Remy and Ororo | Saturday

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While Remy is busy evading the authorities in Europe he takes some time out to... cook?



İstiklal Avenue was busy, not the shocking deluge of the weekend crowds, but a steady flow of pedestrians from both the locals and the tourists. It was typical LeBeau, a meeting reached through a place with heavy enough crowds to use either as cover or to watch in counter-surveillance. Before reaching Taksim Square, there was a small side street, which wended away from the crowds and led down away from the more modern store fronts, and into a neighbourhood of shorter, older buildings.

Outside of a small restaurant, Remy LeBeau was sitting at a small table, chatting with two men over tiny cups of coffee. At Ororo's approach, Remy shook both of their hands, and got up to greet her in the street.

"Sorry 'bout de roundabout instructions to get here, chere."

"After a 12-hour plane ride it felt rather nice to stretch my legs with a walk," Ororo replied, slipping her arms around his waist and leaning in for a kiss. It had been a relief to see him at the restaurant, no matter her nonchalance - she had been half-afraid she would have arrived in Turkey only to find Remy had to disappear once again into obscurity.

"Hope dat you not 'gainst a bit more of a walk." Remy led her through the building, exiting out the rear entrance, and walking down a series of narrow alleys. Remy seemed at ease with the surroundings, but it wasn't hard to notice the slight limp on the Cajun. Once they had reached into a residential area, Remy pulled her off into a tiny walled garden, and sat her down at a small table beside a bottle of wine.

"Dis 'bout to be de most dangerous mission of you life. Remy cooking."

Ororo's eyebrows shot up, and she couldn't suppress the look of surprise that came over her face. "Cooking? Are you sure the heat has not gotten to you?" she teased.

"Remy spent six months de slave of a crazy backswamp voodoo queen. Dat meant I can cook." LeBeau smiled crookedly. The garden was very small, mostly stone and small raised beds of thick stemmed deep green plants. It was behind a tall, four story house done in pale, dun stone that could have been built in the last decade or several centuries ago, the style so archetypal.

Remy disappeared inside for a few moments, and returned, quickly setting out a couple of glasses and some cutlery, leaving the wine for her to uncork. He finally emerged again with a fat bottomed skillet and a basket of tandir bread. He placed the skillet down and removed the lid, revealing a stew like mixture of lamb and vegetables. "Çoban kavurma. De bread comes from Kahlil's place down de alley."

Ororo leaned over the skillet and inhaled. "It smells heavenly." She glanced up and smiled at the Cajun, offering him one of the glasses of wine she had poured in his absence. "Though I think I could chew on cardboard and not mind the taste if you were sharing it with me. I am glad to see you, Remy."

"Missed you too, chere." He took the glass and sat down a touch awkwardly, positioning himself in his chair. "As for cardboard, well, dere's a reason dat de bread is from down de street. Remy not ever going to be in de running for Lorna's job."

He took a sip, the same kind of odd smile on his face. Remy tended to show expression through his eyes, and it was quite an admission of trust in Ororo that he tried to drop his professional mask and allow casual expression in his face. The trouble was, unlike the smooth and totally controlled facial movements he used with his covers and on the job, casual was something that LeBeau wasn't comfortable with, and his expressions often came off crooked or puzzled, as if not sure just what to do.

Ororo merely smiled back, looking much more relaxed and at ease in the dry heat of the day. After a few sips of wine she set down her glass and tore off a piece of bread, dipping it into the stew and soaking it up. Her expression after the first bite showed that she was both pleased and surprised - despite Remy's words she hadn't expected the food to taste so... authentic.

Remy dipped his fingers into the bowl, eating easily in the local fashion. One of the things LeBeau was very good at was blending in, and after almost two decades in the field, he could slip on and off the customs of most of Europe and the Med as effortlessly as his trenchcoat.

After a few bites, LeBeau stopped and took a sip from his glass. "You looking well, chere. I take it dat de X-Men haven't had to save de world in de last week or so?"

"Not the whole world, no," she said, only half-joking. Picking up her wineglass, she took a meditative sip. "Though even a day without a catastrophe rarely runs as smoothly as you would like. Now that my responsibilities with the school have lessened, I am trying to find what I will do with my time from now own. The prospect is somewhat daunting."

