now the state bird, it sings our song so outta key
After the building falls, the air is still except for the falling ash. Blood coats the inside of Logan’s mouth even after he spits onto the ground. He runs his tongue over his teeth, tasting his blood and the blood of the FOH soldiers. His hearing strains for any sounds of life, enemy or otherwise. A pebble falls, clinks on the cracked asphalt and Logan whirls around, claws in front of his face. Standing in the clouds of dust is Remy.
He slowly makes his way to where Logan is crouching, ducked behind a slab of concrete. Remy’s hair is caked in soot, obscuring the fiery color. Logan can’t smell anything on him, can’t smell much with all the blood in his mouth. He spits again for good measure.
“You alright, Carcajou?” Remy whispers to him, finally turning his eyes towards him. They gleam with his charge, sparks dancing across the sclera.
Logan grunts quietly. Remy shuffles a few cards in his hand, turning his head to listen. Finally, Logan hears the footsteps of more soldiers, heavy and thundering as they crash through the debris. Remy tenses beside him.
“You hear how many there are?” Remy whispers.
“A lot.” He readies his claws again, moving to reveal himself. Remy’s hand shoots out to grab his forearm. Logan lets himself be pulled back down, face to face with Remy.
“Wait a sec, good Lord. You just gonna throw yourself at them?” Remy’s hot breath fans over Logan’s face, warming him against the December chill.
“What, you want me to ask them nicely to stand down?” He sneers, snapping himself out of the stupor the proximity to Remy put him in. Logan goes to stand again but is stopped by Remy yanking him back down with surprising force.
Remy groans, mutters some patois in frustration. “At least let me help you, you fool. Lemme sneak around the back, see if there ain’t anything I can’t drop on them. Just a wait sec before you let them tear through you.”
Logan scoffs before saying, “I’d be fine, Remy. You know that.”
Remy glances away, towards the horizon. The sun is trying valiantly to slip down the sky and past their vision, but for now, they still have daylight.
“Then, don’t make me see you all torn up, cher. Lemme come with you.” He lifts his gaze back to Logan, where he sits with his mouth slightly parted in shock. But the footsteps are growing louder, so he nods. Watches Remy’s agile steps through the fallen house, disappearing into some of the remaining shrubs. Logan waits until the FOH are seconds away from his hiding spot to leap forwards, claws brandished. The fight is one of tens he’s fought today, maybe in the last hour, but Logan pushes forwards. He lunges towards the troops that are sheltering against a concrete retaining wall. The roaring in his ears stops him from hearing the sound of fluttering a few meters ahead of him. Suddenly, the wall goes up in magenta light, bursting from the inside out. Logan cuts through the pieces of rubble that fly his way until his path is clear. He cuts down any of the remaining militants.
“Miss me?” Remy’s smile shines through the smoke, sparkling pools of blood covering his uniform. Remy takes his place beside Logan with his staff twirling between his hands. Logan throws himself in front of Remy when the FOH begins shooting, trying to crowd the taller man beneath him. Once they stop Remy leaps forwards and sends shockwaves throughout the ground. Together, they sweep the neighborhood, moving in tandem. As Remy falls back, Logan pounces to cover him. When the militants surge onto Logan, dragging him towards the ground in a pile, Remy blows them to kingdom-come. He helps Logan up afterwards.
Finally, Scott radios them to regroup. Together, they begin to climb through the torn up neighborhood, snaking their way towards the center of the town. Logan pushes Remy in front of him, hoping to guard him from any stray soldiers that may be behind them. They’re scaling down a half-destroyed set of stairs when Logan smells a disgusting burning, like taking a bite of charcoal. He shoves Remy in front of him before he realizes the smell is right there, where he’s just pushed Remy. The blast knocks them sideways as they barrel through a door, Logan’s head hitting a piece of rebar on the way down. The world clouds with darkness for a moment while Logan struggles to regain his footing. He takes a few shuddering breaths as the spots exit his vision. He feels some skin on his head begin to knit together.
“Ah, fuck-!” Remy cries, but Logan can’t see him. Through the spray of dirt that obscures his vision, he sees bright magenta sparks. A shockwave runs through the ground and Logan feels it in his heart. His fingertips tingle with the aftermath as he blindly crawls through the debris.
