DISCLAIMER: Bla, bla, blabla, bla, shickletree, bla, dumplingjuice, bla, I own nothing.
Welcome, one and all, to the gradual disintegration of romance and happiness that is Scarlet Letter. Yes, I know, 'Haven't you tortured them enough, Vally? Do they not deserve a happily ever after?', you say, but as always, I promise that this is a necessary evil and that any violence, unwelcome scenes of misunderstanding and intrigue, or general fan-girl offensive material, stay your hatred. It is the crux of life and love that to understand you must first be misinformed, and that to win, you must first be subjected to epic fail on ever level. So, to all those of you who reviewed last; my dear Irual, who returned with baked goods and love for the deserving – I hope so, she said I was ^^ - author; my ever-enthusiastic DevilishBea-Anime-Couple-Lover – whose name is a masterpiece of difficulty to write but whom I love for her use of the word 'Kya', and her always-welcome happiness; Chellerbell, to whom I promised an update; my darling Larkin, whom I adore a little more every time we speak and who understands my love of blonde men with too much hair and a penchant for leather and spikery; ColorCoated, to whom I am grateful for sharing my wish that siblings love despite their differences; A Forgotten Fairy, whom I shall never forget on principle ^^; TitansRule, whose parents unfortunately think she may be mad – which is entirely my fault, and I am sorry XD; Courtney Summers, who may have the last name of The Evil One, but whom we like because she was so very kind and who hopefully knows I'm not poking fun at her name – I'm really not, I promise; turtleray, to whom I also promised updates; my Punkin' Pie Ashy, who's gotten me hooked on a certain Hatter and feeds my obsession with gorgeous men without shirts – honestly, why must hot people wear clothes at all? It seems foolish and unnecessary ^^; and LadyMageLuna who is a faithful, valued reviewer; I wish you happy reading and PLEASE don't come after me with sharp things. I promise I'll fix this. I promise. I'm an author of my word. Ask Mr. J, he knows...
~ Scarlet Letter ~
~ Apologise Before The Fact ~
It wasn't something she had really thought about. She had just been lying in her room watching some crime show or other and it suddenly ocurred to her to make the call. She'd never really considered it after the initial idea had come to her and Wanda – after all, she'd 'seen' the truth, Remy had given it to her freely and as far as she knew it couldn't be doctored when she saw it like that, but at the same time her inherently female suspicions seemed to have overtaken her once again since he had shown her the truth, and now she suddenly just needed to know. She was on the phone before she had time to reconsider, and he picked up after three rings.
"Rogue? What can I do for you today?" The polite, calm voice never failed to make those around him feel more at ease, and Rogue was no exception. With a minute sigh of relaxation she sank into her pillows and transferred the phone to her other hand.
"Warren, hey, Ah'm really sorry to call you lahke this, but Ah have somethang Ah really wanna check and Ah think it maght be somethin' you'd know about," she said apologetically, and he chuckled.
"So you need a favour? I've told you again and again Rogue, if there's ever anything you need, I'm just a phonecall away, you know that," he said, mock-reproachfully, and she felt her cheeks warming a little.
"Ah know, Ah know, but this girl was brought up ta always apologise beforehand," she said mock-firmly, and his amused noise on the other end told her that he really didn't mind at all.
"What's this favour then?" She smiled privately and said,
"Well, it's lahke this..."
He'd been training with Kurt to keep his hand in and to interrogate the blue-furred demonic mutant about his Southern sister, only to be interrogated in turn regarding his past, and had spent a pleasant training session getting his arse handed to him until he figured out Kurt's strategy and was able to fight back somewhat. Now, walking down the corridor to Rogue's room, hair still damp from the shower and heart aching to be close to his chere, the spring in his step was that of a man in love. As he raised his hand to knock on her door – a courtesy she insisted upon – he heard her voice from within, and whether from an inbred desire to poke his nose into things that weren't strictly his business, or a strong desire to be one step ahead in the game for Rogue's continued affections, he froze, listening in on her conversation.
"... Ah am so glad ta hear you say that, ya just have no ahdea!" his chere was saying, sounding happy and relieved, and Remy's jealousy spiked. It only got worse when she giggled and said,
"Well, you are such a sweetheart, thank you so much! When are ya comin' ta see me again?" Gritting his teeth, Remy did his best to quell the anger at the sound of his Rogue clearly flirting with someone. She sure as hell didn't talk to her friends like that, as many nights of hanging from trees outside her room and listening in on her tapped phonecalls had proven.
