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Choices	By : darqstar Category: X-men Comics > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 1944 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men comics, or any of the characters from it. I make no money from from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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- 2
- 3
DISCLAIMER:
The X-Men belong to Marvel comics. This is fanfiction written
soley for entertainment purposes. No money is being made off of this.
Denver is my creation, so is Alex.

Author's
Note: I wrote this story over ten years ago, so much of what you
read here has most likely been disputed as time has gone on.
Especially in regards to Wolverine. So, while I do love and
appreciate all reviews, don't waste your time telling me, “This
just wouldn't work, because Logan is much older!” Also, this is
completely a “What if” story and doesn't fit into Marvel
Continuity.

This is not a story of sex that happens
to contain a plot, it's more of a story with a plot that happens to
contain sex. Not a lot of sex, but sex anyway. In Chapter Seven to be
specific.

Chapter Two

Sighing with the unbearable heat, Remy pushed his glasses back so
they were no longer sliding down his nose. He looked out on the road,
watching the cars zooming past, ignoring his outstretched thumb, and
mentally promised God that if he Could Just Get A Ride soon, when he
got to the next town, he would go to confession in the first Catholic
church he found. He also added that if the vehicle was equipt with
air conditioning, he would donate half of the twenty dollars in his
pocket after he made his confession.

It had been a little over two years since he'd run away from his
home and even though life had been far from easy, he felt he'd made
the right decision. The general publics opinion of mutants were
rapidly going from being a vaguely odd and disturbing presence to
being something that should be wiped from the face of the earth.
Every town Remy went to, he found more than his share of angry mutant
hating people. Groups like Scam (Society's Citizens Against Mutants)
and The Friends of Humanity were appearing like swarms of yellow
jackets at picnic with spilled soda. For his own personal safety,
Remy got himself a pair of non-perscription dark glasses to hide his
unusual eyes. He hated them with a passion, but they beat being
killed by an angry mob of ignorant people. He missed his family, but
being away from them meant they would be safe from the mutant and
mutant sympathizer haters.

He shifted his backpack so it rested more comfortably on his
shoulders. At this rate, I might as well start walkin', he
thought. Turning so he was headed at the same direction as the
traffic, he put his hand by his side and started walking.

He only walked about five hundred yards when an old faded blue
Ford Mustang pulled up along side the road. As he walked towards the
vehicle, the person driving leaned over and rolled down the passenger
window and called, "Hey, need a ride?"

Remy took a quick look at his savior. She looked to be about his
age, with shoulder length red hair, which hung as straight as a
ruler, her bangs spilling onto her face. She had a cute little button
nose and a nice full lower lip, but the most unusual thing about her
face were her eyes. They were such a deep, clear blue that looking
into them was almost painful.

As he studied her, she studied him with an intense expression.
"Well?" she finally said. "Do you need a ride or not?"

A ride is a ride, he thought. This Chere doesn't look
like she's planning anyt'ing evil. Normally, Remy was reluctant
to accept a ride he hadn't solicited, but he was positive that if
this woman truly was up to no good, he could put a stop to it.
Besides, it had been awhile since he'd ridden with an attractive
young woman. "Oui'," he agreed. "I could use a ride."

"Then stash your pack in the back and climb in."

He stored his backpack in the back seat as requested and slipped
into the seat next to her. "T'ank you, Chere," he said,
smiling warmly. "It is too warm a day to be walkin'."

"That's for sure," she agreed, shifting the car into
drive and pulling onto the road. "If you'd kept walking you'd've
wound up melting." Stomping her foot onto the gas peddle, the
car jerked once and started picking up speed. "By the way, my
name is Denver."

"I am Remy," he said, fastening his Seat belt.

"And you sure as heck aint from New England."

"How very observant of you," Remy quipped, smiling. "How
did you guess?"

"I don't know," Denver responded, in turn. "Might
be the accent."

