Log [Alison, Remy] Moments of Transition...

[x-dazzler.livejournal.com]

Saturday afternoon, before Nathan's return to the mansion. Remy drops by Alison's room to talk to her, having a few questions about a package he was asked to deliver not so long ago. Alison uses the one thing to distract him that is impossible to ignore - Sabertooth.

If you had bet Remy LeBeau a hundred dollars that he would be willingly going into Alison Blaire's room, he would have laughed and given you ten to one odds. That explained some of the discomfort he felt outside of the door. Haroun he got along with well enough in a distant fashion; they shared experience in the same kind of world at the very least. But Blaire was something of a puzzle to him. On the basic level, he simply disliked her. However, it wasn't as easy to simply write her off as he wished, and his own training kept niggling at little details about her that didn't fit.

For example, he was sure that she had answers to questions he'd been asking, and no one was saying. Remy had already had a meeting with Xavier, and the argument had been pointless in the face of Xavier's calm unwillingness to move on his position. A quick look at the journals and a few innocent questions had started to put pieces together of what had happened recently, but the only way to confirm any of it was to talk to Blaire.

Unfortunately, Remy just couldn't leave things hanging, and he mentally cursed that lack as he knocked at the door.

The door whipped open almost the moment after he knocked, Alison looking up at him with what had been the mild curiosity of someone wondering who was there - and then utter blankness as she saw him. "Huh." Blink. "Uh, I mean hi!" A scarf held her hair back and from the pile of papers and dust in a corner, it seemed obvious she had been going about the mundane task of cleaning up.

Belatedly, she stepped back, dancing on the ball of her feet just a bit before finally taking a step to the side. "C'mon in." This was, in so many ways, so very weird. The curtains were drawn back, allowing the blazing sun to race into the room, highlighting the spots of bright colors in the Moroccan style living room. The air was redolent with the smell of mint tea and Alison glanced at the kettle pensively, before eyeing Remy once more. "Tea?"

"Non, merci." Remy stepped in, looking around. It was a little redolent, not the kind of thing he would have expected. Obviously Haroun's terrorist days had given him a taste for luxuries, and Blaire had gone along with him. The smell of mint reminded him of days in the Middle East, with quiet Agency controllers and representatives of innumerable factions softly plotting violence over the small cups.

At least Blaire seemed as uncomfortable with him being here as he felt. "Hope Remy not interrupting anything."

Slowly, Alison tilted her head to the side. He addressed himself as Miles did. It was nothing new, but the connection was made only now, it seemed. Smiling just a bit, tension easing from her shoulders, she shook her head. "No. Have a seat - or a wall if you'd rather stay standing." The door was closed with a soft click and Alison moved to refresh her own glass of tea. "Break from cleaning is fine, really. And I never did say thank you, did I?" She looked at him pensively as she said that - she'd said enough thank yous in the past weeks, what was one more belated expression of thanks. "Thank you. For helping. After Youra."

"Dat was nothing." He said, well aware of the lie. In truth, he hadn't done anything more than be there in a vague sense, neither as support or therapist. Merely to help her get the job done that she'd promised to do. "Speaking of helping, Remy dropped off your package on de weekend. Figured you'd want to know it was safe."

The statement was deceptively quiet, and the sudden change in her eyes told Remy what he needed to know; Alison had been the original courier. What the hell was Xavier playing at?

It had been a good set-up, she reflected idly, only too aware that she'd given herself away - in a sense, at least. Charles had let her know, of course, but she hadn't even been thinking of that, hadn't expected anything of the sort when she'd opened the door to see Remy there. "Good." She nodded once, then took a sip of her tea. "I was told it was important." The truth. It was always best to stick to the truth, the simplest and barest version of it.

She didn't think he was about to let it go at just that, though. She looked back up again, setting the glass down steadily. And couldn't help the small smile, wishing oh so fervently that he was the one knowing all she did, a switch of places that would have been infinitely more appropriate.

And there was only one real way to utterly distract him from pushing further. Stretching out her right arm to set the tea glass, the whirling Moroccan patterns upon it glinting in the sun, Alison didn't reach up as the edge of the sleeveless blouse she wore followed her motion just enough to reveal a glimpse of three, jabbed black scars on her shoulder.

"Look, I know dat you and de Professor have something--" He was just started on the same point he'd tried to make with the Professor when he caught sight of the scars. The other piece fell into place quickly. She had been waylaid by Creed, which was why Xavier had called Remy. But obviously it went further than anyone had said.

Amanda was in the medlab. The logs had Nate, Scott and Cain out on that Saturday. And here she was, back on her feet. "Sabretooth. Gutted you hard enough dat only 'manda could bring you back." He said simply.

She froze, for a moment, before setting the cup down with a light thunk. And even though she'd done it on purpose, her hand had still trembled slightly after he'd seen. "With a big enough power source. Yes." She pulled back, and allowed herself to reach up and tug the blouse back in place, slowly. "He left town after they pulled me out. That's what your report said." The day out with Lorna had done her more good than she'd imagined, that she could speak so steadily of it. Or maybe it was just Haroun's patience and the time spent propping her up, she thought to herself a touch wryly. He'd deserved all the attention she'd given him, the previous day. He had more of that coming to him, too.

