Demons
Part Seven
Remy looked up when Hank reentered the room. "She's fading," Hank
answered the unasked question. "I have attempted to drain her lungs
again. She's breathing air enriched with oxygen, and I have machines
helping her heart beat, but nothing will help for much longer." He
hesitated. "She's asking for you, Remy."
Remy nodded miserably. He tried to make his feet move, but they
refused. "I can' go in dere," he whispered finally. "Last time
I'll ever see her." He clenched his forearms with his hands and
tried to keep from visibly trembling.
Scott cleared his throat. "Don't you believe in heaven, Gambit?" he
asked.
"Oui. For her. But I believe in hell, too."
Scott frowned. "You honestly think that you're damned?"
Remy laughed humorlessly. "Straight t' hell. No doubt in my mind."
He studiously avoided eye contact with Jean and stared at the panel
of lights on the wall. A line with a broken squiggle represented her
heart. The beeps were slow and shrill.
"Is she stable, Hank?" Jean interrupted.
"No," Hank said quietly. "It's doubtful that she'll last the night.
"
Remy closed his eyes and took a shaky breath.
Hank cleared his throat. "She is asking for you, though, Remy. She
won't be here long." He turned and reentered the lab.
Remy cried out in helplessness and pressed his hands against his eyes
as the door slammed shut after Hank. He whirled around and started
pacing, holding his fingers between his eyes.
Scott watched the door close. "The poor girl. You must feel awful.
"
"Shut up," Remy told him.
"I was just saying that I felt sorry for - "
"Just shut up. Don' go dere," Remy glared at him, all the anger he'd
been holding in finally being released. "Don' even. You pity her,
dat's all. You pity her, den y' get on wi't your life and y' don'
really give a shit. Y' ain' lived what she lived. Y' ain' been
t'rough what she been t'rough. Y' ain' seen it. Don' try to play it
all down by sayin' y' feel sorry for her." Remy was shouting by the
end.
Scott frowned. "Where is this coming from, Remy?"
"From your attempt t' jus' dismiss her and t' say "poor girl" and den
go on wit' y' life and y' don' care about her. Y' don' care, only t'
try t' make y'self feel better, like y' done somet'ing. She ain'
gon' live on your pity."
"She isn't going to live on your anger, either, Remy," Scott pointed
out.
"FUCK YOU!" Remy screamed. "GODDAMMIT!" He collapsed to the floor,
sobbing.
"Remy - "
"GET DE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!" he shrieked.
"Scott - " Jean murmured. Remy heard Scott grumble, then footsteps
heading away, then a door opening and closing.
"Remy?" Jean asked finally.
She knelt behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders. He
started violently and pulled his knees into his chest. "What."
"It's not your fault."
"Dat she be dying? Dat she have no family?"
"She isn't dying because of something you did."
"Non?" His head was in his knees, so she couldn't see his face. "I
could've fought better. I could've helped her."
"No."
"I should have died b'fore I let dem - "
"It wasn't your fault, Remy. You couldn't have done anything."
"An' dat's supposed t' make me feel better?"
Jean shook her head. "No, I suppose not." It was easier, she
reflected, for him to hate himself than Sinister. It's easier to
hate something within reach than something that comes across as
unconquerable, as a god.
He lifted his head. His face was wet with tears. "Why you even care,
anyway? You heard what Bishop said. I'm a Marauder." He spat the
final word and refused to look her.
"Used to be, maybe."
"Once a snake, always a snake, Jean. A snake jus' gets rid of its
skin ever' once in a while. Still be a snake."
"People can change, Remy."
"Dat much? You ever killed anyone?"
"Yes."
"You like it?"
"No."
He couldn't say anything else. The words got caught in his throat.
"You?"
"Oui...and oui." He paused to collect his thoughts. "I did a lot of
bad t'ings, Jean, wit' dem. I killed a lot of people. If I hadn'
left, I would of done dose t'ings to her dey did. I used to be like
dat. I used t' like dat."
"Everything?"
