With Every Beat of My Heart
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X-men Comics › Slash - Male/Male › Remy/Logan
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
11
Views:
4,863
Reviews:
28
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
X-men Comics › Slash - Male/Male › Remy/Logan
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
11
Views:
4,863
Reviews:
28
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
Logan and Remy LeBeau belong to Marvel Comics. I do not own the X-Men and make no money from writing this story.
With Every Beat of My Heart
Author’s Note: I’ll always dedicate my LoMy fics to Sisterwine, since she got me hooked on reading hers. Happy New Year to Rendezvous on Yahoo, as well. I don’t know how often I will update this story, but it’s been talking to me.
12:01AM
Westchester County General Hospital, E/R
“White female, late twenties,” barked the paramedic at the foot of the stretcher. The wheels thudded over the ramp as it was wheeled onto the loading dock. “Blunt trauma to the head. Fractured collarbone, upper spinal fractures. Victim had poor response at the site of the accident. Pressure eighty over forty.”
“Hang in there, ma’am,” encouraged the young nurse as she ran alongside the stretcher with a clipboard.
The room’s warmth was welcome, but the noises surrounding her were oppressive. Jean winced at the small penlight shining in her eyes. Her fingers and the tip of her nose were icy cold, and her skin felt raw wherever it was scraped. Blood seeped back into her thick red hair, plastering it to her scalp.
Logan…oh, God, he’ll be so worried…gotta…have someone call him…
“Logan,” she murmured before she blacked out.
“Ma’am? Ma’am, how’re you doing?”
“That doesn’t look good.”
“Get a crash cart ready!”
“She give you a name on the way over?”
“Jean Grey.”
“Date of birth?”
“June first.”
“Year?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Good enough for now. Start a chart, look her up in the system.”
A half hour later, the trauma team was paged to the emergency ward, somber and ready to work. The area housekeeper hung back silently, wisely steering her cart out of the entryway. She watched the traffic of staff hurrying in and out of the curtained room with dismay; there would be blood to clean and a lot of linen to clear away. More than anything, however, she felt pity, preemptively, for the next of kin. She stood like a sentinel, waiting for direction from the nurse’s station. It was going to be a long night.
The room filled up with equipment. Jean awoke to find herself in a web of tubing, leads and wires. The IV burned in her arm and she felt the cool flow of oxygen into her tortured lungs.
“We’re doing what we can to make you comfortable, okay? Can you squeeze my hand?” Her grip was feeble and took more energy than what she had.
“We’ve got your chart here, Jean,” the nurse beckoned. “Who would you like me to call? I have a…” she squinted at the information and flipped the page on her clipboard. “…a James Howlett here? Is he still at this number?” She recited it to Jean. She nodded.
“Logan,” she rasped.
“Call Logan instead?”
“No. James…is Logan.”
“Oh, he answers to Logan? All right, we can do that. Let me get him on the phone.” She hurried away. A tear trickled from the corner of Jean’s eye. Her doctor loomed nearby, drifting into her line of vision.
“Good evening. I know this is the last place you want to be, but you’re in a hospital right now. I’m Dr. Leonard Samson.” His grip on her hand was warm and gentle. Jean began to hear a low buzzing in her ears, making it difficult to make out his words.
“Get Logan,” she told him. That was her only focus. “I don’t care. Get me Logan.”
Worried faces swam over her. She began to not feel their hands moving her, probing her and cleaning her wounds.
She prayed he would come on time.
*
He sat in the kitchen nursing a cup of coffee. The tiny TV anchored beneath the cabinet was their third anniversary purchase for each other. He’d skipped the evening news and decided on Letterman instead.
Hell was about to be dropped on his doorstep.
She hadn’t called him. Logan brooded over this while David grilled some nameless It Girl on his couch about a movie he’d never go see. Jean always called, and she always picked up. Her cell rolled to voice mail five times since she said she’d left.
She wasn’t out on a bender. Not his Jeannie. Irritation followed him to bed. Worry urged him out of the covers two hours later. He skipped the beer he’d been in the mood for, not sure why he chose coffee instead. Part of him wondered if Jean, too, would like a cup when she got back in. It was a cold night, blistering rain slapping the windows.
When the phone rang, he jumped. His stomach dipped and pulse raced as he tripped to the phone.
“Jeannie? Hello?”
