To this day Spencer's still not sure what it was that prompted him to leave that motel room with Remy. There was no logical reason for him to do so. No reason whatsoever to trust this strange man who had picked him up on the side of the road and given him care and shelter. Yet the next morning when Remy made the offer, instead of doing the practical thing and saying no and going to find a mechanic to go tow and fix his car, he said yes. All he knew was that, for the first time in over a year, he felt something more than grief and pain and that numbness that had slowly been taking over his life. He felt more than the depression that was a constant companion. And in the back of his mind was a voice that sounded so much like his mother, warning him that if he didn't take this chance right here, right now, he might never again get the opportunity to climb his way out of the darkness. That maybe the next time he sat alone at night cleaning his gun might be his last.

There was little sign language that Spencer had been able to learn when he'd been at the hospital and he hadn't felt any motivation to pursue it once he'd gotten out. Nor did he know if Remy even understood any of it. So he was left with the notebook and pen that he held in his lap as they drove down the road. It wasn't exactly safe to be taking Remy's eyes away from the road to read whatever he wrote.

Because of that, Spencer tried to keep it short. They'd been driving for almost an hour with just the low hum of the radio when he wrote down his first question.

Where are we going?

It seemed a strange question to ask after traveling for so long without any care as to where he was going.

Remy's eyes flickered over to his notepad and then back out to the road with lazy ease. "Aint got any real plan yet, me. I was t'inking Salt Lake, maybe." Reaching out, he twisted the knob on the radio, dropping the sound down a little bit more to make it easier to talk. He was relaxed back in his seat, one hand resting n the wheel and his other on the window. "I been running, sort of. Had some heavy shit happen recently and I needed de chance to get m' head back on straight. Always did t'ink best when I was driving." That grin of his flashed, warm and bright. "Anyplace y' feel like hitting?"

There was nowhere that Spencer really cared to go. It'd been too long since he'd really given any form of thought to where he was traveling. Chewing on the inside of his lip, he thought for a second before quickly writing.

Not Nevada. Or DC.

He didn't think he could handle either of those places for so many obvious reasons.

If Remy thought his request strange, he didn't show it. "So, Utah, den maybe up to Idaho, yeah? Could pop over to Oregon f' a bit. Been a while since I drove along de river dere. It's a gorgeous sight."

And just like that, the two were on their way to Salt Lake. Spencer's aimless travels suddenly had a destination. It was a shaky one, true, and could easily change with the wind, but there was something different about traveling to some place instead of constantly away. Or maybe it was the companion beside him. Or maybe he'd just finally gone insane.

He pushed those thoughts out of his head and settled down low in his seat. After so long traveling with nothing more than his own darkness to keep him company, he let go of himself and just enjoyed riding in his companion's light. The two traveled down the road with nothing more than the music and the sounds of the engine to break the silence. And that was all right.

They spent eight hours in the car that first day before they stopped in Salt Lake City. Apparently Remy had been serious about them taking their time with this trip. He got them a motel for the night once they'd indulged in some dinner—dinner that had been in an actual restaurant. Spencer couldn't remember the last time he went out and ate around real people instead of quickly grabbing something and slipping away once more. Little did he know that this was just the start of a long campaign that Remy was undertaking to put some meat back on Spencer's bones.

He hadn't been prepared for the fear that would hit him as he sat down inside of this open, exposed restaurant. Having his back out there in the open where anyone could come up behind him was enough to quicken his breathing and have his hands shaking. When Remy flagged down their waitress and politely requested "Is dere any way we might have dat booth dat just opened up over dere, cher?" and slipped her a little extra tip, there was enough room beyond Spencer's gratitude for him to feel any embarrassment. He slipped down into the booth with his back against the wall and a clear view of the room around him and his tension was cut in half. Being around so many people, being where people could see him, was still a scary feeling, but it was manageable. He could breathe.

Remy didn't bring it up through dinner. He said plenty else, spending the whole meal regaling Spencer with stories about himself and some of his friends back home. He wasn't the least bit hesitant about admitting to Spencer that he was a thief and had been for most of his life. Not that Spencer really cared. Who was he to judge? After all, he won out on that contest by far. Remy might've been a thief but Spencer was a murderer.

That thought left a sour feeling in his stomach.

The rest of his meal tasted like ash.

Each time they stopped, Remy got them a single room with double beds. It never occurred to Spencer to protest it. Until he'd laid there that first night listening to Remy breathe, listening to the soft sounds he made in his sleep, Spencer hadn't realized how much he missed it. How alone he'd felt.

If any of the team could see him now they wouldn't have recognized the person he'd become. Shy little Dr. Reid, running and hiding, sleeping in random motel rooms with a man he'd only known for a few days?

