Fic: An End In Sight
Rating: This chapter: PG, Full story: R in places. There is an NC-17 version available on the yahoo group "LoganRemy"
Summary: Sequel to Trials Unending. After the trials of Antarctia and what followed for Remy, settling back into life at the mansion with Logan is proving difficult.
Author's note (OF DOOM): OK guys, as some of you know, this has been sat in the back of my mind for about two years now. This IS the sequel to Trials Unending, and I totally understand if some of you don't remember that long ago.
If you haven't seen it and you fancy an epic, it's on this account. If you don't... well the story should still make sense. It should. :D
That said, my track record speaks for me - this may not be updated very regularly, but it is mostly on paper now, just not digital and not betaed.
Jukebox and Ross have both betaed this brilliantly, but they are not miracle workers and all mistakes are my own.
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The room was cold. Dark, blood-red eyes bored into hers and she froze still as a cold, cold hand slid over her breast and down her stomach. It settled over her hip and he leant over her with a threatening grin. Something shuddered deep inside her at the sight of that smile.
"Are you sure about this, little girl." a squeeze on her hips, the grin turned lecherous. "Are you ready for this?"
She woke sharply, tumbling forwards out of the dream and shocked to find herself upright. She gasped for breath as the feel of that icy touch melted away from her and left her cold and alone. She pulled the covers more closely around her, curling her arms around her belly and trying to hold back the nausea as the dream faded.
"No, no, no." she murmured to herself. "I'm not ready, I'm not sure." but the answer was long given. Too late to take it back now.
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On any kind of team, you spend time getting to know the people you're working with - finding out how they function, how you can get the most out of each other. Whether labelled or not, 'team building' is part of every team's day-to-day business, in between whatever their main purpose is. Through team building you fall into roles, divide up tasks; you create an understanding of each other, a relationship of sorts - symbiotic. I've always loved that word. So… alien. So when something life-altering happens, when the roles fall apart - it's not unexpected for everyone to feel adrift. The symbiosis breaks down and everything suffers; the team and the goal you're working towards.
What's worst is that, after acknowledging all this, whatever happens, it's not me that lived through this world-shattering event. I'm just the team mate. Watching a man who's been a friend to me for as long as I've known him, and a man who has admittedly only ever been an acquaintance, struggle and fight through. Nothing I can really do but encourage and cheer and rally up beside them, and even as the eternal prankster my jokes are beginning to fall flat. I feel like my life has changed, in a way I never acknowledged when I was younger and the ice was taking over my body in such an invasive way, when the lives of the people around me were changing so rapidly too. Somehow it was all so much less then; less powerful, less relevant, less painful or worrying or saddening. Maybe it was just the way I looked at life back then - nothing seemed to really have any long term repercussions. Even if times were hard or I felt trapped, there was always the hope that the future would be better. Besides, after the first time you see a friend return from the dead, nothing really holds the same kind of threat.
But now Warren is facing the rest of his life grounded after Rogue left him floating in the North Sea and his retrieval put damaging strain on his heart, and Remy LeBeau, who'd never let anyone but Rogue and Ororo close enough to know him well, was abandoned in Antarctica; returned to us snow-blinded and scarred by frostbite. It's not worth even mentioning the damage to his heart - after all, it was Rogue who left him there. Both of them, broken in a way no X-man has ever really been before. It's not me that's hurt, just secondary back-lash. But I'm sitting here wondering; if it feels like this for me, how must it be feeling for them?
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"Creed." the mutant also known as Sabretooth looked up from the metal bunk. There was a man in a sharp suit stood on the outside of the metal and plexiglass cage. He didn't know him, so it annoyed him that the man used his name. And he had been starting to feel quite peaceful here, what a shame. "Creed, we have a job for you. Your name was mentioned in the pipeline as a very efficient mercenary, if a little messy at times. We don't mind messy. Messy works for us." Creed wondered absently who this 'we' was. There was only one man outside the bars, not even any guards with him.
"What have you got ta offer me? It's cushy in here - got all I need."
"Ah, we did think it strange that they were managing to hold you here. I suppose the offer of freedom isn't what you're looking for, then?" Creed snorted crudely. "Then let's offer you something that will interest a man who gets himself arrested by attacking a Boeing 737 at an airport."
Creed sniggered. "Someone said size didn't matter." he sniggered again. The man in the suit didn't smile.
"We're going to offer you a job which will be lots and lots of fun." Creed's eyes sparkled.
"My kinda fun?"
"Your kind of fun."
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Bobby was watching. It was one of those pastimes that required a certain state of mind. But then, he hadn't been sleeping much lately, and that always pushed him into the semi-meditative zone where he could sit with a group of people and not need to be the centre of attention. Instead he could be perfectly happy working out exactly what was going on in the minds of the people around him. This zen state was helped, of course, by the truly dreadful romantic comedy that someone had put on before they'd all gathered and was burbling away to a room full of people not really watching.
