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The house was quiet.
Remy sat silently at the dinner table, his shoulder hunched slightly, elbows on the tabletop like he couldn’t trust his spine to keep him upright.
St. Junior’s left to visit some relatives - Marcus made Remy vow on everything sacred that the house would still be standing when they return - and would be gone for the weekend. Wolverine left for some solo fishing, clearly overwhelmed by the chaos that the house fell into sometimes. Kurt was spending time with his new sweetheart. Jubilee put her sunglasses on and went on a self-care day to a spa.
Rogue and the kids left to spend some time in the city. He might’ve told some of his trusted Guild-mates to keep an eye on them. Just in case.
He was alone.
It was the only reason he didn’t have a shirt on.
Whenever he leaned back, the scales on his back scraped over the wood of the chair, making his guts twist, and he leaned back onto his elbows, digging them into the table.
The Eye rested in his hands like it was always supposed to be there, nestled between his palms. It glowed softly with green that ought to make him sick but at this point it almost felt comforting.
Remy closed his eyes, feeling his lids flutter as he did, like he had to fight not to look at the thing.
He felt it coursing through him, even now, right along his birth-given powers, that low everpresent humming of the Eye, carving it deep into his bones, rewriting him into something different, dangerous, monstrous.
His skin was getting dry and thick. His teeth seemed to get sharper. His muscles were coiling with strength he didn’t remember possessing, and sometimes he felt like instead of diving down he had to jump and attack from the air.
Gambit took a breath, his fingers gripping the amulet tighter.
It was there.
Power.
Sinking its teeth into him, vicing up his spine, weaseling its way into his lungs until he couldn’t breathe without it.
He remembered what it was like, when his hand reached for something like that. When dizziness in his head was always at arm’s length, when a scrape of smoke against his windpipe was welcomed.
Self-destruction went hand in hand with some twisted pleasure and he was hopelessly addicted.
Remy snapped his eyes open, his fingers unclenching, the medallion falling onto the wooden surface of the table with a dull clank. He pulled his hands away, them hovering in the air, as his chest heaved.
He’s never been addicted to power.
He ran away from it. Worst mistakes of his life he made trying to get it under his control, not to find more.
“Non,” Remy whispered, his fingers shaking as he looked at the Eye again. And it whispered back to him, in a way that never needed words, in a way that bypassed his brain and sank its tendrils straight into his soul.
What it found there, he never could even begin to understand. But it whispered, and it taunted, and it made the faces and the voices flash before his eyes.
His stomach lurched at the cruel, self-deprecating thought.
He got soft. Could feel it. Just with the Eye’s unyielding scrutiny he could see it, too.
When he was young, he used to say that domestic life was never for him. Believed it, too. But still craved it like a hungry street urchin craves a piece of fresh bread.
Remy frowned his brows, curling his hands into fists. He could almost feel the skin on his back going in ripples as he fought the urge, the craving.
Sink his teeth into something. Give in. Receive the power. It’d feel good too, he knew, the promise of satisfaction hanging heavily over him.
“Non,” Remy repeated, firmer, opening his eyes and staring the amulet down like he could outmatch it in a battle of wills. And methodically, thought after thought, he reminded himself why he kept that cursed thing in the first place.
It wasn’t about power, in the beginning.
It was the thrill. Adrenaline rush, the satisfaction of outsmarting his opponent, but above it all, that moment when his wife looked at him, pride shining in her eyes. The attention, the knowledge that he did something right, something good. That he had earned his keep.
Years went by since the moment Jean-Luc brought him into the LeBeau mansion, and still, that feeling chased him. Prove you’re worth something to stay away from the streets. Make them watch your hands in awe, so they never look at your eyes. Flash a smile, and they’ll never notice the predator behind it.
And it was the most intoxicating thing of all, the thrill. It was what was driving him forward, what made him a junkie he was, hooking up onto everything that would give him a dose. Alcohol, cards, danger, sex. Cigarettes, of all things, were to quiet his head instead of raising the volume until he couldn’t hear his thoughts, like everything else.
He’s been a tornado of destruction, a devil carving a path through earth and to hell, leaving nothing but new sufferings behind.
Maybe that’s why the Eye was having a hard time breaking him. He’s been broken already, many times, and rebuilt just as many.
His sins lived in his bones, in his skin, deep within his gut. He woke up each day, not thinking but knowing, and got up to his feet to keep his endless endeavor of atonement.
There were screams that followed him, everpresent like the sound of his heart beating - never gone, just getting louder sometimes.
Remy shook his head, his hair shuffling at the movement, and swallowed slow and hard, almost painful as his throat stayed dry. The Eye glowed steadily on the table in front of him, and he scowled at it, his own eyes glowing brighter.
