Warning: To everyone's displeasure, I'm sure, there is a rape scene in this chapter; and though not overly graphic, it is not for the weak of heart (or stomach, or emotional constitution, or.). You get the point.

Thanks: To my reviewers. Point-specific reviews are especially appretiated. Hope this chapter doesn't change your positive opinions. I wish I had the will power to write what is wanted, but the muses only give me the will power to write what I want.

[Signifies author's translation. Yes, it's time to learn some French.]

Ch.3 - The Past

First he checked in with Cyclops, informing him of his intention to go to Mexico City. Rixt had given relatively good positional information on Remy - he was in a suburb of the capitol city, in the direction of the mountains. Still, it wasn't enough to find Remy if he didn't want to be found, and for this reason, Logan guiltily hoped that the young thief had, in fact, been kidnapped.

So he left his bike with Rixt, swearing to be back for it, and caught a plane for Mexico City. The place was a hole and he detested it immediately. It was dirty, smelly, polluted, hot (in the worst kind of way), and packed with people. Within an hour of disembarking the plane, he was already having to restrain his impulse to impale the obnoxious locals - particularly those who would approach him trying to sell crap no Mexican would ever buy, as he was obviously a foreigner.

In a dubious twist of luck, however, Logan did not have to spend very long looking for Remy. Within ten hours of flying into Mexico, he was shot in the neck with what he would later conclude was a tranquilizer dart, and when he woke, the question of Remy's disappearance was answered. And it was not a pretty sight.

The first thing that came into focus upon his groggy awakening was the faint humming of an energy field. Logan slowly opened his eyes, trying to accustom them to the unnaturally harsh light of his. cell. He quickly sat himself up and took in the horrible little chamber he'd been placed in. God, not again. Then his eyes travelled past the only side of the cell that was not a wall (though his ears told him that this space, like each of the walls, sported an energy field). In a cell opposite him was Remy, sitting on the cement floor, wrapped in a blanket, and watching him (recognizable mostly by his almost glowing eyes). When their eyes met, Remy smiled. "Bonjour, mon ami."

But the smile faltered. "Dough Remy est désolé que [is sorry that]. you are waking to find yourself ici [here]."

Logan was still recovering from the shock of suddenly finding himself where he was, and all he could think about was how much French he'd learnt since becoming friends with Remy. Trying to collect his thoughts, he asked, "Where exactly is 'ici'?"

"Sinister's lair," answered the dead voice. Logan felt a wave of adrenaline and hostility, his muscles tightened involuntarily and the hair on his arms and neck pricked up. His eyes narrowed to inspect Remy, but the blanket hid most of him - the Cajun had pulled it over his head, so that shadows hid most of his face. He could, however, make out a bloody gash in the place where Remy's graceful left eyebrow usually was.

"Are you. okay?"

"As well as can be expected, Remy suppose." But Logan didn't miss the shudder that ran through his body, and he was concerned by Remy's failure to refer to himself in the first person - something he rarely did, even in times of distress. When had he heard Remy refer to himself that way before?

"What did they do to you?," Logan growled.

There was a pause. "Dey're gonna torture you," Remy finally answered. "Maybe. Ils veulent savoir ce que vous savez [They want to know what you know]."

A guilty look crossed Remy's face. "Sinister. he took me because he knows dat Remy am de only one dat knows de Mansion's weaknesses. He 'as some sort of psychic dat can. expose your mind. So dat dey know everyt'ing. about moi [me], and everyt'ing Remy know about de X-men." The Cajun hung his head.

Logan felt his blood run cold. If Sinister had access to all that Remy knew, to a greater extent than most of the other X-men, himself included, then the X-men were in very serious danger. Logan had no doubt that Remy knew more about the X-men's (not to mention the Mansion's) weaknesses than probably anyone else it the world. It was what the thief was trained to look for, to aim for, to strike at when the opponent was unsuspecting. He'd never thought of it as cowardly, as Warren and others had; he knew it was a talent bred out of survival as much as of training, and that it was not cowardly to meet one's opponents on same level that they attacked. Cowardice was one thing, winning (or merely surviving) was something else entirely.

