Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, although Marvel might as well just give Remy away for as much as they use him. I'm not making any money off of this and couldnt if I tried anyways.

Authors note: Another Antartica Fic. I know there all the same but i think the difference is how you right the characters and how they interact. No one writes Remy as good as Valerie J but I gave it a try, let me know if I should keep going or just stick to reading.

The tall figure that walked down a busy New York street turned more than a few heads, the aura of danger and mystery that he exuded appealed to both women and men alike. None of them that noticed him could quite place the attraction, besides his perfect good looks there was something else there that drew them to him, something on the fringe of their minds that demanded their attention, something intangible that made them want to be with him, be part of his life, something that was there because he allowed it to be. Normally he chose to walk in the shadows, to be unnoticeable, someone in his line of work could rarely afford to draw the type of attention that he was receiving, anonymity was his ally, his very way of life. But after being rejected by those that he called friends, the ones that he considered family, the ones that he would have died for, he used the attention to attach some sort of self worth to his meaningless and tortured existence.

Despite the sweltering July afternoon, a slight breeze bit through his worn leather duster and sent a shiver through his body that bit him to his core. He was cold; he was always cold since he spent those days in sub-zero temperatures in Antarctica, no matter how many layers or how high the temperature was; sweat could be running freely from every pour, but he was always cold. On those occasions that it was caused by a gust of wind, it made it all the worse because it caused him to remember one of his biggest regrets, his guilt ridden conscience could not let him forget, forced him to remember that he betrayed the one who trusted him unconditionally, who's love was pure and whose understanding and kindness to him were limitless, it made him think about Stormy.

If it wasn't for her he might go back, he could explain to the others and live with their hatred, he had known since day one that few of them cared for him anyways, he could feel it, a sledge hammer beating relentlessly against the mental shields that made him a ghost. He let those feelings in, because deep down, past all the bravado and arrogance, past the self confidence and flippant remarks that were always ready on the surface, he knew in his heart that he deserved every hateful, distrustful feeling that was thrown at him. But the thought of looking into those crystalline blue eyes, seeing the betrayal and the hurt that he swore to himself he would protect her from at all costs, was too much. He knew if it came to that moment, he would let those emotions in as well, he would hold on to them until they twisted his broken soul into something disfigured, until he could come close to the pain that he had caused for so many others.

And her, he couldn't even begin to sort through his feelings for her. Did he hate her, yes, did he still love her, maybe, the conflicting emotions that swirled within him whenever he though of her was the most confusing aspect of the entire situation. At least it would be easy to face her, after gaining acess to his memories she now knew everything their was to know about his despicable past, there was nothing left to hide or explain, either she accepted it or she condemned him for it, either way their was little left that he had to say on the matter. But judging from her initial reaction of leaving him to die in a frozen wasteland, he was betting on the latter.

Life was so much simpler then, before he was an X-Man, before when Ororo was just a child, his sidekick, before he was used by Sinister, before he was used by his own adopted father. In many ways Remy Lebeau longed for the simple day to day living of a street urchin who's only concern was where to find his next meal and safe shelter, but now he felt even that was too good a life for him.

He was at a loss, no direction, no purpose, no meaning to his pitiful existence. As he moved through the crowded mass of New York he wondered, "What de Hell you gon' do now LeBeau? Gotta start somewhere, you always were considered one of de best three t'ieves in de worl', mebee it be time to remedy dat so der aint no doubt who number one be non? Like pere always said, when all else fails you a t'ief, an homme, you be about as far pas' failure as you can get. T'ink I'll put some feelers out tomorrow, see what kinda contracts I can pick up. Firs' t'ings firs' though, I t'ink dat a good lookin' femme and a bottle of bourbon be jus' what dis Cajun needs".

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

No one would even look each other in the eye anymore, it seemed as if they were just going through the motions, he wondered if anyone still believed in Xaviers dream or if they were just playing along because they had become so familiar with it that it was all done out of habit.

Scott Summers sat at the head of the table in the war room ready to give the debrief of their latest mission and wondered to himself what the point of it was. It was a simple run, another anti-mutant rally that had gone a too far, another crowd caught in the frenzy of its own hate until it spilled over into something more. Soon they were not rallying but marching, looking for something that they could expunge their hate and fears upon, anything or anyone that was or represented anything different became a target. A quick downpour from Ororo had dispersed the crowd easily enough; it was still humorous to him after all these years how a simple spell of bad weather could take the momentum from a mob so effectively. As they sat there and waited for their leader to speak, they struck him as...indifferent? It was something that he was unaccustomed to, it was if they didn't care what they had just accomplished, just another task accomplished in a tedious and thankless existence.

