The Medicine of Life
by Jennie

"A faithful friend is the medicine of life." The Bible, Ecclesiasticus 6:16

***

Cyke is a clever little shit.  'Course, if you tell him I said that, I'll
have to kill you.  It was all his idea, y'see.  He insisted that I 'check' on
Gambit.  Said he was worried, that he didn't think the kid was eating or
sleeping.

Well, big surprise there, One-Eye.  The kid gets left for dead in a frozen
wasteland, makes his way home, and you banish him to the boathouse?

That, Cyclops insisted, was for LeBeau's protection.  The others - Rogue and
Warren, to be specific - were still mistrustful of him.  He was afraid, he
said, that their attitude would affect the kid adversely.

I suggested he go check on Gambit himself.

Oh no, he disagreed firmly.  Gambit was convinced that everyone hated him.
As it was a well-known fact that I never, ever bothered to lie about how I
felt towards another, be he human or mutant or whatever, I should be the one
to go down and see if he was doing all right.

I put up a good argument for the sake of appearances, but in the end, I gave
in.  Mostly because I *was* pretty worried about the kid.  That, by the way,
is another thing you're not allowed to tell Cyclops.

Once the mansion had quieted for the evening, the kids in their rooms
'studying', most of the resident X-Men slouched in the parlor watching the
television, and the rest playing what sounded like a lively game of poker, I
set off for the boathouse.  My tendency to wander the grounds at night
prevented any curiosity about my departure.

Except for Scott and Jean, of course.  Both gave me approving looks, assuming
that I was going down to check up on our resident Cajun.  A smile for
Jeannie, a curl of the lip to Cyke, and I was on my way...

Slowly, I approached the boathouse.  Peered in a window, but saw no sign of
Gambit.  Okay.  More direct action was called for here.  I marched up to the
door and knocked.

Nothing.

Dammit, I knew he was in there, I could smell him.  So I knocked louder.

Still nothing.

"Gambit!" I yelled.  "I know yer there, kid.  Open up."

Silence.

"I'll kick it in," I warned.

"Door ain' locked."

Finally, a response.  I turned the knob and entered.  And nearly passed out
from the heat within the small structure.  Not only did he have a fire
blazing in the fireplace, he must have had the heat cranked to the max.

Curled up on the floor in front of the fire, he was huddled inside of a heavy
comforter.  Shivering.  *Shivering* fer godssake!

Concerned, I moved in for a closer look at him.  Damn, he looked bad.  The
skin on his face so pale that it was nearly translucent, heavy shadows under
his eyes so dark they were almost black, and he'd lost so much weight that
his cheekbones looked as though they might pop through his skin at any moment.

"Ya sick, kid?" I asked with a frown.

He tightened his hold on that comforter he'd wrapped around himself and shook
his head.  "Remy fine.  Jus' tired."

Uh huh.

"When did ya last sleep, kid?"

"Las' night."

"Yer lyin' to me - I can smell it on ya. Now, let's try this again: when's
the last time ya slept?"

He shrugged.  "Dunno.  Coupla days ago, mebbe."

"Nightmares?"

Heavy sigh.  "Oui."

"Ya ain't been eating, either, have ya?"

"Not hungry."

I went into the kitchen and started rummaging.  Talk about a bare cupboard!
Christonacrutch, there was no food - I mean *nothing*.  Not even a can of
soup.

Really worried by now and extremely pissed off that not one of us had even
bothered to check up on him, I slammed the cabinet doors closed and stomped
back into the living room.

"What the hell are ya trying to do?  There are easier ways to kill yourself,
you know.  Starvation takes one hell of a long time."

The little bastard shrugged at me again.

Okay.  Enough already.  "You," I said severely, pointing at him, "stay here.
I'll be right back."

No response.  He just stared fixedly into the fire.

***

Back at the mansion, I headed directly into the kitchen.  Since I was dealing
with a man who'd last eaten God only knows when, I selected foods that would
be easily digestible: broth, saltine crackers, jello cups, eggs, and bread.
Just as I was packing my finds into a box, Angel walked into the room.

"Planning on running away from home, Wolverine?" he asked in that
sarcastically snooty tone of his.  The one that never failed to set my teeth
on edge.

