Chapter 6 – Loose Threads and Info Dumps for Your Resident Amnesiac

Summary:

As the days pass by, Remy rambles around the Mansion trying to figure out if he fits in and how to get out. Unfortunately, the others refuse to let him sulk in peace.


Three cigarettes later, Remy still couldn't shake the uneasy mental residue of the dreams—no, nightmares—which haunted his sleep. Since he was out of cigarettes and without an immediate way of procuring more, he wandered back to the Mansion. Like so many of the restless nights since they brought him here, he eventually found himself in the 'staff' kitchen and began rummaging through the 'fridge. A few days earlier, Ororo—Storm—had given him the official tour of the Mansion and she'd told him to feel free to make use of this kitchen whenever he wanted.

Remy pulled okra, peppers, and celery from the fridge and set them on the counter as he gathered the rest of the ingredients. While others might think it a mite early to start making gumbo, it was what he was in the mood to cook. Besides, the good doctor suggested he pursue activities which relied on muscle memory without triggering the blasted headaches. So, these quirks were indulged by this strange group who claimed to know him better than he knew himself in hopes that cooking gumbo at four in the morning or turning the gym into an obstacle course so he could work through a Master Thief's standard training drills, might mean he was becoming the man they claimed to know.

The thought soured in his belly. They kept pressing expectations on him which felt foreign and ill-fitting. With only a few exceptions, when the others spoke to him, they spoke as if they were in the middle of a long standing conversation. One which he knew nothing about and left him more confused than when they began. He lost count of the number of times they asked him about the long leather duster which hung in the closet of the room he slept in. Why in the world would he wear the heavy cumbersome thing? Every time he rejected the coat, they acted like he'd kicked their puppy. Out of frustration at their gleeful expressions, Remy had switched out his ubiquitous deck of playing cards for a set of throwing knives. The cards he missed. But, it was worth it to see their baffled expressions when he pulled out a knife instead. They didn't know everything about him. They couldn't.

With a heavy sigh, Remy pushed aside these thoughts. This wasn't helping ease his unsettled mind. Right now, all he wanted to do was get lost in the familiar rhythm of cooking. Ever since Tante Mattie taught him how to cook, he'd always been able to get loss in the process. It distracted him from all the things he didn't want to dwell on. And, often, when he was done cooking, not only did he have something delicious to eat, he was able to look at the situation bothering him in a new light.

If it surprised him that they had all the ingredients for Tante Mattie's gumbo, he didn't let it bother him as he chopped and diced, and measured out the ingredients needed. With everything prepared, he found the stock pot exactly where he expected it to be if he was home and set the pot on the stove top. Keeping a careful eye on the melting butter, he whisked in the flour to make the dark, glossy roux.

Half-turning to retrieve the chopped vegetables from the counter, Remy's concentration faltered. Tacked to the side of the 'fridge was pictured drawn in crayon by a childish hand. He'd overlooked the drawing among the myriad of other such pictures crowding every visible surface of the refrigerator. There was no mistaking the subject of the drawing was of him with his distinctive red on black eyes and the Southern Elle he was trying so hard to forget. To add insult to injury, a lopsided heart encircled the couple.

He didn't know how long he stood staring at the picture, the scene burrowing into his heart and settling heavy in his uneasy stomach. The longer he stared, the more his head pounded and his vision grew dry and blurred. A vice squeezed around his chest as he struggled to take a full breath. He needed to get out of here. Now.

"Remy?"

With a start, Remy snapped back to the present. His stomach was still queasy. Reaching for the nearest steady surface, he scarcely missed inflicting severe burns across his palm. His fingers smarted as they grazed along the side of the pot. A sharp, acrid scent filled the air and added to his unease.

"What's burning?" A petite brunette stood in the kitchen doorway. Kitty, if he recalled correctly from their previous introduction. Her nose wrinkled as she looked past him into the rest of kitchen.

Ignoring her question, he gestured at the offending drawing, his voice tight in his throat. "Who drew that?"

"Um…" Kitty licked her lips. Her eyes darted between him, the drawing, and, as if she could see through walls to somewhere else in the Mansion. "It's not my place to say…"

"Then get rid of it," he snarled. Surely, this was a set too far. Even for them. Getting a child involved in their scheme…. He was so tried of this. Why couldn't they leave him in peace?

Frozen in place, Kitty just shook her head.

Fine. If no one else was going to do anything about this, then he would.

