"Chere, when you be a big boy you come back t'ol Lucy and she teach you some tings…"
He grins at the pretty lady with the pretty red lips and says, "When I a "big boy" maybe I teach you some tings…" and she laughs and laughs and pinches his cheek, disrupting the sunglasses already precariously teetering on the bridge of his nose.
Her laughter abruptly cuts off and she blinks at him as he quickly pushes them back up, covering his eyes again.
She takes her hand back. It makes him sad. Lucy won't smile when she sees him coming anymore, won't point out which of her customer's pants jingled the loudest when they hit the floor.
"How come I never see you wit out dose tings, ma petite?"
"Cuz I need 'em - you dazzlin'."
She laughs again, but it's forced and he shoves his hands into his full pockets, kicks at the ground. He doesn't need Lucy to point out the rich ones anyway. He can see them coming a mile off.
Like dat one dere… Dat homme got someting good…
He watches the man make his way down the crowded sidewalk. His suit isn't flashy, his stride not overly confident, but his hand keeps sweeping against his right pocket.
No bulge.
Whatever it is it's small.
He's already filled his quota for the day.Fagan will be satisfied with what he's got. He could just go back early…
But where's de fun in dat?
"Be seein' ya, Lucy…"
"Rem-"
He's already after him, ducking under elbows, squirming around hips. The man's suit coat flips up for a second and he doesn't slow down once as he slips his hand inside and…
Fingers wrap around his wrist.
They hold on tight.
What de fuck?
That's not supposed to happen.
He never gets caught.
Ever.
"Sorry m'sieur! I tought you be my poppa-"
The man looks down at him, doesn't loosen his hold.
"Show me what y'got."
Fuck.
He slowly uncurls his fist.
A quarter.
The man crouches down beside him, lets go of his wrist. He reaches out, places his index finger on the bridge of the sunglasses and pushes them down. Black on red flickers up at him.
"Hallo, Remy."
"Who de fuck are you?"
The man holds out his hand.
A pocket watch swings back and forth in front of his nose.
His hand flies to his own pocket.
The watch he stole this morning is gone.
Back and forth, back and forth. Tick, tick, tick, tick…
He smiles up at the man, holds out the quarter.
"Trade back?"
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM
"Remy?!"
"Stay 'way from me, Henri!"
"What de hell you do, Remy?!"
Hands glowing, glowing.
Don' touch nothin'…jus don' touch nothin'…
"I'm gon' get poppa!"
Don' leave me, Henri… don' leave me… I don' know wass happenin'…
Blinding pain behind his eyes…
Searing…
Sizzling…
"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!"
"What you lookin' at?" She puts her hands on her hips, one foot resting on the man's back. He's out cold.
He looks down at his handful of glowing pebbles.
Okay, Concentrate, Remy…
He focuses on where the rocks are touching his skin and pulls now instead of pushing.
He looks down at his hands. The rocks are grey again. He tosses them away.
"I tought I be savin' you, chere… but looks like you don' need Remy's help…"
She kicks the man, mutters, "perv."
She picks up her backpack. Her arm gets tangled in the strap and he helps her. She yanks her arm away once it's through, "I don' need help from no boy-" and steps back stumbling over the man still lying unconscious behind her. He reaches out and catches her before she falls.
Bright blue eyes glaring up at his. Pale pink lips screwed up in a scowl.
She's the most beautiful girl he's ever seen.
He drops her.
She lands with an undignified thump.
"Hey!"
"You said you don' need no help."
She sits there stunned for a moment then bursts out laughing.
It's the most beautiful sound he's ever heard.
"What de hell is he doin' here?"
Belle rolls her eyes. "We playin' a game."
"He a Thief!"
"Damn good one too," he murmurs peeking up at Julien from over his cards. "I'd say pull up some floor but dis a private game, non? Chere, you forgot t'tell me what I lose."
"Ummmm… how bout y'shades."
Julien stalks out of the bedroom. "I'm gon' tell!"
