A/N - Some Arabic words, places and phrases are mentioned in this installment. Here's a Quick breakdown of some meanings.

~Massa Ilkheir - Good Afternoon.
~Ana 'Andi Hags hina - I have a reservation here.
~Ou'da Nimra sabbah ~ Room Number seven
~Shukran - Thank you
~Assalaam Alieikum - Welcome or Peace be with you
~Sayyid - Sir
~Shisha - Hookah
~Aywa - Yes
~ Tayyib - Okay
~Midaans - Square

Also: Mild Language and Drug References are mentioned in this installment. Heads up.

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Not to distant past.
El Qahira Masr - Cairo, Egypt

"Massa' ilkheir. 'Ana David Munroe. 'Ana 'andi Hags hina."

The short man standing behind the reservation desk with a taut mustache nodded assuredly. After the tall distinguished and dark skinned gentlemen handed him a passport and credit card as usual procedure for foreign visits go, the ensuing transaction began. After a few seconds as it reached completion, he man handed over a key sparing a few glances at the woman beside him; white-tressed tall and speaking something in English. She held the hand of a child no more then three or four who had apparently inherited the same unique genes.

"'Ou'da nimra sabbah, Sayyid."

"Shukran." David admonished taking his things back. There was no misgivings when the reservationist nodded his head and returned in kind.

"Assaalam Alieikum. Your Arabic is good sayyid Munroe and I hope Ad'Badan will meet to satisfaction. Amir take bags to il'room.... New York?"

David paused briefly watching the bellboy youth take their bags followed by his wife toward the staircase.

"Yes. And your English is not bad either."

Arching an eyebrow, he waited for what would come next. He smiled a faint smile.

"It's a good city."

And without any other word, he ended the impromptu conversion but not before leaning in, his obsidian eyes glaring in worry at the woman and child again handing him a pamphlet, complete in four languages.

"Information. Metro, Taksi's, Buses, Restaurants, Cinema, theatre, cafes, midaans, genuine tour guides and the rest. Helpful things to have while in Masr. Though I would highly advice to keep il'curfews."

Israel's latest aggressive maneuvers on the Gaza strip. It was why he emphasized 'keeping curfews'. Pockets of Islamic resistance had been springing up all around the city opposing anything with a western stamp and if the shouts of "Israel Burn!" "Western-pig scum burn!" were any indication, David took the advice with an appreciative nod.
But he also accepted the assignment of archiving Egypt's latest find weeks before trouble started re-brewing. Being a prominent photo-journalist currently under contract with National Geographic with the honour of uncovering rare gifts the world offered, (the most precious being a princess from Kenya that became his wife nearly four years ago), he also knew of dangers it could include. Not that David Munroe didn't know a thing or two about survival ( he did grow up Black, poor and in Harlem), but now he had a family to worry about. A cloud of apprehension settled over him.

"I'm aware. Thank you."

And with that he made his way to the stairwell taking his young daughter into his arms. She smiled a bouncing smile.

" You take me to see the pyramids, daddy?" She was a little too smart for her only four years.

"We'll see but remember what we talked about? Arabic now."

She tugged onto his shirt sleeve meeting his eye.

"Aywa."

Present.
Quebec. 11:02PM

Ororo found herself pulsing against the wall of smoke that streamlined in her direction as the silent memory came to a close.
The atmosphere was all out ambiance as she took another sip of chai tea and turned to Remy, who finished a long hit letting the sweet scent of Mas'al enter his lungs. He closed his eyes inhaling deeply as his head shimmied in motion to the stringed instrumentation and smooth French vocals that ran the sound system. It was a seductive number by the Middle Eastern singer, Natacha Atlas. Ororo recognized her vocals immediately from the more then thirty songs stashed on her IPOD and seasons of dancing around her greenhouse during rare bouts of downtime. Hearing it outside of headphones was nice for a change as she mused to herself and a deft smile surfaced.

Remy, who sauntered on in his state of bliss, was working on pulling in another drag from the mouthpiece.

