The Jean Grey School, Westchester New York

The Past, Seven Weeks Ago

Remy regretted trying to draw a parallel between himself and Scott. Scott probably didn't appreciate the comparison either. Remy knew about having a power that got out of hand. He understood about wanting to be in control. He also could relate to aligning yourself with someone, or in Scott's case–something–in spite of your misgivings. Maybe you didn't know–but could suspect that things might go horribly wrong. Remy had once repaid a debt to Sinister in exchange for having his powers under control. Scott had become a host for a cosmic force like the Phoenix to remake the globe. You could think you were doing the right thing, and in spite of your best intentions you ended up hurting people...killing people–inadvertently.

The difference lay in that Remy never felt justification for his actions, only regret. Scott had sacrificed his humanity as a way to save mutant-kind...and felt vindicated. Scott was a leader first; a leader of mutants. Remy, on the other hand, would follow if lead, but he refused to be pushed or dragged along. Remy could also lead, but he would not make demands or issue orders. And he never defined himself as a mutant first; it was just an added feature to the overall package. Furthermore, if Remy had been presented with an open door to freedom, he would have bolted through it and not looked back. Scott was going to sit in that cell and take responsibility, even though Remy had practically laid out the red carpet as an open invitation for Scott to make a break for it.

A break was exactly what Remy wanted. Nothing else had been so clear to him in a long, long time. Now that he'd cleared out his room, he decided to make his way to the cafeteria. He wasn't particularly hungry, at least not for what the school cafeteria had to offer, but massive food consumption was a requirement for the day. After stopping by his empty office to drop off his duffel bag, he proceeded to the cafeteria. It was early; too early for the students' first lunch period, but there were a few staff members getting their food before the onslaught of hungry teenagers ravaged the place. Remy took up a tray and slid it along the silver bars along the front of the lunch counter.

"Hey, Jo," Remy said, grinning at the woman behind the protective sneeze-guard barrier. Joanna Cargill stood there, her arms folded across the spattered apron she wore over her uniform. She returned Remy's grin with a deep scowl. "What's de special?" he asked.

"How about a big helping of 'fuck you,' with a side of my boot up your ass?" she asked, her gaze narrowing on him.

Remy assumed an expression of mock surprise. "Now, is that any way to treat a payin' customer?" he asked her.

"Don't even think I don't know you changed the schedule, Gambit," she hissed as she leaned forward over the glass barrier that separated them.

Remy shook his head, his eyes wide. "Well, y'know that's impossible," he told her. "I don't have any control over de schedule. Kitty's de one who manages all that. And I certainly don't have de access rights to change anything in her account!"

"I have Tuesdays off. It was supposed to be your turn to cook," Joanna pointed her finger at him accusingly. "You little sneak thief–!"

"I think I'll have a cheeseburger," Remy informed her affably. "Actually, a double cheeseburger. And them tater tot things. All of them!"

Joanna grumbled and slapped together his order without really looking at how the burger was assembled. She dispensed it haphazardly onto a plate and dumped the entire basket of tater tots from the fryer on top of the burger. "Here, eat! And I hope you choke!" She shoved the plate towards him over the top of the counter and several tots took a tumble onto his tray.

"Why, thank you Joanna. I'll come back later for dessert," he told her. "If I don't see you then, well it's been a real treat seein' you anyhow."

"Get the hell away from me before I rearrange your face," Joanna told him and resumed her defensive stance behind the counter.

Remy found a seat at an empty table and sat with his overflowing tray. Surveying the contents of his plate, he realized he'd forgotten the ketchup and there was no bottle in the center of the table. He was about to stand and retrieve one from the utensil station when he spotted Ororo making her way towards him. She couldn't quite come straight for him as there were several tables and chairs in her way, but she was definitely striding towards him with purpose. At a loss, Remy realized there really was no way to avoid her now that she'd established eye contact.

"Remy," she said as she approached to stand over him. "It seems we have not had the opportunity to speak of late."

"Uhm, yeah," Remy replied, one hand on the table, the other braced on the back of his chair. He was still halfway between sitting and standing, hovering just over his seat. "I guess we haven't really run into each other. I, ah–I'm just gonna–."