"Fuck off, Wings."

"What's your problem, asshole?"  Now his voice was not only sarcastic and
snooty, it was belligerent.

Turning to face him, I allowed all of my rage to show in my expression.  "'M
warning ya, Worthington, one more word outa ya and I'll rip yer tongue right
out of yer head."

"Now look here, you-"

Luckily for the flying wonder, Cyclops walked into the kitchen before I could
carry through on my threat.  He took in the situation with a glance and moved
to stand between Worthington and me.

"Cool it, you two."

Neither of us broke off the glare we were exchanging.

"I *said* cool it.  NOW."

I went back to placing the food into the box I'd located, but
Warren-the-flying-asshole actually took a step closer to me.  'Cooling it'
was apparently not a phrase he was familiar with.

Cyclops shook his head at the fool.  "Do as he says, Warren.  Get out."

"But-"

"Out," Cyclops said in his best
I'm-your-boss-and-you'd-damn-well-better-do-as-I-say voice.

Mumbling under his breath about leaders with delusions of godhood and
insanely dangerous half beast mutants, Worthington left.

Scott turned back to me.  "So?" he asked.

"You were right.  Kid ain't been eating or sleeping.  He looks like shit."

"And?"

"And I'm gonna go back to the boathouse and feed him.  Then he's gonna sleep,
even if I have to knock him unconscious."

"Should we have Hank take a look at him?"

I hesitated for a moment.  "No.  At least, not yet.  Ya know how he is about
doctors.  Let me see what I can do with him tonight.  If he's no better
tomorrow, we'll talk about it again."

"You'll be staying at the boathouse?"

"'Course.  Can't leave the kid alone now.  He's pretty shaky."

He nodded his approval.  "Check with me in the morning, and we'll decide
where to go from there."

***

Didn't look like he'd moved at all while I'd been gone.  When I walked in, he
did raise his head, looking mildly surprised to see me.

Somehow, I suspected that he'd been lied to and let down so often in his life
that trust and belief were not feelings he had any familiarity with.

"Y' came back," he said softly.

"Said I would, didn't I?"

His expression grew curious.  "Why y' here, Wolvie?"

I decided that now was not a good time to make my usual objection to him
calling me that.  "'Cause yer sick, kid."

Huddling even further into his comforter, he dropped his gaze to the fire.
"Tol' y', Remy fine."

"Yeah, well, ya'll be a lot better after ya get some food into yer stomach
and a little sleep."

"Not hungry," he said mulishly.

I snorted.  "Listen up, bub; I'm gonna make ya something to eat, and hungry
or not, ya'll eat it or I'll pour it down yer throat."

That almost got a rise out of him.  Straightening his back, he frowned at me
and opened his mouth to argue.  I returned his stare with interest, not about
to back down.  Then, he just... deflated.  Slumped back down and turned his
head away.

Damn.

Oh well, I was willing to bet that he'd give me a fight when it came time to
eat.  At least he'd spoken to me.  Shown curiosity about my presence in the
boathouse.  Now, if I could just get him to stop referring to himself in the
third person...

With a sigh, I went into the kitchen.  After unpacking the foodstuffs, I
opened a can of chicken broth and heated it in the microwave.

Carrying a cup of broth, a package of saltines, and a mug of sweetened tea, I
reentered the living room.  Set the food on the coffee table and debated just
how I wanted to tackle feeding him.

He ignored me.  Didn't even look up when I shoved an armchair and an end
table close to the fireplace.  I had a feeling that it would take more than a
little work on my part to get the food into him, and damned if I was gonna
chase him around the floor to accomplish my self-appointed task.

When the furniture was rearranged to my satisfaction and the food laid out on
the end table, I turned to stare at him, arms crossed on my chest.

"Up," I ordered.

Remy-the-silent had returned with a vengeance.  He gave absolutely no sign
that he heard me.  Hell, he gave no sign that I was even in the room with him.

I squatted down in front of him, stared at his averted face, and spoke
firmly, "Get up and sit in the chair, Gumbo."

Nothing.  Not even a blink.

"I moved it close to the fire for ya," I cajoled.

Red on black eyes skittered past me to the chair, then back to the fire.
"Non."

