Disclaimer: I claim nothing.

*x* = telepathic speech. I was using > before but this time fanfiction.net is giving me font/text difficulties.

Ch. 4 - The Return

Mexico:

        Logan woke to (by?) the sounds of distant fighting - the occasional battle cry or scream of pain, the sounds of heavy objects (probably bodies) hitting floors or walls, and the sound of. energy blasts? Logan shot to his feet. "Cyke?!," he hollered.

        Cyclops was too far to hear, but someone else wasn't. *Wolverine?*

*Jean!*

*Are you hurt?*

*No, I'm fine, but Gambit's in a real bad way. We need to get him out of this cell.*

*Gambit?. Never mind, I'm sending Cyke to you.*

        After several tense minutes of pacing and waiting, Logan heard and then saw Scott running down the corridor towards him. He looked battle weary, but absolutely and tirelessly determined, and Logan thought he had ever looked so good. Scott quickly eyed then blasted the key pad outside of his cell, freeing Logan and prompting a snide comment about Scott choosing a great time to practice being fashionably late. But the latter didn't even have the time to respond, as Logan immediately stepped passed him and extended his claws. Standing in front of Remy's cell, he stabbed them into and ripped through the key pad, shorting out the energy field. He heard a gasp and as their fearless leader got his first look Remy's naked, battered body. It provoked a small, somewhat irrational surge of anger, and Logan was hit by a need to shelter and protect the vulnerable being.

"Go," he said gruffly. "I'll take care of him. It sounds like they could use some extra manpower up there." There was a momentary hesitance to comply, but Scott knew that Logan was probably more right than he knew. Though he knew Sinister had already managed to escape, he and Jean had left the rest at the ground level, vastly outnumbered. These new mutant opponents were not as lethal as Sinister's usual cronies, but there were a lot of them and they were rather disturbing in their unthinking, zombie- like manner. Indeed, they were fighting indiscriminately, apparently only focusing their violence on the X-men because of their prominence in the melee.

"Hurry," Scott demanded and then took off back down the corridor, leaving Logan to bring Remy. He picked up the discarded blanket, briefly revolted by its smell - of Remy's blood and sweat and urine, and that monster's semen. But there was nothing else to use, so he wrapped it around Remy's lifeless body, removed the IV, and picked him up, with one arm around his back and the other under his knees. "I've got you, Remy," he whispered. "Everything'll be okay now."

        He hurried down the corridor, following Scott's scent. The scene that greeted him up on the ground level was a veritable pandemonium, with the X- men desperately fighting off the mindless hordes, who were, in turn, also fighting amongst themselves. There was simply too many of them to be able to execute much of a strategy, and as soon as Logan was spotted, Cyclops called for a retreat. There was nothing more to be accomplished here, and Scott had a slightly nauseating feeling that, left to their own devices, these zombie mutants (as Scott had quickly taken to calling them) would probably finish each other off. He wondered what Sinister had done to them. What had happened to Remy?

        The casualties to the zombie mutants were high, but the X-men were not without their own injuries. As they fled the complex, running or hobbling or being carried towards the Blackbird, and being followed by a few determined zombie mutants, Cyke did a quick assessment of damage. Archangel, looking ragged and badly scratched and a little crazed, was carrying Iceman, who looked dead.

        Scott felt a stab of cold fear and he frantically hoped that he wasn't actually dead. Someone had really done a number on him - his body was covered in scrapes and scratches, and his face was a bloody mess. Beast was already trying to examine him, from which Cyke took encouragement, and he forced himself to quickly look over the others, dreading what he might see. Storm was limping and had her arms wrapped around her torso, but Scott was relieved that there didn't appear to be any permanent damage. Rogue was cradling her left wrist, and though sprayed liberally with blood, the combination of rage and triumph on her face told him that most of it was not hers. She made him almost feel like smiling.

