New York City, New York
The Past, Seven Weeks Ago, The Morning
When Remy regained consciousness, it took him some time to figure out exactly where he was. Several moments of disorientation were followed by groggy realization. He was in a darkened room, not his own, laying face-down in a bed with too many pillows, many of which were scattered onto the floor along with his discarded clothing. Remy lifted his head from under the blankets. His left eye throbbed in time with his heart. Somewhere in the distance he could hear bells ringing, which he concluded to be the sound that had roused him. He groaned and put a hand to his aching head. As he rolled over, he felt the warm weight of another person's arm slide from his lower back.
Remy's groan was lightly echoed by his companion, who protested in a mumbled whisper: "It's too early. Go back to sleep."
He sat up instead and rolled his head back along his shoulders, stretching his neck. Outside, the bells continued to ring. "It's a new day," he said to the woman beside him. Her face was pressed into the pillow, only one closed eye was visible through her tousled black hair.
"There's coffee if you want," she said into the pillow, her eye remaining steadfastly closed.
"None for me, chère," he told her and pressed a kiss to her temple. "But I'd make you a pot if you want. I could caffeinate myself vicariously."
She lifted the corner of her mouth in a smile. "Asprin's behind the mirror in the bathroom."
"God bless you," he said and slipped out of her bed.
He recovered his clothing from the floor and went into the adjoining bathroom. He pulled on his clothes and found pain-killers in the medicine cabinet. While regarding himself in the mirror, he winced a bit at his reflection and gingerly touched his left cheekbone. Remy found his way around the woman's apartment, made the coffee and returned to her bed with a mug in hand. She was just sitting up and rubbing her eyes with her fingertips. She yawned and accepted the cup.
"It really is too early," she told him. "If you give me a half-hour, we could go get breakfast."
Remy sat on the edge of her bed and watched her lift the coffee cup to her lips. She regarded him with her gray eyes over the lip of the mug. "Love t'take you up on de offer, but I got plans," he told her.
He could tell by the way her gaze narrowed a bit that she didn't believe him. "Uhm-hm," she said. "What kind of plans? This should be good."
When he told her, she laughed.
"You have a strange sense of humor," she told him, still not believing him, but her expression had softened. "Say a prayer for me?"
"I'll light a candle," he said and stood. She accepted a kiss on the cheek before he left. Remy found his jacket on her sofa and checked the pocket. The jacket smelled like her and the pocket's contents had been restored. Remy then stepped out the front door to her walk-up apartment. The wind was brisk and a chill spray of mist hung in the air. He took a few bracing breaths before trotting down the cement steps and onto the sidewalk. Remy's hand moved to the beads in his pocket and he began to walk towards the sound of the tolling church bells. His fingers sought the beginning of the strand.
Best start at the beginning, he thought as he fingered the little silver crucifix. I believe in God...the Father almighty...
~ oOo ~
New York City, New York
The Past, Seven Weeks Ago, The Night Before
He spotted her from a distance and changed his original trajectory to intersect with her. She was leaning up against the side of the building, huddled around her cigarette in the defensive way smokers did when out in inclement weather. Remy was walking down the city street heading away from his apartment, hands in the pockets of his coat, shoulders hunched against the cold air. The woman was in a white tee-shirt, black shorts, black hose and tennis shoes. She had a short black apron tied around her waist; a waitress on her smoke break. Her long dark hair hung in a ponytail over her shoulder. Remy fingered the sunglasses he was wearing despite the day being so overcast, ensuring they were firmly in place.
"Excuse me, ma'am," he said to her in a flat, northern accent as he approached. "I'm going to have to ask you to extinguish that cigarette immediately."
Her eyes flicked up at him, her lips puckered around the cigarette mid-drag. When she spoke, smoke puffed from the corners of her mouth. "Wha–what?" she asked, stunned.
"Ma'am, with the ratification of our mayor's latest restrictions, I'm afraid smoking inside city confines has been banned," Remy said and began to reach inside his coat. "I'm going to have to issue you a ticket."
