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Chapter 1


Written by Ephigenia
Last updated: 01/02/2007 02:01:11 AM

Chapter 1


Remy LeBeau? He's my brother. He's adopted, mind you- Papa brought him home one night unexpectedly, and he enjoyed the status of being Jean Luc LeBeau's youngest son ever afterwards. I can't say as I was thrilled at the time. I was in my late twenties and working very hard to further myself in my career, and a boy from the streets who lacked any form of manners and was, in many respects, as wild as a stray tomcat would only have annoyed me. So I thought.

Not so. I will say nothing of the years my father spent trying to train the street mannerisms out of him, or the endless trouble Remy got himself into throughout his life at home. It wasn't until after he'd left New Orleans- and we won't get into *that*, my friend- that I really realized how much I'd gotten attached to him. The house was terribly quiet with him gone. There

wasn't a limitless stream of female voices asking for my brother on the phone; there weren't any "borrowed" cars screeching around the corner, or small dents in Papa's bumper "which had been there before he'd driven to Richie's party- honest!"; there was no dirty laundry or mud-caked boots set on clean white carpets for anyone to yell about.

Oh no, it hadn't taken me long to fall under his spell. Remy's a charmer, and one must either love or hate him. He didn't quite have me under his thumb as he did Papa, who was totally enchanted by him, but I did indeed love my brother very deeply. I only wish the best for him, but I can't say that any wishing or even doing will change anything for him- the course he chooses in life is his own, and he's often too stubborn to consider another advised path until it's far too late, and something terrible has happened. This I've seen enough with my own eyes. It's been that way since the boy was born. It will be that way until he dies.

Detective Alexandra Davies

Remy LeBeau? I... I don't know who you're talking about... n-no, never met him...

How do you know that?! *Nobody* knows that...

I suppose I could... but please, don't tell anyone. All right?

I met him a long time ago when I was looking into several painting thefts about London. He came out of a window with a stolen painting. I arrested him. And then I let him go. No, I hadn't really meant to. He talked so fast, and his voice was so soothing, it was like I was suddenly caught up in a dream, and there was no painting to be reclaimed here. He promised me "bigger fish" in return for throwing the "little fish" back in. Looking at the great picture this all painted, it would seem more beneficent to trust this one thief- Remy- to get the other. It wasn't.

He took my sense of morality, loyalty, *good* and *right*, and shook it up too much for it to settle the same as before. I think I may have lost my edge because of him. Don't think that I resent it- I don't, not really. No one can ever met Remy without thinking of him later with either animosity or fondness, and I am always with feelings of the later kind. I think maybe he felt just as strongly about me as I did about him, but it wouldn't have worked out. I was tempted... but I loved my job at the Yard. I wouldn't have given it up for anything- I don't even think I could for Remy.

Why are you asking me this, anyway?


Whoever started that rumor about me and the Cajun didn't have the IQ of a grasshopper. Hell, I'm old enough to be his mother, and nobody in the world could *ever* get friendly with somebody who'd introduced you to... HIM. You know who I'm talking about.

Gambit always had it better than the rest of us, anyway. He got better food, he got better living quarters. He got paid in exchange for his work, which is more than anybody could say- we all just got shoved under the boss's thumb, where not even death can bring you freedom. Perpetual darkness. Never-ending fear that you're gonna be on the Doc's table getting your intestines ripped out without pain killers tomorrow. You know what that's like? No. So don't give me any of this "everybody loves Gambit" crap. It's not true. I hate him. All the Marauders hate him. The only reason we didn't rip his pretty little face off way back when is 'cause he was the boss' pet. Touch a hair on his body, and you're not gonna be seeing anything but black splotches of pain for a few weeks.

When he saw he'd abandoned us after the Massacre, we were all thrilled. Nobody would be there to remind us of the mistake we'd made in following that pied- piping bastard into this hellhole. Nobody to pretend he was so much more righteous than the rest of us, so tortured in having to deal with demons. I'm telling you, we hated his guts. Me most of all.

I gotta go. HE's calling.


I'll admit I've always been somewhat fascinated with Gambit, as annoying as he can be. All my life, I've tried to be the perfect child, the perfect student, the perfect leader, the perfect husband. The perfect hero. I've never quite made it, but of course, I never will. That's my curse. With Remy, though, it's almost the same: he wants to be the good friend, good lover, good guy. The hero. He's also never been able to make it. Thing is, he's been to lower depths than I ever have, and because of it... maybe he's risen to higher heights than me. He's redeemed himself. I've kept myself clean.

I admire him, though in no way would I want to be him. He's got plenty of issues to work through, plenty of problems I wouldn't ever want to face. We've become friends- sort of- or at least, comrades. He's dared to be open with me, though I know I intimidate him. He doesn't like having to do what I say. He's his own man, and he'll always be his own man- someday I think I'll accept that. Right now, it still irks me to argue with him over doing this or doing that when we've just finished bearing the torture of taking Rogue and Jean shopping together, or he's convinced me to play ping-pong (which he always

cheats at, anyway).

I couldn't imagine the X-Men without him, really. Or Rogue, or Storm, or Logan, or any of the members who haven't worn the X nearly as long as I have. I don't think I'd want to see the X-Men without him, either. Though my opinion may change the next time he puts cayenne in the pepper shaker in the name of good eating... again.


Gambit? I guess by that you mean LeBeau. I knew him, of course- he was practically my father. He raised me, anyway. Did I love him like a father? ...I guess. I loved him because he took care of us, because he always seemed to be thinking about us. I think, more than that, I felt sorry for him- he was completely, utterly, immutably mad, but with a wealth of knowledge gained over the years which he loved to share. By the time I'd grown up, he was hardly more than a skeleton with a lunatic mind, and I simply did not want to see him, or hear about him. My brother went to him now and then. I tried to forget.

Does that make me seem petty or mean-minded? I can't really explain what my relationship was like with him, because there is nothing to compare it with. I didn't stop caring about him... I just stopped... I stopped... I don't know. I can't say it. I can't quite find the words. LeBeau wasn't an altogether pleasant guy to be around. I didn't want to be around him, and I didn't feel

it was my responsibility to force myself to visit him. So I didn't.

Is that enough? Do you want me to say anymore? Because that's really all there is to talk about on the subject. That's how I feel. That's how I'll *always* feel.


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