Fic: Trials Unending (7-9/22)
Title: Trials Unending
Author: Faceted Mind
Summary: After his return from Antarctica, Remy's trials are far from over.
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Warnings: Slash, mention of child abuse and rape. Occasional medical/pseudoscientific info-blasts which despite researching may or may not be accurate; forgive me anyone who reads and shakes their heads in annoyance, I am no medic. Oh, and a little British spelling, which I'm sure you can forgive me for.
Notes: This is AU for how Remy gets back to the Mansion and in what state. No glowy green ladies here. A variety of Betas have worked on this fic; Cruel Illusion, Ross and "Point me at the coffee" as far as I remember, but I have done work on it since so all mistakes are my own. This was written in 2005/6, so I blame my youth for all rose-tinted-ness, the sequel (2008/9) is more cynical, jaded and tortuous. I've obviously hit my writing's teen-aged years.
Pairing: Future Logan/Remy, but not just yet ;)
Master Post . Chapters 1-3 . Chapters 4-6 . Chapters 7-9 . Chapters 10-12 . Chapters 13-15 . Chapters 16-18 . Chapters 19-22 . An End In Sight
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Chapter 7
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Logan was vaguely aware of the moan even as it started, half his consciousness fixed on the room beside his even in sleep. His feet hit the floor at a run as it crescendoed into a hoarse scream. Two other doors were opening as he hit Remy's room at a run, ploughing through the door and letting it bounce of the wall. The scream stopped, suddenly, as he entered the room, leaving his ears ringing slightly in the absence-of-noise that followed.
Remy wasn't in the bed. He wasn't on the floor or in the bathroom or at the desk. Logan stopped, pushing the ringing aside to hear the harsh breathing that was on the edge of his senses. He scanned the room, letting his other senses join the search. His eyes alighted on the bed, found the source of the breathing there. But not in the bed - his eyes told him that much. He knelt on the carpeted floor, facing the bed. A glance up found Bobby and Hank stood in the doorway. He waved them away, sharing a glance with Hank that suggested he stay close. The door shut lightly behind them.
"Remy?"
"Th' curtains… *please* th' curtains." A soft plea, voice hoarse. Shock ran through him as he realised that the curtains were indeed wide open, letting the early morning light stream in. He moved quickly to shut them before returning to his place at the side of the bed. This time he lay down on the floor so that he could see into the dusty space. It was impressive for a man of Remy's stature to have managed to get beneath the bed, let alone squeeze himself into the corner as he had. He sought out that red-on-black gaze, only to find it hidden beneath a bandaged palm.
"The curtains are closed, Remy. Are you… can you…?" The hand shifted tentatively. Red-on-black eyes met his, flickered away again, searching.
"I don'… Can' tell." Hesitant. Wanting to hope, but remembering the last time light had caused this much pain - that first night awake in Hank's lab. He straightened out so that he could slide out from under the bed, found heavy hands gripping his forearms to drag him out.
He sat back against the bed, gripping his forehead to try and force down the heavy throb that had begun.
"D'ya…"
"Hush." The quick hiss silenced Logan's question and he settled down beside him, shoulder to shoulder so that Remy knew he was still there. The room was bright enough despite the curtains that even without enhanced vision he would have been able to see. Logan focused on Remy's face, waiting for him to open his eyes again, waiting for the verdict. Alien eyes flickered open, squinting almost immediately and flinching against the small amount of light. He waited for his eyes to adjust. And waited.
"Well it's diff'ren', I suppose." He croaked, his voice betraying the pain he was feeling.
"What is?"
"Befo' I couldn' see shit. I still can', jus' now it's white, not black." He brought both hands up to press against his eyes.
"Maybe ya just need it ta be darker? We could go down ta the danger room and program a low-light sim.. Maybe stop by Hanks, get ya some painkillers?"
"Sorry, homme, y' mus' have work t' do… I can…"
"Got nothin'. Cyke won't have me in the danger room 'til this afternoon. Come on, get dressed, I'll take ya."
-,., -
Hank listened to what Remy had to say with a serious face. When he had finished, he stood from his desk and pulled a folder off of a shelf.
"I'm calling a specialist, Remy. I don't have the expertise to cover this, and I have to admit to being out of my depth. I have an old friend who went into optometry, he was astonishingly good at what he did back then, I can only imagine he has improved, he might be able to help."
"But…" A world of uncertainty in those eyes, the lights dimmed almost to nothing for his comfort.
"I'm going to be right there with you, Remy. I am not going to abandon you into another's care."
"You gonna bring him in here?" Logan's question - Remy still distant.
"I think it probably better if we go to his office, there may be tests that he can run there that might tell us more than he could find out here."
"What do I do 'til den?"
"Well, I agree that we must find out if it is simply the light that is hindering your vision now. But until we can find a solution to the issue I would suggest that we reapply the bandages to protect your eyes against the light. Since you are up and heading that way anyway, perhaps we should exercise your hands now also?"
"Sure." A sigh as Hank gathered what he needed and followed Remy and Logan out of the lab and towards the danger room.
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They'd been all the way through the lighting options of the danger room, from pitch black - lighting in which only Remy would once have had an advantage in the infra-red that other bodies give off, but little else - through the very lowest amounts of light where Wolverine's eyes became the most impressive, and up into the more friendly lighting levels.
Nothing. Remy still had no vision to speak of, and now the light that was no use to him was causing him pain.
They'd barely reached emergency lighting levels when Remy called for them to stop. In a flash of inspiration, Hank asked Logan to change the wavelength - the colour - of the light. As they went up through the red intensity, Remy made no complaint about the brightness. Though it made everything a sickly red hue, at least he now had a way of lighting the room should he need to examine Remy's eyes in the future.
"Perhaps it was just like a mental shutdown - you couldn't handle the pain from the light and so it just disconnected your mind from it for a while." Hank suggested as they stood under the red lights and Logan watched from the control room.
"An' I'm handlin' it better now?" He asked the voice over his shoulder as he was handed a playing card. Taking the card between his left index and middle finger, Remy twisted it through his fingers slowly, hissing as he fumbled it and dropped it. Hank handed him another without comment.
"Perhaps it is beginning to retreat." Bending this one over his index finger between his thumb and middle finger he let it spring up into the air, catching it again without needing to see it. This one flowed through his fingers a little more comfortably, he held the twist around his little finger and brought it back to his index and thumb. Bringing it right into his finger tips he swore as he lost hold of it again.
