Chapter Text
The humidity had his shirt clinging to his back and trickles of sweat tickling down his chest and sides beneath it. He shifted uncomfortably on the seat of his Harley and glanced across the bustling sidewalk as he put the bike into park.
New Orleans. He hadn’t been before, not in recent memory, and found that he already wished he had picked someplace else to stay for a few days. But he knew no one would expect him to come here; Logan was a Northern man by nature, who liked the cold and the wilderness. No one would think to come looking for him this far south.
He climbed off his bike, adjusted his belt and his jacket, which was also smoldering in the heat, and sauntered his way into the nearest, darkest bar he could find. The air conditioning hit him and he sighed in relief, not even caring about the lingering smell of Freon or mingling smell of sweat, stale beer and greasy bar food.
He moved immediately to the corner of the bar, climbed onto the stool and ordered whatever was on tap. He was served and immediately forgotten about, and that suited him fine. He needed a little breather, a little space to clear his head.
Things had gotten a little too intense back home. It was his own fault. He knew better than to get attached, knew better than to be having thoughts about Jean Grey. Pure, special, untouchable Jean Grey. Logan had fallen hard and fast and stupidly for the woman, and now it was biting him in the ass, over and over again.
He deserved it, he realized. Not only was Jean very much involved with Scott, but she was…not for him. Realistically it would have never worked out, even if they’d had a chance. Logan admired her ambition, her optimism, her intelligence. She was fine star pupil for Xavier. But she was nothing like him. And if she had ever looked inside his mind; really looked, she would have turned and run the other way a long time ago.
He was better off without her anyway. Love like that always lead to heartache, always lead to him getting hurt in the worse way possible. Too often his lovers had been used against him and it cost them their lives. Or, and he still couldn’t tell which was worse, they turned on him at the drop of the dime, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. Either outcome tore him apart. .
He was almost at the bottom of his bottle, so he ordered another, and the bar tender took a little more note of him. Logan smiled. Thanks to his healing factor, he could drink the place dry and still walk out of here. Probably not very well, mind you, but he would still be on his feet. Anyone else would have been dead.
He glanced around the room, taking in the local fare. People didn’t seem to change that much from place to place in the states. Most of the time it was like he was looking at a slight variant of the place he had just been. New Orleans had more character though, he had to give it that. More flash, more flare.
He could feel an energy humming off them; a thirst for life, for excitement. For love.
He heard the door behind him and someone walked in. Logan sensed a change in the air, a new kind of energy. Out of the corner of his eye he glanced at a younger man moving towards the bar. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt that was torn at the sleeves and was so old and worn that it was practically sheer in spots. He carried a long tan trench coat over his shoulder, and below that was a pair of shredded jeans and nearly worn through sneakers. His hair was long, a rusty auburn color that Logan didn’t see often, just dusting the tops of his shoulders and hanging in his eyes.
Logan had to take a second glance at the man’s eyes. They were red, red and gleaming like coals, floating in liquid black. Mutant. Mutant and beautiful.
The young man settled down two seats away from him, tying the coat around his waist and dropping the little card table he’d been carrying. He started riffling through the pockets of his jeans and produced a handful of wrinkled bills. He ordered some water, some beer and a sandwich. The bartender looked over each bill before accepting and then disappeared into the back for a time.
Logan said nothing, nursing his drink and quietly observing the newcomer in his periphery. The man smelled like sweat and gasoline fumes, but there was something else too. Something warm and spicy, something electric, just below the surface. Logan shifted on his stool, swallowing a little too loudly. He felt a twitch in his groin. The smell of the man was turning him on; as if his looks weren’t enough, though it looked as if he’d been working all day and hadn’t showered.
Finally the man with the demon eyes glanced in his direction, “Hot on out dere, non?” he asked blithely with a little smile, chugging down the glass of ice water he’d been handed.
“Sure is,” Logan mumbled, not looking at him directly.
The kid looked him over, “You not from around here I guess. Passin’ through?”