"Well Ah'd sure love ta see you soon too, honey... Tonaght? Well... Ah'm cookin' – an' Ah promise you, he won' be there... Then Ah'll see ya tonaght! Thanks again!" He waited three minutes to be sure that she had hung up, straightened his back, set his shoulders, faked a smile, and knocked.
"Come in!" He opened the door and peered inside. She was lying on her bed, muted television showing something exploding in true prime-time series style, phone next to her on the pillows. She smiled at him. He hardened his heart to it's magical effects.
"Remy! You an' Kurt didn' hurt each other too bad, now, raght?" she asked, and he shrugged, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.
"Non. Y' frere be a sneaky bastard, bu' we had fun..." He failed to keep the disappointment out of his voice entirely. She sat up properly and looked at him more seriously.
"Ya sure? You sound kinda down, honey – ya didn' meet Scott on the way up, did ya? Ah keep tellin' ya, jus' ignore him, he's a dick..." she rolled her eyes at the last part and smiled encouragingly, and Remy felt like throwing himself at her feet and bawling like a three-year old. It wasn't fair...
"Non. Haven' seen him all day, him an' Jean, dey wen' out somewhere..." Again, he couldn't quite keep his tone clear of the overwhelming pain in his chest. She'd been flirting with someone... Someone who wasn't him... His Rogue, who never flirted with anyone... She looked at him oddly, and stood up. He didn't move.
"Remy... Are you alraght? Ya seem... Ah don' know..." She bit her lip and made a gesture with her hand that indicated that she wanted him to reassure her, but he just couldn't.
"Yeah, sure. Remy be fine. Jus' come t' see what m – what y' were doin'. Remy be seein' y'," he said quietly, and she looked at him with wide eyes.
"Why are you talkin' lahke that? What's wrong?" she demanded, voice shrilling a little, and he shrugged, turning to the door.
"Notin'. Jus' tired. 'm goin' t' – " she grabbed his arm and pulled him around to face her.
"You ain' goin' nowhere 'til you tell me why the hell you're actin' lahke someone jus' died! Ah wanna know what's wrong an' you can' jus' tell me you're tahred because you're not and Ah wan' the truth, Remy! Ya promised ya wouldn' lie to meh anymore!" she yelled, tears clustering together in the corners of her eyes, and his heart made a painful little jump in his chest.
"I ain' the one lyin', Rogue, I jus' – I don' wan' t' talk abou' it righ' now, okay? Let me go," he tried, louder than he had been aiming for, and she let go of him as if he'd slapped her.
"What – what do you mean, you ain' the one lyin'," she stammered, tears spilling over and pooling below her eyes, falling to the floor.
"I don' wanna talk about it righ' now," he repeated, stepping back, hating the harshness of his voice, hating her expression as she stood there, looking at him with a total lack of understanding in those big, green eyes.
"Ya think Ah'm lyin' about somethin'?" she asked softly, disbelief sneaking onto her face, and he looked away from her.
"It don' matter what I tink," he said coldly, hands clenched to stop them from betraying him and wiping away her tears.
"It does if ya think Ah'm lyin' about somethin'! What would Ah lie about? Can' ya jus' tell me what's goin' on?" she pleaded, and he sighed and fixed his gaze to the floor, mumbling,
"I don' tink I can stay here, Rogue..." He didn't have to look at her to see her reaction. He felt it. The force of the blow rocked his head to the side and the burning on his cheek told him just what she thought of his decision to leave. The sound of it hung between them, ominous – and followed by a choked, swallowed sob from Rogue.
"Get outta mah room," she said quietly, voice scratchy, and he looked up at her, eyes softening at the sight of the love of his life with her arms around her middle, her bangs obscuring her face from his view.
"Chere..." he said sadly, halfway to reaching out to her, and she took a step back, raising her eyes to meet his and screaming,
"Get OUT!" Once again, he turned to the door, opened it, but this time, he left.
Remy was gone. Rogue had been crying in her room for six straight hours. Wanda was climbing the walls, alternately threatening to crucify the Cajun upon his capture and destroying things around the house because despite her concern for Rogue, the Southern Belle wouldn't let her or anyone else in, let alone tell them what it was all about. Other than the obvious fact 'he left', no one knew anything. John, initially torn between wanting to be there for Wanda and needing to find his friend, had been ordered to find Remy under pain of death and bring him back to face the Scarlet Witch's jury of one – execution not up for appeal, judgement passed in absentia – and was therefore not around to help calm her down. And so the kitchen was reduced to the first stages of Ragnarok.
