|It Runs In The Family
Author: Mercy P. Jones PM
Remy Lebeau gets a strange call from an old friend. She leaves him with some shocking news. Remy makes his way to LA California to see it for himself. He's very surprised at what he finds and just what kind of life his newly found child is living. NOTBUFFRated: Fiction T - English - Family - Chapters: 6 - Words: 21,550 - Reviews: 33 - Favs: 16 - Follows: 40 - Updated: 11-03-08 - Published: 03-10-08 - id: 4123650
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
AN: I've never really seen this done before, so I wanted to give it a shot. I have two different ways I wanted to go about this. One is a father/daughter approach(which is what the fic is), the other was a brother/sister approach, which I might attempt later. I also have always wanted to try two other ideas, both sibling or father/child relations, with another character which I might attempt too.
The main character is Remy Lebeau. Though I did read the X-Men comics when I was little, I'm a little rusty, so I'm making this a crossover with the movies instead. The X-Men Trilogy happened years ago. This chapter has the Buffyverse in Season 4 and Angel in Season 1. In the next one it will jump to Buffy Season 6 and Angel Season 3. That's where the plot will begin.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Literally.
His eyes skimmed over his surroundings from behind his sunglasses. It was incredibly bright. So, he stood off to the side in the shade, underneath a tall tree. He had abandoned his favorite coat because of the heat and instead opted to just wear a black t-shirt and tattered jeans. He blew out a puff of smoke and lowered his cigarette when he saw her.
Remy Lebeau had driven his motorcycle across the entire country to get here. That phone call he had gotten from the woman weeks ago had done something to him.
He was still in shock.
It was no secret to anyone that Remy Lebeau got around. Especially before joining the X-Men and falling for the resident Rogue. Yet he wondered what they would say when they learned that he had fathered a child. A child he had just learned about. One that was 19 years old and born when he was only fifteen.
It had been a strange day when he got the news. As far as he could tell there was no real reason for her phone call. Guilt maybe.
He had been in the living room, watching Casablancas with Rogue. Personally, he never cared too much for the movie, but it was one of Rogue's favorites. And it was the third year anniversary of the day they met. This was the day he decided he would celebrate the enigmatic girl's birthday since she refused to tell anyone when it was. She had just put on the emerald necklace he had gotten for her (legally), and he had wondered if she would let him steal a quick kiss before the shock of his kindness to her wore off. He had leaned in, inches away from her, and she had yet to pull back. Then the phone rang. She jumped back, face red, and hastily answered the phone. Her full lips turned down and she practically threw the phone at him. She childishly flopped back down on the couch, arms crossed, and turned her attention back to the movie.
It had been a woman named Cathrine on the phone. One of his many conquests that he had quickly forgotten about. She quickly reminded him of who she was. Well, of the time he had met her, not necessarily her herself.
Then Cathrine proceeded to inform him he had a child.
So now, he was here in California, looking for his little girl.
He had spotted her in the crowd already. It wasn't that hard. Her mother had given him a brief description and location. And her name.
She was dressed in a bright pink shirt and black pants. She was wandering through a large crowd, looking at various items for sale. She pushed her long curly brown tresses over her shoulders before stopping at an art table.
A strange feeling hit Remy's gut at the thought that his daughter was an artist. He felt proud. She was beautiful and creative. He needed to get closer. So he made his way from the tree to the art table, looking like one of the many customers walking by, suddenly interested in the art supplies.
The woman hosting the art table quickly approached Cordelia, "Do you paint?"
Cordelia laughed a little, "Oh, no." She shook her head, "I was just looking for something for a friend."
Remy suddenly felt a strange feeling of concern in his chest. The feeling wasn't his.
"I thought maybe if he had a hobby... - He's a little detached from things."
She wasn't an artist. She was a concerned friend. Remy couldn't stop that small feeling of pride from growing.
The woman smiled knowingly, "Well, they say art is the best therapy for that."
Cordelia smiled at the idea and turned her head slightly to the side, "Really?"