“Yeah.”
“Lots of people do,” the other added casually, “N’Awlins thanks you for stoppin’ by. Gonna stick around awhile?”
“Maybe,” Logan replied, a hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth. He turned to look at the younger man more fully. The kid was tall, and looked thinner than maybe he was for it, but his arms were muscular and lean. Logan could see the edge of his ribs under that thin shirt, and a flash of tan skin through a couple of holes and tears below it. His groin twitched again and he felt a flush of heat there. God dammit, he was horny.
“Anything fun to do around here?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t sounding as forward or perhaps as slyly perverse as he felt.
The other man smiled again; “Oh, lots of t’ings, homme, if you in de mood. Just gotta know where to look.”
He pulled from his pocket a deck of cards and fanned them expertly in front of Logan. “Pick a card, mon ami. Any card.”
Logan almost laughed, more amused by the kid’s accent than the clichéd gesture. “Alright, I’ll bite.” He thought, considering the deck in front of him and then picking the card closest to the man’s index finger, allowing his fingers to brush a long it lightly. There was spark that passed through them, almost literally and Logan stilled for a moment with the card in his hand, just staring. The man stared back for a second, black and red eyes wide, and then quickly glanced away, smile firmly affixed on his lips.
“Now, you look at de card, but don’t show me. Den hand it back, and I give you a li’ insight.”
“Alright.” Logan glanced at the card; the King of Hearts. He passed it back and the copper haired man shuffled it through his deck with fantastic reflexes and precision, allowing the cards to practically fly through the air and catching them neatly in his palm.
Then he pressed the whole deck against his forehead and closed his eyes, humming a little. “Hmm, you a strong man, m’sieur. A warrior; soldier maybe? No…more den dat. You a leader, and dat makes you a king.”
“Getting’ warmer,” Logan said and his voice almost purred. He hadn’t been this attracted to someone in a while, this eager to take a perfect stranger into his bed.
“But being a king requires more den leadership, more den strength. Requires compassion, and…a good heart.” He produced Logan’s card from the deck, letting his fingers flicker over it for a second before it began to levitate and glow bright magenta.
The other patrons around the bar were staring now, watching the trick. Logan was impressed as well, but not for the same reasons. “Dis your card, mon ami?”
The card hovered in front of Logan for a moment and then burned away everything but the heart shape before turning to ash. Logan smiled; “Clever trick, kid.”
“Merci,” the man replied, his voice a little lower, a little more sultry. Logan wasn’t imagining this; the kid was coming on to him for certain. But the moment was ruined as they heard the click of a gun.
Both he and the Cajun turned back toward the bar to see the bar tender pointing a handgun at the young man’s head. “Get out; right now. Don’t want your kind ‘round here.”
The Cajun put his hands up slowly, staring down the barrel of the gun. “Look, homme, don’t want no trouble. It was just a little magic trick, no harm dere.”
The man’s fingers wavered as he pulled back the safety. The boy scrambled down from his seat, backing up hurriedly. “Don’t shoot. I goin’…”
“No you’re not,” Logan muttered then. The bar tender looked up at him in surprise.
“You defendin’ this little muttie piece of shit?”
Logan lifted his fist, allowing the blades that were lodged between his knuckles to appear before the man and his stunned patrons. The man’s eyes widened and his gun shook in his fingers. “Guess I am.” Logan growled.
He stood up and backed towards the Cajun, who was staring at him with the same shocked expression. He put a hand on the man’s arm, “Let’s get out of here.”
“Oui,” the other man nodded, backing out the door with Logan still in front of him. As soon as they put a foot outside, the younger man turned to run. Logan grabbed his wrist lightly and turned him back, “Hey, hold up, bub, no need for that.”
The younger man hesitated, looking caught between fighting and running, staring at Logan’s face. The smell that had intoxicated Logan just a few moments before had changed, now mingled with something bitter. The kid was afraid; and angry, and something else. In full sunlight he could see that he was dirty, sweaty, and there were circles under those stunning red on black eyes. The other man was suffering, perhaps sick.
