Disclaimer: God created Stan Lee, and Stan Lee created the X-Men. God saw that this was good. There's no way I'm going up against that.

Author's Note: Alrighty, so I know what you're thinking: "ANOTHER STORY?!" The answer is… yes. I couldn't help it! I finished writing Rishta years ago, and I've nearly finished writing Absolute Boyfriend! I was suddenly inspired with an idea and I just had to get it out of my system… or else I'd burst. And that wouldn't be pretty…

I promise to make this story a pure, fluffy romance. If you don't believe, just read and see. ;)

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Chapter #1: Emerald Greens
"We walk by faith, not by sight."
- 2 Corinthians, 5:7

Everything was wet. And everything was dark. Had it not been for the thundering rain crashing down upon them, he was sure everything would be silent as well. As he ran, his heavy boots splashing through alleyways and narrow streets littered with thick puddles, he was painfully aware of the shortening of his breath. He was heaving, the air fighting against entering his lungs. But he had no time. No time to stop. No time to breathe. No time to acknowledge the black dampness of his soul.

Behind him he could hear the panting, rumbling footfalls of his pursuers. They were nearing him, their voices angered and strained. Through the relentless rain he could hear the desperate yearning in their movements. They wanted his head. They wanted his stained life in payment for his stained actions. Had he no conscience, he would have turned around and fought. But his own demons seemed committed to his sleepless nights. He would not stop and let the welcoming death wash the blood from his hands.

How long he had been running, he did not know. He was only aware of his aching body and the numbness in his legs. His red eyes darted between the houses lining the dank street, his vision blurred by the rain seeping down his wet bangs. He needed to hide… but where? These houses were not safe. Their occupants were not safe. Who would dare to harbor a sinner against sinners?

His body began to weaken. The trench coat on his back drooped against the downpour, pulling his battered body towards the cold, wet floor. Non…!

He picked himself up. He urged his tired feet to move. To move… but to where? There was nowhere he could hide. There was nowhere he could seek refuge. There was nowhere he could find redemption.

And then, through the angry clouds and the tormented rain, he heard it. The sound of a bell. Loud. Strong. Severe.

He ran. With renewed strength he ran. The houses faded and the air became thicker, but still he ran. The bell beckoned him – a lone father to his wary son. His feet hit stone and he climbed. Steps rose from the earth, carrying him higher. On the landing he stumbled, and found himself in the shadow of a large pillar. He rested his body against it, panting, clutching at his chest.

Below him – so far below him, it seemed – he heard the confused voices of his pursuers.

'Where did 'e go?'

'Did you see him?'

The bell echoed through the night air, ushering the feet of his pursuers away. They were gone, and in their wake arose a still, silent night.

With his head pressed against the cold marble of the strong pillar, Remy LeBeau closed his eyes and the let the demons in his soul walk free.

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'He is wet! Get him some blankets!'

'Hurry!'

'Where did you find him?!'

'By the door, Ah didn't know what ta do!'

'You did the right thing.'

'The blankets! Quickly!'

In the fog that clouded his mind he could hear the voices of angels. Was he dead? He tried to move his body but he couldn't remember how.

'He's twitchin'!'

'What?!'

'Ah think he's tryin' ta—'

'Where are those blankets?!'

He couldn't see the light. Didn't they always talk about a light at the end of the tunnel?

'Here, I have them!'

'Wrap him up, quickly!'

He tried to open his eyes. Too hard. He tried to open just one. Slowly, painfully, he pulled open one eyelid. The light was very dim and he could make out shadows moving around him. This definitely wasn't heaven. His red pupil shifted sideways, observing the cold walls, the stone ceiling, the yellow candle… and then, quite suddenly, large green emeralds. Hmm… dis can't be hell… he thought, his eye suddenly transfixed on the glowing orbs. They shimmered in the dim light, bathing him in a warm glow.

'Ah think he's wakin' up.'

'How do you know?'

'His eyes…'

'They're… they're…

'Red?!'

And just like that, the emeralds were gone. A groan escaped his lips as the glow faded and the emptiness returned. His eye moved around, trying to find those shimmering green pools. Shadows continued to move around him. Some close. Some far.

'Ah'll stay with him.'

'Good, he will need to be watched.'

'Here, an extra blanket.'

'Thank ya.'

And then, just as suddenly as the first time, the emeralds returned – and with them the sweet, sweet scent of flowers. Remy smiled as the pain began to melt from his soul. As he gazed into those emerald greens, he felt that the world was whole again, and that somewhere in it there was a place for him, too.

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He heard the curtains being drawn, and the latch of the window being pulled. Immediately, the warm, summer breeze washed over him, carrying on it the scent of old rain and fresh herbs. He moved his head, his dream of emerald eyes fading, and cracked open one eye. The bright light from the window caused him to look away as he cracked open the other. The room around him took form – the room from his dreams.

'Ah, good. You are awake.'

He blinked. Once. Twice. The room became clearer, and he was suddenly aware of another person by his side. This wasn't a dream.

He tried to sit up, and managed to do so with much difficulty. There was a buzzing in his head and he tried to shake it out.

'Careful. Your body is still weak.'

He turned his head towards the voice and found himself staring into startling blue eyes. They sat in the beautiful face of a woman, her head crowned with a black veil. If he had not been completely sure that she was real, he would have thought her an angel.

