BENEATH THE SURFACE

Part Twenty-Five

** Quick note: there will be references to child abuse, so do be warned before jumping into the chapter, hopefully no one finds it too upsetting (although if you got this far along you probably already expect some references anyway). **

"So," Remy sighed, standing at the fish tank in Dr. Forbes office, his eyes following a white fish across the water, "here I am again."

"Yes," Dr. Forbes agreed, she was sitting in her usual chair, notepad nearby. He turned and looked at her, sitting there in that suit that was slightly too boxy for her frame. His eyes fell on the little machine sitting on the table beside her.

"That thing y' got there..." he said, "is it a tape recorder?"

"It's a digital recorder, yes."

"So y' recordin' every word I say," Remy looked away from her again, back into the tank, trying to pretend like looking at the fish was going to help calm his troubled mind. "Y' didn' tell me that the last times I was here."

"It's standard practise now, so I can go back and replay things I might not have caught, so I can think them over before the next sessions."

Remy paused, "so...I guess y' got a file somewhere on a computer...sound bites o' me...blabbin' about ghosts and...things."

"Does that alarm you?" she asked, the pencil in her hand twirled a little absently, her eyes were focused on him when he turned back to look at her.

"Makes it more real, don' it?" he supposed. "Once y' put somethin' on a disk or...on a computer, it's very hard t' get rid of..."

Dr. Forbes paused, "the same could be said for memories."

Remy looked away, scowling; his head was swimming a little with the cold and the cough syrup side-effects. "Some telepaths are like...computer nerds...y' know? Capable of scrubbin' a hard drive clean o' anythin' on it."

"Oh?"

"Trouble is...apparently some genius must have coded my computer 'cause telepaths can't even read my mind, let alone get int' it t' do anythin'," Remy uttered.

"Have you ever asked one to try?"

"No," he said, "why woul' I? Drop a bomb of psychological shitstorm int' someone's head? I went through it, why woul' I want anyone else t' do the same?" he mumbled. "My wife...she's the next thing stronger than a telepath..." he rubbed his swimming head, "touches anyone, skin t' skin...bam...sucks up their memories like a vaccuum sucks up dust. Y' got t' be very careful wit' her."

"I would imagine so," Dr. Forbes agreed.

"If y' strong enough, if y' got enough concentration or...y' distracted enough, her vacuum works like it's on a really dirty carpet...y' know?"

"I don't follow."

"She only picks up what's on the top...she don' really manage t' get beneath the surface."

Dr. Forbes shifted in her seat, her expression interested, "what is beneath the surface, Mr. LeBeau."

"Horrible things..." he supposed.

"Why do you struggle with saying it?"

"'Cause it's always been that way," Remy shrugged, he paced a little. "Y' grow up where I did, y' had t' get used t' a lot of things...y' had t' learn t' look the other way, y' had t' learn how t' be discrete and careful..."

"Why?"

"It's like you, wit' y' climbin'..." he admitted. "Y' go up a mountain...y' got t' be careful 'cause y' know when somethin' happens no one gon' hear y'...no one gon' be able t' help y'."

"Is that how it felt? Living with your father?"

"He weren't my father."

"What was he to you?" she asked. He was certain she'd asked this before, his mind was so clouded with this cold he was having a hard time thinking of his last answer.

"Alcoholic...excuse f' a human bein'..." he swallowed, at least his throat felt a little better. Whatever was in the cough syrup certainly took care of that.

"Go on."

"Underhanded...shady..." he felt a little sick.

Dr. Forbes leaned forward a little, her eyes intense, "yes?"

"Heavy handed..." he clamped his mouth shut.

"Say it..."

"What d' y' want me t' say?!" he snapped suddenly.

"I'd like you to take the first step in admitting what is the root of these things you feel...the root of why you feel haunted."

