The Jean Grey School, Westchester, New York
The Past, Three Weeks Ago
"You could tell me how we meet," Jean suggested, tapping her forefinger against the worn tabletop that separated her from the Thieves' Guild patriarch. Jean-Luc was seated on the seat opposite, studying her in a bemused sort of way.
"I could," he said slowly and folded his hands upon the tabletop. "But I won't."
"And why not?" Jean asked, thoroughly annoyed with the older gentleman's secrecy.
Jean-Luc smiled thinly. "Because you are not unlike my son. If you knew what de future holds, you would do everything in your power to delay, avoid, or resist what you felt was not of your own choosing."
"But you know what is going to happen," Jean said. "And you want it to happen."
Jean-Luc nodded once. "I do, and yes, very much. Because it all ready has happened, in my past and your future. You don't know how important you are."
Jean frowned at him. "Maybe I don't want to be important. Maybe I want to just be. A person, a woman. Not a vessel for some cosmic entity, not a pawn in someone's schemes."
Jean-Luc continued to regard her with his benign expression. The pair swayed a bit as the train bearing them to New York City took a slow turn in the tracks. To Jean's left and Jean-Luc's right was a large window that reflected their images in washed out hues. Beyond the window was darkness.
"You're different than what I imagined you would be like," Jean told him.
"How so?" he asked.
"What I knew of you was from Remy's thoughts," Jean said. "And for one, I thought you would be much taller."
"That's strange, since Remy stands head and shoulders above me," Jean-Luc commented.
"Maybe it's just that you're an imposing influence in his life," Jean said. "He believes you're disappointed in him."
"Sometimes," Jean-Luc conceded. "But any father would want his son to accomplish more than what he had accomplished for himself."
"And if it works to your benefit, you can use his guilt to manipulate him into doing whatever you want him to...," Jean suggested.
"All I've done was to keep Remy walking upon de earth instead of being buried in it," Jean-Luc replied. "Though there are times I think my son tries to spite me in even that."
"He does seem a tad self-destructive," Jean said, realizing as she spoke that it was something of an understatement.
Jean-Luc regarded her archly.
"You remind me of someone," Jean told him.
"Do you know many thieves?" Jean-Luc asked.
"No, but I knew a space pirate," Jean said.
Jean-Luc let out a short surprised laugh. "I can see why Remy never wanted to come back to de Guild. It must seem quite boring after having been an X-Man. How did you become acquainted wit' dis 'space pirate'?"
"He was my father-in-law," Jean answered. "He called himself Corsair."
"How fantastical," Jean-Luc observed dryly.
"More fantastical than an ancient cult of nearly immortal thieves?" Jean asked.
"I've never been off-planet. And I have no intention of doing so even wit' de promise of untold space-pirate-treasure," Jean-Luc replied. He thought for a moment then said: "When Remy was a boy he told me he wished t'go t'space."
Jean smiled a bit. "Did he? I suppose he got his wish."
"Not quite...he had no intention of ever returning to Earth. I think it was solitude he was after," Jean-Luc said.
"In my opinion, all that emptiness of space is somewhat frightening," Jean said.
"I think Remy only said it because he was tired of hearin' me tell him t'study," Jean-Luc added.
"You should tell me some embarrassing story about Remy's childhood so I can tease him about it later," Jean encouraged.
Jean-Luc brought his folded hands up to his mouth to conceal his smile. "I think I've given Remy enough reasons to hate me."
"He doesn't hate you," Jean told him. "He loves you."
"That's good t'know," Jean-Luc said.
"But I'm not sure that he likes you," Jean added.
Jean-Luc drew a deep breath and released it. "I never expected fatherhood t'be easy," Jean-Luc said finally. "I have had two boys. Henri was about as respectful and dutiful a son as a man could hope for. Remy, on de other hand, certainly challenged de boundaries of my patience. And I have been alive a long, long time. Patience is a strong suit of mine."
"I imagine he must have been a handful," Jean said coyly, still hoping for some insight on Remy's boyhood.
Jean-Luc seemed to think for a moment. "He might have been a bit more rambunctious than most. A smart mouth on that one, a lot of back-talk. Full of energy, always fidgeting, never still. He wasn't a bad boy...kept to himself, didn't start fights, didn't mess wit' drugs. He'd frustrate me t'no end, though. De boy just wouldn't be taught."
"They make medication for that now," Jean said. "For children with learning disabilities."
