[OUTRO]
-it's—just-a-broken-heart,-son-/-this-too-shall-pass-away-
Jean-Luc looked down at the little boy, who was sprawled across the sofa in the parlour. Big ruby eyes looked out sightlessly from under limp auburn bangs. He'd finally completely ceased his crying an hour ago. Not for the first time, Jean-Luc was appreciative of Mattie's presence. The ample Vodoun priestess and Guild ally sat beside the boy, her hand rubbing soothing circles on the child's back. She was leant toward him, dark brown-almost-black dreds falling across and obscuring her face from his view. He could hear her voice in a low whisper, a soothing, melodious cadence.
Slowly, the big red eyes that had dully been looking through Jean-Luc LeBeau blinked owlishly and then slowly, gently like a feather falling, they slid closed. Long thick lashes fluttered against high, pale, freckle-dusted and tear-stained cheekbones. As the boy drifted off to sleep, Mattie's piercing grey eyes turned up to the Thieves Guild patriarch.
"I know whatcha got t' do, Luc. But d'ya undastan' whatcha'll need t' do?"
Mattie was considered part of the upper echelon in the Guilds. She understood the sacrifices and duties necessary in a way Della could not.
"I gotta present 'im t' the Antiquary, Mattie."
"I know dat, Jean-Luc. But jus' as y' gotta hand dis heah po' bébé ovah t' dat man, y' go'n make sure t' get 'im back one day, you hear me?"
Mattie spoke aloud Jean-Luc's own unvoiced sentiments. Giving the red-eyed boy over to the Antiquary for his collection and his aid to the Thieves Guild over the Assassins' was necessary. But Jean-Luc heard the hushed rumours about the old man. That he was a letch, a monster, and the children he kept no more than listless zombies for his twisted pleasure. The Guildmaster had tried to push those tales from his mind, but they were there, in the dark corners, rankling.
Mattie looked back to the fretfully slumbering boy, passing a hand through his vibrant cinnabar hair, calming him. She didn't look back at Jean-Luc as she firmly stated, "You promise me heah dat y'll get dis boy back, d'accord?"
It was in the form of a request, but Jean-Luc understood the demand it was.
"My oath, Mattie Baptiste."
Grey eyes held him severely.
At that moment, the quiet uh-hem of a throat being cleared split the tension. "Poppa?"
Jean-Luc turned to face his seventeen-year-old son Henri, standing in the doorway. "Oui, Henri?"
Henri glanced at the little boy on the sofa before meeting his father's eyes. "De Antiquary's man phoned; he'll see y' in an hour. He say get de boy an' meet him at 'is conclave."
"Bien." Jean-Luc met Mattie's gaze. The healer stood with matronly grace and gathered the child. He whimpered and stuck his thumb in his little mouth. Jean-Luc indicated to Henri with a nod to take the boy from Mattie. As Henri did so and headed out the door, Jean-Luc in step behind him, Mattie stalled the Guildmaster with a surprisingly strong hand at his elbow.
Green eyes met grey. A moment of silent conversation – reminding him of his vow.
"…I don' know when, Mattie—"
Mattie shook her head. "Just bring him back, Luc."
Jean-Luc nodded, and with a lump in his throat and a heavy heart, left.
He didn't know if he would ever be able to get the child back from the Antiquary, but Mattie seemed to have faith that the boy would be returned – she didn't say it out loud, but Jean-Luc caught it. Mattie had a sense about things, and he wouldn't doubt her.
He just didn't know if he could believe it himself.
An hour and fifteen minutes later, the slumbering toddler was handed over to the cloaked man, his spindly, ghost-pale fingers grasping the slight body with thinly veiled greed.
"Your gracious offering will be well rewarded, Monsieur LeBeau," the crackly voice said.
"Merci beaucoup, Monsieur Antiquary. The Thieves Guild is grateful, and glad to be of service."
A wicked smile of yellowed and browned teeth gleamed beneath the cowl. Jean-Luc suppressed his shudder.
"Au reviour, Monsieur LeBeau." And the Antiquary melted back into the shadows, Roxanne Delacroix's little boy with the rich burnt-red hair and the eyes like embers sucked into the darkness, property of the shadowy man now.
With a heavy sigh, Jean-Luc LeBeau turned away.
It was eight years before Jean-Luc brought Remy back home, and only eight more until he was forced to send him away once more.
(The lyric in the page break is from "Momma Sed" by Puscifer.)
