The sun was starting to set and flurries of snow were beginning to fall from the sky. Little white flakes drifted past his eyes, past the stoic expression on his face, and landed carelessly on the shingles of the rooftop, slowly dissolving away into nothing. He felt one land on his nose and scrunched it up as the water dripped down to tickled him.

He didn¡¦t bother to wipe it away.

Remy LeBeau, member of the mutant fighting force called the X-Men, stared down at his teammates from his lonely spot on the roof. They were standing in front of the mansion, gathered around two members in particular, Betsy Bradock, a.k.a. Psylocke, and Warren Worthington III, a.k.a. Archangel, a.k.a., Angel depending on his mood. Betsy and Warren were throwing suitcases in the back of the yellow cab that had driven up the mansion driveway, and they were surrounded by people, all of which were trying to give them hugs and kisses.

All of the X-Men were there. Except for Marrow and Maggot, but Marrow didn¡¦t really have a kinship with the X-Men and Maggot had been transferred to Muir Island where the medical technology needed to help him heal from his injuries was available. Apparently those two slugs that had followed him around had served as more than a nuisance: they were his digestive system. As simple and as strange as that. It was assumed that both had died once the X-Men had lost their powers, but when they regained their mutant abilities, Maggot¡¦s body reacted by reproducing Eenie and Meenie. They were growing inside his stomach even now. The process was quite painful and uncomfortable, and it was best for him to be away at Muir, where Moira could take care of him.

Remy watched from a distance. He didn¡¦t wish to join them.

He wasn¡¦t normally anti-social; throw a party and he was usually the first one there. But that session in the Danger Room earlier hadn¡¦t exactly put him in the mood to be with the very people he¡¦d envisioned, and besides that, he was almost scared of what would happen if he did join them. Would there be more hallucinations? Would he lose control?

He couldn¡¦t risk that.

And besides, he had an appointment later that evening. It might be harder for him to excuse himself and leave if he went downstairs. He and Warren hadn¡¦t gotten along as the best of pals lately, so it wouldn¡¦t be surprising to anybody if he didn¡¦t show up at all, or if he weren¡¦t easily found in the mansion that night.

The women were all embracing each other now. He was too far away to tell if any were crying and his empathy wasn¡¦t strong enough to cover the distance, but he thought he saw Storm and Jean wiping their eyes a little too often. The last time Betsy and Warren had gone off on their own like this had been after Sabertooth had attacked Betsy and nearly killed her. She had been saved by the Crimson Dawn, but it had changed her somehow, made her darker, more stoic. It had taken everybody a while to get used to her again, and now that they had she was leaving. He wondered what she would be like when she came back again. He wondered if she would come back again.

Scott was clapping Warren on the shoulder and saying something that made Beast and Bobby both snicker and then laugh to themselves. He watched them all, having such an easy matter with each other, the original X-Men, together one last time. Warren was smiling at them, nodding his blue-skinned head with the perfect blond hair. He had a heavy coat on to hide the bandaged wings that were strapped to his back, but Remy could still see the telltale bulges.

Warren and Betsy began to back away, separating themselves from the group. He wondered if the couple would miss his presence. He¡¦d never had much of a relationship with either of them. He wondered if Warren ever wished things had turned out better between the two of them. He knew he did. But sometimes life just didn¡¦t work out like that, and Remy LeBeau had been learning to accept life¡¦s misfortunes since he was a very young child.

By chance, Warren glanced upward toward the mansion. And then his eyes fell on Remy, and froze. Remy watched him, not moving, and then he slowly nodded. It took a moment, but Warren returned the gesture. Somehow the exchange eased Remy¡¦s nerves a bit, made him think that maybe they had an understanding.

Warren¡¦s gaze had fallen but Storm was already looking up, following the direction he had been staring in. She saw Remy too, and though she was too far away for him to tell for sure, his mind could fill in the questioning, slightly disappointed look that he knew would be on her face. She turned away from the group, excusing herself, and he knew that she was coming to him.

He waited only a moment, watching her walk away, and then he began to move.

He wouldn¡¦t be here when she arrived.

Backing slowly, he quietly slipped off the roof. It was about time for his meeting with New Son¡¦s representative anyway.