"I feel haunted 'cause there a ghost followin' me wherever I go!" he hissed, "Y' see this?" he gestured to his shaved head, "Y' think this was a style choice? He tried t' rip the hair outta my fuckin' head when he-" he stopped himself, his shoulders tensed and he shook with anger, automatically his shoulders seemed to rise to his neck, almost as if trying to swallow his head with the shame and humiliation of that moment in the stall.

"Mr. LeBeau..." Dr. Forbes took a deep breath, "I'm trying to help you, but I can't until you begin to open up. Speaking in clever riddles and metaphors...changing the subject and cutting yourself off...none of it will help you rid yourself of the ghost of your father."

"He weren't my father!" Remy snapped again.

"What was he?" she asked again, looking at him, her expression serious, demanding. He was reminded of the way the teachers at that awful high school kept looking at him when they determined he had the answer and just wasn't trying hard enough to give it.

"A drunk..."

"And?"

"Gambler..." he shuddered.

"Say it..."

"Slave driver..." he paced, he tried to swallow back he vomited.

Dr. Forbes looked at him expectantly. Unlike school, this pop quiz was easy, he knew the answer, it was on the tip of his tongue and yet, nothing would make it come out.

"Diseased...psychopathic..." he trembled

"And?"

"Pervert...dirty...rough handed...pervert..."

"You're stronger than this, Mr. LeBeau..."

"Rapist," he spat, "that what y' wan' hear? Sittin' there in y' big chair wit' y' notepad and y' fancy digital recorder, probably never had a rough day in y' life. Like bein' paid t' hear the tragedy of others! Maybe it ain' me that's fucked up in the head, it's you!"

The woman said nothing, she was still, looking at him almost like she'd expected the outburst. Remy stood still, he was so angry he was physically shaking, he hadn't felt the tear spill from his left eye and it wasn't until he felt the tickle of it down his neck that he realised it had been there at all.

Sniffing, he used the flat of his hand to wipe his cheek, "this flu..." he muttered weakly, hoping she'd believe the excuse, all the while knowing in his heart it was unlikely.

"Do you feel any different, saying it out loud?"

He moved to the couch and sat down shakily, he felt weak and he wasn't sure if it was just the release of tension from the outburst or his cold. He rubbed his head, it was swimming with thoughts, "jus' tired..." he managed, "I'm tired o' it...tired o' bein' kept up wit' it, tired o' bein' bombarded wit' it...I'm jus' so tired..."

"It's an important step, Mr. LeBeau. Your stalling and hovering only prevents you from moving forward, but to say it, it's like that first step up the mountain...it's going to be a very hard struggle to climb, but if you're willing you will come out at the top of it."

Remy massaged his forehead, it sounded like something a new age guru might spout off rather than something he'd expect a psychiatrist to say.

"Right now, you're tired...because you've been going in circles around the bottom of that mountain, slipping around the edges of it..."

He sighed quietly, "I can't climb a mountain wit' Jean-Luc on my back..."

"That's why I'm here, Mr. LeBeau. To ease the weight of that burden. Are you willing to continue?"

What point was there to walking out now after what he'd just said? Admitting to the psychiatrist had made things too real and he couldn't just leave it at that. Every time he talked about Jean-Luc, the bastard seemed to get stronger. Now...now he'd be capable of much more.

He couldn't do this alone.

Drawing a breath, he gave a weak nod, too tired for argument, too exhausted from the release of one single word.

"Yes."

Rogue gazed in at Remy's empty room; she'd expected to find him there after he'd disappeared shortly after dinner. She'd gone all over looking for him; he wasn't in the rec room or the library; he definitely wasn't studying. His school books were lying in a messy pile beside his stripped-bare mattress.

All of the beds had been stripped bare to try and prevent his case of 'lice' from spreading. Rogue wasn't sure she believed the story about the lice, his head hadn't looked remotely bitten nor itchy. She'd never seen him scratch his head since the day she'd married him.

Ah touched his hair last night, Ah would have seen it, she thought. Lice doesn't happen over night, it takes a little bit to get an infestation goin'...there's no way.

