Title: Shadows

Author: Morgana (morganalebeau@yahoo.com)

Website: http://www.oocities.org/morganalebeau/

Rating: NC-17

Pairing/main characters: Gambit/Scott

Series/Sequel: sequel to The eyes of a child

Summary: This sequel starts with Remy being abandoned by Rogue at Antarctica. As I find Marvel's way of rescuing Remy completely unbelievable I will continue going AU and Remy will be rescued by someone else. Still mourning Benjamin and Dave's death and having to leave Mike behind, he tries to pick up the pieces and returns to Westchester to live in the boathouse, shunned by most X-Men and he's taken off the team. Tragedy strikes again and Remy finds himself comforting one of his teammates.

Disclaimer: Marvel's...

Date: Feb 2002

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Shadows 1 - Antarctica

By Morgana

 

I never felt dis cold 'fore, mais it makes fuckin' sense; of course it's cold in Antarctica! Dey didn' even leave me my armor...

L'amour, affection, trust, fait', dey're gone now. I stopped believin' when Rogue flew 'way, abandonin' me, sentencin' me to dis icy deat'. I hoped de X-Men would come back to get me once dey realized I wasn' wit' dem. Hoped dat dey'd turn 'round to search for me. Mais non, it was all wishful t'inkin'. De citadel is my prison and deat' de only way out for me.

///

Remy shivered, trying to charge a card for warmth. He no longer possessed the strength to charge it fully or to cause an explosion. Right now, he was merely capable of creating a soft glow that provided him with a bit of warmth and light. Backing further into the corner of the room, he tried to draw in another agonizing breath. When had it become so hard to breathe?

Only a few seconds ago, part of the ceiling had collapsed and he had been scared that the debris would obstruct the doorway, but it looked like he might be able to squeeze through... barely. Making one false move meant getting buried beneath tons of debris.

And yet he kept on fighting. He refused to give in and let death claim him. Why? Why was he still fighting? Moving forward he tried to feel his way through the debris and his fingertips began to bleed as he clawed his way through the metal. He was buried alive. What had possessed him to come back inside after Rogue had left him? After she had sentenced him to death?

It had been too cold outside. He was only wearing trousers and he had shivered when the biting cold had hit his naked skin. After fleeing inside, he had hidden there, but then the ceiling had crumbled from the shock of the explosions, which raged on the upper level of the citadel. The whole structure was trembling on its foundations and he had better find a way out. But where to go?

"S-stop f-fightin', R-remy," he said aloud, his speech slurred. Accept de trut'! "D-dere's no w-way out and you're g-gonna die here. S-should have d-died a long t-time ago, me. Don' know w-why dey help me f-fight... Ben...jamin and D-dave died 'cause dey cared and M-m-mike... wonder if he's s-s-still 'live or did Julien k-kill him anyway?"

He had stopped shivering some time ago. Although he was icy cold, his body no longer fought the inevitable. With his bleeding fingers, he ripped away a panel and ducked as sparkles sizzled through the room. Electricity... would it strengthen his kinetic energy?

If only he could remove the isolation material to expose the copper beneath it. Maybe it would keep him alive. Stop it! Stop t'inkin' 'bout survivin'! Jus' accept de inevitable! But a part of him wanted to see Jean-Luc again to tell his father that he had forgiven him for stealing him from the hospital. Mattie... He also wanted to see Mattie again, maybe listen to her hum a lullaby... and Henri... Henri had done his best to be his big brother, but it had been to no avail. Here he was, alone and hurting and none of his family was here, or even knew where he was!

Icy blood stuck to his fingertips, freezing instantly as it hit the cold air. After a few futile attempts, he gave up on removing the isolation material. Bowing his head, he slid down the wall and sat on the cold metal floor. In the distance, another explosion rocked the citadel. He could die of hypothermia, starve to death or the debris might bury him alive. None of those ways of dying appealed to him.

"It's t-t-time to let g-go, L-le...Beau," he whispered, his slurred speech getting even worse. "P-poppa, M-mattie, Henri, I'm so s-s-sorry I let you d-down, mais I didn' k-know what to do when Ju...lien challenged m-m-me... Ai, B-belle, de Elixir made you jolie 'gain... you're 'live, r-r-rulin' de As...sas...sins. I'm glad for you, chère... I -d-d-did love you... s-s-sooooo s-s-sooooorry..."

I regret so many t'ings... I regret allowin' Benjamin and Dave taking me in. I loved dem... dey were kind to me and in love wit' each ot'er... I regret leavin' Mike... mais I had to leave 'cause I wanted him to stay 'live... I regret lyin' to Rogue... ma chère, we could never have been truly happy... I loved you 'cause I pitied you... know how bad it feels when your powers are out of control, me... Rogue, please forgive me for tryin' to make somet'in' work dat never stood a chance...

Tiredly, he closed his eyes, knowing he wouldn't be able to open them again. The cold froze his eyelashes to his skin. I'm so sorry... My life was a series of mistakes, of lost opportunities and bad choices. I did de best I could, mais it never was 'nough... I feel tired, so tired... Wonder what deat' will be like...

It was getting harder to breathe and he was slipping toward unconsciousness. His breathing almost came to a stop and his skin faded to white.

///

"Damn, I should have come sooner. I may be too late..." Sinister stepped away from the tesseract and walked toward Remy. The young man appeared frozen in death; no breath left his lips and his eyes were frozen shut. Remy's torso revealed gray and white areas, indicating frostbite. "I have to act quickly..." Sinister knelt beside Remy and gently slipped his arms beneath the younger man's back and knees.

Handle the victim gently. Rough handling can cause heartbeat irregularities and death.

Professor Sanders' words drifted back into his mind. The old physician had been his mentor when he had first ventured out in the medical field, and the accomplished physician had accompanied him every step of the way. He lifted Remy gently and already tried to examine his patient.

Victims of moderate to severe hypothermia have an altered level of consciousness and fluctuating changes to their heart and respiratory rate. They may be shivering and their core body temperature is usually below 33°C.

Sinister nodded his head, recalling everything Professor Sanders had ever told him about hypothermia. Almost a hundred years had passed and he still recalled every word vividly. After stepping through the tesseract with his charge, he headed for his laboratory.

///

The first thing he did after placing Remy on the exam table was to raise the room temperature. Next, he had to set up a treatment plan, but what did he know about treating hypothermia? Professor Sanders had lived one hundred years ago and in the meantime, new treatments had been introduced.

Sinister gently checked for airway obstructions. Although Remy appeared dead, Sinister still felt a very weak pulse. The young man was hanging in there, fighting for his life. "A true Essex..." Pride colored his tone.

