xp_logs | Sarah/Remy: Revenge Ain't Necessarily Redemption

An extremely long log that following Remy and Sarah from immediately following Remy's breakout to late Saturday evening.

It was surprisingly easy to hitch a ride from Xavier's to Harry's at 3am on a Saturday. Sarah knew she couldn't take a car from the garage, too many people would notice it was missing and ask questions, so she'd expected to at least walk half-way if not most of the way there. Luckily, a couple of college boys picked her up out of the kindness of their hearts (well, after she threatened to rip certain parts of their anatomy off is they so much as touched her) and dropped her off in the parking lot, speeding away with the sound of obscenities shouted through half-opened windows. She glanced around the parking lot, but didn't see anybody. Great.

The headlights of a car framed her from behind, and she spun to see Remy LeBeau standing beside it. He slung a bag into the back seat and walked around the open door to her. "Dere isn't much time, Sarah."

Remy. She figured as much. Turning and shielding her eyes with her hand, she squinted suspiciously. "You mind telling me what the hell is going on? You know, before I get into a car with you? At the very least, give me a reason to trust you."

"Dere are no reasons to trust me, Sarah." Remy said, turning his back and moving to get in. "But I know who killed your family. I know why. And I know who gave the orders. If dat's not enough for you, stay here." He said. She noticed his accent was softer, smoother now.

Gave the orders. Well those were certainly the magic words. She went to get in on the other side, heedless of exactly whose car this was, or the fact that she was getting into a car with Remy LeBeau. She didn't exactly slam the door shut, but there was a little more force behind her movements now. "Keep talking."

Remy gunned the motor and pulled out. Beside him on the seat was a retracted staff, and he checked the panel. "The staff contains a TP shield. It will confuse our psychic signetures long enough to avoid de casual scan by Xavier. Only going to last another hour. Enough to get close to New York."

Sarah nodded idly, and turned in her seat to face him. "Uh-huh. I didn't mean about that."

Remy's eyes never left the road, but the tone of his voice was chilling; flat and dead like a man reading his own worst fate. "De Morlocks first came to notice in de late eighties. Lots of rumours about a tribe of monsters in de New York sewers. Urban legends."

"When did they become something more than urban legends?" Get to the fucking point, LeBeau.

"When the CIA analyst who got hold of the data fucked up. See, inside de Agency, dey had a time when the fear of a mutant terrorist cell was very high. Considering de powers dat some mutants could bring to bear, it's like having your own WMD inside de city. Intelligence pulled hits and confirmation about de existance of a group of mutants living under de rader in New York. Analysis indicated de strong possibility of a danger to national security."

"So we're a danger to society, even out of sight. Fucking terriffic."

"It was a bad spin of de data. Jumping de gun. The man who made de decisions in de Agency on de black codeword stuff decided dat it merited attention, and also dat it was a good opening test for de Army's newest toy; a group of augmented SpecOps troops out of Ft Bragg, called de 'Marauders'. Dey and a CIA man overseeing it went into de sewers, and wiped out most of de Morlocks." Remy slowed the car slightly, not wanting to get picked up in a speed trap.

"And the next time I get my hands on them, they won't be walking away," she growled, arms crossed across her chest. "I don't know which is better, that we got taken out because somebody fucked up, or that we got taken out as guinea pigs."

"De Marauders? Dere de reason you're alive, chere." Remy said grimly, watching the look of shock. "De man running de op was a Captain named Grey Crow. Within ten minutes, they figured out dat dey were not facing a highly regimented terrorist cell. Grey Crow ordered de assualt team to fall back. He scrubbed de mission."

"Bullshit, LeBeau. I've seen that son of a bitch before. He's the one who took my fucking knees out." She laughed bitterly. "And that one bitch I took out sounded pretty damn confident that they'd killed us all. Nothing mentioned about taking fucking pity on us. They didn't."

"Can't tell you about dat, Sarah, but I know what happened dat day." Remy kept his eyes on the road. "Dey pulled out. By dat time most of de Morlocks were dead anyway. Hell, most dem died in the first five minutes of de fight. But de only reason dey didn't sweep the sewers to make sure every one dere was a corpse was because dey were falling back. You can believe it or not, dat's your choice."

"Yeah. And how the fuck are you so sure? I've talked to them. Been looking around for information and this is the first I've heard of any falling back. What's your source?"

"I was overseeing de operation for de Agency." LeBeau said quietly.

"You what?" There was no way. He couldn't be that much older than her, and she'd been twelve.

