Keep Yourself Warm
My hole, I'll get my hole, I'll get my hole. Get my hole, get my hole and I'll find out 's a choo-choo train, a rocket launch. If we have a hormone race I'm bound to finish you see in the dark? Can you see the look on your face? When flashing white light's been turned off, you don't know who's in your bed. It takes more than fucking someone you don't know to Keep Warm. Do you really think that for a house-beat you'll find your love in a hole? You won't find love in a, won't find love in a hole. It takes more than fucking someone to Keep Yourself Warm. ~Keep Yourself Warm- Frightened Rabbits
New York, 2034.
He hadn't been there when things had gotten really bad, but he heard the stories. Things changed for Rogue in his absence. The delicate trust he'd managed to gain was no more, and he can never forget the look in her eyes when they saw each other again. Love was there, but so was something else.
Something he never thought he'd have to see coming from her.
It was the same look Ororo gave him every night when they sat down for dinner, it was the same look Bella gave him right before her suicide, it was the same look Tante gave him when the trials were all said and done and he was exiled.
He couldn't explain the look exactly, but it was a mixture of distrust and loathing and love and desperation. Of knowing that he couldn't be saved, that he was damned. That no matter what they did, he would hurt them and abuse them and in the end they'd be the fool. It said that he was passed redemption, devoid of virtue, full of sin. It was what he felt for himself and even expected from those around him.
But not her, never her. She was supposed to make him better, purify him. If only he'd realized in those days that Rogue wasn't perfect, couldn't be perfect. If only he'd stopped focusing on what he wanted and paid attention to what she wanted, what she needed. For a time he'd been able to forget that she was human, that she had her own skeletons and demons and fears.
If only he'd realized that she'd been drowning, too. That maybe, she needed saving even more than he did.
Nothing, nothing he'd gone through could compare to what she'd suffered. And she hadn't let it beat her, she hadn't given into her darkness as he'd done. She was brave, terribly brave.
Everyone, himself included, had never really seen past Rogue's mask. She smiled, she joked, she flirted, she did whatever it took to keep their attention elsewhere instead of inside. The things she went through…dieu. And he thought he'd been hardened by his childhood. Even after the beatings and the abandonment and the hurt and the homelessness and the killings and the numerous sins he can't even begin to count, there was still a tiny part of his heart that held out hope. Hope that the next day would be better, that he'd find love.
Rogue had no hope.
What he'd thought was simple pessimism was actually the way her mind worked. From the very beginning, she'd predicted their relationship would fail and both of them would walk away hurt. And she'd been right, in a way.
But he doesn't regret one damn minute of it.
The feeling of her in his arms, the unrealistic green of her eyes, the way her laugh tinkled like bells…all were enough to mend any hurt he'd ever felt.
Maybe they could have saved each other. If they'd had a little more time, if Phoenix hadn't interfered, if he hadn't had to…had to…
But it was too late for all that. Rogue had done all she could for him and he'd been too blind to return the favor.
He'd let her down again. The one time she really needed him, he hadn't been there.
I'm drunk, I'm drunk, and you're probably on pills. If we've both got the same diseases it's irrelevant girl. And the room fills with steam. Oh, evaporates, disappears. My point of entry is the same way that I leave. Can you see in the dark? Can you see the look on your face? The flashing white light's been turned off, you don't know who's in your bed. It takes more than fucking someone you don't know to Keep Warm. Do you really think that for a house-beat you'll find your love in a hole? ~Keep Yourself Warm- Frightened Rabbits
He'd let her down again. The one time she really needed him, he hadn't been there.
He'd been passed out on a street in his hometown- the last place on earth he should be, if he wanted to live that is. As of late his self-preservation has been sorely lacking as of late. A broken heart and losing your motivation in lie can do that to a man.
The bottle still remains in his hand, he shakes it and finds there's a little more left.
He downs it, wipes his sleeve across his mouth and attempts to stand. The streetlights and brick swirl around him and he falls back against the wall. He is not pleasantly drunk, he is shit faced, plastered, smashed, he's all the terms for 'too drunk' he can't think of. The kind of drunk that rips away the smirks and the confidence and the charm, and bares his battered soul for all, himself included, to see. There will be no ignoring the problems of his life tonight.
The putrid smelling contents of his stomach heave onto the sidewalk, and he glares down into the mess. Something like tears fill his vision, and he closes his eyes.