Ororo sat down in the adjacent chair to his left and Remy reluctantly resumed his seat. "I wonder that you might be avoiding me," she stated, her expression implacable, her gaze direct.

Remy's eyes darted over to the condiments on the utensil stand. "Avoiding you?" Remy repeated absently. He had actually been doing just that for the last two weeks. He was mildly surprised Ororo had noticed, given that he'd hardly seen her for the better part of the past year. And often when he regarded her, he felt as if he were looking at a perfect stranger. "Not avoiding you. I'm just going t'go get some ketchup." He moved to stand again.

"I am speaking in earnest," she told him and put a hand to his arm to forestall his leaving.

"Me too. I take my condiments very seriously," he replied as he continued to stare at the condiments. If he had telekinetic powers, he could retrieve the Hunt's and the Frank's Hot Sauce.

"I wondered if you had given any further consideration to assuming a role as a part of our team," Ororo continued.

Remy let out a sigh that was half groan as he wilted back into his chair.

Ororo continued to observe him carefully. "I gauge by your reaction you are unwilling to provide an answer."

"I gave you my answer. Sorry it's not de one you wanted t'hear," he told her.

"I believed after we had last spoken you might reconsider," she said. "That you were willing to put more thought into a decision."

"I told you de first time–."

"The first time I suggested you might take on a larger part in mutant affairs you responded with no consideration at all."

"'Hell, no' was my answer then," Remy informed her. "I could simplify it to just 'no' now if you prefer."

She regarded him gravely. "You could offer so much more, Gambit, if you would be willing to take on more responsibility. I do believe that you are more than capable."

"Well, Stormy, I appreciate de sentiment," he said. "But I am still de guy you met back when you was a pup and me a thief, and other than you bein' a big girl now, nothin' else has changed."

"You are lying not only to me, but to yourself as well," she informed him.

Remy continued: "I can't think of a single circumstance that would make me want t'represent mutant-kind much less be some kinda mutant cop or an Avenger."

"And I am sure Rogue felt a similar reluctance to accepting a role as an– ," Ororo began.

Gambit cut her off by raising his hand. He'd had enough. He was tired of being pushed, pressured, bullied, and guilted. "What does Rogers think dis is, some kinda mutant bargain basement? Buy two mutants, get de third f'r free? I ain't goin' along wit' dis just 'cause you or Rogue–!" He stopped himself mid-sentence. "Just let me be–!"

"Hey! Joanna said you took all the tots!" Bobby Drake announced as he clattered his tray down onto the table in front of Remy.

"Robert," Ororo leveled her gaze at Bobby. "Remy and I are having a discussion. If you would please give us a moment."

"Yeah, Bobby. Get lost. We were about to start our survivors of failed marriages counsel session," Remy told Bobby as he stood over the table.

"Geez, Remy. Insensitive much?" Bobby asked, casting an awkward sidelong glance at Ororo.

"What?" he muttered. "Not like someone died at her wedding." Remy reached across the table and grasped the handful of ketchup packets from Bobby's tray. Remy had twice now offered Ororo his support in regard to her estrangement with Black Panther. The first time she changed the subject onto, in her terms, were more important matters, the second time he'd been coldly rebuffed.

"Give me some of those," Bobby pointed at Remy's pile of tater tots as he pulled out a chair, the chair legs squealing across the floor.

"Fuck off, Bobby, these're mine!" Remy said, putting his arms protectively around his tray.

"Gambit. Your language is inappropriate," Ororo began.

"You can't possibly eat all of those!" Bobby interrupted and sat.

"Watch me!" Remy retorted and shoved several tater tots into his mouth.

Ororo took a calming breath. "I do believe Robert is correct. You will make yourself ill." She regarded his food tray with some distaste. Remy lifted his cheeseburger to his mouth and took a large bite, chewing it with gusto.

"Mmm," he told her, even though in truth it wasn't a very good burger. "So tell me, Stormy. Have you and T'Challa–."

Ororo set her hand firmly down onto the tabletop and rose. "I can see you are not up for a serious discussion. Today of all days I should have known not to have approached you. Perhaps tomorrow would be better."

