A/N: I really like the first part of this chapter, but the way it turned out kinda disappointed me. Lemme know what you guys think, good or bad.
The morning after his impromptu altercation with Hank on the dock, Remy woke up on the floor of his bedroom, tangled up in his sheets and stuffed halfway under his bed. Similar occurances had been plaguing his sleep since his return; he had come to in his closet, hidden inside the shower stall, tucked into a tight ball into the corner behind his chair. The worst had without doubt been when Jubilee had found him in the mainfloor mudroom, wearing nothing but his boxer shorts and cowering beneath a pile of coats. It had been difficult to convince her he was just looking for a deck of cards he had dropped, especially when his hands were trembling like he had palsy, and gallons of sweat had been pouring off his lean body. Lucky for him, she had been sneaking back in after a night at the movies, and wasn't willing to blow her own cover to turn him in.
Currently he bit his lip in frustration, and wiped the moisture from his forehead. He wasn't sure he could go on like this anymore. Going to sleep when he was never sure where he was going to wake up was wreaking havoc on his nerves. He was just waiting to wake up on the roof, or in the danger room. Still, the alternative to sleepwalking was possibly worse than the original problem. Letting the Professor and Hank into his mindset would be like letting everyone else in, and he didn't need that right now. Remy didn't want to have them thinking he wasn't a hundred percent when they didn't trust him anyway.
He untangled himself from the sheets and stood slowly. Thankfully, he had apparently left his bed under an hour ago; the painful cramps that usually made moving difficult upon waking in these strange positions weren't present. Scott had approached Remy the day before, suggesting that maybe it was time he got involved in the training sessions again. Remy took this to mean it was time to see if he could function in an intense fighting situation without killing himself or others. He was more worried he would be the one killed. Being surrounded by people who hated or resented him had been a primal part of his life for so long that he doubted it was effect his performance now. But he had thought, upon first coming to the mansion, that this would be the one place he would be free from all that. He should be so lucky.
He decided against a shower, and instead dressed in a plain white t-shirt, and thin black pants. Overtop this, he attached his worn fuschia body armour. He'd been criticized before for such a flagrant choice of colour, and couldn't honestly say why he picked it. Could be that it was the first set that crossed his eye, or there could be some deeper, hidden meaning that he couldn't grasp. Either way, the armour had saved his butt more times than he could count, and he wasn't about to risk his luck by changing it now. He tied his shoulder length auburn hair back in a tight ponytail, ensuring it would remain out of his face no matter what situation he found himself in. By the time he left his room, the shaking in his hands had dissipated, and he was feeling more like himself than he had in weeks. If he had've placed some stock in the idea of calm before the storm, he might've hesitated in his decision to join in the morning's training sessions. He might've been a bit more prepared for what was to come.
When Remy reached the Danger Room in the lower levels of the mansion, he was shocked to discover he was not the last to arrive. For possibly the first time since joining the team, he'd not only arrived on time, but also managed to keep his sarcastic comments to himself. He noticed Cyclops' eyebrows raise in surprise at this realization, and felt embarrassingly good about it. He took up a position near Logan, crouching on his haunches against the wall while they waited for the rest of the team to arrive. Training sessions varied wildly in the Danger Room, in the best way possible to prepare the X-Men for potential changes during missions. Some days one team member would be in charge of the logistics of the exercise, things like location, enemies, and pittfalls. Other days everything would be selected at random by the computer. When Remy glanced up at the control room, and could see only the telltale shape of the Professor in his wheelchair through the otherwise darkness, he knew that day was one of the latter. PRofessor Xavier was not always present at the sessions, but on the days when the entire team was involved in the exercise, he made a point to be there. Just in case.
The door to the Danger Room opened, and through it stepped Warren, and Bobby Drake. Both began greeting their teammates, and both froze comically when they noticed Remy against the wall, idley shuffling a deck of cards. The Cajun mutant offered them only a sardonic smile, and inclined his head slightly in their direction. Although he outwardly exuded the calm of a Zen master, his insides were churning with anxiety and nervousness. He knew he would have two fronts to keep an eye on, the one set up by the computer, and the one that existed in his own teammates. He wouldn't put it past anyone in that room, save maybe Logan, Cyclops and Hank, to take a shot at him when his back was turned. As happened so often in his life, he was on his own.
