We'll always have Paris. Tuesday evening

[x-polarisstar.livejournal.com]

Remy and Lorna have dinner at an old haunt of his. They discuss Magneto and Lorna buys Remy a beret.



It was only a short walk up Avenue Georges V to Marius and Janette, Remy's chosen restaurant. He'd just finished a two hour marathon of information, flattery, bribery and outright threats to get a window on the underworld of Western Europe today. It frustratingly revealed nothing about the German mutant who was the real focus of his investigations. Remy sighed, slipping into the warm lobby of a place he known intimately by memory, but as a different man.

Lorna was already waiting at a table, spinning a glass of wine in her fingers and flipping through a magazine. There were numerous bags crowded around her legs mutely giving evidence to her activities in the past couple of hours. She’d dyed her hair for this trip, enduring many long-suffering looks from Alex while doing so and it was once again the warm honey brown tones of Autumn Fawn. She checked her watch idly, wondering where on earth Remy could be.

"Shopping dear?" Remy said, an ironic twist to his mouth. "Guess dat means we going t' need dat second mortgage." He joked, sitting down across from her. Her retort was cut short by the appearance of the waiter, who nodded to Remy.

"M. Mayle. Lovely to see you again. It has been too long. I trust your father is well?"

"He is, Maurin. Have you met my wife, Mercy?" Remy said lightly.

Lorna smiled and offered the waiter her hand, “Not as yet though Maurin was very helpful with all my things.” She didn’t mention that she’d already done her best to get the chef to speak with her. She had hope.

"Enchante, Madam." Maurin took her hand and brushed his lips fleetingly across the back. He straightened and snapped back to attention. "You've come up in the world, M Mayle." He said with a sly wink, passing over the menus and wine list. "Just signal Henri when you are ready to order."

"Merci, Maurin." Remy said with a nod, and the head waiter walked briskly away. He shook his head lightly. "Maurin knows me as the son of a very wealthy British industralist and his much younger French wife. Explains my atrocious accent."

“I thought perhaps they were under the impression you’d been dropped on your head as a child,” Lorna murmured in response as she set about memorizing the menu. Many of the dishes were familiar but one looked like an interesting twist.

"Well, de fact I don't speak French surprises dem a bit. Remy's creole is a little too different." Remy smirked, flipping quickly though his own menu. "Mind you, as long as you say you're British or American, they stop worrying about it."

“Of course. No one expects Americans to be educated.” She leaned over and pointed at another dish she wanted to try. “That looks good.” She flashed him a grin, just a touch more flirtatious than friendly to keep in within their designated roles.

"De aligot? Dey use sel de Guerande here. Makes all de difference, dey tell me. I'm thinking perhaps de escargots de Bourgogne in season. Maurin should have a bottle or two of de 1993 Echezeaux set aside. De sea bass is also excellent." Remy closed his menu. "One of de only good things 'bout Gambit was dat he developed a taste for de finer things in life."

Lorna gave careful consideration to the escargots and ultimately shook her head, “I’ve never been fond of them. I would prefer the steamed mussels in the lemon-saffron sauce if it’s all the same to you.” She shrugged over his choice of wine. “Is it…how much does what he know affect you? Can you tell the difference?”

"Hard to say. It's both me and not me, chere. De pieces are too interlinked. A lot of de last month has just being trying to stay afloat over top of all de memories, so dat who I am stays in control." Remy shook his head. "Like reading a book and suddenly having all de real memories of de main character in your head."

Remy paused, sitting back in the chair and adjusting the wire-framed glasses over his blue-contacted eyes. "And as tempting as just asking de Professor to take dem all away, and just let me be me, dat wouldn't be right. De things dat I did deserve to be remembered, Lorna. Even if I'm de only witness."

She nodded and sipped thoughtfully at her wine. “I guess that makes sense. Though I think your decision is rather brave. I wouldn’t want to live with it.”

"Not quite dat noble, chere. Remy don't want to die, even if Gambit deserves too." Remy waved over Henri, returning the smile to his face. "And dis is not de way to enjoy a fine meal." Remy said, ordering swiftly in Italian and then pointing the youthful waiter to Lorna.

