X-Men Fan Fiction ❯ Blood is Thicker ❯ Chapter Six ( Chapter 6 )

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 Six

::: :::

Remy met Sinister's eyes, glaring defiantly at him. Essex was the one to break the eye contact, his lowering to Gambit's bleeding hand. Black gloved fingers lifted the dead weight and wiped the blood away with the cloth napkin left from the mid-day meal. Remy wished he could pull his hand away.

“Let it bleed,” he muttered, anger causing his entire body to shake violently.

//Now why would I let that happen, Remy. So you can attempt to kill yourself again? That would be a waste of my investment.// Sinister' voice rumbled through his mind, devoid of emotion as he continued to clean the wound.

Remy grabbed at the cloth with his left hand, trying to pull it away and having no luck, “Wasn' tryin' ta kill myself. Never have.”

One of the doctor's eyebrows quirked up and he looked rather interested in hearing more, //Is that why you slit your wrist? Because you didn't want to kill yourself?//

“Oui.”

//You're going to have to explain yourself on this one, Remy.// The tone was firm, but unaccusing, almost concerned. Gambit ignored the desire to read more into it than there was. Sinister couldn't possibly be concerned about him as a person, just as his investment.

“Don't need ta.” He was pouting, petulant, dissatisfied.

//I can always rip it from your mind.//

“Why don't you,” he challenged with a snarl.

Sinister paused in his ministrations, pressing the red-stained cloth to the wound, the pressure helping to stem the flow of blood. He looked his son in the eyes and smiled sadly, //Because I want you to tell me.//

Remy wanted so badly for that expression to mean Essex actually cared and he hated himself for being that desperate. He looked away and crossed his left arm over his chest, the limb falling into his lap without the right arm to support it. He hated being crippled like this. It hurt too much and he just wanted to bleed the pain out.

“Let it bleed,” he murmured again, weaker. “Please.”

//Tell me why.//

“Because I want de sin gone!” he screamed, rounding on his father, eyes blazing. “I want your blood out o' me! It's de reason everyt'ing be shot ta hell! It's why Rogue left me, it's why Pere left me, it's why no one trusts me! It's de root o' all evil in me and I want it gone!”

Sinister stepped back in shock at the outburst. For a moment, Remy could have swore the man looked hurt by the words. The moment passed and the doctor's face returned to that passive expression he normally carried. His body shifted back to Nathaniel Essex and he looked over at Johnathan.

The man unfroze and looked around, confused. He didn't remember walking away from Remy. He didn't remember seeing the doctor enter the room. He certainly didn't remember Remy getting that nasty gash on his hand.

Essex spoke to him and Remy only recognized a couple of the words. Small ones: the, a, Remy, son. He watched the blood begin to dry, sluggishly pushing out of the wound to help scab over and begin the healing process. He didn't pay attention to anything else as he was moved from his wheelchair to the bed.

His left hand lifted his right and hugged it to his chest, protecting the source of his salvation. He could still bleed it out, he'd just have to be more careful about it.

::: :::

The next morning Remy found his breakfast served with only a spoon. The fork and butter knife that usually accompanied it were gone. He frowned at the scrambled eggs and pushed them around the plate with the wholly unsatisfactory utensil.

He ate slowly, taking his time to look around his room and really study his surroundings. It was subtle, and not noticeable unless one was searching for it, but all the sharp objects that could be used to cut himself had been removed or replaced sometime during the night. He should have woken up to the noise that kind of commotion would have made. Sinister had probably kept him unconscious.

When his meal was finally finished, Johnathan lifted him from the bed to his wheelchair. Remy didn't help him like he usually did. Didn't wrap his left arm around the mans neck and lean into him to make the job easier on both of him. He just lay there limply, dead weight.

That's all he was now. Useless, dead weight. He said nothing the rest of the day, didn't pick up his spoon to eat at either meal, didn't drink anything.

In the morning he was the same. Johnathan ended up spoon feeding him. He was willing to chew once the food got to his mouth, but he wasn't going to be the one to pick it up. He didn't want to do anything anymore.