"I can't even smoke outside?" she asked, incredulously. Her disbelief quickly changed to outrage. "I can't believe this bullshit!"
"I hope you aren't going to be uncooperative," Remy continued authoritatively.
The woman angrily snubbed her cigarette out on the wall and then deposited the butt into the nearby receptacle, glaring at Remy the entire time.
"I could let you off with a warning...," Remy said, withdrawing his hand from his inside pocket.
"Fine, great," the woman said sarcastically, her hands out to her sides. "Thank you so much."
"If you were willing to offer me a bribe," he added, slipping back into his normal pattern of speech. "Y'think I could bum a smoke?"
The woman's expression went momentarily blank. Her mouth slowly opened.
"Ha, had you goin' there for a minute," Remy said with a grin.
"You–," she began, then spontaneously slapped his upper arm. She looked instantly surprised and withdrew her hand as if burned. She considered him with wide eyes. "Oh my, I'm sorry offi–," she began before realization dawned on her. "Oh...wait. You're not really a cop, are you?"
Remy laughed outright.
"You jerk!" she said, making a fist as she hit him again. "You lying jerk!"
"I wasn't lyin' about wanting to bum a smoke," he told her. "But don't let anyone catch you wit' soft drinks bigger'n thirty-two ounces. Then you'll really be in trouble."
"This is just great," she muttered and pulled a pack of cigarettes from her apron pocket. "Perfect way to start my shift."
"You really mad at me?" he asked as he shifted to lean his shoulder against the wall, blocking her from the worst of the wind so she could light her cigarette.
She glanced at him side-long. When her cigarette was lit she inhaled and then exhaled a plume of smoke. "All right, I guess that was kind of funny. In that it was completely believable." She offered him the open end of her package of cigarettes while giving him an indignant glare.
He smiled at her and slid a cigarette from the pack. "Thank you very much," he said and placed the filter between his lips.
The woman reached back into her apron to retrieve her lighter. He waved her off. "No need. Have a light of my own," he said and lifted a finger to the cigarette's tip. A tiny charge had the end smoldering. The woman's eyes widened. Remy lowered his sunglasses and looked at her over the top of his lenses to wink at her.
"You've got...you're a mutant...?" she said a little breathlessly.
Remy's expression sobered and said in a hushed tone: "Actually, it's a funny story how I come by my super powers. Late one night, I was out in de bayou...when I was bit by a radioactive crawdad..." He widened his eyes dramatically.
The woman stared at him. Her fear was quickly evaporating. After a moment, she returned her cigarette to her lips. "You really can spin a line of shit."
"That's my secondary mutation," Remy added. "Which I got after fallin' head-first into a sorority toilet." He hoped she'd take the bait.
The corners of her lips curled upwards a bit. "A sorority toilet?"
"Yes. I was bombarded with Delta Gamma waves."
She raised her eyebrows at him. "Was this the Zeta Theta chapter?"
Pleased she was playing along now he said: "Ah, Columbia girls... I have a thing for brainy women. They can get pretty creative. Where d'you go t'school?"
"I went to ESU," she told him with a shrug. "Where I got my degree in unemployment. Fine Arts."
"Unemployed? What d'you call dis?" he asked and pointed at her waitress apron.
"Temporary," she answered.
"You workin' late?"
She gave him a narrow-eyed stare. "Of course," she hooked her thumb over her shoulder to indicate the open door of the bar behind her.
"What time you get off?" he asked.
She sucked irritably on her cigarette, clearly unamused by him now. "Around two."
"Ah, too late for me. By midnight I'll have turned into a pumpkin. Or some other hollowed-out vegetable," Remy said, merrily smoking the cigarette. "You expectin' to be busy?"
The woman pointed at the bar's name printed on the large glass window. "It's an Irish bar."
Remy stared at gold letters on the window. "Mac–Tee–Gews?" he read haltingly.