Remy's trousers radiated cold and he quickly removed them, finding even more gray and white areas. He took great care not to touch the areas suffering from frostbite and wrapped Remy in warm blankets. His strength came in handy when he gently lifted Remy to put a warm comforter beneath him.

Sinister put his patient on an EKG and a continuous blood pressure monitor. Methodically, he placed a foley catheter to monitor urine output. He started an IV of normal saline, which he hooked up to a warming device that warmed the normal saline before it entered Remy's body. After placing a mask over Remy's mouth and nose, warm, humidified oxygen flowed into his patient's lungs.

Hopefully, Remy would recover quickly; he couldn't afford to lose this source of DNA. Remy's DNA was special and precious. Once the warm, humidified air was flowing through the oxygen mask, he stood back, studying Remy's vital signs, which were improving.

Now that he had taken care of the hypothermia, the frostbite worried him. He knew better than to touch or rub the damaged areas. He even made sure that the blankets weren't making contact with the frozen flesh. Blisters were already developing and they would hurt like hell once Remy regained consciousness. "Let's hope it's only superficial frostbite," he mumbled softly.

He filled a tub with warm water and antiseptic solution. For the next thirty minutes, he placed warm compresses on the affected areas. After wrapping Remy back up into the cocoon of blankets, he checked his son's vital signs again. They were still improving.

Keeping a close eye on his patient, Sinister hoped Remy would regain consciousness shortly so he could check on his patient's mental state. Once Remy was conscious he could drink something warm and sweet to get his blood sugar level balanced again, but now... all he could do was wait.

///

Ten minutes later Remy was stable, but still unconscious. His core temperature had risen and Sinister felt confident that his patient would survive. He re-applied the warm compresses to the areas affected by frostbite and quickly pulled the blankets back in place. When would Remy begin to shiver? The mere act of shivering would help raise his body temperature!

He had long ago pulled up a chair and now sat watching his patient, wondering why he was fussing over Remy. He had also fussed over Remy that first time, after he performed brain surgery on his son. Why was he worried?

"His empathy..."

When he had talked to the thieves in New Orleans, they had told him about Le Diable Blanc's charm, but he had seen right through it. Remy's empathy had kicked in and allowed him to read and manipulate other people's feelings, even when he wasn't aware he was doing it. And that was what was happening now... Remy's empathy made him remember feelings he hadn't experienced in decades.

He had been married once... had been in love, had had a son he had loved, but he had sacrificed all that for science. Did he regret his choices? That was hard to say as he no longer felt regret, love or hatred. He didn't love Remy, but didn't hate him either. The boy existed and his prime objective was to make sure Remy survived so he always had access to his DNA.

An hour passed and Sinister grew impatient. Surely Remy should be regaining consciousness by now? Running another test to study Remy's vitals, Sinister found nothing alarming. Remy was sound asleep and the areas affected by frostbite were regaining their normal tint. It didn't look like Remy would suffer permanent injuries; the boy would make a full recovery. But the skin damaged by the frostbite would be extremely painful once Remy woke up. His son would be confined to his bed for a few days.

Thirty minutes later, Sinister caught the fluttering of Remy's eyelids and he moved closer. Tremors shook his son's body and Remy fought to remove the oxygen mask. Sinister placed his right hand firmly over the mask, making sure Remy couldn't push it away. Remy didn't have any control over his hands and they were swinging frantically. In the end, Sinister gently took hold of them, placed them back beneath the blankets and adjusted the warm compresses.

"Gambit? Remy? Can you hear me?" Remy definitely reacted to hearing his name and the red on black eyes flashed open. Sinister smiled, pleased, and nodded his head. "The prodigal son returns."

///

Non... Ai, non... not Sinister... He fought to keep his eyes open and he wanted to raise his hands to push away the oxygen mask, but found that he couldn't move his arms at all. They were trapped beneath several blankets and wrapped in warm compresses. His eyes locked with Sinister's. Facing death had made him bold and he didn't fear any punishment he might face at Sinister's hands.

Sinister acknowledged the pleading expression in Remy's eyes. "I found you in the citadel and brought you to my laboratory. You're suffering from severe hypothermia, Remy. Don't try to move too much. Your core temperature is stabilizing, but the oxygen mask needs to stay in place."

Hypothermia? Oui, he remembered the cold and trying to get to the copper to recharge his kinetic energy, but his frozen and bleeding fingertips had hampered him.

"Remy? Do you want some tea? It would help raise your body temperature and I want you to take a bath later."

Remy blinked. Why was Sinister fussing over him? The monster didn't have any feelings!

"I'm going to get the tea. Now don't move and rest." Sinister disliked leaving Remy alone, even only for a minute, but he had to fetch the tea and he didn't trust any of the Marauders to help him. He didn't want them to know anyway. He was having a hard time controlling Creed as it was.

Remy's eyes closed and he listened to Sinister's retreating footfalls. He had to move now! Once Sinister was back he couldn't risk an escape attempt! Huh? Why weren't his legs moving? Or his arms for that matter? He barely managed to cock his head and moaned softly as a sharp pain swept through his body. Mon Dieu! His hands, arms and feet hurt!

"It's frostbite," Sinister explained as he returned, seeing the pained expression on Remy's face. "The tissue is reheating and the pain is actually a good sign. Try to drink this." Extremely carefully, Sinister helped Remy to sit upright, piling several pillows beneath his back. He removed the oxygen mask long enough for Remy to sip. "I'll help you," he offered, knowing damn well that Remy couldn't use his hands. "I wrapped the damaged areas in warm compresses. I'll replace them after you take that bath." He had hauled the Victorian bath tub in to his lab earlier so Remy could remain hooked up to the warm humidified oxygen.

Why? Why didn' you lemme die? I don' wanna live... especially not as your prisoner... You ain' my fat'er... jus' playin' headgames wit' me. Lemme go... I don' want you to take care of me. I'm tired, me... let's stop playin' games and end it.

Remy closed his eyes as Sinister helped him drink the tea. Although he hated admitting it, feeling the warm liquid flow down his throat felt soothing.

Sinister had read Remy's thoughts; his son's shields had been shattered and Remy no longer had any defenses. Realizing that Remy had a death wish surprised him. He didn't understand why a powerful mutant like his son let other people's actions affect him like that. Apocalypse had done him a big favor by removing his emotions, maybe he should offer Remy a similar bargain? But no, he already knew Remy would refuse. The young man cared too much and too deeply.

