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A/N: OKay, here's the deal. I know there are a ton of Summers sister stories out there, and I bet most of you wanted to know what makes mine different. The purpose of Samantha Summers in this story is basically just to be a friend to Remy. She's a means to an end. I wanted someone in the mansion besides Hank and definitely besides Rogue to miss him, and to be angry with the way he was treated. Basically I wanted him to have someone in his corner. And I thought it would be neat to show the conflicting emotions from the two Summers' when Remy finally makes it back. Anyways, let me know what you think of her. The explanation of how she came to the mansion is going to be mentioned in bits and pieces throughout, so please be patient.

According to Samantha Summers, life more closely resembled a bowl of fruit loops rather than a box of chocolates. In the beginning, everything was bright, colourful, and sweet. But after a while, what's bright slowly turns dull, colour fades, and the sweetness that once made you smile now turns your stomach. One loses interest in life as one would in a bowl of soggy fruit loops, and all that's left to do is dump it down the sink...Okay, so maybe she was slightly more optomistic than that. But on a day like the one she currently found herself experiencing, it was easy to let her mind fall into dangerous trains of thought.

At 11:00 on a Wednesday morning, it was very rare for Sam to have the entire great room to herself. Even given that all thirty seven students that attended Xavier's school should be in classes, there were always one or two scragglers. Not to mention the rest of the support staff who just didn't have anything else going on. It seemed that this was the first time in two weeks, since He'd gone, that she'd had any time to herself. She was highly suspicious that everyone had suddenly found such great interest in her under the influence of her older brother, unofficially second in command of the team and this school. Why he seemed to think she was so delicate, that she would shatter under the slightest pressure, was beyond her. It wasn't like she had ever given him reason to think so.

Samantha groaned, and shifted the icepack she held to her shoulder. Her day had started with an intense bout of training in the danger room, with no spotter to keep an eye on her, which was so against Scott's rules that she had secretly been surprised when he hadn't grounded her or some shit. Her little game had won her a lecture from Scott as he helped her to the medlab, and another from Hank as he set the dislocated shoulder. Lucky for her, they had both said, Scott had come around when he had. Otherwise she might still be lying on that floor. She snorted. Like that would've been so bad. As much as Scott tried to protect her from it, one would think she couldn't handle a little pain. She had gotten through the first nineteen years of her life without him, she could sure as hell carry on now without him.

The double French doors at the far end of the room opened then, attracting her attention better than Spongebob and Patrick had in the last half hour. She spun her chair to face the door, and was momentarily surprised to see Hank come through. Those sets of doors led onto the back of the property, in the direction of the boathouse, and the tennis courts, and one of the swimming pools. In the two years that Samantha had lived in the mansion, she had never once seen Hank use any of the aforementioned facilities. She had seen him leave in what had seemed like a hurry several hours ago, and she had spent enough time with him to notice the troubled set to his brow, underneath all that hair. His white labcoat, which she noticed with a chuckle he hadn't taken off, was pulled tightly around him. He was acting, for lack of a better word, very un-Hanky.

Samantha twisted around, rising to her knees on the seat of the recliner. "Hank!"

The fuzzy doctor spun, obviously having assumed he was alone. His eyes settled on Samantha, and a smile with too many teeth and not enough sincerity was plastered on his face. She slid out of the chair, tossed the icepack on the coffee table, and crossed the room until she stood infront of him.

"What's going on, Hank? You seem...upset."

If at all possible, his smile widened even further. "Ridiculous, my dear. I am perfectly well. It is I who should be inquiring about your health. How is your shoulder?"

Samantha fixed him with a suspicious glance. "It's peachy. I told you both, I'm tough. Are you sure you're not hiding something from me?"

His smile faltered just noticeably, and he looked away. He seemed almost...reluctant to talk to her, as if the simple act of upholding his end of the conversation was too painful to bear.

"I'm sure, my dear. Now, you should be resting, instead of worrying over an old fogie like myself." He reached out and gently stroked her cheek with a fuzzy knuckle. "You'll make sure to come and see me if the pain becomes too much?"

Despite herself, a slight smile crossed her face, and she nodded. "You bet. And the same goes for you, huh?"

The grin he favoured her with was obviously genuine. "Thank you, my dear. Now I really must get back to the lab. Is our dinner date still on?"

"Unless you cancelled on me. I'll see you later, Blue." She squeezed his hand once before stepping aside and allowing him room to leave. Samantha watched him go, and felt a frown slowly descend onto her face. If Hank thought he was doing a good job of acting normal, he had another thing coming. Besides the general twitchy behaviour he had displayed, the fact that he had used three 'my dear's in as many sentences was a dead giveaway. She rolled her shoulder slowly, grimacing at the lightning flash of pain that ran down her arm. Shadowing a perceptive man like Hank would definitely prove a challenge, but she'd accomplished harder before. She knew she would not be able to rest until she found a viable reason for Hank's somewhat erratic behaviour, anyways.

Logan stared at the busted radiator cap with a deep scowl etched into his weathered face that seemed to have become a permanent fixture as of late. He bit off a series of rather tame curses, considering the trip into town he would have to take later. Of course, living in the mansion didn't have quite the same perks as it used to, so any opportunity to leave with good reason was well received, even given the mundane quality of the task. He chewed thoughtfully on the lit cigar between his teeth as he selected an adjustable wrench to loosen the cap. Working on his jeep had a profound, even meditative quality to Logan that he found himself retreating to more often than ever. The increased tension in the mansion made it difficult for a man with Logan's sensitivities to his surrounding environment. The rather high number of petty squabbles and arguments breaking out among teammates were rapidly taking their toll on him.

