Remy & Cecilia | Catching up (backdated)

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Aided by alcohol, Remy and Cecilia catch up on life. (Backdated to March)

"Thanks again!" Cecilia stepped out of Beth Israel, not even bother to turn around as she called over her shoulder. She shivered as cold air hit her and adjusted her scarf. Then she started walking downtown.

She hadn't wanted to work there, not by a long shot. Being the lowest doctor in the rotation at a Level 2 trauma center was, snobby as it sounded, beneath her. And if she were going to be teaching Mount Sinai students, she might as well be at Mount Sinai.

But the woman to whom she had spoken just sounded so eager on the phone that Cecilia agreed to drop everything and come in. She should have trusted her gut. Because not only was the interview a disorganized disaster (it had taken about 20 minutes for someone to locate the head of surgery, an older man who was vaguely condescending and probably hadn't seen an OR in years), but it ended as the rest of them had.

Sorry, they'd all say. We'd love to hire you, but we can't make it work. Our budget's restrictive. Come find us again in June, when we're not holding spaces for our fifth-year residents.

Four interviews since she'd been back, and no luck. Which is why she now ended up at a nondescript dive in the East Village at 3 p.m., a place she'd frequented quite a bit when she still lived in New York a decade ago and that hadn't changed much in the years since.

Cecilia sat on a stool and flagged down the twenty-something behind the bar. "Hi. All the whiskey please." The bartender raised an eyebrow (which was kind of adorable), and she sighed in response. "Fine. A beer and a bump. We'll start small."

Down at the end of the bar, Remy flipped down the front of the newspaper he'd been reading. The voice was familiar and when he looked, a name clicked into place with it: Cecilia Reyes. She'd been at the mansion, just recently before Remy had escaped the first time, and had left shortly after he'd returned. He wondered just what would bring her into Finnigans on an afternoon. Dan came with a refill of his own drink as he considered the woman.

"Thanks," she nodded to the bartender as he plopped a pint and a shot in front of her. She drummed her fingers on the table for a minute before picking up the shot and throwing it back. Cecilia winced, then caught the bartender eyeing her curiously. "Don't suppose you're hiring, are you?"

"Seriously?" Remy moved from his chair and dropped a bill down for the bartender. "Dan, dis one is on my tab."

"No, no, no." Cecilia turned to face her would-be benefactor, her dignity slightly affronted and then she paused. "Oh!" She grinned, pleased to see a familiar face. That had been increasingly rare for her. "Well, okay. This one's on you, Remy." She looked him over and raised an eyebrow. "Who brings a newspaper to a bar?"

"De kind of person dat enjoys quietly reading de paper at a bar." He said wryly, settling into his stool. "Heard dat you were back at de mansion. What brings you into de city?"

"Emotional masochism, apparently." She shifted to face him and then took a sip from her glass. "I'm looking for work. Something beyond fixing the boo-boos of a bunch of teenagers and their barely-more-mature chaperones."

"And tending bar is what you were thinking of? Don't lie to a liar, femme."

"What? No, menso." Cecilia wrinkled her nose. "I'm Dr. Reyes, and Dr. Reyes I shall stay. Assuming anyone finds room for me in their budget. Apparently it's a hard time for well-pedigreed Latina doctors fresh off two years of altruism.

"So, you know, if that doesn't work out," she raised her glass to him, "I'll just become a barfly, I guess."

"It has some drawbacks. Like a lack of funds." He took a sip. "Dere really not enough work for you at de mansion?"

"Not these days. Seems like the kids have quieted down, and so have their teachers. And fewer people, or at least it feels that way. Anyway," Cecilia shrugged, "that's not the point. I trained for a long time. The mansion can be a little limiting." She raised her glass to her lips. "Besides," she added before taking a sip, "Westchester 24-7? Ick."

"Hard to mix dat schedule wit' a normal hospital. You thought 'bout adding maybe dat X-Corps or de X-Men to you duties?"

"Thought about it. Hard to imagine. You see me fighting in a para-military government organization or pushing paper at NGO? These hands were made to heal." She tilted her head and studied him. "What is it you're doing these days?"

"Back to my specialty, so to speak. We specialize in pro-active threat response." Remy said, aware that she'd find out soon enough what they did at Snow Valley.

"Aha." Well, that was nice and vague. And who was we? "I could use some pro-active threat response." Cecilia gave him a small smile. "Save me from the threat of being boring and professionally useless, Remy LeBeau." She shook her head. "You'd think I could fill an affirmative action quota at least."

"Somehow Remy don't think dat you would fit in. Remy give you a job right now, but de demands are a little different den you used to."

"Yeah, I was kidding, smart guy. I've only ever been good at this one thing, and I'm not looking for a career change any time soon. Too many student loans to pay off. But you know, thanks for the gesture."

"Well, we wouldn't say no to a competent doc on staff. Tendency to get banged up on our line of work." He was mostly kidding. He didn't think that Cecilia would support the odd bit of assassination, terrorism and espionage they worked in.

"Oh, joy. The more things change, the more they stay the same, right?" Amused, Cecilia shook her head. These X-Men and their x-capades. "Tell you what, though," she added, a little more seriously. " If you find yourself in the midst of a dire medical emergency, you know who to call. Especially if it's particularly gory, because honestly, I could use a few more gruesome medical stories to tell on dates." She downed the rest of her beer. "And if you know anyone who's single, send them over too."

