I send out huge apologies for being a complete asshole and not updating anything in...forever. Thanks for all the messages people have sent (even if I didn't reply...I suck at replying. I'll try to be better, I promise) and all the prodding. Nothing was wrong, just school junk...and...arrested junk 0_0 I promise, I'm not really a criminal...only sometimes. But thank you to each and every one of you, I would list you by name but that would take forever. So instead of doing that, I wrote you a chapter :D
Hank didn't receive an answer, and he didn't even find that he was disappointed in that fact. He almost expected this return to earlier behavior. Remy rested his head against the wall, drawing swirls on the floorboards with his right hand, his not mangled hand. He ignored Hank, though Hank began to wonder if this was an active process or if Remy was merely retreating into his mental protections and just did not process the voice speaking to him.
"Remy." Hank didn't stop the spark of joy he felt when those shadowed eyes looked up at him from under those eyelashes. He was going to treasure every improvement, every minorly good thing that happened from now on. He felt like he has an epiphany: it was all so much more fragile than they saw, even as X-Men. Life could be so destroyed in such a small window of time.
"May I hold your hand?" Hank put out his large paw, close enough that Remy could get to him, but not so close as to invade upon his space.
He was beginning to think that the best way to let Remy heal was to let him control the pace.
Remy just looked at him for several moments. He made no move to speak, made to movement towards him, but Hank saw the glint that appeared in his eyes for a brief moment, calculating, thinking the offer over. That alone made up for the fact that Remy was not going to be allowing himself to be touched. At least not willingly.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" The silence that met his question would normally have made Hank quiet nervous, but he was beginning to get used to it, for better or worse. Somehow he suspected that even if Remy recovered, and Hank had no delusions that he would be able to recover all the way to the man he was before this whole fiasco began, this silence, the blank looks, would never disappear entirely. They were now apart of his former teammate's personality.
Hank thought of something and he could have smacked himself for not having thought of it sooner. Remy was a new person. He had been abused to the point of breaking. His everyday actions and reactions were most likely focused on surviving. He had most likely learned the way in which he would be able to avoid his captor's wrath.
"Remy, would you like me to tell you a story?" Remy tilted his face towards Hank, his expression closed. He was not saying no, but he would not say yes and risk getting rejected. But the almost wistful look that had crossed his features was enough of an answer for Hank.
"Well then, let me tell you a fond memory of you I have. It involves your...inability to make food that is palatable to anyone with taste buds." Hank grinned as he called forth his memory of this event, namely Remy coating everything in spices on his night to cook and "helping" others on their nights to cook until the Mansion resorted to a full week of takeout meals so people wouldn't starve. Heaven knows Scott's ulcer couldn't take much more of it.
"And what is your plan Logan? Hide him? He is not some sick animal that can be released back into the wild. And how long can you hide his outbursts? Someone will hear him eventually, if one of the telepaths doesn't pick him up first. Really Logan, so little thought went into this plan of yours that I am amazed that Hank had any part of this."
"Oh, but you can believe I thought it up? God, 'Ro, we didn't plan anything. We just needed to get him outta there, to somewhere normal."
"Yes, that makes perfect sense Logan, if he thought any of this was real. But he doesn't. Did you bring him back to help him or to make you and Hank feel better, assuage your guilt?"
"My guilt? I wasn't even there. But no, that is part of the reason, but not how you think. We know we wont be able to hide him forever. But should we really hide him at all? We're not hiding him for your sakes, we're hiding him for his. God, can you imagine the shit that would get thrown the second they found out? The accusations? Everything is calm with them right now, but mark my words, all those supposedly healed wounds, all the guilt they deal with will be gone the second, the second that they find out he's still alive. Oh, who gives a flying fucking Christ on a motorbike if he's batshit crazy. He's still a murderer in their eyes. It's easier to deal with his memory than it is to deal with him. But God help me, I want him to get better, and not for our peace of mind, but because it's the least he deserves from us. How much you wanna bet that this all happened because of us, hmm? Oh no, the X-Men will know what they've done. Just not yet. Not when he can't defend himself against them."
Ororo sighed. "I know, old friend. I wish that were not the case, but I fear you are right, at least in their reactions. I cannot help but think that maybe Jean-"
"No. He don't need no flaming telepath tearing through his memories. I know Jean means well, I don't think she's do anything to hurt him intentionally, but is it in his best interest to just have all of these memories from the last few years shoved in a box in his head marked "watch at a later date"? He needs peace, 'Ro. He needs peace and us. We will get him through this as best as we can. For now."
"Alright, Logan. For now. But promise me-"
"If things take a turn towards something we can't handle we'll call Jeannie in, I promise."
"I feel like they're up to something."
Jean rolled her eyes. "Of course they are, Scott. Everyone is always up to something in this house. Don't worry about it."
"They're up to something big."
"Scott, honey. Leave Logan and Hank alone. They don't want anyone to know yet."
"Know what?" Scott turned to her. "What are they doing?" He demanded. She had that look...that special look she got when she was partaking in mischief. It was hard having a trickster as a wife sometimes.
"They're lovers."
The thud that Scott made when he hit the floor made Jean smile wickedly. That would keep him off their tail. It was entirely untrue, of course. She knew those boys were up to something, but she didn't know quite what it was. Was it really that important anyway? She had done a brief scan of their minds, just to make sure nothing was wrong, but their shields were up to maximum levels. She felt a slight static buzzing around the two of them, not them, but someone or something else. She shrugged it off. They were probably hiding a dog, why let Scott freak out about that and cause trouble where there needn't be any?
Hank could have wept with joy. He was currently holding Remy's good hand, the younger man's eyes boring holes into his own, demanding nothing but the truth in those depths. He was running through every story he could think of. He had told Remy about his relationships with the members of the team (the good ones, anyways) and Remy just sat and drank in all in, not saying anything, not needing to say anything. The two men sat knee to knee and stared at each other, in Hank's case, in wonderment.
Remy stood up in a fluid movement and Hank leaned back and wondered momentarily if he has done something to upset the man. Remy walked over to the closet and pulled it open. Hank just watched him, curious as to what he was doing. He didn't appear to be a danger to himself at the moment so Hank felt no need to act.
Remy's hand searched above his head, on the closet's shelf for something. He stilled for a moment, body obviously tense as his fingers got a hold of something. A battered shoe box was pulled down. Remy stared at it as though it was his undoing. Shakily he pulled off the lid. The shoebox hit the floor and Hank was up in less than a second when he heard a sound unlike any they has heard thus far; the soul tearing sobs of their teammate.
He was amazed when Remy allowed him to wrap his blue furry arms around him and hold him close as he fell to his knees and sobbed, fighting for breath. Hank looked around him at all the pictures of his teammates, pictures he was sure none of them had noticed being taken by the man who was never in any of them. The shoebox with its sharpie scrawled family lay on it's side.