Jean-Luc waved his hand dismissively and shook his head. "Nah, nah, he was able t'learn – usually de hard way. He just refused t'be taught, least not by me. Did you know, he taught his own self how t'read? How t'do numbers? Before I ever took him in, he all ready had learnt it. He figured he had to teach himself because he didn't want de folks who fenced his stealings t'cheat him any."
"I have no idea what it must have been like, to be living on the streets. I wonder how he managed to accomplish reading and mathematics on his own?" Jean mused. "It couldn't have been easy if he was trying to feed and clothe himself at the same time."
A flicker of some emotion passed over Jean-Luc's face, it might have been guilt. He said: "Even if help was offered, he wouldn't have taken it. Worse, is that he never unlearned a thing. Even if he had somethin' mixed up, dere was no telling him different. His spelling...Dieu. Have you tried t'read his writing? I've seen partial manuscripts written in dead languages dat are more coherent."
Jean couldn't stop her lips from curling into a smile. "I'm sorry, could you repeat dat?"
"Ain?" Jean-Luc said, looking at her askance.
"Nothing, never mind," Jean said quickly.
Jean-Luc sat forward a bit. "I know when I'm being disrespected, girl. And no one disrespects me."
"I can see you are having a Goodfellas moment, Jean-Luc, but I'm not from your world and you don't intimidate me in the least," Jean replied.
Jean-Luc considered her for a moment. "I suppose if I wanted to get under de skin of some Anglo-Saxon Protestant type, I should snub you at a garden party or at de next regatta."
"You slay me with your rapier wit," Jean quipped back. "I might've mistaken you for an assassin."
"Touché," Jean-Luc said.
Jean attempted to give him a surly look that dissolved into a smile. "Clearly you've managed to teach Remy a thing or two...the two of you are just alike."
"I think Remy might die t'hear you say such a thing," Jean-Luc said, then his brow furrowed with sudden worry. "Enh, I shouldn't have said that."
Jean reached out and tapped the back of his hand reassuringly. "He'll be okay. Loga – ah, the – they didn't tell you what was wrong? What Remy was sick with?"
Jean-Luc shook his head. "I was told he needed to explain de situation to me in person," Jean-Luc told her. "Which doesn't seem to bode well."
Jean shifted in her seat and crossed her legs. "I had only seen Remy a few hours before and he was fine. Well, he was healthy anyway."
Jean-Luc's blue eyes were distant. He frowned to himself. "Remy got real sick when he was a boy. Just after – he lost one of his friends. His cousin. So he must've been fifteen, sixteen. It seemed like he might die. Our healer sat up wit' him all hours, layin' hands on him. Finally, he came to...but he was different, then."
"Children can be pretty resilient," Jean said. "But I've seen Remy, as an adult, eat things out of the refrigerator not even Wolverine would touch, even with a healing factor."
"No – I mean when Remy come to, he was a different person," Jean-Luc said. "He came back different after he was sick. Given t'dark moods. Seemed not t'care sometimes, 'bout anyone but himself."
"Teenagers can be that way," Jean said sympathetically.
"Yes...," was Jean-Luc's distant reply.
"Maybe you should call the school?" Jean suggested. "And ask how he's doing."
Jean-Luc sat back in his seat. "You could do de talkin'," Jean-Luc said. "They're your friends."
"He's your son," Jean responded.
The pair regarded one another for a moment.
"Should I be concerned," Jean-Luc began, "about my son's safety at dis school?"
"I'm sure everything will be fine," Jean said quietly.
"When Remy joined de X-Men, I was relieved. I knew it'd be de turning point that'd send him back home. Once he had a chance t'see what de rest of de world was like," Jean-Luc told her. "What his options were."
"So you sent him off into the big, bad world knowing he'd come back?" Jean asked. "I thought you wanted him to achieve more than you had?"
"It's de truth, I do," Jean-Luc said.
"But as a thief," Jean stated.
"As de best thief," Jean-Luc answered.
"Can't you imagine a better life – a different life," she corrected, "for him? One that doesn't involve being a thief?"
Jean-Luc fixed her with his pale gaze. "Fighting for a dream of peaceful co-existence between humans and mutants? Seems like he spends more time just fightin' to survive...somethin' he's well-versed in. I happen to think he deserves more than just surviving."
"Why would he go back to the Guild?" Jean asked. "You abandoned him."
"So I guess me and de X-Men have that in common."
Jean pressed her lips together.
"But he'd never been sidelined, or made t'feel useless in de Guild," Jean-Luc said. "He was essential, integral. He couldn't stand de responsibility, no matter how I tried to prepare him. He needs somethin' in between. T'feel important, t'be wanted, even to just one person."
