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satansdarlin · 1 month ago

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can i PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE have a fic where gambit and reader have a baby/kid, i don't care about anything else i just want a kid with that man PLEASE (I am on my hands and kness begging you)

Pa's Lil spade

I know this is a bit more than you asked for but I went nuts with it. You are so fr for wanting a baby with this man (me too nonny me too). The reader is a mutant but I left that up to whatever you guys want. It is implied to be AFAB reader with how they refer to them but nothing is explicitly depicted. Could be read as a follow up to royal flush or a stand alone

Rating: T

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: bad French, some anti mutant bull, remy being the best dad to cure my daddy issues, pure family fluff with a little angst, talk of explosions

If you liked this check of my masterlist or put in a request if they are open

You padded through the quiet house in the early morning. Remy had been missing from the bed when you woke up, but you had a feeling you knew exactly where to find him. Pushing open the door to the nursery, you paused in the doorway, taking in the tender scene before you. Morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over Remy as he cradled your one-month-old daughter in his arms, her tiny form still peacefully asleep.

"Mon Dieu," he whispered as he heard you enter, his voice thick with emotion. "Remy never expected 'er to be so... petit."

"She is small," you agreed softly, moving closer to them. "A tiny little miracle."

Remy turned to face you, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "She's perfect, ain't she?" he said, gazing down at the small, sleeping bundle in his arms.

"Absolutely perfect," you agreed, watching your husband hold your daughter with such reverence that your heart swelled. You knew he'd probably stand there holding her for hours if he could, perfectly content.

He chuckled softly, his attention never wavering from the baby. With infinite gentleness, he stroked her velvet-soft cheek with one finger. "She goin' be a troublemaker, Remy can tell already," he said with a knowing smirk.

"Wonder where she'll get that from," you laughed softly, reaching up to kiss his cheek.

He feigned shock, placing his free hand over his heart with dramatic flair. "Remy, trouble? Never," he protested, shaking his head with exaggerated innocence before pulling you closer with his free arm, that familiar mischievous grin spreading across his face.

"You're a poor liar, mon cœur," you hummed, gazing down at your daughter. Your little Spade. You'd had to talk him down from naming her Queenie – Remy's taste in baby names had been a bit more... eccentric.

"Can't believe you made Remy change the name," he pouted, though his eyes never left their daughter's face as he traced her features with a gentle finger. "Queenie woulda been a good name," he added teasingly.

"Spade is perfect," you said, playfully rolling your eyes.

He let out an exaggerated sigh of defeat, though he couldn't quite hide his smile. "You're right, cher. Spade is perfect," he admitted, gently rocking the bundle in his arms.

"I'll go make breakfast," you said softly, reluctantly pulling away from their warmth. In the kitchen, you found yourself wrestling with the baby-proofed cabinets. You'd tried telling Remy there was no way Spade would be getting into cabinets when she could barely roll over, but he'd insisted on "better safe than sorry."

From the living room, Remy's teasing voice called out, "Careful, darlin', you might get trapped in there!"

"And whose fault would that be?" you called back. The sound of your voices stirred Spade, who responded with happy coos directed up at her father.

Remy's expression melted at the sound. "Not Remy's fault if you're too weak to open a cabinet, cher," he teased, though his voice was warm with affection.

"I'm gonna baby-proof your bedside table," you threatened playfully as you finally conquered the cabinet. In response, Spade began wiggling energetically in her father's arms.

Remy clutched dramatically at his chest with his free hand. "Not the bedside table, cher, that's low!"

As you started on breakfast, Remy found himself locked in battle with an infant determined to make a meal of his shirt. He tried redirecting her attention to a soft, chewable toy, but Spade remained fixated on her chosen target.

"Why does she only want to eat Remy's shirt and not the damn toy?" he grumbled in French, looking up at you with clear frustration.

"She's gotta soften her pa up to eat him when she's big enough," you quipped back.

