This fic is angsty and painful off and on. It does get better, I promise! But I want you to heed the warnings I'm putting here. I'm putting out a trigger warning for suicide, self harm, depression, internalized homophobia, homophobia. Be prepared for those. If you can't handle those, please, don't read. Merci! :)

Angry words echoed through Remy's head as he sat on the balcony of his hotel room and stared out at the night sky. The very air seemed to carry the echo of Rogue's furious voice though he'd long ago hung up the phone. For the first time in a long time there was a part of him that knew that this 'break up' that they'd just had was a final one. There was no coming back this time. No two week break while she worked out her temper or he worked out his. When she'd said she was done this time, she'd meant it. His relationship with the feisty woman was over.

Somehow, despite his best efforts, despite how hard he'd tried this time to be what she needed, he'd failed yet again. He'd managed to finally destroy his relationship with her.

Remy stared out into the distance, not really seeing anything. It was a nice view. "Only the best for you" Spencer had teased him earlier when they'd checked Remy in here.

None of it touched him now. How could it? The phone call he'd just finished had shattered the little world that he'd worked so hard to build for himself since he'd joined the X-Men.

When Remy had joined the X-Men, he'd vowed to leave the past in the past. He'd tried to make himself into someone new, someone better. After everything that had happened in his life, after Sinister, he'd needed that new start. He'd needed to become someone that he could be proud of. That meant leaving the darker stuff behind him. No more questionable jobs, no more working for people who would trick him into doing horrendous things. No, Remy was going to be good. He was going to be a hero, not a villain. So he'd joined the X-Men and he'd worked to make up for all the things that he'd done in his life. He worked to honor those that had died because of his stupidity. Part of that new life he'd built for himself had been Rogue. Sweet, wonderful, sassy Rogue. Remy had given himself to her heart and soul and never once looked back.

Now—now it was gone.

She said that he didn't love her. That she'd known for a while now he'd loved another. What kind of person was he that he couldn't deny it? What kind of partner had he been that the woman he'd professed to love had known he'd also loved someone else? Not only that, but that it was another man. He hadn't been able to deny her accusations. They all rang too true in his mind.

Disgusting, she'd called him. A pervert. Those were the words life had taught her to use to describe people like that. People like him. They were wrong and sick.

It wasn't the first time in his life that he'd heard that. Someone who looked the way that Remy did couldn't get through life without hearing the taunts of 'fag' and 'freak' thrust his way. Especially during that time where his charm had been out of control; a time in his past that Remy still shuddered a little to think of. Ever since then, he'd worked so hard to try that part of himself, the part that sometimes gave a happy little shiver when a man smiled at him a certain way, or he saw a man walk past in a pair of well-fitting jeans. He'd tried so hard over the years to make that part of himself go away. To throw himself into a normal life, marry a beautiful woman. But she never made his heart stir the way he did.

The world he'd worked so hard to build was crashing down around him. He'd erected the image of a perfect life for the whole world to see. A doting partner, a good—albeit cocky and sassy—team member, a good friend. Everything that someone could expect of him. He'd carefully built this house of cards. Now, it had all come tumbling down, and Remy had no idea what to do.

There was a part of him that had always sort of known that the only reason he'd really been accepted with the X-Men was that he was dating Rogue and that Logan vouched for him. If it weren't for those two things, he was sure he would've been gone years ago. Now that he and her weren't together, now that she knew the truth about him, he knew it wouldn't take long before everyone else did as well. How long would they want to keep him around then?

It wouldn't take long for word to spread once they kicked him out of the house. Rogue wouldn't keep quiet. All it would take was one word in the right ear and plenty of people would be willing to trade gossip about the infamous Gambit.

Remy looked down at the small butterfly knife he held in his hands. He flipped it expertly until the blade was open.

It wouldn't take much. He always kept his blades so very sharp. Just a few quick moves and he could lay here in the evening air and wait for release. No one would be by to check on him until the morning. Though he'd come here to visit Spencer, his friend was on a case and wasn't due back until later tonight. He'd probably just go home and come to find Remy in the morning time.

A part of him thought of the grief and pain he'd be causing Spencer. The two had been best friends for a long, long time town. Finding Remy like this would devastate him. It'd almost destroyed him the last time that Remy had sank this low. Spencer had been the one to find him then, too. And he'd been the one to stay at Remy's side, to help him through the months of therapy that came afterwards, the long stay at the hospital. Spencer had been there through all of it. Remy had promised himself once he got better that he would never again hurt his friend that way. In a better frame of mind, the reminder might've stopped Remy. Tonight, it was lost underneath the cacophony of voices that were all screaming around inside of Remy's head. "Je suis désolé." He murmured, turning the knife this way and that, caught up in the slight shine on the clean blade. It wouldn't be clean for long.