She wanted to broach the subject with Logan, but he too was indisposed. She'd asked the Professor where he'd gone, but had been met with a lecture about people having a right to their private time. It almost made her wonder if Logan had a date.

On a Monday? Weird night for a date, Rogue thought dully, she moved to Remy's dresser and opened up the drawers, curious to see what kind of state he had them in. All of his clothes were gone; part of her wanted to panic about that until she remembered that everyone's clothes had also been taken for emergency cleaning. It was a little drastic, she thought, but the Professor was determined to contain the incident before it spread.

The only thing she found in his drawer was a small leather wallet full of lockpicks, he probably hadn't used them in months. He didn't have many belongings on top of the dresser other than a bottle of cologne, a can of deodorant and the bag he kept his personal washing items in to take to the shower in the morning. Curious, she unzipped it and looked inside, toothbrush, razor, floss and toothbrush, the shower gel was half empty, no shampoo. There was nothing in there that was incriminating, it was all very general.

"What y' hopin' t' find in there?"

She jumped, startled at the sound of his voice at her back. She dropped the bag to the floor, "Remy..." she gasped.

"If y' lookin' f' condoms," he said, bending over to pick up the bag, "I don' keep them in there. Or in the drawers," he added.

Her cheeks flushed at the thought he'd been watching her standing there raking through what little he had. "I wasn't..."

"Y' were snoopin'," he supposed, "like a wife."

"Ssh!" her eyes shifted nervously to the open door.

"Jus' an observation," he said dully, he zipped the bag up and placed it back onto the dresser.

She expected him to be far more angry about this; he looked dull and tired, expression a little vacant, eyes a little puffy. These things stood out so much more thanks to the new haircut and every time she saw him now, she was still as startled as she had been the first time he'd come into the chemistry classroom that afternoon.

"Where were you?"

"Took a walk," he said, "fresh air supposed t' be good f' y' when y' ill."

"Ah looked everywhere...Ah checked the security footage..."

"I was down on that lil' shore near the cave," he replied, "peaceful there...had a bit of a headache, sound of the water helped."

"Oh."

She wished she believed him; she sensed the lies, could practically smell the lies like Indian food flatulence in an elevator. He didn't look like he was in the mood to be pressed for truths today as much as she was desperate to do so. He looked sad and exhausted; his nose slightly cracked where he'd rubbed it too much over the weekend, his voice was hoarser than ever.

"Why y' in here anyway?" he asked, he swept his hand across his brow sleepily.

"Ah thought maybe you'd need some help with homework before we went to bed..." she explained, it was partly the truth. The other part of the truth was that she was worried about him.

"I did it...don' know if I got any of it right," he shrugged.

"You need me to go over it with you?" she asked softly.

"I don' really care if it's right or not, coul' give a fuck right now," he mumbled.

Rogue hovered awkwardly between him and the door, she wanted to close the door, press further for explanations, try to get beneath all these lies and avoidance, but her worries of being caught left her too nervous at the thought of it. "Do..." she drew a breath, "do you want come downstairs and hang for a little? Maybe watch a half hour of television or somethin'?"

"Kinda tired...feelin' a little sleepy right now..."

"Yeah that'll be cough syrup," she supposed. "It does that to me too."

He gazed down to his bare mattress, "I guess I got t' get clean sheets and make the bed..."

"Let me do it for you," she touched his arm, "You look exhausted..."

"I can do it," he assured.

"No...let me take care of you..." she said gently, her cheeks burning a little.

"Ain' y' worried about who gon' see that...who gon' think things?" he asked with an exhausted grunt.

"No," she sighed, "no, Ah'm not."

"Y' beautiful, y' know," he said after a moment, unprompted and out of the blue. She gazed up at him and saw that so very unhappy expression on his handsome face. "An' y' really don' deserve the trouble I bring."

"Hush," Rogue shook her head at him and with a sigh, headed off to get his sheets. It must have barely taken two minutes to get out into the hall and to find a sheet and a blanket (most of them had been taken to replace the ones that had been removed for washing). By the time she got back to his room, he was already upon the mattress, sleeping soundly.

