Format for use with submitting fanfic. Surrender – Part 4 by paxnirvana
Rating: R
Fandom: X-Men: The Movie
Characters: Storm and ensemble movie cast, but introducing… Gambit
Archive: Ask me, I don't bite. Unless you don't ask…

Author's Note: I had to try my hand at putting Remy into movieverse. The way I'd like to see it done. Because it doesn't look like Singer is going to give it a try. Darn. 11/28/01

Disclaimer: 20th Century Fox has the movie rights, Marvel the rest. I'm not making any money here, just burning my own time and creativity.

* * * * *

Remy LeBeau sat with his back to a vast spreading oak that grew at the edge of the mansion's grounds. The peaceful darkness of the rural summer night surrounded them. And he was suddenly aware he held forever in his arms. He could feel it. As certain and true as anything he'd ever felt before.

It was far too late to leave. For good or for ill, she was part of him now. Ororo Monroe: mutant, teacher, warrior, woman. And his heart's desire.

She lifted her head from his half-bare chest, looking up into his eyes. Lips swollen from the pressure of his mouth, pale hair tangled from his hands, eyes gleaming with an emotion wholly her own, warm and gentle.

"You don't know me, chère," he said, trying to warn her, prepare her. He owed her that, at least, when what he should do was leave and never see her again so that the nightmares of his past wouldn't ever have the chance to ensnare her as well. But she just smiled tenderly, a hand rising to touch his cheek, fingers rubbing gently across the stubble starting to show there. He caught her hand in his, pressed a gentle kiss to her fingertips, then pressed them to the bare skin over his heart. He saw her pulse jump in her throat.

"So tell me," she said, voice husky with renewed desire.

He looked down at her and let a secretive, amused smile tug at his lips.

"Ask," he said, raising a brow in challenge. She gave a little moue of annoyance, then smiled again, shifting herself against him so that she could see his face more comfortably. Her hands slid idly over his skin, distracting him. Her touch still a wonder.

"Your accent. It comes and goes. Are you from Quebec? Or France?" she asked, frowning thoughtfully. He laughed out loud, surprised, delighted.

"Neither, but I lived in Paris for almost five years," he said. Then chuckled, slowing and thickening his words deliberately. "De accent is pure Cajun, chère. Dis boy from bayou country outside Nawlens."

"New Orleans?" she said curiously. He nodded, still smiling. "You have family there?"

His amusement vanished.

"I have no family, chère," he said somberly. Heart aching for all he'd given up. All he could never have again. Lost to him because of one woman's greed and thirst for power. His goddess sat up in his lap, hand rising to touch his face, stroke his cheek. Instinctively offering comfort.

"I'm so sorry, Remy," she said, eyes dark with sorrow.

"Happened a long time ago, chère," he said quietly, feeling a pang of guilt for misleading her, but finding it too difficult to explain the complications and the bitter choices of his life right then. The price of freedom for himself – and the ones he loved – had been high. Was still high.

"Well, then I know enough to start," she said, bravely continuing on. "You are a skilled, intelligent, kind and honorable man, Remy LeBeau." Her words humbled him. Then she lifted a brow imperiously. "And just how much do you think you know about me, anyway?"

"I know you have a tender heart; kids and friends who love you. You're loyal and fierce; you stand by those you love no matter the danger. You are brave. A fighter. Yet wise and gentle and beautiful, like a goddess," he said, his hands tightening on her fractionally. She flushed faintly, watching him with weary eyes.

"If only I was all those things," she whispered.

"You are, chère," he said softly. "I know it."

"Well, now I really think I'm gonna puke," a hard male voice said suddenly from the darkness. Remy came instantly alert, wary gaze tracking and locking on the man called Logan where he stood, arms folded over his chest, propped up against a smaller tree beyond the canopy of the oak above them. Somehow he'd managed to sneak up on them. Remy felt dismay race through him. She'd had him so distracted he hadn't even noticed. Not a good sign.

Ororo sat bolt-upright, glaring into the darkness. He loosened his hold on her but couldn't let her pull completely away. She was tense in his arms.

"Very funny, Logan," she said, voice sharp with embarassed anger. "How long have you been there?"

The man gave a snort of disgust. "Not long."