"Y' sayin' an awful lotta 'per'aps', Henri." A sigh from behind him. He flexed his newly unwrapped right hand gently, feeling the skin pull taught and the joins ache as he waited for the next card.
"A fact that I am well aware of, Remy. But until I have more information, there is little else I can say." He threw this one straight up in the air and caught it gracefully, pulling it around into an arc and throwing it, full charge in place before it left his fingers. It exploded at a safe distance, and Remy rubbed at his left palm with his thumb. "Is it getting easier, or are you just getting better at hiding the pain?" Hank asked bluntly, handing over another card.
"Getting' real practised at chargin' up quick." Remy answered evasively.
"Hmm." Hank replied, watching as Remy went through simply card-play moves, dropping one every so often, but generally catching every throw, making every twist and turn through his fingers. He threw a few more charged cards, and a few weakly charged cards with his right.
"Gimme a half-pack?" He asked. Curious, Hank handed over the remainder of what was in his hand. Remy balanced the cards flat between the fingers on his right hand, grimacing as his hand began to shake at the pain of the stretched position. Rethinking, he used his thumb to balance the cards and used his left to spread them into a hand. A breath and he was in motion, cards flying in quick succession across the room. He paused, a card in his hand, uncharged.
"The Queen of Hearts." He said softly. Hank's hand dropped onto his shoulder.
"Remy…"
"Non. Y' tensed, I was waitin' fo' it." He laughed shortly, throwing the card uncharged and following with a second which hit it dead centre.
"Sometimes your skill impresses me. And sometimes I find myself wondering how much you keep hidden from us when you are pushed to use all that you have available to you."
"Hey Gumbo." Logan was in the door to the danger room, wearing a feral grin. "Ya remember this game?"
"Was jus' waitin' fo' y' t' 'member, ol' man."
"Ya remember the rules, then." He grinned ferally. "No pulling the charge. No moving from yer position. I won't make ya wear a blindfold, this time."
"Y' very kind." Remy smirked.
"Give us some room, Hank." Logan commanded, and Hank left with a nod, handing over the two packs of cards he had been carrying and heading to the control room. Logan handed over the cards, noting that even in one day some of the bruising on Remy's fingers was fading into yellows and greens.
"Dese pockets 're too deep." Remy grumbled as he tried to find places to put the cards that he would be able to draw them from at will.
"Do ya still have a spare coat in yer locker?" Logan asked, watching as Remy dropped one of the packs, swearing as he stooped to gather them back up.
"Yeah, I t'ink so. Y' get it fo' me?"
"Sure, I'll be right back." Resisting the urge to help Remy find all of the cards that were now scattered across the floor, Hank tried to busy himself on the readouts that were scattered across the screen in front of him. The computer had recognised Remy and was busy recording his vitals and the size of the charges he had created. He looked over the readings, noting that his right-handed charges were barely enough to cause a nasty shock, though his left appeared to be almost back at full charge. He tried to remember whether or not he was right handed and realised he didn't know. He opened the file while he was sat at the console, only partly aware of the beat that was slowly speeding up to a tremendous rate from the other side of the room. He looked up as it started to annoy him, realising only belatedly that it was a heart rate monitor and that Remy had frozen on his knees with his left hand balancing him, head bowed.
"Remy?" He called over the intercom. "Are you OK?" The door slid open as Logan walked in. He took one look at the man on the floor before dropping the coat he was carrying and kneeling behind him, grabbing him by the shoulders and sitting him up. His heartbeat levelled out, and Hank watched, curious. He couldn't hear what was being said, but there was something so *gentle* about the way Logan was handling Remy. And with Remy accepting a comforting embrace so easily… he could have mistaken them for two completely different people.
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Chapter 8
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"'M sorry Wolvie. Din' mean t' do dat to y'."
"What did ya do?" Logan asked, curious.
"Din't mean t' drag y' over here. Make y' hold me. I'll close it off as soon as I got a minute."
"What if I said I wanted to be here, holdin' ya."
"I'm sorry, I can'…" A harsh shudder ran through his frame. "I can' stop this."
"Can ya not trust that fer once I'm doin' this fer myself? Trust me. Trust *yerself*"
"How can I trust anyt'in', anyone, when I know what kinda manipulation 'm capable of?"
"Ya think that's what this is? Manipulation? I can feel ya, Remy, feel yer wantin', but it's not controllin' me. Ya need a hug, I'm here givin' ya a hug 'cause yer my friend. Just because ya didn't ask out loud doesn't mean I'm gonna refuse." A buzzing warmth started, though neither would have been able to say which mind it started in. The other amplified it, and soon they were both basking in it. Quite suddenly, and unexpectedly to Logan's mind, Remy pulled away and stood. He seemed lost for a moment, but the cheerful grin was back in place before Logan had a chance to offer him some stability.
"D' y' find m' coat?" He asked.
"Yeah. I swear man, ya must bulk-buy those things, the number I've seen ya go through." The smile was softer as he handed the coat over, more real perhaps as he found a part of his old self to ground himself in. Logan picked up the cards that had been scattered back across the floor, and handed them over. Sure hands, with only the softest shake in them, shuffled them back into a neat deck and split them into more than five different pockets. Logan felt as though he was watching something private as he watched those cards disappear, Remy had kept the many secret pockets of his coat a mystery for as long as he had known him. Seeing him drop two cards into an invisible pocket along the back seam - he snorted.
"What?" Remy asked, not even trying to find him with his eyes anymore.
"Yer never gonna use cards outta that pocket."
"Th' back? Dis pocket got me out a' more spots dan y'd ever t'ink."
"Yeah?" This was like a magician revealing his tricks, Logan felt almost guilty.
"'K, so come take hold of m' wrists." There was a soft grin in place now, this was Remy in his element - cards in pockets he could only guess at, completely sure of himself. He put his hands behind his back and Logan grasped his wrists tentatively. "Y' not gonna hurt m', homme. Jus' take hold, like y' holdin' me back." He took a more solid hold and held him as he twisted, testing. "'K, so I wan' t' get out a' y' grasp, an' I don' care who gets hurt." He pulled forwards once, lunging back and nearly head-butting Logan in the nose. Only a well-timed swerve avoided that, and Logan twisted his hands and lifted his wrists as Remy pulled forwards again, so that his movement was limited. Pushing him down by his wrists until he was bent over forwards, Logan was hit on the nose by the edge of a playing card. "Boom." Remy mocked.
