Dangerous Possessions

by Spirit Melody (kat@lsak.fsnet.co.uk) and Firesong (firesong@ukonline.co.uk)

Archives: All yours Lu, anyone else just ask. I’m sure we’ll say yes.

Disclaimer: Strangely enough, they’re not ours. Neither Logan, Remy, Pete nor any other Marvel characters mentioned within are ours by any meaning of the word. All Marvel. Marvel. Marvel. Oh, we're also not making any money whatsoever from this. Unless someone's feeling generous.

Summary: Back from Antarctica Remy feels all alone, until he meets someone feeling the same way. But what's Logan going to do when he comes across information that their relationship is not as perfect as it sounds. Plus they have bounty hunters searching for a certain something Remy possesses.

Rating: It will definitely be NC-17, so no one underage from the start.

Pairings: Logan/Remy and Remy/other

Notes/Warnings: Violence, abuse, non-con - rape, mention of rape on a minor, you get the idea.

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Dangerous Possessions - Part Three

Remy moaned in pain as the first thing he felt upon awakening was what he was sure was a very bright light shining on his eyelids.

"Hi mate. Feelin' better?" Pete's voice startled Remy a little, but he made no outward sign, or gave a reply. Instead he threw his arm over his face to keep the offending light out. It wouldn't be the first time he'd had to cross a room totally blind, just to turn the lights off.

He pulled the cover off, and put his foot on the floor, only to have Pete lift it back in, and retuck the bed sheets.

"Yer want me ter turn that down a bit mate?"

An affirmative nod was the only reply Pete got.

The light level became bearable soon after and Remy opened his eyes, blinking once or twice.

"Back ter the land of the livin’?" Pete walked into Remy’s line of vision and sat down on the edge of the adjacent bed. His black hair was uncombed and left to go where it wanted, but it was shiny and looked quite soft and silky. Remy smiled, aesthetically Pete was a very handsome man. What he was like inside, Remy wasn’t too sure; he’d heard conflicting opinions from various people on the X-teams, but he’d very much like to find out for himself. He managed to dredge up another small grin for the man.

"Oui. Where am I?" He blinked again, "What ‘appened?"

Pete let out a chuckle. "Well if yer don’t remember then I can’t really ‘elp yer. I’m just playin’ baby sitter for a few minutes while Moira does something; oh, and Moira’s med lab.... And where the hell do yer think you’re goin’?"

While Pete had been talking Remy had risen to a sitting position, dangling his legs off the edge of the bed, shaking, though what from Pete wasn’t sure; and was now attempting to put all his weight on his legs and walk out the lab.

"Out o’ here." Remy stood up and started to walk towards the door, blatantly ignoring Pete. But he wasn’t quite up to running, and Pete was, so soon the Englishman was in front of him, blocking his path.

"Yer ill mate."

Remy looked at him with pleading eyes.

"’M fine. Lemme pass."

"Why’re yer so bloody quick ter want ter get outta this place?" Pete studied Remy, alarmed. The young Cajun’s expression was nearing to one of panic and the shaking, Pete was sure now, wasn’t from ill-health.

Remy put a hand lightly on Pete’s chest, but the threat was clear. Move, or I’ll move you myself.

"I jus’ don’ like labs, alright?" He pushed Pete, intending to get out of the room as soon as possible, whatever it took; but was surprised when the well built man only staggered back a couple of steps. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t completely fine, but he soon would be if only someone would let him out of this damn place!

Pete smirked, utterly delighted in getting a rise out of the pretty Cajun, but a little concerned for him too. "No, not alright. Why don’t yer like labs?"

Remy stopped breathing at the question he should have realised was coming. He didn’t know what to say in reply, didn’t even want to *think* about what the truthful answer was.

Luckily though, or maybe unluckily he reasoned, he was saved by the rather loud return of Moira. She rushed into the room, shouting.

"Oi! Boyo! What are ye doing being up? Back ta bed with y’ this second!" Then she saw Remy was about to protest, and quite vehemently from the looks of it, she sighed and signalled to the man standing at her left. "Pete."

Smiling cheekily at the mostly unspoken agreement, and Remy’s obvious bemusement, Pete firmly placed both his hands on Gambit’s shoulders and steered the young man back over to the bed he’d woken up on.