Remy knew he was lying by the wicked gleam in his eye. And he knew Logan probably also had an excellent idea of what exactly they'd been up to only a short time before. He glared at him. If this Logan made any snide remarks and hurt his stormy goddess' feelings he'd feed him an entire pack of cards – after he charged them up good.

"Not long," Ororo repeated under her breath, clearly not believing him either. "What are you doing out here, Logan?"

"Playtime's over. Scotty got worried when you didn't show up with the rest of the kids."

She slid out of his arms, brushing bits of grass and old leaves off her legs as she stood. Still glaring at Logan.

"Scott worries too much," she said stiffly. "I'm well able to take care of myself." Anger under firm control, but still evident, fed by embarassment. Remy climbed to his feet behind her, not bothering to button his shirt yet, but heartily glad now that her sense of responsibility had prodded them to pull their clothes back on.

"Yeah, I can see that," Logan said sourly. Remy shot him a hard look, which Logan returned after adding a sneer. "C'mon, Cyke's waiting.

* * * * *

When she woke it was to cool comfort and the feel of softness under her body. It was dark, not completely, but dark enough that she had to wait for her eyes to adjust.

She was in a small room. It looked like a bedroom. Sparsely furnished with single bed, small dresser, and a nightstand with a lamp. A window on the opposite wall allowed the faint light to fall in bars across the floor.

She sat up, feeling the familiar drag of protruding bone growths from her legs and side against fabric. Catching and snagging at the bedspread. Her raincoat was gone but she still wore the tattered shorts and tube top that were all she could find to cover herself around the irregular growths.

She remembered the big man from the limo. That she'd stabbed him with one of her bones and then he'd slapped her clear across the alley. Her face and side still ached. As did her stomach.

The floor was cool under her feet as she slid off the bed. Wary, she lifted the blinds slightly away from the window to peer outside. Heavy bars covered the window. Beyond it was dark. Darker than it should be in the city. She could just make out a heavy hedge, some grass, bushes. Two floors below. Fear and anxiety made her flinch at the ringing sound the blinds made as she let them fall back against the windowpane.

Why had the big man brought her here? And where was she?

She moved quietly to the door, testing the knob carefully as if she were back at home trying to sneak out for the night without alerting her mother. The door opened easily. She peeked out, seeing a hallway beyond, light coming from somewhere further down it. She slipped out, closing the door carefully behind her.

As she crept down the hall, a voice came to her. She froze in the middle of the hall, listening hard. It stayed in one place, not moving toward her and she relaxed fractionally.

"The Guild has not yet re-located our quarry," the smooth, cold voice said. "And it is necessary for me to return to the city tomorrow despite this delay. I will inform you when I have need of you again."

"What about the girl?" She recognized the harsh voice of the big man from the alley and shrank back against a wall, careful to keep her bones from scraping against it and giving her away.

"Feed her, but keep her contained. It may take several days for the Guild to stumble on him again. I want her ready to use at a moment's notice."

There was a long silence from the room ahead and she listened hard, wondering what was going on. The floor creaked somewhere ahead of her and shadows moved through the light. She scanned the dark hall behind her, wondering if there was somewhere else she could go, maybe to find another window without bars, when she heard a louder creak closer. Then a hard hand closed around her arm and pulled her forward toward the light before she could react.

"Smelled ya, girlie." The big blond man glared down at her as he dragged her the rest of the way into the room, sharp teeth bared in a snarl as he gave her a shake that made her head snap back and her teeth ache. She stared fearfully up at him, petrified, then anger rose to her defense and she glared back at him. She'd stabbed him once, she'd do it again if he tried anything.

"Mr. Creed," the cold voice said firmly. "Do not damage her unduly." She looked over at the owner of the other voice, hoping against hope for help. A dark haired man sat at ease in an armchair, leg crossed, hands draped over the arms of the chair as he watched her from dark eyes that sent a chill through her. Cold and remote. He did not seem at all surprised or revolted by her appearance. As if raw, ragged bones that poked through skin were somehow normal.

"Why'd you snatch me – you some kind of pervo?" she sneered, fighting to keep the fear out of her voice. A dark brow rose in that pale face, but no emotion accompanied the gesture. And she was suddenly more frightened of the man in the chair than the beast-like man who held her arm in a painful grasp.

