The Thrill is Gone

Summary: Remy isn’t out of physical danger yet. The boys deal with their grief and loss and have some sober discussions.

Author’s Note: There. That’s what plagued me all these weeks, trying to figure out how Remy was going to get out of this. We’re past the violence, folks, but buckle your seatbelts for a trip into Angstville.

Belladonna waited for someone to wake her up and tell her she was just having a bad dream. Her coffee sat stone-cold in her cup and the ticking of her kitchen clock sounded hollow and chilled her blood.

Julien’s time had run out. Her throat felt raw from crying and from fighting the strangling sensation in her chest that she knew was her heart breaking. Her bloodshot eyes stared listlessly around the room, landing on a picture of herself, Julien, Remy and Rene in a magnet frame on the fridge. She shook her head bleakly and plowed her hand through her rumpled blonde hair.

“Why?” she pleaded to no one. “Julien…aw, God…”

By some miracle Rene remained asleep when the police officers knocked on her door, rousing her from mere minutes of sleep. The walk to the front door felt surreal, floor boards cold beneath her bare feet, the open ends of her fleece robe brushing her shins.

The sight of their navy blue uniforms, silver badges and stoic expressions made her knees buckle before they’d even said a word. Belladonna’s heart hammered and tripped and she broke out in a cold sweat.

“Belladonna Beudreaux?”

“Oui,” she said numbly, processing the sound of her name. Not LeBeau. The voice in her subconscious reasoned that if anything had happened to Remy, they would have called her by her married name, so that meant that something awful happened to-

“Julien! Oh, Julien!” The younger of the two officers steeled himself at the sight of her large blue eyes filling and pleading with him. She shook her head in denial as they asked to come in but stepped aside anyway, gripping the doorknob for support.

Their explanation did nothing to soothe the hollow, raw feeling inside her. She mentally threw out all but the most important words: Fatally wounded. Shot at point-blank range. Died instantly. Didn’t get the chance to suffer. They were wrong. Julien had suffered a long time, and misery loved company; he’d tried in so many ways to take all of them down with him.

She was roused from the thick fog of grief by the sound of her ex-husband’s name. “…Mr. LeBeau was rushed to Salem Memorial Hospital. He’s in their trauma unit now, if you want to contact them-“

“Quoi?” she asked shakily. “Y’mean Remy? Trauma??”

“He was badly wounded, ma’am. They’re doing everything they can for him right now; thankfully the paramedics got to him while he was till conscious.”

“Conscious? W-what…? What happened t’Remy? What happened t’REMY?” She fought to control her voice and eventually pressed her fingers over her lips to push down the helpless, useless words.

“Your husband appears to have been shot, ma’am, but that wasn’t his only injury. That’s as much information as we have so far.” She collapsed then, and only vaguely remembered the alarm in their voices before she blacked out.

*


One hour ago:


Remy stared blearily up at Alex Montoya, livid and manic.

“Where is that fucker? Huh? Where’s Vic?” The young thug didn’t recognize the sound of his own voice, higher and more petulant, full of denial and helplessness.

“He’s gone, mec…he’s already dead. Down…dere,” Remy informed him feebly. Alex hated the look of pity in those freaky red eyes. He ignored the fact that the man lying before him was bleeding to death and continued to interrogate him.

“No! NO! He AIN’T dead! He ain’t dead, cuz I’m gonna tear his ass up! He OWES me! Half my boys are down, and that fucker owes…me.” Tears welled thickly in his dark eyes, and he almost looked like a vulnerable young boy, except that he had a gun trained on Remy. “What’s he got on you?”

“It don’ matter,” Remy said.

“What’s he got on you?” Alex insisted.

“Don’ matter. S’done. Ain’ got not’in’ on Remy no more.” Alex shook his head and plowed a hand through his long black hair. His sob was strangled and brief. He crossed himself and kissed the small crucifix hanging from his neck, then stormed down the corridor. He didn’t care that he was leaving behind a dying man.

Victor would soon keep him company. He retraced his steps to Victor’s office and caught bits and snatches of a conversation that made little sense to him. His head still rang with smoke, gunshots and screams, and his hands were covered in Maria’s blood. With grim purpose, he kicked open the door.

