Fic: Lie a Little (Gambit/X-23) - Mature - Part 4
Title: Lie a Little
Characters: Remy LeBeau, Laura Kinney, Julian Keller, Logan, Rogue
Pairing: Remy/Laura
Rating: Mature
Author's Notes/Warnings: Underage
Summary: When Remy goes to visit Laura, he makes a mistake that threatens to transform the nature of their friendship.
previous
One more time. That’s it.
They spend the rest of the day in and around Los Angeles, seeing the sights, talking about anything but what happened. He even persuades her to visit a college campus, one of these Cal State branches built after the Second World War. The campus is peaceful enough, quiet because it’s Saturday and the students are commuters, but the buildings are big and functional. He thinks Laura should go to a better school, somewhere back east, but any college is a step in the right direction.
He wishes the admissions office was open. He’d get a representative to talk her into it, ply her with glossy brochures and the promise of class mobility. A different, better life.
“Oh, look petite,” he says, stopping in front of the social sciences building. He draws closer, staring into the glass windows. “Bet that’s where they have the anthropology classes.” He turns to look at her. “Promise me you’ll come back here and look around when it’s open, okay?”
Laura stands back from the building and stares up at it. Nods once.
They decide Laura should go back to the Academy to spend the night. Well, he decides. She concedes. “I left my things in your room, though,” she says as they speed down the highway in the car.
“I can bring them to you later.”
“I can get them now,” she says.
He nods in agreement as he signals to get off the highway. It would be easier.
When he flicks on the light in his hotel room he sees the maid has been there. All traces of evidence have been swept away. He wishes that life was like a hotel room-someone there to clean up your mess, pull your sheets tight, and make it look like you never existed. He ducks into the bathroom to take a piss.
When he’s finished, he washes his hands in the sink and tries not to look at himself in the mirror. The bathroom light is harsh, and he doesn’t want to be distracted by some new line or blemish. He’s getting to that point where he can’t just adjust his hair. He’s got to take inventory.
He leaves the bathroom and finds Laura at the window. She’s pulled the heavy curtains back. Dust motes float through the air. She turns her head to look at him and then turns back to the window. He leans against the wall, watching her.
***
This time they’re not frenzied or nervous. This time they take things slow. He eases her onto the bed, opens her clothes. Plants kisses on her neck, her collarbone. Slides one hand to her waist.
This time he can’t blame his actions on a momentary lapse in judgment. This time is on him.
She tugs his shirt. He sits up and pulls it off. Then he settles between her legs again. Kisses the line of sweat between her breasts. Then her stomach. Then between her thighs. After a few minutes there he sits up again and lies down next to her. “Tell me what you want.”
She reaches for him, pulling him closer. He guides her on top of him and they stay there like that, her fingertips skimming his ribcage. She looks down at him, determined. She understands. With him she can do what she wants. He’s not a boy who will tell his friends, or who will shame her. She starts to move.
Minutes later she comes and he sits forward, pressing his chest against hers. He wraps his arms around her and comes too, buries his face in her neck. They stay like that for a long time, still joined, his hands cupping her shoulders, gripping her back.
***
The animals had left the fields. Early morning, Upper Midwest. Northern Minnesota maybe. Flat country, misty landscape, the wheat pulled into bundles. The train took a curve and shook him wide awake. Autumn already, he thought, gazing out the window. The hemisphere was shifting away from the sun, and the early frost was coming to claim the fields the animals had left behind.
He sat up. How long had he been asleep? And where was Laura?
As if on cue, Laura slid into the seat next to him. She pulled her backpack into her lap and unzipped it. Took out two sealed packages of cinnamon rolls and handed him one.
“Good mornin’,” he said, turning toward her. “How long you been up?”
“I never really slept.”
“It’s impossible to sleep in these seats,” he said. He wished he’d sprung for the train with sleeper cars.
This was their last trip together-a fact they hadn’t acknowledged. The X-Men were falling apart. Scott and Logan were circling their wagons. Remy’d already decided that he’d settle in Westchester, but Laura was still weighing her options. Even at that point, Remy knew what Laura hadn’t yet articulated: she wouldn’t stay with Logan. Best case scenario: she’d remain with the FF as their full-time babysitter.
A week after she recovered from that affair with the Whirldemon, he went to Laura and said, “Fuck it. Let’s get out of here.” And they road an Amtrak to Chicago. Remy told Logan that he needed to check up on a contact in Skokie, and that he needed Laura’s assistance, but that was bullshit. He just wanted to get away. He was running from the X-Men’s problems, hoping to stay placidly uninvolved.
When they finished in Chicago, he suggested to Laura that they keep moving west. She hadn’t disagreed. They bought train tickets. He loved the train, loved how you lost all sense of motion except when it stopped or hit a curve.
Remy propped his leg up on the seat in front of him and tore open the package. He ate the roll, waiting for the confectioner’s sugar to enter his bloodstream. “Need some coffee to wash this down.”
“I can go-” Laura started to get up.
“Nah,” he said, motioning for her to stay seated. “Wait until the next station. Then we’ll get somethin’ strong.” He wiped his eyes with the heels of his hands. Glanced down at Laura’s book bag. “You unloaded that book, I noticed.”
Laura zipped up her backpack and put it on the floor under her seat.