“Suprêmes de canette à la coriandre, endive braise avec sauce aigre-douce à l’orange,” Her accent was nearly flawless and she reacted to Remy’s stare with a little shrug, “I told you I could order in a restaurant, dear.” She looked back up at the waiter and handed him her menu with a sweet smile. “Merci beaucoup.”

"Make you a deal, chere. Next time we come to Paris, you talk to de nasty former FAR agent about Magneto, and Remy go shopping." He said with a grin, as Henri returned with his wine.

She waited while Remy sampled and approved the wine and the waiter went away. “So long as we only talk about food and swear a great deal, that’s just fine. My French is somewhat limited in scope.”

"One day, you need to come to New Orleans, femme. No place in de world like it, and if you want food," Remy took a swallow of wine. "Dere nothing dey don't cook well."

“It’s not so much that I want the food as I want the recipes. New Orleans can be our next trip. I could get used to shopping for Justice.” She grinned, “Whose money am I spending by the way?”

"Mine, for now. Figure until de Professor and Wisdom get things squared away for dis sort of work, I'll finance my own investigations." Remy made a sour face. "Which up until now have provided us with little more den dis dinner. If Magento is operating in Western Europe, he's being damn quiet about it."

“Damn quiet is pretty much his m.o. We’ve never known what he wanted before he struck.” Lorna finished her wine and held out her glass for him to refill. “I’d love to just once get the jump on him. Hit back before he causes trouble.”

"Dats de idea. If we can get some real intelligence--" Remy paused. "When we get some real intelligence, de whole place can go down. Been reading about dis 'Brotherhood'. Dey strong, but stupid. Fight like individuals. Dat means a real team can break dem without a sweat."

“God, I hope that’s true. Because they’ve done a fairly good job of handing us our asses up til now.” Lorna sighed and shook her head. “I just hope they don’t recognize that flaw and close it up.”

"Agreed. Meet dat Sabretooth back in Libya in de late eighties. Victor was never de nicest guy. Or de most disciplined. Just killed his way to and from his targets." Remy shuddered. "Not surprised dat he ended up with Lensherr."

“Mystique…do we know anything about her at all? Other than Mags she seems like the most intelligent.” Lorna broke off that thought as the waiter brought their appetizers.

"Nothing I've heard. Femme like dat, wit' her powers? Won't surprise me if she'd ducked every agency sweep even close to her. She's learned tradecraft from someone." Remy sighed, digging a snail from the shell. "Dat means dat a link does exist. Better question might be where did Erik find her? A shapeshifter makes me think Cerebro, so was it while he and de Professor were working together?"

“Or she sought him out. God knows he’s charismatic enough to talk birds from trees. If she heard or read of him, she may have found him instead.” Lorna shook her head and selected a mussel before offering some to Remy. “It’s not like his is an unattractive philosophy.”

"Dey never are." Remy accepted the mussel on the tines of his fork. "Terrorists and fanatics are all about certainity. Us verses dem. And since dey are de enemy, for what ever reason, it makes doing unhuman things to dem more acceptable."

“Only trouble is that it only works so long as there is a ‘them’. Four legs good, two legs bad. Until you run out of two leggers to hate. Can’t we all just get along?” she asked half-seriously. She picked at her food though it was, as promised, excellent.

"Magneto will always find a 'them', chere. Dats where de crazy part comes in." Remy pointed out, helping himself to a slice of the livarot cheese. "Guess dats why de Professor has his own shock troops to take dem out."

She shrugged, “What do I know? I’m just in it for the nifty outfits.” Lorna bent suddenly and ducked into one of the bags at her feet. “Speaking of which,” she tossed him a small flat bag and held another one in her lap.

"A present?" Remy cocked an eyebrow and reached into the bag. He had to resist aloud laugh as he pulled the flat black felt hat from the bag and looked at it. "You know, chere, dis could get us lynched for excessive touristness." He said mock-seriously, fixing the beret on his head.

She giggled as she set her own matching beret on her head, adjusting it at the proper starving artist angle. “No, that would be the t-shirts with the Eiffel Tower. Which I very heroically refrained from buying.”

"Merci. Cover is one thing, but bad taste?" He said with a decidedly Gallic twist to his voice. Maurin walked by, plucked the beret from Remy's head and dropped it in his lap without even pausing, earning a puzzled glance as the head waiter walked on. Henri came over to clear the dishes, and leaned over to Remy.

