Ch.7 - The End

Westchester:

        Somehow, he'd ended up at square one again. Here he was, at the Mansion, with no idea where Remy had run off to. He convened with Scott, Jean, Storm, Hank and the Professor, and though all showed concern, none knew where he would have gone. The Professor attempted to find him with Cerebro, but as suspected, Remy's walls were strong enough to hide him. Logan and Scott checked the security camera, which showed Remy leaving, but gave no indication of destination. Jean, Hank, and Storm went over their interaction with the Cajun over the last several days, trying to comb it for hints, but they realized Remy was unlikely to make such a mistake. If he didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be. There were suggestions as to where he might have gone, but nothing with much evidence to support it.

        Logan didn't mention Rixt for the moment. He didn't want to have to return to her (though he had not returned to retrieve his motorcycle), though he knew he could swallow his pride if he thought there was no other choice; but he didn't think she'd help him. Not after the last time, not after failing Remy again, not after swearing to be there for him. Logan himself didn't even think he deserved a second (third?) chance. But some fool part of his mind figured that if he was able to find Remy on his own, it wouldn't count as another chance, but rather an extension of the last.

        By all rights, no one should have ever seen Remy again. At least not for many years, after which he may have returned. But lady luck - such an infrequent visitors of mutants in general - made an unexpected and wholly appreciated cameo appearance. Three days after Remy's departure, after much mounting frustration on the part of Logan, a letter arrived in the mail, addressed to Gambit. This was a rare enough occurrence at a sufficiently coincidental time that Logan decided to screw privacy (again).

Dear Gambit.

Another year has passed since you saved my life and once again I find myself grateful. So here is another thank you. I find myself haunted this time of year, by nightmares of killers. I imagine that you must be haunted by the ghosts of the dead. But in my nightmares you are still there to save me from fatal wounds, so here I am again to haunt you, and to remind you of the life you saved. It's not that I forgive you, but that forgiveness is irrelevant. The right thing is still out there to do.

You are in my prayers, though I know no god.

Marrow

        And just like that, Logan had a very good idea where Remy could be found.

The Morlock Tunnels:

He'd recognized the Cajun's sent even outside the cave, and he was filled with such relief that a silly grin came to his face. He had been in an agony of guilt and regret for the last three days and had been terrified that Remy would simply prove to gone and untraceable. Finding him here, in the tunnels, was proof that it wasn't too late; but he hurried anyway, following the younger man's pleasant, familiar sent through winding, poorly lit passageways until a hunched, darken figure came into view.

        He ran and crouched beside him. Remy's arms were wrapped around his knees and his head was cradled in the circle they created. He was as still as a rock, but as Logan reached to touch him, he heard a soft, cracked voice. "Ne touche pas. Ne me touche pas. [Don't touch. Don't touch me.]"

"Remy. . . what are you doing here? Surely there is nothing for you here." Logan was, in fact, deeply concerned about Remy's decision to come to the tunnels - they were his weakness, his Achilles' heel. It did neither spoke well nor boded well for Remy's sanity. At least, that's what Logan figured.

"Rems, sweetie, look at me."

        After a long pause, Remy's tear stained but expressionless face looked up to his. Still, Logan was relieved, seeing that Remy didn't appear to have regressed to the point of unresponsiveness (Logan was gradually recognizing a tendency to assume the worst with regards to the object of his affections). Logan reached out for him again, but Remy leaned away and scrambled to unsteady feet.

        Angrily, blinking through tears, he snarled, "Qu'est ce que tu veux? Pourquoi est ce que tu est ici?. . . Salaud! [What do you want? Why are you here? . . . Bastard!]" Then he turned his face away.

        If Logan was surprised by what seemed to be Remy's sudden ability to speak French, he did not show it, though he did take a moment to revel in the sound of his whiskey and smoke voice, sexy even when it was contorted in anger. However, he had learned long ago that the Cajun was full of surprises, and he didn't think that now was the appropriate time to question him on it (in truth, the French had returned two nights earlier after waking from a particularly graphic and realistic nightmare about his childhood). Still, Logan had no idea how to handle the situation, and for about the thousandth time in the last couple of months, he wished his people skills were more than the bare minimum. So he decided to precede as usual and, after rising to his feet too, got straight to the point.