Remy wallowed in guilt and pain, pulling it close like a coat. It kept everyone outside, he trusted no one and thus he figured he wouldn't be hurt again and when someone did hurt him, he cherished the pain because it proved his point. Sinister shook his head in disapproval. Remy was too sensitive, a true empath.

After fastening the oxygen back over Remy's mouth and nose Sinister said, "It's time for your bath." He disposed of the now empty tea cup.

"N-non... n-no b-bath..." Remy cringed, finding that his speech was still slurred. He tried to take hold of the blanket, but his fingers didn't obey.

"You don't have a say in the matter, son." Sinister watched Remy's reaction closely and saw him flinch. "You are my son... it's the truth. I don't need to lie."

I don' wanna hear dis! The oxygen mask made it impossible to carry a conversation and he suspected that Sinister was reading his mind, instead of listening to his slurred words.

Sinister peeled off the blankets and Remy shivered violently as he lost his protective cocoon. Non, please don'... But Sinister didn't acknowledge his protest and removed the last blanket as well. After gently removing the warm compresses, Sinister lifted him in his arms and Remy nearly yelped in surprise. Before he realized what was happening, Sinister had lowered him into the warm water. Now the shivering started in earnest and part of the reason was that Sinister was looking at him while he was completely naked!

Sinister picked up on his son's discomfort and understood. When he had learned that Remy had sold himself on Bourbon Street he had felt something akin to rage. But that was impossible; he didn't have any feelings anymore! The sensation had stemmed from the fact that the thief and Antiquary hadn't taken care of what belonged to him. The Antiquary had abused his son and Jean-Luc LeBeau had failed Remy miserably.

He ran a wet washcloth over Remy's back, carefully avoiding the few white/gray spots that still had to return to their normal skin tone. Remy's shivers grew worse and Sinister briefly considered telling his son that he knew about Bourbon Street, but decided against it. It would only add to Remy's discomfort.

When will I be able to move my fingers 'gain? Shocked, Remy stared at his bruised fingertips. The tips were black and blue, the nails torn off and his fingers carried a grayish color.

"Frostbite," Sinister explained again. He immersed Remy's hands in warm water and eased his son's head against the now warm metal headrest of the bath tub. "Does it hurt?"

Oui... Remy bit his bottom lip. It felt like someone was pushing hundreds of needles into his hands and feet. Mon Dieu, it hurt bad! He fought back the tears of pain that threatened to leave his eyes; he couldn't show Sinister how weak he was.

He sighed relieved when Sinister dropped the sponge. The scientist walked over to the room temperature control and raised it again. The oxygen mask was still in place and forcing him to inhale warm, humidified air. When would Sinister allow him to take it off?

Sinister collected some warm towels and helped Remy out of the tub. The younger man was incapable of staying on his feet unaided and Sinister carried him back to the exam table. After adjusting the oxygen mask, which had slipped slightly, he piled the blankets back on top of Remy's body. "I want you to sleep now."

Sleep... why can' I go to sleep forever? Huh, what's he doin'? When did he attach an IV port to my left arm and what's he injectin' in to it?

Remy's large, sleepy eyes begged him to answer his question. Sinister had read his son's thoughts and frowned. Remy was far too eager to die... "It'll help you sleep, Remy."

I don' have de power to fight you... A gentle warmth spread through his body and made him relax against his will. Falling asleep again, he felt Sinister's cold hand on his brow. Why didn' he lemme die?

///

Remy yawned sleepily, wondering why his mattress felt this hard, but when he opened his eyes, reality came crashing in on him. He wasn't in his bed; he was on Sinister's exam table. Just moving his head caused him to moan in pain and he decided to lie still for the moment. What had happened?
His memory was a little fuzzy, but he clearly recalled Rogue's face when she had flown away, leaving him to die in the cold. He had gone back inside the citadel and had managed to find a room shielded from the cold wind, but then the ceiling had collapsed and he had been forced to move out again.
In the end he had given up fighting for his life and accepted death instead. His body had felt numb and he had closed his eyes, ready to let Death claim him when Sinister had appeared. Sinister, where is he? Startled, Remy's eyes darted around the room, but he was alone, still tightly cocooned in several blankets.

The oxygen mask briefly made him panic, but Sinister had told him to leave it on because he needed it. Although he was severely tempted to cross the man, he didn't dare annoy Sinister so he accepted his fate.

Concentrating on his hands, he found that his fingers burned with pain. His feet, earlobes and nose also hurt. Frostbite, wasn't that what Sinister had said?

Mon Dieu, I survived 'gain... why? Why not lemme die? No one cares whet'er I live or die. No one... No one would notice me missin'...

"You need to rebuild your shields," Sinister said, entering the room. Remy seemed fully awake and alert, which he deemed a good sign. "I brought you more hot tea."

You're readin' my t'oughts! Oh, how he wished his shields were still intact.

"We're both telepaths; like father like son." Sinister placed the tea mug on the table and quickly checked the latest readings of Remy's vital signs. "I'll remove the mask for now and we'll see how it goes."

What did you do to me? He was shivering, but wasn't sure whether it was due to the cold or Sinister's presence. Remy sighed, relieved, once the oxygen mask was gone.

"I found you in the citadel and brought you here." Sinister placed the mug at Remy's lips and encouraged him to sip slowly.

Mon Dieu! Remy cried out as the hot tea made contact with his cold insides. Coughing, he stared at Sinister helplessly. Why didn' you lemme die? I deserved to die and I wanted to die!

Sinister watched his son struggle and made a decision. "You're an empath and a telepath... you're vulnerable because you feel everything so deeply. You easily overreact and desperately want people to like you. Feeling someone's hate or disapproval hurts you deeply because you're an empath. You'll need stronger shields." It was only part of the solution, but Remy needed to understand why he was reacting in a certain way.

Remy swallowed hard, cursing the fact that he couldn't leave his bed and walk out of the room. How much longer do I have to stay? He averted his eyes, unable to look at Sinister. Was the man really his father?

"And where would you go? Back to Westchester? The X-Men don't want you."

"Mais you do?" This conversation was draining him and he shivered beneath the blankets. Sinister helped him sip again and he nodded his head, indicating he had had enough.

Remy's empathy distressed him, distracted him from his objective and clouded his judgement. It was a good thing he had removed those cells from Remy's brain stem or his son might have become his superior in strength. "I don't care where you go, where you stay and whom you're with as long as you're alive."

"Why?" Remy shrugged deeper beneath the blankets, trying to hide from view. Staring into Sinister's eyes reminded him of his own. Sinister was probably telling him the truth; the red on black eyes were his father's legacy. "Why do you want me 'live?"