He knew exactly what the problem was. He never could say that he and Gambit were friends, hell he didn't even like him. There was something about his carefree attitude and nonchalance that conflicted with his structured and calculated way of thinking. The man was an enigma to him, he never saw Gambit apply himself, yet everything he did seemed so effortless. From fighting to the simple act of walking, the Cajun executed everything he did with simple grace and agility. At first he thought he was a wild card, that he couldn't be counted on to back his teammates, but every time he thought that the man was so self involved in his own actions, and so oblivious to his surroundings that he was going to get someone killed, he showed up, at exactly the right time as though he knew what was happening all along. It was as if Gambit always knew something that no one else did, and the rest of them were just pawns in some amusing game of chess he was playing with the rest of the world to occupy his time until his next real challenge. Like it was all a pickup game to him, and he was hustling, making everyone underestimate him so that he could sweep in at the end and score a stunning victory, and the most annoying part about it, the part that grated on his nerves more than anything, is that he would never let you hear the end of it. And by making a production out of every valuable thing that he did, he managed to take some of the value away from it. In the end, everyone was too distracted by the bravado to even remember the act behind it. In fact the more he thought about it, and he had been thinking about it for the months that the Cajun had been gone, the more he came to realize how easily he had fooled them all.

"Alright people, I think this has gone on long enough", he surveyed the room and was met by empty stares and confusion. The only one who seemed to have an inkling of what his thoughts were was Logan who answered with a snort, "bout time slim".

"And just what in tha hell are ya'll talkin 'bout"? Rogue stood from her chair, the emotions that she had been concealing since Antarctica were rising toward the surface, her question was a veiled tactic to calm her own apprehension, she had been anticipating this moment for some time.

"You know exactly what were talkin' bout darlin', it's past time we quit dancin round the issue and face facts, Gumbos gone and he aint comin back".

A gentle mist formed outside and moisture beaded on the window, you didn't have to look at Ororo to know that tears were welling in her sad eyes. It was often the case anytime Remy's name was mentioned as of late.

"Do not presume to speak of things that you do not know Logan, If my brother were no longer walking this earth I would know, if he had died a piece of me would have died with him". Suddenly Lighting flashed outside and was followed by a crack of thunder that shook the mansion through its foundation, "and do not think for one instant that if that were the case I would not hold those responsible accountable for their actions". At that statement, Ororo leveled her icy gaze on Rogue, a promise of things to come, suddenly to Rogue her future didn't look very optimistic.

"Ya'll don't understand! Remy wanted me to leave him! I couldn't stand it, I didn't think it was possible for someone to hate themselves so much! I loved that damn swamp rat, dontchall think that I would take it back if I could? The guilt and the pain was more than I could take, I wish I could have been stronger, but I couldn't, after I absorbed him he took ovah, I didn't leave Remy, he left his own self! I hate him for that, I hate him for makin me leave him to die!"

Bobby Drake was tired of this charade, tired of everyone mourning a worthless piece of trash that didn't deserve their sympathy or regrets. He had hated Gambit since day one, he was everything that he wasn't, confident in all his actions, with women, with fighting, with life. He was accepted onto the team with no stipulations, a position that he had to work for, and even though he hated to admit it, even though it sickened him and kept him up at nights, even though it was the source of an endless pool of jelousy, Bobby knew who the more valuable member to the team had been.

"Who cares anyways? That damn traitor got what he deserved! You all seem to be forgetting why Rogue left him there in the first place! He was responsible for the Morlock Massacre, I don't care how guilty he felt about it, if he was half as remorseful as he had cause to be he should have ended his worthless life years ago and saved us the trouble. If I find out that the cockroach did manage to somehow sleaze his way out of this one I would gladly finish the job myself!"