"I must say, when you said 'I have dis place we go,' " She mocked playfully in his accent watching him pull the hose away again meeting her at eye level, "I didn't expect this."

Remy smiled that devilish and charming smile that belonged to him only. " What can be said Padnat? Remy fulla' surprises."

It was a most true statement. A Hookah Lounge on the outskirts of Old Montreal was the last place she expected him to take her. A nightclub, yeah. A casino, well duh; the man was codenamed Gambit and shot the Ace of Spades out his sleeves as natural as it was to breath. But she never would have guessed him to settle on a laid back shisha lounge.

While Ororo seemed to come off as the ideal picture of health awareness to those who knew her, it was no mystery she was just as big a sensualist. Why else for midnight flights in the buff? Or the expense of Egyptian cotton and silk bedsheets? Or the arduous work of keeping Orchids year round in a climate that readily agrees with it? All came down to pleasing the senses. Smoking shisha had been in the same realm; an extension of social and aesthetic pleasure. Of course, teaching, leading and living at a school where you are suppose to be setting the example required sacrifice and in her instance, putting all proverbial forms of the bong away. Maybe that decision continued to carry over since she turned down the hookah Remy tried to pass to her and settled on sucking up some more tea instead. Amused all the same, she recalled meeting with the shisha at age seven in the bazaars near Salah Salam Street. Maybe if it was hashish in that pipe rather then honey-simmered tobacco, she'd be eating her good morals right now.

Ororo sighed. Ever since stepping foot in Montreal, from the sounds to the smells and then the sights, everything had become a beacon reminding her of onerous times from long ago. Memories. Recollections. That woman with her crowned jewels concealed in dark sunglasses lying about where she came from didn't nothing to help matters. Goddess have a mind on what that was about... The short interlude still pulled at her, definitely unfinished and most definitely unresolved. Signs clamored to a revelation being had before the night was out and Ororo tried to poise herself for when that eventuality was met. Instead, more of the spiced chai tea made it to her lips; she was nearly done with the thing. If only her anxieties would dissipate as easy as the fluid that rode down her throat did...

Sensing the drop in good spirits, Remy returned the shisha to the middle of the table with a careful eye on his beloved Padnat. He hoped that getting Ororo out of that god forsaken maze of emotionally charged teenagers with never-ending responsibilities and eventually out of the country for one night would help to wash away ad least some tensions. No Dice. Apparently all his forethought of taking her somewhere she'd enjoy had come crashing down as nothing more then a bad idea. It reminded him of why he didn't think twice, instincts were always a better gauge. He should have just gone with that casino on the other side of town.... but now he was determined to find out what was simmering in those Cerulean depths.

"Dis good. Be better hash thou'...."

She mustered a soft grin under the dim candles that lit the lounge. Remy felt a surge of accomplishment at that. The 'not thinking' strategy was working.

"I might tend to agree with you and if you repeat that to anyone, I just might have your head. I've got a reputation to protect."

Remy laughed heartily.

" Ah yes, some'tin bout bein' da supreme goddess non? But don' t'ink fer a second Remy's forgotten how ya hit it in da' Bayou. You could put da' most devout Rastafarians ta shame, chere. And maybe I keep yer secret at a price, non?"

"How does successfully avoiding twelve thousand watts up the ass sound for a tiebreaker?"

"Dangerous. Do it come wit' a.... satisfaction guarantee?"

Well, ad least Remy wasnt homophobic. She settled in short stouts of chuckle, "Hardly..."

"Den yer' open to liabilities, chere. T'ink of some'tin better ta' buy dis Cajun's silence."

Ororo pondered over other choices of blackmail. Apparently torture, pain and the threat of death wasn't doing it. Ah, there. She found it.

"I'll spill the secret on your Britney Spears obsession to everyone. What is it? Something about supporting local Louisianians? So help me god...."

"Like da' lot would believe dat......" he sounded confident but Ororo knew better, continuing on as if he hadn't pronounced assurance.

"The CDs, the daydreams, tickets for her Circus tour...."

