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Lost and Found Department: First Floor [1/1] [Gambit & Cyclops]

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  • KC Solano
    Title: Lost & Found Department: First Floor Author:Katt Solano Characters: Gambit & Cyclops Category: movieverse, semi-plotless vignette Rating:PG-15 for
    Message 1 of 1 , Sep 28, 2001
      Title: Lost & Found Department: First Floor
      Author:Katt Solano
      Characters: Gambit & Cyclops
      Category: movieverse, semi-plotless vignette
      Rating:PG-15 for language although I knew a lot of poeple who used such
      words when I was 15... tsk, tsk, tsk....
      Archive: LeBeau Library, Down Home Charm, XMMFF, Mickey & MissyRedX; anyone
      else, pretty pretty please ask.
      Summary: Scott & Remy talk over a cold pizza, beer and a bit of boom-boom
      Disclaimer: Marvel owns the boys. Nothing belongs to me, not even the
      boom-boom-- I got that from the Highlander movie (points to people who know
      who the boom-boom belongs to).
      Further Hoopla: thanks to Joe for reading it over and saying it was awesome
      & that she wanted to try some boom-boom. thanks to Remy & Scott for talking
      to be after a long sulking stint because I dared to do homework before
      writing about them.
      I kissed Jean good night as I started to slip out of bed. She didn't stir.
      She probably didn't even sense me moving; those painkillers would have
      bulldozed an elephant. For a long time, I crouched at her side, just looking
      at her face. Then I got up, tugged the blanket higher around her shoulders
      and left the room.

      I passed by Remy's suite on the way to the kitchen. It's funny but when I
      look back on our reunion, I didn't really expect him to accept me arms
      wide-open and sobbing relief. Hell, it took him a couple of days to even
      believe I was who I said I was. I had to remind him about stupid things like
      his needing to sneak into my cot or the palming tricks I showed him. Even
      then, I suspect it was only the promise of a bed and food that got him to my
      motel room.

      He'd been a wreck. He stank and looked as if an entire pro-football team had
      turns practicing their tackles on him. After he inhaled the burger and fries
      that I'd gotten in the drive-through, I told him who I was and about
      Xavier's. He just kept nodding and swallowing, pretending interest for the
      sake of the food, a comfortable night's rest or-- shit, it could have even
      been for sheer politeness.

      The next morning, I gave him my business card (he laughed) and a plane
      ticket to JFK Airport. And even though I was hoping he would come, it was
      still a surprise when he showed up at the terminal with a backpack slung
      over his shoulder. He smelled a little better and he'd changed his clothes
      but the female flight attendant still looked at him askance. Well, at least
      until he opened his mouth. He charmed his way through the entire flight and
      all he had to do was drawl. Damn, I wish I had a drawl... it would have made
      things easier in high school, that's for sure.

      The stairs creaked as I climbed down them and headed for the kitchen. I was
      in serious need of a midnight meal. Or, more specifically, a midnight beer.
      I wasn't wallowing my sorrows in liquor... not really. I just needed
      something to help me sleep dreamless. I flipped the rec-room light on and
      headed straight for the bar-fridge.

      God, today's mission had been a total washout. It was all I could do to pull
      out of there with the skin on my ass intact. Every spare second I had, I
      remembered the smell of burning flesh, the sound of the building collapsing
      and the screams... Damn, those screams are tattooed in my eardrums. Half a
      dozen cops and over thirty mutants burning alive in that warehouse and I
      _had_ to pull out and I kept wondering if I could have gotten there sooner
      or acted faster than maybe, just maybe, they wouldn't have had to--

      "The smell gettin' t'you too, hein?"

      I jerked up, narrowly missing hitting my head of hardwood. Remy was leaning
      against the opposite side of the counter, a smouldering cigarette on his
      lips, as always.

      I nodded and continued my search for beer. I think he was surprised when I
      didn't recite any non-smoking rules. Honestly, I couldn't have cared less at
      that moment. He wouldn't have listened anyway. In the mere thirty-three days
      that he'd been here, he had broken our no-smoking rule, our no-drinking rule
      and blown our lights-out rule clear into orbit. The kids were starting to
      look at him like some cross between a bad-boy teen idol and a deity that
      answered to no one. Half the boys wanted to be just like him and all the
      girls wanted to go out with him. I saw Jubilee doodling "Jubilation LeBeau"
      with little hearts and stars in her math notebook. I almost choked.

