Title: Long Way Down
Authors: M/G & B/C
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, nor am I getting paid for all this nonsense. I can hardly afford a comic book, yet alone being sued.
Gambit stumbled into the street, unable to breathe despite the crispness of the night air. He broke into an awkward run, not knowing where he was going, but vaguely realizing he didn't want to be seen. Finally raising his head, he scanned the area and found the beginnings of a forest just across the street, and he took off towards it, pumping his long legs as hard as he could.
Once in the protective cover of the trees, Gambit checked his pace slightly. He didn't even know why he was running, except maybe to get away from the image of Wolverine's blood-soaked claws.
Nicholas's blood.
Suddenly his stomach turned and he braced his arm against a tree as his he vomited. The bile soured his mouth and he squatted down, feeling dizzy and very warm, despite the autumn air. Gambit took several shaky breaths before rising to his feet again, remembering that he couldn't stay there, so close to...
Mon dieu.Une lame...
He began jogging once more, not caring about the warm tears pooling at the corners of his eyes, or that sharp branches kept slapping his face as he skipped and stumbled across the broken ground.
A knife. He had a knife.
The Cajun shook his head violently, trying to stop himself from thinking about what he had witnessed, but only succeeded in making himself dizzier. He bent down, panting, and placed his hands on his knees. His hands and arms shook, and it seemed the affliction traveled through the rest of his body as well, and he gratefully let his knees collapse beneath him.
It seemed to follow him everywhere, this disaster. Everyone he cared about died. He knew it was his fault and furrowed his eyebrows angrily, but a sob still escaped his lips.
Few sounds disturbed Gambit as he sat on the marshy ground. Most of the birds were gone, and even the familiar chirping of crickets had disappeared some weeks back. Gambit absently crinkled and crushed handfuls of dead leaves from the forest floor as he let a plan slowly form in his mind.
It was time to go. Before anyone else got hurt. He smiled sadly. Nobody would miss him here, either.
As his mind settled, Gambit's thief's instincts began to return, and he silently chided himself for all the noise he was making. He quickly glanced around himself to make sure no one had crept on him, and was almost satisfied when he noticed a light barely showing between two thick tree trunks. Gambit pulled himself to his feet, brushing moist soil from his coat, and walked past the trees. There, not two hundred yards ahead of him, was the Xavier mansion.
Gambit composed himself carefully. It wouldn't do to have people talking to him now. He would put together his few personal effects and slip out well before the sun rose. He wanted to be gone before Wolverine got home, too. There was no way he would forgive Logan for his part in the night's events.
He had a knife.
Gambit shoved his thoughts to the back of his mind and strode confidently toward the mansion. Somebody was still awake, betrayed by the glowing window on the ground floor. Hopefully that person would be content to let Gambit creep up to his room undisturbed. Soon, they wouldn't have to worry about him ever again.
Almost everyone in the mansion was asleep. It was already after midnight, and the day's training had been hard. The Danger Room had been running programs constantly from right after breakfast until after sundown. Some of the simulations were for the whole team, while some tested one X-Man at a time. The entire team had participated, outside of Storm, who had been ill since Sunday morning. She spent the entire day resting in her room, but the others had worked out non-stop, spending their short breaks from the Danger Room discussing battle strategies with the Professor.
When they were finally released for the night, none of the X-Men even had the energy to cook. Scott finally took the initiative and order a dozen pizzas, which were devoured mere moments after the boxes were opened. Most of the mutants had quietly shuffled off to bed early, too exhausted to even consider the usual round of cards or board games. Jean and Scott had taken advantage of the empty den and were watching some old movies Jean had found buried in one of the mansion's many storage closets.
Jean snuggled closer to Scott and wrapped her arms around his bicep. He rubbed her back gently and she yawned into his sleeve.
Scott turned and smiled down at her. "Getting tired already?"
"Not at all," she lied, pausing to yawn again. "I'm just comfy."