Rogue. He needs Rogue.
"How de mighty have fallen."
Despite his inebriation, the cajun is able to whip his bo staff from his pocket and aim it at the throat of the shadowed form.
He steps into the light, seemingly unconcerned with the metal rod braced against his windpipe.
"Dis anyway to treat yo' grand frère?"
His face goes slack, but Remy does not lower his weapon. "I only been here un jour, how y' find me so soon?"
His brother smiles sadly, his amber eyes warm. "Y' really askin' dat question, boy? Y' ain't been gone from de Guild long enough t' forget de power we have."
Henri brushes the staff away and ventures closer to his younger brother. Remy's face hardens and Henri pauses.
He deserves that hostile gaze, really he does—he should have tried harder back then to stop his father from exiling Remy. His younger brother's fierce loyalty, though hard to come by, did not falter when it was established. Remy would never have let the roles be reversed…and if, for some reason Henri had been put in the same predicament: Remy would have left with him with no bitterness or hesitation.
Though Henri realizes and understands this, It doesn't mean he expected it though, it doesn't make the need to hold his brother any less powerful.
"Does he know?"
Henri doesn't need to ask who the 'he' Remy refers to is. "Oui. He's sent hommes after y'. Dere trained well, Remy. He would send nothin' but his best after Gambit."
He chuckles dryly and drops the staff completely. "De bastard don' waste time, do he?" He doesn't wait for an answer, and instead turns to leave.
"Where y' goin'?" Henri's heavy footsteps echo behind him.
"Why y' here?" Remy twists around suddenly and they nearly collide. "To warn me? To tell me goodbye 'fore he kills moi? To gloat? Pourquoi?!"
The older man turns from him, focusing instead on a nearby car. "Dere here, mon frère." He turns swiftly down an alley way. "Y' too drunk to walk? Can' risk goin' back to my car."
Remy stays where he is, sensing the approach of the vehicle clearly. "I can' take care of myself."
Henri turns and grips Remy's shoulders. "I done wrong by y', let y' go without even tryin'." Torrents of memories and guilt go over him, for a moment he is silent. "Mais let me explain myself, Remy. Don' get yo' self killed 'fore I can try makin' t'ings right wit y'."
Remy's eyes flash before cooling. "Fine." He could never say no to his brother when they were children, and now was no different.
And then they both disappear into the darkness of the alley way.
The goons in the car react quickly, leaving the vehicle with guns at the ready. They follow the two men, listening for any movement and paying close attention to their surroundings.
"Let's split up," one suggests.
The eldest of the men snorts. "Y' fou? Dis ain't no regular trail, dese de brothers of de Guild. We can' be takin' t'ings lightly."
He shoulders his gun and peers into the darkness.
"Gambit has returned. God help us all."
…
Nostalgia nearly chokes him as they make their way to safety. He remembers the grueling hours spent jogging and training in Woldenberg Park- begging for water but never receiving it.
There were many nights on the Moon Walk. Seeing his bride-to-be bathed in starlight and smiling up at him as he kissed her. How safe they'd felt, how sure they were that everything would work out. Their marriage would end the feud and they'd be happy forever.
The Sunday afternoons spent in the Café Du Monde, sipping on something hot and letting the stresses of life fall away with every cup of coffee.
Henri interrupts his thoughts with a slight chuckle. He's stopped, and Remy looks back at him in confusion.
He ventures onto the circular pavement, glancing up at the sculpture, his voice is colored with humor. "Never forget de day my brother blew de head of de great Andrew Jackson himself. Thought Père's face would always be red after dat." (1)
A begrudging grin appears on Remy's face, and he took looks up at the art. "Dey did a good job patchin' it back on, non? It needed repairs anyway, Remy jus' sped up de process."
Henri rolls his eyes. "So dats what y' call a bet gone wrong?"
They leave the sculpture and memory behind, traveling further in the shadows, a companionable silence between them.
Remy smirks back at him. "Somebody's a little slow dis evenin'."
He gives him the finger. Helping his father lead the guild has him in the gym less, and behind a desk more. Numbers and calculations replaced push-ups and jogs. A wife and kid have taken the place of booze and parties. While he'd never been quite as reckless as his younger brother, he's had his share of wild times. But like his exercise, those days have long since passed.