“Is this James Howlett?” A voice in the background corrected the speaker. There was noise in the background that didn’t sound like a club or restaurant. It gave Logan an uneasy chill. “Is this Logan?”
“Yes,” he barked hoarsely.
“Hi. This is Sharon from the emergency room of Westchester County General.”
Logan broke out in a cold sweat. “Oh, my God,” he breathed.
“Sir,” she hesitated, “I know this is a bit of a shock right now, but could you come down here? We’re calling on behalf of your wife, Jean.” His breathing was so ragged it hurt.
His knees wouldn’t hold him. He dropped back into his kitchen chair.
“I’m…I’m coming. Right now. Just…can you tell her that?”
“She’s resting now. We’ll let her know. And Logan? Just to let you know, she was very anxious to get you here, so she’ll appreciate it once I let her know I spoke with you.”
“Please,” he insisted, “help her. Make her better. I need you to make her better.”
“I know-“
“God,” he rasped. “Please…just…I’ll be there.” He rang off and chucked the phone onto the counter. He didn’t care when it slid off onto the floor. His keys jingled in his hand before he even had his jacket all the way on.
Daisy lifted her head and thumped her tail on the floor. “I’m leavin’, girl. There’s somethin’ wrong with Mommy, okay?” He scratched behind her ears and gave her a kiss between them, roughly patting her rump. “I have to go see about her. We’ll both be home soon, all right?” The golden lab whined in the back of her throat like she didn’t believe him.
As he drove through the rain, he didn’t, either.
*
The cannula chafed him as Remy adjusted it. The soup tasted bland, despite the fact that the restaurant called it gumbo. It was a sacrilege, and an offense to his palate.
He enjoyed the sound of the rain. It was a creature comfort, when he had so few.
He didn’t know how many rainy nights he had left.
Mattie snapped on the light, ruining his reverie.
“Up late.”
“Oui.”
“Look tired, cher.”
“Don’ feel like headin’ t’bed.” He didn’t share that he was afraid he wouldn’t wake up. She didn’t need it, not after she’d burdened herself so much for him.
She said nothing. She turned on the television and turned off the lights once more, keeping him company. Remy ignored the evening news for a while and just watched the rain come down.
He diverted his attention from the window when she switched the channel to the news.
“Area authorities reported a three-car pileup that left two drivers wounded and one in critical condition. The accident happened some time before midnight. More details at four.”
Remy closed his eyes and uttered a silent prayer.
“This is a bad night for driving.”
“Sure is, Tante. Sure is.”
*
She never heard him. Her hand was wrapped in his tight grip. All he could do was hold onto her.
Machines blipped and beeped in a symphony, reassuring him that she was still with him, not as tangible as the softness of her hair as he stroked it.
The nurse and the patient advocate was talking at him as much as to him, waving paperwork that he couldn’t think about.
“Have you ever recorded an advance directive?” He shook his head.
“I don’t know. It’s never come up between us.” Never thought it would have to.
“What do you think she would want?”
“Whaddya think?” he muttered. “She’d want you to save her life.” Her eyes were calm.
“Think about it a minute. We have a few other staff members you might want to speak with soon, sir.”
“Fine.” As long as he didn’t have to leave her side, he didn’t care.
“Jeannie,” he whispered. He kissed her hand, gentle, frequent presses of his lips over her knuckles. He ran his thumb over the rough edges of her solitaire.
She held on. Each hour found his hope straining that she didn’t wake up or show any improvement. Each hour could be his last with her.
He prayed. He begged. He confessed.
“I forgot to buy milk today. I didn’t take Daisy for her shots yet, I know. Ya told me. I’m sorry, baby. I’ll take care of everything, okay? Okay, Jeannie?”
Her chest barely rose and fell.
“Please,” he whispered. “Don’t go, sweetheart. Don’t go.”
The heart monitor’s alarm went off, throwing the tiny trauma room into chaos. His shouts were helpless as he was pulled back by the large, male charge nurse.
“Sir, come outside.”
“No.”
“We need to use the crash cart.”
“I don’t wanna leave her, I-“
“We need room! I’m sorry!”
He moved back toward the door, hand outstretched toward the bed.
“JEANNIE!”
*
Remy woke up from a light doze, surprised that it had overcome him. Mattie snored unabated beside him. The television droned informercials that told him it was easily 5AM.
He felt an odd chill of unease.
