Chapter 5 - Where is Home When the Heart is Missing?
Summary:
Rogue goes home. Remy calls home.
Author Notes:
Sorry about wait. It's here now, so yay. I've been struggling with this chapter and the next. There's so much I want to put into the chapters, at the same time I want to move onto the next part of the action. I've reworked this a bunch of times, and I'm still not a hundred percent satisfied with it. But, it exists which means I can continue onto the next. Let me know what you think. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy.
Now for a quick note on timelines…
You know how Marvel has a shifting timeline, I've kind of adopted one of my own. Since I wanted Shogo to be a contemporary of Rogue and Gambit's daughters, it means Jubilee would have adopted him a few years later than she did in the comics. Then again, he's been a baby/toddler for how long now? So, in this story, Rogue and Gambit have been married for nearly ten years. They have two daughters, Isobel (Izzy) and Aimée who are seven and four respectively. Shogo (Jubilee's son) is around 9ish. Hope that helps).
Also, the whole new-Krokoa era does not exist in my world. So, Remy is alive and well and has been happily living and teaming up with Rogue for the last ten years.
"Ah'm home," Rogue called as she let herself in through the back door.
A thunder of footsteps and cries of "Mama" echoed through the house before the door shut behind her. Rogue hurried through the mud room and halfway across the kitchen to meet her daughters. Kneeling, she caught Izzy and Aimée in an all encompassing hug. Her girls held onto her like they were never going to let her go again and she clung to them in return. It had been a little more than three weeks since she spent more than a few hours a day at home.
Taking several long, lingering moments to breathe in their presence, Rogue focused on being present for her daughters and not the turmoil in her heart. She breathed in the scent of Izzy's shampoo and de-tangler and the peanut butter toast Aimée had for breakfast. The inhibitor bracelet circling her left wrist rested heavy against Izzy's back. Rogue hated that she needed to depend on the bracelet, but her control kept slipping and she had no intention of risking her daughter's safety. Aimée was practically immune to Rogue's powers and it took a considerable effort to absorb her youngest daughter. The same couldn't be said for Izzy. Hank had explained that sometimes mutations were essentially cancelled between closely related people—siblings, cousins, parent and child. And Izzy was her daughter in all but blood.
"Welcome home." Jubilee stood in the kitchen doorway. She wore an oversized t-shirt and a pair of yoga pants. The outfit landed somewhere comfortably between a pajamas and exercises clothes. Her iconic, yellow jacket was draped over her arm. She tapped the top of Izzy's head. "C'mon Izzybel, car's leaving for school in fifteen."
"Do Ah have to?" Izzy drawled. She clung to Rogue's sleeve.
"It's a school day, petite." Rogue pressed a kiss to the crown of her eldest daughter's head. "Ah promise, Ah'll be here when you get home from school today. In fact, Ah'll be there to pick you up."
"Really?"
"Oui." Rogue grimaced. Remy's psyche was still lingering and his quirks would pop up at unexpected times. Normally, it wasn't that big of a deal, but today it felt like false hope. She cleared her throat and tried again."Ah mean, yes. Ah'm gonna stay home with you now."
"Papa?" Aimée clung to her mama like a baby koala and peered over Rogue's shoulder as if she expected her Papa to walk through the same door any minute now.
Standing, Rogue adjusted her hold on her youngest daughter and balanced the girl on her hip as she used the girls back towards the dining room. The crust of Aimée's toast and a half eaten banana remained on the plate at her place and Izzy's bowl of dry cereal remained mostly untouched. She knew they were missing Remy's cooking. So was she. "Papa needs to stay with Dr. McCoy for a bit longer."
Shogo sat at the table reading the back of the Fruit Loops box while he tilted the bowl to finish the last of the murky colored milk. As the bowl clattered back to the table, he looked up from his reading and began to scramble out of his seat. Instead, when his gaze flicked briefly to Rogue's wrist, he changed his greeting to a cheery wave. "Hi Aunt Rogue. How's Uncle Remy?"