        Wolverine looked alright (as to be expected), though from the length of his facial and head hair, one would have thought he'd been held captive for weeks, not for only five days. Gambit was covered in his blanket, but Cyke knew that it was hiding a bruised and battered body. Still, he was alive and, Cyke presumed, in a better state than Iceman. As for himself, he'd managed to escape relatively unscathed. He had been set fire to (so, embarrassingly, his clothes barely existed), but had managed to successfully 'drop and roll', so that all he sported were a few minor burns and a nasty gash on his bottom lip.

        Jean lowered the access ramp and everyone stampeded aboard as with an energy that can only come from finally being able to escape. The Blackbird took off almost immediately, with Cyke, Rogue, and Storm scrambling towards the cockpit. Warren laid Bobby down on one of the bunks in the back as Hank frantically began rooting through medical supplies. Logan blankly looked at the three, somewhat at a loss. But he was too determined to get angry. If Hank couldn't or wouldn't help, or simply wasn't, then he could do it himself. Hank was right, after all - Bobby looked more in need of immediate attention then Remy. Who knew what Remy needed anyway? Probably none better than him.

        So he lay Remy down on the other bunk. He discarded the disgusting blanket in favor of a clean sheet, though not without some indecision, aware as he was that Remy chilled easily. Though he had some idea what needed to be fixed, he grew frustrated with his lack of skills. There was a broken arm that needed to be set, and an IV drip needed to be set up to give Remy the food and, to a lesser extent, water that his body had been deprived of for the last eight days. But Logan did not know how to do these things, so satisfied himself with cleaning the gash through Remy's left eyebrow, then cleaning the bite wound on his back; then, with growing urgency (Remy, so immaculate, would hate to be caught in such a state), he scrubbed the rest of the boy down, eager to get the blood, sweat, semen, and general stench off him. He even forced himself to remain calm as he wiped flecks of dried blood from between his legs.

        After who knows how long, Logan stopped and looked at his handy work. The Cajun looked (and smelt) much better, much cleaner, though his body was too thin, his hair was still dirty, and much of his skin was marred with bruises. He felt a familiar ache of loneliness, but it had gained a sharper edge and was overshadowed by loss. It did not take Logan long to trace it back to Remy's flooding of his mind. At the time he hadn't realized it, because of the intensity and horror of the situation, as well as the intensity and horror of the memories, but now he did. Remy had completed him, had made him whole in a way that every man and woman wishes and craves to be, but never is. Their minds had mingled and fused and become one; solitude had been banished. but had returned with Remy's departure.

        Logan looked over a the other bunk. Warren was just sitting silently, his head in his hands, and Hank's desperate movements had calmed.

"Beast," Logan growled. Hank turned around and, after a brief pause, nodded. "Bobby's almost stabilized. This will only take a moment."

        Then Hank turned to Remy and was somewhat amused as Logan gruffly rattled off what was needed: IV, stitches, bandage the cracked ribs, set the arm. Hank began doing his own inspection.

"How long has he been unconscious? Did he receive a blow to the head?"

"They tried to fuckin' wipe his mind," Logan snarled.

Hank frowned unhappily. "Like those zombie-things we were fighting?"

"I dunno. Maybe."

"Well, one thing at a time. Maybe the Professor can help him." And Hank got down to work, though it didn't stop him from continuing to ask questions. "How'd they get him anyway?"

        Logan thought for an second, trying to remember what Remy had known about it. "I don't know. Sinister had placed a block in his mind years ago and it occurred to Remy in his cell that it might have allowed Sinister to track him. But all he actually remembers was a flash of light and the formation of a space tunnel, like a wormhole, that engulfed him and transported him to his cell. Maybe Scott should upgrade the security..."

        "It's not his fault," Hank responded, but Logan said nothing further, and he continued his work in silence. At some point Scott came to back to get a report of Bobby's and Remy's conditions. Hank explained that while Bobby's injury had been immediately life threatening, now that he'd been stabilized, it is likely that would ultimately be okay. Remy, on the other hand, was another matter. His injuries could be fixed, but the condition of his mind in another matter altogether, and Logan was not being particularly cooperative.

