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nagi_schwarzOkay. This is it. Just barely made it under the deadline. It's late, and I'm tired, and while technically capable of coding this properly and emailing it I am not actually able to do so right now, I am going to put this under an LJ-cut. This is for the Summer(s) Fling fic exchange. If you don't know what this is, then I recommend staying FAR FAR AWAY from this entry.
Details inside the lj-cut.
My mission was as follows:
Author name: Katt
LJ name: xenokattz
3 things to include: Gambit, friendly snark, argyle sweaters
Author's personal Scott Summers: a very quiet, contained person, confident of his leadership skills but not so much about his people skills (contradictory, I know). While he's mostly a classic introvert, he has his own brands of thrill-seeking that only those closest know about. And sometimes, not even then. Has a wicked addiction to coffee and a dark, sarcastic humour that hardly anyone ever gets.
Pairing: None
Rating: mild violence, mild swearing in foreign languages
Warnings: the French is un-accented. My HTML skills only go so far
Author notes: This story has no title. I apologize. I am open to suggestion. Song lyrics not mine and credited at the bottom so as not to ruin the surprise. And ten points to whoever recognizes the piano player. Many thanks to hell_is_bloody, my darling, my beta.
For Katt
Busting up Sentinels on a Friday night. This sort of weekend action was really getting old.
At least the students - Bobby and Kitty and Jubilee - weren't there to get in the way. Cyclops was a damn good tactician. He knew when to lead - when the students were around - and he knew when to make things a cooperative effort.
Remy might have been more glad of the respect this signified if they weren't pretty much getting their asses kicked up one side and down the other of Broadway.
Scott squirmed into his uniform with lightning speed and little shame before dashing out onto the street. He yelled for the humans to step back and pivoted, loosing a blast of red light.
The street vendor behind the cart let out a startled cry and stumbled backward when Remy hopped over the hood of a car and landed on top of the cart, crouched like a cat. He slapped down a wad of bills and scooped up a dozen decks of cards still shrink-wrapped in their boxes.
"Pardonnez-moi, homme." He winked one red eye over the rim of his shades and then joined in the fray.
And what a fray it was, two young men and five giant robots. They looked like they were going for a blue-haired teenage girl who was huddled under a bench, shaking with terror.
"Gambit, which one do you want?" Scott asked, and he was Cyclops now, all futuristic visor and seriousness.
"I'll take B if you want A and C," Remy said.
Scott nodded. "I'll take A, and whoever gets to C first can have it."
"Oui." Remy turned and boosted himself up on top of a car, then shinned up a nearby streetlight to get some vertical before he leapt. He twisted like a cat mid-air and landed somewhere on the robot's hip. People down below screamed. Remy yanked a deck of cards out of his coat, charged it, and then vaulted away. Heat from the explosion ghosted across his back and he landed on his feet.
Scott had the mutant girl on her feet and was dragging her toward the sidewalk.
He shoved her at a group of humans.
"Watch her," was all he said.
They eyed her warily, and then the mutant girl screamed.
"Behind you!"
Scott whirled and fired off a blast. More screams. Remy saw the blast catch the Sentinel in the chest and it began to topple. Remy was torn between his own Sentinel and the imminent death Sentinel crashing toward his field leader, but Scott was as cool as ever. The man scooped up a fallen street sign and used the pole to vault himself high. He tumbled mid-air, fired off a blast, and another that ricocheted off of a mirror, and the Sentinel began to fall sideways.
Sentinel A was down.
Sentinel B was looking to take Remy's head off. He cursed and launched another deck of cards.
Sirens wailed in the distance, and the police were coming. A glance over his shoulder showed the blue-haired girl being shunned by onlookers even as they panicked. Cops would probably arrest her instead.
Damn.
Scott was already on the third Sentinel, disabling it with a series of critically-aimed shots and swings with the sign post.
The man looked like he hadn't even broken a sweat.
Remy finished his Sentinel with a fan of charged cards that cut the thing in half. Another deck brought it down in small pieces, none big enough to kill anyone, and then the cops had arrived with their guns, and Scott was gone.
If Remy had been anyone other than himself - a skilled thief - he wouldn't have noticed the black-clad young man ducking down into the subway. Remy followed, and Scott was headed into the men's restroom.
"Aren't you meant to stick around and speak to the police? Isn't that what Scott Summers should do?"
"It might be what Cyclops would do, but I wasn't patrolling, not tonight. Let the cops handle it."
Remy glimpsed Scott's bare face for mere moments while the man switched the visor for the red glasses.
"You're angry at them." Remy hadn't been wearing his uniform and was privately amused that the man who claimed to have not been on patrol kept his uniform in his bag like that.
"Just tired of their bullshit."
Remy's eyebrows went up.
"Scott Summers doesn't say that word."
"Maybe sometimes he does," Scott returned.
"Sometimes Scott, sometimes Cyclops. You lead a double life," Remy said,
Scott shrugged out of his uniform and pulled on a pair of jeans. He fished a t-shirt and leather jacket out of his bag, and Remy's eyebrows went up.
"No argyle sweater, homme?"
"Not tonight." Scott folded his uniform with military precision, placed it in his bag, and then slung the backpack over one shoulder. "And I don't lead a double life. The kids know full well that I teach and that I lead the X-Men. That's not a double life - that's a day job and a night job. I am Scott Summers all the time, teacher or X-Man. Cyclops is just my radio call sign. It's not as if soldiers are always Alpha 223 or whatever their call signs are."
"And what of the parents who think you are only a teacher?"
"It's only a double life if you associate with them on a daily basis. I'm also a mutant, but they don't know that. That is not a double life." Scott slunk out of the restroom and headed for his motorcycle. Remy had, on a whim, boosted Storm's bike. She would get it back in one piece.
"Where are you going now?" Remy asked.
"Friday night is my night off of school," Scott gunned the engine. "Ro and Hank are watching the kids."
"Don't you have to report?"
Scott tapped his temple. "Telepathy. Professor says I've earned this one."
Remy hopped onto Storm's bike. "Shall I go back to the school, then?"
Scott was silent, pulling on a pair of fingerless gloves. Abruptly he said, "You want to see a double life? Then come on."
Scott did lead a double life? Remy was sure that the man was joking, but he followed Scott anyway when the other man peeled away from the curb. Scott drove the bike like he flew the Blackbird, with reckless speed and showmanship but with breathless control.
When Remy had first met the X-Men he was drawn to Ororo and Jean and Hank, the flashy, eye-catching members who filled an entire room with their presence. Remy had almost missed the quiet young man standing just behind Jean. Scott's silence had almost been like a black hole, void of the others' liveliness but reinforced with a core of steel - or even adamantium - that would be impossible to break.
Not to mention that Remy had thought Scott some sort of household servant, dressed like a mini-me version of the Professor in slacks and a hideous argyle sweater.
In jeans and a jacket, Scott looked like any other college student at the bar. None of them knew that in his backpack he carried a Sentinel-shielding uniform and not books. Remy climbed off his bike and stared up at the cement building in surprise. What was Scott doing at a bar? Remy knew that Logan was notoriously impossible to get drunk and so spent much of his time trying to make the impossible possible. According to students, however, Mr. Summers was so uptight that one sip of alcohol would probably break him mentally.
Remy surveyed the clientele, a subconscious habit from years of thieving, and they were mostly college age, young and carefree and out to enjoy a good weekend. Scott parked his bike and headed straight for the bar, and Remy scrambled to catch up before the door closed on him.
What he saw absolutely floored him.
Students left and right greeted Scott as he came in. Guys gave him high fives, girls cat-called and whistled, and Scott laughed, taking their ribbing good-naturedly. Scott had never laughed like that before. And that smile - that wasn't Scott Summers.
Scott Summers had a small, understated smile, the barest hint of a curve at the corners of his mouth to indicate amusement. With those red shades, most of Scott's expressions were parodies at best.
But this smile was wide and bright and transformed Scott's whole face. He looked younger when he smiled like that, and almost happier.
Scott made his way to the bar, and Remy followed along, dumbstruck. He was too shocked at what he was seeing to even flirt with some of the cute college girls who were eyeing him with interest.
Scott handed his backpack over the bar to the bartender, a large, swarthy man who looked like he could crush Scott in one fist.
"You're late," he said.
"I know." Scott was never flippant about something so discourteous as being late. He climbed up onto the bar and sat down, elbows resting on his knees. "Sorry everybody! I'm late! I got caught in traffic."
Remy watched, surprised, as the students actually turned and listened to Scott.
They had all been expecting him.
"What kind of traffic?" the bartender asked.
"The superhero kind. You know, giant robots attacking some poor chick because she had blue hair, and some crazy guy with red lasers coming out of his eyes bringing the robots down." Scott smiled.
"Were they mutants?"
"The Sentinels don't try to kill anything else. It's a shame, though, the way those robots were meant to protect civilians but end up making honest young fellas like myself late for a Friday night gig."
Gig? Remy wondered. He was still boggled at the sight of this easy-going, charming, smiling Scott.
The bartender handed Scott a guitar, and Scott began tuning it with deft hands.
"Aren't you afraid of mutants?" a girl leaning on the bar asked.
Scott shook his head. "Hell no. My friend Remy came with me tonight. And guess what? He's a mutant."
Remy froze as all eyes turned to him, and silently he cursed Scott.
The man smirked. "See his red eyes? Those are a mutation. Red eyes. Nothing awful about them. But they make him a mutant. And Remy hasn't done anything bad, not really."
The students stared.
"Well, he did make the mistake of once flirting with my fiancee in front of me, so now he is forever cursed against flirting with redheads." Scott lifted his chin at the pretty redheaded girl lounging on the barstool at his feet and said, "See, Remy? Beautiful redhead right here. Say something witty and charming."
Remy blinked. "What?"
"See? Cursed!"
The students burst out laughing, and Remy felt himself blush. He cursed Scott some more under his breath. He hadn't blushed in years.
"All right, people, show me what you want me to sing tonight."
The students cheered, and someone passed forward a black fedora filled with slips of paper. Scott set the hat down on the bar next to his knee and tweaked the strings one last time.
"I trust all you kids had a good week at school?"
They groaned, and Scott grinned.
"I'm just kidding - I don't have any sympathy for you. I'm a teacher!"
More laughter.
Remy stared up at his field leader, dumbfounded. He wondered if there was a telepath nearby, if someone had switched his friend's personality when he walked through the door.
Scott reached down into the hat, deliberately turning his face away. Excited whispers ran through the crowd.
"Ssh! He's picking a song!" "I hope he picks mine." "He picked one of Jenni's last week."
Scott plucked a slip of paper out of the hat and unfolded it. And stared. "Stephen Lynch. All right, who did this?" The audience laughed. "Bartender, give my friend Remy some whiskey."
The bartender obeyed, and Remy felt all eyes on him when the bartender held out a shot of whiskey. He hesitated for a moment, and then Scott said,
"Come on. It's not poisoned. You're the most tense person here. Take a shot, loosen up."
Remy gave Scott a look. Cyclops was telling someone to loosen up? Heaven rue the day!
"Yeah, Remy, loosen up," the redheaded girl said, and offered him a sultry smile.
Well, when an attractive woman said jump, Remy had to ask how high. He reached for the shot and saw Scott outright smirking at him, and he scowled. So he downed the shot and set the shot glass down on the bar.
Inexplicably, the students laughed.
Scott began to strum the opening chords of the song. Remy felt the alcohol hit his blood and shrugged off his leather coat, draping it over the bar stool next to the pretty redheaded girl. The chords were sweet, and Remy suspected the song was a love song. Scott had sounded somewhat put out upon seeing the song, and a sweet love song did seem at odds with his new, brash persona.
But he was wearing a sincere expression, and Remy thought that perhaps Scott was just a damned good actor, a chameleon, and that if the students wanted a sappy love song then Scott would give it to them sappy. After all, Scott seemed to know how to entertain them very well.
When Scott sang, he had a surprisingly sweet tenor voice.
"Here we are dear old friend,
You and I drunk again."
Remy blinked. What?
"Laughs have been had and tears have been shed.
Maybe the whiskey's gone to my head."
Whiskey. Remy glared at the shot glass, and then at Scott, and then he froze.
"But if I were gay I would give you my heart,
And if I were gay you'd be my work of art,
And if I were gay we would swim in romance..."
There was startled laughter from the students at the first line of the chorus. Remy could only stare. Scott was singing earnestly, as if he were totally innocent of the words coming out of his mouth.
"But I'm not gay, so get your hand out of my pants..."
The students laughed again, louder this time. Someone whistled.
Unbelievable. How could the man not be embarrassed?
Remy was a flirt and plenty bawdy, but right now he was damn embarrassed.
The second verse was even more loaded with innuendo, and Scott's sweet facade was beginning to break, hints of a smirk curling the corners of his lips, but he sang on.
