AN/ Holy FACK you guys. I love you! I got eight reviews from the time I posted to the time I got up next morning. (Okay, so it was more like 1 in the afternoon.) Y'all make me wanna write MOAR! :D :D :D
On with the show!
XxXxXxXxX
Professor's POV:
He may not know it, but the young man sitting across from me in my office at this moment looks, quite frankly, like he's been run over by a truck. He has dark circles under his eyes, and a weary look about him. His dark auburn hair is messy and tangled, and it looks like he slept in his clothes. By the set of his shoulders, I can tell he is stressed beyond belief. There is also the matter of the wound on his arm, he really should get that looked at by Henry. I try to send calm emotions toward him, but I had forgotten about his heavy mental shields. I feel bad for him, he is so obviously distressed over something, and I can do nothing about it.
"Gambit, if I may ask, what brought you back up north?"
"Um, family situations, Sir." I can't help but crack a smile at the "Sir" comment. He is well mannered for a thief.
"Ah. I see. Well, then, are you looking for a place to stay?" It is the least I can do.
"I wouldn' want t' impose," he starts. But some of a though leaks through, he's thinking, though I really don't have anywhere else.
"You wouldn't impose at all, I assure you. If I can manage to house half a dozen teenagers and a throng of college-age kids, I'm sure we can handle you and your young son." His shoulders sag in relief.
"Merci, Professor." He shifts in his chair a bit, unsure what to say. I help him out a bit,
"There's a phone in the hallway just outside. Perhaps you would like to call someone in New Orleans and tell them you got here alright?" he nods and exits the room.
I can tell it's going to be interesting having him and his son live here. I just hope that when the inevitable tensions between Scott and our newest member come to a head, there won't be too much aftermath.
XxXxXxXxX
Remy's POV:
Well, if that wasn't just awkward. Seeing that man again, after all these years, is bringing up all the old guilt. I mean, he's an old man! And I was working for his enemy trying to crush all his lifelong dreams. I'm thinking that Wolverine was probably very correct in calling me a slimebag. I feel slimy.
The professor's parting words had been true, I need to call Pere and Henri. And I'm probably going to have to try and pacify Tante Mattie about leaving without saying goodbye. But a phone in a hallway seems a bit too public for that…
I walk until I get back to the stairs, and try to remember from old schematics where everything is. I'm pretty sure that nobody will be in the lower levels right now, and I'm almost positive that there's a phone mounted on the wall in the Medlab. Ugh. Labs… For some reason they make me uneasy, same case with hospitals. I hate them. But I need to contact my family and I really need to clean and bandage my arm.
I head down the stairs and to the right, bypass the hall that leads to the common rooms, and come to an elevator. That's what I'm looking for! Looking around while I wait for the elevator, I realize that this place is almost frozen in time. I guess life here hasn't changed much. Same can't be said for myself…
Stepping out of the elevator on the lowest level of the mansion, I had turned the corner to see glass doors leading to a white room. It had lots of used up counterspace, (books and notes and beakers) and it looked like a science lab. Through some more glass doors, though, I could see some beds with heart monitors and IV holders.
I walked in and opened the first cabinet I saw. No, looks like… Twinkies? Well if that's what they feed the patients around here, I might start despising check ups a tiny bit less.
The next was pills and prescription papers, and I finally yielded results when I found gauze and antiseptic in the third cabinet. Looking around, I found the sink and the pone was mounted on the wall next to it. I dialed the personal phone in Pere's office and hit the speakerphone button so I could tend to my arm.
"Bonjour, LeBeau speaking."
"Hey Pere."
"Remy! Y' wanna tell me where de hell y' are an' why y' dere? An' where's my grandson!"
"In short, an' in order, we're in New York, we're her because mon chienne of a wife ordered a hit on Alexander, and he's in de kitchen wit' Stormy currently, if I'm not mistaken." (chienne: bitch)
"Stormy? As in Ororo?"
"Oui, dat's de one. Ain't like we know any other Stormy's."
"Ah. An' y' say Belladon… What is dat sound?"
"Dat would be me struggling t' use une hand t' rip gauze b'cause I don' know where any damn scissors are!" In doing so, I had knocked over the bottle of antiseptic, which spilled all over the front of my jeans and the floor. I had also knocked what looked to be some very carefully laid out notes for an experiment, which were now getting soaked with antiseptic. Fan-fuckin'-tastic.
"Merde!" I curse. "I don' even know what dat stuff is!"
Then, suddenly, there are large, clawed, and furry blue hands picking up the end of my gauze strip and cutting it off to a good length for me.
"Jesus! How long you been in here, Blue?"
"Actually, I was in the other room running some DNA work from Scotland… I decided I should probably come help you after I heard the 'scissors' comment… Oh, dear." Beast picked up his soggy notes. "I'm going to have to rewrite all of this."
"Desole, I—"
"Who is dat, Remy?"
"I'm Henry McCoy, the resident medical practitioner and scientist for Xavier's School for the Gifted," he answers for me.
"Y' didn' say y' were dere, Remy! Of all de places!" Pere says. "Really Remy! Dey're yo enemies!"
"Non, Pere. Not anymore," I say firmly. I really want to stop this tirade before he starts it. It's not like I wasn't hearing this same damn rant for a whole month after I brought Rogue down to New Orleans. He was grateful to her, of course, those assassins had him trussed up all nice to kill. Nonetheless, when he found out that the girl I had brought into guild business was one of the people I was supposed to be sworn against, (and that I was quite taken with her,) he flipped out.