"We have to get out of here," Logan scowled. Remy just nodded, and it was then that Logan noticed something bulky and metallic poking out from Remy's blanket at the neck area - a Genoshan collar. It angered him, though he knew it was to be expected.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of footsteps. He glanced at Remy and was irritated to still find the man's head down. Indeed, he remained entirely motionless even as Sinister and another mutant Logan didn't recognize came and stood in front of Logan. Sinister smiled a tight, emotionless smile. "Ah, Wolverine. We've been waiting for you to wake up. I've been wanting to thank you for delivering yourself into our hands. Gifts are always appreciated. Though I didn't honestly think anyone would come after that faithless creature."

"What do want?," Logan snarled.

"Well, we got pretty much everything we need from our weak friend here. He was very useful, but then again, that's why we chose to take him. We really didn't think you'd mind - he didn't think you would either, actually. But I suppose there's no reason not to see what you've got rattling around in that ugly head of yours. That's what he's for," Sinister said, with a nod at the other mutant. The other mutant was massive - tall, muscular, and big boned, and he looked like a real mean mother fucker. His skin was tined blue and he sported a deep, ragged scar on his right cheek. There was a nasty, determined sneer on face (revealing some broken and very sharp looking teeth) and his eyes glinted like that of a predator. But his voracious glare only rested on him briefly, as he turned to look, with much more interest, at Remy. Sinister noticed too, but he seemed quite indifferent.

"Take as much time as you need. We have plenty of time," Sinister said casually, turning and walking away.

Logan saw Remy trembling in his cell and it enraged him. His claws extended and he stood as close to the energy field as possible and snarled, "Don't you touch him, you fucking animal."

The monster sneered again. "Too late."

The monster touched the key bad and the energy field of Remy's cage went dead. Remy scrambled to feet, trying to position himself in a battle stance, but he had several broken ribs, a bloody gash below his left breast, a broken arm, and what felt like some internal damage - all of which was displayed to Logan as the blanket dropped to the floor, revealing his naked and badly beaten body. The monster chuckled. "I'm gonna enjoy this. Again."

Logan snarled, he could feel the rage building, bordering on insanity. He knew he was going feral, but was already too far gone to try or even want to calm himself. He began pacing back and forth, watching helplessly as the scene unfolded.

Remy tried to fight, he really did, but it was hopeless. He was injured, had lost a lot of blood, and hadn't eaten for several days. Maybe he would've had a chance if there'd been somewhere to run, but there wasn't. He managed to dodge the monster's first punch, aimed at his face. He punched back with his good arm, hitting the sick fuck's face, then followed with a powerful kick. But the kick put a nauseating pressure on his ribs and insides, and the delay that caused allowed the monster to slam an oversized fist into his face, followed by one to the gut. He fell to his knees, hating himself for his weakness. He wanted so badly to fight to the death so that all that could be raped was his dead body, but he simply hadn't the strength. In the end, it was easier to be raped than to force his tortured body to fight anymore.

And raped he was. As Logan howled (completely beyond rationality at this point) and flung himself at the energy field, the monster grabbed a fistful of Remy's hair so that his neck arched back unnaturally. The monster's acrid body stench filled Remy's senses and he felt himself retch. "Isn't it funny how it always comes back to this with you?"

Remy whimpered and the monster chuckled, shoving Remy's head to the ground with a shuddering crack. He pushed the Cajun's head against the junction of the wall and the floor to get leverage, then pulled his hips up to him. Remy tried to kick out, but it was a weak effort that only brought amusement to his attacker. The monster promptly open his trousers and shoved himself into his victim.

Remy stifled a cry of pain as a familiar burning pain filled him. He felt the familiar collapsing as his barely healed insides gave way to the intruding presence. He felt a warmth inside him as his own blood lubricated him and eased his pain only to the extent that he no longer thought he would pass out (a disfavor actually). But worst of all, he felt the sick bastard's mind. He had been surprised to learn that his Genoshan collar was not entirely capable of suppressing his empathy (indeed, only his shields seemed to be affected), and while he'd hoped he could use this to his advantage, he soon wished that the collar was entirely effective; for far worse than reliving the horror of being raped as a child, was experience the thrill of the rape through the mind of the rapist.

As a child, his mutant talents had not manifested yet, and being raped was just that (though he preferred to think of it as prostitution instead of its less empowering interpretation). But this was far worse. He could feel the monster in every way. He really was insane - the monster got off on pain, from wherever it came. Remy had been able to feel his arousal when the monster had invaded his mind days ago, making no attempt to slip in, simply forcing himself in and ravaging his mind. That too had been worse than rape, for it brought with it the fear that the monster would wipe his mind entirely, of which Remy was sure he was capable.