Remy rolled his eyes but couldn't help chuckling. "Remy is not on the menu," he protested, still struggling to keep his shirt out of Spade's surprisingly strong grip.

"She doesn't seem to agree," you laughed, watching your husband's losing battle with your determined daughter.

"How can one little baby be so strong?" he complained, shooting you a desperate look.

Taking pity on him, you crossed the room and, with perfect timing, swapped his shirt for her pacifier just as she was about to chomp down. "Baby strength is no joke, hubs."

Remy sagged with relief as Spade happily accepted the pacifier, her mission to devour his shirt temporarily forgotten. "Thanks, cher," he said, flashing you a grateful smile. "Remy was about to lose his shirt there."

"And if Remy doesn't do something about the mosquito catcher on the fritz, he'll have to do more than worry about one baby-slobbered shirt – he'll have to do all his laundry," you warned playfully before returning to the stove.

Panic flashed across his face at the prospect. "Damn, okay, okay, Remy'll fix it," he quickly agreed, bouncing Spade gently in his arms. The laundry threat never failed.

"Good. 'Cause I can't even step outside without being eaten alive," you grumbled. "I told you the kiddy pool was a bad idea."

Remy chuckled sheepishly. "Remy didn't know the mosquitoes would love it so much," he admitted, guilt coloring his voice as he patted Spade's back, deliberately avoiding your pointed look.

The sizzle of bacon filled the kitchen as you worked at the stove. Remy wandered in, still cradling Spade, who had finally given up her campaign against his shirt in favor of contentedly gumming her pacifier.

"Smells good, cher," he said, peering over your shoulder. "Need Remy to set the table?" He shifted Spade to one arm, already reaching for plates with his free hand.

"If you can manage without putting our daughter down for two seconds," you teased, glancing back at him with a knowing smile.

Remy huffed indignantly. "Remy is perfectly capable of multitasking," he declared, though his grip on Spade remained secure as ever. As if to prove his point, he began one-handedly arranging plates and silverware on the table, adding a little flourish as he set down each item.

"Show-off," you muttered fondly, hiding your smile as you flipped the bacon.

"You love it," he shot back with a wink, his red-on-black eyes gleaming with mischief. Spade chose that moment to spit out her pacifier, which Remy caught with lightning-quick reflexes before it hit the floor. "Ha! See? Master of multitasking!"

"My hero," you deadpanned, but couldn't help laughing at his triumphant expression.

The morning sunlight had grown stronger now, streaming through the kitchen windows and catching the auburn highlights in Remy's hair. Spade reached up, trying to grab at the light playing across her father's face, making happy gurgling sounds.

"What you reaching for, petit?" Remy cooed, bouncing her gently. "You trying to catch the sun? Just like your papa, always reaching for things you shouldn't."

"Speaking of things we shouldn't reach for," you said, sliding the last of the bacon onto a plate, "I saw you trying to teach her how to shuffle cards yesterday."

Remy had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "Was just showing her the basics, cher. Never too early to learn."

"She's a month old, Remy."

"And already showing great potential!" he insisted, grinning as Spade grabbed his finger and tried to stuff it in her mouth. "See? She's got quick hands!"

You shook your head, carrying plates to the table. "No daughter of mine is going to be running card scams before she can walk."

"Of course not," Remy agreed too quickly. "Maybe after she walks though..."

"Remy LeBeau!"

He laughed, dancing away from your mock-threatening spatula. "Remy's kidding! Mostly," he added under his breath, pressing a kiss to Spade's forehead as she yawned widely.

"I heard that," you warned, but couldn't keep the smile from your voice. "Now sit down before breakfast gets cold. And yes, you have to put her in her bouncer."

Remy pouted but carefully settled Spade into her bouncer next to the table, making sure she could still see both of you. "There you go, petit. Watch your old papa eat his breakfast before your maman makes him fix that mosquito trap."

