Remy was asleep again. Hank had said it was the last day he would have to stay in the lab. The three of them had been having a little celebration when all of a sudden Remy had nodded off.
"How long can I expect this to last?" Asked Logan.
Hank shrugged. "About a week longer I guess. Perhaps less time if our young friend drinks more water and less bourbon."
Logan frowned. "I don't think he's been drinking any bourbon recently." he lied. He'd been sneaking Remy contraband all week.
"No, of course not." said Hank blandly.
Logan ran a finger casually up and down Remy's arm. He never got tired of looking at Remy. Never got tired of smelling Remy. Never got tired of touching Remy.... He could feel himself begin to redden.
Hank used Remy's uncharacteristically deep sleep as an opportunity to change the bandage on his shoulder. The bright light Blue liked to use to study the progress of the wound was hard on Remy's eyes, so Hank did as much of this work as possible when Remy was out.
He unceremoniously pulled back the covers and jerked back the paper gown to reveal the wound. Remy had complained about not being able to wear scrubs or PJ's in the lab, but Hank had pointed out that he needed access to the shoulder. "You're allowed to wear boxer my friend. Keep complaining and I may take away that privilege."
Now Logan turned his gaze to the legs of his lover, over the long thighs and calves, the thin ankles, the- what was that?
He moved closer. There, so faint he might never have notices it outside of the harsh light of the lab was a jagged scar circling Remy's left ankle.
His heart began to beat a little faster. < It's just a coincidence. It has to be. If it weren't there would be...>
His hands moved up Remy's body without conscious thought. In his heart he knew what he would find before he even looked down.
There, on the soft skin beneath Remy�s arms, so faint one might not have noticed if he weren't looking three small scars, a half inch long and no wider than a pin scratch. They were scars made by an instrument of precision, such as a scalpel or <or an adamantium claw.>
The world seemed to tilt and spin around Logan. He looked up and found Hank watching him from across the table. Any doubt he had vanished under the blue mutant�s steady gaze.
"How long have you known?" he choked.
"I found out accidentally through my research on the gripper."
"Why didn't you say anything?"
Hank looked at him sadly. "I was hoping you would not remember." He�d found out many things about Remy through the gripper, things so horrible that he had destroyed the parasite undissected and vowed never to mention his illicit knowledge to anyone, least of all Remy.
Logan was watching him. "Does Remy remember?"
"I believe so, yes." Logan looked about ready to fall over. "Logan-"
"Don't touch me!" Logan screamed. "I have to... I'm not....." With a cry he turned and fled from the room with his head between his hands, trying desperately to stop the memories that came flooding into his brain.
%
They�d been poaching in the swamp. What? He couldn�t remember. Alligators maybe, or birds? Some sort of eggs. Trying to make a few extra bucks before the next assignment came through. But foxes kept stealing the eggs. So they�d set fox traps. But they hadn�t caught foxes. Not that time.
How long the kid had been laying there God only knew. The metal jaws of the fox trap were already cutting his ankle up to the bone. They hadn�t checked that trap in days, the point wasn�t to catch foxes, just to reduce their numbers. So they hadn�t been as vigilant as they might have been.
When He�d seen the thin figure of the boy lying in the muck of the swamp he�d figured the jig was up. They were dead for sure. Now at the very least someone would know they�d been poaching on protected land. At worst, well, arrest for sure. The boy looked to be crippled. He�d probably lose that leg. The law would come down on them hard...
But Grady had known better. �Stop your sniveling. That ain�t a kid. What would a real kid be doing out here all alone? Nah.� He�d flipped the still form over with his boot. �This one don�t belong to no one and nobody.� On the ground the boy�nine or ten at the most � had moaned a little and opened his eyes.
�See?� said Grady. �Snake eyes. A mutie. Ain�t no one going to come looking for this one.�
So He�d stood by while Grady had taken charge, wrapped the mutant child up in one of the spare nets, and hauled it back to the makeshift camp they�d set up. When Grady dropped it in the mud, the mutant had barely stirred. He�d felt a slight pull in his chest, maybe pity, if he�d been capable of felling any.