"No, stop!" Kitty protested, but it was already too late. He had already snatched the drawing from its place of honor and crumpled it into a tight ball. Before he could throw it into the trash where it belonged, Kitty phased through his hand and retrieved the drawing from his clenched fist.

After walking through him to turn off the burner under the now ruined roux, Kitty began to uncrumple the drawing.

Remy watched with a growing numbness as she took more care than a child's drawing necessitated to flatten the drawing and smooth out the creases. His shoulders sagged, his response to the drawing had probably been too severe. "Désolé chère. Did your enfant draw that?"

She shook her head. Her eyes were wide, an edge of panic clung to the blue depths. "No. No. Um, no. I don't have any kids…"

"O-kay."He drawled the word out slowly. That was an odd reaction. She was hiding something, but he wasn't sure what.

"A few of the teachers and X-Men have kids. You'll probably see them around here." She bit her lip as she paused her ramblings for a moment. Taking a deep breath, she blew up at her fringe. "Just, please, don't do this again. I know this is all really strange for you, but the kids don't deserve this." She gestured at the now less crumpled drawing. Somewhere along the drawings misadventures, it had torn halfway down along the middle of the page—between the likeness of him and Rogue. "Maybe just ignore their stuff for now, and if you see them, be kind."

"D'accord," he agreed. After all, what else could he do? He'd often dreamed of being a father someday and if someone had acted the way he had just behaved to his hypothetical children…well, they would be in for a world of hurt.

The sour taste of bile lingered in his mouth as he set about scrubbing the pot so that he might begin again. Satisfied he wouldn't return to his destructive streak, Kitty pulled a few more drawings off the 'fridge and left the kitchen as silently as she arrived.

The security of this school was fiendish. It was nearly thief-proof, though he still managed to find a way through. Remy paused outside the gates to admire the work. If he were in the business of creating security systems instead of breaking them, he imagined this to be pretty near what he would devise.

His hands shook and his vision blurred after a few moments of concentration. He hated this. His body was well on the way to mending, but his head was still a wreck. He wanted nothing more to curl up in a ball of pain, but he resisted the urge. He would not give into this weakness.

Though the pinks of an early dawn only just started to tint the eastern horizon, a SUV drove down the drive towards the front gates. As the vehicle approached, the gates automatically opened in perfect timing to allow the SUV to proceed without stopping. Remy gave a low whistle. That was an impressive bit of tech.

He wondered what contingencies were in place if the gates failed for some reason. Did all the vehicles on campus have this level of clearance? Or, were their only a specific few? What happened if an unauthorized person borrowed an authorized vehicle? His mind whirred through questions and scenarios. He rapidly came up with and disposed of theories as he picked holes in each until he found a solution which didn't immediately fall apart.

Just beyond the gate, the SUV pulled to a stop. A light honk of the horn startled him out of his thoughts. No longer holding all the threads of his solution, the mental plan fell apart. He cursed under his breath.

"Remy," Ororo rolled down the window and called out to him, "would you like a ride into town?"

Accepting the offer with a nod, he headed for the passenger side of the vehicle and climbed in. There was no way he was passing up this opportunity. He hadn't been off the Mansion grounds since his injury and was definitely going more than a little stir crazy. "Merci."

"You're welcome."

As the SUV started to move, his stomach lurched, rebelling at the movement. It took all his considerable concentration not to lose the contents of his stomach. Remy closed his eyes and rested his head against the seat.

"Are you okay?" The concern in Ororo's voice didn't hold the trace of pity or disappointment which laced the majority of recent, similar inquiries

"Oui," he muttered unconvincingly. While he didn't want to admit to this new weakness, he found Ororo a bit easier to talk to than the most of the others. There was something calming about being in her presence. If he was going to trust anyone, than maybe it could be her. "Just feelin' a bit of motion sickness."

"All right. We should be in town in about fifteen minutes. Let me know if you need me to pull over before we get there."

"Merci."

Ororo open the windows a few inches, allowing a gentle breeze of fresh air to fill the enclosed space. Breathing deeply, Remy worked on taking deep, steadying breaths. While his stomach still queasy with the movement, he didn't think he was like to revisit his last meal anytime soon.