He didn't care. A tiny spark deep down inside felt alive again and the survivor in Spencer couldn't let go of the very thing that had brought that about.

The two took their time in their travels. In Salt Lake, they stayed for two nights. Boise, only one. Portland, they stayed for four. Remy fell in love with the nightlife there and the gay community that he found. He went out to the bars, to different clubs. It was easy to see just how much Remy enjoyed not only the nightlife, but just being able to be out around people. He wasn't ever bothered by the fact that Spencer didn't come, either. That was something that Spencer definitely wasn't ready for. Eating out was hard enough. The idea of going into a club set his heart to racing and put him in a cold sweat. After the first time, Remy didn't push it, and Spencer always knew the offer was there.

In a way, he reminded Spencer sometimes of Derek, who had always been happy out in the middle of a crowd in a club. Yet, just like Derek, the Cajun also seemed perfectly content when it was just the two of them. He never seemed bothered by the fact that he was often the only one talking or by them not talking at all.

They talked a little in the car as they traveled. Remy had indeed taken them into Oregon, going up towards Portland, and as he'd said the drive on the river was beautiful. Driving through the gorge was simply stunning. Following the river, mountains and trees on either side of him, brought Spencer a sense of peace that he hadn't thought he'd ever feel again. Mom would've loved this, he found himself thinking, and the words cut like a knife through him yet, at the same time, brought a small smile.

Their conversation was light and kept to what could be done on a notepad. Music, movies, books. They discussed their favorites in all. Most of the time, though, Spencer stayed silent, and Remy let him. He didn't pressure Spencer to talk at any time. He seemed content to just let Spencer be.

After stopping off a few times along the way, they ended up breaking for the night in Spokane before moving on the next day to head to Missoula for who knew how long.

There was no real rhyme or reason for where Remy would stop or how long they would stay and that was okay. Just getting up and moving each day, being around a person and interacting, albeit through notes and the few random signs he knew, was hard enough. Slowly coming back to life after a year of feeling like he was a walking zombie was more work than Spencer had expected. Some days he wondered if it was really worth the effort.

One thing that Spencer learned quickly while traveling with Remy was that his companion was nothing like anyone else he'd ever dealt with. Not once did Remy ask him question about his past. He didn't ask Spencer about his voice or about the pain he sometimes got in his chest. He didn't ask about the whistle and wheeze that sometimes struck Spencer's breathing. He didn't ask about the nightmares that woke him up almost every single night. Any other person in his shoes would've been full of questions. They would've practically demanded to know what was wrong with him. Spencer knew how broken he appeared to others. Yet, Remy did none of that.

When Spencer couldn't breathe properly, Remy offered him a cup of coffee, which was a trick that helped many asthma sufferers, or he'd sit beside him and tell him stories and helped him to relax as Spencer slowly got himself back under control. He made sure that Spencer or himself always had a notebook with them so that they'd always be able to communicate. Once, at some small town in Oregon, Spencer had found a beginners book on sign language stuffed into his bag.

And when the nightmares hit at night, as they inevitably did, his companion was there for him. The first time Spencer had shot up from a nightmare to find Remy in bed with him it had almost been enough to trigger a panic attack. A wave of calm from the man had taken the sharp edge of that panic away just enough for Spencer to actually hear the low words that were being murmured to him in a soothing litany. "Shh, shh, it's okay, cher, it's all right. Remy's here and he's got y'. It was just a bad dream, dat's all. Y'r gonna be okay. Dat's it. Y'r gonna be okay." It was everything that Spencer wanted deep in his heart of hearts and what he'd always tried to convince himself that he didn't need. With the pain and terror of his nightmare still gripping at him, he just didn't have the strength to resist. He let himself be held and coddled and didn't fight as Remy soothed him down like he was some skittish animal. Spencer drifted off to sleep in that comforting embrace.

Remy was already awake when Spencer got up the next morning. Neither man mentioned what had happened. But that night when Spencer woke from his nightmare, it was to the solid feel of a body behind him and whispered reassurances of a man who he was finding himself being drawn terrifyingly close to.

The first time Spencer had one of his panic attacks in front of Remy was also the first time that Spencer discovered a newfound fear of fire. He hadn't had any reason to encounter fire since that fateful night except for in his dreams. Though he hadn't been able to remember that part of that night for the longest time, his dreams were constantly haunted by burning flames, choking smoke, the sound of his mother's pained breathing and the last few sounds his own voice made as he pleaded for her to hold on, just hold on a little longer, and the final last, pitiful help when the firefighters had arrived right before unconsciousness had stolen over him.

In his dreams it was always the whole thing itself that he figured had scared him. He'd never had any reason to believe that it was the fire. Not until one night in a hotel in Montana.

