wary approach of his teammates. He pushed the door open just in time to move aside and allow Storm and Wolverine to step in. "Nice bit o' machinery ya got there," rasped the short, stocky, Canadian as he gestured vaguely toward Gambit's camera jamming device outside.
"Top o' de line," the Cajun answered with a slight grin. "Dalsbury made." The other man nodded appreciatively at the information, and then turned to Storm.
"So? Where to, darlin'?"
"She is north of our position... maybe 20 meters, and obviously farther underground." A few silver strands of hair fell across Storm's face as she looked intently at the hand held Cerebro. A little gust of wind and they were gone, back in their place.
"Y' still gettin' a reading from Sinister?" Gambit asked, eyeing her curiously.
"Yes, but he is not in the same vicinity as Rogue. I assume he is in another part of his base."
Gambit took a deep, steadying, breath. He didn't like this. It just wasn't right. Sinister wouldn't allow himself to be detected like this, and, besides that, such detection should be impossible. Cerebro only worked on mutants and Sinister wasn't a mutant. Which seemed to mean that somebody might be trying to make the X-Men think they were Sinister—but that theory had already been disproved. Wolverine had smelled Sinister's scent. That couldn't be easily faked. There was only one other explanation.
It was a trap. Simple as that. But they were the X-Men; they always walked into traps on purpose.
"We better be careful," Gambit commented. Both teammates nodded in agreement. From their expressions he could see they had come to the same conclusion as he had.
Storm glanced up the hall ahead of them. After a few meters it split into three different directions. Each new hallway was guarded by a camera. "Are they still active?" she asked, gesturing toward the devices that reached from the ceilings like mechanical appendages augmented with strange, watching eyes.
"Yah," he replied. "Dey're wired separate from de alarm system. I'd need t' find de surveillance room t' turn dem off." A grin slithered across his face and his eyes glinted just for a second. "Y' want me t' blow dem up?"
"No. That won't be necessary. I have a better way." She raised one hand in the air and reached up towards one of the cameras, closing her fist as if she were trying to will it to crush itself. But the camera remained in tact. Instead a small cloud of condensed fog formed around its lens, a thick, white, fluffy cloud that was so thick that Gambit couldn't even see the camera through it. He looked to the other hallways breaking off at the junction ahead and saw that the same thing had happened to the cameras guarding each of them.
"Show off," he accused, amusement playing in the tones of his voice.
"I am simply using the gift of my powers in the best possible way."
"Uh-huh. Ssuuuuure."
Storm ignored his sarcasm with a slight smile and began to walk forward until she reached the place where the hallways split. There she paused. "I do not know where the stairs are. We need to find them to get to the basement."
Wolverine walked pass Gambit to stop beside her. "Look darlin', we don't have time ta go wanderin' around in search of stairs. So either we let Gumbo blow us a hole in the floor here and get to the basement right away and then we look for Rogue's position, or we get directly over Rogue's position and then blow our way down. Yer choice. 'Sides, bank probably ain't even real. It may jus' be a cover for Sinister's base."
Gambit smiled at Wolverine's suggestion. He could feel the power aching to be released in his fingers. Explosions would be nice. He liked the possibilities. It would be faster and easier that way, and he wanted to get this all over with as fast as possible. The anxiety was slowly building up in him and he figured they had better find Rogue before he burst under the pressure.
Storm obviously didn't agree. She frowned down at the burly man next to her, delicate eyebrows creasing in thought. Finally she sighed heavily, a resigned look in her eyes. "Fine. We need to get to Rogue as fast as possible. Remy, you can blow us a hole in the floor here. But please try not to make the explosion any bigger than necessary."
He nodded grimly, realizing suddenly that he didn't really want to get any closer to confronting Rogue. Then the cards were in his hand, charged up, and released. A loud 'boom' reverberated through the space as part of the floor collapsed ahead of them. So much for stealth.
§ ¨ © ª
The lowest level of the bank was crowded with boxes of old files and papers. Spider webs drifted off the heavy concrete supports and hung in the way of the three figures that moved through it. There was an eerie silence, ominous and oppressive. The kind of quiet that is a precursor to an event of great importance. The kind that means someone's life is going to change. Permanently.