"You're my son, Remy. My flesh and blood. You carry my DNA and I need it for my experiments." Sinister explained his reasons to Remy in a clinical tone. "If you die I'll lose my source of DNA."

Makes sense... makes perfect sense... So am I your prisoner? Are you gonna keep me here? He didn't think he could bear being Sinister's experiment for the rest of his life.

"Once you're healed you're free to leave. I don't require your constant presence in my lab. When I need you, I will find you." Sinister checked the IV's and foley catheter, and nodded his head. "You'll be confined to bed for at least a few more days. The skin affected by the frostbite has started to blister and we need to watch for infection. Don't break the skin, Remy. Do you want something against the pain?"

Remy shook his head. Don' want you druggin' me.

Sinister gave him a long and thoughtful look. Turning away from his patient, he filled a syringe with a painkiller that would also make Remy sleepy.

While looking Remy straight in the eyes, he injected the medication into the IV port. "You'll sleep for the next eight hours."

Remy resigned himself to his fate, knowing his hands were tied. There was nothing he could do to stop Sinister. One thing puzzled him though. Why not collar me?

Sinister raised an eyebrow. "You're my son, and you'll be treated accordingly."

You collared me 'fore de operation.

"Because your powers were out of control." The drug kicked in and Sinister watched Remy's eyes close. And you're in no condition to take me on... you're too weak and absolutely helpless...

///

Two days later, Remy was doing better. His core temperature had long since stabilized and the burning sensation in his extremities was growing less. However, the blisters remained and his fingers itched to break the skin. Sinister had caught him doing just that and the scientist had lectured him on the dangers of infection. He had felt quite guilty after that.

Although he was clinging to the blankets, which Sinister had tightly wrapped around him, he also wanted to leave his bed to find a way out of the scientist's lab. During the last few days he had lost some of his fear of Sinister and anger had taken its place. They needed to discuss so many things, but mentioning them meant accepting Sinister's role in his life. Eventually, he had to know. "Why kill ma mère?"

Sinister, who was sitting behind his computer console, was taken aback by Remy's unexpected question. "I already told you that I no longer needed her."

"What am I to you?" Remy trembled, speaking those words. "You're incapable of lovin' me and yet... you continue to save my life."

"I need your DNA." Sinister rose to his feet and approached Remy. "I chose your mother for a reason. She was an incredible strong mutant and her DNA combined with mine strengthened the gene pool." Thoughtfully, he studied his son. You have no idea just how strong you are. You could kill with a single thought, let a building collapse just because you wanted to. Once you discover your powers you'll hunt me down and then I'll have to kill you... at least I'll try to kill you. It would be so much easier to kill you now, but then I wouldn't have access to your mutating cells.

Remy weakly nodded his head. Sinister only wanted him for his DNA. Why couldn't he find someone to love him for who he was? No one loved him unconditionally... What 'bout Jean-Luc? Non, even his father had used him to unite the two Guilds. Mike, oui, maybe Mike had loved him unconditionally.

The pressure on his bladder kept growing and he needed to relieve himself, but he absolutely hated the foley catheter. "Can I use de bat'room? I t'ink I can cover de distance... please?"

Sinister hadn't expect the sudden change in subject, but adapted quickly. Remy hated the catheter, but it had been necessary as Remy had been confined to bed. "I'll remove it, but don't overdo it. You're only allowed to visit the bathroom when I'm here with you. I don't want you to take a fall and set back your recovery."

"Why do you care?" The question left Remy's lips unintended. He had never wanted to ask Sinister that particular question, but it was born out of frustration. Empathy wise he picked up nothing. Either Sinister's shields were impenetrable or the scientist had spoken the truth and no longer had any feelings at all. "Stop fussin' over me, pretendin' you care!"

"I care about my property, Remy, and as long as you shall live, you belong to me. Every cell in your body belongs to me. You're my flesh and blood." Sinister was in the process of pulling Remy gently to his feet, when the younger man's body tensed. "Don't look for hidden motives because I don't have any. I just want access to your DNA. That's all you mean to me."

Remy's eyes widened, realizing that not even his birthfather cared. No one cared. Sinister removed the catheter and he simply sat there, staring and silent because there was nothing left to say.

///

Another two days passed and Remy was now able to move about on his own. His feet hadn't been too badly damaged by the cold as he had been wearing boots, but his fingers, earlobes and nose were a different story. Sinister regularly bathed his hands in warm water and applied warm compresses to his ears and nose and yet, the burning sensation remained. He had come awfully close to dying in the citadel.

"Slip into them." Sinister had manufactured special gloves, designed to keep Remy's fingers extra warm. His son's nose and earlobes were returning to a normal skin tone, but Remy's hands worried him.

Remy obeyed and admitted he loved the soft silk-like fabric that cradled his burning fingers. He had needed Sinister's help to get dressed that morning and now he was wearing white sweat bottoms and a long-sleeved shirt. Sinister had also wrapped a long bathrobe around him to keep him warm.

"How much longer 'fore I can leave?" Remy asked in a tiny tone. He felt cornered and trapped and had started to feel claustrophobic.

"Before you can leave my base?" Sinister cocked his head. "At least four more days of rest."

"I wanna go back to Westchester," Remy admitted in an unguarded moment.

"So they can shun you?" Sinister didn't understand his son's need to return to the X-Men. "They no longer want you. They left you to die and now you're crawling back to them?"

Remy lowered his eyes. "I owe dem. Owe Rogue and Warren, owe dem, me." Slowly, he began pacing his room. "I lied to dem, never told dem I gat'ered de Marauders..."

"I had hoped then that you'd stay with me... that the Massacre would bind you to my side... but instead you ran." Remy would be leaving shortly, he saw it in his son's eyes. "You can always return here. You're my son and this can be your home."

Remy shivered. "Non, you ain' my fat'er and dis ain' home." He had accepted that Sinister was his birthfather, but the man had also murdered his mother and reduced him to an experiment for the rest of his life.

Sinister arched an eyebrow, considering this conversation over. "I suggest you stay inside this room until you leave. Creed is at the base as well and he hates your guts. Stay clear of him and rest." Sinister walked toward the doorway, looking back over his shoulder. Remy looked miserable, hiding beneath several layers of blankets, but the young man's will still wasn't broken. Remy would never give up.

"I'll be back shortly to bring you dinner. In four days I'll take you back to Westchester. Try to stay out of trouble during the remainder of your stay and rest."