Rogue swallowed wordlessly as the answer refused to form. The more she had to repeat the disheartening diagnosis, the more real it became. She couldn't take that. But, Jubilee's son was only a couple years older than Izzy and the trio had grown up as close as siblings. Jubilee often teased if Remy was a father-figure for Shogo, then Logan, much to his chagrin, was surely a grandfather-figure to her son. Though she often said to get a reaction from the guys, there was a great deal of truth to the statement.
Jubilee came to her rescue—again. She ran her fingers through her son's obvious bed head. "Shogo, what did I say about the car leaving? Are you planning on going to school looking like you just rolled out of bed?"
"Mo-om." Shogo rolled his eyes. "I'm going, I'm going."
Pushing away from the table, he cleared his spot and rushed to the kitchen before heading upstairs two steps at a time.
"Don't forget to brush your teeth!" Jubilee called after him.
"You too, petite." Rogue placed a slight pressure on Izzy's shoulder in the direction of the stairs. "Take your sister with you. I need to talk to Aunt Jubilee."
"D'accord, Mama," Izzy mumbled. Her shoulder's sagged and she seemed to be withdrawing into herself. Rogue forced herself to smile as though that would be enough to keep her despair from affecting her daughter.
"C'mon Izzy. You can wear my butterflies." Aimée slipped her hand into her big sister's hand and tugged her towards the stairs. A wan smile flickered across Rogue's lips as she witnessed her daughter's generosity. Last Christmas, Remy had given girls hair clips—butterflies for Aimée and dragonflies for Izzy—which were much too fancy for a four- and seven-year-old. Unaware of the value of the jeweled barrettes, the girls treasured them simply as tokens of their papa's affections.
"They'll be okay," Jubilee said softly. She moved beside Rogue. "How are you doing?"
Rogue waited until the children were out of sight before attempting to the answer. Instead of words, the torrent of tears she'd dammed up behind a false bravado broke through in silent, breathless sobs. Wavering under the weight of it all, Rogue's knees buckled. Before she could collapse, Jubilee wrapped her arms around Rogue and held her in a tight embrace. It was only Jubilee's slight frame which held Rogue upright and together.
"Let it out. Let it all out," Jubilee murmured. She ran a soothing hand along Rogue's back. Even with the inhibitor bracelet, Rogue's powers plucked along the edge of Jubilee's mutation. Neither woman moved from the embrace. While the full extent of Rogue's mutation still remained much of a mystery, they did understand it better. One of the things they discovered was Rogue needed to be willingly touched at moments like these. Being held at arm's length only served to redouble the self-incrimination and guilt and reinforce the fear which held her prisoner to her powers for so long. Usually, it was Remy who held her, who never pulled away no matter the fluxations of her powers.
Even in the midst of her turmoil, Rogue knew her time for a breakdown was short. Pulling herself together, Rogue stepped back and scrubbed at her eyes with the cuffs of her sweater. "Thanks, sug. Ah needed that."
Jubilee led Rogue back into the kitchen and pressed a mug of coffee into her friend's hands. While she probably didn't need the caffeine, the warm drink helped steady her for the moment. She needed to get through the next half hour or so, then she could lose it without making the situation harder on the children.
"What are you going to do?" Jubilee sipped at her own mug of coffee.
"Ah dunno. Remy ain't ready to see the girls, but Ah don't know how much longer Ah can hold them off from seeing him." They were both Papa's girls and they were the apple of Remy's eye. "It's gonna break their hearts when they realize he doesn't recognize them. Izzy can't…."
"Maybe if he sees them, it will jog his memory and he'll remember everything." There was a hopeful lilt to Jubilee's words.
A sharp bark of cynical laughter escaped her throat. "And maybe Ah'll wake up tomorrow and this will all have been nothin' more than a bad dream." Rogue shook her head. "Nah, Jubes, no matter how much Ah wish that to be the case, it ain't so. Ah can't risk the girls on a maybe. Ah can't risk Remy running off…."
"He ought to know he's a dad," Jubilee protested.
