X-Men Fan Fiction ❯ Blood is Thicker ❯ Chapter Seven ( Chapter 7 )

 

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 Seven

::: :::

The dry and brittle leaves shifted in the chill wind, a cascade of red and yellow fading into brown. Not many were left on the branches of the tree he was under, but it was pretty all the same. Remy leaned against the old, weathered rope of the wooden swing, held onto it tightly with his left hand, his good hand.

His wheelchair was next to the swing. Dragging himself one-handed from it and onto the wooden board had been exhausting and now that he was there he could only shut his eyes and catch his breath. He hadn't let Johnathan help him, had sent the man away once the wheelchair was close enough to the swing. Remy had wanted to see if he could do it himself, if he had a chance at recovery.

He needed to recover, he decided after his conversation with Sinister a couple days before. He hadn't asked all the questions he wanted to, had left in disbelief and shock after the scientists' confession, wine untouched. He needed to clear his head and think. He needed a distraction so he didn't have to and throwing himself into therapy was the only thing he could think of that might work.

But moving himself from the chair to the swing left him tired and all he could do for the longest time was go through his thoughts. Review the conversation, every experience he had ever had with Essex. Every word the man had ever said, every action he'd ever taken. It was somewhat frightening when he realized exactly how much the man had been there for him.

Never pushed him away.

He didn't act like a father was supposed to... though with Jean-Luc as his only measuring stick, Essex was doing surprisingly well having not abandoned him because he wasn't strong enough to deal with seeing his son a cripple.

Remy shut his eyes and listened to the wind rattle the trees, branches scraping against branches. It was a gentle noise soon complimented by the soft patter of raindrops. England in the fall. Halloween was right around the corner and Thanksgiving would mark three months of him living at the Milbury house. His birthright, if he wanted to accept it. That would mean accepting a lot of things.

He heard the crunch that heralded footsteps through the leaves. They came toward him in a swift, confident stride. He didn't have to open his eyes to know it was Sinister. A heavy weight settled on his shoulders as the sound stopped next to him and the raindrops finally made their way through the boughs to land on his head.

The pop of an umbrella opening sounded behind him, followed by the shaking of the swing as the doctor held it between the rope supports to keep the rain off, //You should go back inside.//

Remy smiled softly, sadly. Essex wasn't going to force him to leave and that made his heart hurt more. The scientist was genuinely trying, awkward as it was.

He tilted his head back and looked up at his father. Essex was staring off at the beach, expression blank. Remy lowered his head and leaned into the rope some more, “Why did dey all leave me? What did I do wrong?”

//I don't know.//

“I thought it was because of de evil in me... because of your blood. Ya gave me de devil's eyes...”

//I also made you attractive and physically more capable than even the most powerful of your mutant peers. And there is nothing wrong with your eyes.// His mental voice sounded a little hurt, oddly mixed with pride.

Remy chuckled bitterly, “My eyes pushed a lot o' people away, M'seiur... Le diable blanc...”

//A fitting title for the son of Diable Noir.// Definitely pride behind that statement. The man didn't even know what he was supposed to be proud of, what a father should be proud of. He had no morals, took pleasure in hurting and controlling others, in being their worst fears come to life. The man was a monster, no getting around it.

And he was standing in the chill autumn air holding an umbrella to keep the rain off Remy. Had brought a blanket to wrap over his shoulders and keep him warm. Was ignoring his research, his life's work, his dream, to stand pointlessly beside an old wooden swing and watch over his crippled son.

“I don't know what to call you anymore. I don't know what to feel. I don't know what I feel.”

//Do you still feel like bleeding yourself?//

“No...”

//Then being allowed time to contemplate and gather your thoughts will not be an issue.// So matter of fact, the voice so clinical. So accepting.

“Could ya talk ta me out loud after dinner? Hold some flash cards and read the words so I can learn what they supposed ta sound like again?” Remy murmured, mouth barely moving. “Just an hour or so.”

“Yes,” Essex replied. He knew his son recognized that one already.

::: :::

Halloween arrived and Remy had a ball helping to decorate what he could of the house. Children from the social elite came to the island for the parties held by other families to keep them out of trouble on the night of tricks. They trick or treated the few homes that weren't having a big gathering, their parents relenting to allow the antics on the safety of the island. Remy had the satisfaction of seeing repeat customers.

