(Nine)
Young Kimble took off back into the castle and Remy staggered in his haste as he was towed once more. He forced his confusion away from himself like before and he kept up with her easily, it was simply a matter of keeping his mind clear. She scrambled up a flight of stone stairs and into a small apartment shared by her and Sheyman.
The place was small but tidy. It was all one open room except for a small bathroom off to one side. The walls were covered with shelves of books and beautiful paintings, the place of one who clearly enjoyed the look of beautiful things. Lovely figures made from blown and cut glass were everywhere, on shelves and all of the tables. An unfinished chess game sat waiting on a coffee table in front of a sofa. Cut flowers sat in vases everywhere among more statues of glass and stone. Everything was clean and well kept. A large open door led out onto another balcony, filling the room with the fresh smelling air of the outside. There was an atmosphere of peace and love here, reminding Remy of the large palatial homes of the Guild families back home in the warm climate of New Orleans. He smiled a little at the memory and felt a strong longing for home.
One thing that was conspicuously absent was any kind of computer equipment or machinery. One would have figured that a creator of 'grams would have such things laying about. If Sheyman had truly made Kimble, he hadn't done it here.
Young Kimble ran over to a small simply made wooden bed and gave a gentle nudge to a curled up figure sleeping there. Sheyman, her Master, came awake slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
Gambit was shocked by Sheyman's transformation. Gambit had been correct in believing that a lot of time had passed. Kimble's Master was very ill now and had been for a long time. He was impossibly thin and drawn, his skin white and papery thin. His hair was wispy thin and falling out, and most of his teeth were gone. Still his shimmer was still there clinging to life and Young Kimble felt it.
Sheyman smiled at the young wisp of a girl. "Hey, baby doll. How wuz yer session?"
"Good, father," She gave him a small leather bag of coins.
He opened it and was surprised when he saw much she'd earned. "Twenty credits? How didja do that?"
"I did a double."
He smiled at her with the gentle impatience of a parent looking on a well meaning child. "Yer much too young ta be doin' doubles, kid. Ya shouldn't even be workin' as it is. You ain't had nowhere near enough trainin'."
"S'all right. I likes it. I kin helps them. I takes their pain, jus' like I do yours," she replied, leaning over to kiss him slow and easy.
He laughed at her but turned to cough. "Yer such a feisty, wicked thing," he teased in a raspy voice. "How's about some supper, huh? I'm hungry."
Young Kimble smiled and lifted him carefully from the bed. She was in the skin of a young teenaged girl, but with her Courtesan strength carried his now emaciated body easily. She brought him to a tiny table in the kitchen area and set him down at the table. She began to cook them both a meal, singing a soft tune she knew he loved.
Remy was bonding quickly to Kimble now, something that was boosting his latent empathy, a power that had always been suggested in him but never fully pronounced. Well, it was full blown now and he was as close to this version of Kimble as he had been back in the pleasure room. He felt the care and devotion Young Kimble had for Sheyman, it was shockingly intense and not that of a simple slave to its Master. This was intimacy on the deepest scale, something vibrant and alive. Something lasting.
Remy wondered if this intense loving concern was the same Kimble felt for Fallen and Seth and guessed it was probably so. It was so strong and bright like Remy's love for Rogue and he couldn't stop the shiver of love her felt for her. Remy also toyed with the idea that anyone who felt this love so strongly, might also sense anger and hatred just as fiercely. If the pilot Kimble was as empathic as this and could actually feel Logan's non-acceptance and Valentin's hatred like a real thing, how might he react to that? Violently, perhaps. Remy realized that they had been handling Kimble all wrong back at the ship. No wonder things had been so out of control.
Young Kimble clearly liked to care for Sheyman. Her empathic sensitivity helped her to know just what he needed. She fed Sheyman carefully, sampling his meal in small bites as she did. Sheyman had taught her how to cook and she enjoyed the taste of everything, especially anything spicy or sweet. She chatted about nothing, knowing Sheyman simply enjoyed the sound of her voice.
Like a good and dutiful daughter, she cleaned up after their meal and gave her father a nice warm bath. The care was above and beyond the minimum, the bath water scented with rose petals as she washed him gently, mindful of his pain. They played and joked around, kissing and touching with all the love they felt with one another. She then wrapped poor sick Sheyman in large soft towels and brought him to the bed, settling him down with well practiced hands.
"I wuz only eleven," the pilot Kimble suddenly spoke, ghosting into place next to Remy and making the thief jump a little. It was creepy how he just kept showing up behind him like that.
"Dat's awful young to be carin' full time for someone, cher."
"I wuz all he had. I took real good care a him, too. He done evrathin' fer me. He made me and gave me a real nice place ta live. A good place ta be where all there wuz, wuz his lovin'. He wuz always there fer me, always. I didn't knows it right away, but I didn't git the same trainin' as the other 'grams did. He raised me like I wuz a real kid... 'cept fer the love makin' a course. I knows yer human kids don' do that. It made me kinda free and wild, but Sheyman liked that. Said it made me shine real bright. He taught me evrathin'. How ta dance, how ta sing, how ta make love real nice an easy.
"We both knew that we wuz lovin' each other more than we wuz suppozed to. He was my Master and the Masters ain't suppozed ta be so involved with their 'grams. Council didn't like it. Wuzn't natural or sumpthin'. I didn't give a shit an neither did he. There ain't been nobody since him what came close ta the love he had fer me," Kimble finished sadly. He started to cry and wiped at his face self consciously. "Playin' the files back wuz his idear. Said it wuz good fer me, but I don' know. I don' know if I kin makes it through all this shit again."
"Paisible maintenant, cher," Remy said, coming closer to offer comfort for Kimble's tears. "You not alone 'ere, mon ami. Gambit's 'ere, too. Besides, if he love you dat much, den Sheyman's reasons must be real good, n'est ce pas?" he reasoned.
The pilot Kimble didn't respond, but stood quietly crying as he watched the younger version of himself interacting with Sheyman. She was tucking him in with care and once she was sure he was comfortable, climbed into the bed and curled up around him protectively.
Sheyman leaned to one side and coughed. It was a wet, choking cough, full of phlegm and death. Young Kimble lay a towel against his mouth, catching a small trickle of blood. The wracking cough subsided and Sheyman lay against her, exhausted. After a rest, he spoke again. "Y' knows, Kim. I been thinkin' 'bout who's gonna be carin' fer ya when I'm gone."
"Don' wants ta be thinkin' 'bout that. Yer not goin' anawheres."
Sheyman grunted a laugh. "Yer a stubborn one, my love, butcha ain't got that kinda pull with the Spirits, darlin'. I ain't got much time. I wrote up my papers t'day. Yer gonna go with my cousin, Zartak."
"He hates me," Young Kimble whispered.
