Disclaimer: Marvel owns most of it, with the exception of V.S.M. Thierry, Robert Fletcher and Rosa Salvatore. Also, Zoë Miranda Salvatore was inspired by my editor, of the same name (Thanx by the way!). Her apparition was slightly altered because I have problems drawing real people, but for all who know her, yes, it is the same person! As a matter of fact, without Zoë, this story would still be a lose thought in the back of my mind, rather then an actual fic... So blame her!
CRIM§ON'S Thoughts at this Very moment Well, I just finished part five, and I'm on a roll. Since I'm just sitting here watching the Jays do their damnedest to blow what was a ten run lead, I figured I might as well do something productive. It's now 10- 5... Uh, check that, 10- 6, bases loaded, and the guy that hit the grand slam last night is at bat. I should look on the bright side, it's against the odds that he hit another ninth inning grand slam... Right? Then again, this is the Toronto Blue Jays we're talking about... I better start writing before they blow it... OHOH!!! Wait!!! Popup!!! Caught on the Warning track! The game's over! Jays win! YEAH!!!! CRIM§ON grumbles... No thanks to the friggin' no talent bullpen...
July 24, 1998
One hour after he had fallen asleep, Cyclops awoke in the infirmary. Slowly opening his eyes, he saw his wife's face hovering over him.
"Jean," He grunted.
"Do I need to have Hank post guards down here to keep you in here?" She asked, slightly irritated.
"What do you mean?" Cyclops questioned innocently.
"You were out of bed last night, Love of mine," She accused.
"Why do you think that?"
Jean frowned. "Don't lie to a telepath Scott, it's insulting."
"I'm not lying." Scott squinted trying to read her. "I'm genuinely curious as to how you found out."
Jean sighed. It didn't really bother her that he had been out of bed when he wasn't supposed to be, especially not for the reason why, but she hated when he lied to her. "You have guests."
"Guests? As in plural?"
"Three. Two men and a woman."
"He sent three?" Scott jumped out of bed, again ignoring his bruised ribs, and went for the door. "Come with me Jean, Hank," he said pausing at the door. "We're going to get some answers."
Scott arrived in the rec room with Jean and Hank right on his tail. Already seated inside were Cecilia Reyes, Joseph, Storm and Iceman. In the centre of the room, seated in a rather large arm chair, was a distinguished looking man with emerald green eyes and long red hair, tied back in a tight pony tail.
His light green garb appeared to be straight out of the eighteenth century, completed with high boots and sabre. He wore on his face an expression of complete calmness, but his eyes betrayed the fear he felt deep inside.
Standing over his left shoulder was a man of about thirty years of age, dressed in similar clothes, only his were dark blue lined in red. His light blue eyes spoke chapters for the conflicting turmoil he felt inside. There was confusion, protective love, protective responsibility, fear, hate, trust and mistrust. He had a light beard and mustache which matched his long strawberry hair perfectly. His hair, too, was tied back in a ponytail, but it appeared that it was merely for show, and that if he wasn't here, there was no way that it would have been up.
Sitting on a sofa next to them, was a plump Jamaican woman. Her eyes were black as coal, but they spoke of nothing but kindness and love. The still look which held her face was enough to make Scott shiver. It was clear to all that she was focusing a lot of concentration on something, but for the life of any X- Man in the room, they did not know why.
As Scott entered the room, the man in green rose to his feet. "M. Summers," he stated, Parisian drawl slightly colouring his tone.
Scott nodded to him, and gestured to the rest of the people in the room. "Ororo Monroe, Robert Drake, Joseph, Jean Summers, Doctor Henry McCoy, and Doctor Cecilia Reyes."
The man in green put one hand to his chest, and bowed slightly. "Jean Luc LeBeau. This is Remy's Guardian, Mattie, and my nephew and Honour Guard, Lapin." He turned pointedly to Hank, "I offer my sincerest regret for the theft of the medical data. M. Summers tells me y' still have a few files that were missed."
"Indeed. Unfortunately, said files have been infected with a virus equally as devious as the Legacy itself."
Jean Luc nodded. "Is it possible that Lapin have a look at those files? He may be of some service." He half smiled at their response. "Lapin is the highest respected computer technologist in the Guild... and my heir in Remy's absence." The second part was added in near silence. "He is more then qualified t' handle the problems with the files."
Cecilia stepped forward and eyed the unlikely computer genius. "Do you really think you can reverse the virus?"
Lapin smiled comfortably at the scrutiny. "Taught Remy e'eryt'ing 'e know 'bout hackin' Chere." He shook his head. "I can' fix dem, doubt n'one c'n."