He hesitated then nodded. "We took a hospital once," he said
emotionlessly. "Killed everyone we could find. Cut de phone lines
and most of de power." He traced his finger on the ground and shook
his head. "Killed everyone. Cold blood, too. Dat be most of de
t'rill, staring at someone who'd eit'er be screaming or pleading, and
den killing dem." He paused for a moment, reliving the scene, and
she could see everything in his mind. "An den we came to de man's
office. He were terrified, and Riptide shot him. Point-blank. Den -
I raped his daughter. Killed her, too. Killed everybody."
Jean tried to take a deep breath. "Remy..." was all she could say.
"Wasn't de only time. And you know ‘bout de Morlocks."
"You..."
"Now try an' tell me dat I ain' damned."
Part of her wanted to pull her hands away from his shoulders, but she
didn't. He was expecting disgust. Fear, maybe. Hatred. He didn't
get it. And that surprised him. He kept talking, like a dam had
burst inside him. Suddenly there was someone who would listen, who
cared enough, who he could talk to. "Den dey made me watch Tuesday.
I didn' see dem, I saw myself. Only a year ago. Because I were no
different." He hesitated. "I hate dem now. But I ain' got no right
to. S'like what Riptide told me, I'm one of dem. Dat's who I used
to be, and dat I'm lying t' myself now, lying t' dem, and lying t'
you, ‘cause I can' change. Riptide...I used to like de man. Now I
hate him, but I t'ink I hate myself more."
Jean knelt in front of him. Tentatively, Remy glanced up at her.
"Remy," she started. "I'm not going to judge you." She was choosing
her words carefully. "I can't say I know what you're feeling,
because I don't. But I can tell you what you used to be doesn't
matter half as much as what you are now."
"Which is what."
"You're an X-man, Remy." He snorted and tried to turn away, but she
wouldn't let him. "You are. And I'm not going to let you forget
that. And you're a good man now."
"You sure?"
"Pretty sure. You've been good to Tuesday."
"I'm scared of Tuesday."
"Why?"
"What she t'inks of me - matters more - dan I t'ought it would."
"She thinks nothing but the best of you."
"Yeah, dat's what I would t'ink of de guy who used t' be best friends
wit' de men raped an' killed me."
"Remy - "
"Why haven' y' told Scott ‘bout me?"
"I don't know yet why I should," she answered. "What you used to be
is not anyone else's business."
"Jus' mine and God's." He gave a bitter smile.
"Your guilt I think is penance enough."
"Tell dat t' de Morlocks. Tell dat, merde, tell dat t' Warren an'
Stormy."
Jean had no answer to that. "Why did you keep Tuesday?" she asked
instead.
"She had no place else t' go."
"Why else?"
"Sinister was after her, and de Marauders, and - "
"Why else?"
Remy shrugged helplessly. "I've never taken responsibility for
anyt'ing in my life. When I killed Julien, I ran. When I was called
back by Henri, I ditched de Marauders. I'm gonna sell you out. If
she was in any way - mine, I t'ought I should - be a man for onnce in
my life." He pushed away and stood up. "And den I go an' fuck dat
up an' get her tortured and now killed and - I don' know. I fucked
up again."
"But you tried," Jean maintained.
"An' dat makes it all better? Gee, de girl I try to take care of is
dyin' right before my eyes, but gosh darn it, it's all right, because
I tried my darnedest."
"Remy."
His voice sobered and lost the sardonic sarcasm. He was tired. "It
don' matter t' her dat I tried. She's dead anyway."
"Trying is all that matters."
"Ain' ye seen Star Wars?" he asked. "God knows Jubilee had it on
enough. ‘Do or do not. Dere is no try.' Well, I didn'."
"Remy, I know you have a lot to atone for, but hating yourself is not
going to save you."
"Nothin' short of death will, I don' t'ink. Rogue knows dat. She
saw into my head."
"That's why she left you?"
"It scared her. Now she be wit' Joseph who has no past. She knows
more about him dan he does."
