Part 5
Remy ran a hand through his damp hair as he walked down the stairs, intent on reaching the kitchen and getting a late lunch. He really didn't care who he saw; he was hungry and he was gonna get some food no matter what. He hopped down the last step and wandered soundlessly across the empty room at its foot, eventually finding himself at his destination, which was, to his immense gratitude, unoccupied. He smiled at the white refrigerator in the corner. At least the X-Men had had enough sense to refurbish the kitchen after Bastion cleaned out the mansion. They'd even gotten a chance to add some beds and the barest of furniture to the bedrooms. He frowned. There was still no TV though, probably Stormy's doing. She'd never been too fond of the rewarding activity of wasting one's mind away as they stared at senseless, colorful pictures on the tube. Too bad. She had no idea what she was missing.
There was the sound of the suction of the frig door releasing its hold on the main unit, and then the refrigerator was open. A slow smile spread over Remy's lips. Fully stocked. He held the door open with his leg while he filled both arms with the makings of a sandwich. The last time he'd eaten had been an early dinner yesterday. He'd skipped breakfast to sleep late and it was almost 2:00PM now. The pile of objects in his arms was just reaching its completion when he felt Wolverine enter the room behind him.
"Sneakin' out fer a mid-afternoon snack Cajun?"
Remy turned and grinned at him, letting the refrigerator door close as he walked over to the table and dropped his items on it. Logan watched with an expression of bemusement as the food spilled across the polished wood surface.
"Or maybe more like a mid-afternoon feast?" He raised an eyebrow at the taller man before him.
"Oh, give me a break Logan. Been a long time since I had someone ta lynch food off of, no?"
"Jus' make sure ya don't leave a mess Gumbo. 'Ro'll hang ya if she's left ta clean up."
Remy chuckled and smiled devilishly. "Sure Logan, no problem." The other man just shook his head.
"Heard 'bout yer little incident this morning."
Remy scowled at the counter where he was busy gathering utensils and a plate. "Dat de newest Mansion gossip?"
"Yep. You been occupying conversations a lot recently."
"Oh, I'm honored," Remy replied sarcastically. He began chopping onions and peppers with ferocious efficiency. Wolverine stood silently before him for a moment, watching.
Finally he spoke. "Seriously Gumbo. Cecilia tol' me that ya had pneumonia recently. You sure yer okay Cajun?"
"Oh yeah Logan, I jus' fine an' dandy."
Wolverine's expression darkened. "Don't ya try that defensive junk with me Cajun."
"What do y' wan' me ta do? Be all happy an' preten' notin' happened?"
The two were staring at each other now, Remy's half-made sandwich momentarily forgotten. "Look Cajun. The Morlock Massacre was one o' the worse things I've had to deal with as an X-Man. I swore to make all those responsible pay. But you ain't the man that was responsible. Best as I can tell he ain't been 'round since ya joined up with the X-Men. And I believe ya when you say ya didn't know what you were getting yerself into when ya led the Marauders. You made a stupid mistake that cost lots of lives. Jus' don't make it again.
"But the X-Men made a mistake too. Should've never left one of our own ta die like that. I just hope the members of this team aren't stupid enough to let that happen again. It's good yer back Cajun, cause there're a lot of things that need ta be resolved. But don't ya go messin' stuff up with yer attitude when someone's tryin' ta make things better. I had nothin' ta do with leavin' ya in Antarctica."
"T'anks for de advise mon ami. I be sure ta keep it in mind next time Drake's tryin' ta freeze me to death." Remy returned to his sandwich ignoring the low growl emanating from the Canadian's throat.
"Ya really know how ta push people's buttons, don't ya Cajun."
"Jus' part o' de charm."
"An' women really go fer that?"
"All the time, cherie."
"Yer gonna get it for that Gumbo. Jus' you wait 'till the next time we play basketball..."
"Dat a challenge?"
"Maybe." Logan shrugged and turned, walking out of the room, "When yer well enough to play a game without coughing yerself to death." Remy smiled at Logan's back. He would have added something, just to get the last word, but the Cannuck was already gone. He shook his head and returned his attention to his sandwich, nostalgia bringing him back to the last time they had played basketball, and his smile widened at the memories.
§ ¨ © ª
Remy let out a slow, steady breath of air, concentrating on controlling his breathing as he went through the exercise. Cold, clammy sweat clung to him and the staff he held was a comforting, familiar, weight in his hands. He turned it, jabbing downwards, moving steadily and slowly through the sequence. It was a routine imbedded in his mind from when he was a pup just learning the art of fighting. It was carefully controlled and designed to increase in difficulty as it progressed. The moves would get faster and faster and eventually flips and summersaults would be added.
But right now Remy was taking it slow, working himself gradually into the routine. It felt strange having to put so much effort into completing the early, easy stages of it. It felt uncannily like he was just a kid again, trying desperately to increase his stamina and endurance to please the man he had come to know as father. But now his father was not here, just him. And he was pushing himself harder than ever to come back from his recent ordeals for no reason other than to satisfy himself.
