DISCLAIMER The X-Men are the property of Marvel Comics and are used without their
permission. Sikudhani McCoy is the property of Darqstar and is mentioned in this story with her
permission. This is a work of fanfiction, intended for entertainment purposes only.

The Reflection In The Mirror
Part Two
By ScarletLady


The challenges of day to day living had become marginally interesting to Remy. He'd never really thought about how
handicapped people had managed on a minute to minute basis. He'd always regarded them with a certain amount of "There but
for the grace of God go I" pity. He helped where he saw a problem, and promptly went on with his life.

That was no longer a viable option for the Cajun. Every facet of his life had changed, and in no way did he think it was for the
better. **Dat which don' kill me, gonna make me stronger, neh?** He thought with a small burst of annoyed amusement.

His difficulties never seemed to have a starting or stopping point. He had troubles from the minute he tried to roll out of bed, to
the obstacles he faced tilting into bed, and lord help him if he tried to turn over once he was there.

Remy was blind, had partial use of only one arm, a voice gone from whisky smooth to moonshine rough from smoke, and a face
that made people look away rather than offer to help. Not that he wanted help. Remy refused to acknowledge that he wasn't
doing just fine on his own.

He regarded as minor such problems as getting dressed with only one hand, learning how to label cans in the pantry so he
wasn't eating "whatchacallit" every night, and learning to buy all his clothes in one color. Although, how he knew for sure they
were all one color was anyone's guess.

The problem he was having the most difficulty with was the dreaming. Some were nightmares, some were not, but every last
one involved the X-Men.



He'd see Storm aloft in the wind, hurling thunderbolts, or Henry, working in the lab, with the clock on his desk blinking 2 A.M.
He'd see Jean, eyes closed, leaning against Scott as he watched the evening news. Or Bobby, getting his butt kicked from one
end of an alley to another by Riptide.

Remy knew he'd in some way let himself down when he left the team. He wanted to tell himself that he should have found a way
to stick it out. It never once occurred to him that his slipping control over his empathy was subjecting him to emotional abuse.
Some unconscious habit made sure he knew he deserved it.

As months slipped by, and the dreams refused to fade, Gambit began to realize it was time for a change.

Without his noticing, he'd made peace with himself. The duel between Gambit and Remy had been fought on a silent battlefield,
and both had died. A stronger person slowly emerged, and looked ahead to the future.

**T'ink it's time maybe I go back.** The thought crossed his mind, and then had to do it again. **What de hell I be t'inkin?**
He threw out that bit of nonsense, and continued on.

But life refused to leave the Cajun alone.

One cloudy day, he was sitting on the front porch. He'd just finished his proscribed therapy, and as usual, the intense pain the
exercises cost him had left him sweaty, hurting, and extremely tired.

He could smell the rain in the air, and knew it was only a matter of time till he'd have to go back in. He'd always hated the rain.
It interfered with his spatial perception to the point of giving him a rather intense headache. To a thief, the rain should be a
friend; masking movement and sound, but Remy hated it nonetheless.

Last night, he'd dreamed again. This time it was Ororo, as he'd first met her. A small child of no more that ten.

He wanted to be outside, among the elements that 'Ro called her friends. He needed the reminder that he hadn't always been
alone. **Tch. You getting sorry for yourself, homme. T'ink you got enough goin' on, don' need to add to de pot.**

Remy went back into his kitchen, and fished a mug out of the cupboard, making a cup of "only-a-Cajun-could-drink-this-mud"
instant coffee in the microwave. He opened the fridge and mentally reviewed the contents, but he was too tired to cook, and
there wasn't anything there immediately edible. "Wasn't really hungry anyways, " he told himself.

As exhaustion crept up on him despite the valiant effort of the sludge in his mug, the vitality that, despite everything, still marked
his movements dimmed. Remy didn't bother to hide it, but only because there was no one else around. Growing up the way he
had, he'd learned that vulnerability was always noted, and would always be used against him at some point. Even now,
surrounded by no one but the birds and squirrels, those lessons were never forgotten for a moment.

He dumped the rest of the coffee down the sink, rinsed the mug and dropped it in the dishwasher. Despite, or perhaps because
of, his habits of sleeping till noon, smoking like a chimney, and dressing like a scruffy backwoods boy, his teammates had never
realized that Remy was something of a neat-freak. As a master thief, his life had often depended on being able to lay his hands
on exactly the right thing at the right time. That meant you had to know exactly where things were,

and you left them the same way every time. **Damn good asset, when you can' see no more, too** he decided.

He drifted back to the porch, sitting on the lowest step, and leaning against the side rails.

Eventually, thunder rumbled, and as he rose to go inside, the dark clouds that had quickly scudded overhead opened up. In less
time than it took Remy to utter a particularly creative cussword, he was drenched.