�What are you going to do with it?� He�d asked Grady while they cooked their dinner over the fire.
�A good rock to the back of the head seems simplest. Then we can tie a couple rocks to it and dump it into the depth. The body will be gone in days. Still, I don�t suppose it�s anything that can�t wait until morning.� And Grady had dug into his pack and pulled out the nightly bottle of whiskey, taken a swig and passed it over. Grady was always a good man for sharing the booze.
That night they�d had a lot, that bottle and a good half of the next. Grady was an active drunk. �I�m bored. Grady had announced. �And horny as hell. I fancy a poke.�
�Huh?� He�d pretended not to catch on, but it didn�t make any difference. Grady crossed to the far side of the fire where the bundle of net still lay as it had been dropped.
�Wakey, wakey.� said Grady. �It�s time to play.�
Grady unrolled the big coil of barbed wire they carried. He shook the kid out of the nets and braced him against a nearby tree with one hand while trying to wrap the wire around the tree. �Give a hand will you?�
So He�d taken the wire and wrapped it around the thin chest and the tree four times. Binding the mutant boy tightly against the trunk, his feet dangling a few feet off the ground. The mutant moaned a little and opened its strange eyes.
�Ready for some sun mutant?� asked Grady. He pulled out his knife slicing through the kid�s ragged trousers, and exposing the skinny legs, the small penis, the jutting hip bones.
Grady was right. No one had cared for this little thing in quite some time.
When Grady shoved his cock in the first time the boy had cried out. His body spasmed as it tore apart, ripped by the large cruel object tearing its way into him. But as Grady began to fuck harder the kid had subsided into little moans, close to blacking out again.
�None of that.� Said Grady. �I like my bitches lively.� So he�d increased his assaults, combining it with sharp cuffs and cuts with the knife to get more of a reaction from the boy, heightening his own arousal. How long it went on was impossible to guess. It felt like hours. But finally Grady had pulled out and wiped his bloody dick on the boy�s shirt.
�God damn!� Grady said. �That little fox is a better screw than most women I know. You should have a go.�
So He had. The boy had barely whimpered as he entered him, had barely stirred, except to open his big, dark eyes and look at him through a haze of pain, with a gaze that was far too old for a child of that age. Truth was he hadn�t been that aroused. Boys weren�t his thing and he�d gone soft almost immediately.
Grady�s jeers to that affect had angered the animal that even then was sleeping below the surface and suddenly hard again he had gone back to the task with renewed fervor, thrusting his claws into the tree trunk when he came, so close to the thin body beneath him that he�d cut three parallel lines on either side of the protruding ribs.
In the morning He�d tried not to think about what He�d done. He�d avoided even a second glance at the tree where the body still hung, flies already gathering on the eyes.
He and Grady had packed up the camp silently and moved on. By unspoken agreement neither had ever mentioned it again.
He had never consciously thought of it again. Had only remembered in fact, in the darkest of his nightmares, when the horror of his past threatened to swamp the man he had become.
<That kid died. We left him tied to that tree. God help me, I left him and he died.>
But he had not.
<And somehow Creed knew. He always called Remy a fox. I never put it together until now. >
Bile rose up in his throat. He began to run faster. He could barely form coherent thoughts. Remy. Remy. Remy. Oh God. Oh God, Remy.
Escape. Escape. He had to get away. He crossed the lawn of the mansion into the forest beyond and began to flee in earnest.
Remy blinked his eyes open. �Damn, did I drift off again?� He glanced around the room. �Where�s Logan?�
�He�s gone.� Beast said gravely. �He saw the mark on your ankle.�
Remy turned pale. �Merde.� He jumped out of bed.
�Where do you think you�re going?�
�After him.� he replied shortly. He would have to go quickly if he were to catch Logan. Logan couldn�t be left alone now.