It was cold. Or at least that was what Gambit perceived. It could have just as easily been the chill of locking away all of his emotions, of turning his heart to ice. Ice. How appropriate when he was about to meet the woman who had abandoned him in the middle of a wasteland full of the stuff.
He was standing next to Storm and Wolverine staring at a spot on the concrete floor. A rather featureless spot that nevertheless caused every muscle in his body to tense.
"Y' sure dis de place?"
"Yes, she is almost directly under us." Storm peered at him with a worried expression over the Cerebro unit she was holding.
He didn't notice. His eyes were glued to the floor and his jaw was set, teeth pressed so hard together it almost hurt.
"Y' wan' me ta blow up de floor?"
"Ya sure yer okay, Gumbo?" Wolverine was also giving Gambit a worried look, though his was a bit less sympathetic and maternal.
"Yeah, jus' peachy." The sarcasm was biting.
He looked up to Storm, his questioning gaze restating the question he'd asked earlier. She nodded.
Within seconds three cards were in his hand, glowing with pink energy so bright it hurt to look at it. He glanced down at them briefly anyway, some strange curiosity wondering what the faces of them were. He'd always believed in the cards with some dim superstitious part of his mind that abandoned the idea that he made his own fate. Now he wished he didn't. In his hand were the Queen of Hearts, the Suicide King, and the Ace of Spades. He couldn't think of a worse combination if he tried.
And then he was throwing them, the three cards flying through the air and hitting the floor with deadly precision, just past the spot where Rogue was supposed to be. There was a burst of light and a brief flare that left a neat little hole in his wake. He stared at it for a second. And lost his tenuous control.
Gambit dissolved in seconds and he was Remy again, the soul tortured man who both loved and hated the woman he was trying to save. No more facade to keep him rational and calm. No more restraints. Unhindered, he leapt forward into the hole in the floor, not even looking in before he jumped.
Remy landed lightly, urgent calls from Storm and Wolverine following him. But he almost didn't hear them. He was staring at the one obscurity; a narrow bed built into one of the walls, which interrupted the smooth, featureless, steely room.
She was unconscious, expression blank in peacefulness. Long, wavy, chestnut hair fell over her shoulders, one sharp stripe of white running rampant through it. It was tangled, rogue strands falling across the face, telling so much about the woman they belonged to. She was clothed in some type of medical gown; the kind of thin white material that fell over every curve and line of the body that wore it.
He couldn't move. He tried—really. But all he could do was stare, until Wolverine's yells of "Ya okay, Bub?" got too loud to ignore. He managed to reply that he was, somehow, through a tight throat that, unbelievably, managed to make his voice sound semi-normal.
Carefully, deliberately, Remy forced himself to walk forward, slipping off the trademark trench coat that he wore over his thieving clothes. Slowly, avoiding any contact with her skin, especially since he was wearing his trademark gloves that left several of the fingers exposed, he wrapped the duster around Rogue's slim body, all the while forcing his mind to remain absolutely blank. It was too dangerous any other way; if he let himself actually register the situation that surrounded him, he wasn't sure if he would punch her for leaving him or kiss her because he'd missed her so much. Better to keep himself numb for now. Better to transform into Gambit again, holding a cool cloak of indifference and confidence around him for protection.
Gambit lifted her easily in his arms. His hands tingled slightly, pins and needles prickling over them but he ignored that, crediting the feeling to the anxiety that coursed through his veins. Distantly, he wondered if his pneumonia weakened lungs would take the strain. They did, and he walked back to the hole in the ceiling where Wolverine was now leaning over to watch him. Switching his grip on Rogue, Gambit pushed her up into Wolverine's grasp, brushing the Canadian's skin where the gloves of his costume met the sleeves. Wolverine disappeared for a moment with Rogue as he pulled her onto the level above and then returned to help Gambit up. Soon they were all in the basement of the bank and Gambit was holding Rogue in his arms.
And not once had they encountered Sinister. From what Gambit knew of the villain, he was meticulous with security, and, since they were totally ignoring that security by coming in so headstrong, there should be at least half a dozen Marauder clones on their backs be now. Or a secret weapon shooting at them. Or something. But there was nothing, only still, unnerving silence. A silence that lasted even until they were out of the bank and long gone.