The air felt cold and irritating to his lungs, the temperature having dropped off quite a bit from earlier in the day. Tiny ripples in the lake he stood next to indicated a slight breeze. He couldn't feel the wind though. The boathouse that towered beside him blocked it rather efficiently. He forced himself to focus, pushing out all the irrelevant details of his surroundings. The water ceased to exist; the cabin no longer stood; the cold no longer sent shivers across his skin.
There was only Remy and the staff. He swung it around, flowing into the next, faster, section of the sequence. Breathing was starting to get difficult but he forced his lungs not to spasm, sweat breaking out on his forehead with the effort. Time slipped from his fingers and vanished into the oblivion of unnoticed circumstances that surrounded him.
Faster. He turned and jabbed, the beat of his heart and the rasp of his breathing echoing through his head, perfectly in tune. More speed. He whirled around, stepping forward as he placed a high kick at an invisible enemy. The staff was no longer his main weapon, all parts of his body became involved, working together in a strange, graceful, deadly dance.
Now the next level. He somersaulted through the air, flinging out a roundhouse before he back flipped to his original position. Everything worked together perfectly, every move executed with a practiced precision. But the concentration he had to exert for what should have been such a simple exercise was immense. And he wasn't even up to the most difficult part. His teeth ground together with the effort of keeping his body under control when every cell of his being protested that it was unable to do what he demanded of it so soon.
It was too late when he noticed the person approaching with his spatial sense. The mark was already threateningly close and he had no time to determine its identity. Acting on instinct, he deviated from the normal routine and somersaulted over the head of the person, swiping out his leg as he landed to make contact with the joint behind the knees. The assailant went down quickly and before it could get its bearings and regroup, Remy was on top it, one knee pressed to the chest while the staff rested heavily on the throat. It took a moment for Remy's vision to clear enough for him to see the person he was pinning. But as he realized who the woman was, his eyes widened and he promptly rolled off of her, dropping the staff to the ground.
"'M sorry chere. Didn' know it was you," he quickly explained, between gasps for air. Rogue sat up slowly, brushing dirt off her uniform. For a moment she looked angry but then she sighed and seemed to let it go.
"Guess Ah had it comin' fah sneakin' up on ya sugah."
He didn't answer, breathing was too hard now that his concentration was broken, but he stood and offered her a hand. "Y' okay?" he finally managed.
"Sure, Ah'm invulnerable aren't ah?" She rose, accepting the proffered hand, and stared at him for a moment, eyes travelling over his body. "How 'bout you Remy? You're not lookin' yer best ya know. Yah shouldn't be working yourself so hard. I heard 'bout what happened when ya went jogging."
"I'm fine!" He rolled his eyes, exasperated. "I can take care of m'self. Remy's a big boy now, no?" All this concern the X-Men suddenly had was getting pretty annoying.
"Well Ah'm sorry fah carin'!" He saw the flare in her eyes and knew a fight was coming, one which he was in no mood to have right now. Especially after all that had happened, all the hope he'd found that they might actually be able to make their relationship work. If she could forgive him for what she knew of his past and if he could just find a way to forgive her for leaving him in Antarctica, something that wasn't even her fault, then maybe things could actually work out between them.
Suddenly Remy was wracked with a brief but violent bout of coughing. Rogue stepped toward him in alarm. "Remy?" she asked concerned.
"Jus'...give...me...a...sec..." he managed between coughs. It subsided after a moment but the damage was already done. When he looked up Rogue was glassy-eyed, desperately fighting back tears.
"Ah'm so sorry Remy. If Ah jus' could've been stronger after that kiss, maybe ah wouldn't have left ya. And ya wouldn't be so..."
"Utterly pathetic?" he supplied icily. Then he winced at his own words. This was so frustrating to him, feeling so weak, especially in front of someone whose opinion he cherished so much. And he couldn't deny that he was still a little angry at her. Logically, he knew that Antarctica wasn't her fault, but it hurt to know that his self-hatred had been stronger than her love, and with that pain came doubt and mistrust.
"Look, chere," he said after a moment, before Rogue could interject defensively. "It happened an' we can' change it. Maybe it be better if we jus' stop lookin' back an' start moving forward."
She gazed at him a moment, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and then nodded. "Ah think that's a good idea, sugah." She paused for a moment hesitantly. "But first ah jus' have one teensy-weensy little question that's been eatin' away at me... how exactly did ya get back from Antartica?"
He held his gaze on her while he contemplated his answer. How could he tell her about New Son? 'Hey Rogue, I'm back ta steelin' an' doin' bad t'ings 'cause I owe it to a guy I never even met for savin' m' life. Hope y' don' disapprove.' Yeah, right. Either she would feel incredibly guilty for playing a part in getting him stuck in such a situation, or she would take matters into her own hands and try to get him out of it. Both of which would cause more harm than good. He didn't want to lie to her though, to start the cycle of deception and secrets all over again. But until he knew more about New Son he couldn't risk getting her involved.