Cyclops quickly checked with everyone, receiving conformation that everyone was prepared, and nodded his approval at the Professor to start the program. A slight whirring could be heard, as the Danger Room conformed itself to the specifications sent by the computer. When the temperature started to drop, and everyone's breath could be seen in the chill, Remy stood, suddenly antsy. The walls, floor and ceiling whirled into nondiscript white, like in some kind of psychodelic dream, and finally coalesced into solid scenery. Endless white stretched in all directions, in snow and ice under their feet, washed out cloudy sky, and a mixture of sleet and snowflakes falling from the heavens. An unrecognizable mutant appeared in front of them, already in fighting stance. He shouting something to the waiting X-Men, surely some kind of threat, but Remy didn't hear any of it. There was a roaring in his ears, and his insides had frozen colder than the ground beneath him. Surely none of them would do something like this on purpose; send him back to the land that had nearly become his grave. He risked a glance up at the control room, but a moment later his spatial awareness alerted him, and he backflipped out of the area just as an energy blast melted the ground that had been beneath him. Several more mutants materialized around them, and the fighting broke out in earnest. He started forward, intending on intercepting the cat-like creature headed at Jean, but hit a patch of frozen snow and slid forward before regaining his balance and keeping himself standing. Remy felt something strike his upper back, and threw himself into a forward roll. When he turned to face his attacker, a collection of cards charging in his right hand, he wasn't all that surprised to see the area empty. He backed away from the mass fight slowly, as he felt his breath becoming heavy in his lungs. It was too much. The snow, the ice, the cold, the memories... and ontop of having to fight these imaginary enemies, to have to keep an eye out on his own teammates for fear of being knocked down by one of his own...He felt smothered suddenly, like he was drowning in the cold air, and was overcome by a desperate need to GET OUT. He looked frantically around the room, but knew there wasn't an escape. The doors wouldn't rematerialize until the program had finished, or the Professor hit the end button. He continued to back away as he heard a steady whistling sound, realizing with a start that it was his breath struggling to come in.
Logan, struggling nearby with a rock-man, noticed him not moving. "Hey kid!"he called out, over the noise of the battle. "You okay?"
Part of the Danger Room's safety procedures included a seperate system whose sole purpose was to monitor the life signs of those engaged in the program. Logan had to know that if anyone was really in danger, the Room would shut itself down. His concern went unnoticed anyway; Remy's hearing had faded away until it felt like he had cotton batting stuffed in his ear canals. His hands trembled so badly his cards fell to the snow, glowing with a partial charge. Even without full power, the resulting blast was enough to lift Remy several feet, and deposit him facefirst in a snowbank. That did it. Certain that he was going to die a horrible death if he didn't get out of that snow in that instant, he flew back from bank with a strangled gasp, and tripped over the fallen body of someone's opponent. Now fully ensconced in panic, he scrambled to his feet, while a frantic whining pierced the cotton in his ears, and he had enough sense of mind to hope it wasn't coming from him. The fighting slowly came to a stop around him, as everyone seeed to notice as a whole the effect it was all having on their Cajun teammate. Hank appeared to notice the symptoms present in Remy, and approached him slowly, one hand raised in a gesture of concern. The stainless steel walls of the Danger Room reformed around them, but it was too late. The damage to Remy's state of mind was too far gone at that point.
"Remy, my friend, it's just a program, you're perfectly safe."
He felt a hand on his shoulder, and with a yelp of fear, whipped around to knock Logan down with a solid punch to his chest. "Don' touch me!"he shrieked, flying back from the Canadian. The breath seemed to catch in his lungs as the pneumonia finally caught on to his erratic movements, and he bent forward suddenly, overcome by phlegmy, chest rattling coughs. He felt another hand on his lower back, and was able to offer little resistance this time. As it happened the night before, his vision started to blur around the edges, as he struggled desperately to catch his breath, and the strength left his knees as he fell to the floor. His eyes watered, tears not only of exhurtion but also frustration dripped down his face. Spots started to form before his eyes, blocking out the faces of his teammates. His chest ached with each spasm, his fingers clawed uselessly against the floor. The room tipped suddenly to the left, and the ground rushed up to meet his face.
When consciousness began slowly returning to Remy LeBeau, he became aware of two things; the first was the wedge currently being driven through his forehead, and the second was the razor sharp knives lining his throat. After a long moment of simply breathing past the pain in his chest, he started to toy with the idea of opening his eyes. Because of his high sensitive sight, he had trained himself to keep his eyelids closed until he was fully awake, which because of his thieving origins only took a minute anyway.
