Boathouse: Remy and Lorna

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After Amanda's magical whammy wears off, Lorna comes by to see Remy with chicken soup in hand. They too talk about the wedding gift and Lorna refuses to accept Remy's reason for not going. She persists in questioning his assumptions until he breaks down.



Lorna had opted for a thermos this time rather than a bowl and was pleased by the resulting portability. Amanda had tracked her down with news of Remy's illness and a request for soup but she'd opted to bring it down herself. She'd already left a large serving of the soup in the kitchen for anyone who wanted to scrounge it and more in the boathouse kitchen for Cain. The last of it was in the thermos that dangled from her hand as she rapped lightly on Remy's bedroom door and called quietly through it, not quite loud enough to wake him up if he was really asleep but enough to stir him out of a doze.

Remy cracked open an eye and groaned. Whatever Amanda had done had put him out like a light, but did nothing to fix the general level of low level pain that crept through his body. He croaked, cleared his throat, and was about to articulate 'come in', at least rolling over in bed to greet his visitor.

Lorna nudged the door open before he responded, sensing the shift in EM fields as he moved. She slipped inside and blinked against the darkness of the room. She left the door open and leaned against the wall, "Hey, how you feeling?"

"Like I died, and de people beat de shit out of my corpse." Remy groaned and sat up. There was enough light from the living room to see Lorna by, as he propped himself against the headboard. "You gave a stirring eulogy. Very moving."

"Blessed be the boneheaded for they shall die with brains intact? Here lies Remy, almost as charming as he believed?" She moved away from the wall and crossed to his bedside, settling lightly on the edge of the bed rather than taking the chair. "Was there weeping and rending of garments?" Lorna raised an eyebrow at him, smiling faintly.

"Lot more rendering of garments den in my current social life." Remy regarded her wearily. "And Remy have it on good authority dat he even more charming den he think. Well, not right now, but normally, you know." He jokingly alluded to his current state. He did look like hell, hair in disarray and an almost waxy sheen to his skin.

"You should have come to the wedding. Lots of pretty Scottish girls waiting to grow up to be old Scottish battle-axes. Plus you wouldn’t have got the flu on a fool's errand." She pressed a hand to his forehead, testing his temperature as though he were a child. "You should be drinking water or juice. You'll get dehydrated."

"'manda made me tea. Tasted bad." Remy muttered almost like a child as he submitted to her touch. The fact was that right now, he'd have taken anyone's advice to feel better. For someone who got sick only once or twice a decade, the hammerblow of the illness was something he was not ready for.

"Her tea is good but I'm sure she'd tell you that you need more than that too." Lorna twisted the top off the thermos and poured soup into the cap before resolving a spoon to give to him. "Careful, it's hot," she warned absently.

"Isn't soup normally?" It was a feeble attempt at a joke, which was about the best he could do. Of course, he burned his tongue with the first sip, earning a cluck and an disapproving look from Lorna.

"You're as bad as Davey," she scolded and set the thermo aside. "Amanda and I had a chat at the wedding. She must have been terribly upset to actually talk to me. Usually she looks at me like I'm going to rip her piercings out." Lorna paused and then added thoughtfully, "again."

"You ripped out 'manda's piercings?" Remy said, a little shocked at the idea of Lorna acting like that. He knew that her self-control had been wavering around the time he had left the mansion, but didn't know it had gotten to that point.

"Yanked on them, didn't rip them out." She sighed, "I did tell her she was better off killing herself than sleeping with Manuel. Seems she took it to heart too. Nearly flung herself off the roof." In the dark, her expression was hard to make out and her tone was suspiciously matter-of-fact. "It was...I didn't know how fragile she was."

Remy winced. He hadn't realized it had gotten _that_ bad, although it did explain some things. "Guess dat I missed some important things. Part of dat was Remy's fault. I, uh, well hurt her pretty bad after Limbo, and den took off. If I hadn't acted like a hurt five year old, dat might not have happened."

"Shut up, Remy," she snapped, "Don't be a bigger idiot than you are. It's not your fault she was hurt or I was hurt. We ran into each other at the wrong time and I fucked up. Not you. You didn't send her running to kill herself."