He sat on the porch in a rocking chair, dressed like a zombie and a bowl of candy in his lap. Red on black eyes only added to the creepiness of his costume. The children would approach cautiously at first and then catch sight of his eyes and laugh to each other that it was obviously a dummy. They'd go for the candy and the bowl would glow pink before their little hands could touch a single wrapper. His eyes would burn red and a grin blossom on his lips. His laughter echo after the retreating footsteps of the children.

Then Sinister would appear in the shadows of the walk way. Full regalia, Remy had insisted he participate, get in some quality bonding time with his son. The monster would laugh at the frightened children and compliment the ones brave enough to grab a handful of candy. He would mock the ones who dared come back for more and his cape would writhe with a life of its own as they tried to skirt past him and out the gate.

The Milbury house was very popular.

::: :::

//That was, perhaps, the most pointless experience of my life,// Sinister complained as the night finally came to an end and he pushed Remy's wheelchair inside the house.

“You had fun and you know it,” came the cheeky response. Remy always had liked Halloween, the one day a year (outside of Mardi Gras if you happened to be in New Orleans) that he and the other mutants could walk around without hiding their mutations and not scare the general public. The X-Men had never indulged in a proper haunted house while he had been with them and it was a crying shame as far as he was concerned. They didn't know what they were missing.

//Fun?// There was some amusement behind the question.

“Fun. You know, having a good time. Laughing, enjoying yourself for de sake of enjoyment.”

A chuckle was his only reply.

“Come on, jus' admit ya had a good time. Ya liked it,” Remy wasn't going to give up on this. He needed to know his father had some measure of humanity in him and a sense of humor and enjoyment of a pointless holiday was a decent start.

Sinister lifted him out of the wheelchair and carried him into the bathroom, setting him on the toilet so he could begin to strip himself for a bath. The doctor had reverted to his human form, though the diamond on his forehead remained. He remained silent on the issue, but a smirk was on his face.

“What is it goin' take ta get ya ta admit ya enjoyed doin' dat wit' me?” The Cajun slowly worked his shirt off his body, the tattered cloth easier to remove than his regular clothes.

Essex raised an eyebrow and chuckled again, //If I did enjoy myself as you seem to believe, I could possibly make a statement declaring such... if you would address me as father. For the rest of the night is acceptable.//

“What?” Remy looked at him in surprise. “I already have...”

The doctor met his eyes and tilted his head, expression mild, //You have acknowledged that you are my son, but you still address me as 'doctor', or 'Essex', or 'M'seiur'// He even got the accent right on that one. //You insisted that I join you in this endeavor and gave the excuse of father-son bonding time, but you called me 'Sinny' when you did so. And before you make a comment, in the future I will not be so forgiving of the use of that name. However, you have yet to call me father.//

Remy looked down at his hands and began peeling off his pants. Sinister remained, said nothing more and began running the bath water while his son finished stripping. The doctor bathed him in silence and dried him the same. Remy wrapped his left arm around Sinister's shoulder and held on comfortably when he was carried to bed.

The scientist didn't attempt to continue the conversation, simply tucked Remy in for the night and left. The Cajun found sleep elusive and when the sun began peeking its way into his room in the morning he sighed to himself and cast his thoughts into the ether, hoping Sinister would hear him before he shut his eyes and finally lost himself in dreams, //Goodnight, pere.//

A smiled curved his lips when the voice echoed in response, //Yes. I had fun.//

::: :::

Sinister sat at his desk, frowning at the phone. A small red light blinked up at him, indicating that the caller was still on hold. Callers, in this case. A group of them on speaker phone waiting for him to pick up.

He could hang up without answering, ignore them. But if Remy somehow found out later and actually wanted to speak with them it would be Essex that got in trouble with the boy. He scowled at that. He was becoming far too sentimental where his son was concerned. The only bright point being that Apocalypse was still slumbering from the last time he'd been defeated by the X-Men and had no way of knowing about this new weakness in his servant. Yet.