"Fils, y' know as well as anyone down in N'Awlins that a man who is once y' enemy, always y' enemy." I roll my eyes at this as I start to help Henry clean up the mess I made. "An' de oh-so-lovely Marius Boudreaux taught me dat. Hell, all de Boudreaux people, since de beginning of de guilds. Candra intended fo' de guilds t' be two halves o' a whole unit. But nooo—Stupid Boudreaux wanted de elixir as well as de power! He made an attempt on de life o' de firs' LeBeau patriarch! De end result is de same—y' jus' can't trust dem!" (Fils: son)
"Y' do realize dat I'm goin' t' ignore everyt'ing y' jus' said, Pere? De X-Men are NOT assassins! Dey're good people headed by dis professor who's so good dat he offered a lowly, t'ievin' rat like me a place in his household wit'out second thought."
"But Remy—"
"Non, Pere! Dis is prob'ly de safest place in de world for me to raise Xandy. His eyes make him an obvious mutant, an' y' know what? Even if I did believe dis crock y' tryin' t' sell me, I wouldn' leave dis place. Xandy got his mutation today."
"Merde."
"Yeah. So, if y' don' have anyt'ing else t' say, 'm gonna go find my son." And I pressed the end call button. "Crotchety ol' man," I muttered. Beast smirked.
"I take it you two are not exactly the best of friends?" he asked.
"Somet'ing like dat," I replied. "Sorry 'bout de mess. Didn' mean t' screw up y' research or anyt'ing."
"It's fine, I wasn't that far along with it. It was maybe a day's work that was ruined, that's all." He got a mischievous glint on his eye. "But to make up for it, you could do some filing down here. I can always use the help," he says. I can't believe I've been here twenty minutes and I'm already being roped into chores. But I look around the Medlab and see that he's right. The lab portion is covered in science notes, pages of math, folders and books galore. It doesn't look untidy, though. It's actually very straight and neat. But there is almost NO space on any horizontal surface in here.
"You see," he gestures around. "I get into my work and really don't find the time to put it all away before I stumble over to that couch to sleep," he motions to a pea-green shaggy couch in the corner of the room. For some reason I'm reminded of Greta Gator. "And if I'm in a particularly energetic mood, I stumble up to my bedroom instead. Either way, I really don't do my own filing work."
I nod and head out the door with promises of returning a different day to file. I really need to find Xandy.
"Oh, and Mr. LeBeau?" he calls out. I look over my shoulder toward the door. "Next time, get me or Jean to bandage you up. Wouldn't want you to knock over any beakers of acid, now."
XxXxXxXxX
"An' den, we drived in de car fo' a really long time. An' dat was how my bir'day went!" Xandy finished what was probably an epic story as I walked into the kitchen. Stormy looked at me and raised an eyebrow.
"Seems you two have been busy. But one must wonder, why would you come on a special birthday trip so unprepared?" she asked me. Seems she wasn't believing my story nearly as easily as Xandy was. Damn, how I wish Stormy was a five-year-old.
"Err, it's b'cause I knew y' would be able to put us up fo' a while, no trouble. I mean, yo' live in a mansion." As I said this, the redhead walked in. Saved by the psychic.
"Gambit!" she exclaims and telekinetically throws me up against a wall. Okay, so maybe I'm not exactly saved, per se.
"Hey! Stop doin' dat t' my daddy!" Xandy yells. He runs over to her and starts beating on her leg with his little fists. She loses her concentration and I drop to the floor gracefully like a sack of rocks. I walk over to Xandy, pick him up, and throw him over my shoulder.
"Y' don' hit a lady, fils." I set him down on the counter where he had been when he was talking to Stormy.
"You have a son?" the redhead asks. I think her name started wit' a J…
"Yeah, Janine. Obviously," I say as I gesture to Xandy.
"That's Jean," she informs me. Oh well. I was only a little bit off. I look over at Stormy to see that she's trying to hide a bout of laughing.
"What's so funny, eh Stormy?"
"That's the third time today that someone's been able to get the uppher hand on you, Remy. I think you're losing your touch."
"Hell no I ain't!" I protest. "I jus' have a lot on my mind, is all." Janine looks a bit confused as to our familiarity. I decide to get Stormy back. "Well, I bet y' can't even open a lock in under thirty seconds anymore."
"Oh, yes I can. Unlike some people, I practice the skills that I hone to perfection."
"Y' t'ink I don' practice my t'ievin' skills, Stormy? I am offended," I joke.
"Wait, Ororo, were you a thief when you lived in New Orleans?" Janine asks.
"Yep," I answer for Stormy. "She would still hold a master rank, if she ever took jobs t' be evaluated on. Y' really should get y' rank reinstated, Stormy. Y' know dat y' gotta either stay active in de field or reinstate every trois years."
"I am not a thief anymore, Remy. You know that."
"But y' still family t' de LeBeaus. Y' know it killed Pere dat we lost y' right after we lost ma Mere."
"K just couldn't live in that house anymore Remy. Alexandra was my best friend, and the guild house had so much that reminded me of her."
"Oui, but d' y' t'ink it was easy fo' Pere, bein' in dat house? She was his wife, for god sakes! She was Henri's biological mother, she was something to everyone that lived in dat house an' y' were de only one dat left. We missed y,' Chere." It looked like she was going to reply, but Janine cut in.
"Uh, Gambit? I think your son took off." I look around for Xandy, he's nowhere in sight.
"Oh, merde."
That kid sure as hell knows how to disappear.
"Was it because of what we were saying?" Stormy asks worriedly.
"Non, he just don' like t' sit still fo' a long time. Especially now, lord knows he been sittin' still long enough in de past day an' a half." I walk out of the kitchen to start looking for him.
"He's in the back yard," Janine says. I look over and see her hands up to her temples.
"Merci, Janine," I say before I run off in the direction of the backyard.
"It's Jean!"