Wolverine was holed up in the Professor's office after his reaction to the new developments had demolished a bearing wall and brand new 44'' plasma flatscreen in the downstairs lounge, and was undergoing what amounted to a serious talking to, but which was being referred to as 'having words' by the adults to avoid the teenagers thinking it was a laughing matter.
Kitty was at the Brotherhood house, Lance charged with 'sitting on her until she stops encouraging Wanda' by Jean, who was to be seen in deep conversation with her fiancée back at the mansion, and could be heard murmuring things like 'I knew this would happen,' and 'I wonder what he did to her'.
Kurt was with Storm, helping her make dinner while she talked him out of his kamikaze mission to port into his sister's room and try and comfort her.
Pietro was cowering in his room, praying devoutly that this apparent epic failure in Rogue's relationship with a criminal would make his sister see sense and get out of her own while she could.
Toad had relocated to the sewers to stay with the Morlocks temporarily, something he had taken to doing after Apocalypse in times of stress, feeling more at home with others who looked and smelled unnatural.
Fred was trying to keep Wanda calm and failing miserably as the witch's concern for her friend and desire for retribution upon those who had done her wrong grew hour by hour.
The New Recruits were keeping well out of the way of everything, and only Bobby asked the question everyone was secretly thinking.
"What the hell wen' wrong?!"
The Cajun slumped over the bar didn't answer the enraged Aussie's question, reaching instead for his bourbon, and John lost his temper completely.
"You stupid bloody – " Hauling his best friend up by the collar of his trench coat, he reached back and landed one square on the corner of Remy's already abused right jaw. The drunken Cajun went down in a pitiful heap on the filthy floor. Without attempting to retaliate or in any way acknowledge that he'd just been floored by someone who usually floored other people by his side in places just like this, Remy picked himself up unsteadily and leant on the bar, reaching again for his glass. If he had been looking at his friend he might have seen the next one coming. Reflexes faster than the intoxicated Southerner's, John swept the half-full glass onto the floor where it smashed, shards marinading in the expensive pool of liquid, and struck Remy on the opposite cheek. Going down this time, Remy's chin caught the bar, teeth cracking together, and when he got up for the second time in as many minutes, despite being yet more unsteady, he was looking at the Australian. He spat a mouthful of blood before answering him.
"Go home, Johnny-boy..." he mumbled, tongue probing a back tooth to check it's anchorage,
"I ain' goin' back again..." The bright blue eyes watching him narrowed at the slurred words, and the pyromaniac flexed his fingers.
"The fuck you're not," he hissed, not even really waiting for Remy to turn his face away from him before grabbing him by the hair and slamming aforementioned visage into the counter. Something cracked.
"Whatever you've done, whatever she said, you're goin' back an' you're makin' this right, mate, if I have ta have them commune with your bloody spririt ta get it done, you'll bloody well do it 'cause you ain' runnin' away again," John said, leaning on the Southerner to prevent him from escaping, one elbow purposely digging into his friend's kidneys and the other secured on the edge of the bar as he spoke directly into Remy's ear.
"She doesn' love me," Remy howled, sounding more self-pitying than actually physically pained although by rights he should be.
"Heard 'er talkin' t' some ot'er guy on de phone – she doesn' love me!" John lifted his friend's face from the bar enough for him to be able to backhand him, and for Remy's nose to split on one side, the blood trickling down his face from the hairline cut adding to what was already spilling down his chin.
"Then ya bloody well get your arse back there an' fight for 'er ya fuckin' coward! Are ya so bloody scared ta burn yourself that ya can' even do that?!" John roared, and Remy screwed his eyes shut hard and shouted,
"YES!" voice cracking as the Aussie let go of him, letting him slide to the floor as the tears finally broke through and he found himself on his knees on the floor of the bar, crying his eyes out.
"'m gon' lose her – I never had her t' begin wit', she wasn' mine," he sobbed, hating himself beyond all reason for being so completely pathetic. It wasn't that he was crying for her, it was that he was a coward, crying for her on his way to leaving her for ever because he was too chickenshit to stay and fight for what he wanted.
"What am I gonna do, Johnny?" he asked, looking up at his friend and finding he didn't have so far up to look after all, John having squatted down to his level, expression pained, but eyes as hard as ever.