"Logan?," Scott queried.

"We should get the Professor to look at him when we get back to the Mansion," Logan said stubbornly. At some point after being rescued, he'd decided that certain things that had happened in captivity were meant to remain between him and Remy. If Remy wasn't conscious enough to hide his weakness, then Logan would simply have to hide them for him. But he did need help, and he had some degree of confidence in the Professor's trustworthiness.

        When Scott left, he turned to Hank, his voice was brimming with emotion. "I need you to swear, really swear, that as a doctor you will respect Remy's right to privacy. The team doesn't need to know about all of the injuries."

        Hank knew what injuries Logan was referring to and he was willing to agree. It was not his place to tell anyone about the evidence of rape - it was not knowledge that could be used to help Remy in any way (at least not in his present state), nor was the perpetrator readily punishable. This was a secret he was willing to keep for the Cajun; and he briefly, and uncomfortably, wondered if all of Remy's secrets were such that they should remain secrets. "I swear."

Westchester:

        Bobby was already looking better by the time the Mansion was reached. Logan wanted to go with Hank down to the lab, but Scott had 'requested' to see him in the Professor's office. Of course, they wanted to know what happened, and Logan told them most of it, particularly parts relating security and Remy's mental state. He said very little about Rixt, nothing about the rape, and neglected to mention that he had been affected at all by Remy's mind transfer. He suspected that Xavier was aware of that he was not telling them everything, but neither man let on. Scott seemed primarily concerned with how to protect the Mansion against everything Remy knew.

        After the meeting, Logan and the Professor went down to the lab. "Any change?," Logan asked Hank, who was taking a break and snacking on a Twinky.

        With a mouth partially full of food, the doctor responded, "Yeah, actually. His brain patterns have changed, indicating that he is no longer comatose, though I have not been able to rouse him. Still, his brain waves indicate sleep - very deep sleep, but sleep nonetheless. It's a very good sign - of him waking up at least. Lets go see him."

        Logan and the Professor followed Dr. McCoy into the bay area where both Iceman and Gambit lay. After briefly consulting Hank about Bobby's condition, Xavier wheeled himself close to Remy, focusing intently on him. Shortly, he spoke up. "His mind is not coherent. My guess is that connections and pathways are being rebuilt. He'll probably wake when enough have been made to support consciousness. But there's no way to know, really."

        Logan didn't even bother to ask how long it would be - he knew they didn't know. But he would stay tonight, he decided, giving into an ache that would only be soothed at Remy's bedside. And he did just that, staying up almost the entire night, just looking at him, stroking his hand, his arm, his cheek. He swore to himself that whatever happened, no matter what, he would protect Remy, knowing, somehow, that he would need protection and strength when he woke. if he woke.

        Days past. Then a week. Then two. Bobby recovered; and so did Remy. but he didn't wake up. Logan visited Remy everyday, as well as visiting the Danger Room and engaging in viscous, exhausting battles against an enemy programmed to look suspiciously like Morgan. He beat the monster dozens of times for that one time that he hadn't been able to. He was constantly in an awful, unbearable mood that cowed most of the team. But they deserved it. and it helped, and the extent of Remy's suffering finally melting the callousness that gripped their hearts. There was sympathy and pity and even guilt (amongst most), and though Logan was still angry, he would have ripped their throats out if they had expressed condemnation.

        Scott undertook a major security overhaul, while Jean spent a lot of time in the lab with Hank. Both she and Charles Xavier had tried to reach out to his mind, and while both agreed that there was something there, something vaguely familiar and somewhat like quicksand, it was nothing that could be understood until it had fallen into place and set. Which there was indication of midway through the third week.