Scott chuckled softly and seemed about to say something when the front door opened. Jean sat bolt upright, startled at the intrusion. When she saw who it was, she tried to shake off her tiredness and put on a smile.
"Hey, Gambit," she said cheerfully. "Where's Wolverine? I thought he went off after you?"
Gambit's face turned pale, noticeable even in the flickering light of the television. He stared at Jean for a moment, then turned away and ran up the stairs without answering.
Was his coat covered in mud?
"What was that about?" Scott asked.
Shaken from her reverie, Jean turned back to the couch. "I'm not sure." She paused and knit her eyebrows.
"Sometimes I think he's more immature than even Logan," Scott said flatly, then reached his arm around Jean's shoulder.
Jean shrugged away from the touch and stood up. "I think I'm going to go talk to him," she said. "We can't let him think nobody cares when he's unhappy."
Scott snorted. "Well, do you want me to pause the movie?"
She reached down, smiling, and grasped Scott's fingers. "Don't worry about it, dear. I'll try not to be long." She let Scott's hand fall and walked off toward the stairs.
Scott grinned and kicked his feet up on the antique coffee table and put another pillow behind his back. Suddenly, the table slid out from underneath his feet, and he almost slipped off the couch in surprise. Jean's laughter echoed down the staircase.
At the top of the stairs, Jean paused. She was only a few feet from the Cajun's door, and she could clearly hear that he was upset. Drawers were being torn open and slammed shut viciously, and she jumped when something glass crashed to the floor. She exhaled softly and stepped a pace closer to the door. She raised her hand to knock, but on the other side of the door, Gambit abruptly yelled and hurled a heavy object at the wall. Jean blanched and walked back to the head of the stairs.
Maybe later.
Jean suddenly felt exhausted. She sat on the top step, wondering if it was really the best idea to leave her teammate alone when he was obviously distressed.
But he's never needed our help before.
She sighed and hauled herself to her feet with the help of the thick oak banister. The entire den glowed faintly blue from the movie Scott was still watching by himself.
He probably doesn't even care that I'm not there.
She smirked and trotted down the stairs, then leaped over the back of the couch, tackling Scott from behind. He bellowed in surprise, then smiled when Jean stopped squirming and caught his eye.
"Wow, that really was quick."
"Yeah, well---" Jean began, but just then the front door crashed open and Jean sat up to see Logan silhouetted in the doorway.
"Where's the Cajun?" he growled.
Jean stared at him for a moment. His hair was more disheveled than usual, and there was a frantic urgency in his features that scared her. He was breathing heavily – something she had never seen him do – and the fronts of his jeans were darkly stained.
"Logan, are you..." Jean started, but was interrupted again by the Wolverine.
"Where's the Cajun?" he repeated forcefully, and Jean squeaked quietly in fear. Scott grasped her upper arm tightly, but she shook him away.
"H-h-he's in his room," she said quietly. Wolverine didn't even acknowledge her, but dashed to the staircase. Jean managed to compose herself and tried to shout after him. "I don't think he wants company, Logan! Logan!"
She sighed heavily and turned back to the TV. Scott slipped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze.
"Don't worry about it," he said with a smile. "They're adults. They can handle themselves."
"I know, Scott," she paused, biting her lip. "It's just...they both seemed so upset."
"C'mon, you know Logan. He probably just has a hangnail. And Gambit, we don't know anything about him. What could we do to help?" Scott kissed the top of her head. "This is a fight we should just stay out of," he spoke into her hair.
Jean sighed again and snuggled closer to her boyfriend. "You're right," she said softly, then smiled as Scott pulled a blanket over her legs. "As always."
The Xavier mansion burst out of the trees as Wolverine sped up the wide front driveway. He had lost the Cajun's scent where he'd entered the forest but his instincts had led him back to the manor.
He ain't got nowhere else t'go.