“Re-Gambit!” He calls. He shouts again, the echo being the only response. Something rustles in the rubble, but through the ringing in his ears and the blood in his nose he can’t tell who it is. He roars, desperately trying to find Remy. No trace of his warm scent catches on the evening wind. Despite his desire to rip through the building, he waits, breathing heavily.
A creak reaches his ears, followed by frantic footsteps. In some sick deja-vu, he whirls around again right as Remy breaks out of the dust, slamming into him.
“Jesus!” Remy spits while Logan catches him before he falls. He can feel the writhe of Remy’s muscle underneath his coat while he grips him. A shuddering breath is ripped out of him, Logan’s thumbs brushing Remy’s ribs when they contract.
“Remy, hey, Remy,” he pants while pulling the other man’s body closer. He almost puts his head in the crook of Remy’s neck, to catch the scent he had been searching for, but he stops himself. There’s a new cut on him, the fresh blood shimmering against the mauve patches of his old wounds. Remy doesn’t respond immediately, just looks off into the distance. But he’s breathing. Logan puts his hand on the back of Remy’s neck, dragging his head closer to Logan’s. Even with the feverish adrenaline running through his system, he can recognize the wind picking up and chilling his skin. They’re breathing in turns, Logan exhaling, Remy inhaling, taking what the other gives.
“You okay?” He asks once the ringing is quieter and he remembers the world outside Remy.
“I’m fine, cher. Just got a little confused, is all.” Blood drips down his face.
“Then let’s go, gotta get with the team.” Despite Logan’s words, the two stay planted for a moment more, passing a battered breath between them.
Then, Remy nods, moves out of Logan’s hold, and back into the fight.
—---
The light burns through the fog in Remy’s eyes and turns everything bright white and angelic. A burst of turbulence shakes the Blackbird, making him grip the seatbelt straps till he’s white-knuckling. He can’t wait until they land, counting the seconds and straining to listen to Rogue and Storm in the cockpit. Ororo had said he couldn’t fly and hold pressure on his head at the same time, so he was resigned to the backseat. He’s done this before, lingered too close to a card as it blows. The dancing spots in his vision don’t scare him like they used to, but he’s never been up in the air with his eyes burnt with past-explosions. He’s still trying to blink away the haze when he looks to his right to see Logan pulling a piece of shrapnel out of his arm, blood spurting on the floor. The action is hazy in his eyes, but he’s close enough to get the gist of what’s happening. Scott and Jean chatter behind him while Hank stitches up Jean. Remy can’t see that, but the shuffling sounds and Jean’s sharp intakes of breath clue him in. The plane shudders again, a familiar rumble that lets him know that they’re heading down now, getting ready to shelter under the basketball court again. He sighs softly, ready to shower and curl up in bed. Maybe Logan’ll want to drink a lil’ with him. Not too much, his head couldn’t handle it, but enough to be close to the man and soothe any aches.
His head fall backwards as he listens to Storm and Rogue go through the motions of landing, a chorus of buttons and talk between the two. He goes through the steps in his head, leg bouncing with anticipation at his impending warm bath and soft bed. The pulsing of his head makes his ears roar with his blood. Blinking feels like pushing lead weights, but neither stop him from standing as soon as they land. Jean, with her busted leg, leans on the Scott shaped blob and slowly makes her way down the ramp. Everyone goes too slow, but Remy tries to wait patiently. His hand trails along the seats, then along the wall as they pile out of the plane.
“What’s up with you?” Logan whispers harshly, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. Remy quickly brings his hand back to himself.
“Oh, nothing, cher. Just a lil’ tired is all.” He throws a smile in Logan’s general direction, but tries to concentrate on not eating shit getting out of the hangar. Logan’s hand, still on his shoulder, guides him, though the grip pulls painfully on his bruises.
“Just gotta let Hank fix you up, then you can nap all you want, Gumbo.” Logan pats his shoulder and lets go, and he sees his blurry figure walk ahead to where Scott and Jean (presumably) are. They’re going towards the med bay based on how they haven’t turned down any hallways since getting out of the hangar. A drop of blood rolls into his eyes, but the scarlet makes little impact on his vision. He’s too far away from the wall to use it to guide him, leaving him stranded in a gray hellscape. Damn Xavier for making these hallways all look the same. He’s too focused on making sure he’s not going too slow to be suspicious to notice how off center he is. His right side collides roughly with the doorway, making a shocking clangg as it hits his armor. He can’t even tell if he hit his head, the shock and humiliation making him freeze.