"If you behave you will remain unharmed," the sinister man said. "Mr. Creed will see that you have food and a chance to refresh yourself. You could be our guest for some time. I suggest you take advantage of it. Far better than the streets and the risk of discovery by humans who would only revile you, don't you think?"

"Depends what you want me to do, old man," she snapped, glaring defiantly. The big guy – Creed – growled a warning at her, but she just stared at the man in the chair. He was clearly the one in charge.

"What I want, child, is for you to cooperate," he said, his gaze narrowing. Fear spiked through her. "Or I will have Mr. Creed dispose of you and find me another subject."

* * * * *

Scott was waiting for them in the front hall, by the rec room door. Hands stuck in his slacks pockets in a deceptively casual pose. But he was tense and upset, Ororo could tell.

Scott's mouth twitched briefly when he saw Remy behind her, his chin lifting.

"The Professor's office?" he offered. She nodded, glancing back at Remy. He was silent, red-on-black eyes curiously scanning the main hall that he'd seen only briefly once before. On the walk back he'd buttoned his shirt and tucked it in. Somehow managing to look as cool and elegant as he had when he first arrived. She knew there were leaves and bits of grass in her hair. She refused to pick them out.

A couple of kids poked their heads around the rec room door curiously, then gaped at Remy in surprise. He shot them a quick smile, inclining his head with exaggerated politeness. They backed away, eyes wide, unsure how to react to this strange adult – especially since his eyes marked him as a mutant too.

Scott frowned and gestured them all into Xavier's office, leading the way. Logan brought up the rear, closing the door behind himself quietly and leaning back against it, arms across his chest. As if keeping guard.

Ororo went toward the couch, not wanting to stand in front of the Professor's desk and feel like a misbehaving student called in for discipline. She was an adult. Her choices were her own responsibility. She settled on the arm of the couch and folded her hands in her lap. The picture of grace and serenity. Or at least she tried to be.

Remy stopped in front of her. His expression somber, gaze searching hers in wary concern. The Professor's office was air conditioned. She shivered slightly and he frowned.

"Okay, chère?" he asked softly. She smiled at him and nodded. He smiled briefly back, the gesture not quite reaching his eyes.

Scott was watching them in that odd sideways way he had when he was disturbed. Body rigid, head held cocked.

"You 'Cyke'?" Remy asked suddenly, putting Scott slightly on the defensive. And his accent was thick, which she was starting to recognize as Remy at his most disarming.

"Cyclops, actually," Scott said, brow rising above his glasses.

"For de mask I saw y' wearin' dat first night?" Remy said, gesturing broadly at his own face, toward his eyes. Scott nodded slowly.

"Y' got eyes like mine, mon ami?"

"Not exactly," Scott said, a sharp grin touching his lips. Recognizing that Remy had taken control of the conversation, and allowing it. For now. She relaxed slightly. There was no imminent danger of a battle -– or a scathing lecture. Both of which she was fully aware Scott Summers was capable of delivering. "They constantly emit force beams. The glasses keep it in check."

"Can't take dem off den? Ever?"

"No, never," Scott replied, mouth grim. Remy gave an acknowledging nod, strangely respectful. But then, with his alien eyes, he was the closest of them to understanding Scott's dilemma. Scott's expression didn't change, but she could see a slight easing of tension in his posture. Remy had surprised him, she could tell.

"Cyclops. Storm," Remy went on, nodding at first Scott, then her. Then he jerked his head back toward Logan, not bothering to turn around. "What do y' call Mr. Attitude back dere?"

"Wolverine," Logan replied on cue, his voice sharp. Remy gave a tight smile and she felt a quick sinking in her stomach at the gleam in his eyes. Maybe there would be a fight after all. But Scott saw it too and he gave Remy an amused and surprisingly sympathetic look. Patience for the Wolverine.

"An' your lady doctor? De Professor?"

"Jean rarely goes into the field. The Professor never," Scott said. "They don't need code names."

"Well den, 'Gambit' right at home here," Remy said, a wicked smile on his mouth.

Logan shifted away from the door, paced further into the room, his hands lowered to his sides, as if ready for battle. A dark glower on his face.

"What makes you think we want you here, Cajun?" Logan snarled. Ororo shot a hard look at him. His words certainly confirmed how long he'd been watching them outside.

"Logan," Scott said warningly, still watching Remy closely. "Does this mean you're interested in becoming involved in the school now?"