“I gave you that book as a gift, y’know. Didn’t think you’d just give it away.”
The book was The Adventures of Pinocchio. He’d bought it for her at a bookstore in Chicago. Beautiful illustrated pages. Hardcover. She had thanked him very seriously and taken the book in both hands. But later that day, when he was buying tickets at the counter, her saw her out of the corner of his eye. She was bent at the waist, talking to a little boy. Then she crouched down next to the boy and handed him the book.
Now she didn’t make eye contact with Remy. She worked on one of her cinnamon rolls.
“If you didn’t want it you could have just told me. I woulda taken it back. But I saw you reading it everywhere you went.” Every time they ducked into a book store, Laura would pick up The Adventures Pinocchio. She read it in French. She read it in Japanese. She read it when she didn’t think Remy was looking.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you by giving it away.”
“Hmm.” Remy balanced his ankle on his knee. He was cranky. It was early and he hadn’t really slept. “Ain’t offended, petite. Just puzzled. It was a gift. For you.”
“But I have already read it.”
“But obviously you liked it enough to read it again and again. And that’s what a gift is for.”
“That boy had never read it. I can always check it out of the library.”
“But so can the boy. That book was meant for you.”
Laura crinkled up her wrapper and tucked it into her pocket. “I do not understand.”
“I think you do.” He thought a moment. Considered his words. “You’re not ignorant of social conventions. In fact, you’re pretty perceptive. You know what other people expect, and you know what they’re thinkin’ before they even realize it themselves. And you know what a gift is. You’ve gotten gifts before.”
Moments passed.
He said, “I think you feign ignorance sometimes. Easier that way. To not have to tell others what you’re really feeling.”
“You are accusing me of lying.”
“I’m sayin’ that you didn’t give that book away because you didn’t see the point of owning something you’ve already read. Which is to say”- He reached for a napkin but didn’t take his eyes off her. “Yeah, I don’t think you’re being truthful with me.”
Laura sat in the seat, her eyes fixed on the seat in front of her, her hands pressed to her lap.
“If you didn’t want the book, then fine. Or fine if you don’t like it or what not. Then you should have said, ‘Thanks, Gambit, but stories about puppets aren’t my thing. I’d prefer The Hunger Games. Or Leaves of Grass.’ And I’d have taken it back.”
Laura still didn’t move.
“Your reasons for not liking the book-okay, they’re personal. Ain’t gonna ask. All I ask is that you don’t bullshit me. We been friends for too long now.”
“You are angry,” Laura said quietly.
“I’m not. Trust me, if I was angry you’d know. I’d blow this train up.” He pulled a pack of cards from his jacket pocket and started shuffling.
Laura said nothing for several minutes. The train rolled along. Remy shuffled his cards and looked out the window.
“My mother read me Pinocchio,” she said.
Remy turned back to her. Her hands were clamped down on her thighs. Staring straight ahead, she slid her hands to her knees.
“She used to read it to me when we were alone. Or when it seemed like we were alone. It was like . . . a game we would play. Something just for us.” She glanced at him. “It’s the first book I remember reading.”
“Must be a good memory.”
She shook her head.
“No?”
She looked down at her hands.
They rode in silence for several minutes. He’d heard only snatches of stories about the mother-some stuff from Logan, some stuff from X. Just enough to know that he didn’t like this woman. But a mother was a mother. What could you say?
Remy felt bad. Jesus, he’d given her a gift. The point of a gift was that it was given freely. The receiver could do whatever the hell she wanted with it-re-gift, throw away, return, whatever. Why had he gotten so offended?
“My mother was not a good person,” Laura said suddenly. “I know this now.” She picked up her backpack and unzipped it. Started to rifle through it.
“She sounds complex.”
“She was not complex.” Laura paused. Then she continued shuffling her things. “I know complex. Wolverine is complex. You are complex. You both have done things that others might call bad. But you don’t hurt children.” She pawed through the contents of her bag-a hoodie, a keychain, a map, a receipt.
“What are you looking for?”
More scrambling, more rifling. She bent over and set her bag on the floor. Zipped it up. Her hair fell in front of her face like a curtain. “I have to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
He reached for her. As she got up to go, he grabbed her arm and pulled her back into her seat. “Non.”
“Gambit-”
“You ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
She tried to pull her arm away. He tightened his grip. With his other arm, he pressed her against the seat.
“Gambit,” she whispered. Furious. Eyes darting between him and the aisle. “Let me go.”
“No.”
“I will hurt you,” she said, this time a little more loudly. The car was nearly empty-no one was around to witness this struggle.
“You won’t,” he said. She was strong, but so was he. He gripped her upper arm.
“I will. Do not-” She lowered her voice to a low, menacing whisper. “Don’t test me.”
“Cut me if you want. But you’re not goin’ to the bathroom to cut yourself.” He gave her a quick tug. “Uh-uh. Stop it.”
Her fury melted into desperation. Hair hanging in front of her face, she wrenched her arm away from him. He quickly adjusted, grabbing both her shoulders and pinning her to her seat. She reached for his hands, trying to peel them off.
They struggled again, a momentary scuffle of elbows and arms.
“Gambit-” Her voice sharper.
He wondered if he’d have to tackle her, pin her to the floor with his body. Before he had to find out, she relented a bit, went slack. But he didn’t let go, worried that she was trying to trick him.
