DISCLAIMER:Well, there’s the usual stuff, like the X-Men that don’t belong to me, and the fact that I’m not allowed to make money off of them. Darn it all. The song quoted below is from the "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat" soundtrack. Personally, I’m stuck on the Canadian version. However, that’s neither here nor there, and I’m sure you don’t want to spend the next seven hours reading all about my opinions, which are many and non-changeable. And so, onto the good stuff. Oh yeah - I do realize that’s it’s almost impossible Tante Mattie sang this song to Remy, but hey, a little artistic license please.


Almost Home
By ScarletLady


Remy woke from yet another dream/nightmare. He’d been watching Storm, and then, exactly as had happened with Wolverine, he’d become Storm.

He/she had been sitting in the wide window seat of her loft, holding back the curtains, and staring out into the night. The brightness of the moon and stars illuminated the lawn with a pearlescent glow. There was an unfathomable yearning expanding within her soul. As she had done every night, she sent yet another prayer winging aloft on the evening breeze. Please bring Remy back home.

Of all the X-Men, possibly excepting Rogue, she missed him most. There had been no goodbye between them, and her days passed with the feeling that something important was missing from her heart.

There had been a great deal of hurt as time passed with no word. In some ways, that was worse than his abandonment of her.

Because of their shared past, she’d become strongly attached to Remy. He’d been an immovable anchor for her when problems raged like a whirlwind around her, and it grieved her that he’d been suffering and she hadn’t known. Didn’t he know she would always be there for him when he needed to talk?

He seemed so close to her tonight. The longing for his comforting presence was stronger than it had been in months. And still he was so far away. "Where are you, Remy LeBeau?" she whispered to the stars shining high above, as a single tear traced it’s way down her cheek.

Her loneliness was tangible, and its ache had awoken Remy. Ororo’s tears still stung, and her misery echoed throughout him.

He made his way down the hall to his tiny living room. He’d been living for the past few months in a neighborhood very close to the mansion, waiting and wanting to go home, but feeling too nervous and scared to make the endeavor easy.

He stopped in front of the battered piano he’d bought a month ago. In New Orleans, he’d grown up around music of all kinds, and so he’d added to the therapy the doctors had proscribed for his hands by teaching himself to play several instruments. Music muted the silence around him, and made him feel less alone in his darkness.

The constant use of his hands, while at first extremely painful, had brought back a measure of his dexterity, and so he had no trouble drawing forth an almost hymn-like song he’d remembered Tante Mattie singing to him when he’d first gone to live in the LeBeau household. There were many times when being inside a house with relative strangers had combined to make it near impossible for him to go to sleep, and Tante Mattie would regularly stop by to sing him to into calmness.

It was a song that she’d meant to reassure him that no matter how bad things got, there was always someone who would take care of him, but Remy had never quite gotten that concept until Dakota.

Remy didn’t know if he believed in a benevolent God, but he did believe that Dakota was watching over him, and he absolutely knew that that even if every dark secret remaining in his heart hid were to be published in the latest scandal sheet, she would still love him.

As he played, the sounds grew more intricate, becoming an enigmatic melody, and he lent his voice to the haunting lyrics.

All the pain he’d suffered in the past had never had a place to go, and so grew into a dark torment behind a strongly locked and buried door. With Dakota’s help, he’d opened that door to find all the old ghosts living there had vanished like so much morning mist.

But there were other doors that no one else would ever know about. They each had their own name. The older ones were dust covered, and located in the dusty reaches of the basement. Sinister. Maurauders. The newest one had a bright shiny lock on it, and was just down the hall. Rogue. The pressure behind that one was intense, and some of it found an emotional vent in his music.

Remy’s damaged voice was made up of satin and smoke, and his husky tones lent a captivating twist to the song that could have been written about his recent life.

 

Close every door to me

Hide all the world from me

Bar all the windows

And shut out the light

 

Do what you want with me

Hate me and laugh at me

Darken my daytime

And torture my night

 

If my life were important

I would ask, "Will I live or die?"

But I know the answers

Lie far from this world

 

Close every door to me

Take those I love from me

Children of Israel are never alone

 

For I know I shall find

My own peace of mind

For I have been promised

A land of my own

 

Just give me a number

Instead of my name

Forget all about me

And let me decay

 

I do not matter

I’m only one person

Destroy me completely

Then throw me away

 

If my life were important

I would ask, "Will I live or die?"

But I know the answers

Lie far from this world

 

Close every door to me

Take those I love from me

Children of Israel are never alone

 

For we know we shall find

Our own peace of mind

For we have been promised

A land of our own

 

The music faded, and silence was once again the reigning force in his world.

"Will I ever find my way home?" The silence did not answer, but his face involuntarily turned to the north, where, separated from him by only a few miles, he could feel Scott and the others caught in sleep. Their emotions were quiescent, a deceptive aura of serenity surrounding them.

"Soon," he whispered.