By the end of the song Remy's face was aflame, and he rather wanted to sink into the floor and vanish, though he didn't know why. If he hadn't been so utterly mortified at his field leader's behavior he might have been impressed at the way Scott held the final note of the song.
The students exploded into applause around Remy, and Scott took a mock-bow over the guitar.
"Thank you, thank you! That's a great way to start a Friday night, with a little comedy." Scott reached into the fedora for his next order. "How shall we continue our Friday night, boys and girls? How about some youthful notions about the future?"
"We don't have those anymore!" a girl yelled and raised her glass, sloshing bourbon down the sides.
The students cheered.
Scott smiled. "I think you all know this one." And he began strumming again.
"Am I loud and clear, or am I breaking up?
Am I still your charm, or am I just bad luck?"
This song was less sweet, and Scott's voice had a deeper timbre to it. The students seemed to know the song and began swaying along to the song's catchy rhythm.
"I'll show you mine if you show me yours first -
Let's compare scars and I'll tell you whose is worst..."
Remy's head came up sharply at that, and he studied Scott's face. There was something sombre to the line of Scott's mouth even though it was curved into a smile.
Scars. All of the X-Men had scars. Some more than others, perhaps.
Right here, right now, Remy had the strangest sensation that he was seeing some of Scott's, some that the others had never known.
The others except, perhaps, for Jean.
Some of the students joined in on the last chorus.
"Swing life away...
Swing life away...
Swing life away..."
Scott ended with a flourish, and the students clapped. He was smiling again, though not as widely as he had at the end of the last song.
"I heard you all singing along," he said. "Some of you still have optimistic, youthful notions of the future. I used to have those too, you know, and then I became a math teacher."
"We love you, Mike!" a girl yelled from the back of the audience.
Remy's brow furrowed. Mike?
Scott's smile widened slightly. "Why thank you. Although, give Remy too much more whiskey and he may fight you on that."
"Hey!" Remy cried. He loosed a card from a deck in his jacket and let it fly. Scott dodged easily, grinning, and the students laughed some more.
Scott reached down into the fedora for another request. He stared down at the slip of paper thoughtfully, then said, "Hey bartender, can I get some coffee? Make it black."
The students chorused, "Oooh."
Scott shrugged. "Each of us has our vices. Mine happens to be caffeine."
"And what a vice it is," Remy said. "You drink that merde like it's water."
"It is water, Remy my friend, water of the math teachers." Scott accepted the cup of coffee from the bartender with a grateful nod and took a sip.
"Don't you mean nectar of the gods?" Remy returned. He was feeling bolder even in the company of all these strangers. This was a Scott he had never seen, and he was going to take advantage of this opportunity.
He wasn't Jean-Luc LeBeau's son if he didn't.
Scott eased a capo onto the neck of his guitar and tightened it down slowly.
"Francis Cabrel, eh, boys and girls? First Stephen Lynch, and now this? You really know how to mess with a guy, don't you?" Scott tilted his head to one side and smiled, and Remy felt something in his chest twist. That wasn't a happy smile. That was the smile Scott only wore for Jean. "I'll bet you thought you were smart, slipping in a foreign language song to throw me off. Didn't you learn your lesson with the Italian?" Scott turned to Remy and said, "It's a game we play every Friday night. They pick the songs, and I sing them. If there's a song I don't know, then I buy the requester a drink. Usually I win. Usually."
Remy was confused. If Scott knew the song this person had requested, hadn't he won this round of the game?
Scott began to pick out a low, arpeggio-like pattern on the strings, and the minor chord struck Remy, a solid blow to the chest. This wasn't going to be a happy song. Around him, the students were quiet, watching Scott with solemn eyes. Remy hadn't known people so youthful and full of laughter could look so old and desolate.
"Elle disait, 'J'ai deja trop marche
Mon coeur est deja trop lourd des secrets
Trop lourd de peine..."
Remy blinked. French. Scott could sing in French, and with a surprisingly good accent. Not Parisian, but - like Ororo. Moroccan.
The students cheered for a moment, and Scott smiled briefly in thanks before the expression faded away, and the students fell silent.
Scott lifted his voice for the chorus, a swelling of notes that was poignant and breathtaking.
"Elle disait que vivre etait cruel
Elle ne croyait plus au soleil ni aux silences des eglises..."
She says that life is cruel. She no longer believes in the sun nor the silence of churches...
Remy sucked in a shaky breath. This was why Scott had been smiling that smile for Jean. This song was agony and slow, gentle, cradling death for a listener. The students could hear the sharp pain in Scott's voice - there was no missing that. But for those who could understand the words, the ache was infinitely stronger.
When the last chorus hit, Remy found himself choking back a sob.
"Elle a surement rejoint le ciel,
Elle brille a cote de soleil comme les nouvelles eglises,
Et si depuis ce soir la je pleure
C'est qu'il fait froid dans the fond de mon coeur."
The song ended softly, and the students applauded, almost cautiously, as if afraid to break the silence.
Scott unscrewed the capo and set it aside. He was silent for a few moments and then said, "Wow. Haven't sung that one since Jean died. Glad I still can."
"We love you, Mike," someone said, but this time it wasn't teasing.
Scott smiled, and it was a real smile this time, albeit a small one. "Thanks. Seriously. I guess I needed to get that out of my system." He turned to Remy, and his smile widened.
"You all right, man? Bartender, I think the man needs some whiskey."
"No," Remy said when the bartender went to comply. "No whiskey." He reached out and picked up Scott's mug of coffee, downed a mouthful of the stuff like it was whiskey, and choked. Then he straightened up. "I'm fine."
Scott laughed. "The hell you are. Only crazy people drink coffee like that. That's my coffee and I don't drink it like that."
His flippant words broke some of the tension a little bit, and the students chuckled.
Scott wiped his hands on his jeans and reached for the fedora.
"Okay. Another song. What would you like to hear, boys and girls? What is the magic hat giving us tonight - a rabbit?"
"A fox to eat the rabbit!" someone called out, and Scott laughed.
"You crazy carnivore!" He fished out a slip of paper, and his eyebrows went up. "Sinatra. Wow. Who told? I love Sinatra." He drummed his fingers on his knee and then said, "I can't really do this on a guitar. Where's the piano?"
The students hooted and hollered and pointed down to the other end of the bar. Scott turned and studied the instrument, a thoughtful frown tugging the corners of his lips downward.
"Right. I am going to tap an assistant for myself." He scanned the crowd, and then his frown turned into a smile. "Yoshi my man, you feel like lending me the magic of your golden hands for a number?"
Remy turned. Yoshi was a thin Japanese man with bleached blond hair and an almost effeminate face. He hesitated for a moment, then straightened up and nodded. Scott leaned down to whisper in his ear, and a strange smile tugged at the corner of Yoshi's lips. He headed over to the piano and tested the keys. Whispers buzzed through the students, and Remy watched with equal curiosity as Scott made his way down the bar to where Yoshi sat at the piano.
"Ready?" Scott asked.
Yoshi nodded and began to play. The song had an easy swing rhythm, but then it was a Sinatra song, and Remy shouldn't have expected much different.
"Those fingers in my hair,
That sly come-hither stare
That strips my conscience bare -
It's...witchcraft."
The girls cheered.
Remy raised his eyebrows and reached for some of Scott's black coffee to knock him out of his daze. Before Scott had been charming, and funny, and heartbroken, but now - he was downright seductive.
The curve of his lips promised unthinkable pleasure, and the girls hooted and hollered. Scott tossed his head and plowed straight ahead. Remy knew people could put pain in their voice, and he had heard some risque songs on his day, but Scott was - unbelievable.
"When you arouse a need in me,
My heart says yes indeed in me,
Proceed with that you're leading me to."
The girls in the crowd went wild, and Remy was sure he felt the temperature in the room rise several degrees.
"It's such an ancient pitch
But one that I'd never switch
Because there's no nicer witch than you..."
Scott leaned forward and crooned to a black-haired girl. Ordinarily she might have looked sullen and gothic, but just then she looked flustered and flattered by the handsome man singing to her. The girls clustered around her, probably her friends, laughed, and when she tossed her head Remy saw she was wearing pentacles for earrings.
Maybe she was a witch.
Yoshi ended the song with a flourish on the piano keys, and Scott yanked Yoshi to his feet so they could take their bows together. The crowd cheered and screamed.
Scott laughed and scrambled back up to his place on the bar.
Damn. This was a good show. Remy signalled the bartender for a drink - something non-alcoholic since he and Scott both had to drive back to the school that night. Then he settled onto the bar stool beside the pretty redheaded girl and watched his field leader.
Not that this was his field leader, not really.
Scott picked up the guitar and began to tune it again.
"So, this is the fun part of the night. Well, the entire night is fun, but you know what I mean. I play a song, and you all get to try to figure out what it is. It's not that hard, really - all of you, one of me. One of you is bound to know this song." He tested a chord. "I learned this one from a friend, another teacher of mine at the school."
Another teacher? Remy's mind raced. Which of the other X-Men could play a musical instrument, or even a guitar? Then he remembered. Jean Grey. Remy remembered going into her office and seeing a beat-up acoustic guitar on a stand in the corner and thinking that it was out of place amidst the scientific orderliness of her books. Maybe she had taught Scott to play everything.
"Sing along if you know the words - or if you catch on fast."
And Scott began to play. Remy watched, trying to comprehend how Scott's fingers could move that fast. He knew that Scott had very dexterous hands. After all, Scott was the best pilot of the Blackbird out of all of the X-Men, hands down, and if Jean had been good at it she had learned most of her skill from him.
But it seemed impossible for the jumping notes and the bouncing rhythm to have come from one pair of hands. Scott wasn't smiling, and it was hard to tell what kind of song this was. Perhaps like the "youthful notions of the future" song?
"There was a decorated general with a heart of gold
That likened him to all the stories he told
Of past battles won and lost and legends of old,
A seasoned veteran in his own time..."
Remy blinked and leaned forward. He cocked his head to one side, focused on the lyrics. They had a catchy rhythm to them, an unusual tempo, but he liked it. All around him students looked puzzled, though a few of them were smiling and looking satisfied.
Scott wasn't paying attention to the students for once, wasn't keeping track of how well they were playing his game. His head was down as he watched his hands, and he bobbed his head to the music. His vocal flexibility was amazing, and Remy wondered if Scott had had to learn to do that with his voice or if it was a natural talent. Remy also wondered why, if Scott could sing this well, no one at the school seemed to know about it. If talk in the teachers' lounge and in the hallways was any indication, Scott's most admirable non-teacher skill was playing pool. His mutation was a major factor in that - when he lost his normal sight he gained a new type of vision, one that allowed him track motion and calculate angles in an instant. He was a pool shark. Remy had lost enough money to Scott to know that.
Singing, on the other hand, hardly seemed like something Scott's mutation would have boosted.
"Take a shower and shine your shoes
You got no time to lose
You are young men you must be living
Go now, you are forgiven..."
Remy drew back. He could feel something crawling along the back of his neck, and unease whispered in his blood. If the French song for Jean had been a sharp reminder of her recent death, this song spoke of something older, a deep-rooted agony that Scott kept close to his chest.
Scott's voice was strong and bold, and Remy would have thoroughly enjoyed the melody if he hadn't been studying Scott's face, trying to read the man's expression even though Scott's eyes were hidden.
Some of the students joined in on the final chorus, and others caught on. Soon the whole room was swaying to the beat, and even the bartender was nodding along.
"Go now, you are forgiven.
Go now, you are forgiven, go."
A few of the better singers in the crowd picked up on a harmony for the chorus and raised their voices, twining with Scott's melody. He threw his head back and let his voice swell to full volume, and the students rallied around him, singing loud and strong along with him.
The last chorus ended, and Scott finished the song as he began, with that jumping riff, during which the students watched him and swayed. He played through the chords a couple of times and then the song ended in a single simple note.
The students exploded into applause and cheers, and Scott bowed his head as if crushed beneath the onslaught of sound. Remy stood up and reached out.
"Scott," he said, then went to correct himself.
The bartender beat him to it. "Mike, your backpack is ringing."
Scott's head came up, and he looked pale. He snatched the backpack out of the bartender's hands and dug through it, frantic. He found his cellphone and turned away from the crowd, one hand over his ear to block out their noise. Remy watched Scott's mouth harden into a thin line, and when the cellphone snapped shut Mike was gone.
Scott actually looked nervous as he cleared his throat and addressed the crowd.
"Listen, I'm sorry I was late tonight, and I don't want to have to do this, but an emergency has come up at the school and I'm needed, so -- next week, okay?" He slapped some bills down on the bar for the coffee, handed back the guitar, and practically tore out of the bar, leaving confused students in his wake.
Remy followed.