"Don't know about the school, but I'd like to work with my Stormy," Remy replied calmly.

"Stormy?" she repeated indignantly as she tried to still the sudden leap of joy his words gave her. Too fast, too soon, wasn't it?

Then Remy flashed her a sly, heated grin and a look from the side of his eyes that threatened to steal her breath. She hastily folded her arms over her chest as her body reacted to that look and heat flooded her veins. Too new to the raw desire that tied them to control it yet.

She fought down her embarassment, her sense of exposure. So private and so alone for so long, then this man helplessly reduced her to adolescent reactions with just a look. She let her gaze run over him and saw that his own body had reacted as well. Just like hers. But he was relaxed and unashamed, a faintly knowing grin on those wonderful lips. The sheer arrogance of him reassured her in some inexplicable way.

"The school, the team, and everything? We're here for the students first, LeBeau," Scott said his face controlled. But she knew he'd witnessed their responses. As had Logan. "It's the Professor's dream that through this school – and other projects – we can work toward a day when mutants are accepted into regular society."

She met Remy's gaze again as Scott spoke, drowning in those red-on-black eyes. Wanting again. Found an answering fire there, carefully banked. He smiled gently at her, letting her know he understood. That she wasn't alone. Then he looked away, over to Scott, and she could breathe again.

"Our primary goal is to help the kids learn to control their powers so they won't be a danger to themselves and everyone around them," Scott said, plowing on despite the byplay between them. For which she was desperately grateful. There was no way she was looking at Logan. "Yet we also try to give them an education that will enable them to rejoin society as they choose."

"Sure you want me teaching your kids, Summers?" Remy asked. "The things I know best might not meet your… expectations."

"We're always looking for people daring enough to take on teenagers," Scott said dryly. "You think breaking and entering is hazardous, then you haven't been here during finals week."

"I'm not a teacher," Remy said sharply, his lean body tense. "I'm a thief."

"Now," Scott said with a carefully casual shrug. "But all of us were something else before we came here. I was an orphan and a runaway."

Remy's attention sharpened suddenly and he looked at Scott with a strange intensity. "Xavier takes in street kids?"

Scott frowned and shifted on his feet. "Some of our kids are sent here by parents that just can't deal with a teenager who can freeze the pipes in their house with a thought. But we find a lot of them on the streets – too scared to stay at home. Or who have been driven out by parents who are afraid of them."

She watched Remy closely, wondering what nerve had been struck by Scott's words. He'd lost his own family long ago, he'd told her. He was alone. Had he grown up on the streets, like Scott? Her heart ached for him. She too understood what it was to lose family. Strange that most of the ones the Professor had managed to gather lacked close family. Or was it just that he tacitly acknowledged the price that might be paid by those on the front lines in their undeclared war against the ones who would drive the wedges of hostility, fear and misunderstanding deeper between humans and mutants?

"Dis place sounds like a challenge, mon ami," Remy said and gave a light laugh, then was silent for a long moment, his face stilling into thoughtful lines. She noticed he was careful not to look at her, but kept his attention on Scott.

"We give each other a trial period, hein?" he said finally. "See how we work together?"

Scott frowned at him, obviously hoping for more of a commitment than that.

"I think that's a good idea," she spoke up, amazed to find her voice almost normal. At least steady. "Teaching really isn't for everyone, Scott. And I'm sure Remy could be useful to the team and the school in other ways."

She met Scott's gaze briefly through his red lenses and remembered the Professor's comments about putting Remy's thieving skills to work for them, if necessary. She knew it galled Scott to think there were things the team couldn't handle, but he was practical enough to accept the fact without argument. Logan made a sharp sound of annoyance, but no other protest.

"So, just like dat, I'm part of your school?" Remy said, folding his arms over his chest as he examined Scott intently through narrowed eyes. "You don't know all dat much about me, mon ami."

"I know you've controlled your mutation. That you've managed to blend into and even prosper in regular society. Those are valuable skills to pass along." Scott gave a tight smile. "And this will be a trial period on both sides, of course."

Remy smiled slowly, graciously in return, an elegant brow rising.

"Of course."

Her heart thundered wildly in her chest as he turned to face her, still smiling. He'd agreed to work with them. With the school, the team, and with her. It was a chance. To learn about him, about this strange fire between them. And a possibility to see if, together, they could make of it something more.