      Remy, of course, kept milking attention like a starved calf. He probably
      knows it ticks me off. I don't know why he keeps doing it. I would have
      thought he was a little too old to get kicks out of thumbing his nose at

      On the other hand... One night, I was getting ready to tear my head off with
      all the tests that I had to mark. He came into the room and, without a word,
      took half the stack and my answer key and proceeded to correct fifty pages
      of algebra. He blew smoke rings in my face while he was doing it, of course.
      Little does he know... I'm strict about the no-smoking rule because it was
      the only way I could keep myself from grabbing one of those cancer sticks
      and puffing away like crazy.

      Apparently, he also plays the violin. Storm heard the music coming from his
      room one night. At first she thought it was a CD. She was about to come in
      and ask for the name of the player but as soon as she knocked, the violin
      stopped on a sour note. He violently denies even owning a violin and we
      haven't heard anything from that day onward.

      I found the beer and some frozen pizza that someone had stashed for
      emergencies. Deciding that this could be counted as such, I grabbed that,
      too. "Want some?" I asked Remy who was now lounging on the couch in front of
      the blank TV.

      He nodded.

      "Beer, too?"

      "Mais sho'."

      "Molson's, okay?"


      My, this was cozy. I nuked the pizza and threw him a can which he caught
      without even having to look. I guess I shouldn't have expected much
      conversation coming from him either. He'd been in the mission, too, at the
      Professor's behest. I _had_ been surprised at that but not displeased. Remy
      didn't really have a formal place in the school; he came and went. I
      expected him to leave as soon as he healed from his injuries. Call it
      jock-mentality but I wanted him to feel like a part of the team, of the
      family. For all his popularity, he always struck me as being alone.

      Christ, now I'm getting too maudlin... and I haven't even had a beer yet.

      "You should shower," I told him.

      He grinned. "You sayin' I stink?"


      He had changed since the mission of course but he hadn't removed his jacket.
      He was inordinately attached to that jacket and the damned thing absorbed
      odours like black holes absorbed light.

      The microwave beeped. I took out the pizza, swearing when the plate burnt my
      fingers. He gave me a nod of appreciation as I plonked it on the coffee
      table. Unable to resist it any longer, I reached into his shirt pocket and
      shook out a stick from the crumpled pack that he kept there. He was
      smirking, I swear to God he was, even as he charged the tip for me. The
      first drag made me cough; it had been five years, two months and seventeen
      days since my last one.

      He inhaled his first two slices of pizza then started to slow down on the
      third. He ate like the boys. With a start, I realized that I didn't even
      know how old he was. He must have been about six or seven when he ran away
      from juvie; he definitely hadn't been any older than nine.

      I knew next to nothing about this guy. When I really thought about it, I had
      taken a complete stranger home, revealing more than was wise about the
      school, exposing the kids to danger...

      But, dammit, what was I supposed to do? Sure he'd cleaned up a bit when he
      showed up in the airport but his arm was swollen to basketball proportions.
      Jean had told me later that it had been dislocated, likely for a couple days
      for it to get that bad. She also told me that he'd been adamant about having
      her, not Hank, as his physician. She described, more telepathically than
      verbally, the number of small, circular scars inside his arms that could
      only have been made by needles as well as the bullet wound on his right
      shoulder and the five scars that wound around his torso. She "showed" me how
      quiet and still he'd been, how so unlike the Remy we knew now.

      Within minutes, we devoured the entire pizza and half the six pack in
      relative silence with only the moist sounds of chewing and swallowing and
      the thunk of cans hitting wood to interrupt the crickets until Remy spoke

      "If'n you soak inna hot shower some time, it'll go 'way 'ventually. Remy, he
      know from experience."

      I absorbed that. "What were you doing there anyway?" I asked and he realised
      that I wasn't talking about Virginia that morning.

      He shrugged. "Mais y'know that besides havin' devil's eyes, I got devil's
      fire, too."