"Slow down, homme. Quelle probleme?"
"Rogue," Scott said. "Magneto has her. We have to go."
Remy was surprised Scott didn't strip right then and there in the street to change into his uniform. A few moments later the roar of the Blackbird told him that, had help not been forthcoming, Scott might have done just that. He scrambled aboard the plane before the hatch was fully lowered, and Remy had to hurry to catch up.
"What about the bikes?" he asked.
"Later." Scott opened his backpack and started getting changed right there, oblivious to the others' shocked stares. "Storm, give me a sit-rep."
The white-haired girl tore her gaze away from her field leader's bare torso. "Rogue has been MIA two hours. Some of the younger students realized she was gone when she didn't show up for night duty in the security office."
Scott nodded and tugged his glasses off. Remy glimpsed dark eyelashes flutter against high cheekbones before the visor was on, and Cyclops was back in action.
Scott did lead a double life.
"Does the Professor have a lock on her?" he asked.
"Yes," Hank said.
Ororo guided the jet back up into the air. "ETA thirty minutes. Hank and Logan have specs on the facilities."
Remy and Scott moved to where Logan had a map spread out on the floor.
Hank, who hung from the ceiling, pointed out where Rogue was being held captive. Internally, Remy winced. The place was damn well guarded. They had no clue how many troops were stationed there, and this was going to get ugly quickly. Scott nodded, face utterly blank, and Remy knew the man was planning.
"Do we know where they're keeping her?" Scott asked.
"Main bunker several floors down," Ororo said.
Scott considered a moment longer, then began to lay out his plans. His grip of tactics was awe-inspiring, and Remy took a moment to admire his team leader's skill before he leaned in and listened. It was a solid plan, but there was so little they knew about the place.
Usually missions were hardly this rushed, but when Rogue mixed with Magneto it generally meant humanity was doomed.
***
Humanity was doomed, because not even Scott's tactical genius could have prepared them for this.
The five X-Men crouched on the hill above the complex and stared down at the masses of troops in something akin to shock. Armed men in uniforms swarmed the complex like ants.
"Merde," Remy said.
"Sheisse," Hank agreed.
Scott looked at him.
"What?" Hank widened his eyes innocently. "I learned it from Kurt."
"Not now," Scott said. "Okay then. Storm, I want you to go in heavy and hard. Wind and rain - a little electricity if you have to. Beast, Wolverine, I want you to go in and do a little wholesale destruction. As many as you can, right?"
At Logan's feral grin Scott added, "No killing." He turned to Remy. "Use your cards to get us a way in. Bomb if you don't have time to thieve, understand?"
"And you?" Ororo asked.
"I'll be watching Gambit's back. Wolverine, you're on point. Go." Scott turned away and began to slide down the hill in stealthy silence.
For being built like a tank, Logan could also move with surprising silence, and he followed. Remy freed his cards as he followed. This was a suicide mission - he just knew it.
"I always knew I was destined for a sad, pathetic death," he murmured to himself.
Hank shot him a look.
"Je n'ai pas de probleme," Remy murmured innocently and followed the rest of the team down the hill. Storm stayed crouched low in the grass, ready to work her weather magic. If they got out of this alive, Remy would have to ask her when she taught Scott to speak French.
Lightning slashed the sky, and if Remy had been a century or so older and trapped in a room with dusty books and a raven it would have been the perfect setting for a Poe story.
Only with soldiers and the imminent death of five young mutants.
Most people would have ducked and run for cover when a storm like that ripped itself out of the sky. These soldiers were ready for them, though. Instead of whipping out the military-issue umbrellas they just moved into formation and stood, slowly getting soaked and waiting to murder.
Remy surveyed the hordes of young men and decided that for once his hands might honestly slip and he would say a "screw it" to the Professor's non-lethal policy.
Adamantium claws snicked free, and Logan hunkered down, muscles tensed to spring. Remy probably wouldn't be the only one disregarding that rule tonight.
Lightning exploded over head, blinding white and far too close. Some of the soldiers screamed. Remy reckoned some of them died silently, and then Logan and Hank dove straight into the middle of the fray. The chatter of gunfire cut through the air. Logan was probably deaf from all the noise, but that didn't matter. Men were going to die tonight.
Adrenaline was beginning to trickle through Remy's limbs. He knew this sinking, elated sensation - he hadn't felt this since his power first manifested, back when it was completely out of his control. He shivered. Beside him, Scott knelt, utterly still, focused on the battle. Was he even breathing?
Remy almost bit through his tongue so as not to cry out and flung himself backward. A series of red blasts erupted toward the base like machine-gun rounds. Scott had one hand up to the side of his visor and was tapping like he was trying to send a message in Morse code, head turning this way and that like a curious bird. In response, an onslaught of gunfire came at the hill, and Scott flung himself down.
Remy flattened himself against the grass.
"Are you insane? You gave away our position!"
But Scott was peeking up, ducking down, firing, peeking up, ducking down, firing. He didn't really need to see, didn't need a real mark, just a memory of a mark, and he could hit.
"Now!" Logan yelled.
And Scott shot to his feet, sprinting toward the base at full-tilt. Remy scrambled up and followed, ducking behind the taller man. Scott blasted a path clear, and Remy covered his other side. He rationed his cards carefully, using them to take down the punk with the machine gun, and the one moron who had the bayonet. Soldiers cried out and fell back when the optic blasts came at them. Scott pivoted and fired off a series of short, sharp blasts that gave Remy room to work, and he opened the first door the old fashioned way, all boots and no finesse.
More soldiers greeted his effort, and Remy went into the fray with fists flying. He was unafraid to use his mutant powers, and in fact was glad for the edge they gave him in a fight. But sometimes he just had to use his hands.
Apparently Scott felt the same. In the back of his mind Remy knew Scott was a trained martial artist, but when mutant powers abounded Scott usually didn't need to get up close and personal with an opponent. After all, his talent was ideal for distance sniping. Scott was just as much a man as Logan or Remy, no matter how much the others mocked him for his argyle sweaters and neat hair. Scott didn't just enjoy an honest skin-fight, he reveled in it. Remy could do savate, and that was no mean feat, but Scott - was like a dancer.
If a dancer broke men's jaws mid-routine.
Scott was everywhere at once, punching and kicking with smooth, military precision. Remy made it past the worst of the guards and to the next door. This one was more complicated and wouldn't be defeated by an easy boot to the lock, so Remy had to put his thief skills to good use. That left Scott on his own.
The other man was fine.
A fist to the jaw sent one guard staggering backward with a sickening crunch of bone. Scott didn't stop. He spun and lashed out, a snap-kick to the groin that disabled another guard, possibly permanently. Scott stepped over his prone form and caught a third guard in a head lock, tossed him to the ground, kicked him in the ribs, and then he finished the last guard with an elbow to the nose.
Remy smiled grimly to himself and prodded at the lock, feeling along for the delicate shift when the pins and barrels would obey him. More people really did need to use their elbows in a fight.
The door was open, and then the two men faced the conundrum of fighting in a stairwell. On the one hand, a severely limited number of guards could engage them at once. That was an advantage. The disadvantage was that the guards were pressing on from all sides and came in literal waves.
Remy was going to drown in cammo uniforms and green berets. Of all the ways to die.
There was a scream over the comms. Then static. And Hank began to swear. Storm was down. More swearing from Logan.
"Sit rep!" Scott demanded.
"Storm is down. Net. They've boxed her in. I'm going after her." Hank.
"No," Scott said. "Wolverine, take care of it. Beast - hold your position."
"Cyke - "
"Hold it."
That moment of distraction was all it took for Remy to lose his rhythm. He took a vicious uppercut to the chin and went down hard.
"This is going to hurt," Scott warned.
The breath was slammed from Remy's lungs when Scott scooped him up. The abrupt yank of Scott's arm into Remy's diaphragm cut off his breathing for a sharp second. Then everything went red, and there was a cacophony of screams.
The entire world rumbled and trembled, and then everything was grey.
Scott hit the ground and rolled - on top of Remy.
A moment later Scott was on his feet and scanning their surroundings. Remy shook himself out and climbed to his feet. His ribs ached - probably from where he'd been kicked and then where he got a chest full of Cyclops.
They were on the landing two level below the stairwell they had been on. And the entirety of the top was caved in. Remy turned to Scott, eyes wide. That cave-in had to have killed at least a hundred men.
Scott reached up and adjusted his visor, and Remy knew the moment the other man's eyes opened again. Scott's jaw tightened, and his face went utterly pale. He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth hard enough to bruise and looked like he wanted to be ill right then and there.
Then he swallowed hard.
"Beast, sit rep."
"Storm is injured but still capable. Wolverine is - well. And on your end?"
"The stairwell is cut off. You'll have to find another way in."
"Hunh. Wondered what that noise was." Logan grunted, and they could hear Ororo murmuring in the background.
"Are you two unhurt?" Hank asked.
"You take a Cyclops to the chest and see how you fare," Remy said.
Scott wasn't amused. "We're moving in. Follow when you can." He spun on his heel and proceeded down the stairs. Tension thrummed from every line in his body, and Remy was sure the man would feel it in the days following this battle.
They made it to the bottom of the stairs, taking the entire journey in silence, oblivious to Hank, Logan, and Ororo cursing out their enemies and forming impromptu battle plans as they slugged their way through the guards. Ororo agreed to stay outside and get the Blackbird ready to run - she would be the getaway driver. She cracked a joke about being the mob moll, and Hank's responding laughter was pained. Ororo worked best when outside and was also a little claustrophobic. It was best for all involved if she stayed where she was.
Remy picked the lock on the door at the bottom of the stairwell and wondered at enjoying the luxury of actually having the time to work well on a lock. Scott loomed over him, entire body thrumming with tension, ready for whatever was on the other side of the door.
Which was more guards.
Remy couldn't do much more than duck when the gunfire started. Scott launched himself into the action head-first. Red ricocheted down the hallway, and then Remy was on his feet, cards flying.
"Do we have a lock on the target?" Hank asked.
"Yes," Scott said. "We're on the bottom floor. ETA?"
"Give us ten minutes," Logan said. There was a grunt, a scream, and then Hank cursed in German. "Make that fifteen."
"Fine." Scott popped a guard in the jaw and let a red blast fly. It rebounded off a mirror mounted on the wall and hit another guard in the chest, knocking him on his back. Scott dropped into a crouch and then his leg swept out, and three more guards went down.
How the hell did Scott know where Rogue was?
"Cyclops, we have reinforcements pouring out of the sky as we speak." Ororo's voice chattered to life over the comms. "I cloaked the Blackbird and I'm throwing them the storm of the century - no King pun intended - but we're, well. What's the German word for it?"
"Gebumst," Hank supplied helpfully.
"Exactly."
"What do you want us to do, Cyke?" Logan asked.
He was deferring to the team leader. That could only mean one thing. Remy glanced at Scott.
"Well, mon capitain?" And he kicked another guard squarely in the groin.
"Hank, Beast, move in. Get Rogue. That's the objective, and we'd better do it. Gambit will meet you here." Scott spun and drove a fist squarely into as guard's solar plexus, and Remy saw the guard's eyes go wide and then close. Scott flung the unconscious body aside and started for the other end of the corridor.
After a moment, Remy scrambled to follow him.
They made it to the door, and Remy practically flung himself at it. He wasn't sure if he wanted to get it open soon or until Hank and Logan arrived.
The men in question hailed their arrival with a feral roar and guards screaming like little girls when the man with adamantium claws came down on them like the wrath of an unholy god. Remy thought it was called Tenchu in Japanese. Logan was into Japanese for some reason. He forced himself to cease his mental ramblings and concentrated on the door.
This lock was top-of-the-line. Last Remy had checked its specs were still up in the air and the company's R&D was sitting on its plans like it was the Holy Grail. Which it was - but only of locks.
Hank slammed the door shut and pressed his weight against it.
"We have a good fifteen minutes to get in there, get her, and get out before they catch up with us," he said.
Scott shook his head. "Fifteen minutes won't even touch the tip of the iceberg with Magneto." On the floor, a guard groaned, and Scott nudged him none too gently in the ribs with the toe of his boot.
"If we stick together, we can make it out as a team," Hank said. "We could --"
"I'll give us an exit strategy," Scott said. "She'll be near dead when Magneto's done with her. Logan - you can save her. But she'll be a dead-weight while she recovers, and Logan may be too. The two of you burdened down with casualties won't make it through that, even with me. So I'll go make things square."
His voice was dead, and everything he said was ruthlessly logical. Logan grabbed Scott and slammed him up against the wall.
"Have you lost your mind?"
"Hands off," Scott said.
"There's no way you'll survive those men out there. You know that." Logan's teeth were bared in a snarl.
Scott's expression remained utterly blank. "This mission is about getting Rogue home. Everyone getting out alive is a luxury, not a requirement. The mission is what matters, understand?"
