Mark & Remy, backdated to Monday

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While everyone else is partying, Mark takes a break to reflect upon what's just happened. Remy offers some needed perspective.


No doubt Mark wouldn't hear the end of it from his friends who were down below on the streets of New Orleans, celebrating like the messiah had come, that he wasn't there with him. He had been, of course, swept up by the tide of people that made New Year's at Times Square seem paltry by comparison. For hours he was with them, dancing and drinking and reveling, until he'd begged off and slipped away to the apartment where a little while ago he'd spent a very interesting and memorable forty-two minutes.

He stood on the roof so he could see the party from above but was still separated from it. He took a drag from his joint, letting the smoke fill his lungs before carefully breathing it out into a few misshapen rings. It was nice up here, a peaceful respite from the chaos down below. After what they'd just done, he felt he deserved the break.

"Dere's never parties like in New Orleans, homme. Been to every kind of carnival, festival and orgy both hemispheres have to offer, but dese de only people dat really get it right. Guess Remy must be biased." LeBeau said from the corner of the roof, while Mark had missed him in the shadows. He lit a cigarette with the tip of his finger and came out to stand looking down beside the younger man. Ororo had finally begged off for some sleep, and Remy wasn't ready to join the flow again just yet.

"Jesus fuck, Remy," Mark coughed once he finally managed to have a voice again. "This shit'll make you paranoid, and you're not helping." He forced himself to calm, and gazed at Remy with bloodshot eyes. "Y'all owe me a new phone, by the way. It sacrificed itself to save the levees."

"Sure dat we can make dat happen." Remy said, blowing a smoke ring out into the night air. It wasn't quiet on the roof, not surrounded by people shouting and dancing, but it was still and at least above the chaos. "Paranoia is a good thing in our like of work, Mark. Keeps you alive."

"Keep learnin' all those tricks." Mark's voice was just loud enough to be heard over the din, and he turned back to survey the streets. "Remy, you ever felt so out of your league before? Like you don't belong where you are and everyone's just humorin' you for the meantime?"

"Every day. Remy spends most days trying to be a human being 'round de rest of you. But I guess dats not what you meant." He said, taking a draught from his cigarette as he did so. "Dat what you feelin' like dese days?"

Mark didn't answer straight away. He bit his lip, still scanning the crowds as if he were searching for something down there. "When Wanda and I are looking for the bombs," he said finally, his voice oddly flat, "There was a point where I thought we were gonna lose. She was overwhelmed, and I was tryin' my new fancy armor trick instead of just usin' the powers I know best. And the armor almost broke. It was . . . it reminded me of when we went to get that stuff for Yana, when Sofia and I were separated from the rest of you."

"It's about understanding dat dis job can get you killed for no better reason den you're de one dere at de time." Remy nodded. "What did you learn from it?"

"Well, for one, I learned that my armor's arms are extendable." Mark took one final draw from the joint and then crushed the smoldering remains underfoot. He felt much calmer than he had earlier. "But I'm still not good enough. If I'd been faster or smarter or whatever then we wouldn't've been in that situation ta begin with. I need ta work on making faster decisions, I guess."

"Mark, if I had a dollar for every time dat I thought dat if I was faster or smarter I could have changed things, you'd be getting a much higher salary." Remy sighed, and gave the young man a half smile. "None of us will ever be good enough to stop everything, to not have dose moments when when you feel like you're a second away from failing. You train, you work, and you hope to be good enough for de next day. Dat's all you can do."

"Everyone seems just a thousand times more comfortable with it, you know? Even Doug and Angie, and they don't have Tragic Pasts. S'like . . ." Mark took a deep breath before continuing. "I don't wanna be the one who fucks up and gets anyone killed. If it's gonna happen, then I wanna know that I did everything I could first. D'you ever think about stuff like that?"

"I'm one of de people most likely to get all of you killed. Believe me, it does not escape me." Remy shook his head. "Mark, we train every day to try and avoid dat. We try and be smarter and better den de other people, as a team. Dat's why we brought you in, Mark. You bring things to us dat gives us an edge. Just like Doug, 'manda... god sakes, even Sofia. You're not going to fuck up. We're all going to fuck up, wit' you as part of dis."

"That . . . in a weird way almost makes me feel good. I'm not sure." Mark took off his beret and ran a hand through his hair, still moist from rain and sweat. "You and Pete. Can't ever tell when you're critizin' us or complimentin' us. Tryin' ta keep us on our toes."

"Trying to keep you alive, homme." He said, looking into the night at the party. "Dere isn't a hell dat Wisdom or I can come up wit' dat is ever going to come close to what you might find out dere. Dis is a bad life, Mark. It's easy to forget in times like dis, but what we do is things dat are dangerous, illegal, and most likely will get us killed one day. What we do isn't good. It isn't justice, or righteousness. De only thing dat our job can be is necessary."

"S'good enough for me. Maybe I'm not a ninja-demon queen-spy-monster-son of a megalomaniac, but you know, you can only do so much, I guess." Mark smiled finally, and had to bite back a giggle.

"Dere are drawbacks to de mysterious and violent past, as you might have noticed recently." Remy laced his fingers lightly, letting his forearms rest on the edge of the roof rail. "Sometimes de life is worth it. Most times, it's up to you needing to believe dat it is. Dat's something dat we all go through, Mark, which is in part why you do belong here."

"The other part is 'cuz you need someone who won't take you too seriously, amirite?" Mark inhaled deeply, taking in the warm, humid, odorous air. "Got any plans for when you get back home?"

"Quiet ones. Dis took something out of me. Need to rest and get dat back. Keep an eye on 'Ro." Remy said, idly following a line of drummers who had emerged to the fete. "You?"

Mark shrugged. "You know, the usual dicking around. Check out the Top 40 and make some mixes for next weekend, get a new phone, probably shop for new shoes because I don't think I waterproofed these." A pressure in his chest that he hadn't realized was there before lifted, though whether that was a result of talking or the drugs he couldn't tell. "I think I feel suitably recharged to get back in the fray. See ya down there, boss?"

"Mark. One day you going to hate us for dis, but you going to be a good agent one day." Remy said, unexpectedly and quiet. "You got de right kind of mind, and de right amount of moral flexibility. Wisdom and I trust you in de field because even if you don't have de skills yet, you've got de makeup for it. Dat means we going to break you down, until de things dat need to be done come as unhesitatingly to you as breathing, and you going to wonder why dat you should ever feel guilty 'bout it? We not humouring you, homme. We just helping you make yourself into what's needed."

Mark smiled at that. Not a teasing grin, or a joyous smile, or even his near-constant lascivious smirk. It was humble, but in a way almost vicious. Remy's words weren't by any means morally uplifting, but he wasn't lying, and he trusted Mark. "Gotta do what needs ta be done, right? You sure as fuck can count on me to be right there."