"An Inuit man happened t' find me jus' in time." It wasn't a lie, even if it wasn't the whole truth. It would just have to do for now.
"Oh," she said seeming to accept this. "So... what happens now?"
He let his eyes glow slightly as he stared at her. "I dunno chere. But I'm willin' to wait and see." He took a step closer and quirked a corner of his lips up slightly. "If you are." She didn't back away but smiled flirtatiously at him.
"You ain't so tough Cajun. Ah can last as long as you can an' more."
"Y' sure?" He asked, now only inches away from her. Their hands intertwined between them. Her grip was hard, desperate. She was scared, terrified of being this close to someone, but she was fighting that fear.
"Positive." There lips barely brushed each other and he could feel the slight tingle of Rogue's power activated by their touch. But it was weak and would remain insignificant as long as they didn't try to touch anymore.
"Remy?" she whispered, slightly alarmed.
"'S okay, Rogue."
He pulled back slightly to give her room to relax, but remained close. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a white bolt of lightning strike the clear, dusk sky. The world momentarily lit around them in stark, white, blazing glory, and then dimmed again. Remy turned his head to look in the direction of the strange phenomenon and Rogue did the same. "What do ya think that was all 'bout, sugah?" Rogue inquired curiously.
"Probl'y Stormy's way o' tellin' us to get out butts back to de mansion now or she'll bring dem back dere for us."
"In that case we bettah get goin'." She turned to begin walking but waited while he bent to retrieve a water bottle he'd brought and his forgotten staff. Then, together, they walked toward the sprawling mansion beyond the trees.
§ ¨ © ª
Gambit stood on the roof, enjoying the great view of the sunset beyond the treetops. He had not come up here to angst... just to enjoy the view. Oh, who was he kidding? Of course he'd come up here to angst. He always came up here to angst.
Remy glanced down at the roof beneath his feet as his thoughts turned to the people inside the mansion. He'd skipped dinner with the X-Men, but not simply because he was avoiding most of them. In fact, he might have gone just to annoy a few of the members of whom he'd never been too fond anyway. But Remy hadn't joined the once merry mutants for dinner because right now he couldn't even think of food, let alone see it, without feeling queasy.
Something was definitely not right. A stabbing headache throbbed behind his eyes, a nauseating feeling twisted his stomach, and all over his body he felt tingling. It was a strange pins-and-needles like sensation that he had never remembered experiencing the exact likeness of before. Remy would have liked nothing more than to sleep, to lose the pain in the obliviousness of unconsciousness. Unfortunately he felt too sick even to do that.
The wind picked up a bit and Remy pulled his long duster closer around his lithe body. The frustration welled up like a big angry ball in his chest. There was only one ready reason he could find for his sickness, and that was that he had overworked himself exercising. How long would it take for him to recover?
Remy had never been an overwhelmingly patient person by nature. His mutant powers played a large part in that. Like most energy-welders, he had an extremely high metabolism. It made him constantly anxious, feeling the need to be doing things and keeping busy every waking moment. Boredom was very, very easy to come by with Remy LeBeau.
But he was a master thief, trained by the New Orleans Thieves Guild to be careful and willing to wait. And even before that it had been a skill he'd needed simply to survive on the streets homeless, abandoned and alone, picking pockets and such just to feed himself. Patience was something he had needed to learn early to survive. But despite his ability to fight down the restlessness inside him when necessary, it had never come easily, and sometimes not at all. There had been more than one occasion when Remy had acted rashly, without thinking simply because he needed to do something, anything. And now the constraints placed by his weakened body made that feeling all the more prominent. He was a man who depended on his abilities, using every resource in his reach, and backing up superior skills with a cocky attitude to match.
But now Remy wasn't quite as sure of himself as he had once been. His body felt almost like it wasn't his anymore, incapable of the things it once found so easy. Usually Remy optimistically told himself that he would be back in top form in no time, that all it would take is some work. But now, with the queasiness sending him to wrap trembling hands around his stomach, he wasn't so certain. Sure he might be physically healed in a month or so, but did he really have that long? Being with the X-Men reminded him of how many enemies he'd made. If one of them chose now to enact their revenge... he wasn't sure he could take them, wasn't sure he could win, wasn't sure he could survive.
Eyelids closed over glowing crimson and he took a deep settling breath. He hated to admit it, but he was scared, real scared. He stood here, alive, on the rooftop of those he had believed sent him to die... when really he should be lying face down and frozen in some pile of snow at the bottom of the globe. He still didn't understand how he'd survived as long as he did before New Son found him. The memories were somewhat dim... he'd been so weak. There was a point where he could barely walk in his starvation. Then there had been a swirl of green surrounding him, seeping into his pores, invading his body and mind, before it was gone and he was left crouched on the ground in shock. He still didn't know if it had been a hallucination or not. But if it had been, how had he suddenly found enough strength to wander out into the snow and search in desperation for a way home? And why had he seen the same aberration surround him later in the Savage Land? Remy hadn't a clue and that simple fact was eating away at him, because somewhere deep inside he knew, that if he found out the answer to his questions he wouldn't much like them.
