As always, big up to the beta, darling Cruel Illusions
o
o
Logan had been heading toward the medi-lab, expecting to find Remy there with Hank, where he had left him, but he caught a scent crossing his path when he got to the bottom of the stairs and allowed his nose to take over as his mind tried to process what it was that he was smelling. By the time he'd remembered that this was why he smoked cigars - so that the stench clung to him for days, wiping out everything else - he'd identified a mixture of coffee, cigarettes and the sharp tang that meant pain. Usually hyper enough without the caffeine, he didn't immediately associate the combined scent with Gambit, but by the time he reached the doors of the danger room the boy's own scent was beginning to override the others.
He stopped at the door, feeling the back of his neck tingle and the undeniable urge to just leave, go away, (don' wanna be here, don' wanna be here), taking over for a minute. He stifled the uncertain panic that was rising up in him, tapping his entry code into the keypad beside the door.
Inside, both of them facing away from him, Hank stood at Remy's shoulder. His huge form blocked Logan's line of sight, not letting him see what was going on, and Hank only glanced once over his shoulder before turning back to Remy.
"Keep your focus, it's only Logan." He reassured softly.
"I know." There was an infinite amount of strain in his voice, and Logan became aware of the soft pink glow of Remy's charge in the room.
"That's a better charge than you've had all this week, Remy. Not long and you'll be back to full power."
"I can hold it longer." Remy's voice was nearly breaking under the strain of forcing the words out as Logan stepped up alongside in time to see the pink glow pulse suddenly, pulling a soft cry from the Cajun.
"Drop it Remy, this isn't doing you any good." Hank's voice was level and calm, aware of just how dangerous it was to play with fire this way.
"I can…"
"It's enough for today."
"'nough?" There was an almost childish plea and Logan's hand rested on his shoulder, suddenly gripping tightly. A crackle of charge ran between the two of them as the energy refused by his hands found another route.
"Yes, Remy. Throw it, please."
A heartfelt battle-cry announced the launching of the pink missile, which exploded not far out of Remy's hands. Both hands on his shoulders pulled him back as he released, giving him enough distance to protect him from the blast, but all three of them were knocked backward off their feet.
Remy whimpered softly as Hank lifted his hand from his side, leaving the rest of him splayed out on the ground as he had fallen. Logan stood and brushed himself off, moving over to the far wall to make sure that the damage was cosmetic, as it should be. After all, the room was made to contain power unleashed like that.
He wandered over to the two still sitting on the ground, Remy being supported by Hank's big hand on the middle of his back. He looked exhausted, and the numbed buzz in the back of Logan's mind seemed to confirm that. He didn't even have enough energy to feel.
"What are ya doin' to him, Doc.?" He demanded, looking over the semi-conscious form.
"I'm trying to save him the use of his right hand, Logan." He felt a sliver of fear roll over his consciousness and knew it wasn't his own. Hank hadn't ever put it like that before, he realized, and Remy hadn't stopped to think about the consequences if this failed.
"Can you stand?"
It took Remy a moment to realise that the question was aimed at him.
"Sure." He muttered, rolling onto his knees before pushing himself upward, not fighting Hank's hand on his elbow. He was fighting the pain down with an iron will, and a cheerful mask slipped into place, though a little more tight-lipped than usual. Logan had once mistaken this mask for arrogance before he had come to know the young man and had realised that it was a standard holding pattern for: 'I don't want you to know I'm hurting.'
He focused on Remy's right hand - still outstretched as though holding it away from his body could lessen the pain of it. The thumb, though scarred as his left one, seemed healthy enough, but beside it the next three fingers were a mottled black-green-red of bruising, open wounds and the wrecked remains of what had once been beautiful hands. Logan felt the slow burn of rage build up inside him and couldn't decide whether or not he was disappointed or glad that Rogue wasn't in the mansion. They'd been friends. When had she turned into the kind of woman who did this to a man and then walked away?
