Aw, it feels so good to publish the stuff that's been written for like, eighty years! Review and I will love you; failure to review will result in sluggish posting of the next chapter ('cause you know, I'd have to keep stopping to wipe away the river of tears).
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Chapter Nine: On the Footsteps
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Remy chugged back his bottle of brandy and then gave it a cavalier toss straight into the garbage can. He tried to stand – an effort that was met with fierce protest from his head, stomach and legs, all. With a sigh, the Cajun boy dropped back down to the sidewalk, and rolled over, onto his back. The sky above him was filled with dark, angry clouds that seemed to rumble and grunt their disapproval over him (join the club). For them, he had a very special, one-fingered salute.
Was he drunk? Maybe. Probably. It is decidedly so. He stretched his hands and felt like playing pool. Of all the things his life had been filled with lately, a good game of pool was not one of them. His coordination would probably be off, but maybe for him (He of Superb Movement) that just meant he'd be playing like a perfectly average Joe. He could win a few dollars, buy a couple of drinks, and find a pretty girl with a comfortable bed to take him in for a night. He'd lived like this before.
He didn't need mansions and people, all the people. Don't do this, Remy. Oh, don't do that. Believe us, ignore him, give me that, take that, go here, stand like this, walk this way, don't stop, don't start, and can't you ever listen? So many demands. On the streets, he answered only to himself. No rules. No thoughts.
No friends.
No Rogue.
He missed Rogue, already. He wasn't the crying, desperate kind of drunk. But God, he missed the feel of her head on his shoulder and the private jokes no one else understood, and the lilt of her voice when she was halfway intoxicated herself. How he missed his Rogue. Well, not his, but...
(She should be). In his semi-delirium, long hidden fantasies busted free of their confinements; like pop-tarts shoved down into the toaster too long, they were harder, darker for the trouble. He wanted to taint the virgin skin, so smooth and white and perfect. He wanted to drag it past his dirty hands until there was no space that hadn't been coated in his desire. He ached to feel her lips on him; he yearned to dig his fingers into the soft brush of her hair. From the first moment he'd seen her, he'd wanted to have her.
But then they'd actually met, as people, and the mind behind her face had been (of all things) relatable. For the first time with a girl he'd been brought to caution. What if, in pulling her towards intimacy, he accidentally pushed her away? What then? Careful, careful, careful. Snorting, Remy thought: he should have done it anyway.
If only he didn't love her so much.
The thought was a boomerang in his mind. He gave it an angry toss and it came spinning back. If he didn't love her. If he didn't love her. (Wait, what?) He loved her? Really? Somewhere, a light bulb flashed. An anvil fell. He did. He did! Why hadn't anyone told him? He laid back on the street, pouting and stunned and more shocked than he should have been, after having come to such a revelation. He loved Rogue! And Rogue, well... she hated him.
Remy groaned and turned over. He wasn't going to move again, not ever. He was going to be a useless, motionless, inept mass of nothingness, and probably, the world would be a better place for it. Scott would replace him on the team with someone who thought orders were great and together they'd save the world; the professor would give away his room to needy orphan toddlers; and, Rogue would find a new best friend (and marry him).
Happily Ever After.
He frowned. As long as Luc left everyone alone. Not that there was a real reason for him to stay. Everyone else on the team was goody-too-good to fall for that crap he was peddling, and he hadn't shown an interest in any of them, anyway, except for... the frowned deepened, and Remy sat up. Except for Rogue. (Remy loved her!) Sharp but hungry Rogue, who craved honest friendships so bad she fell into dishonest ones (damn it). He couldn't leave her to Luc. Maybe it was too late for him, but he had to protect her as best he could (because he loved her). He wiped his eyes and turned leftwards, a direction that gave him a clear view of the carnival in the slight distance, dark but not desolate.
Stronger now, he took to his feet, determined that if he could not be his own savior, he would at least be hers.
He owed her that.
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"We shouldn't be here," Rogue said, taking a brief look around the deserted carnival. They were only several feet from a Tilt-a-Whirl, and the bright orange paint, even muted as it was by the night, was discomforting. She tried to wrap herself up in her own arms but Luc stepped and offered his own. At the same time, a cold chill ran down her spine and she attributed it to the windy air. Everything was perfectly fine. She was with Luc, wasn't she? (She didn't feel fine).