"It's pronounced: McTeagues," she said in a flat voice, then rolled her eyes. Finally, she shook her head and laughed. "What's your name?"
"Remy," he answered.
She laughed again. "Oh, right. Because everyone's French today. Lassy-bon-temps-roo-lay," she said and twirled her finger in the air in a parody of merriment.
"Pretty close," he told her.
"What's your name, really?" she asked.
Remy considered her a moment. "It's Scott," he said. "What's yours?"
She shrugged a shoulder. "People call me Ess."
"Like de letter S?"
"Like something short for Esther."
"I like Esther better," he said and finished his cigarette.
"Now I know you're lying again."
"De secret to a good lie is to always include an element of de truth," Remy informed her. "Ain't you cold, Ess?"
"I'm freezing," she replied, hurriedly finishing her own cigarette.
"I'd let you borrow my coat, but I think you're tougher than me," he said.
"That's almost gentlemanly," she said.
"'Almost gentlemanly' fits me to a 'T'," Remy said.
"Why don't you come in for a drink?" Ess asked him and nodded at the open door.
"Is it on de house?" Remy asked.
She fared him with a wry look.
"I gotta buy a lot a'girls drinks tonight," he informed her with a shrug. "It gets expensive."
"Should I start believing you now?" she asked, her hands on her hips.
"You might be de first," he told her.
"All right...you're cute. A drink on the house. But I still expect a tip," she told him and led him into the bar.
Remy followed her, noting that she might have added an extra bit of sass to her step as she marched through the door. "Shouldn't expect much from me, chère. I hate t'disappoint anyone."
The two drinks Ess passed him across the counter were enough to warm Remy up. Enough so that when he departed the mostly-empty bar he left his jacket behind. By the time Ess noticed he'd forgotten it, he was already a block away. He pretended he didn't hear her calling after him. It was two clubs later before he found himself at a place he could actually enjoy. Finally, somewhere that was getting into the spirit of things with the décor and the music; gold, purple, and green decorations and Cajun Two-Step rather than Dubstep. It was the familiar lineup, men cordoning off women at the bar, the usual posturing, the occasional thrown shoulder to establish turf. Remy had nearly forgotten how bored he was with the whole bar scene.
The dance floor however, was free of competition and full of unattended women. Many of the girls seemed unsure what to do with the change-up in music, and Remy was happy to give a quick demonstration with the help of a petite and well-stacked blond. She laughed when he spun her across the floor. Her short stature made it easy to fit her under the curve of his arm. Later, with her face flushed, he picked her up by the waist and sat her on the barstool he'd claimed for her. Even seated on the barstool she had to lean up to put an arm around his neck to kiss him. Her mouth tasted like the cheap pre-mixed Hurricanes the club had been serving all night.
By then, the inside of Remy's head was softly but pleasantly buzzing from the alcohol, his hearing dulled by the raucous music. The blond was pulling him down to press her lips to his ear.
"Want to get out of here?" she was asking.
Remy thought he hadn't heard such a wonderful suggestion in all his life. He was caught up in the drinks, the music, and the lights. Then there were her lips against his earlobe, her fingers combing through his hair, catching the frames of his sunglasses, which set them askew on his forehead. All these things distracted him from the sudden blow that caught him on the side of the face and sent him sprawling back into the bar.
He felt his broken sunglasses cut his cheek. The pain of the blow mixed with the alcohol and had his head spinning. With a delayed reaction, he reached up to put a hand over his eye. The petit girl had let out a shriek which cut through the epithet Remy heard shouted at him.
"Filthy mutie freak!" the man yelled. Remy braced himself against the bar and righted himself. The man, who was somewhat larger than Remy, was readying himself to throw another punch. People nearby were hastily retreating to a safer distance.
"Stop it!" the blond cried. Her eyes were wide and frightened, and to Remy's relief, focused on the attacker.