"No man gets left behind, dammit!"
"The longer we wait the closer she is to death," Scott said. "I am your field leader and I am ordering you to turn around and go get our comrade."
Logan snarled again. Remy saw Scott's hand twitch and remembered too late that Scott had controls for his visor in his gloves as well.
The blast caught Logan square in the face and knocked him back. Scott stepped away from the wall and headed for the door.
Hank stared at him for a long time before he finally stepped aside.
"Scott --!" Remy called out.
He paused and looked over his shoulder. "Go now." And he vanished into the stairwell.
Logan shook off the remaining effects of the blast and lunged to follow. Hank and Remy caught him and held him back.
"Captain's orders," Hank said. "Let's go."
***
Remy cradled Rogue's limp body in his arms and gazed around at the destruction. Magneto had held them off for two hours, but eventually they broke through and freed Rogue from her cage. There was a moment of agonizing indecision before Logan reached out and touched her. A few moments later he was slumped over unconscious as well, but Rogue would live. That much Remy knew.
Hank was carrying Logan like the man weighed nothing, and he looked at Remy.
Scott had ordered them into radio silence until they completed their task so there would be no distractions.
Hank reached up and turned on his comm.
"Cyke, sit rep! ETA ten minutes."
"He's in no condition to answer." Ororo sounded furious - and like she'd been crying.
"What's going on?" Hank headed for the door, taking point to shield Remy and his precious cargo.
"He ordered me to stay in the Blackbird for you to get out here. I'm hitting them with everything I've got short of killing them all, but you had better get out here fast."
"On our way, cherie," Remy said.
The stairwell was littered with bodies as they scrambled toward open air and freedom. Remy
didn't stop to look, but he thought some of them looked dead.
Up on the ground level, Scott had carved them a bloody, body-strewn path. Hank started toward the compound gates, and Remy darted a glance over his shoulder. The soldiers were converging on a single point, a small gun-bunker right on the edge near the fences.
Judging by the lethal red light show, Scott was in there.
"Storm - don't lift the cloak until they're close." Scott's voice over the intercom was broken and staticky, but Remy was damned glad to hear it. He said so.
"I'll be glad to hear your voice telling me Rogue is on the Blackbird," Scott said.
Some of the guards spotted them, and Remy readied a handful of cards, but then Scott was there in the middle of the fray.
They made it to the hill easily, for Scott was drawing all the guards' fire.
The Blackbird shimmered into view and Remy stumbled onboard. Storm was on her feet, helping them strap Rogue and Logan into chairs. Moments later she was back in the pilot's chair.
"Cyke, come on, it's time to go."
"You have to lift off - they have a lock on you," Scott said.
"What? No!" Ororo slammed her fist down on the control board. "Dammit, Scott Summers, now is not the time to become a martyred hero."
"I'm on the other side of the complex from the main cannon - I can't get to it in time," Scott said. "Put up the cloak and lift off and get the hell out of here."
She shrieked at him in French.
"Storm, go. Now."
Remy glanced at Ororo. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears and her face was pale with fury.
"With all due respect, sir, Storm hates you," Remy said.
"Duly noted," was the terse reply. "So go."
"It doesn't have to be this way," Hank said.
There was static.
Hank ripped off his comm and flung it across the cabin.
Hands shaking, Ororo flipped the cloaking switch, and then the Blackbird was in the air.
Moments later, blaring alarms and sirens filled the cockpit.
"I've been painted!" Ororo yelled.
Remy buckled himself in, and Hank flung himself into the copilot's chair.
"They got a lock on me - I'm gonna have to buck it!" Ororo's hands flew across the control panel, and Remy nearly lost whatever he'd had in the past twenty-four hours when the jet barrel-rolled.
Ororo pulled out of the roll and into a vertical loop, and Remy nearly lost his lunch again.
Wailing from the sirens filled his head, and all he could think about was that Scott had probably given his life and they were going to die anyway.
The alarms fell silent mid-loop, and Remy felt like he was suspended upside down in the moment that a streak of red light cut across the compound below - above? sideways? which way was the world right now? - and everything exploded.
It wasn't loud, not at first, just a giant ball of flame and smoke curling upwards.
Then the sound jolted the jet, and Ororo shrieked and fought for control.
Remy leaned over the side of his chair and puked on the floor, though from disorientation or the knowledge that Scott was now dead he wasn't sure.
The Professor met them in the hangar. His face was pale and his expression perfectly stoic, but Remy could see raw pain in the man's eyes. Scott had been like a son to him.
"Well done, my X-Men," he said.
Hank just pushed past him and headed for the med bay. Remy followed and laid Rogue down on the cot beside Logan's.
Hank tugged a lab coat on over his uniform and set to work, barking orders at Ororo who scrambled to obey. Hank's hands shook as he set up IVs and tugged equipment into place.
Remy lingered in the doorway and watched for a moment or two, but Hank was lost in his own world. He was keeping busy so as not to think, and Ororo had joined him. Remy would be more of a help than a hindrance. It took a moment before he had the strength of will to let go of the doorframe and order his feet to walk.
He passed the Professor in the hallway but said nothing to the man, instead headed for his room. He brushed his teeth and rinsed his mouth to get rid of the taste and scent of vomit, and then he sat down on the edge of his bed in the dark.
A glance at the clock on the wall told him that it was only three in the morning. He and Scott had been at that bar a mere five hours ago.
Five hours ago Remy learned that Scott was a charming, funny man named Mike who could sing and play the guitar.
Five hours ago, Scott was still alive.
On a whim, Remy stood up and headed down the hallway to Scott's room. After Jean's death, Scott moved back into the room he had occupied as a student and let Hank and Ororo have the double suite instead.
Jean's office was still empty, though. Remy pushed open the door and turned on the light.
A beat-up acoustic guitar stood in the corner on metal stand. Remy had seen it there often, and it really did look out of place amidst the science reference books and the model of the human skeleton. He reached out and ran his fingertips over its glossy surface.
It wouldn't make any music anymore.
The students were still asleep, but some of them had night wandering tendencies, and on a night like tonight when one of their own went missing their sleep would be uneasy. Remy suspected that in several of the rooms the students were awake, huddled together in the darkness and listening, waiting for any news.
Remy was a thief and more silent than a grave when he so chose. The students wouldn't hear anything from him tonight. He shouldn't be the one to tell them that their beloved Cyclops was gone. He drifted down the hallway, years of habit and training making his footsteps soundless, and he found Scott's room.
It was military neat, precisely organized, a place for everything and everything in its place. Remy probably could have bounced a quarter off the comforter, the bed was so well made. He supposed that Scott, who was blind for half an hour every morning during his morning ablutions, had to keep everything well-organized, but Remy was sure that rooms didn't look this neat outside of JC Penney catalogues.
There were a couple of personal touches in the room - a picture of Scott and Jean on the night stand, a hardcover book lying on the night stand, a stray joker from a deck acting as a bookmark - but it was as private and well-kept as Scott the man.
Remy sat down on the bed and stared down at his hands. He had always prided himself on being good with his hands, but what good was his speed, his leger-demain, if he couldn't save one of his own teammates? A pile of folded sweaters sat on a chair in the corner. Remy reached out and picked one up. Argyle, soft and worn beneath his hands. Something plastic and hard tumbled out of the woolen folds and landed on Remy's lap. It was dark in the room, and he couldn't see, so he fumbled for it, cursing under his breath.
Scott would kill him if he lost it, whatever it was.
Remy's fingers brushed over a small, smooth piece of plastic, and he held it up, tilting it into the moonlight to see what it was. A guitar pick, chipped on one side. Breath hitched in Remy's throat, and he set the guitar pick down on the pile of sweaters.
Scott wouldn't care if Remy lost the pick, not anymore.
He couldn't decide if he still wanted to burn the hideous sweaters or keep them.
The students would want to keep them definitely.
Remy tossed the sweater down, disgusted at Scott's unbelievably horrible taste in non-mission, non-Friday night gig clothes. After a moment of gazing at the rumpled cloth he leaned down and picked it up. Guilt gnawed at him and he folded the sweater, smoothing out the wrinkles with trembling hands. His hands never trembled.
He laid the sweater back down on top of the others and flopped back on the bed. For an instant he felt guilty for ruining Scott's impeccable bed-making, but then he closed his eyes and tried to remember what Scott's voice sounded like.
Every time he tried to remember what Scott sounded like when he sang it was as if the record in his mind was derailed and the stylus was yanked away, leaving a yawning blank. Remy sighed and squinted at the clock on the wall. It was still a while before the sun rose.
He closed his eyes.
***
"Rise and shine, Gumbo," Logan drawled.
Remy opened his eyes. Hank and Ororo were standing in the doorway, and it was several moments before Remy remembered that he was in Scott's room.
"Logan," he said. "You are awake."
"Wish we could say the same about Rogue," Hank said ruefully.
Remy's brow furrowed. "Rogue? How is she?"
"She'll be fine," Ororo said. "She's just still unconscious. Hank reckons it'll be a few days."
"That is good news." Remy ran a hand through his hair and groaned. He needed to brush his teeth.
"Ororo and I went back to the base, sneaked in with Kurt and checked around. Fire crews and news crews swarming the place, but we looked," Hank said softly.
Remy raised his eyebrows.
Logan growled under his breath, hands curled into fists.
Ororo just looked away.
Logan's head snapped up, and he turned, hunkering down, tense.
"What is it?" Remy asked. "What do you smell?"
"Not smell." Logan cocked his head to one side. "Hear."
"What do you hear?" Ororo straightened up.
"Music." Logan started for the windows, flung them wide and stuck his head out.
"Music?" Hank echoed. "What?"
Remy pushed past both of them and leaned out the window. And he could hear familiar strains of a song, jumping chords and artful picking.
And then that voice, that voice Remy had tried all night to hear.
"There was a decorated general with a heart of gold
That likened him to all the stories he told..."
Remy craned his neck, squinting, trying to see against the brilliant radiance of the dawn.
"Who's out there?" Logan snarled.
Remy peered into the shadows and saw the unthinkable.
Scott Summers was perched on the massive bough just below his window, windblown and golden in the dawn, a mug of black coffee beside one knee, shirtless in a pair of jeans and strumming Jean's guitar.
"But the men stood fast with their guns on their shoulders
Not knowing what to do with their contradicting orders.
The general said he would do his own duty but would extend it no further,
The men could go as they pleased."
On either side of Remy, Logan and Hank stared, slack-jawed, in utter disbelief. Ororo had one hand pressed to her mouth and looked ready to scream at seeing a ghost or cry in sheer relief.
"Not a man moved - their eyes gazed ahead
Till one by one they stepped back and not a word was said
And the old general was left with his own words echoing in his head.
He then prepared to fight. He said..."
"Scott?" Hank's voice was low, as if he said the name too loudly it would shatter the vision.
Ororo sank against Hank's side, shoulders shaking silently.
"I have seen the others and
I have discovered that this fight is not worth fighting."
The corner of Scott's mouth curved up in a slightly tired, contented smile.
"And I've seen their mothers
And I will no other to follow me where I'm going, so..."
Remy decided that he would remember the words to this song for the rest of his life.
"Take a shower and shine your shoes,
You got no time to lose, you are young men you must be living...
Go now, you are forgiven..."
Song credits:
"Gay" by Stephen Lynch
"Swing Life Away" by Rise Against
"C'etait L'hiver" by Francis Cabrel
"The General" by The Dispatch
German credits also go to hell_is_bloody
Questions about Scott as Mike? Best redirect your thoughts to Minisinoo...she mentioned it was Scott's real name. So I went with it.
Details inside the lj-cut.
My mission was as follows:
Author name: Katt
LJ name: xenokattz
3 things to include: Gambit, friendly snark, argyle sweaters
Author's personal Scott Summers: a very quiet, contained person, confident of his leadership skills but not so much about his people skills (contradictory, I know). While he's mostly a classic introvert, he has his own brands of thrill-seeking that only those closest know about. And sometimes, not even then. Has a wicked addiction to coffee and a dark, sarcastic humour that hardly anyone ever gets.
Pairing: None
Rating: mild violence, mild swearing in foreign languages
Warnings: the French is un-accented. My HTML skills only go so far
Author notes: This story has no title. I apologize. I am open to suggestion. Song lyrics not mine and credited at the bottom so as not to ruin the surprise. And ten points to whoever recognizes the piano player. Many thanks to hell_is_bloody, my darling, my beta.
Busting up Sentinels on a Friday night. This sort of weekend action was really getting old.
At least the students - Bobby and Kitty and Jubilee - weren't there to get in the way. Cyclops was a damn good tactician. He knew when to lead - when the students were around - and he knew when to make things a cooperative effort.