"If the X-men could accept Magneto, we can accept you."
"Magneto had a cause. He weren't a sadist."
"We'll accept you anyway."
"Christ, Jean! Don' y' get it? I ain' talkin' ‘bout accidentally
killin' someone ‘cause my powers got outta control like Jubilee or
when dey first manifested like Blink. I'm talkin' ‘bout starin' down
at a man kneeling at y' feet, who's cryin' and prayin' and babblin'
‘bout his wife and his kids he got at home, den shootin' him point-
blank between de eyes an' not even givin' it a second t'ought! You
honestly t'ink anyone else on de team'll accept dat? Rogue already
doesn'. Scott's gonna go into cardiac arrest. And if Bishop knew
everyt'ing, he'd shit and he - would - kill - me."
Jean had no clue what to say. "I..."
"Fuck it," Remy muttered to himself. He pressed his hands to his
face again.
"Come here." She pulled him into a hug. He tried to step back, but
she didn't let him. "I don't care what you say, and I don't care
what Riptide said. You are changed."
"Like sayin' sorry will fix everyt'ing? Stormy, Warren, I'm sorry my
friends - "
"Tuesday loves you."
"But Tuesday's dyin'," he whispered back, holding her tightly and
squeezing his eyes shut. "She's dying, Jean. I've never felt so
close to anyone before an' she dyin'."
"No one's ever accepted you so completely?" Jean guessed. She felt
him nod. "I do."
"I don' t'ink I can believe you."
He needed a show of trust. Physical trust - he was an empath. He
needed intimacy. She knew of only one thing to do. "We do accept
you, Remy LeBeau." She put a hand behind his head, pulled him down,
and kissed him. He responded hesitantly. Then she held him gently
as he struggled to comprehend everything. She pressed her head
against his chest and opened her mind, sending him the warm feelings
of love and acceptance he desperately needed.
Finally he spoke. "Jean, I really ain' a bad man."
"I know that."
"Yeah." Awkwardly he pulled away.
"Tuesday needs you now," she said as she stepped back.
"I'll never know why."
"Just go."
He nodded. He turned to go to the lab.
"Remy - "
He turned.
"Demons can be killed."
He smiled slowly. "T'anks, Jean."
"You're welcome."
He was gone.
She took a deep breath and exhaled, leaning against the wall. She
gently slid to the floor, pushing her fingers through her hair. She
shook her head. "Damn, I need a drink about now."
* * *
The room was silent, save the beeping of some life support machine.
It took all of Remy's self-control not to turn and run.
Hank met his glance but said nothing.
Tuesday started crying when she saw him. She couldn't talk; her
mouth was covered with a mask feeding her oxygen, and she was
struggling so much not to cough, she could barely get enough breath.
He held her hand, crying silently himself.
She was terrified. He could have discerned that just from her eyes.
She wasn't ready to die.
And just before she died, she struggled enough to choke out, "Remy -
I got one question. I know - y' were one of dem - but did y' do -
dat, what dey did t' me - t' anyone? Did y' hurt anyone like dat?"
He swallowed hard. "Non, chere."
She tried to smile. "Dat's what - I t'ought."
He tried to smile but failed miserably.
"Y' were still a good guy?"
What was one more lie? *Not like she'd know, anyway.* "Always,
chere."
"Love y'."
He leaned over her and kissed her forehead.
"Pray - " she choked hoarsely.
"In nomine patri et filii et spiritus sancti - "
She stopped breathing. The beat turned into a steady pulse.
"Amen," he finished.
"Remy," Hank said quietly, "I am sorry."
He didn't hear. "Y' know, chere, when I left dem, I went back t'
N'Awlins. I wanted to kill myself. I went up t' de old church, an'
took me T'ieves dagger. I only got one wrist b'fore Henri kicked de
knife away. He was so angry, I - he said he was still supposed t'
protect me an' all. It were a few weeks after dat dat I met Stormy
and de X-men. I never knew why he saved my life." He looked down at
Tuesday, and his face clouded. "He should have let me die, de world
be better off now."