*******

The bar was dark and sleazy¡¦just as he had remembered it. This time he had made sure that he was the one that was a little late. It was a gesture to show that he still maintained some independence and freewill away from New Son.

Tonight the televisions were playing comedy central; apparently there was a deficit of sports on the networks. The crowd looked pretty much the same despite the change, and he even saw the trio of girls from the night before sitting across the bar with heavy makeup and tight clothes. They spotted him when he walked in and pointed, giggling and whispering. One of them waved him over, but he simply smiled and shook his head.

Eyes grazing the exclusive booths, he failed to find Courier anywhere. He wondered if maybe New Son had sent someone different for this meeting. There was empty booth in the far corner and he walked over and sat in it, putting his back to the girls. If New Son¡¦s associate was here, he would find Remy.

It was only a few seconds before someone dropped into the seat across from him. It was a woman. Her hair was long and jet black, pulled tightly in a bun, a few strands falling into her slanted eyes. She was dressed casual enough to fit in with the bar scene around her, but there was a conservative edge to the cut of her blouse and pants that showed she was someone important. He glanced at her surprised, but trying to hide the reaction. Was she the one he was here to meet? He¡¦d really expected Courier to be the messenger, in fact, he¡¦d almost assumed it. And besides that, he realized that he hadn¡¦t really considered the fact that New Son might have had female messengers, a sexist view that he was slightly embarrassed of.

He tilted his head at her as she made herself comfortable across from him, a questioning look in his eyes that nullified the need for words.

She smiled with dark red lips. "Remy LeBeau." She nodded a greeting.

"Are you de one I¡¦m supposed t¡¦ meet?" He wasn¡¦t sure yet that she wasn¡¦t just some girl inviting herself to sit with him. Though if that were the case, his next question would be how she knew his name.

She frowned slightly. "Well, if you think I¡¦m just here to ask you for your number, then you¡¦re wrong. We have much more important things to do."

He smirked at the jest and relaxed a little, leaning back into the booth and crossing his arms over his chest. "Ouch. De femme has bite." He was good at playing women; it would be easy to keep her on her toes.

She didn¡¦t reply to his comment, but reached into her black pocketbook for an envelope. His eyes followed it as it came across the table to him. He reached up to take it but her hand slapped over the white paper before he could. The fingernails weren¡¦t painted and were short, not very feminine and a little out of place with the rest of her outfit.

"Not yet." A finger waggled in the air. "There are some things that need to be said first."

He pulled his hand back and crossed his arms again, assuming an indifferent posture.

"New Son needs you deliver this letter to someone rather¡¦ important."

"An¡¦ who might that be?"

A smile. No answer right away. She seemed to enjoying her job of withholding important information from him. He forced himself not to care, not to reward her smugness. She seemed to finally become bored with the game. "Congressman Schecher."

He felt his eyebrows rise even as he tried to stop the reaction. What did New Son want with a Congressman of New York? Shrugging casually, he crossed his legs. "So what does your employer want wit¡¦ a politician?"

The thick red lips smiled and a few strands of fine black hair fell into her eyes. She pushed them away, irritated, as if it weren¡¦t a normal occurrence for her. "Sometimes the less information you know, the safer you are. You should know that, Remy."

He nodded. "¡¦Course I do, cherie. But I also know that knowledge is power." He decided to take the unexpected side of the conversation, instead of playing it too catious.

She frowned, her eyes coming to meet his. "Don¡¦t play power games with my employer. You¡¦ll never win." He searched her face for a sign of threat, but he couldn¡¦t find it. There was actual concern there, as if she were really trying to give him some good advice. He reached out to see it there was more to that¡¦

And then he realized she was blank. A wall. She was beyond the reach of his empathy except for a few minor leaks. And when he thought about it he realized that he hadn¡¦t felt a thing from her since she¡¦d sat down, a circumstance he¡¦d overlooked, still not completely used to the new extent of his empathic abilities. Nothing except a faint shadow. A shadow that he realized he recognized.

"So what might be de name o¡¦ de femme belle?" He leaned forward, placing a hand on the one still over the envelope. He was expecting to throw her off with his sudden change of attitude, or maybe to get her with some of his charm.