Remy was glad 'Ro wasn't here right now. Ororo gloried in all aspects of nature. To Ororo, nature was showing off just for her
when seasons changed, bringing snow or rain.

Remy hadn't any desire to hurt her feelings, so while he could never pretend to enjoy the rain, he had somehow failed to mention
just how much pain it brought him. It had been worth it to see the delight in her eyes when the elements came up with some new
way to entertain her.

Remy was bone-tired, and already soaked. If he was going to be thinking about Ororo, seemed like the best place to do it was
the rain. He noticed the headache was already present, so he simply folded. Dropping into an Indian seat on the porch, he
remembered Ororo.

**Meeting up wit' her was probl'y de best t'ing dat ever happen to me.** Remy knew what would have happened to him
eventually, living in his shadowed world. He'd had no cornerstones in his life. No reason to believe in anything, no reason to try
to be anything.

Thrown out of New Orleans, and severed of all adoptive family ties was a severe blow. But they couldn't take his thieving skills,
which was how he'd made his living afterwards. He'd quickly become a master thief, untouchable. There was no more challenge
to be found in the pinch.

With nothing more to look forward to, Remy's boredom would soon have turned self-destructive. He would have wound up an
adrenaline junkie, living for the rush he got by cheating death. Death would have won in the end, and just what would that have
meant? To anyone else, not a damn thing. To Remy, not a damn thing. Looking back on those days, Remy gave an inward
shudder.

That was when Sinister made his appearance. To a young, arrogant Remy, Sinister was just another possible employer. To
Sinister, Remy was perhaps his greatest opportunity. One he had absolutely no intention of ever letting go.

With a mental trick he had long ago perfected to save what was left of his sanity, Remy deflected his thought process away from
that black hole of memories.

Even thinking about thinking about Sinister was more than enough to dispel some of the tiredness, but the dreams had been
keeping Remy from getting much sleep. He knew sleeping four out of twenty-four hours for the past few days was going to
knock him flat in an hour or two. He indulged in a jaw-popping yawn, and gave an awkward stretch, hard enough to make
several muscles protest.

'Ro was the first truly bright spot in his life. Even as a child in New Orleans, Remy had known he was living on the dark side of
the law. Being a particularly sensitive child, he endured with some distress the conflict between his desire for the sun, and the
shadows of Henri LeBeau, his adopted father. As he grew older, and his mutant abilities made their appearance, he'd grown
apart, alone.

A powerful gift of empathy was his curse. You could never lie to Remy. If he frightened you, he knew it. Blow upon blow
rained upon him from his father, and later his wife, Belladonna. Physical abuse would have been so much easier to deal with.
Instead, they'd tried to lie to him. They spoke the words he had always wanted to believe, but they had fear coloring their every
dealing with him. And so, he learned not to trust. Ever.

Ororo had been a child when Remy had stumbled across her. Fleeing from the Shadow King, Remy had found in himself a
fierce desire to protect this child. Left to himself, Remy would have avoided the Shadow King, but had he been caught, perhaps
it would have been him meeting his fate. Instead, Remy had fallen in love with Ororo. As a child, she needed him in ways that
helped mend a few of the ragged edges of his heart. Ororo had given him back a reason to be. Remy was 'Ro's protector, and
guardian. It defined him for the first time in a better way. For 'Ro, he would step out of the shadows he'd learned to hide in. For
'Ro, he needed to be a better person.

But then came the X-Men, telling him Ororo was no longer his to protect. That she belonged to them. And with 'Ro back to
being an adult, things changed. Remy again found himself without a definition. But he couldn't let go. He needed Ororo to
remind himself that for a moment in time, he'd looked up at life and marveled. Remy clung to that memory like he'd clung to an
old stuffed dog as Henri LeBeau dragged him off the streets of New Orleans when he was seven.

Remy hadn't been about to just turn Ororo over to a bunch of strangers, even if he knew they were telling the truth. Ororo had
clung to him when these strangers had shown up, and Remy had felt safe being needed. They probably could have forced him to
give up Ororo to them, but not without heavy damage, mostly to them. Cerebro had spotted him as a mutant, but his signature
had been...odd. He didn't fit into their normal classification parameters, so they'd approached with a great deal of caution.

He knew that nothing they'd found had inspired any great amount of reassurance. He was a man who had many masks, and all
of them contained enough truth to be absolutely believable. What they saw that day was a hard man, made incongruous by the
sight of a small child held protectively in his arms.

The X-Men had faced him, but uneasiness rippled through their minds. This man projected absolute confidince, and a subtle
danger. The fact that he didn't put the child down, or place her behind him for protection spoke an entire encyclopedia about
this man's belief in his abilities.