Even Remy's own mutant powers seemed to be foreign and strange to him. His ability to charge objects with kinetic energy had been evolving slowly, growing more powerful... and Remy worried that the flood gates he had risked everything to build in his mind... might be crumbling. He'd given so much to hide away that dangerous part of himself, the part he couldn't control... And so many lives had been lost for that...
Remy fell to his knees with a groan, his stomach feeling as if it had just flipped within him. Sweat poured off his brow and he grimaced with the pain. "Get...'hold o' y'self Remy..." he whispered as he trembled. What was happening to him? Remy bent to let his head rest on the shingles of the roof, breathing deeply to ward off the nausea. The slant of the roof came up to meet his forehead and he found the position oddly comfortable.
So he stayed that way... for a long time. He might have gone down to his room in hopes that he would manage to fall asleep in the luxury of a bed... but he wasn't sure he'd make it. And he didn't want an X-Man to find him collapsed on the floor halfway down the hall to the Men's Wing. He couldn't let them see his weakness like that; the disastrous jog that morning had been bad enough. So Remy stayed there, not quite sleeping, but managing to relax somewhat despite the pain.
His head was still down and his eyes closed when he sensed the projectile moving toward him with his kinesthetic sense. A moment later he heard the noise of it shrieking through the air, and then he was rolling out of the way and onto his feet, acting purely on reflex. He came up holding some cards his hand had found in his coat pocket, stomach lurching terribly. Remy did his best to ignore it and let his eyes search the rooftop.
About 10 meters away he found Sara, an angry scowl covering her face. The bones stuck out of her body at odd, disjointed angles, not even sparing her face from having to bear their painful mark. Striking pink hair spiked up from around a few stubs of bone that poked out on her forehead. She was reaching for another dagger and preparing to throw it, her eyes red and irritated... with pain? With tears? He noticed in his quick stock of his attacker, the pale, unnatural color of her skin and he wondered if that was a side affect of her powers... or maybe from living underground in the tunnels so long? But somehow he didn't remember her color being quite so deathly the last time he'd seen her.
She threw the bone spike she was holding and he dodged out of the way, letting the weapon fly by his left ear. "Now yer gonna pay fer all the death ya caused Gene Traitor. Now the Morlocks get their revenge." The scratchy voice grated in his ears. But there was more to the huskiness than emotion... she sounded... sick.
Remy held three glowing cards in his right hand, but refused to throw them. He couldn't hurt this girl, not after all she'd been through on account of him already. "Petite... Sara... I sorry girl. I didn' know Sinister meant t' kill de Morlocks... I would've never helped him if I did... Maybe dat ain't no excuse... but I really am sorry. I don' wanna fight y' Sara. I can' bring dem back... an' killin' me won' make what happened go 'way." He managed to keep his voice even and his face a carefully controlled mask of sincerity. Wouldn't do to have her know his head was pounding so hard that he thought it was going to burst, now would it? She'd picked the worst possible time to do this... but then, she'd planned it that way, hadn't she?
"A little late for 'sorry' ain't it?" She mocked. Then her body dove through the air with a speed he hadn't expected. He narrowly avoided being pulled to the ground by her. But that didn't save him from the dagger she stabbed into the back of his thigh as she rolled to her feet besides him. Barely allowing a groan to escape his lips, Remy flipped backward, ignoring the throbbing pain in his leg as best he could. By some miracle he managed to land neatly, with some added space between him and Sara. She was smiling broadly as she reached for another bone. "Ya scared yet murderer? Well you will be. I'll have ya peein' in yer pants and screaming for yer mommy before I'm done. And then I'll rip yer heart out... that is if ya have one."
He ignored the threats and reached behind him for the dagger planted firmly in the back of his leg. This was gonna hurt. He braced himself and ripped it out, swinging it around to hold in front of him. Now he had a weapon other than his cards. Whipping his arm out, he threw the cards in his right hand with practiced precision at the roof just beneath Marrow's feet. It was a low level charge, but just enough to sent her stumbling backward onto the floor. He was above her before she could regain her stance, straddled over her and pinning each of her wrists with the toes of a boot, pushing down with just enough pressure to keep her there, but not enough to hurt her. The point of the bone dagger he'd pulled from his leg was aimed threateningly at her neck, and he could feel the warm blood seeping over the back of his left thigh, soaking his jeans in warm, wet, liquid.
She stared up at him with hatred in her eyes, refusing to look scared or defeated despite the weapon aimed at her throat. And rightly so...her legs were still free, and eventually she would decide to ignore the pointed dagger as a bluff and use them. He needed to talk quickly. Fighting down the strengthening nausea, he kept his voice low, and somewhat calm despite the emotions whirling inside of him. "Sara...do y' 'member me?"
"I'll never ferget what ya did, Gene Traitor," she spat viciously.
"Dat's not what I asked. Do y' 'member me. Can' y' actually see me in y' memories."
She was silent. Brooding.