Remy forced himself to go numb, only slightly unnerved at how easy it was for him to slip back into the learned behavior of his childhood. He'd had so many nightmares, had spent so much time hating himself, that somewhere along the way the horror had almost been normalized. He didn't even have the energy to be disgusted with himself, focusing instead on blocking out the monster's emotions - the lust, the pleasure, the glee, the malevolence, the madness. The monster was truly, undoubtably insane. Merde, de pain.He focused on the pain in his neck and skull and his head hammered into the wall with every brutal thrust; anything to ignore what was happening to him.

The monster wasn't at it for too long and he came within ten minutes, biting his jagged teeth into Remy's shoulder, and his semen burning Remy's torn insides. Then he pulled out of Remy, allowing him to collapse in heap on the floor, and with a hard kick to the Cajun's collarbone, he turned his attention to Logan, who was looking a little worse for wear. He had repeated thrown himself against the energy field until finally the pain had jolted him from his feral insanity. Now he crouched on the cell bunk and growled at the monster who approached him.

"Don't worry," the monster said with a malicious laugh. "The little whore's used to it. Am just reacquainting him with who he really his. And now that I've worked up an appetite, it's time for the main course."

It took every ounce of will power for Logan to restrain himself from once again running at the energy field. He wanted to KILL. But the monster just smiled at him with satisfaction on his lips and derangement in his eyes. And then Logan noticed something that quickly brought on an uncommon panic. There was a pressure scraping at the edge of his mind and Remy's earlier words came back to him. Some sort of psychic dat can expose your mind. NO! The pressure began to build, then there was a rush of pain - no, of agony - like a damn breaking. Logan fell off the bunk to floor, clutching his head, roaring in anger/pain. It was a pain like none he had ever experienced, as if every cell in his brain was being ripped apart, as if every nerve was on fire; but there was an emotional pain to it too, as though he was mourning the passing of everything that had ever meant anything to him. Logan was good a physical pain, but this was something altogether different, and he found himself, uncharacteristically, loosing consciousness, but the torture didn't end. He felt as though he was going insane.

But then suddenly the pain lessened. He could feel the brutal assault on his mind continue, but somehow it had been numbed, displaced. Remy! He felt another mind, one that was not causing pain, one that was drawing pain away through a mental bridge; and he didn't know how, but he recognized the Cajun's mind. He didn't want the Cajun to absorb his agony, to add Logan's pain to his own, but he couldn't refuse. Hell, he didn't even know how to push the Cajun out of his mind even if he'd really wanted to.

Eventually the pain subsided, leaving Logan numb to the point that stringing thoughts together was difficult. He forced his eyes open and registered a large, mean looking man walking away from him, but it took him several long moments to recognize him and even longer to react. "Remy," he croaked in a hoarse, almost exhausted voice, his eyes trying to focus of the young man.

Logan felt a wave of nausea as he finally was able to focus on the thief. He was curled up, fetal style, his face covered in blood and his body occasionally racked by mild convulsions. "Remy!"

But Remy did not answer, and Logan's energy was failing him, so he followed the Cajun into unconsciousness.

Time past, but there was no way to know how much. Logan had awoken, but Remy still did not. There were no more visits from their captors and Wolverine was growing exceedingly hungry, the water from the sink only dulling the ache temporarily. He spent the time pacing his cell and worriedly watching the Cajun, who lay as dead, except for the faintest rise and fall of his chest. Logan didn't know what to do, and it frustrated him to know end. As far as he could tell, there was nothing he could do. And his mind was playing tricks on him too - it felt weakened, violated, deprived of its normal sense of invulnerability. God, this cell was driving him batty.

Remy did eventually wake up after what Logan would have guessed was around a dozen hours. Logan jerked to attention as the Cajun shot into a sitting position, before turning to his side a dry heaving for several endless minutes. When his body finally calmed, he looked up into Logan's eyes; but Logan was at a loss for words. Remy looked barely strong enough to survive a few more days, and Logan knew that if he wasn't separated from the young man by two energy fields, he'd be able to smell the death on him. But it was the despondent look in his eyes that finally made Logan speak up, "Remy, I. Thank you."