The woman nodded, "Sure, they use it in mental institutions all the time," Remy certainly did not miss the slightly offended reaction from his daughter. His daughter, "You get patients drawing and working with clay – helps them get back in touch."
And just like Remy predicted, Cordelia was quick to defend her friend, "Well, he is not crazy or anything." She paused for a moment, "He's – just different?"
Without missing a beat the woman responded, "Depressed."
Cordelia's response was quick, "He wears a lot of black." She picked up a nearby bundle, "How much are these pastels?"
The woman immediately brightened, "Oh, these are on special. You get the entire set, the large one, and some drawing paper and little..."
Remy stopped paying attention to the two women and turned his head as a strange feeling came over him. He looked around the crowd, his back now towards his daughter, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary. It was only after Cordelia walked passed him that he turned his attention back to her, two large bags now in her hands. The feeling was still there however, and Remy quickly looked the other way, but saw nothing.
Remy quickly turned back around. The young Californian was holding her head. She dropped both her bags and pulled out her cellphone. But before she could finish the phone number, she dropped the cell and held her head once more. Remy stiffened as she cried out in pain and stumbled to the side. There seemed to be a small moment where her pain resided and a look of confusion crossed her face. Only to have whatever was happening to her come back full force, if not stronger. This time he watched in horror as she threw her full body weight to the side, knocking over a couple of paintings. He froze in horror as she writhed on the floor, crying out in pain.
From the moment he saw her, he had begun to wonder how he was going to introduce himself to her. He certainly couldn't just walk up to her on the street and introduce himself as her mother's one night stand or gentleman caller. All the different scenarios that he played out in his head ended with him introducing himself that way, no matter where it took place. The only thing was, was that with all the different scenarios, none took place within a hospital.
Or with his daughter convulsing in pain.
"Hey! You can't be here!"
Remy started from his hiding place. Did they notice him?
The strange new voice caught Remy's attention and shook him out of his panic. An incredibly pale man dressed all in black stood near the entrance of the room, his eyes wide with unexpressed panic. The all black outfit brought him to reason that this was the man Cordelia had been buying things for.
"Are you family?"
Remy almost jolted at that. He knew better than anyone that your family wasn't always blood related, but that didn't stop the small sting.
The doctor pulled away from the struggling girl and stood before the man, "They brought her in a few hours ago." He shook his head, "I'm not sure what happened." He glanced back at Cordelia, "Does she have a history of mental illness?"
"No." The man was quick to respond.
The doctor didn't let up though, "Does she use drugs?"
Again, the man didn't even think, "No."
She let out another sob, but it was muffled behind her scream, "Noooo-aaahhh!"
The doctor nodded, a knowing look on his face, "Well, she is having a psychotic episode. We've done a CAT scan." He frowned, confused, "There is no organic damage that we can see, but we can't seem to sedate her."
The man pushed back the nurses and held the girl down by her shoulders, "Cordelia, can you hear me? - Cordelia!" He frowned and had to push the convulsing girl down harder. It didn't take a mutant to notice that he was pushing her down just as well as the five doctors and nurses did by himself, "Cordelia!"
The doctor stood behind the man, a sympathetic look on his face, "We're trying a number of different drug therapies," He frowned and took a step closer, "Do you know if she has any allergies?"
The man shook his head again, never taking his eyes off the crying girl, "I don't think so." He frowned, "Drugs won't help her."
Remy turned his gaze from Cordelia to the man. The certainty in his voice caused Remy's gut to tighten. He knew what was doing this to her, didn't he?
"Well, something better," Both Remy and the pale man turned to look at the doctor, "I need to inform you, if we don't find a way to stop it..."
Remy's hearing seemed to be muffled. He watched as she writhed in pain on the bed. The tears streaming down her face, while a vein in her temple was visibly throbbing. Her wide open brown eyes were blood shot red. Her screams, now muffled to his ears, reverberated through the hospital. He never looked up, but he knew that people passing by were peaking in the door window, trying to get a glimpse of the girl. The girl who was his daughter. Such a strange relationship to him, but a relationship none the less. A blood tied one. One he had never had before.