The short fucker in one of his boys’ jackets whipped his head around in surprise, glaring at him. “Get the fuck outta here,” he snapped, then gave pause as he eyed the gun. He didn’t seem worried about his own safety, just resigned. “Ya don’t need ta be here,” he warned Alex.

“Nah, homes,” he spat, “YOU don’ need ta be here!” He trained his Glock on Victor, dark eyes beseeching him. “Why?” he whispered, eyes filling. “Why?”

“What’re ya goin’…*koff*…on about, kid?” Victor shrugged, taking another hungry drag of his smoke. He blew too little of it out, then gurgled and coughed up a rivulet of blood that darkened the blotter across his desk. The once-menacing blond was haggard and torn up, appearing only half his usual size, hunched as he was.

Alex was all out of pity. “This is for Maria,” he intoned, tilting the gun to the side, brown eyes boring into blue, executioner damning the accused. BLAM!

Logan watched in silent shock as the bullet sliced through Victor’s skull like a can opener punching tin. Those blue eyes looked stunned at the audacity it took for someone to take him out on his own turf, someone he trusted enough to let in on his game. Victor toppled, backpedaling as the momentum launched him through the cracked window behind him.

“Why?” Alex rasped.

“Kid,” Logan said carefully, then held up his hands in surrender as Alex spun on him, primed to take another shot.

“Got a problem?”

“Nah,” he told him easily, sparing Victor’s body a brief glance, bent backward in an impossible arch over the window jamb. A jagged protrusion of blood-streaked glass skewered him and rose up from his belly, saluting those who found him. “I ain’t got a problem.” Irony infused his voice and he backed up when Alex fled the room.

Alex spared Logan having to tell Remy he’d killed a man over him; Logan didn’t know if he was grateful over the method or not, but he had one thing on his mind that quickened his steps back down the corridor. When he returned to Remy’s side, his red-on-black eyes pleaded with him, bleakly.

“Chere?”

“It’s okay, Rem. C’mere…it’s okay,” Logan assured him. He blanched at how limply Remy held onto his hand, and his skin felt too clammy when he gathered Remy against him, removing his jacket and wrapping it around him. Remy’s comforting scent was marred by too much blood and gunsmoke. Remy huddled against him, breathing stertorously into Logan’s neck.

“Chere,” he murmured weakly. “Logan…gotta tell ya-“ Remy choked and wheezed, and panic gripped Logan’s chest, making him feel dizzy and sick.

“Shut up,” he argued. “Ya don’t hafta tell me anything, baby, just take it easy! Don’t waste yer breath, Rem, please?”

“Love you,” he insisted, butting Logan’s chin with the top of his head to get him to look at him. Logan’s eyes burned and his throat clenched up as he stared down into Remy’s tortured, handsome face, so precious to him.

“Remy!”

“Love you,” he repeated, and Logan tightened his grip on him, nodding vigorously.

“Love you,” he countered. “I love you, okay? Damn it, Rem…just…take it easy, okay?”

“Oui,” Remy agreed.

“Stay with me, Rem. Just stay with me.” He lowered his lips and kissed Remy’s too-cool cheek tenderly, smoothing his hair back from his eyes. “Love you, Remy…” Now that he’d said it aloud, Logan couldn’t stop. Remy fought to stay awake in his arms, absorbing his warmth as he sagged against him. His own stubbornness and relief that Logan felt the same after so many frustrating, desperate weeks kept him going until the paramedics hurried over to them amidst the police officers making myriad arrests. Remy and Logan stopped counting how many sirens they heard coming down the road and Logan had to stop himself from babbling as they badgered him with questions. He was reluctant to let go of Remy as they urged him to lie him down. A young woman who looked younger than Remy began taking his vitals and fastened a blood pressure cuff around his arm.

“What happened to him?”

“Gunshot,” Logan said blankly. “And he was roughed up pretty bad.”

“How long ago?”

“Few minutes.” It felt like it had been forever. Logan suppressed his resentment as they told him to move aside so they could take care of his lover, but he hovered nearby, comforted only by the sound of Remy’s heartbeat, still audible to him over the din.


*

Logan followed them as they carried Remy outside on a stretcher. Remy looked smaller huddled beneath the scratchy blankets and wan beneath the oxygen mask. He gestured to Logan, who held his hand in a greedy, pleading grip.