"Wha?!!!!" He squealed as if someone just gave him a nipple twister followed by a wet willy. "Remy would never..."

"Of course not. Just a matter of laundry day, your blazer, inside pocket sweep......"

"Merde......"

"Your slipping, bro. Maybe her music is killing your brain cells?"

Remy grumbled in defeat. Ororo felt the rush of satisfaction.

"Dats evil, chere. Low."

" So now that I got your silence....." she bristled on ignoring him, "Remember the time in La Bearodox we jacked that 70' Chevy Camaro Z28 Chrome and black? Goddess she rode like a dream....." Ororo's sloshed over dreamily at her felonious past crimes.
"We lived like royality for a month on that one."

Remy bounced back from the threat of Spears as he hoped the talk of degenerate things might wipe out the last discovery.
"Oui....an' da 66' El Camino stint in Houma....."

Ororo laughed throwing her arms around him."Yeah, almost got slammed for that one. Almost ."

"Golden Meadow, '74 Corvette..."

"Leeville, 69' Pontiac GTO Judge.."

"Galliano, 67' Ford Cobra..."

"Fausee Pointe, 67' Porshe 812..."

She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed. " 67' was a good year."

He looked down at her in reverence, his arm snaking at her back.
"Oui, it was. Maybe next trip we take will be home. Jean-Luc would love ta see you chere. Though getting ya to come wit' me t'night was like fightin' fire'n' brimstone."

Another sigh.

"I know. I'm a sour puss. Proverbial work mule. A sadist under duty. The world needs saving...sign me up..blah... blah.. blah....."

His fingers stroked tenderly at her side as her eyes fluttered in contentment.

"Admitting da' problem is first....." She pinched his the nape of his neck. "Your evil, chere. What's wit' da' violence t'night?"

"Enjoying your folly. Enjoying you." She looked up with a warm inviting smile. "I've missed you."

"And I you, bella."

A silence passed between them for a few minutes as they both basked in each others presence. Ororo couldn't recall why she and Remy never officially got together. He was nothing but gorgeous: auburn tresses that nearly glowed black under low-lights, mysterious crimson eyes only agate to little black and all framed with those thick luscious eyelashes. Skin rough yet smooth, deep yet tan and although his trench-coats and blazers hid his body, she'd seen enough of this taut and muscled frame to know it was a thing of beauty. And then there was his personality, sleek and flirtatious, something she usually couldn't stand on any other testosterone driven male, but on him, it just worked.
And of course the love for old cars; the talent for boosting them, the history of thieving to survive......no-one quite understood her like he did, and Remy never tried. It was second nature; for all she had to do was crinkle a lip, arch an eyebrow, or avert her eyes for him to know exactly what was on her mind. They were two sides to the same coin. Ying to Yang, light and dark....literally.

And that was the reason they would never be together, Ororo concluded: Remy was family. Lovers were bound to appear, put your hopes up, have you sore then crush it all into the ether. And in the end when all was said and done, he would be there, putting the fragile pieces back together. A brother for the ages; a blessing from the Goddess........not many people could claim to have what she had. It warmed her stomach, until reality sank back in.

"Whats da' matter?"

There it was again, his knowing. He couldn't have possibly seen the crinkle of her lip from that position.

"Just thinking is all..."

"Shouldn't do dat."

"What thinking?"

"Oui. Just say it n'stead. Comes out better."

"Well..."

"Don' hesitate, Chere. Say it."

There was a silence for a time before Remy saw her eyes retreating to melancholy once again. Her eyes fixated on the shisha sitting on the table.

"Remy sorry if dis bring up bad mem'ries. If you wanna go, just say da word. Dis be yer night."

Ororo took another swig of now lukewarm Chai finishing it off.

"You know, this isn't cutting it."

"K, we go 'den."

"I want some Turkish Coffee."

With that she broke their intimate bond and moved from the rug they say on.

Remy made a face. "I could neva' unda'stand dat' black mess on dregs as bein' good...."

She grinned in reprise. "Many would say the same thing about your crawfish surprise..."