Remy sighed as Sinister closed the door behind him. Finally he was alone again. Creed... The name made him shudder, but that didn't keep him from walking over to the doorway and opening the door. He didn't know if Sinister would truly take him back to the mansion and he couldn't take any risks. He had to find his own way home and somewhere in Sinister's base he would find the necessary means to return to Westchester.

///

Merde, walking longer distances was harder than he had thought. He had been on his feet for less than ten minutes and he was already panting from exhaustion. His body tingled and his fingertips protested every movement, as he used them to steady himself against the wall. Maybe he should have listened to Sinister and should have stayed in bed. Mais non, he needed to find a way out.

Electronic buzzing told him that he was approaching the control room, which was filled with computers and monitors. "Bien, mebbe dis will work after all." He knew how to hack a computer and maybe he could send a message. But den 'gain, will de X-Men react when receivin' my SOS? Will dey react or jus' ignore de call?

Merde, I can' type like dis! His fingers were bandaged beneath the mittens and made it impossible to type. Now what? He used both hands to lift a pen and clutched it between the palms of his hands. Dis way it'll take me ages to hack de computer! He was about to give up when the pen crashed hard onto the keyboard, hitting several keys. The screen flashed alive and Remy startled at seeing tons of snow and ice. The whiteness hurt his eyes and he looked away.

Antarctica... dat's where dey left me. Peeking at the screen again, he made out the contours of the citadel. This was the place where Rogue had deserted him. His eyes were glued to the screen. How had he survived the terrible cold? Sinister must have been just in time!

The cold... his body remembered the icy cold vividly and shivers rocked his body. They had never returned to rescue him. After Betsy had used her shadow walking ability to take them into safety, they had started up the Blackbird and had simply left. Their betrayal stung and briefly he agreed with Sinister; it was madness to return to Westchester when he wasn't wanted there.

But he didn't have a place to stay except for Westchester. Jean-Luc still hadn't given him the okay to come back home even though everyone knew Julien was still alive, so he couldn't go there... but what about New York? He could visit Benjamin and Dave's grave and maybe try to catch a glimpse of Mike. Oui, he would first go to New York and then travel to Westchester.

He was about to turn around and leave the control room when movement on the screen caught his attention. Something was happening at the citadel. His eyes grew big, recognizing the Blackbird, which landed near the citadel. The door opened and two small figures left the Blackbird. It took Remy some time to press the right button to enlarge the view.

They disappeared inside the citadel before he could get a good look at them, but one person was definitely male and the other female. What was the Blackbird doing here? Almost a week after Sinister had found him the X-Men were back. Where they looking for something? Had they lost something and were now eager to retrieve the object? It sure as hell ain' me dey're lookin' for. Mebbe dey're tryin' to figure out Eric de Red's identity?
Curious, he waited for them to leave the citadel again. It was a damned shame that Sinister didn't have any cameras inside the citadel and even if Sinister had had them, he didn't know how to access them. Twenty minutes passed and Remy grew uncomfortable. The longer he stayed, the bigger the chance got someone would discover him here.

Eventually the two X-Men reappeared, walking toward the Blackbird and he finally got a good look at them. Mon Dieu, it's Jean and Scott! Why? What are dey doin' at de citadel? Looking closely, he cocked his head, trying to confirm his suspicions that Jean was crying. Oui, I'm right... dose are tears... she's cryin', mais why?

Entranced, he watched Scott fold an arm around Jean to pull her close. A lump formed in his throat and his eyes began to water as well. The distance was still too big to read their lips, but Jean was definitely crying and upset. Suddenly, his attention was drawn to Scott's right hand. The X-Man was holding onto something... it was the copper he had failed to get to.

Had they come back for him? If they had, they were much too late. He would have died that very first night and they would only have found his corpse. Non, they hadn't returned because of him. Staring hard at the screen, he tried to read their facial expressions. Jean was an open book to him, but Scott was a lot harder to read.

Scott... He quickly averted his eyes. Don' go dere, Remy, jus' don' go dere. Don' t'ink of him, t'ink of Jean instead! Looking back up at the screen, he watched them board the Blackbird again. A minute later the plane took off, restoring the cold and silent landscape.

Confused, he pushed himself back to his feet, but cried out as the pain in his hands swept through his body. Merde, it would take him days to get used to favoring his hands!

Jean and Scott's visit to the citadel puzzled him. What had possessed the couple to make that trip and then to take the copper threads with them?
Oh, mon Dieu, Jean... if only you'd come a few days earlier... Had they wanted to check on him or not? He would probably never know the answer, unable to reveal he had witnessed the Blackbird land near the citadel. Jean... he loved her like a sister, the only sister he had left. He had tried to take care of Storm when she had suffered from amnesia and had been locked up in a child's body, but Storm no longer cared about him, not since learning about his role in the Morlock Massacre.

Belle, he had loved Belle, had looked forward to growing old together, but then Julien had ruined his future. Turning to Rogue for love later had been another mistake. He had identified with her, knowing how it felt when one's powers were out of control, but there had never been true love between them. Oui, he had cared deeply about her, but she had played him, keeping him at a distance, probably because she knew he didn't really love her. But she had been a safe choice, untouchable, and she had craved attention and affection as well.

His lovers... he had loved only one of them unconditionally, Mike. But Mike was beyond his reach and he had better accept that.

His lovers... the truth was that he had fallen in love when joining the X-Men, but he had never told the object of his affection, deeming it safer to suffer in silence and to focus on Rogue's needs instead. She had accepted him, but he had never forgotten about his secret love. Deep down in his heart he had always known that his love could never be.

I'm pathetic... Nobody loves me... Hobbling over toward the doorway he tried to recall the way back to his room. He didn't want to get lost here and end up invading Creed's territory. He had been a fool to venture out of his room in the first place.

Closing his eyes, he gathered his strength and set one foot in front of the other, trying hard not to stumble over his own two feet.

"Look what the cat dragged in..."

Creed! He would recognize that voice everywhere! Creed was behind him, but judging by the footfalls, the other mutant was quickly advancing on him. "Leave me... 'lone," he panted, tired from being on his feet for too long.

"Don't think so, LeBeau... I've been waitin' too long to get my hands on ya!" Creed purred and crushed the smaller man against him, firmly hooking his claws in place. "This is where I slashed ya open, boy..." His claws caressed the fabric of Remy's shirt, searching for a way to make contact with the other man's naked skin. "I bet ya'll never lose the scars..."