Jean nodded reluctantly, feeling as she traveled closer and closer to her home in New York, the pressure increased in her skull, in her heart. She murmured: "I suppose...that is more than a lot of people could hope for."
Jean-Luc's expression was difficult to read, but Jean sensed perhaps he was satisfied with her response. "I heard it said that a parent can only be as happy as his saddest child. Well, it's been a long, sad eight years. I'm glad for Remy's sake it's nearly over."
~ oOo ~
There was a car waiting for them at New York's Penn Station. Or rather, it was waiting for Jean-Luc and Jean was along for the ride. It was a dove-gray Mercedes, its windows concealing the interior with pearly reflective tint. The man driving the vehicle stepped from the driver's side, then stepped to the curb to open the passenger door for Jean. He ducked his head and gestured for her to enter. Jean glanced from him to Jean-Luc.
"A moment," Jean-Luc told her and held up a forefinger, expecting her patience. He stepped back from the car and the driver followed. Jean reluctantly slipped into the posh interior of the vehicle, watching as the two men moved back from the flow of foot traffic to speak quietly. Even as she pulled the door shut, Jean slipped into Jean-Luc's thoughts to eavesdrop on the conversation.
"Duchesne is dead," the unknown thief said.
"Duchesne?" Jean-Luc reiterated, feeling a flash of alarm.
"Weh," the other verified. "Babette called in a fit. She say some crazy rosbif come into de shop and smash de place up. Killed Duchesne as soon as look at him."
"Dammit, I was just there," Jean-Luc said, cursing himself for not checking up on his fellow thieves while in the area, and feeling guilt for putting his personal life first.
"What should we do?" the thief asked.
"Marcus will be back on his feet soon enough," Jean-Luc said and Jean could feel him prioritizing his thoughts in smart order. "We'll have him reinstated. In de meantime, go to Boston. Leave de girl in charge."
The other thief seemed surprised. "But –."
Jean-Luc fared the subordinate with a steely stare. "You have something to add?" he asked.
"No, sir," the other responded.
Jean-Luc turned away to start towards the car. "It will be a crash-course in responsibility for her," he said. "Something she'll need t'learn if she's thinkin' t'keep that baby a'hers. And they almost always do."
Jean-Luc opened the driver's side door and slipped into the vehicle beside Jean.
"Is everything all right?" she asked.
"Fine," he said, turning the key in the ignition. He neatly pulled the car out into traffic without hesitation, driving on the offensive as most New Yorkers did. "Directions to dis school?" he prompted, still in command-mode.
Jean couldn't very well confront him over what she had learned without revealing that she had spied on his thoughts. She frowned, not appreciating his authoritative tone. "You'll need 684," Jean told him, putting as much irritation into her tone as possible.
Jean-Luc's hands tightened on the wheel, not because he had taken note of her attitude, but because of his own preoccupation with recent events. "How long 'til we get there?" he asked.
"About an hour," Jean said, then felt as if a stone had settled its weight into her stomach. She frowned and turned to look out the window at the passing city. When they arrived in Salem Center, what would happen then? What could she expect when they turned onto Greymalkin Lane? She chewed on her lower lip. Jean-Luc seemed to emerge from his reverie to take note of her sudden silence. Jean was impressed with his perceptiveness.
"When Henri was a little boy," Jean-Luc began, casting a glance over at her. "He was messin' 'round with de electric, and I told him: 'Boy, don't you put anything in that electric socket.' Henri asked me: 'Why, poppa?' I told him: 'Because you'll get a nasty shock.' Henri got de point, he left it well enough alone." Jean-Luc paused. "When Remy first came to live with me, I saw him sittin' on de kitchen countertop, stickin' a fork into de toaster tryin' to get dis piece of toast out. I told him: 'Remy don't you stick that fork in there.' He looked up and me and I went about readin' de newspaper. Then I hear nothing until there's a terrible scream and I look up and there de toaster's on fire." Jean-Luc shook his head. "Remy never asked me 'why?' Not once. He only ever asked himself: 'Why not?'"
"You said he wouldn't be taught," Jean said.
Jean-Luc smiled a bit. "Here's de funny part. He looks at me wit' big eyes and he says: 'Daddy, I know I did wrong, but before you whoop me, can you tell me de story about Jesus and de little children again?'"
"What?" Jean asked unbelievingly, feeling herself smile.
"He'd only been t'Sunday school de first time that mornin', and all ready he'd worked it out how he could use it against me. I nearly died trying not to laugh. Then we always had de story about Jesus story."