The man was distracted from continuing his attack on Remy by her protest. "You stupid slut!" he shouted at her. "Don't you know their kind can breed now?" He pointed an accusing finger at Remy's chest.
"Breed?" Remy remarked. "Lord a'mercy. Do I have to explain de birds and de bees to you folks too? Last I learned, kissin' didn't pass any Y-chromosomes."
The man pulled the girl off her barstool and shoved her to the floor. "Mutie lover," he spat at her right before he turned to meet Remy's fist.
Remy had the attacker laid out flat on the floor with one solid blow to the jaw. Remy casually stepped over the man's prone form to help the girl to her feet. Several people had cried out in alarm after seeing the exchange of blows. Remy felt the shift in mood, the sudden change of climate from festive to dangerous. He led the girl from the bar and towards the front door. He could see the pair of bouncers heading in his direction.
Remy held up one of his hands, hoping to placate them. "We're leaving," he told them and fortunately, they allowed him to pass. They instead turned their attention to the man who had thrown the first punch.
The city street was as well-lit as if it had been daylight. There were numerous people out in front of the clubs, many wearing hats or masks or making noise. Remy turned to the girl.
"You okay?" he asked her.
She nodded, though she looked shaken.
"Sorry your night's ruined," he said. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and retrieved a string of beads. "Here," he told her as he settled the string of bright green, purple, and gold beads around her neck. "So you don't go away completely empty-handed."
"That guy–," she began, then shook her head. "What an ass. I feel like I should apologize on behalf of us humans."
"Don't worry about it," Remy told her and rested his hands on her bare shoulders. "You need a cab?"
She nodded. "I'm good. Thanks." She gingerly touched his cheek and winced in sympathy. "Oh, your face. You're bleeding."
Remy touched the back of his wrist to his cheek and saw it come away red with blood. The girl was fumbling in her small handbag. She handed him a few tissues. By now, they were drawing a few stares.
"I'm–I'm going to go. Do you want...?" she stammered, then let her sentence drift off.
Remy took her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it. "You have a safe trip home, chère."
She smiled at him apologetically as she climbed into a cab.
Almost gentlemanly, Remy thought with a sigh.
~ oOo ~
When she received the phone call, she almost didn't answer it. Though the hour was late, Rogue hadn't yet turned in for the night. She was seated at a computer, her eyes scanning the report she was typing. Her cell phone buzzed for a second time and she inwardly groaned to herself. At the third buzz she began to feel a twinge of guilt; he'd always answered her calls and texts, she should probably return the favor. With reluctance, she picked up the phone from the desktop and put it to her ear.
"Hello." she said flatly.
"Hey, Roguey," Remy said brightly. "I need a favor."
Rogue sighed into the phone. "Remy, it's late. Can it wait until morning?"
"I wondered if you could give me a ride," he told her.
"A ride?" she echoed.
"Can you come pick me up?"
Rogue hesitated. "What–you mean right now?"
"Yeah," he responded. "I ain't far from Stark Tower. Please, Roguey?"
"Get a cab," she answered.
He laughed into the phone. "For some reason, no cabbie will stop for me!"
"Remy, are you drunk?" Rogue asked.
Remy paused. "Maybe just a bitty tit–tibby lit...a–uhm, yeah."
Rogue sat back in her chair. "Well, the cold air should help clear your head. You can walk back to your apartment."
"I need a ride t'de Bronx," Remy said.
"The Bronx!" Rogue responded, flustered.
"Please, chèrie, can you give me a lift?" he begged. "Ain't that what friends are for?"
"Remy Ah'm–."
"Knowin' you can always count on me...for sho'...'cause that's what friends are fooooor...!" he began to sing. She could only imagine what kind of dramatic scene he was causing wherever he was.
"Where are you?" she asked.
"Central Park," Remy answered. "I'm by de zoo."
She shook her head even though she knew he couldn't see her. "Watch they don't take you in and keep you," she told him with resignation. "You find a bench and stay put. It's going to be at least fifteen-twenty minutes before I can get to you with traffic tonight."