Logan careened up the front walk and was off his bike before the wheels stopped spinning. The meticulously tuned machine fell to its side and bounced on the dark concrete. Wolverine paid no attention; he sniffed the air once more.
He was just here.
The incensed Canadian charged through the front door.
"Where's the Cajun?" he bellowed.
Jean, sitting on the couch, stared up at him.
"Logan, are you..."
"Where's the Cajun!" Wolverine shouted, dimly hearing the clatter of vases vibrating beneath his shouted questions.
"H-h-he's in his room," Jean responded, flustered. Wolverine shot up the stairs, hearing Jean shout something after him. He didn't listen.
Wolverine raced up the stairs, his heart pounding louder than his boots as he approached Gambit's closed door.
The Cajun wasn't even trying to be quiet. Through the door, Wolverine's keen hearing picked up the sound of paper being torn as Gambit's heavy boots thumped across the room.
He was about to knock on the door when a new noise --subtle, yet disturbing-- reached his ears.
He's crying...
The Canadian's angry resolve faded and he leaned back against the wall, eyes boring a hole in the hallway's stagnant air.
He looked so different when he was talkin' with that bastard, Nicholas. He looked happy...and I...no, he was gonna kill Gambit!
Wolverine looked at the dried blood on the front of his jeans and sighed. Suddenly, a loud thud reverberated from the room followed by a curse from Gambit. Wolverine heard the Cajun shuffling through objects, breathing heavily. Waiting outside wasn't going to sort anything out.
All right. You can do this...
He knocked.
"Open up, Gumbo. I need t'talk to ya."
The rummaging ceased and quiet footsteps sounded from the room, followed by the soft screech of bedsprings. Logan waited, but there was no further movement and the door remained closed. Sighing heavily, he knocked again.
"C'mon, open the door, Kid. I got somethin' t'say ta ya."
"Gambit ain' got not'in' t'say t'no murderer," came the muffled voice from behind the door.
Wolverine felt a surge of rage swell in his chest. He thankfully let his penchant for anger replace his nervous attempt at penance.
"Murderer?" he bellowed, bursting into the room with a lowered shoulder "I'll murder you, ya little..." He stopped short when his mind began to register the scene before him. Every drawer had been removed from the dresser, and one lay shattered on the ground in a pile of splintered wood. Clothes were scattered across the floor - leather pants were ripped in two and fine silk shirts were covered in muddy footprints. A garbage can lay on its side, spilling paper and plastic wrappers onto the carpet. The curtains from the tall windows were in a pile next to the bed, and the balcony doors stood open, the cold breeze gently sweeping the scattered debris across the floor.
Logan's baffled gaze finally found Gambit. The young Cajun, usually so debonair and fastidious, now appeared just as disheveled as his room. A ratty hooded sweatshirt had replaced his customary long jacket, and his long auburn hair cascaded loosely over his hunched shoulders. With his face buried in his huddled knees, he looked for all the world like a lost child.
After an interminable moment, Gambit raised his head slightly, glowing red eyes peering at Wolverine from beneath a lowered brow.
"Ain' ya done enough fo' a night?"
Wolverine flinched, not because Gambit's tone was accusatory, but rather because the young man's pale skin was splotched red and his voice quavered as though he would burst into tears again at any moment. The old Canadian had seen many crazy things in his long life, but this still seemed unreal. For as much attention as he'd paid to the Cajun over the past week, he'd never been so close to him, close enough to be dizzied by the scent of spice and musk emanating from his lean body. Wolverine tried to hide his discomfort and spoke softly.
"Gum---Remy...he was about...he was gonna...kill you..."
"Non! Ah cain...'e wasn't gonna...'e my friend!...was... " His eyes started to fill with tears. "You...you..." Gambit's shaking hand pointed to the dried blood covering the front of Wolverine's jeans. His jaw moved up and down for a few moments more, but no sound came out.
Wolverine cast about his whirring mind for something to say in his defense, but lit only upon the truth.
