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He came awake, screaming, fists flying, sparks of bright magenta energy crackling across his sweaty skin. He fell forward, trying to attack something that part of him already knew wasn’t there. But the rest of his waking mind hadn’t caught up with that thought yet.
Arms grabbed him and made him thrash more, but they held fast and firm, though not harshly, pulling him in tight. “Shhh, shhh! Cajun! Cajun, stop! You’re alright!”
Remy didn’t feel alright. He felt like his heart was going to explode out of his chest, or that his kinetic powers were going to set the whole room off like a bomb. He felt like running, far and fast, escaping…escaping…
Logan pulled him in closer, nuzzling his damp skin and kissing him softly. “You’re home, Remy. I got ya. It’s all okay.”
The auburn haired man let out another gasp or breath and rolled into his partner’s embrace, burying his face against his shoulder and chest, clutching him hard as he attempted to reel in the overwhelming terror that had gripped him and made his powers edge out of his control.
Wolverine didn’t mind the prickle, or the way Remy shook. The man’s scent was heavy with the tang of salt, saline and raw dread. Logan’s heart twinged, he hated seeing his lover in such distress. But he was here now, and the danger was only imagined.
“Cher…sorry…” Gambit muttered, attempting to collect himself.
“Bad dream, darlin’?”
“Very bad…”
Logan kissed his forehead and then his lips, wiping away the dampness that lingered on the narrower man’s cheeks. Remy’s breathing was still rushed and rough, whatever had scared him had done a good job of it.
“Sinister?”
Gambit shook his head, unable to answer. He hid in Logan’s chest again for a few moments, trying to ground himself. But the nightmare persisted in his mind, calling him back, making him feel and remember things alittle too vividly. Pain’s that he’d convinced himself were buried, conquered. Apparently, not so.
“What can I do, darlin’?” Logan asked, clearly concerned. “How can I help?”
Remy shook his head, finally pulling away and sitting up with a big breath. “Non…it’s alright cher. I just…gonna go get myself a drink from downstairs. The walk will wake me up, shake off de dust, ya know?”
The smaller man looked skeptical, “Want me to come?”
“Naw,” Gambit said, flashing a quick smile. “You look comfy here. Stay, keep de bed warm for me. Ya know how I hate cold sheets.”
He bent and kissed his lover again as if to assure him he was recovered, but the fear scent had relented much, and Wolverine’s eyes didn’t fail to catch the tremble in the Cajun’s long fingers as he pulled on his lounge pants and t-shirt and made for the door.
“Remy,” Logan said, a bit more firmly now, making the other pause at the threshold.
“Oui, mon amour?”
“I know there are things you’d rather not say to me. But you can. I promise.”
Gambit nodded, “I’ll be right back, cher. Go back to sleep.”
He slid out the door, closing it quietly behind him and slipping down the hall, moving silently like a cat in his bare feet.
Even the students who were generally night owls were usually asleep by this late hour, and the quiet in the mansion was almost startling, considering it’s numerous and often boisterous inhabitants. Remy almost wished for the din of it, the hustle and the bustle, the white noise of chatter and shoes and books and papers being shuffled, muffled music playing from mp3 players, and the X-Men…just being the X-Men.
He by-passed the kitchen, deciding that he couldn’t possibly eat anything with his nerves this jittery, and continued to prowl, in hopes that the walk would wake him enough that the dream would fade.
The problem was of course, that the dream wasn’t just a dream. It was more memory of dream. Of that terrible day in the tunnels, when his foolishness had caused the death of so many innocents, and where Victor finally revealed himself to be the monster he really was.
He started to shake and sweat again even as he made himself move along, almost certain that Creed was creeping behind him in the dark somewhere, ready to tear into him again, to rip him open.
Remy started to run in spite of himself, panic in his chest. He bolted down another stair case and darted down another hall towards the class rooms and library, which were darker and more empty than usual it felt.
He nearly crashed into a display case and had to roll to avoid it, finding himself crouching there on the floor, eyes gleaming and fingers crackling ready for an attack, his heart pounding in his ears. But when no sound came, and no footstep followed, he growled at himself and clutched his head, shaking it harshly. “Stop it, stop it! It’s over now…you’re here, he’s gone, it won’t happen again!” he chided himself.
But the words felt tacky and false.
Of course Creed would find him again. And though it might be difficult for him to breach Hank’s security here at the Mansion, that didn’t stop him from finding Gambit out in the real world, as he already had, more than once now.
Remy had to try to come to grips with the terrible fact that as long as he was an X-Men, he would never really be free of Sabretooth. Victor spent too much time and too much energy attempting to cause chaos and misery; something that it seemed only they were capable of dealing with.
He tried to calm himself, but he felt anxious, embarrassed and sick. Why couldn’t he move past this?
Finally he managed to pull himself up again and made his way to one of the larger study rooms in the mansion, which was filled with long tables lined with chairs, couches and chairs and various centers for studies.
