Declaimer: God created Stan Lee, and Stan Lee created the X-Men. God saw that this was good. There's no way I'm going up against that.

Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews, guys! I'm glad y'all are as excited as I am about this fic! I promise to do my bestest!

Alrighty, now, time to get the preliminary stuff out of the way!

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Chapter #2: Secret Garden
"A man's heart deviseth his way; but the Lord directeth his steps."
- Proverbs, 16:9

The light shinning in through the large, stained glass windows spread a staccato of colour on the stone floor. As he hurried to keep up with Sister Mary Munroe's quick strides, Remy marveled at the environment around him. The Reverend Mother had burst into his room at the crack of dawn, urging him to get up and greet the new day. He had begrudgingly complied. She had prepared his clothes for him. He had found his jeans patched and wrung, and his white t-shirt starched and ironed. After dressing – he had decided to leave his trench coat behind in his room – he had followed Sister Mary Munroe out into the hallway, and she began giving him a tour of the convent.

Two hours later and Remy was still in awe. They had started the tour with the Church. Remy was surprised to find that the convent – the House of Charity – was attached to one. Seeing his surprise, Sister Mary Munroe began a long lecture on the differences between convents and monasteries, the latter of which was a solitary building for a different type of nun. Remy only pretended to listen as he let his eyes take in the beauty around him. The Church wasn't as large as some of the ones he had seen before, but it was one of the most beautiful. The high, cloistered ceiling protected a very simple décor. The apse(1) had a vaulted dome from which hung a large gilded cross, and before it stood a solid, wooden alter draped with a blood-red cloth. Two rows of cedar pews swam through the center of the Church atop a smooth, stone floor. Large, arched windows that spanned from floor to ceiling lined both walls, each pane stained with a biblical story. As Remy had passed between them he found himself hard-pressed to recognize even two of those tales.

Behind the Church, amidst lively gardens, a pillared corridor – through which they now walked – led to the convent where the nuns of the House of Charity resided. Like his room, the convent was sparsely furnished. Sister Mary Munroe had to remind Remy that such worldly goods were left behind when the Lord called his children to heaven, and also that the nuns sacrificed convenience so that someone, somewhere, may be blessed with it instead.

She led him through the living quarters and through the hall of statues. She showed him where the library was ('I t'ought de Bible was de on'y book you femme read…') and where the common living space was. He found a few nuns playing chess, and some more by the window darning socks. Sub-consciously, Remy searched for emerald green eyes. He found none.

'And now,' Sister Mary Munroe was saying, 'it is time we end the tour with my favourite room.' She pushed open a thick, wooden door and ushered Remy inside. 'The kitchen.'

Remy stood facing a large, oak table on which were placed cutting boards, knives, and an assortment of vegetables. On the left of the table sat snuggly a huge stone fireplace. The opening was charred and the rug on the floor in front of it was covered with soot. Directly opposite was a pair of windows, and between the windows a wooden back door. On the back wall, opposite from where Remy stood, was a large stone counter complete with sink and stove. Behind this counter stood a nun with – much to Remy's disappointment – shocking violet eyes.

'It's about time!' exclaimed this nun, brandishing a large daikon. 'I thought you'd never bring the boy down to meet me.'

'What boy?!' came a voice from outside. Through one of the windows popped a female head covered in a thick mane of red hair. Having gotten used to seeing women dressed in traditional nun attire, Remy was shocked to see a woman dressed in civilian clothing with her head uncovered.

Sister Mary Munroe ushered Remy into a chair at the large oak table and moved behind the counter with the violet-eyed nun. 'This is Sister Mary Elizabeth, our cook here in the House of Charity,' she said, placing a hand on the Sister's shoulder. 'And that head in the window belongs to Mrs. Jean Grey-Summers. Girls, I would like you to meet Remy LeBeau.'

'I deliver the groceries here,' explained the redhead, flashing Remy a ravishing smile. 'I own a small grocery store in the village.'

Remy's heart had stopped at the sight of her. There, staring back at him, were startling green eyes. As he looked into them, however, he found that they were lacking. They weren't the eyes from his dreams. They weren't emerald green…

He hid his disappointment by giving Jean a dashing smile. 'Charmed, petite.'