Logan was suddenly quite glad they weren't playing serious games as he released Remy's wrists. He hadn't even seen him go for the card.
"Some of that blast would have hit you too." He observed.
"Y' were nice enou' t' get m' head out a' th' way. I would a' recovered lon' befo' you would, mon ami. Healing factor or not." Handing over the card, he watched as Remy slid it back into the back pocket deftly.
"So we gonna fight or what?"
"Jus' waitin' f' y' t' get int' position, mon ami." Grasping Remy's wrist and pulling him into the very middle of the danger room - the spot marked by the merging of the panels on the floor - Logan left him there and moved into the corner by the door.
"Yooi." It was an instruction to be ready to begin, and Logan fought to quench the step up in his heartbeat at the familiar word, falling into a ready stance. "Hajime." He began pacing a rough circle around the cajun, closing with every rotation. Remy stood silent and still in the middle, looking almost casual. Curious, Wolverine put a little more weight into his footsteps for a few strides and was forced to dodge charged cards, flinching a little as they exploded around him.
"What y' playin' at, hein?" Remy demanded.
"Just checkin' yer still awake." He replied, before moving quickly away from another scattering of cards. "Rude."
"Y' th' one talkin'." As the disturbance from the last few cards cleared, the room went silent. There was no sound of breathing, no footstep to be heard. Only the silence of the door assured him he was still in the company of a teammate. His mind was filled with the stillness that was Wolverine's mind when he was fight-ready. Knowing the games had truly started now, and he would get no more clues to Logan's position through sound or empathy, Remy stilled his own mind and reached for that sense he had kept so well hidden and controlled.
Closely linked to his charging powers, Remy had always been cautious of his ability to sense movement when no other senses were available to him. In a distracting environment he had been known to charge the closest thing to hand accidentally when faced with the confusing and often overwhelming buzz that was the kinetic world. Everything around you is in motion, from the tiniest vibrations of the atoms that make up everything you can see as well as the air in between to the huge concerted motions of human existence, every single little thing has kinetic energy. In Remy's mind these things were all laid out around him, and he fought through the fog of the buzzing air and humming machinery to find that one large piece of motion that would point out Wolverine…
Behind you… he whirled and tossed three cards, their passage white flame in his mind, wiping out all other movement until they were gone. He allowed a moment to readjust, spreading his arms wide and wishing he had his bo. Not that he would have been able to hold it in his abused hands, just because it would have felt right in his hands at that moment.
A heavy movement to his right and a single card chased it. A single card didn't distort his 'sight' for so long, and soon he was following that evasive wraith again as he circled. A hesitation in that step and three cards followed, even as Wolverine leapt upwards and over the cards that were aimed at his waist - where they wouldn't hurt him too badly if they hit home - and landed with the backs of three claws against Remy's throat.
"Yer dead."
"No' too bad f' a blin' man, t'ough?" A wry grin. A hand grasped his and put it to a sticky fleshwound that was already healing. Remy grimaced.
"Ya hit me with the second volley." He didn't apologise for the injury, it was part of the training he knew, but still he didn't really like having his hand shoved in the evidence of what he'd just done to Logan.
"Go again?"
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With his eyes screwed shut against the lighting of the sublevels of the mansion, Remy followed Logan's guiding hand back to Hank's lab. They'd finished what had become an impromptu training session to find that Hank had returned to his lab with projects calling for his attention. Finding the main room empty, Logan led Remy to a chair and let him sit.
"I'm going looking for Blue. You be OK here for a minute?"
"Oui." He nodded once, and listened to Logan walk out towards the door. There was a hesitation, and Remy wondered briefly if Logan was still at the door or whether he had misheard and he was already gone. Was he being watched? Tested? A shudder ran up his spine.
"I can *tell* ya hate me leavin' ya like this. I don't need ya to scream it into my head." The grumbling from the doorway made him jump, and he cursed his own vulnerability.
"Remy!" The second voice was completely unexpected, and the reflex action had a card in his hand and charged in a blink. His *right* hand, he realised as shooting pains drove up his arm. The card was dropped almost as quickly, and he pulled his feet up onto the chair to avoid the blast as it blew at his feet. He bit his lip to catch the verbalisation of that moment of agony, only as he felt in enough control, whispering:
"Merde."
"May I come over?" Hank's voice, uncertain.
"Oui." Still under his breath, not wanting to breathe too deeply, as though it would bring on a return of that pain.
"Wonderful. Let us bind that hand once more, it is not quite ready to rejoin its companion just yet. And while we're at it, a dressing for your eyes, perhaps? You will give yourself a migraine frowning like that."
"Merci."
"Breathe, Remy. It will do you no more harm." A rattle as Hank pulled out all the things he would need to put together the dressings from the storage cupboard. "I was on the phone to my colleague, I have made an appointment for us. We will see what he cannot do about those eyes."
- ,.,-
A large crash drew Scott's attention into the small office and lab that Hank used, just separate from the med lab. Thinking his friend was in trouble he rushed in, only to witness a loud expletive and a piece of glassware thrown against the opposite wall.
"Hank? Logan said you and Remy were back… I was wondering how it went?" He asked blandly, ignoring the tinkle of settling glass shards. The object he had seen fly through the air hadn't been the first. The Beast turned to him, breathing deeply, eyes wide and teeth gritted.
"I should never have taken him to that… hypocritical… prejudiced… idiotic… ahh!" The last was accompanied by the pounding of his fists on the desk, nothing left to throw.
"What did he do?" Scott asked, wide-eyed at the doctor's uncharacteristic anger.
"Other than talking about Remy as if he wasn't there? As if the damage was his own fault, the product of some drunken prank? The first thing he did after he took the bandages off - roughly, I might add - was shine his pen light in Remy's eyes. I'm surprised the man didn't scream the place down. I could tell it took him some effort not to. I explained! I told him all about Remy's eyes in advance of our meeting so that he could be prepared. He can't even take the standard ambient light and his pupils don't react like ours do anyway. I don't know what he was thinking!
"He went on to suggest a treatment I had already tried that had failed, another which is purely symptomatic and some half-assed surgery idea which is going to be out of the question unless we can find out more about Remy's eyes. He didn't even offer to look into their true physiology which is why I went to him in the first place!" He sighed. "Imbecile."
"So after all that…"
"We learned nothing save that our young Cajun's tenacity is even more amazing than I imagined. Scott… I think it very possible that this is something for which I will not be able to find a cure. I don't know how I can possibly explain to the man that his blindness may be permanent, and this heightened sensitivity a by-product of the cause, which I can no better explain than I can treat. How do I tell him this after I have fought to keep him hopeful for so long."