"Maurin says the lady has the panache for the beret, M Mayle. You, on the other hand..." He left as Lorna tried to stifle her giggles.

"Maybe dere is a downside to de familiarity." Remy said dryly.

Lorna was doing a very bad job of covering her laughter. She attempted to pretend her amusement was glee. “A real live Frenchman says I have panache. This is marvellous. Chef Marcel only ever said I had promise.” Since that was far from convincing she grabbed her wine and hid behind it while she giggled.

"I almost think I miss the fear. De jokes are worse." Remy said, acknowledging Maurin with his wine glass and taking another sip. "At least de Germans are a little more stoic."

“When they’re sober anyway,” Lorna responded, finally getting down to just the occasional snicker. “Which may be an oxymoron. Like English food.”

"London is a big town for doing business. Seems like everyone has a hand in it. Like Prague. Speaking of Prague," Remy pulled out a cellphone from his pocket. "I want you to use dis one while we're here. It's encrypted, totally anonymous, and cleared for Eastern European satellite support. You may need it."

Lorna accepted it and tucked it away. “Oh good, I was wondering how I’d report in to the Captain.” She sipped her wine and poked experimentally at a mussel, trying to decide if she wanted more.

"Dat city can get a little dangerous. Plus, if Remy ask de wrong questions, we may need to leave early." He raised his hands at her sudden look. "Not for sure, but just in case. Remy prefer to be a little paranoid."

“I think a little is not the term for what kind of paranoid you are but this is your show. I’m just here for back up and looking pretty.” She rejected further eating. “Did you have a plan for tomorrow?”

"Our flight for Berlin leaves at noon. Check in, and I have a 'meeting' dat afternoon. I'll meet you back at de hotel dat evening." Remy said, finishing up the last of his glass and waving for the check. "We're catching a sleeper train to Prague just after midnight, so don't settle in too much."

“Here I thought I was going to get to see the Louvre.” She sighed dramatically. “Next time you promise me lazy days of shopping and spas, I’m going to know you’re a big liar.” She drained her wineglass again and made a mental note to pass this all along in her report back to Scott.

"Sorry, chere. Dis one is all business. Look at it dis way. While you're shopping, I'm risking getting killed in rustic dives last frequented by de cheaper type of KGB officer. Want to trade?"

She tsked at him, “You’re not going to make me feel guilty. I’m not the one with the nefarious past and all the shady connections. You want someone to swap with you, you should have married Pete.”

"Remy saving dat one until I get a lead in Holland." He grinned, and passed over a credit card to Henri. Maurin came over took a long look at them both.

"And your meal was to your satisfaction, Madam?"

Lorna beamed up at him. “It was utterly gorgeous, Maurin. I don’t suppose there is any chance I could speak with the chef? I’m fascinated by what he did with the duck. I thought I detected a hint of honey.” Despite the evidence of her barely touched plate, it was clear she’d made the most of every bite she had eaten.

"I am afraid M. Bocuse has already left for the evening, Madam Mayle. He will be in tomorrow morning if you would like to have a word with him. He will be demonstrating his Richerenches omelette aux truffes to the local members of the Confrerie du Diamant Noir." Maurin said. Remy shrugged.

"You got time before de flight, chere."

Lorna took a moment to judge what Remy thought of this then nodded, “I’ll be here. What time will he be arriving?”

"We are expected the order at nine, but if you would like to come a little early, we can arrange a private word with M Bocuse while he prepares. Normally we would not, but since you so obviously are needed to further M Mayle's education, I cannot refuse." Maurin said, slipping away from the table with another slight nod. Remy rolled his eyes.

"Every head waiter has to be a comedian. I think it's a requirement for de position. Shall we?"

“Do let’s.” She allowed him to help her out of her seat, swaying slightly as all the wine rushed to her head. “Yikes. Okay, don’t let me drink the rest of this trip.” She bent her knees to gather the results of her shopping.

Remy took most of the bags, bunching them in his hands while Lorna struggled with her coat. "Chere, you're in Europe. Dat's not an option. But I think we can keep a close eye on it."

“If I end up singing, it’s not my fault. I blame the wine.” She adjusted her beret and allowed him to lead her out.

"Remy see if he can remember de words to 'La Marseillaise'." He grinned as they exited out into the chill night air.

--La fin--