"Gambit...I had to. You know that. You saw. You know that I had to do it."
"Non, Ah don' know dat'!" Gambit screamed violently, bolting to his feet in front of Wolverine. "'e was dere, an' you..." The Cajun's voice rose to a pained shout and he wildly threw a balled fist toward the older mutant. Logan let the blow thud weakly into his chest, then watched as Gambit's arm limply returned to his side. Wolverine waited for another outburst, but the Cajun continued to stand quietly before him, head hanging down like a broken doll.
Staring at the young man in silence, Wolverine marveled at the ferociousness that could come from that usually glib and suave thief. He wanted to leave then -- to slip out the door to his peaceful room or the familiarity of a smoky bar -- anything to escape this problem that no amount of punching and slashing could solve, but he couldn't hide from himself the fact that Gambit was upset because of him. He searched for something to say -- consolatory, inflammatory or otherwise -- anything to rid himself of the feeling he was standing in a room with some wretched phantom.
Tentatively, Wolverine reached out a heavy hand toward Gambit's shoulder. He had no idea why, but he felt he needed to touch the Acadian, to bridge the gap between them.
"Gambit not 'ave nowhere ta go."
The whispered words stopped Wolverine cold. He felt them lingering in the air, more discomfiting than the long silence that preceded them. He left his arm hovering in front of him, irrationally thinking that if he didn't move, he might be able to go unnoticed.
Suddenly, the meaning of Gambit's words struck him. Looking around the room, Wolverine saw a number of small things had been piled next to a small backpack amidst the clutter. The backpack had obviously seen better days, or better years; the brown cloth was almost worn through in places and one of the straps had been torn off. On the floor next to the bag there were a few pictures and what appeared to be several folded letters.
Just the kind of sentimental crap you'd take if you were gonna...
Wolverine snapped to attention. Gambit was staring at him, his dark eyes expressionless, if not a little sad. Before that penetrating gaze, Wolverine found it difficult to voice the alarmed question in his mind.
"Gambit, what are ya..."
"Ah don' belong 'ere no more," Gambit whispered.
Wolverine felt as though he'd been punched in the gut. The younger man stared at him with brittle determination, eyes defying him to say a word, but not seeming to care either way. Logan found that he couldn't get angry, or even fight back. Any idiot could see Gambit was hurting behind his fiery eyes.
Wolverine felt close to tears himself, so great was his frustration.
I'm trying to be nice, goddammit. Help me out here!
"Gambit, I..." Wolverine began, but let his voice trail off. He didn't know what to say.
Not two feet in front of him stood a vibrant young man with whom he'd shared a house for nearly two years. They'd fought together countless times and shared numerous meals, yet until the past week, Wolverine had never paid him any special attention. But in those few days, he had learned more about Gambit than he suspected anyone else in the manor knew - enough to see that he wasn't always the confident suave gentleman he played around his teammates.
And Wolverine wanted him to stay. He'd quickly grown interested in the Cajun - he was so enigmatic and, admittedly, easy on the eyes - and something about him, perhaps his youth, made Wolverine feel instinctively protective. Briefly reflecting, he decided he'd have shredded even Jean Grey herself had she threatened Gambit in that dank bar.
He snapped from his reverie and returned his gaze to the now silent form in front of him. Though Gambit was at least a full head taller, the tenderness of his features still betrayed his youth, and his misery was plainly scrawled on his slim face.
There's no way I'm letting him leave.
"Remy, it's gonna be OK..."
"Non!" Gambit screamed suddenly, clutching his head. "I's not gon' be OK. Ah gotta..."
"Gambit...It's over now. It's all gonna work out. Y'just gotta-"
"Non!" he screamed again. "Ah gotta..." Gambit glanced at his marred bag lying on the floor. "Don' belong 'ere...Ah gotta...non..."
"Kid, yer really tryin' my patience," Wolverine growled. "Now listen for a minute and stop babbling like a damn idiot."
