Remy and Jean-Luc walked through the graveyard towards Grandmama Lilly's mausoleum, standing tall and pristine.  The young man thought it seemed to prim and proper for ole Lilly.  Still, it was nice that she was honored like that.  "I don't know why you don't come here more often, Papa," he said to the man.  The King stayed silent and walked into the crypt.  He knelt by one of the tombs and placed a hand on its side.

            Remy shook his head and smiled a little.  "Dat's not Grandmama's tomb, Papa.  She's in de other one." 

Jean-Luc didn't move.  He patted the marble.  "Dis one don't have a name, Remy.  Ever wonder why dat is?"

The prince's brow knit together.  "Why you talkin' like dat, Papa?"

"Answer de question, Remy."

"Canna say I have, Papa.  You tellin' me you know de answer?"

"Yes, son, I am."  Jean-Luc whirled around and hopped onto the coffin, lying on it in a "dead" pose.  Remy grew confused.  Jean-Luc never called him his son.  Papa never acted that theatrical.  The prince looked at his Papa's face.  It seemed even stiffer than usual.

"Father," he said flatly, realizing the truth.  The man looked at him and smiled, the eyes flaking away to reveal red flames underneath. 

"Hello, son," the imposter grasped Jean-Luc's hair and pulled off the mask.

Remy collapsed as his heart burst into flames...

Remy woke with a start.  He put a hand on his heart and tried not to gasp from the pain.  It had only been a nightmare, but it hurt all the same.  He lay back down and waited for the pain to go away.  The clock read four a.m.  The Cajun fought back a groan.  Rogue was a light sleeper. 

He looked to the left at his wife.  The girl lay curled around her pillow like it was...like it was a lover.  Even in her sleep, she looked lonely.  Her hair had fallen onto her face.  Remy reached to tuck it behind her ear.  He barely stopped himself in time.  Remy froze, his bare fingers a scant inch from Rogue's beautiful face.

He snatched the hand back from its certain doom and winced.  The pain in his chest hadn't gone away.  It was real.

Stumbling into the bathroom, Remy pulled off his shirt.  He looked at his chest in the mirror.  He cursed, quietly, so as to not wake Rogue.  The scars had become infected again.  He knelt and dragged out a large box from the cabinet under the sink.  Opening it, the thief rifled through bandages, painkillers, and tubes of ointment, looking for a certain bottle.  He found it and put it on the countertop.  He also took out a bit of clean towel.  After opening the bottle, Remy sloshed its contents -iodine- onto the cloth.  He held the damp towel to the scars and clenched his teeth, commiserating with his poor burnt and burning flesh.

Remy looked down at the box, full of products promising to soothe all of his little hurts.  He savagely kicked it into the corner.  It crashed into the wall behind the toilet.  He didn't want the hurt to go away; he wanted to feel.  All his life, Remy had fought to feel something, anything besides empty and lonely.  Look where that struggle had got him.  Remy had a father whom he could only refer to as "Majesty," dozens of friends he barely knew, and a wife he couldn't even touch.  If pain, fear, hate, and indifference were all he was allowed, then he would take them with open arms.

The Prince of Thieves went to the closet and pulled out a sweatshirt, gloves, and socks.  After yanking them all on, he climbed back into bed.  Carefully, he took Rogue and held her close.  He felt her breath through the sweatshirt and sighed.  In the complete darkness, his eyes let him see Rogue perfectly.

That was one blessing mixed in with a thousand other curses.  Remy closed his damned eyes and prayed for a moment.  He didn't take much stock in Christianity, Daoism, Islam, Hinduism, Judaism, any of it.  He believed only what he saw with his own two eyes, and he had seen magic, mythical creatures, and spirits in his life.  But every night and morning he prayed for one thing.

'Damn de man dat gave me my eyes.  Damn "Uncle" Darien, wherever de Hell he is.'

Remy mimed a kiss on Rogue's head, pulled the chestnut hair from her face, and went back to sleep. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

            Prince LeBeau watched his princess breakaway from him to greet the young woman, Cara, if he remembered correctly.  Remy let her go; the pain over his heart kept him at a snail's crawl.  He took a seat gingerly, making his careful movement seem anything but.

Looking around at the people around him, Remy smiled.  Lists of facts attached themselves to each face, just enough information to fake a friendship and no more.  The only two without mental ink all over their faces were Rogue and her new friend.  He was getting lazy.  A month ago, he would have known everything there was to Cara within two hours of meeting her. 

Remy watched Rogue actively engage the shy woman in conversation.  The lonely look was smothered for a moment.  He would let his little woman tell him about Cara; it would be good for the Belle.  All around, people watched Rogue with interest.  She was charismatic when in a good mood.  That and they wanted to see the girl who had tamed the Player.  Remy knew there were bets on how long the relationship would last.  Only Jimboy knew that Rogue's necklace meant marriage and he didn't bet.  It was the boy's greatest failing, in Remy's opinion.