"You should come home."

        Remy's eyebrows shot up, then gradually settled into a frown. Dieu, why was he here? Why did he have to make this more difficult than it already was? Finally he brought his hands up to chest level and signed, "The Mansion is not home." A slightly manic smile grew on his face. "Am home here with the ghosts."

        Remy laughed, but again there was a manic edge to it, and he began to stroll through the tunnel with arms outstretched. Logan considered him for a moment, but when he began to slowly spin around, he walked to him and caught him in his arms to still him. And, for a few moments, he was still, though his eyes still burned wildly. "Remy," he said as gently and convincingly as he could. "This is not your home. It's a fucking cesspool of memories trying to drive you crazy."

        The last words caused to Remy to jerk away, but he did not return to spinning. He stood still, pondering the wall of the tunnel, as Logan pondered him. "Mais je suis déjà fou [But I am already crazy] . . .," he said more to himself than Logan.

        Logan looked more closely at the tunnel wall Remy was staring at and saw that it looked as if it if had been subject to a small explosion. "J'ai fait ça. [I did that.]" Remy approached the section of the wall, then bent and laid himself of the uneven ground. He raised his dirty shirt, exposing a smooth torso marred three parallel scars, courtesy of the Marauders. He spread his arms and legs then said, "Ici. . . Ici, Remy est senti la morte. Et a voulu mourir. [Here Remy felt death. And wanted to die.]"

        He closed his eyes and was deathly still for several long moments. He tried to clear his chaotic mind (though his grasp of French had brought with it an increased mental order), and imagined that he was dead. He tried to create a complete emptiness within him and one word (surprisingly, in English) floated through his mind - peace. He slowed his breathing and felt his pulse calm. Logan came and crouched next to him, observing him, wanting to speak to him in a way that would get through to him. Finally, "You're not a ghost yet, sweetie. I know 'cause you ain't dead. And you can't be here, you're disturbing their rest. They don't want to be plagued by the living anymore than we want to be plagued by them. They do not blame you, Remy, they're dead, and the dead do not mourn the passing of their lives. You are helping no one by being here, not even yourself. . . Please Rems, you don't belong here."

        After a pause, there was a long sigh. "Mais où? [But where?]," he whispered plaintively, eyes still closed. He was so tired of searching.

        Then Logan did something that astonished even himself - and something that certainly never would've taken place if he'd taken even a fraction of a moment to think about it. He leaned forward to the corpselike figure and whispered roughly in his ear. "Avec moi. [With me.]" And before a startled Remy could react beyond opening his eyes, Logan kissed him. It was a simple kiss, but it was given permanence through longevity, lasting several seconds.

        He pulled away slowly, their eyes locked, and a pregnant pause ensued, each waiting for the other to do something to destroy the moment, along with the hope of imagined futures that couldn't help be spring to mind. And the moment stretched. Logan's mind caught up with him and told him that his timing was even worse now, that Remy was obviously not thinking clearly, that he was taking advantage of him; but better judgement had learned from the last debacle and convinced him that pulling away now, again, would do far more harm than good. Besides, he really wanted to . . . what, he wasn't sure. To kiss his love, and hold him, and to make everything alright somehow. But after last time, he didn't know if Remy would have him. Despite having practically lived his life, Logan still didn't understand Remy. Especially now, as he was rebuilding himself.

        Remy, on the other hand, bit back tears and waited for the other shoe to drop. He forced himself not to reach out to feel Logan's emotions, not wanting to feel the rush of hope that had to be provoked by Logan's love, nor the sickening afterfeeling from Logan's guilt. When the silence became unbearable, he pushed Logan away and scrambled to his feet. He might not deserve Logan, but he didn't deserve to be jerked around like this either. Glaring down at the feral man, his hands angrily demanding to know what he was waiting for.

"What?" Though he had a sneaking suspicion what Remy meant.

"Surely you have had time to convince yourself how wrong what you just did is? But this is my room. It is you who must run away this time." Remy's hands were shaking as he signed, and his words were difficult to make out. When he finished, he brought his hands down to his sides, clenched in fists, just as his jaw was clenched and his whole body tense.