"Don' blame her, homme. Dis not her fault." Damn that kid's brain. Hank interrupted before he could demand exactly how Remy could classify this as 'not her fault'.
"Let's get you back to the lab. One more scan, my friend, and I will happily release you to your room. Though I think perhaps informing the others of your return may be advisable now that Scott and Jean have discovered our deception."
"Did ya meet 'Ro on the way over here?" Logan asked, remembering that she had been on her way.
"No, we may have missed her. I'm assuming she was looking for Remy, and not seeking out assistance herself?"
"Yeah, she walked in on us talking about him."
"Then let us hurry, else she may fear that she has been misled."
o
The lab seemed empty when they returned, and though Logan could smell Ororo's scent in the air, he couldn't place her. Remy spoke first, and Logan felt a surge of compassion from the empath and an echo - as if far off - of desperate grief.
"Hey, Stormy." He gave a soft encouragement as though tempting a scared animal out into the open. A sniffle of suppressed tears and Logan had located the weather witch - hidden in the shadows behind the metal bed. Remy made as if to move toward her but hesitated as the movement meant he stepped out of the guiding hand Hank had kept on his elbow.
Logan stepped forward and took control, guiding him around to where Storm sat - squashed into the corner as though it would swallow her if she moved far enough back. A gentle hand on his shoulder encouraged Remy to kneel in front of her, and Logan took in the redness of Ororo's cheeks, her tightly closed eyes and the tattered brown coat she was clinging to like a lifeline.
"Hey, 'Ro." Bleary eyes looked up at him, and the heaviness of that grief increased. Was he feeling her emotions through Remy? The feeling was foreign and uncomfortable. "Told ya he was stronger than all that," he finished, bringing his other hand down to rest on Remy's bowed head. Ororo followed the movement and her breath caught her gaze came to rest on Remy.
"Remy?" If anything the grief increased, and Logan was left confused as Storm near threw herself into Remy's arms, tears streaming down her face.
"Forgive us, forgive us, forgive us, please Remy, please please forgive us." Remy freed his arms to wrap them around Storm's shoulders, tentative with his hands so tender.
"Hush, chere. Dere ain' not'in' fo' you t' ask forgiveness fo'. I'm th' one dat has t' ask fo' y' forgiveness."
"No, Remy. No." Ororo pulled back with her hands on his shoulders, staring into his eyes, though hesitating when he didn't meet hers. She looked up at Logan, who looked to Hank to give an explanation.
"Remy's eyes have been quite badly damaged by the UVB he was exposed to." Hank answered the unspoken question quietly. "It shouldn't take long for them to begin to heal."
Logan's eyes didn't leave Hank. Such a vague comment wasn't like him, he noted. There was an edge of uncertainty in his voice that he didn't like.
Ororo's hand moved to Remy's cheek, hesitating on auburn hair - so much longer than it should be - and sighed. "I've never seen you with a beard this long. I don't like it, don't do it again," she reprimanded.
"Not bin able t' get rid of it, Stormy, else I woulda done." He grinned softly.
"I will do it, as soon as we have had this talk on the matter of guilt." At Ororo's words, Remy's grin faded and his face shuttered closed.
"I am guilty. Bin proved guilty ten times over. Paid for it, too."
"You paid more than ya dues, kid. Rogue needs ta pay for what she did."
"Dis ain't her fault!" The anger was sudden and unexpected. Logan realised a little belatedly that it was a mirror of his own, and forcefully calmed himself.
"How'd ya figure? From what I've heard it was just you, her and the icefield."
"Dey made her absorb me - mem'ries and powers. I could feel their hatred for what I did, even wit' m' shields. She din' have any protection."
"So, she tried to kill you because the others wanted to?"
"An' maybe… maybe I wanted to myself." The confession was guilty, his voice low.
"What was it that you wanted, Remy?" Hank knew what he was saying, but he needed him to actually say it before he could do anything about it.
"Done not'in' but bad in dis world. Caused not'in' but hurt. If I could jus' pay th' blood-debt. Wouldn' have t' fight no more."