(Eight)
Remy leaned hunched in the corner of the large LeBeau Mansion's parlor, his face a mask of pain and misery. He was surrounded by people and yet completely alone. The funeral was over now and all the folks had gathered back here at the house to eat and commiserate. The food and the company was good and familiar, but he wanted none of it. He missed his father, it was bright hot ache from deep inside. So much time wasted, he should have been here more.
The morning after his father died, Gambit had called back to Westchester in a moment of weakness. He was swamped with loneliness and pain, so he left a message for Rogue to come down here to be with him. She hadn't returned his call nor had she shown up here. He knew she disliked funerals, avoided them like the plague in fact, but she could have at least returned his call. He shouldn't be too surprised, he guessed. He found himself wondering if she had ever been there for him at all. Thinking back on Antarctica, he supposed he had his answer. He was alone now and hurting, suffering.
He gave an angry, pained snarl and walked out onto the large porch that surrounded the front entrance. He angrily lit a cigarette, using a sharp pop of Ristle from his fingers, a Kimble trick. It made him pause in his pain and think of the friend he had left behind. Perhaps Kimble had cooled off some and would be willing to talk to him now. He slid out his phone, dialing the house.
Seth answered. "Yello?"
Remy laughed a little at the greeting. "Bonjour, Seth. How's it going?"
"You okay? You sound terrible."
"I'm gettin' by. Any chance of me talkin' to Kimble, fils?"
"I don't think he wants to use the phone," Seth said timidly. "I think he's scared of it."
"Non. He just bein' stubborn. Just put me t'rough, it'll be okay. It's been t'ree fuckin' days of 'im ignorin' me. I really need to talk to 'im."
Seth agreed, hearing the pain in Remy's voice. "I'll patch you through."
There was a blurping noise and Scott answered from the holding cells. "Detention."
"What? De 'Fessor put you dere fo' no homework?"
"Oh? Hello, Remy. What do you want?"
"Any chance you lettin' me talk to Kimble?"
"He's asleep."
"Den wake him up, s'il vous plait."
Scott grumbled and set the phone down. Gambit could hear him unlock the cell and speak. He heard Lin give his tiny Siskan warning and Scott blowing him off, demanding that Kimble come out. There was a sharp whine of pain and Kimble mumbling something, crying.
Dis was a mistake, Remy thought to himself. He don't want to talk to me. I only did dis 'cause I was selfish. Lord have mercy, I miss 'im more'n anyt'ing.
Scott picked back up. "He says he can't talk to you."
" 'E say why?"
"I can't make it out. Something about it being against the rules."
Kimble was blowing him off again. He had been down at New Orleans for three days now, in all that time, Kimble hadn't spoken to him once. In a surge of anger, Remy demanded, "Tell 'im de Master say it's okay. Get 'is ass on de phone!"
This time Scott brought the phone with him into Kimble's cell. He said with amused arrogance, "Kimble, your Master said it's okay to use the phone. He demands you speak with him."
"Cain't use no phone!" Lin shrieked. " 'S 'gainst the rules! We'll git beats fer it!"
"Use it, Lover!" 'Shay cackled. "Let's see if Remy's as good with the belt as Kristalay was!"
Kimble screamed in terror. "No phone! No phone! I won't! I cain't! No! Don't need no belt for me! I'll be good, I promise! Git away from me!"
"Small spaces! Hide! The belt cain't gits us under here! Hurry!" Lin squeaked, his terror plain.
There was a thump as Scott retreated and bumped into the tiny table. The Professor's Second got down on his hands and knees, still speaking into the phone. "He's gone under the bed, Remy. I don't think this is a good idea. He's still all messed up."
Gambit was silent, shaking with anger and frustration. Here it was, his answer to the belt question. He should have known, really. He figured the Lover was avoiding him to sulk, but that wasn't the case at all. Kimble had called him on that night so long ago and Creed had whipped him for it. Not once had Kimble used the phone since then. At the Rally, it was 'Shay who had called him, not Kimble. What had Zander said right before he gave the sword a vicious twist? "This is fer the belt, asshole!" Guess he knew now what that was all about. Damn. Seth had tried to warn him and he hadn't listened.
'Shay was laughing loudly now. "Stupid crybaby Lover! Run and hide! Hey, Master! Come listen to yer Lover cry! Call again! Call as many times as ya like! Fuckin' loser!"
Remy growled in anger, a sound Scott could hear.
"Hey, Remy? You okay—?"
Remy hung up, not wanting to hear any more. He tossed his phone in his fury, smashing it against one of the large posts of the porch. He stomped off, heading for the garage. There was a crunch of gravel as someone from the house followed him to see what was the matter. They were ignored.
Gambit found his motorcycle in the garage and started it up with a loud, well tuned roar. He had loved this bike and missed riding it. Now he was grateful Etienne had thought to fix it up for him, he wanted nothing more than the personal freedom of a nice long ride alone. It didn't mean he didn't have an agenda.
He backed out and drove off, never seeing his Tante as she came from the house, her face tight with worry. He saw none of those who looked after him. All he saw was his Siskan, his responsibility all smashed and broken. He was going to find Babette and make her take him to her Master. He didn't care how long it took, he wasn't going to stop until he found her. He saw this now as this only way to fix this, to fix his Kimble. The answers had to be out there somewhere and he was damned if he was going to waste any more time.
His search was in vain. Two days later, Remy sat in the bar of his seedy hotel, miserable himself. He was beginning to wonder if maybe he had just imagined the whole thing and she had never been real in the first place. He sipped his whiskey and closed his eyes, defeated and tired.