Some of the others nodded in acceptance, but Cecilia was at a loss. Her left eye brow twitched upwards in curiosity of his words. Lapin sighed. "Oui."
Cecilia nodded. Cyclops told Hank and Cecilia to take him to the files, and then gestured for them all to have a seat.
Jean Luc waited until Lapin was long out of earshot before beginning. "I knew this day would come eventually," he almost whispered, apparently to himself, losing the french colour. "I had just hoped that it wouldn't be 'till long after I was gone." The people in the room around him had no idea of the ramifications of that single sentence, but accepted it as an opener to whatever he was about to say.
"Rembrandt Elijah Fletcher, Rembrandt Essex, the man you have come to know as Remy LeBeau, is from a time that is not our own." He waited an instant to let that set in before continuing. "Rembrandt Elijah Fletcher was born in 1693, to parents Robert Fletcher, and Rosa Salvatore."
Scott's eyebrows arose in disbelief, not that he didn't want to believe, just that it was difficult. "You're saying that Remy is over three hundred years old?"
"Dat's exactly what he's sayin' Chile. Hush now, an' let 'im continue."
"His parents weren't exactly what one would call... Normal. His mother was descended from a long line of gypsy witches, an' 'is father was a Benefactor."
"Benefactor?" Bobby and Joseph asked in unison.
Jean Luc's face went contemplative for a moment, as he wondered exactly how much he could tell these people. He knew that Remy trusted them, heart and soul, with his life, but then again, he had also trusted Sinister. "I don't know how much Remy has told you about our kin," He began, "But basically, for a small price, it is possible to receive what is known to the thieves as The Elixir of Life. Upon drinking this Elixir, a person may become immortal, in a sense. The one what gives us the Elixir is known as de Benefactor, or Benefactress."
That explains the uniforms, Scott thought to himself, for now, willing to except what it was that Jean Luc was saying. "What do you mean, 'In a sense'?"
"The Elixir stops a person from gettin' older, but it can't do nothin' for a shot gun t' the head, if ya' know what I mean," Logan responded, coming in the room. "Hello Jean Luc."
Jean Luc nodded in his direction, "Logan. It's good to see you again."
"You two know each other?" Scott asked.
Logan smiled. "Longer then I've known the X- Men."
"D'accord. Longer than I have known Remy. Come in, Logan, an' 'ave a seat. I have a lot to say, an' you might wanna hear it."
Logan came in the room and sat down, as Jean Luc stood, and walked to the large bay window. Staring out it, he took a deep breath, and began. "Robert Fletcher had always been a wealthy person. He had grown up on a large family estate in the beautiful county of Cornwall, England. When he was young, his mother an' sister had been murdered by bandits. His father had always taught him not to hate the people responsible, because the Good Lord forgives, and so should they. He said that everything was done for a reason, and that in the end, it would all be for the greater purpose.
"Because of his father's teachings, he ended up becoming a man of God himself. When 'is father died three years later, Robert decided to set off, to spread the Holy Word to the rest o' the world.
Land's End, Cornwall, England, 1689.
Robert Fletcher looked up at his family estate for what was to be the last time. His ship would be
leaving soon, and then his life would start all over again.
Robert walked down the slow sloping path towards the harbour that he had walked a thousand times before, but this time, it seemed somehow new to him, as he truly took in it's beauty for the first time since he could remember.
From the path, he could see the ocean, the white sails of the ships on the harbour standing out in perfect contrast to the sparkling blue giants man had deemed waves. Every so often, a white crest would peak the top of the sapphire marvels, and give great complement to the feathery bleached puffs in the azure sky, which showed no signs of fading on the horizon.
A light breeze came up behind him, and tussled his short henna hair. His ginger eyes sparkled with mingled sadness and excitement as he made for the ship.
The voyage was to take him to a Spanish Port, where they would receive more travellers, and then it would be off to America, the new world, where Robert was sure there would be men in need of religion.
He pulled a gold pocket watch out of his new trousers. He smiled at the simplicity of the small yellow object, which had become such a useful object in his everyday life. His things were already being loaded to the ship, and he had only a short time to get to the docks.
Forgetting about the beauty of the day God had created for the humans on Earth, he picked up his pace and headed towards his transportation. It was going to be a long voyage.
Jean Luc was interrupted by Lapin, Hank and Cecilia returning from checking the files. He lifted his eyebrows to Lapin, wishing to know what, if any, progress had been made.
Lapin shook his head in shame of his own short comings. "It's de VOI. Dere's nothing I c'n do."
Jean Luc nodded in acceptance and understanding. The others in the room, however, were not as well versed on the subject of computer viruses. "VOI" Jean asked.