"Who did you leave, Remy? What are you talking about?"
Remy looked up. "It don' matter now. She's dead." He started
laughing.
Hank looked sorrowful and confused at the same time.
"She's dead. Oh Jesus Christ she's dead an' I killed - " His
laughing quickly dissolved into hysterical sobbing. "Dead."
* * *
He practically ran to his room. He sat on her bed, curled over,
trying to stop shaking, trying to keep from sobbing outright. His
breathing was ragged. He had to hold tightly to the sleeves of his
jacket to keep his hands from trembling. *God, no, God, no, God -
why the fuck should God care, anyway!?!*
"Jesus," he prayed softly.
Dead, dead, dead. He'd seen enough bodies to know. The lips turn
blue. The eyes glaze, if no one cares enough to close them. The
skin gets waxen. The blood settles in the lower parts of the body.
The joints and the muscles become stiff. And the flesh becomes cold.
Then starts to decay, and the worms come and the maggots-
"Jesus," he groaned.
No one answered.
He couldn't hold the tears in anymore. "Oh, fuck it. Oh god, kill
me instead, fucking child-murderer..."
He caught his reflection in the mirror over the dresser. A haggard,
gray face stared back, hair falling every which way. His eyes were
red; he looked as if he hadn't slept in years.
His hand reached back and pulled the automatic from under his own
mattress. He wasn't aware until he saw the black metal through
blurry eyes.
"Tried dat b'fore, ‘member?" he said bitterly. "Couldn't do it den.
"
He stood slowly and set the gun heavily on the wooden dresser,
studying the reflection of his eyes.
Without thinking, he pulled his hand back and smashed the mirror.
The silvery glass shattered and sliced at his palm. He hissed at the
sudden pain and grabbed a T-shirt from the floor to wrap his hand in.
"Remy, Hank wants to know - oh shit - "
Remy whirled, snarling, when Bobby pushed open the door. The light
in the room was dim; his eyes were glowing bright red. With
tremendous self control, he forced out, "Bobby, get out of here."
"Jeez, Remy, you okay?"
Remy forced himself to nod. "Get out of here."
Bobby nodded, frightened, and almost ran from the room.
Remy would have collapsed if he hadn't grabbed hold of the edge of
the dresser. His right hand went to the automatic, picking it up and
shaking the shards of glass from it. He turned toward the bed.
Almost of its own accord, the gun settled in his hand. He raised it,
conscious of the weight, the comfortable grip in the palm of his hand,
the familiar way it was held -
With a sharp moan, he let it slip through his fingers onto her
blanket and pulled at his hair, trying to use the pain as an anchor.
His hands were glowing when he held them in front of his eyes. "Y'r
losing it, Remy," he whispered.
*But she's dead* something whispered back. *You're still here, why
are you still here when she can't be?* "Shut up." *Why her, not you?
You could've saved her.*
"Remy, you don't look so good."
The window was open. The night sky was lit by a full moon shrouded
behind a layer of gray clouds. Riptide, his white hair pulled back
in a ponytail, stood silhouetted before it.
"Philip," Remy breathed.
Riptide nodded. "Hey, Remy."
"What de fuck y' doin' here?"
"I'll leave if you want."
"How'd y' get here?"
"Window was open. I let myself in." He held up the pendant on a
necklace he was wearing. Remy recognized it. Sinister had taken
Genoshan technology and shrunk it to the size of a necklace that
could easily be taken on and off. So the Marauder would be
undetected by Cerebro. Which meant Remy was on his own now...
"What d' y' wan'?"
Riptide looked dubiously over the mess of dirty clothes, broken glass,
and junk that covered the room. "Well, I was thinking that if you
could find a deck of cards, we could try a round of gin..."
Remy was aghast. "Dis has been de single worst day of my life, an'
you wan' t' play gin rummy?"
Riptide motioned to the broken mirror. "Beats destroying the
furniture, doesn't it?"
Remy turned away. "Non."
"How's your hand?"