“Feel this?” he said. He took his arm away but kept hold of her upper arm.
She tilted her face away from him, clamped her eyes shut. Breathing heavily now, her tears starting to crest.
“That’s what you’re supposed to be feeling. This is what happens when you let go." He knew the science behind what she did to herself: the first trick of adrenaline, the rush of endorphins. The way to displace your pain.
She looked back at him, eyes glassy. Cheeks damp.
“It’s easy to promise you won’t when you feel fine. But when it gets like this . . . .” You need me, he thought. She could forgive him later.
Her skin was clammy. He thought, She will be sick. But she wasn’t. She slumped against the fabric of the seat. And then: quiet, racking sobs. She hadn’t cried like that in front of him before. Maybe not ever, he thought.
He kept holding onto her arm. Outside the window, the scenery moved past: the yellow dawn of autumn, the last weeks of sun.
***
The difference between being young and being not-young is this: When you are young, you think the good times are the rule, not the exception. You wait for the next good thing to happen to you. When you are not-young, you want to hold onto everything-good or bad-to slow the passing of time.
Remy’s got the window seat on the plane. He looks out onto the runway. Non, he thinks. No, he doesn’t want to leave. He shouldn’t leave. He shouldn’t be walking away again, shouldn’t be leaving this girl with whom he made love just hours ago. Not when everything else in his life has gone to shit. Not when he has some kind of choice.
That morning he’d dropped Laura back at Avengers Academy before driving to the airport. He dreaded that moment. Everything about it seemed unfair and sad-like watching a movie cut short, or a championship game gone sideways.
He got out of his car and walked her to the door. He knew he should go into the Academy, have the little drive-by tour, the stop-and-chat with her teachers. But he just couldn’t. Let them think he’s rude. Rude is nothing compared to what he really is.
“Email me,” he said to her as they stood at the entrance. “Text me. But not about-”
“I know, Gambit.” She seemed annoyed. Then her face softened. “I’ll miss you.”
He hugged her, careful not to press her body too close to his. Someone was probably watching. Someone was always watching. He pulled away, touched a strand of her hair. “I love you. Be good.”
“I will.”
“Don’t work so hard. Don’t always spike the volleyball like you mean it.”
“But I do mean it.”
“I know.”
From the plane he sees palm trees. He rubs his knee. Swallows. He’s glad he can hide his face by looking out the window.
They’ve been airborne for several minutes when the stewardess comes around, asking him sweetly if he wants anything to drink. He’s already got his credit card out.
***
The day after he had the fight with Rogue, he went to the flower shop in Salem Center and bought a fifty-dollar bouquet. Huge arrangement. It took up the entire front seat of his car. He drove back to the mansion and parked the car in the driveway.
Tree branches and leaves littered the damp ground. There’d been a nor’easter the night before, a nasty early-autumn storm that dumped a few inches of rain before ripping up the coast and spinning out to sea. That perfect Westchester summer was really over.
Logan and Kurt were clearing the trees branches away, putting them in bags and trundling them to the front of the house for the garbage truck to pick up. Kurt was teleporting around the yard. He’d gather a handful of branches and then reappear next to Logan, dumping them in a pile for Logan to bundle.
Logan watched Remy get out of his car. “You wanna jump in here, Gumbo? Help us with this clean up?” Voice edgy. As always.
Kurt appeared next to him. “Shh,” he said to Logan. He blinked at Remy’s flowers. “He has other things on his mind.”
Logan and Kurt exchanged a knowing glance, and then Logan bent over to pick up a branch that was too large to fit in a bag.
“Be out in a few minutes, amis,” Remy said. “Got somethin’ to take care of.”
“Good luck with that,” Logan said.
“Good luck,” Kurt said, smiling. Ever the optimist.
Remy went inside, bounded up the stairs. Found Rogue’s door and knocked twice.
Rogue opened the door and glanced at him wearily, at the flowers.
“Can I come in?”
She paused for a second. Then left the door open for him to follow her into the room.
Once inside, he shut the door. “I’m sorry, chère,” he started to say. Just the first line of the apology he’d rehearsed on the way back to the mansion.
She held out her hands to accept the bouquet. “These are pretty,” she said. “I’ll have to get some water.” She sank into the chair next to her desk.
He lowered himself onto her bed.
She looked at the flowers, took one stem between her fingers. “How long? How long are we gonna keep doin’ this?”
“I’ll change,” he said. “I’m gonna change. I promise now.” This was just one part of the apology he’d constructed. He couldn’t remember the rest.
Her eyes met his. They were dark and red-rimmed. She didn’t say okay or you better try or I’m not gonna wait forever. Instead she said, “What’s gonna happen to us?”
And the moment stretched in front of him, and he had no answer. The future was there, approaching. Everything they were going to become was right in front of them. At that moment, they could still see into each other. What they did not know was that each would become unknowable-a body of water that was deep and mysterious, a surface that only reflected light.
***
When he arrives back at the school, it’s dark and cold. The campus glows, lit by windows and outdoor lamps. He tries not to shiver as he slings his bag over his shoulder and makes his way to the entrance. Once again, he’s chilled by the idea that someone knows what he’s done, that everyone will convene in the foyer, an angry mob ready to throw him out of the country.