Logan nodded towards the black Harley he had parked at the end of the street. “Come on, I’m stayin’ not far from here. Let me buy you some lunch and maybe you can show me some more card tricks. What’dya say?”
The man in front of him considered and Logan felt a tremble in his skin. “Alright,” he said slowly. His smile returned, though it was fainter than before. “Gambit come with you.”
“’Gambit’?” Logan chuckled. “That’s some name, kid.”
“I didn’t catch yours,” the red haired man replied as Logan lead him towards his bike.
“Logan.”
“Hmm,” the Cajun nodded, he brushed his fingers along the other man’s hand, lightly playing his fingertips over the veins and the hollows between his knuckles. “I like dat.”
Logan sat down on the seat and patted the place behind him. The Cajun climbed on behind him, settling his arms around Logan’s thick torso, fingers splaying across his muscles for a moment before knotting themselves in the fabric of his shirt for security. “Hang on tight,” he cautioned.
“No problem dere, homme.”
“You ever ride before?”
The red head nodded, “Just not on de back before.”
Logan grinned and opened up the throttle on his Harley, pulling out into the street in a smooth, quick motion. He felt the younger man squeeze tighter against him, so he went a little faster, just to feel him cling to him.
They arrived at the hotel a few miles later, a swanky place located not far from the water. Gambit seemed a little hesitant as he looked up at the place, then cast his eyes to the ground as Logan dismounted from the bike, pulling him along. “Dis a nice place,” he replied.
“Eh, sure, I guess.” Logan shrugged, having not really thought about it. Gambit rubbed his bare arms for a moment before slipping on his trench coat. He knew the kid had to be hot in it, be he seemed a little less awkward while wearing it. In fact, Logan thought he looked amazing in that coat.
They walked together through the revolving front door, and Gambit kept his eyes down, following Logan closely. His fear scent lingered and Logan felt worried. They took the elevator up to the fourth floor and walked down the long carpeted hallway to the room at the end, where Logan swiped his key card and ushered the younger man inside.
The Cajun glanced around at the room; it was nothing too posh or elaborate, just your basic single suite, but there was a large bed, a couch, little kitchen and big screened TV. He felt Logan brush past him and almost visibly flinched, which made the older man even more concerned.
“You get hostility like that often?” he asked, shrugging out of his own jacket and pulling off his flannel shirt, flopping down on the couch and kicking up his feet on the coffee table, letting the cool air wash over his sweaty skin.
“How you mean?”
“That asshole in the bar. People around here threaten you a lot?”
The Cajun shrugged his shoulders. “People are what de are. Gambit pay no mind to dem as long as dey leave him alone. Dat how we all get along.”
“Shouldn’t be that way,” Logan muttered. He patted the couch cushion, “Come on in, relax! I got a room service menu around here somewhere, or I’m sure there’s a couple take out menus in the drawer by the bed. What are ya hungry for?”
The kid seemed to squirm a little, nervous and jittery. Logan stood up and made his way back over to him, putting a hand on his arm. “Hey, it’s alright. You ever been with another mutant before?”
“Not one like you,” Gambit mumbled. “You…seem nice.”
The dark haired man laughed at this statement, but he could see that the other man was completely serious. He lifted his hand and tentatively pushed back some of those long coppery strands of hair from the man’s face and tucked them behind his ear. The taller man shivered a little, looking down at him. Logan felt his arousal return, the fear in the other man beginning to subside by degrees, allowing his real scent to return.
“You look like you’ve been on your feet all day. Why don’t you clean up, take a shower. I’ll order some food, and I gotta few calls ta make. Sound good?”
“Oui,” Gambit nodded, but didn’t move, as if he were waiting permission. But as he struggled to convince him that he was safe here, Gambit leaned down and surprised him by kissing him. Logan gave over to him quickly and eagerly. The kiss was so warm, so inviting. He felt that same strange spark pass through him again, and he carefully put his hands on the taller man’s arms, trying to draw him in closer.