This power wasn’t for him. It was to keep the others safe. It was so that his wife wouldn’t need to throw herself into the line of fire. It was so his friends wouldn’t bleed and scream in agony. It was so that the kids that suddenly came into their life could be kids a little longer.
It wasn’t for him. It could be.
It wanted him to have it. The Eye rejected its previous owner, the fuckin’ real dragon, to stay with him. It curled behind his ribs and purred like a life animal, choosing on its own, daring him to choose it too.
Remind himself of what the thrill could feel like. Without limitations, without thoughts. Just pure power, pure pleasure, and no one could stop him from getting anything. He was a thief, after all, what could the world hide from him, when he couldn’t even hide from his own demons?..
Gambit clenched his jaws tighter.
“Non,” he said a third, final time, his voice quiet, leaning back just enough for his back not to touch the chair. He took a deep breath, feeling the air going into his lungs, his ribs moving as he exhaled.
He had everything he wanted. What he could want, he’d get one way or another. He didn’t need power. He had his wits, his skills, his family.
Remy LeBeau was a greedy man and a gambler, but there were lines he wouldn’t cross, things he’d never use as a bargaining chip. The key to staying on top is knowing how much you’re ready to lose.
He wasn’t ready to lose what he had, now that he had it. He wanted to protect it, instead.
A selfish man, to the bones of him.
And there were parts of him that were rotten, he knew, parts of him that still felt like sinking his fingers in mud, parts of him that stared back with pure crimson and spoke of death. There were parts of him that kept dragging him down, kept making him wonder if he ever changed, parts of him that whispered, feeding into the Eye’s persuasion, making him wonder if he still was the Raging Cajun.
But he knew better.
Remy stood slowly, the scrape of the chair against the floors breaking the silence. He heard the truck pulling over. The distant but unmistakable commotion of the kids' voices he could distinguish without hearing the words.
He grabbed the shirt that lay nearby, pulled it over his shoulders, passing by the mirror.
His reflection, scales and thick skin, fangs and claws. Wings and hunger etched into his bones.
He didn’t stop walking, doing his buttons.
His eyes were always a mark of the devil. It wasn’t new, them trying to deceive him. The first time, he noticed when cleaning up their room - when he looked over the wedding photo on their dresser, and there, next to Anna Marie, a reflection was showing a monster. He had to replace the frame he threw into the wall.
Gambit opened the front door, the air hitting him with heat and life.
The kids were discussing something loudly, on the front lawn, hands thrown into the air, voices raised. And Rogue stood there, hair up in a ponytail that had couple strands loose, exasperated but loving, watching their kids with softness that made his heart clench. Absolutely perfect, that woman.
And this was something he would protect until his last breath. This was something he wouldn’t ever exchange for any power, as long as he was who he was. As long as he could wake up in the morning and call himself by his name, as long as he knew where he came from and what he’s done. As long as he kept walking forward, choosing to do better, choosing to stay clean and atone for his sins…
He could fight it. And he could fight it a little longer. The Eye glowed on the kitchen table as Gambit skipped down the stairs, grinning like a lovesick teenager himself, and ran over to his wife, delighted by her yelp as he scooped her up and twirled her around in his arms.
“Remy!” Anna exclaimed, her bright green eyes sparkling with surprise and excitement, the prettiest flush on her cheeks from the unexpected affection he bathed her in.
He pulled her in for a sweet, heated kiss, ignoring the groans and the whoops from the children, until she patted him on the chest urgently, clearly flustered by the whole show.
“Put me down, Cajun,” Rogue told him in a tone that should’ve been strict and rebuking, but she was still flushing and he knew the coy way her eyes looked at him like that, so his grin only grew wider as he let her get to her feet.
“Missed you, chère,” he confessed, quiet. Anna Marie smiled at him, her touch gentle as she raised her hand and brushed hair out of his forehead. All there years, he still haven't taken a single touch for granted.
"Missed you too."
And Remy felt his heart swell with gratitude and love, his eyes lingering on Rogue for a little more before he turned to the kids, swinging his arms over Val’s and Sofia’s shoulders.
“You gonna tell me how de trip went, petits?”
“We saw a dead frog in a hat,” Hotoru declared with calmness of a mountain waterfall or a graveyard that Remy had learned not to question.
“Did ya now?” he smirked instead. “Tell me more.”
And they did, walking into the house, Rogue on their heels, the rest of their family due to return by dinner.
And even as the Eye burned in his back pocket, Remy was not planning to give in without a fight.
I won't, but I could pull that bottle off that shelf
It helps me cope, knowing I could be that version of myself
Could disappear for a week, for a month, for a year
Wake up at home or in a coffin
It's nice to know I got options