Henri isn't out of shape by any means, but an eight mile run isn't as easy for him as it was years ago. Remy, on the other hand, breezes right through it.
They reach the corner of St. Peter and Royal, and Henri leads him breathlessly to the front door of a peach colored house. Flowers and trees litter the small yard. White border trims the many windows of the tall home.
"Dis y' place?" Something sticks to the back of his throat, but he tries to pretend he isn't bothered.
"Oui. Mercy an' Louis are sleepin', try to keep it quiet, d'accord?"
They enter the house and Remy feels instantly out of place. "Who's Louis, y' dog?" He removes his shoes politely and waits for Henri's instructions.
"Remy, Louis is my son."
That can't be possible, he hasn't been gone that long…has he? And even if he has, he's kept tabs on those he loves!
Well, he tries to. The life of an X-man doesn't leave room for much distraction, and he's let Rogue completely take over any free time he does have(happily, mind you). But he never thought-
"We been married six years. Tried invitin' y' mais no one knew where y' were. Louis was born deux years later, found out about dat school y' live at and tried to get a hold of y'. Dey always said y' weren't dere.
Remy feels his brother approaching closer behind him. "Found out six months ago dat we were havin' another bebe, a girl."
Henri steps in front of Remy, undaunted by his greater height. Remy, however, bows his head in shame. A niece, a nephew- he hadn't even known, hadn't given a thought…
"Dere's a guest room and bathroom downstairs. Go clean yourself up and I'll make some coffee."
Mississippi 2004.
Despite Aunt Irene's warnings about her skin condition, Rogue cannot give up her cut-off shorts, or her tank-tops. She can't wear gloves all the time like her Aunt asks her to, she can't stop hugging her friends or whispering secrets in their ears. She can't stop seeing Cody, she can't give up their friendship. How can she? He's too deeply ingrained in her thoughts, her heart. He's the first friend she's ever had. Daddy didn't let her play with other kids, and she'd been too scared to make friends after first moving in with Aunt Irene.
She forgot when Cody's eyes began to change, change like Daddy's did whenever he touched her. She isn't able to pinpoint when her flat chest and backside decided to abandon her and curves took their place to make her self-conscious. Sometime, in the summer between her thirteenth and fourteenth birthday, they could no longer swim in the river naked without Cody bunching a shirt over his crotch and running behind a tree.
Sometime, just before her fifteenth birthday, they'd been laying in the field, their field, a thick blanket beneath them. One minute they'd been pointing and naming the stars like always, the next Cody was leaning over her.
"Ya ever been kissed, Marie?" He knew she hadn't, they'd never been apart from each other for more than a day. He knew he was the only male she didn't shy away from. He knew if she was going to kiss someone, it'd be him.
He'd pressed a sloppy, inept kiss on her lips before she could even respond.
She'd shoved his chest as hard as she could and ran home. Cody had betrayed her, though he didn't know it. He looked at her like Daddy, and now he was trying to touch her like Daddy, too.
The next day, he showed up red-faced at her front door. He walked her to school like he'd always done, but not once did he look or talk to her.
He was over it by the end of the day, they ran home together. In the weeks and months to come they eased back into their comfortable friendship. She ignored it when his hugs made her uncomfortable, and when she sat in his lap to watch a movie, she pretended she couldn't feel his hard warmth pressing into her leg. He tried vainly to keep his eyes from falling to her growing chest, tried not to let her smell fill his nostrils and arouse him, but he couldn't.
It was a stagnant relationship. Rogue was perfectly happy with behaving like a child for the rest of her days. She didn't mind not touching or kissing, she preferred it that way. Cody, on the other hand, was speeding to adulthood and was having adult feelings. He couldn't bring himself to experiment with other girls, he loved the green-eyed beauty too much. Rogue was keeping him in place, in their make-believe world, while real-life was stretching him forward.
She wanted to play all the childish games they'd always played, he wanted to go to dances. She wanted to hide her changing figure, he wanted to touch it. She wanted to buy ice cream cones, he wanted to taste alcohol. She punched him and he wanted to hold her hand. She pulled his hair and he wanted to kiss her. She wrestled him to the ground and he wanted to be inside of her, more than anything. She wanted him as her friend, he wanted her as a man wants a woman, so badly. So badly that it was becoming increasingly painful.