“Remy!” Rogue gasps.
“Jesus. When they’d put that there?” He jokes as Rogue puts her hands on him.
“Are you alright? Is your head okay?”
“Brother, you should sit. Let Beast tend to you.” Ororo’s voice comes from his left, right where a white spot refuses to budge. He starts to protest, batting away the women’s hands.
“What’s wrong with you?” Logan’s gruff voice says, suddenly right in front of him. His hands grab his coat, pushing him back into the wall. Remy’s head shakes with the commotion, his arms limp at his sides while Logan manhandles him. His vision is so spotty he can barely see where Logan is, just feels his knuckles pressing into the thin parts of his suit. Smells the sweat, blood, and ash that billows off of him. Maybe he can blame the tension in his gut, the anxiety mixed with anticipation, on the head wound. Despite himself, he wishes he could melt further into Logan.
“Logan-” Scott’s stern voice calls, but it hardly reaches Remy’s ears.
“Fucking look at me, Remy.” He tries desperately to find Logan’s gray eyes, searching through the mess of spots and blinding white light. But everythings too foggy, too bright to tell where Logan’s eyes are. Remy feels vague disappointment. He loves Logan’s eyes. But his anxiety outweighs it; his eyes’ frantic searching must have told Logan all he needs to know.
“You can’t fucking see?!”
—-------
There’s clamor from all sides at Logan’s outburst, but he doesn’t let go of Remy. He breathes heavily at being found out, jaw clenching. Logan’s fingers tighten as Remy makes a small movement, one that might get him out of the hold. The glassy look in Remy’s eyes, with his pale skin, make him look like a stranger. There’s voices all around them, but they pass breathes between them, heavy with anxiety and anger.
“Logan, if you are correct, I must ask that you let our thief down so I can tend to him.”
“Henri, I am fine,” Remy protests, moving to run from Beast’s hands, and taking with him Logan’s breath. He keeps his hold on the man long enough to push him into the doctor. He stumbles, cursing, and Logan looks away. Hank corrals the man to sit, despite his grumbling. Everyone gathers around the two, Logan standing to the side, trying not to crowd him.
“How much can you see, Remy? Please, be honest.”
Remy’s bloodied face scowls. “Everything’s a little blurry. There’s some spots. It ain’t that bad.”
“No offense brother, but you could not look Logan in the eyes. He was only a foot from you,” Storm chimes in gently.
“And how long has this been a problem?” Hank helps Remy pull off his headpiece, revealing more of the gash that runs along the left side of his head. His hair sticks up wildly with blood and sweat, incredibly un-Remy-like. There’s nothing of his usual showmanship left.
Remy sighs in frustration. “I-, an hour or two ago? Henri, a card blew a little too close to Remy. Nothin’ that ain’t happened to Gambit before.” Logan turns away and releases his hold on the table. His grip leaves a ragged indent in the metal. He crosses his arms instead, tugging on the fraying threads of his suit.
“Remy-!” Marie begins to scold, but Scott beats her to it.
“You were in the field and you couldn’t see!?” His voice becomes screech-like at the end, any sense of professionalism lost at the audacity of the situation.
“Again, nothing that ain’t happened before,” Remy reiterates tiredly. Biles rises in Logan’s throat. How did he not notice? Remy was right by him for the last half of the fight, with his steps as coordinated as ever. He’d smelled blood on him, but everyone was banged up. Was the man really so used to being blinded that he could slip past Logan’s senses? Had he been near Logan when the card went off, did he even stop? Briefly, he closes his eyes, trying to picture where Remy was. But he can’t see the man go down in his memory, only disappearing and reappearing next to him throughout the fight.
Hank shushes both of the men as he begins to stitch part of the gash in Remy’s head. Hopefully it’s not that deep, and all that blood is because it's a head wound. At the touch of the needle to his skin, Remy flinches, just barely. A sharp acrid smell begins to fill the room, only known by Logan. He looks at Marie to see if the blood is freaking her out, or if Jubilee snuck down and heard them talking. But while Marie is red-faced with her teeth worrying her lip, she can’t see the worst of the blood like Logan can. And Jubilee’s pacing upstairs by the elevator hasn’t stopped. Remy closes his eyes tightly for a second before springing them back open, while his hands grip the table. His gloves are ripped, revealing his split knuckles. Logan stares, realizing the smell is coming from Remy of all people. It’s not like he’s never been around Remy when he’s scared before, but with the way his body is completely still and tight, this is different.