        Suddenly Logan was confused. Did Remy think Logan had behaved wrongly? But now was not a time for miscommunication. He followed Remy to his feet and, carefully looking him in the eye, asked, "Do you think it was wrong?"

        A long pause, a resigned sigh, then tired hands responded. "No. But does what I think matter?"

        "Yes." Deciding he'd heard the encouragement he needed, Logan closed the distance between them, took an unresisting Remy into his arms, and kissed him again; but this time he poured his feelings into it, holding the thin body tightly, a hand in silky hair, tongue caressing lips for a moment until those lips parted welcomingly. His tongue ravished Remy's mouth, tasting of vanilla and mint, and his teeth nibbled a perfect, luscious bottom lip. Remy failed to stifle a whimper of simultaneous relief and desperation, and Logan growled back in want before breaking the kiss.

        Logan stared into the black and red eyes, like coals in a fire, but they were glazed with lust, as he was sure his own were. He felt a hunger rage within him, stoked now to a peak by a taste of the forbidden fruit he so desperately craved. If he hadn't spent a lifetime battling to control his urges, he would've had to take Remy then and there, the drive to mate was so strong. But as it was, he buried his face into the taller man's neck and held him, inhaling his comforting sent, and forced the urge to fade.

        Remy stroked his hair, his shoulders, his back, soothing Logan's animal. Whatever emotional pain Logan was capable of unwittingly inflicting, Remy was secure in hie knowledge that Logan would not physically hurt him. Would not take him against his will. After all, Logan loved him, he could feel it, and he allowed himself to revel in that love as he had done in the early days of his recovery. It was a delicate moment, for while Remy probably would've been able to deal with his fear, Logan would've been able to smell it on him, and Logan wouldn't have been able to deal with his fear. Remy's fear would've been the one thing that would've destroyed him, that would've sent him running far, far away. But there was no fear, and though Remy did not dare hope, not seriously, he was still willing to give Logan another chance. How could he, after all, refuse what he most desperately wanted when it came knocking, no matter how many times it had knocked before without coming in?

        After a couple of minutes like this, Logan lifted his head and his rough, still somewhat lustful voice asked, "Can't we leave this tomb now Rems?" And Remy nodded.

Westchester:

        As soon as Remy had shakily stepped into the daylight, it was obvious to Logan that he hadn't eaten or slept in days. So Logan stuffed a Domino's pizza in Remy's mouth and convinced him, completely unnecessarily, to sleep in the backseat of his truck's cab during the long drive back to the Mansion. He woke groggily when Logan shook him and was completely unprepared to deal with the questioning faces of Storm, Jubilee, Jean, and Scott (and Bobby in the background). He used Logan as a shield, face down to avoid uncomfortable eye contact, and Logan muttered assurances that everything was alright. But there was one voice Remy couldn't hide from.

*Remy! Are you okay?*

        He made no outward signs of hearing as he and Logan proceeded up the stairs and through the door, despite harassment from Cyke. But he did finally respond when they reached the staircase. *Je ne sais pas, mais je crois que je suis bien, finalement. Fatigué, mais bien. [I don't know, but I think I'm finally good. Tired, but good.]*

        Jean smiled to herself and reached arms out to Scott and Storm to stop them from following the retreating pair. "Leave them, for now. Remy's okay."

        Upstairs, Remy and Logan stopped outside their doors and an awkwardness ensued. Remy supposed it was his turn to step up to bat. "Chez moi? Ou chez chez toi? [My place? Or yours?]" It was said flippantly, seductively, but it was the hint of nervousness underneath that provoked Logan to gather Remy in his arms and stare into his eyes and growl in an awful accent with a predatory smile, "Chez toi, mon amour."

        He brushed their noses together, their cheeks too, loving Remy's smell. He nibbled a perfect ear and felt Remy's warm tongue on his neck. "Hmmm . . . My sexy baby."

        Remy laughed and pulled away, tugging Logan towards his door. Remy's room, with his luxuriously large bed, was definitely the better choice, but his first stop after days in the dirty tunnels was the shower. When he got out, Logan was already asleep, worn out from driving and from his ordeal with Remy, with all traces of his usual roughness gone and most of his clothes pooled at the foot of the bed. Remy felt his heart expand painfully and he thought he might cry from the strength of his emotions - of love and accursed hope. He crawled into the bed and curled into Logan's willing arms. Heady waves of contentment quickly ushered him to sleep.