"Well I 'member y'," he said quietly. "Y' were only a pup... but I'll never forget carryin' y' outta dose tunnels."
She stared at him blankly for a second, her eyes narrowing as she thought. He watched her, seeing her face easily through the darkness, as realization blossomed there. Her features contorted in wide-eyed shock, briefly flickering to fear, before settling on horror. "It was you..." Her voice was whispery and weak. Once again he was struck by the sense that something was physically wrong with her. But maybe the queasiness he saw there was just the result of what she was remembering.
"You were the one who... who... took me out of the tunnels... I remember. You were hurt... stumbling... and I was scared because of the way your eyes glowed... the exact color of the blood all around me." His heart ached with her words... she sounded so much like the lost, innocent little girl he'd met so long ago. "You... you... were almost killed by the others...when...you tried to...stop them. But... but... you saved my life... How...?"
He refused to finish the question for her, even in his mind, despite the way she let it hang, tormenting him in the air. Tears began to well up in her eyes and she blinked them away, seeming to come back from the distant state she'd just been in. "How can ya be both the Gene Traitor... and my... savior?" The question was accusing, distrusting. She didn't want to believe him.
"I... made a mistake, petite. I didn' mean for no one t' die. An' when it happened..." he paused taking a deep breath to collect himself against the painful memories. "It was too late when I tried to stop dem. All I could do... was grab dis one little girl I saw crying in de shadows... an try to at least save her."
Sara was silent, staring, and he watched her, his heart hanging on what her next actions would be. Would she forgive him? Or would she try to kill him nonetheless?
Remy never had the chance to find out.
Suddenly his stomach lurched and the world began spinning violently. Stumbling backwards and releasing his hold on Sara, he tried to remain standing despite the dizziness. He frantically fought to maintain control of himself. Had he lost more blood from Sara's wound than he'd thought?
Remy fell to his knees, unable to maintain balance with his swimming head. Dimly he heard a scream, far away in the distance, one that sounded so familiar. He associated images of lightning and thunder with it but he couldn't find a name for the owner. He just felt so sick. Closer, another shriek broke through the crisp night air, and he barely kept his eyes open long enough to see Sara spasm, her back arching up off the ground and her hands clawing at the air.
Then darkness slowly enclosed him, finally granting him relief from the pain. He welcomed it without complaint.
§ ¨ © ª
Remy opened his eyes slowly to the dark, clear night. A million tiny specks of light sparkled down on his trembling body and his eyes saw them perfectly, but despite this he felt completely blind. It took his groggy mind a moment to realize why. And then he understood. His spatial sense was gone. Suddenly alert, he pushed himself up to a sitting position, pulling out a card as he did so.
He couldn't charge it with kinetic energy.
A tiny panicky voice began screaming in his head and he forced it down. As calmly as he could, he observed his surroundings. He was on the roof, it was night... and a few feet away Marrow lay motionless. Remy quickly pushed himself to his feet, gasping at the sharp pain in the back of his thigh were Sara had stabbed him earlier, and ran the few steps to her.
An exclamation of horror escaped his lips.
Sara lay on her back, all four limbs sprawled out. Crimson laced her body in thin rivers, intensifying where the bones pierced her skin. Where before the punctures had been clean, skin growing right up to protruding bones, now they looked ripped and torn, bleeding heavily. Dark, purple bruises covered her in large blotches, and her complexion was unnaturally pale.
Kneeling quickly, Remy checked her breathing and pulse. Both were present and steady. She was still alive. He released a breath of air that he hadn't realized he'd been holding and lifted Marrow gingerly in his arms. Although he felt strangely weak, he managed to cradle her gently and walk to the edge of the roof. He jumped off and landed heavily, not quite as gracefully as usual.
Dizziness plagued him, his body trying to adjust to not having his spatial sense available, but he ignored it as best he could and ran to the mansion door. He kicked it. Hard. Cursing each second that passed, finally he heard steps approach the door. The heavy wood pulled back to reveal the haggard, worried face of Bobby. The young man had the grace to ignore his hatred of Remy and turn his attention to the limp girl in his arms.
Moving aside, Drake gestured for Remy to pass. He did so, and stepped into the middle of a deserted room. "Everybody's in the medlab with the other wounded. Come on." Other wounded? Remy decided he would find out soon enough and followed Drake as he ran to the lift. They rode down in silence, except for the few words of shock Iceman muttered upon examining Sara's injuries more closely.
The trip was short but Remy still had to fight frayed nerves and impatience. He would not let this girl die. She'd suffered enough already. With a soft swish of air the lift doors opened and Remy emerged... into pure chaos.
Outside the door to the medlab a hand full of X-Men paced and waited, all wearing worried looks. From inside the lab a melting pot of noises emerged. Yells, shouts, screams, and wails all assaulted Remy's ears. As he passed the X-Men in the hall their eyes followed him, watching as he entered with yet another fallen comrade. He ignored them.
Remy burst through the swinging door yelling for help. Hank stood with Cecilia over one of the beds, busily working over a patient. He didn't even turn but called out to Remy as he continued to work.