Before he could lose courage, his grip on the knife became tighter, more sure. It was quicker and easier than people might've thought for him to place it against his skin and drag it from wrist to elbow. There was a sharp burn, a quick line of fire, followed almost immediately by a blessed numbness. He watched with a curious detachment as the blood pooled down. Who knew there was so much blood in a person?

Remy never really noticed as he sank down to the ground, slumped against the balcony rails. He couldn't take his eyes from the blood as it flowed from his arm with a speed that told him he'd cut deeper than he'd thought.

It would all be over soon. He wouldn't have to live with the guilt or the shame. He wouldn't have to live knowing just how broken and dirty he really was.

Only vaguely did he hear an odd sound coming from somewhere nearby. It took him a moment to pull up out of his own head and listen enough to place it as knocking. Knocking? Oh, well. It was probably just housekeeping. They'd go away soon enough. Dizzy and tired, he laid his head down on the ground. The cool floor of the balcony felt wonderful. His mind spun, and a smile curved his lips. He could see the puddle of blood growing and knew that he was almost there. So close.

How long he lay there, he didn't know. The world around him sort of faded away from him. But then a loud noise, almost like a gunshot, broke suddenly through his haze. Then there was a voice shouting at him and Remy felt a small surge of annoyance. Who was that?

It came again, louder this time. "Remy!"

A pair of hands were suddenly on him and Remy felt his body being turned. There was a low hissing sound and then curses. A part of Remy's brain knew that voice and wondered at the oddity of hearing it curse. He never curses. The rest of him was too far gone to care. At least, not until his bleeding arm was lifted and he could see through half-lidded eyes that something was being wrapped around that arm. That was enough to drag part of Remy back to a semi-alert state. He tried to pull away, tried to stop them, but the weakness had spread through his whole body. They're too late anyways he thought.

"Don't you dare leave me, Remy LeBeau. Don't you dare. You promised me, do you hear me? You promised me you wouldn't do this to me again!" That voice came again and this time Remy's brain was alert enough to actually put a name to it.

If he could have, he would've laughed. How ironic. The man who was the cause of all this, rescuing him? This man was the reason he'd been unfaithful to Rogue to begin with.

Even in the depth of all his pain, it still registered in him that he felt his arms around him, holding him close like he was something precious, something loved. It felt so nice. Remy couldn't remember the last time someone had held him like that. It felt so nice. Who could blame him for leaning in to it and enjoying it? He was dying anyways. What would it hurt to enjoy, just for a bit, the feel of the man he loved.

His wrapped up arm was drawn in against his chest by a grip that was stronger than it looked and then Remy found himself being twisted a little and pulled a little more into those arms. It left his arm trapped against his chest, the pressure there tight, and gave Spencer a free hand with which to pull out his phone. Through his growing haze, Remy heard Spencer's voice speaking, barking out something at someone in a voice that was rougher than his usual tone.

Then two arms were around him again and Remy felt it as Spencer bent down low. He hadn't realized he'd closed his eyes until he felt Spencer's cheek pressing against his. "Don't you dare let go, Rem." Spencer said shakily. "We'll fix this, you and I. We did it last time and we'll do it again. I just need you to hang on, do you hear me? I need you. I need you."

Something in Remy wanted to respond. Really, it did. But he felt himself sliding underneath the darkness. Even as it started to pull him under, he heard the footsteps pounding through his room. Too late he thought. He wondered if it was true. Had he succeeded, or had he failed? He drifted in and out of consciousness, always knowing that Spencer's arms were around him, that he was being protected.

New voices pulled him back up for a moment. Voices speaking in clipped tones, moving him in ways that brought the pain back.

"Lost a lot of blood"

"Gotta get him in fast."

"Start an IV now!"

and behind them all, Spencer's voice. "Be careful with him! Remy, I'll be right behind you. I'll be there, Remy! Don't you give up now. I promise, I'll be there!"

He wanted to answer, but this time the blackness came stronger. It sucked him down to the blessed place where nothing hurts, where nothing is real. He was safe.

When Derek Morgan had gotten the panicked call from his best friend, all he'd been able to understand from him was that Remy was in the hospital. That had been enough to get Derek moving. He'd met Spencer's friend years ago and he'd built up a rather good friendship with him since then. It was kind of hard not to like him. Remy had one of those personalities that made people either love or hate him, or love him even as they hated him. And Spencer was always happier whenever Remy was around. For that alone, Derek had been willing to like him.

When he arrived at the hospital, he'd been terrified of what he was going to find. A car crash, an attack, those were the type of things he'd expected. He definitely hadn't expected this.

Suicide. Remy had attempted suicide.