He ran. Not caring about direction, not caring about intent, his only wish to run faster and faster, but still the memories caught up with him, piling on top of each other so that soon he could remember details, bits of smells, sounds from the boy that had been lost in dreams only moments before.
<Creed knew. Grady must have told him. He�d always called Remy a little fox. I thought he was talking about the hair. Oh God.>
Over and over he recalled the feel of the boy beneath, the sight of those eyes, his screams. He remembered so vividly that at times his vision blacked out and he was stumbling through the forest almost blind.
He fell, got up, ran again, fell again. Finally he came to the edge of a cliff overlooking a valley several hundred feet below. He paused on the edge, threw his head back and screamed, a sound of guilt, rage and despair. Over and over again he screamed, his cries shattering the stillness of the night.
When he finally stopped he became aware of Remy standing behind him.
�We gonna talk �bout dis now?�
He couldn�t even reply. He just sank to the ground beside the ledge and buried his face in his hands.
Remy came over and sat beside him. He reached out to stroke his lover�s hair. �Logan. Logan. Look at me.�
But he couldn�t. He brushed the kid�s hand away. �How long have you known?�
Remy didn�t pretend not to understand. �Since the first day I came to the mansion.�
He remembered the way the kid�s eyes had widened, the little intake of breath. He�d thought the kid was just jumpy as hell. Which had been true incidentally, but now he knew why. �Why didn�t you say anything?�
�It didn�t matter. You weren�t dat person anymore. I could tell, first time I saw you.�
�It didn�t matter.� He couldn�t keep the bitterness from his voice. �How could it not matter?�
�Joining da team is a fresh start, for everyone. No matter what. Remember?�
He brushed Remy�s hands away again. �I don�t want to hear your fairy-tale endings Cajun. This wasn�t some prank I committed.� nausea welled up again. �This was serious-�
He found his shoulders grabbed and spun around so that his face was inches from the Cajun�s.
�It ain�t a fairy tale.� Remy said intensely, almost angrily. � It ain�t a fairy tale. Look at me Logan. Look at me. I have every reason to need to believe in second chances, reasons that don�t got nothing to do with you. So when Remy tells you it don�t matter, you believe him.�
Logan shook his head, wordless trying to fight back tears. Remy cupped Logan�s face between his hands. �It�s over Cher. Ain�t nothing you can do about it now. And there ain�t no price I wouldn�t have paid to have you here with me. Don�t ever think there is.�
He pulled Logan close and held the smaller man against him, feeling him tremble. After a moment Logan spoke again.
�I�m sorry. I have to- Was it the first- I mean.�
Remy shook his head, offering what small comfort he could. �No Cher, it wasn�t. Remy had been used before.� Then there was little he could do but pull the older man against his chest as Logan began to cry.
%
Pain. He was on fire. There were voices all around him, mocking, laughing. He could hear screams, his own screams. No, not his screams, the screams of someone else, a woman, a diplomat, a child. He heard the boy�s screams, but when he turned he saw it wasn�t a boy against the tree at all, but Remy as he was now, looking up from the three wounds in his chest. Remy opened his mouth to speak and blood poured from his mouth
<Cher.> He backed away screaming.
�Cher.�
It was on his hands now, so much blood. God, so much blood.
�Cher.�
There were hands on his face and neck, touching him softly, wiping away his tears. �It�s okay, Cher. It wasn�t you. It�s okay, you�re here now.�
He awoke fully into Remy�s gaze. The kid smiled at him gently. �Hi Cher.� He tousled Logan�s hair. �Welcome back.�
People were always saying that to him.
Remy�s own, more violent nightmares had faded with the beginning of their relationship. But Logan�s had continued, though waking to Remy�s ministrations was infinitely preferable to pulling himself awake from these replays of his crimes alone.
Now, as his heart rate slowed he settled back against Remy and the kid wrapped his arms around the broad hairy chest. �You go back to sleep now Cher. Remy will keep lookout for awhile. The terrors won�t come back while I�m awake.�
Somehow, that night, or any night, so long as Remy was awake, they never did.