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2020-11-05
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Control 2 For the Best

Summary:

Summary: Chasing Remy is not all it's cracked up to be...

Work Text:

For the Best
by Kyrri
kyrrissean@hotmail.com

Logan glanced around the empty room in frustration, blue eyes skimming across the walls, ceiling and floor. There was no doubt about it – the kid had been here. His scent rested heavily in the room, carelessly intertwined with the appalling reek of burned wood and plaster.

He let calloused fingers trail along the scorch-marks on the closet doors. Logan had been tracing the thief for the last two days and if the increasing wreckage was any indication at all, things were
getting worse by the hour.

Silently, he cursed the kid's stubborn refusal of help. Not that that mattered – the moment he found him, he was going to drag him back to the mansion and force said help upon him, whether the Cajun wanted it or not.

The problem was that the kid was proving to be rather elusive. Not that Logan had expected Remy to be easy to find – the kid knew how to hide when he wanted too – but he'd thought that the added handicap of having his powers spiral slowly out of control would at least have slowed the thief down.

Logan sighed, before sitting down on the bed in the dingy little room, wondering were he should go from here. The kid's trail stopped, but there was no kid in sight. It was almost as if Remy had been playing with him, leaving him just enough clues to follow him to the next location, before disappearing completely.

He had no illusions about the thief not knowing he was being followed. Being discrete wasn't exactly the Wolverine's style and if you go around beating up someone's contacts to find them, that person is definitely going to notice that something's wrong.

Logan felt anger spark, but suppressed it – getting angry wasn't going to help anyone. Re-examining the facts would be of far more use. He was getting closer; that much couldn't be denied. The kid's scent was still fresh – it couldn't be more than a few hours old.

And Remy was definitely struggling to hide – two days ago the joined efforts of Jean and the Professor couldn't pick the kid up on any mental radar, but now his defences had shattered sufficiently enough for them to be able to track him down to a two-mile radius. Alright, it wasn't much, but it was something and they were getting closer to pinpointing him. Their word was the only proof Logan had that Gambit was still in the city.

He refused to think what would happen if Remy decided to leave the city. With a playground as large as the world to hide in, Logan doubted that he'd ever find him. Briefly ice-blue eyes flickered to the trace of moonlight at his feet, the only thin strand to escape the close-drawn curtains.

A frown knotted between his brows. Something wasn't right about it, but he couldn't put his finger on it. The curtain shifted, letting a slight breeze through, along with more light as it was tossed
slightly to the side.

His gaze shifted to it, as he turned his head to look, wondering what was bothering him, except the absence of his prey. Except the absence of his prey and the fact that their fearless leader didn't seem at all concerned with Remy's recent departure from the mansion.

Scott could really be a stubborn asshole when he wanted to. If any other member of the team was missing Fearless would probably be out here himself, looking for them. For anyone, but the kid and himself.

Then again, it wasn't really like he could blame Scott for not believing that the Cajun wouldn't return this time, weeks later and in perfect health, like he and Logan both always doing. In fact, most of the Team's attitude towards Remy's disappearance rubbed him the wrong way.

He could hardly believe that only four people in the mansion could find it in themselves to care about what happened to the kid. Some family they were, perhaps Remy would be better off without them, but that didn't change the fact that the kid needed help. Or that Logan was going to find him if it was the last thing he did.

***********

"Scott, please reconsider." Ororo was leaning over his desk, bracing herself with fine-boned hands against its hard surface as she stared their fearless leader straight in the visor.

Cyclops looked back at her, his hidden gaze unflinching and uncompromising behind its mask. "No." The word was simple and staggering in its finality. Ororo pulled away, straightening her back so that she could glare down at their leader.

"Why are you doing this? If it were anyone else we would all be out there looking for him." Ororo asked angrily, her voice cold and low, the storm brewing beneath it palpable, even as her features remained calm: the only indication of her rising emotion her tone of voice.