        On Wednesday night, Hank heard an alarm go off in the bay. He hurried to flip off the alarm, then rushed to the wall phone to call Jean in her room. After a brief discussion in which it was decided that fewer people was better, she > out to Wolverine, and promptly left her and Scott's quarters to go down to the lab. Not surprisingly, Logan managed to get there first, and when she entered, he was seated, holding Remy's hand, with Dr. McCoy standing on the other side of the bed. She could feel Remy's mind - unnaturally disordered, but more sentient nonetheless.

        Eventually, his eyes fluttered under the dimmed lights, and everyone held their breathes. Then his eyes blinked open, then again, this time trying to focus. "Remy?," Jean asked. Remy faintly flinched at her voice, before trying again to focus. But both Hank and Logan had only a split second warning (the sudden tension of the body), before the young man was out of the bed, and surely would have been out of the room if he'd been able to see which side of the bay possessed a door. Unfortunately, as he hadn't been, he was now trapped, with the bed, not to mention three people, between him and the door. And he knew that they could all see his fear and panic.

"Let me deal with this," Logan whispered.

        He cautiously took a step towards Remy, who was crouching in a flight or flight stance, eying him suspiciously. "Remy? Do you remember me? It's Logan. You're okay now, you're safe."

        Several tense seconds passed before Remy seemed to relax. then tremble until his body was shaking violently. Logan quickly came to him and took him into his arms. Remy burrowed silently into Logan's chest until his body heaving calmed, then disappeared. Logan placed his palms on Remy's cheeks and gently tilted his face until he could gaze into the coal and fire eyes. There were no tears in the eyes, but they pulled at his heart and he knew that he was right. Remy was not okay, and he would need protection and strength. Still, he asked. "Remy, are you alright?"

        An awkward, confused frown slowly graced Remy's face. He recognized what was said, who was speaking, but could recall no words at all. He felt strange, lost, muddled, unclear - about everything. He didn't know what hee felt, what he thought, remembered, or understood. Indeed, he felt that he knew nothing beyond the question being asked. So he shook his head gracelessly, for whatever he was, he wasn't alright.

        The calming of his mind made him more aware of the minds of those around him. The woman and the creature were interested and concerned, though quite unnerving precisely for those two characteristics. He was entirely unaccustomed to such sentiments in a positive context, and was immediately wary. But Logan. the name was familiar, and the emotions he was emanating were warm and comforting and appealing. But already it was fading, as the bombardment of emotions on his mind provoking natural defences and rebuilding his wall; and it was both reassuring and isolating. So he pulled out of Logan's arms and continued to observe the three that were quite intently observing him.

"Remy," Logan said hoarsely. "Say something. Please."

        Again, the words only made enough sense to be understood, but were strangely decontextualized and one-dimensional. Remy frowned somewhat more naturally this time, trying to get his mind around the request and the expected response. Eventually, he shook his head again, the movements made somewhat less awkward by having already executed them once.

        Logan looked rather stricken, though Remy could still feel the warmth and. protectiveness?. that radiated from him. The woman whispered, "May I try?," and Logan nodded, his eyes refusing to leave Remy's, though Remy's wondered between the three, purposely dodging the uncomfortable intensity of Logan's gaze. Jean stepped closer to Remy, so that she stood next to Logan, while Hank watched from closer to the door.

> Remy began to tremble again, but moved away when Logan steeped towards him with open arms. The voice in his mind was disturbing - not in a recognizable way, but in a foreboding sense that it would provoke an unintended and uncontrollable reaction. >

        Fear rose in Remy; he could feel the chaos in his mind building, preparing to erupt. And then, just like that, he fell to his knees, his hands grapping his head, as he felt agony rip through him, and he recognized it instantly as his own.. But the pain was too all-consuming - surely there was nowhere to escape such pain - that he didn't notice that Jean too had fallen to her knees and that Hank had run to her (nor did he notice that, elsewhere in the mansion, the Professor was also in a fair amount of pain). He faintly felt Logan's hand on his shoulder, but it was quickly pulled away, seared by a blinding pain that would not be held back by boundaries of his skin. He bent over his knees, close to the floor, and though he didn't lose consciousness, he might as well have, as the entire extent of his awareness was taken up by the pain, and there was nothing else.

