Renere, 'to unspin, to undo, unravel what had been spun'

by Lise

III.
~

Now

*

Franklin comes back to the house finally, grumbling and grousing, and I try to calm him by rubbing his shoulders. It's a hellhole out there: we're almost out of food again, the children are cranky, and no one's seen Cable in over a week. Lorna is finally coming around, though she still cringes when Nate's nearby; Domino is perhaps worse than Nate about it. She's fiercely protective, and it would be cute if it didn't throw Lorna into fits.

Come to think about it, I haven't seen Domino in a while, either. God, I hope they're alright.

The day he left this time, I didn't even get to wish him luck. I just went around the bar after cleaning up breakfast for the camp, and Franklin said, "Nate left this for you. Said he'd picked it up on the last round out, and forgot to give it to you."

He hands me a newspaper dated January third, 2012. I laugh, and Franklin laughs with me. He adds, "He said, it was for the lotto numbers."

I laugh more, and went to pull weeds in the garden. Franklin's on dinner duty tonight, so I have a few minutes to myself before I'm needed again to scrub pots. I sit down under one of the few trees we salvaged, and open up the paper. The headline is, 'Xavier dies at eighty-three; world mourns.'

Nate collects history, in his little notebooks and god-knows-why, and I end up keeping newspaper clippings about the X-men. Doesn't matter what dates; if I see one of my family's name in print, I keep it.

The winning lotto numbers are on page nineteen. Franklin's obituary, from 'natural causes related to his long-time illness' is on page sixty. It startles me, and worries me, because-- it does.

Franklin is so vital to this. We have, at last count, two and a half of the Twelve, ready and waiting. The half I'm counting is the barely mature Mikhail; from a different time, a child, afraid, alone, unaware of his powers... but Mikhail Rasputin just the same. Some force drew him here, and Franklin's abilities with children is keeping him.

Though, the boy adores the sock puppet theater Franklin made, as well. It helps.

There's one page, in volume nine, that Irene spelled out in some detail. It's of a picnic, between a very pretty blond girl and someone that looks like a cross between Captain America, and Bobby Drake. It's a wonderful picnic, and the sun's shining, and the leaves are flapping. The very next page tells how they both died. But I like the picture of isolated happiness.

Irene recorded everything. The graves she drew, hands shaking from the terror of the things she saw-- evidence in the lines that blur and tremble on the page itself-- they're visible out our bedroom window. The millions dead, they're out there somewhere.

It's all inevitable, that's the lesson here.

~*~

Then

*

In January, I applied to several of the biggest universities-- got in to almost all of them unconditionally, of course. But what I really wanted wasn't college, it was just a change. I decided that really, what I wanted to do was move; but I had to make sure I could keep in touch with the team, which meant either staying in New York or moving to a city that the team has roots in. I don't know why I chose the University of Louisiana, in New Orleans; only that I knew, if I asked him to, Gambit would leave me be.

And it was appealing to think that I wouldn't be completely alone in a new city. I knew that, if I needed anything, I could ask him for it.

He was adamantly against it, though, when I dropped by the Mansion to ask him for some help. At first, I couldn't understand why he was fighting my decision so much. I didn't think he held a vendetta against me for anything-- we hadn't been arguing about anything else. I should have assumed from the start it was because he didn't want me to find out something about his life there.

After I'd come back from Britain, toting Raven's phone number and two journals, Xavier offered me my old room back. "Just until the start of the semester," he told me. Although I was hesitent, I had to take him up on it, at least for a night. I avoided seeing him most of the day-- I trusted him implicitly, but I didn't know what to say. I'd told him over the phone that I'd only be there a night, long enough to pack, and he accepted it because I was still upset about Peter.

Later that day, Remy came to my room, where I was packing. I admit, I was a little angry with him, and started the conversation off with a curt, "What can I do for you, Gambit?"

He looked apologetic, and I tried to soften my attitude. He said, "I wanted t'apologize f'gettin' a little hot about your university, Kit."

I nodded, and put down the shirt I'd been folding in my suitcase. "What I don't understand is why you don't want me there. I didn't think we were--"

He held his hands up immediately. "Non. It's not anything t'do with you, Kit. There's jus' some things in N'awlins that y'don't wanna get involved in."