Remy might have been more glad of the respect this signified if they weren't pretty much getting their asses kicked up one side and down the other of Broadway.
Scott squirmed into his uniform with lightning speed and little shame before dashing out onto the street. He yelled for the humans to step back and pivoted, loosing a blast of red light.
The street vendor behind the cart let out a startled cry and stumbled backward when Remy hopped over the hood of a car and landed on top of the cart, crouched like a cat. He slapped down a wad of bills and scooped up a dozen decks of cards still shrink-wrapped in their boxes.
"Pardonnez-moi, homme." He winked one red eye over the rim of his shades and then joined in the fray.
And what a fray it was, two young men and five giant robots. They looked like they were going for a blue-haired teenage girl who was huddled under a bench, shaking with terror.
"Gambit, which one do you want?" Scott asked, and he was Cyclops now, all futuristic visor and seriousness.
"I'll take B if you want A and C," Remy said.
Scott nodded. "I'll take A, and whoever gets to C first can have it."
"Oui." Remy turned and boosted himself up on top of a car, then shinned up a nearby streetlight to get some vertical before he leapt. He twisted like a cat mid-air and landed somewhere on the robot's hip. People down below screamed. Remy yanked a deck of cards out of his coat, charged it, and then vaulted away. Heat from the explosion ghosted across his back and he landed on his feet.
Scott had the mutant girl on her feet and was dragging her toward the sidewalk.
He shoved her at a group of humans.
"Watch her," was all he said.
They eyed her warily, and then the mutant girl screamed.
"Behind you!"
Scott whirled and fired off a blast. More screams. Remy saw the blast catch the Sentinel in the chest and it began to topple. Remy was torn between his own Sentinel and the imminent death Sentinel crashing toward his field leader, but Scott was as cool as ever. The man scooped up a fallen street sign and used the pole to vault himself high. He tumbled mid-air, fired off a blast, and another that ricocheted off of a mirror, and the Sentinel began to fall sideways.
Sentinel A was down.
Sentinel B was looking to take Remy's head off. He cursed and launched another deck of cards.
Sirens wailed in the distance, and the police were coming. A glance over his shoulder showed the blue-haired girl being shunned by onlookers even as they panicked. Cops would probably arrest her instead.
Damn.
Scott was already on the third Sentinel, disabling it with a series of critically-aimed shots and swings with the sign post.
The man looked like he hadn't even broken a sweat.
Remy finished his Sentinel with a fan of charged cards that cut the thing in half. Another deck brought it down in small pieces, none big enough to kill anyone, and then the cops had arrived with their guns, and Scott was gone.
If Remy had been anyone other than himself - a skilled thief - he wouldn't have noticed the black-clad young man ducking down into the subway. Remy followed, and Scott was headed into the men's restroom.
"Aren't you meant to stick around and speak to the police? Isn't that what Scott Summers should do?"
"It might be what Cyclops would do, but I wasn't patrolling, not tonight. Let the cops handle it."
Remy glimpsed Scott's bare face for mere moments while the man switched the visor for the red glasses.
"You're angry at them." Remy hadn't been wearing his uniform and was privately amused that the man who claimed to have not been on patrol kept his uniform in his bag like that.
"Just tired of their bullshit."
Remy's eyebrows went up.
"Scott Summers doesn't say that word."
"Maybe sometimes he does," Scott returned.
"Sometimes Scott, sometimes Cyclops. You lead a double life," Remy said,
Scott shrugged out of his uniform and pulled on a pair of jeans. He fished a t-shirt and leather jacket out of his bag, and Remy's eyebrows went up.
"No argyle sweater, homme?"
"Not tonight." Scott folded his uniform with military precision, placed it in his bag, and then slung the backpack over one shoulder. "And I don't lead a double life. The kids know full well that I teach and that I lead the X-Men. That's not a double life - that's a day job and a night job. I am Scott Summers all the time, teacher or X-Man. Cyclops is just my radio call sign. It's not as if soldiers are always Alpha 223 or whatever their call signs are."
"And what of the parents who think you are only a teacher?"
"It's only a double life if you associate with them on a daily basis. I'm also a mutant, but they don't know that. That is not a double life." Scott slunk out of the restroom and headed for his motorcycle. Remy had, on a whim, boosted Storm's bike. She would get it back in one piece.
"Where are you going now?" Remy asked.
"Friday night is my night off of school," Scott gunned the engine. "Ro and Hank are watching the kids."
"Don't you have to report?"
Scott tapped his temple. "Telepathy. Professor says I've earned this one."
Remy hopped onto Storm's bike. "Shall I go back to the school, then?"
Scott was silent, pulling on a pair of fingerless gloves. Abruptly he said, "You want to see a double life? Then come on."
Scott did lead a double life? Remy was sure that the man was joking, but he followed Scott anyway when the other man peeled away from the curb. Scott drove the bike like he flew the Blackbird, with reckless speed and showmanship but with breathless control.
When Remy had first met the X-Men he was drawn to Ororo and Jean and Hank, the flashy, eye-catching members who filled an entire room with their presence. Remy had almost missed the quiet young man standing just behind Jean. Scott's silence had almost been like a black hole, void of the others' liveliness but reinforced with a core of steel - or even adamantium - that would be impossible to break.
Not to mention that Remy had thought Scott some sort of household servant, dressed like a mini-me version of the Professor in slacks and a hideous argyle sweater.
In jeans and a jacket, Scott looked like any other college student at the bar. None of them knew that in his backpack he carried a Sentinel-shielding uniform and not books. Remy climbed off his bike and stared up at the cement building in surprise. What was Scott doing at a bar? Remy knew that Logan was notoriously impossible to get drunk and so spent much of his time trying to make the impossible possible. According to students, however, Mr. Summers was so uptight that one sip of alcohol would probably break him mentally.
Remy surveyed the clientele, a subconscious habit from years of thieving, and they were mostly college age, young and carefree and out to enjoy a good weekend. Scott parked his bike and headed straight for the bar, and Remy scrambled to catch up before the door closed on him.
What he saw absolutely floored him.
Students left and right greeted Scott as he came in. Guys gave him high fives, girls cat-called and whistled, and Scott laughed, taking their ribbing good-naturedly. Scott had never laughed like that before. And that smile - that wasn't Scott Summers.
Scott Summers had a small, understated smile, the barest hint of a curve at the corners of his mouth to indicate amusement. With those red shades, most of Scott's expressions were parodies at best.
But this smile was wide and bright and transformed Scott's whole face. He looked younger when he smiled like that, and almost happier.
Scott made his way to the bar, and Remy followed along, dumbstruck. He was too shocked at what he was seeing to even flirt with some of the cute college girls who were eyeing him with interest.
Scott handed his backpack over the bar to the bartender, a large, swarthy man who looked like he could crush Scott in one fist.
"You're late," he said.
"I know." Scott was never flippant about something so discourteous as being late. He climbed up onto the bar and sat down, elbows resting on his knees. "Sorry everybody! I'm late! I got caught in traffic."
Remy watched, surprised, as the students actually turned and listened to Scott.
They had all been expecting him.
"What kind of traffic?" the bartender asked.
"The superhero kind. You know, giant robots attacking some poor chick because she had blue hair, and some crazy guy with red lasers coming out of his eyes bringing the robots down." Scott smiled.
"Were they mutants?"
"The Sentinels don't try to kill anything else. It's a shame, though, the way those robots were meant to protect civilians but end up making honest young fellas like myself late for a Friday night gig."
Gig? Remy wondered. He was still boggled at the sight of this easy-going, charming, smiling Scott.
The bartender handed Scott a guitar, and Scott began tuning it with deft hands.
"Aren't you afraid of mutants?" a girl leaning on the bar asked.
Scott shook his head. "Hell no. My friend Remy came with me tonight. And guess what? He's a mutant."
Remy froze as all eyes turned to him, and silently he cursed Scott.
The man smirked. "See his red eyes? Those are a mutation. Red eyes. Nothing awful about them. But they make him a mutant. And Remy hasn't done anything bad, not really."
The students stared.
"Well, he did make the mistake of once flirting with my fiancee in front of me, so now he is forever cursed against flirting with redheads." Scott lifted his chin at the pretty redheaded girl lounging on the barstool at his feet and said, "See, Remy? Beautiful redhead right here. Say something witty and charming."
Remy blinked. "What?"
"See? Cursed!"
The students burst out laughing, and Remy felt himself blush. He cursed Scott some more under his breath. He hadn't blushed in years.
"All right, people, show me what you want me to sing tonight."
The students cheered, and someone passed forward a black fedora filled with slips of paper. Scott set the hat down on the bar next to his knee and tweaked the strings one last time.
"I trust all you kids had a good week at school?"
They groaned, and Scott grinned.
"I'm just kidding - I don't have any sympathy for you. I'm a teacher!"
More laughter.
Remy stared up at his field leader, dumbfounded. He wondered if there was a telepath nearby, if someone had switched his friend's personality when he walked through the door.
Scott reached down into the hat, deliberately turning his face away. Excited whispers ran through the crowd.
"Ssh! He's picking a song!" "I hope he picks mine." "He picked one of Jenni's last week."
Scott plucked a slip of paper out of the hat and unfolded it. And stared. "Stephen Lynch. All right, who did this?" The audience laughed. "Bartender, give my friend Remy some whiskey."
The bartender obeyed, and Remy felt all eyes on him when the bartender held out a shot of whiskey. He hesitated for a moment, and then Scott said,
"Come on. It's not poisoned. You're the most tense person here. Take a shot, loosen up."
Remy gave Scott a look. Cyclops was telling someone to loosen up? Heaven rue the day!
"Yeah, Remy, loosen up," the redheaded girl said, and offered him a sultry smile.
Well, when an attractive woman said jump, Remy had to ask how high. He reached for the shot and saw Scott outright smirking at him, and he scowled. So he downed the shot and set the shot glass down on the bar.
Inexplicably, the students laughed.
Scott began to strum the opening chords of the song. Remy felt the alcohol hit his blood and shrugged off his leather coat, draping it over the bar stool next to the pretty redheaded girl. The chords were sweet, and Remy suspected the song was a love song. Scott had sounded somewhat put out upon seeing the song, and a sweet love song did seem at odds with his new, brash persona.
But he was wearing a sincere expression, and Remy thought that perhaps Scott was just a damned good actor, a chameleon, and that if the students wanted a sappy love song then Scott would give it to them sappy. After all, Scott seemed to know how to entertain them very well.
When Scott sang, he had a surprisingly sweet tenor voice.
"Here we are dear old friend,
You and I drunk again."
Remy blinked. What?
"Laughs have been had and tears have been shed.
Maybe the whiskey's gone to my head."
Whiskey. Remy glared at the shot glass, and then at Scott, and then he froze.
"But if I were gay I would give you my heart,
And if I were gay you'd be my work of art,
And if I were gay we would swim in romance..."
There was startled laughter from the students at the first line of the chorus. Remy could only stare. Scott was singing earnestly, as if he were totally innocent of the words coming out of his mouth.
"But I'm not gay, so get your hand out of my pants..."
The students laughed again, louder this time. Someone whistled.
Unbelievable. How could the man not be embarrassed?
Remy was a flirt and plenty bawdy, but right now he was damn embarrassed.
The second verse was even more loaded with innuendo, and Scott's sweet facade was beginning to break, hints of a smirk curling the corners of his lips, but he sang on.
By the end of the song Remy's face was aflame, and he rather wanted to sink into the floor and vanish, though he didn't know why. If he hadn't been so utterly mortified at his field leader's behavior he might have been impressed at the way Scott held the final note of the song.
The students exploded into applause around Remy, and Scott took a mock-bow over the guitar.
"Thank you, thank you! That's a great way to start a Friday night, with a little comedy." Scott reached into the fedora for his next order. "How shall we continue our Friday night, boys and girls? How about some youthful notions about the future?"
"We don't have those anymore!" a girl yelled and raised her glass, sloshing bourbon down the sides.
The students cheered.
Scott smiled. "I think you all know this one." And he began strumming again.
"Am I loud and clear, or am I breaking up?
Am I still your charm, or am I just bad luck?"
This song was less sweet, and Scott's voice had a deeper timbre to it. The students seemed to know the song and began swaying along to the song's catchy rhythm.
"I'll show you mine if you show me yours first -
Let's compare scars and I'll tell you whose is worst..."
Remy's head came up sharply at that, and he studied Scott's face. There was something sombre to the line of Scott's mouth even though it was curved into a smile.
Scars. All of the X-Men had scars. Some more than others, perhaps.
Right here, right now, Remy had the strangest sensation that he was seeing some of Scott's, some that the others had never known.
The others except, perhaps, for Jean.
Some of the students joined in on the last chorus.
"Swing life away...
Swing life away...
Swing life away..."
