X-Men Fan Fiction ❯ Blood is Thicker ❯ Chapter One ( Chapter 1 )

Blood is Thicker

A X-Men Fanfiction

Written by RogueMoon and Nicole Wagner

Original Idea and collaboration by Nicole Wagner

Posted with Permission of Nicole Wagner

 

Chapter One

::: :::

The water lapped softly against the bottom of the dock, a gentle, constant sound in his life. What life he had, anyway. Remy flicked the half finished cigarette out over the blue-green expanse and watched it pop like a firecracker. Usually that could bring a brief smile to his face, just because.

It didn't, hadn't for weeks now. Not since he was given the boat house by Scott and Jean so he could stay with the X-Men without causing problems for the team. Out of sight, out of mind and all that Jazz. All because he had a history with Sinister.

Scott had a history with the man too, but Scott hadn't worked for him willingly. Scott hadn't formed the Marauder's and led them into the sewers to slaughter the Morlocks like cattle. Scott didn't have a past that he was ashamed of.

Logan did. Logan had a past worse than any of theirs. They knew it because his nightmares would wake the house at least once a week. But Logan didn't remember any of that past. He was a changed man, literally. He didn't have to live with the knowledge of what he had done and it didn't effect the choices he made. There was no possibility of ulterior motives.

Something Remy didn't have. They'd never really trusted him. Too cocky, too much of joker, a loner and of course, a thief. Too proud of his profession. Of being able to con others. That wasn't something a trustworthy person would be proud of.

It must run in the blood. Sinister's blood. His blood. It all went back to his father. The devil himself made flesh.

Gambit picked at a scab on his leg, barely feeling the pinch as the skin and blood came off. Didn't feel anything as the wound began to bleed slowly. It was his blood, the devil's blood. It was all his fault that Remy was untrustworthy. A sinner.

He frowned, picked at the cut, widening it with his fingers until he couldn't stand causing himself any more pain. The blood flowed more, faster, escaping its mortal container. The devil's blood flowed out of him.

It made him feel better. Watching the devil's blood leave him was worth the pain he had inflicted. It dribbled down his leg and onto the dock, staining the wood before finding a path between the cracks to fall into the water below. Dissipate. The poison diluted.

He watched himself bleed until the blood clotted, stopped flowing naturally. Dark red and black in the light of the setting sun. His body trying to keep the devil's blood inside him.

Remy stood up and wandered back to the boathouse, his afternoon wasted in a futile attempt to rid himself of his own heritage. He had had nothing better to do. The Danger Room was off limits to him except on Monday nights when he had a few hours all to himself. No one else around for him to run into or hurt just by reminding them he existed.

He walked slowly into the kitchen, stomach rumbling as he fished out some peanut butter and jelly and put together a sandwich for himself. Buffy would be on soon, a repeat guaranteed. But he didn't mind. He liked the show. Idly he picked up one of the steak knives and began flipping it through his fingers as he ate. Practicing as he usually did. It was about the only practice he could get in during the six days he wasn't allowed in the Danger Room.

After finishing the sandwich he strolled to the couch and plotted down with all the grace of a wet coat and picked up the remote with his free hand. The other still flipped the knife with ease. The opening rock music heralded the pretty form of Buffy flipping over people's heads and wielding axes and wooden spikes.

He frowned as he recognized the episode. He'd seen it several times. The one with the Sadie Hawkins Dance and Buffy and Angel playing the parts of the teacher and student. The student killing his teacher, Buffy shooting Angel. He wasn't sure he wanted to watch it anymore, but he didn't turn it off. He had nothing else to do.

The knife slipped and he let out a curse as it clattered to the floor, the sharp pain of it slicing one finger surprising him. He pressed the cut to his mouth and sucked on the blood, trying to stop the bleeding. It was coppery and acidic. It was the devil's blood.

He pulled his hand away and watched himself bleed in silent awe. Red on black eyes, devil eyes, followed the dripping red as it fell in sluggish drops to the carpet next to the knife.

The knife.

The devil's blood leaving him.

He picked up the blade with his uninjured hand and stared at it as Buffy went to commercial. The knife cut him so much easier than he had cut himself. How could he have not seen it before, realized the solution?

He could bleed it out. Rid himself of the devil's blood. Rid himself of the sin he was born into. Remy stood and left the living room, TV still blaring behind him as he went to the bathroom. He rolled up his pant leg and sat down on the edge of the tub.

