Hey! At the beginning, this was a little one-shot fic I posted under the title of A Quest for a Name, but yeh see, Fleur wants to work a bit more on Sixteen Years. Now I haven't updated this in a long while (you know how FAST I am in my updates), so don't wait for it. I know, I know, it's like adding a third story to my unfinished stories collection, but a lot of you asked for a sequel or new chapters, so here it is. Foo, you asked for a piece of… how did you say that again? Louis pie? Hehe.

Btw, this happens a big while after the last chapters. So Louis and Josée are something like 19 or 20 right now.

Enjoy!

Four years later

The twenty-years-old huge black and white cat sat on the dark blue quilt, its large golden eyes staring at him. It didn't purr as it usually did with anyone else. Probably because, although it recognized the person standing at the foot of the bed as one of the inhabitants of its house, it didn't remember having received any caresses from him in a long time. It sat up on the bed, half of its weight resting on its two rheumatism-eaten furry legs, and blinked one yellow eye at the newcomer, as if a cat could wink. The cat saw the shadow of a hand leaning over its head, and it closed its eyes and purred in ecstasy when hesitant fingers lightly touched its fur. Frustrated with the almost non-existent caress, the cat pushed its head in the palm of the male hand between its ears, and rubbed its back against the white bare arm joined at the hand, so that the fingers would finally go through the fur and massage its skin.

Louis closed his eyes as his fingers brushed against the cat's skin, concentrating. Fire burned behind his eyelids, and he felt like his heart was thumping in the middle of his brain. He groaned when the pain came soon after, like fire burning in his veins and in his shoulder, and suddenly rushed towards his fingers to get out of his body as he lost all control over it. He quickly drew back his hand from the purring cat, which meowed in demand of more caresses. It jumped off the bed with a loud thump, and rubbed against Louis' legs, in search of more petting. Louis sighed, and ran his fingers through his dark auburn hair in despair. He had to practise. But that didn't involve killing his father's old cat. He went out of his parent's bedroom, followed by the still meowing cat.

He quickly walked to the bathroom and slammed the door, ignoring his father's protestations from downstairs about fragile doors and hurting ears. With a sigh, Louis leaned on the big mirror, his hands flat on the cold surface. He stared in his own eyes, breathing heavily. Moss green eyes looked back at him, and he felt like his own image was laughing back at him, reminding him he got more from his mother than her eyes. He had his father's features, though. A long, straight nose and a fine, full mouth over a square jaw. A high forehead, hidden under uncontrollable auburn hair he kept shorter than his father, tucked behind his ears, shorter locks falling over his slightly slanted eyes. And he needed a shave. He pulled away from the mirror and got out of his clothes.

Moments later, he was leaning in the shower, hot water pouring on his body as he stood still, eyes closed and hands in his hair. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to stop the feeling that had been seeping in his heart for a few months. In an angry gesture, he turned off the water and watched as the water twirled down the drain.

~~

Remy was sitting in one of the comfortable armchairs, a leg over a leather arm and the sports section on his knee. His dark hair was loose, brushing over his shoulders, and fine grey strands decorated his temples. He was in his day-off clothes: used but comfortable blue jeans and a black t-shirt, barefoot and hair untied. He liked being alone in the house, and he liked it even more when he was alone with Louis. The girls were at the mansion, he didn't remember why. He sighed in contentment and sank a little more in the comfy armchair before folding the newspaper and letting it drop on the table beside the chair. Folding his hands on his stomach, he closed his eyes, and let his body relax. Every sound was muffled and the house was silent as the first winter snowflakes began to fall. All he needed now was a cigarette, but he wouldn't dare light one in the house, even with Rogue gone out. And with the snow falling outside… the cigarette could wait.

He usually let his mind forget he was an empath, and would imprison his power behind a powerful psychic wall. Emotions were already easy to read in one's face, he didn't need the whole mansion inhabitants' feelings in his head. But now, in the comfort of his living room on a nice Sunday afternoon, he felt safe enough to think the emotions would be agreeable, and he opened his psychic door to let some friendly feelings enter his mind.

Almost instantly, his heart clenched and a powerful feeling of angst invaded his mind. He opened his eyes, closing the door to his psychic defences with an almost audible snap, and sat up in the armchair, his hands clutching his head and trying to get the horrible angry feeling out of his mind. Nice Sunday afternoon, ha. His red-on-black gaze drifted to the stairs, and he narrowed his eyes. Louis?

He found his son in his bedroom, lying on his back on his bed and staring at the white ceiling. Remy leaned in the doorframe and let his eyes linger on the backpack on the bed next to Louis, and on the shoes he was wearing. "Goin' somewhere?"

Louis sighed deeply, but kept his green eyes on the ceiling.  "You know, I always thought it sucked havin' a father who could see your feelin's whenever he wants."

"Dat's why I don' do it, Lou."

"Yeah, well, for once, it would have been great if you'd done it more often."

Remy frowned. "Y'felt it?"

"Yeah."

"And y'wanted me to feel what I felt?" Silence. Remy waited a moment, but getting no reaction from the prostrate form on the bed, he took a few steps into the room. "Lou, somethin's wrong y'not tellin' me?" Louis sat up on his bed and moved to the edge of the mattress. He talked softly, keeping his eyes glued to the floor.