Jean Luc sighed. "The Virus of Insanity. So named because all who try to solve it give up in frustration, believing that only someone gone completely mad could have constructed it."
"Least dat's what de "Legit" is," Lapin grunted with a sad smile. Everyone turned to look at him.
"Rabbit?" Hank asked in confusion, making Lapin smile crookedly at the english version of his code name.
"Most world class hackers t'ink dat de answer has to be insanely simple, right in front of our faces, we just can' figure out what."
Bobby snickered. "World Class Hackers? Don't you think that's a bit of an oxy moron? And besides, what do hackers have to do with solving viruses?"
Lapin's naturally smiling eyes went ice cold, shotting daggers at Bobby. "Hackers wish only t' free information f'r everybody. Some create viruses to accomplish dis purpose, but most of us just go about it by theft. An' if y' have any thoughts on dat, I s'gest y' keep dem t' y'self," he fumed. "A lot of us are out dere tryin' t' undo viruses. Tryin' t' stop dem. I's people like YOU what give us all a bad rep."
Bobby's mouth dropped open at his blatant show of hostility towards his small joke. Jean Luc looked softly towards Lapin. "Perhaps it would better for you to wait outside."
"Per'aps," He sniped shortly, then made a small bow to Jean Luc, a nod of respect to Cyclops, turned, and left.
"What was that all about?" Bobby asked in confusion at the blatant hostility towards his small joke.
Hank cleared his throat, "Bobby, what you just said to Lapin, would be akin to accusing me of creating the Legacy Virus, in order to farther my own career. You insulted what the man believes to be right. Weather or not it is, is of no consequence. You do not insult the very essence of a person's being, and remain that person's friend."
Cecilia interjected, "Like telling any of us, that because there are mutants who were bent on the destruction of all normal humans, all of us must be as well. That the work we do, could, in no way, be for the good of man, but rather, quite the opposite."
Bobby still appeared not to get it, so Jean Luc interceded. He seemed not to be angry, merely gravely saddened, but his words cut straight to the quick. "Tell me, Mr. Drake; How is it that you, a known mutant, profess to be a good person? I recall hearing on the news, just recently, that a mutant, by the name of Onslaught, put a rather large hole in Central Park, trying to destroy all man kind. How is it then, that you can be a good person? You are after all, a mutant." The sound of gasping was heard from all X- Men in the room, as the leader of the New Orleans Guild of Thieves, insulted their very reason for existing, by using their own leader as an example, and hitting very close to home. He turned back to the window. "It seems no matter where you go, or what you do, everyone is susceptible to typecasting."
Bobby opened his mouth to say something, took a look at Cyclops, and closed it, seeing the look on his face. Scott cleared his throat. "Please, Mr. LeBeau, continue."
Jean Luc nodded without turning around, and continued with the story. "The ship docked in Cape Finisterre, Spain. Robert, and a few others, decided to get off and stretch their legs, while the new passengers arrived. He came across a small village which was having a commotion.
Cape Finisterre, Spain, 1689.
Robert looked out at the land before him. Spain was really a beautiful land, but he still found
himself yearning for home. He sighed to himself and wondered exactly why he was doing this.
Spain and England were on the brink of going to war with each other, and this voyage of his and his companions was actually putting them all in quite a bit of danger.
In Spain they were seen as a threat to national security, and back home they were just known as traitors. He should have never left. He knew that much, but there was something there, something pulling him away from his home, toward an uncertain life. A life where actual living may have been becoming something of an endangered quality. Yet he still believed that he could make a difference, and that meant more to him then anything else living a safe life could.
He sighed again and began to walk over to where one of the crew men who he had made friends with were. "How long until we set off again?" He asked, eyeing the pier.
"You've got about two hours land lubber," he joked with a slight twinkle in his eye, "But watch yourself, mate. With all that's going on around here, you might as well have a target on your back."
Robert nodded and started towards the gangway, but his friend caught his arm. "Don't talk to anyone lad," He said more seriously.
Robert gave him a look. One that said I'm a grown man, I can take care of myself, and don't call me lad.
"Your clothes won't help you here Father. The military don't care about Heaven and Hell, and having a Preacher with an English tongue, well, you might get hurt."
Robert smiled grimly and nodded, walking down to the pier.
Fifteen minutes later, he was completely lost in a foreign town, and that wasn't even the worst of it.
Cornfed: "We must get to the Banquette and stop that toast!"
Ajax: "But I like toast... It's the muffins that must be stopped!"
I suppose this is what I get from watching too much Teletoon!
CRIM§ON™