'We've been dying to meet you, Jean and I,' added Sister Mary Elizabeth. 'There are all sorts of rumours flying around about you!'

Remy gaped at her. Sister Mary Elizabeth, although dressed exactly like the Reverand Mother – except for the apron tied around her waist – seemed a complete contrast to the other. She seemed a lot livelier, and certainly didn't come off as being pious.

'Remy be sure all de rumours, dey be true,' he said, and winked at her.

Sister Mary Elizabeth giggled and waved a hand before her. 'The one about you being good looking certainly is.'

Sister Mary Munroe rolled her eyes. 'You will have to excuse Sister Mary Elizabeth,' she said, seeing the surprised look on Remy's face. 'She has not taken her permanent Solemn Vows yet.'

'Solemn Vows?' Remy repeated, curiously.

Sister Mary Elizabeth pouted at Sister Mary Munroe. 'The Reverend Mother just likes to rub in that I'm not as hardcore as she is,' she said, sounding exasperated. 'There are different stages a nun goes through in order to devote herself completely to Christ. I've taken my temporary vows, I still need to take Solemn ones.'

'And I patiently await the day,' said Sister Mary Munroe, winking at Jean.

Sister Mary Elizabeth rolled her eyes. 'I am who I am, Reverand Mother. Even when I take my Solemn Vows, I won't lie to myself by pretending to be someone I'm not. Just because I express my delight in seeing a handsome man sitting at my kitchen table, doesn't mean I love the Lord any less than you do. And oh, you can call me Sister Betsy,' she added, turning to Remy once more. 'There are ever so many Sister Marys going around that it's easier just to call us by our birth names. We all do. At least, behind closed doors, that is. When in Church I'm Sister Mary Elizabeth.' She turned unceremoniously to her stove. 'Now, time to feed you.'

Remy saw a knowing grin pass between the Reverend Mother and Jean over Sister Betsy's words, and felt a lot more at ease. It was nice to witness a casual, candid exchange among such religious human beings. They were part of a sisterhood, and although their thoughts and allegiance were devoted to their God, they were still able to share a good laugh among each other's company. Remy had been afraid that he would have to live a stiff, dull life during his stay at the convent, but he was glad this wouldn't be the case. Even the Reverend Mother seemed to have a sense of humour.

'So how long are you planning on staying here, Remy?' Jean asked, coming in through the back door and setting a basket of fresh fruit on the oak table.

Remy shrugged. 'Until de time is right t' leave.'

'Ah, we have a drifter in our presence,' said Sister Betsy, sliding a plate of gruel in front of him.

Remy stared down at his plate. 'Looks like de sisters like to give up dere meals for de needy, too…' he thought.

'Dinner is usually a better meal,' Sister Betsy said, seeing the expression on his face. 'We eat only what's needed to survive.'

Sister Munroe joined Remy at the table. 'As I have said before, you are welcome to stay for as long as you need.' She gave Remy a meaningful look, and he nodded appreciatively in response. He still remembered clearly their conversation from the night before.

'So, has the Reverend Mother shown you around? Have you seen the Church yet?' asked Jean, resting her elbows on the table. 'I've been attending mass here since I was a little girl. It's a beautiful place.'

Remy nodded his head in agreement. 'Can't say I'm much o' de holy man, but I know de beauty when I see it.' He spooned some gruel into his mouth and was surprised that it tasted far better than it looked.

'Did the Reverend Mother tell you about the locked gate?' asked Sister Betsy, who was now rinsing a pan at the sink.

'Oh! I knew I was forgetting something!' said Sister Munroe, putting down her own spoon.

Remy raised a brow. 'De locked gate?'

Sister Munroe nodded her head. 'There is an old gate, just off the corridor between the Church and the convent. It is always locked in the summer, and you are not to go near it.'

'How come?' he asked, his interest peaking. Telling a thief to stay away from a locked door was equivalent to inviting him to the challenge.

'That is none of your concern,' she replied, shortly.

Remy turned his attention back to his breakfast. What was so special about this locked gate? Had he been anywhere else he would have been tempted to try his hand at opening it, but because he was here, in the House of Charity and in the presence of nuns, he decided to let his temptation slide. What could these poor, defenseless women of God possibly have behind that gate that he would want?