      "You charged the entire hotel?" I hadn't thought he was that powerful.

      Again, his only reply was an all-encompassing shrug. "What were _you_ doin'
      in Seattle?"

      I took a sip of my beer. "I've always wondered what happened to you," I
      answered honestly.

      "Lived on de streets a while," he said after a contemplative drag on his
      stub of a cigarette, "Stole a bit, tricked a bit, begged a bit." He sighed,
      staring at the smouldering cylinder in his hand. "That... that man who came
      t'de orphanage, he found me... took me back to N'Awlins."

      I was aghast. For some reason, I'd always envisioned that somewhere down the
      line, his life had paralleled mine: a good set of foster parents for a few
      years and an excruciatingly boring high school life before something had
      forced back on the streets.

      "I didn't know."

      "Well, now you know." He shook the ash from his smoke into an empty. "I
      don't fit in too good wit' the rest of your gifted youngsters, neh?"

      I snorted. "Oh, please. You're not fooling anyone with your redneck

      "What redneck routine?"

      "You know the one." I hunched my shoulders, pushed my head down and faked an
      over-bite. "Ah don' know whys y'alls so hot an' boh-thered by alla dem
      book-learnin'. Me, Ah'm jus' a Cay-shun lookin' foh les bon temps in N'Yawk

      He groaned and rolled his eyes. "You crazy, homme. I don' do that."

      "Hyuck, hyuck, hyuck," I added for good measure before coming out of the
      Quasimodo impression.



      We were both done with our cigarettes-- well, he was done with his second
      one. I dropped mine in my empty beer can while he shook out another and
      offered it to me. I declined it and he popped it in his mouth but didn't
      light it.

      "So, when you gettin' married?"

      "I..." What I meant to say-- what I was _supposed_ to say was, "Soon," but
      what came out was "I don't know."

      He raised his brows inquisitively. "You _not_ gettin' married?"

      "Yes... _no!_... I..." This topic called for another cigarette. "Look, if
      I'm going to answer that question, you'd better tell me what you were doing
      in Seattle in the first place."

      Thankfully, the threat worked. He just handed me another cigarette, this one
      lit, and stuck his hand in his jacket. Out came a battered old flask, the
      kind that could be bought in flea markets under hand-painted signs
      proclaiming "Genuine Antiques."

      "Boom-boom?" he offered.

      I had no idea what boom-boom was. Whether it was the lateness of the hour,
      the post-traumatic-stress of the mission or the fact that I've never drank
      too much anyway, I accepted the flask. As soon as I took a sip I regretted

      Boom-boom, apparently, is Cajun French for "cayenne-flavoured paint thinner
      mixed with swamp water and lightly misted with radioactive waste."

      I opened my mouth to breath but found that my oesophagus had seized in

      Remy grinned. "Ca c'est bon, non?"

      "NO!" my stomach squealed.

      "Here, chase it wit' beer."

      The shock of the cold liquid was the only thing that made me swallow. After
      my lungs remembered to take in oxygen, I managed to gasp, "What the _fuck_
      was that _shit_ you gave me?"

      "Boom-boom." He was snorting, trying to muffle his laughter.

      "You chicken-fucking swamp hick!" I could feel my liver burning away. "Oh,
      man, I have a class to teach tomorrow! I'm going to _kick_ your _ass_,
      you... you..."

      Complete Neural Meltdown Immanent.

      "You... you..."

      Remy took a sip of the vile stuff, still grinning like a deranged racoon.


      He took another, managing to look as if he was _enjoying_ the taste.

      I couldn't very well let the child out drink me could I? I grabbed the flask
      and took another scorching sip.

      Complete Neural Meltdown Achieved.

      "Don' t'ink..." Great, now I was starting to sound like him. I cleared my
      throat. "Don't think you'll get away with changing the subject like that."

      "What subject?"


      He groaned and dropped his head in his hands, dragging his fingers through
      his hair. "Dieu, can't y'drop that chorus, homme? Whatsit matter now?"