Scott ended with a flourish, and the students clapped. He was smiling again, though not as widely as he had at the end of the last song.
"I heard you all singing along," he said. "Some of you still have optimistic, youthful notions of the future. I used to have those too, you know, and then I became a math teacher."
"We love you, Mike!" a girl yelled from the back of the audience.
Remy's brow furrowed. Mike?
Scott's smile widened slightly. "Why thank you. Although, give Remy too much more whiskey and he may fight you on that."
"Hey!" Remy cried. He loosed a card from a deck in his jacket and let it fly. Scott dodged easily, grinning, and the students laughed some more.
Scott reached down into the fedora for another request. He stared down at the slip of paper thoughtfully, then said, "Hey bartender, can I get some coffee? Make it black."
The students chorused, "Oooh."
Scott shrugged. "Each of us has our vices. Mine happens to be caffeine."
"And what a vice it is," Remy said. "You drink that merde like it's water."
"It is water, Remy my friend, water of the math teachers." Scott accepted the cup of coffee from the bartender with a grateful nod and took a sip.
"Don't you mean nectar of the gods?" Remy returned. He was feeling bolder even in the company of all these strangers. This was a Scott he had never seen, and he was going to take advantage of this opportunity.
He wasn't Jean-Luc LeBeau's son if he didn't.
Scott eased a capo onto the neck of his guitar and tightened it down slowly.
"Francis Cabrel, eh, boys and girls? First Stephen Lynch, and now this? You really know how to mess with a guy, don't you?" Scott tilted his head to one side and smiled, and Remy felt something in his chest twist. That wasn't a happy smile. That was the smile Scott only wore for Jean. "I'll bet you thought you were smart, slipping in a foreign language song to throw me off. Didn't you learn your lesson with the Italian?" Scott turned to Remy and said, "It's a game we play every Friday night. They pick the songs, and I sing them. If there's a song I don't know, then I buy the requester a drink. Usually I win. Usually."
Remy was confused. If Scott knew the song this person had requested, hadn't he won this round of the game?
Scott began to pick out a low, arpeggio-like pattern on the strings, and the minor chord struck Remy, a solid blow to the chest. This wasn't going to be a happy song. Around him, the students were quiet, watching Scott with solemn eyes. Remy hadn't known people so youthful and full of laughter could look so old and desolate.
"Elle disait, 'J'ai deja trop marche
Mon coeur est deja trop lourd des secrets
Trop lourd de peine..."
Remy blinked. French. Scott could sing in French, and with a surprisingly good accent. Not Parisian, but - like Ororo. Moroccan.
The students cheered for a moment, and Scott smiled briefly in thanks before the expression faded away, and the students fell silent.
Scott lifted his voice for the chorus, a swelling of notes that was poignant and breathtaking.
"Elle disait que vivre etait cruel
Elle ne croyait plus au soleil ni aux silences des eglises..."
She says that life is cruel. She no longer believes in the sun nor the silence of churches...
Remy sucked in a shaky breath. This was why Scott had been smiling that smile for Jean. This song was agony and slow, gentle, cradling death for a listener. The students could hear the sharp pain in Scott's voice - there was no missing that. But for those who could understand the words, the ache was infinitely stronger.
When the last chorus hit, Remy found himself choking back a sob.
"Elle a surement rejoint le ciel,
Elle brille a cote de soleil comme les nouvelles eglises,
Et si depuis ce soir la je pleure
C'est qu'il fait froid dans the fond de mon coeur."
The song ended softly, and the students applauded, almost cautiously, as if afraid to break the silence.
Scott unscrewed the capo and set it aside. He was silent for a few moments and then said, "Wow. Haven't sung that one since Jean died. Glad I still can."
"We love you, Mike," someone said, but this time it wasn't teasing.
Scott smiled, and it was a real smile this time, albeit a small one. "Thanks. Seriously. I guess I needed to get that out of my system." He turned to Remy, and his smile widened.
"You all right, man? Bartender, I think the man needs some whiskey."
"No," Remy said when the bartender went to comply. "No whiskey." He reached out and picked up Scott's mug of coffee, downed a mouthful of the stuff like it was whiskey, and choked. Then he straightened up. "I'm fine."
Scott laughed. "The hell you are. Only crazy people drink coffee like that. That's my coffee and I don't drink it like that."
His flippant words broke some of the tension a little bit, and the students chuckled.
Scott wiped his hands on his jeans and reached for the fedora.
"Okay. Another song. What would you like to hear, boys and girls? What is the magic hat giving us tonight - a rabbit?"
"A fox to eat the rabbit!" someone called out, and Scott laughed.
"You crazy carnivore!" He fished out a slip of paper, and his eyebrows went up. "Sinatra. Wow. Who told? I love Sinatra." He drummed his fingers on his knee and then said, "I can't really do this on a guitar. Where's the piano?"
The students hooted and hollered and pointed down to the other end of the bar. Scott turned and studied the instrument, a thoughtful frown tugging the corners of his lips downward.
"Right. I am going to tap an assistant for myself." He scanned the crowd, and then his frown turned into a smile. "Yoshi my man, you feel like lending me the magic of your golden hands for a number?"
Remy turned. Yoshi was a thin Japanese man with bleached blond hair and an almost effeminate face. He hesitated for a moment, then straightened up and nodded. Scott leaned down to whisper in his ear, and a strange smile tugged at the corner of Yoshi's lips. He headed over to the piano and tested the keys. Whispers buzzed through the students, and Remy watched with equal curiosity as Scott made his way down the bar to where Yoshi sat at the piano.
"Ready?" Scott asked.
Yoshi nodded and began to play. The song had an easy swing rhythm, but then it was a Sinatra song, and Remy shouldn't have expected much different.
"Those fingers in my hair,
That sly come-hither stare
That strips my conscience bare -
It's...witchcraft."
The girls cheered.
Remy raised his eyebrows and reached for some of Scott's black coffee to knock him out of his daze. Before Scott had been charming, and funny, and heartbroken, but now - he was downright seductive.
The curve of his lips promised unthinkable pleasure, and the girls hooted and hollered. Scott tossed his head and plowed straight ahead. Remy knew people could put pain in their voice, and he had heard some risque songs on his day, but Scott was - unbelievable.
"When you arouse a need in me,
My heart says yes indeed in me,
Proceed with that you're leading me to."
The girls in the crowd went wild, and Remy was sure he felt the temperature in the room rise several degrees.
"It's such an ancient pitch
But one that I'd never switch
Because there's no nicer witch than you..."
Scott leaned forward and crooned to a black-haired girl. Ordinarily she might have looked sullen and gothic, but just then she looked flustered and flattered by the handsome man singing to her. The girls clustered around her, probably her friends, laughed, and when she tossed her head Remy saw she was wearing pentacles for earrings.
Maybe she was a witch.
Yoshi ended the song with a flourish on the piano keys, and Scott yanked Yoshi to his feet so they could take their bows together. The crowd cheered and screamed.
Scott laughed and scrambled back up to his place on the bar.
Damn. This was a good show. Remy signalled the bartender for a drink - something non-alcoholic since he and Scott both had to drive back to the school that night. Then he settled onto the bar stool beside the pretty redheaded girl and watched his field leader.
Not that this was his field leader, not really.
Scott picked up the guitar and began to tune it again.
"So, this is the fun part of the night. Well, the entire night is fun, but you know what I mean. I play a song, and you all get to try to figure out what it is. It's not that hard, really - all of you, one of me. One of you is bound to know this song." He tested a chord. "I learned this one from a friend, another teacher of mine at the school."
Another teacher? Remy's mind raced. Which of the other X-Men could play a musical instrument, or even a guitar? Then he remembered. Jean Grey. Remy remembered going into her office and seeing a beat-up acoustic guitar on a stand in the corner and thinking that it was out of place amidst the scientific orderliness of her books. Maybe she had taught Scott to play everything.
"Sing along if you know the words - or if you catch on fast."
And Scott began to play. Remy watched, trying to comprehend how Scott's fingers could move that fast. He knew that Scott had very dexterous hands. After all, Scott was the best pilot of the Blackbird out of all of the X-Men, hands down, and if Jean had been good at it she had learned most of her skill from him.
But it seemed impossible for the jumping notes and the bouncing rhythm to have come from one pair of hands. Scott wasn't smiling, and it was hard to tell what kind of song this was. Perhaps like the "youthful notions of the future" song?
"There was a decorated general with a heart of gold
That likened him to all the stories he told
Of past battles won and lost and legends of old,
A seasoned veteran in his own time..."
Remy blinked and leaned forward. He cocked his head to one side, focused on the lyrics. They had a catchy rhythm to them, an unusual tempo, but he liked it. All around him students looked puzzled, though a few of them were smiling and looking satisfied.
Scott wasn't paying attention to the students for once, wasn't keeping track of how well they were playing his game. His head was down as he watched his hands, and he bobbed his head to the music. His vocal flexibility was amazing, and Remy wondered if Scott had had to learn to do that with his voice or if it was a natural talent. Remy also wondered why, if Scott could sing this well, no one at the school seemed to know about it. If talk in the teachers' lounge and in the hallways was any indication, Scott's most admirable non-teacher skill was playing pool. His mutation was a major factor in that - when he lost his normal sight he gained a new type of vision, one that allowed him track motion and calculate angles in an instant. He was a pool shark. Remy had lost enough money to Scott to know that.
Singing, on the other hand, hardly seemed like something Scott's mutation would have boosted.
"Take a shower and shine your shoes
You got no time to lose
You are young men you must be living
Go now, you are forgiven..."
Remy drew back. He could feel something crawling along the back of his neck, and unease whispered in his blood. If the French song for Jean had been a sharp reminder of her recent death, this song spoke of something older, a deep-rooted agony that Scott kept close to his chest.
Scott's voice was strong and bold, and Remy would have thoroughly enjoyed the melody if he hadn't been studying Scott's face, trying to read the man's expression even though Scott's eyes were hidden.
Some of the students joined in on the final chorus, and others caught on. Soon the whole room was swaying to the beat, and even the bartender was nodding along.
"Go now, you are forgiven.
Go now, you are forgiven, go."
A few of the better singers in the crowd picked up on a harmony for the chorus and raised their voices, twining with Scott's melody. He threw his head back and let his voice swell to full volume, and the students rallied around him, singing loud and strong along with him.
The last chorus ended, and Scott finished the song as he began, with that jumping riff, during which the students watched him and swayed. He played through the chords a couple of times and then the song ended in a single simple note.
The students exploded into applause and cheers, and Scott bowed his head as if crushed beneath the onslaught of sound. Remy stood up and reached out.
"Scott," he said, then went to correct himself.
The bartender beat him to it. "Mike, your backpack is ringing."
Scott's head came up, and he looked pale. He snatched the backpack out of the bartender's hands and dug through it, frantic. He found his cellphone and turned away from the crowd, one hand over his ear to block out their noise. Remy watched Scott's mouth harden into a thin line, and when the cellphone snapped shut Mike was gone.
Scott actually looked nervous as he cleared his throat and addressed the crowd.
"Listen, I'm sorry I was late tonight, and I don't want to have to do this, but an emergency has come up at the school and I'm needed, so -- next week, okay?" He slapped some bills down on the bar for the coffee, handed back the guitar, and practically tore out of the bar, leaving confused students in his wake.
Remy followed.
"Slow down, homme. Quelle probleme?"
"Rogue," Scott said. "Magneto has her. We have to go."
Remy was surprised Scott didn't strip right then and there in the street to change into his uniform. A few moments later the roar of the Blackbird told him that, had help not been forthcoming, Scott might have done just that. He scrambled aboard the plane before the hatch was fully lowered, and Remy had to hurry to catch up.
"What about the bikes?" he asked.
"Later." Scott opened his backpack and started getting changed right there, oblivious to the others' shocked stares. "Storm, give me a sit-rep."
The white-haired girl tore her gaze away from her field leader's bare torso. "Rogue has been MIA two hours. Some of the younger students realized she was gone when she didn't show up for night duty in the security office."
Scott nodded and tugged his glasses off. Remy glimpsed dark eyelashes flutter against high cheekbones before the visor was on, and Cyclops was back in action.
Scott did lead a double life.
"Does the Professor have a lock on her?" he asked.
"Yes," Hank said.
Ororo guided the jet back up into the air. "ETA thirty minutes. Hank and Logan have specs on the facilities."
Remy and Scott moved to where Logan had a map spread out on the floor.
Hank, who hung from the ceiling, pointed out where Rogue was being held captive. Internally, Remy winced. The place was damn well guarded. They had no clue how many troops were stationed there, and this was going to get ugly quickly. Scott nodded, face utterly blank, and Remy knew the man was planning.
"Do we know where they're keeping her?" Scott asked.
"Main bunker several floors down," Ororo said.