"Ah know, Ah know. But, ya didn't see the look in his eyes when he found out that Ah'm his wife. Not only did he not know me, he didn't want to know me. He was utterly repulsed by the very idea that Ah might possibly be his wife. Didn' want anyone but Belle." Rogue wrapped her hands tightly around the mug until her fingers hurt. "How's he gonna feel when he finds out that not only is he married to a woman he doesn't remember—doesn't love—, but he also has a couple of kids with her?"
"But, Remy…he always wanted kids. Surely he won't reject them." Small, harmless flashes of light sparked at Jubilee's fingertips.
"Mebbe. Ah mean, at the moment, that feels like the best case scenario."
"Rogue!" Jubilee nearly dropped her mug at Rogue's dour outlook.
"You weren't there Jubes. You weren't in his brain. The memories aren't just muddled or missing a few connections. They're gone. And not just erased, it's like someone cut them out and burned them." Her hands tightened towards a fist until the pressure was too much and she was left holding nothing more than a cracked shell of a mug. An apt metaphor for her heart. Coffee leaked from the mug and seeped through her fingers, to drip…drip…drip…on the floor.
Carefully removing the shards from Rogue's grasp, Jubilee checked her friend's skin for any trace of injury. "I'm sure he still loves you. I've never seen a couple more in love than you two. You're soulmates. I mean, you have this true, multi-verse spanning, epic romance kind of love. He'd going to find his way back to you. 'Kay?"
Running her hands through her hair until they tangled in the mess of unkempt curls and yanked sharply at the roots, Rogue couldn't find the energy to continue deflecting Jubilee's offers of hope. She sagged against the counter and closed her eyes. "Maybe you're right, sug. And, Ah will tell him 'bout the girls, but not right now. Let him come to terms with losing twenty years first, before Ah shock him with this new revelation."
Jubilee shook her head and said nothing.
Before Rogue could formulate a response, a flurry of footsteps stampeded down the stairs. An overlapping cacophony of voices blended with the rush. "Not fair." "Wait for me." "…gonna be late."
"Sounds like the kids are ready to go." Jubilee slipped on her jacket and checked the seal of her travel mug. "I'll drop Shogo and Izzy off at school. Are you able to take Aimée to preschool, or do you want me…"
"Ah can take Aimée." Rogue's voice was watery when she spoke. She gave Jubilee's hands a squeeze. "Thanks for everything you've done, Jubes. Don't know how Ah could have managed any of this without you."
"Hey now, you and Remy, you're my friends—family, really—and this is what family does. You're not gonna get rid of me so easily." Jubilee grinned in that easy going manner of hers. Rogue couldn't help but grin in return. Satisfied with what she saw, Jubilee fished her keys from the pocket of her jacket and moved toward the living room to corral the kids. "Call if you need anything. Anything at all. Okay?"
"Ah will." Though Rogue didn't plan on doing any such thing. Jubilee deserved a day to herself after standing in for Rogue and Remy over the last few weeks.
Going to her girls, she gathered them in her arms and held them in a tight embrace. She pressed a kiss to Izzy's temple. "Love ya. See you after school."
Her daughters nestled in close for a moment longer before reluctantly letting go. Izzy reluctantly followed the others out to the car. Aimée and Rogue waved from the front stoop until Jubilee's car long since passed from view.
As Rogue watched them go, she resolved to be there for her girls and do whatever was necessary to keep her family together. Even if that meant, temporarily, letting part of it go.
—
It had been over forty-eight hours since Remy first snuck out of the infirmary in the middle of the night in order to explore the Mansion (school? lab? He wasn't certain which—it seemed to be a bit of all three and several other functions as well). He hadn't gotten far on his first exploration. The hallways were a rabbit's warren of twisted corridors and locked doors. Between his sprained ankle and throbbing head, that night he didn't have the strength or concentration needed to formulate his escape.