As an almost comfortable silence settled over the car, his brain refused to settle. He mused over the familiar feeling he got from Ororo. He had a scant recollection of her being part of the 'rescue' party, but there was something else about her which struck a familiar chord. It wasn't that he knew her, rather it was more like he knew of her. Something deep within her being—her past—resonated his him. And it wasn't just that his père apparently knew her with enough familiarity to call her 'Ro.

Ororo intrigued him. While she moved with a regal grace, there was a lightness to her steps, a quickness to her gaze, and an astuteness to the way she assessed her environment. She didn't enter a room without knowing its exits. Without her saying a word, he had the uncanny certainty that she was also a thief—or, at least had been one once upon a time. This unspoken connection between them had him wavering between wanting to trust her with his misgivings and being doubly wary of her intentions. If she was part of a rival guild…

"Remy, we're here." The SUV pulled to a stop.

He opened his eyes to find that they'd parked in the lot of a quaint cafe. "What are we doing here?"

"Though you might appreciate a breakfast without an audience. Then, you can help me with the grocery shopping." Ororo proceeded to gather her keys and bag like this was a normal outing.

"Yeah, that'd be nice." Remy found himself breathing a bit more easily at Ororo's acceptance of him as he was. "Appreciate the gesture."

"I thought you would." Her smile was bright and welcoming. "Now, let's get a move on it, I'm starved."

Remy chuckled. Though he was still wary of this strange, new world, he found not everything as constricting as he feared it would be. It would be nice to have at least one ally when he finally made his escape.

"Oh, here you are, I was looking for you." Kitty called cheerily as she bounced into the rec room with more energy than was good for her.

Remy groaned. He set aside the book he wasn't reading and straightened in the his spot on the couch. Reading sent his head into a cascade of pain, but a book served as a convenient prop to appear busy while he plotted. "'Ello, chère."

Her arms were wrapped around a large square book without title or other markings. She pressed her thumb against one of the corners, phasing it in and out of the point. "I was thinking about our conversation the other day. The one in the kitchen."

He nodded, though there really wasn't any need to clarify which conversation. That had been the only time they'd talked one on one since he woke into this nightmarish world.

"And…" he prompted in hopes of hurrying along whatever this was and once more being left in peace.

"Right. I was thinking, that we haven't really done a very good job of re-introducing you to everyone. So, I brought you this." She thrust the book she'd been cradling at him. If he had to guess, he suspected the oversized book was an scrapbook of some sort. When he didn't immediately rush to grab it, the book fell heavily on his lap. "It's an album of the X-Men. We have several of them, but this one begins around when you joined us. I thought, maybe, it might jog your memory a bit. Or, at least could be a jumping off point for giving you a background on the people you're mostly likely to know."

When he didn't respond, Kitty took that as agreement and sat down next to him. Invading his personal space with unearned familiarity, she sat too close and pulled the album onto her lap. She flipped through the pages until she stopped on a page containing a group photograph. His memory might be more hole-y than Swiss cheese, but even he could figure out that motley assortment of people were the X-Men.

He couldn't help but study the photograph and try to pull at disparate threads of missing memory. It was unsettling to know that he was missing a huge chunk of memories and the only people who might have answers for him were those he had no context for. Strangers in a strange land. He wished his memories would return, so he could determine once and for all which stories were lies and which were the truth. Though he could recognize a few faces as those he met since waking in this warped wonderland, the whole exercise felt more like a practice in futility than any sort of magic 'cure.'

The first thing he eyes focused on was a version of himself. By now it didn't surprise him that he was there. They were so dedicated to this farce, they would have added him to the photograph before admit he wasn't there. If it was a fake, they'd done a good job. The Gambit in the photograph, who stared back at him with a shit eating grin and had a proprietorial hand on her shoulder, was older than his last memories, but younger than the face he presently saw in the mirror. He was wrapped in that damn duster and the smoke from a lit cigarette curled up from the corner of his mouth. Squinting at the picture to see if he could detect any sort of image manipulation did nothing but increase the throbbing in his head. He closed his eyes and pinched bridge of his nose.

Before he could be assaulted with another endless round of 'Are you okay?', Remy returned to scanning the picture, picking out familiar faces from the present.

Ororo was there. The unwinding of time was just as clear on her face as it had been on his. Another sign that time had passed was the fact that in the present she was clearly pregnant, while she obviously wasn't in the photograph. Her white hair was straight and cut into long layers. Her costume—uniform?—like her hair was white. The only color which adorned her outfit was the red and black X badges which attached the cape at her breastbone. It was a full cape with the ends attached to her wrists. He was certain, if she was in flight, the full power of her namesake storm buffeting at her body, her hair and cape would add to her commanding presence. It might not be as subtle as a thief's preferred uniform, he did approve of the inherent dramatic flair it possessed.