He piqued my curiousity right away, and I gestured to my desk chair so he could sit down. After a minute, he did. I asked, "Like what?"

He ran a hand through his hair, looking uncomfortable. "Y'remember who I was married to, Kit? Belladonna Bordreaux. Head of th'Assassins Guild. They're still in town, chere." I watched him quietly, and he said, "People are gonna know that y'connected t'me, and there's a lotta old blood in N'awlins."

I crossed my legs underneath me, and grinned suddenly. "That's not it, is it?" As he started to protest, I continued, "No, I mean-- that's some of it. But there's something else too. Something that the team doesn't know." His jaw dropped. I made a split-second decision-- I said, "Remy, I'm not going for college."

His jaw stayed wide open. I went to my laptop bag, and pulled out the book that 'Yana had hidden away for me; one with a bright red cover. He frowned, and I could see him putting the pieces together. As a light dawned in his face, I nodded slowly. I said, "It's one of Irene's journals."

"I thought yours was brown, chere."

I put that volume down, and went to my desk drawer-- and pulled out the original. "You're thinking of this one."

His jaw dropped again.

The reasons I gave myself for letting him in on my secret were all valid, all reasonable. I knew he didn't trust the Professor, not entirely. One got the feeling that Remy LeBeau never trusted anyone entirely. He made the perfect co-conspirator. And I knew that I'd need his help sooner or later. I said, "Remy, I have to do this on my own."

He picked up the red one, and flipped open the first page. In it were sticky notes, some years old, in Illyana's cramped handwriting, alongside Irene's original text. His eyebrows raised. "Y'had help wit' this one."

" 'Yana." He floundered, dropping the volume onto my bedspread. I tried to gage his reactions, and finally said quietly, "Remy. Everything's going to hell."

He nodded grimly, and I got the feeling he'd been thinking the same thing for a while now. "I had a feeling, chere."

I stood up, and zipped up my suitcase. "I'm going to need your help, Remy. Please."

He stood up, and looked away from me, then nodded once. He took a step towards the door, refusing to look at me. He confessed softly, "The Guilds are active, Kit."

I grinned wryly, even though he couldn't see it. "I figured that much."

"--I'm not gonna lie t'you. I have obligations within'em. Stuff goin' on that th'others don't know about..."

I walked over, and put a hand on his shoulder. Gently, I replied, "Remy, I just want a more normal life. Some time to think."

He chuckled. "Kit, N'awlins ain't gonna give y'a normal life."

I laughed as well, and started planning how to get my things and my person to New Orleans. He had accepted. "I don't want anything to do with the Guilds. I'll deal if they want something to do with me."

His face fell. "There isn't much left of th'Guilds to get in your business, chere. We're bare." He paused, then added, "I'll talk t'Xavier about leavin' tomorrow."

Once Remy left, I called the airline to book two tickets for the next day. We could have flown ourselves in less than an hour, but I wanted to be low-key, normal. I didn't wanted to start my new life with a remnant of the old.

Besides. If we'd taken the Blackbird, I would have had to find a pilot, and I wanted a chance to talk to Remy in private before we landed.

~

The next morning, standing in the front hall with my two suitcases and laptop bag, I hugged the team goodbye and didn't think about Irene at all. When the question came up as to how Remy and I were going to get to the airport, I quickly volunteered Logan.

"I'd like to say goodbye-- y'know--"

I didn't have to say anything else.

The drive was quiet, with Remy staring moodily out the window. He was going along to find me some digs, and to take care of business. From the look on his face, the business wasn't going to go well. When we got to the airport, I pulled them into a quiet corner, and cleared my throat. "I have something to ask of you guys."

Remy looked mildly interested, and Logan nodded immediately. "Anything, darlin'."

I became a lot more nervous. "I already told Remy, but-- Logan, I've found more of Irene's diaries."

While Logan tried to swallow this information, Remy stared at me. "There's more?"

"Yes. And-- I want to find the rest. I need you two to help me. Please."

Logan still looked surprised, but Remy answered with, "Prophesies ain't my thing, Kit." His face darkened, and there was more to this story than he was letting on... but I couldn't let that stand in the way.

"Please, Remy." I needed his help; he'd be the one that I would be using to talk to Logan and to the other X-men. I knew that he had resources the rest of them would never be able to touch. And something told me, he believed.