“Love you,” he murmured. Remy squeezed his hand in return before they made him release him. Moments later, he didn’t protest as police officers began to question him, paying particular attention to the jacket Remy wore when they found him, noticing the familiar gang colors. On his way to the patrol car, Logan chafed at the feel of the cool handcuffs and at the sight of the damage around him. The ground was littered with bodies and slick with spilled blood. The scent of it was heavy and rose up around him, choking him. Logan swore under his breath as he saw Alex fighting the two officers who had him bent over the hood of a patrol car. The beacon on the roof spun prisms of red and blue across his youthful, stricken face. Logan heard him crying out in Spanish, repeating Maria’s name.

Logan discovered why as they passed the paramedics drawing up a sheet over a young woman in red nearby who stared sightlessly, eerily up at the sky. Her pupils were slitted, marking her a mutant, if Logan’s wasn’t mistaken, but her gift hadn’t save her from a vicious stab wound that almost made her blood impossible to tell apart from her garish red outfit. In a neighboring patrol car, Logan saw an attractive, dark-skinned woman staring out sullenly from the back window. There was something in her demeanor that looked too satisfied, painting Logan a picture.

*

Three days later:


“I’m a mutant.”

Logan watched Remy’s expression with a knotted gut, waiting for him to condemn him. “I meant ta tell ya. I just…”

“Ya never got ‘round to it, homme?”

“Rem…no. No, that ain’t what I mean.”

“Got all day. Ain’ anywhere fo’ me t’go, chere.” Remy’s voice was hoarse after being on a respirator for two days following his surgery.

“I didn’t know how ta tell ya, okay?”

“Ya didn’t know how. Hnn. Guess back when Remy tol’ ya dat he wuz a mutant, dat wuzn’t de best opportunity, huh?” Logan flinched, then stared down at his hands. He shook his head.

“It ain’t the same. I ain’t like you.”

“De hell you ain’t.” Remy looked indignant and frustrated as he tried to lean up from the pillows, but Logan wouldn’t let him.

“Settle down. I ain’t. Remy…shit. It ain’t the same thing. Yer gift…” Logan sighed in defeat. “It’s beautiful. What you do is beautiful. You feel what other people feel. Whole world needs more people who can do what you do.”

“Sometimes it’s a curse,” Remy reminded him. “Dere’s some t’ings it’s better not t’know ‘bout some people.”

“Then ya know how I’m feelin’ right now.”

“I can tell dat jus’ by lookin’ at ya, mec. Ain’ got nut’in’ t’do wit’ bein’ an empat’.”

“Remy, I didn’t want to lose you. Ya’ve gotta understand why I never said anything.”

“Make me understand,” he insisted gently. “Cuz right now, I’m havin’ a hard time.”

“Ya saw what I did. You tell me why I did what I did.”

Both men fell silent. Logan moved back from the bed, giving Remy space he didn’t want. Remy sighed, then turned away from him, collecting his thoughts. Logan felt something inside him lurch painfully as Remy withdrew his empathy, abandoning him.

“Gonna hafta do dis de ol’ fashioned way,” Remy told him soberly, still not looking at him. “Gonna hafta talk t’Remy. Don’ make him guess what yer feelin’. ‘Splain t’me why ya’d keep dat big a secret from me fo’ so long, chere. Cuz I don’ want secrets between us anymore.”

“Because it’s ugly,” Logan blurted out. “Ain’t any reason on the planet why a man should be born with claws. That’s what they are, darlin’.”

“Could’ve handled it. Can’t treat me wit’ kid gloves, chere. Ain’ no angel myself; t’ought ya knew dat about me by now.”

“I’m an animal,” Logan whispered.

“Bullshit. Don’ say shit like dat.” Remy was facing him now, and his eyes burned with anger. “Dat ain’ true.”

“It is,” Logan insisted raggedly. “I hear things real sharp, Rem. I see in the dark like it was bright as day. I can hear yer heart beating and smell it on ya that ya doubt me right now.” Remy’s face was stricken.

“Don’ believe dat. Logan…I love you. Don’tcha see dat? Love ya so much, chere. Dat ain’t doubt yer sensin’ right now, Logan. Dat’s fear.” Logan closed his eyes and a shaky breath exploded from his lips. What he’d been most afraid of had come true, and Logan wanted to cut out his own heart.

