Note : Here I am again. Hope you still like it even if the action is low a bit right now. You'll guess something is going to happen, though, but I still don't know what yet… Hum. Thanks for the reviews again, though I'm feelling like I'm putting out these chapters too fast for you! What? You want me to slow down? No problem, me can do… Nope, not mine, Marvel's. All of them, yup.

Enjoy!

Chapter 18

Pas de nouvelles… Mauvaises nouvelles *

Remy sat in one of the leather arm-chairs in the Professor's study, sighting quite loudly as the old chair squeaked under his weight. He streched his long legs before in and leaned back. He winked at me and smile, nodding towards the window. The sky was a deep blue and the sun was already up in the sky. It was almost noon, and there was no need to look at the thermometer to tell the air was crispy cold outside. It wasn't only the cold, though : it had snowed all night, and the Professor had asked us to come into his study at 11:30, so we were missing the shoveling task everybody was at outside. No wonder Remy was smiling.

The Professor wasn't there yet, though, and we just sat silently. Remy chuckled and turned to me.

"Did I dream what hapened last night?" I smiled at him.

"What happened last night?" His face went blank, and I laughed. "Well, yah're gonna have to give me yar definition of a dream, sugah... 'cause Ah dreamed, alright." He grinned and started to reply, probably wanting to give me his definition of a dream himself, but the Professor chose this moment to come inside. He hovered to the window and looked at the others fighting in the snow, throwing snowballs and yelling their lungs off, generaly having fun instead of shoveling the two feet of snow that covered the path to the mansion entrance. He sighted deeply and turned to us.

"Before I tell you anything, I want you to know that you haven't done this for nothing." My look crossed Remy's. What was he talking about? "I have had news. Nathaniel Essex has somehow survived, my friends. Sinister is alive."

Remy turned into a statue next to me. I could hear that he had stopped breathing, and when I cast a look at him, I could see that his face was white as the snow covering everything outside. Then he took a deep intake of breath and stood up. He began pacing the study, two sets of eyes intent on him, as I could almost hear him thinking.

"Dat's impossible. I killed him" he murmured, snapping each of his words.

"Apocalypse must have saved him… We will never know. Remy... You know that could mean a lot of things." His head snapped up and he stared at the Professor.

"Whatever d'ye mean by dat?" His voice was cold and shaky. That was a rethorical question. We all knew what he was talking about.

"I mean we are going to have to do some further researches on your past, Remy. And find out where you really come from."

Past. I knew the formula "researches" + "past" didn't end in a good result in Remy's head. I could feel him slam down all doors to his mind, and his jaw set hard. I recognized then a very pigheaded and stubborn Remy, and knew what would follow next wouldn't be easy.

"Non" he just said.

"Remy..." I flinched and hissed a bit, hearing the Professor insisting. Not a good idea.

"NON!" Remy yelled. "I don't wanna know! I don't need to know, dammit!" He walked the few steps that separated him from the desk and leaned over to the Professor, his hands flat on the varnished wood. "I already have a father, Charles, his name's Jean-Luc. De one and only father I really had. Y'know what I did last night? I called him, to tell him Rogue and me were gettin'married, and he said he was happy for me. That he'd come to the marriage. He cares fo'me! Cared fo'me for as long as I remember! And I certainly don't need to know if the sonnavabitch of Sinister, for whom I almost  ruined m'life, is m'biological father or not! And I don't care!" He left the room, slamming the door, and I sighted deeply. I had tried to tell this to Remy when we were in the past and it hadn't worked well. There was no reason why it should have been easier for the Professor. I took a deep breathh and nodded to the Professor, before, heading out the door in search of Remy. I hoped I wouldn't have to go get him in the woods outside, again.

***************

I found him in his bedroom, sitting on the floor. Many drawers were opened and a carton box layed on the floor, papers discarded all over the place. He was sitting cross-legged, papers in front of him. He was smoothing one of them, a crumbled piece of paper, and put it back into a plastic pocket to protect it, rather too late, I thought. He lifted his head when he heard the door opening, and made a shy smile. At least he didn't look mad anymore.

"I kinda freaked out in de study, I'm sorry" he softly said. I dismissed the manner with my hand, walking over to him, careful not to step on the papers on the floor.

"What happened here? Storm got angry?" He chuckled.

"Non. I was searching for m'birth certificate." He sighted deeply. "I could have sweared I had it, but I only found dese" he said, gesturing to the two sets of sheets in front of him. I got on my knees and picked the protected one. I saw the logo of the Regional Medical Center for Children**, the Children's hospital, in New Orleans. I looked up at him. "Dat's kind of a certificate, but of my birth date. It's not an official document, too easy to falsify." I looked back at the sheet. January 12th , 1975***, Louisianna. Well that was a specific place to be born. At least we knew it wasn't at the Children's Hospital. I put the document down and took the other one. It was more recent, and bore a highly styled signature I couldn't read at the bottom. It also had a date : June 19th, 1986. I could read the words "Adoption form – duplicata" at the top, and gently smiled. Knowing that, I could make out the signature at the bottom. Jean-Luc LeBeau. Remy gently took it from my hands and put it back in front of him on the floor. "Dat'll be my real birth certificate for me. When Jean-Luc gave me a family." He sighted. "Remember you told me my birth certificate could be bullshit?" I blushed, but he didn't look angry. He took the first sheet and stared at it. "Y'were right, it isn't even an official one." He sighted and leaned back on the wall, closing his eyes. "For all I know, I could have been born in 1765 and put in a freezer until abandonned in the Children's Hospital in 1965. But I sure hope not."

***************

She had helped him clean off the mess he had made with the papers, and left to help with the diner. He closed his drawers and put the box back into place. Turning back to the door, he paused, thinking.

Researches on his past.

He shivered. He hated almost everything about his past. His mistakes. The street living. Pickpocketing on the Quartier Français. Researches? Relive all of this? He hadn't got the easiest of lives, but he felt like he was finally having a grip on it right now.

Go back in his head?

He opened to door and started towards the kitchen. Then he stopped, shook his head and headed for the Professor's study.

It wouldn't be easy.

He didn't really want to know.

But he had to.

To be continued…

* Traduction : No news, bad news. There's a motto in Québec that says "pas de nouvelle, bonnes nouvelles" (no news, good news), which means that if you don't have news from someone, then it must be because everything is fine. I don't personally think it's true, though.

** It really exists, by the way.

*** Most of the sites I've visited in order to get a birthdate gave 1962 as Gambit's year of birth. Now in 2003, he'd be 41… Nope, too old. Had to make him younger. Let's say he's 28. A grown up adult, still, but much more yummy.