Another year of this torment, of staying in one place. He was sixteen years old and had never been to a party, had never brought a sip of beer to his mouth, had never snuck out, had never really kissed a girl, had never done the things a teenager was expected to do.
But Cody's heart was too big to ever resent her for it, to ever push her.
Until the night when something changed. When he was entirely too fed up with their platonic relationship. When her breasts and thighs were too exposed for him to control himself any longer. When the gloss on her lips made him ache even more, when the smell of her vanilla shampoo evaded all rational thought.
They'd ventured into the woods that night, having the strangest urge to visit their old tree house. They found it after getting lost a couple of times.
…
"Ya sure ya wanna do this?" He eyes the sorry excuse of a hideout. "Don't look very steady ta me."
She grabs his arm and tosses back her curly head. "Have Ah ever put ya in danger before?"
He opens his mouth to remind her of all the broken bones and detentions he's gotten because of her great ideas over the years, but she begins climbing the rope.
"Hold on," He takes the rope from her hand and tests it using his weight. "At least let me try it out first."
She giggles and puts her hand on her chest. "Oh Cody, yoah so brave!"
He sticks his tongue out at her and uses his hands and feet to shimmy up the rope. He reaches the ledge, and helps her up when she reaches the top.
"Is it just me, or is this thing wobblin'?"
She shrugs and crawls through the small opening. "It probably is. We did make it when we were twelve."
He gulps and follows her, brushing away a few cobwebs and sneezing as dust fills his nose. Somehow, they both manage to squeeze in, Rogue laughs when she turns and their heads crash together.
"Ah think we might be a little too big," she attempts to sit but kicks him in the shin instead. "Sorry!"
"Me, too." He pinches her arm and laughs.
"Asshole!" She pinches him back, and so starts the fight. They wrestle in the cramped space, knocking old toys and molded posters onto the ground around them.
In the past, she won their little matches every time. She was quick and sneaky and he often found himself on the ground. But over the years they grew uneven. He surpassed her height and weight. Whilst she grew softer in places, he grew harder, more solid.
And so he's able to pin her down with relative ease. But as she chuckles breathlessly and writhes below him, the playfulness dissipates and the desire he's tried so desperately to hide flares in his sky blue eyes.
She feels the change in the air like a cold shiver, and attempts to sit. "Cody-"
But his lips press against hers, soft and loving. Her eyes clamp shut and she tries to ignore the fire racing up and down her veins. This isn't Daddy, this is Cody. Cody loves her, Cody would never hurt her…but he is hurting her. He's making her remember all the years she's tried to forget with just a simple kiss. He's making her skin burn and her head throb.
But through it all, she loves him, she loves Cody. And he's waited, he's waited so very long.
In the dark; they learn. Cody would have been embarrassed, had Rogue not been as incompetent as he was. Her avoidance of anything sexual and his long wait causes them both to feel confused, like children playing grown-up.
Bitten tongues and clashing teeth, fumbling hands and whispered apologies. Hot need and cold apprehension. Part of her likes it, all of him needs it. And they try, they work at it, soon their movements are fluid and slower, more thorough. She thinks that maybe she can do this, maybe she can let Cody kiss her more often.
She thinks it feels good, until Cody makes the mistake of reaching for her thighs and her father's face flashes in her mind.
The burning comes back, she swears she's on fire. She sees his life flash before her eyes, she screams when his body falls to the side and he ceases to breathe. She sobs as she tries to climb down, she twists her ankle trying to run home.
Irene knows, Irene knows everything. She reaches for the belle. "Marie, poor Marie. It wasn't your fault, do you understand? It wasn't your-"
Aunt Irene touches her cheek, knowing what would happen. She runs from the house, her home. Her vision leaves her but somehow she knows where to go.
Cody's visions, Irene's visions…both disorient her and when she reaches the bus station and a pretty blonde woman who tells her she's a friend of her Aunt's smiles and asks her if she wants to come with her to New York, Rogue can only cry and collapse at her feet.
Present Day.
He finds the kitchen, wearing the sweats Henri brought to his room. He slicks his wet hair back from his face and accepts the cup and sandwich his brother sets in front of him gratefully.
"So when did y' decide to move," he asks around a mouthful.
Henri sits across from him with his own mug in hand and shrugs. "Right after de weddin'. Père was gettin' a bit…overwhelmin'."
Remy snorts. "It took y' all dose years to realize dat?"
