Sorry, Cruel. I was too impatient, and these two chappies need to be close together, else this one doesn't make so much sense. This is Unbetaed everyone. All mistakes my own and only mine.
o
"'M sorry Wolvie. Din' mean t' do dat to y'." A soft whisper from within the depths of his arms.
"What did ya do?" Logan asked, curious.
"Din't mean t' drag y' over here. Make y' hold me. I'll close it off as soon as I got a minute."
"What if I said I wanted to be here, holdin' ya."
"I'm sorry, I can'…" A harsh shudder ran through his frame. "I can' stop this."
"Can ya not trust that fer once I'm doin' this fer myself? Trust me. Trust yerself"
"How can I trust anyt'in', anyone, when I know what kinda manipulation 'm capable of?"
"Ya think that's what this is? Manipulation? I can feel ya, Remy, feel yer wantin', but it's not controllin' me. Ya need a hug, I'm here givin' ya a hug 'cause yer my friend. Just because ya didn't ask out loud doesn't mean I'm gonna refuse." A buzzing warmth started, though neither would have been able to say which mind it started in. The other amplified it, and soon they were both basking in it. Quite suddenly, and unexpectedly to Logan's mind, Remy pulled away and stood. He seemed lost for a moment, but the cheerful grin was back in place before Logan had a chance to offer him some stability.
"D' y' find m' coat?" He asked.
"Yeah. I swear man, ya must bulk-buy those things, the number I've seen ya go through." The smile was softer as he handed the coat over, more real perhaps as he found a part of his old self to ground himself in. Logan picked up the cards that had been scattered back across the floor, and handed them over. Sure hands, with only the softest shake in them, shuffled them back into a neat deck and split them into more than five different pockets. Logan felt as though he was watching something private as he watched those cards disappear, Remy had kept the many secret pockets of his coat a mystery for as long as he had known him. Seeing him drop two cards into an invisible pocket along the back seam - he snorted.
"What?" Remy asked, not even trying to find him with his eyes anymore.
"Yer never gonna use cards outta that pocket."
"Th' back? Dis pocket got me out a' more spots dan y'd ever t'ink."
"Yeah?" This was like a magician revealing his tricks, Logan felt almost guilty.
"'K, so come take hold of m' wrists." There was a soft grin in place now, this was Remy in his element - cards in pockets he could only guess at, completely sure of himself. He put his hands behind his back and Logan grasped his wrists tentatively. "Y' not gonna hurt m', homme. Jus' take hold, like y' holdin' me back." He took a more solid hold and held him as he twisted, testing. "'K, so I wan' t' get out a' y' grasp, an' I don' care who gets hurt." He pulled forwards once, lunging back and nearly head-butting Logan in the nose. Only a well-timed swerve avoided that, and Logan twisted his hands and lifted his wrists as Remy pulled forwards again, so that his movement was limited. Pushing him down by his wrists until he was bent over forwards, Logan was hit on the nose by the edge of a playing card. "Boom." Remy mocked. Logan was suddenly quite glad they weren't playing serious games as he released Remy's wrists. He hadn't even seen him go for the card.
"Some of that blast would have hit you too." He observed.
"Y' were nice enou' t' get m' head out a' th' way. I would a' recovered lon' befo' you would, mon ami. Healing factor or not." Handing over the card, he watched as Remy slid it back into the back pocket deftly.
"So we gonna fight or what?"
"Jus' waitin' f' y' t' get int' position, mon ami." Grasping Remy's wrist and pulling him into the very middle of the danger room - the spot marked by the merging of the panels on the floor - Logan left him there and moved into the corner by the door.
"Yooi." It was an instruction to be ready to begin, and Logan fought to quench the step up in his heartbeat at the familiar word, falling into a ready stance. "Hajime." He began pacing a rough circle around the cajun, closing with every rotation. Remy stood silent and still in the middle, looking almost casual. Curious, Wolverine put a little more weight into his footsteps for a few strides and was forced to dodge charged cards, flinching a little as they exploded around him.
"What y' playin' at, hein?" Remy demanded.
"Just checkin' yer still awake." He replied, before moving quickly away from another scattering of cards. "Rude."
"Y' th' one talkin'." As the disturbance from the last few cards cleared, the room went silent. There was no sound of breathing, no footstep to be heard. Only the silence of the door assured him he was still in the company of a teammate. His mind was filled with the stillness that was Wolverine's mind when he was fight-ready. Knowing the games had truly started now, and he would get no more clues to Logan's position through sound or empathy, Remy stilled his own mind and reached for that sense he had kept so well hidden and controlled.
