AN: Please note, this is where the PG version deviates from the full version.
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Chapter 13
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Remy was sitting in the lounge, not hiding really, just away from the others. He couldn't help feeling betrayed - by Rogue, by his body and the world. Everything that had been said had been reasonable. Rogue had made a decision that no one approved of or understood, but they'd believed her when she'd said he was dead. They had left his body behind, giving preference to the ones they could save. When they'd gotten back to the mansion, Joseph had left thinking himself in some way responsible for the death of an X-man, however out of favour with Rogue Gambit had been.
Rogue had left mere weeks later with no word or explanation, but the professor had seemed unconcerned and so when Remy had surfaced - barely alive - a few days after that, they had assumed he had suggested she leave to hide her shame. Not to punish her, but to protect her.
When she had returned, it had been to attack the whole mansion with what seemed to be Remy's powers - suggesting that she'd had them since she absorbed him in Antarctica. An attempt to bring her back in - Warren had sighed something that sounded like 'half-assed revenge mission' - had led to Warren's long-term removal from duty. Rogue hadn't been seen since.
The discussion was all on facts he knew, though explaining his loss of sight was no more painful than Hank's overemphasis that he still had hope it would heal naturally; that it was simply the sensitive nature of Remy's retina that had made such a temporary injury so long-lasting.
Kurt and Jean-Paul expressed their sympathies whilst making it very clear they had never had to deal with such a situation before, leaving all of them distinctly uncomfortable. It didn't help that, when leaving the table, Remy had knocked over a misplaced glass, leaving him to fume silently as he stood in a sea of glass shards while it was cleared enough for him to move away in his bare feet.
"Remy?" The Professor's voice interrupted his daydreaming, and he looked up sharply, guiltily.
"Professeur," he replied with a wry grin. "Anyt'in' I can help y' wit'?"
"When you were trained by the thieves guild…" Xavier stopped as Remy hissed, immediately defensive but not yet sure about the nature of the attack. "I'm sorry, is this not appropriate for discussion?"
"Finish y' ques'ion, Remy tell y'." he replied with a frown.
"I simply wished to ask if you had formal training in art history or the fine arts? For recognition purposes, or detecting forgeries." Xavier finished, trying to decipher the closed expression on Remy's face.
The Cajun's chin lifted, "Oui, had art history degree equivalents. T'ieves dat make it t'rough wit' deir names clean get t' do deir exams at LSU an' graduate."
There was a pause before Xavier asked the next question. "And did you ever graduate?"
Remy scowled. "I look like a guy wit' letters after his name t' you?"
It took effort for the Professor to suppress the sigh that tried to bubble forth. "Gambit, I have the pleasure of knowing a lot of well educated individuals who don't *look* like they have letters after their name."
"Non." Remy answered the original question, chastised. "I din' finish de course."
"Would you be willing to teach art history at the school now?" Xavier asked.
Of all the questions he thought the Professor might ask, he was not expecting something like that. "Y' kiddin', neh?"
The Professor arched a brow. "Certainly not. We have no other art experience within the school, and though a little training could allow any one of us to supervise a room full of students drawing or painting, we cannot *teach* them. Certainly, none of us have the skills we would need to advance an older child into a higher education art course should they so wish."
Remy washed one hand over his face in frustration. "Professeur… dieu, Professeur, I'm blind. I can' tell art from anyt'in' else. How'd y' expect me t' teach anyone anyt'in'?"
"We would help you arrange your teaching materials, of course. You're the only one with this skill-set, Remy." Xavier said softly, encouragingly.
But Remy was already shaking his head. "Non, Professeur. Bring someone else in, get a proper art teacher, someone who can do it right. F' de little ones as well."
Undeterred, Xavier countered. "It's something I'd like to avoid as far as possible, Remy - and you agreed with me when I first said it. We're a close knit community here, bringing people in will cause disruption."
"I can' do dis f' you." he settled back down again, eyes closed and face closed. "I jus' can't."
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"Bobby?" Remy asked as a darkened shape passed across the room. He hadn't moved since the Professor had passed through with his idiotic suggestion, and he was feeling lethargic and tired.
The darkened image paused and turned. "Hey, what's up?" Bobby collapsed into a chair nearby. The shape of the man was coloured brightly in heat, only a half shade lighter than a normal body heat, barely noticable with no one else in the room to compare with, but there was an area over Bobby's heart which seemed darker than the rest. A warm hand came up and made a gesture that Remy was sure was rubbing at the edge of that cooler spot.
"Are you alright, Bobby?" he asked, distracted by that dark patch, curious.
"Sure, why?" Bobby replied lightly, shifting in the chair.
Remy looked up, trying to get his eyes to meet Bobby's and not receiving enough feed back to work out if he succeeded. "Just wanted t' make sure. I'm here, y'know. If y'ever wan' t' talk. Rarely anywhere else dese days."
