When Remy returned to New Orleans, he headed straight for the bar. It was just past closing time, but that was part of what made it such an appealing destination. In the past three days he'd been on the road for a total of almost thirty hours. He'd also ended his marriage somewhere in the middle of all of that. There wasn't enough liquor in his apartment for how he planned to spend the next week or so.

Thierry was wiping down tables when Remy entered. Fucking perfect. It couldn't have been Stella or Ben who was closing that night. No, it had to be someone that he'd at some point have to explain his actions to.

"Salut, ça va?"

"Terrible," Remy replied. "If a meteor fell out of the sky right now and hit me in the head, it would be an improvement."

"Maybe you should go home."

He dismissed Thierry's suggestion with a flick of his hand and kept walking towards the back of house. "Later. I want to have a few drinks with Gaston first."

Thierry sighed deeply. "Does that mean you'll be sleeping in the office again?"

"Maybe." It did have a very comfortable sofa. Remy grabbed the first bottle his fingers touched behind the bar, and gave Thierry a warning as he backed through the door to the kitchen. "If you tell Henri that I'm here, I will fucking fire you for real this time."

"N'importe quoi."

"I mean it!"

Hours later, a loud crash startled him awake. He fumbled in the dark for his phone, which had fallen on the floor next to the sofa. It was only 5am, and he was still feeling the effects of having drunk too much of a truly disgusting bottle of brandy because of course that was what he'd had the misfortune of grabbing.

He stuffed his phone in his pocket as he got up, and took out a deck of cards. Adrenaline had cleared most of the haze in his head, but his movements still felt sluggish. A lucky break for whoever had come to pick a fight with him.

None of the lights were on, but Remy had excellent night vision thanks to his mutation, and he silently made his way through the kitchen, and then did a quick sweep of the front of house.

No one was there. Which made sense, since no one was supposed to be there for at least a few more hours. Not even the cleaners came in at 5am.

It might have been his imagination, but he swore he could smell the aroma of freshly baked bread. "Gaston?"

Even the dead were conspiring against him.

Whatever. It was time he took the pity party back to his apartment anyway. He just needed to round up a few more friends to join him first. Jim and Jack would be much better company than the ghost. Less judgmental too.

xxx

The trouble with drinking and then sleeping, and then repeating that cycle a few times, was that eventually you ran the risk of waking up with a raging headache and finding that you were out of booze, had no idea what time or day it was, and hadn't showered the whole time.

Had he eaten recently? Probably not, but Remy seemed to remember having crackers or chips, or something of that nature in his kitchen. After securing a bag of mini pretzels, he downed a few aspirin with the last of the whiskey he'd conveniently left on the counter from the—day?—night?—before.

On his way back to the bedroom, he paused. There was an intruder in the apartment.

"Took you long enough. What if I was an Assassin?" Henri asked. He was sitting in a chair in the living room, holding Remy's laptop.

Remy shrugged and changed course to the couch. "Then at least I'd be put out of my misery."

Henri was unimpressed. "Uh-huh."

Then Remy's brain caught up with him. "Did Thierry—?"

"No, so don't you go firing him again," Henri said. "Though your office was the first place I looked once I heard you were back."

If it wasn't Thierry, and Henri knew that he was back, then... "Who do you have watching the bar?"

"If you haven't figured that out yet, then I'm not going to tell you. What the hell were you doin' drinking brandy?"

"Communing with the spirit of a baguette baking ghost. What are you doing in my apartment?"

"I was worried, which seems like a running theme these days." Henri set the laptop down. "Nice job on the encryption."

A small victory. His brother hadn't figured out the login. "Merci, your approval means so much to me."

"Do I have to smack you again?"

Remy shoved a handful of pretzels into his mouth. "Dunno. Prob'ly."

"That job in Columbus shouldn't have taken more than a few days," Henri said, ignoring him. "D'you run into trouble?"

Remy took the time to swallow before answering. "I took a detour after."

"To where?"

"New York."

"Which ain't even on the way back from Ohio."

"Did I ever mention that I'm really bad with maps?"

"No, 'cause you're not. What's this really about?"

"Why don't you ever come over just to hang out?" Remy asked. "Why is it always Guild business that drags your ass up out of the swamp and into my life?"

"The Guild didn't send me, couyon. You really think they give a shit about what kind of state you wake up in as long as the job gets done?" Henri sighed. "Lemme see if I can figure this out. I know you picked up the divorce papers from the lawyer, so I'm guessing that you took the Columbus job, even though it was way below your skills, because you wanted an excuse to go up north. Is Marie in New York?"

Remy nodded, and then immediately regretted it and let out a groan. He leaned back and rested his head on the couch and closed his eyes.

"The fine folks at the U.S. Postal Service would've been more than happy to deliver those papers for you."

"I know."

"But you wanted to see her."

"It didn't feel right ending it through the mail."

"How'd it feel doing it in person?"

"A million times worse."

Remy had just wanted to see her one last time, and then...well, that was where things had fallen apart. Oh sure, somewhere between Columbus and Westchester, he'd come up with a brilliant plan. One that involved waltzing into the school, applying for a position, and then stealing his wife back.

But when he'd actually driven up to the front of the mansion, the reality of the situation set in. He knew that he'd never be able to do that to Marie, and that seeing her every day, with another man, would be worse than not seeing her at all.

So he had talked himself out of grand gestures, and decided instead to call Marie and to tell her that he was passing through. The better plan was to simply arrange to meet at a coffee shop and give her the envelope there.

Except then her friend had walked out the door just as he was getting ready to leave, and he'd needed to quickly come up with a Plan C after she recognized him. Now that had been a surprise. He had just figured Marie would go on pretending that he didn't exist.

"Why do you do this to yourself?" Henri asked.

"Hell if I know."

The worst part was that Marie had seemed so happy to see him, like he was an old friend, and wouldn't he like to come in for a tour and see the apartment that she shared with her fiancé? How could he have said yes to that? He already felt like his heart was being ripped to shreds. If he had stayed for much longer, he would've been tempted to find Wolverine, goad him into a fight, and then let the clawed man stab his chest for real.

"Pauvre bête."

That was him, a poor thing, in need of pity. "Any jobs on the other side of the world?" Remy asked.

"Not that I know of, but I'll let you know if one comes up. Is Siberia far enough?"

"Sounds lovely."

A weight shifted the cushion on the couch next to him. "Look, I'm not blaming you. If it was me, and I lost Mercy, I'd be just the same. You got dealt a bad hand, and if I could fix it for you, I would. But some hands, you can't cheat your way out of. You've just got to take the hit and figure out how to recover from it. We've been here before, right?"

"Yeah." Almost eight years ago now, only the pain had been worse then. Maybe that was something. Maybe that meant he was starting to move on. Things could only look up from there, he supposed.

"You know you stink, right?"

"I love you too, Henri."