"Who is it?"
"Sarah."
"Injuries?"
"She's bleedin' from where her bones protrude."
"Status?"
"Unconscious. Got a pulse an' she's breathin'"
"Put her on one of the empty beds and get out of here." The tone was sharp and Remy was surprised to hear it out of the mouth of one who was usually so kind and jovial. Things must be pretty bad. Remy turned with the limp woman in his arms to survey the room. In one of the other beds lay Warren, eyes closed tightly, face contorted in pain. He lay on his side facing Remy and, though his white wings were folded so that they were mostly hidden by his body, Remy could still see the crimson color streaking a few of the once pristine feathers.
He forced himself to return his attention to the girl in his arms. Through stiff lips Remy whispered soothing words to her, as much for himself as for Sara, while he laid her down gently on the empty bed between Warren and the unknown patient the doctors were so busy over. He smoothed her matted hair from her face and looked at her for a moment. She seemed so innocent and peaceful. She didn't deserve this, didn't deserve anything she'd been put through in her short, violent life. Bending carefully over her still form, Remy softly kissed her forehead. "Y' jus' hol' on Sara. Y' be a fighter. Everyt'ing's gonna be fine." Silently, he wished for an answer, that she would suddenly wake up.
But there was none.
He lifted his head and began to straighten, but as he did so, he caught Warren watching him. Remy froze and the two men's gazes locked. Remy could see the pain in those sky blue eyes, the determination to endure it. But something was missing there. It took Remy a second to realize what it was. The hatred was gone. Instead Remy was surprised to see understanding, maybe even a slight degree of forgiveness.
He looked away, taken aback by the unexpected sentiment. Straightening fully, Remy began to turn, walking out of the room, but something pulled at him, forced him to stop. Who was the patient the doctors were working on? He turned and looked toward the bed on the far left. Henry's big, blue, furry form blocked his view. Or at least it used to be furry. Remy could actually see him shedding thick clumps of hair and the floor beneath his oversized feet was covered in it.
Stepping to the side so he could peer around Henry, Remy examined the form that lay on the bed. The first thing he noticed was the bundle of long, silky, white hair that hung over the edge of the cot.
Long, silky, white hair stained red with blood.
His heart dropped suddenly in his chest and Remy almost choked. Instantly, his mind flashed back to the moments before he had passed out. A scream. Images of thunder and lighting scrolling through his disoriented head. Remy didn't want to see more, didn't want his fears proven true, but he couldn't help it as his eyes crept upward to the face. Storm's expression was limp and emotionless, her clear blue eyes closed against the horror that had befallen her. His eyes traveled downward. Her chest and abdomen were a mass of blood that the doctors were hurriedly poking through, trying to sew together the broken weather goddess. Remy stumbled backwards in shocked horror until he crashed into the wall behind him. "NON!" he somehow managed to gasp through his tight throat.
Henry's head snapped up suddenly at the sound of his voice. The man's expression was cold and hard, a practiced shell to hold in the pain, to detach him from his patient. "Get out of here, now!" he yelled sharply. Remy stood staring a moment longer, wide eyes glued to the battered form of his dearest friend.
And then he couldn't stand to see anymore. Turning suddenly he fled out of the room, feeling sick, thoughts of Storm coming in waves of nausea. He stumbled out of the lab, legs watery, moving for the lift. The other X-Men stared after him but he barely registered their presence. Stormy... non, please, non. He ran unsteadily into the lift.
The lift seemed to take forever to open, and when the doors finally did slide apart to set him free, he almost fell out of them. Regaining a feeble balance, he ran across the hardwood floors and burst through the front door at full tilt.
He didn't know where he was going.
He had to get away.
His footsteps pounded loudly on the hard, grass-covered, ground, lacking any of his usual grace and elegance. They were frenzied motions, desperate attempts to get him away from images of white hair stained red with blood.
Thunder and lightning filled his senses and rain began to pour over him, matting down his long hair, plastering stands across his face and eyes.
He ran faster.
Not Stormy. Anybody but Stormy. Whywhywhywhywhy! His mind shrieked at him in despair, as if advertising the injustice of the situation could somehow change things. It couldn't. And he knew that. The mental screams continued.
Thunder and lighting etched into an agonizing cry of pain. White hair hanging limp from the body of a broken weather goddess, glazed over in a striking blend of crimsons and reds. He tried to get the images out of his head, tried to get away from them.
He ran faster still.
He ran from all the pain and despair. Ran from reality and broken dreams. Ran from the cruelty and inhumanity of life. Ran like he always did.
He wasn't fast enough. He couldn't outrun all the horrible things he'd buried within himself, all the feelings and hurt he'd tried so hard to hide. It was chasing him, a dark, ugly monster with sharp fangs that would rip into his heart and tear it bleeding and broken from his chest. He couldn't escape the pain.
No, please no. Stormy... why did it have to be you?
Was she dead? He almost choked on that thought and could feel the monster growing in strength behind him.
Faster. Have to run faster.