There were flashes of movement across the Iceman's face – too badly defined to identify. Remy decided he really needed to work on identifying facial expressions.
"Thanks." Bobby answered warily. "But I'm fine." And he stood up and left before Remy could press any further.
That, more than anything, made Remy think he was probably right about this whole thing. Bobby, on any other day, would have snapped back a joke like he was made of elastic, wit falling from him and humour if he wasn't feeling ready for wit. This blank denial was not Bobby.
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"It sounds like a logical conclusion," Kurt was saying, as Jean explained the Creed situation. "– your psychologist was not who he appeared to be, and Sabretooth is working for him."
"It just doesn't make sense," Jean replied. "Canford spent months keeping Creed in that prison, only to break him out?"
Kurt's tail twitched thoughtfully. "Perhaps there was something in the prison that he needed, that Creed was getting for him? He's been scarily subservient from what we've seen – cutting and running when threatened. Completely out of character."
"Regardless, Jean, Betsy and Logan are heading out today to identify what Canford is doing. Bobby, Warren and Remy are all onsite today dealing with the first wave of workmen, Hank and Scott are both at conferences, Ororo has requested a day in the gardens and I have work of my own to complete - what you choose to do is up to you, Kurt, Jean-Paul. Your contract with me doesn't start for another two weeks, but you are free to join any taskforce you think you may be able to help." The Professor answered, glancing at both men.
"Professor..." Warren came to a stop, embarrassed. "Kurt, please don't take this the wrong way, but we're hoping to keep the school as normal as possible for the workmen..."
"Of course. Jean, if you have no complaints I will join you." Kurt bounced eagerly on the edge of the chair, showing no signs of being offended by Warren's half-explanation.
"I will help in the school once I have my things settled." Jean-Paul added.
"Well then, if that is acceptable to everyone; Jean, take your team when you're ready. Everyone else, have a productive day." As close to a dismissal as they were going to get from the Professor, everyone filtered out.
"He couldn't just say 'have a good day', like everyone else." Bobby muttered sideways to the closest person, who happened to be Logan. Logan snorted in reply, and headed for the changing room.
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The new school's task force was gathered in what was becoming their office – containing the mansion's one computer that was connected to a printer, and now the braille printer that was so new the box and packaging were still shoved behind the door.
"So, how are we going to play this?" Bobby asked, "I'm assuming we're not exposing the school to the baseliners while they're working on the mansion?"
"No, we don't need that kind of attention. Not when we're taking kids on." Warren replied, looking away from the others guiltily. This was supposed to be the only place they could be themselves. "The kids don't need everyone knowing what we're doing here. It's going to be difficult enough to keep it quiet."
"So, Hank and Kurt are going to need to stay out of sight. I'm going to put on my harness and Remy is going to put in his contacts." Warren sighed, flexing his wings slowly as if preparing for the oncoming restriction.
Bobby nodded at that. "What's happening today?"
Warren glanced down at the schedule he was holding. "All the work forces who are going to be working on the building are coming in so we can get timing right, and make sure they know what's expected."
"Prob'ly be best if Bobby and JP do de tour." Remy spoke up. Warren looked over. " I know where de work is, but I couldn' walk it t'rough wit' dem, an' I t'ink you know better, today, Ange."
"I figured." Warren made a sour face. "I'll take you through it at some point. Make sure you can walk it if you needed to."
Jean-Paul caught Remy's double take, but didn't comment. He wasn't the only one bemused by Warren's geniality. Maybe it was oxygen deprivation.
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Kurt settled himself into the Blackbird with a smile, feeling the familiar adrenaline buzz that came from being with this group of people in this situation. There was something different between the X-men and every other team he'd ever worked with. Something that had always made every altercation, no matter how simple, feel strained like a tensioned rubber band.
Jean and Logan settled at the controls at the front of the craft and Betsy took a seat across from Kurt at the communications console.
Betsy went through the pre-flight checks with the mansion's computer before giving Jean and Logan the all clear.
By the time they were in the air, Kurt was revelling in anticipation. As always, the professor's brief had been more than thorough, and there was nothing of the mission to discuss in transit.
"Jean, I have something to ask of you." Kurt began as Logan stabilised their flight path so that he could hand over to the autopilot.
"What can I do for you, Kurt?" Jean replied, turning in her seat.
Kurt paused for a moment to formulate the appropriate words. "I have to admit to being out of my depth with Herr LeBeau's… condition. I wondered what knowledge you had to share from your youth with Herr Summers."
Smiling, Jean assured him. "You're doing fine, Kurt. Remy's finding this difficult, and he's just worried that you'll judge him on it."
"And yet he seems more comfortable around your behaviour, simply by benefit of your being in the room. You have this way that puts him at ease." Kurt observed.
