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Remy LeBeau never really cared for any form of public transportation. It didn’t matter if it soared through the sky, trucked through a city, or swam through a lake; so long as there were humans onboard, he didn’t like to risk it. Yet, here he was, ass planted in Terminal 1 of the Harry Reid International Airport waiting for boarding to begin.
[5 Hours Earlier]
Remy’s chest ached as if he was being sat on by the Juggernaut. Around him small flames still smouldered from the Sentinel attack that had rocked the city of Las Vegas moments ago. Gradually he began to rise, bits of asphalt falling from his cheeks and jacket as he shook the delirium of what was most definitely a concussion away. On any other day he would have been delighted to be here, however as he caught the blurry image of the Blackbird take off with a baker’s dozen worth of Sentinels following it he realised he had more pressing issues. Staggering away from the scene as first responders made their way to his position he slinged his duster off and began to pat down the internal pockets. He knew that if his team were to turn around they would most definitely get caught in the gunfire, and it was too risky to stay put in a city that he had swindled his way through more than once. Finally finding it he pulled out a bruised wallet that had belonged to some Avenger or another before relieving it of its cash. Making his way to the side of the road he flagged down a cab and began to make his way to the present.
[Now: Takeoff]
He was thankful for his own resourcefulness, for it (in addition to the money in the wallet) had bought him the last ticket on a flight to New York, along with a duffel bag for his costume, a tacky shirt that barely hid his flesh wounds and a cheap pair of glasses that obscured his eyes.
“Flight 266 heading to New York though LaGuardia now boarding at Gate fskkt-” the PA system crackled as he hauled himself up.
As he joined the eager crowd at the gate, something strange grabbed his attention. Off in the corner was a man and his young son. The man was crouched in front of the kid and he seemed to be pleading, a pair of black lens glasses in his hands. The kid seemed to draw a deep breath and reluctantly take the glasses before the man helped them onto his son’s head. He then picked his son up and turned towards Remy’s direction. He could see in the man’s face all the telltale signs of someone who was trying his best to keep it together. For a second the gaze of the man and his own met before he quickly looked away, not wanting his observance to be all that obvious.
Since he had got the last ticket on the flight, he also had the last seat. In the very back. Next to the restroom. He nodded to himself as to accept his situation before heading back. As he kicked the duffel bag under the chair in front of himself, he watched as the man and his son from before made their way back to him. Looking around he realised that the only remaining seats on the plane were the two next to him. He inched over to make room as the man seemed to be in a state of deliberation. Across from their row was a family of three with their own child, a young girl no older than the boy who was sitting in the aisle seat. Seeing this, the man put his son down and ushered him into the seat that was right in the middle. Remy glanced over as the young boy hopped up into the seat before buckling himself in and pulling the strap to stay secure.
“Don’t you know that it’s rude to stare.” The man said to Remy in a hushed town.
“Mah apologies, suh.” Remy replied as he turned to face the window.
The lights in the cabin then dimmed as Remy pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
[1 hour in, 5 hours to go]
Remy awoke in the silent cabin. Night had fallen outside as the specter of sleep hung in the air like an enchantment upon everybody. Feeling the urge, he quietly unbuckled himself from his seat and gracefully pulled himself up, swinging his feet over the unconscious man and his son, before landing in the aisle with a sharp hiss- his wounds having not healed, much less been treated.
Exiting the restroom he found that the son had also joined him in being the only people awake aboard the flight, the light of his ipad making this known. He turned his head inquisitively towards Remy before tucking into himself to let him pass. Nodding, he made his way back to his seat before once again facing away from the boy.
“Excuse me mister,” The boy asked softly, “excuse me.”
“Hmm?” Remy turned to face the boy.
“Are you an Avenger?” The boy asked innocently.
“Ahm sorry?” Remy replied.
“I saw you swing over me and my dad. Are you an Avenger?”
Remy paused, with how dark the boy’s glasses are he had no clue that he might have been awake to see that.
“Uh, naw.” He finally answered.
“Then how were you able to do that?” The boy asked.
“Damn,” Remy thought to himself, “This kid is persistent.”
“Uh, I just drank mah milk and ate mah veggies…” He said to the boy.
The boy nodded with a coy smile, as if to say that he didn’t believe Remy at all. He then turned back to face his ipad as the video that was on it resumed playing. It was a cartoon about some fight or another that the Avengers had been in with the Fantastic Four. Remy figured that this kid must be some sort of superhero fanatic before he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, making sure that they hadn’t fallen at all.
[2 hours in, 4 hours to go]
Remy couldn’t sleep. After a mission, typically he would be in Rogue and his’ shared room right now enjoying any number of things from a glass of expensive alcohol to his ever present cats to even Rogue herself. Yet because of necessity he had been reprieved of those quality comforts and left to fend for himself aboard this dull airplane. Looking at the boy, he gave him a cautious tap on the shoulder to see if he might show signs of being awake. Yet instead of perking up, or asking a question, he simply grumbled against the shoulder of his father. Taking this as a green light he reached under the seat in front of him and dragged out his duffel bag before reaching in and shuffling around the hidden pockets within his armor, grabbing a somewhat complete deck of cards. He then kicked the bag back and began to shuffle up a one-man game of solitaire.