::: :::

Essex was becoming noticeably frustrated with his son. Two weeks had passed since the boy injured himself. Two weeks of Remy laying in bed doing absolutely nothing. Not talking, not looking at anything, not even arguing with Sinister.

And the doctor was tired of it.

He waited until Catherine and Johnathan left for the day. Stood in a corner of the darkened room watching Remy as he lay there. The boy had lost weight, noticeably so. His ribs were starting to show and his cheeks had become slightly sunken. It was as if the boy had given up on living, was already dead and just waiting for his body to catch up.

Sinister's hands curled into fists and his mouth opened in a snarl of frustration. Remy's head lolled over, looking at the glowing red eyes and the blazing diamond on the scientist's face. Red on black eyes dull and half-lidded. His head rolled back the other direction.

Essex walked slowly to the bed, trying to keep his anger in check as he sat down next to his son and placed a hand on the boys' arm. Remy looked at his hand, then looked away. Did nothing. Said nothing.

//So that's it, then? You're going to just give up?// The doctor growled into Gambit's mind and had the satisfaction of seeing him flinch, but he didn't answer. //This tantrum does nothing but hinder your recovery. Is this what being an X-Man taught you? To throw a fit and gather pity?//

Remy's left hand curled into a fist and his mouth tightened. Still he said nothing.

//I thought you better than this, Remy. I thought you stronger. Adam fought harder than you are and he was only four years old.// Sinister stood, turning to leave the man in disgust.

“Who's Adam?” the quiet voice was raspy, unused.

Sinister paused, not looking back, //Your brother.//

“Where is he?”

//Dead.//

Silence filled the dark room as the Moon rose outside, casting a pale glow over the inhabitants.

“What happened?”

Essex glanced over his shoulder, Remy was looking at him now, pushing himself into a sitting position with his only good arm. The doctor turned back around and sat down on the bed once more. //He was born with a malformed spine. It was the 1850's. Medicine hadn't advanced enough to help him, so all we could do was make him comfortable for the short time he lived.//

Remy met his eyes and they stayed like that for a long time: silent and just looking at each other. The Cajun yawned and laughed as the doctor followed suit, trying to stop himself in an unconsciously funny manner.

“Why ya care?”

Sinister smiled broadly at the boy and tucked the blankets around his waist, “Because you're my son.”

Remy looked confused. The only word he had understood was 'son'.

The doctor stood and leaned over the young man, pressing a soft kiss to his temple, //You're the only son I have, Remy. How could I not care?// He put the Cajun to sleep with a gentle nudge of his mind and tucked him in properly.

::: :::

Remy was sitting up in bed when Johnathan and Catherine entered with his morning meal. He waited until the tray was set over his lap and then took the woman's hand and grinned up at her, kissing the back of it, “Merci for de fine meal, Madame Ramsay.”

She tittered and blushed as he released her hand and dug into the food with gusto, waving Johnathan off when he dropped the food a couple times. He shook his head and pointed the utensil at him, “A spoon is no good for dis kind of meal, homme. If ya goin' ta keep makin' me use one, I expect a stack of pancakes a dozen high and drowned in strawberry syrup. And cran-apple juice. It has a kick.”

Catherine nodded and he recognized the word 'yes' somewhere in the string of noise. It made him smiled as he mopped up the rest of the food and then handed the tray over to her. When Johnathan bent over to pick him up, he draped his left arm over the man's shoulder and leaned into him as best he could, “After my bath, I wan' ta go talk ta de Doctor. Could ya make sure he's home?”

The man nodded and said something that his cousin replied to and then lifted him and carried him into the bathroom. The process went much quicker than it had been now that Remy was cooperating again, even helped dress himself after his bodily needs were taken care of. Insisted on pulling on his own pants and buttoning his own shirt, even if he could only do it with one hand.