"Go 'head!" Belle sticks her tongue out at her brother's retreating back. "Poppa not home anyway…" She holds her hand out to him. "Givum here, bayou breath."
He pauses.
"'M waitin.'"
She gon' tink I'm a freak… She gon'-
"Remy, you made me take off my bra!"
"Fine, fine, fine…" He whips them off his face and tosses them onto the pile.
He keeps his head down, studies his fanned out cards.
"Remy."
"What."
"Lookit me."
"Non."
"I wan' see if it true."
He doesn't say a word as she drops her cards and crawls over to him. She sits on her heels, her knees just touching his.
"I heard dey call you le diable…"
"Blanc. Le diable blanc."
"So show me why."
"Belle…"
"I ain' gon' be scared."
"You ain' gon' like me no more."
"Who said ever I did?"
He snorts.
"Please, chere - you know you wan' me."
"Yeah - t'get over y'self!" She punches his shoulder and laughs. He doesn't. She says quietly, "I ain' gon' run from y'Remy."
He takes a deep breath. He lifts his head, he meets her eyes.
They widen.
"Holy shit…"
She grins.
"Dat is de cooles' ting I ever seen..."
"You goin' t'Paris wit Etienne and Henri."
"What de fuck for?!"
"Time f'you boys t'earn y'place in de guild…"
"So I be back in a year…"
"Cool."
He sighs.
"You gon' miss me at all, chere?"
She studies her nails thinking about it. He collapses back against the pillows in mock despair and she laughs climbing on top of him. She kisses his nose.
"What happen t'y'chere?"
She shrugs, those blue eyes cold as glaciers.
"I grew up, Remy. When you were gone I realized dat we can't be nothin'."
"You been talkin' t'Julien."
"I been learnin' 'bout my place in dis worl'. I'm an Assassin. You a Thief. We not even s'posed t'be talkin' t'each other. It was diff'rent when we was kids… we weren' really part of tings but now…"
"Belle…"
"Remy, I know you weren' faithful t'me in Paris."
"Dat had not'ing t'do wit us… I ha-"
"I ain' mad, Remy. I don' care…"
He'd managed to slip a note into her pocket yesterday morning when he saw her leaving church with her poppa. He'd missed services himself. He'd stayed up late the night before helping Henri work up the nerve to visit Lucy. He'd entertained himself with Maya who insisted it was on the house while he waited. They only had sex twice. He'd spent the rest of the night telling her about Belle.
He's still shocked she actually came.
They float beside each other in the sun, their bodies slide together and he finds her hand, holds onto it.
She turns her face to his.
I knew it… I knew you been tinkin' 'bout me too…
She dunks him.
He comes up sputtering and she giggles and it's been so long since he heard that sound… She's become so cold this last year…
She's become an Assassin.
She throws her head back, her throat long and white as she laughs and laughs and laughs.
Dis is Belle. Dis is m'heart, m'love…
He swims towards her and she slips out of his grasp. His hands slide along her body under the water.
He catches her.
He thinks she let him do it.
She kisses him. She runs her fingers through his hair, slides a leg between his. His arms lock around her waist and she opens her mouth the slightest bit in invitation and he takes it. He moans her name and she nips the underside of his jaw, snakes her hand between them.
He doesn't know when they climbed out of the water, but suddenly they're on dry land and naked as the morning.
"I've missed you so much, Remy…"
She wraps her legs around him and just as he pushes inside her for the first time she murmurs, "We shouldn' be doin' dis… I shouldn'…"
"You didn' come yesterday."
"I know. Sorry."
She doesn't say anything else. She just stands there with him in the alley while "I Only Have Eyes For You" plays on a jukebox across the street and it occurs to him that they've never danced. In all the years they've known each other…
He reaches out to her, places his hand on her hip. She steps back.
"Don't."
"It wasn' a mistake, chere."
"It was."
"You love me."
"Remy."
"Iss okay, Belle… I love you too." He comes to her again, rests his head on her shoulder, breathes her in.