Remy decided not to make a scene. At least with these people around it wasn’t so easy for the memories to completely engulf him. Obediently he sat back down on the bed, in the same position as he’d been in a few minutes ago, with his legs dangling over the side.

"Pete, would ye wait outside? I wanna speak ta Remy alone."

Wordlessly Pete Wisdom left.

Remy looked at Moira levelly, no doubt she’d done a reasonably thorough examination while he’d been unconscious and he was pretty sure what she would have found were that so.

"What d’ye remember lad? Y’know why ye woke up in here?"

"I went t’ bed. Den I was standin’ somewhere else... wit’ Logan, an’ I felt a pain... it was a li’l weird."

Moira frowned thoughtfully and scribbled some things down on Remy’s chart which she was holding in her hands.

"I think what happened ta ye was merely a side effect a’ being woken up so abruptly from a state of somnambulism. It’s not unusual ta experience something, though your’s was a wee bit severe. Have ye ever walked in your sleep before lad?" Remy shook his head, "Been a little stressed or anxious recently?"

The young Cajun nodded in confession. "Prob’ly."

"Aye, well that’s probably it then. Ye tell me if it happens again, y’ hear?... Now, there’s something else I wanted ta talk with ye about too. Your body ain’t in all that good a’ state. ‘Ave ye been eating properly lately?" She already knew the answer. Whatever the reason for it, Gambit was underweight, alarmingly so.

Something flashed in Remy’s eyes and he immediately stood up. What Moira had feared was happening, Remy was completely closing off to her.

"Been eatin’ jus’ fine."

He walked quickly passed Moira but she caught his arm lightly. "Your body’s suffering from intense exhaustion too... ‘Ave ye also had problems sleeping?" She realised Remy was going to rebuke her again so hastily carried on, "If ye want ta talk to me anytime ye can. But for now, your body needs rest. Can I persuade ye ta take some sleep meds? They’ll make ye a little confused, but y’ really need a good long sleep."

Reluctantly Remy nodded. He didn’t like drugs of any kind... nicotine excluded; but the effort of keeping up his high levels of fitness on nine or ten hours of sleep a week was really putting a terrible strain on him. He let Moira lead him back once again to the bed and she injected a small amount of some kind of substance into his arm.

"There y’ are. Ye should start feeling tired in approximately half an hour, so be heading back ta ye’re room now."

"’Kay." Remy opened the door, to find Pete standing in the doorway. Moira turned round to watch his back.

"Remy... ye will take care of yourself?"

The Cajun shrugged. "’Course."

Moira frowned, "I just cannae believe y’ all that much laddy. I’m really worried ‘bout ye."

"I’ll take care of ‘im Moira." Pete’s voice entered the conversation, and Moira’s frown turned into a knowing smile, seeing something in his eyes.

"Ye do that Pete."

Remy muttered something about ‘fussy baby-sitters’ under his breath and walked out the room, feeling as if he was striding free from prison. Pete hurried after him and together they walked through the halls.

"So where are we going mate?"

Remy turned back to Pete and raised an eyebrow.

"Remy be goin’ back t’ his room. Where you be goin’? He don’ know."

"Sorry Cajun. Said I’d look after yer so that’s what I’ll do."

"I don’ need lookin’ -" A flash of lethargy suddenly consumed Gambit and he gasped, holding a hand up to his now fog muddled head.

"After?" Pete snorted, "So what’s up now?"

Remy shrugged and continued on moving quickly through the corridors of the large research facility and home of Excalibur’s team members. "Drugs react funny t’ me. Dem sleep meds Moira gave me jus’ be working a li’l quicker dan she said."

"Yer want ter go back ter the lab?"

"Non! I jus’ get t’ my room and lie down an’ everyt’ing’ll be fine."

Another wave of artificial exhaustion suddenly hit Remy again, much stronger than the first and not so quick to disappear. He moaned as the corridor started tilting and shifting in peculiar and nauseating ways. He didn’t realise he was falling until Pete’s arms wound themselves supportively around his waist.

"’Fraid ter say it... but yer ain’t getting ter your room. It’s three floors down."

Remy barely heard the words, but his reply was almost automatic.

"No’ goin’ t’ de lab." He whispered, words slurring from the fast oncoming effects of the sleep medication. Pete looked at the shameless pleading expression in carnelian eyes and sighed. ‘I’m gettin’ soft on this team... I know it.’ Remy was almost descending into unconsciousness. Pete hauled him up, taking on most of the Cajun’s weight as they started to walk the hallways again.