The rain had stopped, but it wasn’t daybreak yet. The sky was still an inky black, his least favorite time of the day. Remy hated waiting for the light to break through. It always felt like it would never come.
But he waited.
Even with his favorite tante sharing the space, he felt lonely.
He went to the window. The night had an odd…taste, if he had to describe it. He thought back to the news.
One driver, in critical condition.
That was it, he mused. That was the taste.
12:01AM
Westchester County General Hospital, E/R
“White female, late twenties,” barked the paramedic at the foot of the stretcher. The wheels thudded over the ramp as it was wheeled onto the loading dock. “Blunt trauma to the head. Fractured collarbone, upper spinal fractures. Victim had poor response at the site of the accident. Pressure eighty over forty.”
“Hang in there, ma’am,” encouraged the young nurse as she ran alongside the stretcher with a clipboard.
The room’s warmth was welcome, but the noises surrounding her were oppressive. Jean winced at the small penlight shining in her eyes. Her fingers and the tip of her nose were icy cold, and her skin felt raw wherever it was scraped. Blood seeped back into her thick red hair, plastering it to her scalp.
Logan…oh, God, he’ll be so worried…gotta…have someone call him…
“Logan,” she murmured before she blacked out.
“Ma’am? Ma’am, how’re you doing?”
“That doesn’t look good.”
“Get a crash cart ready!”
“She give you a name on the way over?”
“Jean Grey.”
“Date of birth?”
“June first.”
“Year?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Good enough for now. Start a chart, look her up in the system.”
A half hour later, the trauma team was paged to the emergency ward, somber and ready to work. The area housekeeper hung back silently, wisely steering her cart out of the entryway. She watched the traffic of staff hurrying in and out of the curtained room with dismay; there would be blood to clean and a lot of linen to clear away. More than anything, however, she felt pity, preemptively, for the next of kin. She stood like a sentinel, waiting for direction from the nurse’s station. It was going to be a long night.
The room filled up with equipment. Jean awoke to find herself in a web of tubing, leads and wires. The IV burned in her arm and she felt the cool flow of oxygen into her tortured lungs.
“We’re doing what we can to make you comfortable, okay? Can you squeeze my hand?” Her grip was feeble and took more energy than what she had.
“We’ve got your chart here, Jean,” the nurse beckoned. “Who would you like me to call? I have a…” she squinted at the information and flipped the page on her clipboard. “…a James Howlett here? Is he still at this number?” She recited it to Jean. She nodded.
“Logan,” she rasped.
“Call Logan instead?”
“No. James…is Logan.”
“Oh, he answers to Logan? All right, we can do that. Let me get him on the phone.” She hurried away. A tear trickled from the corner of Jean’s eye. Her doctor loomed nearby, drifting into her line of vision.
“Good evening. I know this is the last place you want to be, but you’re in a hospital right now. I’m Dr. Leonard Samson.” His grip on her hand was warm and gentle. Jean began to hear a low buzzing in her ears, making it difficult to make out his words.
“Get Logan,” she told him. That was her only focus. “I don’t care. Get me Logan.”
Worried faces swam over her. She began to not feel their hands moving her, probing her and cleaning her wounds.
She prayed he would come on time.
*
He sat in the kitchen nursing a cup of coffee. The tiny TV anchored beneath the cabinet was their third anniversary purchase for each other. He’d skipped the evening news and decided on Letterman instead.
Hell was about to be dropped on his doorstep.
She hadn’t called him. Logan brooded over this while David grilled some nameless It Girl on his couch about a movie he’d never go see. Jean always called, and she always picked up. Her cell rolled to voice mail five times since she said she’d left.
She wasn’t out on a bender. Not his Jeannie. Irritation followed him to bed. Worry urged him out of the covers two hours later. He skipped the beer he’d been in the mood for, not sure why he chose coffee instead. Part of him wondered if Jean, too, would like a cup when she got back in. It was a cold night, blistering rain slapping the windows.
When the phone rang, he jumped. His stomach dipped and pulse raced as he tripped to the phone.
“Jeannie? Hello?”
“Is this James Howlett?” A voice in the background corrected the speaker. There was noise in the background that didn’t sound like a club or restaurant. It gave Logan an uneasy chill. “Is this Logan?”
“Yes,” he barked hoarsely.
“Hi. This is Sharon from the emergency room of Westchester County General.”
Logan broke out in a cold sweat. “Oh, my God,” he breathed.