"What are you going to do now?"
"After dissipating my anger here - to avoid any of that misplaced guilt our friend seems so prone to harbouring - I plan to visit him with painkillers and new bandages. The ones that he was given are much too loose and I was forced to watch him flinch every time the sun caught his face on the drive back. It is a glorious day, one that even Ororo would be proud of, but I think if she had known of her friend's pain she wouldn't have begrudged us a cloud or two."
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Chapter 9
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Ororo sat on her heels outside Remy's door, her back to the wall. She had obviously just left the room and sunk down here in despair. She didn't even look up at Hank as he approached.
"Give him hope, Hank, please." She spoke up at last.
"I fear I have little hope left for him." He replied honestly. She looked up at him, storm-clouds in her eyes as she fought to hold back tears.
"Then give him something. Anything. Show him that he still has a life to live, teach him how to live like this."
"It is not so easy as that." He soothed, taking hold of her shoulder in one huge hand as she rose to stand beside him.
"I know, and I'm sorry. But I cannot stand to see him so… despairing."
"I will find something to give him." He promised, making a move towards the door. He paused before he released her shoulder. "Come in with me. I have some propositions that I may need your help instigating."
With a nod, Ororo moved towards the door, slipping into the darkness created by the thick curtains. There was just about enough light to see by, and that little was created by the light that seeped around the edges of the heavy material at the windows. Ororo walked towards the corner of the room, taking a seat beside Remy before Hank had even spotted him wedged into the corner at the end of his bed.
"'M sorry, Stormy. Din' mean t' shout." A gentle hand guided an auburn head to her shoulder as she hushed him.
"You're forgiven. You need to get these feelings out in the open else they smother you. I am happy to take a little anger from time to time, if it means you are happier."
"Still rat'er no' shou' at y'."
"Hank would like to talk to you." Ororo mentioned, seeing Hank settle himself into Remy's chair. Remy's head shot up, and a creak of the chair allowed him to locate the doctor in the room.
"Sorry, Henri. Din' hear y' come in."
"No problem, my friend. I did not take a moment to think of quite how rude of me it was to enter unannounced." Remy's lips quirked at the convoluted comment. "I had hoped to talk with you regarding what is to come, though I am happy to return at a more opportune moment, if you would rather…"
"Non, now is fine, Henri. Y' doctor frien' din' give th' answer y' were lookin' for, neh?"
"Forgive me for taking you to that idiotic ignoramus. He offered nothing I was looking for, and caused you pain as he did it."
"Was seein' stars after he got dat torch out, an' dat's th' trut'." He laughed wryly.
"I have been thinking of the action we must now take. Despite all of the rubbish he spewed, one thing he said rang true. For now all we can truly do with confidence is protect your eyes and allow your body to do as it might."
"Y' t'ink dey ain' gonna heal."
"It is a distinct possibility." Ororo flinched, but Remy's poker face was in place and nothing was going to disturb it. "And we must consider what options we have to make things easier for you."
"Want a way t' get rid a' th' bandages." Remy said straight away. "Don' wan' t' have t' wear dem forever."
"Something I have already considered, my friend. I have an idea, one that I thought particularly stunning, though I have no idea how your eyes will take to the…"
"Hank, you have to explain the idea before you debate its suitability." Ororo reminded, a hint of laughter in her tone. This was positive movement for Remy, anything at this point was positive.
"Contact lenses." Hank stated with a flourish.
"'scuse me?"
"You've considered contact lenses to hide your eyes before, and you were hindered by the inability to cover your red pupil and still be able to see through the lenses." Hank hinted, leaving the implication hanging.
"Only, I don' have t' be able t' see t'rough dem any more." He grinned.
"It would protect your eyes from the light, and you would have the added bonus of appearing… how ever you felt like appearing."
"Y' got anot'er reason fo' dis, I know it…"
"Perhaps…"
"Hank?" Ororo pushed. Hank sighed, lifting his glasses from his face to rub them on the corner of his lab coat.
"Back when Charles started gathering us all together, when we were very young and no one really knew what being a mutant meant, we were quite different people. Jean was rescued from an asylum because she could hear voices, Bobby had been arrested for saving his girlfriend from assault. But perhaps most sad of a sad group of individuals was Scott Summers, a blind boy Charles had found on the streets. At first we didn't understand why he was there with us, he isolated himself from us. He rarely left his room except with Charles, despite how often we would offer our friendship and support, our guidance around the house. He refused us. He had been in the house a good month or two before we got to see his mutant power in action, and until then I don't think we had understood his sacrifice. Charles worked long and hard with Scott, trying to find his control, or find some physical way of restraining that power. I know, because I often worked with him. I got to know Scott that way, and we became friends through my persistence alone. One time I came upon Charles reading a prospectus and, thinking nothing of it, I tried to read over his shoulder. It was for a school for the blind, and the prospectus was well worn, frequently handled. He confessed that he had been to the school a few times to make sure it would be suitable for Scott, should it become obvious that he was going to have to live as he was for the long term. Though he had learned to read and write before his mutation manifested, both skills were useless to him as he was, and he needed skills to go out into the wide world with. It was soon after that he came up with the idea of using the ruby quartz lenses, but I know he sometimes looks through the prospectus, to remind himself that sometimes we must take what is available to us, when we can no longer strive for anything more."
"Henri, y' say wit' a hundred words what y' could say wit' three. Y' t'ink I should go t' dis school?"
"They can teach you the life skills there that we cannot. It would only be for a short time, you join the school as a border for a month and after that take weekly classes as a student. They would cover simple skills such as getting around safely, and more complex skills such as braille." A soft frown, and Remy lifted his right hand.
"Not sure I'm gonna manage braille, Henri."
"Not yet, perhaps. We shall just have to work harder at getting your hands back in working order."
"Den le's go. Done wit' dis." Ororo's grin was blinding as she helped Remy out of the corner. "How long d' y' t'ink it'll take t' fix m' hands?"
"Two weeks, give a take a day or two, and I'd be happy for you to return to full use as long as you took it slowly. I think after that time I would expect some return of sensitivity to the tips."
"Sooner, th' better." And plans were made that day that would decide the fate of Remy LeBeau, as Logan stood outside, feeding him hope and courage.