"And the gutters," you added sweetly, passing him the coffee.

He nearly choked on his first sip. "The gutters? Remy didn't hear nothing about gutters!"

"Must have slipped my mind," you said innocently. "But while you're up there..."

"This is blackmail," he grumbled, but his eyes were twinkling as he watched you over the rim of his coffee cup.

"I prefer to think of it as creative motivation," you replied, reaching over to wipe a bit of drool from Spade's chin as she watched you both with wide eyes.

"You're lucky Remy loves you both so much," he said, his mock complaint softened by the genuine warmth in his voice.

"We know," you smiled, reaching across to squeeze his hand. "And we love you too, even if you do install unnecessary baby-proofing and create mosquito breeding grounds in the backyard."

"Remy's never going to live down that kiddie pool, is he?"

"Not a chance, mon cœur. Not a chance."

--- Two Years Later ---

"Spade Charlotte LeBeau, you get back here right now!"

Your toddler's delighted giggle echoed through the house as she zoomed around the corner, still in her pajamas, clutching one of Remy's playing cards in her tiny fist. Her dark hair bounced in messy curls around her face, and her red-on-black eyes – so like her father's – sparkled with mischief.

"Non!" she called back in a perfect imitation of Remy's accent, disappearing into the living room.

You shot your husband an accusatory look as he leaned against the doorframe, trying and failing to hide his proud grin. "This is your fault. She's picking up your accent AND your sticky fingers."

"Remy has no idea what you mean, cher," he said innocently, but the effect was ruined by his barely contained laughter. "Though you got to admit, her form is getting better."

"She's two, Remy. She shouldn't have any 'form' for stealing."

"Borrowing," he corrected automatically. "And did you see how smooth that lift was? Didn't even feel her take it from Remy's pocket."

A crash from the living room interrupted your response, followed by a small "Uh oh."

Both of you rushed in to find Spade standing amid a scatter of books from the fallen bookshelf, still clutching the Queen of Hearts. She looked up at you with wide eyes, lower lip trembling slightly.

"Accident?" she offered hopefully, in that same Cajun lilt that made it impossible to stay mad at her – a fact she had definitely figured out and used to her advantage.

Remy scooped her up before you could respond. "What's the rule about climbing, petit?"

"Only climb with Papa?" she tried, wrapping her arms around his neck and batting her eyelashes.

"The real rule," you prompted, trying to keep a stern face despite how adorable she looked.

Spade sighed dramatically – another trait she'd picked up from Remy. "No climbing furniture 'cause it's dangerous an' Maman will make Papa sleep on the couch."

"That's right," you nodded, then paused. "Wait, who taught you that last part?"

"Papa did!" she announced proudly, while Remy suddenly became very interested in straightening her pajama top.

You shook your head, bending to pick up the scattered books. "And what do we say when we make a mess, baby?"

"Sorry, Maman," she said, looking genuinely contrite now. Then she held out the playing card. "An' sorry I took Papa's card."

"Good girl," you smiled, kissing her forehead. "Now, how about breakfast?"

"Beignets!" Spade cheered, bouncing in Remy's arms.

"Non, petit," Remy chuckled. "Remember what happened last time? You got powdered sugar everywhere."

"But Papa," she whined, giving him the puppy-dog eyes that usually worked like a charm. "You said I was getting better at being sneaky quiet! I can be sneaky quiet with beignets!"

You raised an eyebrow at Remy. "Oh? Teaching our toddler to be 'sneaky quiet' now, are we?"

He had the decency to look sheepish. "Just... general life skills?"

"Down!" Spade demanded suddenly, squirming in his arms. The moment her feet touched the ground, she was off again, this time making a beeline for the kitchen.

"She's not..." Remy started.

"Going for the lower cabinet where you hide the beignet mix?" you finished. "The one you think I don't know about?"

A clatter from the kitchen confirmed your suspicions, followed by Spade's triumphant "Found it!"

