I, ASSASSIN

Chapter Five

Remy couldn't sleep. It was strange, he thought, because honestly in all his time he'd never struggled to sleep anywhere. He'd slept on freight trains, in the luggage compartments of buses, in the cargo holds of ships and even in an out-of-order bathroom on an aeroplane once. He'd slept during thunderstorms, gunfire on the streets of New York, he'd even slept during the last severe hurricane that had hit their Parish.

But sleeping in a bedroom in the home of Assassins was something else entirely. Although the door was locked, Remy kicked the door-wedge under it hard to ensure no one would be getting in. Regardless of the intense heat of the room, he'd locked the window which left him uncomfortable but gave him slight peace of mind.

Admittedly, Remy had never had problems with sleeping in the dark, but he couldn't bring himself to do it in such an unfamiliar and dangerous house and so, he slept with the dim bedside lamp on, and lay facing the door so that he would be able to keep an eye on the door knob, and check for anyone trying to get in from the other side.

The antique clock on the dresser ticked the seconds away softly, but with each minute, the hand would click loudly into position and he was aware of it. He watched the hands move from hour to hour across the face of Roman numerals.

At three different intervals, he went to relieve his bladder in the en-suite bathroom, although he was unsure if he had actually needed to urinate or if this was just his worried mind giving him excuses to get up and check the room. Each time after completing his ablutions, he would examine the room thoroughly for anything unusual such as bugs or mini cameras. He'd had the sensation he'd been under surveillance all night, but each search had come up blank. He'd even looked in the less obvious places, such as the spray of real flowers on the dresser, the china figurine on the old unused fireplace, and the ceiling lights. He had to commend whoever did the cleaning of the house at least, as there was not a speck of dust to be found anywhere in the bedroom. Not even on the ceiling light fixings.

Could just be that they cleaned everythin' after installin' surveillance equipment, Remy reasoned with himself, unable to shake that horrible feeling of being watched. Installin' cameras and bugs tends to leave dusty fingerprints and marks.

During the long sleepless night, at one point he had even thought perhaps the mirror above the antique dresser may be a two-way-mirror and that someone might be standing behind there watching every move he made as if he were some kind of exhibit, or a fish in an aquarium. The mirror was fixed securely to the wall, which he knew wasn't a very good sign. He ran his fingers carefully across the smooth cold glass but didn't see any signs of it being two-way.

You're just being paranoid, he told himself as he gazed at his tired reflection, he noted his hair was sticking up at on side and he smoothed it down, feeling uneasily studied as he did so. No one is watching, it's just your imagination.

When the hour hand on the clock on the dresser finally hit 'VI', he gave up on sleep. He pushed himself away from the bed, his body felt heavy and drained of all energy. He changed from the boxer shorts he'd been wearing to bed into a pair of old worn jogging pants and a T-shirt, and left the guest room.

The house was quiet; no one else had arisen it seemed. He dared not try any handles yet – it was too early to be caught snooping. He could always do that later, once he understood the Boudreaux routines and would know exactly when he had time to do so without being caught. He lingered for a moment outside of Bella Donna's bedroom and almost contemplated sneaking into awaken her, to initiate something intimate. He knew it was her room, judging by the decorative crystal doorknob and the traces of pale pink nail polish that had rubbed off on the white painted wood just below the knob. He could imagine her reaching for it with her freshly painted fingernails, but it only made him imagine her reaching for him and his body flushed and he quickly left the area before he could be happened upon loitering there like a pervert.

Downstairs, an elderly housekeeper who could only speak a basic mangled version of English mixed with French was puttering around kitchen cooking many things for breakfast. He had the distinct feeling he was in her way so he decided to excuse himself.

Feeling at a loss as to what to do to keep himself entertained, he left the house and went for a run in large circles around the perimeter. The woods surrounding the Bordreaux estate were quiet other than the sounds of nature and a soft breeze rustling the leaves in the trees. Remy felt the sweat pour down his back and drip down his temples as he ran steadily, free-running over every obstacle he saw; an old truck (sans its wheels) hidden away out of sight, some fallen trees, a small stream. It was odd, he couldn't shake that sense of being watched, and was unsure if perhaps it really was his imagination or if he really were being spied upon. Despite the feeling left a tight unease at the back of his neck, he forced himself to continue with his exercise, and eventually lost track of time. When his joints began to burn with the strain, he gave up and he headed back to the house in a slow paced jog.