Gambit went obediently, leaning against the shorter, broader man, feeling Logan’s growing arousal pressing against his hip. He moaned a little into the man’s mouth and reached down, brushing his fingers along the straining denim.
Still kissing heatedly, Logan pulled the man out of his coat, running his palm down the man’s back. He felt his wince a little as he touched along his left side, and Logan started to pull away, wondering what was wrong, but Gambit nudged and pushed him along until he fell into a chair by the door. The taller man dropped to his knees in front of him and pulled Logan’s shirt over his head.
The red on black eyes drank in the sight of the other man’s muscular form, not to mention the thick black hair that covered his chest and formed a line that lead down his rock hard stomach and disappeared into the waistband of his jeans. Gambit brushed his fingers along it and made Logan moan softly, his reflexively pushing his hips up towards the touch. The Cajun leaned close, laying himself between Logan’s spread thighs and pressing warm kisses along his naked skin.
Logan gulped loudly when his tongue brushed over one of his nipples, followed by the scrape of teeth. Gambit’s musk was clouding his head, making him so aroused he could barely sit still, fighting the animal urge to bend the kid over and fuck him raw without warning.
He put a hand on the back of Gambit’s head, threading his thick fingers through the long rusty strands. The tresses were damp with sweat and tangled, but Logan was careful. The kid ran a gloved hand along his thigh, reaching up to cup the straining bulge in the man’s jeans. “Just relax, m’sieur,” he purred. “Gambit make you feel good.”
Logan stilled then, hooded eyes suddenly wide open, looking at the Cajun cautiously. He caught the man’s chin in his hand, feeling the little bit of stubble there, and made him look up at him. “Hey…you don’t have to do this, kid.”
The Cajun smiled slyly, “Oh but I want to, cher. To thank you.” He dipped his head again, but Logan pulled him back up, sitting up now and ignoring the ache in his loins that was screaming for attention. “Let’s slow down, take a breath. Why don’t you take that shower, huh? I’ll get the food. Then we can see where the night takes us. Sound good?”
The Cajun nodded, pushing back and awkwardly getting to his feet. He wouldn’t look at Logan, and his sly smile had been replaced with a sullen frown. He was embarrassed, maybe even ashamed. Logan felt a pang of guilt, hoping he hadn’t offended him.
He stood up, trying to reach for the other man, but he flinched away. “Sorry, m’sieur. I go clean up, den maybe…”
Logan caught his wrist as the kid turned and to his surprise he saw those red eyes flash dangerously. A crackle of bright pink energy rippled across his fingers, shocking Logan and making him release the kid. “Don’t touch me like dat,” he muttered.
“I’m sorry…” Logan replied cautiously, still feeling the prickle across his skin. He looked cautiously at the man who called himself Gambit. “Why do you think I asked you up here, Gambit?”
The kid glowered at him. “For de same reason anyone asks me anywhere, mon ami. For sex. Dat all you people t’ink I’m good for. Cheap amusement.”
The anger coming off the kid now as powerful, so was the hurt and resentment and the sick smell. Something was wrong with the kid, something bad. Logan pushed down his temper, knowing the words the man was spiting at him came from a place of fear; a place he had encountered before in many like them. But pity wouldn’t do either. That would just make him more angry.
“Ain’t gonna lie, kid, I want ya. But only on your terms. This has got to be a mutual thing, or it ain’t a thing at all. Not that kind of man.”
“You all dat kind of man.” Gambit spat back. He turned and reached towards his coat, but Logan moved around him and blocked his exit.
“Get outta my way, homme.”
“Not until we set things straight.”
Gambit reached for the cards in his pocket and raised it in front of him, allowing his energy to charge it until glowed brilliantly. “I said get outta my way.” He warned, low and dangerous. Logan recognized a cornered animal when he saw one.
But Logan kept his ground. The kid needed his help. Even if he didn’t exactly know it at the moment. “Go ahead, Cajun. I got all night.”