"I'll be waitin'," Remy told her before disconnecting the call.
Rogue stared at her phone a moment before standing and shoving it into her back pocket. She found herself humming tunelessly as she took the elevator down to the garage. Irritated, she realized it was the Dionne Warwick song Remy had been singing. Rogue huffed impatiently. The last thing she wanted was her ex-boyfriend drunk-dialing her at...what time was it...? Rogue checked her cellphone. It was after midnight.
The traffic was, predictably, a nightmare. There was liquor-fueled revelry on the streets. Stopped at a traffic light, one of the partygoers encouraged Rogue to expose herself in exchange for a string of beads. Rogue stared stoically ahead, waiting for the light to change.
Morons, she thought to herself. And Remy numbered among them. She was going to give him a piece of her mind. Calling her this late, drunk, acting like one of the tourists he hated so much. She was nearing the agreed-upon meeting place when she spotted Remy on the sidewalk walking in the opposite direction. Rogue slammed on her brakes and was rewarded with the blare of a cabbie's car horn from behind her.
"Dammit!" she said, and hit the gas while peering into her rearview mirror in search of Remy. He had disappeared into the crowd. She was going to murder him! Where was he going?
She continued along with the flow of traffic, fuming to herself. She eventually found herself near the zoo. Amazingly enough, Remy appeared. She hadn't been looking for him and was startled when he tapped on the passenger-side window. There was another blast from a car horn and Remy turned to wave apologetically at the angry driver. Hurriedly, Rogue unlocked the door and Remy slipped into the car bringing a gust of cold air with him.
"Remy–!" Rogue began, then took in his appearance. "Where's your coat? It's freezing out!"
"I forgot it somewhere," he said and turned to her. His left hand was holding a wad of tissues to the side of his face. She could see now why no cab had stopped for him.
"Mah god, you're bleedin'!" she said. "What happened?"
"Bar fight," he said and gave her a lopsided smile.
Rogue clutched the steering wheel. "You–ya big dummy! When are you goin' to–to be an adult?" She drew a breath and said more calmly: "And don't y'have t'be at school tomorrow?"
"I'm playin' hooky," Remy informed her.
Rogue turned to him and lifted his hand so she could see the damage for herself. "You're lucky you didn't get your eye put out."
"He punched me in my glasses," Remy said and assumed a pathetic expression.
"You need t'see a doctor," she replied. "And have that patched up."
"That's where you're takin' me," Remy told her and adjusted the heat vents. Rogue obligingly increased the temperature for him.
"Ah could just as easily drop you off at a clinic than drive ya clear t'the Bronx," Rogue told him.
"I want t'see a real doctor. Had enough of these quacks," Remy said with an airy wave.
"What are you talkin' about, sugah? What quacks?" Rogue asked.
"Last time I went to a doctor... No, not a doctor. It was a nurse. A male nurse. A murse."
"Remy, you're bein' sexist. Why didn't you go to Hank?"
"Spent nearly an hour makin' me describe what all's was wrong wit' me," Remy continued, "and then he gives me a pamphlet. Cost me seventy-five dollars, that pamphlet. Our health insurance sucks!"
Rogue glanced at Remy, but he was staring out the passenger-side window. "What kind of pamphlet?" she asked.
"Something about stress-management and work-life balance. Had a picture of a woman on de front of it, doin' this." He demonstrated a hunched-over pose, his hand to his forehead as if in pain. Then he leaned back into the seat with a sigh.
They sat in silence for several moments as Rogue drove. Finally, she said: "You feelin' okay now, Remy?"
"My face hurts," he said. His eyes were closed and his head tilted back into the headrest.
She was feeling more than a little concern for him at this point, her earlier irritation forgotten. He'd fallen silent, his hand still pressed to his face. She was beginning to wonder if he had passed out.
"Remy...," she began when he suddenly sat up.
"You can let me out here," he said.