EPILOGUE

WARNING: Sex. Rather graphic slashy sex, to be specific. If you're not interested, then this is not for you. (Mwahahaha! It's for me of course!)

        Logan woke to early morning rays and someone nuzzling his hair. Someone who smelled like soap, and like home. Someone who smelled aroused. A trace of guilt passed through his mind fleetingly, but he banished it and he allowed his face to break into a wide grin as he turned himself over to gaze into his love's sleepy, blinking eyes. He sniffed at Remy's neck and nipped at it. When he looked back up, Remy was wide awake and a small, affectionate smile graced his lips. Logan grinned back, then returned to the task at hand: to find the rather obvious source of that fantastic smell...

        He pulled away the blankets and looked hungrily at Remy's boxer clad arousal. "Yum, yum," he joked, and Remy laughed. But humor disappeared and Remy gasped as Logan bent down to rub his face along Remy's length, inhaling the musky, male scent of his lover. God. It was so intoxicating he released a low growl from deep within, his hands tracing his lover's soft skin, marred by the occasional scar. He looked up again to see hooded, lustful eyes. He had no idea how Remy was able to be so . . . normal about sex after all that he had been through, but he wasn't about to question their good luck. As for Remy, there had been so much horror in the past that sex no longer held any demons he had not already fought and conquered a dozen times. He knew it could be beautiful and amazing, and he hoped this would be one of those times.

        "You'll tell me if I overstep my boundaries, right Gumbo?" Remy smiled and nodded, though he doubted he could ever refuse Logan, even if wanted to - which he didn't. So he scooted down the bed and claimed Logan's lips in a passionate kiss. They pressed their bodies together and both moaned, breaking the liplock for a moment to breath heavily. Remy's hands sneaked up and pinched Logan's nipples, to which he responded by pushing Remy down on the bed and ravishing his mouth; but when a smooth, nimble - sexy - hand reached through his own boxers and grabbed his impatient, aching organ, it was all he could do to move with it. A strange, but intensely erotic tingling began to vibrate through his groin, and it took him several thrusts for his lust muddled mind to figure out what it was - Remy was lightly charging him, and the thrill of danger that came with that knowledge, combined with weeks of stress and pent up desire, instantly drove him to release.

        Several moments recovering allowed him open his eyes to meet Remy's amused expression as the Cajun lay propped up by his elbow, watching him. "What's so funny?," he growled playfully. "Don't look so smug. You haven't seen the last of me yet. Have I told you about ALL the benefits of a healing factor?"

        Remy looked briefly surprised, but his smile quickly returned. A breathless "Oui?" prompted Logan to once again push him onto his back. They kissed again as calloused fingers found and rolled Remy's small sexy nipples, causing him to moan and arch in Logan's body, where again they could feel each other's arousals. With a less demanding erection, Logan revisited Remy's swollen hard on. He stripped off Remy's boxers, and after a quick flash of eye contact to make sure everything was alright, he took the smooth, firm, exquisite flesh into his mouth.

        It would be difficult to say which was hotter, Logan's mouth or Remy's erection. Remy's breathing came in short gasps and Logan sucked eagerly, his hands caressing Remy's hips and thighs and balls. He savored the taste of sweet pre-cum and was, eventually, amazed at his lover's staying power; but the small part of his brain that was still thinking rationally suggested the truth - that years of abuse had left some traces, if only in his body's hesitance to find release in sexual pleasure. But Logan didn't mind. Teasing pleasure from the beautiful, mistreated body before him was far more a luxury than a chore, and he would do so enthusiastically. Still, he had an idea . . .

        The loss of Logan's fiery mouth and the cool air on his wet manhood sent shivers through Remy's body and he opened his eyes to meet Logan's. "I have an idea," Logan said thoughtfully as Remy blinked dazedly at him. "Remy, would you open your walls to me?"