Remy pulled into the off ramp, heading into the guts of the city. The first lights of the morning were starting to sketch across the sky, and all around them the city was beginning to awake. "I'll explain everything when we get to Arizona. Dat's where he is."

"I don't fucking think so," she growled, "You've got more explaining to do before I ever get on a fucking plane with you. Who is -he-, and what the hell is this about you being involved in the murder of my family?"

Remy turned his red on black eyes on her. "Not yet. Its very simple, Sarah. I'm going to kill de man dat made my life a fucking horror show. He just happens t' be de same one dat ordered de death of your family. You want a chance at him, you do t'ings my way. Orderwise, I'll leave you enough money for a cab back to de mansion." There was nothing wavering in his eyes.

"You decide how much it matters to you."

"What a coincidence." She never once backed down from him, keeping her glare fixed on his. "I swear to god Remy, if you are lying to me, I will fucking break you in half. Are we understood?"

"I'm sure dat's not de last time dis trip I'm going to here that threat." Remy said, as he started into the city streets.

***

The facade was a low key number in marble, with two very serious looking security guards. Sarah was quiet as she trotted up the stairs behind Remy, seething from frustration. The information he'd given her in the car, thin as it was, had ignited all the dorment feelings of rage, and only extreme self control kept her from ramming a bone spike between his shoulder blades and twisting until he told her everything.

The interior was much more impressive, richly appointed and sporting far more money and guards for the eye. A man in a dark suit stepped forward to intercept them.

"Can I help you?" He said, in a tone that heavily implied that no, he couldn't becuase they did not belong here.

"Andre Giruad. Tell him Mister Franks wants into his safety deposit box."

"I'm sorry, can you-"

"Look, you little shit. I've got two presentations this afternoon, a meeting with Senator Clinton's aide at five, and am running late. I do not have any interest in what ever pissing about delay you are about to bring up. Giruad, now, or I come back with my lawyer and a very irritated call to your chairman. Got it?" Remy said, his entire manner and demeanour totally different than Sarah had ever seen. His voice carried a thick New England accent, and the arrogence of inherited wealth eminated off him. The man scuttled off and a few moments later, a short man with dark hair and an impressive walrus-like mustache came across the floor with obvious delight.

"Mr Franks!" Andre sketched a nod before taking Remy's hand. "My lord, it's been months."

"Over a year, Andre. I was quite ill for an extended period."

"And now?" Giruad said, clearly eying Remy's head.

"Skiing accident. Zigged when I should have... well, stayed in the chalet. Look, Andre, I'm in a terrible rush. I need to get some documents from my safety deposit box."

"Of course. Please follow me. If you'd like, my assistant can find a seat for your..." Giruad paused, allowing silence to avoid him a potentially embarassing graff.

"My eldest brother's daughter. She's going to be working at the office while she's in school here in New York. She can come with." Remy said. "There's no secrets from family, after all." He added ironically.

"Certainly." Andre led them down a set of stairs and through four seperate security gates. Finally, he reached the open vault and motioned them in to the rack of safety deposit boxes. He produced a key, matched the number to the one LeBeau produced and both of them turned it to pull the box from the wall. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr Franks?"

"No Andre. Thank you." Giruad left, and Sarah turned on remy.

"Mr Franks? What the hell is going on, LeBeau."

"I don't really have time to fully explain all de details, chere, but when I was working for de Agency, I set up a number of caches around de world. In case I was ever in trouble and needed to disappear. Dis is one of dem." He replied, his accent returned in full. He used his key to unlock the box, and Sarah gasped as he opened it.

There were stacks of bills on the box, half of them still in plastic, the other half in tiny bundles of used bills. Beside them sat a stack of passports, from many countries. A stack of plastic credit cards and identification cards lay next to them. The bottom half of the box was filled with black and white cardboard boxes, small leather cases and a loaded Glock 19 pistol. Remy ignored her stunned sound as he selected a set of identification from the box, several of the cases and a stack of the used bills, stuffing everything in the pockets of his trenchcoat. He slammed the case closed, and moved to ring the clerk.

"What the fuck are you?"

"Guess you not likely to believe James Bond." Remy said, handing over the box to the clerk and watching it secured before he turned to leave. "We've got a flight to catch."

"Yeah, well, rest your throat. Because once we hit the desert, you're going to be answering a lot of questions, LeBeau." She huffed as they left.

