xp_logs | LOG: Remy's Deal

Remy returns to the mansion, to a slightly different reaction than he expected. Take place approx 2am Firday night/Sat morning. Thanks to Firewillow for final editing and writing of Xavier.

Very few people knew it, but Professor X often roamed the mansion at night. The exquisite design of his wheelchair rendered it virtually noiseless, and the sleeping minds were a balm to his telepathic abilities. Like all high level telepaths, Charles Xavier did not have a choice about his powers being on or off. The vibrations of the psychic unconsciousness were always around him, whispering voices into his head. It had taken painful years to learn to control the volume of informations; willingly blocking out the surface thoughts of those around him. The rumour around the mansion was that he could 'hear' everybody's thoughts, all the time.

"If only that was so." He muttered to himself. If that was the case, he could have ended a dozen crisis over the last year simply by willing it. But that kind of power can easily drive a man mad, to hear the thoughts of everyone around him all the time? Insanity is the only route for that sort
of input. So Charles had learn to screen it, only the most urgent thoughts, or those directed at him with intent picked up without him making the conscious effort to take the minds around him in. His natural awareness was not unlike a radar, so to speak. The coming and going of minds in his active range allowing him to map his home mentally, which made him notoriously uncomfortable in extremely large crowds.

Sleeping minds dream on a different plane; not the frantic active busy of an alert person, but a softer murmur of subconscious and random images pouring through. In a peaceful home, it was akin to slipping into a warm bath; soothing and comfortable. But his home was no longer peaceful, and the angry stain of nightmares and anxious worry dotted the mansion in his
mindscape, causing him some worry. Demons, assassins, and explosions, on top of painfully strained relationships and the general angst of teenage-hood and early adult responsibility. Charles knew better than anyone that his people were approaching the end of their rope, as the
fraying grew worse. He made a mental note to sit down with the staff soon, to try to identify and defuse what situations they could. Some rest and relaxation would go a long way to heal the strained emotions of his home.

Charles wheeled towards his study, the infrared beam on his wheelchair triggering the doors to open. He moved in, intending to at least make a few notes before going to bed. It was funny, but the older he got, the less sleep he seemed to need, and even retiring at this late hour, he knew he'd be up and at his desk before seven as always.

"Tell you one thing, homme, the security on dis place is still merde." Xavier's head snapped over at the low voice, and Remy LeBeau suddenly appeared in his sight and in his mindscape.

"LeBeau?"

"Oui" The man said, perched on the inner ledge of the window, his legs crossed and his hands resting on the edge. Until he had spoken, Charles Xavier had not caught the slightest hint of the man in his mind. Now his uniquely active mental signature was clearly there, as if it had
suddenly blinked into existence.

"You surprised me, Mister LeBeau. That hasn't happened in a long time." Xavier said, his voice neutral. After everything that had happened, he realized that he could be facing a possible attempt on his life. But, false humility not withstanding, a psion as powerful as Charles is one of the most dangerous mutants in the world, and not even an Alpha level mutant like LeBeau could outrace the speed of thought. That realization stayed Charles telepathic alarm for a moment.

"Dey call it a neural recognition scrambler." Remy pulled a device about the size and shape of a cigarette package from his trench coat pocket and tossed it over to the seated man. "It jumbles up de psionic signature of your brain. Makes you seem like part of de natural psychic noise unless
someone is looking specifically for dat signature, or is aware of your presence. Dat's a prototype, but I doubt it will be long before de military and a few privileged defence contractors start added dem to their available equipment."

"Indeed. It would give someone a powerful edge against a telepath's natural gifts. Especially those who have grown to rely on them." Xavier put the device on his desk, next to a stack of files that he was quite sure were not there when he'd left his office earlier. "I must be frank though, Remy. I did not expect to ever see you in this school again."

"I'll be gone soon enough, Charles. Dere is some unfinished business between me and dis place."

"Really? I assume you'll be so good as to share with me?"

"Those files on your desk. Dey are the records of Chester Whelan. De former Director of Operations for de CIA. The entire thirty-two years of his stint would fill dis whole mansion, but Remy took some of de t'ings most important to you. Notes, musings, operational plans; dere's a lot of information, homme. Dere's also some recent things, like de fact the Agency had this school under surveillance." Remy said.

"Illegally, I'm sure. President McKenna would have mentioned something to me even if he was not able to bring a halt to such activities." Charles said, schooling himself from opening the files.

"Likely. Whelan's specialty was black programs, operations and assets hidden deeply from the oversight committees. Even the President. Dis is fragments of Whelan's personal connections with them. Even he wouldn't be permitted to keep full documentation outside of Langley, but I'm guessing dat a lot of clues to initiatives and mutant related projects are in dere." LeBeau hadn't yet moved, delivering the intelligence from his position at the window.

"I can only imagine." Charles patted the stack of files with one hand, and then moved them to the side of the desk. "What made you bring them here, Remy?"

"I need a favour. You help me with it, and dere yours to do wit' as you will."