"You're comin' home with me," he said quietly, taking Remy's arm and helping him up carefully,
"An' then you're gonna talk to the Sheila."
It was a miracle that Wanda didn't smite him like the angry goddess she was the second John half-dragged, half-carried him in through the front door, but through some chancing fate, the look on her lover's face stopped her as she raised her arm to do the deed. At the sight of Remy's own face, her only reaction was to raise her eyes to John's once more in question. He nodded once, and her lips quirked as her eyes softened and she came towards him and drew him into her arms. She took care to avoid the Cajun he was supporting.
"Thank you..." she said, voice trembling with unspoken emotions, and he put his free hand on her cheek and gave her a dark look.
"I did it for him," he said softly, almost apologetic, as a devoted disciple who sacrifices to his goddess and then admits that it was an act of merciful euthanasia rather than a direct sacrificial deed. She just kissed him briefly and whispered,
"I know. Thank you." The look he gave her as she pulled back and took the drunken, beaten Remy from him with an ungentle shot of blue sparklies was every bit as trusting and faithful as that of one who has found their chosen religion and heard the voice of their saviour, and she returned it in equal measure.
"We can't send him to her like this, love," he said, and she bit her lip.
"I don't know if I can do anything about this... I don't know how," she murmured, powers probing the Cajun as they sought to assess the damage done to him and by him to himself.
"I don't think I can heal this. Physically, I know how – "
"Leave the knocks, darlin'. He'll be glad of the reminder when he comes to," John interjected, voice gentle despite his interruption, but the words hard and true. Her smile was glowing but her embarassment was told by the flush of her cheekbones.
"Okay... Um... I can't heal drunkenness... I don' know how... Should we let him sleep it off?" John shrugged.
"I couldn' keep him awake. He passed out halfway here. An' I wanna talk to 'im again without the booze interferin' before he goes ta see her. I think he needs it," he said, taking in his unconcious friend with a soldiers eye, and then looking back to Wanda.
"I'll put him in my room," he said finally. She screwed up her face as if disapproving of the idea of letting Remy sleep in John's room at all, and then her eyes clouded in confusion.
"But where will you..?" He looked at her calmly.
"With you, love. Unless ya don' feel up to it, then I'll bunk with this coward." She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, then tucked her bangs behind her ears.
"I didn't think of that... You can if you want to, I guess..." John took a step closer to her, putting two fingers under her chin and looking her in the eyes.
"What are you afraid of, Wanda?" he asked quietly, and she blinked, blue-grey turning liquid and wide as they met bottomless blue
"What if I can't... I mean... I don't know..." she struggled to find the words, and he sighed, stepping forward and closing his arms around her, kissing her forehead gently.
"Darlin'... You know ya don' have ta do anythin', right?" She didn't reply, and he tipped her face up, forcing her to meet his gaze again. Her eyes were unsure, brow furrowed.
"You know I couldn' ever hurt you or do anythin' ya didn' wan' me ta do, right?" he asked again, and she nodded, blinking quickly.
"Wanda... I love you. I love you so much I don' even care much that my best friend's lyin' over there black an' blue righ' now 'cause of me because you're cryin'..." She smiled a tiny smile; it flitted over her fears so quickly he barely caught it, but since his every attention was on her, he just about managed.
"You're so beautiful when ya smile, ya know that? An' when ya cry, but I like the smiling better. It means I haven't cocked up yet," he said, purposely turning it into a joke on him, and she blinked again and said,
"You haven't done anything... And I know – I know you'd never – never hurt me," she said carefully,
"But I... I was hoping you'd stay with me anyway, and you – you beat him up, and if he's going to be in your room – maybe you should stay with him in case he wakes up? I don't – I don't want to be a Jean," she said with a little more bite to her voice, and he raised an eyebrow.
"What's that then?"
"One of those girls who won't let their men do anything that doesn't involve them or don't like them doing things with the guys or taking care of things without them controlling everything... I don't want to be all overbearing and mean and - you know that ball and chain expression? I don't want to be that... I want you to do what you do and be with me when you want to... I don't want to keep you from things..." she looked embarassed and a little sad as she spoke, and he grinned at her, hugging her tightly.
"Darlin', if I could chain myself to you without drivin' you spare, I probably would, but you're no Jean, alright? You're my Wanda... I don't feel like you're keeping me from anything, an' if I did, I'd let you know, okay? Relax. I don' want ta spend the night with him anyway – he snores," he said honestly, and she laughed, relieved and happy.