“Can’t love…what ya fear,” Logan whispered, and hot tears seeped through his closed lids.

“I don’ fear you. I’m afraid m’gonna lose you, chere.” Logan’s eyes snapped open, and his vision of Remy was blurred, troubling because of the look of panic and distress on his face. Logan shook his head, willing Remy to heed him.

“Silver couldn’t handle it,” he confessed, “so she left. She thought if she ignored it, it’d go away. She was always so afraid our friends would find out, or the neighbors’d see me doin’ something with my claws, that I’d forget myself. And Walt…I tried, Rem. I tried ta hide it, and he knew there was something wrong. He thought…he thought I was cheating on him. That I had to be hiding something. But there were other problems there. He was jealous. I knew it wouldn’t work out, so I just let it run its course. I never expected him to get so worked up and violent. I couldn’t live with bringing that out in him, but at the same time, I couldn’t trust him anymore.” Remy reached for him, and Logan returned to the bed, hovering over him and taking his hand. His own shook. “So when ya told me ya had a gift, I was confused. I didn’t want secrets between us, but I was was torn about telling you. I didn’t want to get too close t’you if it meant you getting hurt. I didn’t want ya ta think I was playin’ games.”

“But we ended up playin’ ‘em anyway.” Remy sighed, then reached for the lever of his bed rail, lowering it. He grunted as he edged over a bit, giving Logan enough room to sit on the bed, tugging him over when he seemed reluctant. “Dis is a mess.”

“Yeah.” More tears rolled down Logan’s cheeks. “M’sorry.”

“Me too.” Remy wiped them away with his thumb. “Ya can tell me anyt’in’. I promise. Remy don’ scare easily, chere.”

“It shouldn’t have come ta this.”

“Shit happens,” Remy shrugged. He heard the slight quaver in Remy’s voice, despite his calm demeanor. “C’mere, chere.”

“Remy-“

“Jus’ get de fuck over here,” Remy snapped, tugging Logan’s arm. “Don’ make Remy get outta bed an’ put ya over my knee. Ain’ above manhandlin’ ya ta get what I want.” A small cry escaped Logan’s chest mingling sorrow and apology and he allowed Remy’s arms to pull him down into his embrace. He was mindful of his injuries and the IV tubes as he bowed his face into Remy’s neck. Remy felt hot tears wetting the collar of his telemetry gown and his own eyes welled up as he clutched Logan’s wiry, thick hair. “Don’ act fer one minute like yer leavin’ me, givin’ me dat bullshit ‘bout me gettin’ hurt. ‘Cuz I love you.”


Six weeks later:

“Papa…no…Papa, no!”

Remy’s eyes flew open at the sound of his son’s voice in the dark, and he cursed as he jarred his shoulder with the effort it took to pull himself up from bed. “Comin’, chere…Daddy’s comin’, hold on.”

“PAPA!” His son’s voice was uncharacteristically shrill and distressed, quickening his steps on his way back to his son’s room.

“Rene?” Remy hurried to the dresser and flicked on the small Hot Wheels lamp with its checkered lampshade, filling the room with dim yellow light. “Baby, didja have a nightmare?”

“Papa, noooooooo,” he wailed. “No, Papa, I don’t want you to go!” Rene reached for him, fighting his way free from the tangle of blankets. Remy “oof”-ed slightly as his son climbed into his lap before he could sit all the way down on the bed. His arms ringed his neck in a death grip and Remy felt his little heart pounding through his back as he stroked it.

“Awwww, Rene…dat’s all right, Papa ain’ goin’ anywhere. S’okay. Papa’s here.” He rocked him gently, rhythmically, and his son’s words slurred into low sobs. Remy didn’t waste any time, collecting Rene’s favorite baby blanket and teddy bear as he carried him back to his room.

Logan was already waiting for them, hopping into a tank and pajama bottoms to make himself decent. The covers were already turned down, and he nodded to Rene knowingly.

“Milk?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Tom n’Jerry?”

“Nah. Too late. Jus’ de milk.”

“Wanna watch Tom n’Jerry,” Rene complained sleepily.

“Tomorrow, chere. S’bed time.”

“Can’t sleep.” Remy sat down on the bed and Rene automatically burrowed beneath the covers, despite his protests. Logan left the room and headed for the kitchen. He heated up the milk in Rene’s favorite cocoa mug, throwing in a pinch of sugar as he’d seen Remy do several times.