She seemed completely unaffected. After seeming to think for a moment, she answered. "Jackie." She gave him a humorous smile, as if she were laughing at some inside joke.

A moment later her demeanor returned to business-like. "You will deliver this letter to the Congressman tomorrow evening when he has retired to his home and is alone. No one besides him should ever see you, and even he shouldn¡¦t get a good enough look that he can identify you in the future." Her tone was even, practiced.

"Dat¡¦s it?"

"That¡¦s it. You don¡¦t know anything, so we shouldn¡¦t have to worry about you talking."

"Is dat de reason you¡¦re usin¡¦ me?"

"Partly. Your thieving skills should also prove to be a bit of an asset."

Remy nodded. Her hand slid off the envelope and he took it, putting it in a pocket inside his trenchcoat. "So. Jackie?" he said, rolling the name off his tongue casually.

She shrugged. "Yep." Sliding out of the booth, she stood up. It took her a moment to remember her purse and she almost walked away without it.

"Dat stand for anyt¡¦ing?"

She didn¡¦t answer, and turned away. He watched her begin to walk and noticed the careful deliberate steps and the discomfort she seemed to have with the high heels.

She lacked all grace. Remy smiled. There was no way a woman would walk that way, heavy and blunt.

"Bye Jake."

She/he stopped, looking back at him for a moment. Her/his cheeks turned red, as she/he realized she¡¦d/he¡¦d been discovered. And then she/he was walking again, and was out the door.

Remy sat back, smiling smugly and patting the envelope inside his coat pocket. Yep Remy. Y¡¦ still got it.

He saw one of the three girls at the table get up and begin to move toward him. Rising himself, he took that as his cue to get out of here and leave the dank and the noise of the bar behind.

He¡¦d got what he¡¦d come for.

Maybe tomorrow night he could find out what this was all about.

*******

It was almost midnight when he walked through the mansion door, trying very hard to be quiet. There had been no traffic on the way home, not many people insane enough to be out at this hour, but he had made a slight detour. The bouquet of roses in his right hand felt heavy, pulling at his already soar muscles. He figured that if he carried it with his injured arm, at least it might be some kind of therapeutic exercise.

It was a clear night, which was strange considering that it had started to snow for a while earlier. But now?¡¦now it was as if he could see every star in the sky. He¡¦d stopped for a while, pulling over his motorcycle to the side of the road so that he could look up at the night. It had felt so peaceful, something that was so rare to find now, and it had given him a chance to think.

He remembered the envelope in his pocket. After taking it he had realized it wasn¡¦t a letter at all, but a floppy disk. It was probably password protected, so that no one but the intended recipient could open it. Apparently, New Son didn¡¦t trust Remy completely. Remy gave a devious look to the empty living area he was now in. New Son was a smart man.

The mansion felt deserted. He stepped carefully, avoiding the creaky spots on the floor that he had memorized from his first time crossing it. The lights were all off, the mansion quiet on all levels of his senses. A smirk wandered lazily across his face. The X-Men could never survive a thief¡¦s life with the night hours they normally kept. Well, except maybe Wolverine and Stormy of course, but other than that¡¦

He stopped.

There was a light on in the room ahead of him. And suddenly his focus all came to a point on that place, because it wasn¡¦t just any room; it was Xavier¡¦s study.

He walked a few steps silently. His kinetic sense felt no movement inside but his empathy was ringing red alerts all over the place. Someone was there. He just didn¡¦t know who. His glowing red eyes narrowed, casting strange shadows on the walls around him and he approached the door.

It was opened slightly, the yellow light from inside bleeding out onto the hallway carpet.

The roses were still in his right hand, but now there was a full spread of cards in his left, softly glowing as he fed his tenseness into them in the form of kinetic energy. He reached the wooden door, carefully looked around it, ready to burst through once he got a clear view of the invader.

He was almost jumping through the door by the time he realized who was inside the room, and it took all his control to stop his muscles in mid motion and keep him from loosing his cover. He managed to do it all without making a noise and without falling over. The enemy he was expecting wasn¡¦t there. No threat. No reason to cause a commotion.