A gentle frown crossed his face then, and he straightened slowly from underneath the Jeep's hood.

"Are you gonna to stand there all day, or come in and tell me what has you so bothered?" His voice sounded rough with ill-use. No need to talk when you avoid other people like the plague. He glanced over his shoulder at the open garage door, and the fuzzy blue doctor silhouetted against the afternoon light. Hank hurried forward, wringing his hands in a nervous gesture Logan wasn't accustomed to seeing on the other man. "You alright, McCoy?"

Hank ducked his head, and Logan was sure that if not for the fur, he would see a bright red blush creeping up his neck and face.

"I just returned from a pilgramige into the city,"he began, and the nervous wringing escalated to rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

Logan's frown deepened enough to set coins into. "I know, Hank. I was in here when you left. Remember?"

The doctor nodded almost as an afterthought, then continued, even more haltingly than before. "Well, I went on the request of my old friend at Angel Of Mercy hospital; she said she had a case that required my expertise."

Logan's mild sense of concern quickly turned to alarm. The wrench fell suddenly from his weakened grip, and clattered to the floor with a metallic sound that made them both cringe. "Is everyone alright? What's happened?"

Hank shook his head violently from side to side. "No, my friend. Everything is fine. Well, as fine as one could expect, given what I just learned."

He took a deep breath, and Logan suddenly wasn't sure he wanted to hear whatever it was that Hank was so reluctant to tell him.

"She said city paramedics brought in a young man who collapsed in the airport. He had a mild case of frostbite on his hands and feet, fairly mild hypothermia, and what later proved to be a severe bout of atypical pneunomia."

"Well, Hank, that's sad to hear, but I don't understand why ya feel ya hafta tell me."

Frustrated, Hank shook his head again. "No, just listen. The nurse found a boarding card in his jacket, from Rio de Janeiro. But that's really just a sidenote. Dr. Reid said that it was his eyes that made her think of me. Red on black, Logan. One of the nurses called them devil eyes."

Logan's frown melted just noticeably, and he nodded more to himself than Hank. "Okay. Is he still there? Angels of Mercy, ya said?" He fished his car keys out of the back pocket of his jeans, and stepped around Hank towards the rusted out pick-up parked in the opposite corner of the garage.

Hank sighed softly. "No, he's not, Logan. The nurse met us before we even reached his room. She said he disappeared; took all his things and vanished, like he'd never even been there before."

The older man paused mid-stride, and his shoulders slumped minutely. "That does sound like the Cajun, alright."

"You don't sound surprised to hear he's alive."

Logan twisted around at the doctor's words, and smiled grimly. "Honestly, I'm not. I would've been more surprised to learn he didn't find a way off that rock."

"Ever since I pieced this all together, I've done nothing but think about the ramifications something like this would have on the team."

Logan instantly understood the source of Hank's nervousness; nothing to do with Gambit, and everything to do with the team. "Yeah, well, I know what it means. Rogue lied about the whole thing."

"There's no good in jumping to conclusions, my friend. There could be a viable excuse for this. She could've mistaken unconsciousness for death. There are an innumerable amount of scenarios that could've resulted in her leaving him there."

Logan sent Hank an incredulous stare before scooping up the wrench and resuming work on the radiator cap. "It still don't make any sense. Why would she leave his body there even if he really was dead? She knows as well as you and me that you don't leave a teammate behind, dead or alive."

"I didn't come here to debate the morality of the situation with you. I came here because I thought that of all of us, you have that greatest chance of finding him, and bringing him home."

Logan's eyebrows nearly disappeared under his hairline. "Well. And here you had me thinking the good of the team was more important to you." Without waiting for Hank's answer, he replaced the wrench, and wiped the abundant grease from his hands. "I better get moving, then. 'Fore the trail gets cold."

Apparently Hank realized that diplomacy was the best policy. He nodded in agreement. "Thank you, my friend. And contrary to what you may think, I want Gambit back home just as much as you do. But with that hope, I also hold concern over our remaining teammates, and what his return would do to them."

He favoured Logan with an apologetic look, then turned and exited the garage in a much more stable mood than when he entered. Logan waited until the footfalls were out of his hearing range, before saying, "I guess you're gonna insist on coming?"

He looked over at the bank of shadows cast along the backwall, and grinned widely when Samantha stepped out. "You're good, kid, but you're not that good."

Samantha's stare was even and calculating. "Are you going to fight me on this?"

Logan's head inclined to the right, as though he were considering the question. "Nah, I don't think that would be a very good idea. 'Sides, he's more likely to listen to you."

"What makes you think you're gonna like what I have to tell him?"

Logan opened the passenger door of the truck, and shrugged tightly when she slid into the seat. "Well, the way I figure it, anything's better than nothing. The least we can do is tell him he's welcome back."

Logan climbed into the driver's seat, and was not surprised to see the wary set to her eyes. "You aren't just doing this because it'll piss off Scott, are you?"

His smile was automatic at the possible annoyance of her older brother. "Trust me, kid. That's just one of the perks."