Jimmie knew everything.  The Universe whispered its secrets to him.  It didn't exactly help that he had no concept of the word privacy and the dictionary had his picture under "curiosity."  Remy didn't understand why Jimmie never used that knowledge.  Oh, occasionally he nudged people around to get them in the best place to be.  Come to think of it, the boy had suggested Remy visit Lilly's tomb, the little rascal.

Still, Jimmy got nothing from using his power.  Even Prim and Proper Kenneth used his mutation for personal gain.  Still, Jimboy was only eight years old.  He would learn better when he grew up, assuming his curiosity didn't kill him first.

And the boy had in nearly become dead when he met Remy for the first time.  He had wandered into Marlin's Café, the mutants' base of operations, when the just gotten on its feet.  Quite bluntly he had looked into Remy's eyes and thought-spoke, *This is an interesting group, Thief Prince.  Mind if I join?*

Remy's first impulse had been to take the five year old into an alley and shoot him.  Gambit had been the predominant voice in his head at the time and he very nearly gave into the dangerous mind's demand.  Words like secret and security shouted at him to do it, but it snagged his heart.  He had barely gotten over the Disney World incident; he couldn't bear to kill again so soon, especially a kid. 

Instead, Remy had struck a deal with the boy.  If Jimmie knew so much, he would tell the thief whatever he wanted to know at anytime.  Jimboy was cryptic as hell, but candid and never misleading.

'Jimmie,' Remy called.  'Where's de Arc of de Covenant again?'

The boy smiled at him and replied, *Where evil's claws can never dig to and sticky fingers like yours will never reach.*

'Still de Prince of Vagueness, I see.'

*That's me.  I suppose you want that information on Cara now.* He seemed a little uptight about something.

Remy shook his head almost imperceptibly.  'Not now, Jimmie.'  He looked around and his eyes popped up half-an-inch.  Caleigh -thankfully perky again- and baby Mary sat between Emmy and Bartholomew.  Between the body borrower's fairy tales and the man's dancing illusions of said fairies, the two kept the children well entertained.  The parents were nowhere to be found.

'Yo, Jimboy.  Canna find Hannah Laura an' Allan, but de Kiddies here.  Where dose two be?'

*Doin' somthun that needs doin',* Jimmie answered, his mental voice muddled up as he chewed a big bite of egg.

            'Cryptic as Hell.'

*I heard that, Bighead.*

'You always do, Jimboy.'

Jimmie harrumphed, *Don't be too sure 'bout that.*

Remy nearly laughed aloud.  'Oh, don't tell me dat you don't know somethin' you wanna know!'

*Shut up.*

'Now there's no need to get cranky Jim...what were we talkin' about?'

Jimmie cracked a toothy grin, minus the two front teeth.  *Technically, we're not talking at all.  We were having a conversation about where HL and Allan are, though.  They'll show up soon enough.*

'Cryptic as Hell.'

*Got that right.  Ah, here they are.*

Hannah Laura walked in, her arm draped over Allan's shoulder.  They walked close together, too close.  Strange, the two both had a "What goes on in de bedroom stays in de bedroom" philosophy.  HL looked on top of the world.  Remy shook his head.  And people said he was prone to mood swings.

The Cajun wondered what had caused such a change in the depressed woman.  Hannah Laura brandished a zip lock baggie and gave a small victory cry.  There was a small plastic stick in the bag.

'Ah.  Positive pregnancy test, dat explains it.'

*I told her she shouldn't be drinking.  But did she listen?*

'Yeah, well.  If you gave her any reason to t'ink you weren't some cute wiseass kid, she woulda.'

Remy looked around at people's reactions.  Ole Kenneth had a face that said, Is nothing sacred?  A pretty woman named Moira sighed and actually said aloud, "Damn, there goes another one.  The bachelors are dropping like flies."  Caleigh asked Bartholomew what was going on with her Mommy and the big friendly giant actually blushed.  It was Rogue and Cara that made the thief wish he had a camera though.

It wasn't anything big.  They just sort of looked at each other with slightly agape mouths.  Then they looked at the baggie and then back at eachother, over and over again.  Then Remy noticed the tiny twinge sadness and jealously hiding behind each fille's eyes.  It almost killed the Cajun.  Damn if they both weren't…

*Infertile?  This Cara is, but don't worry.  Rogue just doesn't see how she could ever have a kid.  Broke her heart when she realized what not touching would mean for her plans to have about twenty kids and love each one to death with hugs and kisses.*

'Thanks, Jimboy.'

*Just earning my keep, Bighead.  Go work that LeBeau charm you keep bragging about.*

Remy stood and worked his way inconspicuously behind Rogue.  He wrapped his arms about her waist and whispered in her ear, "Guess, we'll just hafta one up dem with twins, ma Petite.  What do you say to goin' home to practice?"  Her mouth worked for a moment before she regained composure.  In a liquid movement, she snatched away Remy's shades.  Again.  The sudden switch from relative darkness to bright daylight blinded him.  "Not again!"  He squinted and looked around for his fille.  She dangled the shades in front of her and said, "Apologize." 