"We've still got a few blocks to go," Rogue told him. "I'll drop you off. Is Cece expectin' you?"
"No, but she's hard to surprise. I can walk from here," Remy told her, his hand was on the door latch.
Checking her mirrors, she was able to sidle up alongside the parked cars and come to a halt. "All right, fine."
"Thanks for de ride," he told her.
"Take care of yourself, Remy. Ah guess Ah'll see you."
Remy paused to look at her. "Probably best if you don't," he finally said.
"Don't what?"
He sighed. "Don't see me. It's not like we travel in de same circles so much anymore."
Rogue shook her head and let out a breathless laugh. "We live in the same city, Remy. It's not like–."
"Let's not pretend we'll keep in touch. Don't feel like you're obligated t'answer my calls or call me back. That way you won't feel guilty when you don't," Remy said, his face expressionless.
"Ah think you're still drunk," Rogue said.
"Maybe not so drunk. Numb, more like...or less inhibited."
"Ah never imagined you had any inhibitions," Rogue tried to sound lighthearted.
He gave her a tight smile. "You'd be surprised at all the things I don't say on any given day."
"Well, that's a scary thought." Rogue was not enjoying this conversation. It was much easier to be angry with him.
"Let's just say goodbye."
"Ah was tryin' to when you got all sappy on me," Rogue told him.
"Say goodbye, like for good. I don't want to see you anymore."
She was taken aback for a moment, feeling as if he'd struck her in the chest.
"I thought I could," Remy continued. "Be a friend t'you. But I can't really. Because I know myself. I know I'll just keep waiting and hoping...thinkin' that if I do one more thing to make you see...I can't do it. I just can't. You're my last addiction I got t'give up."
Rogue turned the pain he was causing her into anger. She glared at him. "Thanks. That's real flattering."
"Can't you just say 'goodbye' now? Can you at least give me that?" He held out his hand helplessly.
Her jaw clenched. "Fine. Goodbye. There, now. Won't you feel stupid tomorrow when you sober up."
Remy sighed and opened the car door. He climbed out of the vehicle and then leaned down to look at her. "You know I still love you, right?"
Rogue turned away from his searching gaze, feeling her throat grow tight. "Yes," she managed.
"Okay. 'Bye, Rogue."
The door closed with a soft thump and she watched as he walked away.
~ oOo ~
"In light of recent events, getting punched in de face by an average human bigot is sort of a refreshing change of pace," Remy told her.
"Leave it to you to put a positive spin on being sucker-punched," Cecelia Reyes responded.
"I like t'look on de brighter side of things."
Cecelia sighed through her nose and inspected her work. She had Remy's chin grasped in one hand and she turned his face towards the light on the side table. Remy didn't need stitches, but the cut under his eye had been a very near thing. "I suppose this is to be expected. Humans are probably more than a little on edge right now given that the entire population of Earth was just terrorized by a single mutant."
"It's not like it was de first time," Remy replied reasonably.
Cecelia relinquished her grip on his chin and straightened. "I heard there is proposed legislation preventing humans and mutants from getting legally married."
"If I could, I'd vote for that. Spare anyone any further misery," Remy responded. "I tried to warn Jean-Paul–," Cecelia smacked Remy in the back of the head with the flat of her hand.
"Ow!" he said and gestured at his bruised face. "I have a head trauma here."
"Let me get you some ice," she said with a frown and moved into her kitchen. She called from inside her open freezer door: "Hopefully, the swelling will go down before you have to show up for classes tomorrow."
"I won't be going in," he told her when she returned with an ice pack. He made a small noise as she placed the ice against his eye.
"That will spare you from having to explain yourself," Cecelia said dryly as she stood over him, her hands on her hips. "I know how much you hate that."
"I'm not de only one who does things that defy explanation," Remy said, looking up at her with one eye. "I like t'keep people guessing."
Cecelia rested her hand on his shoulder. "Remy, believe it or not, it has become very apparent that you are exceedingly predictable."
