The Streets

The kid had been at the school for a few days. He’d kept to the room that Chuck’d assigned him, after loudly refusing to be kept in the infirmary, which he proclaimed too ‘creepy’ – a sentiment that he was inclined to personally agree with. According to Chuck, the Cajun had also evidently been very displeased at the idea of spending any time at the school at all, but had finally been encouraged to stay based on the fact that he was still too injured to ‘do well’ on the streets. ‘Do well’ of course covered a ton of issues from ‘being beat up again’ to ‘freezing to death’, but the kid had evidently grasped the point quickly enough, seeming as he’d agreed to stay.



Today, much to his everlasting joy, it was on his job list to take the brat out for an airing. Not that the kid had exactly been under house arrest, but he’d not been encouraged to come out nor shown any interest in coming out either. They’d not housed him with the other kids, two to a room as customary, because of his ‘special status’. Nor was he likely to be just lumped in with them anytime soon. He’d recognised in the kid that gut deep ability and willingness to protect himself by any means necessary. He had no doubt that the kid had done so before, probably many times, given that he’d made it to this age. Like he was about to let a loose cannon free in his school.



He snorted. His school. Shit. When had that started?



Chuck’d been to see the kid a few times, along with Annie to tend to his injuries and bring him food and clothing, Hank coming once to give him a good look over once he’d gotten back. Other than that, no one had bothered to stop in. Until now. Evidently Chuck thought that this kid would do better if he had a chance to ‘make amends’ with him and understand that the school was a ‘positive learning place’. What he figured that Chuck really meant was that he was to explain that the staff here didn’t actually threaten to cram steel through your throat on a daily basis.



When Chuck had thought he’d started becoming some cuddly talky sort of guy, he didn’t quite know. Or rather he did, but that was just Marie. Just cause he’d made nice with one street kid, didn’t mean he’d take on another. To top it off Marie was a helluva lot different than this one.



Being that he didn’t really feel like arguing with Chuck again today, he’d followed his to do list, and headed on up to knock on the kid’s door. Well ok, he maybe pounded on the door, but hey, he didn’t want to stand around all day.



It opened a crack, one odd black and red eye peeking out to look at him, hovering above a inch wide slit view of a half nude body, blue rumpled pyjama bottoms saving him from complete disgrace. “What d’ hell do you want?”



Well, this was gonna be peachy. “You’ve got five minutes kid. Get your clothes on and we’re goin’ for a walk.”

The door eye disappeared and the door shut, and he could hear some sort of rummaging going around in the room that he hoped for the kid’s sake was him getting some fucking clothes on. They would be going out in five minutes, even if he was dragging him out bare as an egg. There were rules to be set, fast and early. If he didn’t, there’d be hell to pay later.



Five minutes later, when he’d just about been ready to open the door and do just that, the kid popped out, sullen faced and glaring. He looked a fright, truth be told, his face still swollen and the cuts scabbed, bruising starting to fade to that putrid looking green and yellow. Combined with the alien eyes he made for a garish portrait of colours gone wrong. At least the shirt the kid had picked out was a plain white one and didn’t add to the walking garbage can’s pallet that he already was.



Grunting, he turned and after a moment, he heard the kids footsteps join him. He knew this whole having to follow him around and listen to orders thing would be irking the brat greatly. That was half the plan behind it. It was the way that you solidified your status. Still, he didn’t completely know why he was riding this kid this hard. It wasn’t exactly that he didn’t like him. Hell, it was hard to have an opinion, since the kid had been unconscious the first time, and scared shitless for most of the second despite his defiant way of butting the issue head on with no grace.



If he really analysed things, it was mostly because he recognised something of himself in the kid. What was a confined aggression in him was still loose and unpredictable in the Cajun. Even as little as he’d obeyed Scott, he’d still held himself in tight parameters. He didn’t just run amok, he didn’t go fucking with the cops, and he didn’t stab anyone that didn’t deserve it.



But this kid? He had no idea what life had shaped him into. People were funny. Put one person in a hard situation, and they may end up the next Mother Theresa. Put someone in the same path and they could end up being a serial killer. There was no telling which way the cards would fall until they did. The streets had a nasty tendency to turn more people sour than sweet.



Looking for some privacy, he pulled open the back door for the kid and waved him through to the deck, pointing to an empty patio chair with a gruff order to sit. The sleet had turned to snow later than night they’d picked the kid up, and it had continued on and off the past couple of days. It wasn’t really that bad out today, in his reckoning, but fall was definitely turning to winter. He didn’t fail to notice the full body shiver from the kid, which brought a stab of annoyance. Maybe he should have been more specific and told the kid to wear a coat, knowing he must have thin southern blood with that thick yat in his voice.