"Ah, it always gives me away." He leaned back in the
seat, enjoying the cool air which flowed from the air conditioning
vents. "I confess, I'm from New Orleans."

"Now that's a place," Denver remarked. "I visited
there once with my mom, 'bout three years ago. I was thirteen and it
was Mardi Gras. What a party!"

"Oui'," Remy agreed. He looked over at Denver, taking
the opportunity to check out the rest of her. Not bad, he thought.
Sitting down, it was hard to tell how tall she was, but if he had to
guess, he'd say about five foot seven, maybe eight. Due to the
excessive heat, she was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a tube
halter top. Her build was thin, but the muscles in her arms bore
witness that this girl was no weakling. Also, for someone with such
small hips and a tiny waist, she was extremely top heavy. I
wonder how many guys don't look her in the eyes when they talk to
her? .

"Peppermint gum," she said, breaking the silence.

"Excuse me?" Remy asked.

"Peppermint gum," she repeated. "Somewhere on your
person you've got peppermint gum. I can smell it."

"No," he disagreed. "I don't chew gum."

"Check the bottom of your shoes then," she suggested.
"Cause I know you've got peppermint gum somewhere on you."

Shrugging, he did as she requested. Sure enough, stuck to the
bottom of one of his sneakers was a small wad of gum, wedged into one
of the traction holes. Pulling a small knife out of his pocket, he
dug out the gum and tossed it out the window. "Is dat' better?"
he asked her.

Denver nodded. "Much better." she looked over at him,
averting her eyes from the road for a moment. "You've got a pack
of smokes in your pocket. If you want to light up, I don't mind."

"Thank you," he responded, pulling out his cigarettes.
He held out the pack, offering her one.

"No thanks." Her attention was back on the road. "I
don't smoke. My mother does though, so it doesn't bother me."

"Ah." He lit up and leaned back in the seat, blowing a
cloud of smoke out of his nose. "I'm curious Denver, how could
you smell the gum? It was a very tiny piece."

"Real good nose," she replied, reaching up and tapping
it. "My mom has a terrific sense of smell too. It seems to run
in the family."

"And your Daddy?"

"I wouldn't know," Denver said, "having never met
the man."

There was something in her tone of voice that told Remy not to
push the issue. Instead, he opened the wing window of the car to let
the smoke escape.

The drove along for awhile silently. Remy looked over at the
speedometer, noticing Denver was doing about 80 miles an hour. "You
like driving fast, eh Chere'?"

A lopsided grin crossed her face. "That isn't all I do fast,"
she murmured.

Remy didn't quite know what to say to that.

A few minutes later, she looked over at him, taking her eyes off
the road for a moment. "So, did you run away?"

"What makes you think that, Chere." he asked, carefully
trying to keep his tone even. "I'm eighteen."

"Bullshit," Denver stated flatly. "You're not
eighteen yet. I'd say you're about sixteen. Same as me. Don't piss me
off, okay?"

He jerked his head back, startled at her straight-forward manner
of speaking. Dis girl, she doesn't pull her punches. Best I be
honest with her and take my chances. "Okay, Denver, you
caught me. What are you going to do, take me to the police?"

"Nope," She kept her eyes on the road. "Actually I
was going to offer you a job."

"A job?" he repeated her words. He didn't know what he
expected her to say, but it wasn't that. "Um, what type of job?"
His years on the road had taught him to be wary of offers that seemed
too good to be true. He certainly wasn't above supplementing his
income by illegal ways, in fact there were several times when his
early training as a thief had been his sole means of support, but he
didn't want to take chances. Picking pockets was one thing, getting
involved with drugs, armed robbery, or child prostitution was
another.

"Painting," Denver said. "My house needs to be
painted and my mom and I don't have the time to do it. She's looking
to hire someone to do it for us. I doubt Mom will pay a fortune for
the job, but she'll give you a place to stay while your working and
make sure you get three meals a day."

The offer sounded good, still he was cautious. "I'm not
sure..."