Before he could assure the Reverend Mother that he would stay away from the gate, the door to the kitchen opened and in strode a man.

'Have any of you seen Sister Mary Rose?'

Remy looked up, surprised to see a man there. He had gotten so accustomed to seeing women that he had forgotten to consider that he might not be the only man hanging around. Unlike Remy, however, this man looked like he belonged at the House of Charity. He was wearing a long robe of gray that hung down to the floor. Like the nuns, he was wearing beads around his waist with the signature wooden cross. His head was uncovered, and Remy could see gentle eyes taking in the scene under a mane of dark hair.

'Oh, stop calling her that. You know she hates it,' said Sister Betsy in reply to the man's inquiry.

The man frowned. 'Vas? But das is dehr name given to her by dehr Reverend Mother.' He looked around at Sister Munroe apologetically, and then at Jean with mild surprise. 'Ah! Frau Summers! Guten morgen(2).'

'Good morning, Brother Wagner,' said Jean, cheerfully.

The man's eyes then fell on Remy, with even more surprise. 'Oh! Herr LeBeau! You are awake!'

Remy eyed the man warily. He was sure they had never met before, and yet this man knew his name.

'This is Brother Kurt Wagner,' Sister Munroe explained. 'He preaches in the Church on Sundays. He was there when Sister Mary Rose found you on our doorstep.'

Remy stood up and shook the man's hand. 'T'anks for helping me dat night, homme,' he said, unsure how to greet the monk.

The man gave Remy a warm, welcoming smile. 'I hope you are well rested, young man,' he said, clamping Remy on the shoulder. 'These vomen are a force to be reckoned mit!'

Remy suppressed a chuckle. He had the feeling he and this monk were going to get along just fine.

'I better get back to my vork,' Brother Wagner said, moving towards the kitchen door. 'If any of you see my sister, tell her I was looking for her.'

'We will,' Sister Betsy called out from somewhere behind the counter.

'Danke!'

When the door had closed, Remy turned to the Reverend Mother. 'Brot'er Wagner seems to be a cool guy.'

Sister Munroe smiled. 'He is a very sweet man with a kindred soul. He is kind to others and open to strangers.'

'Yes, totally unlike his sister,' Jean added. 'I wonder where she is today.'

'She is best left to her own devices,' said the Reverend Mother, standing up from the table. 'Now, it is nearly nine o'clock, and there is much to be done before noon.' She turned to Remy. 'You may spend the afternoon resting, or you may spend it exploring the convent. I will leave that to you. Just be careful not to over exert yourself. I can tell you are still lacking strength.'

Remy ran a hand through his hair and gave her a smile. 'T'anks for everyt'ing, Sister Munroe.'

The Reverend Mother smiled in return. 'It is my duty. Now, keep out of trouble. I have heard naughty things about your Cajuns!'

Remy let out a hearty laugh as the Reverend Mother departed. His bid his dues to Sister Betsy and Jean, and then lounged out into the hall with one goal in mind. From what he had gathered from the conversation in the kitchen, it had been Brother Wagner's sister – this Sister Mary Rose – who had saved him that rainy night. He wanted to find her. He was sure, by some uncanny comprehension, that she was the one he had been searching for since this morning, and the one who had haunted his dreams. The one with the emerald green eyes.

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Remy yawned, lifting his arms in a stretch as he walked through the corridor between the Church and the convent. He had spent the last half hour roaming about the grounds, searching for a nun with emerald green eyes. He didn't find her, but he did come across many other pleasant sisters. The convent seemed to house about twenty nuns ranging from all age groups. He was also surprised to find young local girls walking around, who were either visiting or had come for lessons. He had learned that the nuns were very active in the community and offered various classes to the local children.

Remy chuckled to himself amusedly as he opened a door off the corridor and entered a garden. Here he was, in a house full of women – a dream come true – but they were either too young for him or had already pledged themselves to Christ. He found it rather ironic.

