He dreamt of bus rides through deserts. Hours spent with nothing to look at but sand and scrub, until his hidden trove of memories actually seemed less painful than his current reality. He dreamt of young girls with sea-blue eyes, with a great deal more to them than they let on. He dreamt of family that was no longer, and a home that had seen more welcoming days. His dreams seemed endless, without borders, endings and beginnings. But nothing can last forever. He was pulled back to consciousness by pain. Intense, throbbing pain, localized for the most part in his head; a pounding in his temples that made simple remembering difficult. His chest felt tight and heavy, as though there was a great weight resting on it. Breathing had become a chore. His hands and feet tingled, in the way that made him think of frost bite. But that couldn't be possible. He had made it out of that frozen wasteland; he had called upon all his skills as a thief and an all around scoundrel to ensure his survival, and he had. Consequently, frost bite was now the least of his problems.
Highest on his list of priorities was trying to remember how he had gotten from where ever he was last night to the motel room he currently found himself lying in. It seemed to have been taken straight from a cheesey seventies horror film, complete with matching twin beds and hideously tacky turquoise bedspreads. The nighttables that flanked both beds, and tv cabinet that lined the opposite wall were all made chipped formica, the kind that made the thief in him wrinkle his nose in disgust. The headache that dragged him from his dreamworld was not reminiscent of a hangover; if it was alcohol related the burning in his chest was a symptom he'd never experienced before. Besides, he didn't seem to remember feeling the inclination to force amnesia on himself through the effects of alcohol. He vaguely recalled a security guard of some description, and there was something else; some tiny detail that seemed too slippery for him to grasp. His mind seemed to be stuck on the image of a young girl, with eyes the same blue as the Mediterranean sea. He remembered thinking that she looked like she could use some help, and that he was happy to oblige. But she hadn't let him leave it at that. She had followed him down the street and...asked him if he could teach her. The specifics of their conversation eluded him, but he thought it had something to do with the security guard.
He shook his head suddenly, and blew out a soft sigh. All this remembering was great, but it didn't help him figure out what he was doing lying in a bed with his duster and boots halfway across the room. There was a gap in the time she had asked for his help, and him waking up in this motel room. He frowned in concentration, but his train of thought was abandoned suddenly when he became aware of a key entering the lock of the room door. He slipped out of bed with little sound and fluid motion, stood in front of the night table, balancing his weight on the balls of his feet in fight-ready position. After an apparent struggle with the door knob the door was pushed open, and the very same girl who'd been on his mind this whole time stepped inside, with a paper bag filled with groceries on her hip. She sent him a bored glance, then said, "oh, good. You're awake. I was beginning to wonder."
He watched her warily as she carried the bag over to the second bed, and started emptying it's contents. A bottle of water, a box of soda crackers, instant soup, cough syrup, a tupperware bowl. She looked different, he decided as she folded the bag carefully into thirds. It was hard to pinpoint exactly how, but he knew he would be less likely to help her should he have just met her now. Then he noticed the slightly rumpled look of the other bed, and the plain white towel hanging over the back of the chair to dry. So she'd used the facilities while he'd been out for the count. She glanced over at him, realized he'd been staring at her for quite some time, and frowned just noticeably.
"I hope you don't mind. I found some money in your jacket, so I got you this room. And then I noticed how damn skinny you were, so I figured you could use some food."
She studied his face, apparently trying to gauge his reaction, but he wasn't giving away any clues. She shrugged, probably more to herself than for his benefit, and pushed some small slips of paper into his hands. "Here's the receipts. It's all still there, minus what the room and the food cost, if you don't believe me."
When he didn't have an answer for her, she turned her back to him and busied herself with newly purchased foodstuffs.
"How'd I get here?"he asked after a long moment of silence. She twisted around to regard him, appearing surprised at having heard his voice, slightly gravelly with non-use. She turned back to her preparations, and her words were distant when she said, "You collapsed when I was talking to you, so I brought you here."
He smirked. "What, you carried me?"
Her answer was a half shrug. "Something like that."
It was then that he realized that he had broken his own cardinal rule: Never underestimate the enemy. But then this girl wasn't necessarily an enemy, was she? Granted, she had taken his money and spent it without his consent. But he had yet to see any sign that she's used any of it on herself. Did it really qualify as stealing if the money bought him food and a warm bed to sleep in?