Remy panicked, feeling Creed's hard, warm body pressed behind him. Looking down, he froze, seeing Creed's claws. "Lemme go!" His eyes almost popped from their sockets, as Creed's erection rubbed against his ass. Non, this wasn't happening, couldn't be happening! The bastard couldn't be hard! Struggling, he tried to free himself of Creed's grip, but the mutant threw him hard against the metal wall, gathering his wrists above his head. Helpless, he tried to slow down his erratic breathing. Mon Dieu, why is he doin' dis?

"I knew there was a reason why Sinister wanted ya alive. I'd have gladly finished the job that night in the tunnels, but no, he had to stop me from rippin' open yer carcass. Looks like he ain't around now, boy..."

Remy's eyes stung with tears, but he refused to cry. "Lemme go, Creed." But his empathy told him his struggle was useless. Creed's mind was hard and cold; the man got off on hurting him. Creed's right hand fondled his ass, cupping and pinching it, while the bastard used his left hand to keep him pressed against the wall.

"Ya got a nice ass, bitch. Took me a while to figure out why Sinister wanted ya 'round, but then I hacked his computer and there it was, all the information he gathered on ya, boy. So ya sold yer ass on Bourbon Street? Pity I wasn't in New Orleans at the time, but we can rectify that mistake now. Why should Sinister be the only one to stretch that tight little hole?" He pushed his leg between Remy's thighs, forcing the younger man's legs apart.

"Non, please don'... non!" Too weak to defend himself, Remy tried to think of a way to distract Creed. But he wasn't thinking logically and painful memories of Hugo flipping him on his stomach rendered him paralyzed. It was happening all over again!

Creed used his claws to slash Remy's sweat bottoms in two. Greedily, he growled, seeing the luscious mounds of flesh and he slid his fingers down the cleft, searching for the tight ring.

"Don'! Lem...m-me g-go!" Remy stuttered, panted and bucked, but Creed's hold tightened and he realized he was in no condition to fight off the bastard. "Not 'gain... please, not 'gain!"

Creed lavished his index finger with saliva and was about to part Remy's asscheeks when an explosion impacted against his chest, causing him to fall on his butt. "What the hell?"

Sinister stalked closer. "Don't you ever lay your dirty hands on my son again or I will kill you, Creed! Remy's off limits to you!" Another energy blast left Sinister's right hand and hit Creed, who had managed to stagger back to his feet.

The blast threw Creed against the wall and his eyes glowed with rage. "Yer son?" Creed laughed, amused. "Yer son ain't nothin' but a bitch, who likes to take it up the ass!"

Remy stared at the unfolding scene; Sinister advanced on Creed, his hands glowing with energy. Creed flashed his claws, but Sinister only laughed at that. Suddenly, Creed froze and a horrified expression appeared on his face.

"What are ya doin'?" Creed whispered, barely audible.

"I'm a telepath... a very strong telepath," Sinister said, definitely enjoying Creed's terror. "You slashed Remy open. You went against my orders! I told you to eradicate the Morlocks but to bring Remy to me! You tried to kill him..." Sinister cocked his head and suddenly Creed faced his own claws as they dug into his flesh.

"You'll undoubtedly heal... consider yourself lucky that I didn't kill you." He needed Creed for his plans and to lead the Marauders. While Creed was squirming on the floor, Sinister looked at his son. "Get to your feet."

Shakily, Remy managed to stand unaided. He shivered, hearing Creed's groans of pain as his claws slashed open his ribcage.

"Why did you let him push you around?" Sinister towered over his son. "You can take him out with a single thought!"

Remy's dazed eyes revealed his disbelief. "Wit' a t'ought?" What was Sinister talking about? Right now he was too weak to even charge a card!

"You can't let them push you around like that. You're my son..." Sinister paused briefly and gestured Remy to return to his room. Following his son, he mumbled, "You have no idea just how strong you are."

Remy heard the words and looked at Sinister over his shoulder. "I don' understand." Sinister closed the door behind him and he slipped into the new sweat bottoms Sinister handed him. "Can' kill wit' t'oughts, me." He settled down in the bed and pulled the blankets up to his chin. "Why? Why do dey 'ways pick on me?"

"Because you make it easy for them," Sinister said thoughtfully. "Did it ever occur to you to fight him off? No, you surrendered, submitted."

"I tried fightin' him off!" Remy exploded. "I tried fightin' him and de ot'ers, but I don' stand a chance 'gainst dem!" His hands changed into fists beneath the mittens and he swallowed convulsively, lost for words. Never wanted to suck dem off, never wanted to be raped... Mon Dieu! I didn' want it!

Sinister nodded his head. "You have to realize that you can fight them off. You're no longer a nine year old roaming the streets. You have ways to defend yourself. As a telepath and empath you can influence their minds... and your kinetic charge... one day you'll learn that your telepathy can guide your charges..."

"I don' wanna stay here. I'm strong 'nough to leave." Stubbornly, Remy stared into Sinister's eyes. "I can walk on my own and I'm feelin' betta."

"No." Sinister shook his head. "I won't let you leave as long as you're suffering from the after effects of hypothermia and frostbite. Once you can take care of yourself you can leave. For now I order you to stay inside this room. Creed will want to get even with you."

"Why did you defend me?" Remy lowered his eyes, confused, and too afraid to hope Sinister actually cared.

"Creed was attacking my property... and he deserved it to be put in his place." Sinister left the room, closing the door behind him. Hopefully, Creed had learned his lesson.

Sinister's parting words hit Remy hard. His property... I'm his property and dat's it... He t'inks I belon' to him. Mon Dieu, I'll never be free of him. But in a few days he would leave this place and head for New York and eventually Westchester. In the meantime he would stay inside his room, no longer venturing out. He couldn't take the risk of running into a very pissed off Creed.  

 

Chapter Two - New York

"I'm bien to leave! Don' need to be locked up here, me! You promised to let me go when I could take care of m'self. Why are you breakin' your word?" Remy banged a fist into the wall. One week after Sinister had rescued him from certain death, the last after effects of hypothermia and frostbite had disappeared. The only thing that worried him was his nightmares. When had he been able to sleep the entire night through without thrashing awake? And now Sinister didn't want to let him go!

Sinister studied Remy carefully. His son had almost made a full recovery. Almost. His fingers were still stiff and he had suggested physical therapy for a while, which Remy had refused. "I don't feel comfortable letting you leave at this point."

Remy raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Physically you've healed, yes, but emotionally? You're an empath, Remy, and keeping everything inside won't work."

"I'll be de judge of dat!" Remy straightened out his armor, which he had put on that morning. For hours he had paced his room, eagerly awaiting Sinister's return. "Lemme go!"

