Chapter Text
The cold, Antarctic air slowly began to freeze his skin, making it feel like hot pins were jabbing his entire torso. He was alone now, abandoned here to die a slow, cold death as the sun slowly sank over the horizon. The worst part wasn’t that he was going to die nor was it that it was his “true love” that had abandoned him. The worst part was that he couldn’t really blame her for doing it.
With a start, Remy opened his eyes and saw he was not in Antarctica. That was so long ago he silently chastised himself for believing he was.
His heart beat like a drum in his head, which ached from a night of whiskey and gambling. He rolled over to his side to check the clock next to his bed but found he wasn’t in his bed. He wasn’t in a bed at all. From the cold slab of concrete underneath him, it quickly became obvious that Remy hadn’t made it home the previous night.
With a groan, Remy picked himself up off of the floor and checked his surroundings. Between the dark and the mustiness of the air, he could tell he was underground. A cellar, perhaps? Someone’s basement? He wasn’t bound, but when he checked his pockets, he found he had been stripped of all but his pants.
None of the walls contained a door, just the same smooth concrete of the floor. When he looked up, he saw floorboards about three feet above him. And in the middle of the ceiling hung a square hatch made of wood.
“So, cellar it is,” Remy said to himself. He studied the door, trying to make sense of where he was and how he ended up here. There was a lot of booze involved, but that had been the story of Remy’s life for the past week. Or was it two weeks?
The floorboards were supported by a series of joints spaced out a foot between one another, creating a frame for the door. The door opened from above, but there was no ladder or step-stool up to it. Leaping up to the ceiling, he grabbed onto the supports and swung his legs up into the hatch, hoping to kick it open.
The door didn’t budge. Instead, his feet made a loud WHAP and he fell back down to the floor.
“Merde,” he said, clutching his right foot.
The sound, however, seemed to stir whoever was up above. Remy could just barely hear a pair of voices through the floor.
“Was that him?” one of the voices said.
“Who else could it be?” another said.
Remy backed away from the door as he heard footsteps grow nearer. There was the sound of metal sliding, which he took note of, and then the door popped open, creating a beam of white light that shined down onto the dusty floor.
“You awake down there, LeBeau?” a voice said. Remy didn’t recognize it. “There’s no point in hiding. Either you say something and we get this over with or we close this door and try again tomorrow.”
With no other options, Remy shuffled forward. “Oui, I’m awake. The question is, who put me down here?”
One of the men snickered and whispered to his friend, “The fool doesn’t even know where he is.”
“We’re gonna lower a ladder,” the other said. “You come up and don’t try anything funny or we have permission from Ms. Silver to shoot you down. Got it?”
Silver. Why did that name sound so familiar? A blurry image flashed in his head of a poker game. There were some familiar faces and there were some that were less familiar. Remy had a feeling Silver was the latter. But still, he couldn’t shake the weight of the name.
“Oui,” Remy finally said.
With that, a metal folding ladder appeared and descended into the darkness. Remy grabbed it and pulled himself up into what looked like the common room of a small cabin. The two men standing over him were both large and thuggish, each in black suits that clashed with the general rustic nature of the cabin. To their word, they each held pistols, trained on him.
“Quite the bed an’ breakfast you got here,” Remy said. “‘Cept I slept on the floor and I don’ smell any bacon.”
One of the men, a bald man with a tattoo that crept up his neck, motioned to a circular table in the kitchen area with two chairs flanking each side. Remy took the hint and sat at the table, digging through the recesses of his mind to figure out where he was and why he was here.
He was in New York. There had been drinking and women, lots of both. He got into a couple of tussles, none of which he couldn’t handle but ones that could have been easily avoided if he’d had a clearer head and less baggage to deal with.
And then there was a game. That was it. The game. It was a simple poker game with a high buy-in and high wagers.
The other guard, large like his friend but with a crew cut, pulled a phone from his jacket and made a call. “He’s here.”
After a moment, a door opened in the kitchen. This door hadn’t been there originally. In fact, it seemed to appear out of thin air but Remy didn’t even see it appear. It was as if it had always been there, even if he knew it couldn’t be true.
The woman who stepped through was Silver. Remy recognized her in her white three-piece suit, circular sunglasses, and grin that made him feel as if he wasn't in on whatever joke she had told.
“Remy, my boy,” she said, taking a seat across from him. Her voice was smooth, like water running over silk. “You’re awake! I was wondering how long you’d be out. You were a mess last night.”
“I’d feel a lot better if I knew where I was,” he said. “Or if I could at least get my stuff back.”
Silver clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Oh, dear. You were even in worse shape than I thought. Almost makes me feel bad for letting you wager what you did.”
Remy’s eyes narrowed. “What’d I wager, exactly?”
The woman reached into her coat and produced a pack of cigarettes. She offered one to Remy and then put it back into her coat without taking one for herself. She struck a match—where she had produced that from, Remy had no clue—and settled back in her chair, putting her feet up on the table.