But he was only a man. A tired, tortured man. One who needed so badly to rest from the agonies of life. One who needed to release the volcano of emotions threatening to erupt in him, threatening to spill over in tears so rich and painful they would be tinged red with blood.
No. He would not cry. He never cried. He just ran. He just survived.
He needed to cry to survive.
His legs gave out beneath him, gone weak with stress and activity, with trembling and pain. He tumbled to the ground and sat there on his knees, trying desperately to breath through his scarred lungs, gasping great gulps of air between coughs and forcing them into his shaking body. A forest had materialized from the green blur around him, thick trees lining a dirt path. The same dirt path that he had taken his jog on earlier this day. Ironic that he would end up back here so soon in almost exactly the same position.
There was somebody behind him. He didn't need a mutant power to know that. The steps were loud and deliberate, and delicate, like a woman's might be. He knew who it was even before she walked around into his view.
He refused to look at her, refused to let her see his weakness, the drops of water that were even now beginning to spill out of his eyes, mingling with the cold rain that slid across his face.
Blood on white hair. Thunder and lightning.
He needed her. She knew this. Slowly, as if addressing a timid animal, Rogue bent before him, kneeling and gathering him in her arms. No words. How could you express in words the meaning of such a moment? It was impossible. Better not to even try.
He felt his arms move to pull her to him. And in the emotion of the moment their relationship gained an edge of simplicity and clarity that it never held normally. The past didn't matter. The future didn't count. They were simply in the present, here and now. They needed each other... and they had each other.
Her face brushed up against his, skin contact unobstructed by her mutant power of absorption, and he could feel the wet tears on her cheeks merging with his own. She felt so warm against him. With a heat like that, could she one day remove the chill in his bones forever? He didn't know. But it didn't matter. Only the pain did.
The dark monster that had been chasing him was gone, having taken his pride and left the rest of him to sit and tremble, body intertwined with Rogue's. Or maybe it had caught up to him after all and was sucking out all the pent-up emotions from years of hiding the pain, forcing him to release them in bitter tears. The Morlock Massacre, the rejection of the X-Men, loosing Rogue and then finding her again, excommunication from the Thieves Guild, countless other disappointments and tragedies—all expressed in a precious moment of weakness. And Storm. It was she that added the extra jolt and choking to his sobs. She who had sent him running.
He hated the world that had brought harm to her. Hated it to pieces.
And he held Rogue tighter. And he cried at the injustice of it all.
Around him a new round of thunder and lightning boomed and flashed in the pain-stricken sky.
Thunder and lightning. White hair stained red with blood.
The tears fell harder.
§ ¨ © ª
The rain poured heavily on the mansion roof, interrupting the silence in the den. A small gathering of X-Men lounged in the desolate room, passing the time and waiting for some word on the condition of their fallen comrades. Remy was among them, sitting along one wall and staring despondently at the lift door. His hands idly shuffled a deck of cards, the action nervous and repetitive.
Rogue lay curled up on the floor and sleeping next to him. The tears last night had finally lulled the woman into an uneasy rest that Remy envied. But he was wired with fear and worry, and was doomed to stay up and wait out the long hours until he found out how Storm and Sara were. His own eyes burned and he let his long bangs fall into his face to cover them. They were no doubt still slightly puffy from crying the night before and he was intent on making sure the rest of the team didn't notice. It was rather embarrassing for him and he was lucky only Rogue had been there to see his emotional release.
Remy LeBeau wasn't the type to be openly express his feelings. He'd gone through trauma after trauma, almost since he was born, and had learned that the only way to survive in such a cruel world was to separate yourself from it. To build an impenetrable wall between you and the outside. And then life became a game to him, something that wasn't real and that couldn't hurt him. It was a defense mechanism that Remy had desperately clung to since he was young. And it had hardened him, sealed him inside a cold exterior that wasn't often penetrated. Jean Luc had gotten through it. Bella, his first wife, had gotten through it, and a handful of other people... including both patients in the medlab below him... and the woman lying next to him. But once that woman had gotten through, had glimpsed the real him, she had crushed his vulnerable heart in her grip. And she had done a lot of damage... so much that he was hesitant to get close to her again. But last night he had let her see his tears.
Remy rubbed at his itchy eyes absently. The last time he had cried had been the Morlock Massacre. Even wandering lost through Antarctica he hadn't let his eyes overflow with his pain. In fact, he had joked idly to a tape recorder he'd found in order to pass the time and ignore the hurt inside. In the years after the Massacre, he had simply pushed any and all frustration and hurt inside him... until it had exploded last night. Remy sighed and looked down at Rogue, sleeping peacefully. She mumbled incoherently and then shifted positions, pressing against him more comfortably. Well, he might as well take advantage of her closeness. Reaching down, he gently stroked her hair. It was silky under his callused fingers and the feel of it reminded him of a stray cat he had found and adopted once on the streets as a kid. Petting it had managed to soothe him somehow, and he'd soon taken up the habit of stroking the soft fur until he fell asleep every night.