Sinister cocked his head. "I won't stop you from leaving," he said, and turned away from Remy, heading for the door. "But ask yourself this... how long before you suffer another emotional breakdown? You can't continue like this."

Anger made Remy's eyes glow a fiery red. "I know I messed up! I screwed up my life, me. Don' need you to remind me of dat!"

"I just want to help," Sinister said, while opening the door. What? What did I say? I want to help? When did that happen? His bloody empathy is ruining my plans.

"Can take care of m'self, me, have 'ways done dat. Don' need you to protect me! Remy LeBeau takes care of himself." He didn't know where the anger was coming from. Maybe he was feeling claustrophobic, not thinking rationally, but he needed to get out of here.

Sinister looked over his shoulder, saw the rage in Remy's eyes and wondered as well where the anger was coming from. Focusing his powers, he created a tesseract in the center of Remy's room. "Where do you want to go?"

"New York City," Remy said determinedly. He would visit Benjamin and Dave's grave before moving on to Westchester. Taking a step toward the tesseract, he involuntarily halted as Sinister raised his hand.

"Remember, you're strong. Don't let them push you around. If they don't want you in Westchester, leave." During the last few days he had tried talking some sense into Remy, to show him why people took advantage of him. "Don't act vulnerable. Don't let guilt consume you." It was quite a remarkable speech for him, emotional and full of compassion. Bloody empathy...

Remy's empathy picked up on something... was it an emotion or was he imagining things? Sinister didn't have feelings! Mais why does he seem concerned 'bout me? Ah, oui, he wants me 'live 'cause of my DNA... it's all a charade.

Sinister watched Remy step into the tesseract and a minute later his son was gone. "It's such a damn pity," he mused aloud. "You could have been the strongest one, strong enough to take out the likes of Apocalypse, but Jean-Luc LeBeau had to steal you from the hospital." The last echoes of Remy's empathy were fading away as he walked down the corridor. It was time to return to his research.

///

Remy barely made it to his penthouse, which had been kept in a tidy state during his absence. He closed the door behind him and dragged himself over to the bed, where he collapsed. Maybe Sinister had been right and he should have rested longer, but he had craved his freedom. After shedding his coat, armor and shoes, he slipped beneath the sheets. He felt drained and needed rest. Later on, he would visit Benjamin and Dave's grave.

///

He woke up ten hours later. The sun had long since risen again and yet a weak crescent moon still fought the intruder. It was a cold and windy day.
Remy stretched, yawned and sat upright. His hands rested in his lap. He was gaining more control and feeling in his fingers, but sometimes they felt paralyzed and failed him. His career as a Guild thief hung in the balance and he could only hope that his body would heal itself. Sinister had done his best to repair the damage the frostbite had done, but even Sinister's knowledge and means had their limits.

A long, hot, shower, that was what he needed and he shuffled into the bathroom, not bothering to lift his feet for the floor. As he stepped beneath the warm spray, his thoughts involuntarily drifted off to that day when his charging power had first manifested. He had been convinced that he was being punished for touching himself, but later, he had understood. Mattie and Jean-Luc had sat him down and had talked him through it.

After shutting down the water, he stepped out of the shower cabin and wrapped warm towels around his hair and body. Shivering from the cold, he slipped into a bathrobe and walked into the living area to switch on the TV. He needed some background noise to keep his thoughts from running in circles.

Sinister had kept his word, something which absolutely stunned him. He had never expected Sinister to let him go and yet here he was, back in New York. Anot'er chance... anot'er chance to make a dreadful mistake.

Remy opened the closet and selected a pair of black trousers, a black shirt, black boots and a long black coat. It only seemed fitting to wear black when visiting Benjamin and Dave's grave. Before he got dressed he quickly made a sandwich and some coffee and then slipped into the clothes.

Looking in the mirror, he shivered at the sight of black circles under his eyes. He had lost weight this last week and he needed to start working out again. If only my hands stopped givin' out on me!

Remy pulled the coat close to his body and left the penthouse.

///

Remy stood in front of the Guardian Angel Church and wasn't sure he should go inside. This was where Benjamin and Dave's memorial service had been held and they were buried in the church's cemetery, which he would visit in a few moments. I should go inside and light some candles... He wasn't particularly religious, but lighting a few candles couldn't hurt.

After making sure that his dark glasses were in place, he ventured inside. He paid for the candles, lit them and said a private prayer for his friends while staring at the sea of candles in front of him. Mon Dieu, don' know why I'm prayin', don' even believe in you, mais... Benjamin and Dave... I loved dem. Dey'd become my family and I'm here jus' in case dere's a heaven or a hell. Please take very good care of dem, mon Dieu.

The hairs at the back of his neck stood rigid, feeling someone's eyes on him. Looking about, he quickly discovered the priest that was watching him. Merde, he resembles de Antiquary! Remy fled the church and headed for the cemetery to pay his friends his last respects.

///

Remy quickly hid behind a tree, seeing that he wasn't the only one visiting their grave. Mon Dieu, it's Mike! He was tempted to reach out empathically and to make sure Mike was doing fine, but he froze, finding that a young man was walking up to Mike. The blond haired man wrapped an arm around Mike's waist and held him close.

A lover... Mike had found a lover. He should be happy for his friend, but couldn't help feeling jealous and lonely as well. When he had left Mike, he had decided not to fight for their love, running away like he always did and now he was confronted with the consequences of his actions. Mike had a lover.

Carefully shielding his presence, Remy probed Mike's emotions and involuntarily he bit his lip, encountering nothing but affection and love for the other man. He was even picking up on a name... Daniel... his lover's name's Daniel? Soundlessly, he sneaked closer, once more using his thieving skills. When he was within hearing range, he stopped, hiding behind a mausoleum.

"Mike? Shouldn't we go now? We've been here over an hour. The grave is well taken care of and you placed the lilies on their grave." Daniel looked at Mike pleadingly. "Let's move back to the church, love..."

"One more minute," Mike said, hoarsely. "I never got the chance to say good-bye and every time we come here it takes me a while to get over the guilt. I should have been there when it happened."

"Mike, don't do this to yourself. The killer murdered them and then set the house on fire. There was nothing you could do."

Mike listlessly nodded his head. "You're right. Let's go back home and warm up with some hot coffee. It's chilly today." Mike enfolded his lover in an embrace and slowly they walked away from the grave.

Remy waited until they had left the cemetery before stepping away from his hiding place. Mon Dieu, it really was Mike... And he was still wearing the diamond stud he had left that morning. It had shimmered in the sunlight.