Leaning forward, Jean bit her lower lip before replying "You have to understand, once this was something that we just did – for Scott – until it became second nature. Some of the stuff I can't even remember the rationale behind it anymore. But it puts people at ease – especially for Remy right now. It's just making sure that everyone knows what you're doing, and where you are in the room. No one likes to be startled."
"And you kept doing it after Scooter got his glasses?" Logan asked, fitting Jean's explanation to behaviour he hadn't even realised he'd been observing.
"It's not about working around blindness, Logan. It works for everyone. It puts people at ease." She explained. "And in a job like ours, putting people at ease can be everything."
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It wasn't until they sat at the big table in the room that had been cleared for the purpose, that Bobby realised what a rag tag bunch they made.
He'd long been used to the sight of Warren with his wings concealed in his harness, and while he was still sympathetic to the discomfort Warren obviously felt with his wings restrained, it didn't look strange to him any more. But of the four men who had just arrived, only one was managing not to stare at the twisted shape it made of Warren's posture as they sat. And when Remy pulled out a page of notes in braille to match the ones Warren was handing out, the sales manager for the fittings company nearly choked on his coffee. Still, no comment was made and the plans were laid out on the table over a simplified schematic of the mansion. There was only a small area of the building that needed work doing, the area which had never been completed last time they had worked through a catastrophic destruction of the mansion. It needed utilities, plumbing and wiring in, and the specialist panic rooms they had planned needed to be fitted. Other than that, all that really needed working on was the separating walls and some plastering that had fallen.
Remy sat back in his seat as Warren stood to talk over the plans, offering up any suggestions and other comments as they talked through the work. He was picturing the rooms as he remembered them, unfinished and dusty with damaged plaster after the last rebuild. They just hadn't had time to get around to finishing off any work they might have started.
Bobby stepped forwards when the work managers asked to see the building, and the release of tension was palpable. Feeling exhausted, and as relieved to be away from the strangers as they were to be away from him, Remy went to find out if Logan was back yet.
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"Betsy, we're coming up on the front of the building now." Jean called across the comms. "It looks empty."
Betsy looked over at Kurt and frowned. "What do you mean, empty?" Betsy answered Jean.
"Lights off, no cars in the lot, no guards or staff."
Kurt looked down from where he was staring in through a high level window, hanging from the window sill above. "There's no one in here." he confirmed.
"It's been gutted." Logan growled from the doorway, the lock on the front door cut clean through. "No furniture, no one's been here for a week at least."
"There were other businesses here, a dentist and an architect… the whole building's been cleared out." Betsy added, as she followed Kurt in through the back door.
"Do we have a home address? Or relocation addresses for any of these businesses? We should find out where they've gone."
"Let's clear the building." Jean insisted, watching the sweep of Betsy's light appear at the other end of the corridor. "To me in the centre of the building and we'll clear upwards from there."
"This is getting really weird." Betsy agreed, meeting Jean's eyes down the corridor as Logan appeared behind her.
An hour later, looking at an equally empty apartment block, Jean couldn't help but agree. "Do you think someone's kidnapped him and he's got a mimic out there?"
"Or perhaps this was always the man you were seeking, and he was a very good actor?" Kurt offered.
"Good enough to fool the professor?" Jean asked.
"It's been done before." Betsy had to comment.
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Bobby knocked and stepped inside the room without waiting for a response, too wired about this decision.
"OK, fine, I need to talk. I just... I can't go to Hank with this because I *know* what he'll say and really... I just don't..." Bobby trailed off. The silhouetted face that had lifted off the pillows was Logan's, and Logan was definitely not wearing a shirt.
"Ya want Remy?" he rumbled.
"No!" Bobby was horrified at the squeak of a sound. "I'll... I'll come back."
"'S'OK. He's not sleeping, he's got headphones in. I'd be glad fer you t' take him away tell truth." Logan leaned over and pulled on the headphone cord, unplugging Remy. "Rems?"
"Sorry, what?"
"Bobby fer ya. Come back when ya feel more like sleepin'." Remy chuckled, rolling off the bed away from the door. Bobby wondered if he should turn his back while Remy dressed, but as the other man strolled around towards him and into the light cast by the hall lamps, he saw the Cajun was wearing leggings and a vest. Bobby frowned slightly, but stepped outside, letting Remy pull the door shut behind him.
Bobby found it hard to decide what he was feeling when Remy took his arm. It was like pulling on an old favourite jumper that had been in a drawer, forgotten for years. There was such a responsibility in being offered control over someone in that way. Trust as well. It seemed so long ago now that Scott had taken his arm for guidance. They'd both been teenagers and trust had been such a fickle thing. Being given a chance to prove himself in that way... he knew Scott hated to remember those times, so in control now, but he secretly harboured a warmth for them.
