Work Text:
The Grand Tour
X-Men (movie-verse-ish)
slash
Logan/Remy
PG
It was raining the night Remy Le Beau came in from the cold.
Logan had the kitchen to himself for once, and he was taking advantage of that to eat the last two slices of blueberry pie. He'd died earlier in the day - bullet to the heart, the kind that explodes whatever it lands in - and he was still hungry. Coming back to life took a lot of energy. He deserved to finish the pie.
He debated adding ice cream, but the only vanilla belonged to Rogue -- there was a note on it with a warning not to touch it, and the addendum: this means you, Logan!
Lights had gone out in most of the windows, the school kids were in bed if not asleep, and the adults the same. All was calm and quiet.
Silence could be hard to find in a building, big as the mansion was, which housed so many teenagers. Another reason to sit up alone every night, finding some peace in another day completed without disaster.
Sort of. Scott's broken ankle wasn't a disaster, not really. Not enough of one to prevent Jean from accompanying Storm to a teaching conference in the city. Until tomorrow morning, when they were supposed to be back on the estate, Logan was the only real security the place had. Good thing the weather was too crappy to go out somewhere.
Well, he had pie, and at least one television to catch the hockey highlights on. He was dry and warm and had a good bed to sleep in. This was unimaginable luxury compared to the first one hundred years of his life. The bits that he remembered, anyway,
He put the pie in the toaster oven to warm, and sat down at the bar two minutes later, stuck the fork in the crust, and lifted a bite to his mouth.
Despite over a century and a half of alertness, he was startled by the sharp rap of knuckles on the kitchen door, was on his feet and claws unsheathed in about half a second.
Get a grip, he told himself. Most of the X-Men's enemies wouldn't knock first. Well, maybe they would if they were running some sort of scam. That could be amusing. With claws sheathed, Logan threw back the deadbolt and opened the door.
Remy Le Beau, soaked down to Southern skin, hair straggled against stubbled cheeks, stumbled inside, stepped to the right and got a wall against his back.
Logan slammed and locked the door. He hadn't seen or smelled anything, but Remy did not run without reason.
His claws unsheathed again, this time at the touch of a thought. "You being chased?"
"That's an interesting question," Remy said.
To Logan he looked like an animal that knew it was being stalked, taking in everything with rapid looks around the room, hands free and cards held at the ready in both hands. For once he wasn't riffling through the pasteboard rectangles with no thought. It was the best way for him to keep from giving away his position in the dark with any trace of his kinetic power. In all the years Logan had known and fought next to him, Remy had never been this spooked.
The kitchen was dim and dark, with just the light over the stove providing some illumination. Remy looked thin, as well as paranoid. Logan shoved the plate with the pie over to him and said, "Sit."
Remy sat. The pie disappeared in four or five bites as Logan watched.
"Make free of the fridge," Logan said.
Remy wiped his mouth and shook his head. "I can't stay."
"You can stay the night, head out in the morning," Logan said.
Remy shrugged. "This kind of rain cover my tracks, homme."
"What's going on?"
Remy rubbed a hand over stubbled cheeks. "I can't tell you...I won't tell you."
"Then why are you here?"
"Needed a safe place for a few hours," Remy said.
Logan warmed a little at that. Remy didn't think anywhere was safe. "You got it. Be better if you let me help."
"You can't. It's not...it's bad," Remy said. "I don't want this trouble anywhere near you."
"Since when do I need protecting? And we got a whole team to protect the school." Logan poured out some coffee, gave Remy a cup.
"Logan, please. I just wanted a few hours of peace. Chance to catch my breath," Remy said. "I can't waste energy fighting about this."
Water dripped off him into the puddle under his chair.
"All right," said Logan. "All right. Can we do anything?"
"Can I borrow your shower?"
"Yeah. You know where it is. There's some sweats in the drawer."
"Thanks," Remy said. He shucked the sodden coat, the wool sweater, his boots.