Placing the knife against the scab that was already there, he sliced downward, lengthening it. He didn't want to die. Just be rid of the devil's blood. A little bleeding wouldn't kill him.

It bit into him and he couldn't stop the hiss of pain. But the red sea of sin began to surge from him, empty into the white porcelain vessel. He set the knife down on the toilet and leaned back against the wall. No sense causing more of a mess than necessary. He could just run the water once the blood clotted and be done with it.

He wondered how long that would take. Would he be able to see the end credits of the show before or after the red river stopped running freely? He hadn't cut himself too deeply, so he was going to bet on before he returned to watch the 'Grr, Argh'. Remy chuckled, it felt good to bet with himself over how long it would take him to lose his sins.

They wouldn't all be gone though. A body needed blood to live, and he didn't want to die. He'd still have the devil's blood in him. Just not as much as before. That was fine. He could deal with it and always drain some more later, when the sin built up to much.

::: :::

“You need to get in here more, Gumbo,” Logan grinned widely as he hit Remy in the side with a well placed kick. “You're getting soft.”

Gambit rolled with the hit, letting himself fall to the floor bonelessly and tumble back up, Bo staff clipping his opponent in the shoulder, “Not allowed in here 'cept on Mondays, mon ami. Ya know dat.”

“Bullshit. You have your private session time on Mondays. You can still come up for group practice and I'm always in the mood for a sparring partner,” Wolverine growled back, actually angry at the Cajun for thinking like that. His fist connected with Remy's chest and sent the man flying against the wall.

Gambit groaned and pushed himself back up slowly.

Logan crossed his arms and shook his head, “What's the matter with you, Gumbo? You should have lasted an hour and half against me. We've only been at this forty-five minutes and you're already in no shape to continue. It's not that cut on your leg is it?”

A look of surprise ghosted over Remy's face before he could school his expression. Then he shrugged the question away, “Nah. I jus' haven't had much practice against anyone lately. My leg be fine.”

“It's bleeding. I can smell it. The cut opened up about ten minutes ago. You should-”

Remy nodded, rolling his eyes and collapsing his Bo staff, “Yeah yeah yeah. Get a new bandage on it. I know how ta care for myself, Logan.”

The Canadian grunted, heading for the door, “My private sessions are on Thursday, in the morning. You can join me if you want. You should. You need it.”

“Thanks,” Gambit replied, following the man. And he meant it. It was nice to have that invitation. “But de rest of the team won't be so understanding, I'm thinking. Don't worry about it, Logan.”

“I'm not worried about you, Cajun,” Logan lied, he never did like showing affection for others. It made him feel weak. “I'm not trusting you to watch my back in a fight if you keep up the shit I saw today. Thursday morning. Be there. Anyone says anything, they have to deal with me.”

The short man didn't see the look of pain that Gambit gave him, how he took the words to heart. How he smirked and nodded and was berating himself internally for thinking Logan meant anything else by his concern.

Remy joined Wolverine in the showers, washed the sweat of his workout off. Carefully washed the bleeding wound in his leg. It was longer than it had been three days before. Seven inches now, trying to scab over and heal. It had three friends, shorter, shallower cuts near the ankle. Even to the trained eye they looked like nothing more than something a person might get from walking barefoot near an old pier.

He saw Logan watching him clean his leg and could feel the man's eyes on him as he left the shower stall and went to the first aid kit. Feel him watch as a clean square of cheesecloth was set over it and then wrapped with a bright pink bandage strip to keep it in place. The self adhesive kind that stuck to itself and was easy to spot due to the color.

Wolverine seemed satisfied that he was taking care of the wound and got dressed, leaving him alone in the locker room. He went to his locker and pulled out a switchblade, then headed back into the shower. Turned on the water to full blast, closed his eyes and flipped the knife out. He pulled it across his side and felt a wave of euphoria at the release.

Remy listened for a bit, making sure no one had come into the room before pulling the knife along the skin about an inch above the first cut, perfectly parallel. He felt his sins falling away with the red, washed down the drain. A third slash was made, an inch above the second. Anyone who might see it would assume Wolverine had caught him in the side. Even Logan might think he had by the time he'd see the scabs. Gambit snapped the switchblade shut and leaned against the tiled wall, feeling a lot better than he did before.