"Dey all be tasteless bastards."

She kissed him on the forehead before standing.

"Money please?"

Remy handed off a bill and before reaching the bar she could see he had resumed another drag on the shisha. Of all his pleasantries, the man was a walking chimney. A few minutes later, Ororo waited for her brew to be had as she tapped her hand on counter top. It was a polished wood, most likely mahogany. Here goes nothing.

"I know you've been following me and I neither like being lied or trailed. Care to tell me who you are before I fry your ass?"

It was a simple enough request. A silhouette moved to the bar by her side. Ororo had felt the lingering presence minutes after entering the lounge but chose only now to confront it. It was something about revelations being had..... yeah. Something like that.

"Well when you put it that way....."

Ororo finally looked up. She was greeted with the same dark skinned woman from the streets as expected, but this time with more liberties. Her scarf was cast aside to reveal well groomed dreads that extended past her mid-arm and emblazoned a copper tone off the candle flames. Also gone was those ridiculous glasses leaving her eyes subject to view. The eyes. Ah, the one feature that gave passage to person's being. And by the Goddess they were the brightest-yet-darkest hue of Blafsje, or violet she had seen. A fellow mutant perhaps? Contacts maybe? The lighting magnified them to enigmatic heights.

"Do I know you?...." Ororo sprang her own bright blue orbs on her. Okay it wasn't the best opening statement, but she was going with 'Remy logic'. Just say it.

"Maybe. Maybe not. But we can change that."

"Your from Cairo. I know that."

"Aywa. That I am."

Well good she came to terms with that. Now for the next question.

"Then why lie about it if I might not know you? And how are you speaking almost perfect English now..."

There was a pause before the woman answered. Her accent was still there, but nowhere near as heavy as it was on the street corner. Her enunciation, nearly perfect.

"Instinct to not believe at first. To think you've gone through life so long that closure would never come......Maybe those things and more."

Ororo felt a prickle of sensation at her logic. Exactly how I feel on many levels. Who was this?

"Been running long, Ororo? Sometimes one gets sick of it. "

Ororo paused, shock and awe setting in. She knew her name. Impossible, or was it a possibility? She began to think. Where and How could she know me? Was it one of Farouk's other novices? Encounters in midaans of Bolaq? El Wayli market places? El Saiyida Zeinab Baazars? Nile boat-hoisting? City of the Dead escapades? Geziret El Roda, Badran? Abdin? Giza, Pyramid Road? Imbada? The crowded tenamants in Shubra? Her mind flashed like a well organized database, but was hard to pull up anything in all the stones of El Qahira she had tread. She looked no older then Ororo's late twenties, or maybe pushing thirty. The only thing still pulling a faint picture in mind was those eyes, those violet eyes.

"Who are you?"

Somewhere among that scenario, she looked down to see her Turkish coffeehad arrived, and felt the need to take a drag of it. Maybe the caffeine might pump her memory. With eager interest, she met the woman again, who was staring as if she was nothing more then transparent; her palms propped holding her head up in utter boredom. She fluttered her long dark eyelashes as a cloud of smoke moved in from behind her and with it, Remy Lebeau.

"Stormy makes friends an' don' introduce 'em. Dat's not polite, chere. " His voice was playfully sarcastic while his eyes betrayed a careful approach calculating a mental assessment of the woman sitting next to Ororo. She looked serene, but he lived and saw enough to know looks were deceiving.

"Your just in time, Remy. She was about to disclose that information to me as well."

The woman darted her gaze between them both before settling on Ororo once again.

"You really don't recall?"

"If I did I wouldn't be asking now would I?"

"It was a terrible day. Maybe your mind just censored it....but somehow, you still remembered this.."

The woman pulled out the necklace from under her flowing chiffon collar. Jade, gold and silver. Interlooping hooks, intricate designs around the rims. Ororo faded from this world as another flash-black penetrated. El Gezira. She was eight. Farouk sent her in to rip off some Persian oil tycoon. While she a made out with a large amount of currency, her bounty was a trinket stashed deep in the folds of his coat....
Nothing fit. The necklace and her presence were two separate memories.