"I would leave everyting f'you," he murmurs against her skin. "De guild, Jean Luc, Henri… You say de word an' we be gone…"
"You get tired of me…"
"Never, Belle, never."
"I can't leave, Remy. They gon' give me de power… Candra say I have potential t'become de next leader… I turn 18 in a few days an den she give me-"
"Belle, it don' matter, none of it-"
"It does to me."
He rolls out of his bed and onto the floor just as the knives whistle over his head and embed themselves into his pillow.
"You a coward, Julien, t'attack me in m'own home while I sleep…" He is answered with silence, but he can feel him in the shadows, waiting. "Assassins and Thieves… we both big on honor… but it looks like you have none…"
He shifts his shoulder to the right as another blade comes flying past. The windows clap open and he sees a black figure leap out. He doesn't bother going after him. He turns his head to the dagger stuck in his wall. Pinned underneath it is a note.
Tomorrow.
Sundown.
What, we cowboys now?
The blades slice through the air, clinging and clanging like music. Julien is no match for him. He dances out of the way easily trying not to laugh as he becomes more and more enraged.
"Julien, stop dis-"
"You fucked my sister!"
"We belong together, homme. We love each other-"
"You don' love shit! I saw you wit dat girl - not twenty-four hours since you had Belle and you already foun' another! She hates you now! She wan' dis done!"
Cling.
"No."
Clang
"Why else would she have tol' me you fuck her, LeBeau? She knew dis would happen!"
Slice.
Merde!
Burning pain in his shoulder…
He switches hands.
Julien charges again.
"She wan' you dead, Thief!"
It's over in the blink of an eye and he stands there, his sword dripping with blood.
"You have t'leave de guild, Remy… De Assassins will start a war if you stay… an' de Thieves… dey wan' you out too… She told dem all dat you would leave dem for her… Dey wan' no part of you no more… dey call you a traitor…de only reason you ain' beggin' for y'life right now is poppa did it for ya…"
"I never meant for it t'happen…"
She whips around, eyes blazing with a burst of power. It slams into his chest from her outstretched hand, sends him crashing into a headstone.
"You lucky Jean Luc has de kinna power he does. If it were up t'me I'd kill you m'self, so you best leave now b'fore I do someting I won' regret."
The ice in her voice pierces his heart, makes it burn.
"Belle… please-"
"I don' wan' see you ever agin', LeBeau. You ain' nothin' t'me. You never was…"
He watches her go. She doesn't look back.
New streets, new smells, new woman to fuck, new pockets to empty.
He spends a night here, a night there…
He listens to the sssshhhh of the shower as he lays on Mary's(?) bed. The sheets stick to his skin with sweat and he thinks about joining her in the bathroom. She's a nice girl. She was shy and sweet and said "I've never done this before… picked a guy up at a bar… " He smiled, kissed her hand and did everything she asked plus some things she hadn't thought of. He wasn't going to charge her. She has blue eyes, blond hair. Freckles at the nape of her neck that made his throat tighten as he kissed his way across her shoulders and down her spine…
A low throb starts up in his temples.
A steady drumbeat behind his eyes.
Pulse, pulse, throb, throb.
Sizzle sizzle.
What de fuck….
No…
Stop…
Shit no no no no no
The sheets glow.
Margaret(?) sings in the shower…
"Are the stars out tonight… I don't know if it's cloudy or bright…"
Black spots black spots dotting his vision…
"I only have eyes for you…"
The sheets begin to burn…
Pull it back pull it back…
He stumbles off the bed, falls to his knees.
The carpet starts to smoke…
Get up! Get up!
He slams his hand down on the night table, hoisting himself up.
"Sh'bop sh'bop."
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM
He hasn't slept in days. He sits in an abandoned theatre with his elbows resting on his knees his arms straight out. He watches his hands as they flare up every once in a while, spurts of power with no release that come shooting back up his arms and into his brain, exploding there because they can't explode anywhere else.