"I made ya broth.  And tea.  C'mon, Remy.  It'll be easier to eat if yer
sittin' in the chair."

"Wh-wha'd you call me?"

"Called ya 'Remy'.  'S yer name, ain't it?"

He frowned in confusion.  "But, y' never... *no one* ever uses Remy's name.
Cajun, Swamp Rat, Gumbo, never 'Remy'."

"D'ya mind?"

After a moment's thought, he shook his head.  "Non.  Jus' s'prised me."

"Okay then, Remy, how about moving to that chair now?"

Unsteadily, he rose to his feet and shakily made his way to the chair.  He
ignored the food, instead staring at me with questions in his eyes.

"What?" I asked when he continued to study me in silence.

"Y' bein' nice to Remy."

I shrugged.  "Yeah, so?"

"Pourquoi?"

"'Cause I'm worried 'bout ya."

"Why?"

"Yer my friend."

My answer seemed to stun him.  "Friend?"

"Yes, Remy, *friend*."

"Remy don' have any friends."

"Well, ya have one," I informed him.  "Now, eat."

He made a face but reached out to pick up the soup.  His hand shook so badly
that he had to bring the other one out from under the comforter to avoid
spilling the hot liquid all over himself.  It took a while, but he managed to
get down most of the broth and a couple of crackers.

Setting the almost empty cup on the table, he looked at me for... what *was*
he looking for?  Approval, maybe?

I smiled at him.  "Good job, Remy.  Think you can drink that tea now?"

Nodding, he reached for the mug, cradling it between his hands.  I was happy
to see that he was no longer shivering, and the tremor in his hands had
lessened noticeably.  He sipped the tea, seemingly at peace with the silence
between us.

His eyelids started to droop, and I grinned.  I'd get him to sleep, too.
It's a well-kept secret that I'm one stubborn sonofabitch.  He is, too - but
the kid ain't in my league.  I've had years and years of practice to perfect
my technique.

I quietly cleaned up, carrying the dishes into the kitchen, and putting them
in the dishwasher.  When I went back to Remy, he was half asleep.

"C'mon, kid.  Time fer bed."

He sat up quickly and stared at me with wide and fearful eyes.  "Non.  Not
tired.  Can' sleep, Logan.  Please."

The poor kid was terrified.  This I could understand.  Nightmares - been
there, done that.  Way too often.

"Remy, I know yer havin' nightmares.  I get 'em myself, so I know how scary
they can be.  I'll be here, though.  Would that help?"

"Y'll stay?"

"Yeah.  That was my plan all along."

With a look at the roaring fire, he shivered.  "Be cold upstairs."

"That's easy to fix.  We'll sleep down here.  Ya can have the couch, and I'll
take the chair."

"Non.  Remy be fine right here."

Not a chance, kiddo.  "Ferget it, Remy.  Ya need to stretch out and relax."

"But-"

I got up and shoved the couch a little closer to the fire.  "There.  Lie
down.  Now."

That mulish expression reappeared.  "Non."

"Ya've lost weight, bub.  Won't be any problem to pick you up and put you on
the couch," I warned him.

With a heavy sigh, and a great show of reluctance, he slowly moved to the
sofa.  "Happy now?"

Ah, sarcasm.  A good sign, I decided.  "Ecstatic."

He mumbled something under his breath in French.  I strongly suspected it was
not complimentary but wasn't sure.  I know enough French to order food and
ask for directions, that's about it.

Ignoring him, I settled into the chair and closed my eyes.

***

"Non.  'S cold.  So cold.  Don' leave me here!"

I woke with a start as soon as he started yelling.  Luckily I'm the type to
awaken fully aware and able to move quickly.  If not, Remy would have landed
on the floor, the way he was thrashing about.  I caught him just as he rolled
off of the couch, and, I'm not quite sure how it happened, but I ended up on
the couch.  With Remy on my lap.

"Easy, kid," I soothed.  "Yer okay.  Quiet down, now.  'M not gonna let
anythin' bad happen to ya."

It took a while before he calmed.  Eventually, though, my soft words seemed
to do the trick.  With a deep sigh, he snuggled against me, tucking his head
under my chin and wrapping his arms around my midsection.
 

I live in my own little world
But that's okay
They know me here