Remy motioned toward Riptide's face. "How's your eye?"
"Better now, thanks. How's your kid?"
Eyes threatening to overflow again, Remy didn't answer. "What d' y'
wan'."
Riptide shrugged. "See what's up. How you're doing and all that."
"She's dead, how d' y' t'ink I'm doin'?"
"Terrible, and for the life of me, I can't figure out why."
Remy choked on a reply. "I be her father, an' I - I couldn't - help
her..." he trailed off.
Riptide rolled his eyes. "A, you're not her father, and B, why the
fuck should you care about her anyway? I'm sure she didn't care
about you."
Remy shook his head quickly before the words could sink in. "Tuesday
loved me."
"No, she didn't," Riptide contradicted. "Maybe at first. Not when
she found out you're a Marauder."
"I'm not a fuckin' Marauder!" In one motion he had the automatic off
the bed and pointing at Riptide's heart. He struggled to stop his
hand from shaking.
"Jesus Christ, Remy," Riptide cried. "What are you going to do,
shoot me for talking to you?"
Remy spoke with quiet deliberation. "Y' de one dat hurt her. I
didn' do anyt'ing t' hurt her."
"Circumstances notwithstanding..."
"Shut up!" He gestured with the gun.
Riptide sighed. "Listen to me. Maybe she did love you. See, love
is easy. Hate takes energy. You have to take energy from yourself
and push it into something else. She didn't have the energy left to
hate, she was concentrating on breathing at that point, and she was
probably scared shitless of dying, so she had to turn to you." Remy
didn't say anything. Suddenly concerned, Riptide asked, "You okay?
You're shaking like you're on a bad trip or something."
Remy lowered the gun; his entire body was trembling. "I'm her father,
she has t' - "
"You're not even her father, Remy. Get off it." Riptide paused for
a moment, reflecting. "It takes more than fucking a woman at the
wrong time to become a father. Like, I didn't have a father. The
man who claimed to be a father was a fucking drunk who spent his days
guzzling Jack Daniels and beating us up." He laughed a little.
"That was me, a scared bastard kid running from a filthy drunk who
claimed to be a father. I killed him when I was fifteen." Remy had
known that, but never known why. "It was more accident than planned,
though. He came at me with his belt again, and my mutant power
kicked up. There were enough dirty dishes in the sink to fill the
room with shards of ceramic once they all smashed against the walls.
The whole room was red." He tilted his head. "Why did I just tell
you that? Haven't I told you that before?"
Remy shook his head.
"Oh. Well, that's the story of Philip North. In a nutshell." He
curtseyed and smiled.
Remy almost laughed. Almost.
"I can't believe I never told you that."
Remy spoke quietly. "Y' tol' me parts of it."
"Yeah." He shrugged. "After that, it was like with just about all
of us - nowhere to go, no place to call home, and being a run-of-the-
mill hit man got so fucking boring after a while..."
Remy raised an eyebrow. "Watch de language. Y' kiss y' mother wit's
dat mouth?"
Riptide made a face. "I haven't seen my mother in years, thank you
very much. But then you never got to see yours at all before you
were thrown out into the dumpster."
Remy bristled. "I wasn' t'rown out int' de dumpster!"
"Sorry. Gently placed into the dumpster."
Remy did laugh this time. Just a little. He frowned suddenly. They
were getting along too well. He realized to his dismay that he
missed this. It was coming back too quickly.
Riptide caught it. "What?"
Remy hesitated before answering. "Did y' ever feel - sorry - for
anyt'ing y' did? In de Morlock tunnels or - jus' anyt'ing?"
"Don't tell me you developed a conscience in the year and a half
you've been here."
"So what if I did?"
Riptide laughed. "You'll be a pretty sorry Marauder then."
"I'm an X-man now," Remy insisted without energy.
"No, you're not."
"Yes, I am."
Riptide shifted his weight and tried to explain. "Some are born X-
men. Like Jean Grey. Like that stick-up-his-butt Summers. Not you,
Remy. Sure, you had a nice run, but you're one of us."