"Maybe we should walk," he offered. "The movement will warm us up. Then we can start having fun. Don't worry about anyone catching us – this place has been deserted for a couple years, now. They said it closed down after an accident, and the owner of the plot found it cheaper to just leave everything here to rot."
"Ah've heard the stories," Rogue admitted. "They said it was haunted."
"Only by the likes of us," he assured her, softly.
"Luc," she murmured, pausing their promenade before it'd gotten very far. "Wait a minute, will ya?" They were stopped in front of a concession stand, and the air around it still smelled like corn dogs and cinnamon and cotton candy. When he looked at her expectantly, she took in a deep breath and said, "Why me?"(Was that too forward a question to ask? She was so out of practice).
Luc didn't seem to mind. He half-smiled and said, "What do you mean, why you?"
"Ah've seen the company ya keep – it includes a lot o' pretty people. So, why me?"
He quirked his lips up in a deeper grin. "I enjoy your company. You're fun. Lovely. Perhaps, there's a part of me that recognizes a similarity between us; we're both a little misunderstood, both mistakenly seen as being a little 'fallen from grace' – you with your powers and history, me with my… well, fall. Little do they realize we're better for it." His eyes drifted somewhere else, somewhere Rogue's could not follow, but they snapped back abruptly, and he finished with, "That's all."
"Oh," she said, confused. But she'd promised herself that should would try with Luc; she'd put her all into their date, even if it meant pushing aside a couple warning thoughts – after all, weren't those the same voices that were telling her Remy LeBeau was It, The One, her true love? How much could they know? But while she was thinking of it, Rogue dipped her head and said, "So... why Remy?"
"Remy – ah – that's a longer story, I'm afraid." He licked a lip and changed the course of his answer. "Do you know some people believe that everyone in the world is tied together? Like there are invisible threads connecting everyone. You tug on one person, you tug the threads of all the people they're connected to, and the people those people are connected to, and so on. Some of us, I'm sad to say, are connected to very few, and others a multitude. I'm not different than your team of X-Men, really, - I, too, want to change the world. I could do it much easier with Remy on my side."
"He's well connected." She frowned, and for a moment stopped being the girl suddenly in love and resumed her place as 'best friend', the same one who'd gotten used to living with Remy, annoying and frustrating as he could be. "Ya want ta take him from us."
"I want to take you both," he corrected. "It's true that I came for Remy, but that was before I had the chance to see you with my own eyes. That changed things, I promise you." He leaned forward suddenly and kissed her mouth again. This time, the shock was gone, and Rogue was able to focus more on the kiss and less on the fact that it was actually happening. And this time, while the wonder of touch remained, there was something off… but Rogue shut her eyes and remembered her resolve.
Determined, she kissed him back.
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"Remy! There you are! I found you in time!"
Remy turned around, mid-step, to see Kurt chasing after him, emerging from the shadows with black smoke still clinging at his pointed tail. Kurt's design was a joke, he thought, not for the first time, what else could explain such a sainted heart being encased in a frame so demonic? And Luc was a study in contrast, all shiny brilliance on the outside and darkness on the inside. He looked to where he could see the high, colorful carnival entrance and remembered his rush. "I'm kind o' busy, Kurt."
"But – but you have to stop meeting with Luc! He's dangerous!" Kurt insisted. Worried eyes traveled quickly over Remy in inspection before settling, almost relieved, back at his face. "You're okay, though."
"I'm alive," Remy agreed. He added, "Y' don't have t' worry 'bout any confusion o' trouble when me and Luc meet up, I've seen his true colors, mon ami. I'm not fallin' for his tricks any longer. We have some stuff t' settle between us, an' once it's over, he should be gone."
"But it's more serious than that," Kurt said. "I went out looking for you because I had to tell you – I don't think Luc is just a bad guy. I think he might be…" He hesitated like he wasn't sure if he should finish. His hands clenched and unclenched. Then, almost reluctantly, Kurt said, "I think he might be the bad guy."
"Pardon?"
"You know," Kurt flushed. "Mephistopheles? Beelzebub? The Father of Lies? Prince o' Darkness?" He paused. "Lucifer?"
Remy blinked. "Da devil? Like, da devil. Wit' da fire an' brimstone an' -" He caught Kurt's pained look. "Oh, sorry 'bout dat last part. But seriously – da devil. Like, da same one who went down t' Georgia, 'cause he was lookin' for a -" Remy stopped again. "Soul t' steal." Kurt raised an eyebrow.
