Sightless, Into the Sun
By Mnemosyne
Summery: Scott, and Remy; a beer, a dream, and philosophical differences. Dark, character death. Slightly slashy themes.
Disclaimer: Don’t own, belong to Marvel.
1. Xavier and Eric, simply put, were mutant geniuses extraordinaire.
The day that Scott and Remy agreed, the sun didn’t explode and the world failed to stop turning.
The X-men, however, were very surprised.
It was a brief moment of accord in a long history of disagreement, and fortunately for the comfort of all concerned, it didn’t last long.
Remy and Scott, that day in the mansion, took a stand against redecoration, and presented a united front to Jean. After all, Scott pointed out, with the way the X-men’s luck had lately been running, the Mansion would probably explode just as they were done.
Jean was disappointed in Scott – no one really expected anything of Remy – the rest of the X-men, wisely, kept out of it.
Later that evening, Remy slipped out and headed off into the darkness, for destinations unknown. Logan stood silent in the shadows and watched him go: the thief, into the night.
2. Xavier
and Eric, mutant geniuses extraordinaire, were having philosophical
differences.
Scott was having a beer, in the kitchen, when Remy came back.
It took Remy a full minute to take the final step into the kitchen, recognizing the back of the X-men’s Fearless Leader. He didn’t analyze the pause; but somewhere in the back of his mind, he must have thought, why ruin a good day?
Remy had never been one to listen to his better judgment, so he walked in, headed to the fridge, and grabbed himself his own beer before sitting down with Scott.
“Late night, Gambit?” Scott said, idly, taking a sip of beer.
“Late night, y’self, homme.”
“True enough.”
Scott Summers, self-made decent man, faced Remy LeBeau, wild child. It would be melodramatic to say there was a moment of understanding; recognition, more, of a strange sort.
In the darkness, Remy traced the line of Cyclops’s jaw with his eyes. Took a sip of beer.
“Where did you go?” Scott, voice even.
“Jus’ out, Cyke,” Remy said. Feeling the need, strangely, to respond to the genuineness of the question, he offered a bit more: “fam’ly business.”
Scott arched an eyebrow. “I thought you were done with ‘family business’.”
“Ain’t nev’ gonna be done wit fam’ly, Scott.” Remy smiled. “Loyalty a bitch, neh?”
“That’s an interesting image.”
Remy swept his hand expansively, playing up to an imaginary audience. “Loyalty make you a bitch, anyway.” He grinned. “Remy been panting along afta people f’years.”
Scott choked a bit on that one. “That’s even more of an interesting image.”
“’True enough’, t’ough”, Remy said, mimicking Scotts’ earlier words uncannily.
“The X-men some of those people?”
“Sure, Cyke.”
“You don’t sound sure.”
Remy was silent, for a long moment, looking down at the beer clasped in his hand. “Allus been followin’ afta you, Cyke.” He took a sip of beer, determined to honor this strange moment. “Attached at de toes, like a shadow.”
Scott stared at him. “You mean, the X-men.”
“Sure, cher.”
Scott tipped his beer up. “To shadows, then.”
Remy raised his own beer in salute. Solemnly, they drank.
3. Xavier
and Eric, mutant geniuses extraordinaire, could not resolve their philosophical
differences. Naturally, they started a war.
Scott and Remy never agreed again.
That wasn’t anything unexpected; as the X-men headed off to do X-men things, Scott had often looked at Gambit and wondered what, exactly, made him an X-man. Could hear Gambit, this morning, still: tell m’ why de X-men saving de people dat wanna kick our asses?
Scott wasn’t sure, except: the dream was everything. And the X-men had to live as examples to the rest of the world. The X-men couldn’t kill. They were heroes, after all. They were good.
Scott had spent the better part of his life trying to be good.
He supposed that was why so many things Gambit did irritated him. Gambit wasn’t good. Gambit was – was – good enough.
Sometimes he thought: we aren’t really so different. Sometimes he thought: we couldn’t be more different.
Sometimes he thought: if we follow a dream, does that make what Remy believes in the reality?
Scott didn’t want to believe in that kind of world.
Scott thought: what do we do when we can’t change their minds? When they don’t play fair? What happens when the bad guys can kill us but we can’t kill them?
Remy, again: we die.
An dat, Cyke, ain’ a smart way t’do business.
Scott closed Remy’s sightless eyes and sat down beside him, absently stroking the side of his cheek. Remy looked – cynical, almost. Resigned. Like this had been no more than he’d been expecting.
Scott felt a bolt of longing. Heard Jean say, far away: “Scott, what have you done?” Didn’t look up.
Didn’t look over at the bodies in the corner, filling the room with the smell of still-smoking flesh.
Scott thought: so much for dreams.
4.
Xavier and Eric, mutant geniuses
extraordinaire, stood like mirror images, toe to toe on a very thin line. And
if neither of them ever quite defeated the other, nobody chose to comment.