* * * * *

Remy had finally realized, when Summers led them all into the tastefully appointed office, that the Professor and Dr. Grey weren't present. He no longer needed to shield so strongly.

He dropped his shields only slightly out of habit and caution, but being able to gather a sense of the emotions around him had become almost second nature. Alarmed, he'd immediately thrown them back up tight again to protect himself.

His goddess, Ororo, was a whirlwind; controlled, but still deep and strong and wild. Threatening to draw him into her need, her longing and never let him go. Warmth and affection and helpless desire radiated from her like light, tempting him, bathing him in emotions he'd so seldom felt directed his way. At least not of the softer variety. He had to block her out or take her where she sat. And that wasn't professional, he mocked himself. No, not at all.

Logan was rage. Dark, confused, desperate. Anger and resentment and fear boiling under the surface, held back by a grudging admiration for Scott, a true respect for Xavier's ideals and a fiercely protective, paternal connection to one of the students. A girl. Logan didn't seem to believe in the dream itself, but more in the others who followed it; Ororo and Jean and Scott. And always underneath the surface lurked the rage, and the fear.

Summers, on the other hand, was control. Hard to read, but not hostile. Focused, self-possessed, and fervent. He believed everything he'd said, but it was leavened with a healthy sense of pragmatism. A practical convert. The true strength behind Xavier's dream.

When he agreed to the trial period, he wondered if he was really fooling any of them. For he felt well and truly caught by his Stormy.

Summers had simply nodded. Pleased, but not gloating in any way. Then had sent Logan and his goddess out to supervise the students again. She had left reluctantly and with a faintly concerned look. He'd tried to reassure her with a smile.

"Seems like a lot of kids for just the five of you to handle," he found himself saying to Summers once they were alone.

"The older ones help quite a bit," the other man answered, watching him from behind his red lenses. He was starting to get the hang of catching his gaze. If the light was right, you could do it. "Professor or not, you can get in here any time you want, can't you?"

He smiled smoothly and gave a casual shrug. "If de wind is right," he said. Summers shifted, his expression wry. Catching both meanings easily.

"Then I might as well give you the full tour…" Remy held up his hand, stopping the other man as he started to move toward the door.

"This deal of ours… I still have prior obligations," he said quietly, watching Summers carefully without being too obvious about it, lowering his shields just enough to read the man beside him.

"Oh?" Summers said and his sense flared with a brief protective suspicion that centered around Ororo. It made Remy feel better to know she had a friend who worried about her happiness as much as he did.

"Jobs. Contracts," Remy said, feeling Summers relax slightly. "Things I might have to take care of from time to time."

"So you have a life of your own," Summers said with a small shrug, calming, a strange sense of confidence about him. "We're not asking you to give everything else up, just to help us out." He didn't need empathy to feel the unspoken 'yet'. The other man was accepting, if a little annoyed. Apparently this life was more than enough for Scott Summers. And seeing the scope of the school and Xavier's dream, Remy could well understand that. He just wasn't sure the same would be true for him.

"Dat's what de trial period is for, mon ami," he said quietly. "To make sure we both happy." Irritation flared from Summers, and he sensed it centered around Logan for some odd reason, as well as him. Empathy wasn't telepathy. He could read emotions and some of their connotations, not thoughts. But the more familiar he became with someone, the easier it was to read them.

Then Summers grew more serious, focused. "You didn't retrieve the data for the client, so we can probably expect someone else to try soon, can't we?"

"Maybe," Remy said cautiously. "I put the warning out, as I said I would. But there's usually some puppy has to prove himself by taking a job no one else will."

"I realize that," Summers said carefully. Remy saw the faint frown that knit the other man's brow as he considered how best to work around to what he wanted to ask. He took pity on him, for his goddess' sake. They needed to know.

"The client was a man who goes by the name of Essex," he said, then tensed as Summers suddenly flared with alarm before he closed his emotions down. His face still and intent.

"Did you find out anything else about him?"

"Not yet. Just that I don't like his methods," Remy said warily. Wondering about the strength of Summers' inside reaction.

"Why's that?"

"He sent three heavies after me this morning." He deliberately didn't mention the expert tail he'd shed a few hours later. Or that he was fairly certain this Essex had had Bernard killed. Those were his loose ends to resolve.