"C’mon. Just keep awake mate." Pete’s next idea came to him and he assured himself that there were absolutely no ulterior motives to it, "My room’s just at the end ‘ere."

They were just at the door to Pete’s room as Remy slumped completely, his arm falling from Pete’s shoulders. Pete kicked open the door and easily picked the Cajun up. Normally, he would have slung the slim body over his shoulder. ‘But normally, I would ‘ave taken ‘im back ter the med lab.’ He lifted Remy to his body and cradled him against his chest.

He walked to the bedroom and placed Remy under the bed covers. Then he meandered into his adjacent sitting room and lay down on the comfy black leather couch, closing his eyes to finally get some sleep at five in the morning.

*****

When Pete awoke the sun was much higher in the sky and he could hear the shower running. He checked the time, they’d both slept for about seven hours. He went to make coffee in the kitchen/dining room, feeling happy not for the first time that he’d somehow nabbed the largest living quarters in the whole building.

About five minutes later Remy silently entered the room, dressed in light faded blue jeans and a sleeveless black top, towel-drying hair that had grown much longer since the last time Pete had caught a glimpse of Gambit. Pete raised an eyebrow in question. Remy shrugged in reply with a small smile.

"Weird t’ing. I wake up in a bed I not know, go t’ have a shower an’ on de floor in de bat’room is m’ toothbrush and a pile o’ clothes. An’ a note sayin’ ‘Sorry I couldn’ find any underwear, from Moira.’"

Pete laughed. "And why couldn’t she find any underwear?"

Remy’s cheeks became a little more coloured, but he smiled coquettishly.

"I don’ wear any." Remy flashed Pete another smile as he walked passed to get some coffee. Pete watched as the young man sipped the black drink.

"Yer know, I’ve got stuff that’s a lot stronger’n that."

Remy turned to him, suppressing a grin. "Oui?"

"Yeah. Your sleep meds all worn off?" Pete went to a cupboard and produced from it two bottles of Bells scotch whiskey. He threw one to Remy and the Cajun caught it instinctively. He admired it with knowing eyes.

"I hope so mon ami." He knew what would be a perfect accompaniment, "Be back in a few. Jus’ got t’ go get somet’ing."

Remy returned with two packs of well used cards and the two X-fighters settled down in the living room, drew the curtains, dimmed the lights and set out a game of poker.

*****

They played well into the afternoon, Remy winning all the poker games at the start; until the effects of his promise to match every of Pete’s drinks times two started to catch up with him as he gradually got more and more intoxicated. He could hold his liquor damn well, but there were limits.

Pete was comfy and happy. Very well buzzed, but not yet drunk. He could feel Remy’s charm just hovering outside the realms of his mind; he couldn’t be sure whether it was intentional or just the Cajun’s automatic reaction to copious amounts of alcohol. Whatever it was, he didn’t mind. It added to his feelings of warmth and relaxation, and the slight tightening in his jeans was reasonably easily ignorable.

He stood up to get another bottle of Scotch but the transition from sitting on the floor to standing was too much for his alcohol befuddled brain to handle and he fell forward, landing just beside Remy, and before he could stop the action, his arm was around the Cajun’s narrow compact waist to support himself. He knelt and faced Remy’s side, and went to remove his arm. But just as he did he felt Remy’s hand covering his forearm, holding his arm securely in place. He looked to Remy’s face, questioning, and Remy turned his head to face Pete. The expression in his eyes was almost hopeful... needy. Then his whole body was facing Pete; and Pete’s lips were covered with Remy’s own sweet warm ones.

As Remy’s charm hurtled through his mind, Pete pulled the Cajun into his lap, one arm round his lower back, one hand tangled in the satiny locks of bright auburn red hair. Then urgently he was cupping the Cajun’s tight denim covered buttocks and Remy moaned into his mouth as Pete eagerly deepened the kiss, possessing the Cajun’s mouth and all the beautiful little mewing sounds that came from it.

Yet as suddenly as the kiss had been instigated Remy found himself quite violently shoved back and looking startled into Pete’s shocked and confused face. He expected a beating, maybe his charm power had leaked. But an anger overrode his fear, why should Pete be so superior? Why wasn’t Remy allowed just that bit of warmth he wanted?... ‘Jus’ want t’ be held... know I don’ deserve it mais... I so want t’ feel somet’ing other dan pain an’ guilt.’

