Chapter Two
1911 New Orleans
"Your son came to see me today, Mr. LeBeau," said the priest.
"Which one, Father?"
The holy man pursed his lips. "Come, let's speak frankly. He wants to marry-"
"Shh! My wife is about."
"You must tell him. He's determined to take this straight to the Vatican. Do you want the world to know?"
"Damn the world."
"If you like-"
"I'll send him abroad. Some charming courtesans will make him see the error of marriage."
The Father crossed himself.
By now, I had to be getting close to her unfortunate death. I remembered how I felt when the time storm pitched, and sure enough, this worked to summon it. Darkness. Rain. Thunder…
1913 New Orleans
Lena sat at a writing desk wearing a pink tulle dress and pointedly ignoring Rochelle.
"Stop that at once!" Rochelle snapped and snatched away her pen. "You'll ruin your gloves! Who are you writing, anyway?"
"Give it back!"
"Luc?!" She ripped the letter into eights. "You should be writing love letters to Colonel Brandon! The sooner he agrees to marry you, the sooner my son will be free of your spell!"
I felt sick. Lena had only ever loved one man. He wasn't poor or black or Jewish or anything else that would've scandalized nineteenth century New Orleans society… The next century witnessed a gradual decline of bigotries that meant acceptance for all sorts of relationships, but some things remained taboo.
"I'll never marry Brandon! I love-"
She slapped Lena. "You stupid devil! He's your brother!"
"Adopted brother."
"No," she hissed, digging her nails into Lena's biceps. "Your mother was a whore, too. Her dead husband was as fake as her soul. Jacques is your father. Why else would I suffer you under my roof?"
Something in Lena's eyes died.
Rochelle seemed stunned by herself. "Now look… You've ruined your hair." Actually, she'd ruined Lena's hair when she slapped her. "Let's get you pretty for Col. Brandon, eh?"
"No, I… Suddenly feel ill…" She covered her mouth and vomited on her satin white gloves.
Okay, she was probably pregnant. I focused on keeping the picture, trying to only move a little forward in time.
2004 New Orleans
L'enfer!
I knew this day well, too. It was my wedding day. Me and Belle.
I wanted to run, honest I did, but I had to know if she was as beautiful as I remembered… And then I couldn't look away. Eighteen years old… Christ, we were babies. My dad tried to talk me out of it, just like his father had tried to warn him. And just like my father before me, I thought I knew more than some stupid old man.
Belle's father was right to distrust me. Hell, he deserved to punch my ugly face. Could've only knocked some sense into me.
What did I know about commitment?
Here comes Julien…
"I spit on you, LeBeau! And on your clan!"
Our families, sick of holding us back, finally let us fight it out. With a little acquired wisdom, I've decided Julien was just a bad tempered teenager who'd been fed a lifetime supply of prejudice and couldn't tolerate me as his sister's husband. But back then, I was convinced he was the epitome of evil. I thought I was doing the world a favor by ending his life.
How had I missed the fear in his eyes? Belle's screams for mercy? The disgust on my father's face?
I had to stop this.
No one could hear or see me. When I tried to grab Julien, my hands went right through him. I stumbled and rolled through eighteen-year-old me. Young-me turned, confused. He'd felt me! Or he'd felt something! I ran and stood where he was – both of us sharing the same space. Then Julien tackled young-me and we were separated again. His blade thrust between my ribs – that hadn't happened! – and suddenly, I had a new scar. I nearly killed myself.
Dying wouldn't make this right.
I had to get the hell out of dodge.
"Remy!" Belle managed to overpower the Assassins holding her back. She sprinted to her brother. Meanwhile, Julien pulled a hidden dagger and threw it. The blade, meant for my eye, cut her wedding dress and pierced the flesh beneath.
Mon Dieu, what had I done? None of this had happened. None of this was ever supposed to happen.
The whole church shuttered as I left – everyone felt it. Apparently, time traveling was like every other power: being emotional can cause unintended consequences. The storm didn't just shake the world, it also picked up another passenger.
2010 Muir Island
"Where in tarnation y'all been?" Rogue – holy hell! Rogue? – fussed at her X-Men comrades.
Nightcrawler was saying something about the Shadow King but I couldn't concentrate. Rogue's over-sculpted, Brigitte Nielsen inspired hair-do was too distracting. How old was she?
I was surprised to see myself. Didn't remember being here at all. Funny, I'd think such an important event would be seared into my memory, but I don't remember meeting Rogue. Now I realized the moment wasn't extraordinary at all. But despite the normality of the situation (normal for an X-Man) and her insane hair, she was still beautiful.
