Title: Some sacrifice's are worth the world
Author: Firesong (firesong@ukonline.co.uk) & Limo Lady's (LimoLady@prodigy.net)
Website: none
___________________________________________________
Some sacrifice's are worth the world 5
By Firesong & Limo Lady's
Bobby listened as Remy's bike disappeared into the distance. His first instinct was to grab Hank's car, hot-wire it and stop Remy from making a big mistake. He thought of wrapping his arms round him, and telling him how he really felt. Yeah right, Bobby, like Remy would really go for you. Then he thought of Logan, sitting in his room, probably gloating over how he'd had his fun, and would probably laugh at Remy's discomfort.
His hands balled into fists. He gritted his teeth so tight, it hurt. He quickly iced up, and headed back towards the mansion. He'd only been after Remy from day one to get his leg over. Pretending to care about him, so Remy would let down his defenses and give in. That’s why he wanted to keep us away from him, he wanted Remy for himself. That bastard. Bobby headed straight up the stairs towards Logan's room. I'm gonna make Logan sorry for ever touching Remy. Jean was almost knocked off her feet, as Bobby ran round the upper corridor. Calling after him to stop, and explain himself, she was greeted with a swift middle finger. Bobby didn't care; He wanted to get at Logan so badly. It was his fault that the Cajun had left to hand himself over to the enemy. It was his fault that Remy hated himself. It was Logan's fault that Bobby could never get close to him, to tell him the things he needed to hear.
Bobby kicked the door open with such force, that it slammed back into the cabinet behind, smashing ornaments, and causing the glass mirror top to smash. Logan sat almost naked, apart from his underwear, looking dejected on the corner of the bed. The crumpled, slightly bloodied sheets all around him, his head in his hands. He looked up in time to see Bobby's fist fly towards his face. Logan didn't bother dodging the blows that rained down on his body. He felt the pain, he heard Bobby calling him a bastard over and over, but the lump in his throat, the knot in his stomach, and the vague memory of what he'd done to the person he cared about most, was all that mattered.
The blows stopped, but the words didn't. He opened his eyes to see Bishop holding a struggling Iceman. Bobby was kicking and twisting to get out of his grip, and back at the Canadian, but Bishop's bear hug around his chest didn't falter. Even when Bobby threw his head back, starting Bishop's nose to bleed. Jean trying to calm him down and Scott standing concerned in the doorway. Jean looked at Scott, obviously communicating telepathically. Scott nodded and ordered Bishop to take Bobby down to med-lab, while he called on ahead to warn Hank.
Jean quietly closed the door, and gently sat down next to Logan. At first she didn't make a move to touch him, but pulled Logan's kimono over his shoulders. "Logan?" She kept her voice calm. "Logan? What happened?"
He turned to look at her, his bright blue eyes blood shot and tearful. "I hurt him. I didn't mean ta Jeannie." He turned and grabbed her shoulders, fear and desperation in his eyes. His fingernails dug into her shoulders, but she made no outward signs of the pain he caused her. It caused her heart to ache, seeing someone as proud as Logan, reduced to this. "Ya gotta believe me, Red. I didn't mean ta hurt him, I'd never set out ta do something like that."
She stroked the side of his face. "I know Logan. But you have to tell me what happened, so I can help." Logan's grip relaxed, he leant forward, his head in her lap, as he wept. Jeannie stroked his black hair gently with one hand, her other tenderly stroked his arm.
"I only meant ta show him that I cared, but I jus' hurt him instead."
"Logan, please. I don't understand what you did. Why did you hurt Bobby?"
He quickly sat up, and stared desperately at her. "Not Bobby, Remy."
"Oh." She tried quickly scanning for Gambit, or more precisely, the mental static known as Gambit, but got nothing.
She couldn't get her head around what Logan had just admitted. Logan would never hurt Gambit. He'd stood by his side, against the likes of Warren and Bishop, who for their own reasons, had deigned to make life difficult for Remy. He'd stayed by the Acadian's side through the many sleepless nights. He made sure Remy ate most days, and made it his personal duty to keep Scott off his back. Now he was admitting that he'd hurt Remy, causing Bobby to fly into a violent rage, which was so out of character for him.
"What did you do to him?" She was almost afraid to ask.
"Does it matter?" Logan snapped, getting to his feet and pacing the room. "I betrayed his trust in me, ruined everything that was between us… Now yer asking for specifics!"