"Perhaps never would be best," Remy said around his mouthful while slapping Bobby's interloping hand away from his plate. Bobby returned the slap and Remy was forced to put down his burger to retaliate. Ororo shook her head tiredly and departed. Both men were now grappling over the table when Kitty Pryde's head appeared between their two lunch trays.

"Gambit!" her disembodied head yelled up at him. "You're in big trouble!"

"Now what?" he asked her head.

Kitty rose to stand between Bobby and Remy, her body phased halfway through the tabletop. "You cheated," she told him, "on your test."

"What test–," Remy began, then said: "Oh right, that test."

Kitty pointed an accusing finger at him. "There is no way–no way–you took that test. Tell me what you did. Did you pay someone to take the test for you?"

"What makes you say that?" Remy asked in what he hoped was an innocent fashion.

"Because according to the scores, you got every answer right!"

"Hey, I guess I'm pretty smart," Remy said with delighted surprise.

"Hey, I guess you're pretty stupid if you think I'm going to believe that. Next time, get someone who at least has the sense to answer a few questions wrong to make it look believable!" Kitty affirmed.

Remy considered this, his tongue pressed to the inside of his lower lip as he thought. "That little jerk Quire set me up."

"Oh! I knew it! What did you do to get him to go along with it? Bribery or blackmail?" Kitty harangued him.

"I won't divulge what was a private business transaction," Remy told her. "And what if I hadn't cheated then, enh? Wouldn't your face've been red if I'd actually done good?"

Kitty said: "Remy, you misspelled the word 'spaghetti' on last week's menu board! I know for a fact you wouldn't have aced the grammar section of that test."

"'Spaghetti' wouldn't be on de test, Kitty!" Remy sassed her. "It ain't even a English word so it don't hardly count!"

Kitty lowered her head to pinch the bridge of her nose and groaned audibly. "Oh, for the love of–. You can't even speak English!"

Bobby leaned around Kitty to look at Remy. "What test?"

Kitty put her hands on her hips. "His high school equivalency test, that's what test!" she announced.

"Wait...you don't have your G.E.D.?" Bobby asked Remy incredulously.

"Why is this such a big deal?" Remy shrugged. "I've made it along just fine wit'out it. I don't need t'take no stupid test!"

"We're a state-accredited school and you're going to have the documentation showing you've had an education," Kitty told Remy.

"You wanted documentation, I got you documentation," Remy retorted.

"You're going to obtain it through legal means, Remy. So go sharpen your number-two pencils. You're going to take this test on Saturday morning at seven a.m. the old-fashioned way!" With that, Kitty walked out from the center of the table and headed towards the lunch line.

"I won't be here, Kitty!" Remy yelled at her back. "I already put in my vacation notice two weeks ago!"

"You should've thought about that before you cheated!" she shouted back over her shoulder.

"Then I quit!" Remy called.

"Yeah, right!" Kitty snapped.

"I can't believe you don't have your G.E.D.," Bobby repeated, his mouth full of tater tots.

Remy picked up one of his tots to find it cold. The fried potatoes were in fact fused together with ice. With a grunt of disgust he thrust his tray at Bobby, causing Bobby's drink to slosh over the contents of his plate.

"Hey!" Bobby said with outrage.

"Remy," said a quiet voice to his right. There was a faint plaintive tone to it he did not like in the least.

"No!" Remy said to Rachel Grey.

"You didn't even hear what I had to ask you yet!" she said, her jaw jutting out. She had taken the chair to his right and was holding a thick packet of paperwork.

"Whatever it is, de answer is 'no'!" Remy told her. "That's de only answer I've got!"

"I checked the schedule, Remy, and you're the only one who's free all afternoon," Rachel said. "I need your help in this next period class, and you need to show up!"

"What class is that?" Remy asked.

"Paige's life drawing class," Rachel said. "We need a sub."

"And just what is it I'm supposed t'do in a drawing class?" he asked her.

"Well there was supposed to be a model scheduled...," Rachel said and began flipping through the pages of the class syllabus.