But when he steps inside he’s greeted by silence, not an angry mob. He checks his watch. It’s not that late. Where is everyone?
He steadies himself against the doorway and makes his way to the kitchen.
Victor and Santo sit side-by-side on some barstools, sipping cokes and chatting. They fall silent when he strolls into the room.
“Where is everybody?” he asks.
Santo shrugs.
“Mr. Logan is downstairs,” Victor says. “Something’s going on with Julian.”
“We don’t know what,” Santo adds. “Don’t ask us.” Which means that they know everything.
He drops his duffel bag and goes downstairs. He can hear Logan from the stairwell.
“This is bullshit,” Logan says. He raises his voice. “Don’t-don’t even look up. Give me that duct tape.”
And then Julian says something that Remy can’t make out.
“I don’t wanna hear your mouth running.”
Remy turns the corner to find Logan standing in Julian’s doorway. “Pick up that shit,” he’s saying. “Put it outside. And nowhere near the building. Now.”
Logan turns his head sharply to stare at Remy. “Thanks for gracing us with your presence, Gumbo. It’s about time.”
“What’s going on?” Remy sidles up to Logan. He wishes he’d just stayed away. Spent the night driving down country roads and listening to his mix tape.
“What’s going on?” Logan repeats. He nods at Julian’s room.
Julian’s kneeling on the floor, picking up the stray items that litter his room. Sandwich wrappers and soda cans. School papers and dirty clothes. He looks up at Remy and levels an aggressive stare. Then he scratches his chest with his prosthetic hand.
“The little shit’s got bedbugs,” Logan says. “He’s had them for over a month. Since that time he stayed in the city. And he’s known about it for a while and didn’t bother to tell anyone.”
Julian leans back on his haunches. “I can hear you.”
“I don’t give a fuck!” Logan says.
“Logan,” Remy says.
“The whole floor is infested. Everyone down here has them now. Idie’s got them. Broo’s got them. And the whole goddamn time he knew, and he never told anyone-”
“Dieu,” Remy whispers. “Where’s Kitty?”
“Taking the day off. Convenient, huh?”
“I’m not the one who brought them back,” Julian says.
“You can pack up your shit and move back to Utopia for all I care. See how long it takes Summers to kick your ass to the curb.”
“Logan,” Remy whispers again.
“Don’t,” Logan says, raising a hand. He looks at Remy and sniffs. “Jesus Christ, are you drunk?”
Julian glances up. Then he looks back down as his trash pile, knowing. At least he’s not Wolverine’s only punching bag.
But Remy doesn’t care. Logan’s giving him just a fraction of what he deserves.
“I’ll help him,” Remy says.
“You do that. I’m fried. I’m going to get a drink.” But he doesn’t move. “I’ll call an exterminator tomorrow.”
“Might not work,” Remy says, venturing into Julian’s room. “I saw a special on Animal Planet. Regular treatments don't do a thing. Bedbugs always survive. You have to get this expensive heat treatment where they heat up every inch of the building. Apparently that’s the only thing that really gets rid of 'em.”
Logan waits a beat. Then he erupts again. “Do I look like I’m fucking made of money, Gumbo? You know how big this place is!”
Again, Julian gets a smug, knowing look on his face.
Remy bends over and slips a pair of jeans into a plastic bag.
“Put his clothes outside,” Logan says. “We’ll have to launder everything separately, and I’m not doin’ that now.”
Julian opens his mouth to protest, then closes it.
“I’m leaving,” Logan says.
“The building?” Remy says.
“The room. I’ll be upstairs.” He pauses. “How’s X?”
Remy stuffs Julian’s fleece into a bag. “She’s good.”
Julian kneels on his floor, gathering up a bunch of papers. He doesn’t react when Laura’s name is mentioned.
“Good,” Logan says. “Glad to hear.” He disappears from the doorway.
Remy kneels on Julian’s floor, collecting his old moldy socks into a bundle. He hopes he doesn’t see a bedbug. He’ll have to delouse before he goes upstairs.
Julian doesn’t say anything, but Remy can tell he’s not sorry. That’s what’s so infuriating about Julian-he’s never sorry. Then again, he’s just a kid. His crimes are just minor infractions, stupid stuff-bringing in bedbugs, making his teachers unhappy.
Remy’s vision blurs. He keeps his back to Julian. They don’t talk to each other as they pick up Julian’s room. Remy remembers what Julian wrote about him in the letter-that he was a lackluster teacher but not guilty of anything else.
It’s been hours since Remy last saw Laura and yet he knows it’s over. It’s over, it’s over. That was all the time they’ll ever really have together, and he didn’t realize it at the time. They don’t have a future together-how could they? She’s sixteen. He loves her. He wants her to find somebody else, and he loves her. Oh, how could this happen? How could he let this happen?
“Mr. LeBeau,” Julian says.
Remy doesn’t turn. His eyelashes are wet, his face hot.
“Mr. LeBeau.” Julian scuttles around so that he’s crouching beside Remy. He holds out Remy’s CD. “Before I forget, I want to give this back to you.”
It’s OK Computer. Remy swallows and looks up at Julian. Their eyes meet for a brief second. Then Julian looks down.
Remy puts his hand on the CD. Then he touches Julian’s wrist, gently nudging his hand away. “You keep it,” he says.