He looked up into Remy's black-on-black eyes – no contacts tonight – and tried to determine where the pupil was. From the movement of the light on the surface he could see they were searching, not still, but they were impregnable. Shaking himself, he led on towards the TV room downstairs.
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Bobby took the big armchair as Remy stepped away from him and watched as the other man draped himself over the sofa. Remy was rubbing at his temples with his thumbs.
"Headache?" Bobby asked, grasping desperately at any excuse not to talk about what he had sought out Remy for.
"'M still not used t' dis kinetic shit. Focusin' doesn' work de same way, t'ink i's just screwin' wit' m' head." Remy shook his head and dropped his hands. "Talk t' me, Bobby."
"I think I'm hitting my secondary mutation." Bobby gulped, feeling his temperature drop in response to the stress of saying it out loud.
"De patch of ice on y' chest." Remy confirmed.
Bobby's eyes widened. "How do you know about that?"
"It's like a shadow. 'S colder dan de rest of y'." Remy waved his hand airily in the general direction of the other mutant's torso.
Hands clasped tightly together, Bobby hung his head. "I can't go to Hank with this. It's too much."
Remy's eyes roamed the body of the man across from him, analyzing the varying heat signature spectrum he could see. "You t'ink y' gonna go all de way? Be d'Ice-man all de time?"
There was a small nod from the boy before he glanced up at the Cajun. "Makes sense, doesn't it? It's the obvious form for my secondary mutation to take."
"Not everyone gets dem, Bobby. What if it's somet'in' bad, somet'in' dangerous. Y' should talk t' Hank, or Moira or someone..."
Bobby scowled and interrupted the other mutant. "You hate going to the doc, Remy. You can't lecture me on this."
Both hands raised in surrender, Remy replied "I'm not. 'S jus' friendly advice. 'Least now, someone knows. All I'm sayin' is what y'already know y'self."
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In the week since he'd introduced the idea, Logan had spent every free morning exploring Remy's tolerances for his touch, and slowly encouraging his own confidence to reach out and engage himself. Though Logan couldn't help but think they were moving too fast, Remy was throwing himself into the impromptu therapy sessions, celebrating this chance to touch without debating every move. Logan had created this time that seemed completely detached from the rest of the world, and if he could only stop his own personal demons invading, he could see this happening; see himself making it through to the end.
Somehow saving this time in the morning took the threat out of this contact. They didn't have to worry about him being too tense to sleep beside the other man afterwards, and facing the day with some kind of achievement made him buzz, driving him through the day.
Logan made a point of making sure it was Remy's decision every morning; he had to ask for this – and every day he stated again that Remy had to tell him when to stop. As they got closer and closer, he worried that Remy's competitive tendencies would lead him into a cycle of driving at his boundaries; worried that he was going to end up pushing too far and all they had achieved in this quiet time would be undone.
They were wearing only jeans and soft cotton trousers, t-shirts discarded, and the intensity in the silence as Remy stepped forwards, coming into Logan's touch, was almost physical. Trusting in the strength of that commitment, Logan brought his hands down to Remy's hips – the move sliding them just that much closer. His hips had always been a big stopping point for Remy. Too many pairs of rough hands – you could control a person's momentum easily if you could control their hips. Could pin them or lock them still.
Logan frowned as Remy leant away from him, and was moving the moment he heard the pained, torn, incoherent noises Remy was making, not releasing his arm – though his first thought was to pull away completely. If Remy was thinking of him as a threat then it was better that he knew where he was in the room.
Remy was repeating his name like a litany, that accent twisting his name until it was almost something he didn't understand – and Logan didn't know if he was calling for him or reminding himself who was there. Logan pulled his hands away slightly, looking for any sign that it was the wrong thing to do – to abandon him in the centre of the room without any anchor.
"Remy?" he asked, resisting the urge to reach out as the other man swayed slightly.
"It's okay. Remy can do it." he whispered in reply, and Logan resisted the urge to curse.
"No, it's not okay, Remy." Logan shot back, and then flinched as Remy cringed away from him. "I mean... if it upsets you, it's not okay." Remy reached out, trying twice but eventually grasping Logan's bare arm and pulling him closer with frantic gestures.
"I'll try harder." he promised, pleaded.
"I don't want you to try harder." Logan snapped back, trying with everything he had to keep his misplaced anger in check. "I want this, here, now. I want you to be honest with me. We have all the time in the world. There's no rush. We're still learning."
"Dere are t'ings Remy don' wan' learn any more 'bout hisself." the Cajun whispered.
Logan stepped closer again, any external sign of desire killed by the expression on Remy's face and the sound of his voice, and pulled him closer to kiss him. "You don't have to put on a show for me, and you don't have to push yourself past what's comfortable. You can show me when you're weak."
Slowly Remy unfolded and pressed both hands to Logan's chest. He leant forwards until his head was resting on Logan's shoulder. "T'anks." he whispered.