"Now that," Remy said admiringly, "she definitely got from you, cher. Remy's not nearly that good at finding hiding spots."

"Keep telling yourself that, hun," you laughed, heading to the kitchen where your daughter was already trying to climb onto the counter. "Though we might need to work on her subtlety."

"Subtlety comes later," Remy assured you, catching Spade mid-climb. "Right after we teach her proper card handling and basic lock picking."

"Remy!"

"Kidding!" he protested, then whispered loudly to Spade, "We'll talk about it when you're three."

Spade giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Promise, Papa?"

"Promise, petit. Now, how about we make Maman some proper breakfast to make up for the bookshelf incident?"

"Can we make it explode?" Spade asked hopefully.

"NO!" you both shouted, remembering all too well the "glowing" pancake incident from last month.

"Just a little boom?" she bargained, making her eyes go wide and innocent.

--- Ten Years Later ---

The first sign something was wrong came at breakfast. Spade sat hunched over her untouched cereal, her normally bright red-on-black eyes dulled with discomfort. At twelve, she was all gangly limbs and attitude, her dark curls pulled back in a messy ponytail.

"You feeling okay, petit?" Remy asked, concern evident in his voice as he watched her push the cereal around her bowl.

"M'fine," she mumbled, then winced and pressed a hand to her stomach. "Just... crampy."

You and Remy exchanged a knowing look. You'd been expecting this, had prepared for it, but somehow it still felt surreal that your baby was growing up so fast.

"Why don't you go lay down, sweet?" you suggested gently. "I'll bring you some pain medicine and a heating pad."

Spade nodded miserably and stood up – then froze, her face flushing red. "Maman," she whispered, panic in her voice. "I need... I think I..."

"Go on to the bathroom, baby. I'll be right there," you assured her, already heading for the cabinet where you'd stashed supplies months ago.

Remy looked slightly panicked himself. "Should Remy... do something?"

"You can start by not freaking out," you told him with a small smile. "Remember what we talked about?"

He nodded, taking a deep breath. "Oui. Normal, natural, nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Good man. Now go call the school and let them know she's staying home today."

As you headed to the bathroom with supplies, you heard Spade sniffling. "Maman? This really sucks."

"I know, baby," you said softly, letting yourself in. "But we've got this, okay? Let me show you..."

Twenty minutes later, Spade was curled up on the couch in fresh clothes, a heating pad pressed to her stomach, while Remy hovered nearby like an anxious mother hen.

"Papa, you're being weird," she grumbled, though there was affection in her voice.

"Remy's not being weird," he protested. "Remy's being... supportive."

"You've asked if I'm okay twelve times in ten minutes."

"Because Remy loves you, petit," he said, dropping a kiss on her forehead. "Even if you're growing up too fast."

She rolled her eyes but smiled – then suddenly yelped as the TV remote in her hand began to glow with a familiar magenta energy.

"Papa?" she asked, voice shaking as the glow intensified.

Remy moved fast, snatching the remote and absorbing the charge before it could explode. "Well," he said, trying to keep his voice light, "looks like you're getting more than one kind of change today, petit."

"Is... is that what your power feels like?" Spade asked, staring at her hands in wonder and fear. "Like everything's buzzing under your skin?"

"That's right," Remy nodded, sitting beside her. "Been wondering if you'd inherit that particular family trait."

You joined them on the couch, wrapping an arm around Spade's shoulders. "How are you feeling, baby? And don't say fine."

"Scared," she admitted quietly. "And excited. And my stomach still hurts. And..." She gestured helplessly at a decorative pillow, which had started to glow. Remy quickly grabbed that too.

"Hormones probably triggered it," you mused. "Logan mentioned that happens sometimes with mutant teenagers."

"Great," Spade groaned. "So not only do I have to deal with... this stuff, but now I might blow things up when I get cranky?"