Logan followed him upstairs, retrieved the wet clothes from the bathroom floor after a tap at the door, and took them back downstairs.
When Remy came back down, wearing a pair of Logan's sweatpants and a tee-shirt that hung loose on him, there was a plate of warmed up lasagna on the table. Logan watched him, assessed his state. He looked better, more together. Alert but not keyed up past safe.
"Right back," Logan said. He ducked out into the hall and whistled. Scott, on crutches, followed him back in.
Remy stiffened.
Probably expecting to be chewed out.
"Remy," Scott said.
Logan knew Remy hated Scott to see him like this, but he couldn't care. Sometimes, you have to make people accept help.
"Scott," Remy said.
Scott put a small disk on the table, a thin folder of papers, and a credit card. "Logan says you're going on the grand tour."
"Yeah," Remy said. He shoveled in another bite of pasta.
Logan almost told him to stop eating so fast, but the exhaustion in his friend's eyes and hollows in his cheeks told him that Remy had been using his powers far too often without fueling up or resting.
"I put your stuff in the laundry. And hung your coat up to dry," Logan said. He pulled open the refrigerator and began taking out sandwich fixings. The man needed protein, and something which didn't really go bad. He took the peanut butter down from the cupboard.
Scott leaned against the bar. "The disk is an emergency beacon. Set it off anywhere in the world near a phone line and we'll get it. Might not work in Antarctica. Our test have been iffy there. This is a diplomatic credential issued to the X-Men. Use it too often and someone will pick up on it, but it should get you through most border crossings without a record. The credit card has no limit. Don't buy any small countries, we'll come after you and make you do chores around the mansion 'til you die."
Remy looked at the items Scott had laid down and went back to his food.
Probably debating whether to throw them back in Scott's face, Logan thought. He wanted to tell Remy to just take the damn things, just in case, but he held back.
"We'll stand behind you, if you need us," Scott said.
Remy sat back, crossed his arms over his chest. "Why?"
"Because you're a mutant. You're one of us. And because Logan asked us to."
A little silence fell between them. "Thanks," Remy said finally.
Scott held out his hand. Remy shook it.
"I won't say be careful. But good luck," Scott said. He gave Logan a well, I tried look, as much as he could wearing the visor, and went out into the hall.
"Told you I didn't need anything," Remy said.
"Just because you said it doesn't mean it's true," Logan said. He put the sandwiches in a big plastic zip bag. Added a bottle of water. He wanted to pack him a cooler full of food, a steamer trunk full of warm sweaters and clean socks.
Remy's purpose-made coat had a lot of pockets, most of them mysterious, but they didn't add up to much cargo space.
Three sandwiches, a bottle of water, emergency documents and an oh, shit button were all Logan could offer him. Except himself, and he knew Remy would never accept that. The thief kept his own counsel and took care of his own problems, and Logan had always respected him for it.
This time, well, Logan couldn't see a way to force his hand, to make him accept a companion. He would just slip away in the night, leading the hounds off on his scent, and Logan would have blown his chance.
Maybe if he gave him a way out, maybe if Remy looked at those little helpers Scott had passed on to him a couple of times when he was in a jam, maybe then he'd realize he wasn't alone in this. Maybe he would call for help, from Ghana or Honduras or Bhutan, or anywhere else in the wide world, and Logan could ride to the rescue.
All Logan could do right now was let Remy go, and hope against the clench of fear in his chest that Remy would survive long enough to come to his senses.
Logan rolled his shoulders, tried to shake off the dread he felt. He had never let himself be ruled by fear. He would not start now. Remy was smart and subtle and excelled at violence. He was paranoid and powerful. His chances were good, whatever he was facing.
It was about time for Remy's laundry to be swapped over to dry. "Why don't you go upstairs and get an hour's sleep? I'll wake you."
"Could do with a nap," Remy said. "Give me your word, no more than an hour?"