Remy covered his expression with a sip of the soup. He wasn't used to having Lorna snap at him, and it was a little disconcerting. "So, uh, wit all dat, why did you to talk at de wedding? Trying to make a pair for karaoke?"

"Very funny." Lorna closed her eyes until her temper subsided, reminding herself that he was sick and it was wrong to yell at sick people. Even when they deserved it. "No, we had a chat about that lovely little message in a bottle you sent."

Definitely should have sent flowers, Remy thought darkly. With a sigh, he set down the cup on the bedside table and rested his hands in front of him. "And what did you come to in dis talk?"

"That you're a big emo jerk and a sissy." She tugged on her ponytail and teased out a strand of hair to wind around her fingers. "I was a little bit pissed. That's a cruel thing to do to a friend, Remy, asking her to carry around your self-hate." She didn't sound angry, just sad and resigned.

"Dat's not-" Remy stopped, clamped down on his sudden rush of anger. "Dat's not why I gave it to dem. It's just- I couldn't just order dem a place setting. Dey deserve more den dat."

"They deserve happiness. Wholeness. A place where they can be themselves and no one will gainsay them," Lorna said softly, not reacting at all to the barely contained anger. "Am I right? You wanted to wish them everything that you could have and think you don't deserve?"

"Oui." Remy shot back. "Dat's what it's supposed to be, isn't it? A new life for dem. Both dem deserve dat, doesn't matter whether or not Remy does. It 'bout dem."

"You sent me with it, Remy. That's why I was upset. Because you gave them something they can't even fathom and I had to explain it and we all had to pretend like we believed you were really working. Because you didn't belong." She never raised her voice though sarcasm twisted her last words. She shook her head and sighed, "They wanted you there."

The truth was that Remy didn't know why he'd asked Lorna to take over the bottle, but her words bit deep into his subconscious. Of course he couldn't just sneak off, when he could slip in a little statement to ruin someone's night. How typically Gambit.

"I'm sorry, chere. You right. Remy shouldn't have loaded it on you. Dat doesn't change de fact dat it not my place." Remy said. "Nate's earned it. I haven't."

Lorna tugged viciously on the strand of hair around her fingers then folding her hands in her lap before she hurt herself. "You're wrong."

"I don't think dat you get to be de judge of dat, Lorna." Remy shook his head. "It's just dat you don't understand what I am."

"You keep saying that. Well, I'm sitting right here, Remy! Tell me what you are. Tell me why the hell you don't deserve the second, third or hundredth chance that damn near everyone here has had." Spreading her hands wide, she gave him a little shrug. "If I'm truly wrong to believe in you, prove it to me."

"I kill for money. For fun. Remy once raped a 12 year old girl in front of her mother. I killed Sarah and Miles' family without a second thought. Turned one into a killer and de other into a sideshow." Remy's face hardened. She needed to know, so she couldn't trust him. That way, when someone went wrong and he screwed up, he wouldn't get her killed. "Killed one of Nathan, and half de wedding party's friends wit' a fire extinguisher. Just battered him until his face cracked open. And I'd do it now. Kill dat Magneto without a second thought, Wisdom in as ugly a way possible, even if he de closest family dat 'manda got. Dat's who I am, and you want me to put on a suit and dance 'round like I'm part of a family."

There were tears in her eyes by the time he finished and she closed them desperately, biting her lips. She didn't doubt him for a second, knew he meant every word and yet... She looked directly at him. "Would you kill me? Could someone buy you now and set you to kill me? Or to finish what you began and kill Miles? How much would it cost, Remy, if someone wanted you to destroy this school to the last child?" She couldn't help the tears when they traced scalding paths down her face. She let them, refusing to look away from his eyes.

The blood drained from LeBeau's face, making him look positively cadaverous in the dim light. Inside him, something died at the pain in her voice, and he struggled to find the words. All he had to do was tell her 'yes', name a price, and she was safe from him forever. He tried to work his voice, the ugly part of him screaming to stop being so selfish and let the girl go; show her the monster because this time she really will leave, just like you wanted. No more reason to have to be afraid for them any more.