***

Flying. Why did everything involve flying anymore? Situating herself on the other side of the room, on the edge of the bed, she pulled out her cigarettes and her lighter. "Last I checked," there was only a moments pause for Sarah to light her cigarette and take a puff before she continued her thought, "we were in Arizona. Why aren't you explaining yet?"
Remy made a few marks on the topographical map he'd bought earlier and sighed. Being on the flight with Sarah had been a little like carrying a vat of nitro; anything could set her off.

"We are in Arizona because dis is de retirement home of Chester Whalen."

"And he's the guy who ordered the massacre?" She took another puff with shaky hands, and flicked her ashes into a nearby ashtray. "What'd he do to you?"

"Made me everything I am today." Remy said mildly. "Whelan was the DO of the CIA. Director of Operations. Dat means he's in charge of de field work, and was one of de most powerful intelligence chiefs on de planet. During his time, he pushed along a lot of hidden programs; things the Agency never knew about. I was part of one of them."

"Keep going." For a moment, she's completely still.

"Whelan didn't exactly act in the best interests of the nation all the time. He was involved in a lot of stuff that would make de conspiracy theory people go nuts. Things at were followups to programs like de one dat made Logan." Remy said. "De Marauders are another example. Dey were normal people; from different parts of de US military. Rangers, Marines, dat sort. Their powers were grafted on some how. In my case, dey augmented my natural ones with surgery."

"...You were a Marauder." Her voice was flat, and she looked almost distracted as she desperately tried to remember if he was in her folder. She'd have remembered -that-, right?

"No. I was in a seperate program, under CIA control. Called LOSTBOYS." Remy rubbed his eyes. "That night, I was there as Whelan's eyes and ears. Making sure we had up to date intel on what happened."

She blinked, twice, and the cigarette in her hand was promptly forgotten in the ashtray. "You were there...Must have been terribly ironic for you, to meet the survivors. I cannot believe you had the fucking nerve to talk to me. "

"It's a bit more complicated then dat." Remy put do the map. "'bout a year and a half ago, someone started putting de pieces together about LOSTBOYS. De Agency decided dat the best way to protect itself was to rein in de results of it. Each of us got called back into a trap. Dey used a psychic to lobotomize us; strip away all de memories up from our first day in de program, and lock it behind a mental wall. Den, dey dumped us on de street to die. Dat's where Xavier found me, Sarah. Dat's why I could kill someone wit' my bare hands and not know how I knew it. Nineteen years, gone." Remy looked at his hands. "Until last night."

But Sarah wasn't buying it. It just didn't make any sense. "Yeah, I'm sure. It just all came rushing back? Just like that?"

"Non. De Agency used a recall code so my old psyche would reinsert itself and kill anyone in de mansion. Fortunately, de psychics aren't as good wit Remy's head as dey thought. Instead of dere old agent showing up, dey just gave me back de memories of de things I've done." Remy looked up. "Dat includes what happened dat day in New York. Whelan's de one responsible for turning both our lives into merde."

"No, I was pretty fucked from the very beginning. He just made it worse." She watched him carefully for a moment, taking her cigarette from the ashtray again. "You were there. Did you do any of the killing? Did Whelan's eyes and ears take it upon himself to be Whelan's hands too?"

"Oui." Remy said finally. "I was de one dey had to drag out after de recall order. Dat's why Whelan sent me. He knew no matter what we found, if Gambit was dere, there wouldn't be anything left."

"Well I hope you're pleased. If I wasn't so interested in taking this fucker out, you wouldn't be leaving this hotel room alive." She grabbed her sweatshirt and headed for the door. "I need to think for a while. Maybe pick a fight."

***

At least she was on time, Remy considered as Sarah strolled in the motel. She still looked angry, but seemed to have it under tight control. Good. That made what he was going to have to tell her a little easier.

"Chester Whelan was a senior member of the intelligence community, which means he's accorded Secret Service protection after leaving his office if he so chooses. There are at least three agents in his house at all time. Whelan is a widow with no children, and considering the hour, there shouldn't be any domestics in the home."

"Three feds and an old man. Sounds boring." Sarah said, fingering a long shin bone she'd pulled in anticipation.

"It's not. Whelan is deadlier than a snake. Plus, we can't hurt the agents any more than we have to."

"Don't follow."

"Secret Service, Sarah. First of all, dey are innocent bystanders. Secondly, if one of dem gets killed, the entire might of de American law enforcement system will come down like fucking storm. Not even de Prof could keep us from being collared."

"Fine. No random killing. That mean you have a plan."