She sighed softly, staring down at him as he lay there curled up on that narrow bare mattress like an infant. She bent down by his bed, clutching the blankets in her hands. She was barely a foot from him but she felt miles away, separated by layers and layers of unhappiness, secrecy and complication. Gently, she spread the blanket over him after removing his boots; as she moved behind him to tuck the blanket beneath the mattress, she took a glance at the back of his head.

The incredibly short hair that he'd been left with was so fine his scalp showed right through, the redness had faded, but now that it had, there was something she had not noticed in the classroom. Gently, she brushed her gloved fingers against his scalp, gently pushing the hair a little. There were a few tiny bald spots, not scars, but as if the hair had been yanked. Her stomach churned with anxiety as she thought perhaps that he'd been pulling his hair out.

Remy, she groaned in thought at him, her eyes grew misty, she felt herself shake with emotion. Why didn't you say somethin' to me? Why didn't you tell me? Instead of havin' this whole place turned upside down on lice patrol...you could have said what was goin' on...

For a moment, her selfish wish to see him better made her consider taking her glove off and touching him, to absorb whatever memories or thoughts he may have in that sleeping mind, try to decipher what was really going on. If she was careful enough, she wouldn't hurt him too badly, would she? But if she did would he ever know? Would he wake to feel the sting of her powers?

"Leave him be," came a soft voice from the door.

Rogue raised her eyes to see Logan standing at the threshold, his expression dark as it always was these days whenever he was in the same room as Remy. "Ah was...just coverin' him up..."

"I saw. Come on...let him sleep, he needs it."

She reluctantly got up and followed outside, shutting the door to his room behind her. "Ah'm not surprised he got sick...that room is always cold," she shivered.

"Didn't used to be," Logan said, "I used to have that room four years ago, it was fine then. Usually ran hot."

"Maybe the air condition' is screwed," Rogue reasoned.

"Maybe," Logan somewhat agreed. He walked with her to her room and he waited until they were inside, closing the door quietly. Rogue thought how rather odd that would look if anyone happened to see it. An instructor quietly going into a student's room and shutting the door, even Logan didn't usually do that. She knew at once that they were going to talk about things seriously, and she felt her lungs deflate at the thought.

"So...tell me about today."

"What about it?" she asked, she sat upon the edge of her bed.

"Any developments?" he asked, he moved to the window to gaze outside.

"Other than Remy comin' to chemistry class lookin' like Wentworth Miller in Prison Break?" she snorted. "No."

"You believe him about this lice thing?" Logan asked curiously, he turned and looked at her, eyebrows furrowed.

"No," she said truthfully, "Ah've never seen him so much as scratch his head in all the time Ah've known him...suddenly he comes up with a massive head-shave-requirin' lice infestation? No," she shook her head.

"Causin' utter chaos here with the aftermath of that lie," he muttered.

"So you don't believe it either," she realised, her stomach quivering. To hear Logan suspected it was a lie only made her anxiety levels sky-rocket. She wanted to feel glad that someone agreed, not worse. She almost wished he hadn't brought it up.

"No," he muttered, "we've had lice in the mansion before; it has to get pretty bad before anyone gets to the drastic stage where you think about shaving heads. For the most part, medicated shampoo works. I don't believe for one minute they'd just shave his damn head without going to the shampoo first – they didn't even try it."

Rogue stared down at the floor, "Why are you guys goin' to all this effort then to make sure the infestation is contained?"

"Stil have to take precautions. He had a pretty official note, Professor called his school, spoke to the nurse, she confirmed the kid had lice. We also needed some way to keep Ororo and Hank out of the loop," Logan explained, "I don't feel happy about it. Eventually they're going to have to know – I'm sure they already suspect but there's not much I can do about it. The kids, they need to believe it, because otherwise there's too many questions they'd never get answers to."

"Oh."

"I don't agree with the lies but...I gotta admit, he was smart to find a viable excuse. I hate lying to my friends and the kids, but it's easier to go along with a white lie than go into the horrible truth of it."