Master Post . Chapters 1-3 . Chapters 4-6 . Chapters 7-9 . Chapters 10-12 . Chapters 13-15 . Chapters 16-18 . Chapters 19-22 . An End In Sight
Author: Faceted Mind
Summary: After his return from Antarctica, Remy's trials are far from over.
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Warnings: Slash, mention of child abuse and rape. Occasional medical/pseudoscientific info-blasts which despite researching may or may not be accurate; forgive me anyone who reads and shakes their heads in annoyance, I am no medic. Oh, and a little British spelling, which I'm sure you can forgive me for.
Notes: This is AU for how Remy gets back to the Mansion and in what state. No glowy green ladies here. A variety of Betas have worked on this fic; Cruel Illusion, Ross and "Point me at the coffee" as far as I remember, but I have done work on it since so all mistakes are my own. This was written in 2005/6, so I blame my youth for all rose-tinted-ness, the sequel (2008/9) is more cynical, jaded and tortuous. I've obviously hit my writing's teen-aged years.
Pairing: Future Logan/Remy, but not just yet ;)
Master Post . Chapters 1-3 . Chapters 4-6 . Chapters 7-9 . Chapters 10-12 . Chapters 13-15 . Chapters 16-18 . Chapters 19-22 . An End In Sight
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Chapter 7
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Logan was vaguely aware of the moan even as it started, half his consciousness fixed on the room beside his even in sleep. His feet hit the floor at a run as it crescendoed into a hoarse scream. Two other doors were opening as he hit Remy's room at a run, ploughing through the door and letting it bounce of the wall. The scream stopped, suddenly, as he entered the room, leaving his ears ringing slightly in the absence-of-noise that followed.
Remy wasn't in the bed. He wasn't on the floor or in the bathroom or at the desk. Logan stopped, pushing the ringing aside to hear the harsh breathing that was on the edge of his senses. He scanned the room, letting his other senses join the search. His eyes alighted on the bed, found the source of the breathing there. But not in the bed - his eyes told him that much. He knelt on the carpeted floor, facing the bed. A glance up found Bobby and Hank stood in the doorway. He waved them away, sharing a glance with Hank that suggested he stay close. The door shut lightly behind them.
"Remy?"
"Th' curtains… *please* th' curtains." A soft plea, voice hoarse. Shock ran through him as he realised that the curtains were indeed wide open, letting the early morning light stream in. He moved quickly to shut them before returning to his place at the side of the bed. This time he lay down on the floor so that he could see into the dusty space. It was impressive for a man of Remy's stature to have managed to get beneath the bed, let alone squeeze himself into the corner as he had. He sought out that red-on-black gaze, only to find it hidden beneath a bandaged palm.
"The curtains are closed, Remy. Are you… can you…?" The hand shifted tentatively. Red-on-black eyes met his, flickered away again, searching.
"I don'… Can' tell." Hesitant. Wanting to hope, but remembering the last time light had caused this much pain - that first night awake in Hank's lab. He straightened out so that he could slide out from under the bed, found heavy hands gripping his forearms to drag him out.
He sat back against the bed, gripping his forehead to try and force down the heavy throb that had begun.
"D'ya…"
"Hush." The quick hiss silenced Logan's question and he settled down beside him, shoulder to shoulder so that Remy knew he was still there. The room was bright enough despite the curtains that even without enhanced vision he would have been able to see. Logan focused on Remy's face, waiting for him to open his eyes again, waiting for the verdict. Alien eyes flickered open, squinting almost immediately and flinching against the small amount of light. He waited for his eyes to adjust. And waited.
"Well it's diff'ren', I suppose." He croaked, his voice betraying the pain he was feeling.
"What is?"
"Befo' I couldn' see shit. I still can', jus' now it's white, not black." He brought both hands up to press against his eyes.
"Maybe ya just need it ta be darker? We could go down ta the danger room and program a low-light sim.. Maybe stop by Hanks, get ya some painkillers?"
"Sorry, homme, y' mus' have work t' do… I can…"
"Got nothin'. Cyke won't have me in the danger room 'til this afternoon. Come on, get dressed, I'll take ya."
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Hank listened to what Remy had to say with a serious face. When he had finished, he stood from his desk and pulled a folder off of a shelf.
"I'm calling a specialist, Remy. I don't have the expertise to cover this, and I have to admit to being out of my depth. I have an old friend who went into optometry, he was astonishingly good at what he did back then, I can only imagine he has improved, he might be able to help."
"But…" A world of uncertainty in those eyes, the lights dimmed almost to nothing for his comfort.
"I'm going to be right there with you, Remy. I am not going to abandon you into another's care."
"You gonna bring him in here?" Logan's question - Remy still distant.
"I think it probably better if we go to his office, there may be tests that he can run there that might tell us more than he could find out here."
"What do I do 'til den?"
"Well, I agree that we must find out if it is simply the light that is hindering your vision now. But until we can find a solution to the issue I would suggest that we reapply the bandages to protect your eyes against the light. Since you are up and heading that way anyway, perhaps we should exercise your hands now also?"
"Sure." A sigh as Hank gathered what he needed and followed Remy and Logan out of the lab and towards the danger room.
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They'd been all the way through the lighting options of the danger room, from pitch black - lighting in which only Remy would once have had an advantage in the infra-red that other bodies give off, but little else - through the very lowest amounts of light where Wolverine's eyes became the most impressive, and up into the more friendly lighting levels.
Nothing. Remy still had no vision to speak of, and now the light that was no use to him was causing him pain.
They'd barely reached emergency lighting levels when Remy called for them to stop. In a flash of inspiration, Hank asked Logan to change the wavelength - the colour - of the light. As they went up through the red intensity, Remy made no complaint about the brightness. Though it made everything a sickly red hue, at least he now had a way of lighting the room should he need to examine Remy's eyes in the future.
"Perhaps it was just like a mental shutdown - you couldn't handle the pain from the light and so it just disconnected your mind from it for a while." Hank suggested as they stood under the red lights and Logan watched from the control room.
"An' I'm handlin' it better now?" He asked the voice over his shoulder as he was handed a playing card. Taking the card between his left index and middle finger, Remy twisted it through his fingers slowly, hissing as he fumbled it and dropped it. Hank handed him another without comment.
"Perhaps it is beginning to retreat." Bending this one over his index finger between his thumb and middle finger he let it spring up into the air, catching it again without needing to see it. This one flowed through his fingers a little more comfortably, he held the twist around his little finger and brought it back to his index and thumb. Bringing it right into his finger tips he swore as he lost hold of it again.