"So I guess he got out of a spanking," Jean said.
"I swatted him after I patched up his hand," Jean-Luc admitted. "But he did a good job delaying punishment for as long as possible."
Jean sniffed. "Well, you shouldn't hit a child," she said authoritatively.
"I never hit him out of anger," Jean-Luc replied. "I probably should have hit him more."
"Jean-Luc, that's a terrible thing to say."
"There are worse things than discipline," Jean-Luc defended. "You think maybe I do what? Give him – what do they call it? – a 'time-out'? Make him sit and think about what he done wrong? Do you know what Remy would do wit' time spent alone? Work out ways to make me crazy, that's what."
"There has to be dozens of ways to enforce discipline that don't require physical punishment," Jean said. "Taking away privileges, for one."
"You know, I tried grounding him once," Jean-Luc responded, casually glancing over at her before returning his eyes to the road. "Took away his freedom, kept a close eye on him. Worst mistake I made. I think he would have chewed his own leg off to get away from me. He turned into a wild animal. I should've slapped him and been done wit' it."
Jean let out an impatient sigh and looked away from him. "I won't see eye-to-eye with you on this. Would you raise a hand to your grandson?"
Jean-Luc made a disgusted noise. "I wouldn't," he admitted. "But he's a different sort of child."
"How so?"
"He's...not a particularly robust boy. Some kinda genetic defect is what those doctors say," Jean-Luc's expression seemed to convey irritation. "I say, he just needs some outdoors and exercise. Dirt don't hurt. Rough him up a bit and cut de apron strings. Make him less of a momma's boy."
"I'm sure his mother takes extra precautions," Jean said. "Raising him on her own. Remy never said he was an uncle, but then, he never really speaks about his family at all."
Jean-Luc made a noncommittal noise.
"You'll want to take the Parkway," Jean said and pointed. Jean-Luc obliged and changed lanes.
They drove for some time in silence. Jean tried not to think about where they were going, but as they began to pass familiar roads, fear fluttered in her chest. She reached out and fiddled with the radio, pressing the buttons to scan to a different radio station.
"What kind of music do you like?" Jean asked.
"I listen to NPR," Jean-Luc responded.
Jean wrinkled her nose, but changed it to the station anyway. A news program was on. Jean sat back into the seat with a sigh. "Charles would have chosen this as well."
"Xavier?" Jean-Luc asked.
Jean nodded. "I think I would prefer some distraction from the real world for a moment. At least for the span of a car ride."
"I bet your professor had a hell of a time with you," Jean-Luc remarked.
Jean glanced at Jean-Luc's profile, pursing her lips. "Whatever are you talking about?"
Jean-Luc smiled to himself. "Tryin' to manage you, what with you knowin' everything there is to know all ready."
Jean narrowed her eyes at him. "I was a model student," she informed him.
"Mm," Jean-Luc said, clearly disbelieving her.
Jean's mouth opened, surprised that this man, a complete stranger, was able to get under her skin. "I had initiative."
"Hard-headed and impetuous," Jean-Luc nodded to himself.
Jean let out an exasperated noise. "Between you and Remy – you're going to drive me insane!"
"Be a short trip," Jean-Luc commented drolly.
"Oh!" Jean slapped his hand, which was resting on the gear shift.
Jean-Luc let out a self-satisfied chuckle. "You're a funny girl."
"I'm not a girl," Jean said, and crossed her arms.
"I admit I was a bit – troubled when Remy said you'd died. Seemed not t'make any sense to me," Jean-Luc said.
"You're not the only one," Jean said. After a moment, she asked: "Remy told you about me?"
"De few times I could get him on de phone," Jean-Luc began. "He'd talk about everyone but himself. Seemed I knew more about de goings on at Xavier's than I knew about my own kid."
"That probably didn't sit well with you. What with you loving to know everyt'ing dere is to know," Jean parroted back at him.
"Sass-mouthed," Jean-Luc said, as if he were adding it to a list.
"You're such an ass," Jean told him as if it were a compliment.
"Careful, chère. I almost think you're flirting wit' me," Jean-Luc chided.
That he spoke to her with such familiarity might have been disturbing if there wasn't an element of fondness as well. "We've done this before, haven't we?" Jean asked.
"Done what?" Jean-Luc asked.
"Bantered, I suppose you'd call it," Jean said.
"Argued?" Jean-Luc suggested instead. "Ah, weh. We've gone many rounds. Maybe someday, you'll pry that stick out of your ass."