"Well, why don't I take you home with me and you can talk to
my mom," Denver offered. "Then you can decide if you're
interested or not."

What do I have to lose? he thought. Not much at this
point. I don't think $20.00 is gonna get me far. What do I have to
gain? A job for at least a couple weeks, a place to stay, my meals,
and some money. Life is full of chances and this is one I've got to
take. "All right," he agreed.

She smiled. "Good."

"There is one thing I should tell you though, Chere."

"What's that?"

"I have no experience at painting houses."

"That's okay," Denver grinned. "Mom and I don't
have any experience hiring someone to paint our house. We'll all
figure it out along the way."

"If I could make one request though..." he asked.

"What is it?"

"Before we go to your house, could we stop at a Catholic
Church? I have a confession and a donation to make."

She looked at him, shaking her head. "Okay, whatever."

Denver and her mother lived in an old Victorian style house in
Kingston Rhode Island. As they pulled into the driveway, Remy looked
at the house and mentally shook his head. The place was a painter's
nightmare, with all it's odd shaped windows and carved trim. Dis
sure as hell ain't gonna be a quick job, he thought

"Horrible, isn't it?" Denver commented as if she could
read his thoughts. "Fortunately, Mom and I aren't exactly picky.
Just as long as it gets a coat of paint."

"Good thing, Chere'," Remy murmured. "As I told
you, I have no experience painting houses."

She shrugged as they both got out of the car. "Hey, you've
come this far, might as well talk to Mom. She doesn't bite..."
She paused for a moment, a wicked grin crossing her face and added,
"much..."

"What do you mean by that?" he asked.

"I'll leave that for you to figure out." She bounded up
to the front door before he could respond. Grinning, he followed her.

The inside of the house was dark and cool. She lead him from the
hallway into a room. Remy shrugged off his coat and draped it over
his arm. "Here," Denver said, pointing to a board stuck to
the wall, with nails on it. "You can hang that there. Hold on a
sec and I'll see if Mom is busy."

She left the room. Remy hung up his coat and looked around. The
room he was in was a cheerful cluttered mess of old mismatched
furniture, books, laundry, and overflowing ashtrays. It was obvious
that the people who resided in this house believed in the "lived-in"
look. He considered sitting down, but decided against it, knowing
he'd have to move several things to sit anywhere.

A few minutes later, Denver walked into the room. "Mom wants
to talk to you," she said, "Come on."

She lead him through the kitchen, which unlike the other room he'd
been in, was neat and clean. Denver looked at him. "I do most of
the cooking," she said, noticing he was looking around. "I
can't cook in a disorganized kitchen." She lead him to a just
door off the kitchen and tapped on it with her knuckles. "Mom!
He's here!"

"Fine Denver," a gravely female voice responded. "Send
him in."

"Go on in," Denver said, motioning to the door.

"Thank you," Remy murmured, opening the door.

When he walked into the room, he suddenly wished he still had his
jacket. There was an air conditioner going full blast, lowering the
temperature of the room to about 40 degrees. He shivered, and looked
around, blinking because his eyes started watering over the cold.

It was an office, but it was decorated as though it were December.
There was a fake Christmas tree, complete with lights and ornaments
in one corner. Near that was a fireplace with one of those fake gas
fires burning away, and stockings hung on the mantel. The windows
were painted with fake snow.

On the opposite side of the room was a huge oak desk with a
computer on top of it. Sitting behind the desk was a woman. She stood
up as he entered. "Hi." She offered her hand. "I'm
Alex."

Remy shook it, looking this woman over. She was a tiny thing, with
black hair that hung down to her waist. Her eyes were dark, but shone
like two black diamonds in her head. She had a compact look to her,
strong arms and legs and a bust that easily competed with her
daughter's for attention. They might have been the same size in that
department, but Alex's lack of height made hers even more obvious.
Interesting...She an' Denver look alike in some ways, and nothing
like each other in other ways "I am Remy."