None of the places Nancy had said Babette would be had checked out and Remy's spirits sank the longer he searched and came up empty. He had left messages for Babette with anyone he thought might take them, but so far nothing had come of it. He wasn't sure what to do and now, feeling defeated, he had made his way back to his hotel and spent most of the day working on a bottle of whiskey he had ordered from room service. He knew Babette probably wouldn't come out until evening so he was waiting. As the hour grew late, he came out to the hotel bar for yet another drink.
Remy jerked suddenly in his chair, sensing the presence of someone coming up behind him. He went right into defense mode - he had made his share of enemies in this town - but as he turned, soft silky hands reached around him and covered his eyes.
"Guess who, you?" came a gentle feminine voice as silky as her hands.
"Babette," he breathed in a relieved whisper. He was stunned that she had found him, looked like some of his messages had paid off. "I-"
"Shush. Quiet now. Save the words for later, you should."
She pulled her hands away and let him see her. She was dressed in another shimmering brown dress and just as lovely as he had remembered. She tugged on him, pulling him from his seat and led him out of the bar onto the street. He allowed himself to be lugged along and dumped into the back of a taxi. He wasn't the least bit surprised when she called off the name of the hotel he had brought her to the first time. "Babette, I don' know if I'm up to dis, chere. It's been real bad for me lately."
She silenced him with a gloved finger on his lips and he just gave in, too tired to argue.
They came to the hotel and she towed him along once more, not bothering to check in. Clearly she kept a room here all the time now. "Excellent room service, they have," she purred as an excuse.
He couldn't help but laugh a little. He had forgotten the soft musical tones of her voice and the amusing way she jumbled up her sentences. His little Yoda girl. He wondered if her accent and abuse of the English grammar came from speaking another language or if she was just another oddity like Kimble was. He could have cared less, really. He loved her and so loved her voice, no matter what she was saying.
She led him to the same room they had before and he was starting to get a little wierded out. "Dis ain't some kinda sexual obsession t'ing, eh? Gambit's been gettin' a lot of dat lately," he joked weakly, thinking of his pet fractured pilot back home.
"Don't fear, my love. When finished with you I am, let you go I will. Enjoyed my time with you, me, nothing more."
She locked the door behind them and tugged on his coat, undressing him.
"Look, chere. Like I said, dis ain't a good time for me."
"Anyone ever told you, them, that slouch you do when tired and hungry, you are? When's the last time a decent meal you had?"
"Had McDonald's yesterday."
She grunted a laugh and reached for the phone, calling in a full course meal. He just stood there, helpless in his exhaustion. He didn't think he would be awake to eat it. She left him there and started a bath, humming to herself softly. She came and undressed him slowly, running her hands over him as if she was looking for injuries. She didn't find any, all the pain was in his heart. She set him in the bath and soaped him up, washing him down with loving caring hands. He just kicked back and enjoyed it. When the food came, she sat next to him and fed him, talking softly about nothing, just the daily grind of a city he no longer lived in. His mind let go in a warm steamy dream and he zoned out.
Later, when she took him to the bed, he didn't fight her. It was the same wild trip as before, drowning in her backwash, but he found that if he didn't resist and just let her take him, it wasn't as frightening as it had been before. It helped having some idea of what to expect. It was wild and wonderful, almost addictive in how much pleasure she was pumping into him. When she was through with him, she held him tightly as before and he slept deeply for the first time in days.
He woke some time later, drenched in sweat as if he had a fever. He'd had a terrible nightmare. He had been in a dark place and his phone kept ringing somewhere around him. He knew it was Molly trying to reach him. Something was terribly wrong, she was in trouble. She was in pain, in terror. He couldn't explain this knowledge, it was just there in his head. He could hear the miserable little device continuing to ring, but couldn't find his phone anywhere. It was ringing just out of range and the closer he got to the sound of it, the more obstacles that came in his way. He could hear Molly sobbing and crying in her agony even though she was supposedly on the phone that was still ringing. He kept calling out to her that he was coming, but she was lost in the darkness, he couldn't get to her. He was filled with frustration and panic, desperate to get to her, but she couldn't be reached. He finally came awake in the hotel bed, unnerved and distraught. He had to call Molly, he had to get to her. He groaned and reached for the phone, but Babette was there speaking softly into it, tying up the line. Her words erased all thoughts of Molly from his mind.
She was pleading softly in Siskan, "Yes, yes. He's here. Please, this time let me bring him, me... Yes, understand I do...His Courtesan, something wrong with it there is... Yes, interfere we can't, I know this...Please, just this once... What? Kimble or something like that, he said... All right, when he wakes. Thank you. I love you, me."
She set the phone down and he wanted to say something, but as soon as her hands touched him again, he was asleep.
The next time he awoke, he felt better than he had for a long time. The dream of Molly was gone as if it had never happened. The windows were open and he could see the sun starting to set. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, a little lost. He had no idea how long he had been out. "Babette? You still 'ere?"
She came from the bathroom, her brown dress rustling softly. "He wakes," she said with a smile.
"Wow, what time is it?" he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"Almost seven. On Tuesday."
He sat straight, startled. "Tuesday? I been asleep for a whole day?"
"Tired you were."
He shook his head. "Guess so."
"Up for a drive, you?"
"Sure. Where to?"
"Agreed to see you, my Master has."
He was speechless. This was more than he ever could have asked for.
She glided over to him and sat next to him on the bed, ruffling his hair. "Poor little thing you are. Have a shower and we'll go, us."
He nodded and shuffled off to the bathroom. He was excited now and happy. He was going to see Babette's Master and if he did this right, Kimble might be saved.