Jean was about to retort when she spied the exit they were supposed to take. "Turn here!" she said suddenly.
Jean-Luc seemed surprised, but narrowly made the exit ramp by cutting off a driver in the right-hand lane. They were treated to a loud blare of a car horn.
"You really got to work on your navigation skills," Jean-Luc advised solemnly.
Jean pried her hands off the doorframe and carseat and breathed out through her nose. "Suddenly, I am glad this car ride is nearly over," she said. She directed him through Salem Center, though by now, he seemed to have an idea of where he was going. Jean had to swallow dryly when they turned onto Greymalkin Lane.
Jean-Luc drove slowly up the lane and then passed by the school driveway.
"You missed the turn," Jean said, her voice husky with nervousness.
"I realize that," Jean-Luc said matter-of-factly as he reached the end of the access road, took the slow turn on the cul-de-sac, and drove back in the opposite direction. Once more, he passed by the school, coolly appraising it as he did so.
"You – are you – 'casing the joint'?" Jean asked incredulously.
"Mm," Jean-Luc said, his eyes studying the gate, the fence, and the walls of the school beyond with his pale blue eyes.
"Jean-Luc," Jean began, "you do know you've been invited inside? That you can go in through the front gate?"
Jean-Luc turned off of Greymalkin Lane and went back up one of the main roads to the next block. "And what would be de fun in that?" he asked.
Jean put a hand to her forehead. "Good lord. I have a completely articulated understanding of Remy LeBeau now."
Jean-Luc flashed a smile at her.
"You can't break in," Jean said to him, as if trying to explain something to a small child. "You don't understand the level of security –."
"But you do," Jean-Luc said.
"I can't be a party to this," Jean said, crossing her arms.
Jean-Luc steered the car onto the berm alongside a little-used gravel road that ran along the backside of the school's perimeter. He put the vehicle into park. "I'm not just going to walk in to de school and have them bombard me wit' whatever cover story they've come up with. I want to know de truth."
"You can't use me to break in. I have – I can't do that," Jean told him.
Jean-Luc studied her. "Why not?" he challenged.
"Can't you just do the normal thing and walk in through the front door? Check in at the desk," Jean reasoned. "What reason do you have to believe that they would lie to you? Why don't you trust them?"
"Why don't you trust them?" Jean-Luc repeated.
Jean's breathing became irregular. "Just – stop it!" she said and pushed back at him with her powers.
"Jillian –," Jean-Luc began.
Jean threw open the passenger door and climbed out. Jean-Luc was quick to follow, looking over the roof of the car at her, his expression guarded.
"Tell me...," Jean began dangerously. "Tell me what you know about me!"
"I know you have a good heart," Jean-Luc answered. "You're a good person."
Jean put her hand to her chest, feeling her heart beating rapidly there. She closed her eyes against the sting of tears. "Am I?" she croaked. "Am I good? Would someone good have used the closest thing she had to a friend, and seen him killed? Would someone good have attacked a woman in her own home? And left her for dead?"
"What are you –?" Jean-Luc began.
Jean continued: "Am I a person at all? What am I?"
Before Jean-Luc could answer, there came a sound of alarms from the school. Though they could not see the school for all the trees, they could hear the shrill blast of a fire alarm. Jean started and looked up at the sky, searching for smoke. Jean-Luc turned and took off for the forest.
"Wait!" Jean called and hurried after him.
Before she had much time to process what was happening, Jean had followed after Jean-Luc, who had neatly scaled the perimeter fence, avoiding sensors and other security measures, ducking under the views of cameras, to vanish into the woods. Jean knew she couldn't hide her presence from electronic eyes, so she tried to follow as best she could. Jean caught up to him and stayed him with a touch upon the back of his jacket. He turned to glance at her and Jean took the moment to take the lead, guiding the thief towards the school. Her mind was awake to the presence of others' thoughts, but in this back section of the property, it was unlikely they would encounter anyone. At last they made it to the edge of the woods. Beyond was the cleared expanse of well-manicured lawn leading up to the school building. Jean stared at it. From this vantage point, she could see the school was more gracious and sprawling than it had every been before. It bore little resemblance to the red brick and mortar Colonial she had grown up in. Right now, all the windows were flashing with bright white light and the alarms were blaring. Children were spilling out onto the front lawn.
Jean-Luc observed the chaos stoically. "Is dis sort of thing normal?" he asked.
Jean sighed. "This is probably one of their better days," she answered dryly.
~oOo~
Next time: Memories restored.