Scott considered a moment longer, then began to lay out his plans. His grip of tactics was awe-inspiring, and Remy took a moment to admire his team leader's skill before he leaned in and listened. It was a solid plan, but there was so little they knew about the place.
Usually missions were hardly this rushed, but when Rogue mixed with Magneto it generally meant humanity was doomed.
Humanity was doomed, because not even Scott's tactical genius could have prepared them for this.
The five X-Men crouched on the hill above the complex and stared down at the masses of troops in something akin to shock. Armed men in uniforms swarmed the complex like ants.
"Merde," Remy said.
"Sheisse," Hank agreed.
Scott looked at him.
"What?" Hank widened his eyes innocently. "I learned it from Kurt."
"Not now," Scott said. "Okay then. Storm, I want you to go in heavy and hard. Wind and rain - a little electricity if you have to. Beast, Wolverine, I want you to go in and do a little wholesale destruction. As many as you can, right?"
At Logan's feral grin Scott added, "No killing." He turned to Remy. "Use your cards to get us a way in. Bomb if you don't have time to thieve, understand?"
"And you?" Ororo asked.
"I'll be watching Gambit's back. Wolverine, you're on point. Go." Scott turned away and began to slide down the hill in stealthy silence.
For being built like a tank, Logan could also move with surprising silence, and he followed. Remy freed his cards as he followed. This was a suicide mission - he just knew it.
"I always knew I was destined for a sad, pathetic death," he murmured to himself.
Hank shot him a look.
"Je n'ai pas de probleme," Remy murmured innocently and followed the rest of the team down the hill. Storm stayed crouched low in the grass, ready to work her weather magic. If they got out of this alive, Remy would have to ask her when she taught Scott to speak French.
Lightning slashed the sky, and if Remy had been a century or so older and trapped in a room with dusty books and a raven it would have been the perfect setting for a Poe story.
Only with soldiers and the imminent death of five young mutants.
Most people would have ducked and run for cover when a storm like that ripped itself out of the sky. These soldiers were ready for them, though. Instead of whipping out the military-issue umbrellas they just moved into formation and stood, slowly getting soaked and waiting to murder.
Remy surveyed the hordes of young men and decided that for once his hands might honestly slip and he would say a "screw it" to the Professor's non-lethal policy.
Adamantium claws snicked free, and Logan hunkered down, muscles tensed to spring. Remy probably wouldn't be the only one disregarding that rule tonight.
Lightning exploded over head, blinding white and far too close. Some of the soldiers screamed. Remy reckoned some of them died silently, and then Logan and Hank dove straight into the middle of the fray. The chatter of gunfire cut through the air. Logan was probably deaf from all the noise, but that didn't matter. Men were going to die tonight.
Adrenaline was beginning to trickle through Remy's limbs. He knew this sinking, elated sensation - he hadn't felt this since his power first manifested, back when it was completely out of his control. He shivered. Beside him, Scott knelt, utterly still, focused on the battle. Was he even breathing?
Remy almost bit through his tongue so as not to cry out and flung himself backward. A series of red blasts erupted toward the base like machine-gun rounds. Scott had one hand up to the side of his visor and was tapping like he was trying to send a message in Morse code, head turning this way and that like a curious bird. In response, an onslaught of gunfire came at the hill, and Scott flung himself down.
Remy flattened himself against the grass.
"Are you insane? You gave away our position!"
But Scott was peeking up, ducking down, firing, peeking up, ducking down, firing. He didn't really need to see, didn't need a real mark, just a memory of a mark, and he could hit.
"Now!" Logan yelled.
And Scott shot to his feet, sprinting toward the base at full-tilt. Remy scrambled up and followed, ducking behind the taller man. Scott blasted a path clear, and Remy covered his other side. He rationed his cards carefully, using them to take down the punk with the machine gun, and the one moron who had the bayonet. Soldiers cried out and fell back when the optic blasts came at them. Scott pivoted and fired off a series of short, sharp blasts that gave Remy room to work, and he opened the first door the old fashioned way, all boots and no finesse.
More soldiers greeted his effort, and Remy went into the fray with fists flying. He was unafraid to use his mutant powers, and in fact was glad for the edge they gave him in a fight. But sometimes he just had to use his hands.
Apparently Scott felt the same. In the back of his mind Remy knew Scott was a trained martial artist, but when mutant powers abounded Scott usually didn't need to get up close and personal with an opponent. After all, his talent was ideal for distance sniping. Scott was just as much a man as Logan or Remy, no matter how much the others mocked him for his argyle sweaters and neat hair. Scott didn't just enjoy an honest skin-fight, he reveled in it. Remy could do savate, and that was no mean feat, but Scott - was like a dancer.
If a dancer broke men's jaws mid-routine.
Scott was everywhere at once, punching and kicking with smooth, military precision. Remy made it past the worst of the guards and to the next door. This one was more complicated and wouldn't be defeated by an easy boot to the lock, so Remy had to put his thief skills to good use. That left Scott on his own.
The other man was fine.
A fist to the jaw sent one guard staggering backward with a sickening crunch of bone. Scott didn't stop. He spun and lashed out, a snap-kick to the groin that disabled another guard, possibly permanently. Scott stepped over his prone form and caught a third guard in a head lock, tossed him to the ground, kicked him in the ribs, and then he finished the last guard with an elbow to the nose.
Remy smiled grimly to himself and prodded at the lock, feeling along for the delicate shift when the pins and barrels would obey him. More people really did need to use their elbows in a fight.
The door was open, and then the two men faced the conundrum of fighting in a stairwell. On the one hand, a severely limited number of guards could engage them at once. That was an advantage. The disadvantage was that the guards were pressing on from all sides and came in literal waves.
Remy was going to drown in cammo uniforms and green berets. Of all the ways to die.
There was a scream over the comms. Then static. And Hank began to swear. Storm was down. More swearing from Logan.
"Sit rep!" Scott demanded.
"Storm is down. Net. They've boxed her in. I'm going after her." Hank.
"No," Scott said. "Wolverine, take care of it. Beast - hold your position."
"Cyke - "
"Hold it."
That moment of distraction was all it took for Remy to lose his rhythm. He took a vicious uppercut to the chin and went down hard.
"This is going to hurt," Scott warned.
The breath was slammed from Remy's lungs when Scott scooped him up. The abrupt yank of Scott's arm into Remy's diaphragm cut off his breathing for a sharp second. Then everything went red, and there was a cacophony of screams.
The entire world rumbled and trembled, and then everything was grey.
Scott hit the ground and rolled - on top of Remy.
A moment later Scott was on his feet and scanning their surroundings. Remy shook himself out and climbed to his feet. His ribs ached - probably from where he'd been kicked and then where he got a chest full of Cyclops.
They were on the landing two level below the stairwell they had been on. And the entirety of the top was caved in. Remy turned to Scott, eyes wide. That cave-in had to have killed at least a hundred men.
Scott reached up and adjusted his visor, and Remy knew the moment the other man's eyes opened again. Scott's jaw tightened, and his face went utterly pale. He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth hard enough to bruise and looked like he wanted to be ill right then and there.
Then he swallowed hard.
"Beast, sit rep."
"Storm is injured but still capable. Wolverine is - well. And on your end?"
"The stairwell is cut off. You'll have to find another way in."
"Hunh. Wondered what that noise was." Logan grunted, and they could hear Ororo murmuring in the background.
"Are you two unhurt?" Hank asked.
"You take a Cyclops to the chest and see how you fare," Remy said.
Scott wasn't amused. "We're moving in. Follow when you can." He spun on his heel and proceeded down the stairs. Tension thrummed from every line in his body, and Remy was sure the man would feel it in the days following this battle.
They made it to the bottom of the stairs, taking the entire journey in silence, oblivious to Hank, Logan, and Ororo cursing out their enemies and forming impromptu battle plans as they slugged their way through the guards. Ororo agreed to stay outside and get the Blackbird ready to run - she would be the getaway driver. She cracked a joke about being the mob moll, and Hank's responding laughter was pained. Ororo worked best when outside and was also a little claustrophobic. It was best for all involved if she stayed where she was.
Remy picked the lock on the door at the bottom of the stairwell and wondered at enjoying the luxury of actually having the time to work well on a lock. Scott loomed over him, entire body thrumming with tension, ready for whatever was on the other side of the door.
Which was more guards.
Remy couldn't do much more than duck when the gunfire started. Scott launched himself into the action head-first. Red ricocheted down the hallway, and then Remy was on his feet, cards flying.
"Do we have a lock on the target?" Hank asked.
"Yes," Scott said. "We're on the bottom floor. ETA?"
"Give us ten minutes," Logan said. There was a grunt, a scream, and then Hank cursed in German. "Make that fifteen."
"Fine." Scott popped a guard in the jaw and let a red blast fly. It rebounded off a mirror mounted on the wall and hit another guard in the chest, knocking him on his back. Scott dropped into a crouch and then his leg swept out, and three more guards went down.
How the hell did Scott know where Rogue was?
"Cyclops, we have reinforcements pouring out of the sky as we speak." Ororo's voice chattered to life over the comms. "I cloaked the Blackbird and I'm throwing them the storm of the century - no King pun intended - but we're, well. What's the German word for it?"
"Gebumst," Hank supplied helpfully.
"Exactly."
"What do you want us to do, Cyke?" Logan asked.
He was deferring to the team leader. That could only mean one thing. Remy glanced at Scott.
"Well, mon capitain?" And he kicked another guard squarely in the groin.
"Hank, Beast, move in. Get Rogue. That's the objective, and we'd better do it. Gambit will meet you here." Scott spun and drove a fist squarely into as guard's solar plexus, and Remy saw the guard's eyes go wide and then close. Scott flung the unconscious body aside and started for the other end of the corridor.
After a moment, Remy scrambled to follow him.
They made it to the door, and Remy practically flung himself at it. He wasn't sure if he wanted to get it open soon or until Hank and Logan arrived.
The men in question hailed their arrival with a feral roar and guards screaming like little girls when the man with adamantium claws came down on them like the wrath of an unholy god. Remy thought it was called Tenchu in Japanese. Logan was into Japanese for some reason. He forced himself to cease his mental ramblings and concentrated on the door.
This lock was top-of-the-line. Last Remy had checked its specs were still up in the air and the company's R&D was sitting on its plans like it was the Holy Grail. Which it was - but only of locks.
Hank slammed the door shut and pressed his weight against it.
"We have a good fifteen minutes to get in there, get her, and get out before they catch up with us," he said.
Scott shook his head. "Fifteen minutes won't even touch the tip of the iceberg with Magneto." On the floor, a guard groaned, and Scott nudged him none too gently in the ribs with the toe of his boot.
"If we stick together, we can make it out as a team," Hank said. "We could --"
"I'll give us an exit strategy," Scott said. "She'll be near dead when Magneto's done with her. Logan - you can save her. But she'll be a dead-weight while she recovers, and Logan may be too. The two of you burdened down with casualties won't make it through that, even with me. So I'll go make things square."
His voice was dead, and everything he said was ruthlessly logical. Logan grabbed Scott and slammed him up against the wall.
"Have you lost your mind?"
"Hands off," Scott said.
"There's no way you'll survive those men out there. You know that." Logan's teeth were bared in a snarl.
Scott's expression remained utterly blank. "This mission is about getting Rogue home. Everyone getting out alive is a luxury, not a requirement. The mission is what matters, understand?"
"No man gets left behind, dammit!"
"The longer we wait the closer she is to death," Scott said. "I am your field leader and I am ordering you to turn around and go get our comrade."
Logan snarled again. Remy saw Scott's hand twitch and remembered too late that Scott had controls for his visor in his gloves as well.
The blast caught Logan square in the face and knocked him back. Scott stepped away from the wall and headed for the door.
Hank stared at him for a long time before he finally stepped aside.
"Scott --!" Remy called out.
He paused and looked over his shoulder. "Go now." And he vanished into the stairwell.
Logan shook off the remaining effects of the blast and lunged to follow. Hank and Remy caught him and held him back.
"Captain's orders," Hank said. "Let's go."
Remy cradled Rogue's limp body in his arms and gazed around at the destruction. Magneto had held them off for two hours, but eventually they broke through and freed Rogue from her cage. There was a moment of agonizing indecision before Logan reached out and touched her. A few moments later he was slumped over unconscious as well, but Rogue would live. That much Remy knew.
Hank was carrying Logan like the man weighed nothing, and he looked at Remy.
Scott had ordered them into radio silence until they completed their task so there would be no distractions.
Hank reached up and turned on his comm.
"Cyke, sit rep! ETA ten minutes."
"He's in no condition to answer." Ororo sounded furious - and like she'd been crying.
"What's going on?" Hank headed for the door, taking point to shield Remy and his precious cargo.