"Yeah," she supposed.

"Rogue..." Logan took a deep breath, "if...something was going on that you thought was a warning sign, you'd say, wouldn't you?"

Rogue nodded weakly.

"I'm not just talking about his deciding to shave his head. I'm talking about other things. The way he acts in private with you, things he says or...does."

She wasn't sure what warning signs could be considered worth mentioning. She suspected he was lying to her, certainly, did those count? She still suspected he had feelings for someone else, did that count too?

What about his behaviour in the cave? It had been strange, a little rough and demanding, exciting but a little dangerous. Her heart pounded at the thought of that moment, it hadn't been like him. That was the warning sign that something was wrong. But how was she supposed to relay that to Logan? How was she supposed to tell him without him in effect chasing Remy up with a shotgun?

Mention that, he'll probably shut off that damn cave himself with bricks and mortar, Rogue thought. Ah can't lose that, it's the only place me and Remy can go together that no one can find us or interrupt. Besides...it wasn't exactly...bad, just...different.

"Other than this head shavin' thing," Rogue spoke up, "Ah can't think of anythin' unusual."

Logan didn't believe her for a single moment, and she knew it. She tried to hide her lies all the while stomach fluttering anxiously at the thought he might contest it. He moved to the door, but paused, "if anything happens...anything..." he looked towards her, "You know you can come to me."

Rogue nodded slowly.

"You know what I always tell you about your powers?" Logan asked, hand poised on the door knob.

"There's a time and a place to use them," Rogue responded.

Logan frowned darkly, "be prepared for the day you may have to bend that rule...if it comes to it."

Rogue sighed inwardly, she wasn't sure what he meant by it, did he mean he agreed with the thought of her using it to learn more? Or that she may need to use her powers in another way...to what? Restrain him?

"Things will get better some day, Rogue," Logan promised, "it's like a storm...gotta ride it out before you see the blue skies again."

"Yeah, Ah know."

Remy woke to a room in almost pitch blackness; for just a moment, he'd felt the weight against his back, the shifting of a body, the lingering putrid smell. Hastily, breath catching in his throat, he fumbled for the lamp in the darkness, the feeling of flesh grazed his fingers before he felt the iron stand of the lamp and the switch. He couldn't be in the darkness with him...in the darkness anything could happen.

His heart was pounding, feeling like it might explode out of his chest; the light splashed across the room and he was there alone; outside, the patter of rain was heavy against his window, it was the only sound to be heard other than his frantic breath.

Sweeping his hand across his head he thought to run his hand through his long hair, and for a moment forgot it wasn't there any more, his hand grazed his head and he trembled. For one moment, it had all seemed like it could have been nothing more than a horrible dream.

Get y'self t' gether, he told himself. His stomach was jumping, his fingers tingling and trembling, fear from the nightmares and memories, the fear that for a second as he'd been waking up he'd felt things, he was certain his hand had grazed Jean-Luc's skin. He moved from the bed, stumbling a little, body still felt half asleep.

The single mattress he had slept upon had no sheets, there was a folded sheet on the floor near the bottom of the mattress and a brown fleece blanket still clinging to his left foot; he couldn't even remember going to bed, couldn't remember much. He fought for the last thing he remembered but it was all hazy.

He couldn't be in here right now; this was all too much.

He was certain he was going to be chased back into his room as he stepped out into the dimly lit hall; it was odd how much longer the hall seemed at night when the lights were out, the darkness casting uneasy shadows in corners. He tried to walk in the light, feeling a little unsteady and dizzy, not fully woken yet. Somehow, he made it downstairs without incident; he didn't care what time it was, he needed to be elsewhere, he couldn't sleep again now.

He's around me when I sleep, Remy reminded himself uneasily. I coul' feel him...

There was sound coming from the kitchen, the clicking of metal against ceramic and he paused at the door and gazed in, the lights were off but the fridge was open and Tabitha Smith was poised on her tiptoes, fork in hand, digging into a devil's food cake within, not even bothering to take a slice but simply eat from it right out of the fridge.

