Disclaimer: I do not own Gambit, nor any other Marvel character.
N'awlins winters were, thankfully, not as severe as in other parts of the world. The boy in hole filled clothes was thankful for this fact on a daily basis in the month of January. Cold, but bearable. Of all his clothes, the small sunglasses were what he was proudest of. His most cherished possession filched from a vendor in the summer. Those precious dark glasses kept the pain of the sun from his eyes, and more importantly, kept people from seeing his cursed eyes.
Eyes that earned him kicks, and shouts of 'Devil'. Reactions he'd gotten so used to he'd come to expect them in the years he'd lived on the street. Sleeping in dumpsters, buildings awaiting demolishing, anywhere he could find that might blessedly be called a 'safe' place for a night. That was the important part, safety. Shelter was secondary to safety.
His stomach groaned in protest of being empty, yet again. Even at his young age – not that he or anyone else could really say how old he was, he was accounted one of the best filchers on the streets. Sometimes he hung with a group of urchins, but that had ended illy too many times for him to do it except during times of duress. Young children were jealous, and being close to others always pressed in on him. He didn't like it. Yet even the best of young thieves amongst the urchins, vendors learned the tricks used against them over time. It was an ever changing game of adaptation.
It was the one thing the young red-brown haired child was a master at. Adapting, thinking on his toes. He'd never been given a choice in the matter though. Right now, the youth stared in envy at a mother leading a child his age out of an ice cream shop. Ice cream wasn't very filling, but it looked so good, and the child looked so happy with it.
"Get out of here boy!" Jumping, and scurrying down the alleys, the thief only shot a hidden yet cautious glare behind him as the baker threw out the unsold bits of yesterday. Merde. Dat was gonna be my breakfast! Fat bastard be slow today, shoulda waited around de corner.
Running feet only carried him so far, at war with a growling stomach. Crawling through a construction site, the boy came to a halt upon hearing a high pitched young womans voice.
"Ya better be getting ya hands off me, or ya gonna be--" she was shouting, before a shriek went into the air. One of pain, as one of the two men assaulting her cried out in pain at getting a foot in the groin. It was the young girls turn to shriek when she got back handed by the man once he got back up, while his compatriot held her.
The boy was frozen in place for what seemed like eternity. The young woman was beautiful, in a white dress that looked the type he'd seen wealthier women wearing into Church. She was the most enchanting thing he'd ever seen – and that was saying a lot, when everything you saw looked enchanting or exquisite and far far beyond the reach of a street urchin who struggled just to survive. Worse yet, the Angel, he'd decided that's what she was, was sending off waves of fear and pain. He couldn't let these men do anything to her!
It was then he became aware of the wind gusting against his face, and his feet pounding against pavement – he was moving. Already in movement, the youth took stock of his arsenal such as it was. A rock, and a knife that was just a touch too large for him. It would have to do. As he bounced down from a higher perspective, jumping down with anger he'd never felt the match of, dirty feet struck the first man in the face. Gravity and momentum alone could only explain why such a large man would stumble from such a blow.
Even as he scrambled to his feet, he was launching the rock at the other mans face, before spinning and lashing the man he'd kicked in the stomach with his knife. Even as the one he stabbed started to howl in pain, so did the other man. Who had a finely made dagger protruding from his side.
And very much unlike how he thought this might play out, the angel had grasped his arm, smiled a bright young girls smile at him as if she'd just won a game of tag and jerked his hand. "C'mon, we gotta get outta here. Dese fools mebbe got friends!"
The sound of two childrens feet as they fled interspersed with the groans and moans of the injured men.
Panting. There had been much of that, when they came to a stop blocks away in a park. The young boy panting even more then the girl, as he fell onto the ground admists the bunch of bushes they'd settled into. A hiding spot he knew well.
"Thanks for de help. I'm Bella. Y'gotta name?" When his Angel spoke to him again, he looked up at her from his panting. Her gaze wasn't entirely dismissive, but she was eying him with some distaste. Or perhaps, eying his rags and bare feet with distaste.
"You an Angel?" It was out of his lips before he even thought about it. But she was so pretty, even a bit sweaty and rumpled now. Her eyes a blue just hinted towards almost purple, her lovely gold hair in braids. She looked like an Angel. But what would an Angel be doing talking to him? They all called him demonspawn.
The sound of her laughter was almost like music, and then she was grinning a big grin. "Non. Not an Angel. Y'got a name or not? An why ya wearing dem silly glasses huh?" She was taking a step closer to him, and poked him lightly with a finger. His disappointment cut by the fact she'd touched him, even if it was a poke.
"Uhh. Ya promise not ta scream or kick me?"
"Oui. Why I do dat anyway?"
"It what dey normally do t'me. Dey call me Diable, or Le Diable Blanc.." His tone was laced with apprehension, before he grinned and put his best face forward. All bravado and cocky arrogance, as he whipped the sunglasses off, expecting her to shriek and run away in fear.
Instead she just grinned at him, his Angel. "Dem some beautiful eyes, but ya ain' got a normal name?"
"Non. Just get called lotta things. Demon, devil, pup.. Mostly de Devil though."
"How come ya ain't got a name?"
"Ain't never had no one give me one. Dat's what ya parents supposed t'do. Don't seem right ta pick one for ma own self."
"Den I give you one. Ain't ya parents, but if ya won't pick one.. Can't be having de boy who saved me be not having a name, now can we?"
The boy was eying her with a touch of awe. Usually the rich kids were stuck up, or spoke down to him. She was talking to him, and her smile just reaffirmed that she was an Angel to him, even if she denied it. He'd saved an Angel. Even if it looked like she hadn't needed quite as much saving as he thought she might... and Angels probably didn't stab people. His Angel was special though, just like him. He could tell that already.
"Dat be fine wit' me."
"How ya like Remy?"
"Remy, huh? Oiu. I like dat." He flashed her a grin.
And then blocks away, Church bells began to chime. Ten times. His Angel frowned, muttered something very unAngel like, and then leaned forward and brushed a kiss to his dirty cheeks.
"T'anks Remy. I gotta go! My poppa.." And then she was running once again.
Leaving the newly dubbed Remy to stare after the departing Angel in a white dress, grinning a fool grin on his boyish face. "Huh.. An Angel named Bella. Wonder if I see her again?"
The spot her lips had touched his cheek felt warm still, and the slight chill to the day didn't seem so bad anymore, and for a moment at least, he didn't feel the hunger gnawing at his middle anymore either.
I hope so.