"I resent that remark!" he told her, aghast.
She pointed at his wound. "Tell me this didn't happen because of a woman."
"That didn't," he responded, then reluctantly held up his bruised knuckles. "But this did."
"Uh huh," she said, unimpressed. "Predictable."
"I quit de X-Men today," he told her, abruptly changing the subject. "Did you predict that too, oh, omnipotent one?"
Cecelia studied him carefully, looking for a sign he was speaking in jest. "Just like you quit smoking, right?"
"Yup, cold turkey," he affirmed.
"Then why do you reek of cigarette smoke?"
"I was standing outside a bar," he explained.
Not a lie, but not the entire truth either. She asked: "And why would you quit?"
"Health reasons."
"I meant about quitting the X-Men."
"Me too," he delivered promptly.
Even though he responded with flippancy, she could tell he was giving a mostly-true answer again. "Are you sick?" she inquired.
"Nah, not really. It's all in my head. I got a pamphlet about it."
Cecelia sat herself back on the couch beside Remy. "What is it, then? What's in your head?"
He grinned at her. "Ask my father, he'll tell you its rocks. Others have suggested shi–erm, crap."
"When did you start feeling sick?" she persisted.
"I'm not sick. I just had a weird feeling...like something was wrong," Remy told her. "Kinda like a deja-vu thing, where I feel like I already know what's comin' next. Or that I've completely forgotten something."
"When did this start?"
Remy shrugged. "Comes in flashes every once in awhile. First time it happened was a couple weeks ago."
"What were you doing when you had your first...flash?"
"Sittin' in de Costco parking lot," Remy said.
"You were at Costco?" Cecelia asked, her eyebrows coming together in consternation.
"We were out of some things. I volunteered t'go. Anything to get out of de school for awhile. Plus, I like observing normal folks in their native habitat," he explained. "Tired mommies, demanding toddlers...bored-looking dads with paunches. How d'you think I'd look with a gut? Happy, I bet."
She held up her hand to stop him and redirect the conversation. "So you were in Costco when you had the feeling something was wrong?"
"No, I never made it into Costco. Which is too bad, because they're always givin' out free samples on toothpicks in there," he digressed. She stopped him with a stare. He continued: "I was in de parking lot looking at de grocery list. Then I felt weird."
"The deja-vu feeling?" she asked.
"I guess. Kinda like I was frozen in place for a second, staring at de list. It felt like some kinda portent of doom. Af if not buying de economy pack of Charmin was gonna be de end of de world."
"It sounds like you had a panic attack."
"Which I could expect if I were at Wal-Mart, but this was Costco," Remy said.
"Please be serious," Cecelia told him.
"I didn't have a panic attack. I was grocery shopping," Remy said a little impatiently.
"Has it happened again?" she asked.
"A couple of times."
"When was the last time?" she asked.
"This morning. I was cleaning out my room." His hand strayed to the place over his heart when he realized he wasn't wearing his coat. The ring he'd placed in his coat pocket wasn't there.
"Is this why you decided to leave?" Cecelia asked. "These flashes?"
"Not entirely," Remy said. "I've decided to pursue other opportunities."
"Such as...?"
"I think I'm looking for something that suits me better than battling cosmic forces beyond my understanding. Something...else. That I've got a talent for."
Cecelia regarded him for a few moments before looking down at her clasped hands. "I won't say that I'm...unhappy to hear you want to leave the X-Men," she said finally. "It's kind of a relief."
"I suppose I learned that you don't have to be a costumes and capes kinda person to make a difference. I have you t'thank for that," Remy added.
She looked up at him then and smiled. "That's the nicest compliment you've ever paid me."
"What about de time I told you how much I liked that one pair of jeans you got...de ones that make your–," Remy began and she put her hand over his mouth.