Something tugs in the back of Logan’s mind at the smell, but no memories come with it. It just leaves him antsy, wanting to get everyone away from the man. The animal in him wishes he could keep Remy with him through the winter, doing nothing but letting Logan take care of him. The back of his neck begins to feel hot, both with excitement and shame at the thought. Hank presses a butterfly bandage to Remy’s head, gives him instructions that neither Logan nor Remy seem to catch. Beast pulls out a pen light, tries to figure out how much Remy vision has while Scott starts in on some lecture. Jean has taken to cleaning up Marie’s cuts as she looks anxiously at Remy. Besides Scott, the room is quiet.
“If it doesn’t begin to get better soon, you may need surgery,” Hank states gravely. The words make Remy balk, pulling himself away from Beast’s hands and standing.
“It’ll get better, it always does. Now, if Scotty is done with the sermon, Gambit gonna go rest.” His voice is cold, cutting off Scott before he starts in again. Storm moves, perhaps to help him, but Remy stalks out of the room with a flourish of his coat. He leaves them in silence and with a blood stain on the doorway.
The sweetness of the canned tomato sauce wafts throughout the kitchen, pooling in the warm air. He’d gotten the heating to work, finally, but it does nothing for him while the seat next to Marie is empty. Remy hadn’t come down for dinner, hadn’t answered Storm’s knocks either. Logan could hear his breathing, was hyper tuned to it since the med bay, so nothing was wrong with him. Besides the blindness. Logan barely eats, but he’s sure Ororo doesn’t need anyone else to worry about so he tries his best. The other’s begin to trickle out of the dining room, fatigue showing clearly. It’s an early night for everyone. Logan takes his cue to go smoke.
The night is silent and freezing. His breath hangs in the air alongside the clouds that have faded into the night sky. The stars are beautiful pinpricks in the expanse of black. He sets himself down on the porch in his usual spot. He lights his cigar, breathing in the earthy taste. When a breeze blows, he can’t help but notice the space next to him. Remy does this thing where he… charges himself, as he says. He heats himself up with his powers, sometimes enough to where the tips of his fingers and his eyes glow magenta. Logan doesn’t mind the cold but he does enjoy the excuse to be closer to Remy. He sighs to himself, resting his head in his hands. It’s not like Logan’s never had these feelings before. He’s not a fucking kid anymore, even if he doesn’t remember the first time he had them.
But Remy’s different. Somehow, he feels different. But he’s damn stubborn. And somehow, he’s gotten blinded. When Logan wasn’t looking, the man managed to nearly kill himself. His fingers tighten where he’s been drumming them on his temple. Images flash through his mind of Remy, torn and bloody on the battlefield.
He sucks in a long breath despite the weight on his chest. He remembers the dust, the wind, Remy stumbling through the rumble. He replays the moment over and over in his head, trying to find when he looked in Remy’s eyes, where they were looking. Regret curdles in his stomach, before hardening into contempt.
The wood he picked up earlier sits heavily in his pocket. He keeps his knife on him all the time nowadays, just in case he comes across anything to carve.
Maybe he should try something new, but he doesn’t have a pencil to plan out his carving right now. Instead he goes with a familiar dog, a form he hasn’t perfected but one that comforts him. Perhaps they’ll stumble across a dog with the X-Gene one day that can come live in the mansion. The bite of the knife through the wood soothes his thoughts slightly, but cannot truly quiet them.
The click of the porch door doesn’t make Logan raise his head, but the wind carries the smell of cardamom. He tries to act casual when he whips his head around to face Remy.
He doesn’t sit next to Logan like usual, just stands with his hands shoved in his pockets.
A high whistle breaks the silence, a rolling chirp that fills the night with music.
Logan takes the bird song as his cue to talk. “You didn’t come down to dinner.” He pockets his dog and knife.
Remy whistles, low and long. The bird responds. “Didn’t feel like eating.” Logan looks up at him, sees his eyes staring straight ahead.