"Y' sayin' an awful lotta 'per'aps', Henri." A sigh from behind him. He flexed his newly unwrapped right hand gently, feeling the skin pull taught and the joins ache as he waited for the next card.
"A fact that I am well aware of, Remy. But until I have more information, there is little else I can say." He threw this one straight up in the air and caught it gracefully, pulling it around into an arc and throwing it, full charge in place before it left his fingers. It exploded at a safe distance, and Remy rubbed at his left palm with his thumb. "Is it getting easier, or are you just getting better at hiding the pain?" Hank asked bluntly, handing over another card.
"Getting' real practised at chargin' up quick." Remy answered evasively.
"Hmm." Hank replied, watching as Remy went through simply card-play moves, dropping one every so often, but generally catching every throw, making every twist and turn through his fingers. He threw a few more charged cards, and a few weakly charged cards with his right.
"Gimme a half-pack?" He asked. Curious, Hank handed over the remainder of what was in his hand. Remy balanced the cards flat between the fingers on his right hand, grimacing as his hand began to shake at the pain of the stretched position. Rethinking, he used his thumb to balance the cards and used his left to spread them into a hand. A breath and he was in motion, cards flying in quick succession across the room. He paused, a card in his hand, uncharged.
"The Queen of Hearts." He said softly. Hank's hand dropped onto his shoulder.
"Remy…"
"Non. Y' tensed, I was waitin' fo' it." He laughed shortly, throwing the card uncharged and following with a second which hit it dead centre.
"Sometimes your skill impresses me. And sometimes I find myself wondering how much you keep hidden from us when you are pushed to use all that you have available to you."
"Hey Gumbo." Logan was in the door to the danger room, wearing a feral grin. "Ya remember this game?"
"Was jus' waitin' fo' y' t' 'member, ol' man."
"Ya remember the rules, then." He grinned ferally. "No pulling the charge. No moving from yer position. I won't make ya wear a blindfold, this time."
"Y' very kind." Remy smirked.
"Give us some room, Hank." Logan commanded, and Hank left with a nod, handing over the two packs of cards he had been carrying and heading to the control room. Logan handed over the cards, noting that even in one day some of the bruising on Remy's fingers was fading into yellows and greens.
"Dese pockets 're too deep." Remy grumbled as he tried to find places to put the cards that he would be able to draw them from at will.
"Do ya still have a spare coat in yer locker?" Logan asked, watching as Remy dropped one of the packs, swearing as he stooped to gather them back up.
"Yeah, I t'ink so. Y' get it fo' me?"
"Sure, I'll be right back." Resisting the urge to help Remy find all of the cards that were now scattered across the floor, Hank tried to busy himself on the readouts that were scattered across the screen in front of him. The computer had recognised Remy and was busy recording his vitals and the size of the charges he had created. He looked over the readings, noting that his right-handed charges were barely enough to cause a nasty shock, though his left appeared to be almost back at full charge. He tried to remember whether or not he was right handed and realised he didn't know. He opened the file while he was sat at the console, only partly aware of the beat that was slowly speeding up to a tremendous rate from the other side of the room. He looked up as it started to annoy him, realising only belatedly that it was a heart rate monitor and that Remy had frozen on his knees with his left hand balancing him, head bowed.
"Remy?" He called over the intercom. "Are you OK?" The door slid open as Logan walked in. He took one look at the man on the floor before dropping the coat he was carrying and kneeling behind him, grabbing him by the shoulders and sitting him up. His heartbeat levelled out, and Hank watched, curious. He couldn't hear what was being said, but there was something so *gentle* about the way Logan was handling Remy. And with Remy accepting a comforting embrace so easily… he could have mistaken them for two completely different people.
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Chapter 8
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"'M sorry Wolvie. Din' mean t' do dat to y'."
"What did ya do?" Logan asked, curious.
"Din't mean t' drag y' over here. Make y' hold me. I'll close it off as soon as I got a minute."
"What if I said I wanted to be here, holdin' ya."
"I'm sorry, I can'…" A harsh shudder ran through his frame. "I can' stop this."
"Can ya not trust that fer once I'm doin' this fer myself? Trust me. Trust *yerself*"
"How can I trust anyt'in', anyone, when I know what kinda manipulation 'm capable of?"
"Ya think that's what this is? Manipulation? I can feel ya, Remy, feel yer wantin', but it's not controllin' me. Ya need a hug, I'm here givin' ya a hug 'cause yer my friend. Just because ya didn't ask out loud doesn't mean I'm gonna refuse." A buzzing warmth started, though neither would have been able to say which mind it started in. The other amplified it, and soon they were both basking in it. Quite suddenly, and unexpectedly to Logan's mind, Remy pulled away and stood. He seemed lost for a moment, but the cheerful grin was back in place before Logan had a chance to offer him some stability.
"D' y' find m' coat?" He asked.
"Yeah. I swear man, ya must bulk-buy those things, the number I've seen ya go through." The smile was softer as he handed the coat over, more real perhaps as he found a part of his old self to ground himself in. Logan picked up the cards that had been scattered back across the floor, and handed them over. Sure hands, with only the softest shake in them, shuffled them back into a neat deck and split them into more than five different pockets. Logan felt as though he was watching something private as he watched those cards disappear, Remy had kept the many secret pockets of his coat a mystery for as long as he had known him. Seeing him drop two cards into an invisible pocket along the back seam - he snorted.
"What?" Remy asked, not even trying to find him with his eyes anymore.
"Yer never gonna use cards outta that pocket."
"Th' back? Dis pocket got me out a' more spots dan y'd ever t'ink."
"Yeah?" This was like a magician revealing his tricks, Logan felt almost guilty.
"'K, so come take hold of m' wrists." There was a soft grin in place now, this was Remy in his element - cards in pockets he could only guess at, completely sure of himself. He put his hands behind his back and Logan grasped his wrists tentatively. "Y' not gonna hurt m', homme. Jus' take hold, like y' holdin' me back." He took a more solid hold and held him as he twisted, testing. "'K, so I wan' t' get out a' y' grasp, an' I don' care who gets hurt." He pulled forwards once, lunging back and nearly head-butting Logan in the nose. Only a well-timed swerve avoided that, and Logan twisted his hands and lifted his wrists as Remy pulled forwards again, so that his movement was limited. Pushing him down by his wrists until he was bent over forwards, Logan was hit on the nose by the edge of a playing card. "Boom." Remy mocked.