Of all the people in the world, the last one that Derek would've suspected of being suicidal was Remy. He always seemed so damn happy. He had this love for life that was insanely infectious. How could someone like that end up like this? Derek was a profiler. He was trained to see things that other people didn't. How had he not seen this? There should have been signs. Indications that Remy was this depressed. How'd he missed it? How had Spencer missed it?

His gaze drifted over to the man sitting tucked into the corner. His silent, terrified friend who was sitting curled up in a hospital chair, knees up to his chin, staring at the same doors that he'd been staring at since Derek had arrived. He hadn't moved at all from his chair. Not even to go and clean up. And that—that had terrified Derek when he'd first rushed in. Spencer's hands, face and clothes all had blood on them, though it looked like someone had tried to help him clean off just a little if the damp rag on the chair beside him was any indication. Even so, he still looked like some horror show reject and the others in the emergency room were very deliberately avoiding getting close to him.

The blood was bad enough, but it was his eyes that got to Derek. They were wide and glazed with a look that Derek knew was shock.

It'd been the nurses who had explained to Derek what was going on. It'd also been them who had handed Derek the scrubs for Spencer to change into if he could just get his friend into a bathroom to clean up.

It was now or never. Derek drew in a careful breath and slowly approached his young friend, moving just as cautiously as he would with any victim they encountered on a case. He pushed down his own fear and his own inner pain and focused all his attention on Spencer. "Reid?" he called softly. Spencer didn't look up, didn't break his stare on the door leading back to the OR. "Spencer?" Derek tried again, hoping the use of Spencer's actual name would be enough to get his attention. He sank down into the empty chair next to him and reached out to gently put a hand on Spencer's arm. Silently he took his own coat off and draped it around his friend.

Now that he was close, he took a second to give Spencer a quick look over and what he saw worried him. He knew that look, knew those shaking hands. Derek put aside trying to get Spencer up and changed and settled for something much simpler. Reaching out, he took one of Spencer's hands and pulled it into his own. He ignored the dried blood there and simply held his best friend's hand in an effort to give and receive comfort.

They sat there in quiet for so long it was a surprise when Spencer finally spoke. "There was so much blood." His voice was low and hoarse, a pained sound that Derek hadn't heard since Spencer's withdrawal days as he came down off the Dilaudid. His eyes never moved away from the door. "I could feel it when I knocked on the door. I could feel the depression. Usually, he's got such strong shields, there's no way to break past them. But I could feel his emotions everywhere. Depression, pain, grief—relief. I knew what was going on and what it meant so I shot the lock off the door and I hurried inside. He was just," Spencer's breath hitched and Derek saw the sheen of tears building in his eyes. "There was blood everywhere. I didn't know what to do. All my training and I didn't know what to do. I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his arm to try and stop the blood, but there was so much." His voice hitched an dhe stopped, obviously trying to control himself.

"Did he say anything?" Derek asked.

Spencer shook slightly, the tremor running from head to toe. "His phone was on the ground. He kept…he kept sounding like he was trying to say sorry. I don't know." Finally his eyes turned away from the door and they locked on Derek. There were tears there, slowly leaking down his cheeks. He looked like a child, terrified and seeking comfort. His whispered words broke Derek's heart even further. "Will he be okay? He…I need him to be okay, Derek. I just, I need them to come tell me he's okay. Why won't they come tell me?"

Before Derek could think of a response, the double doors swung open. A doctor came out in scrubs that were blotched and stained with red and the two men froze.

"Dr. Reid?" The man called. At a gesture from Derek, he came forward and his eyes instantly went to Spencer. Before Spencer could open his mouth to ask the question he was obviously terrified to say, the doctor quickly said "Mr. LeBeau is going to be fine." He waited as Spencer and Derek both visibly relaxed. After giving them a second to let that sink in, he continued on. "It's going to take a bit of time to heal. He lost a lot of blood and we'll need to keep him for a while to replace what he lost. You're very lucky you got to him when you did." He paused and Derek just knew what was coming next. He'd seen this enough to know how it went. Sure enough, "We're going to bring a psychiatrist in to speak with him. At minimum he's going to be held for seventy two hours. As soon as he's in recovery, you can visit, one at a time, for five minutes."

The words didn't look like they'd sunk in for Spencer quite yet. Derek, still holding his friend's hand, nodded at the doctor. "Thank you."

The doctor nodded back. His eyes flickered over to Spencer, who had closed his eyes once more, and then back to Derek. "I suggest you take your friend and get him cleaned up. By the time he's done, your friend should be ready and a nurse can escort you back there." With that last bit of advice, he turned around and left them there, two friends clinging together in grief and open relief. Remy was going to be fine. He'd survived. Right now, that was all that was important. He'd survived. The rest, they would deal with as it came.