Around him the other X-Men were handling the waiting in their own ways. The team, or at least what was left of it, had come upstairs early this morning after Henry McCoy had shooed them out of the hall adjacent to the medlab, claiming that they were disturbing his patients. Remy just figured the doctor didn't like the pressure of the X-Men being so close that they were almost watching over his shoulder. Either way they had dutifully marched into the lifts and had wandered aimlessly upstairs, dispersing gradually. Some had remained. After Remy and Rogue had come back to the mansion earlier, Joseph had spent the first hour or so watching Rogue leaning against Remy as she fell asleep in his arms. Eventually Joe gotten tired of staring and scowling and had wandered off to the other side of the room to wait. Bobby had also remained, complaining absently about how cold it was and pacing back and forth for a while. He'd also spent a good long time trying o stare Remy down.
And then there were others who had left. Particularly Betsy and Wolverine. Though Betsy had just disappeared, Logan had gone off in search of Maggot. Remy momentarily had a flashback to a scene from a few hours earlier: the door suddenly slamming open, a short stocky man framed in the doorway holding a much taller, leaner one. The water dripping from Logan's unruly hair and eyebrows, the cold, almost feral look there, one that told of barely controlled beserker rage. Him walking slowly through the room as a few despondent eyes watched him, eyes that had seen too many fallen by an invisible enemy in one night to react to anymore. The long white tail of hair that sprouted out of the center of Maggot's head swinging absently as the new X-Man was carried to the medlab. And then the pair had been gone, disappearing into the lift, leaving unresponsive faces watching after them.
Remy leaned his head back against the wall behind him and closed his eyes. His mind wandered through the details of the last day. What exactly had happened? He still really didn't understand what was going on, just that all the X-Men had suddenly lost their mutant abilities, causing adverse reactions in many of them. He'd had his powers taken from him before, but then there had been Genoshan slave collars involved and other such devices. Now there was none of that. No evil villain had suddenly appeared to take credit; no surprise attack had befallen the mansion. Their powers were simply gone. Continuing to stoke Rogue's hair, Remy tried to let the feel of it beneath his fingers relax him as he thought.
A picture of Storm played before his closed eyes, and he held it there, in awe of it. Her blue eyes were deep and heavy with sorrow and pleading. They stared at him and he had the unnerving sense they were examining his heart. She looked ragged and worn, her hair frayed and knotted, her usually immaculate costume torn and dirty, and the outlines of her body fuzzy, though her face was sharp and clear. The majestic woman wore a solemn expression and she seemed to be in pain. Her lips parted slowly, and he watched them move silently, somehow imagining that she was asking him for help. He reached out to her, wanting to do whatever he could to save her but she did not take his proffered hand, only handed him a card... the Ace of Diamonds. Looking down at the red, tilted square he suddenly had the image of it sitting on a pale white forehead on a face that had crimson red eyes... His gaze snapped to Storm and she nodded briefly, as if she knew what he had just envisioned.
And then she began to shimmer, disappearing to be replaced by a much rougher, form. Now Sara stood staring at him, her eyes hating and judging him with perfect clarity. Reaching out she flicked a playing card at him. He caught it and looked down at the white face. The Queen of Spades. Remy's blood froze in his veins. The card of death. Couple that with the Ace in his hand that bore a blood red diamond and... Remy suddenly turned, charging and throwing both cards into the darkness around him. They exploded... forming a giant diamond in the air that looked as if it were etched with blood, before the foreboding symbol melted to the ground into a big puddle of red that shown with a metallic luster as if a thousand tiny machines made it up...
Remy's eyes snapped open and he sucked in a sudden breath of air through clenched teeth. He blinked several times to clear his hazy vision. Had he fallen asleep? The room and its occupants looked much like they had before; if he had been dreaming it hadn't been for very long. He ran a hand through his hair as he mentally collected himself and recalled the vision. A diamond etched in blood. Sinister. He shivered at the thought, at the memories it unlocked, at the person it indicated. A diamond etched in blood. An intense animosity grew within him in reaction to the symbol, but it was accompanied by fear. Sinking, churning fear at what it meant, at what it implied, at the thought that it was engraved in his very mind...
He felt Rogue shift beside him and looked down at her. She'd been through so much recently, having been a prisoner of Sinister for a while. No doubt she had the symbol seared into her own body somewhere, acting as a sick territorial mark. Remy tried unsuccessfully to repress the shiver that traveled up his spine at that thought. Who knew what Sinister had done to her? Remembering that he still hadn't gotten a full account of her experience with Essex, Remy vowed to find out all the details soon. These dreams made him even more apprehensive that usual of the mad scientist.
For the first time since he'd woken up, Remy remembered the deck of cards in his hand that he had been shuffling earlier. A thought struck him and he was seized with a sudden unjustified fear that sent his heart diving through his chest. No, it was just a dream... that was impossible... But he couldn't help the anxious tension as he slowly looked down at the deck of cards in his hand.
At the top of the pile the Queen of Spades, the card of death, stared threateningly back at him.