"Remy? Wake up, my friend."
A hand started lightly tapping his face, and he vowed that whoever belonged to it would soon find it missing. He reached up with an arm that felt like lead, and snatched onto the offending appendage. Prying his eyes open and blinking steadily past the bright spots, he glared Hank in the face. He was laying on the Danger Room floor, his teammates gathered closely around and watching him expectantly. Professor Xavier was on his other side, looking to Hank for some kind of direction.
"Oh, thank the maker,"Hank breathed, pulling his hand away from Remy to check his pulse. "You had us all quite worried for a minute or two."
"Only a minute or two? It felt a lot longer,"he tried to say, but what came out was a long croak, sounding not unlike the bullfrogs that lived in and around the lake.
Hank smiled jovially, and patted Remy's should lightly. "Your fit has no doubt damaged your throat. I'll need to get you down to the medbay."
'A fit? Is dat what dey call it?'he thought to himself. He started to rise, but Hank pushed and held him down much easier than it should've been. "You don't have to get up. I've sent Jean and Bobby to fetch the stretcher."
He shook his head emphatically. "I'm not going,"he forced out, past the knives in his throat and the elephant sitting on his chest. He pushed Hank's arm away, and managed to sit up with little difficulty. He noticed then Scott crouching to his left, next to the Professor, and Logan standing nearby, trying and failing to look nonchalant. The older man's apparent interest touched Remy in a way he didn't think was possible. Storm stood next to Logan, close enough to ensure he was alright, but not so close that anyone would mistake what she was feeling as concern. Warren was nowhere in sight. Neither was Rogue or Joseph. They were not missed.
Remy started to get to his feet, and shook off Scott's assistance with a hand that trembled too much for his liking.
"I'm fine,"he said, though the hoarseness of his voice and the swaying on his feet said otherwise. Hank and the Professor exchanged glances, then Charles whirred closer to the rest of the team. "I think that's enough for today, everyone. You're free to go."
Logan hesitated a moment longer than the rest of the team, before following them out the doors. Remy found himself alone with the Professor, Hank, and Scott. Three against one were just the kind of odds that made things interested.
"Remy, I think what you just suffered was a panic, or anxiety attack,"Hank explained softly, as though hearing the words spoken in a placating tone would lessen the impact of the thought behind them.
Remy shook his head emphatically. "Non. No way. Remy don't panic. Musta been de damn pneumonia." His voice seemed to be improving with every words he spoke, and although the pain was still there, it had lessened considerabley.
"Your coughing didn't start until after the program shut down,"Scott said, glancing at the Professor for conformation. "You were acting strangely before that."
Suddenly angry, Remy narrowed his eyes. Who were these people, these people he had barely seen in the past week, to worry about him? When he really needed help, when he thought he was going to die a frozen death, no one came to his aid. Why were they bothering now?
"You don't know anyt'in' about me, mon ami. So get de hell outta m'way."
Reluctantly, Scott stepped aside and allowed Remy to blow past him on his way out the door. He watched him storm out , then turned back to his two companions.
"Well, now, that won't do at all,"Hank said, a deep frown present on his face. "He needs medical attention, whether he wants to accept it or not."
Charles nodded thoughtfully. "Follow him, Hank. See if he won't change his mind. If you need my help, I'm only a thought away."
Hank hurried off, hoping to catch up with the Cajun before he became unreachable, as he was in the habit of doing. Scott turned slowly to look at the Professor.
"Charles, before today, I didn't think we had that kind of location in the computer."
The Professor frowned, then sighed heavily. "That's because we didn't. I would like you to run a diagnostic on the control room. See if any changes were made within the past twenty four hours."
"Wait, you think someone added that knowing this would happen?"Scott asked with incredulity. The thought that one of the X-Men would do something intentionally to hurt anyone, let alone another teammates, filled him with dread. He could see in the Professor's face that the notion bothered him just as well.
"I don't know what to think, Scott. But we have to check it out. For Remy's sake."
Scott nodded. As much as it troubled him to do so, he would follow the Professor's orders. He wasn't sure what he would do if he found incriminating evidence towards one or more of their team members. All he could do was hope that things would resolve themselves without anyone needing to take extreme measures.