"LeBeau ain't asking, but I will. Why us?"

It was the question of the hour for everyone. Why had we been thrown together to do this job?

I answered, "Because, I trust you."

Remy looked at me with a shocked face, at the same time as Logan put the end of his cigar in the ashtray beside him. "Not to sully anyone's reputation, here, but you're looking at a thief. Trust ain't what you're going for."

I pursed my lips. "Fine. I don't trust any of the Twelve. I want to, but I don't."

Remy spoke up quietly. "Destiny's gettin' t'you, isn't she chere?"

I flushed, but nodded. Logan snorted. "Well, darlin', I'm on it, if it's this important to ya. And the Cajun here," he said, "whether he agrees or not, is as well. 'Ro might have a good heart, but she ain't a survivor."

Remy tilted his head in silent acknowledgement. Logan left, and Remy and I got on American Airlines, flight 150 to Louisiana, in silence.

~

The place he took me to had a flight of stairs up to a second story apartment. The outside of the building wasn't bad, and it looked like a legitimate business. He lead me up the stairs at the back of the shop, opened an old wooden door, and ushered me inside.

Remy turned the light on, and I looked around. We were in a room above a little bakery, and the front window looked out over a small park and beyond that, on the river. Ferry boats and pedestrians chugged past, and the whole place smelled a little like fresh bread. He smiled wryly. "S'not much, chere, but it's one of th'nicest places along this road."

I actually liked the rooms a lot-- the kitchen was open, and had room for a table; the bedroom was only partly partitioned off, and I could see a mattress on the floor. The living room-- which served as the hallway as well-- had a comfortable looking couch and a TV, but nothing else.

"It's nice. Thank you."

He opened the curtains all the way, and immediately there was a lot more light in the room. He said, "I'll get y'some furniture tomorrow, chere. I'm sorry I couldn't get Emil or Mercy to get it in here earlier."

I sat down, and replied, "It's fine, Remy. I'm pretty exhausted; I'm probably going to get to sleep."

Just then, a buzzer went off somewhere in the place. Remy went to the door that lead to my stairs, and let whoever it was in. "That's th'doorbell, Kit. To let whoever it is in, y'just press this button."

I nodded, and just then, a blond woman opened the door, eying Remy and I, before smiling. "An' there's a peephole, so y'don' have t'let anyone in that y'don' wanna."

Remy bowed. "Mercy, Kitty. Kitty, Mercy."

I smiled at her, and secretly wondered who she was. She didn't seem like a girlfriend, and didn't look anything like Remy-- but, I remembered-- he was adopted.

He either saw my confusion, or had intended to introduce Mercy, because he kissed her cheek, and said with a grin, "My belle sister-in-law. Mercy, this is Kitty. Friend from New York."

She looked at me, examining me, and I got the feeling that she knew exactly who I was. Then she turned to Remy, and said, "So y'givin' her my old rooms?"

I hoped that she wasn't angry about it. Remy saved me by answering, "Oh, but y'have such a nice house in th'Garden District. An' Kit's goin' t'school here. Can't be inhospitable t'friends."

She shrugged. "Oui, Remy."

The way she deferred to him so easily surprised me; I was still getting used to the idea of Remy as a leader figure. I said to her, "It's very kind of you."

She inclined her head, said to Remy, "Drop by th'house later, Remy," and left.

Once she was gone, I looked at him. "She's jus' my sister-in-law, Kit."

I hesitated. "Thief?"

He paused as well. "Guild, oui." He too opened the door, and said, "There'll be movers here tomorrow. If no one's here, they'll jus'come up-- Mercy will have th'key and th'code. When y'get home tomorrow, change it, and y'won't have anymore problems."

I thought to myself that no matter what, Remy would probably be able to get in, probably in under two minutes-- but I didn't say it. Instead, I let him out, and made some tea.

My intent was to go to bed. I'd been in Louisiana lessthan five hours; I was tired, exhausted, and didn't want to do anythingserious. But for some reason, I pulled out volume six, and started toread.

When first light shone through my window, I didn't even realize it. I didn't register for classes all week, I didn't go out and see the sights.

I read about the Twelve instead. Book Six-- the prophesies of the early X-men.

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