"Non," he shakes his head, eyes focused on something Remy can't see. "I'd always known how power-hungry and bossy he could be, mais he's gotten worse. Ever since de Thieves got control over all of New Orleans, he's constantly worried about someone takin' away his control."
"Total control?"
Henri shifts uncomfortably. "Well, when Julien died an' Marius followed suit, an' Belladonna's death reached us…"
The cajun's eyes glow fiercely and he tries to hide his grimace. "Is dat a nice way of tellin' me dat because I single handedly killed off de Boudreaux's, purposefully or non, dere was no one left fit to rule?"
There's pity in Henri's expression and Remy can't stand pity.
"De ole man musta been bout to bust from joy, non?"
"Wish I could deny dat, mais I can't. Père could barely keep de smirk off his face at de funeral."
Remy shakes his head in disgust and tries not to let the deaths of his fiancé and her brother cross his thoughts.
"Dat bastard-" He smirks dryly and pushes his plate away. "Mais I can' judge, now can I? I'll be burnin' in Hell right next to him."
"Ain't none of us been doin' right by de lord, frère."
He decides to change the subject, because if his brother knew some of the things he'd done over the past nine years-
"How's Tante?"
Henri chuckles, good mood restored. "Fiery and opinionated as ever. Theo brought his girlfriend of five years to meet her for de first time. Tante told her she looked like a two-cent street walker wit all dat make up on, an' dat her halter top made her breasts look like cantaloupes in tube socks. De girl burst into tears an' none of us have seen her around since."
Remy throws his head back and laughs, forgetting about the sleeping woman and baby upstairs. "Ole bat hasn't changed one bit!" Remy swipes mirth from his eyes, delighted to know that no matter how long he'd been gone, some things he remembered never changed.
They recover from their laughter and Henri leans forward. "S' real good seein' y, Remy."
He tries to remain unaffected, and waves him away. "Don' start gettin' all emotional on me."
"I mean it. I tried convincin' Père for years to at least let y' visit, we all did. Dere was a time last year when I thought dat he might give in, mais as usual, I couldn't get a hold of y'."
Remy smiles, thinking back to the previous year. "I appreciate dat, Henri. Mais honestly, I probably wouldn't have wanted to come back."
Henri grins and raises his eyebrow, like he'd been expecting that answer all along. "What's her name?"
Remy looks at him slightly startled and his older brother shakes his head.
"Y' should know by now y' can' keep nothin' from moi. Knew from de moment I saw y' pukin' on de street dat somethin' was different 'bout y'."
His eyes dim. "Don' really matter now. I left her, Henri, an' I can' never go back." The desperation he'd been trying to avoid hits him harshly. Rogue. He needs Rogue…
Henri's hand goes to his, and like the horrible days when Rogue was in a coma: something in Remy breaks, and Remy tells him everything. Belle, Sinister, The X-men-
He tells him about Rogue, and why he must stay away, why he must let his heart die to keep hers going.
When he finishes hours have passed and the sun has broken the horizon. His face is hidden in his arm, his eyes burn with the need to release the pent up tears, Henri's hand remains in his. Sometime during his tale, Mercy had appeared and now wraps her arms around his shoulders, he can hear that she's crying.
"I need her!"
"Je sais, Je sais." Mercy smooths his hair back and motions for Henri to fetch him a box of Kleenex. Remy may think he doesn't need it, but she can tell he isn't going to be able to hide his pain for much longer.
Not a beat after Henri returns to the kitchen with box in hand, there's a bang on the front door. Remy's head snaps up and he and Henri make eye contact.
All three go into action. Henri goes to answer the door while Remy runs to fetch his cards and staff, Mercy pretends to be busy, and begins preparing coffee and breakfast.
"Can I help y'?" Henri blocks the doorway, regarding the men coolly.
One of the men crosses his arm over his chest and bows, the others follow suit. "My most sincere apologies for botherin' y' at y' home, especially at such an early hour, mais your father has sent us to retrieve Gambit."
Mercy waddles up behind Henri, holding her swollen belly. "Y' tell dat vieil idiot (2)to mind his own business!"
The man bows even lower. "A pleasure to see y', Mrs. LeBeau. Y' look lovely."
"Non, I look like a pregnant femme dats been woken out of bed at five o' clock in de mornin'!"