"I ain' one of y'."
"Then what are you going to do, Remy?" Riptide sounded almost
annoyed.
"I'll stay here - "
"Yeah fucking right, Remy," Riptide cut in. "Not if Bishop knows who
you are - sorry, who you used to be." he interrupted himself
sarcastically. "What do you think the rest will do to you if they
find out your part in the Morlock massacre? What happens when
Cyclops and Storm and Angel find out you nearly killed them all, and
that you did kill - how many people? What do you think they'll do to
you when they wake up and find they've had an honest-to-Christ
Marauder in their house for the past year and a half?"
"I don' - "
"You think Angel's gonna just forget his wings being literally torn
apart, or that Storm's gonna forget we murdered hundreds of her
charges? Maybe you think you feel bad, but think about what you've
done - you've killed children, Remy. You can't turn back after that.
Will any of them forget the smell of blood that hung in those
tunnels and the water and the piles of dead? What do you think
they'll do to you, Remy?"
Remy whispered, "Dey'd crucify me."
Riptide nodded and was silent. Then he spoke. "You can't stay here.
"
"I know," Remy said without thinking. Only after he said it did he
realize how true it was.
Riptide nodded and shrugged, much calmer and almost gentle. "So what
are you going to do?"
Remy shrugged. "Go off on my own."
"Without money? Without a place to stay?" Riptide asked dubiously.
"Without a family?"
"I don' need a family."
"Don't give me that bullshit. You more than any of us needed a
family."
Remy shrugged, staring at the navy blue blanket he was sitting on.
"Most people need friends."
Remy looked up, reminded of something. "How's Vertigo?"
Riptide grimaced. "Sinister couldn't heal her, so he's growing a
clone. That'll take another week, and there's a chance she'll get at
least partial amnesia when he transplants her memories."
"Merde."
Riptide sighed heavily. "Yeah." He tilted his head. "Why do you
care about her anyway?"
"Huh?"
"If you're not one of us. If you're really on the side of the angels,
why should you give a shit if a demon gets hurt?"
"I..."
"Which did you freak out more to hear about, that what's-his-face,
Cannonball, right?, was killed, or that Vertigo was killed?"
*Vertigo.* But he didn't answer aloud.
Riptide knew, though. "You're one of us, Remy."
"Maybe."
"Definitely."
Remy desperately tried for a tangent. "It don' matter anyway, I be
dead in two weeks from de virus..."
Riptide played the trump card. "Sinister can cure you."
Remy sucked in his breath.
"So are you coming back with me?"
Remy laughed humorlessly. "Don' have much of a choice, neh?"
"No, you don't." For once, Riptide was dead serious.
"Den..." His mind raced, searching for an alternative, any other
path. *You failed her once, what does once more matter?* Wavering.
*Damned if you do...*
Falling.
"Oui."
"Then let's get the hell out of here before Iceman comes back."
* * *
Once upon a time there was a boy. And this boy didn't know much,
except that he was unwanted. He ran away from home instead of going
to kindergarten. He survived on the streets by miracle of God and
man - he was quick and bright enough to learn to scavenge and steal,
and young and cute enough to beg meals from passing strangers.
Ignorance made him content. He was found by a child and brought home
by a rich stranger. He was fed, given clothes, a pillow, and
educated.
He was taken a year later. The boy, when he was returned, remembered
only pieces of what had happened, but his body was testimony to his
transformation. He remembered screaming, he remembered pain. He
remembered his eyes catching fire and burning back into his head. He
remembered energy pulsing inside him without release, until somehow,
at the instruction of a faceless shadow, it poured into his hands,
and into explosions. He would always remember meeting the evil
shadow a second time, but his body and soul were testament to all
he'd seen. He was stronger. His mutant powers had been made
manifest. He had lost his soul, fumbled for it blindly, clutching at
the darkness, and never found it again. His fingers held a cigarette,
the tip burning like an evil eye, to his lips. And his eyes -
His eyes glowed sinister.