Since then, he'd been allowed to explore as far as he wanted. Though, it hadn't taken him long to catch onto the shadow. A young femme with a dangerous edge and fierce loyalty lurked in the dark corners and followed him with the tenacity of a skilled tracker. She never tried to hinder his progress, so he allowed them to think he hadn't noticed the tail. Although, it was probably a moot point. The femme had introduced herself to him as Laura, so he figured that Laura, if no one else, already realized he knew that they knew he was being followed.
Despite the tail, Remy had managed to map a great deal of the Mansion in his wandering. Which was progress. Furthermore, they had moved him out of the infirmary, which allowed him greater freedom now that he was out from under the doctor's ever watchful gaze. Yet, no matter what he tried, he couldn't feel entirely at ease in the bedroom.
As much as he tried to deny it, the room was clearly intended for him. If nothing else, the drawer full of playing cards was evidence of that. The closet was full of clothes which fit him. Though he refused to acknowledge the half of the closet filled with a femme's clothes.
Taking advantage of the privacy of a closed door, Remy sat on the floor and stretched protesting muscles. He'd always healed more quickly than most, but the speed of his present recovery surprised even him. Although, his ankle still ached, he could move about with little more than a limp. His chest was a mottled mess of purple and green bruising, but it no longer hurt to breathe. On the other hand, while his head no longer hurt all the time, it ached with a burning white hot fire whenever he tried to concentrate on detailed work or push at the blank spaces in his memory. It wasn't an ideal situation, but it wasn't anything he couldn't work around.
First step to his escape—find a phone.
A knock on the bedroom door interrupted his thoughts.
Since waking, he found if he extended his kinesthetic he could sense who was around him with a near pinpoint accuracy. The fierce femme (thankfully, not the one he was hoping to avoid) stood on the other side of the door. Levering himself off the floor, Remy lounged on the bed with his eyes half closed and his arms resting behind his head. He would rather have the others not realize the extent of his recovery. It would make his escape easier when the time came.
"Entrez vous," he called once he was settled.
Laura pushed open the door and stalked across the room with a confident stride. From the time she spent following him the last few days, he knew she could move as light as a shadow if she so desired. She brushed her long dark hair back and tucked it behind her ears as she studied his insouciant pose.
"I'm going on a mission," she stated flatly in lieu of a greet.
"Oh, chère , 'm gonna miss you," he said with no particular attempt to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
She snorted. "I told them you would know."
"So, is that why you told me you're headed out?" He sat up, moving slowly enough his head wouldn't spin with the movement.
"No." With a shake of her head, Laura claimed the free space at the foot of the bed. "Long ago, I needed…help…and you were there for me. You helped me through a lot of pain and confusion. You promised that if I ever needed anything that I should ask. I promised myself that I would do the same for you."
Despite the pain ricocheting around his brain with the movement, Remy shook his head. "Don' remember any of that."
"Doesn't change the facts," she stated matter of the factly. "Even though I will be gone, remember, you are not alone."
He made a noncommittal sound from the back of his throat.
"I brought you something." Laura thrust something at him. Her movements were so sudden, he instinctually caught the object before he could register what it was.
"What's this?" Once his brain caught up with his body, the answer was obviously a book. But that didn't tell him why she was giving it to him, or any of the actually useful information. From the multiple cracks along the paperback spine and the soft worn edges of the pages, it was evident the book had been read often and carried with the owner a myriad of places. All in all, it was a well-loved tome. He didn't need to risk a headache in order to to puzzle out the title. The familiar image of the little blond boy in green seemed to stare knowingly at him. The Little Prince. A lump formed in his throat. How did she know that this was his favorite book? He hadn't told anyone about this—not even Belle.
"You read this to me while I was lost. Maybe it will also help you find your way…" She traced her fingertips over invisible lines along the inside of her wrist.
"Merci, petite." Remy frowned. He wasn't certain why, but for some reason, it felt right to call her petite, instead of the habitual chère.
"You're welcome." With her task accomplished, Laura left the room more silently than she entered.
Resuming his recumbent position on the bed, Remy closed his eyes and waited until he could no longer hear her footsteps moving down the hall. Finally alone, he crept out of the room to enact the first step of his escape plan.