"What’s wrong mon ami?" He didn’t hear the slur to his words. Pete did though.

"I...., ... I..." Pete wasn’t sure what to say.

Remy stood up and walked up to him, stepping into the well built man, but not putting his arms around him. He lay his head on Pete’s shoulder and suckled lightly on his neck. Then whispered into his ear, ever so softly.

"Why don’ you wan’ Remy?"

A wetness hit Pete’s neck and he suddenly realised Remy was silently crying. He forced the Cajun to stop kissing him, trying in vain to get his arousal to fade. He held Gambit tightly to him, in a firm embrace that had nothing to do with sex. ‘Why do I care so much about yer Cajun?’

"I do want yer mate. Really, yer can probably feel that between m’ legs. But you’re drunk. I’d be takin’ advantage of yer."

Suddenly Remy tore out of the embrace and hissed away from him in anger. Pete had never seen his exotic eyes look so haunted.

"Liar!" The Cajun spat at him, "No one cared ‘bout takin’ ‘vantage o’ Remy before."

Pete was confused about the third person deal. It was disturbing, worrying. Remy furiously wiped the salty water off his cheeks, scratching them with sharp, short fingernails as he did. He glared at Pete one last time then headed to the door. Pete’s voice from the sitting room stopped him.

"Moira’ll kill us both if she finds yer as drunk as yer are. And yer probably won’t make it ter your room. Take my bed again."

"An’ why should I? You don' wan' Remy in your arms, I’m sure as hell dat you don' wan' 'im in your bed either!" Remy turned to face him. He was hurting so badly, and his one chance to make it go away, just for a little while was thrown back at him.

"That's not it mate really. Just you're not in your right mind, and I'm not having you do something that you'll regret later." Pete was sure that he sounded reasonable enough, but Remy obviously didn't think so.

"Remy know what he wan', but don' worry Pete…" He spat Wisdom's name like it was a curse. "Remy know what de odders say 'bout 'im behind his back, and dis wouldn't be so bad if you just tell Remy de truth instead of lyin' to 'im!"

Pete crossed his arms, and sighed deeply. "So what is it I'm supposed to say?"

"Dat Remy a liar, a whore an' dat if you even touch 'im den you catch somet'ing worse dan death." Tears poured down Remy's face. The agony, and pain was too much for him, and he sank to the floor, knees pulled to his chest, as he sobbed into his knees.

Pete sat next to Remy, and pulled him close. "I swear to yer that’s not what I think, and I couldn't give a damn what anyone says about yer. I'm big and ugly enough to make up my own mind." He lifted Remy's face so he could see those beautiful red on black orbs. "I swear to yer Remy that if you just get some sleep, when yer wake up, we'll talk about this some more."

Remy shook Pete's hold loose. "What good is talk, it don' change not'in'."

"It'll prove ter me that yer really want an old coot like me, and maybe we'll take things a little further. I ain't got a problem touching yer, I got a problem with the fact yer might.." Remy opened his mouth to protest, but Pete shushed him with a finger over his lips. "I'm not saying yer definitely are, I just want ter make sure that it's what yer really want when yer in your right mind okay?" Remy said nothing. Pete leaned forward and kissed Remy hard. "And I ain't got no problem touching yer."

Remy smiled sadly. He knew what Pete was saying was just empty words. He just didn't want to get in trouble with Moira. But it was nice for a moment to think he really meant everything he said.

Pete pulled Remy to his feet, and guided him to the bedroom. "Now stay and get some sleep… please?"

Remy reluctantly considered Pete’s offer. His head was reeling very badly. Losing consciousness in the halls wouldn’t do him any good.

"Merci beaucoup." It was a whisper, and he wasn’t sure if Pete heard him but he didn’t have the energy to speak any louder. He snuggled under the blankets, closing his eyes and drifting off into a dark oblivion.

*****

Pete sat down on the couch. He ran a hand through his hair, and then both down his face to rest on his temples, massaging.

He wasn’t going into the bedroom.

Certainly not.