Characters: Remy LeBeau, Laura Kinney, Julian Keller, Logan, Rogue
Pairing: Remy/Laura
Rating: Mature
Author's Notes/Warnings: Underage
Summary: When Remy goes to visit Laura, he makes a mistake that threatens to transform the nature of their friendship.
previous
One more time. That’s it.
They spend the rest of the day in and around Los Angeles, seeing the sights, talking about anything but what happened. He even persuades her to visit a college campus, one of these Cal State branches built after the Second World War. The campus is peaceful enough, quiet because it’s Saturday and the students are commuters, but the buildings are big and functional. He thinks Laura should go to a better school, somewhere back east, but any college is a step in the right direction.
He wishes the admissions office was open. He’d get a representative to talk her into it, ply her with glossy brochures and the promise of class mobility. A different, better life.
“Oh, look petite,” he says, stopping in front of the social sciences building. He draws closer, staring into the glass windows. “Bet that’s where they have the anthropology classes.” He turns to look at her. “Promise me you’ll come back here and look around when it’s open, okay?”
Laura stands back from the building and stares up at it. Nods once.
They decide Laura should go back to the Academy to spend the night. Well, he decides. She concedes. “I left my things in your room, though,” she says as they speed down the highway in the car.
“I can bring them to you later.”
“I can get them now,” she says.
He nods in agreement as he signals to get off the highway. It would be easier.
When he flicks on the light in his hotel room he sees the maid has been there. All traces of evidence have been swept away. He wishes that life was like a hotel room-someone there to clean up your mess, pull your sheets tight, and make it look like you never existed. He ducks into the bathroom to take a piss.
When he’s finished, he washes his hands in the sink and tries not to look at himself in the mirror. The bathroom light is harsh, and he doesn’t want to be distracted by some new line or blemish. He’s getting to that point where he can’t just adjust his hair. He’s got to take inventory.
He leaves the bathroom and finds Laura at the window. She’s pulled the heavy curtains back. Dust motes float through the air. She turns her head to look at him and then turns back to the window. He leans against the wall, watching her.
***
This time they’re not frenzied or nervous. This time they take things slow. He eases her onto the bed, opens her clothes. Plants kisses on her neck, her collarbone. Slides one hand to her waist.
This time he can’t blame his actions on a momentary lapse in judgment. This time is on him.
She tugs his shirt. He sits up and pulls it off. Then he settles between her legs again. Kisses the line of sweat between her breasts. Then her stomach. Then between her thighs. After a few minutes there he sits up again and lies down next to her. “Tell me what you want.”
She reaches for him, pulling him closer. He guides her on top of him and they stay there like that, her fingertips skimming his ribcage. She looks down at him, determined. She understands. With him she can do what she wants. He’s not a boy who will tell his friends, or who will shame her. She starts to move.
Minutes later she comes and he sits forward, pressing his chest against hers. He wraps his arms around her and comes too, buries his face in her neck. They stay like that for a long time, still joined, his hands cupping her shoulders, gripping her back.
***
The animals had left the fields. Early morning, Upper Midwest. Northern Minnesota maybe. Flat country, misty landscape, the wheat pulled into bundles. The train took a curve and shook him wide awake. Autumn already, he thought, gazing out the window. The hemisphere was shifting away from the sun, and the early frost was coming to claim the fields the animals had left behind.
He sat up. How long had he been asleep? And where was Laura?
As if on cue, Laura slid into the seat next to him. She pulled her backpack into her lap and unzipped it. Took out two sealed packages of cinnamon rolls and handed him one.
“Good mornin’,” he said, turning toward her. “How long you been up?”
“I never really slept.”
“It’s impossible to sleep in these seats,” he said. He wished he’d sprung for the train with sleeper cars.
This was their last trip together-a fact they hadn’t acknowledged. The X-Men were falling apart. Scott and Logan were circling their wagons. Remy’d already decided that he’d settle in Westchester, but Laura was still weighing her options. Even at that point, Remy knew what Laura hadn’t yet articulated: she wouldn’t stay with Logan. Best case scenario: she’d remain with the FF as their full-time babysitter.
A week after she recovered from that affair with the Whirldemon, he went to Laura and said, “Fuck it. Let’s get out of here.” And they road an Amtrak to Chicago. Remy told Logan that he needed to check up on a contact in Skokie, and that he needed Laura’s assistance, but that was bullshit. He just wanted to get away. He was running from the X-Men’s problems, hoping to stay placidly uninvolved.
When they finished in Chicago, he suggested to Laura that they keep moving west. She hadn’t disagreed. They bought train tickets. He loved the train, loved how you lost all sense of motion except when it stopped or hit a curve.
Remy propped his leg up on the seat in front of him and tore open the package. He ate the roll, waiting for the confectioner’s sugar to enter his bloodstream. “Need some coffee to wash this down.”
“I can go-” Laura started to get up.
“Nah,” he said, motioning for her to stay seated. “Wait until the next station. Then we’ll get somethin’ strong.” He wiped his eyes with the heels of his hands. Glanced down at Laura’s book bag. “You unloaded that book, I noticed.”
Laura zipped up her backpack and put it on the floor under her seat.
“I gave you that book as a gift, y’know. Didn’t think you’d just give it away.”