"Are you sure? You know I don't want to be a burden – " he cut her off by kissing her, almost as deeply as he had the night they'd discovered their feelings. Wanda had told the girls the truth – that was all they'd done and all she was going to do until she felt safe and normal and settled into her skin again. Not because she didn't want to, but because they'd both agreed that finding out everything about the other was more important than getting to the physical benefits of a comitted relationship, not least because it meant that when they did it would mean something to them both. He'd had enough of meaningless faceless release and she'd had enough of shallow, unreal relationships and untruths to last her a they had might be real, but they both wanted it to stay that way, and as it was both of them were having enough troube coming to terms with the emotional side of it already. Adding anything else on top of that would just be stupid.
"You... are the only thing I've ever chosen," he said when he released her again, eyes closed as if he was afraid to look at her.
"The only thing I've ever wanted like this, and I've got you... I'm not gonna lose you or ruin this by pushing you into things... I love you, Wanda... I don' ever wan' you to say the 'B' word again, it's not true now an' it never will be." He sounded like he was trying to tell her something he could barely even contain, let alone express, and by the look in his eyes as he opened them to capture hers, she thought that might well be the case.
"I love you too, John... And I'm tired... Carry him upstairs? I'll be in my room..." She let go of him with a smile that was half-coquette, half angel, and left the room, and he hoisted Remy onto his shoulder again and began the trek to his room.
When Remy LeBeau woke up, he felt exactly like he had been beaten to a bloody pulp after a long night of reparative drinking. Which, he recalled, was fairly close to the truth. Probing his molars to check one that felt rather uncomfortably loose, and raising an aching arm to his right eye which was swollen shut and felt like it had glass embedded somewhere above it, he attempted to takestock of his situation beyond the debilitating pain. And he realised that there was a deeper, darker pain in his chest. For a moment he thought he was dying, but then he abruptly remembered that that particular pain would be from the loss of the woman of his dreams, and then he wished that he was dying after all. With an unbecoming whimper, he rolled onto his side and propped himself up on his elbows and looked around with the eye that still functioned.
He was clearly in John's bedroom at the Brotherhood, and someone had removed his trench coat and boots. Disoriented, he tried to sit up, but his kidneys protested and he slumped into the well-known face-down position the hungover favour so. His whining must have been louder than he thought, for he was suddenly aware that John was sitting next to him, pulling him up carefully and helping him sip what became evident as being very black coffee. For a moment Remy was surprised that the guy who'd laid into him the night before as though he wanted him dead was being so kind and careful with his battered self, but then he recalled that John had been doing it for his own good and that he loved him really.
"Sorry 'bout the eye, mate," John said quietly, and Remy looked at him blearily.
"Tu es pardonné, mon ami... un mal nécessaire..." he mumbled, and John nodded, distracted.
"Rem'... I need ya t' listen to me, okay?" Remy's voice became stronger as his hatred of the words he knew John was about to speak won out over the hangover and the misery, and the tone became venomous.
"Or what? Y'll kill me? I don' wan' t' listen. I won'." The petulance of his refusal to cooperate was rammed home when John gave him a stern look and said,
"I'm not gonna dignify that with a response. Ya'll listen because ya have to." Remy looked away from his friend pointedly.
"Don' be five," John said sharply, and Remy gave him a glare that let him know just how much he hated being told not to be childish. It was, after all, his defense mechanism.
"I hate y'," he said angrily, and John shrugged.
"I know y' do. Like I hate you when you're holdin' my head under water ta make me take my pills. Now shut the fuck up an' listen." Remy made a grudging noise of assent, signifying that he would indeed listen.
"You love Rogue. Ya wouldn' walk out on 'er for nothin'. What the hell happened?" John stated the first two facts plainly, asking the question without the hint of a judgement being passed upon anyone involved, and Remy sighed, looking up at the ceiling. The lack of scorchmarks was impressive.
"Heard 'er talkin' t' anot'er homme on de phone... Flirtin'... Askin' him t' come roun'... She said she'd get rid o' Remy so he could come..." The words were spoken with a sort of irreversible unfairness, a tired knowledge that it was already ruined and that it could never be rebuilt... That all mention of it was merely salt in the wound of his heart. John didn't answer immediately.
