7. Who gives the orders here?

Remy was lashed to a pole in the middle of a corn field. He didn't know exactly why, but something told him not to question it. That this was normal. That, even if he hadn't realized it, he had always been there, in the middle of the corn field. Trapped. A vast nothingness surrounded him. Just the corn stalks that swayed in the dull wind. The same wind that touched the brim of his straw hat with light fingers, brushing the shadow in and out of his eyes. The hot sun beating against his back, baking his flannel shirt. He could feel the sweat trickle and collect on the back of his neck, under his chin, across his brow. Too hot. Too hot. It felt like he was on fire.

He swallowed thickly, searching for some relief from the heat.

There was no relief. No reprieve. The only thing that distracted was the piercing of pain as sharp talons punctured his shoulders, drawing blood.

The crows.

The crows settled themselves across his shoulders and glared at him with blue eyes.

So blue.

Too blue.

Almost violet.

He knew those eyes.

The crow closest to him bobbed closer, its beak parted right next to his ear. And, even as he tried to squirm away, he could feel its hot breath against his skin.

"Caw!" The crow shrieked.

It was laughing at him.

The other crows took up the chorus.

They were all laughing at him.

Each 'caw' sounded more like a 'hah' until the murder was crowing with laughter.

"Stop it!" Remy hissed and attempted to lunge for the birds.

"Hah! Hah! Hah!" The crows mocked as he struggled vainly against his restraints.

"Go away!" He shouted, fury burning almost as hot as the sun beating against his skin.

"Hah! Hah! Hah!"

He was about to snarl again, lash out, hiss, growl, lunge, anything he could manage, but a soft, barely audible sound, snatched his attention. Away from the taunting laughter. Away from the piercing talons. Away from the scorching heat. Away from the baking sun.

"Logan," The sweet voice gasped, full of fret and discomfort, coming from just beyond his line of sight. "Did you hear that?" A coil of tentative fear rolled through the words.

There was a gruff grunt for response.

"Oh no, Logan," The same voice gasped, louder, closer than before. "The road splits up ahead. Which way do we go?" The owner of the voice stepped into his line of sight and he found himself gaping at a beautiful girl. It was her eyes that caught his attention first. Bright, shining beacons of brilliant green. They were clear and warm. Not uncomfortable and hazy like the field of corn, the beating heat, the dripping sweat, the pain of talons, the embarrassment of laughter. The next thing he noticed was her hair. Two braids of dark hair down the side of her head and two streaks of white that framed her face. Then he noticed her hands, delicately covered by gloves. Then her lips, and then the slope of her neck, the curves that were contoured by the light blue dress she wore, the legs, and then, very last, the shoes.

Bright red.

Painful red.

Blood red.

Ruby red.

Just behind her trotted a stout, burly man with black hair and a cigar.

"It really depends on where you're going." Remy heard himself say. "But that way's very nice." He commented, gazing down one of the branches off the path. Of course, he didn't actually know whether it was nice or not, he had never been. But he had imagined.

"Who said that?" The girl gasped, turning the wrong direction to see him.

"I did." He answered.

"Who?"

"Me."

"Where?"

"Here."

She finally turned so that her eyes landed on his suspended form. The crows that had settled across his shoulders fluttered and repositioned pompously under the gaze. He could feel their disdain for her.

"Hah! Hah! Hah!" The laughed at her.

The man behind her popped a set of three claws out of his fist with a short, sharp snikt and the crows fell silent shortly before deciding that this wasn't exactly the place they wanted to be.

The girl didn't look away once. She didn't acknowledge the field, the laughter, the heat, the crows, their mocking violet eyes, nothing. Her green stare stayed locked on him.

"How did you get stuck up there?" She asked, innocent curiosity filling her voice.

"It's my eyes." Remy said sullenly. "They're supposed t' scare away the crows."

"Let me see." The girl stepped forward. "They can't be that bad." She reasoned.

"Don't look." He pleaded, angling his head downwards, the brim of his hat covering his eyes, shielding them from her view.

"Let me see?" Her voice held an edge of a question this time, softer than before. A request. Optional. Her slender fingers met the bottom of his chin, and they were cool. Relief. He allowed these fingers, her graceful hand, to tip his chin upwards.

He looked up into her eyes. He waited for her to flinch away.

To his eternal shock, and even a little awe, her lips curved gently into a smile. "No wonder you had trouble scaring away the crows." She grinned. "Your eyes are gorgeous, stupid."

"Stupid?" He repeated. His brow furrowed. "I ain't stupid! Look at 'em! Look at all the trouble they've gotten me into! Look at where I am! I wan' 'em gone!" `

"Then you should come with us!" The girl smiled brilliantly, his outburst having little to no effect on her. "We're going to see The Professor. He's going to help me get rid of my skin. Maybe he can help you, too."

"I can't." Remy frowned, the prospect of someone getting rid of their skin seeming no more unnatural to him then the prospect of him wanting to get rid of his eyes. "I'm stuck."

She smiled warmly and took a step forward, however the boldness of her smile didn't reflect in her movements. She stepped off of the golden road underneath her feet and into his corn field, the hesitance in the step obvious, but she didn't turn back. He didn't know what he would have done if he hadn't been immobilized, but he felt the urge to step away from her as she got close, her cool breath brushing his neck just where the crow had been. She looked straight into his eyes as her hands smoothed over his arms until her fingers met the thick twine that help him captive. She yanked at it harshly, but there was no give.