"What did they want?" Summers said.

Remy shrugged. "Probably wanted to 'persuade' me to take the job on again. Knowing what I know about your lady doctor and the professor, now I see why."

"Yes, because of your telepathic shields," Summers said. "The Professor and Jean figured it out, of course. They'd both really like the chance to study your capabilities. Jean was very impressed with your shielding."

The Professor's and Jean's interest was almost a given. He'd been flattered into thinking it was his skill alone that had made him prime for this job. The continuing interest in him was quickly dispersing that vanity. But it disturbed him to realize that someone he didn't even know had figured out his secret. Could this Essex be a telepath too and had somehow spotted him from afar? Or had he been found out another way? The list of those who knew about his mental abilities was short. Dread filled him and his breath hissed in.

Summers was watching him closely now, that intent focus attracted by his continued silence.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"No'ting," Remy answered softly, his accent thickening as fear raced through him. "Just not used t' meetin' fellow mutants dat aren't out t' kill me is all."

Summers frowned again, his emotions still under tight control.

"I gave you de information so y' can watch out for dis Essex. Maybe Xavier zap his mind or somet'ing," Remy said.

"We don't work that way, LeBeau," Summers said, his tone cold, stiff.

Remy snorted and shook his head. "You haven't met de same bastards I have den, mon ami."

Summers surprised him with a snort of his own. "Don't bet on that."

* * * * *

When she and Logan came out of the office it was to find a small cluster of the older students lying in wait for them; St. John, Jubilee, Rogue and Kitty. Bobby and Piotr were off with their parents for the summer. Kitty was due to leave for a visit home next week. The rest would stay. Jubilee was an orphan and a ward of the Professor's. St. John's parents had dropped him at the school and given strict instructions for him to stay away from them after the manifestation of his power to control and enhance flame burned down their house. Rogue had yet to build up the courage to contact her family again.

"Hey, Ms Monroe," Jubilee called around a habitual wad of gum. "Who's the new guy? Is he going to be a teacher?" The girls all had enrapt looks on their faces and she sighed internally, hoping Remy knew how to deal sensitively with teenage girl crushes. He was just too handsome for his own good. St. John wore a mask of indifference, but he was clearly interested too. It wasn't often they got to meet new adult mutants.

"Yeah, what's he do?" St. John asked.

Logan gave a snort of annoyance. "Besides piss me off?" he said under his breath.

Ororo heard him but the kids didn't. She shot him a sharp look, then blanched as she realized she didn't know what Remy's mutant powers were other than he could see in the dark and had formidable mental shields.

"He's an energy converter – like Mr. Summers," she hedged. The kids just looked blank at this pronouncement, until Logan came to her rescue.

"He can make things explode," he said, a darkly amused look on his face. Ororo frowned at him.

"Cool! Like me! Alright!" Jubilee squealed with glee, making all of them wince. Then she fell dramatically onto Kitty's shoulder a smug look of near-triumph on her face. One-upping her classmates through sheer similarity, apparently. Kitty pushed her away with a huff of annoyance, rolling her eyes in a long-suffering fashion. Ororo struggled to hide her amusement over their byplay, trading glances with Logan who just looked briefly heavenward. The surprisingly relaxed gesture almost made her laugh.

St. John just winced in disgust. "Great. More blown up stuff."

"Hey, it's better than just charred, pyro-boy," Jubilee said, sticking her tongue out at St. John who sneered back at her. Ororo scowled at Jubilee warningly. The girl looked only slightly abashed.

"What's his name?" Kitty asked. Ororo smiled.

"Remy LeBeau."

"Is he staying long?" Rogue asked softly, faintly concerned, looking between the two teachers. More sensitive than most to Logan's moods. Ororo's own mood chilled. She shrugged slightly. Logan smirked at her and she felt briefly like hitting him.

"We will just have to see," she said. "Now, isn't it time for everyone to head upstairs for bed?"

* * * * *

The tour had started on the main floor and covered the center wing that housed most of the classrooms and public rooms. They avoided the boys and girls dorm wings for the time being as the others were trying to get the kids to settle for the night. Then Summers had taken him downstairs, after showing him the teacher's code that enabled the elevator to access it.