He wanted to not care about her eating, because he had far more to worry about, like what had happened in his bedroom right then. Tabitha's eating cake at what was probably now the wee hours of the morning was nothing in comparison.

Remy reached inside and brushed his hand against the lightswitch, turning on the cabinet lights; Tabitha jumped, almost losing her fork in the process of being startled.

"Holy shit," she gasped.

"Sorry, ma'am. Food police, y' gon' have t' put the fork down and come wit' me," he said, his voice still hoarse from the cough.

"Funny," she muttered. "I thought for a minute it was Logan..."

Tabitha took the large plate with the cake upon it out of the fridge and brought it over to the table, placing it down upon the table.

"Ain' they gon' be mad y' eatin' tomorrows dessert?" Remy asked, dropping into a seat at the table, he rubbed his tired face.

"Probably. Someone had already eaten some of it. I'd guess Kurt...he eats like a pig," she shrugged.

Y' two woul' be so perfect f' each other, Remy thought, but wondered if perhaps the thought a little mean. He supposed his exhaustion had made him slightly grumpy. "Guess y' had trouble sleepin' too."

"Yeah," Tabitha said quietly.

"How come?"

"Just...stuff, I guess," she dug the fork into the frosting of the cake and scooped ssome off, she put it to her lips.

"Y' wan' talk about it?" he asked with a sigh. He didn't want to talk about anything right now, but somehow he couldn't stop himself from asking because he knew there was no choice about the matter when it came to Tabitha. She was going to tell him whether he wanted to hear about it or not.

"Professor pulled me into his office like a week ago and asked if things were bothering me," Tabitha offered him the fork, he accepted it although he wasn't remotely hungry. "I think...I don't know, I think my dad has been trying to get in touch with him to get through to me or something, I don't know..."

Remy pushed the fork into the cake, he took a small bite, it was far too sweet for this time of the morning (which he read from the clock on the wall to be just after two).

"I was asked to do the drugs test...I mean...every time I'm here I get made to do those stupid tests..."

"Yeah, I had t' do it too," he admitted.

"I think..." she began frustratedly, she took the fork back from him, took a large bite of the cake and spoke through it, "I think they're hoping that it'll show up in my pee that I'm not behaving or something, so they have a legit reason to kick me out."

Remy tilted his head curiously, "why would they want to kick you out?"

"Because I'm sucky at bein' a mutant, sucky at school...sucky at anything in this place," Tabitha remarked.

"Sure that's not true," Remy responded softly.

"Yes it is," Tabitha muttered, "there's only one thing I've ever been good at, Remy, and I usually got to be on my knees to do it."

"Shush," he said quietly.

"Doesn't get you far in school academically, but it does get you popular," Tabitha remarked, "with guys, at least."

"Popularity isn't everythin'," Remy remarked.

"The Professor said..." Tabitha ran her finger idly against the table, "...said he wants to send me to therapy. He's set up an appointment and everything...didn't even ask if I'd consider it...just...did it anyway."

"He's tryin' to help," Remy realised. He couldn't deny that at least they finally saw Tabitha wasn't as together as she made out, at least they were taking steps. He hated that they'd done the same for him but he could see why, could see the reasoning behind it, could almost agree.

"What good is therapy going to do?" she snorted.

Been askin' myself the same thing, Remy thought dully. "Maybe jus'...give y' someone t' talk t' about it."

"Yeah, what if the person I talk to about it thinks I'm fucked up in the head, you ever think about that?" Tabitha asked. She rubbed the back of her neck anxiously, "what if the shrink tells the Professor what I say?"

"They don't tell," he said, Tabitha ignored the comment, continuing, still eating nervously.

"What if they tell the Professor about my dad...I...god I couldn't stand the thought of him knowing..." she winced, digging the fork deep into the cake.

Remy stopped her hand, gripping it there, fork stuck in the middle of the cake, "he's more understandin' than y' think..."