He doesn't remember how he got here.
The last thing he remembers is Mona(?) screaming at him and the sprinkler system going off.
He wears nothing but his boxers. He's afraid to drape one of the torn velvet curtains over his body for warmth because he knows, he just knows, his power is waiting for him to do it, to touch something solid.
He is alone. His heart, his head, his body howls in pain.
If he wasn't so damn cold he'd swear he was in hell.
Because a devil stands before him. A devil with pale skin tinged a deathly blue that makes him remember Etienne when he pulled him out of the Seine.
It smiles a mouthful of needles, and its voice is something slimy and parasitic.
It says, "I can help you… I can make it all go away…"
And he says "please…" because he's so tired… so tired… "I'd sell m'soul to make dis stop…"
Blue eyes.
Not hard and cerulean… blue like the clearest sky… kind. A hand on his face, brushing back his hair. "Do not be afraid, you are safe…" clipped accent, soft voice, café au lait skin and hair like a cloud swirling around her face as wind pours in from the hole in the wall of the laboratory.
"M'I dead?"
Soft smile.
"No."
"You sure you ain' an angel?"
"I am very sure."
His head swims with painkillers as he leans against the beautiful stranger. The laboratory is in shambles. He doesn't ask what happened to Essex.
Alone again in the city, headaches gone, his powers back under control. He keeps the card Stormy gave him but doesn't call. He tells himself he doesn't want to be a part of anything again, that he's had enough of it.
Alone is best. There's no one to disappoint, to hurt. To lose.
Still, she said I'd have m'own room…
Tempting…
He fingers the worn edges of the card.
Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.
S'lotta hoops t'jump tru for a bed…
Well, a bed and Stormy…
Very tempting…
A pretty brunette smiles slyly up at him from under her eyelashes. She reaches out to slide her hand down his chest as the boy she's with writhes against her completely oblivious that he's lost her attention.
He winks at her. He's gotten over wearing sunglasses in front of people. He can always pass his eyes off as contacts in clubs like this. Most girls like them now anyway, they find them sexy, mysterious.
He crooks a finger at her that says, "follow me" and she does. He backs her into a corner near the stage, presses her up against the vibrating speakers and she giggles.
They dance, they kiss.
The girl's got busy hands and it's nice, it's good. He curls a fist into her hair, runs his tongue down her neck. She unzips his pants as he smiles at a redhead dancing nearby.
He feels eyes.
Someone's watching, staring.
She slips her hand inside his pants. He searches the crowd…
Green eyes.
He locks onto them, pleased when they don't look away.
Come here…
Her breasts rise in a quick intake of breath and he smiles.
Come here…
The brunette gets him off. He closes his eyes, rides out the sensation. When he opens them again the other girl is gone.
Someone is watching him again.
Someone is tracing the contours of his face with their eyes, focusing on his lips…
He smiles.
He looks up.
It's her…
Mon Dieu…
He thought she was beautiful before, but seeing her up close…
She's breathtaking.
"Your name…"
He watches her go. He doesn't want her to. He's already moving before the door swings shut.
"Chere-"
Skin like suede and then darkness…
He pulls his shirt up over her shoulders and buttons the buttons for her. His hands are shaking but he's not afraid of her skin, how close it is, he's not afraid…
He stares into her eyes… gorgeous green eyes… saddest eyes he's ever seen.
He wants to kiss those eyes, her nose, her lips.
She blushes. She's heartbreaking.
"Your name, chere…"
He thought he saw her at Fahrenheit last night.
He messed around with a girl even though she wasn't the right one, and then went back to the subway car because for some stupid reason he thought she might be there like last time.
All he found was the shirt and gloves.
His card.
She don' wan' me…
Why should she? De only ting I good for I can't give her anyway…
But he keeps going back to the club, keeps looking.
And then one night he feels her.
He turns his head and finds those eyes again…
She comes to him and she lets him hold her and she lets him kiss her and as he gazes down at her through the gauze, at her upturned face and parted lips, he can't remember the last time he has wanted someone so much.
