Logan stalked down the hallway, and anyone who saw him would have had a hard time not picturing a wild animal on the trail of its next meal. As it was, however, no one was currently in the hallway. Logan had recently completed a marathon four-hour workout session in the Danger Room. As he passed the infirmary, his thoughts turned to Mystique. He thought of the recent brawl, the reason Charles had requested specifically that he not fly back to California. I didn't see the kid until Raven had thrown the first punch. It was a gut reaction, same gut reaction I always got when Raven's involved. Would've had her if Jean hadn't thrown me over that balcony. What the hell was she doin' anyway, Logan thought as his feet carried him through the infirmary doors before he had noticed.

Henry was fast asleep on a military surplus cot, his wide chest rising and falling slightly as an overturned coffee mug leaked down the tile grout in a snaking brown river. The infirmary was dived into two parts. The first part was a small office, just enough for Henry to stack medical books from floor to ceiling, on things from brain psychology to podiatry. Papers littered the floor, and momentarily Logan wondered if Henry even used the tall filing cabinet opposite the door, or if it was ornamental. The second part, through a metal swinging door, was the actual infirmary, with beds and a large operating station. Logan cast another look Henry's way before stepping toward the infirmary door. He stuck his face into the wire-mesh glass, catching a glimpse of Jean first, then Scott fast asleep in the chair next to her. Mystique and Jean were hooked to intravenous feeding tubes and breathing machines, and momentarily Logan was transfixed by the thin plastic tubes running in and out of the both of them. He regarded Mystique with little more than the most casual of glances, and he instead directed his attentions Aside from the large white bandage covering half her head, shaved in order to supply access to the wound. Jean looked perfect, pristine, and Logan knocked a stray thought from his buzzing mind ans he opened the door, startling Scott out his sleep.

"Just me, slim."

"Oh," Scott fell back into the chair as Henry left, leaving Logan and Scott the only two conscious souls in the room. "Why are you here, Logan? I though you had to fly back out to California."

"Yea, well, seems I spooked the kid; he asked 'Ro to take the bird out there. I was just passin' through. About to have a cigar, thought I'd see how Jean was doing." Logan lied.

"I should've done something, Logan. I should've run in after her, maybe I could've gotten the drop on Mystique-" Logan cut off Scott's spill of words.

"Don't start spoutin' bullshit like that. This ain't yer fault," The two fell into a silence standing over the hospital bed. "You-you give her that ring yet?"

"No. No, she, uh, she had the incident by Ma's before I had the chance," Scott's voice cracked, and it was obvious he was near tears. Logan nodded with his jaw set, and Scott brought himself down on the chair, perching on the very edge of the seat. Logan eyed him without turning directly towards him. "Why are you here? I thought you were going to fly out to California."

"Professor called me, said I scared the girl. He asked 'Ro to fly the Blackbird out there." Silence again drifted over the two X-men, the various beeps and whirs of machines creating a small symphony. Logan's sensitive ears twitched at the sounds, all of them, and try though he might to drown them out, he couldn't. He looked down at Scott, still perched at the edge of that cheap plastic chair with all his energy focused on Jean, and he felt envy tugging at his brain.

"Dr. McCoy told me the bullet never entered her head. It's just a coma, she could wake up any minute." Scott said and turned his head to Jean as though he were expecting her to spring into his arms at that very moment, and when it didn't happen, he just kept waiting.

"Between you, me, and my cigar, Slim, I heard him and Chuck arguin' right after we landed in California. Right after she found the kid, led us to that police station."

"Did you hear what about?"

"Nope, and it's none of my business. Those two known each other a long time; they got their secrets and I'm not about to intrude on 'em."

"She's been different ever since she passed out at Penn," Scott blurted, "It's like…it's like…It's like her mind is mutating."