Outside, Marius was smoking a cigarette, his expression curious as he watched Remy approach from the woods. "We thought you'd taken off," he admitted coolly.

"My stuff is still upstairs," Remy pointed out, swiping the back of his wrist against his forehead. Of course, it was true, he had thought about just taking off while free-running around the area – after all, the bag he'd brought with him was full of replaceable stuff that meant barely anything to him. The feeling of being watched however, had definitely put him off the idea of wanting to make a quick exit. Who knew who was hiding in all that foliage out there? Was it paranoid to feel like a sniper could be watching him? Probably, but better safe than sorry.

"So you like to keep yourself fit, huh?" Marius took a long drag of his cigarette then exhaled through his nose.

"Thieves gotta be in shape," Remy admitted, he stopped at the foot of the porch and bent down to rub the back of each calf muscle.

"You go the extra mile the others don't though," said Marius, "and not just because you're young and agile and because you can, but because you like to be on top of your game."

Remy sat on the bottom step of the porch, he withheld a sigh.

"This is why you were picked. Your commitment...your hard work."

"Why not Henri?" asked Remy casually, "He's much more skilled than I am...he's the fastest lock picker in the Guild."

"Henri is a fine example of a Thief. But that's all he is. He's dedicated to one thing...and you...a jack of all trades! You are dedicated to everything you put your mind to. If we wanted a lock picker, we'd hire a lock picker. You...however..." Marius pursed his lips for a moment. "We've been watching you for a while, Remy. You adapt fast, you see everything around you and you find a way to implement it in everything you do. You are deadly with a weapon – and yet you choose not to be. You fight dirty but you do so in an honourable way. You're exactly what this Guild has been looking for for some time."

Remy snorted, "think you're over-exaggerating my value just a tad," he swept his hand through his sweaty hair, trying to ignore the exhaustion that was settling in from his lack of sleep.

"Do I look like a man who over-exaggerates?" asked Marius, his expression dark suddenly.

Remy didn't like that look, and so he replied quickly, "not at all. I just think maybe you've picked the wrong guy, is all."

"I've made no mistakes. If I had come across you myself before your father recruited you from the streets, I would have made you one of us. You have everything it takes to be a true Assassin."

Dully, Remy disagreed. Not everything, he thought. I have the urge to murder people...that's surely an important requirement for the job.

"Now...go shower and get dressed. I think the sooner we begin with your training, the better."

It was barely half an hour later, after a shower and changing into some comfortable jeans and an old t-shirt that Remy found himself sitting at the breakfast table in the Boudreaux kitchen.

"The first thing you need to know, as an Assassin," said Marius, who was sitting diagonally away from him at the breakfast table, "is to know your instincts."

Remy stared down at the various plates of food on the table. Everything that a guy could want for breakfast seemed to be there. Toast, oatmeal, bacon and eggs, waffles, pancakes, fruit, cereal. Yes, it was definitely all there. It felt so strangely surreal to be sitting there at the Assassin's table on a Saturday morning.

Actually, the whole night had felt rather surreal.

"What do you see?" Marius asked, gesturing to all the food laid out on the table.

Remy's eyes roved across the table. He was slightly hungry; not enough to warrant trying a little of everything though. "Breakfast?" he asked stupidly. He knew the answer his new mentor was looking for, but for the sake of learning more about the enemy and their methods of teaching, he decided to play it dumb for now. By the look on Marius' sharp face, he knew he'd erred.

"Don't play that game," Marius warned, "we both know you're sharp. That's why you were picked to do this. Now, I'm gonna ask again. What do you see?"

"Choices," finally, Remy gave in after a moment of contemplation. "Too many," he added rather truthfully. "A lot of good ones, a lot of bad."

"Exactly," said Marius with a nod.