        After what felt like a short eternity, but what in reality was only about twenty minutes, the agony faded to the point that perception of something else was possible. He still lay on the floor, though Logan was sitting (also on the floor) close to him, protectively, but just watching him. He frowned at Logan, who seemed to recognize the return of a semblance of consciousness.

"Are you alright, Rems?," he asked, his voice carrying a strong undercurrent of concern. Remy still felt frightened, lost, and unsure, but it was a state that felt somewhat more natural than before - less like a bad drug trip, more in control of whatever sense he did have. So he forced himself to nod, but before Logan could respond, Hank had squatted down next them. "Well, Remy, you gave everyone quite a scare there. But Jean and the Professor are alright, though that empathic pain wave was quite a wake-up call. And they both said that you're mind seems more ordered now. So, hopefully no more of those episodes, right?"

        Remy had only the faintest idea what the blue furry doctor was talking about - something to do with the earlier pain. So he shook his head. He didn't think there would be another episode, at least not immediately.

        Both Logan and Hank tried to help him when he struggled to stand, only realizing now that his muscles were still from weeks of laying in bed. But he shook them off and quickly took in the bay area. Jean was sitting on a bed, looking at him, and Scott was standing near her, looking at him; and the Professor was sitting in his wheelchair, also looking him. He felt distinctly uncomfortable, like a caged animal, and it was a somewhat familiar feeling. He had to get out of this lab now.

        So, almost proving that there is some inherent aspect of personality, he did a very Gambit thing: he simply strolled towards the door as if he had no reason to stay and as if there were not a four people in that room who probably thought he should stay in the medical bay.

        Hank was the first to respond, almost immediately asking, "Where are you going?"

        But Remy ignored him, almost to the door, but Logan's voice, softly calling his name, made him turn around, a questioning look on his own face. "Remy, where are you going?," Logan asked once eye contact had been established.

        Remy frowned, looking like he didn't want to answer, but looking even more frustrated because he couldn't. Finally he looked purposefully at Hank, raising his hand conspicuously, and made a clumsy, almost child-like gesture. Now it was Hank's (as well as everyone else's) turn to frown. Remy repeated the gesture and a light bulb went of in Hank's mind. "He's trying to sign!," he said excitedly. "I didn't know he knew I know how to sign! I didn't even know he knew how to sign!"

"Well, what's he trying to say?," Logan interrupted gruffly.

"Uh.." Hank focused on the awkward gesture that Remy repeated again. "Leave." The faintest trace of a smile appeared on Remy's face as he recognized the word he had been trying to find. Encouraged, he tried another half-remembered gesture, then another and another. "Here. Bad. Now. Leave."

        Jean and Hank were both desperately trying to think of a way to get Remy to stay without having to restrain him, or threaten him, or do something that would surely damage Remy in his unstable mindset. Scott, on the other hand, still fancied an easy way to solve the 'Gambit problem' and wouldn't have minded Remy's departure. The Professor had wisely decided that this was not something he was best equipped to handle. He had faith in Jean and Hank. and, strangely, Logan.

"Can I come with you?," Logan asked abruptly.

        Remy looked back at him, confusion and surprise clearly written on his face. If it had been any of the others that had asked, fear and suspicion would have overcome him and he might have even bolted for the nearest exit. But Logan. his mind tried to hold the word, though some hidden black hole kept trying to suck it away. Logan, Logan, Logan. He didn't want to do this own his own. Do what? Anything. There was a fear of being alone, with only his unknown mind and memories for company. That was more frightening even then staying in the bay, the subject of curious (surely not benevolent?) stares. So he nodded, then continued out the door. With a nod of confirmation to the others, Logan followed. He would keep the Cajun out of trouble.