Closely linked to his charging powers, Remy had always been cautious of his ability to sense movement when no other senses were available to him. In a distracting environment he had been known to charge the closest thing to hand accidentally when faced with the confusing and often overwhelming buzz that was the kinetic world. Everything around you is in motion, from the tiniest vibrations of the atoms that make up everything you can see as well as the air in between to the huge concerted motions of human existence, every single little thing has kinetic energy. In Remy's mind these things were all laid out around him, and he fought through the fog of the buzzing air and humming machinery to find that one large piece of motion that would point out Wolverine…
Behind you… he whirled and tossed three cards, their passage white flame in his mind, wiping out all other movement until they were gone. He allowed a moment to readjust, spreading his arms wide and wishing he had his bo. Not that he would have been able to hold it in his abused hands, just because it would have felt right in his hands at that moment. A heavy movement to his right and a single card chased it. A single card didn't distort his 'sight' for so long, and soon he was following that evasive wraith again as he circled. A hesitation in that step and three cards followed, even as Wolverine leapt upwards and over the cards that were aimed at his waist - where they wouldn't hurt him too badly if they hit home - and landed with the backs of three claws against Remy's throat.
"Yer dead."
"No' too bad f' a blin' man, t'ough?" A wry grin. A hand grasped his and put it to a sticky fleshwound that was already healing. Remy grimaced.
"Ya hit me with the second volley." He didn't apologise for the injury, it was part of the training he knew, but still he didn't really like having his hand shoved in the evidence of what he'd just done to Logan.
"Go again?"
o
With his eyes screwed shut against the lighting of the sublevels of the mansion, Remy followed Logan's guiding hand back to Hank's lab. They'd finished what had become an impromptu training session to find that Hank had returned to his lab with projects calling for his attention. Finding the main room empty, Logan led Remy to a chair and let him sit.
"I'm going looking for Blue. You be OK here for a minute?"
"Oui." He nodded once, and listened to Logan walk out towards the door. There was a hesitation, and Remy wondered briefly if Logan was still at the door or whether he had misheard and he was already gone. Was he being watched? Tested? A shudder ran up his spine.
"I can tell ya hate me leavin' ya like this. I don't need ya to scream it into my head." The grumbling from the doorway made him jump, and he cursed his own vulnerability.
"Remy!" The second voice was completely unexpected, and the reflex action had a card in his hand and charged in a blink. His right hand, he realised as shooting pains drove up his arm. The card was dropped almost as quickly, and he pulled his feet up onto the chair to avoid the blast as it blew at his feet. He bit his lip to catch the verbalisation of that moment of agony, only as he felt in enough control, whispering:
"Merde."
"May I come over?" Hank's voice, uncertain.
"Oui." Still under his breath, not wanting to breathe too deeply, as though it would bring on a return of that pain.
"Wonderful. Let us bind that hand once more, it is not quite ready to rejoin its companion just yet. And while we're at it, a dressing for your eyes, perhaps? You will give yourself a migraine frowning like that."
"Merci."
"Breathe, Remy. It will do you no more harm." A rattle as Hank pulled out all the things he would need to put together the dressings from the storage cupboard. "I was on the phone to my colleague, I have made an appointment for us. We will see what he cannot do about those eyes."
o
A large crash drew Scott's attention into the small office and lab that Hank used, just separate from the med lab. Thinking his friend was in trouble he rushed in, only to witness a loud expletive and a piece of glassware thrown against the opposite wall.
"Hank? Logan said you and Remy were back… I was wondering how it went?" He asked blandly, ignoring the tinkle of settling glass shards. The object he had seen fly through the air hadn't been the first. The Beast turned to him, breathing deeply, eyes wide and teeth gritted.
"I should never have taken him to that… hypocritical… prejudiced… idiotic… ahh!" The last was accompanied by the pounding of his fists on the desk, nothing left to throw.
"What did he do?" Scott asked, wide-eyed at the doctor's uncharacteristic anger.
"Other than talking about Remy as if he wasn't there? As if the damage was his own fault, the product of some drunken prank? The first thing he did after he took the bandages off – roughly, I might add – was shine his pen light in Remy's eyes. I'm surprised the man didn't scream the place down. I could tell it took him some effort not to. I explained! I told him all about Remy's eyes in advance of our meeting so that he could be prepared. He can't even take the standard ambient light and his pupils don't react like ours do anyway. I don't know what he was thinking!
"He went on to suggest a treatment I had already tried that had failed, another which is purely symptomatic and some half-assed surgery idea which is going to be out of the question unless we can find out more about Remy's eyes. He didn't even offer to look into their true physiology which is why I went to him in the first place!" He sighed. "Imbecile."
"So after all that…"
"We learned nothing save that our young Cajun's tenacity is even more amazing than I imagined. Scott… I think it very possible that this is something for which I will not be able to find a cure. I don't know how I can possibly explain to the man that his blindness may be permanent, and this heightened sensitivity a by-product of the cause, which I can no better explain than I can treat. How do I tell him this after I have fought to keep him hopeful for so long."
"What are you going to do now?"
"After dissipating my anger here – to avoid any of that misplaced guilt our friend seems so prone to harbouring – I plan to visit him with painkillers and new bandages. The ones that he was given are much too loose and I was forced to watch him flinch every time the sun caught his face on the drive back. It is a glorious day, one that even Ororo would be proud of, but I think if she had known of her friend's pain she wouldn't have begrudged us a cloud or two."