Remy opened his mouth, closed it again and struggled to clear his throat. One little sentence and what he'd set up since getting that bottle would finally pay off. No one to hurt when he died on some job for the mansion, just a footnote in the history of the school; unmourned and unremembered just like he deserved.

And then, in all of that, his voice betrayed him. The only thing to escape his mouth was a choked 'non'.

She sobbed out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. "No," she repeated softly. "Don't ever doubt my faith in you, Remy. And don't try to take it from me." Moving slowly, she leaned forward and took his hands in hers. "You aren't who you were."

Remy blinked rapidly, switching to look at her hands as his thoughts roiled. He felt himself tottering, breaking inside. He swallowed heavily, trying to grab the fringes of his self-control.

"I'm sorry, chere. Remy just don know what to do anymore."

"Can't you believe in me? Even if you don't believe in yourself?" she pleaded. "Trust that what I see is worth something? Sometimes from inside, it's not obvious and looking in the mirror doesn't help. So trust me instead. I'm not going to lie to you." Her voice broke and she stopped abruptly, biting her lips again.

"I want to, chere, but I don't even know where to start." Remy felt feverish, his mind trying desperately to keep up. "I don't even know how to be a fucking human being--" Finally the pain hit him, a hammerblow to the chest. The rest of the sentence was choked out by a sob.

Remy LeBeau had never cried. Not when a john had viciously raped him at ten. Not when he was a teenager, and his lover in the Agency came back in a small box. Not even when he'd finally realised that the memories in his head weren't fakes, put there by someone else to make him a killer. But now, hopelessly, helplessly, in the grip of fever and in the dead of the night, he lost control for a moment, and it snuck out of him.

It never occurred to Lorna to keep her distance. Undone by his tears, she shifted forward, releasing his hands so she could wrap her arms around him and pull him close. Seeing him break down was terrifying. He radiated heat, reminding her of his fever. She didn't say anything, there was nothing to say that wouldn't have been meaningless and cliché.

It was a long time before Remy was able to even pull the barest threads of control back. For a time, he was simply lost, his face buried in Lorna's green hair, lanky body held up by her arms alone. Even as the emotion ebbed, he was trembling constantly. His vision swam, both from sickness and tears, his head aching as he lay there against her shoulder.

She rubbed his back soothingly, waiting for him to calm down, focused on just being there as long as he needed her. His skin was hot and sticky against hers and she had a random thought that she should have opted for a shirt with sleeves rather than her tank top. When he pulled back finally, she ran a hand through his hair. "I'm going to get you some water, okay?" she asked softly, "I'll be right back."

"Oui." The words came out small and weak, his voice deadened from what was happening. The movement of her leaving the bed made his head swim, and he slumped back against the headboard, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. What the hell was wrong with him?

Lorna walked out to the kitchen without hurry, needing the time to recover. Neither Cain nor Remy indulged in such fancy nonsense as bottled water so she filled a glass from the sink. For a moment, she rested her head against the refrigerator, blessedly cool against her face. This was breaking her. She didn't know if she could put up with any more. After a few deep breaths, she went back to Remy's room. She sat in the chair this time and handed him his water. "You should drink as much as you can. It'll help."

"Dat sounds like de best idea Remy heard all night." LeBeau said, accepting the glass. As feeble as the quip was, it was the surest sign that, even brittle, he'd gotten some control back. He took a long draught from the glass, avoiding looking at Lorna.

"Water. Or juice. No alcohol or caffeine, they'll just dehydrate you." She watched him quietly, willing to be patient. She wasn't going away. Sooner or later that would sink in.

Remy stirred uncomfortably. "You know, chere, dat you boyfriend might worry 'bout you spending de night. Plus, Remy didn't use de nice sheets." He said, finishing the glass of water. He was sweating, his skin alternately fever hot and then clammy.

"I'll go home in a bit. Do you want more water?" She took the glass from him. "Take the blanket off. Just use the top sheet or you'll just get too hot. I'll get you some aspirin."

"Doesn't work. Metabolism is too high." He said wearily, sinking down to the sheets. The room spun as she left, and Remy closed his eyes for just a moment to counteract it.

By the time she returned, he was breathing softly, body limp and relaxed in the grip of deep sleep.