"Really?" Charles took a long look at the young man. "Considering everything that has happened, you must know that favours are not something I'd be inclined to grant completely unquestioned, Remy."

"Dis one you will." Remy came off of his place at the window, moving into the lamplight with Xavier. "I need you to look inside my head."

Charles paused, once again surprised by the young man, although the only outwards expression of this was a slightly raised eyebrow. "Why?" He said finally.

"Six months ago, I thought I was just another street rat in New York. Just conning and stealing enough to hits de clubs, drink myself stupid. Now, I got de memories of a serial killer in my head, homme. I remember myself doing things that no sane person would ever do." Remy's gaze dropped to his shoes, his voice going equally low and soft. "So dat's what I gotta know, homme. Is dat person still in me? Is dat Remy?" When he looked back up, Charles finally saw the fear and the desperation in the young man's eyes.

"I see."

"Look, you just go in. Find what you need. If I'm lying or dat killer is me, den you call your X-Men. I won't fight."

"Are you sure about this? It means I could have access to all of your personal secrets, Remy. Most people are deeply uncomfortable with that."

"Charles, wit' dese memories... well, maybe you should be de one sure."

"Very well." Xavier said. "Sit. Try to relax. Your mind will naturally try to stop the intrusion. Just focus on something passive and try to feel open." The Professor's rich voice said, repeating the same words over like a mantra. Remy felt the vague tickle in the lizard hindbrain of the telepathic contact, and focused on the light on Xavier's desk, willing himself to not fight it.

There was a long moment of silence, seeming like an eternity for LeBeau, although not even a minute in actual time, when the tickle stopped and Charles Xavier took a deep breath.

"Dat's it?"

"The speed of thought is faster than you can imagine, Remy." Charles wiped his forehead with a handkerchief, slowing his rapid breathing and willing his muscles to relax. Sadly, LeBeau comments of a 'serial killer' in his head were not exaggerated. Xavier had avoided the mnemonic centres of the brain, focusing on Remy LeBeau's psyche and consciousness. Both to get a true read of the man before him, but also to try and preserve some of the privacy he so strongly needed.

But a person is made up partially of his experiences, and as he looked for signs of 'Gambit' in LeBeau's mind, he was confronted with the memories of his work. Cruelty and violence had been the love of Gambit. He hurt because he enjoyed it. He killed because it made him feel like God. He liked to let women run and pursue them, knowing full well that only painful rape and death were the end result. His approach was very focused, and very professional, until the job was done. Then the gleeful sadist came out of the box to indulge in the remains for a time before moving on.

Lenin had once said that the 'purpose of terrorism is to terrorize', and Xavier was sure that Gambit had taken that to heart in his bloody games. He was legendary because of his 'artistic' flair; a sick macabre sense of the more horrifying to any one involved. There was no compassion, only restraint when called for. No mercy, but only a focus on the job at hand. The impressions Charles' saw chilled him, and he could only imagine how Remy LeBeau must have felt when they came crashing back down on him.

"And?" Remy said, his voice steady but the tremble of his hands betraying him.

"Remy, the person that you were- no, let me clarify that. The person that you were shaped to be no longer exists in your mind. The memories are there, the basis of that conditioning as well, but strictly as a separate consciousness or a hidden mind that can be called forth. You are, in fact, quite alone in your mind and in full control of any choices you make." Charles said, watching the young man sag. Remy sat there for a long time, elbows resting on his knees and his head bent. Charles could feel the conflicting emotions of relief and guilt crashing around him, as the thoughts roiled in the young man's mind.

"Remy, I realize that it is difficult to separate the two. But, even though it was you that committed those acts, the moral repulsion you feel for them is the difference between you and the man that was. The man you are now could not do it."

"Dat right?" Remy grew up a monster once. Who says day I won't do it a second time?"

"The capacity for it certainly exists, Remy; what we do and experience is a part of who we are. But in the end, our choices truly determine who we are." Charles motioned around him. "It's very possible, had our childhoods been reversed, that Erik Lensherr might be sitting in this office, leading his X-Men against my Brotherhood."

"So many people..." Remy's slow laugh was humourless and grim. "Remy thought you were doing it to me. Putting de images in my head to make me a killer. Turns out I was all along."

"Considering the circumstances, that's not an entirely unfair conclusion, albeit perhaps a bit extreme." Charles smiled. "We were so intent on getting you off the streets and to someplace safe, that once we had you here, we never followed up with you. Especially after the attacks. That was not fair to you, Remy, and it's not completely surprising that you would become suspicious."

"Dat not--"

"No, it is the truth." Xavier shook his head. "We've made a lot of mistakes, Remy. But we try and learn from them."

"Guess dat's a hint den?"

"You might say that." Charles finally saw the anguish in LeBeau's eyes diminish a little. "Whether responsible or not, you will have to come to terms with those memories. You've shown that you have the strength to beat the demon that you were inside. I hope you will do the some with those memories."

"I hope so." Remy got up. "For what it's worth, homme, merci." He picked up his bag and turned towards the window.