"Pulled you out? Dat means he had time." Remy said, not stating it as a question. Victor Creed would have taken his time, cutting, bleeding, causing all new levels of pain and feeding off of it. He'd heard the man refer to the pain and sadism as 'the glow', a sick addiction that drove him. Remy knew that feeling all too well.

Remy shook his head, and to Alison's surprise, half turned and lifted the edge of his shirt. While many people had commented on Remy's wealth of scars, Alison had never been around him while he was out in the lake or not fully clothed. Therefore, she'd never seen the two rough snakes of puckered scar tissue along his oblique muscle, trailing away down towards his flank.

Reaching out, fingertips tracing the marks a few inches away from his skin, Alison nodded slowly with an undecipherable expression. "He had time." She withdrew her hand, looking up - face paler than it had been moments ago, reminded of things she was doing her best to cope with, one way or another, and not entirely succeeding with all the time. "Jean's not sure why the scars are black, but she figures it has something to do with the healing and the extent of the... damage." She was almost murmuring over the last words, thinking about how it was likely Remy had encountered Sabertooth before. In his 'previous' life.

"Dat's something dat Creed excels in. Ran into him," Remy chewed his lip for a second, letting the shirt drop and cover the scars among many. "Back in '92, I think. Out in Syria. De Agency had me doing some recon work for de Israelis, and de Turks hired Creed to cause as much carnage in de Kurdish camps dat were straddling de border after de Gulf War, and Saddam was coming down on dem."

Remy's tone was light, but there was that cold light in his eyes, something that people like Lorna and Amanda had learned to associate with his Gambit days. "Ran into each other by accident. If I was a half second slower, or two inches to de left, he would have opened me up from throat to naval. As it was, he gouged out a chunk of skin, did a number on my ribs, and forced me to rely on some less den loyal HAMAS spotters to get me out of dere."

"I don't doubt it." There wasn't anything else to say to that, really. Taking a few steps back, she leaned on the counter, feeling the warmth of the kettle radiating lightly against her back. She didn't want to go into what she knew of what Sabertooth had done to her - what was remembered, half-remembered, or in the medical report Jean had filed. Crossing her arms, she waited, feeling oddly unhurried.

"Well, not de best first impression." Remy leaned against the wall, sliding his hands into his pockets, looking far too casual for the horrors he was talking about. "So, five days later, I tracked him to his tent and fired an RPG through de front. Den hit what ran out wit' a truck. Den unloaded a couple of clips from an AK into de lump trapped under de tires, set de truck on fire and walked away. Since den, Creed avoided me in de world of paid killing. Can you guess why, chere?"

"I think it'll just be simpler if you tell me, Remy."  Alison said the words evenly, having listened to what he'd said without speaking a word or moving to stop him, once. Her gaze was steady as she spoke, an odd calmness lingering about her.

"De same reason lions don't hunt other lions, Alison. I wasn't prey any longer. I was a fellow predator." Remy's gaze was cold and muted, like he was speaking from a point far away. "Dat's who Creed is. And until he sees you as anything but prey, he'll keep after you. He's tasted your blood, your scent. Which in his mind, makes you his."

Remy shrugged. "De only way to stop dat is to prove him wrong. Otherwise, it just a matter of time before he comes after you again. Remy bet people being supportive and telling you dat it's alright. But it's not, until you give de pain back to him. Monsters work like dat." Remy smiled thinly. "Dat part I know."

Silence reigned in the room for a while, Alison's gaze not quite focused on Remy while she stared ahead, lost in her thoughts. "Once I'm past wanting him dead just for the sake of wanting him dead, I'll think about that." The words were cold and unfamiliar to her, but they were honest and her eyes focused on his again after she spoke. "But not yet. He doesn't get that from me." Alison blinked at that, and her expression lost some of its remoteness as she gave him a small, self-deprecating smile. "Sides. I don't have an RPG tucked away behind the couch anyway."

"I hope not. Dat's Remy's thing after all." LeBeau shook his head and pushed himself away from the wall. "Just remember dat whatever you decide to do, if you want to be free of him, it's going to have to be you dat faces him. Otherwise, Remy don't see it working." He didn't know whether or not she believed him, but at the very least, she was thinking about it. He took that as the best he was going to get.

He paused at the door and looked over his shoulder. "And traditionally, you store de RPG in de closet with de vacuum and de ski boots. Gives de room a cluttered look otherwise." With that, Remy was gone, the door closing softly behind him. 

Alison listened to the sound of the door clicking into place gently, lips quirking slightly at the advice and then reached back to pick up her tea glass again, staring down into it, the colorful patterns dancing around the rim reflecting in the light brightly.

Her eyes hardened and she took a small sip of the tea, before lowering the glass and looking out the window, wordlessly. Now, of course, it only remained to see how long the desire to outright kill Sabertooth by any means possible would hold on to her.