"Come on Remy, you only got one more shot. I won't tell anyone you missed it de first time."

Uneasily, as her voice echoed in his mind he dragged himself to his feet, looking her over, trying to comprehend what was going on. "Belle?" His whisper barely escaped his wary lips but he hadn't truly meant to address her, he was testing her name like a foreign word. This couldn't have been Belladonna, this woman was being friendly, in a creepy sort of way, but friendly nonetheless. As sad as it was for him to admit it to himself Belladonna was no longer his friend, she was no longer his first love, she was his enemy and would act that way. She had made a pact with the blonde she-devil Candra against him forever destroying any hope in his heart or mind that they could ever speak as friends or even associates again.

"Well, at least you remember my name." Belladonna quietly walked past him glancing at the bottles that Remy had gone through on this chilly Christmas evening. An over-whelming sadness built up inside of her as she looked back at him, he was an emotional wreck. He had the look of a man that had had his heart ripped out and eaten by a murder of crows. Self-loathing was coursing heavily through his vein as he came a little closer to her and she could feel it. She could feel it and she hated feeling his pain because she knew that it was only going to get worse.

Her eyes passed over the bottles again and a small smile appeared on her face. "You know, I don' advocate you drownin' your sorrows wid liquor, cheap liquor at dat. But if you must, at least mix dem and get yourself drunk more quickly."

Something was wrong, Gambit could feel it. Maybe it was that she hadn't tried to kill him yet. Or maybe it was the fact that her movements were unnaturally graceful. She had always been graceful, being the favorite child made it possible for her to take dance and martial arts lessons, but it almost seemed that her feet never touched the ground, like she was floating. There was only one way to bring peace to Remy's wary mind and that was to ask, "Wat are you doin' here, Belle? I know for damn sure it's not to criticize my game and be my bartender."

There was anger in his voice, and distrust, causing her to lower her eyes to the floor in sadness. This was going to be harder than what she had first thought.

"I'm here to help you out." She caught the look Remy gave her, he didn't believe a word of it but she understood why. Raising her eyes heavenward she sighed. In her short life she had done a lot things but none had remotely given her the sense of guilt that he was reminding of her of now. But no one could blame her for her actions with her alliance with Candra, she had been insane and deprived all the joy of her memories. Still, though she could not be blamed by some else, standing in Remy's presence she took full responsibility and blamed herself. A convention of guilty Cajuns, the thought brought a hint of a smile back to her face. "You know I'm not lying to ya. I'm a horrific liar."

Remy almost nodded but decided against it, he didn't want take her eyes off her. Last time he checked she was far from stable. He did remember though, when they were kids what a hard time he gave her because how obvious she made it when she lied to someone, anyone. Anyone could tell if Belladonna was lying just by looking at her face, but he couldn't today. There was something wrong. There was something wrong with her.

She began speaking again, breaking his train or thought, " Stopped by de mansion. I found everyone else dere but you were long gone. It wasn' hard to find..." she paused noticing the vengeful glint in his glowing red eyes, unconsciously taking a wary step away from him. " Don' worry, dey all still nice and safe. None of dem know dat one of the greatest assassins in the world was lurkin' around dere house." Closing her eyes in frustration, she tried to think ahead and plan out what she was going to say next. It wasn't going well at all.

Relief spread across Remy's features, even though the X-Men had, to his belief, disowned him, it broke his heart to ever even consider them dying. But why hadn't she done anything against them, or at least to Rogue? It wasn't as if they were even on speaking terms with each other. His head ached as if Xavier had been talking mentally with him all day, it must be the alcohol.

Sizing her up, he took a step foward, accidentally grazing his hand against her's. She was chilled to the bone. For the first time during the whole conversation he took a good look at her as a friend instead of an enemy. Her face and hands were pale, almost an off shade of white. Her once golden hair seemed faded now, only keeping a hint of blonde. She looked terribly sick and Remy kicked himself mentally for not seeing it earlier. She must have come up to New York for help and came to him because he was the only one she would have any reason to trust. And here he was wondering if she was going to try to kill him.

He stepped out of his duster, took it in his hands and put it around her shoulders, realizing just how cold she truly was. "Here." She knowingly smiled.

It would have kept her warm if she had been cold... and if it hadn't fallen right though her.

"Well, it be de thought dat counts, I guess."

Stepping back again, "It fell right though you."

Belle looked down at the duster at her feet and nodded. "Dat it did."She would have had to told him sooner or later. It was just going to have to be sooner than later.

Remy's right hand reached behind him to the wooded bar and clenched the half empty liquor bottle and brought it to his lips. He must be drunk. There was no other way in his mind to explain this. Glancing back at her, from the neck of the bottle he took another swig, he could almost see though her. "Belle wat's goin' on?" He put the bottle down and walked over to her again. "I got to bring you to Beast. You're so sick you're beginning to fade away."