He couldn't do nothing.
Closing his eyes, Remy took in a deep breath and reached out to her. He couldn't feel the physical pain, but he could feel the emotional turmoil running inside her. It ranged from grief to fear, from confusion to dread. He reached out with his empathy, tried to find what was causing these feelings inside of her. Only to find that they were not her feelings, not really. Was she an empath? Was she just like him? Now, even more determined to help her, he reached back out. He sifted through the emotions, tried to find hers, tried to pick it out of the crowd. Saying he was looking for a needle in a haystack was an understatement. Inwardly, he growled in frustration. He couldn't find her! But he could do the next best thing; he dulled down all the emotions. He kept his eyes shut tight, for fear that someone would notice his glowing eyes.
The panic in the pale man's voice hit him hard. This man cared very much for this girl.
"One of the medicines must have kicked in," Even Remy could hear the uncertainty in the doctor's voice.
"I gotta go." The pale man's footsteps were light, Remy could barely hear them. "You take care of her! I'll be back."
The closing door was a sure sign he had left.
A good hour passed by before the man walked back in as if in a daze. Remy smelt the familiar sell of smoke and ash, the man even had a smudge of it across one of his cheeks. He walked straight up to Cordelia and reached over to grab her left hand. He leaned against the bed.
"Cordelia – I'm gonna fix this." His voice turned hard and determined, "Promise. I'm gonna get you back." His voice shook slightly with the next sentence, and Remy, though jealous, was content with the knowledge that someone out in this world was doing what they could to help her.
The girl in question just whimpered as whatever it was that was hurting her continued. Affected by the whimper, the man's head turned down, unable to stare at her face. A strange look passed over his face and his vision snapped back to the young girl's face.
"I'm gonna fix this."
His voice was much more determined and filled with much more certainty. He suddenly stood up and leaned forward. He brushed her hair back before he pulled himself away and practically ran out the door.
It wasn't even an hour when the next visitor came in.
A tall bald black man walked in and stood beside the bed. He looked down at the girl, a frown on his lips, but said nothing. He stood there for a while, until the door slid open a crack and a young white man with curly black hair stuck his head in.
Quietly, the man took a step in, "Gunn," The black man half turned to him, but stayed by Cordelia's bed, "We found the other one. He's been burned pretty bad. Doctors said he was lucky. Somethin' shoulda broke in an explosion like that."
Gunn just nodded, "Yeah. He's lucky." His voice was somewhat sarcastic.
The young kid, looked down at that, realizing Gunn was less than happy with his observation. Glancing up, the boy shook as he asked the question that had been on his mind for sometime, "I don't get it."
With a sigh, Gunn looked back at the kid again, "Get what, Luke?"
Luke motioned to the girl, "Her, or the guy in the ICU. I mean," He took a cautious step forward, "why are they working for a demon?"
Remy bristled at the term, but stayed hidden.
"I mean, if he turns on 'em-"
"Shut it, Luke." Gunn's voice was hard and he glared at the kid. He stepped towards the kid and squared his shoulders to his. Crossing his arms, he frowned angrily, "These people are doing a good thing. 'Sides, it's their lives, not ours."
"So then why are we-"
"Because, I said we are!" He voice was more authoritative than annoyed, causing the kid to jump, "Just go outside and watch the damn door!"
Without another word, the kid did as told, leaving Remy and this Gunn character alone with a whimpering Cordelia.
For the next two to three hours, Remy was stationed in his hiding place, glaring at the black man. Every once in a while, the kid would pop his head back in and give him an update on the man in the ICU. Remy had hoped to have more time alone with her in the hospital room. After all, this was probably the only time he could get close to her without alarming anyone.
As much as he wanted to get to know her, he wasn't ready to be a father to her.
After all, she was still just a girl.