"No, no way. Nope," Remy said, waving her away. "No."

"It's not that big a deal!" Rachel said hotly. "All you have to do is just stand there."

"You are pretty good at that, Gambit," Bobby said as he cut off the piece of his grilled cheese sandwich that wasn't covered in cola.

Absently, Remy threw a frozen tot at Bobby's head. "I ain't posin' in your class. Find someone else."

"I told you there isn't anyone else. Everyone else is busy...except you." Rachel pointed her forefinger at Remy's chest and gave him a poke.

"Hey, I'll tell you what," Bobby said as he picked fried potato from his hair. "I'll stand in for the model if Remy takes my sixth period study hall monitor duties."

Rachel waved her hands and rolled her eyes. "Fine! Whatever! I'll see you next period." She stood from the chair and began to depart.

"So should I strip down to my skivvies before I get there...?" Bobby called after her.

"No!" Rachel shouted. "For pete's sake, keep your clothes on! I don't need you fueling the fire. These kids are little monsters as it is already!"

"I didn't agree–," Remy protested then glowered at Bobby who was crunching on frozen tots.

"Looks like it's not your day, Remy LeBeau," Bobby told him.

~ oOo ~

Post-lunch study hall was an exercise in futility. The majority of the students would have either lapsed into food-induced comas or be riding a sugar high a country mile long. Remy kept to the back of the classroom waiting out the clock. Several students were tossing little balls of wadded-up paper into the open and drooling mouth of Santo Vaccarro, who was asleep. Two girls were passing a note back and forth and giggling. Another student was sharing a vulgar sketch he'd made in life drawing class. Remy was grateful he wasn't the subject. For the most part, he left them to their own diversions as long as they didn't interfere with the one or two students that were actually using the time to study. One such pupil was Idie Oya, who was just then about to be poked in the back by Quentin Quire. Remy took up the white board eraser and chucked it at the back of Quire's head.

When Quire turned around to fare Remy with a glare of derision, Remy just shook his head in a silent but threatening 'no.' Quire seemed to get the point because he slouched back into his chair. Quire was a nuisance and a menace, and Remy didn't mind setting the kid up as a pointer when Kitty had accused Remy of cheating. Kitty didn't need to know that it was Remy who had hacked into the testing system and changed the scores. That was just the beginning, practice for the big game. So was changing the school's lunchroom schedule, which was child's play compared to what he found at Stark Tower. He was certain he was ready for the big leagues now.

Remy resumed his attendance on the clock. He had never received a formal education, but if he had it likely would have been a horrible experience. If not for the threat of physical violence, Remy would not have managed to keep his seat during Catechism lessons. A few whacks to the knuckles delivered by militant nuns had convinced him to behave. Now as an adult he found his days were eked out in fifty-five minute increments, summoned by a bell from one room to another, day in and day out for five days a week. He was a prisoner of the clock. Remy looked over his young charges, the fellow convicts that were lulled into a feeling of security by routine and monotony. He realized he was missing one of the inmates; he had an escapee on his hands. The last thing he needed now was to get into more trouble by losing one of the students. Quietly, he slipped out of the classroom. Given that the students typically paid him no mind even when he was in the same room, it was unlikely that they'd get too crazy before he returned. They wouldn't risk the freedom they enjoyed while under Remy's very lax guardianship.

Remy headed towards the girls' lavatory which he'd come to learn was the hideout of unhappy teenage girls the world over. There wasn't a week that went by without him finding one of them sitting in a stall sobbing into wads of toilet paper. What calamity would it be this week? An argument amongst friends, catty girls and their rumors? Maybe raging hormonal imbalances? No, very likely it was "boy trouble."

He pushed open the swinging door to the restroom and called out: "Hey, you'd best come out now." He couldn't hear or see her, she was hiding herself. "Don't make me come in after you," he added.

There was a shuffling noise then a flush of a toilet. One of the stalls opened and a girl stepped out. She tried to give him a reproachful look, but it was lost in the glaze of unshed tears in her eyes and the way the corners of her mouth twitched uncontrollably.

"Rude," she informed him as she attempted to pass him through the open door.