But then why were his feet moving? Sighing, Pete resigned to pleasing his desires. He stopped just inside the room. Remy was asleep; or doing a damn good impression of it anyway. Pete sat on the edge of the bed, being as silent as possible. The Cajun mumbled slightly in his slumber at the movement but didn’t stir. He looked incredibly innocent in his sleep, Pete noticed. Nothing like the few times he’d seen the Cajun in action when he was all agile movements, card throwing and smart comments.

Long hair tumbled unabashedly over Remy’s face and the pillow, framing the peaceful face in some kind of scarlet halo. One hand with all its slender fingers was resting on the pillow beside Remy’s head. The Cajun was on his side, facing Pete. Distinctive eyelashes created tiny shadows on pale cheeks.

Pete reached out and stroked the first lock of hair he came to, holding it between finger and thumb. It was like a pure mix of heavenly velvet and addictive silk and intoxicating satin. Next his fingers were memorising Remy’s razor cut cheekbones and every other sharp angle of the Cajun’s face; down over the tiny red scratches, and then one finger tracing the pouty line of Remy’s bottom lip, feeling the feather light tickle of exhaled air.

Remy’s hand clenched then and Pete drew his hand back immediately, as if burned. Terrified at the peculiar feelings he was developing he rushed out of the rooms and ran the halls, not caring who saw him as long as his heart was pounding from exertion and nothing else.

*****

Remy didn’t know where he was, but it was ever so dark. He felt in danger though, and cold. Interminably cold. He wrapped his arms around his chest, and then looked down, utterly perplexed. It was his body, but from when he was about nine years old. He called out into the darkness surrounding him in a child’s voice and received no answer at first.

It started just as whispers. Voices so quiet he could make out the words but not recognise the owner of the voice. They whispered torments to him; things he’d been told and had told himself almost every day of his life.

"Traitor."

"Murderer!"

"Killer of the worst kind."

"Foolish, pretty little whore."

They got louder, and he sank to the floor, hugging himself tight as figures he knew from different stages of his life crowded around him, each shouting and some touching him where he didn’t want to be touched.

"Yah shoulda died in Antarctica, *shugah*!"

"I wish I had never invited you to the team Remy. You are not my brother."

Stormy. Her words bit deeper than most. He lifted his tear stained face from his knees and searched the crowd for her but she was no where to be seen. The voice continued and some individual’s hands got more pressing, making Remy sob and tremble.

"Y’re mine chile. My property since de day of your birth."

That voice made him cry out as fear fully paralysed him.

"Y’ were never worthy o’ my sister, t’ief!"

"You’re a disappointment to the team Gambit."

Then suddenly all the figures vanished, their cutting voices with them. The only people left were Remy and another man. Remy looked up, fearful of who the man would turn out to be.

He cried again when he did see, but this time in relief. He rose and ran to the tall man, hugging him tightly with thin shaking arms around a powerful waist.

But the embrace was not returned. Confused, he looked up into eyes which were void of the light that normally shone so brightly in their depths.

"Poppa?"

Jean-Luc dipped his head to look at Remy. He appeared ever so sad, and Remy wanted to erase that look forever, but he couldn’t. Jean-Luc sighed.

"Y’re a failure Remy. I was a fool to t’ink y’ could make a good LeBeau. Your place was on de streets, if only I’d seen it den."

*****

Remy’s eyes flashed open but he didn’t realise he was awake. His mouth moved to form words; words of apology and promise but he could hardly even breathe. He wasn’t on the bed anymore, he was curled up in one of the corners of the room, the blankets strewn over the floor. When he found the resolve to speak he just repeated one word over and over again like a terrified quiet benediction.

"Poppa. Poppa. Poppa?" He sobbed and more clear tears streamed down pale white cheeks.

Then he got up shakily, balancing himself with a hand on the wall. The voices from his dream still rang in his ears, stoically unforgiving. They urged him on as he kicked away the blankets still tangled around his legs. He opened the doors leading out onto the balcony attached to the bedroom. Still trembling, but suddenly ever so certain, he got up on to the ledge, and then slung his legs over so they were dangling over the edge; and then looked down.

The research facility was the tallest building on Muir Island. 98 floors he recalled, most of them full of the latest most powerful technology. The main medical lab and Pete’s room was on the 84th. There were slim chances that Remy could survive the drop even if he was trying his best.

And he definitely wouldn’t be.

He kept his eyes open, fully determined to meet his death with a confidence he’d never shown in life.

And he jumped.