There he found out that the pipes marked jet fuel that had puzzled him so when he broke in the first time actually did carry fuel for a sleek black jet parked in a hanger hidden under the basketball court. The garden shed concealed the main exhaust venting port for the hanger.

The jet was obviously Scott Summers' pride and joy.

"I flew a fighter jet once. F-14," Remy said quietly as they stood under the wing. Scott raised a brow at him. "Stole it from de local Air Force base."

Scott laughed disbelievingly. Then sobered at Remy's confident look. "You didn't."

Remy nodded, a devilish gleam in his eye as he looked at the black plane appraisingly. "On a dare. I was fourteen. Ditched her in de Gulf."

He didn't feel it necessary to describe his nearly paralyzing terror when the plane went out of control, his panicked search for the ejection handle, the nightmare of the canopy blowing away just before the escape jets under the seat drove the breath from his lungs, the blood from his brain. Then the nearly eleven hours he'd spent in the sea, avoiding both the Air Force's searchers and sharks until his poppa and the clan could reach him. The Air Force base's security had improved dramatically after the incident, however, so he had at least felt partially vindicated.

He'd been a wild boy then, barely tamed from his years on the street and filled with the dangerous knowledge and skills of his clan. His poppa had tanned his ass for that stunt, no matter his age. Then hugged him breathless-tight even as he cursed him for being three kinds of fool to take such a public risk.

Scott gave him a pained look and a deep sigh. "Into the ocean?"

Remy gave him a rueful but completely unrepentant smile. "Sorry, homme. Did dem a favor, me. Dey tightened security good after."

Scott was obviously not appeased. Something in him still fundamentally outraged to hear of such abuse of a fine flying machine despite his grudging respect for the daring of the stunt. He was far more somber as he continued the tour, showing Remy the medical bay and the research lab, even though Remy was quite familiar with both. Then he led him into a place called the Danger Room.

"Danger Room?" Remy asked, standing in the middle of the vast, echoing space, a dubious brow raised. Scott spoke from his place by the door. He seemed amused.

"A training place for mutant powers. We'll run it for you later."

Remy obediently followed him out of the room and down the hall to the final door. Scott walked up to the glowing eye in the center of the round door and entered a code on a small concealed panel. The glow changed color and he placed his left hand in a precise way over the sphere. A pleasant feminine voice rang out in the hallway. "Greetings, Scott Summers." Remy watched the process with more than idle interest. Being a professional thief, after all.

The locks spun and released and the doors slid aside with slow ponderance. They were thick and heavy. Reinforced like a bank vault, but with a strange, nearly organic coating on the interior. Beyond jutted a catwalk with a console at the end of it centered in the middle of a vast spherical room. It echoed strangely.

"Welcome to Cerebro," Scott said with ease, taking a few steps forward onto the catwalk. Remy hung back, something in him screaming a frantic warning. He slammed his shields tightly closed. "The Professor uses this machine to enhance his telepathic searches for mutants."

Even through his closed shields, Remy could feel an oppressive aura hovering within that space; a piercing, searing, semi-aware energy. While not hostile or aggressive, it wasn't entirely benign either. And nothing could induce him to take a single step inside the sphere.

"T'ink I stay here, mon ami," Remy said harshly, feeling the blood drain from his face. He couldn't help it. He had to step away from that yawning entrance. He didn't realize he hadn't stopped moving until his back slammed into the corridor wall. Scott's expression changed to one of concern.

"Something the matter, LeBeau?"

"Dat's not a place for me," Remy said, shaking his head, eyes wide. "Close de door. Please." Scott walked out and the door slid solidly closed behind him, the female voice heralding his exit with a restrained, "Goodbye, Scott Summers."

Remy breathed a sigh of relief when the locks spun, sealing that strange room away from him.

Scott was crouched in front of him. He thought that odd until he noticed he'd sunk down on his own haunches against the wall, his arms wrapped tightly around his body as he shivered.

"Are you okay?" Scott asked quietly. Remy nodded. Swallowed hard.

"Dat room…" he trailed off and shook his head. "I leave it to de Professor."

"Nobody's ever reacted that way to it before," Scott said with genuine curiosity.

"No?" Remy said, forcing himself to stand, a wary eye on the door. Nerves still singing with anxiety. "Well, guess I'm just special den."

- - to be continued - -