"I'm leavin', papa."

Remy didn't move. "Oui, I can see dat. But why? And where?"

Louis smiled despite himself. "Sorry, papa, can't answer that."

"'Cause y'don' want to?" The young man shook his head.

"'Cause I don't know."

Remy snorted. "Dat won' get'y real far, Lou. B'lieve me." Louis got on his feet and grabbed the backpack. He stood a few moments in front of his father still standing in the doorframe. Seeing his father didn't seem to want to move from his spot, he rolled his eyes.

"Stand aside, papa." Remy raised an ironic eyebrow and crossed his arms on his chest. Louis sighed angrily and his eyes blazed, that rare golden light suddenly coming to life again in the moss green eyes. Remy would have smiled if he hadn't known what it meant. The last time he saw these eyes, they were on a very much more feminine face, and he'd forgotten his wedding anniversary. "Papa, let me by!" he said through clenched teeth. "What are you doin'!"

"I'm y'father, Louis. It's my job to stop'y from doin' stuff I t'ink is stupid."

"Stupid? You think wantin' to make changes in my life's stupid?"

Remy frowned. "Why in hell would'y want t'make changes in y'life?"

Louis flushed, anger quickly rising. "Well gee, I don't know! Maybe I don't like it the way it is, papa!" He talked too fast to realize Remy was getting as angry as him, maybe even more.

"How grateful" he said simply, his voice cold.

"You know that's not what I mean!"

"Non, I don't! And maybe I would if y'd got out of dat bubble o'yours and explain y'self t'me!"

"I don't have to! I've grown, papa, I'm not a child anymore!" Remy already knew that. The young teen Louis was a few years ago now towered over six feet tall, and could look at his father in the eyes and rival with him in shoulder broadness. As in voice strength. Remy narrowed his eyes and took a step back, letting his arms fall at his sides.

"I thought ye were."

Louis' eyes narrowed as well. "What d'you mean?"

"Rogue'n me, we gave you and Josée everythin' we thought we didn't have at your age. I never thought it'd change'y into a spoiled and ungrateful brat." Leaving Louis standing there with his mouth opened in surprise, Remy turned and strode to the staircase. He went down the stairs fast, his bare feet banging on the wooden steps, and resisted the urge to throw his fist in a nearby wall. Once in the kitchen, he laid his hands flat on the lunch counter and squeezed his eyes shut, counting to ten through his teeth. When he opened his eyes again, not really calm but at least deprived of his urge to kill, he found Louis standing the other side of the counter, his eyes blazing with golden light.

"You don't know what I'm goin' through! Things like my powers, you didn't have to deal with stuff like that at my age!" Remy ran a hand on his face, and sighed. Crossing his arms on his chest, he looked directly in his son's eyes.

"Of course not. At y'age, I was only getting' married to de daughter of m'father's worst enemy, and gettin' expelled from de place I called home by m'own family'n friends for killin' my bran' new brother-in-law in legitimate defense. And yo'mother wouldn't know either, she was too busy havin' fun workin' fo'Mystique and tryin' to get rid of Carol Danvers' personality in her head. Of course we didn't have t'deal with stuff like yours, Lou." Louis looked out the window, swallowing hard.

"I'm not sayin' you got it easier than me, papa."

"Den explain, 'cause I'm not followin' you."

"I know I'm lucky to be here, to be with my family, to have happily married parents who care for me and everythin'…" His eyes drifted away from the window and came to Remy's face, looking for understanding. "But somethin's missin'. And it's not somethin' I can find here."

"Y'sure I can' help you?"

Louis smiled. "Papa, you're the last person that could help me." Louis took a step back and sat on a chair, still looking at his father's surprised face. "I don't even have a codename, papa."

"You don't have to leave dis place t'find one, Lou."

"Yeah, I have to. 'Cause here, I'm not Louis or Lou, I'm Gambit's son." He rested his elbow on the dinette table and leaned his chin in his palm. "I've got your powers, I've got your voice and your looks, your hair… You've even taught me to pick locks, drive a motorcycle, charm girls and play pool like a pro. All I have to do is find red-on-black contacts and grow a French accent, and I'll be you, papa. Don't get me wrong, I've always wanted to be like my dad, like every boy, but…" He gave Remy a small smile. "But now, I think I know more about how to be like you than how to be myself. And I won't find any answers here." Remy stared at him a long moment before answering.

"Non."

"What? Dad, we killed Sinister years ago, it's not like I'm gonna be in danger out in the wild."

"Non, y'won' find yer answers here. But where y'can find dem… I wish I knew."

Louis smiled and rose to his feet, picking up his backpack. "I'll tell you when I do. Thanks papa."

"Y'leavin' now? Don'y want to wait fo y'mother t'come back?" Louis laughed.

"No, she'd tie me up to my bed until I changed my mind… I'll call her later." With a smile, he saluted his father and opened the door.

"Louis, wait." Remy walked to the door, grabbing his car keys on the table. "I'll drive'y to de bus station."