Monsieur Claws—the short, angry man who appeared to be some relation of Laura's—was also there. Remy was uncertain if he was avoiding the man, or if the man was avoiding him. He'd seen the shorter man at a distance, had heard him grumbling epigraphs blue enough to make a sailor blush, yet, neither man had sought out the other in conversation or explanation. For some explicable reason, he had the sense that Logan took his denial of this reality personal and Remy didn't want to end up on the wrong end of those claws.

The faces blurred and danced about the page. It didn't help that about half of the team wore some combination of blue and yellow. Of the faces which didn't blend together, he had a vague sense of recognition from his days rambling around the Mansion, but nothing from before. The southern belle was there (of course). She wore green and gold and her distinctive hair was a riot of curls. Over the uniform, she donned a brown bomber jacket. It pained him to admit she looked as good in the uniform as she did in the sweats she wore to workout or the casual sweater and jeans she wore around the Mansion.

He forced his gaze to slide away from the mesmerizing green depths of her eyes to the other members of the team. There was a red headed woman in blue and yellow standing next to a man in a coordinating costume and a visor across his eyes. The gadget appeared to be something straight out of Star Trek.

"That's Scott and Jean." Kitty tapped her finger over the couple he'd just been studying. She gnawed at her lip as she gathered her thoughts. "They're…a couple. Sort of. It's complicated. Just, if you get a notion to kiss Jean again—don't. Not only won't she appreciate it, she's telepathic and telekinetic, so you really don't want to get on her bad side."

Remy grunted his acknowledgement. He had no intention of kissing anyone until he talked to Belle—in person. As soon as he could make arrangements for his escape, he was out of here.

Kitty continued to run her finger over the photograph, pausing to point out people he never met before. "Let's see, this is Bobby, aka Iceman." A blond, young man with a goofy grin. "In front here, that's Jubilee." A girl with pink sunglasses and an oversized yellow jacket. "And the big guy over here, that's Lucas Bishop." Like Kitty said, he was big—not only tall, but musclebound as well. He had dark skin and an 'M' tattooed over one eye. A tug of connection—not familiarity—stirred within him. Like it did with Laura, or even that girl in the yellow jacket. "You've met Hank. I forgot that's how he appeared back then. I was away with Excalibur at the time."

The furry blue Mutant did appear quite different between then and now, though Remy could recognize familiar traces in the man. As for Excalibur, he didn't have a clue what that was, nor did he care for an explanation. (Unless it was actually King Arthur's legendary sword—now that would be something worth stealing.) Kitty failed to notice his drifting attention and proceeded with her recitation of matching unfamiliar names with unfamiliar faces.

"This is Angel. Warren Worthington III" A blue skinned homme with metallic wings. "He doesn't look like this anymore, but you might recognize him anyways. His family is pretty rich and he's been in and out of the society columns, if nothing else, quite often."

Since he did remember pulling a job on the Worthington estate, Remy did recognize the Third by name, though certainly not by that face nor the metallic wings. When Remy neither confirmed nor denied her assessment, Kitty continued her rambling introductions by pointing at the woman with straight purple-black hair and a uniform which might have been mistaken for a designer swimsuit or leotard, if it hadn't been accompanied by a plethora of assorted straps with no apparent purpose other than aesthetic. "This is Betsy. Psylocke. She's a model slash ninja slash X-man. Sort of. She doesn't look like this anymore either. I mean, I guess she sort of still does. I mean, part of her does. Oof. This is complicated. Hmm…maybe I should have grabbed a more recent…"

Before Kitty could finish the thought, Remy closed the book over her hand. He pushed himself to his feet and grabbed the book he was pretending to read earlier. It was the gift from Laura and he didn't plan to leave it behind.

"Why bother?" He huffed. "If nobody looks like themselves what's the use of tripping the light fantastic down memory lane?"

"But I wanted to show you…" Kitty quelled under Remy's withering glare.

"Don't you dare say it," he snarled. He knew very well what she was up to. The whole purpose of the exercise was to show him candids of him and Rogue. To lend weight to this fairy tale they were all concocting. Well, he refused to play that game anymore and that's all there was to it.