He hasn't felt like this since Belle.
He stares into her eyes, completely and utterly at a loss as to why this girl has such a hold on him. He doesn't know a thing about her. He doesn't even know her name, but when he closes his eyes at night she's always there… Every night since the first time he saw her watching him from across the room she's been there in his dreams…
She's haunting him...
"Tell me I'm gon' see you 'gain, chere. I don' wan dis t'be it." He tries not to sound desperate, tries not to let her know how scared he is she'll say no…
She doesn't.
But she doesn't say yes either.
It crosses his mind that he's been in this position before.
He returns to the club again and again. He waits for her. She doesn't come.
He doesn't touch anyone. He doesn't want to.
Witchcraft…
She put a spell on me…
She doesn't come.
The girl…
Chere!
The girl at a café warming her hands around a coffee cup. He watches her through the window. She takes a cautious sip, licks a smear of whipped cream from her upper lip. His reflection smiles at him in the glass. He forgets the humiliation of being stood up night after night and smooths his hair down, tries to make himself look presentable before going in.
What de fuck…
That punk from the raid on the warehouse is there…
Avalanche.
He sits down beside her, leans in close to her, speaking to her. She shakes her head. She looks like she's going to cry.
He puts his hand over hers on the table. She looks up into his eyes. He speaks again. She looks away.
She nods and his throat is tight, he feels sick.
She can't be workin' wit dem… she can't…
"Don't be mad at me."
He doesn't look at her. He doesn't trust this, her hand over his heart, her soft voice. He knows this game. He's better at it than anyone.
But then he meets her eyes and sees how upset she is, and he thinks maybe she's here because she really does need him. Maybe she's here for protection. Maybe she's not working for the Brotherhood after all…
She wasn' dere dat night…
Green eyes so desperate so sad. They say I need you, Remy… They say take me away from all of this…
And he does.
He takes a chance on her.
Long-limbed and white-skinned, an angel, a devil, beauty beyond anything he's ever seen…
Yards of skin… her hair up, neck exposed and begging to be kissed and kissed and kissed…
She is soft, her seduction awkward, innocent…
But it's not.
And he's not going to fall for it.
As much as he wants to take off his gloves, his shirt, and feel that warm smoothness against him he's not going to.
She's here because of the Brotherhood.
The second she took off her jacket he knew.
The last time he had seen her so uncovered it had been an accident. The whole time he had been bandaging her hands she had been painfully tense, so afraid of him touching her skin.
But now…
She's not afraid now.
She wants him to do it.
It's like a sucker punch to the gut, and he can hardly breathe.
She wants him to do it, to touch her, to spill the secrets of the X-men into her head...
It's de only ting dat makes sense… de only reason why she would be temptin' me like dis…
He almost laughs because the X-Men don't trust him with anything that could be useful to the enemy. They tolerate him because he's good in a fight and because Ororo has vouched for him, sees good in him, potential. They don't trust him. The Brotherhood isn't going to get anything out of him that they don't already know.
He wants to tell her this, to call her out. He wants to tell her to stop pretending.
But where's de fun in dat…
He takes her coat.
You wan' play? Let's play.
He teases her, runs his fingers through her hair just like the first time they were this close and he wonders how far back it goes. If this was always a part of the plan… get him interested, entice him with sudden appearances and disappearances, make him want more... get him to the point where he would be willing to break the rules and bring her here…
You don' know her at all. Y'never did… But she know you, LeBeau. She seen inside you. She know your weaknesses…
Damsels in distress.
She can't look him the eye.
It gives him hope.
It makes him think maybe she doesn't really want to do this.
He says, "I wan' talk 'bout you, I wan' know you…"
He thinks, Jus' tell me why you really here, chere… tell me dis ain' you, dat you don' wan' do dis an I believe you… I help you get away from dem…
Tell me you don' wan' me t'touch you…
She doesn't.
But he's not ready to give up yet.
