Whispers

 
Remembrance 01/17/2011
 
He never was a relgious man, not from his youth. Thinking of G-d brings up memories of cold narrow beds, six men crowded on one, burning ovens reeking of human flesh, the sharp prickle of knowing his number—no name left for G-d's people—was etched upon his arm.

Those numbers still itch.

He isn't sure why this Day of Atonement finds him standing outside a synagogue, wondering if the candles are already lit, why his mother's face refuses to leave him. He left G-d when he became a mutant. One or the other. A dichotomy of sorts.

Perhaps that is why he came back.

There is no one around to comment upon Erik Lehnsherr, another silver-haired man among many, walking up the steps to the sanctuary, observing with keen eyes the familiar rites. It is not so different from his distant youth. He does not go all the way inside. He has not made himself ready for the eve of Yom Kippur.

"In the tribunal of Heaven and the tribunal of earth, by the permission of God—praised be He—and by the permission of this holy congregation, we hold it lawful to pray with transgressors."

Is he not a transgressor?

Now it is not his mother's face, but Raven's that looms upon his mind's eye. A human face. Less beautiful because of it. But he— He is no mutant now.

He left G-d when he became a mutant.

He covers his head and enters the synagogue.

 
Remembrance 01/17/2011
 
Fandom: X-Men: The Movie

Summary: He never was a religious man. Days of Awesome 2010. Erik Lenscherr one-shot.

Author Notes: There have been several fics that inspired me to write THIS piece, but the Days of Awesome 2010 collection finally galvanized it. So here goes out to Days of Awesome for being brave and beautiful enough to bring the children of Israel to light. I was inspired mostly by "Habits" by Alara Rogers and this time, by "Three Times Kitty Compromises (And One She Doesn't)" by mecredigirl. Originally posted on Archive of Our Own, September 2010.
 
Means to an End 01/17/2011
 
Means to an end. Remy LeBeau had always doubted whether anyone knew that sex was merely that, that violence was merely that, that skill itself was merely that. The means to an end, counting cards in a game where he knew all the hands.

LeBeau—the survivor under the mask—did not care. He put on the smile, the flippant remarks, shuffled his cards like it was all a game (he only played when the stakes were high), and let them frown and forget to guess at what was really going on.

Death, Marauder, X-Man...

They never saw the end.

 
Means to an End 01/17/2011
 
Fandom: X-Men

Summary: The survivor under the mask. Stand-alone Remy drabble.

Author's Notes: Written for LithiumAddict. Prompt: "something just plain Remy-centric (without Rogue this go-round, unless you feel the burning need to include her) would be wonderful."
 
Belonging 01/17/2011
 
It's a moment Remy's been looking for his entire life: the moment he knows he belongs.

He almost had it with the Guild; they swore he'd be a Thief forever. He almost had it with Belladonna; she never wanted him to leave. He's almost had it with Rogue a hundred times, but it never lasted, always something else to take it away.

But now, now that they've spent the last five years in each other's arms--married, now that he's holding their son in his arms with Becca staring in wonder at the tiny newborn, he finally knows he belongs.

 
Belonging 01/17/2011
 
Fandom: X-Men

Summary: It's a moment Remy's been looking for his entire life: the moment he knows he belongs. Stand-alone Rogue/Remy drabble. Prompt: belonging.

Author's Notes: One of those nice, sweet moments I just could not resist writing. For LJ community 100wordstories. For canon, I was thinking of X-Men: The End when they finally let the two get married and have kids and be happy. (And then, dump the rest of that storyline, por favor, pronto.)
 
 
All my life I've been searching for something...

~

Remy LeBeau steps into the diner in a poor mood. He's sopping wet from the falling rain outside and his street map is now a blurry mass of running ink. He throws the useless piece of paper on the edge of a corner table and sits down behind it to run his hands through his hair and try to rack some sort of idea of what he's doing and where he's going out of his brains. More fool him for thinking the map would give him a hint of a direction.

He's been searching his whole life and never finding.

"Ya look tired, sugah," a soft voice, as weary as his own, washes over him. Southern, angelic.

Remy looks up, startled.

The waitress is a petite thing, mass of auburn curls caught back in a ponytail, snowy bangs over her forehead, bright, green eyes. She's got her head tilted just so as if she's trying to read him, and her eyes are soft with concern.

"'M fine," he answers quickly. He glances downward for a nametag. It's missing. He frowns.

She smiles at him then, and the brilliance nearly knocks him for a loop. "Coffee?"

"Oui." Coffee actually sounds good and smells better—how exactly did he miss that she had it in her hand?—and tastes like good coffee ought to taste. "Y' make this?" he asks her.

She hesitates, then nods. She puts a finger to her lips. "But don't tell the cook that. He thinks he makes the best coffee north of the Dixie line."

Remy chuckles lightly. She makes him think of home. The thought turns bitter. It's a home that was never really his.

She seems to notice his mood change and glances upward at the clock before sliding into the seat across from him. "Ah'm Rogue."

The name startles him, but it makes him smile. "A proper southern belle, I take it."

"Don't push it, swamp rat." But there's a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

He drinks his coffee, knowing he hasn't even begun to push it. "Gambit."

Rogue pokes one finger into the sodden mess of street map, and he frowns sourly. "Lookin' for somethin', Gambit." She seems to disapprove of the name choice.

He rolls his eyes. Like Rogue can talk. But he shrugs. "Some maps are useless in de rain."

She nods and pulls her hands into her lap. "Others aren't. Where ya headed?"

"Wish I knew," he mutters before he can swallow the words back. Remy catches his breath, that he's made the admission, then covers it by downing more of the coffee.

Rogue reaches out for his mug and refills it. "Ah know a place," she says casually, but her gaze sidles away under his and he knows somehow it matters to her.

He wonders if she matters to him. He sips the coffee, studies her flushed face. "What kind of place?"

She shrugs. Dancing green eyes come back up to meet his. "A place for the rest of us who don't know where to go."

Remy doesn't answer. Time ticks by, her break is over, and she's off and waitressing the rest of the diner again. But by the time she's wiping down tables and raising an eyebrow at him that it's time to close, he nods at her. She looks startled, then understands. A few moments later, she's grabbed her coat and is standing beside him.

"Walk me home?"

"Only for you, ma chérie."

 
 
Fandom: X-Men

Summary: Some maps are useless in the rain. Others...aren't. Rogue/Gambit oneshot.

Author's Notes: Written for an LJ writing challenge by in_the_blue.
 
 
Fandom: X-Men/Excalibur

Summary: She was waiting for him at his favorite corner café. Stand-alone Pryde/Wisdom drabble. Prompt: starting over.

Author's Notes: I  loved when she told him she was the goddess of computers and he could worship her later. If he was going to ask her about trying again, I thought these lines would be plenty of fun to play with.
 
 
She was waiting for him at his favorite corner café, mouth set firmly in a frown, but the corner twitched upward when he approached. "Wisdom."

"Amused, Pryde?"

"It's not every day I get a request from an aspiring devotee." Kitty raised a skeptical brow.

Pete took in her crossed arms and those long legs, then grinned at her. "You think the goddess of computers is accepting worshippers?"

The corner of her mouth twitched again. "You have an offering in mind?"

"Coffee."

Those soft lips lifted into a smile. "At a coffee shop?" Amused again.

He chuckled. "At an internet café."