He was sat in the corner with the best view of the screen, a seat chosen more for the principle of the thing than anything else, as he was probably paying it the least attention. Except for maybe Jean, who was fast asleep, draped across the arms of the armchair. Betsy was in the chair next to her, paying equal attention to the screen and to the piece of wall above and to the left of it. He was fairly sure she and Warren had been fighting before she'd come in; the winged mutant had been very tetchy of late, his restricted activities starting to grate.
The centre of Bobby's attentions was currently the three on the long sofa. Ororo had been watching when he'd first arrived, and sat down drawn by the thought of mindless entertainment on comfortable seats in a darkened room, but he thought it was probably Jean's choice of film. She was taking up one side of the sofa, more slouched than he normally saw her, with Remy leaning back against her shoulder. His head was turned slightly towards the television, but his eyes were shut. Bobby couldn't tell if he was listening to the film, or if he was asleep, but he looked almost boneless settled into all the curves that Ororo made. At the other end of the sofa sat Logan and it was his expression, as he followed the characters across the screen blankly, that Bobby was most intent on studying. It wasn't exactly Logan's standard viewing.
By the nature of Remy's position pressed up against Ororo, his legs had come to rest across Logan's and he stretched long-limbed off the end of the sofa. The move had surprised Bobby at first, when he'd looked over from studying Betsy, because Logan hadn't immediately pushed Remy away as he might have expected. Somehow, snuggling hadn't ever fallen into the fierce, manly and dominating persona he'd applied to Logan. And while they weren't exactly curled up close like Remy was with Ororo, he was definitely in Logan's space. He'd just grumbled something, and then shifted the other man's legs into a more comfortable position. Now they were all three just sat there, like that, and Logan had an expression on his face that Bobby just couldn't work out.
Something happened on-screen that made Ororo laugh out loud. Betsy sniggered into her hand, perhaps as much at Ororo's reaction as at the film, and Remy smiled widely. Awake, at least - Bobby acknowledged. Bobby looked over at the television and watched the unprepared father see his child enter the world. When he looked back - bored again - Remy's hand had settled across Logan's where it rested on his thigh. Bobby stared, both of their expressions still completely impenetrable.
Bobby would have surely come to the right conclusion, sooner rather than later, had an unexpected appearance in the doorway not resulted in Remy pulling his hand back so sharply, he thought he might have hit himself.
Warren stalked in, his shoulders bowed as if his wings were a weight almost too heavy to bear this evening. He paused in the doorway and hissed something that Bobby missed, but Remy obviously didn't - immediately on his feet and in motion.
"Hey Remy, just ignore him." Betsy spoke up. "We asked you to join us." Warren glared at her like a man betrayed, but Remy just kept walking, already halfway to the door. Bobby sat up in his chair, watching the events unfold with the same dazed awareness - not quite fully awake. Warren stepped into Remy's path, blocking the doorway and putting a hand on Remy's chest to stop him coming further.
"'m gettin' outta y' way, Wings. Jus' let me past." Remy said, only just loud enough for the room to hear. Warren seemed to think about it.
"Okay." he agreed, stepping to one side. He left enough room that Remy could get past, but not without knocking into his shoulder or the doorframe on the other side unless he turned sideways. Remy wasn't aware how small the gap was, and with his hand on the door to guide his exit, he couldn't help but push past Warren. He flinched but didn't stop moving, nearly clear and into the hall.
"Bastard." Warren hissed, wing coming up to catch Remy under the chin, throwing him back and onto the floor.
"Warren." Jean snapped, too late, as she was woken by the growing tension. Logan and Bobby were both on their feet and moving towards them.
"Don't you shove me!" Warren stood over Remy. Logan grabbed him by his collar and dragged him away and out towards the hall.
"Shut up Warren, and get out." Betsy added the verbal blow. Ororo was already at Remy's side as he sat up slowly, and Warren could see murder simmering in Logan's eyes as he released his collar roughly, throwing him off balance. With a dazed glance back into the room, Warren turned and walked away. Remy stood up and shook off worried hands.
"'s okay, I'm okay." he insisted, moving to the wall to replace the supporting hands.
"No it's not okay, Remy. Warren could have broken your neck with a move like that. This behaviour is simply not acceptable." Ororo was fuming, her cheeks heated with rage. Remy simply sighed.
"Y' done, 'Ro?" he asked tiredly, visibly sagging against the wall. Ororo echoed his sigh.
"Yes." she acknowledged quietly.
"'m goin' t' bed." Remy pushed himself off the wall and started out into the hall. Logan stepped up along side him, but he shook him off roughly. "I can do it, Logan. Merde. Back off a lil', neh?" Logan just stepped back, saying nothing. Jean watched the storm start to cloud his countenance, and she frowned, trying to understand. The man had become Remy's primary defence and sole protector over the last few months, and Jean wondered just what had brought out the protective nature in him.
Letting him storm off towards the front door and slam out into the driveway, Jean turned back to the forgotten film to find the credits rolling.