'Where am I?' he croaked, his throat tightening in restraint.

The woman took a glass from a small table by his bed and filled it with water. Her actions were smooth and fluid, and he found himself mesmerized. 'Here, drink this.'

He took the cup from her and downed it at once. The water seared the back of his dry throat and he coughed. She smiled at him, one white brow elegantly raised.

'You are in the House of Charity.' She took the cup from him and refilled it.

'De House o' Charity?'

She nodded. 'A convent.'

He raised both brows and looked around him once more. He was in a small room surrounded by stone walls. The ceiling, also stone, was very high and seemed to disappear into darkness. The room was scantily furnished. There was a small bed (on which he lay), a narrow bookshelf housing a scattering of old, sagging books, a rickety chair, a side table, and a candle whose wick barely existed. On the back of the wooden door to the room hung his clothes. Curiously, he looked down at his body and found that he was wearing a thin flannel nightshirt. He raised a questioning brow at the woman.

'You were found on our doorstep soaking wet.'

'Who found me?'

'One of our sisters.'

Remy's mind instantly drew back to shimmering emerald eyes. A warm glaze spread through his body at the thought of them. He watched as the woman stood up, and he noticed for the first time her attire. She was wearing a long black robe that reached down and covered her feet. There was a string of beads hanging around her hips, from the end of which hung a wooden cross. The collar around her neck was white, as was her headpiece over which was draped a black veil. 'What is your name, stranger?'

'LeBeau. Remy LeBeau,' he replied, tentatively. 'Who are you?'

The woman smiled at him, and Remy instantly felt a sense of calm envelop him. 'I am Sister Mary Munroe, the Reverend Mother of this convent.' She glided towards the window and leaned out to welcome the new morning. 'You have been asleep for three days.'

Remy nearly jumped from the bed. 'T'ree days?!'

'Hmm… but not to worry. Your health has greatly improved, and with another day's worth of rest, I am sure you will return to your normal self. You are welcome to stay here for as long as you need.'

Remy stared at her, disbelief and worry creasing his brow. He shook his head vehemently. 'Non, I have to go.'

'Why?'

He couldn't find an answer he could share with her. He knew he would be safe here. His pursuers wouldn't dare enter upon holy ground. And yet… 'I be a sinner.'

The Reverend Mother smiled. 'With the eyes of the devil, at that.' Seeing the contorted look on Remy's face made her continue. 'We are all sinners in the eyes of the Lord.'

Remy shook his head, hard. 'Non, but I… I…' He clenched his fists, fighting the words that threatened to spill from his lips. He tried to avert his eyes from the intensity in hers, but he couldn't fight his soul any longer. The truth, which he had wanted to lock away forever, overwhelmed him. 'I killed somebody.'

He hung his head, expecting to hear a surprised gasp, a wail of distrust, even a ranting prayer for his soul. Instead, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He looked up and saw that the Reverend Mother had come to sit beside him on his bed.

'Tell me,' she whispered, and as if a dam had broken within him, his story poured from his being.

He told her about his life as an orphan and how he had been adopted into a guild of thieves. He told her about his arranged marriage to an opposing guild's daughter, sharing that their union would bring peace between the two warring gangs. He told her of the bride's brother, and his hatred towards the Thieves Guild. He told her how he had accidentally brought about the brother's death, and how his family had disowned him as a result. He hold her about his exile, and how, eventually, he had come to lie on the threshold of this convent.

When he had finished, he felt depleted and hallow. He couldn't look at her, and waited patiently for her judgment.

It didn't come.

'"We are made a spectacle unto the world, and to angels",' she said, slowly. Her hand had not left his shoulder, and she gave it a tender squeeze. '1st Corinthians, chapter 4, verse 9.'

Remy stared at her. He was finding it hard to believe that a woman of God had listened to his story without any notion of condemning him. What being of nature was she?

'It is not our place to judge our peers,' she said, suddenly, as if she had read his thoughts. 'We all have our own demons that we must face. As long as we have faith in the Lord, He will guide us forever towards our own personal light.' She patted his arm, seeing the wary look on his face. 'You were brought here for a reason, child. I will not believe that your path to this very convent was a coincidence.'

Remy shook his head, running a hand through his tangled hair. 'No one broug't me here but me, petite.'

She gazed intently at him. 'Was there nothing that guided your steps towards us?' On the eve of her words, somewhere above them, the church bells began to chime.

As if from a distant memory, Remy recalled hearing such a sound, beckoning him through the wind and rain. His eyes widened. 'But… w'at does dis mean?'

Sister Mary Munroe moved to his door and pulled at the handle. 'It means you have a purpose here, Remy. Stay, and find out what that purpose is.' She drew open the door and stepped out into the hallway. Before closing the door behind her, she turned and called over her shoulder, 'now rest. I will send your breakfast up to you shortly.' The door clicked closed behind her.

Remy lay back into the bed and closed his eyes. His thoughts were a whirl, but as the last of the church bell sang through the air, his dream from the previous nights returned. His dream of emerald greens.

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Author's Note: Whew! First chapter done! I'm really excited about this particular story, so please tell me what you think! I'd appreciate all reviews!