"He ordered me to stay in the Blackbird for you to get out here. I'm hitting them with everything I've got short of killing them all, but you had better get out here fast."
"On our way, cherie," Remy said.
The stairwell was littered with bodies as they scrambled toward open air and freedom. Remy
didn't stop to look, but he thought some of them looked dead.
Up on the ground level, Scott had carved them a bloody, body-strewn path. Hank started toward the compound gates, and Remy darted a glance over his shoulder. The soldiers were converging on a single point, a small gun-bunker right on the edge near the fences.
Judging by the lethal red light show, Scott was in there.
"Storm - don't lift the cloak until they're close." Scott's voice over the intercom was broken and staticky, but Remy was damned glad to hear it. He said so.
"I'll be glad to hear your voice telling me Rogue is on the Blackbird," Scott said.
Some of the guards spotted them, and Remy readied a handful of cards, but then Scott was there in the middle of the fray.
They made it to the hill easily, for Scott was drawing all the guards' fire.
The Blackbird shimmered into view and Remy stumbled onboard. Storm was on her feet, helping them strap Rogue and Logan into chairs. Moments later she was back in the pilot's chair.
"Cyke, come on, it's time to go."
"You have to lift off - they have a lock on you," Scott said.
"What? No!" Ororo slammed her fist down on the control board. "Dammit, Scott Summers, now is not the time to become a martyred hero."
"I'm on the other side of the complex from the main cannon - I can't get to it in time," Scott said. "Put up the cloak and lift off and get the hell out of here."
She shrieked at him in French.
"Storm, go. Now."
Remy glanced at Ororo. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears and her face was pale with fury.
"With all due respect, sir, Storm hates you," Remy said.
"Duly noted," was the terse reply. "So go."
"It doesn't have to be this way," Hank said.
There was static.
Hank ripped off his comm and flung it across the cabin.
Hands shaking, Ororo flipped the cloaking switch, and then the Blackbird was in the air.
Moments later, blaring alarms and sirens filled the cockpit.
"I've been painted!" Ororo yelled.
Remy buckled himself in, and Hank flung himself into the copilot's chair.
"They got a lock on me - I'm gonna have to buck it!" Ororo's hands flew across the control panel, and Remy nearly lost whatever he'd had in the past twenty-four hours when the jet barrel-rolled.
Ororo pulled out of the roll and into a vertical loop, and Remy nearly lost his lunch again.
Wailing from the sirens filled his head, and all he could think about was that Scott had probably given his life and they were going to die anyway.
The alarms fell silent mid-loop, and Remy felt like he was suspended upside down in the moment that a streak of red light cut across the compound below - above? sideways? which way was the world right now? - and everything exploded.
It wasn't loud, not at first, just a giant ball of flame and smoke curling upwards.
Then the sound jolted the jet, and Ororo shrieked and fought for control.
Remy leaned over the side of his chair and puked on the floor, though from disorientation or the knowledge that Scott was now dead he wasn't sure.
The Professor met them in the hangar. His face was pale and his expression perfectly stoic, but Remy could see raw pain in the man's eyes. Scott had been like a son to him.
"Well done, my X-Men," he said.
Hank just pushed past him and headed for the med bay. Remy followed and laid Rogue down on the cot beside Logan's.
Hank tugged a lab coat on over his uniform and set to work, barking orders at Ororo who scrambled to obey. Hank's hands shook as he set up IVs and tugged equipment into place.
Remy lingered in the doorway and watched for a moment or two, but Hank was lost in his own world. He was keeping busy so as not to think, and Ororo had joined him. Remy would be more of a help than a hindrance. It took a moment before he had the strength of will to let go of the doorframe and order his feet to walk.
He passed the Professor in the hallway but said nothing to the man, instead headed for his room. He brushed his teeth and rinsed his mouth to get rid of the taste and scent of vomit, and then he sat down on the edge of his bed in the dark.
A glance at the clock on the wall told him that it was only three in the morning. He and Scott had been at that bar a mere five hours ago.
Five hours ago Remy learned that Scott was a charming, funny man named Mike who could sing and play the guitar.
Five hours ago, Scott was still alive.
On a whim, Remy stood up and headed down the hallway to Scott's room. After Jean's death, Scott moved back into the room he had occupied as a student and let Hank and Ororo have the double suite instead.
Jean's office was still empty, though. Remy pushed open the door and turned on the light.
A beat-up acoustic guitar stood in the corner on metal stand. Remy had seen it there often, and it really did look out of place amidst the science reference books and the model of the human skeleton. He reached out and ran his fingertips over its glossy surface.
It wouldn't make any music anymore.
The students were still asleep, but some of them had night wandering tendencies, and on a night like tonight when one of their own went missing their sleep would be uneasy. Remy suspected that in several of the rooms the students were awake, huddled together in the darkness and listening, waiting for any news.
Remy was a thief and more silent than a grave when he so chose. The students wouldn't hear anything from him tonight. He shouldn't be the one to tell them that their beloved Cyclops was gone. He drifted down the hallway, years of habit and training making his footsteps soundless, and he found Scott's room.
It was military neat, precisely organized, a place for everything and everything in its place. Remy probably could have bounced a quarter off the comforter, the bed was so well made. He supposed that Scott, who was blind for half an hour every morning during his morning ablutions, had to keep everything well-organized, but Remy was sure that rooms didn't look this neat outside of JC Penney catalogues.
There were a couple of personal touches in the room - a picture of Scott and Jean on the night stand, a hardcover book lying on the night stand, a stray joker from a deck acting as a bookmark - but it was as private and well-kept as Scott the man.
Remy sat down on the bed and stared down at his hands. He had always prided himself on being good with his hands, but what good was his speed, his leger-demain, if he couldn't save one of his own teammates? A pile of folded sweaters sat on a chair in the corner. Remy reached out and picked one up. Argyle, soft and worn beneath his hands. Something plastic and hard tumbled out of the woolen folds and landed on Remy's lap. It was dark in the room, and he couldn't see, so he fumbled for it, cursing under his breath.
Scott would kill him if he lost it, whatever it was.
Remy's fingers brushed over a small, smooth piece of plastic, and he held it up, tilting it into the moonlight to see what it was. A guitar pick, chipped on one side. Breath hitched in Remy's throat, and he set the guitar pick down on the pile of sweaters.
Scott wouldn't care if Remy lost the pick, not anymore.
He couldn't decide if he still wanted to burn the hideous sweaters or keep them.
The students would want to keep them definitely.
Remy tossed the sweater down, disgusted at Scott's unbelievably horrible taste in non-mission, non-Friday night gig clothes. After a moment of gazing at the rumpled cloth he leaned down and picked it up. Guilt gnawed at him and he folded the sweater, smoothing out the wrinkles with trembling hands. His hands never trembled.
He laid the sweater back down on top of the others and flopped back on the bed. For an instant he felt guilty for ruining Scott's impeccable bed-making, but then he closed his eyes and tried to remember what Scott's voice sounded like.
Every time he tried to remember what Scott sounded like when he sang it was as if the record in his mind was derailed and the stylus was yanked away, leaving a yawning blank. Remy sighed and squinted at the clock on the wall. It was still a while before the sun rose.
He closed his eyes.
"Rise and shine, Gumbo," Logan drawled.
Remy opened his eyes. Hank and Ororo were standing in the doorway, and it was several moments before Remy remembered that he was in Scott's room.
"Logan," he said. "You are awake."
"Wish we could say the same about Rogue," Hank said ruefully.
Remy's brow furrowed. "Rogue? How is she?"
"She'll be fine," Ororo said. "She's just still unconscious. Hank reckons it'll be a few days."
"That is good news." Remy ran a hand through his hair and groaned. He needed to brush his teeth.
"Ororo and I went back to the base, sneaked in with Kurt and checked around. Fire crews and news crews swarming the place, but we looked," Hank said softly.
Remy raised his eyebrows.
Logan growled under his breath, hands curled into fists.
Ororo just looked away.
Logan's head snapped up, and he turned, hunkering down, tense.
"What is it?" Remy asked. "What do you smell?"
"Not smell." Logan cocked his head to one side. "Hear."
"What do you hear?" Ororo straightened up.
"Music." Logan started for the windows, flung them wide and stuck his head out.
"Music?" Hank echoed. "What?"
Remy pushed past both of them and leaned out the window. And he could hear familiar strains of a song, jumping chords and artful picking.
And then that voice, that voice Remy had tried all night to hear.
"There was a decorated general with a heart of gold
That likened him to all the stories he told..."
Remy craned his neck, squinting, trying to see against the brilliant radiance of the dawn.
"Who's out there?" Logan snarled.
Remy peered into the shadows and saw the unthinkable.
Scott Summers was perched on the massive bough just below his window, windblown and golden in the dawn, a mug of black coffee beside one knee, shirtless in a pair of jeans and strumming Jean's guitar.
"But the men stood fast with their guns on their shoulders
Not knowing what to do with their contradicting orders.
The general said he would do his own duty but would extend it no further,
The men could go as they pleased."
On either side of Remy, Logan and Hank stared, slack-jawed, in utter disbelief. Ororo had one hand pressed to her mouth and looked ready to scream at seeing a ghost or cry in sheer relief.
"Not a man moved - their eyes gazed ahead
Till one by one they stepped back and not a word was said
And the old general was left with his own words echoing in his head.
He then prepared to fight. He said..."
"Scott?" Hank's voice was low, as if he said the name too loudly it would shatter the vision.
Ororo sank against Hank's side, shoulders shaking silently.
"I have seen the others and
I have discovered that this fight is not worth fighting."
The corner of Scott's mouth curved up in a slightly tired, contented smile.
"And I've seen their mothers
And I will no other to follow me where I'm going, so..."
Remy decided that he would remember the words to this song for the rest of his life.
"Take a shower and shine your shoes,
You got no time to lose, you are young men you must be living...
Go now, you are forgiven..."
Song credits:
"Gay" by Stephen Lynch
"Swing Life Away" by Rise Against
"C'etait L'hiver" by Francis Cabrel
"The General" by The Dispatch
German credits also go to hell_is_bloody
Questions about Scott as Mike? Best redirect your thoughts to Minisinoo...she mentioned it was Scott's real name. So I went with it.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-04-01 10:32 am (UTC)"Well, he did make the mistake of once flirting with my fiancee in front of me, so now he is forever cursed against flirting with redheads." Scott lifted his chin at the pretty redheaded girl lounging on the barstool at his feet and said, "See, Remy? Beautiful redhead right here. Say something witty and charming."
Remy blinked. "What?"
"See? Cursed!"
It's hard to catch Remy off guard!
no subject
Date: 2007-04-01 06:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-01 12:32 pm (UTC)And the image of Scott playing a guitar, that's also something I'll forever keep in mind.
But I'm really curious about how Scott got back home, not that I'm not grateful that he's alive.
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Date: 2007-04-01 06:03 pm (UTC)As for Scott playing the guitar - I stole it from movie-verse, because according to most rumours and tales, James Marsden can sing.
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Date: 2007-04-01 01:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-01 06:06 pm (UTC)Thanks for reading. When I woke up this morning I didn't think this would have so many responses already.
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Date: 2007-04-02 12:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-02 04:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-02 01:22 am (UTC)I especially liked the way you wrote the Sentinel battle at the very beginnning. It just felt like a comic book action sequence. Color me impressed! And Gambit's snark was priceless and so very much in character. Especially this: Logan was into Japanese for some reason. I laughed out loud.
Thanks for writing!
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Date: 2007-04-02 04:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-02 03:15 pm (UTC)I can wait for the next one my friend.!!!
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Date: 2007-04-02 06:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-02 11:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-02 05:16 pm (UTC)Remy's outsider POV fits perfectly here-- he seems to be trying to understand someone that he'd like to be friends with, that he admires but recognizes the fact that Scott keeps him at arms length. Maybe he feels he needs to after Jean. Oh and how much did my lip wibble after C'etait L'hiver?
The dialogue is brilliant, just BRILLIANT. I could not ask for better snark. The part about cursed against all red-head was the BEST. Musician!Scott absolutely made me melt and all the song choices were awesome from Stephen Lynch (BWAH!) to the General (*woeface*). And you action scenes! Guh! I wish I could write action scenes like that! The words actually moved as quickly as the fighting would have.
I can't even talk about the ending 'cause I'm going to get all upset over my morning coffee. Ow, ow, ow, ow ow!
This is just... whoa. SO. Much. WHOA. Thank you SOOOOOOO much! You rock like the Alps.
no subject
Date: 2007-04-02 06:33 pm (UTC)Thanks for a great story
Date: 2007-05-31 08:24 pm (UTC)As to a title - how about "Orpheus and Odysseus"? Orpheus for the bard that went into hell to retrieve his love and Odysseus for the clever general who got back home in spite of all the gods threw at him? Your Scott shows both sides.