I'd last seen Belle on our wedding day two minutes ago. As gorgeous as she was, Rogue rivaled that image without even trying.
Someone behind me was headed my way. I turned to get out of the way and came face to face with my ex-wife.
"Bell-?"
She left-hooked me.
"What the hell?!" I rubbed my jaw.
"I know you've got something to do with this! What's wrong with them? Why can't they see us?"
"Long story," I sighed. "How old are you?"
She crossed her arms.
"Do you want to be trapped with me? Because that's what'll happen unless-"
"Look!" She pointed at Rogue, who now had a blue, furry face, pointed tail, and organic steel limbs. How was none of this familiar? Rogue and her time-correct team were preparing for another battle against the Shadow King. Could that sinister telepath see Belle and me here? If so, he wouldn't have to work hard to turn young-me and my team against me. That wasn't a risk I wanted to take.
"That's our cue," I said, grabbing Belle's arm.
I summoned up the darkness and rain. The thunder sounded more like creaky old wood – like a wheel struggling to turn. As time washed us away, I realized the Shadow King had erased our memories of this fight.
Back on the Enterprise.
I listened for Belle but only heard the engine humming. I walked down to the bar, where I figured I'd find Fontanelle.
She was mixing a drink. "You can't dream up a decent bartender?"
"I don't drink."
"Not everything's about you, dear!"
"Speaking of 'not me', where's Belle?"
She set two glasses on the counter and filled them both. I started to decline when she sucked them both dry.
"Now Auntie Fontanelle is ready to hear your problems," she smiled.
"Bella Donna," I repeated. "Something happened, she got pulled into the time stream with me. Tried to get her home. Did it work?"
She filled the glasses again. "She went with you? How'd that happen?"
I rolled my eyes and returned to the bridge.
"Belle, on screen," I said.
The enormous screen at the bow played several memories of my happier days with Belle. I suppose I'd only asked to see her; I hadn't asked where she was in time. And if this whole thing was a mere product of my imagination, the ship couldn't provide new information. The memories were chronological so I let them play out while I made notes about my journey.
My next jump should put me in 1915, which meant I'd miss Lena's death, burial, and surrounding conspiracy. Merde… I had no way of knowing where I'd turn up in my own timeline, but I decided not to interfere anymore. If I changed things, I might create a world where I'd never gone back in time… And since the universe couldn't tolerate a paradox, I risked destroying the universe. Julien sure as hell wasn't worth it! From now on, I was a watcher. I was eager to return to my right time and expose the Shadow King's vast mind-wipe. Our strongest telepath now was… Psylocke. Not exactly a trustworthy candidate. Maybe I wouldn't tell them right away.
And then there was Luc… Had he really been in love with Lena? Enough to marry her. After he discovered their relation (did she tell him?), why didn't he try to pass off the baby as Brandon's? Did they run away, hoping to start over in a new country? I know this much: after Lena and the baby died, he pretended they'd never existed. What kind of man treats his family like a problem? Maybe Lena had never known love… but she was my family, too, and it's never too late to do the right thing.
"Computer, log entry."
I was about to jump back into the time stream when my brain cell activated.
'Don't jump, idiot,' it said, 'Use the teleporters!'
"The teleporters!"
'You're welcome.'
Below deck, Fontanelle was waiting in a black and yellow Starfleet uniform (one of the unflattering skirt-versions). She poured herself another glass from the drinker mixer.
"Why don't you drink from the mixer?" I asked.
"Why don't you shut the hell up."
"Ms. Dayne – send me to wherever Lena is in 1913." I climbed onto the teleportation pad.
"How about 1975? I was quite the catch-"
…
To Be Continued…
…
Author's Notes: I'd like to take a moment to discuss the time line and the LeBeau family tree… Jean-Luc was probably born prior to 1901 – probably closer to 1880. Marvel's given us the name of his parents and where he was born, but everything else I've flushed out. We don't know how many siblings he had or what their names were; if he ever married; what children beside Henri he might've fathered. Also, Remy was born before the 1980s, but unlike us, comic books exist in a world of suspended time. I had to pick a date, so that's what I chose. Gambit and Rogue met off-panel; think I got the Muir Island vibe from Lori McDonald's 'Gestalt Arc'. I've zipped through a lot of Gambit's history with Belle because it's been told and re-told in various versions. However, if you're interested in learning more, I'd recommend checking out his bio on uncannyxmen dot net or lediableblanc dot com.