As she brushed past him he lightly took her arm. She stiffened at his touch. "Come with me," he told her and gently guided her down the hall.

Remy's office was barely more than a cubby hole hidden just around the corner from the laundry room. It was well away from the regular flow of foot traffic, overly warm from the constant hum of the commercial dryers on the opposite side of the wall, and smelled pleasantly of detergent. It was just big enough for a pair of chairs and a desk. He directed the girl to one of the chairs and handed her a handkerchief from one of his inside coat pockets.

"You want t'have yourself a good cry, you can come in here. Way more private," he told her. "It's too easy t'find you in de girls' lav. And I don't recommend de roof either. Too many people 'round here can fly."

The girl continued to look at him resentfully but eventually lowered her head and wiped her eyes with the folded cloth. She likely saw no reason to respect him as a teacher, and certainly not as an X-Man. Still, he could remember what it was like to be a teenager. You were old enough to think and decide and act for yourself, but not mature enough to handle the consequences. Remy remembered the feeling of impotence, resentment, and powerlessness as adults made the decisions that ruled his life in spite of wanting to find his own way. If he had it to do over, to be a teenager again, he wouldn't. He leaned himself back against the desk and watched the girl for a moment.

"You okay, ma chère?" he asked.

"I am not your chère," she replied testily.

He held up his hands in a form of surrender. "All right. Just askin' if you wanted t'talk."

"Why?" she challenged. "So you can tell me everything is going to be alright? Because it's not. Obviously."

Remy shook his head. "I won't lie. Does seem like things are a right mess, don't it?"

The girl's lips pressed tightly together, holding back a flood of emotion. "This isn't how I thought it would be."

"You and me both, petite. You're not alone in your thinkin'."

She drew a deep breath and then another, struggling to forestall her tears. She failed and covered her face with the handkerchief. "I am," she said, her voice muffled.

"You're what?"

"Alone."

Remy considered the crying girl for a moment. Until this point, she probably had never spent a moment alone in her life, not even in her own head. She had always had a loving family, supportive friends, teaching from a good instructor, the admiration of more than a few people.

"Is that so bad? Bein' alone?" Remy asked her.

She looked up at him. "Of course," she said as if there could be no other truth.

"Why? You'll never be more yourself then when you're alone. Once you get comfortable in your own company, you get to feelin' less lonely," he told her.

The girl wiped her face with her palm. "I–I don't...how long will it take?" she finally asked.

"It's not a prison sentence. I dunno how long. I figured it out earlier on. Got a head start, me. Some ways it's easier when you're on your own," he told her.

"How? How can it be easier? If you don't have anyone else to share...it all," she made a sweeping gesture with her hand, "if you don't have anyone, a friend, to help you with...things?"

"Well, for one you don't have anyone makin' demands on you. You've got de freedom to do as you please without livin' up to others' expectations. When you're on your own, the only person you have t'disappoint is yourself."

The corners of her mouth turned down, her expression grew bleak.

"I guess I give pretty bad advice, enh?" he asked her.

"I disappointed myself already," she told him and one fat tear rolled down the curve of her cheek. "I did something stupid."

Remy had his arms crossed low over his stomach, waiting patiently for her to continue. Blotches of red were forming on the fair skin of her face and neck. She took several moments to collect herself again.

"I think I might be pregnant," she finally said. "I'm–I'm late."

Inwardly, Remy heaved a sigh. Externally, he kept his expression and tone of voice neutral. "How late?" he asked.

She blushed red to the roots of her hair. "I don't–I don't know." She hid her face in her hands, mortified.

"Relax, petite," he told her. "It's been a rough coupla weeks. So you lost track. Just take a few breaths now. It's not de end of de world."

"What am I going to do?" she moaned into her hands.

"Well, for one you're gonna have t'take a test," he replied. "No cheating."

Remy imagined if anyone saw him, a teacher from The Jean Grey School, taking a teenage girl to a pharmacy to pick up a pregnancy test, it would probably look rather bad. But the girl had refused to consult Doctor McCoy.

"I can't talk to him," she wailed shrilly when he offered to walk her down to the clinic.