§ ¨ © ª
A crowd gathered around Remy, Rogue, Storm and Wolverine as they entered the mansion, filling the opening room with exclamations and questions. A fuzzy blue shape pushed through the mass of spandex clad people and Henry McCoy emerged, spectacles perched precariously on his nose.
Remy looked up from the unconscious woman he held and met Beast's gaze. "Why isn' she wakin' up?" Remy demanded a bit frantically. Any harsh feelings he had toward Rogue were momentarily lost in his concern for her unresponsive state. Who knew what Sinister had done to her?
Hank's gaze softened, almost paternally, "I won't know until I get her to the medlab," he said gently, coaxingly. Remy forced himself to swallow and nodded. He began to walk quickly toward the lifts, following Hank's lead and ignoring the strain of Rogue's weight in his arms. The crowd followed with him until Hank turned around and held up his hands to stop them, saying something about needing to have room to work. Remy wasn't really listening.
Within 30 seconds they were in the medlab, all the other X-Men having been chased away by Henry, except for Cecilia, who was wearing a white lab coat. Remy gently laid the woman he carried on the small cot that sat between two other in the room.
Unconsciously, he filed the details of the lab away. Most of the normal equipment was gone, but they seemed to have scrounged up the basic supplies. Gauze and a couple of bottles of medicine sat forgotten on a rollaway in the corner and Remy guessed that the cabinets in the room had probably been replenished some too. Hank would never let his lab fall into complete disuse.
Remy stepped back out of the way as Henry rushed over with a stethoscope and few other supplies. His big, paws moved with a speed, precision, and ability that seemed impossible for their cumbrous size. Cecilia stood at his side, conversing quietly with him, as she checked Rogue's blood pressure. Remy dropped into the shadows, forgotten and attempting to stay out of the way. He tried to be quiet and let the doctors work, but eventually the anticipation became too much and he spoke up. "Henry, what's wrong wit' her?" Beast turned around suddenly from where he was shining a light in Rogue's eye, as if he hadn't noticed that Remy was still in the room.
"Umm... I'm not exactly sure." He looked slightly embarrassed at his inability to properly assess Rogue's damage.
"Not exac'ly sure?" Remy repeated sarcastically. "You a doctor an' a genius, neh? Can' y' tell when a person's sick?"
"She's not sick." Hank answered firmly and a bit defensively. "Though I can't say for sure without blood work, which is impossible due to Rogue's invulnerability. As far as I can ascertain, she is simply... sleeping."
Remy's eyes glowed in anger. "'An dat's de best y' can do?"
"Without the Shiar medical equipment? Yes." Hank's stare challenged Remy to contradict him, but the young man backed down, forcing himself to relax. Eventually, Hank returned his attention to his patient.
Remy stepped back further into the shadows. He wasn't helping here, only distracting Hank from taking care of Rogue, but he didn't want to leave. A part of him knew that if he did, he would probably never come back. Facing Rogue, now that was bad enough, but coming back and meeting the fear of rejection again? He didn't know if he'd be able to do that. Then there was the anger that burned inside of him. Some at Rogue for leaving him in Antarctica—and large, pulsing, black waves of it directed at Sinister for all the pain he'd caused him. It was almost all he could do not to break something—or blow something up, with all the adrenaline that was coursing through his blood. And even now, his fists were clenching and unclenching involuntarily at his sides.
Then there was the fact that he really didn't even belong here. He wasn't an X-Man... That life was over. Once a thief, always a thief. That life was something he had never given up, something he never would. And it conflicted with being a good little superhero. So what was he doing here?
Remy stood that way, features taunt and set, thoughts running at a furious pace through his head for a long time. The still woman lying on the hospital bed seemed to reach into his mind and force him to take a good look at himself and consider what he was. The small hope that maybe he could one day belong with these people shattered, almost before he realized it had even existed.
The doctors were at a stalemate, seemingly at a loss for what to do next. And Remy couldn't stand being here so close to Rogue any longer. If he didn't get away soon he was sure he would burst in an explosion of pent-up emotions and energy. Besides, his mind was made up. Silently, he backed up, slinking out of the room, dropping a small, thin card on one of the unused beds.