“You just gonna sulk like a kid?” The words come out more harshly than he wanted them to, but he doesn’t immediately regret them. Remy is sulking. Least he could’a done is answer Storm’s knocks. There’s a plastic snap and a shuffle; Remy’s cards.
“Logan, I ain’t in the mood right now.” Remy’s gaze slowly rolls over to him, red irises burning brightly in the darkness. His claws itch at the skin they hide under, sensing his anger rising. He tries to breathe, because he doesn’t want to fight anymore than Remy does.
“What happened today?” He asks instead, even though he’s not sure that he wants to know. Finally, Remy’s facade drops, with his hand coming to pinch the bridge of his nose. Even in the dark, Logan can see the bags under his eyes.
“You don’t need to know, cher. It’s over,” Remy sighs heavily, breathing out as the cardinal sings again. He’s close to the edge of the deck, one step away from stairs. Does he know? He’s always had better vision in the dark, but what about now? Logan opens his mouth to call out a warning but thinks better of it. That’d be a surefire way of getting into a fight with him.
Logan recoils. He stands up to bring himself face to face with Remy.
“I don’t need to know? You get blinded and I’m-,” he waits, trying to stop himself. “I’m supposed to be okay with it?” He looks up at Remy, whose face is scrunched in concentration.
“Logan-” The man’s voice turns soft, with his eyes knowing. Something in Logan claws at his insides, begging him to leave. Remy’s eyes are beautiful, pinpricks of shining rouge surrounded by pools of night sky.
“I don’t want you to… to agonize over it. Nothing to be done, Logan.” His hand raises, just barely reaching out. Logan skirts backwards from it, controlled by the creature inside him that feels trapped by Remy’s scent.
“But somethin’ could’a been done. I could’a done something for you. You- you were by my side the whole damn fight, and you nearly blow yourself up? How-how could I-” He cuts himself off with a growl, pacing back and forth, towards Remy and away from him. The light from the moon halos the other man, making him look like a vision from the Heavens.
“I don’t need you to protect me, mon cher. You know I can take care of myself.” There isn’t anything malicious in Remy’s voice; in fact, it’s so soft and gentle, like he’s comforting a hurt dog. It isn’t any of his normal facades, where the sweetness is so artificial it makes your teeth hurt. But despite that, Remy’s rejected Logan in the only way he can have him: a protector. Ever since Halloween, Logan’s been content with being Remy’s protector, with tucking him into bed, or taking gunfire for him. Remy can take care of himself, Logan knows. But he’s selfish. He wants Remy more than anything, want’s Remy to be his protector. It just can’t happen that way. Humiliation curdles in Logan’s gut, and he feels the slide of his claws under the skin of his arm.
“Clearly, you do need protection considering you got yourself fucking blinded!” He spits. His claw tips slide through his skin, barely poking out.
Remy’s face goes slack in shock but he recovers quickly. “Got myself blinded? I was doing my job, the same as you,” Remy growls, his hair flying in front of him as he faces Logan.
“Not the same as me because I can still see right now, bub.”
Remy throws up his hands like an irate mother. “You’re fucking impossible. No one else can be a X-Man other than the great Wolverine.” His eyes glow, burning a feverish garnet.
“You could have gotten us killed today, bub. Next time you fuck up, at least tell us so we can cover your ass.” Fuck.
Remy reels back like he’s been slapped. His eyes don’t track at all, but they blaze menacingly. He stalks forward slowly, footsteps heavy on the wood.
“Cover my ass? I’m just as good as you, better, even!”
“Not good enough-” Logan starts to growl but Remy’s fist collides with his jaw. Force radiates through his skull, making him stumble backwards. His claws rip from his skin, colliding with the wooden deck, splintering it when he falls. From his place on the ground, he see’s Remy’s fist glowing pink, with the knuckles split open. The man stands above him like a soldier, painted in the glow of his charge.
“Get the hell outta here, Logan. Before I do something I regret.” His words are low, barely audible in the electric tension that buzzes between them.
Logan hardly register’s what he’s doing; shoving clothes and gear into his duffle without even having turned the light to his room on. He thunders down the stairs, blood roaring in his ears. Ororo moves out of his way, probably says something to him. He throws open the door to the garage, barely waits to see if his stuff is secured before he tears away from the mansion into the cold night. With the wind rushing past him, he barely hears the sharp whistling call that follows him.