Logan was suddenly quite glad they weren't playing serious games as he released Remy's wrists. He hadn't even seen him go for the card.
"Some of that blast would have hit you too." He observed.
"Y' were nice enou' t' get m' head out a' th' way. I would a' recovered lon' befo' you would, mon ami. Healing factor or not." Handing over the card, he watched as Remy slid it back into the back pocket deftly.
"So we gonna fight or what?"
"Jus' waitin' f' y' t' get int' position, mon ami." Grasping Remy's wrist and pulling him into the very middle of the danger room - the spot marked by the merging of the panels on the floor - Logan left him there and moved into the corner by the door.
"Yooi." It was an instruction to be ready to begin, and Logan fought to quench the step up in his heartbeat at the familiar word, falling into a ready stance. "Hajime." He began pacing a rough circle around the cajun, closing with every rotation. Remy stood silent and still in the middle, looking almost casual. Curious, Wolverine put a little more weight into his footsteps for a few strides and was forced to dodge charged cards, flinching a little as they exploded around him.
"What y' playin' at, hein?" Remy demanded.
"Just checkin' yer still awake." He replied, before moving quickly away from another scattering of cards. "Rude."
"Y' th' one talkin'." As the disturbance from the last few cards cleared, the room went silent. There was no sound of breathing, no footstep to be heard. Only the silence of the door assured him he was still in the company of a teammate. His mind was filled with the stillness that was Wolverine's mind when he was fight-ready. Knowing the games had truly started now, and he would get no more clues to Logan's position through sound or empathy, Remy stilled his own mind and reached for that sense he had kept so well hidden and controlled.
Closely linked to his charging powers, Remy had always been cautious of his ability to sense movement when no other senses were available to him. In a distracting environment he had been known to charge the closest thing to hand accidentally when faced with the confusing and often overwhelming buzz that was the kinetic world. Everything around you is in motion, from the tiniest vibrations of the atoms that make up everything you can see as well as the air in between to the huge concerted motions of human existence, every single little thing has kinetic energy. In Remy's mind these things were all laid out around him, and he fought through the fog of the buzzing air and humming machinery to find that one large piece of motion that would point out Wolverine…
Behind you… he whirled and tossed three cards, their passage white flame in his mind, wiping out all other movement until they were gone. He allowed a moment to readjust, spreading his arms wide and wishing he had his bo. Not that he would have been able to hold it in his abused hands, just because it would have felt right in his hands at that moment.
A heavy movement to his right and a single card chased it. A single card didn't distort his 'sight' for so long, and soon he was following that evasive wraith again as he circled. A hesitation in that step and three cards followed, even as Wolverine leapt upwards and over the cards that were aimed at his waist - where they wouldn't hurt him too badly if they hit home - and landed with the backs of three claws against Remy's throat.
"Yer dead."
"No' too bad f' a blin' man, t'ough?" A wry grin. A hand grasped his and put it to a sticky fleshwound that was already healing. Remy grimaced.
"Ya hit me with the second volley." He didn't apologise for the injury, it was part of the training he knew, but still he didn't really like having his hand shoved in the evidence of what he'd just done to Logan.
"Go again?"
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With his eyes screwed shut against the lighting of the sublevels of the mansion, Remy followed Logan's guiding hand back to Hank's lab. They'd finished what had become an impromptu training session to find that Hank had returned to his lab with projects calling for his attention. Finding the main room empty, Logan led Remy to a chair and let him sit.
"I'm going looking for Blue. You be OK here for a minute?"
"Oui." He nodded once, and listened to Logan walk out towards the door. There was a hesitation, and Remy wondered briefly if Logan was still at the door or whether he had misheard and he was already gone. Was he being watched? Tested? A shudder ran up his spine.
"I can *tell* ya hate me leavin' ya like this. I don't need ya to scream it into my head." The grumbling from the doorway made him jump, and he cursed his own vulnerability.
"Remy!" The second voice was completely unexpected, and the reflex action had a card in his hand and charged in a blink. His *right* hand, he realised as shooting pains drove up his arm. The card was dropped almost as quickly, and he pulled his feet up onto the chair to avoid the blast as it blew at his feet. He bit his lip to catch the verbalisation of that moment of agony, only as he felt in enough control, whispering:
"Merde."
"May I come over?" Hank's voice, uncertain.
"Oui." Still under his breath, not wanting to breathe too deeply, as though it would bring on a return of that pain.
"Wonderful. Let us bind that hand once more, it is not quite ready to rejoin its companion just yet. And while we're at it, a dressing for your eyes, perhaps? You will give yourself a migraine frowning like that."
"Merci."
"Breathe, Remy. It will do you no more harm." A rattle as Hank pulled out all the things he would need to put together the dressings from the storage cupboard. "I was on the phone to my colleague, I have made an appointment for us. We will see what he cannot do about those eyes."
- ,.,-
A large crash drew Scott's attention into the small office and lab that Hank used, just separate from the med lab. Thinking his friend was in trouble he rushed in, only to witness a loud expletive and a piece of glassware thrown against the opposite wall.
"Hank? Logan said you and Remy were back… I was wondering how it went?" He asked blandly, ignoring the tinkle of settling glass shards. The object he had seen fly through the air hadn't been the first. The Beast turned to him, breathing deeply, eyes wide and teeth gritted.
"I should never have taken him to that… hypocritical… prejudiced… idiotic… ahh!" The last was accompanied by the pounding of his fists on the desk, nothing left to throw.
"What did he do?" Scott asked, wide-eyed at the doctor's uncharacteristic anger.
"Other than talking about Remy as if he wasn't there? As if the damage was his own fault, the product of some drunken prank? The first thing he did after he took the bandages off - roughly, I might add - was shine his pen light in Remy's eyes. I'm surprised the man didn't scream the place down. I could tell it took him some effort not to. I explained! I told him all about Remy's eyes in advance of our meeting so that he could be prepared. He can't even take the standard ambient light and his pupils don't react like ours do anyway. I don't know what he was thinking!
"He went on to suggest a treatment I had already tried that had failed, another which is purely symptomatic and some half-assed surgery idea which is going to be out of the question unless we can find out more about Remy's eyes. He didn't even offer to look into their true physiology which is why I went to him in the first place!" He sighed. "Imbecile."