"Did she say you were the one she was gonna get rid of?" he asked thoughtfully, and Remy looked at him with a sort of accusing disbelief, as though John were displaying an unknown stupidity level quite unlike him.
"She said she'd be cookin' when he came roun', an' dat she promised 'he' wouldn' be dere... Isn' dat obvious enough?" John gave him an odd look.
"Angel was s'posed ta go ta dinner at the Institute las' night 'cause Rogue invited him. The littlest Sheila nearly had a seizure when you an' Rogue had your words an' you ran out. She's been barricaded in 'er room ever since an' Kitty had ta call the bloke an' tell him he couldn' come. 'Parently he was on the way here when she made the call. Kitty wan's your 'ead on a platter." The look on Remy's battered face would have been quite comical really, if it hadn't been for the fact that he looked utterly miserable.
"Angel? De rich bastard wit' de wings?" he asked, as though he really wasn't sure he'd understood who it was.
"The very same. Rogue set 'im up with some British Sheila las' year an' as far as I hear he's still in with the X-crowd – they're all invited to 'is wedding nex' year." If the previous facial gymnastics had been fun, these were nothing short of hilarious. It was a credit to John that he remained calm and outwardly unamused.
"So... I jus' proved dat I don' trust de woman I love t' be honest wit' me..." Remy said slowly, the full horror of what he had done sinking in like corrosive acid on a baby's bottom. Painfully and with a strange gargling noise.
"Johnny... If I asked y'... Would y' jus' put me out o' my misery? Fo' ol' time's sake?" he asked tearfully, and John's fingers twitched.
"Don' make me smack you one for bein' an arse," he warned, and Remy made a despairing sound and closed his eye again.
"Could y' leave den? I wanna cry in peace," he managed, mouth almost too closed to let the words escape, and John sighed.
"I'm not goin' anywhere. I'm takin' you ta see her."
We all know the phrase 'kicking and screaming', but few of us truly know what it is to be transported in some fashion against one's will, while being the subject of an enactment of said phrase – or to be doing the transporting. John knew both sides of this unpleasant matter quite well, but never had he thought to see the day when he'd be bodily dragging an injured Remy across the mansion's grounds, Wanda following at a sedate pace. It happened to be such that the transportation of Remy in this manner called for violence in the form of kicking bits that refused to comply with the overall mission's chances of success, and the only way they'd even gotten him this far was by knocking him out courtesy of Wanda, hogtieing him and placing him in the jeep, driving to the gates, and after being refused entry while carrying 'that thing' – 'that thing' being Remy – opening the gates courtesy again of the lovely Wanda, and entering without permission. The reason Wanda was not aiding the dragging of the now-conscious Cajun was that she had claimed dizziness after such use of her powers lately when she was really meant to be resting, and John, being mindful of her health had agreed that they'd simply have to use cruder means to get Remy where they needed him gotten. Wanda was, however, up to opening the door for John as he threw Remy into the hall unceremoniously, and followed him, grabbing him by the coat before he could escape back out the way they'd come. Wolverine intercepted their ascent of the stairs.
"Jesus, bub, what'd you do to 'im?" he asked, sniffing the Cajun apprehensively, and John waved a hand expansively.
"Persuaded 'im ta stop bein' an arse." Wanda put a cold, trembling hand on Logan's arm and said,
"He needs to make amends for what he did," in a small, unsteady voice, and the Canadian turned to face her, looked her over.
"I don't - you feelin' okay, sweetheart?" he asked, surprised, the unwelcome breaker of Rogue's heart momentarily ignored as he made certain that Wanda was not about to make the world pay anew for wrongs done to her.
"Please let him apologise, Logan. What hurt Rogue most last time was that he did not apologise properly... She needs closure..." Whether it was the pleading of this white-faced, shaking girl or the memory of his Stripes' misery and despondence following her time away with Remy, or even the knowledge that if he refused, even in her weakened state, Wanda could likely still force her will through and make things happen according to her views of what ought be done – Logan assented. Jerking his head at John and saying,
"He better not make things worse, kid," he took Wanda's arm and led her away, gruff voice low and kind as he asked,
"Are you sure you're okay, Wanda?" John, now alone with his honest-to-the-Gods burden, pulled Remy over one shoulder after cuffing him hard on the head, and began to ascend the stairs, his mind half on whether or not Wanda's deteriorated health was genuine or not, and whether Rogue would even listen. Unlike Remy, she had every reason to refuse.