Belle laughed. "I'm not sick." She said it so plainly that Remy didn't believe her. All it sounded like to him was that she didn't want to go, that maybe she was afraid of what Beast might find if he examined her.

"Well," he said sarcastically, "if you're not sick, chere, wat are you? Dis sure isn' normal. Bein' intangible."

"Remember when you said, havin' a ghost in de house would be a nice change of paste?" Smirking she finished, "You got one."

Nodding he shrugged his shoulders, "Well dat make sense and all, de coat fallin'... wait a second... ghost? Dat means you're...you're dead."

"Usually dose." Silently, she walked over to the scratched pool table and sat herself down on it. From the corner of her eye she saw him take yet another bottle out from behind the bar. She had tolerated him enough. "Put de bottle back. You had enough to drink." She watched to make sure he did it and muttered under ghostly breath "I didn' drink dat much when my poppa died and I didn' have my memories."

"When did ya die?" His words reflected his heart ache. Yes, he did love Rogue but no matter what a part of him would always love Belle. He never wanted her to die, but he knew she would have to. It was the natural course of things. Part of him always hoped that she'd live to see old age, no matter how many times she herself told him she probably wouldn't.

"I died last night."

"Christmas Eve?" He briefly lowered his head into his hands. Of all the nights to die. "How? Did you at least go like you always wanted to? In de heat of battle and all dat?"

Her fists clenched that tarnished siding of the pool table, her sadness reflected in her now pale blue eyes. "No." She knew what his reaction to this was going to be and she seriously considered not telling him but once again he was going to find out sooner or later. "I got hit by a car."

"A car? De great assassin got hit by a car? All de crap dat happened to you, a car was de thing dat did you in?" At the specter's words he had gotten hysterical. He tried not to laugh but his body didn't agree with his mind.

That all stopped though when the tables and chairs simultaneously lifted up and then simultaneously dropped, thundering against the wooden floor like a herd of elephant over the Safari.

The image of her body being deposed of in the river and then washing up on shore, the image of that poor little boy and his little teddy bear finding her body, the image of her friends back home getting word of her death and then the gifts she had brought for them that had ultimately cost her her life coming right after, were all still too fresh in her mind to allow him to laugh at it.

"Now dat I've done de Jacob Marley routine can we get back to wat I came here for?"

Meekly he replied, "To help me?" still a little shaken at her most recent reaction to him.

"Now you're catchin' on." She laughed quietly, Remy being meek was the funniest thing she had ever seen. If there had only been a camera.

The tips of faded blonde hair glowed for a moment only losing their spark when they relaxed back against her face. Her clenched fists slid through the siding, disappearing under the velvet top. Remy could only watch as his brown duster lifted itself from the ground, straightening out from the fabric clump it had been and floated toward him. Belle's eyes followed the jacket, her blue eyes not faded in the least now, as it came behind him. The assassin smiled at the confused look on her childhood best friend's face as the jacket tapped him on the shoulder and the sleeves slid up his arms, the collar seemingly fixing itself before the whole thing came to rest. "You need de coat more dan me." Now she was the one with the cool powers.

All Remy could do was plop himself back down to the stool. As much of a distraction as this was his mind wandered back to Rogue... and Joseph. Of all the men in the world, she had to choose Joseph over him. A single tear unknowingly escaped from his crimson red eyes, he didn't, wouldn't even have the chance to explain any of this to her, not after his dark secret was brought to light like it was. The air around him had gotten far colder and his fingers reached out to pull his jacket closer to him. Shutting his eyes he hoped that this was all a dream, that he'd wake up in his warm bed with his blankets all bundled around him, and his friends still going blissfully unaware of the killer that they were harboring.

His dream stayed a dream, for when he opened his eyes he found himself still in the dusty old bar, disowned by his friends, with his dead ex-wife now kneeling before him, her ghostly hands hovering over his own, her intense eyes staring straight into his.

"Chere, I don' think you can help me. Honestly, I don' think anyone can so maybe you should cut your loses and go where ever you be goin'." His voice was so light as he told her to leave, it was almost lost amidst the wind blowing against the tavern sign.

But her's was all the more lighter although it could not be lost amidst any sound. For the first time Remy realized that she was speaking directly into his mind and no matter what he did there would be no way to not hear what she had whispered, bringing herself higher as to say it into his ear.

"I don' like where I'm goin'. Besides, I don' ever cut my loses. Ever. You know dat. I never give up. So you better sit back and relax, 'cause I get de feelin' it goin' to be a long, hard night."