Jean remained seated. "If you could tell me what happened, we could find out how far he's got." Logan started to pull some clothes from the chest at the foot of the bed.
"I gotta find him. I gotta make it up ta him." Jean stood in the doorway.
"If you're going after him Logan, then we all are." Logan motioned for her to move. Jean stared back at him defiantly. "Remy's an X-man, and us X-men stick together, no matter what one of us may have done."
"Stick together? Yeah, I'm sure ya all stuck together, during Antarctica." Logan sneered. "Wait a minute, he was left ta die, wasn't he?" Logan pushed her aside, grabbed his Harley keys and ran down the stairs, leaving Jean to round the rest of the team up.
****************
Remy pulled into the motel driveway, and walked into the owner's office. The man behind the counter was old, smelly and looked to be about 90 years old. He gold rimmed glasses balanced precariously on the end of his nose. "Whadda want?" His voice was squeaky, and the toothless smile didn't comfort Remy in the least. "We don't usually get visitors, after 1 in the morning."
"I'm not de usual customer. One room. Number 249, t'anks." The old man shook his head and returned to the newspaper he was reading. "Don't have a room 249 kiddo. Try somewhere else." Remy flashed an irresistible smile and slid two hundred dollars across the counter. "But 249 was always my lucky number, homme." The man looked over the top of the paper, at the money on the desk. A small purple disk, about the size of a nickel sat on top. He looked back to the Cajun, who had pulled his sunglasses off and made no effort to hide his demon eyes.
Reaching under the counter, he pulled out a key and handed it to the Cajun. "Have a good night, Remy."
"T'anks. I sure I will." He slid his shades back on, picked up the key and headed towards the door.
"Nice to have you back home." Remy stopped to look over his shoulder.
"Wish I could say de same." Remy left the office and walked his bike into the bushes out back. Once safely hidden, Remy entered the room furthest from the others.
The room was clean, and the only furniture available was one armchair, one chest of drawers, boasting an old black and white 12 inch TV set, and double sized bed that sagged in the middle. Remy threw his duster over the armchair and lay on the bed. His body still ached, and his hips felt stiffer with every movement. He hoped lying down would ease the pain somewhat, but he was wrong.
His mind drifted back to his meeting with Bobby. Thinking back on it, he knew that Bobby was only trying to help him. But wasn't Logan tryin' to 'elp you too? He pulled the pillow from under his head, slowly charged it, before throwing it up. The charge hadn't been enough to burn the feathers inside. Just enough so the pillow case itself would be destroyed, leaving the feathers unharmed.
He watched some of the feathers twist, turn and dance on their descent. The moonlight shining through the window glinted off them, like a river of light snow. He tried to imagine that each feather was a choice he could have made. Or a chance to do something right. Fate was something you gambled with. 'Ow many chances you 'ave, Remy? He opened his palm, waiting to see how many feathers would drift into his hand. Minutes passed so quickly. Slowly melting beyond any kind of measurement. One into the other.
The blanket of snowy down had stopped. The air was no clear. Slowly lifting his hand, he saw in his outstretched palm, lay only one. One chance, to do something right.
He looked at the hundreds of others that lay on the floor, the bed. His gut was telling him to get out of there. Go back to the x-men and back to Logan. I 'ave one chance to make dis right. Goin' back to sinister is de right choice. He made me what I am, an' I got no right to be tryin' to fin' 'appyness.
He wiped a feather from his hand, and turned to look at the clock. Soon he would be here. Soon, he would be back in the hands of Essex. Is dis really what you want, Remy? He thought to himself. Was Bobby right? He rubbed his eyes, and rolled onto his stomach. Bobby don' know not'in'. His resolve held firm. One chance is all ya got, Cajun. He repeated to himself. Don' mess dis up.
A couple of hours passed, Remy moaned in restless sleep. Visions of endless corridors, maniacal laughter and desperate screams plagued him. Suddenly a dead weight on top of him and someone pinning his hands above his head, jerked him awake. He opened his eyes to see Creed smiling down at him. "Hey there pretty boy, we've missed ya. Knew ya'd come running back one day." Remy turned his head to see the rest of the marauders. He didn't bother to fight as they collared him and tied his hands roughly behind his back. They opened what would have been the entrance to the pantry; instead it was a long flight of stairs heading down into the blackness of despair.