"Just like your papa," you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

"Hey!" Remy protested. "Remy has excellent control... most of the time."

Spade giggled, then winced and curled tighter around the heating pad. "Can we just... watch movies today? And maybe Papa can teach me how to not explode things?"

"'Course, petit," Remy said softly. "Though maybe we start with something less explosive than the remote, non? Playing cards are made to handle a charge better."

"Is that why you always have them?" she asked, perking up slightly despite her discomfort.

"Partly," he admitted. "Also 'cause they look cool when Remy throws them."

"Can I learn that too?"

"Let's master 'not blowing up the furniture' first," you suggested firmly.

"Maman's right," Remy agreed. "Besides, you need to rest today. Movie first, mutation training later."

Spade nodded, then suddenly looked mortified. "Oh god, do I have to tell people at school about... either thing?"

"Only if you want to, baby," you assured her. "Though we should probably let Uncle Logan know about your powers manifesting. He'll want to start training you."

"Can we not call him Uncle Logan anymore?" Spade groaned. "I'm not a little kid."

"You'll always be Remy's petit," he said, ruffling her hair and expertly dodging her swat.

"Papa!" she protested, but she was smiling. Then she looked down at her hands again, watching the faint energy dance across her fingertips. "Will... will it always feel like this?"

"Non," Remy assured her. "You'll learn to control it. Channel it. Make it part of you instead of fighting it. And your maman and papa will be here every step of the way."

"Promise?"

"Promise, petit. Now, what movie you want to watch while Remy teaches you the basics of energy manipulation?"

"Something with explosions?" she asked hopefully.

You and Remy shared a look over her head – equal parts exasperation and love.

--- Five Years Later ---

You knew something was off when Spade started wearing long sleeves in summer. At seventeen, she'd grown into her powers beautifully, the same casual grace with kinetic energy that Remy possessed. But lately, she'd been jumpy, secretive – and definitely not charging anything she touched, which was unusual for a girl who typically left a trail of glowing objects in her wake.

The truth came out on a humid Tuesday evening, when Remy came home early from a mission.

"Petit?" he called out, heading upstairs. "Remy brought those macarons you like from that place in–"

He stopped dead in Spade's doorway. Your daughter was hastily pulling on a hoodie, but not before both of you caught sight of the suppression collar around her neck. The kind sold in sketchy places to mutants who wanted to "pass" as human.

The box of macarons hit the floor.

"Papa!" Spade yelped, yanking the hood up. "You're supposed to be in Paris until tomorrow!"

"And you're supposed to be at study group," you said from behind Remy, making her jump. "Want to explain the collar, baby?"

Spade's eyes darted between you both, then to her window, clearly calculating if she could make the jump. A habit she'd definitely picked up from Remy.

"Don't even think about it," you warned. "Sit."

She sat on her bed, pulling her knees up to her chest. "It's not what you think."

"Non?" Remy's voice was dangerously quiet. "Because what Remy thinks is his daughter is ashamed of being a mutant."

"I'm not!" Spade protested, eyes filling with tears. "I just... I wanted..."

"To be normal?" you asked softly, sitting beside her while Remy paced the room, playing cards flickering with agitated energy between his fingers.

"To go on a date without setting anything on fire!" she burst out. "To hold hands without worrying about blowing someone up! To be able to... to kiss someone without..."

The cards in Remy's hands stopped moving. "Kiss someone?"

Spade went pale. "I mean... hypothetically..."

"Spade Charlotte LeBeau," you said firmly. "The whole truth. Now."

She took a shuddering breath. "His name is Alex. He's in my AP Chemistry class. We've been dating for three months and he doesn't know I'm a mutant and I really, really like him and please don't explode anything, Papa!"

The last part came out in a rush as the cards in Remy's hands began to glow ominously.

"Three months?" Remy's accent got thicker with emotion. "You've been hiding this for three months?"