He stepped out into a garden, admiring the perfectly trimmed hedges and strategically plotted flowers. He continued to walk along a large, stone wall that surrounded one side of the garden. The stones in the wall were large and haphazardly cut with a thin layer of moss scattering the surface. As he walked along it, his mind once again wandering to the emerald eyes of his dreams, he marveled at the silence that had drifted around him. Here, outside in this remote garden, he found himself alone with the beauty of the world. He closed his eyes, basking in the warmth of the sun. Like this, he could forget who he was, and where he had come from. Like this, he could feel the absence of the cold in his heart, and relish in the possibility that his damned soul could be saved.

As his thoughts shifted to pleasanter times, a sudden sound reached his ears. He tilted his head to one side, his eyes still closed but his ears perked. It was the sound of someone humming. He narrowed his brow in concentration. The voice was soft and delicate, the hummed song haunted and sad. He felt drawn to it. He opened his eyes and looked around the garden. He moved hither and thither, but there was no one there.

He was alone.

He lifted his head and concentrated on the sound once more. The humming continued, but it was becoming fainter now. Remy felt the beat of his heart quicken. He didn't want the humming to stop. Like a siren, the beautiful song led him towards the wall. He pressed his ear against the cold rock surface, straining to hear. His red eyes widened. The sound was coming from behind it. He pulled back and looked up. The wall loomed over him, and with a frustrated sigh he realized that it would be impossible to jump over it. There had to be another way.

He began to walk the length of the wall, his hand trailing against the stones in search of something – anything. Then, quite suddenly, his hand ran over a different texture. There, nestled snuggly between two stone pillars, was an old gate. It was carved from wood and the edges were splintered and rundown with age. The hinges had long since rusted, and there was a crusty looking padlock hooped through the gate's handle. Remy tried to open it, but the padlock creaked in protest. He had half a mind to pick the lock – after all, the task wouldn't be that difficult for a master thief. But then a sudden warning wrung through his ears. It was from Sister Betsy and Sister Munroe, warning him to stay away from a locked gate.

Remy's eyes roamed over the dilapidated door. Was this that very gate? He tried to take a step back, eager to avoid breaking the Sisters' trust. Even the humming of that haunted song had stopped. And yet, he couldn't take his eyes off of it. The curiosity was too great, and before he could stop himself, Remy had climbed up the surface of the gate and had jumped over to the other side.

He landed on his feet with a quiet thud, as only a master thief could. He stood up slowly, his eyes taking in his surroundings. He found himself in a small courtyard – yet another garden – but unlike the one he had just come from, this one was wild and free. The ground was laid with large stone tiles. Through the cracks rose long weeds and tiny, white flowers. There were old, looming willow trees in each corner, the branches weeping low enough to brush the surface of the ground. Where there was no stone, the ground sprouted up flowers of every colour and of every make. The petals swayed in a gentle breeze, casting their scent up into the warm air. At the very centre of the garden was a brilliant stone fountain. It was carved in the form of a cherub, and from its tiny hands poured shimmering crystal water.

And then, as if he had been waiting his entire life for this one moment, Remy saw a girl. She was sitting on the edge of the fountain, running her hand over the surface of the water. She seemed oblivious to his presence, and although his trained instinct urged him to disappear into the shadows, Remy's feet remained rooted to the spot. He wasn't exactly sure when his heart had stopped beating… but it didn't matter. Although he was vaguely aware of her religious attire, he was captivated by the sweetness in the air around her.

Remy watched her, entranced, as she stood from where she was sitting and pulled the black headdress away from her head. Dark curls of auburn flowed down her back, bouncing to a stop just above her waist. Her bangs were tainted white and the sun seemed to marvel in the richness of her mane as it caressed each silky strand.

He watched her walk – a vision of pure grace - with his lips slightly parted. She seemed very idle in her movements, her face tilted upwards as if she were basking in the warm sunlight. Every now and then she would bend down and lift a flower blossom to her lips, her smooth hair falling over one shoulder. Remy couldn't even remind himself to breathe, so immersed was he in her every movement.

The young nun was moving towards a small enclosure barred from vision by a wood-paneled wall. He followed her, his footsteps soundless, his eyes hypnotized by the swaying of her black gown. The scent of her was in the air and he inhaled it, slowly, his hand moving up to rest on his chest. He watched curiously as her hands disappeared into the many folds of her robes and Remy suddenly heard the distinct sound of a zipper.