"We can dance all night if you wan'…"
He slips her dress off her shoulders, upping the stakes. She's naked in his arms as they dance but she still doesn't pull away, still doesn't say "be careful"…
He's desperate, he lies, he says I could love you and it's not as easy as it's been in the past because he thinks a small part of him might mean it…
And he doesn't want to mean it because it would just be too sad and pathetic that once again he's a mess over some a woman who does not love him back.
They fall onto the bed and he tries one last time, gives her one last chance.
"I wan' y'to do it."
He holds his breath waiting.
Tell me no, chere… please…
She gazes into his eyes and hers are soft and glistening and he thinks maybe… maybe…
"Ah don't hafta t'touch you. Ah believe you, Remy… Ah don't hafta touch you…"
It's exactly what he wants her to say, exactly what he needs to her to say.
He's won.
She lies beneath him, trusting him, and he feels a flash of guilt for how it's happened. He manipulated her into changing her mind, did everything he could to get her to choose him.
If he was a good man, a decent man, he would tell her now that he saw her with Avalanche. That he knows the Brotherhood sent her. He would tell her that he lied. That he had no intention of letting her into his head again. That he said what he said… because he wanted to win. He wanted her wrapped up in him the way he had been wrapped up in her. If he was a good man he would tell her and let her go.
But he's not.
And if he ever does tell her those things he won't be doing it because it's right, it's honest. He'd be doing it to hurt her. And a part of him wants to.
A part of him wants her to know right now what if feels like to be lied to, to be strung along by hope and desire and fooled into thinking that maybe this time, thistime, it will be different.
He thinks about how many nights he's spent looking for her, pining for her like a fucking lovesick kid. How he almost did the one thing he swore he would never do again.
Fall in love.
It doesn't matter that she's chosen him now. She only did it because he tricked her into it.
He's not going to tell her though.
He reaches for the gauze.
He's going to use her.
He kisses her, presses himself against her, he gets lost, forgets the danger that he's been so aware of, that he's toyed with all night long.
He thinks she says something but he can't hear her over the pounding of his own heart. He doesn't want to hear her. He's afraid she'll tell him she loves him and he doesn't think he can handle that.
He closes his eyes.
He kisses her and this time he tastes strawberries.
-/-
He swings his legs off the bed and gets to his feet, shaking his head. It was wrong of him to fall asleep. Unprofessional. Mystique would be pissed if she knew how much time he had wasted…
He glances out the window. It's still night. He still has time to do it before they wake up, before they're no longer vulnerable.
He opens the drawer next to the bed, pulls out a fresh deck just in case he needs it.
The gauze is gone. He catches a glimpse of it out of the corner of his eye. It's on the bed.
And there's someone under it.
He doesn't remember going to the club tonight, but he must have if…
He's surprised he brought someone back here.
Big no-no dat one is. Cyke be on my case big time if he fin' out…
He slips the cards out of their box and tosses it away. He fans them out before him, smelling the new-card smell.
But m'not gon' t'have t'worry 'bout him no mo' anyway...
He slides the pack down his hip, looking for a pocket, and starts when he feels them on his skin.
He's naked.
He looks at the figure obscured by the gauze.
He wonders if he enjoyed his evening.
Shame he can't remember any of it.
He goes to the open closet, reaches inside.
His hand brushes against the woman's jacket. It smells good.
Like magnolias and sunlight.
He takes out his trench, pulls it on.
He turns off the stereo on his way to the door, hums quietly to himself as he puts the cards in his pocket, pats his other one to make sure his bo staff is there.
"Once you do it and you find out where they are in the house it is very important that you absorb the one called Jean Grey first… You will need to use her telepathic abilities to control the other psyches you will absorb tonight… It's the only way you will be able to handle them all…"
He closes the door behind him, makes his way down the hall without a sound, his bare feet light on the carpet.
"I want them all taken care of… I want them gone…"
He comes to Jean and Scott's room. He slips inside quiet as a cat.
"Make us proud, Rogue…"