"Gambit always comes back. What makes you think he won't this time?" Ororo's eyes stopped halfway between their normal shade and turning an iris-less white, the roaring thunder outside, echoing her mood.

"I don't believe it." Ororo's expression became almost pained as she took a step backwards, the off-white of her coat sliding against her ankles. "You have not listened to a single word of what Logan or the Professor have told you. My brother's shields are crumbling and after the fiasco in Antarctica he has no reason to come to us for help."

"From what the Professor's said about those shields making Gambit a telepathic ghost I'd think he'd be happy that they're disintegrating. Why do…" Scott didn't get to finish his sentence as a loud crack resounded through the room.

Gingerly he raised his palm to his cheek, where Ororo had slapped him, the red palm-print throbbing furiously. "You're a fool." Storm hissed at him, the wind outside rattling the windows of his study.

"Ask your wife what it would be like for her, if she lost her shields." She turned and stalked from the room, but only made it as far as the door, her fingers sealing on the doorknob, about to turn it, before Scott spoke again. He'd stood up behind his desk, one hand reaching out, almost as though to stop her from leaving.

"But he isn't a telepath." Ororo didn't turn as she pulled the door open.

"No, he isn't. But there are other gifts that require mental shields for survival." The door slammed shut behind her, with such force that the windows rattled from more than just the rising wind outside.

Scott half-fell half-sat back down in his chair. `Other mental gifts…'

***********

Logan glanced around the room for the hundredth time – there had to be something he was missing… some kind of clue to where the Cajun was heading next.

The slightly billowing curtain drew his attention once more. Something still bothered him about it. Moonlight trickled through the gaps like silver rain, beckoning his eyes to follow it to the floor - that feeling of wrongness increasing as he did so.

A single pool of dark shadow was revealed in the centre of the silver beam as the rising wind tossed the curtain further away from the open window. There was a storm brewing. He could just hear the roar of distant thunder. Briefly he wondered if old Fearless had been stupid enough to make Ororo mad. She did say that she was going to try to talk some sense into him, last time the two of them spoke.

He shook his head, his attention fixing on the black triangle that presented itself, breaking the dark shadow of the curtain with a single jagged edge, as it seemed to stab its way into the light.

He turned around slowly, before moving to the window and pulling the curtains open in one single violent movement.

The Jack of Diamonds stared at him from where it had been wedged firmly into the frame of the partially open window. He reached for it, pulling it free from its perch before shutting the window against the scattered raindrops that had started to fall.

It seemed that the kid had left him a gift after all. Curiously he flipped the card over between his fingers. A feral smile spread across his features as he read what had been scrawled on the back in the flowing script he easily recognised as the kid's.

What was the Cajun thinking? He should have known that those three words would only make the hunter in him want to catch his prey more. `Stop following me.' Remy must really be in desperate straits if he thought that would dissuade Logan from the chase.

`Maybe he wants to be found…' the thought stopped Logan in his tracks.

***********

Darkness pressed against the side of the greenhouse, the wind howling around the corners as rain obscured the image of its keeper moving inside from one of her precious `children' to the next in silent determination to work off some of the rage she felt at Scott's behaviour.

Storm clouds swirled overhead and lightning ripped the skies asunder as the rain came down more heavily. The gentle symphony of twinkling bells as it tapped against the glass overhead turned to more harsh sounds of a pummelling torrent of a seemingly ceaseless downpour.

Ororo fumed, the rain seeming to draw her anger from her, as it would steam from sun-baked earth. And as the anger began to dissipate, the dreaded feeling of hopelessness and despair returned. The waiting was going to drive her insane. It had already driven her into Scott's office to fight what she knew was a losing battle…

He could be a stubborn prick when he wanted to.

The wind rejoined the chorus of the rain with renewed fervour, scratching against the glass and driving her thoughts from her mind, before the door banged open under the onslaught. Ororo moved to push it close again, before the worst of the weather could penetrate her sanctuary, sliding the lock into place and making sure that it would remain shut this time.