It took Gambit a half hour to find a landline. Surely he was slipping. Though he could only partially blame his incomplete mental map of the Mansion for his slow progress. The rest had more to do with his still aching muscles, stiff joints, and the headache which didn't know how to leave him be. Finally, he located a phone he could use in an office on the first floor. .
Digging through his memories until he found the most recent string of Guild codes, Gambit dialed home. The phone rang, but no one answered. He hung up and tried another, slightly older, set of codes. Again, he failed to get through. Gambit groaned and sank into the office chair. Slamming his fist on the desk, the paperwork piled on the desk scattered across the surface. At this point, he had little care if he left evidence of his presence or not. His head felt as though someone was drilling into his skull. He just wanted it to stop. Despite all the Doc's poking and prodding, and the gamut of tests, bloodwork, and scans, the results all came back the same—negative. According to the Dr. McCoy, there was nothing physically wrong with Gambit's head. Which was clearly poppycock.
With an exasperated sigh, Gambit hung up the phone and tried dialing again. This time he tried the Guild's public line. Unlike the other attempts, the call didn't even ring. Immediately he was shuffled off to an automated voice declaring the number was out of service.
What the hell? Had the thieves gone to ground? Without him? His heart rate spiked at the thought of being abandoned. Cast out. Exiled…
He shook his head, trying to clear the immediate jump to the worst case scenario. He really wanted—no, needed—to talk to his père. To Belle, or Henri. Even his cousins would do. Someone, anyone, he trusted. Someone to collaborate or refute these strangers' stories. They claimed to know him, to be his friends, but he had no recollection of any of them.
Their tales were so outlandish. He couldn't trust the first word they said. Frustrated tears welled in his eyes. Angrily, he wiped them away with back of his hands. He wasn't the type of person to give into tears. Especially over something like this. He solved puzzles, he didn't get lost in them.
It was just nothing made sense anymore. His body felt wrong—like it belonged to someone else. Unfamiliar aches and pains hindered his movement. Scars he didn't recognize marred his skin. Unconsciously, his fingers traced along the paths of the unfamiliar scars. His distracted touch lightly lingered over the nearly invisible line over his heart and the deep claw marks across his stomach. He was a stranger in his own body. And this damned headache made it hard to string together any two coherent thoughts at a time. The more he tried to focus, the worse the headaches got.
A new resolution surged through him. He would not let this stop him. if there ever was a time to use the emergency line, clearly it was now. His father would clarify things. Arrange a rescue. Even if Henry would never let him hear the end of this, Gambit just wanted this farce to be over.
Dialing his last hope, Gambit held his breath as the phone rang.… And rang…. And rang.
The handset fell from his grasp and clattered to the desk. Burying his face in his hands, Gambit tried not to think about what any of this might mean.
"Hey sugah, figured Ah'd find you here," the southern belle who haunted his dreams—Rogue—said in her honey and magnolias voice. Though her tone was filled with compassion, his stomach roiled in protest. He didn't want her to be kind or compassionate. He wanted reasons to keep his distance.
When he looked up, he found her standing in the doorway of the office. He hadn't seen her since he left her asleep in the infirmary, yet she had never been far from his thoughts. Her unexpected presence felt like finding a beam of sunlight after a fortnight of rainy, grey days. Swallowing back the instinct to go to her, he picked up the handset and returned it to the cradle, cutting off the futile, insistent ringing.
Her languid slouch against the doorframe did little to hid the underlying tension running along her jaw and across her shoulders. Her cinnamon curls were pulled back into a utilitarian ponytail while the white locks were left free to frame her face. She wore sweats, a long sleeve tee, and a pair of gloves. Even without makeup or much effort put into her appearance, there was an innate gorgeousness about her.
Look, but don't touch, he reminded himself. He remembered his wedding to Belle. At least, he thought he did. Engraved deep upon his memories were the months of preparations and intricate rituals necessary for the ceremony unifying not only the lovers, but the warring Guilds as well. Only slightly less concrete was his recollection of the anxious buzz in his stomach as he waited for his bride to walk down the aisle and that first glimpse of her as a vision in white. In fact, they were the last ones he could concretely grasp.