He froze... as the robe loosened and then fell towards the ground.

Surely, somewhere, a pile of feathers lay missing. For here, in his very presence, stood an angel without wings.

The beating of his heart returned and pounded loudly in the palm of his hands. She stood there, in a thin garment of white – so thin, that Remy could see the tinted hue of her flesh beneath it. A soft, cruel breeze caused the garment to flutter and press against each voluptuous curve of her body. She seemed to physically shudder, just as an agonized moan escaped Remy's throat.

He knew that the proper, decent thing was to turn his eyes away. After all, she was a nun, and surely looking unto her with his manly desires radiating throughout his body was one of the heaviest of sins. But he couldn't. He couldn't pull his eyes away, fearful that if he did, he would lose sight of her forever.

He didn't know who she was, or where she had come from, but there was something in the way she walked, in the way she ran her fingers through her hair, and in the way she had hummed that sad, haunted song, that made Remy want to know her. He was drawn to her – as if pulled by some invisible, red ribbon of fate.

He watched as she walked – no, glided – towards the enclosure and disappear from his view. In a frantic state to recapture her presence, Remy darted forward, hastily stepping over her black robes, and pressed a hand against the paneled wall. Through the cracks he could make out her figure, and the urgency in his need for her burst from somewhere inside of him. He could distinctly hear a tap turning, and then the sound of gushing water. In a few moments, steam rose from above the enclosure, and a thought occurred to him. If steam could come out, then surely he could look in?

His eyes quickly darted around and he found himself standing beneath on old tree. Its branches loomed over him, and without thinking, he began to climb. He continued to climb higher, his eyes fixated on the upper most edge of the enclosure. To his delight, he found a branch descending over the paneled wall and, wrapping his body around it, he released his hold on the main tree trunk and crawled out into the air.

He twisted his head and gazed down into the enclosure. The branch groaned in protest beneath him as his entire body gasped at what he saw. The girl had slipped herself into a stone basin filled with water. Remy's throat ran dry. He was watching the girl… taking a bath.

Waist deep in water, she was lifting a pail of soapy suds and pouring the sweetly scented liquid over her head. Remy watched the water trickle over her body, causing her white garment to stick – and nearly disappear – against her smooth skin. He felt his body instantly react to her, and before he could pull his eyes away, the branch gave way from under him.

He fell.

With a loud cry, and a louder splash, Remy fell headlong into the basin below. He resurfaced, sputtering water from his mouth, tantalizingly aware of the soft, bare limbs tangled with his own. He looked up, the girl only inches away from him, and felt the entire world come to a stop. There, glinting through the drops of water that cascaded down from the splash – as if in slow motion – he saw them.

Emerald green eyes.

He froze, everything about him captivated by her presence. Surely she was the loveliest thing he had ever seen. Her large, beautiful eyes were set in a small, delicate face. Her smooth brow was furrowed in shocked surprise, her full, luscious lips trembling in increasing fear. He watched, his gaze breaking from hers, as she made to cover her wet body from his eyes. Remy instantly awoke to the situation at hand.

'I-I'm sorry,' he stammered, smiling at her sheepishly.

But the girl wasn't listening. He watched as the nun hurriedly pulled herself out of the basin, shuddering in sudden distraught. She wouldn't meet his eyes, and Remy suddenly became ashamed of his hasty neglect for her privacy. He lifted himself out of the basin, his clothes soaking wet, and pulled his long bangs out of his eyes.

He could feel her eyes on him, and when he looked up, he saw her looking at him curiously… and then suddenly with recognition. Her lips parted as if to say something, but a sudden crowing of a bird caused her to jump. Before Remy could stop her, she flittered towards the enclosure's exit.

'Wait!' Remy called, reaching out for her.

But she had already gone.

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(1) apse – a semicircular niche at the head of the church where the alter is usually placed.

(2) Guten Morgen – "Good morning" in German (spoken in central Europe).

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Author's Note: SQUEAL!! So how was that first taste of Romyness? Did I do good? Please review! I also think I've written my best line in my writing experience. Can you guess which one? I'm such a cornball!