"He's been leading you astray since he arrived, whispering in your ear, turning you away from the people you care about. Maybe I should've mentioned it early on, but you were so charmed, and my claim is a little… strange. I can hardly believe myself when I saw I think this is happening."
"I wouldn't have believed," Remy admitted.
"And now?"
"We'll see," Remy said, as he turned back to the direction of the carnival. He needed to be faster now, and smarter, and maybe a little less drunk, because if Kurt was right – (merde) – then getting Luc to go away was going to be a much greater challenge. How could he say – no thanks, not interested – when someone wanted to take his soul? The request was almost too ridiculous for a serious answer to work.
"You're not still going?" Kurt asked, mildly horrified.
"If what y' say is true, I have t'." Remy explained. "Rogue's with him now. I'm not gonna let him take her instead o' me. More n' ever, I have t' find a way t' save her."
"Then I'm coming, too." Kurt lifted his chin, tightened his jaw, and seemed sure.
"Non." Remy held Kurt back with the palm of his hand. "An' let you get hurt, too? Not on my watch. I'm already involved, stuck in da fryin' pan, but you're not. Go be safe. Tell da team t' be ready t' rescue her in case I fail. Every plan needs a back-up."
"Ja," Kurt said, wryly. "That's going to happen."
Remy sighed. "Fine. Nevermind. Y' want t' walk int' da pit o' hell wit' a misdirected Cajun boy" – and maybe that was slight exaggeration of the carnival – "do it, but at least be useful. Can't y' bring us a cross o' something. Tools o' da trade, so t' speak?"
"Right. I leave, and you'll just wait here for me to come back. I wasn't born yesterday."
The Cajun placed his hands on Kurt's shoulders and looked solemnly into his eyes. "Kurt, I've had a very bad week. It feels like da world hates me an' imagines I'm lyin' every time I open my mouth. Please, please, give me a lil' faith an' trust me? I need some kind o' reassurance before I go an' face Beetlejuice o'er there, hm? Please."
Kurt hesitated. "You'll wait for me?"
"I will not move beyond dis block."
Kurt frowned. "You promise?"
"I promise. Cross my heart an' hope t' not be sworn int' immortal slavery by da devil. Cajun's honor."
Kurt finally gave a conceding nod. He swallowed hard and said, "I'll be fast." He teleported away, leaving Remy to breathe in the dark smoke. The Cajun sighed, shook his head, and moved down the street, towards the carnival. No wonder no one trusted him.
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"I'm leaving town for a short while, I'd like you to accompany me." Luc kissed Rogue's hand and added, "It's a business trip and sure to be dull if I make it on my own. I'll bring you back when it's over, or as soon as you decide you want to return." He kissed her fingers again. "I promise to make it worth your while."
Rogue gave him a smile and tried to show interest. "Where are ya headed? I bet it turns out be some super excitin', chance o' a lifetime opportunity. The way ya sell stuff, it's like Mount Rushmore is just some set o' rocks an' the Eifel tower is just a couple o' metal poles."
He ducked his head. "I won't deny I've traveled enough to make most architectural and technological wonders seem mundane, but if the experience has taught me anything, it's that the real thrills come in knowing worthwhile people – people like you, Rogue. People like Remy. I would price a good thinker over any structure, anywhere in the world."
She said, "Am Ah a good thinker?"
"Yes," he said, "And something else just as good – a fantastic listener. That's why you're perfect company for this trip I'm going to take – I can listen to you when I'm bored and talk to you when I need to focus. It's a match made in – well, that is, it's a match. A good one. We're both going to have a blast."
The way he sold it, it sounded awfully nice. And maybe the time with him, away from conflicting concerns, would help her clear her head and she'd fall for him more genuinely. At best, she would be living happier, and at worse, she'd have to ask him to take her home earlier. But he'd already promised the last part if she wanted it. The stakes were so low. She opened her mouth and said – "Remy?"
Luc released her at once and turned to see the sight she'd remarked on: there was Remy, moving towards them like a dark cloud, with grim lips and a furrowed brow. "Rogue," the Cajun acknowledged, but his attention was solidly focused on Luc.
Luc opened up his arms and moved to touch Remy, but when he was close enough, the Cajun caught him, tugged him close and whispered, "All our secrets can't stay hidden. I know who y' are, Luc, an' I didn't come t' hand off da deed t' my soul."