"Remy, isn't it time to stop running?" Charles said, well aware that it was starting to become an unfortunately too familiar statement. Remy turned.

"You don' understand. De things I did--"

"Are not going to disappear. No matter how much alcohol or how many drugs you try pour over them." Xavier shook his head. "The death you are looking for will not bring a single one of Gambit's victims back." He paused, letting the words sink in. "But perhaps you can prevent it from happening to someone else."

"Remy don't understand." The sense of guilt was palpable in the room.

"Stay here." Charles said. "This school was created for the purpose of helping mutants find their rightful place in society. Your death won't mean a thing Remy. But if you chose for it to be so, your life could."

"Dere no way to atone for what Gambit did."

"No, there isn't." Xavier nodded. "I'm afraid that it's not like a tally with good and evil on opposite sides and you just add up the actions. But running means that there is nothing left to judge when all is said and done, other than everything that had happened before. Can you atone for those lives? No. But you can redeem yourself. Remy, you are not the same person who committed those acts. I have been inside your mind, after all, and can tell you this with more certainty than anyone. You are the one left to remember them though. The Witness. By fighting to prevent it from happening again, perhaps you can find peace."

"You want me to be an X-Man?"

"No. That is a position you would have to earn, and even so - it is an option only if you wish it to be. But there are things that you can do to help." Charles said. Remy's look was disbelieving, but there was the first flicker of hope there too. "No matter how they were acquired, you skills and powers are formidable. You could do a lot of good for this school."

"Dere's no way, Charles. Even if it wasn't for dat, de things I've done here... dey'd never understand."

"I never said it would be easy, Remy. And yes, there are things under this roof that Remy LeBeau needs to make up for, not just Gambit." Steel entered Charles' voice for the first time. "But running away means they'll never be resolved."

Remy sat down, staring out the darkened window. Xavier simply took a file from his desk drawer and began to read. It was nearly twenty minutes before Remy finally spoke.

"You should know," Remy started carefully. "Dat I don't think dat your X-Men plan will ultimately work. Dey things out dere, well, if you knew-"

"I know some of it. And that's why Pete and Sean and so many others support the X-Men. I am only too aware of the consequences of the choices we all make here, as well." He looked at one of the pictures on the many shelves of his office, a young redheaded girl smiling at the photographer. It had been over a year now, since Jean's death. He still remembered the day he had delivered the news to her parents, only too well. "But the costs of doing nothing are far higher, Remy. Giving up, just because the task is immense, would be catastrophic. We fight for a world that fears and hates us, so one day, they won't."

"You're fighting a real war, whether you want to admit it or not. You considered what dat means?"

"Yes. I have. We all have.."

"Den if you want Remy to help, let me do it on my terms."

"I'm sorry?"

"Homme, other's here don't have de memories I do. Some of de things you are going to need to do will not be pretty. Let me take dat burden, so dey can be heroes."

"Remy, I don't need an assassin. I need a man who can come to terms with himself."

"I know, but-" Remy stopped. "Professor, I can do this without being him. I can teach some of dem already down dat path how to stay alive. I'll even wear de leather suit and prance around with de public if you want. I--" Remy paused, nothing that he was getting desperately close to begging. "I can do dis, Charles. I can help keep dem alive."

The emotions behind the words were what gave Charles pause. Long enough that he considered the notion. "I'll think about it, Remy. I'm sure Peter and Nathan could use your help at the very least. As for the rest, well, we'll talk about it another day."

Remy nodded. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and looked around the office. "Homme, you know dat dey never going to accept me back." He said finally, the brief hope he'd had fading. Charles resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the melodrama and reminded himself that even though he had the lost years of his life restored to him, in his mind as well as body, Remy was still very much a teenager.

"That means you need to prove worthy of returning, Remy." Charles said. "And I don' envy you the task, believe me. But if it matters, well, the first rule in this school is tolerance. Prove yourself to them, and most will come around."

Remy took a deep shuddering breath. "I don't know if I can do it."

"Let me speak with my brother. Perhaps, at least until the initial shock wears off, you can stay with him in the boathouse. It might make things a little easier on everyone." Charles wheeled over and patted the young man's hand. "Remy. I saw inside your mind tonight. You're an eighteen year old teenager dealing with the experiences of a thirty-three year old man. I recognize how hard this is going to be for you. But as long as you're willing to try, to not give up on yourself, I promise you that I will not give up on you either."

"I'm afraid dat one day, you going to regret dose words, homme."

"The last person who thought that way helped save the world twice. Hopefully, it's a trend."

"If you say so."

"Good. You know the rules, Remy. I'll expect you to abide by them. Other than that, let's go speak with Cain. I'll talk to the others in the morning." Xavier paused. "It might be best if you stayed low until after I make the announcement."

"Dis doesn't seem real."

"Prove yourself worthy this second chance, Remy. That's all anyone can ask." Charles said, turning his chair and heading for the door with LeBeau in tow, knowing only too well that there would be no harsher critic in this than Remy himself.