The book was The Adventures of Pinocchio. He’d bought it for her at a bookstore in Chicago. Beautiful illustrated pages. Hardcover. She had thanked him very seriously and taken the book in both hands. But later that day, when he was buying tickets at the counter, her saw her out of the corner of his eye. She was bent at the waist, talking to a little boy. Then she crouched down next to the boy and handed him the book.
Now she didn’t make eye contact with Remy. She worked on one of her cinnamon rolls.
“If you didn’t want it you could have just told me. I woulda taken it back. But I saw you reading it everywhere you went.” Every time they ducked into a book store, Laura would pick up The Adventures Pinocchio. She read it in French. She read it in Japanese. She read it when she didn’t think Remy was looking.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you by giving it away.”
“Hmm.” Remy balanced his ankle on his knee. He was cranky. It was early and he hadn’t really slept. “Ain’t offended, petite. Just puzzled. It was a gift. For you.”
“But I have already read it.”
“But obviously you liked it enough to read it again and again. And that’s what a gift is for.”
“That boy had never read it. I can always check it out of the library.”
“But so can the boy. That book was meant for you.”
Laura crinkled up her wrapper and tucked it into her pocket. “I do not understand.”
“I think you do.” He thought a moment. Considered his words. “You’re not ignorant of social conventions. In fact, you’re pretty perceptive. You know what other people expect, and you know what they’re thinkin’ before they even realize it themselves. And you know what a gift is. You’ve gotten gifts before.”
Moments passed.
He said, “I think you feign ignorance sometimes. Easier that way. To not have to tell others what you’re really feeling.”
“You are accusing me of lying.”
“I’m sayin’ that you didn’t give that book away because you didn’t see the point of owning something you’ve already read. Which is to say”- He reached for a napkin but didn’t take his eyes off her. “Yeah, I don’t think you’re being truthful with me.”
Laura sat in the seat, her eyes fixed on the seat in front of her, her hands pressed to her lap.
“If you didn’t want the book, then fine. Or fine if you don’t like it or what not. Then you should have said, ‘Thanks, Gambit, but stories about puppets aren’t my thing. I’d prefer The Hunger Games. Or Leaves of Grass.’ And I’d have taken it back.”
Laura still didn’t move.
“Your reasons for not liking the book-okay, they’re personal. Ain’t gonna ask. All I ask is that you don’t bullshit me. We been friends for too long now.”
“You are angry,” Laura said quietly.
“I’m not. Trust me, if I was angry you’d know. I’d blow this train up.” He pulled a pack of cards from his jacket pocket and started shuffling.
Laura said nothing for several minutes. The train rolled along. Remy shuffled his cards and looked out the window.
“My mother read me Pinocchio,” she said.
Remy turned back to her. Her hands were clamped down on her thighs. Staring straight ahead, she slid her hands to her knees.
“She used to read it to me when we were alone. Or when it seemed like we were alone. It was like . . . a game we would play. Something just for us.” She glanced at him. “It’s the first book I remember reading.”
“Must be a good memory.”
She shook her head.
“No?”
She looked down at her hands.
They rode in silence for several minutes. He’d heard only snatches of stories about the mother-some stuff from Logan, some stuff from X. Just enough to know that he didn’t like this woman. But a mother was a mother. What could you say?
Remy felt bad. Jesus, he’d given her a gift. The point of a gift was that it was given freely. The receiver could do whatever the hell she wanted with it-re-gift, throw away, return, whatever. Why had he gotten so offended?
“My mother was not a good person,” Laura said suddenly. “I know this now.” She picked up her backpack and unzipped it. Started to rifle through it.
“She sounds complex.”
“She was not complex.” Laura paused. Then she continued shuffling her things. “I know complex. Wolverine is complex. You are complex. You both have done things that others might call bad. But you don’t hurt children.” She pawed through the contents of her bag-a hoodie, a keychain, a map, a receipt.
“What are you looking for?”
More scrambling, more rifling. She bent over and set her bag on the floor. Zipped it up. Her hair fell in front of her face like a curtain. “I have to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
He reached for her. As she got up to go, he grabbed her arm and pulled her back into her seat. “Non.”
“Gambit-”
“You ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
She tried to pull her arm away. He tightened his grip. With his other arm, he pressed her against the seat.
“Gambit,” she whispered. Furious. Eyes darting between him and the aisle. “Let me go.”
“No.”
“I will hurt you,” she said, this time a little more loudly. The car was nearly empty-no one was around to witness this struggle.
“You won’t,” he said. She was strong, but so was he. He gripped her upper arm.
“I will. Do not-” She lowered her voice to a low, menacing whisper. “Don’t test me.”
“Cut me if you want. But you’re not goin’ to the bathroom to cut yourself.” He gave her a quick tug. “Uh-uh. Stop it.”
Her fury melted into desperation. Hair hanging in front of her face, she wrenched her arm away from him. He quickly adjusted, grabbing both her shoulders and pinning her to her seat. She reached for his hands, trying to peel them off.
They struggled again, a momentary scuffle of elbows and arms.
“Gambit-” Her voice sharper.
He wondered if he’d have to tackle her, pin her to the floor with his body. Before he had to find out, she relented a bit, went slack. But he didn’t let go, worried that she was trying to trick him.