::: :::

The elevator chimed closed before beginning it's decent to Sub-Level Three. Entrance to the Danger Room. It was Thursday and Logan had called him up the night before to remind him to be there. If it wasn't for the fact that Logan was more concerned about having someone capable at his back in a fight, Remy could have felt happy at the attention.

He sighed and leaned back against the wall of the white steel car, hands in his pockets, toying with the decks of cards he had hidden away. Fingers sliding over the thin plastic, comforting him with the familiar action.

The elevator slowed and he stood as it chimed again, doors sliding open. She stood there, ready to step forward, a look of shock on her beautiful face. Soon wiped away with burning anger in the emerald eyes he nearly worshiped, the eyes that kept him awake at night and made his body ache.

Her hands curled into fists as he stepped out of the elevator, tried to move past her, his own devil eyes looking away. Trying to look at anything but the beauty before him.

He was slammed against the wall, her gloved hand curling into his coat as her forearm pressed against his throat, crushing the air from him, “What are ya'll doing here, Gambit? If you lost track of time, let me assure you it's not Monday and it sure as hell ain't the afternoon.”

Remy coughed, trying to swallow air past the pressure her arm created. He glared back at her, hating her and loving her and relishing the contact no matter how violent, “Ain't no rule says I can' come up here any other day den Monday, chere.”

She leaned in further and he felt like he was going to pass out from the lack of air, his hands clutching her arm involuntarily, pulling feebly at it. “Only X-Men have clearance ta come down here outside of scheduled training time. And last I checked, Sugah,” Oh how that word poured out, liquid hate. “You weren't an X-Man. Never were.”

He could have cried at that. A lesser man would have. He just tried to return her look of absolute hatred while staying conscious, not an easy feat when the person pressing against his windpipe could rip a school bus in half without breaking a sweat. Or a nail.

He grinned at his own joke, couldn't stop himself and her eyes flared at his apparent audacity. He was shoved back roughly and then allowed to drop to the floor to cough up a lung in an attempt to breath, “Could have killed me dere, chere.”

“I ain't your chere. Not anymore,” she bit back. “And I ain't a killer.”

The unspoken accusation hung in the air between them as the alarm rang through the halls, red lights spinning with the wails. The elevator opened and Remy squeezed in with Rogue, riding it up the two floors to Sub-Level One in silence. When it opened again, they joined the rest of the X-Men on the way to the War Room. Rogue putting as much distance between them as possible.

For his part, Gambit stood next to the door, at the very back of the room, arms crossed and making his presence felt as little as possible. The others sat down at the table and Scott addressed them, going over the situation. Sentinels had appeared two miles north and tore up a small town. They had already left, but Cerebro was tracking their signal. They'd be split into two teams, gold and blue. One would take the Blackbird and follow the robots. The other would head up to the town and see about the destruction, if anyone had been taken, etc.

Team rosters were called out. Remy's name wasn't on them. The others filed out, Rogue giving him a smug look, Warren and Betsy behind her with similar expressions of malice. Logan shrugged as he passed, an 'I told you so' look on his face.

Scott was the last one out, he clapped his hand on Remy's shoulder and looked him in the eyes, “Sorry Gambit. But I've been watching your training output and lately you just haven't been cutting it. Get back to what we're used to and you can join us again.”

“Not even de mission up north? De bag and tag?” he tried to keep the pain from his voice. He was pretty sure he succeeded.

“It could be a ruse, you know that. Only those we can trust to do their jobs get into the field.” Scott hadn't meant it to be mean, or accusing. But as he left Remy alone in the War Room, that's how it felt to the man. A full out declaration of mistrust from the Fearless Leader himself.

It was his father's fault. The blood of a sinner, the blood of a man condemned to evil, the blood of the devil. Remy hugged his trench coat around him and walked slowly from the room, back to the elevator. Took it down two floors.

Back to the Danger Room. He opened the door to the empty expanse and walked to the center of the room. He sat down, Indian style. His hands fumbled for the switchblade in his pocket and he flipped it open. Flipped it shut. Flipped it open.

His eyes, burning red, reflected back at him in the cold steel. His father's eyes, devil's eyes, the reason no one accepted him when he was a child, were scared of him. A product of the blood within him. He needed that blood out of him, needed to be purified.

Flipped the blade shut, flipped it open. Set it against his wrist and pulled. The blood cried for him.

::: :::

End Chapter