Notes: This is a response to the "Gambit story which isn't about Gambit challenge..." though it almost doesn't fit. I got the idea for this lil' thing while I was on my way home, expanded on it during dinner, and finished it before I went to bed. That's how addictive fanfic is. Continuity should be right on, unless I've unknowingly slipped. I'm sick- cut me some slack. :)

Disclaimer: Gambit, Henri, Detective Davies, Arclight, Cyclops and Shard all belong to Marvel, and are used here for entertainment only, not profit. Please do not archive without my permission, if for some odd reason you want to feedback is *greatly* appreciated at cmoore8791@aol.com or
BelaLeBeau@hotmail.com. Pardon the lack of accents.


In Earnest
By Lauren "BelaLeBeau" Fox


Henri

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?

******************************

Arclight

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.


******************************

Cyclops

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.


******************************

Shard

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.

******************************

If you don't send feedback, a plethora of savage lemmings will hunt you down
and chew your feet off. I suggest you write me at cmoore8791@aol.com or
BelaLeBeau@aol.com. Danke.

******************************