"Oui. Security is good, but it's tied into the main city grid. A transformer flicker will put de alarms on cycle mode for five or ten minutes. Restarting, basically. Dat means we can be in fast. Handling de agents should be easy, since they'll be tired by dis time." Remy passed over a handful of plastic strips to use as restraints. "Do de hands and feet, and den dump them in th living room. You watch de floor while I find Whelan. Say, ten minutes, and den come up."

"I don't-"

"I won't do anything to him without you, Sarah. But I need some answers dat are not for you too."

"More people you fucking slaughtered?"

Remy looked down at map and then up at her. "Let's go. We're wasting time."

***

It was almost too easy. Remy walked up the stairs silently, considering. All of these skills, new memories, and in the middle, he felt like he was drowning. A week ago, he'd been convinced he was a teenager, and now, he was suddenly dealing with the memories of a serial killer. He knew he couldn't keep running, but if he stopped, he knew he'd lose his mind from the sheer volume. It was easier to focus on one thing at a time; to keep moving without worrying about the next step.

The door was slightly open, and Remy heard the click of a receiver being put down. Footfalls indicated a movement to the right, and he used the sound of the glass decanter on the tumbler to disguise his slip into the room. Chester Whelan was just taking a satisfied swallow of scotch when he saw Remy standing in the middle of the room. The tumbler hit the carpet with a soft thud, bouncing end over end but not breaking in the deep plush.

"713." Whelan gasped.

"Bonjour, Chester. Dis is not going to be an enjoyable conversation for you."

"You're dead!"

"Not yet. Not for lack of trying." Remy Watched Chester's eyes flicker to the phone, and a flick of a coin caused the entire base to explode. "A private conversation. No threats either, Chester. You know that if I decide, I can make dis so painful that biting open your own wrists will look like de soft option."

"What do you want?" Whelan said, pulling his composure together.

"Your files. I could toss de place and find dem, but that thought tires me. So, you can tell me now or type one handed for de rest of your life."

"The safe is under the rug in the dining room. Card key access to the dial. Card is-"

"On de clip box in your den downstairs. Got dat." Remy said, collecting the numbers from Whelan.

"You don't intend to let me leave, Gambit. I know that." Whelan said, obviously preparing for him to move.

"Should you? You been taking people for your programs for years, Chester. How many died in de training and de experiments over your thirty years? Two, three thousand? How much time did you strip out of my mind to cover your own ass? Can you think of a good reason for me to let you live."

"Look, 713. We can make a deal."

"Don't bother, Whelan. I won't kill you." Remy turned to the door. "But dere is someone else dats wants to talk to you too."

Remy opened the door and Sarah walked in. Whelan's eyes flickered to her for a moment and then back to LeBeau. "Very charming, 713. Very artistic of you. Use the 'victim' of one of your killing sprees to dispatch me? I should have known." Whelan turned to Sarah. "I'm sure he's told you all sorts of things, young lady. About the incident? Did he mention that two of the soldiers needed to drag him away from the killing after we found out we were operating on bad intelligence?"

"He did. I'll deal with him later." She watched him, expressionless. "Right now, I'm interested in you."

"Apparently so." Chester was obviously aware of the dangerous situation he was in, but refusing to let it touch his composure. "What happened was... regrettable. We had misread intelligence, and the danger seemed imminent. And as soon as we discovered our mistake, the recall went out. If it hadn't have been for 713 over there, most of your people would have gotten out. Afterwards, we believed that, tragically, there were no survivors."

"I'm sure. That's why you sent -him- in. Survivors are....regrettable. Aren't they Mr. Whelan?" She flashed a feral smile, that would have made Callisto proud.

"Don't be foolish, young lady. The United States government is not in the business of genocide. Once it was no longer deemed a legitimate threat, we made every effort to try and find survivors. To try and do what we could to correct that heinous mistake." Whelan sat back on the edge of the desk. "And while I'm not longer the DO of the CIA, I do still retain senior level contacts, all the way to the president himself. If you're the only survivor, than the government owes you a great debt that I can remind them to repay."

"Funny, that doesn't bring my family back. And doesn't explain why the bodies were just left there in the sewers, if it was such a fucking tragedy. I'm calling bullshit."

"Young lady, you simply don't understand-" Whelan started, but Remy chimed in suddenly from the back of the room.

"Dere's one problem wit your story, homme. You knew it was a tanked analysis from de start. It gave you the excuse to make de Army show off de capabilities of their new unit under the eyes of de Agency. You were angry dey had cut you off. And best of all, no repercussions because de targets officially didn't exist." Whelan's eyes hardened. "Dat's why I was dere, in case de military personnel tried to pull out too fast. Before we'd really seen what dey could do."