        Again, a look of surprise crossed Remy's face, but this time it was quickly followed by a guarded expression and the faint smell of fear. "Don't! Be afraid I mean . . ." He hurried on nervously, despite the obvious fading of Remy's arousal. "It's just that, uh, I want to feel what you feel. I want to be convinced that you're okay. And I want you to feel how strongly I feel about you. Ever since you were in my mind, I've felt as though I've been missing a part of me that I never before realized I'd been missing. And maybe the same is true for you. Maybe part of what you're missing can be found in me . . . "

        The silenced stretched and almost evolved into a sound in its own right; and Remy continued to stare at him stonily. Damn, damn, damn. Had he blown it? "I'm sorry, it was a stupid idea, forget it - "

        "Non," Remy whispered hoarsely, forcing himself to act, to react, to make decisions. Logan was right, it might prove helpful or orientating. And, somewhere underneath all the fear, there was some basic instinct that wanted it - that wanted nothing more to than to be as close as possible to the one who had become everything to him. "Nous pouvons le faire, si tu veux. [We can do it, if you want.]"

        Now it was Logan's turn to hesitate. "Not if you don't want to."

        With a frustrated sigh (Logan's constant pussyfooting was really beginning to irritate him, but it was a conversation for later), Remy pulled Logan back towards him, and as their lips met, he opened his walls to him, pushing away his fear and focusing of his love and his faded desire. Then it was Logan's turn to gasp as powerful, and recognizable but still foreign emotions flooded through him. His own emotions flowed to Remy, stoking his lust and creating a positive feedback loop. Within moments he was hard again, but he couldn't tear his eyes from Logan's, who was looking at him (with preternatural focus) as though he had only just then recognized him for who he truly was. "It is you," he mumbled, but Remy didn't get the chance to respond before his lips were devoured again, and his tongue sucked from his mouth.

        Logan's hands returned to Remy's thin waist, then to his balls, as Remy's fingers dug into his back. Finally, under the growing pressure of desire, Logan brought his lips to Remy's ear and whispered roughly, "I want you inside me."

        This time he could feel Remy's surprise course through them both, but he took Remy's sudden peak of excitement and desire as an affirmative. Indeed, Remy only agreed, emotionally, because he could feel Logan's desire to be real. Logan pushed himself vertical, knees on either side of Remy's waist. He gazed into Remy's magnificent, dilated eyes, and then, with a little clever use of his hands (as Remy's couldn't be pried from their white knuckle grip on the sheets), he slowly sunk onto Remy's spit covered manhood.

        The emotions between them lost all coherence as their frantic passions mingled. Logan was so tight that Remy thought for a moment he would pass out, but the further pleasure that blazed forth with Logan's subsequent movements proved him wrong. "Tu vas bien?," he croaked.

        Logan barely heard him, but he forced himself to nod. The pain was brief and welcome: somehow the experience wouldn't be as fulfilling without a little spice of pain. He lifted himself, then brought himself down again, groaning with pleasure as Remy filled hiim and hit his prostate. Together they established a rhythm, neither fast nor slow, despite their loud, erratic breathing.

        Finally, Remy grasped Logan's swollen, neglected erection, and a second, more powerful orgasm hit, ripping a howl from his throat. His muscles clenched around Remy and Logan's orgasm engulfed him through their shared emotions, finally pushing the moaning younger man into his own glorious release.

        An hour later found them still dozing, arms and legs entwined.

"Remy, I love you," Logan muttered sleepily.

        Remy opened his eyes, then blinked several times, focusing him mind enough to respond . . . But something was different and a small smile formed on his lips. "Je sais. Je t'aime aussi. [I know. I love you too.] . . . I, I love you Logan."

        Logan's eyes widened. "Did it work?," he asked incredulously. He hadn't honestly expected anything from their emotional bonding; but, then again, he had never been able to understand the workings of telepaths, let alone empaths.

        Remy grinned happily. "Yes, I t'ink it did, un peu. A bit."

"That's fantastic!" Logan crushed him in a bear hug.

"Don't kill me! I just learned to talk! Je ne veux pas mourir! [I don't want to die!]," he laughed.

        A seriousness came over Logan and he gazed into Remy's eyes. "You better not."

"I don't." The shy smile on his face earned him a passionate and heartfelt kiss.

"Good to hear Gumbo."