"Oh, Remy," the other man sighed and whispered back, "I think its darling you think you have a choice."
Rogue approached them cautiously, but she was kept back, as if by some invisible barrier; she tried again and there was nothing that should have stopped her – she passed her hand over the space and met with no resistance – but something was holding her back. She tried to call out Remy's name, but couldn't find the words. Trapped, she could only watch as Luc seized Remy and pushed him up against a wall.
Luc pinned him there and rested his head on one of Remy's shoulder. "Look," he said, "The thing is, you can't just change your mind. This – me – your fall – It's who you are. So instead of protesting so valiantly maybe you should share whatever it is that's been troubling you so that I can fix it. Is there some little secret you've been hiding from me? The women not enough? Maybe you'd like to sample from a wider selection? Violent tendencies left unfulfilled? Thirsty for more drinks? You know money will never be a problem. Tell me and I will get it for you. Remember what I said before –anything, anywhere, and anyone. The offer still stands."
Remy took a breath. "Love," He said.
Luc's fingers had circled one of his wrists, and they tightened there. When he spoke, his voice was strained. "What did you say?"
"I want love, Luc. Real love. Can y' give me dat?"
"Remy, I-"
"Like me like a lot. I get it. But dat's not what I'm requestin'."
"I can do love."
Remy shook his head. "I'm not so sure, mon ami."
"There are so many different ways of expressing it."
"I'm talkin' about da feelin'."
"Remy, I know what you're saying." Luc said after a pause. "And I think you might've caught me, much as I loathe admitting it. I don't deal in real love. I find it distasteful. But you see…the problem with your walking away from me… is that I kind of already own you. Your father –the biological one, of course, interesting man- gave me your soul in exchange for some materials. So while I can appreciate your thirst for true affection, surely, you must understand that my hands are tied in the matter. You belong to me."
Remy's brain wasn't sane enough, sober enough, to completely understand what Luc was telling him. He blinked and told himself that Luc was lying. Again. Luc always lied. His soul wasn't sold to… That wasn't possible.
Though, it would explain so much.
It would explain why his every attempt at being the 'nice guy' always ended badly.
It would explain why he couldn't seem to keep a vow.
If his life had been pre-determined from the moment his father made the deal, then nothing he did could be helped. It wasn't his fault; the crimes, the betrayals, the mistakes were already written out in the stars. Planned. That's why he was easily swayed by Luc's suggestions. He was just a puppet, or a glob of clay to be shaped in whatever way the devil saw fit. There was no avoiding it.
No avoiding it.
It occurred to him that he was barely standing; Luc was supporting him, keeping up.
And maybe it'd been that way his whole life.
"Remy!" The voice was loud, desperate. It stole both their attentions momentarily. There was Kurt, caught up already, without so much as a Bible or cross to show for it. Where were the tools? The crosses, the vats of holy water, the… garlic. Remy giggled, a feeling of helpless seeping into him. This wasn't a movie on TV, where there was always a chance for the dashing young heroic. Kurt's intentions were going to get him…killed? Did it work that way? Could the devil just out and out strike him dead?
"I thought we talked about this, Kurt." Luc said, his baritone deepening into something darker.
"Remy, you can't trust him. If your fate was already set in stone, why would he bother at all? I'm sure there are a great number of people whose parents haven't sold their child to Satan. He could be out, stealing them. But he knows –and you have to know- it doesn't work that way. You make the choice. You decide."
"Don't listen to him, Remy," Luc warned.
"Trust me!" Kurt insisted.
"You're mine already!"
"Remy, no."
"Shut up, Kurt." Luc waved a hand, and the younger man went quiet. He rolled his eyes. "Look, let's make this easier. Let's pretend you're dreaming, Remy. You know, in dreams, you're deepest desires come to light. Let your own subconscious lead you to your fate. I'm not worried. It's going to lead back to me." He laughed, darkly, madly, before gently caressing the side of Remy's face. And then, suddenly, he struck him, and the world went instantly black.
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Oh, snap! Only one more chapter left, and it's just itching to be posted! But first, you guys have to provide feedback for this chapter. Tell me what you thought – please? Comments, questions, and coconuts can be sent to me at Eileenblzr at Yahoo, or to the YIM of the same name; alternatively, I can frequently be found haunting LiveJournal, where I am Comeon-Eileen.