The thief made his way to the back of the room, to the large French doors that opened onto the porch area and stood there in the darkness, feeling fresh air blowing through the thin screens of the porch walls. The sound of crickets and other nighttime creatures greeted him, and he took a deep breath of air. It reminded him of home.
The moon was bright but thin sliver in the sky, illuminating some of the vast lawn beyond, and Remy could see the faint twinkle of the lake in the distance.
He flopped down in one of the large chairs and raked his hands through his sweaty hair, head hanging between his knees, staring at the floor and muttering at himself in French.
A few moments later, a new shadow appeared there in the dark, one that cautiously leaned towards the distressed sounds of his teammate. “Remy?”
LeBeau nearly leapt out of his skin at the soft, but curious inquiry, eyes flashing again and sparks igniting from his fingers, which singed the chair arms.
“Oh Gracious!” Hank gasped, taking a step forward so that he could be seen more clearly in the light. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you!”
“Henri?” Remy panted, his guard dropping almost instantly. He sagged against the wall, hiding his hand behind his face in embarrassment. “Mon Dieu…desole, mon ami…didn’t hear you coming. Just saw dat big shadow of yours…think I musta lost of one my nine lives.” He chuckled faintly at the end, hoping to mask his embarrassment.
“It’s four in the morning,” Hank blinked, glancing at his watch. “I know you’ve always been somewhat of a nocturnal creature, but…”
“Ah, oui.” Remy nodded, still taking care not to look directly at Hank. “Just…wanted some fresh air. Couldn’t sleep.”
Hank nodded pensively, though he could already sense the lie in the Cajun’s words, and that was something, considering lying was part of Gambit’s many wily talents.
“If you don’t mind my saying so,” Beast began then after a thoughtful moment, “You don’t seem yourself. Is something wrong?”
“Non…” Remy chuckled. He glanced back at the singed chair. “What gave you dat impression?”
“Remy,” McCoy began, reaching to rest one of his large warm hands on LeBeau’s shoulder, only to feel the man flinch beneath his skin and slip away. Both of them paused a moment, blinking. “You know that you can always confide in me, don’t you? I’d like to think of us as friends…not just teammates.”
Gambit nodded, wrapping his arms around himself and staring off out into the night for a moment. Hank wondered if his presence was unwanted, and considered leaving, but something told him that he should stay. So he too stood there in silence on the dark closed porch, hands folded behind his back, waiting.
“Logan’s told you, ain’t he, how he’s got holes in his memories. Lost time. T’ings dat, for whatever de reason, didn’t survive all his run ins wit people like Weapon X?”
“Yes. Charles has been working with Logan for a while to help him restore some of that lost time. But I’m afraid, given our friends extensive life span that it simply might be too difficult.”
Remy nodded thoughtfully. “Telepaths can do amazing t’ings wit memories. Dey can change ‘em around, take ‘em away. Hell sometimes they make new ones up right outta thin air. And de people, ya know…they never really know de difference.”
Hank glanced at him, feeling a little tingle of nervousness prickle across his shoulders and up his neck. “Yes well…it’s true that gifted telepaths are capable of such alterations to the mind. I know you’ve seen the worst of that gift in Mr. Sinister.”
“But Xavier…he can do all dat too, can’t he?”
Hank’s chest tightened, afraid of the turn the conversation was taking. “Yes…I suppose it’s within his capacity.”
“Don’t be modest Hank. Even Sinister’s afraid of de great Charles Xavier. You know he can do dose t’ings.”
“Charles does not toy with the minds of others lightly. It’s only in the most extreme of circumstances—“
Remy held up a hand, pressing it lightly against Hank’s bare chest, which sent a different kind of thrill through the Beast. “Easy, big blue. I didn’t mean nothin’ unkind about it. I know Charles is a good man…was only t’inkin’….what he might do if say, someone wanted memories taken away.”
Here Hank’s face softened and saddened. “Oh my friend…this isn’t the answer. Forgetting won’t change what happened.”
“Won’t it?” Remy asked. “If I don’t remember, who’s to say it happened at all?”
“And what will you think when you see your scars? What should we tell you then?”
“Nothin, if you’re kind, mon ami.” Remy tried to smile, but it just wasn’t in him, and the disappointment in Hank’s face made it all the worse.
“Don’t…don’t look at me like dat!” he snapped, to the doctor’s further surprise. “You got no idea what’s like to carry dis around…to be afraid even when you don’t want to be, even when you got no reason to be! It just…comes back and it don’t matter where you are, or who you with. I can’t forget…and every time I remember it feels like it’s happenin’ all over again. I’m so tired of it Hank! I’m so tired of these memories! What good are dey but to hurt me!”
Hank reached out and caught him, trying to keep him from igniting his power further and possibly blowing up the whole porch. “Remy! Remy please!”