Any hope that had been swelling in his chest crushed and his head dropped.

She growled with frustration, yanking again, only causing the twine to rub against his wrist, welting his skin.

"'S alright." Remy mumbled into his chest, not wanting to see her, the very relief from the corn field she embodied. "Jus' leave me."

She snorted in a very unladylike fashion and the sound was full of bitterness and scorn.

His head snapped up, confused.

"Sugah," She put her hands on her hips and glared right into his eyes, unflinching. "Ah can just about garuntee yah that outta all the gin joints in all the world, yours ain't the shabbiest."

And something about her powerful inflection upon the words made Remy feel that he should be ashamed of himself for wallowing in his self-pity.

"Logan!" She shouted over her shoulder.

Two 'snikt's and a half a second later Remy was on the ground.

"Merci!" He laughed grandly, standing unsteadily, his legs unused to being used. "Merci, merci, merci!" He hugged the girl. She squirmed slightly under his touch, uncomfortable, but didn't reject the hug.

"What's your name?" She asked when he finally pulled away.

"Gam-." He started to say, but stopped himself when he noticed her brow crinkle with confusion and distress. "Remy. Name's Remy."

She smiled at him. "I'm Anna."

Her smile was contagious. "Anna." He tested out the name on his lips.

Logan growled sharply, attracting their attention back to the golden road laid out at their feet.

"Oh, right." Anna shook herself.

"Shall we?" Remy grinned at her, offering her his arm.

She grinned right at him, looping her arm through his.

The bare skin on her arm brushed against his and—and—

And what?

What happened?

Everything vanished in a bright white light. There were voices and pain.

"Ah!" A gasp ripped itself from Remy's lungs and he found himself struggling, fighting to sit up.

Everything was real suddenly. He could feel it. Smell it. Hear it. It was too abrasive, too odious, too loud.

"Someone! Hold him down before he hurts himself!" He heard someone command.

"Get offa me!" Remy shouted as hands tried to grab at him. Everything was too bright, too slow, too painful.

Too bright. Couldn't see. Couldn't focus.

The sun?

Hot.

Crows.

Laughter.

They were laughing at him.

"Leave me alone!" He tried to get away, but they clung, hands on his shoulders. In his shoulders. Piercing. Pain. "Let go!"

"He has to stay calm!" More shouts. "If he gets too worked up, he could charge something else unintentionally."

"Let go!" He screamed again. In desperation he called out for the only person he knew would come if she could. "Bella!" He was breathing so heavily he thought he might break his ribs. "Belle!"

"Let him go!" Someone shouted, and the hands drew back, probably more in shock than from the actual command. "Where are his sunglasses? What the hell did you do with them?" The voice demanded as he shrunk away, trying to put as much distance between himself and the crows as possible. "You didn't think he needed them? You didn't think he needed them? Gimme those! You're his roommate, not his mother!"

He winced away from the harshness of the voice, shrinking backwards.

"You're distressing him further-."

There was a tested breath that interrupted the previous sentence and Remy could only imagine the glare that was paired with it. "I've got this."

He felt someone approach him, slowly, cautiously.

"Remy?"

"What's wrong with m' hands?" He gritted out, eyes watering with the sting of pain as he tried to clench his fists. "Where's Mattie?" He demanded. "She's the only one-." He choked on the words, confusion, pain, the heat of anger, and the chill of panic causing his throat to close.

"Shh," The voice crooned soothingly and he felt a cool hand, a sharp contrast from the heat, from the reality, settle on his shoulder. "Calm down, Remy." The hand moved up to cup the side of his face. "Will you do that for me?" The voice asked, feather soft.

"M' glasses?" He clutched at the hand like it was his only tether to reality.

"I got 'em right here." A familiar weight settled itself on the bridge of his nose and he gasped with relief.

The world was dulled just enough that he could take it in. Slowly at first, the peripherals clearing fastest, but the clarity spread until he realized he was on the ground, a pair of cool, sharp, dazzling green eyes staring at him in concern.

"Anna?"

"Sh," She hushed him gently, running her fingers through his hair soothingly, distracting him as her other hand moved up his leg, mid-thigh. "It's gonna be alright, sugar."

There was a sharp, stinging sensation in his leg. Hissing in pain and baring his teeth like a caged animal, he looked down.

"It's gonna be alright."

A hypodermic needle stuck out of his thigh, the plunger pushed all the way down.

"It's gonna be…"

He felt the sedative take effect, befuddling everything, replacing the sharp contrast of reality with the smears and smudges of a drug-induced calm.

He slumped down to the ground.

Rogue whispered soothing words into his hair until his black eyes finally closed and his breathing steadied into a normal rhythm before looking up and around at all of the faces in the med bay, confusion coloring her face.

"Who's Bella?"

(HOOK!) I do believe apart from the Wizard of Oz (which I'm totally gonna bring back again because I'm in love with it for some damn reason) I may have made a Casablanca reference somewhere in there…. Uh… whoops?

Motherfrikkin Bella. As if we didn't have enough to worry about. Crap!

Next Chapter: Let's see what Creepy Stalker has been up to, shall we?