"Jesus. Trust a guy, would you? And there's an alarm clock next to my bed anyway."
Logan paced the hall for that hour, all but the last five minutes, when he took Remy's clothes out of the dryer, kind of folded the garments, retrieved the leather coat from the drying rack over the radiator, and went up to his own bedroom.
"Time's up," he said, dumping the clothes onto the bed.
"Right," Remy said, sitting up. He looked so tired.
"I'll check the security monitors for watchers," Logan said.
There was nothing of interest on the security sensors, not on the modern technology or the strange metal and wood contraptions the Professor would never admit were alien - but which obviously were. He jogged back up to the kitchen to report to Remy.
"It's all clear, kid," Logan reported. Remy had stowed everything back in the coat, except the X-Men gear.
Those things he held up so Logan could see, then very deliberately stowed them in the coat's most secret pockets, invisible unless you knew where to look, the most secure hiding place he carried. Then he turned to the door.
Logan was at his heels, ready to say - what? He didn't know. Good luck seemed insulting.
"This might be it. You might not see me again," Remy said, looking at his hands. "I might never be able to stop running."
Remy put his hands on Logan's shoulders. Hesitated.
Kissed him.
Logan felt like he was suddenly on fire, burning for Remy, pumped up on adrenaline and fear. He dove into the kiss, crushed Remy close and closer. God, he felt so good.
They parted for air, but not far.
"Wanted to do that for years," Remy said against his mouth.
"Why'd you wait to so long?" Logan breathed in his scent, tried to memorize him with all his senses, knew that this couldn't last.
"I'm a coward," Remy said. "Knew I might have to run for it. I couldn't stand the thought of leaving you behind."
"You're still leaving me behind," Logan said, pulling him closer, another centimeter, maybe.
"Last indulgence for a condemned man," Remy said, holding onto Logan as tight as Logan held onto him. He sounded serious.
"Let me help. Please," Logan said. Would he have to beg? "Please."
Logan kissed Remy's mouth, his cheeks, his forehead. His eyelids.
Since Logan had first seen Remy in that shadowed casino, he had always wanted this. Had always pushed it to the back of his mind, always thought he had no chance. Had preferred unfulfilled longing to dashed hopes.
"Stay with me. Let me fight next to you." Logan pressed his cheek to Remy's hair, held on to him as hard as he could.
"I can't. I can't," Remy said. "I have to go."
He pulled away, his usual poise gone jerky, like he was pulling the bandage off quickly to get the pain over.
"Who's after you? Remy, damn it, tell me," Logan said, voice thick, hands ready to grab and hold and protect.
Remy backed toward the door, eyes on Logan's face, reaching behind him for the door handle.
"Assassins," Remy said. "The whole damn guild."
He threw the door wide and flung himself out into the night before Logan could say wait.
Logan threw himself after him, but the agile thief, the man who should be his lover, already seemed to be gone . He sniffed the air. Remy's scent was everywhere, it seemed, too diffuse to track.
He strained his eyes, his ears. Nothing. Remy had disappeared in the dark rain.
"We can track him, you know," Scott said from the doorway. "With the disk. He doesn't even have to use it."
"You sneaky bastard. I could kiss you," Logan said, skimming past him and running for the stairs to get his travel gear. By the time he cleared things up here, Remy would have a head start, but he could catch him up.
"If you kiss me, then Jean's going to want to kiss Remy," Scott yelled behind him. "Forget I said that. I bet you'd like it."
Logan thought he shouldn't be grinning like a fool. This was serious. This was going to be a bloodbath. Well, for the other side.
He had no intention of letting anyone, any fucking assassin or thief or mutant, kill his man. Just let them try.
He could be on the road in a couple of hours, when the others got back. He would be there when Remy needed him, when Remy faced whatever demons he'd halfway surrendered to.
Logan would be there.
Whether Remy liked it or not.