“Non! Let go of me!”
“You must calm down…”
“Dammit Hank, let me go! Tell him, you go tell him to take dis shit outta my head! YOU HEAR ME CHARLES! I KNOW YOU CAN! DO SOMETHING USEFUL WHY DON’T YOU!?!”
Hank held him a bit tighter, pulling him into both arms and forcing them both to sit on the floor. “REMY!” He cried, raising his voice to a faint roar, “That’s enough! That’s enough…”
The hold became more of an embrace and Hank nuzzled his nose against the Cajun’s neck, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…if I could take all this pain from you I would…believe me I would. But we both know it’s not that simple…forgetting will not change what Sabretooth is. And it will only rob you of your strength in the end.”
“What strength?” Remy muttered. “I couldn’t even…”
“You survived. You’re here. You’re still you, despite it all. That’s strength enough. Please, please I need you to believe that.”
Remy didn’t reply this time. Instead he sagged slightly in Hank’s arms, resting his head against the other man’s, hands gripping his fur lightly. “Don’t know, Henri…just don’t know if I can. It hurts so much.”
“You can. I know you can.”
Remy’s teeth clenched, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes, though he made no sound. Hank purred softly and nuzzled him, stroking his back until the panicked man began to relax more fully, growing quiet and calm again.
From a yard away, Logan watched the scene unfold from the darkness of the study room. He hadn’t taken him long to decide that the Cajun was in more distress than he wanted to admit, and that he should follow him. He had not, however, expected Beast’s unannounced arrival.
Seeing Remy break down this way made him ache, made him want to run to the other man and protective, as was always his first instinct when it came to his mate. Yet, Hank seemed to have the situation well in hand, and Logan found himself strangely reluctant to intervene.
Maybe Gambit needed a different approach to help him cope. Wolverine had done all he could to help his mate cope with his past traumas, (some Logan felt partially responsible for) but maybe it just wasn’t enough. Maybe Hank could help bridge that gap.
Logan knew first hand was a good listener McCoy was. His heart gave him an old familiar ache, but he pushed it down. Now was not the time.
He heard the old man coming long before the faint creak of wheel chair announced him, but he didn’t acknowledge him until he came beside him there in room, silent and watching. “I see everything is well in hand,” Charles said quietly, a smile on his face.
“Yeah,” Logan replied, smiling in spite of himself.
“Let’s give them a moment,” the other man added, wheeling away and motioning for Logan to follow. They slipped just out of sight of the doorway, allowing them a bit more privacy.
“Up for a late night stroll, Chuck?” Wolverine asked.
The Professor shook his head lightly, pretending not to find Logan’s gruff humor amusing. “I sensed Gambit’s mind while I was sleeping. Very distressing imagery. I was on my way to—“
“See if I needed a hand with him?” Logan cut in, fixing Charles with a knowing look. Surprisingly, the older man lowered his gaze.
“It wasn’t meant as an intrusion. I just wanted to be sure you were both safe.”
Logan folded his arms and looked back through the doorway, at the shadow of Hank and Remy together. “We’re managing.” He nodded. It wasn’t a lie. Remy was recovering nicely and most days were good ones. But that didn’t seem to stop the bad ones from creeping along now and again, tearing everything down. “Don’t suppose you were ease droppin’ as long as I was?”
“What do you mean?”
“What Remy said…about you bein’ able to take memories away, change ‘em, or whatever.”
Charles continued to gaze at him, but his face was a firm mask. “That’s not a request to be taken lightly, Logan. And I wouldn’t deem it ethical. Even painful memories can at times serve a greater purpose. Putting aside the difficulty I would have with such a process with him, the kinetic barrier around his mind…I think it would only harm him further.”
“Not sure that’s possible.” The dark haired feral muttered. His eyes slipped back to Xavier. “But it can be done…?”
Their eyes met for a moment there in the shadow of the otherwise empty room, Logan’s hopeful, but still questioning, nervous…afraid of the answer.
Charles stared at him back and then lightly touched his arm. “I am not Commander Stryker and his ilk. Nor am I Nathaniel Essex. It’s not up to me to give and take away the things life has handed down…even if we sometimes wish it.”
Logan nodded slowly, accepting his answer. For now.
They heard footsteps, and Charles turned, bowing quietly out of sight before Logan could call him back. The feral was still looking after him when Hank stepped into the corridor, carrying Remy, who seemed to be asleep.
“Our Cajun alley cat seems to be more tired than he wanted to admit,” Beast said quietly. Logan nodded as the larger man passed him over, and Remy didn’t stir at all, Logan adjusting his much slighter weight easily in his arms.
“Thanks Hank. I owe you one.”
“Any time.”
They both paused for a moment, knowing they wanted to say more, but both unsure of how to start. Finally Logan simply bowed his head in thanks and turned, making his way back through the halls to their bedroom, feeling Hank’s eyes following him the whole way.
***