She sighed, surveying the falling rain through the transparent shield of the thick glass, her breath fogging against the surface as the weather echoed her mood to perfection. Something cold and wet brushed against her neck as it came to rest on her shoulder.

Surprised, she whirled around, throwing what appeared to be a gloved hand from her shoulder as she faced its owner. Her breath left her in a silent gasp as she fell back against the glass wall for support.

Her eyes roved over the figure standing in front of her in quiet desperation that he was really there. Remy stood before her, dripping wet and grinning like a maniac, demonic eyes dancing with inner light even through the dark lenses of sunglasses - inappropriate as they were for this weather.

"Miss me, Stormy?" he asked, nearly falling over as she flung herself into his arms. "I'll take that as `oui'," he continued, smiling as she pulled away.

"You really should not call me that," Ororo answered, tears running freely down her mahogany cheeks and utterly ruining the effect of her stern tone of voice.

"What's this, Stormy?" he asked, ignoring the warning, as always, before trailing a thumb over a tear-stained cheek. "You shouldn't be crying, cherie."

"You disappeared. You didn't even say goodbye. Logan said…"

But he interrupted her. "Don't listen to a thing Wolverine says. I'm fine. I don't need help, Stormy. Just gonna leave for a little while, me. Gotta take care of something."

Ororo stared at him, not wanting to comprehend his words, but unable to run from the reality of it. He wasn't back. He was going to leave again. The rain, which had let up somewhat outside, turned into a downpour once more, making the glass walls protest under the onslaught. "When will you return?" she asked, trying to make her voice sound calm as always, even if what she felt was far from it.

"Don't know, me. Not for a while," but she heard the unspoken words well enough. He didn't mean to come back at all and she couldn't help as the wind rattled the windows harder, or as the twinkling melody of the rain became an insistent droning. She was going to lose her brother again.

Like magic, a white rose appeared from beneath his sodden trench, before he trailed it over her tear-streaked cheeks, watching the pure white petals contrast with the dark skin in much the way that her hair did. He pressed it against her nose, teasingly, before stepping away from her to present it to her with a bow and a flourish. "For you my lady."

Ororo smiled softly at him, before accepting it, the thin stem feeling almost fragile between her fingertips, much like the hope that he would return again, when she knew he did not intend to. White roses were her favourite, a symbol of love and purity, but with the warning that such things can also scathe you in the silent promise of sharp thorns. She noticed the small square envelope attached to the stem and looked up at him, curiously.

"Couldn't leave you, Stormy. Not you… not without saying goodbye." He gave her a small smile, before continuing. "If you need me you can find the means to find me in there. J'taime, cherie," he said softly, before placing a chaste kiss upon her lips and disappearing into the storm, the lock of the door clicking open between quick and agile fingers. Lightning flashed to reveal a dark silhouette pulling a trench closer around himself and then nothing. He was gone.

Ororo stood staring out of the glass walls as the rain continued to attack the greenhouse; shedding the tears she would not. She glanced down at the card again, before tearing it open, aghast to see the evidence of her shattering calm mask in shaking fingers. She read the address and the name, before glancing around the greenhouse, her eyes lost.

She couldn't… Slowly she moved towards the com-system that was installed all over the Mansion, the lost look in her eyes becoming one of determination. Within seconds, her choice had been made. Her brother had to come home. She wondered if he realized he had been leaking emotions.

His shields must have been in a truly awful state. She'd felt everything, his fear, coupled with her own. His determination to leave, coupled with hers to bring him home. His love; she'd felt that too and there was no doubt in her mind that he cared deeply about her and that he was certain what he was doing was for the best.

But she wouldn't simply let him go, not when he so desperately needed the help that he was refusing.

She fumbled with the buttons on the machine, disgusted with the inefficiency of her trembling hands as she plotted out the familiar sequence. She'd done this so many times in the last few days. Why would this time be so different? This was for the best, after all.

"Yeah." a gruff voice on the other side of the connection said.

"Logan?"
 

Series TBC