Remy held up his hands helplessly and shrugged, making a pose out of it.  "Remy don't t'ink he did anyt'ing wrong, Chere."  He waited for a long moment, and then lunged.  Rogue danced away.  Damn if she wasn't getting good at dodging.  If it had been pitch black, he would have caught her in seconds, but the damn light made it almost impossible to see.  He didn't just wear the shades to spare women and small children.  Finally, he could see well enough to move halfway decent.  He kept the ruse going about being blind and kept his eyes mostly shut.  "Why you so cruel, ma Petite?"

"Apologize!"

*She's not angry anymore, Bighead.*

'Bout time,' Remy thought to no one in particular.  In a flash, he had Rogue trapped in his arms.  He tilted the fille's chin and looked into her eyes with his own merrily blazing fires.  He found no fear in those emerald depths and silently shouted with joy to any spirits that could hear him.  "Now why you do a t'ing like dat, Cherie?" he said lightly.  He plucked the shades from her hand and slid them into place.

They stood there for a long moment and Remy was tempted to lean in and damn the momentary coma.  Then a collective "Awww!" came from the peanut gallery.  The couple looked at the collection of mutants.  Jimmie had stood up on his chair and conducted the badly timed chorus.  "Ruin Remy's moment, why you doncha!" he berated them.  They all burst into laughter.

Hannah Laura went to put the baggie back in her overstuffed "Mommy Purse."  Allan snapped his fingers and it disappeared.  She arched an eyebrow at his too innocent smile.  "For your sake, that had better be in the nearest trash can, Allan."  He only smiled wider and backed away a little.  "Oh no," she cried.  "Tell me you're not going to do what I think you are." 

"I'm just having it bronzed," the man chuckled uneasily.  As Hannah Laura advanced on him, he knelt and snapped his fingers.  Caleigh and Mary appeared in his arms.  The infuriated woman rolled up her sleeves.  "Don't you dare use them as a shield Allan!"

The little girls giggled.  Very afraid, Allan cried out, "Okay, okay!  You win."  He closed his eyes for a second and the baggie reappeared in HL's outstretched hand.  She stuffed in the bad and then held out her arms.  Caleigh ran into them and she gave her Mommy a hug.  "What are you going to name him, Mum?"

Hannah Laura laughed.  "And how do you know that it's a boy, little lady?"

"Jimmie told me."

The mother ruffled blue hair with ice green streaks.  "Ah yes, the all-knowing Jimmie.  You should stop listening to everything that boy says, Caleigh dear.  He's worse than the boy who cried wolf and Pinocchio put together.  Come on, we have to go forgive Allan now.  He's going to be our new Daddy, a better one than Matthew."  HL pulled out a bandana from the Mommy Purse and expertly bound up Caleigh's hair with it.  Allan took Caleigh's hand when he deemed it was safe enough.  The foursome walked out of the café. 

Rogue, still in Remy's arms, asked him, "Weren't they all depressed yesterday?"

Remy laughed, "Dat's just de way dey are, ma Petite.  Dey live life a day at a time, an' don't let yesterday drag 'em down." 

They had another moment. 

Then someone cleared her throat.  "Oh for de love of..." the words died in Gambit's throat as he saw who had interrupted them.  He looked back down at Rogue.  "Petite, spend de day wit' Cara an' Jimmie.  Sightsee, shop, let Jimboy take you home."  The Prince of Thieves put a finger to his wife's lips.  "Please, just do as Gambit says."  He repeated, "Let Jimmie take you home.  Don't come unless he says its okay."  He stroked her cheek and then sprinted towards the girl waiting for him at the door. 

"What happened," he demanded tersely as they hurried towards the tiny parking lot at the back of the café.  The teenager replied, "Shit."  Remy slid into the passenger seat and barely shut the door before Mell hit the gas.  "Talk to Gambit, Mell.  Put LeBeau in a situation uniformed an' you'll wish you'd failed Knave." 

"You know dat check you put in on Fairfield cemetery?"

Remy groaned, "Let Gambit make a guess.  De results are comin' back to haunt 'im."

Mell checked the rearview mirror.  "Damn straight.  Why de Hell you messed with him is beyond me."

"De Wolverine was just dere, Mell."

She laughed.  "De two bit assassin dat manages to lose his mem'ry every three decades?  No, Gambit.  Wolverine's just de employee here.  You're on de bad side of Xavier, Professah Charles Francis Xavier.  He found out about de check an' traced it to you."

            Gambit racked his brain for anything on a Professor Xavier and found nothing.  'Jimboy.'

            *Telepath, very powerful.  Prefers seclusion and peaceful ways, but you don't want to get on his bad side.  Believe me.*

            'Too late.'

            "Why is de pacifist telepath out for Gambit's blood, Mell?" he asked the girl.                 

She looked at him coldly.  "How do two deaths sound?"

Gambit stared, shocked.  "Yeah, dat about do it."

***

 Okay, de Remy chapter is done...damn, I left you with a cliff hanger.  I'll try to get in on resolving it soon.