This time when the door opened, it wasn't the kid who came in, but the pale man. He walked up next to Gunn and looked down at Cordelia. He held a book in his hands.
"Sorry, man." Said the black man, "No changes."
The man nodded, "I know." He turned to him and tucking the book under one of his arms, he held out his hand, "Thanks for looking out for them. Any problems?"
"Nah, man, it was the easiest job me and mine have had in a while." Clapping his hand in the other man's, Gunn nodded, "So you figure out what's causin' this?"
The man nodded, "Yeah. I just need to wait for Wesley to wake up and read the translation in here." He held up the book, but refused to reveal what it was that had done this to the girl.
Remy grew annoyed.
Gunn just nodded, as if expecting that response. He then jerked his head to the door, "You need anything else? 'Cause my people get a little antsy in hospitals, ya know?"
He shook his head, "No, thanks. I owe you."
"Yeah, you do." Turning on his heels, the man headed towards the door before stopping and turning back around, "Hey, Angel."
The man, whose name was finally revealed to Remy, turned around.
"Take care of 'em."
Angel just nodded before turning back to Cordelia. When the door clicked shut behind Gunn, Angel whispered, "Promise."
Angel and Remy both stood there and watched over the crying Cordelia silently. Remy, ever aware of the time passing him by, was unsure of just how long it had been. He was only snapped out of his thoughts when the door opened. A man in a wheelchair silently rolled in. His face was bruised and covered in bandages. His arm was confined to a sling and he looked at the girl in horror.
Angel turned around and held out the book, "Wesley. She's under a spell, Senior Partner touched her. Break it."
Wesley reached out wordlessly and grabbed the book with his one good hand. Too heavy for his weakened arm, Wesley quickly dropped it in his lap before flipping through the pages. Meanwhile, Angel walked over to the other side of her bed and leaned over the young woman. It only took a few minutes for Wesley to find the passage he needed and he rolled up next to her bed as well.
As he started speaking, Remy grew aware of what kind of life his daughter was living. He had seen proof of magic back in New Orleans, but he had never seen it done first hand.
"And if the beast shalt find thee, and touch thee, thou shalt be wounded in thy soul – and thou shalt know madness. The beast shalt attack and cripple thee and thou shalt know neither friend nor family. But thou shalt undo the beast. Thou shalt find the sacred words of Anatole and thou shalt be restored. Three times shalt thou say these words: unbind – unbind – unbind."
A white blinding flash ignited in the room, and Remy had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out in pain as it burned his ever sensitive eyes. Just as quickly as it had appeared, it dispersed. Looking up above his arms, he watched as Angel and Wesley both looked up at the girl.
Cordelia's eyes slowly opened, and she blinked them a few times.
"Hey." Angel whispered as he leaned over her, a small smile now lighting his face.
"Angel?" Her voice was soar and hoarse. She glanced over at Wesley, not even seeming surprised he was in a wheelchair.
No one paid the nurse any attention as she ran in and stared at them all in shock. They didn't even seem to register her words as she told them, "I'll get Dr. Evans." Or when she hurried away.
Turning her gaze back to Angel, she whispered words that only steeled what Remy had already known. And his heart broke.
"I saw them all. And there is so much pain." Her voice shook at that last word, "We have to help them." She almost sounded like she was begging with Angel.
Angel just nodded hurridely, "We will." He reached up and stroked her cheek, wiping away the tears that had leaked down her cheeks, "We will."
Desolate, Remy climbed down from his perch in the tree outside Cordelia's window. He jumped from the last limb before landing on the ground silently. He placed his hands in his pockets and turned to look back at the window that had separated him and his daughter just moments before. Now he knew that it was much more than the window that separated the two.
She was out in the world doing good. She had friends to protect her, that cared for her. She was free of guilt.
He wasn't. He had a past, few friends, and more baggage than he cared to admit. And he had done some pretty horrendous things.
She was much better off living in ignorance and never knowing what kind of father she really had.