Remy nodded and again silence stretched. He eventually gathered enough energy to crawl over to his blanket, where he promptly lay down again and curled himself into a ball. And Logan watched helplessly. Immeasurable time past, at least a couple of hours, before anything further was spoken. "Logan?"

"Yes?"

"Are we gonna be rescued?" He voice was weak and soft.

Logan thought about that for a moment. He'd told Cyke that he was going to Mexico City. Would they come looking for him when he didn't report in? "I don't know. But they do know that I, and probably you, are in Mexico City."

There was no response, but Logan didn't want to lapse into silence again. "Remy?"

"Oui?"

"Are you a telepath?"

"Non. Je suis [I am]. an empath, je crois [I think]. I feel other people."

"Is your empathy still working?"

"Oui. But I can't control it de way you t'ink. I can't really manipulate people's t'oughts or feelings. And mes walls are weak. Ne peut pas [Can't] protect myself." His voice was devoid of emotion, but, surprisingly, it almost made Logan want to cry.

"Why didn't you tell us?" But Remy took so long in answering that Logan answered it himself. "You didn't trust us, did you?

"Everyone would've thought I was manipulating dem. But de trut' is dat I can barely control it, and if dey knew dat, dey would not trust me, and I would've 'ad to leave, but Remy did want to 'ave to do dat." Still he remained perfectly motionless.

"I'm so sorry that this happened to you. You didn't deserve it, none of it." But Remy didn't respond. He was past caring if he deserved it or not. This endless torture - one horror after the next - was simply his life and it is truly amazing what someone can get used to. Somehow, he'd gotten used to the constant suffering, to having every joy overshadowed by pain, and, somehow, he could take it in stride. Remy thought himself weak, pathetic, disgusting, but he didn't care; life goes on. though maybe this time it wouldn't.

But still Logan would not let him retreat back into himself. "I wish I'd known."

His voice was kind, but it angered Remy, giving him a flush of energy. He barked out a dry laugh. "But you did know. Did you never listen to Warren? Remy is a slut and a whore, he says. And it's true -"

Logan tried to interrupt, but Remy wouldn't let him. He wanted to use his wave of energy to speak before he no longer could, though his voice was already loosing its forcefulness and his mind was growing cloudy. "Non. Ecoutez-moi [Listen to me], Logan. Remy will explain dis only once. Warren was absolutely right. As a child Remy was a whore to stay live, as an adult he was a slut so dat he could feel alive. And dat's what made Rogue so easy to love. Remy loved her anyway, but not being able to touch her. You don't know 'ow tempting dat was for me - to prove to myself dat Remy could be loved wit'out sex entering de picture. And dat, Remy t'ink, is mostly why she 'ates me. When she touched me dat day, she could tell dat Remy didn't even want to have sex wit her, and she 'ated me for dat. Remy don't blame her, but he did love her. I, I did love her. But she succeeded in killing me in Antarctica. Fool Remy once, shame on you. But there will be no more fooling me. No more shame on me. No love for me. But Remy understands. You a bitch, vraiment [truly], but Remy understands."

His voice had faded to almost a whisper and Logan saw his eyes drooping shut. He wanted to say something, but he thought it better to let Remy sleep (he had gotten a feeling, towards the end of his monologue, that he was bordering on the edge of delirium). Besides, he didn't know what to say. It frustrated him that he was so poor at articulation.

Eventually Sinister and the monster returned. Logan growled at them, though with less energy than before, and Remy showed no reaction at all, remaining in fetal curl facing away from the open wall of the cell. In return, both antagonists ignored the Cajun in favor of Logan. Sinister spoke first. "Well, how are you on this fine day Wolverine?"

"What do you want?"

Sinister's face broke into a tight smile. "Absolutely nothing, that's just it. We have everything we want from both of you. Still, no need to waste. Now that Remy is weak enough, Morgan" (Logan couldn't believe the monster had a name.) "is going to wipe his mind, so we can at least use him for. experiments. Don't worry, we'll do the same to you when you've descended into such a state."

Logan didn't have the energy to go feral, but his anger was so great he could barely speak coherently. "You. fucking. bastard."

But they turned away from him. Logan heard Sinister say, "Remy, Remy. You shouldn't have betrayed me. You could have been one of my greatest. and now you'll be nothing."