“What’s that?” The boy asked as he leaned over to Remy’s side.
“Jeesus!” Remy yelped, startled by the sudden presence of the boy.
“What’s that?” The boy asked again.
“It’s, uh, it’s a’ game. Called solitare… cause’ yah play it alone.” He answered.
“Well how do you play?”
Remy looked at the boy who was focused on the cards laid out on the tray table. It had been a while since he had taught anyone, with the last group being his training squad “The Chevaliers” and the ‘game’ being a lot more intense. He pushed his glasses up and figured he could give it another shot.
[3 hours in, 3 hours to go]
The boy was lucky, extremely lucky. Since Remy had passed him the deck, the boy had never needed to restart the game from scratch. However, his shuffling still needed some work. He had initially hoped that in teaching him how to play, the questions might have come to something of a pittering stop… this was not the case.
“Do you have a favorite Avenger?” The boy asked.
“Uh, either Hawkeye or the Cap’n,” Remy replied with a yawn, “They simple folk.”
“Same. Do you have a favorite battle?”
“Hmm…” Remy snickered to himself, “When they had dat civil war.”
The boy got quiet before muttering: “...I think heroes should work together.”
Remy shrugged admittedly, things tended to go a lot better for everyone when they were all on the same side.
“Have you ever met a mutant?”
Remy paused and glanced at the boy. He was still playing solitaire except his moves seemed to be slower than they had before. As if he was now playing like he could lose everything.
“...Yeah, they good folk.” He replied.
The boy nodded as if this was the right answer.
“Yes. They are.” The boy said with a sense of certainty.
Remy pushed his glasses up, but not that far.
[4 hours in, 2 hours to go]
The boy had stopped playing solitaire for a while now, really ever since Remy had answered his question about mutants. Since then Remy had gone back to staring out the window while the boy had stopped asking him questions about everything from card games to Avengers. The strange part was, Remy had begun to miss the persistence. He figured that maybe if he asked a question, some semblance of that nagging norm might come back, yet he remained cautious of the father’s possible reaction should he be awake. But if he was anything, he was a gambler.
“Do you have a’ fav’rt battle?” Remy tentatively asked the boy.
The boy looked at him and nodded somewhat excitedly.
“I liked the time that the Avengers fought Apocalypse." The boy replied.
Remy’s fist clenched instinctively.
“Why that uhn?” He asked, just barely keeping his emotions below the surface.
“Like I said, I think heroes should work together.”
Remy paused, remembering the brief time Rogue worked with the Avengers. He nodded and exhaled slowly, the thought alone of his wife washing over him like waves of pure dopamine, eroding the memories of his Death persona.
“You a’ fan a’ the mutants as well?” Remy asked.
“Well of course I am…”
The boy then looked up at Remy and just barely lifted up his black glasses, showing his purely deep green eyes, his cornea a bright white.
“...I am one.” He answered.
[5 hours in, 1 hour to go]
“So, why did ’ya ask me if a’ had evuh met a’ mutant?” Remy asked.
“I just wanted to see if you were a good guy or not.”
“I don’t take yuh meanin’.” Remy looked at him carefully.
“There are some people at my school who don’t think that mutants are the good guys. But… I know that they are. I know for a fact. So it made me think, y’know? Like, how many other people think that mutants aren’t the good guys. So that’s why I ask. To see how many people there are.”
Remy knew that in some way the boy was wrong. Like ordinary people, mutants were not all good, nor all evil. Yet the boy was so convinced, so sure of this, and Remy wasn’t about to burst his bubble. Besides, it was a pretty good way to see who was and wasn’t a safe bet.
“Smart kid.” He mumbled. “You said you, ‘know for a fact.’ Who, uh, who saved you?”
The boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a burnt up playing card, one of Remy’s older ones.
“I have no clue, I just know he was like me.”
Remy nodded, looking at the boy over the top of his glasses. A slight film covering his dark eyes.
[Now: Landing]
As the lights in the cabin flickered on the boy quietly handed Remy his deck of cards back before his father silently ushered him out of the airplane. Remy kept to himself as he and the other passengers spilled out into the terminal, only caring to talk when he rang up Rogue for a lift back to the Mansion. They walked in tandem to the curbside where he once again found himself beside the boy.
It was strange. He so desperately wanted to find a way to reassure the boy, yet he didn’t want to compromise his own secret. Looking down the lanes he saw the skittish driving of his dearly beloved coming anxiously closer and closer as the Prius under their joint name jutted between the painted lines before it stopped unceremoniously in front of him and the boy.
“Remy LeBeau get yer’ sweet-!” Rogue hollered before she was cut off.
“Children! Children are present!” Remy quickly interrupted before she could say anything profane.
As he headed for the door, he turned around to face the boy one last time. Figuring it best, he slid his glasses off without care and gave the boy a coy wink as his face lit up in realisation. He then gently passed him the deck of cards that they had both used before getting in the car and leaving.