"So after all that…"
"We learned nothing save that our young Cajun's tenacity is even more amazing than I imagined. Scott… I think it very possible that this is something for which I will not be able to find a cure. I don't know how I can possibly explain to the man that his blindness may be permanent, and this heightened sensitivity a by-product of the cause, which I can no better explain than I can treat. How do I tell him this after I have fought to keep him hopeful for so long."
"What are you going to do now?"
"After dissipating my anger here - to avoid any of that misplaced guilt our friend seems so prone to harbouring - I plan to visit him with painkillers and new bandages. The ones that he was given are much too loose and I was forced to watch him flinch every time the sun caught his face on the drive back. It is a glorious day, one that even Ororo would be proud of, but I think if she had known of her friend's pain she wouldn't have begrudged us a cloud or two."
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Chapter 9
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Ororo sat on her heels outside Remy's door, her back to the wall. She had obviously just left the room and sunk down here in despair. She didn't even look up at Hank as he approached.
"Give him hope, Hank, please." She spoke up at last.
"I fear I have little hope left for him." He replied honestly. She looked up at him, storm-clouds in her eyes as she fought to hold back tears.
"Then give him something. Anything. Show him that he still has a life to live, teach him how to live like this."
"It is not so easy as that." He soothed, taking hold of her shoulder in one huge hand as she rose to stand beside him.
"I know, and I'm sorry. But I cannot stand to see him so… despairing."
"I will find something to give him." He promised, making a move towards the door. He paused before he released her shoulder. "Come in with me. I have some propositions that I may need your help instigating."
With a nod, Ororo moved towards the door, slipping into the darkness created by the thick curtains. There was just about enough light to see by, and that little was created by the light that seeped around the edges of the heavy material at the windows. Ororo walked towards the corner of the room, taking a seat beside Remy before Hank had even spotted him wedged into the corner at the end of his bed.
"'M sorry, Stormy. Din' mean t' shout." A gentle hand guided an auburn head to her shoulder as she hushed him.
"You're forgiven. You need to get these feelings out in the open else they smother you. I am happy to take a little anger from time to time, if it means you are happier."
"Still rat'er no' shou' at y'."
"Hank would like to talk to you." Ororo mentioned, seeing Hank settle himself into Remy's chair. Remy's head shot up, and a creak of the chair allowed him to locate the doctor in the room.
"Sorry, Henri. Din' hear y' come in."
"No problem, my friend. I did not take a moment to think of quite how rude of me it was to enter unannounced." Remy's lips quirked at the convoluted comment. "I had hoped to talk with you regarding what is to come, though I am happy to return at a more opportune moment, if you would rather…"
"Non, now is fine, Henri. Y' doctor frien' din' give th' answer y' were lookin' for, neh?"
"Forgive me for taking you to that idiotic ignoramus. He offered nothing I was looking for, and caused you pain as he did it."
"Was seein' stars after he got dat torch out, an' dat's th' trut'." He laughed wryly.
"I have been thinking of the action we must now take. Despite all of the rubbish he spewed, one thing he said rang true. For now all we can truly do with confidence is protect your eyes and allow your body to do as it might."
"Y' t'ink dey ain' gonna heal."
"It is a distinct possibility." Ororo flinched, but Remy's poker face was in place and nothing was going to disturb it. "And we must consider what options we have to make things easier for you."
"Want a way t' get rid a' th' bandages." Remy said straight away. "Don' wan' t' have t' wear dem forever."
"Something I have already considered, my friend. I have an idea, one that I thought particularly stunning, though I have no idea how your eyes will take to the…"
"Hank, you have to explain the idea before you debate its suitability." Ororo reminded, a hint of laughter in her tone. This was positive movement for Remy, anything at this point was positive.
"Contact lenses." Hank stated with a flourish.
"'scuse me?"
"You've considered contact lenses to hide your eyes before, and you were hindered by the inability to cover your red pupil and still be able to see through the lenses." Hank hinted, leaving the implication hanging.
"Only, I don' have t' be able t' see t'rough dem any more." He grinned.
"It would protect your eyes from the light, and you would have the added bonus of appearing… how ever you felt like appearing."
"Y' got anot'er reason fo' dis, I know it…"
"Perhaps…"
"Hank?" Ororo pushed. Hank sighed, lifting his glasses from his face to rub them on the corner of his lab coat.
"Back when Charles started gathering us all together, when we were very young and no one really knew what being a mutant meant, we were quite different people. Jean was rescued from an asylum because she could hear voices, Bobby had been arrested for saving his girlfriend from assault. But perhaps most sad of a sad group of individuals was Scott Summers, a blind boy Charles had found on the streets. At first we didn't understand why he was there with us, he isolated himself from us. He rarely left his room except with Charles, despite how often we would offer our friendship and support, our guidance around the house. He refused us. He had been in the house a good month or two before we got to see his mutant power in action, and until then I don't think we had understood his sacrifice. Charles worked long and hard with Scott, trying to find his control, or find some physical way of restraining that power. I know, because I often worked with him. I got to know Scott that way, and we became friends through my persistence alone. One time I came upon Charles reading a prospectus and, thinking nothing of it, I tried to read over his shoulder. It was for a school for the blind, and the prospectus was well worn, frequently handled. He confessed that he had been to the school a few times to make sure it would be suitable for Scott, should it become obvious that he was going to have to live as he was for the long term. Though he had learned to read and write before his mutation manifested, both skills were useless to him as he was, and he needed skills to go out into the wide world with. It was soon after that he came up with the idea of using the ruby quartz lenses, but I know he sometimes looks through the prospectus, to remind himself that sometimes we must take what is available to us, when we can no longer strive for anything more."
"Henri, y' say wit' a hundred words what y' could say wit' three. Y' t'ink I should go t' dis school?"
"They can teach you the life skills there that we cannot. It would only be for a short time, you join the school as a border for a month and after that take weekly classes as a student. They would cover simple skills such as getting around safely, and more complex skills such as braille." A soft frown, and Remy lifted his right hand.
"Not sure I'm gonna manage braille, Henri."
"Not yet, perhaps. We shall just have to work harder at getting your hands back in working order."
"Den le's go. Done wit' dis." Ororo's grin was blinding as she helped Remy out of the corner. "How long d' y' t'ink it'll take t' fix m' hands?"
"Two weeks, give a take a day or two, and I'd be happy for you to return to full use as long as you took it slowly. I think after that time I would expect some return of sensitivity to the tips."
"Sooner, th' better." And plans were made that day that would decide the fate of Remy LeBeau, as Logan stood outside, feeding him hope and courage.
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