"That was years ago and I don't recall you." she protested. "And my patience is wearing thin. Tell me who you are, now."

"So that makes all the difference in the world that it was 'years ago' and taking things that aren't yours is just taaayyyyib, non?"

The woman rose to meet her eye level, unabashed anger swelling in her chest as she breathed in and out. What was she really on about? So Ororo stole from a rich man. It wasn't like they spent money on holier worthwhile things - hell she'd seen god-awful wealthy Saudis and Iranians easily waste thousands of pounds to a dancers garter. It wasn't like she struck them down in cold blood. She leveled her reasoning either way.

"No. It doesnt. " Her voice dropped a few octaves, "But neither does dictating a person's character now from what they did twenty years ago as a child."

There was spark of irritation in her tone indicating a fine line was being tread. Remy watched the heat bellow in her eyes and hoped the stranger was smart enough to see it as well.

"Of course, then. So I guess stealing cars gets your kicks on now, doesn't it?" Blast.

"It did, not so much anymore."

"Maybe the name Ad'Badan sounds familiar...."

And that it did. Click. Ding. Revelation number one. Ororo felt herself slipping from right under her own feet.

"Allah have mercy..."

"What, Chere?"

"YHWH have mercy..."

"What?"

"Goddess have mercy...."

Remy put a hand on her shoulder trying to steady her.

"I am guessing that means you remember now?"

"What she talkin' about?"

Ororo clamored for a seat as she took in the newly disposed information. Now wasn't a good time to be jerking with her fragile mind.
Suddenly things went grey, the room decided to spin between clouds of smoke, senses filtered below and the abyss descended down.
Revelations it would be. Remy caught Ororo in his arms right before she hit the back of the bar top.
Gently cupping her to him, he turned back to the stranger.

"What demons you bring on her, femme?"

"Nothing more then I've endured." Her octave was low and something about it's matter held a haunting memento. A loss. A deep loss.

Without a word, she headed out of the lounge. He watched her disappear through the door, pondering what the hell was going on before making haste himself as an audience started to form at the drama. A few minutes later found him well enough down the street and on a bench with Ororo's head cradled in his lap. Light slaps were administered to get her conscience again. So much for his stormy getting decent night off. Drama seemed to follow her wherever she went.

"Stormy? Come ta Remy."

His words were soft encouragement as her eyes fluttered ever so lightly. He ran his amble fingers down the side of her cheek as she came back to the land of the living. She looked up to see Remy's red on black eyes staring down at her.

"Remy?"

"Hush, padnat. So'k."

She blinked furiously.

"I just had this bad trip..."

"Really? Tell Remy bout it."

"Someone from my past surfaced..."

"Oui? Who,chere?"

"Someone......"

"Really?"

Ororo wiped off her daze, pulling herself from Remy's lap. People passed idly by on a street corner with neon signs. She slapped her forehead in retort.

"Oh god. It wasn't a trip."

"Non. And Stormy didn't even smoke da' shisha..."

"Do shut up. Where did she go?"

"Not sure. But anyone who would make my Stormy black out isn't good company. Remy don' like seeing you stress."

"Its not about my well being now. We need to find that woman. Where did she go?"

She roused herself from the bench pacing the small strip, turning in every direction.

"Remy didn't see."

"God.."

Ororo sat down in defeat, shielding her face to her palms. Remy sat in touching support next to her, an arm extending.

"Tell Remy what's goin on....."

He felt a her tighten at the thought.

"It's vague...." Ororo struggled, stopping momentarily before continuing. "And I don't remember..... But, she said something about the Ad'Badan name."

Remy held a silence for a space of minutes. She eventually readjusted her gaze to fixate on him before continuing.

"Ad'Badan was the hotel my parents stayed at...... and the place they died........ along with the hotel staff and thirty other people."

Remy's eyes narrowed. "Da Bombing?"

"There was a bombing......" her head lowered. It had shame written all over it.

"But the bombing isn't what killed them.......I did."