Logan padded back to the room and smiled as he watched Remy leaning over his son, smoothing back his hair and tucking his teddy bear into his arms. “Hey, big guy,” he offered. “What’s up, bub? Were ya givin’ the boogey man a run fer his money?”

“There’s no boogey man!” Rene snapped sourly, raising his bear to clobber Logan. Remy tsked, nudging his arm back down.

“Quit dat,” he warned him. “Logan’s jus’ messin’ with ya.”

“Nah. I’m just askin’ him if he needed backup, that’s all. Me an’ ol’ Boogey have an understanding. He understands I’m gonna hafta open a can of whoop-ass if he messes with my friends in the middle of the night. Here.” He handed Rene the milk as Remy helped him to sit back up. Logan yawned. “I know yer a big, strong man, kiddo. Yer pop’s right. Just messin’ around.”

“I got scared,” he admitted as he took a gulp of the milk. “You forgot the cinnamon.”

“My bad,” Logan grumbled as he got back up, already missing the warmth of the covers. He smothered a sigh as he went back the way he came. Remy encouraged him to drink it, anyway, and cuddled him close.

“What happened in yer dream?”

“They were taking you away. The bad men took you away, and they wanted to hurt you.”

“No more bad men around, petit. No one’s takin’ Daddy away.” But Remy’s words felt hollow to him, in light of recent weeks, and Rene had too many reasons to feel the way he did. “I’m right here, chere.”

“You said they wouldn’t come, but they shot Oncle Philippe,” he pointed out, too soberly for a young child. “An-and they shot Oncle Julien.”

“Oui,” Remy murmured. “Dey did. Rene…Oncle Julien’s in heaven now. An’ Oncle Philippe’s all better. We’re goin’ t’see him tomorrow ta have breakfast, okay?”

“Okay.” He finished the last gulp of the milk just as Logan arrived back with the cinnamon bottle, skraking the cup with a final slurp. Logan grunted under his breath.

“Sheesh…I’ll just be takin’ that,” he offered, and Rene handed him the empty mug.

“Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t let the bad men take away Papa.” Logan’s throat tightened and he shook his head.

“Never. I’ll never let anyone hurt yer Papa ever again.” He started to leave again.

“Don’t go!” Rene called out plaintively.

“I’ll be right back, kiddo, it’s okay!” This time Logan hid his smile as he turned his back. That darned kid…

When he came back, Remy had crawled back into bed already and Rene was yawning, closing his eyes as he snuggled up. Logan sighed.

“I’m gonna get the business end of his feet in my ribs again. Ya want me ta bunk in his room tonight?”

“Don’ go,” Rene complained before he drifted off. Remy huffed a laugh, then smiled up at him helplessly. Logan couldn’t resist that smile.

“Right. I’ll just be gettin’ back in bed, then.”

“Can’t argue wit’ de boss.”

Logan grumbled under his breath as he settled back beneath the blankets. “It ain’t the wakin’ up I mind, as much as hearin’ him cry.”

“Oui. Welcome ta my world. Dat was how I felt when he wuz little. Back den, Bella got up wit’ him more cuz she was nursin’ him. But t’ings changed once I had ta start playin’ Mommy when we split. We were batchin’ it, us two guys. Used ta hate his night terrors when he wuz two. Screamed in de middle of de night jus’ as de bed wuz startin’ ta feel real comfy, sounded like dere wuz evil ninjas bustin’ in t’rough de window fer all dat he used ta carry on.” Remy stroked Rene’s thin arm fondly. “He’s a good boy.”

“He’s the best,” Logan corrected him. “Yer a lucky man.”

“Oui.” He reached for Logan’s hand in the dark. “I am. Very lucky.” Remy finagled Rene’s sleeping bulk, shifting it so that he occupied the middle of the bed himself, instead. Moments later, he lay with Rene tucked into his arms on one side and Logan spooned at his back, blanketed by his warmth. Having that much love wrapped around him chased away Remy’s nightmares, too.


*

Additional note: This isn't quite over yet. I have loose ends and a lot of stuff that happened "off-panel" that I want to resolve. Stay tuned for an epilogue and more author's notes when I wrap this up. Thanks so much for reading this story and giving such frequent, thoughtful feedback.