With a sigh, she wandered into the kitchen and started a big pot of tea. Whatever was wrong with Logan, he would solve it by going out and cutting loose for a while. Remy didn't have that option, so a cup of tea and a chat with her was going to do. She listened to the kettle boil as tyres screeched out of the mansion grounds, and put together a tray slowly, giving Remy a bit of time to cool off.
As she walked past the Professor's office she paused, her attention caught by Scott's voice muffled by the wood. She knew Scott had gone in earlier, but had thought that meeting had ended hours ago. The raised voices permeating into the corridor said otherwise, and she debated taking the tea in there and going back to get new drinks for Remy and herself. The voices fell quiet again, and she continued past.
They would work things out, whatever the disagreement was.
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"It's not as simple as that!" Scott shouted inside the office, slamming his hands down on the desk. He was embarrassed almost as soon as he'd done it, and took the few steps back to his chair quietly with his head down. The Professor let him take his seat again before continuing. The position of his eyebrows told Scott that he'd found the outburst amusing, which didn't help his pride much.
"I think you realise it is, Scott. It is that simple. We have the tools, the staff, the resources. We have the space in the mansion. More than enough space in fact."
"It would be dangerous."
"For who, us or them?"
"Them… well… both."
"I don't think you really believe it would be any more dangerous than what we do on a day-to-day basis. As for them… well, nothing could be safer, surely?"
"I'll talk to the others."
"No. I want this kept between us for now."
"Secrets, Professor?"
"Just for now, Scott. Just for now."
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Remy acknowledged Jean's knock with a grumble that might have been 'come in' or might have been 'go away'. She stepped into the room anyway to find him sat on the windowsill, straight-backed and pale-faced in the dusky colours that were leaking in through the window. She set the tray to one side and took a seat on the bed, the closest seat to where Remy was.
"Are you alright, Remy?" she asked quietly, reaching out to put a hand on his shin - just for contact, confirming her presence in all of Remy's senses. "Are you hurt?"
"Non." Remy drew a deep, stuttering breath and Jean realised with trepidation that the man was close to tears. "Jus' my pride, neh?" he turned towards her, and the rakish grin was full strength; might even have fooled her, if it hadn't been for that first unsteady breath. She let warm parental comfort float on the top of her mind and went back to the tray.
"I brought us some tea; thought we could have a chat. Things have been busy recently, and I can't imagine Logan is much good for heart-to-hearts." Remy chuckled, a rougher noise than she remembered, and Jean thought about pneumonia, and wondered if he was still smoking.
"Y'd be amazed."
"Talk to me, Remy." Remy turned his head again, his attentions back on the woods behind the house. With a sigh, he twisted around again and let his feet hang off the windowsill, accepting a cup from Jean.
"I make people so angry; even if they're on my side, they're angry." Jean thought about how Logan had stormed out of the house.
"Maybe…" she thought for a moment. Startled that she would even try to offer an explanation, Remy looked up from his cup. "Maybe it's part of your empathy. Making someone angry is part of the way you fight, right? Make them angry and they make a mistake, forget themselves, get tired… maybe it's just an automatic response when you feel… threatened. Your empathy kicks in thinking you're about to fight?"
"'d like t' t'ink I had more control ov' m'self dan dat." he observed dryly.
"You've never had perfect control over your empathic powers, Remy. You're shielded so tightly that you've never had to."
"But surely I'd know if I was usin' m' powers like dat."
"Would you, Remy? Really? If you'd just let me work with you a while…"
"Non, Jeannie. You know how I feel about dat." Remy shuffled back on the seat, unintentional movement giving away his discomfort. "I jus'… it's not dat I don' trus' y'."
"It's alright, really. I'm just worried about you, Remy. The emotional weight of all this…" she waved a hand airily, then frowned when she remembered he couldn't see the gesture. "I just want to make things better."
"T'ings are gettin' better." he settled back against the wall again, bringing his feet back up. "I din' realise it at firs', but dey are. I jus' need somet'ing t' do, y'know? I'm feelin'… useless." Jean smiled, glad to hear that first crumb of hope in his voice, something to feed, if they could find a way.
"We'll find you something. I think Bobby fills our quota for people who laze around the house. Stick with us, Remy. We'll get through this."
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Harry looked up from one of his quieter nights at the bar he ran not far out of New York. It wasn't dark, as bars went, but less on the dingy side than some of the establishments that surrounded it. Despite his quality interiors and better lighting, he tended to get fewer patrons than his competitors, just because of his standard clientele. Having a reputation for serving mutants did that to a man's business. Still, it made his life interesting. As the door opened he looked up to find his favourite customer at the threshold. Of all the mutant powers, this man's seemed to be the ability to drink huge amounts of alcohol and not get drunk. He grinned.
"Logan! How's life with you, buddy?"
"I'm fixing to get really, really drunk, Harry. And I'm expecting you to help."