Remy had gotten them a nicer room for the night what with the snow and the cold. He'd wanted to make sure they were both warm and, though he hadn't said anything to Spencer, the genius had been able to see Remy's worry in his eyes when Spencer was rubbing at the ache the cold put in his chest and wheezing slightly.

As had become normal, Spencer went in for his shower once they got in the room. He generally took his at night while Remy took his in the morning. That meant that Spencer could use all the hot water he wanted and he filled the bathroom with steam until his breathing eased a little and his chest didn't hurt quite so bad.

It was when he stepped back out into the main room afterwards that everything went to hell.

The first thing Spencer noticed was the smell and it was enough to stop him in his tracks. The smell of smoke and burning wood. Almost instantly it set his heart racing. He could hear the low crackles and pops and his eyes zeroed in on flames burning merrily in the fireplace.

He'd never had a panic attack hit him so hard or so fast. It felt like one second he was standing there calmly and the next he was on the ground with his heart pounding out of his chest and his lungs screaming for air. He couldn't hear Remy's voice through the pounding in his ears and the memories of his mother's voice in his ears. Pleading, begging, moaning as the pain got too much, and then quiet, so quiet, already gone though he hadn't known it then. He'd just kept dragging her, pulling them both, trying so hard to get to the doors.

The memory gripped him tightly, like an iron band around his chest, and Spencer was on the verge of passing out when a pair of arms wrapped around him and something warm and solid fitted up against his back in a pose that had become familiar after his nightmares. The initial burst of panic at being restrained faded as he recognized the hold and knew who it was. Then, much to his embarrassment, he found himself clutching at the arm around him. One of Remy's arms went over him and across his chest while the other folded underneath his head like a pillow. Spencer turned his face in towards that one as he gasped for breath and he pressed his nose against Remy's sleeve to block out the smoke smell that wouldn't go away.

Remy's voice was firm and steady in his ear. What he was saying, Spencer had no idea, but he held on to it, to the sound and steadiness of it, and anchored himself there as he fought to relax enough to get his heart and breathing back under control.

He didn't realize he was crying until the tight grip of his panic attack lessened and reality began to sink back in. Embarrassment had him trying to hide his face and wipe away the tears. Remy was having none of it. Firm hands rolled Spencer over and then carefully drew him in until he was pressed up against Remy's chest. That was about the time that Spencer realized that the two of them were lying on the floor right outside the bathroom. When he'd dropped, he must've tried to scoot back, to get away from the fire. His embarrassment grew and he buried his face in against Remy's jacket.

"It's okay, cher." Remy told him, never once letting him go. "It's all right. Y'r safe here. Whatever it is, y'r safe, I promise. I'm right here and I won't let anything happen to y'. Not while I'm around. Y'r safe."

Oh how he wanted to believe that was true. The fantasy of being safe was something that Spencer craved more than anything. He was tired. So damn tired. It felt like he'd been running and fighting alone for so long and he was just exhausted. Tired of being alone. Tired of running. Tired of always being afraid. Tears flowed faster and a silent sob caught in his throat.

How long they laid there, Spencer had no idea. Later, when the tears were done and his hands weren't shaking, he'd write a note to Remy to explain that it was the fire that had set him off. He wouldn't be able to bring himself to say why and Remy wouldn't ask. After that, there would be no more rooms with fireplaces.

But for that moment, lying on that hotel room floor, Spencer curled in against Remy and let the tears flow.

After Missoula was Billings, then on to Fargo where they surprisingly spent almost a week. Spencer never found out why and Remy never offered.

They were in Chicago when Remy told him who he was and what he was a part of. He sat Spencer down in their motel room with a fresh pot of coffee and looked at him so seriously as he told him that he was a part of the X-Men.

His face when he read Spencer's reply—I know. I figured it out days ago when you talked to 'Cyclops' on the phone—was enough to bring out one of Spencer's very rare smiles. That smile was gone an instant later when Remy said "We're not dat far from dem. I'd really like it if y' came with me. Dey've always got room for someone new."

In just the space of a heartbeat Spencer went from smiling to one of the worst panic attacks that he'd had in months. Worse even than the one triggered by the fire.

Breaking his self-imposed exile to travel around the country with someone he just met was one thing. Staying at a home with so many different people, a steady place where he can be found, where he can be connected to others, grow close to them—he can't do it. He just can't. Some days the only thing that keeps him from turning tail and running as fast and as far as he can from Remy is the knowledge that the man can most definitely handle himself in a fight. Better than Spencer can. But to go to this home, this place that houses people Remy cares about, that houses children? No. No, no, no, absolutely not. He couldn't do it.

It took almost an hour for Remy to calm him down. They ended up curled up together in one of the beds as Spencer trembled so hard it shook the bed beneath them and his breath wheezed in and out of a throat that was going to be sore and swollen for days after this abuse. He'd be on a liquid diet until the swelling went back down.