Gambit bellowed and flung the card at his head. Logan dodged it, allowing it to hit the door behind him as he lept forward and tackled the taller man to the ground. A little explosion rocked the room, knocking several pictures from the wall and blowing the thick door off its hinges.
Great, just great. Now they were gonna have security and probably a bomb squad on their hands.
Gambit struggled beneath him, but he could tell the kid was overwhelmed by his strength by the feeble way he pushed at him. Not surprising, not many people expected him to be as heavy as he was, what with his adamantium skeleton weighing down on them.
But this was something else. The kid was sweating suddenly and pale and Logan smelled blood. He caught the Cajun’s hands and pinned them to the ground while the other man screamed and cursed him, noticing that the strength seemed to be going out of him. Had he accidentally hurt the kid?
“Dammit, Gambit, get a grip! I ain’t gonna hurt ya!”
“Fuck you!”
Gambit’s eyes suddenly began to roll in his head and Logan dropped his defensive stance over him, instead picking the kid up in his arms. When his hand brushed his back he found it damp and sticky and when he pulled it away it was smeared red. He turned the limp man over and saw that he was bleeding liberally from a long laceration in his back. Someone had stabbed him, and recently.
He heard a commotion from the hallway then, people shouting and emergency lights flashing. Logan cursed as he gathered up the now unconscious man in his arms and grabbed his jacket before making a run for the exit. He passed a group of startled people, who shouted as he made his way passed them, and darted down the emergency stairwell.
As he reached the bottom floor and kicked the door open, he was greeted by a startled cop, who shouted at him.
“Sorry, bub, got no time to explain!” He punched the man and knocked him aside, knowing he would have to forego his bike in favor of safer transportation. Luckily, he saw someone getting out of a car just then. He rushed the man, pushing past him before the valet could grab the keys and knocked him aside. “I owe ya pal, sorry!” he laid Gambit in the passenger seat and locked the doors as the startled civilian and valet pounded on the glass, and then took off like a shot into traffic, cutting several people off and causing quite a mess, but in all the chaos he was able to slip down a side street into a less crowded section of town and vanish.
**
Logan paced the floor of his new hotel room. It was a much smaller place, seedy and less than hygienic, but people didn’t ask questions here. He had managed to carry Gambit in without being noticed, which was a small grace. But the kid was still in a bad way.
After finally getting a good look at him, Logan began to piece together some of the causes for his new friend’s actions. Gambit was a street kid, no doubt about it. The unwashed clothes, the worn through shoes and tattered gloves, the odd possessions he kept in the pockets of that long trench coat—a tooth brush, toilet paper, a dozen or so business cards from churches and shelters. It also explained his bizarre behavior, from the eagerness to seduce Logan to the skittishness he exuded when he was rejected.
Only Logan hadn’t really rejected him. He just…
He found himself growling in frustration, not knowing what to do next. Gambit was still unconscious on the bed, lying on his stomach with his face turned towards him. Logan had stripped him out of his dirty clothes so that he could clean the wound in his back. He was both relieved and concerned when he got a better look at it. The wound was older than he first guessed, having already started to heal. But it had been reopened in the struggle, and Logan smelled signs of infection in it. Gambit needed medicine, maybe even a doctor, and right now he was far from home and even farther from familiar and friendly contacts.
There were other lesser things to worry about too. Clearly the kid was malnourished, dehydrated, and lacking in sleep. All these things plus the stress of their fight had rendered him as he was now. Logan could cure these ills…if Gambit would let him. But he had been around too long to assume such a thing. He knew the deep distrust mutants had for other people, especially those who’d had it rough as Gambit did. Getting him to believe that Logan only wanted to help him, without some ulterior motive, was going to be a challenge.
He sat down in the chair next to the bed by the window, allowing the cool breeze from the window fan to blow over him, and flicked on the TV. Occasionally his eyes would flicker towards the sleeping man on the bed, drinking in the little details of his features. He wondered how old he was; how long he’d been living on the street. He wondered if there was someone, anyone, who knew him and could help.