"Let's not ruin the moment, shall we?" she said with a raised brow. "And I'm...excited for you. When I think of what you could accomplish. I mean, there are so many opportunities for you to help. What with your experiences and all...you could really relate–make a connection with the people who've fallen through the cracks. The homeless, or...I could maybe introduce you to some kids I know. They could really use someone–."
Remy held up his hand in surrender. "Can we slow down a sec, chѐre?" he said with a laugh. "What kinda plans you have in mind for me, anyway? I wasn't thinkin' of becoming some kind of mutant social worker."
She paused. "Well, what were you thinking of doing?"
Remy lowered the icepack from his eye. He glanced at Cece sidelong and gave her a coy grin as she looked on at him stoically. "Are you havin' fun at my expense, chѐre?" When her expression became questioning he laughed again. "What happened t'your powers of prognostication?"
"You can't possibly be thinking of going back to stealing," she said incredulously, and put the hand holding the icepack back to his eye.
"Well, what else would I do Cece?"
She held out her hands, palms facing upward. "Anything!" she said with exasperation. "After all you've done, you can't just return to a life of crime."
"I have a very particular set of skills..," Remy said with an air of mystery. He brightened: "And as it turns out, my skills are in demand."
Cecelia's hands fell back into her lap. "You are better than this," she said.
"And here I thought you were happy for me." He put the icepack back into her limp hand.
"You should go home and sleep on this," she informed him.
"This isn't some spur of de moment thing. I've been thinkin' about this for awhile, Cecelia."
"Think harder."
Remy sighed. "You're not like the other women in my life. You always knew who you were. I like that about you. But I also know who I am."
"Which is what? A thief?" she demanded.
"I'm only my best person when someone needs me. You need me like a fish needs a bicycle," Remy stood then. "I should probably go."
She followed him to the door. "Let me know if you have another one of those flashes, Remy. I'd like to help you if I could."
"I'll keep you in mind, Cece," he said as he opened her apartment door. Once in the hall he turned to her. "Maybe in de meantime, you can think of a reason t'need me."
~ oOo ~
Remy pushed open the door only to hear a voice call out: "We're closed!"
Remy smiled to himself. "What happened to 'last call'?" he asked as he walked over to one of the barstools; the last to have not been turned upside-down onto the counter. Esther was there, her hand resting on the bar, a rag held in her opposite hand. Remy casually sat on the remaining stool and she fared him with an unconvincing glare.
"What happened to your face?" she asked, her stern look evaporating.
"Someone put their fist into it," Remy explained. "I seem t'have de kind of face a guy likes to punch."
"Ouch," she said and peered at him a little more closely with just a touch of concern.
"You haven't seen my coat anywhere, have you?" he asked as he spun slowly on the cracked vinyl stool, his eyes scanning the empty bar.
She tucked her rag into her apron pocket. "I might have. And I might have thought you'd left it on purpose if I hadn't found this in the pocket." Esther held out her left hand and flashed the diamond ring she wore on her third finger.
"How fortunate that it should fall into such capable and trustworthy hands," he said and took her outstretched hand. "And how lovely it looks on you." He attempted to bring the back of her hand to his lips.
"Hmp," she snatched her fingers back from his grip. "Well, it kept all but the worst of the jerks from trying to pick me up." She gave him a pointed glance.
He smiled broadly at her. "Worst of de worst, me."
"Won't your soon-to-be fiance be upset I'm wearing this?" she asked and twiddled her fingers so the diamonds caught the dim light.
Remy shook his head. "There's no misses in my future," he told her.
"So...she turned you down? Or is precognition one of your other mutant powers?" Esther asked.
"It's not so much that I can see de future as that I'm completely predictable. Or so I've been told. Make de same mistakes over and over again," Remy answered.
She considered him for a few moments. "You know what that makes you, right?"
"Stupid...?" he supplied.
"It makes you human."
Remy took her hand again. "Can I walk you home, Esther?" he asked.
"Depends."
"On what?"
"On if I can wear your coat," she replied. "It's cold out."
"Whatever you need," Remy answered.