Seeing he finally had Gambit's attention, the older man felt suddenly shy, but decided to continue forward with his awkward speech.
"I...you belong here, Gambit. Chuck took you in all those years ago and you've fought just as bravely as the rest of us. You're an X-Man. Look at that silly costume of yours. It's just as stupid Rogue's or mine or Cyke's...well, not that stupid..." Wolverine lowered his head, trying to get a clear view of Gambit's down-turned face. No smile.
Ouch.
"Haven't you seen them these past few weeks? They've all been askin' if you're gonna eat with 'em an' tell stories. That one 'bout the gator's been circlin' around here for years it seems. And you fight like the devil. Maybe that's some Cajun mind set, huh? Never giving up?" Gambit turned his head a fraction to the right. Wolverine grinned.
"I've never seen anyone who can jump a twelve foot wall with only a pair of legs and a stick. You're unlike any of the rest of us. You're just as important as Jean or Cyclops. Hell, even the Professor. If it wasn't for your sneakin' ability, we'd have failed every mission we've been on. You think me chargin' in, screaming is a good idea? You're part of the team, Gambit. We wouldn't be the X-Men if it weren't for you."
Gambit stared forward.
"They need you here," he finished simply.
Wolverine wasn't sure what response he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't for Gambit to walk away. The Acadian stood near the window, his back to Wolverine.
"Get out," he whispered. "Leave me alone."
Having tried everything he knew how and then some, Wolverine was about to do just that when Gambit spoke again in a whisper so quiet most people couldn't have heard it, yet alone picked out the words.
"Leave me alone...again."
Without a second thought, Wolverine strode across the room. When Gambit turned to him, mouth open to yell in protest, Wolverine shot his hands out and slammed Gambit roughly against the wall.
Despite the ringing tension of the night, he was still surprise to see tears streaming down the younger man's face. With a firm hand, Wolverine turned Gambit's face to meet his own, but the Acadian staunchly kept his eyes on the floor.
Wolverine gently released the pressure on Gambit's shoulder and stepped backward. Almost immediately, the Cajun slumped to the floor as though his legs simply gave out beneath him.
Wolverine dropped down beside him and stretched his legs out.
"They all care about ya, kiddo," he said kindly.
Gambit lifted his head from between his legs and stared at Wolverine. His lips parted slightly and he looked as if he didn't understand the words, or maybe was waiting for something more. The clarity of pain and hurt on his fine-boned face tugged at Wolverine's heartstrings.
When Wolverine spoke again, he heard himself as if from miles away.
"I..."
Oh, Jesus...
"I care about you."
For an instant, Gambit remained frozen, and Wolverine wondered whether his confession had been heard at all. Suddenly Gambit's face broke and he began to sob aloud, letting himself fall over against Wolverine's hard body.
Wolverine tentatively hooked his arm behind Gambit and began to gently rub his back, listening to the muffled sobs and watching tears run rivulets down the front of his worn jacket.
He cried like a lost child, sometimes mumbling into the thick leather, but mostly just weeping with his arms wrapped tightly around Wolverine's chest.
Gradually Gambit's shoulders stopped shaking and his breathing grew steadier. Wolverine relaxed slightly and let his eyes travel about the dim room. He usually found the stark paneled walls of the manor stifling, but, for a moment, feeling the heat of the young man clinging to him and taking in his warm spicy scent, Wolverine felt a pervading sense of peace.
Maybe this place ain't so bad after all. I think we're both home.
The room became almost silent and Wolverine turned his gaze back to Gambit, letting the long cinnamon hair brush his nose. Suddenly he felt a gentle hand on his leg, and looked to see the young thief tracing delicate fingers along the cracks in the blood crusted on Wolverine's jeans.
Wolverine was reluctant to move, worried he might upset Gambit once again when he was obviously thinking about Nicholas. But then, much to his surprise, Gambit turned to him, locking his burning red eyes on Wolverine's blue ones.
"Merci."