Remy held him close through all of it and tried to do anything he could to help Spencer calm down. He shuddered a little too and he pressed himself just a tiny bit tighter against Spencer's back. For the first time since they'd met, Remy addressed the great big elephant in the room, the one that they'd both pretended didn't exist. "I don't know what happened to y' or who hurt y', Spencer, mais whoever y'r running from, we can keep y' safe."

It was so tempting. Held in those arms, it was so tempting to trust them, to hope that they could keep him safe and keep Remy safe too. But he knew better.

He would go with Remy, maybe stay in the city a day or two, but then it was time to be on his way again. One night, maybe two, that was what he told himself. Once Remy was back at home there was no reason for Spencer to stay with him. He didn't want to tie himself down to any one person or place. He'd swore that when he left Vegas. There was no way he was going to tie himself down and put anyone at risk. It was better that way. He didn't deserve the ease that he'd found with this man. He didn't deserve a home.

Not anymore.

After what had turned into an almost month long road trip, the two arrived in New York. This had always been Remy's end destination. For Spencer, it was the end of one trip, and the beginning of another. One that he found himself extremely reluctant to start. Whatever strange thing that had possessed him to get into the car with Remy that rainy night, that had kept him with him day and in and day out this past month, was still there in him telling him not to go. To stay.

One day, he told himself. I'll stay for a day, maybe two. But no more.

Remy knew that Spencer didn't want to go anywhere near the mansion that he talked about. Because of that, Spencer fully expected to be dropped off somewhere, most likely a motel. So it surprised him completely when Remy said "Shouldn't be but another half hour an den we'll be at m' new place."

Your new place?

Glancing over, Remy scanned his note and then nodded. "Oui. Wasn't sure I was gonna come back, me, so I sold m' last place. But I called up Papa an he got us set up at a nice place down in Chelsea."

Us? That word didn't slip past Spencer's notice. Remy hadn't said 'got me', he'd said 'got us'. Something in Spencer's stomach squirmed at that and he couldn't decide if it was a good feeling or a bad one. He didn't want to be giving Remy false impressions here. He'd thought they understood one another after his panic at coming here. Didn't Remy realize that Spencer wasn't planning on staying?

Remy was surprisingly good at reading Spencer's face and body language and he quickly picked up on his friend's discomfort. Before Spencer could think of what to write down, Remy was reassuring him. "Don't go getting into a panic none, Spencer. I don't stay nowhere without a place to call m' own. I would've called up Papa no matter what to get me a place."

A little of Spencer's tension eased.

"Y'r welcome to stay dere with me as long as y' like." Remy continued on. "Papa says it's a nice place."

Jean-Luc LeBeau, Spencer decided, was the master of understatement. The condo wasn't simply 'nice'. It was a beautiful.

It was a triplex condo that was set up in a building in the heart of Chelsea. A nice building that included a doorman, which Spencer found reassuringly secure. The floor plan was pretty open and beautifully set up and it felt enormous compared to the smaller apartment Spencer had once lived in and the tiny motel rooms he'd been staying in for so long. The living room had sixteen foot ceilings, a skylight, columns, and custom staircases. The main floor held the wide open space for the living room and a kitchen worth of a chef with all the stainless steel appliances and concrete countertops, with a long bar to separate all of it from the living room. The floors were done in slate and bamboo, which gave the place an even nicer feel.

The upper level had a simple loft bedroom and its own bathroom. Spencer almost immediately fell in love with that room. He liked the idea of being able to go to the edge and overlook the entire room. On the other side of that overlooking wall were built in bookcases which required a ladder—one was off to the side, tucked against the wall—to access.

The lowest level was all the master bedroom and bathroom, plus a laundry room tucked in the back.

The place was beautiful. In a better time, in a better place, Spencer would've loved to call something like this home.

"I had a company get some things outta storage f' me once Papa got dis." Remy told him as he set his bag down on the leather couch in the living room. "Dere should be a bed up in de loft or down in de master bedroom. Feel free to take either one y'r comfortable with." When Spencer's gaze immediately went up to the loft, Remy chuckled. "Dat's what I figured. Go on, take y'r bag on up dere. It's late an we might as well settle in f' de night. I'll go pick us up some groceries tomorrow."

Just as Spencer made to go past Remy, the Cajun reached out and caught his arm. Immediately Spencer stopped. He looked up at Remy, cocking his head a little in silent question. For a second the other man hesitated. Then a soft smile touched his lips, giving him a sweet and gentle look. "I just wanted to say dat I'm glad y'r here, Spencer. Even if it's only f' a little while, I'm glad y'r here."

Spencer was blushing as he made his way upstairs.