      "Well, damn, Remy, just 'cause I've been looking for you for almost ten
      years, brought you to my home and welcomed you into my family, it doesn�t
      mean I _care_ or anything." I think my dry sarcasm was laid on just thick
      enough to be noticeable through four beer.

      He glared at me; very effective when one has red-and-black eyes. "Fuck you.
      I di'in ask f'r you t'look f'r me."

      "Then the next fucking time I find you beaten up in the basement of the
      smoking crater that was once a two-block-wide hotel, I'll wave and be on my
      way." I snorted in disbelief. "You've got a real problem with reality, you
      know that?"

      "Up yours, Summers."

      "After you, LeBeau. I'm sure you've got more experience at it that I do



      I couldn't believe I said that. Remy didn't either; he was frozen in the
      classic deer-caught-in-headlights fashion, his beer dropping on the tabletop
      with a heavy clunk. I'm not even sure the beer was to blame. The subject
      _had_ been on my mind ever since I realised that Remy only flirted with the
      older boys to scare them into a comfortable distance. The girls, he kept
      around him like a shield. I was no innocent; I'd been on the streets even
      before my powers kicked in. My subconscious must've had a field day with the
      implication that Remy was wary of anything with a dick.

      Shit, shit, shit, shit, _shit_! Would you like ketchup or mustard on your
      foot, Summers?

      "Remy, I..."

      He cut me off with a chuckle. It didn't sound quite right. "Score one f'r de
      man in de red shades."

      "I'm sorry," I blurted out, "That was unbelievably crass--"

      "No worries, Summers."

      "--and unthinking of me--"

      "Just fuckin' forget it, homme."

      "--and I shouldn't have said it," I continued while I was on a roll. "I
      can't believe--"

      "Scott." To my surprise, he grabbed my hand and gave it a quick squeeze
      before letting go. "It's okay. You ain't said nothin' dat ain't true, hein?"

      I was getting away too easy. I knew that but hung on to it like the
      lifesaver that it was. "I don't think it's the right time for marriage right
      now," I found myself saying, "Not with the current socio-political flavour
      concerning mutants."

      He nodded and I kept blabbering.

      "And besides, we're already much too busy with the kids. Heck," I grinned
      shakily, "I'm a father of fifty-one at the age of twenty-eight. That's got
      to be a record somewhere, right?"

      Again, he nodded. I think I preferred the shrugs.

      "It's not that I don't... y'know, about Jean. I... I feel strongly--"

      "Love?" he put in helpfully.

      "Yeah, I do. Her, I mean. Love her. Immensely. I just..." I just needed
      another beer. To my horrified shock, I saw that it was all gone. My fingers
      tapped restlessly on my knee.

      He grinned and this time, it was less plastic. "Good t'ing Red be
      telepathic, non? Y'know Oprah says y'gotta learn t'voice emotions properly
      f'r a relationship t'work."

      I gave him my own glare. I'd bet it was a good one too if only it hadn't
      been hidden by my glasses. "You are a braying, slop-covered ass."

      "Learned de art from a master."

      "Bog hick."


      "Hey, I _have_ a girlfriend. Unlike _some_ people," I added archly, "who
      prefer to woo in kindergarten fashion by tormenting the object of their
      affection. Not that I'm naming any names."

      He was silent for a few very gratifying seconds. Then, after a whispered
      "Merde," he pushed a familiar battered flask in my face. "Boom-boom?"

      I decided to take a day-off tomorrow.

      Got anymore time to waste? Visit my world o' X-Men, Gargoyles and Highlander
      fics & pics at http://xeno3kattz.tripod.com/index.htm

      Rogue: What am I going to do with you, Remy LeBeau?
      Remy: I have a list, but I left it in my other pants.
      ~Astonishing X-Men #1

      Goliath: I never realized when you were human just how beautiful you were.
      Elisa (with a smile): You mean you thought I was ugly?
      Goliath: Uh... careful! Updraft!!
      ~Gargoyles: The Mirror

      Methos: It's got such a nice ring to it. Yeah, no more fighting, no more
      killing. Peace and harmony. Don't tell me you never fantasized about that?
      Some young sucker's always gonna fall for it.
      Duncan: Richie has.
      Methos: Voil�.
      Highlander the Series: The Messenger

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