The first feeling Remy had upon awakening was pain. His entire body was consumed by a dull ache, no part worse than his head. His mouth was dry, so dry his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. He darted his eyes about, paranoid thoughts of all sorts flashing about before he realized he was in a hospital. He could see three empty beds to his left, and a cabinet stocked full with medical supplies. He turned his head to his right, noticing he was not alone. Two beds down lay the girl he recognized as Jean Grey, and for the first time he was relieved to see an X-man. Scott Summers was sitting beside her, her hand cradled in his. If he noticed Remy had woken up, he didn't show it. Behind them, Remy could make out another body. He had an inkling of who it might be, but it wasn't his concern. He wanted water. He opened his mouth with slight pain; his lips felt tight and chapped. His first attempt at speaking came out as a hoarse croak, and his second didn't fair any better, instead sending him into a rough coughing fit. He grabbed the bedrail and pulled himself into a quick sitting position.

"You're awake," he heard through his hacking, and he couldn't tell if it was a mere observation or genuine surprise that he had woken up from…whatever had happened. "I'll go get Dr. McCoy." Remy smacked the side of the bed several times, pointing to his throat and miming drinking several times in quick succession once Scott turned back to him. Scott said nothing.

"Ah, Mr. Lebeau. Glad to see you awake at six A.M." Henry said as though he would prefer Remy asleep. Remy grabbed a glass of water, which he promptly drained, handing the empty paper back as Scott took his seat next to Jean.

"Dieu, dat's de best glass o water I eva had." McCoy paid no attention to him, instead concentrating on a clipboard that was precariously balanced on his left forearm as he intermittently scribbled down figures.

"You were unconscious for some time, Mr. Lebeau, and you suffered a particularly nasty blow to the head. Are you dizzy at all," Henry asked, and Remy shook his head no. Dr. McCoy continued to administer various tests involving Remy's eyes and motor functions for roughly twenty minutes before silently disconnecting the IV tubes that had led into Remy's veins. "Congratulations, Mr. Lebeau. Despite a particularly nasty blow to the head, you show no signs of suffering a concussion." His voice carried nothing but the most detached professionalism, much of the good-natured humor he usually spoke with gone.

"Dey always said I got a t'ick head."

"Now, what is your last conscious memory?"

"Walkin' through de 'otel kitchen wit' Summers. Now how 'bout you tell me why 'm layin' in a hospital bed?"

"You were possessed, Mr. Lebeau, by the newest member of this institute. Now, your vitals all check out and you seem healthy, but I am going to keep you down here just for tonight. I want to see what, if any, long term effects possession has."

"Well t'anks fo' all yo' concern," Remy stated with sarcasm once Dr. McCoy had left the room. He turned to Scott, "I was possessed? What sort o' smokin' he been doin,?"

"Leave him alone. He's been distracted," Scott said, but he stopped short of mentioning what Logan told him. "Kurt's sister, Talia? That's her mutation. She can somehow take control of other people's bodies."

"Dat so? I do anyt'ing to regret?"

"No, not really," said Scott as he absentmindedly rubbed his bruised jaw. "How are you feeling?" Remy paused.

"I want a cigarette." He said simply, hopping out of the bed. He glanced next to Scott, and observed that the other body was that of Mystique. "Dat's some bruise. Who gave ya dat?"

"Don't worry about it. Look; you can't just leave. For one, you're wearing a nightgown."

"I am wearin' a naightgown. Why'm I wearin' a naightgown?"

"Because this is a medical environment. Look, Remy," Scott kissed Jean's hand before stepping out of his chair. "I've got a question for you. Right before you were possessed, you made a comment, something about …" Scott continued talking, but Remy didn't need to hear it. He knew what Scott wanted to hear. Internally, he cursed his mouth, tongue, and anything else that granted him the ability to speak. One misstep in conversation! That was all! The one time he mentions the matter in five years and now it comes back to haunt him-

"Remy?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry, musta bumped my head o' somethin', 'cause I don' seem t'rememba' dat." Remy let the words rush from his mouth, hoping that Scott would drop the whole subject.