Bella Donna was in the kitchen, being distracting as she wandered around in her short-shorts (the same from last night, apparently they were pyjama bottoms) with bendy curlers dangling from her long sun-kissed hair. Remy kept trying to avoid glancing at her, but his eyes somehow kept being drawn to her. Even in the morning she looked stunning. Stunning enough that his heart skipped several beats and his blood rushed to his centre.

"Tell me about the choices, LeBeau, and stop ogling my daughter!" Marius snapped his fingers at Remy to get his attention off of sixteen year old Bella Donna, who was sipping from a large glass of fresh orange juice.

"Well," Remy said, glancing towards the dishes of food again, "is like you said. It's knowin' your instincts, right?" he pushed his hand against the dish with the eggs and bacon and moved it to one side of the table, "for instance this is the bad choice...so you substitute it with..." he shifted the large dish of oatmeal to the other side of the table, "this."

Marius nodded, apparently pleased with this decision.

"What you mean?" Bella Donna asked as she sauntered over, she let her elbow rest on her father's shoulder as she looked down at the table. "All looks good to me."

"That's the point," Remy stated, "it all looks good. It all looks real good, but there's some good choices there and some bad choices. Might all me what you'd want, but not necessarily what you'd need."

"How so?" she asked, she raised her orange juice to her lips. Remy wasn't sure if it was his imagination but it seemed she was wearing lip gloss at eight-forty-five am when she wasn't even dressed yet. He was sure he could smell perfume too.

"Okay," began Remy, trying to put sex out of his mind for the moment, "Lets say...you got...I dunno...a big thing to do. You all are Assassins, so I guess...you got a contract to carry out? Maybe right before lunch?" he asked.

"Okay," Bella Donna shrugged.

"You aren't going to eat bacon and eggs on a day you got a big contract to carry out," Marius explained to Bella Donna. "Do you know why, Belle?"

She shrugged, "I dunno. Seems like a good enough breakfast to me," she picked a slice of crispy bacon from the plate and bit into it, her eyes gazing at the display of food.

"Remy is gonna explain that," Marius responded, gesturing to him.

"You got to be able to plan ahead," Remy explained to her, "and know how you're gonna be and how you're gonna feel. You don't eat bacon and eggs on a day you're gonna go kill someone 'cause for one thing...it's a bad meal. Salty, greasy, bad for the heart, bad energy release. You'll never know if the bacon was bad, if the eggs were bad, you'll never know if the bacon gonna disagree with you, make you sick, etc."

"Right," Marius nodded.

"But if you eat somethin' like...cereal...or oatmeal," Remy explained, "You got more chance of your energy levels stayin' consistent enough for a few hours for you to be able to get the job done."

Bella Donna smirked, "so you're sayin'...food equals instincts."

"No, it's just an example," Remy shrugged. "The differences between these foods may as well be the difference between takin' the right road or takin' the left. Takin' a dagger or takin' a gun. It's about bein' able to trust your gut and knowin' what to expect. Instincts will let you know the right choices to make."

Marius glanced over his shoulder at her, "I hope you're payin' attention..." he warned her.

Bella Donna sat down primly in the chair across from Remy; he felt her foot press against his ankle although she remained quite still and composed all the same. Her father wouldn't have caught on at all that she was rubbing his ankle with her bare toe, pushing the hem of his pants leg up and letting her bare skin graze his.

"Instincts play a huge part of what you do in every day life," Marius explained to Bella Donna. "And as of now, you need to start trainin' those instincts so they lead you in the right direction. Kick start your instincts now, and they will never let you down."

Remy ladled a helping of oatmeal into the bowl before him while at the same time he became increasingly aware of Bella Donna's foot riding it's way up the inside of his leg and up his thigh, "don't think you got much to worry about, sir," he confessed to Marius as he quickly pushed his legs shut to avoid her from getting much further, "Seems to me she's got some pretty good instincts."

End of Chapter Five

Damn that food analogy made me hungry.

Thanks to anyone who left reviews for the past few chapters. Am really enjoying this story as it's such a step back from the usual Remy/Rogue angst and gloom and doom. No manic depressiveness or suicide here hopefully :) Just lots of sexual tension and some future awkwardness for Remy as he tries to learn to be a killer without having to kill anyone ;)

Love you all 3