Tabitha turned to look at him questioningly.

"Y' think y' the only person in this place who knows 'bout me?" he asked quietly, he let go of her hand, suddenly worrying she may find the move too bold, or too meaningful.

"You told him?"

Remy supposed he hadn't told him. No, Logan had...Rogue had, certainly, but he himself hadn't. But for the sake of not going further into the mess of facts, he gave a slow steady nod.

"What'd he say?"

Remy looked away, giving a vague unhappy laugh, "suggested therapy."

"Oh."

"That's where I was earlier...or...last night...dependin' on how y' see right now as bein' yesterday or t' day..." Remy confessed. God it felt odd admitting it, admitting it to someone who hadn't known, the tiniest of the weight falling from his shoulders to just say it. He expected to be met with a look of disbelief, but Tabitha simply sat back a little in her chair, gazing at him.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"What's..." she began a little, her voice barely a breath, "What's it like?"

"Strange...the approach, the questions...she likes t' try and throw me off I guess...hit nerves..." he rubbed the back of his neck, "it ain' how I expected it. Part o' me jus' thought she'd hand me a prescription f' anti-depressants or somethin' and send me on my way...but she listened..."

"Did it help?"

"Too early to tell," he took the fork from her and took a bite of the cake, "I...only jus' tol' her about Jean-Luc..."

"Was...it hard?"

He nodded, "one of the hardest things I've ever had t' do..." he stared at the fork distantly, "I...think the hardest part is that sooner or later...I'm gon' have t' go int' detail...recount everythin'...the stories...the worst parts...the how I felt parts...stuff I've been tryin' t' block out f' the past few years..." he put the fork down on the plate, sighing.

Tabitha stared down at the cake, she didn't lift the fork back up. "Can I ask a question?"

He leaned back in the chair, he sighed deeply, "Y' can ask, but I ain' gon' promise any answers."

She let her elbows rest upon the table, propping up her soft sleepy face in her hands, "even when everything was going on...did you ever fight back?"

The question hurt more than he'd thought it might have; he took a deep breath and stared down to the table, examining the grain of the wood, "I learned early on that the less y' fight, the less it hurts, the less it hurts, the more bearable things become..." he said quietly. "I didn' have many options as a kid...I jus' figured...I was supposed t' play the hand I was dealt..."

Tabitha nodded wearily.

"I think the days after were the worst...the pretendin' nothin' were wrong...actin' like I wasn' hurt...actin' like I didn' feel like givin' up on anythin'. Goin' t' school and havin' t' hide the bruises...make up lies f' them..." he explained, "f' the most part, I think mos' of the people in the parish probably knew...the police, they had they suspicions...but no one ever did anythin'...no one helped. Wit' out confessions, wit' out proof...they'd have never been able t' do much."

Tabitha reached over and touched his arm lightly.

"Y' know the fucked up part?" Remy asked with a sigh. "I still felt like...I owed him somethin'...I still went back there t' save his ass, still paid f' that mortgage, still paid f' the debts he accumulated...I owed him nothin'..." he shook his head, "and yet I still felt like I owed him everythin'..."

Tabitha tentatively touched his hand, "I get it..."

Remy ran a finger across the grain of the table. He hated this, hated that somehow he could talk over these things with Tabitha...with a stranger in an office. He still couldn't work up the nerve to tell Rogue about them.

A soft footstep disturbed them both from their discussion, Remy turned to look over his shoulder, Logan stood there looking groggy, hair mussed, eyes puffy.

"It's nearly two thirty in the mornin'," he muttered sleepily, "time to go to bed. You two have school in six hours."

Remy wondered if it was possible Logan had stood there listening before he'd made his presence known; because there was something softer and more understanding in his voice than there usually was for warnings about being out of bed at this time of night.

Tabitha stood up, she picked up the cake and put it back into the fridge, Remy stood slowly, aware of Logan's watching her. Before, he'd always felt there was something rather leery about the way the man would look at his students, but suddenly he no longer saw it. He saw worry, certainly, but anything underhanded about the way the man stared at the pretty blonde? No.