"Fantasy and lies, 713."

Sarah cut in again. "No sir, I don't think -you- understand. I don't think you understand what it's like to have your family murdered at twelve, and then live the next six years surrounded by the bodies. I don't want your excuses. I want you dead."

"Very well, young lady. If you insist on believing 713's lies, let me make another offer to you. Leave 713 here for us, and we'll let you return to your little school and not bring the entire power of the United States down on it." Whelan straightened, all his former pleasantness and empathy wiped away. "I once had the entire KGB wanting me dead, and you think you can come into my house and scare me with your threats? You kill me, and you're dead. Everyone you know is dead. There families, their friends. Dead. Ask 713. He did it for us enough times."

Sarah nearly laughed out loud. "You think you're going to use death to scare me? After all I've seen, and been through, and I'm supposed to be scared of death?" She pulled a bone from her shoulder, and smiled again. "No, I think you're the one who's scared to die."

"You want to cause the death of your friends? Their families as well. I've got presidents on my payroll little girl. Don't you even think-- 713! Gambit, dammnit! You know what will happen. Get rid of this thing and everything is forgotten. Back on the job. I can make that happen!"

"Sorry, homme." Remy shook his head. "Dat person don't exist no more." He took a long look at Sarah, and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

"Funny," Sarah continued after the door clicked shut, "I'm not seeing any of that control you're claiming. Loosing your touch?"

"You have just made the last mistake of your life, bitch." Whelan snarled. "Xavier's will bleed for months because of this, I promise you."

"What, on your orders?" This time she did laugh. "You got a healing factor I didn't know about? Otherwise I haven't made my point clear enough. You're going to die."

"You are a very stupid little girl. They will find out." Whelan said. Suddenly he turned, moving surprisingly fast for his age, sliding his hand into his desk drawer for the pistol he kept there.

He only had to start moving away, and the bone in her hand went sailing through the air and into his back. A sharp cracking sound, and another bone found its way to his arm. Just like hitting the trees.

Whelan turned with the pistol, in time for another bone to embed itself into his chest. He shot and she dodged, pulling a bone shard from her forearm and sending it at his hands. The gun dropped, and he dove in desperation to retrieve it. Another bone knocked it out of reach, and as he struggled to crawl after it, she moved in on him, pulling a bone club from her back. Two swings at his head, and he stopped moving.

"Not very pretty, are we now?" she growled, kicking him in the side of the head, and being properly satisfied in the lack of response she received, she rammed a bone shard though the hollow of his throat.
***
Sarah walked out the front doors of the house, and saw LeBeau leaning against the hood of one of the cars, his obsequious black duffel bag by his feet. As she approached, he lobbed a zipped folder to her. Opening it, she found it contained a plane ticket, a small stack of twenties and a passport with her face but a different name and address. "Dat's for your flight out. You go into Boston, then de train to New York. From dere, de money should get you home to de mansion."

"Wait, I'm not done with you yet. Am I supposed to just let you go? You're just as guilty as he was, and that fucker got a bone through his throat."

Remy shook his head wearily. "Oui, you are done with me, Sarah. Because we're not going to fight tonight, and I'm not going to have to kill you. Maybe you don't understand, or don't believe it, or maybe you don't care, but I'm not de person that did those things to your family. I'm not de fucking number that they used as a killing machine for years. If you can't accept that, fine, but I've got enough guilt to deal wit' without adding your death to de list."

"My death? You mean you don't want to finish the job?" she snapped at him, watching his reaction carefully. Pushing. She had more experience with this kind of situation than she'd like to admit really.

"Chere, I'll make it simple for you. De Marauders, de government, all of dem were pawns of dat man you killed. You've got your revenge." Remy said. "You want to keep fighting, fine. It's your life t' throw away. I'm not the same man that did those things. But if you can't believe that, if killings all you've got, den fine. One day, you and I can go and try to kill each other. I will give you your chance. But not tonight. Not now." He was ready to move if he had to, but something told him if Sarah decided to go, the only way the fight could end was with one of them dead.

She breathed out heavily, as if she'd been holding her breath before. "I won't come looking for you. You'll understand if I'd rather not ever see you again." Like it really needed to be said. Right.

"Oui." Remy simply nodded. There were no comebacks, no sly statements, none of his maddening banter. Just exhaustion. "Take de other car. Ditch it in long term parking. Once you get to New York, destroy de fake passport and ID." Remy got behind the wheel of the car and without a backward look, drove off into the desert night.

***