Essex reached out and pressed the speakerphone button, then the one next to the blinking light, “Make this quick, my patience with you ran its course three months ago.”

Doctor McCoy cleared his throat over the line, “Of course, Doctor. We would like to offer our apologies for what occurred with Scott and our own failures leading up to the incident. We would also be most grateful if you would be so kind as to inform us of how Remy is doing. We understand that he might not wish to see or hear from us, but we still care for him and would appreciate the assurance that he is alive and well.”

Sinister's scowl deepened and he was silent for a very long time. He could hear the nervous shifting and occasional whisper of 'do you think he's still there?' in a southern drawl that was quickly shushed by four other voices waiting with baited breath for his answer.

A knock sounded and the door to his study opened before he could answer or turn off the speakerphone. Remy pushed himself inside with a grin, “Pere! Look! I can get my right arm to move.”

Sinister was most grateful for the silence on the other side of the line while he tried to school his expression. He didn't like being caught off guard.

Remy gave him a puzzled look, “Well... here I was thinkin' you'd be all happy about dat...”

“I am,” Essex replied curtly, not at all sounding like it. He took a deep breath and spoke slowly for the young man's benefit, holding up his hand to keep his son from responding before he was finished, “I... am... sorry... Remy... You... caught... me... off... guard.”

Remy's eyes squinted as he listened carefully and then repeated the man, “I am sorry Remy. You... somet'ing... me... off... somet'ing... I really hopin' dat wasn't an insult, pere.”

Sinister pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, “Doctor McCoy, if you and yours will give me a moment...”

“Of course, Doctor!” came the eager, if nervous response from the phone.

Remy frowned at the noise and looked up at his father in question.

//I am on the phone, Remy,// the doctor replied mentally. //You caught me off guard when you came in. I am quite happy that you have gotten your right arm to move. Please, do explain.// He steepled his fingers and leaned on his elbows over the desk, attention completely on his son. The boy had addressed him as 'pere', 'father' - Sinister decided to keep the X-Men on speakerphone. He felt an evil shiver of satisfaction in the idea of rubbing their noses in the fact that Remy trusted him, acknowledged him, called him father.

The Cajun laughed, “You sure, pere? I can wait 'til ya done wit' ya call.”

Sinister nodded, very sure of his decision, speaking out loud for the benefit of those listening as well as replying via the mind, “You are far more important than they are, my boy.”

Remy shrugged, “Well, ya know how I produce dat bio-kinetic energy and how I can charge myself a bit ta make me faster and more agile?”

//Yes, of course.//

“Okay, so I got ta thinkin' about it and did some research and ya can stop lookin' at me like you're surprised at dat.”

Essex chuckled and wisely said nothing.

“So, kinetic energy is produced by an object in motion... normally. Meaning dat my natural disposition is ta be movin'. I thought about it for a bit and been practicin' for de past couple weeks... focusin' on chargin' myself. Somet'ing I never did before, never thought about cause it jus' came naturally. And I got ta focusin' on making my fingers move wit' de charge. If my natural disposition is ta be movin', den making my body move wit' de charge seemed only natural.”

//Interesting. I had not considered that application of your powers. Why did you wait until now to tell me?//

“I wanted ta move my whole arm first. So I could wheel myself in here,” his grin split his face. “So who ya on de line wit' anyway? Ya looked mad when I came in here. Someone do somet'ing stupid, blow up a lab?”

Sinister tilted his head and spoke out loud, “The X-Men.”

Remy's face fell and he replied quietly, hesitantly, “What dey want?”

//To see how you were faring.//

“Dey ain't mad at me?”

“No,” it was a word he could understand.

“Dey on hold?” Remy sounded hopeful.

Sinister sighed, “No.”

“Oh... I thought... Well, if dey call again...”

//They are listening to our conversation, Remy. They are on speakerphone.//

“Dey are?!” His head snapped up and he stared at the mild look of annoyance on his father's face.

“Yes.”

“Can I talk ta dem?” Hesitant, hopeful.

“Yes.”

“You'll translate right?” At his father's nod, he pushed himself to the desk, right arm glowing slightly as it moved in tandem with the left. He leaned over the wooden surface, “Hey.”

::: :::

End