**Daydreamin' again, homme. Wake yoursel' up!** Remy stirred, and realized that bein wet was rapidly losing it's charm.
Storm was a happy memory, but she was far away, and pneumonia was right around the corner.

He rose, and made his way back inside.

**Bed-time for 'dis boy,** he thought and gave the kitchen a final going over, running hands along countertops to make sure
everything was put away. He touched a finger to a small pot of herbs he'd placed on the windowsill…before…but the scent
was pleasant, and it had somehow made it through his hospital time. The soil was dry. **Rain water do d'ese pretties more
good 'den tap,** he thought, and picked up the small container. **Guess 'Ro's lectures on her plant frien's stuck somehow,**
he thought with a sleepy half smile.

<

Remy opened the door, and knelt down to set the pots on the edge of the porch, where they could catch some of the rain, but
still have a bit of shelter. Remy knelt there for a moment, and let his thought drift.

**Merde,** he thought. **I'm so dopey I'm sittin' here like a bayou gator myself.** With an effort, he rose to his feet, meaning
to go back inside and dry off, before going face first into his pillow. He might turn over for air sometime tomorrow.

It was as he stood that he first noticed the dog. Well, he guessed that was being a bit generous. From it's mental imprint, that
pup couldn't be more than 6 weeks old.

It sat there in the rain, not making a sound or movement. It simply watched him. **Odd for a pup dat young,** Remy thought.
He could tell the pup was hungry and cold. Remy slowly crossed the six feet that separated them and crouched down to pick
up the pup. "Gonna bite me if I check you over, pup?" The puppy yipped, and licked the mishapen hand reaching for him. Remy
stopped cold. "Guess not," he whispered in a not quite steady voice.

Just like that, Remy knew he'd found a friend. His relationships with others had always been colored with a faint distrust, his
empathy had made him so, and even his Stormy wasn't someone he was comfortable calling his friend. Their relationship was
confused, based on a need for acceptance from him, and the habit of deference from her.

This mistreated little dog was his first friend. Remy's throat tightened, and he swallowed hard. He didn't understand it, didn't
question it, just opened a door in his heart and this little mutt made himself right at home.

When he made physical contact with the puppy, Remy could feel the pain the young dog was in. "Guess we best get you
doctored up. No sense in de two of us hurtin dis bad, neh?"

After making his way back into the kitchen, Remy dried himself as best he could with a couple of dish towels, so he wouldn't
drip all the way up to his room, and cuddled the pup to his chest as he went upstairs.

He opened the door to his room, and said "Well, pup, guess you got yourself a new home. Let's go see it."

He threw the muddy towels into his hamper, and reached into his closet for a couple of clean ones. "You up to a bath, petite?"
he asked the dog. No collar, he noticed. He also noticed that it'd been some time since the pup had eaten. He could count
every one of his ribs, under fur that was so matted and muddy there was no way to tell the length of the hair. Somehow, Remy
knew exactly what color his eyes were, though. Even though he'd never physically see them, he knew they were a brilliant
emerald green. Green as Rogue's eyes, and Ororo's ferns, he thought whimsically.

Remy gave a rueful smile, the first totally unguarded expression his face had known since a child of seven. If anyone he knew
had seen that look, they never would have known it was him. Despite his scars, there was a childlike delight in the way he
looked at the puppy, who gazed back at him and Remy could swear the dog smiled in return.

Remy had forgotten his tiredness in the wonder of his new friend. He was reluctant to let the dog go, knowing how good his
warmth felt to the puppy, and feeling how the puppy was returning that warmth straight to his heart.

Remy knew the warm water of a bath would do more to ease sore muscles than anything else he could do right now for the
dog. But if the puppy were going to protest, it would be better just to keep him close, and warm.

Figuring he'd risk it, he grabbed his sweatpants, and juggled the puppy, towels, soap, shampoo, and clothes as he headed for
the bathroom. Remy thought about washing the pup in the sink, but he was muddy too from holding the dog, and he wasn’t' one
for wasting time.

He was glad no one else was there to see as he filled the bathtub, and continued to hold the pup snuggled up to him as he
climbed in. "Bath time, petite." Remy leaned back into the warm water, and sighed in pleasure. The dog squirmed a bit, then
curled up on Remy's chest, letting go a yawn that showed every baby tooth in his head. Remy knew he had to ease the pup
down into the water, but the enjoyment of having the pup so relaxed was causing him to relax too, and remember just how tired
he was. After a few moments of letting the pup nap, Remy finally stirred, and carefully tranferred the pup from his chest to his
hand, and clumsily began to rinse the puppy off.

As he carefully soaped and rinsed, he checked for open sores, or especially tender places, but the puppy seemed to have
accepted that Remy meant no harm, and made no sounds.

"You a marvel pup. Guess we best come up wit' a name for you, non?"