“Remy, when was the last time you saw that old flame of yours, Rogue?” she said.
At the mention of her name, Remy stood up with all intentions to attack before he felt a pair of burly hands grab his shoulders and force him back down into his seat.
“There’s no need to get up-in-arms,” Silver said. “It’s just a question.”
“A few weeks, maybe.”
“Was that when she broke things off with you?”
He took a long drag from his cigarette. “Maybe.”
Silver nodded. “You mentioned her a lot last night. Said you only had eyes for her. You used those exact words, which is ironic because that’s exactly what you wagered: your eyes.”
“That a figure o’speech?”
“‘Fraid not.” Pulling a red folder from her jacket, she opened it and placed it in front of Remy. What he saw was a simple piece of paper that could only be described as a contract.
It read: "On this date, the 24th of March, 20XX, Remy Etienne LeBeau promises to pledge One Pair of Eyes to Ms. Silver. Any violation of this contract will mean the forfeiture of Mr. LeBeau’s life into servitude, the duration of which will be established by Ms. Silver at the voiding of this contract."
It was simple and to the point, even if Remy didn’t completely understand the logistics of it. And, most importantly, the signature at the bottom was his. No one could have faked that.
The man with the neck tattoo slammed a knife down onto the table then. It was a wicked-looking thing, with a curved, black blade that was serrated on the back, its handle curving in on itself to create a guard.
“Time to pay up,” Silver said with a smile. “Cinder, Smoke.”
The men grabbed Remy and hoisted him onto the table, slamming him down onto it.
“Waitaminute!” Remy said. “You can’ take my eyes.”
Silver ran a hand over his chest, directly over his heart. Her skin was cold and her nails felt like razor blades. “You signed the contract.”
“Nah, mon ami, you read it yo'self. ‘One Pair of Eyes'. A pair. Not ‘Remy LeBeau’s Eyes’.”
Frowning, Silver leaned over Remy’s body and took the folder. She looked through it for a moment and considered the words. After what felt like eons, she nodded. “So it does. You can let go of him, boys.”
With that, Cinder and Smoke released Remy, who sat up and backed away from the table. Looking at them again, Remy saw that both ‘men’ actually possessed a pair of glowing yellow eyes as well as a brand that was in the shape of a chalice. They regarded him suspiciously, as if waiting for him to try to make a break for the door. Silver didn’t look as worried.
“Well, the point still remains: I need those eyes,” she said.
“Why?” Remy said.
“That’s not important,” she said. “All you need to worry about is getting me a pair of eyes. And don’t think you can get just any old pair. I want eyes that would leave a person blind in more than one way.”
“Where am I s’posed to find ‘em?” Remy said. “I won' kill for you.”
Silver let out a long sigh. “You’re a thief, aren’t you? Just pretend it’s like any other job.”
“And when I get ‘em?”
Silver reached into her jacket and pulled out an old flip-phone, tossing it to him. Remy immediately opened it only to find it was dead. “You’ll be able to call me with that once you get a pair to my liking.” She motioned to Cinder and Smoke. “Let’s go boys.”
“How am I supposed to get outta here?” Remy said. “I don’ even know where we are right now.”
“Don’t worry,” she said, opening her door in the middle of the kitchen. A gust of warmth came from it, the air taking on the smell of brimstone. “I called your friends to come pick you up. They should be here any minute.”
The guards went through the door, but before Silver could step through, Remy stopped her.
“Wait,” Remy said, confused. “My friends? I don' know where we are, but I never saw you make a phone call. So, you made this call a while ago.” Realization dawned on him. “You were never gonna cut my eyes out. You knew about the loophole."
Silver shrugged. “I wouldn’t say never.”
“And the cellar?”
Silver lowered her sunglasses to reveal a pair of black, empty sockets beneath and then winked at him. “Had to make sure you wouldn’t run out one me. I heard you have a habit of doing that. Ciao, Remy.”
And she disappeared through the door, which swung closed and left nothing behind.
It was then that Remy noticed his belongings in a neat bundle next to the fireplace: his jacket, boots, shirt, and everything he kept in his pockets. He hadn’t seen them there originally, but he was growing used to the idea of things magically appearing before him.
Walking over, he quickly got dressed. As he finished lacing his boots, he heard the rush of air and felt the light rumble of an experimental jet landing. After a few minutes, a knock came from the door. Remy opened it to reveal the X-Men: Cyclops at the door with Storm and Emma Frost flanking him, Wolverine leaned up against a far wall smoking a cigar, and in the distance Rogue stood with Magneto by the Blackbird. She had her arms crossed and was looking to the ground, but when the door opened, she jumped, seeing Remy.
“Gambit,” Cyclops said. He smiled with his trademark, boy scout smile. “We heard you might need a ride.”
Without saying a word, Remy shut the door in his face.