"You asked me if I thought I was the only one to ever lose a loved one, pretty much your exact words. Look, I understand if it's personal, but-

"Why'd it be personal? I never lost anyone in my life," Remy spat. "Anyways, I don' rememba' dat." He settled back into the bed, turning so that his back was toward Scott. He lay there, waiting for Scott to bring up the subject that was dancing through his mind. His mind played the scene out once, then again, and the more Remy tried to shut it out the more details he seemed to dredge up. Sleep came in short order, but it was fitful, and in the middle of everything he woke up. The transition from dream to life was such that he almost screamed out loud. Fortunately, he managed to catch himself, only letting a sharp gasp. He fell asleep again after a half-hour of laying still in the bed with no sound in his head but that of his pounding heartbeat, only to awaken in what felt like a microsecond, the face of his friend staring down at him.

"Doctor McCoy said we could find you down here," Remy glanced at Piotr through one tired eye curtained by hair. "I brought Illyana as well." At the mention of her name, the small girl, dwarfed by the plastic chair she was curled up in, began waving a piece of paper with the hand not clutching a small stuffed bunny.

"Mr. Remy, I make picure! I make picture!" The small girl squealed, standing on the chair and hopping. Remy took the picture from her; it was a simple crayon drawing of three stick figures standing on a flat green line that Remy took to be grass. Over each of the figures had been written a name, with Remy and Piotr flanking Illyana and all three sporting wide red grins, complete with red-outlined teeth. A large yellow sun resided in one corner above a brown rectangle, and at the bottom had been written, in broken English and Russian, "I dont want you sick. Mr. Remy feel better. Happy new home" and it was signed by Illyana. Remy grinned down at it.

"Dat's a good picture, Illyana. Definitely Help me get outta here faster," Then, to Piotr, "What time's it, anyway?"

"It is ten A.M. We have already been up for several hours." Piotr said as he handed Remy a small bundle of clothing. Remy greedily accepted the offering, pulling on clothing under the bedsheets as he responded.

"Well, you got de advantage o' not bein' in a hospital." Remy hopped out of bed waving an unopened pack of cigarettes. Piotr plucked Illyana from her perch on the plastic chair and followed his friend, neither noticing that Scott was also gone.

"Scott, why aren't you in the infirmary, by Jean?" The professor's voice was shocked, even scared,

"Scott, please come in. How is Jean?"

"No change since the hospital," Scott said sadly as he approached Charles' desk. "Look, Professor, I came because I owe you an apology. I lost my temper at that motel-

"Scott, you have nothing to apologize for, I assure you. Mystique blindsided us, there's no other way to put it. The entire team did an exemplary job handling things," Charles folded his hands in an open triangle. "And it also makes me feel that much better about my decision to put you in control of this institute once I leave." Scott's jaw fell slack at that announcement.

"Professor, I-you- I can't take over this institute. I'm no leader." Scott slumped into one of two wing chairs positioned at forty-five degree angles with Xavier's desk.

"I believe you would be hard pressed, Scott, to find someone in this mansion who shares that sentiment. Scott, I'm not invincible; I won't live forever. I need to know that both facets of this mansion, the school and the X-men, will be put into capable hands. Ororo and Logan both agree with me that you are the only sensible choice," Scott opened his mouth, but Charles waved a hand. "Scott, I don't expect you to immediately settle into this, and I don't intend to leave anytime in the near future. However, a man of my age must confront his own mortality, and this is one small step in that process." The Professor leaned back into his chair.

"Sir, I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything, Scott. I know your mind is still on Jean, so stay by her."

"Thank you, Professor." Xavier did not say anything, merely nodding his head as a farewell. He watched as Scott rose from the chair, crossed the expanse of the study and shut the door behind him.

"Stay beside her, Scott, whatever you do. You may be the only thing keeping her at bay."

"Bon nuit, Summer!"

Scott watched as Remy stumbled through the open infirmary door, a half-empty bottle clutched by the neck in one gloved hand. He stopped, unsteadily, staring in Scott's general direction for several beats before tipping the bottle back and emptying much of the contents down his throat.

"Y'wannat'd a talk, mon ami? Den…Let's talk!" Remy drunkenly shouted across the whole of the infirmary, despite Scott sitting less than twenty feet away.

"What the hell are you doing? You're drunk!"