"Remy," you warned, seeing the hurt in your daughter's eyes. "Let her explain."

"I wanted to tell you," Spade whispered, fingers twisting in her sleeves. "But I was scared. Not of you!" she added quickly. "Of... of messing it up. His parents are kind of... they don't like mutants. And Alex isn't like that, he's different, but I just wanted a chance to show him who I am before he found out what I am."

"You are not a what, petit," Remy said fiercely, the glow fading from his cards as he knelt in front of her. "You are a who. A beautiful, powerful, amazing who. And anyone who can't see that..."

"Isn't worth hiding yourself for," you finished gently.

"But what if he is?" Spade's voice cracked. "Worth it, I mean. He's smart and funny and he doesn't make stupid jokes about the school being full of freaks like the other kids do. He stood up for Jamie last week when someone was bullying him about his scales. He doesn't even know I go there, but he stood up anyway."

You and Remy exchanged a look. You remembered being young, remembered how hard it was to bridge the gap between mutant and human worlds.

"Take off the collar, petit," Remy said finally.

"Papa..."

"Take it off," he repeated, gentler this time. "If this boy is worth your time, he's worth your trust. And if he breaks that trust..." The cards flickered again.

"You will not threaten a teenager," you told him firmly, then turned to Spade. "But your father's right about the collar, baby. It's dangerous, and it's not healthy – physically or emotionally."

Spade's hands shook as she unclasped the collar, her natural energy immediately sparking at her fingertips. "I don't know how to tell him."

"Start with the truth," you suggested. "And maybe somewhere without too many breakable objects."

"And if he runs?" she asked in a small voice.

Remy sat beside her, pulling her into a hug. "Then he's not the one, petit. But you don't know until you try. Just... next time? Tell Remy before you start dating the normie boy? So Remy can do a proper background check?"

"Papa!"

"What? It's what any responsible father would do!"

"You are not running a background check on my boyfriend!"

"Too late," you muttered, making them both turn to stare at you. "What? You think your father's the only one who knows how to do research? He's got a B+ average, one speeding ticket, volunteers at the animal shelter, and his Instagram is full of science puns and pictures of his little sister's soccer games."

Spade groaned and flopped back on her bed. "I hate this family."

"Non, you don't," Remy grinned, ruffling her hair. "Now, about those macarons Remy dropped..."

"Are they stress-eating macarons?" Spade asked hopefully.

"They are now," you agreed. "And while we eat, you can tell us more about this boy. Like why you didn't mention that he's in your AP Chem study group – the one you're supposedly at right now?"

Spade's eyes widened. "How did you..."

"Parent knowledge," you and Remy said in unison.

---Three months later---

The Greene family's dining room was impeccably decorated, all crystal glasses and polished silver that made you grateful for all those etiquette lessons Storm had insisted on. Spade sat beside Alex, wearing her favorite dark purple dress, her power carefully controlled despite her obvious nerves. Remy, for once, had traded his usual trench coat for a proper blazer, though you'd caught him shuffling cards in his pocket on the drive over.

"So," Mrs. Greene said, cutting her chicken with precise movements, "you teach at that... special school?"

"Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters," you confirmed, noting how she avoided saying the name. "Yes, we both do."

"And that's where Spade attends?" Mr. Greene's tone was carefully neutral, but his grip on his fork was too tight.

Alex shifted uncomfortably. He'd been wonderful when Spade had told him about her powers, had even thought they were cool, but this dinner had been his idea – wanting to do things "properly." Now, watching his parents' barely concealed disdain, you could see him regretting it.

"Best education a parent could ask for," Remy said smoothly, his accent deliberately softened. "Top test scores in the state."

"I'm sure," Mrs. Greene murmured, then added with false brightness, "Though it must be... challenging, dealing with all those special needs children."

Spade's glass began to glow faintly. Without missing a beat, Remy reached over and touched it, absorbing the charge.