"Again, I apologize for de inconvenience." He rises and turns to Henri. "Jus give us Gambit an' we'll be on our way."
"An' if I don'?"
The man sighs and pulls his gun from its holster. Henri instantly steps in front of Mercy.
"Is dat a threat?!" She hisses. "How dare y'? Dis is Henri LeBeau, Prince of T'ieves! An' y' brandish a gun at him, in his own home?!"
The man has enough common sense to back away from the hormonal woman. "I myself respect y' as a leader, Mr. LeBeau, mais y' father has given us explicit orders to-"
"Now I know all dis commotion can' be pour moi!" Remy slides down the banister and places a kiss on Mercy's cheek before brushing past them.
"What de fuck are y' doin," Henri snarls under his breath.
"Well, mon frère," he puts his hands behind his back and allows the men, who look at each other in awe, to tie his wrists. "It's obvious our lovin' père wants a visit avec moi, why deny him?"
"Do y' have any idea what your gettin' yourself into?" Henri's eyes are wide with fright, he doesn't want to lose his brother after just finding him again.
Remy's smile softens. "Oui. Don' worry, I'll be back." He winks at a tearful Mercy. "Gotta come back an' see little Louis, non?"
"Remy!"
They do not allow him to turn and face her, instead they rush him toward the vehicle. "Remember Tou-lous!"
They load him onto a clichéd, non-descript white van. Henri stiffens and rests his hand on Mercy's back.
"Get Louis ready. We're going to have a little tête-à-tête wit Papa."
He sits with his legs crossed and a cheshire grin in place. There were six of them. Two on his right, three on his left, and one driving. He could take out the two on the right almost immediately, but then he'd leave himself open to the crowd on the left-
"For de supposed best t'ief in New Orleans, y' sure not givin' us much trouble, are y'?"
Remy laughs along with the men and shrugs. "Guess I've become sort of a good boy wit age." He shifts slightly and leans back against the seat. "Any of y' hommes got some gum? Didn't get a chance to brush m' teeth."
They look at each other and the one that had mocked him earlier shrugs and digs in his pocket, retrieving a white sliver of gum and throws it at Remy.
"Mind unwrappin' it, homme? I'm a little tied up at de moment."
They all laugh at the bad joke and the man does as Remy asks. Grinning and nodding in thanks, the cajun munches on the gum, blowing bubbles and mulling silently.
"How much did dis van cost," he asks randomly.
At first it seems like none of them intend to make conversation, whether because they're intimidated or instructed: he does not know.
Until: "Don' know, Jean-Luc pays for everyt'ing."
"Is dat so? I feel even less guilty now." He finishes loosening the rope binding his hands and rubs his wrists.
"What de-!"
He spits out his gum in one fluid arc, and it lands in its designated spot, right on the steering wheel.
Remy buckles his seat belt as they aim their guns at him. "I'd put on y' seat belt if I was y'."
"Shut de fuck up! Put y' hands where we can see dem!"
Gambit has just enough time to brace himself before the front half of the van explodes in flames and the vehicle swerves across the highway, toppling over an embankment.
When it finally rolls to a stop, Remy shakes his head at the bloodied, unconscious men. "Tol' y'."
He hops from the smoking mess, flicking a charged card behind his back as he mounts the hill. The men and remnants of the van disappear in one final blast.
Having gotten past all the defenses with minimal difficulty, Remy strolls into his adoptive father's office with a flourish of his coat.
He's never seen Jean-Luc turn redder.
"Ha!" Theo jumps from his seat. "Twenty minutes, hand it over boys!"
The surrounding men grumble and reach into their pockets, handing the beaming Theo his money.
"Ten minutes," Henri whines, "why couldn't y' have taken ten more minutes?"
Jean-Luc is out of his seat before Remy can answer. "Less den twenty-four hours in New Orleans, an' y' already remindin' me of why I danced when de trials were over."
The mood turns somber and the men return to their respective chairs around the table.
"Less den twenty-four hours, an' y' remindin' me of why I laughed when y' broke y' hip doin' said dance, y' ole bastard."
Henri winces and pinches the bridge of his nose. Obviously, his brother hasn't learned how to be tactful in his time away.
He steps in before his father can get too angry. "Now, now. We didn't come here to argue, we came to talk."