Lost, anot'er lost chance, lost l'amour. I should have stayed and fought Julien. The echo of Mike's mind was completely gone now and he knew better than to go after him. Mike had found love and he had no right to ruin everything for Mike. Will try to be happy dat you found l'amour. Daniel seemed bien, didn' feel anyt'in' evil in his mind. Hope you'll be happy, mes amis.

Standing in front of the grave, tears stung his eyes. Benjamin and Dave had been buried together, in one grave. Although he hadn't been close during the funeral, he had asked his lawyer to report every detail to him. When his lawyer had approached Benjamin's mother and Dave's family because an anonymous benefactor wanted to place a statue of a guardian angel near the grave, they had been curious, but in the end, they had agreed.

Remy stared into the granite eyes of a large guardian angel, which was watching over the grave. It had been his parting gift, as he had been unable to attend the funeral himself. At the time, the police had still been looking for Benjamin and Dave's houseguest.

 

 

The guardian angel, made from dark granite, silently watched over the grave. He was holding a sword, ready to strike out if necessary. The large, dark wings hovered protectively over the grave, making sure no vandals approached. It was an impressive angel and Remy smiled, pleased that this guardian angel was keeping an eye on his friends.

"Mon ange, please keep dem safe. Eart' never saw two kinder souls. Dey truly loved each ot'er and cared 'bout de less fortunate, dey even took me in and how did fate repay dem? Julien killed dem. All I can do now is to ensure dey have a safe and peaceful restin' place. And mon Dieu, in case you ain' too busy, look after Mike and his lover as well. Would love to see dem grow old toget'er, me." Remy walked toward the angel and rested his hand on the sword. "Keep dem safe."

"Remy? What are you doin' here, mon fils? A cemetery? Whose deat' are you mournin'?"

"Pop...p-pa?" Remy turned around, his eyes big in disbelief. Jean-Luc LeBeau was walking toward him, already extending his arms, inviting him into the embrace. He didn't hesitate and flung himself at Jean-Luc. "What are you doin' here? How did you find me?" Through his tears, he managed to smile at Jean-Luc.

Jean-Luc's gaze shifted from Remy's face to the names on the tombstone. "Benjamin and Dave... why don' you tell me 'bout dem?"

Remy finally managed to calm down, but he still had difficulty believing Jean-Luc was really here. He let Jean-Luc guide him to a bench where they sat down. "Dey took me in. I was part of deir family for ten days and den Julien killed dem.

Jean-Luc nodded his head, and pulled Remy's hand into his lap, gently rubbing the knuckles. "And now you blame yourself for deir deat's?"

"Oui! I should never have said oui when dey asked me to move in wit' dem! Knew I was trouble, me. Should have known betta!" Remy's tone turned frantic and he almost pulled away his hand, remembering Jean-Luc had stolen him from the hospital when he had been a baby. Could he trust Jean-Luc? He had to, or else everything was lost.

"Did you know Julien was watchin' you?"

"Non, dat never occurred to me." Remy grew alert, realizing that if Jean-Luc continued to question him, he might have to tell the Patriarch about the Morlock massacre.

"Den why are you guilty of deir deat's?" Jean-Luc smiled gently and squeezed Remy's hand. "Mattie told me dat your empathy would cloud your vision. Listen to me, petit. Julien killed dem, not you, never you! It wasn' your fault!"

Baffled, Remy stared at Jean-Luc. "Mais Poppa... I got ot'er people killed as well."

But Jean-Luc shook his head. "Mon fils, you ain' a killer. You can' kill in cold blood, self-defense maybe, mais you'd never willingly take a life. Stop takin' de blame for somet'in' you didn' do, Remy. Ever since you were born people have been tryin' to ruin your life, don' let dem. We beat de Antiquary and we can beat de ot'ers as well, mais you've got to believe in yourself."

"I don' know," Remy whispered. Confused, he realized that he wasn't able to read Jean-Luc's emotions. Was Jean-Luc shutting him out? Did he no longer trust him? "Ai..." He yelped as unexpectedly Jean-Luc's emotions washed over him. Jean-Luc must have felt his probing and had opened his shields. "Too much, poppa, too much."

Sinister had shown him how to strengthen his shields, but up until now Remy had been hesitant to put his newly acquired knowledge into practice. Not having a choice any longer, he erected heavy walls, pushing Jean-Luc's emotions back into the Cajun's mind. "Sorry, poppa, mais I'm no longer used to..."

Blinking his eyes, he looked about. "Poppa, where are you?" He was sitting all alone on the bench! Where was Jean-Luc? The Cajun had been here just a minute ago! Or was he growing delusional? "Poppa? Are you here? Poppa?"

"Let go of de guilt, mon fils and be de best you can. Make me proud."

Remy jumped to his feet, but couldn't pinpoint Jean-Luc's location. "Poppa? I'll make you proud, promise, me..." He even managed a grin; Jean-Luc had vanished on him before. The Patriarch of the New Orleans Thieves' Guild loved to put on a show. "Merci for talkin' to me, poppa."

"You're welcome, Remy," came the voice, from further away this time. "Have to go, petit, mais don' forget your promise; let go of de guilt."

"I'll try, poppa. Will try, me." Remy wiped away the solitary tear that still clung to his face and returned to Benjamin and Dave's grave. "I know what you tried to teach me, mes amis, and I'll do my best to find true amour. I'll stop playin' games wit' de ladies and look my demons in de eyes, mais it won' be a pretty sight. Pray for me, Benjamin... Dave."

After meeting the angel's granite eyes one last time, he turned away from the grave. Pulling his coat close to his body, he decided to head for Westchester in the morning. Should he warn the X-Men that he was still alive? Non, let them face their own demon as well. They had left him in Antarctica; they didn't deserve a warning.

///

He quickly increased the distance between himself and Remy. Remy's empathy had almost upset his plans, but he had saved the situation by reflecting the younger man's emotions back at him.

Jean-Luc LeBeau's features faded and his metal armor reappeared. Sinister opened a tesseract, still reflecting on the conversation he had just had with his son. Remy had firmly believed he was Jean-Luc LeBeau, just as he had intended him to. Remy wouldn't follow any advice given to him by Sinister, but he would honor Jean-Luc's advice, so he had morphed into the Cajun thief.

It had been his intention to make Remy stronger, more confident before he headed for Westchester, though he really didn't understand why his son wanted to return to those traitors, who had left him in Antarctica! If it hadn't been for his spies, he might never have learned that Remy was about to freeze to death!

Hopefully, Remy would keep his shields up and work on fortifying them. Stepping forward, the tesseract welcomed him and transported him back to his lab.

 

Go on to Part2

Go back to The eyes of a child