Even if his memories of their wedding day were cloudy, Belle would appreciate his faithfulness. Still, if these X-Men wanted to trick him into thinking he was married to one of their own, they couldn't have made a better choice. The only thing which marred Rogue's beauty was the deep seated loss in her soulful green eyes. No matter the light hearted demeanor she tried to put on for him, she couldn't hide anything in those expressive eyes. Even with the turmoil, they gave her a timeless beauty, a thread of the tragic, a depth he wanted to explore—
No, he wouldn't allow these strangers to dictate his life. He had a home, a family, and a wife waiting for him in New Orleans. If he couldn't contact them by phone, he'd just have to find a way down there himself.
"What do y' want?" He asked warily after realizing the silence had gone for far too long as he studied her.
"Ah stopped by our room to see if you wanted to join me in the Danger Room."
He didn't know what a danger room was, but from the way she made the offer, it was apparent she was extending a peace offering. Attempting to mend the gap between them. Despite her being quite the jolie femme, he would really rather maintain the distance.
While she scuffed her toe across the threshold of the room, her gaze never wavered from his face. "Ah know know you're still recovering, but Ah know how restless ya can be, figured we could work through some of your training routines. Might shake loose a few of those cobwebs." A melancholic smile did not so much play at her lips, as it fled almost before it existed. "Anyways, when ya weren't in the room, Ah figured you'd be trying to contact your père now that Laura's gone. And this is the only landline left in the Mansion, so, yeah, Ah figured you'd be here…."
He racked his brain. How could she know so much? Predict his moves? Know just how restless he was? Apparently, there was a serious security breach in the ranks of the Guild.
"Oui." The single syllable was forced out in a reluctant protest.
"All right, sugah." She sauntered across the office in a way which left him stirring with desire. When she perched along the opposite edge of the desk, his eyes unabashedly followed the curves of her lips, her breasts, her hips, her…. Gambit looked away as she dialed.
Instead, he studied his hands. Burn scars covered his palms. Reminders of the first days of his powers. The uncontrolled explosions had burned his palms, leaving them marked with knotted and tangled layers of scar tissue. He usually wore gloves to hide the old injuries. Curling his hands into fists, the band of calloused skin around the ring finger of his left hand served as the ghost of the wedding ring he wasn't wearing. Someone had removed it while he'd been unconscious. He hadn't put it back on yet, though he wondered if maybe he ought to. If nothing else, it'd be a reminder of his vows to Belle. Apparently his wandering mind needed the constant reminder, especially when Rogue was around.
Back to the temptress at hand. She held the phone handset between her shoulder and ear while she entered a long string of numbers into the phone. The pattern had the rhythm and nuance of a Guild code, but countless generations more complex than the ones he had tried to use.
Wait. He blink. Once. Twice. Still, disbelief filled his brain as the double take became a triple. She dialed the complicated string of numbers with the casual ease he only ever saw in a master thief. Had he gotten this wrong? Was this all a test? Some secret layer of Guild security he wasn't yet privy to? Was some other Guild—or law enforcement agency—trying to outwit information from of him while his brain was scrambled?
"Are you a t'ief?" he asked, cutting to the chase.
She shook her head. "No, just married to one."
Again the haunting sadness he couldn't explain. Surely this was taking the act too far. Before he could protest, she lifted a gloved finger to silence him as she spoke into the receiver. "Bonjour, Jean Luc, Ah've got Remy here…. Mmmhmm…. Uh-huh. No change…. That's right…. Ah'm hoping if he talks to you…All right. The girls send their love. We'll call later tonight…"
Other than his father's name, the one sided conversation made little sense to Gambit. The phone was thrust into his hands.
Wary, Gambit held the phone to his ear and gave a general greeting. "Salut."
