Far Too long.
By Kyrri

Someone once told me that those guilty feelings we get when something
goes wrong, even though we know there was absolutely nothing else we
could do, comes straight from the devil… What? You didn't take me for
the religious type? Oh, you're laughing now, but wait… Let me tell
you there might not be a god, but there certainly is a devil. A white
devil in fact. And his name is Remy LeBeau.

Don't believe me? There's a tale somewhere in here, you know. Or
don't you want to know? It doesn't matter really; leave if you want.
Let the walls be privy to my thoughts. At least they can keep secrets.

Secrets you ask. But you'd have to listen to my story to know them.
What? Leaving already? Just when we were getting so well acquainted?
No… just getting a chair so you don't wear out those delicate feet of
yours.

You don't like that, do you? But it just wouldn't do to be provoked
by a madman, now would it? You scholarly types are all the same –
gutless. Now, my devil had guts, he wouldn't just be sitting there
all prim and proper listening to me demean him.

But why react at all? Not like I'm going anywhere. It's not like you
feel threatened by me. What do you have to fear from a half-pint like
me?

Not that stupid, hah? Too bad. I don't get much exercise in here.

What? Now you want to know about my devil? Are you sure? You are…
good enough for me.

Tell me… are you a religious person? No. Too bad. Remy was a religion
onto himself. I'd gladly have worshipped at his feet. Gladly, not
that he would have let me.

I don't even know how to start telling you what he was. Maybe I
should try telling you what he wasn't. But you might get the wrong
idea and think him a saint. My devil was no saint. If anything he was
the embodiment of sin. And eternal damnation would be small
recompense for just one glance, one touch, one kiss.

But I'm getting side-tracked, now aren't I? You asked for a secret, a
story, and I'm busy spouting sonnets. Well, I'll tell you the secret,
if you come a little closer. No? Can't blame a man-beast for trying,
can you?

Where was I? Ah, yes. A secret. We're in love with the devil. The
beast and I. Bet you could have guessed, but they never did. The team
didn't suspect a thing, but then they were always good at not seeing
what was right in front of their eyes.

The devil stole our heart with his nimble thief-fingers. He stole it
and he never gave it back. Never.

We don't want it back! We want him back!

What? Afraid? Don't worry, these chains won't let us get to you.
We've tried cutting them out of the wall, but we know you scholarly-
types are smart – smart enough to line the walls with Adamantium,
smart enough not to come too close.

That's it, move the chair back over and sit down. I won't lunge at
you again, but he might. I never could control him, but our devil
could. He knew the beast's tune. He made the animal sleep.

But he's gone! He left us!

No, don't go; don't call them. We'll play nice, we won't pull at the
chains, we'll tell you a story. How does that sound? We'll tell you
about a prince, a Prince of Thieves. We'll tell you about his devil's
eyes and his angel's soul. And you'll find him for us, won't you? We
know he's there. You'll tell him we want him back? You'll tell him we
need him back?

Please? No, don't go.

Don't go.
 

**********
 

"Who was he?" the woman asked. She looked through the barred window
at the figure crouched and defeated in the corner of his small padded
cell.

"You were in dere with him and you don' know?" the man responded,
pulling at the sleeve of his jacket.

"They told me nothing, only that I shouldn't go near him, no matter
what he said."

The man nodded in understanding. "Wolverine, `e was one of de X-Men."

"The X-Men? But that's not possible! The last of the X-Men where…"

"…disbanded o'er two centuries ago," he finished the woman's sentence
when she stopped. She was still staring consideringly through the
glass at the prisoner.

"And this devil, he's ranting about? This Remy LeBeau?" the woman
asked.

"Gambit, also affiliated with de X-Men. `e died of natural causes
more than fifty years `fore Professor Xavier's dream was realized."
The man answered, looking at the woman as she still closely observed
the patient.

"He's not dead!" the Wolverine called from inside his cell, the
chains rattling as he pulled at them, claws snaking out to slash
uselessly at the air. "He's not dead!"

The woman shook her head turning to face the man. "How long has he
been here? Like this?"

He smiled softly, red on black eyes sparkling in the dim light of the
corridor. "Far too long, petite, far too long."

A/N: OK - so everyone died. Sorry. *runs and hides*