Shedding his own thick outer plaid shirt he tossed it at the kid, nearly as comfortable in just his beater as he’d been in the thicker cotton. He was made of sterner stuff than to think the temperature hovering around freezing was ‘cold’. In gratuitous return he got a somewhat snarky looking flick of eyes, but at least the kid put it on.



May as well start with small talk. “So, you know the rules ‘round here, right?”



Well it was his version of small talk.



“Oui.” The kid drew his legs up on the chair as well, rolling himself into a tight wodge. “But it don’t matter. I told y’all, I’m not stayin’.”



“Yeah, well, heard that before.” From himself, but he didn’t really need to disclose that. “What’s your name anyways, kid? I’m not about to call you ‘Mr. LeBeau’.”



Oh that was a daaaamn pissy look the kid shot him there. He obviously still had an issue with Chuck cherry picking information from his brain and tossing it around for people to see. A moment passed as the kid looked out over the bare woods in the yard and then something shifted in his posture, head tilting a bit, lanky body relaxing back in a languid way. Half bruised lips swept up into a warm smile that didn’t quite reach those eyes. “Why y’ want t’ know, cher?”



“I want to know, cause I want a name to call you other than ‘kid’.” He wasn’t quite sure what the game was here, but he realized suddenly that whatever this street punk had going for him, he probably wouldn’t clean up that bad. The bruising and all that hid it now, but he could see the strong line of a high cheekbone on the less damaged side and lips that were normally full even with that ugly split through them. His longish hair fell over into his eyes in a way that let him look rakish and coy at the same time rather than just a messy bum. Even the stubble that had grown thick over his jaw suited him.



The kid tipped his head back and shrugged all gentile good nature now. “I’m not a ‘kid’. Nineteen at least, cher, maybe even twenty.” His eyes flicked to the patio door and then back to him. “Nothin’ dat anyone here can say about it.”



“Say about what? Your name?” He’d frowned, perplexed and off guard before it dawned on him just what this kid might have been doing for money. Were only a few options on the street after all.



A pointed and practiced sigh from the kid and he stood, borrowed shirt falling back to expose the other thinner white one underneath as he slithered closer until he was practically right under his nose. Which he should really punch him for, pressing so close into his personal space without any hint of permission. Being that Chuck sent him out here for a pep talk, he didn’t think adding to the kids bruises fit the bill. LeBeau either hadn’t picked up on his vibe yet, or if he did, he probably hoped to change it.



“D’ name’s Remy. Y’ can call me anythin’ y’ really want though. Don’ matter t’ me.”



“How many times you use that line, kid?” Those odd eyes, which had been demurely hooded up till now, opened

wider for a second before forming into slits. Only now they weren’t showing much but sheer anger, even though the face was still. “Go sit the hell back down and listen up.”



Not waiting, he took a step back to lean against a post and watched as Remy walked back over by the chair, but chose to lean against the deck railing as he was instead of sitting, a silent show of protest. “You ain’t gonna try that shit on me again, cause I don’t do that. Ever. You ain’t gonna try that with the rest of the staff, cause they’d never fuck someone for money or favours either.” The kids eyes tightened and he opened his yap again, no doubt to protest that he wasn’t staying, but he cut him off before he could get a word out. “And you definitely won’t try that with the other kids here, cause if you do, I’ll tan your hide.” A smirk started on the kids face so he gave him one of his best glares. The kind he’d perfected in order to shut Jubilee up without having to tape her mouth shut. “And, no, you wouldn’t enjoy it, so don’t even get started with me.”



Remy settled back, arms lacing over his chest, pissy rebellious look back in place in full. “This is a school, bub. This is the best chance you are ever gonna get at gettin’ anywhere in life. You gotta know you can’t keep sellin’ your ass much longer. It’s the young kids that those perverts like.” That earned him a death glare, but he wasn’t about to mince words and talk about bettering one’s life and all that. That was Chuck’s job. “Look at it this way. You’ll be fed and have a roof over your head for free. You’d be a dumbass not to take up on a racket like this.”



The kids glare didn’t cut at all, but he looked somewhat more thoughtful than he had before and the scent of anger and defiance that had been pouring off of him from the start finally ebbed a little. Alright, then, job done. He didn’t have time to sit there and pat him on the shoulder and tell him it was all gonna be alright like this was some after school special. “Right. Lunch is in 40 minutes. Be late and you’ll miss all the good stuff and only have bologna sandwiches and apples. So I’d suggest you get there on time.”