"Remy, mon fils!" Before Remy could even finish his greeting, his father's voice broke into the conversation. A hitch of emotions broke into the middle of his père's voice, interrupting the genial greeting. That did more to unsettle Gambit than the femme's easy familiarity with his father and the Guild's codes. "Comment ça va? Roguey and 'Ro have been keeping me abreast about your recovery, mais I'd like to hear about it from you…"
"Père, what's going on? Why am I in New York? How's Belle? Who are these people? Why does this…Rogue," he stumbled over her name, "have Guild codes while I don't?"
"Slow down, mon fils. Your wife told me you lost your memory. I kept hopin' it wasn't as bad as they reported." Jean Luc took a deep breath. Remy could picture his père closing his eyes while leaning back in his office chair with his heels propped along the edge of the Guildmaster's desk. As if to prove the mental picture, the chair creaked. "Let's see…you're in Westchester 'cause you live there now. Hmm, it's been 'bout fifteen years or so since you made New York your home. Last time I talked to Belle she was doin' just fine. 'Fraid I had to inform her 'bout your condition. So far she's been willing to keep the extent of your injuries to herself. Next time I speak to her, I'll let her know you asked after her. And, Rogue has the codes cause she's family. Trust her and she'll see you through this."
Remy shook his head. "Non. I want t' come home."
"Non," Jean Luc countered. "You are home. Besides, you have access to doctors who understand mutant physiology better than anyone else in the world. If anyone can help you, Dr. McCoy can."
The phone slipped from Remy's hand and clattered to the floor. How could this be happening? He trusted his father to work everything out. And he just…he just…went along with this farce….
Fleeing from the office without a destination in mind, Gambit left his father behind to talk to the imposter of a 'wife' or hang up or whatever. Apparently what Gambit wanted no longer mattered.
He missed making love to Belle. He missed nights out on the town with his brother and cousins. The life and bustle of New Orleans. The familiar streets of the French Quarter. The complex flavors of the Tante Mattie's cooking. The hot, heavy humidity of the air. All of it—all of what he considered home—was being denied him.
Walking off the sharp, hot sting of his anger, Remy stopped when he found himself in the student dormitories. He half expected Rogue to have chased him down by down and harangue him about this so called life they expected him to live. But, to his surprise, she hadn't followed. With Laura gone and Rogue possibly cutting her losses, he was alone. Truly alone. Rebellion stirred in his gut.
The X-Men didn't want him to leave. His father didn't want him to come home. And no one would let him talk to Belle. Well, then, he would do what he did best. Breaking and entering. He would show them all what a trapped thief could accomplish. They couldn't stop him. Of course, they would never know he'd been there, but he would know.
Breaking into the rooms one at a time, was more therapeutic than he expected. The repetitive task required little concentration and the constant pounding in his head lessened while he worked. Once inside the rooms, he checked all the usual hiding spots and found nothing more interesting than the expected contraband squirreled away by teenagers.
In the third room from the end of the hall, Remy discovered a half-empty pack of cigarettes tucked under a pillow at the head of the bed. His fingers twitched. It only struck him now that he hadn't been craving a nicotine fix since waking under the collapsed building. He must have given up smoking sometime during his lost years. It was simply another reminder that he had no choice but to accept the fact that he'd lost time, though he doubted it was the twenty they claimed. How could someone lose twenty years and not know it? If it was true, that would mean he lost over half his life.
Swiping the pack, he tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans. Fine. Maybe he ought to take up smoking again. Why not? At least it was a decision he could make on his own. One that they weren't expecting him to make.
Besides, he was doing the kid a favor. Not only did the kid have a terrible sense of hiding spots (how would he learn if Gambit didn't relieve him of the contraband?), he probably wasn't suppose to be smoking.
Leaving the dormitories for the Mansion grounds, Remy wandered until he was far enough from the building not to be spied by any curious onlookers. Satisfied he was alone, Gambit withdrew a cigarette from the pack and lit it with a flick of his finger. Leaning against a tree, he closed his eyes and inhaled, filling his lungs. It didn't take long for him to fall back into the familiar pattern.
Yes, this was better.
—