Nobody even noticed he was gone.
§ ¨ © ª
On the way up to the spare room Storm had given him, Remy managed to, by some incredible stroke of bad luck, meet Iceman coming down the stairs. The young man glared at him angrily and Remy could feel the hatred radiating from him, residual smoke from a burning fire. Reflexively, he clamped down on his empathic sense, forcing the sensation out of his mind. By now both men had stopped walking, Bobby halfway down the stairs, Remy at the foot.
"You got a problem, mon ami?" Remy questioned dangerously. Silently he cursed his bad luck. This was the last thing he needed. Maybe he could just intimidate the boy and manage to get up the stairs without significant opposition. Otherwise, they might as well get the fight over with.
"Yes I do."
So Bobby was feeling brave today, so much for getting to his room without much trouble. Maybe he just needed to up the intimidation factor. He allowed his eyes to smolder an angry red against their black backdrop, exploiting the glowing effect of his mutation. Bobby flinched ever so slightly, but held his ground.
So he wanted to do this the hard way.
"Y' sure 'bout dat?" A single card appeared in Remy's hand, flipping lazily over his knuckles. His stance read casually confident, yet dangerously alert. Remy knew the threat was a gamble; it would either scare Drake into backing down or make him explode. Hopefully, the former would occur. He really didn't need a fight with an X-Man to punctuate this day. Not that he expected Iceman to be a problem. The boy was usually more talk than anything, to used to being told he wasn't anything special to have the self-confidence needed to make him a threat. Usually.
"Absolutely positive." A bluish-white ice slowly crept up Iceman's legs, spreading over the rest of his body. "I'm tired of you coming around here and ruining our lives. You did it to Warren, you did it to Rogue, and you did it to the rest of the team. No more. I'm not the weakling you remember Gambit. Zero Tolerance taught me something... taught me that I don't need to take garbage from scum like you! You don't deserve the X-Men—or Rogue! So either you leave now of your own free will... or I escort you out." The last sentence was almost a growl, the threat drawn out for effect.
Surprise was the only thing that saved Remy from irrepressible anger. This was not the Bobby he knew. This one was... hardened somehow, like he had recently been forced to realize that he could take action when needed, and felt obligated to do so. Like he had been forced to grow up and take charge of his life. Like maybe, he finally knew what it was like to have to take care of himself and others. One thing was for sure; Remy had missed a lot while he was gone. How much damage had OZT done, anyway?
Remy realized that there still might be a way to avoid a fight. He just had to catch Drake off-guard, make him momentarily forget about his anger long enough for Remy to get out of the situation. He climbed a few steps closer to Iceman, the other watching him warily. The temperature dropped noticeably several degrees and Remy's breath came out in puffs of white smoke.
A sardonic smile touched the corners of Remy's lips as he stopped three steps below Drake. "Don' bother, homme. I c'n save y' de trouble. I was jus' now on my way t' my room t' get my stuff, so I could leave, when y' got in my way. So if you don' mind, I be goin' now, hein?" He climbed past Drake, deliberately pushing into him as he passed. The cold from the contact seeped through his shirt, giving him the sudden urge to shiver. He repressed it. Behind him Iceman was still standing, a bewildered expression on his face, obviously having expected Remy to come at him violently rather than walk away.
Remy was in the hall now, stalking angrily through the men's wing. He'd managed to avoid things getting ugly with Drake; that would have caused more trouble than it was worth, but he just wished everybody would leave him alone. All he wanted to do was get out of here as fast as he could. The emotional strain just wasn't worth staying for. The stakes were too high. His life was becoming less and less of the game he had always imagined it to be, and that meant it was time to start a new life.
He pushed into the room that Ororo had insisted on giving him despite his protestations, and began gathering his stuff. Taking off the small backpack, slung almost forgotten across his shoulder from the B&E earlier that night, Remy proceeded to unpack it and carefully repack the valuable thieving equipment in the appropriate luggage compartments.
He could feel the figure walking up the stairs and down the hall long before she entered. Her strides were quick and purposeful, with an extra spunk to them... anger? Probably.