“Feel this?” he said. He took his arm away but kept hold of her upper arm.
She tilted her face away from him, clamped her eyes shut. Breathing heavily now, her tears starting to crest.
“That’s what you’re supposed to be feeling. This is what happens when you let go." He knew the science behind what she did to herself: the first trick of adrenaline, the rush of endorphins. The way to displace your pain.
She looked back at him, eyes glassy. Cheeks damp.
“It’s easy to promise you won’t when you feel fine. But when it gets like this . . . .” You need me, he thought. She could forgive him later.
Her skin was clammy. He thought, She will be sick. But she wasn’t. She slumped against the fabric of the seat. And then: quiet, racking sobs. She hadn’t cried like that in front of him before. Maybe not ever, he thought.
He kept holding onto her arm. Outside the window, the scenery moved past: the yellow dawn of autumn, the last weeks of sun.
***
The difference between being young and being not-young is this: When you are young, you think the good times are the rule, not the exception. You wait for the next good thing to happen to you. When you are not-young, you want to hold onto everything-good or bad-to slow the passing of time.
Remy’s got the window seat on the plane. He looks out onto the runway. Non, he thinks. No, he doesn’t want to leave. He shouldn’t leave. He shouldn’t be walking away again, shouldn’t be leaving this girl with whom he made love just hours ago. Not when everything else in his life has gone to shit. Not when he has some kind of choice.
That morning he’d dropped Laura back at Avengers Academy before driving to the airport. He dreaded that moment. Everything about it seemed unfair and sad-like watching a movie cut short, or a championship game gone sideways.
He got out of his car and walked her to the door. He knew he should go into the Academy, have the little drive-by tour, the stop-and-chat with her teachers. But he just couldn’t. Let them think he’s rude. Rude is nothing compared to what he really is.
“Email me,” he said to her as they stood at the entrance. “Text me. But not about-”
“I know, Gambit.” She seemed annoyed. Then her face softened. “I’ll miss you.”
He hugged her, careful not to press her body too close to his. Someone was probably watching. Someone was always watching. He pulled away, touched a strand of her hair. “I love you. Be good.”
“I will.”
“Don’t work so hard. Don’t always spike the volleyball like you mean it.”
“But I do mean it.”
“I know.”
From the plane he sees palm trees. He rubs his knee. Swallows. He’s glad he can hide his face by looking out the window.
They’ve been airborne for several minutes when the stewardess comes around, asking him sweetly if he wants anything to drink. He’s already got his credit card out.
***
The day after he had the fight with Rogue, he went to the flower shop in Salem Center and bought a fifty-dollar bouquet. Huge arrangement. It took up the entire front seat of his car. He drove back to the mansion and parked the car in the driveway.
Tree branches and leaves littered the damp ground. There’d been a nor’easter the night before, a nasty early-autumn storm that dumped a few inches of rain before ripping up the coast and spinning out to sea. That perfect Westchester summer was really over.
Logan and Kurt were clearing the trees branches away, putting them in bags and trundling them to the front of the house for the garbage truck to pick up. Kurt was teleporting around the yard. He’d gather a handful of branches and then reappear next to Logan, dumping them in a pile for Logan to bundle.
Logan watched Remy get out of his car. “You wanna jump in here, Gumbo? Help us with this clean up?” Voice edgy. As always.
Kurt appeared next to him. “Shh,” he said to Logan. He blinked at Remy’s flowers. “He has other things on his mind.”
Logan and Kurt exchanged a knowing glance, and then Logan bent over to pick up a branch that was too large to fit in a bag.
“Be out in a few minutes, amis,” Remy said. “Got somethin’ to take care of.”
“Good luck with that,” Logan said.
“Good luck,” Kurt said, smiling. Ever the optimist.
Remy went inside, bounded up the stairs. Found Rogue’s door and knocked twice.
Rogue opened the door and glanced at him wearily, at the flowers.
“Can I come in?”
She paused for a second. Then left the door open for him to follow her into the room.
Once inside, he shut the door. “I’m sorry, chère,” he started to say. Just the first line of the apology he’d rehearsed on the way back to the mansion.
She held out her hands to accept the bouquet. “These are pretty,” she said. “I’ll have to get some water.” She sank into the chair next to her desk.
He lowered himself onto her bed.
She looked at the flowers, took one stem between her fingers. “How long? How long are we gonna keep doin’ this?”
“I’ll change,” he said. “I’m gonna change. I promise now.” This was just one part of the apology he’d constructed. He couldn’t remember the rest.
Her eyes met his. They were dark and red-rimmed. She didn’t say okay or you better try or I’m not gonna wait forever. Instead she said, “What’s gonna happen to us?”
And the moment stretched in front of him, and he had no answer. The future was there, approaching. Everything they were going to become was right in front of them. At that moment, they could still see into each other. What they did not know was that each would become unknowable-a body of water that was deep and mysterious, a surface that only reflected light.
***
When he arrives back at the school, it’s dark and cold. The campus glows, lit by windows and outdoor lamps. He tries not to shiver as he slings his bag over his shoulder and makes his way to the entrance. Once again, he’s chilled by the idea that someone knows what he’s done, that everyone will convene in the foyer, an angry mob ready to throw him out of the country.