She knelt in front of the small cabinet against the opposite wall, and after a moment's rummaging in one of the cupboards, pulled out a kettle. She disappeared into the attached ensuite, and the sound of the tap running could be heard. Back in the main room now, she plugged the kettle into a wall outlet, and set it down on the cabinet. His frown was just noticeable. "What are you doing?"
She looked up with almost surprise, as if she had forgotten he was there. "Making soup. You need to eat something." Her gaze ran up and down his body in a platonic, almost appraising way that suddenly had a blush creeping up his neck regardless. He sat down hard on the edge of the bed, and continued to watch her as she ripped open a package of chicken noodle soup. While she waited for the kettle to boil, she grabbed the cough syrup off the bed and tossed it at him. He caught it easily, without a flinch, but sent her a questioning glance nonetheless.
"For your cough,"she said, in reply. When he served to only look more confused, she smiled gently. "You spent half the night trying to hack up a lung in your sleep. Can't you feel it? Doesn't your chest hurt?"
It had been such a long time since anyone had shown any actual interest in his well-being that he was at a loss for what to say. He settled for staring at her dumbfoundedly. She laughed softly, and despite himself, he answered her with a smile. "You're not used to having people look after you, are you?"
He ducked his head to read the label on the bottle, partly to avoid replying, and partly to hide the tears that ridiculously came to his eyes. He sniffed loudly, and suddenly wished there was something for him to do. Almost as if reading his thoughts, the kettle whistled loudly in the otherwise quiet of the room. He leapt to his feet, and reached the cabinet before she had even gotten up. He ripped the plug out of the wall, and as he poured boiling water into the proferred bowl, he asked, "so why did you help me, petite? Where I come from people t'ink not'ing to rob a body blind."
Her resulting grin was wide and disarming as she dropped a plastic spoon into the bowl of soup. "'Mebbe you look like you can use some help, eh?'"
Her imitation Cajun accent was butchery, and before he had the sense to be insulted, a smile nearly matching hers for intensity crossed his face. She sat back on her heels, and watched expectantly as he stirred the soup slowly. Something occurred to him then; the way her hands were neatly folded in her lap, the hungry, almost pained look in her blue eyes, the way she licked her lips in an attempt at inconspicuousness.
He motioned to the cabinet, and the coffee set that rested on top of it. "Hand me dat mug, will ya, petite?"
She did, and he emptied half of his piping hot soup into it. Without waiting for a protest, he shoved the bowl and spoon into her hands and took a careful sip out of the mug.
"Hey, this is supposed to be for you! I don't need it half as much as you obviously do."
He looked up at her slowly, and took another long drink of his soup. "You a growin' girl, petite. You need de nourishment. 'Sides, I won' be able to keep all dis down, bien?"
She studied his face for a long minute, then eventually sighed heavily and smiled. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."
He shrugged off her gratitude, but otherwise did not reply. The room fell into a comfortable conversationless quiet, the only sounds were the clinking of a spoon against a bowl, and an occasional careful slurp of hot liquid.
As he felt the soup drain into his empty stomach and prayed it stayed there, he considered his options. Not many of the places he had come to think of as home over the years would exactly welcome him back with open and loving arms. He'd done it himself, made sure that all of his bridges were burned so that when he ended up in a situation like this, he would have nothing and no one to rely on other than his own frightening ingenuity, and years of extensive training to survive in just such a circumstance as this. In simpler terms, he was on his own.
"What's your name?"
He was unable to disguise the start his body gave when the girl spoke up. He blinked at her for a moment, then frowned. "What?"
A smile flitted across her face. "I asked you what your name was. We've been in this room for, like, twenty minutes, and I don't even know your name. Mine's Hailey, by the way."
A name. All she wanted was a name. It was a simple enough question, but yet he found himself hesitating just the same. The thief in him demanded an alias, some arbitrary name to get her off his back, but nothing that could indict him down the road. Despite knowing this, he surprised himself by saying, "Remy. You can call me Remy, petite."
A/N: Okay, I know it's been a while, and if anyone missed this, I apologize. More X-Men coming up in later chapters, but for now, it's all about le diable blanc. (He is just gorgeous for a comic book character, don't ya think!)