Carefully, he backed up a bit, making sure he was once again in the shadows of the hallway. And then he adjusted himself so that he could see into the room, through the sliver of view he was afforded by the partly open door.

The room was furnished; it had been the first to be restored in honor of the man who had founded the X-Men, the man who was now gone, missing since after Onslaught. There were bookshelves, these filled with books unlike in the other rooms, and there was a large hardwood desk in the center of the room with one of those comfortable chairs behind it that spun around in circles. Behind the desk was a tall window that gave a picturesque view of the mansion grounds. And beside that window, was Scott Summers.

Not Cyclops, the mutant leader of the X-Men, but Scott Summers, the man.

There was an astounding difference. There was no uniform, no yellow spandex, just an old t-shirt and shorts. His hair was tousled, and he was wearing yellow goggles with ruby quartz lenses. Where his stance usually held so much power and command, now it only held exhaustion and pain. Pain. Remy could see it written all over the man¡¦s face and clothes and countenance. He was in pain. Real and physical.

He noticed that Scott wasn¡¦t just leaning against the window frame, he was sagging against it, and his arms were crossed low, across his stomach, clutching his shirt as if that were all that was keeping him from doubling over¡¦

And then Remy suddenly understood.

When Scott and Jean had come back from Alaska, everyone had just assumed that Scott had recovered from the bomb that Bastion had planted in his abdomen.

But he hadn¡¦t. And he was hiding it from the rest of the team. He was in pain, not even able to sleep, and he couldn¡¦t even tell his friends so that they could console him, because right now they needed someone strong to guide them. And so that was what Scott would be.

Scott Summers¡¦leader, the ideal X-Man, impenetrable¡¦was now a master of deception also.

And as he stood there, defenseless, worn and tired and leaning against Xavier¡¦s window, Remy couldn¡¦t help but respect him for what he was doing. In a way they were very alike. They were both loners in the end. They both hid behind layers of carefully manufactured exterior. And tonight, they were probably both the only ones still awake in the mansion, still up to contemplate their futures, enjoying the only quiet peace both of them could ever find. Even if the effect was only temporary.

Silently, respectfully, Remy backed away from the slightly open door and continued on to the residential areas.

*******

The bouquet was still squeezed tightly in his hand, he afraid that the muscles would cramp and he would drop it. The scent of a half-dozen, red roses drifted up to meet him as he stopped in front of the door he wanted. Inside he knew Rogue was sleeping and he brushed her mind with his in a soothing caress. It had surprised him how quickly he had adjusted to the new strength of his empathic power, that he had become dependent on it so easily. But it was as obvious as seeing now, as much a part of him in its restored, full form.

He bent and left the flowers at the foot of the door for her to find in the morning. There was no note attached, no need for one. He knew she would know whom they were from and what they meant.

They meant that he still cared. That he still loved her. That he was sorry for rejecting her earlier.

Straightening, he turned and walked away, finally going to his own room.

*******

He hadn¡¦t wanted to go to sleep. He¡¦d always felt that the nights weren¡¦t for dreaming, they were for living, experiencing the world. It was natural for him that way, and if he¡¦d hated one thing about being on a mutant fighting team, it had been the hours he was forced to keep.

So he¡¦d called home, knowing that his father wouldn¡¦t be asleep, and had asked a favor: could he try to find out about Congressman Schecher and any naughty ventures he¡¦d been involved with? He also mentioned the name New Son, though he doubted any information would be available on that topic.

His father had agreed to try to find anything he could, after complaining that Remy only called when he needed something and that he should remember home more often. Remy shoved it off like usual. In his mind the Thieves Guild hadn¡¦t been home since they¡¦d exiled him. He¡¦d forgiven his father for that, but though he was fine with talking to him, he still didn¡¦t feel right associating too much with the leader of the Guild that had banned him.

Though he guessed Jean Luc was right. The last time he had talked to him had been before he¡¦d left the care Tante Mante had offered when he¡¦d been sick with pneumonia back after the whole Antarctica thing.

After calling he¡¦d laid down in bed, not really expecting to fall asleep. But something happened, and he found himself dozing off, closing his eyes and keeping them closed.

The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes for good was the glaring numbers of the clock face reading the early morning time to him.

And then he wasn¡¦t where he was anymore.