"I could call Arlen. He'd be happy to give you a half dozen local jobs worthy of your talent." Remy said, referring to the new head of the Thieves Guild in New Orleans. The lanky Cajun was only mostly kidding; Ororo had a new restlessness about her, something that he'd watched her buried under her work as Headmistress and the responsibilities under the school. It could perhaps be his own experience colouring it, but when she'd been on the run, on the edge, with nothing but her wits and her skills to carry her, there had been something pure in her. He often wondered how much of Ororo was herself, and how much of Ororo was the person she needed to be because others needed her.

"'bout Gene Nation. I know dat Sarah and de others got out. Dey resettled back in de tunnels yet?"

The expression that crossed her face was fleeting, but unmistakably unhappy for a moment. "Some of them, yes. A great many of them wished to return and have done so, though it is not the same for them. It may not be for some time." Ororo drew a finger around the rim of her glass. "Some of the others wish to stay on the surface. I have been doing what I can do help them. It is arguably a much more difficult endeavor than going underground ever was."

"Considering de resources de Professor has, de only ones dat you not going to be able to help are going to be de ones dat don't want help. You did good." Remy observed, and reached for his drink again.

Ororo was about to protest this, but realized she didn't want to spoil the visit with a discussion of certain ornery mutants and their problems. So instead she merely smiled and began to eat again, savoring the rich flavors of the meat and spices. "Do you know when you may be back in the States?" she ventured after a moment, looking at him hopefully.

"Dat's going to take some time." Remy said slowly, using the glass as a convenient pause. "De only way to keep Langstrom's people from looking too close is to give them something far away to worry 'bout. De more sure I can make dem dat I'm operating in Europe or Asia, de less resources day going to have to cover the possibility of me moving in and out of de States."

Remy leaned back in his chair, his expression clouded. "'bout de most dangerous thing in de world to Langstrom is me. I know where de bodies are buried, including de ones Gambit created. De possibility of me being alive and on de loose can put de whole Agency in jeopardy, and if he's got a reason to be able to tie me to de Center or de school..." The Cajun shook his head. "I'm not ready to risk anyone other den me."

Ororo tried to keep her disappointment from showing; of course she didn't begrudge him the safety that distance brought, and she knew too well the danger his presence posed to Langstrom and what that man might do to eliminate it. Those facts, however, didn't erase the fact that she missed him, and wanted him back.

"Of course," she said with a measured nod, wiping her fingers neatly on the napkin that hung off her lap. "That seems wise."

"Non, it seems like a giant pain in de ass. Remy much rather be home den letting killers and guns for hire chase me 'round Europe. Den 'gain, I don't really have de right to complain either." He said simply. He was the Witness for Gambit, after all. If he dragged in those he cared about to be hurt, that would be the end of who Remy was, he was sure of that.

"On de plus side, least we get to have some geographically significant dates in de process, neh?"

"That is certainly true. I cannot say I mind that part."

"Heard dat Wakanda went strange a little while back. According to my people, de whole country sort of hiccuped 'fore coming back to normal." Remy raised his glass for a sip, a wry look on his face and just a hint of amusement in his eyes. "How is de King den?"

"T'Challa is well," Ororo replied, trying not to look embarrassed and mostly succeeding. "It was an... interesting visit, to be sure. I blame Nathan for the hiccup - not that it was his fault, at all, but I am sure that it was his luck that had us arriving there just in time to be sucked into it all."

"I think dat we all de magnets for bad luck. Dis point, every time dat Remy step off de plane, I'm expecting to see some supervillain team attack de terminal."

"Catastrophe does seem to follow where we go," the silver-haired woman agreed, finishing her glass of wine and setting it down on the table between them. Leaning back in her chair, she stretched out a leg and brushed Remy's ankle with her foot, smoothing it up his calf. "Perhaps we ought to stay inside, just to be safe."

"Come all de way to one of de oldest, greatest cities in de world, and all you want to do is spend all you time inside having sex?" Remy finished his glass of wine. "I knew dere was a reason dat I love you, chere."