Bobby almost finished that last thought, the words were at the point where they had already formed into thought and were poised on his lips for release, that's how quick Wolverine closed the distance from the other side of the room. His movement was so quick and his rage so complete that he got all the way to the point where three metallic claws were poised to take life from one very unfortunate young mutant. It was then that Jean Grey had the wisdom to use her telekinesis and stop a strike that no one in the room was certain whether or not Wolverine was about to deliver. In Bobby's mind, this did little to alleviate the situation, as he stood there, pinned against the wall by one of wolverines hands with the other poised to strike, he realized that some words were better left unspoken. The fear in his eyes was evident to everyone in the room as he listened to Logans next words very carefully, In a somewhat controlled rage the words came out as short, forceful warnings of painful death to come,

"Drake, If I ever here ya say anythin like that again about Gumbo or anyone else on this team, nothin in this world will keep me from makin sure ya never make that mistake again." After a few brief seconds that seemed like eternity, Wolverine backed off of Bobby and let him slide to the floor, a hand going instinctively to his offended throat, and everyone in the room visibly relaxed. None more so than Warren Worthington, who's only reason for not uttering the same sentiments as Bobby was that he beat him to it, and after surveying Wolverine's reaction he couldn't say that he was sorry he didn't.

"Ok, I think it would be best if everyone just calmed down for a moment so we can figure out what we are going to do about this situation", all eyes turned back to Cyclops, and more than a few were in disbelief. Rogue was the first to express the same thoughts that were shared by the rest of the group, "What were gunna do? Where have you been the last six months sugah? I went back myself and looked for him, Storm has been more than once and Jean has had Cerebro workin non stop tryin' to find him, there aint nothin' left to do!" At that startling realization Rogue came to terms with the finality of the situation, months of denial had finally caught up to her and she did the only thing she could think to do, she left the room in a blur of tears and sobs.

"Its true Scott, I have searched the Astral Plane a countless number of times looking for a sign of Gambit, but truth be told the man is a mental ghost, even with psychics that have strong shields you can find some trace, a blank spot on the plane where their signature should register, but with Remy it is simply as if he is not there at all". Jean had spoken the words that the ones who were still hopefully of Remy's return were afraid to here, if he wasn't there, then there was a good chance that it was because he was dead.

This did not escape Jean's awareness however and she was quick to clarify, "that does not mean that Gambit is no longer alive, he has displayed this particular ability since he became apart of the team, that's part of the reason he always seemed to posses the uncanny ability to show up last whenever we are all called back to the mansion. We simply cannot reach him telepathically, the best I could ever manage was to send a shout in the general direction I believed him to be and hope that he felt like answering".

"Well I for one refuse to believe that Remy is gone, we failed to find him in Antartica because he managed to escape his frozen prison, and my bright lady will return him to me".

"Ororo I feel the same way, and I promise you that we will not give up searching for Gambit until all avenues are exhausted, wolverine, is there anyway that you can get in touch with some of your contacts to find out if Gambit has resurfaced?"

"Slim you don't understand, fer a man to resurfance it would hafta imply that he was ever surfaced in the first place, Gumbo don't operate like that. If Jean thinks he's a mental ghost then you otta try trackin the guy in the real world, the man don't exist, he's a rumour. I got contacts that go deep, as deep as it gets on any side, government, crime syndicates, mercenaries, you name it, and even to those guys Gambit is just a name attached to a legend. He's the guy you try to get when you need the impossible, information, espionage, theft, you name it, if it can't be done then Gambit is the guy you get. The only problem is no one knows how to get in touch with him, you don't go to him, he comes to you."

"Can we put out the word that we are in need of his services?", Cyclops was beginning to get hopeful that they were on to something.

"We could, but it don't mean Jack. From what intel I could manage to gather he only operates through intermidiaries, and even then he never uses the same one twice. Plus the guys I talked to say the man does his homework, he's meticulous to the point of being paranoid, by the time he takes a job he knows more about you and what you want than you do yerself. One guy told me a story that he heard, said he heard of a guy who wanted to hire Gumbo fer some sort of corporate espionage, before he could get his contacts together to try and bring the Cajun in he shows up at his penthouse to negotiate the price of his services, the guy thought it was real strange considerin that he heard Gambit don't ever deal with clientele on a one on one basis. By the time they had negotiated a price Gumbo slapped the file down on the guys desk, laughed, then disappeared into thin air. He knew what the guy wanted before he even put the contract out, said the most unnerving thing about it was that despite talking to him face to face, he never really even saw what he looked like, as if the shadows moved just for him. It even kinda creeped me out".

All hope that Cyclops had at that moment was quickly dispersed, "so basically if we put out word the only way that he will find us is if he actually wanted to, and if he did he would have already done so".

"Now yer gettin it cyke".

Summers slumped down in his chair, he came to the realization that it was going to take nothing short of a miracle to find a man who not only does not want to be found, but by all accounts dosen't exist.