He started riffling through the stack of cards he’d found in the trench coat. A lot were from charities and churches, some Logan had heard of before, some he hadn’t. There were business cards too, and Logan scowled at them, guessing whom they belonged to and why they had been given to the man. Finally he came across a little scrap of paper that was folded among them, and inside it had a name and a phone number. Logan noted that the area code was local and felt a little relief. Maybe this was a friend of Gambit’s, someone who could take him in.
The man on the bed shifted and moaned a little and Logan moved towards him, tucking the cards away in his own pocket. He pressed his hand gently on the man’s upper back, feeling him breath and shift. The red on black eyes came open and as Logan expected, he jumped, startled by the unfamiliar surroundings.
“Shh, don’t get up too fast. Stay down, you’re alright.”
Gambit pushed himself up on one elbow and turned to look back at him, not seeming to recognize him at first. “What’d you do to me?” he gasped, realizing he was naked beneath the blankets. “What’d you do!?”
“Shh! Nothing!” Logan cringed now, wishing he had thought to redress the kid. The man was obviously terrified. “You were bleeding, so I had to get you out of your clothes. I cleaned up that cut on your back, but I swear I haven’t touched ya in any other way.”
Gambit kicked at him, trying to escape, and the dark haired man easily avoided his feeble blows. “Listen to me, Gambit, you’re hurt, you’re sick. You need to relax. I just wanna help.”
“Dey all say dat. Dey all say dey can offer me another way out, but all dey want is ta use me! Well I’m done wit dat shit, homme!”
“Look, I know you ain’t got much reason to trust me right now, but there’s a reason you picked me in that bar, I know it. So what was it? What made you pick me? Did I look like an easy target?”
“Non!”
“Then why me!?”
“Because!” The struggling man stilled with Wolverine leaning over him, staring up into his face as if he had just realized something. “Because…” He sunk back into the pillows and his hand came up alongside Logan’s face. Logan nuzzled his palm and felt an odd sensation wash over him. Gambit’s scent changed, shifting between fear and lust and trepidation. Logan realized finally what the scent meant. The kid was Empath of some sort, able to sense others emotions. He was sensing Logan right now, trying to read what kind of man he was, if his intentions were what he said.
So Logan put all his concentration into letting Gambit know. The kid needed to feel safe, he needed to know that he wasn’t the sort of man that would hurt him or take advantage of him. That he knew where he was coming from, at least in some sense. That he had been a victim too, and understood.
The feeling passed and the red haired man sunk back, seemingly exhausted, with a little gasp. Logan held his hand against his cheek, liking the warmth and the feel of it and hoping to further reassure him. “Do ya understand now, kid?”
“Oui,” Gambit gulped. His black eyes were wet and moisture appeared at the corner. He scrubbed it away with the back of his wrist angrily. “Desole, mon ami. I…misjudged you.”
“Nah, I don’t think you did. You just got scared. It’s okay, it’s normal, all things considered.” He pressed a little kiss to Gambit’s palm before standing up and making his way over to the little fold out table against the wall, where brown bags of take out were sitting. He pulled out a Styrofoam container of soup and bunch of crackers, along with bread and what looked to be a club sandwich. He brought them all to Gambit and sat them down on the nightstand next to the bed. “All yours, take your pick. Got drinks too, but you need to drink some water. Think that’s why you passed out.”
He grabbed a bottle of it and passed it to the kid, who gulped it down eagerly, nearly choking. “Merci,” he mumbled, wiping his mouth on the back of his arm again. Logan smiled and then grabbed a folded t-shirt from the edge of the bed. “Here, I got ya these too. Nothing fancy, but figured you needed something clean. I put your stuff in the laundry.”
Remy nervously took the t-shirt, feeling the clean dry cotton in his fingers and slid it over his head. It was a little large on his thin frame, but he didn’t mind. It didn’t smell and covered him. Logan also handed him a pair of underwear and plain blue lounge pants.