Job done, he sauntered back into the house.



***



Truth known, he had no idea why he stayed. Maybe because it was fucking cold outside and he’d been dumb enough to travel up north in the fall, looking for a fresh city, hoping his luck would better there. Maybe it was because that snarly asshole - old what’s his name - he’d brought up some good points. Oh right, the others called him ‘Logan’ or if he was really pissed off, ‘Wolverine’. Anyways, he was right. He [i]was[/i] getting too old to work the streets, and that was his bread and butter.



But then again, maybe it was what he’d discovered on that first day at lunch - baiting Bobby Drake was about the funnest damn thing he’d done in a long time.



He’d quickly pieced together that the girl with that stripe in her hair (Rogue) and the dopey looking kid (Bobby) were currently on ‘a break’. Bobby had tried to make overtures towards her that met with varying success while he watched from a semi concealed area, scoping out the lunchroom before he actually committed to entering it.



That was until he’d stopped just watching and had actually walked into the lunchroom. Since then, Bobby was failing miserably, pretty much ignored by the girl. He’d come through the door and crossed the floor, heading for the big buffet line, noting as the girls’ eyes as wandered over him and watching as the group surrounding Rogue had talked and giggled behind their hands. He’d known they were talking about him. All he’d had to do was grace Rogue with a small smile on his way out of the cafeteria, and the girl had gone scarlet. So had Bobby, but for a completely different reason.



When he’d figured out two days later that she was ‘the wolverines’ little darling that had cemented it - he was staying. For a while at least. He couldn’t pass up the chance to piss that guy off.



It was perfect, really. Girl couldn’t touch. Well, it was apparently pretty complicated. As far as he’d heard she’d taken the cure for Bobby, found out Bobby was kinda cheating on her, dumped his ass and then had regained her powers a few months later when it wore off. Sucked to be her. The one time she could have touched and she’d ended up spending it solo. Still, in the end, her powers worked for him. Meant he could be charming and nice to her and earn the black looks Bobby and even blacker looks from Logan and yet not have to have a girl slobbering all over him.



Bobby couldn’t do shit all about it, but Logan took it out on his ass when it came to combat lessons. That was just another good reason to stay though. Didn’t hurt to know how to kick someone’s ass two ways to Tuesday.



As time went on, he found himself easing in to the whirl of constant work and drama that was just regular life at the school. He didn’t have to go to classes, because none of the older teens did. It was ridiculous to stick a nineteen year old with a bunch of thirteen year olds after all. Mind you the others were supposed to be looking at which college to attend or at least doing some distance education. He was tickled to discover that Bobby was taking accounting that way. Which...damn. Could the boy get any more boring?



Of course the yuppie had been somehow graced with a fantastic ass despite his librarian personality...but ass or not, he wasn’t his type. No skin off his back then that Bobby was straighter than a damn ruler.



Along the way Xavier had somehow managed to con him into some computer assisted learning program. He’d picked the basics of reading off the streets – no mean accomplishment – which had done him well enough up till now. He had to admit there was something rather fascinating about computers that drew him in though and they’d used that interest to lure him into taking some sorta rudimentary adult program on one and really, it wasn’t that bad. Kinda made him feel not so dumb when the others got talking.



Getting used to be around people all the time in ‘normal life’ proved to be where he’d had the most trouble. The place just shrieked of wrongness to him. He was now the one pretending. Living the lie. It chafed at him. It was too comfortable, too safe, too not-real.



What that meant is that he had bloodied a few noses, come close to fighting just about half the boys into the school and had thrown out a few very colourful insults to a few of the prissier girls. He found that the urge to bite someone’s head off got a bit less every day though.



It was around then that Ororo began to take more of an interest in him. There was something...he wasn’t quite sure what to call it about her. Not quite motherly, he wouldn’t have tolerated that. More just an open acceptance of who he was and the interest and support of him despite all of it. If he pushed her she just stood strong and vibrant, and calmly asked him things that made him think. He found himself respecting her more than he’d thought he would anyone. As the months passed he found himself talking more and more to her, able to share a few small things...hell even remember things that he’d not been able to before. And somehow...it just all worked. Yeah, it wasn’t like the Brady family, but damn, who’d want it to be?



Then he found out they had a jet in their basement and things just got more interesting from there.