“Sir,” she hesitated, “I know this is a bit of a shock right now, but could you come down here? We’re calling on behalf of your wife, Jean.” His breathing was so ragged it hurt.
His knees wouldn’t hold him. He dropped back into his kitchen chair.
“I’m…I’m coming. Right now. Just…can you tell her that?”
“She’s resting now. We’ll let her know. And Logan? Just to let you know, she was very anxious to get you here, so she’ll appreciate it once I let her know I spoke with you.”
“Please,” he insisted, “help her. Make her better. I need you to make her better.”
“I know-“
“God,” he rasped. “Please…just…I’ll be there.” He rang off and chucked the phone onto the counter. He didn’t care when it slid off onto the floor. His keys jingled in his hand before he even had his jacket all the way on.
Daisy lifted her head and thumped her tail on the floor. “I’m leavin’, girl. There’s somethin’ wrong with Mommy, okay?” He scratched behind her ears and gave her a kiss between them, roughly patting her rump. “I have to go see about her. We’ll both be home soon, all right?” The golden lab whined in the back of her throat like she didn’t believe him.
As he drove through the rain, he didn’t, either.
*
The cannula chafed him as Remy adjusted it. The soup tasted bland, despite the fact that the restaurant called it gumbo. It was a sacrilege, and an offense to his palate.
He enjoyed the sound of the rain. It was a creature comfort, when he had so few.
He didn’t know how many rainy nights he had left.
Mattie snapped on the light, ruining his reverie.
“Up late.”
“Oui.”
“Look tired, cher.”
“Don’ feel like headin’ t’bed.” He didn’t share that he was afraid he wouldn’t wake up. She didn’t need it, not after she’d burdened herself so much for him.
She said nothing. She turned on the television and turned off the lights once more, keeping him company. Remy ignored the evening news for a while and just watched the rain come down.
He diverted his attention from the window when she switched the channel to the news.
“Area authorities reported a three-car pileup that left two drivers wounded and one in critical condition. The accident happened some time before midnight. More details at four.”
Remy closed his eyes and uttered a silent prayer.
“This is a bad night for driving.”
“Sure is, Tante. Sure is.”
*
She never heard him. Her hand was wrapped in his tight grip. All he could do was hold onto her.
Machines blipped and beeped in a symphony, reassuring him that she was still with him, not as tangible as the softness of her hair as he stroked it.
The nurse and the patient advocate was talking at him as much as to him, waving paperwork that he couldn’t think about.
“Have you ever recorded an advance directive?” He shook his head.
“I don’t know. It’s never come up between us.” Never thought it would have to.
“What do you think she would want?”
“Whaddya think?” he muttered. “She’d want you to save her life.” Her eyes were calm.
“Think about it a minute. We have a few other staff members you might want to speak with soon, sir.”
“Fine.” As long as he didn’t have to leave her side, he didn’t care.
“Jeannie,” he whispered. He kissed her hand, gentle, frequent presses of his lips over her knuckles. He ran his thumb over the rough edges of her solitaire.
She held on. Each hour found his hope straining that she didn’t wake up or show any improvement. Each hour could be his last with her.
He prayed. He begged. He confessed.
“I forgot to buy milk today. I didn’t take Daisy for her shots yet, I know. Ya told me. I’m sorry, baby. I’ll take care of everything, okay? Okay, Jeannie?”
Her chest barely rose and fell.
“Please,” he whispered. “Don’t go, sweetheart. Don’t go.”
The heart monitor’s alarm went off, throwing the tiny trauma room into chaos. His shouts were helpless as he was pulled back by the large, male charge nurse.
“Sir, come outside.”
“No.”
“We need to use the crash cart.”
“I don’t wanna leave her, I-“
“We need room! I’m sorry!”
He moved back toward the door, hand outstretched toward the bed.
“JEANNIE!”
*
Remy woke up from a light doze, surprised that it had overcome him. Mattie snored unabated beside him. The television droned informercials that told him it was easily 5AM.
He felt an odd chill of unease.
The rain had stopped, but it wasn’t daybreak yet. The sky was still an inky black, his least favorite time of the day. Remy hated waiting for the light to break through. It always felt like it would never come.
But he waited.
Even with his favorite tante sharing the space, he felt lonely.
He went to the window. The night had an odd…taste, if he had to describe it. He thought back to the news.
One driver, in critical condition.
That was it, he mused. That was the taste.