The door swung open behind him. "Remy? What are you doing?" Yep, she was angry. But there was also something else... hurt or disappointment in her tone.
"Packin'." The statement came out more clipped than he had intended, but he couldn't help it. Why wouldn't these people just leave him alone and let him leave already?
Storm was quiet for a moment. "Why?" she asked finally.
"'Cause I'm leaving."
"I can see that, but that is not what I meant." He didn't reply, continuing to pack as if she were not even there. She waited for several long hostile moments before prodding further.
"Remy, stop avoiding the question. That does not work with me." She managed to sound gentle and compassionate rather than using the scolding and vindictive tone that would have only served to make him shut her out. Pausing, Remy sighed heavily. He couldn't do this to Ororo, not the only friend who had stuck with him through the good and the bad. She deserved an answer. He turned slowly where he knelt on the floor before his luggage. Red eyes met blue ones and locked.
"We bot' know I don' belong here, Stormy." His voice was quiet, ringing ominously in the scarcely furnished room.
Her gaze turned hard and intense before him, ice blue eyes freezing into a jagged wall of emotion. "That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard you say Remy LeBeau." Pain, frustration, and anger all radiated from the silver-haired woman.
"Is it? Dat why dere's a woman in de medlab who tried to kill me f'r de secrets she saw in m' head, an' half a dozen ot'er X-Men who'd love t' see me dead too?" He stared at her, jaw clenched down against the hurt and frustration the sarcastic words expressed.
She answered him with angry silence, her regal stance strong and defiant, fighting the stinging truth of what he said.
"I jus' not X-Men material an' we bot' know it. Did too many dark an dirty t'ings t' live de life of a hero in Xavier's dream."
Finally Ororo spoke. "Remy, there are many other X-Men who have done bad things in the past. You are not alone in your dark background."
"No, Stormy, but I'm de one dey see an' de one dey blame. I'm de one day condemn."
Silence. He knew he'd hit the nail on the head with that one; the sadness and pain in Storm's eyes proved that without a doubt.
"Given time they'll learn to forgive," she said quietly, pleadingly, after a short pause. But the statement lacked confidence.
"Non, Stormy. I not de good lil' reformed angel day wan' me t' be, and I'm never gon' be. Jus' not who I am." His gaze dropped from hers to graze the floor.
"Surely you are not giving yourself the credit you deserve, Remy." She seemed to think she needed to defend him against himself.
His eyes darted up to recapture hers. "Dis ain't self-pity, Stormy. As a certain femme once tol' me, 'Pity don't suit ya Remy,' an' I inclined t' agree. It jus' a matter of fact. I'm a t'ief, not an X-Man. Time we both accepted dat."
"The world is never so black and white." There were unshed tears in her eyes now, eyes which had glazed over in a pearl white. He noticed the gentle pitter-patter of rain on the roof.
"Non, it ain't, but dat's still de bottom line." Remy stepped forward then, gathering his dear friend into a hug. Her body was warm against his and provided solace despite the tears that now soaked his shirt. He buried his head in her hair to hide the slight glossiness of his own eyes. This might be the last time he ever saw her, ever held her, and they both knew it. Once he left it would be for good and it wasn't likely for a thief to cross paths with an X-Man.
He forced himself to speak, voice muffled by her hair. "Bye, Stormy. It was good while it lasted." She seemed to understand that the 'it' referred to the X-Men.
"Do not call me that," she managed in return, voice slightly unsteady. He couldn't help a small chuckle at the old joke, and he admired the grace she had to uphold it in such a painful moment. Backing away, he turned and zipped up his luggage, shouldering the bag and slipping on his dark Raybans. He turned back to the figure in the doorway.
"Good luck, my friend." Storm said. There was a resignation there. She didn't agree with him, he knew. She though that he should stay here and be a hero. But he also knew that she had no ammunition to back up her arguments. He'd tried to be an X-Men and it hadn't worked... simple as that. Now it was time to move on, to leave all the bitterness and yearning he had behind.
Slowly, deliberately, Remy moved past Storm... and walked out the door.
Behind him she stood, silent tears falling from the heavens to drip into puddles on the moist ground.