"I didn't come here to do a damn t'ing." The hatred he's always harbored for Jean-Luc returns with swift clarity. He hasn't forgotten his acrimony, but he hasn't thought about just how much he loathes the old man in years. It comes back now, there's no distance to muffle the feeling, and it nearly chokes him with its intensity. "He brought me here."
"What did y' expect, boy? Y' were tol' dat if y' ever stepped foot in dis territory, you'd be killed. De only reason y' ain't dead yet-"
"De only reason I ain't dead yet is cause of my skill. I'm de best dere ever was, an' y' stupid goons might have been able to beat me when I was a pup, mais t'ings have changed."
Leaning heavily on his cane, Jean-Luc rounds the corner of his desk. "Come here, so I can beat y' across de head wit dis stick! Never have I heard such insolence-"
"Where is he?" Muffled noises come from the hallway and then Tante waddles through the door, her cloudy eyes scanning the room and resting on him.
"Tante!"
He runs to embrace her, but instead of finding lips, his cheek is met with the side of a frying pan. Old age has not dulled her aim or force.
"Fou pup! Disappearin' all dese years wit 'out a card or call! We all know yo' lazy behind could a snuck here and visited moi!"
He rubs his cheek and glares at the sniggering Henri. "Mais Tante-"
"Mais Tante m' foot." She shakes her head and glares up at him. "Now bend over an' give me a kiss."
He smiles and leans forward, only to pause. "Y' not gonna hit me are y'?"
"If I do, it's non more den y' deserve."
He chuckles, "True."
…
They beg and plead. Shout and cry, but Jean-Luc won't have it. For hours they discuss his fate, and Remy feels like he's eighteen again, standing before the Guild Masters and sweating under their penetrating gazes.
He knew nothing would come from it, that Jean-Luc's excuse: 'I won' have him makin' de Rippers angry. We've been peaceful all dese years an' it's gonna stay dat way.' is just a cover for his barely-concealed hatred. If roles were reversed and Henri was in this situation the old man would have done everything in his power to have his son returned to his side.
Remy doesn't begrudge Henri this, though. If anything, he pities him. To be tied down to the Guild forever, to spend hours upon hours in this stifling office- would have been too much for Remy. And to think, this had once been his destiny! Maybe things really do happen for a reason.
He holds Tante and Mercy, letting young Louis climb on his shoulders and wherever else he pleases. In the short amount of time they've known each other, Remy has undeniably fallen in love with his nephew, and vice-versa. Much to Mercy's horror, he's already taught Louis how to cheat in both poker and black jack. He's a 'Little Remy' in the making.
"Don' cry, y'all. Dis ain't de last time you'll be seein' my pretty face."
A teary-eyed Henri hands Remy an envelope. "Got y' some fakes and an unlimited credit card."
He raises his eyebrow and stuffs the envelope in his pocket. "Jeanny know about dis?"
Henri scolds him for using that name. "Suprisin'ly, oui. Y' may be an' ex-member, mais y' still a LeBeau."
Remy smiles and wraps his brother in a tight embrace. "I meant what I said, I'll be seein' y' again."
"I'll be holdin' y' to dat."
Gambit pulls away and takes one last look around. "Y'all let me know before de old man dies, d'accord?"
Mercy bursts into tears and shakes her head at Jean-Luc. "Y' should be ashamed, he wants to see y' before y' die like a good son, an' y' still kickin' him out!"
Remy snorts and laughs outright. "Y' kiddin'? I just wanna be dere to see him shit himself."
There are gasps and Remy disappears before Jean-Luc can change his mind about letting him leave unharmed.
But, you won't find love in a, won't find love in a hole. It takes more than fucking someone to Keep Yourself Warm. You won't find love in a, won't find love in a hole. It takes more than fucking someone to Keep Yourself- See in the dark! Can you see the look in your face? The flashing white light's been turned off. You don't know, know who's in your bed. It takes more than fucking someone you don't know to Keep Warm. Do you really think that for a house-beat you'll find your love in a hole? ~ Keep Yourself Warm- Frightened Rabbits
(1)- Early New Orleans was originally centered around what was then called the Place d' Armes (Spanish: Plaza d'Armas). After the Battle of New Orleans, in 1814, the Place d' Armes was renamed Jackson Square after general Andrew Jackson. In the center of the park stands an equestrian statue of Jackson erected in 1856, one of three in America by sculptor Clark Mills. (Wikipedia-.-com)
(2)- old fool