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Gambit’s sitting in a bar at a table by himself. He’s mostly sober—only feeling the slightest bit tipsy.
He’s thinking to himself that he doesn’t really like living on the West Coast. He misses Westchester, the mansion, Harry’s place…
At least there, he had someone to drink with.
But nowadays, there’s no one.
Logan, who he always counted on to be his drinking-buddy, is all caught up in X-Force (or whatever it is he’s doing that he’s not supposed to) and Kurt’s death, and his own fucking misery. Gambit always makes sure to ask if Logan wants to come along anyway. The answer is always no.
So when someone sits down across the booth, Gambit’s first thought is that maybe it’s Logan, who decided to join up with him after all.
He looks up to see a man—not Logan—sitting there. He’s got dark hair and blue eyes, too, but these eyes are a different shade. These eyes are—
Familiar?
Remy blinks twice to makes sure he’s seeing right. “Mon dieu,” he gasps. “Jake?”
“In the flesh,” Jacob Gavin Jr. replies.
They haven’t seen each other in nearly four years. The last Remy had seen of him, Jake had been a stuck in a female body after a run-in with Sinister that had gone wrong. Because those always do.
“You’re—”
“A man? Yes. I know. Have been since M-Day,” Courier—Jacob—Jake says. “Losing my powers turned me back. Who would’ve know it’d be that simple?” He holds up one of his hands, where a finger is missing. “’Course, I also lost my finger again." He eyes Gambit critically. “I hate you, you know that?”
The corner of Remy’s mouth twitches. “Yes.”
“Two years,” Jake says, “I was a woman for two whole fucking years, thanks to you.”
“Sorry.”
Jake scowls. “No you’re not. Buy me a drink.”
Remy motions for someone to bring over another drink while Jake continues: “And don’t you go thinking that anything you ever did made up for it. I had to go through fucking periods, you know. Horrible cramps..." he grumbles. He picks up the glass that’s just been set in front of him and takes a gulp.
“So what brings you to de West Coast?” Remy wants to know.
“A vacation,” Jake replies. “No, I’m just traveling. Kind of out of business since I can’t shapeshift anymore.”
“Heard de X-Men moved to San Francisco an’ decided t’ pay y’old friend Remy a visit?” He grins.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Jake snaps. “The last thing I expected when I walked in here was to see you again.”
“Well, I can say de same here, homme.” Remy grins, eyes roaming over Jake. “What y’ been up to?”
“Not much,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. He takes another drink. “What about you? Heard you were caught up in some… vampire business.”
Remy laughs. “Dat was a few weeks ago. It’s over now.”
“Hm. Well I supposed I’m out of the loop on all the mutant stuff these days.” He scowls some more. Always scowling.
“You lookin’ at me like M-Day was my fault.”
“Knowing the amount of trouble you cause, I really wouldn’t be surprised if somehow it were.”
It’s just like old times. Remy flirts, Jake replies with insults, and he doesn’t mean a single one of them. But neither of them are mentioning what they’re both thinking about.
“So, you still with that nasty-tempered woman?”
“Rogue?” Remy leans back and shakes his head, “She ain't nasty-tempered. She jus' needs time.”
“Seems to me that she always needs time,” Jake says. “I heard she was getting cozy with Magneto again, though.”
“Yeah? An’ where you hearin’ all dis from?” It’s Remy’s turn to snap.
Jake grins. “National Enquirer.”
There’s a moment of silence and then Remy rolls his eyes and Jake laughs. It’s a sound Remy hasn’t heard in a long time, but as soon as he does, he feels like he hears it every day. It makes him smile.
Pretty soon, they’re both sitting there, beaming at each other. Slightly tipsy.
“How long you gonna be in de city, cher?” Remy asks.
“Long as I feel like.”
“How’s Dad?”
“Dead.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
Jake shrugs. “Stroke.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah.”
“An' so, dat makes you-?”
“Sold the company.”
“Why?” Remy exclaims.
“Why not?” Jake counters. “I didn’t want it.”
Remy sits back again, letting out a laugh, shaking his head. “What do y’ want, den?”
“Strange,” Jake says. “I recall asking you the same thing a few years ago.”
“You did,” Remy said.
“Still keeping everyone on their toes?” Jake asks.
Remy laughs.
“You kissed me!” Jake accuses.
“Was bein' spontaneous.”
“And then you were gone the next day, you asshole.” He says.
“So which part were you angry about?” Remy asks, “Dat I kissed you, or 'cause I left afterward?”
“That you left,” Jake hisses. “Never heard from you again.”
“Sorry.”
“Oh, quit saying that. Spontaneous my ass, Remy,” Jake says. “It was the body, wasn’t it? I did design her to look good, but that didn’t mean you could stare down my shirt all the time like I was any other Friday night hook-up. God, you make me so fucking—”
Remy leans over the table and kisses him, rough hands coming up to cup Jake's face. He kisses him good and long, and after, Jake just sits there for a moment, eyes bugging as Remy drops back in his seat.
“What was that for?!”
“Missed your whinin’.”
“I do not whine,” Jake says indignantly. He's breathing hard, trying to find something to stay mad about.
Remy delivers the final blow.
“It’s not de body, Jake. It’s jus’ you. I like you."
“Oh. Well.”
They stare at each other for a while.
“So how long you feelin' like stayin’ here?” Remy wonders.
“A while, maybe. I like the ocean.”
“Hm.”
“I could probably get a place here.”
“Want a tour?”
“Well, I’ve been here before, but—”
“Jus’ say yes, Jake—”
“Why not?”
They get up, Remy drops some bills on the table, and they walk outside together.