"Yeah, Denver told me. Have a seat," she indicated the
chair across from her desk and sat down herself, lighting up a
cigarette.

"Thank you," he said, sitting down. "Um...
interesting decor you have."

She grinned, revealing a perfect set of small, slightly pointed
teeth. There was something ferral about this woman, which was
something Denver didn't seem to have inherited. "Yeah, I know. I
write kids books and I'm working on a Christmas story. I set up the
room like this to get me in the mood."

"'Ave you succeeded?" he asked.

"I guess." she shrugged. "If I loose the mood, I'll
have to put on Christmas CD's, but hey, it's the price I pay to make
a living." She pushed her hair over her shoulders, her
expression changing to one more serious. "Denver tells me you're
looking for work."

"Actually, it seems work came looking for me," Remy
said, his eyes sparkling under his "fake" glasses "You're
daughter picked me up 'an offered me a chance to talk to you.
Apparently, you need someone to paint this house."

"Yeah," Alex nodded. "The neighbors are starting to
say this place is an eyesore. Personally, I wish they'd mind their
own F-ing business, but I don't want trouble. So, I figure I'll just
hire someone to slap a coat of paint on the place and shut them all
up."

"I have to be honest." Remy leaned forward. "I 'ave
no experience painting houses."

"Yeah, Denver mentioned that." Alex shrugged. "I'm
not looking for Michelangelo Davinchi here, I'm just looking for a
way to make the house look okay from the road. 'Sides kid, you'll
probably work cheap, especially if I let you stay here, which I will.
This is a big place, I got an extra room."

"How much you talkin' 'bout paying me an' how long I got to
do the job?" Remy asked, then added, "If you decide to hire
me."

"You've got the summer to paint the place if ya want it,"
Alex said, taking a long drag from her cigarette and blowing the
smoke out of her nose. "I don't expect you to kill yourself. I'm
willing to put a roof over your head for that time, give you meals,
and pay you $75.00 a week. Remember, that $75.00 is gravy, all you'll
have to buy is your smokes and any personal stuff you want. If we'd
found a local kid to do it, I'd pay him a hundred a week. 25.00 a
week for room and board ain't a bad deal."

It certainly wasn't. Remy had no idea what house painters made,
but he knew this was a good offer for him. If he kept his spending
down to a minimum, he should have a good chunk of change by the time
this job was over. And for two months, he wouldn't have to worry
about finding a place to stay or sleeping in the streets. "I am
interested," he said slowly. "Are you willing' to hire me?"

"Sure," Alex said, shrugging. "At least I know with
you you'll be there. You'll be living under my roof. If I hired a
local kid, I'd have to worry that they may just stop showing up
someday."

Dis woman is very trusting, he thought. She don' even
know me and she's gonna have me stayin' in her house. He smiled.
"I assume you will provide the paint and all the supplies?"

"Of course," she said, almost smirking. "So, ya
willing to give it a go?"

"All right," he said. "You got a deal."

"Good." She grinned. "You know how to find your way
back to the kitchen? I'll bet Denver is there. Have her give you some
lunch and show you what room you'll be using. You can start tomorrow
with the painting. I got a book to write."

Before he could thank her, she turned her attention back to the
computer with a dismissing air. Remy shrugged and left the room.

He walked into the kitchen. Denver was sitting at the kitchen
table, drinking something that looked like orange juice. She looked
up at him and smiled. "Got the job, eh?"

"Oui," he murmured. "Your Mother, she told me to
ask you about lunch and to show me what room I'd be using."

"No problem," Denver said. "What do you want first?
To see your room or lunch?"

The moment the word lunch was out of her mouth, Remy's stomach
made a long, low, rumbling noise, reminding him that he hadn't eaten
since last night. He looked away from her, suddenly feeling
embarrassed.

Denver grinned. "Maybe we ought to start with lunch."

End Chapter Two
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Choices

Chapter Two