And with that, Sinister walked away, but Morgan the Monster remained still, his back towards Logan. Logan launched himself at the energy field, if for no other reason than to not feel like he wasn't doing anything; but the other mutant ignored him, focusing on Remy's unmoving body. which suddenly jerked, then began weak convulsions. There was barely the time for Logan to register the movement before he felt a stab in his mind - it hurt but it felt of a familiar desperation and panic. Remy!

Wolverine calmed his mind, the way he did when trying to 'speak' with Jean, and tried to make his mind as inviting as possible. As much as he hated and was suspicious of psychic abilities, Remy had been there for him and he would damn himself to hell before failing to be there in return. Almost immediately, he felt pieces of Remy's mind cascade into his own. There was no pain for himself, though he could somehow sense through the connection that whatever part of Remy's mind that was retained in his body was in unfathomable agony. Logan was extremely disoriented; his mind felt full, overloaded with foreign personality, foreign emotions, and foreign memories. For a moment he had to struggle to remember who he was. But then he thought he understood what Remy was trying to do - he was trying to save something of himself by storing part of his mind in his friend's. And Logan was more than willing. Indeed, despite the disorientation, he was deeply relieved, for he thought that Remy's death (for that is what the monster was trying to accomplish) would surely drive him permanently feral, as well as permanently insane. His muddled mind was more tender than it had probably ever been, cradling the pieces of the Cajun's broken mind in his hour of need.

Logan tried to gather his thoughts. He needed to stay in control of himself if that monster was to remain unsuspecting. For the most part, Remy's mind was unobtrusive, like a comatose presence. It seemed to Logan that most of Remy's conscious personality had remained in his own body, and what hadn't lay dormant in some crevice of Logan's mind. No influence or control was trying to be exerted upon Logan. Rather, it was Remy's memories that kept demanding attention, and while the Canadian tried to ignore them, they quickly became overwhelming and Logan could do little but sit frozen and watch as chunks of Remy's life flashed before his eyes.

He was Remy, back before he was Remy LeBeau, back when he was a child - running, running, hiding. Thieving, whorring, pain, FEAR. Fear of being raped and killed, fear of being robbed and killed, fear of just being killed for being a mutant freak, fear of staving to death. He couldn't remember how he'd ended up on the streets, but it didn't matter; it felt as though he'd been there forever. He was alone, so alone, even the other street children avoided him because was the devil's child, but he didn't know any other way, so it did not plague him as it would in later year. No, it was the fear that haunted and tortured him, that drove him on and kept him alive. It was fear that sent him to New Orleans' Bourbon Street late at night, looking for some pervert with some cash to spend. Fear that urged him on, refusing to let him give up and just die already. Dieu, and the all- consuming hunger.

Until the day he tried to pick the wrong pocket and had been caught. Years of living of the street had made him, even then, an excellent thief, but the years were catching up with him. Somewhere along the road he picked up a disease or two, and had been getting steadily weaker over the last few weeks. He was having trouble breathing and thinking and all this was making it difficult for him to get food for himself. But, luckily, the wrong pocket turned out to be the right pocket. Jean Luc took one look at his glazed eyes, flushed skin, and gaunt body, and that was the end of Remy's life on the streets.

Jean Luc took him, fed him, and got him healthy again (which no easy task, given that he was diagnosis with severe pneumonia, gonorrhea, and the clap; and he had lice). He had to spend weeks in a hospital with doctors showing a not entirely benevolent interest in him for being a mutant; not to mention the string of social workers who obviously couldn't have cared less about an abused street freak. This experience, as well as numerous other stints in hospitals (as his years on the streets had left him with a rather weak immune system) and an actual month as an experiment years later (in a laboratory where he'd been deposited after being caught in a military complex; luckily, he eventually escaped), left him with a permanent abhorrence for hospitals and laboratories.

Despite being a most difficult child, especially in the early days, Jean Luc loved him. When Remy had nightmares, he was there for him; when Remy was afraid, he was understanding; when Remy behaved inappropriately, often in a sexualized and/or defensive manner, he was tirelessly patient; when Remy's power's manifested, he helped and supported him. But Remy was a fast learner and he craved affection desperately. Jean Luc could honestly say that loving Remy had been the most rewarding experience of his life, and that was saying a considerable amount. Nor did he have to do it alone. Aunt Mattie was there - a woman of seemingly infinite sympathy and patience, whose capacity to see good in an individual extended to virtually everyone. And Henri, Jean Luc's son, loved him too, for he had been in his twenties when Remy was taken it, and more than mature enough to both without jealousy and with compassion.