"Actually," you said pleasantly, "our students are quite gifted. Spade's in line for early admission to NYU's biochemistry program."

"Really?" Mr. Greene looked surprised, as if he couldn't quite reconcile this with his preconceptions. "That's... impressive."

"Our Spade's always been remarkable," Remy said proudly, then added with deliberate casualness, "Gets it from both sides of the family."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as understanding dawned on the Greenes' faces.

"Both sides?" Mrs. Greene's voice had gone up an octave. "You mean you're all...?"

"Mutants?" Spade finished quietly, lifting her chin with a defiance that was pure Remy. "Yes. We are."

"Alex!" his mother hissed. "You didn't tell us..."

"Because it doesn't matter, Mom," Alex said firmly, reaching for Spade's hand under the table. "Spade's brilliant and kind and amazing, and her being a mutant is just another part of who she is."

"Doesn't matter?" Mr. Greene's fork clattered to his plate. "These people are dangerous! They're–"

"Very capable of hearing you," you interrupted coolly. "And 'these people' include your son's girlfriend and her parents, who are sitting right here."

"How do we know she hasn't... done something to him?" Mrs. Greene demanded, standing abruptly. "Used some kind of mind control or–"

"Maman's not a telepath," Spade said, her voice shaking slightly but determined. "And neither am I. I can charge objects with kinetic energy, like my father. That's all."

"That's all?" Mr. Greene laughed harshly. "You mean you can make things explode? And we're supposed to be comfortable with you dating our son?"

"More comfortable than Remy is with his daughter dating someone whose parents think she's a monster," Remy said quietly, but there was steel beneath the silk of his voice.

"Mom, Dad, please," Alex pleaded. "Just give them a chance. Get to know them. Spade's family is amazing – they've been nothing but welcoming to me."

"Of course they have," Mrs. Greene snapped. "They're probably thrilled their daughter managed to snare a normal boy–"

The wine glass in Remy's hand shattered.

Everyone froze. Slowly, deliberately, Remy uncurled his fingers, letting the charged fragments fall harmlessly to the tablecloth.

"Remy suggests," he said softly, his accent thick with controlled anger, "that you think very carefully about your next words regarding his daughter."

"Are you threatening us?" Mr. Greene stood, reaching for his phone. "In our own home?"

"Non," Remy smiled, but it wasn't a pleasant expression. "Remy's just making sure we understand each other. Because Remy's daughter? She's been crying herself to sleep worrying about making a good impression tonight. She pressed her best dress and practiced controlling her powers for hours because she wanted you to see her as a person first. But clearly," he gestured to the ruined tablecloth, "Remy wasted money on this nice jacket."

"I think," you said, standing and placing a calming hand on Remy's shoulder, "we should go."

"Wait!" Alex stood too. "I'm coming with you."

"Alex, sit down!" his mother ordered.

"No." He moved to stand beside Spade, who was fighting back tears. "I'm seventeen, I can make my own choices. And I choose not to stay here and listen to you insult the girl I love and her family."

The word 'love' hung in the air. Spade's eyes widened, and even Remy's anger faltered for a moment.

"If you walk out that door with them," Mr. Greene warned, "don't bother coming back tonight."

"Fine," Alex said, his voice steady despite his pale face. "I'll stay at Connor's. At least his parents judge people by who they are, not what they are."

You gathered your things in tense silence, Remy's hand protectively on Spade's shoulder. At the door, Mrs. Greene made one last attempt.

"Alex, please. We're just trying to protect you."

"From what?" he asked tiredly. "From Spade, who helps me with calculus and volunteers at the shelter with me? From her mom, who makes sure I eat properly when I'm studying late? From her dad, who's been teaching me to change my own oil so I don't get ripped off at mechanics?" He shook his head. "The only thing I need protection from is this kind of prejudice."

You and Remy shared a look as you walked out with the teens in front. You might have had your opinions at first but you definitely liked Alex now.

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