But when he steps inside he’s greeted by silence, not an angry mob. He checks his watch. It’s not that late. Where is everyone?
He steadies himself against the doorway and makes his way to the kitchen.
Victor and Santo sit side-by-side on some barstools, sipping cokes and chatting. They fall silent when he strolls into the room.
“Where is everybody?” he asks.
Santo shrugs.
“Mr. Logan is downstairs,” Victor says. “Something’s going on with Julian.”
“We don’t know what,” Santo adds. “Don’t ask us.” Which means that they know everything.
He drops his duffel bag and goes downstairs. He can hear Logan from the stairwell.
“This is bullshit,” Logan says. He raises his voice. “Don’t-don’t even look up. Give me that duct tape.”
And then Julian says something that Remy can’t make out.
“I don’t wanna hear your mouth running.”
Remy turns the corner to find Logan standing in Julian’s doorway. “Pick up that shit,” he’s saying. “Put it outside. And nowhere near the building. Now.”
Logan turns his head sharply to stare at Remy. “Thanks for gracing us with your presence, Gumbo. It’s about time.”
“What’s going on?” Remy sidles up to Logan. He wishes he’d just stayed away. Spent the night driving down country roads and listening to his mix tape.
“What’s going on?” Logan repeats. He nods at Julian’s room.
Julian’s kneeling on the floor, picking up the stray items that litter his room. Sandwich wrappers and soda cans. School papers and dirty clothes. He looks up at Remy and levels an aggressive stare. Then he scratches his chest with his prosthetic hand.
“The little shit’s got bedbugs,” Logan says. “He’s had them for over a month. Since that time he stayed in the city. And he’s known about it for a while and didn’t bother to tell anyone.”
Julian leans back on his haunches. “I can hear you.”
“I don’t give a fuck!” Logan says.
“Logan,” Remy says.
“The whole floor is infested. Everyone down here has them now. Idie’s got them. Broo’s got them. And the whole goddamn time he knew, and he never told anyone-”
“Dieu,” Remy whispers. “Where’s Kitty?”
“Taking the day off. Convenient, huh?”
“I’m not the one who brought them back,” Julian says.
“You can pack up your shit and move back to Utopia for all I care. See how long it takes Summers to kick your ass to the curb.”
“Logan,” Remy whispers again.
“Don’t,” Logan says, raising a hand. He looks at Remy and sniffs. “Jesus Christ, are you drunk?”
Julian glances up. Then he looks back down as his trash pile, knowing. At least he’s not Wolverine’s only punching bag.
But Remy doesn’t care. Logan’s giving him just a fraction of what he deserves.
“I’ll help him,” Remy says.
“You do that. I’m fried. I’m going to get a drink.” But he doesn’t move. “I’ll call an exterminator tomorrow.”
“Might not work,” Remy says, venturing into Julian’s room. “I saw a special on Animal Planet. Regular treatments don't do a thing. Bedbugs always survive. You have to get this expensive heat treatment where they heat up every inch of the building. Apparently that’s the only thing that really gets rid of 'em.”
Logan waits a beat. Then he erupts again. “Do I look like I’m fucking made of money, Gumbo? You know how big this place is!”
Again, Julian gets a smug, knowing look on his face.
Remy bends over and slips a pair of jeans into a plastic bag.
“Put his clothes outside,” Logan says. “We’ll have to launder everything separately, and I’m not doin’ that now.”
Julian opens his mouth to protest, then closes it.
“I’m leaving,” Logan says.
“The building?” Remy says.
“The room. I’ll be upstairs.” He pauses. “How’s X?”
Remy stuffs Julian’s fleece into a bag. “She’s good.”
Julian kneels on his floor, gathering up a bunch of papers. He doesn’t react when Laura’s name is mentioned.
“Good,” Logan says. “Glad to hear.” He disappears from the doorway.
Remy kneels on Julian’s floor, collecting his old moldy socks into a bundle. He hopes he doesn’t see a bedbug. He’ll have to delouse before he goes upstairs.
Julian doesn’t say anything, but Remy can tell he’s not sorry. That’s what’s so infuriating about Julian-he’s never sorry. Then again, he’s just a kid. His crimes are just minor infractions, stupid stuff-bringing in bedbugs, making his teachers unhappy.
Remy’s vision blurs. He keeps his back to Julian. They don’t talk to each other as they pick up Julian’s room. Remy remembers what Julian wrote about him in the letter-that he was a lackluster teacher but not guilty of anything else.
It’s been hours since Remy last saw Laura and yet he knows it’s over. It’s over, it’s over. That was all the time they’ll ever really have together, and he didn’t realize it at the time. They don’t have a future together-how could they? She’s sixteen. He loves her. He wants her to find somebody else, and he loves her. Oh, how could this happen? How could he let this happen?
“Mr. LeBeau,” Julian says.
Remy doesn’t turn. His eyelashes are wet, his face hot.
“Mr. LeBeau.” Julian scuttles around so that he’s crouching beside Remy. He holds out Remy’s CD. “Before I forget, I want to give this back to you.”
It’s OK Computer. Remy swallows and looks up at Julian. Their eyes meet for a brief second. Then Julian looks down.
Remy puts his hand on the CD. Then he touches Julian’s wrist, gently nudging his hand away. “You keep it,” he says.