"No need t'shout," Remy slurred with a goofy grin pasted across his face. " 'M right here. I can hear you," Remy grabbed the closest plastic chair to him and dragged it across the floor with no dearth of noise. He didn't sit in the chair so much as fall into it, propping his feet up at the edge of Mystique's bed. This positioned Remy at an odd angle to Scott, although neither seemed to care too much. "An' now 'm even closer! How 'bout dat?" This set of another fit of giggles from Remy. Scott grabbed Remy by the shoulders, and, before Remy's alcohol clouded mind could react to any of it he had been dragged out into the hallway.

"This is wonderful. I'm assuming no one told you this is a school?"

"You de one said y'wanted a know 'bout everyt'ing. Well seems I gotta be drunk t'do it. An' so d'you." He slurred as an afterthought. He swung the arm clutching the bottle toward Scott, missing his chest by a millimeter.

"I don't drink."

"Not at all? Dat ain't healthy. Human bein's, like, fifty percent water."

"Seventy."

"Whatever. Y'wanna hear dis story you gonna take a drink." Scott snatched the bottle out of Remy's hand and tossed it in the garbage can behind him, the bottle shattering as it hit bottom.

"What'd y'do dat fo'? Y'lucky I got mo'. Doin' dat where I come from get y'killed." Remy murmured as he pulled a second bottle from the folds of his trenchcoat. Scott made a grab for this one, too, but Remy managed to swing his arm away at the last moment, drunkenly chuckling the whole time. Scott looked at him with a strong jaw of determination, but inside he was mildly panicking. Logan was the only member of the institute known to drink, but his healing factor usually took care of the messier aspects of intoxication. No such luck here, and Scott found himself at a loss on how to deal with someone so far gone.

"Remy, come on, we're going to get you up to your room." Scott put one arm around Remy's shoulder, guiding him down the long hallway toward the elevator.

"T'ought y'wanted t'talk," Remy managed to slur, "When're we gonna jus' talk, Summers?" Remy chuckled, then continued talking. Scott ignored all of it, growing more and more stressed as he pulled Remy down the hall and smacked the call button of the elevator. The doors slid open with a satisfied whoosh, and Rogue stepped out. She did not look well.

"Scott? Whaht're yah doin' with Gambit?"

"Chere?"

"Is heh..is heh drunk? Ah thought yah said yah weren't drinkin' tonight." Rogue snapped before walking off. Taking his advantage, Scott dragged Remy into the elevator and pushed a small metal button next to a number three. Scott let his hold on Remy slip, allowing Remy to sink to the floor.

"Why did she think you weren't drinking tonight?" Scott asked, but Remy just grunted as began fumbling for his bottle of rum.

The elevator dinged one.

"Did you know m'father used t'smack meh least once a day? Kept me in line, he said. Never my brother, t'ough! Nah, my brother got de best. Went to school, got married. Me, 'm jus' a stupid t'ief. Better'n my father, but so what? My brother got to go t'high school. What was it like, goin' t'high school," Remy slumped even further to the floor, continuing his story without waiting for an answer to his question. "Henri used t'come home, talkin' bout a pep rally o' some schoo' play. Best t'ief dis side o de Mississippi but I didn' even graduate sixth grade." Remy muttered as he finally discovered his liquor bottle. He spun the cap, allowing it to hit the elevator floor with a hollow plink; but he didn't drink, just stared at the neck of the bottle. Scott stared as well, not at the bottle but at Remy.

The elevator dinged two.

"I-I thought you kid-took Rogue to New Orleans to resue your father. That's what she told us."

"Ain't family a bitch?"

Their ears then filled with the terrible din of a tremendous explosion, and below their feet they felt the aftershocks, and the tiny elevator suddenly began to rock and sway, violently above a dark, long chasm of nothing.

Author's Note: So here it is, I present chapter-what is this, nine? eight? My brain's been pulled like taffy ever since January, but I've managed to squeeze out some brain liquid on my word processor, and I present it in the form of this chapter. So leave a review if you got this far, let me know what you liked and what you hated.