Remy watched Tabitha be the first to leave the kitchen, "I'll be up in a minute, jus' gon' get a drink," he told Logan, after he coughed a little. He felt Logan watching every move he made as he took a bottle of water from the fridge, unscrewed the cap and took a sip.

"Drink it upstairs, come on, we ain't got all night."

Pausing at the refrigerator, Remy felt the sudden chill in the air that came with the arrival of Jean-Luc. All the same, his body flushed with feverish fear.

"Why y' hoverin', son?" Jean-Luc asked, his voice hissing and cracking like the static on a radio station.

Don' call me that, Remy thought, the putrid smell of Jean-Luc set off a new coughing fit.

"Y' hopin' he's gon' corner y' in here, make y' his?"

"Hurry up," Logan warned sharply.

He'd meant to think it at Jean-Luc, whom Remy spied in a silhouette hanging behind Logan, but somehow the words came out in a vocal croak, "Shut up!" and he realised it had aimed right at Logan instead.

Logan looked at him, his expression dark, brow furrowing.

"My head...it's poundin'," Remy tried to weave a lie quickly. "Y' voice is like a fuckin' steam train goin' through my brain..."

"Next time, ask nice before I make you ask nice," Logan frowned at him.

"He'll do more than make you ask nice, son. He'll make you ask for mercy before he's through."

Remy watched his adoptive father move behind Logan, the shadow swaying slightly like mist. I'm not a child anymore...no one can make me do anythin', Remy thought at him angrily.

"They already are...makin' y' go t' school," Jean-Luc hissed.

Remy rubbed his head, it really did hurt now. They jus' want me t' have the opportunities y' never gave me...

"Lies! They want y' there so y' out of their hair. They don' wan' y' here...they toleratin' y'. He is toleratin' y'!" the silhouette gestured wildly towards Logan as Remy took another sip to try and dull the pain in his throat, to try and stop the coughing. "He's toleratin' y' because of that whore y' call a wife. He's jus' waitin', waitin' until the time when he and the rest of them can find a way t' get y' off t' a nice little padded cell in a loony bin, where y' belong."

Remy spluttered as the coughing began mid drink, the smell of Jean-Luc, his presence, Remy wondered if it was him that was causing the illness.

"Take a breath," Logan moved over and grabbed the water bottle from him, putting it on the nearby counter, "You're okay."

Logan's hand on his back, patting a little; it was too much. Jean-Luc's lurking presence, his foul smell, the words. Remy panicked and turned, clocking him in the face with his fist. He yelped as his fist collided with the steel skeleton beneath the surface of Logan's skin, and he grabbed his own hand, hissing in pain.

"Are you crazy!?" Logan stepped back, not even seeming to have felt the punch in the slightest.

Jean-Luc chuckled, shadowy hand coming into the light, fingers bony and decaying, fingernails far too long, ragged and ripped.

"Don' touch me!" Remy snapped, he shifted away, "Jus' stay the fuck away from me..." he rubbed his hand, thinking it probably fortunate he could still move his fingers. He realised if he'd been any stronger, had attempted to punch much harder, he may have broken some fingers.

"Get to bed," warned Logan. "Now."

Remy didn't find the need to argue.

End of Part Twenty-Five

Weee, weekend update successfully up. Hope you're all having a fantastic weekend and that you enjoy this slightly darker chapter (yikes, Jean-Luc is a scary dude).

Thanks to all as always for the awesome reviews. I know someone was a bit confused about why Remy shaved his head - I probably didn't write it clearly enough but it was in panic because Jean-Luc had a hold of his hair, in my mind, Remy did it to stop Jean-Luc from having something to hold on to (not that that would probably stop a ghost...hmmm).

Anyway, I'm off to have a lie down and watch some youtube before sleepytime (2.22 am! yikes). Hopefully will be dropping an update in at the middle of the week :)