“Where you get dese?”
“Bought ‘em from the store around the corner. Nothing fancy, believe me. But they’ll do in a pinch. Hope they fit, you’re such a gangly thing.”
Gambit smirked, putting the clothes on without removing the blankets. “Well, we can’t all be short dark and hairy.” He chuckled.
Logan laughed in return and pushed the food towards him again. “Eat, it’s getting’ cold.”
He did his best to pretend to watch TV, not wanting to stare as the younger man devoured the food in front of him like a starving dog. Logan ached to see his suffering; he’d known that sort of hunger before, and the shame and helplessness that went along with it. But he also sensed that Gambit was always aware of his emotions, and so he pretended to ignore him, keeping things casual.
“How come you not use your claws on me?” he asked a few moments later, mouth still full.
Logan blinked at him, “I didn’t want ta hurt ya.”
“Why not?” Gambit asked, “I coulda blown your head off w’it dat card I threw at you.”
“Yeah…you could have tried.” The dark haired man replied, taking another bite of his own burger. Gambit eyed him curiously.
“You got some secret you keepin’?” he asked tentatively.
Logan shrugged his broad shoulders, “Not so much a secret as it is a detail. A detail that can wait. You need anything else?” he looked down at the empty containers, glad to see the kid had eaten his fill.
“Non, but thank you.” Remy said. He winced as he tried to get comfortable against the headboard. “Feel kinda sick actually…dat de most I’ve had in a while.”
The sick scent on the man lingered, and Logan noted that his body temperature had risen some degrees. He put a hand on Remy’s cheek and the man flinched again, but only a little. Logan withdrew apologetically, “Sorry. I won’t touch ya if you don’t want.”
“It’s…alright. Just…not used to it. You so kind ta Remy.”
“Remy?”
The kid blushed. “Dat my real name. But everyone just call me Gambit.”
“I like Remy better.”
The kid chuckled a little, though it was a weak sound. “Thought I was supposed to be the charmer.”
His brow furrowed and he made a little whimpering sound in his throat, rubbing his head. “Lie down,” Logan instructed, helping him to shift back under the blankets. “You’re burning up. Gonna go get you something for that, okay? Stay put, don’t open the door for anybody but me, got it?”
Remy nodded vaguely, curling up in the blankets like he was freezing and shutting his eyes tightly. Logan swept back his hair again and Remy didn’t flinch this time. He stood up and discarded the trash before grabbing his keys and making for the door. “Will you be here when I get back?”
“Oui.” Remy mumbled, peeking up at him. Logan sensed he wasn’t lying and so he nodded and slipped out the door.
Once he was down the hall he stopped and looked back, half expecting to see Gambit sneaking out the door. But after a few minutes of quiet observation, he neither saw nor heard anything. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, sighing as he looked through the contact list. He had hoped to avoid this; to avoid having to deal with anyone, at least for a while. But Gambit, Remy, needed him.
“One of these days I’m gonna have to stop being such a pussy for these wayward kids,” he muttered to himself, dialing the number and waiting for someone to pick up.
“Hello? Logan, is that you?”
“Hey, sweetheart,” Logan sighed, hearing Ororo’s familiar accent on the other end of the line. “Sorry for not saying goodbye before.”
“Where are you? Everyone has been worried.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” he muttered.
“Scott has been worried too, my brother. Why did you depart so suddenly? Are you well?”
“I’m fine, but…” he looked back towards the door. “I’ve got someone with me that needs some help. I can’t get back just now, but do you think you and Hank could come down and have a look?”
“Certainly. But why us?”
“Because you two are about the only people I trust enough with this kid right now. He’s a little…unstable, and he’s sick. I think he’s gotten tied up in some bad stuff around here. I wanna help ‘im.”
“Of course, Logan. Where are you?”
“New Orleans.”
“How—“
“Nevermind. Just…how soon can you get here?”
“We’ll be on the next plane.”
“Thanks, Stormy. I owe you one.”
***