Johnathan helped him into his wheelchair and pushed him down the hall to Doctor Milbury's study. Essex was in his favorite leather chair, bottle of wine and two glasses waiting on the small table next to him. Remy was wheeled around to sit opposite the man, table between them. Then Johnathan left.

Remy waited until the door was closed and he heard the footsteps of the staff fade away down the hall, “Why should I believe ya care?”

The doctor tilted his head and poured the wine for both of them. He picked up his own glass and took a sip before speaking, mind to mind. //Why shouldn't you?// he countered mildly.

“You abandoned me at a hospital when I was only a few weeks old,” Remy returned, picking up the offered glass with his working hand. His voice as equally deadpan as Sinister's.

Essex shook his head, //No. I didn't. The Assassins Guild did, after they stole you from my New Orleans lab.//

“Why would dey do somet'ing like dat?”

//Lord Apocalypse paid them to,// He smiled at his son. //I am as much his slave as the Marauder's are mine, Remy. There was nothing I could do but watch the joke play out. Don't get me wrong, at the time I created you I never expected to actually raise you. You were designed to be my next Vessel. One with a superior genetic make-up entirely free of Apocalypse's influence, allowing me to finally defy and destroy him.//

“So what changed?”

Essex shrugged, //When I was first created, first became Sinister, Lord Apocalypse did me the favor of ridding me of all emotion. It allowed me to act in the most detached and efficient manner possible, researching and advancing science without the chains of morality. I was supposed to be immortal.//

He took another drink of the expensive red wine, //But with all deals concerning the devil, there is always a catch. Apocalypse lied. I was not, actually, immortal. Long-lived, longer than any human, yes. But to achieve immortality, I would have to to find the perfect combination of mutant DNA and create a being that could live forever, a body for myself to inhabit and continue my work into infinity.

//To reach this goal, I cloned myself and then transferred my memories and psychic imprint into the new body once it reached maturity, duplicating the abilities I found to be the most useful to me. Each time I did so, I found I lessened Apocalypse's hold on me. But it also allowed a trickle of emotion to return.

//I have cloned my basic genetic structure many times over the past century and a half. Your body was my finest yet, completely free of any influence by my master. But he knew what I was attempting and as a way to punish me, he had you stolen and forced me to stand by and watch as the body I had created for myself grew up with its own goals and ideals.

//And so I watched you, because I could do nothing else. I made sure you had access to me, to monitor your progress in hopes of one day helping guide you to procreate with one of several pre-selected mutant bloodlines and produce an offspring that I could then take as my own, to be my new vessel.//

Remy could only sit there and stare throughout this, the calm, matter-of-fact tone that Sinister used about the only thing keeping him from getting angry. It made it sound like none of that mattered.

//It was while I watched you that more of my emotions, so long suppressed, began to emerge,// Essex continued, pouring himself another glass, having finished the first. //And I remembered what it was like to have a family, a son. Adam died when he was four and there was nothing I could do about it. I poured myself into my work, my research, to find a way to create the perfect being so that nature would never create another child who would suffer as he did. Simply by virtue of the wrong mix of genetic material. Rebecca didn't understand that I was doing it for her, for our second son... He was still born and took her life with him. I miss her sometimes.//

He stood and moved to the fireplace, picking up a small object that he flipped open. Music began to play and a soft, loving smile came to his face, //Realize that I still find morals to be nothing more than pathetic restraints placed on society by those too afraid of their most basic natures. But that does not mean I cannot feel, cannot love. I watched you grow into a man. Watched you become the man Adam could have, should have been if nature were only fair.//

Sinister shut the music box and looked at Remy, //You, my boy, are every bit my son as he was. And just as with him, I was denied the opportunity to be a father. I do regret that it took until I saw you on that operating table, as weak and helpless as Adam had been, for me to finally realize what I had been feeling for years. I kept offering my services to you, telling you that I would be there for you if you needed me and even I couldn't figure out why. If I desired your services so badly, I could have simply cloned you and be done with it. I didn't, because all I really wanted, was to have you as my son.//

::: :::

End Chapter