But the years passed and this too came to an end. Remy was trained as a thief (and given an excellent education beyond that), for which he showed an aptitude far exceeding even most of members of the Thieves' Guild. He was married to Belladonna, of the Assassins' Guild, in an effort to bring the two guilds together. They were not in love, but they didn't care. They got along well and would be content enough in knowing what peace and prosperity had been allowed through their alliance. Alas, this was not be. There were certain factions who did not want this joining, and within twenty four hours of marriage, Remy was attacked by his wife's brother, Julian. Remy killed him (apparently), but was to exiled from New Orleans, on threat of death.

In the course of a day, ten years of healing was destroyed. It became irrelevant and he was again the same boy he'd been on the street not so long ago. He was stronger now, bigger, more dangerous, more capable, but still he had stopped living again and had return to the realm of surviving. For years of care and love had left him weak. He knew what loneliness was and though it had once been a medium in which he was at home, this was no longer the case, and he felt the need to escape it, as a drowning man needs to escape the water. Now the loneliness drove him into the arms of men and women who wanted nothing more from him than a couple of hours. It also wrecked havoc on one of his mutant abilities, which had not been active during his time on the streets. He was finding it difficult to reign in his charging power, which was increasing creating problems for him when on missions (given that almost every contract he took on involved delicate, undetected entrances and departures). It was in seeking to regain control of his charging ability, which was quickly becoming as dangerous to others as to himself, that what little he knew of other mutants led him to Sinister.

Sinister was emotionless and Remy was completely unable to read him. Furthermore, Sinister (or rather, Nathaniel Essex, as he introduced himself) was the first mutant Remy had ever really had any contact with. He felt a misguided sense of family or, at least, camaraderie, and he made a conscious, somewhat unnatural decision to trust the man. Essex had one of his mutant cronies construct a mental blockade in his mind (the part that is not consciously controlled) that both prevented his charges from being too powerful and gave him a great deal more control over them. As payment, Remy agreed to lead the Marauders to the Morlocks, where the former were, supposedly, going to try to recruit from the latter. The real reason he blamed himself for the Massacre was because he should have known. Sinister, he had no ability to read; but the others, he did. He had purposely refrained from making empathic contact with them in general because he had almost immediately found their minds to be disturbing and distressing. And he paid for that weakness in full.

He was slashed open and left for dead in those tunnels, but like the cockroach that he was, he didn't die. He lived (along with Marrow) to recover and embark in a self-destructive streak that again required a recovery, though this time aided by Rixt. And then he met little Storm.

His memories of the X-men were happy ones, for even though he had been made quite miserable by the constant hostility and mistrust that was thrown in his face and that battered at his walls, he had always been happy to be there. He was, after all, well accustomed to misery. And he was not entirely without friends, though his own conscience, as well as the presence of two, sometimes three (if Betsy was around), telepaths in the Mansion, prevented him from ever really trying to confirm this by looking too deeply. In Storm he found a sister, almost a kindred spirit. In Logan he had found understanding, friendship, calm. And in Rogue he had found love. or so he thought.

The events of the trial and his following abandonment in Antarctica told him differently. He wondered if he'd made the same mistake again, by shielding himself from the emotions of others; but as he was the only one hurt, he figured that this was not the case.

Logan slowly opened his eyes and Remy's memories faded to the back of his mind. He had, indeed, walked a mile in Remy's shoes - more than a mile, in fact, a lifetime, and he was overcome with an uncharacteristic understanding, sympathy and. love. He supposed one could not truly understand another without loving them.

He had no idea how much time had passed - it could've been minutes or hours. The monster was gone and an unconscious Remy had been placed on the bunk and hooked up to, well, something. Logan came as close to the energy field as he could and tried to get a better look at the pale form. He found it hard to believe that it was empty, though he knew that it probably was, and he mourned, because he knew that however much of Remy that had managed to be stored in his own mind, it wasn't all of him. He would never be the same again; if, indeed, he even lived through this ordeal. "Oh, Remy, baby," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know, I didn't know."

More time passed. Eventually, he began to feel Remy's quintessence (for lack of a better word) seep from him - hopefully, to return to his body. Logan waited to see if Remy would wake, but he didn't, and Logan was left to wait again, this time without Remy's comforting presence in his mind.