"I take it you didn't use protection," Remy asked her on the drive into town.

"We didn't have any," she mumbled. She stared into her lap where her hands were clasped, fingers twisting together. "It just kind of happened."

"Y'know, it's your boyfriend who should be takin' some share of responsibility," he informed her. "Does he know about dis?"

She shook her head, her hair falling over her face and hiding her expression from view. "No. Because it–because I wasn't with my boyfriend. I was with someone else."

Aïe, aïe...bon sang, Remy thought to himself.

This was not how Remy imagined spending his afternoon. This afternoon was supposed to involve consuming copious amounts of carbohydrates and liquor, smoking a pack or two of cigarettes, a lot of dancing, and wringing enjoyment out of every addiction he possessed. Not sitting in a diner passing a glass of water to the girl seated in the booth across from him.

"Drink up," he told her.

She reluctantly leaned forward and sipped from the straw, her arms down at her sides, hands in her lap. Remy was momentarily struck with how young she really was. The little handbag she carried had cartoon daisies printed on it and an unopened pregnancy test inside it. When she left for the restroom, Remy took out his phone and composed a text message, then sent it. He drank his coffee while waiting for a response.

The girl finally returned and slid back into the booth. Now her face was white.

"What's de verdict?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I'm not," she breathed.

Praise the Lord, Remy thought. He had no idea what the implications of her getting pregnant would be, what kind of complications would have occurred.

"You're going to have t'talk to a doctor," Remy said.

"No!" she shook her head, her red hair swinging around her jawline.

Remy held up a hand. "No arguments. If you're missing your period then there could be something wrong. I made you an appointment with a doctor–."

Her face had flushed again at the word 'period.' Remy wanted to roll his eyes. "A lady doctor," he concluded. "Doctor Reyes. She'll come see you tomorrow."

The girl's shoulders relaxed somewhat.

"You're probably overstressed," Remy said and put some dollar bills down onto the tabletop. "I'll take you back to de school and you go straight t'your room and get some rest. I'll write you an absence slip up."

The pair left the diner, the bell announcing their departure. "Thank you, Professor LeBeau," she said quietly as they returned to Remy's car.

He turned to her. "Just Remy's fine," he told her. He opened the car door for her and she slid into the passenger seat. When he joined her inside the car he turned to her again. "And next time, don't mess around wit'out protection."

Her lips pressed into a line. "There won't be a next time," she said firmly.

"That bad, hunh?" he asked and started the vehicle.

"Horrible," she intoned grimly. "I just wanted...I wanted to not feel...alone. You probably think I'm pretty stupid."

"Lissen, chère. Bad decisions don't make you a bad person," he glanced over at her. "People make mistakes. It's repeating them that makes you stupid. And I speak with some authority on that matter. Maybe you can learn from yours."

She was quiet while they drove back to the school. When the car passed through the open gates she turned and said: "I'm sorry."

"What for, chère?"

"When I first got here, I thought–I thought you must be a bad person. Because I heard that you were a thief. I shouldn't have judged you. You didn't judge me. You didn't have to help me like you did."

He smiled at her as he put the car into park in front of the school. "Here's another thing I'll learn you about me, ma chère," he began, "I never could resist a damsel in distress."

Remy reached behind to the backseat where his duffel bag sat on the floor. He picked up the empty cigar box and sat it on the girl's lap. "Here," he told her. "You can put your condoms, cigs, and weed in dis."

She held the box and laughed. For a moment her tired face was beautifully transformed. "Thanks, Professor," she said wryly.

"'Remy,' remember?" he said. "I'll see you after de holiday, yeah?"

"The holiday...oh? You mean after spring break?" she asked, her expression fell into disappointment. "That's a ways away."

"I need some alone time, me," he told her and lightly touched the top of her head. "Give it a try."

She nodded, opened the car door and stepped out of the vehicle. Leaning down into the car she said: "Bye...Remy."

He gave her a small wave. "You be a good girl now, Jean.*"

~ oOo ~

*All New X-Men #1

Aïe, aïe – exclamation of dismay/empathy

bon sang – good grief, for goodness sake