"Really? You got an itch you need to scratch?" Remy's eyebrows raised slightly. Cecilia had changed over the last few years it seemed. "But, I don't mind another doctor. Frost has a 'relationship' with a local hospital, but longer term followup has been dependent on de mansion for de last while."

"Putting aside that surprisingly crude comment and judgmental look for a second," she raised her eyebrows in return, "I took an oath to heal and help people, and so as long as you don't mind judgmental head-shakes, knowing glances and the occasional throwing-the-arms-up-in-resignation, I am basically obligated to help people who seek medical attention." Generally for a small fee, but they could discuss that if the opportunity ever arose later.

"I'm no Hank McCoy, not when it comes to, you know, special cases. But I know what I'm doing." She turned from him to flag down the bartender. "Itch to scratch," she muttered, pointing to her glass as she caught his attention. "Really, Remy."

"Remy just a po' boy from Naw'Lins, femme. We calls dem like we sees dem." He said, flashing a quick grin. "Between you and Grey, dat medlab seems to be full of people who aren't happy unless dere's a major medical emergency on a weekly basis."

"That's not true," Cecilia objected. "Well, okay," she relented, grinning at his expression, "it's not true of Jean anyway. I think residency makes you hate boredom. Or maybe I just hate boredom, and I'm projecting. That's probably it." She smiled sweetly as the bartender placed a new glass on the bar. "For what it's worth," she offered after a sip, "I'm not wishing any medical catastrophes on the children. Few of the adults, maybe."

"Dat's not surprising. Visiting de mansion occasionally inspires similar feelings in me."

"I just can't deal with the sanctimoniousness of certain people," Cecilia admitted. "I think seeing moral nuance is a part of maturity, or something. Other people don't seem so enlightened." She propped her elbow up on the bar and leaned her head against it, looking at him. "So I take it you live in the city these days?"

"Oui, dere's a group of us living in apartments in a brownstone on de north end of Tompkin Square Park." Remy nodded. "'ro and I have a place dere."

"Sounds nice. How's she doing?"

"She's well." Although Remy doubted that she would recognize Ororo at first. The former Headmistress of the school and leader of the X-Men was now an intelligence operative, married to one of the world's most notorious assassins. It was a change, to be sure.

"So, since de hospital front in New York is so discouraging, what's you next step?"

"Hard to say." Cecilia frowned. "As much as I scoffed earlier, X-Corps doesn't seem like such a terrible option. They're good people doing good work. And I guess I know things about healthcare now. If not that," she shrugged, "who knows? Teaching, maybe."

"Not signing up for de leather jumpsuit and de fancy combat name den?"

"Oh please. Combat name? Do you think I'd ever go in for a pretend identity?" She grimaced, then tried to modulate her voice in a misguided attempt to sound like Scott Summers. "Barrier, we need you stat. Karma lost a pinky finger when Wolverine exploded, and you have no real use other than your medical degree. What's your 10-20?" She rolled her eyes. "And I take it you've left secret code and leather behind yourself, so what would be the point, really?"

"Actually, we still use codenames in de field. Helps cut down exposure. De leather outfits tend to stand out in de airport, so we left dem."

"Oh, of course. Can't have that." Cecilia smirked. "Not in your mysteriously vague line of work." Not that she was asking for details. Plausible deniability was the rule of the game. "I'm going to ask you something that might be a little intrusive now," she announced. "Why'd you leave? Since I'm sitting here contemplating my future, it seemed like a reasonable question."

"Lorna crippled me for life." Remy said, pausing with his drink to his lips. "Remy got better. But de reality is dat what de X-Men do and what Remy does best are two very different things. Some of us are better suited to help in other ways, and our experience is more suited to working in de shadows instead of being heroes and symbols."

"Hm." She took a sip of her beer. "Weirdly, I think I get what you mean." She grimaced. "Now there's a frightening thought."

"We not complete social outcasts, you know. Some of us even have normal friends and hobbies."

"We?" Cecilia blinked. "We like... we?" She traced a large circle with her hand. "Or we like... you? Is this when you tell me you're a master knitter?"

"I meant dose of us at Snow Valley. And no, Remy is not a master knitter. Nor do I collect little animal dolls or do lawn bowling."

"I have to assume lawn bowling is what it sounds like. In which case..." Cecilia made a face. "In any event," she waved a hand as if to clear their conversation up to that point, "I'm glad you found something that fits you. Professionally and personally, it sounds like." For a group like theirs, that never seemed to be easy. But saying so felt too obvious.

Remy smiled at the unintentional irony of her sentence. "You might say dat."

"Might I?" Cecilia cocked an eyebrow as she took a sip of her drink. Clearly Remy hadn't changed much, at least not that she could tell. Still cryptic, still Cajun and still a little too charming. Maybe the only difference between then and now was that she was better at spotting what she had to assume were affectations. "Not sure I get the joke, but it's usually better that way."

"Dat's been my experience as well." Remy checked his phone. "And wit' dat, I have a meeting to get to. You stay safe, Cecilia."

"Au revoir, mon ami," Cecilia replied, her French pronunciation far from perfect, not that it mattered. "Safety first." She gave him a little wave and a smile.