Warning : My first warning is that I don’t like regergitating character traits or living up to other writers’ plots, even the authors of Marvel Comics. That said, I will take many liberties with what happened (mostly in Antartica) and what these characters are capable of (emotionally, physically, and with their powers), while trying to stay true to character. Bear with me, sometimes looking at things from a new angle can be a wonderful experience, non ? And my second warning is that there will be a strong appearance of disordered eating. While the actions and thoughts may not be completely up to stereotype, I have dealt with these disorders for a better part of my life and this is simply how they work with in my daily life.

Comments : The POV will be from both Logan and Remy, and the story may switch from third to first person, sorry. Oh, and I’m taking Wolvie’s apperance from the Movieverse where he is close to Remy’s height. Okay, on with the story...

Part One

Nightmares used to plague me, non-stop. And I mean those damn things just wouldn’t leave me the hell alone. Drove me nuttier than Drake on Halloween, too. Now, I don’t pretend to know a damn thing about the human mind, that’s Chuck and Jeannie’s department, but it doesn’t take a telepath to know something’s up with my nightmares. Mainly because they’ve suddenly stopped.

I’ve been having those fucking nightmares since before I can remember… Honest, ‘specially since I can only remember part of my considerable lifespan. And now, without warning, they’ve started leaving me the hell alone. Now, a body’d think that this old man would be happier than anything to have the nightly torture just up and leave… and I am, ‘cept for the fact that while the nightmares have stopped, the dreams have started.

And dreams can be more disturbing than any nightmare. Fear… it’s one of the base emotions we got as human beings. Rage, too. Those are the two things nightmares seem to play on, at least in my world. And those base emotions may knock you for a loop but they’re basic, instinctual, simple. But dreams… they can feed on any stray thought or emotion they please. And these dreams are almost worse than the nightmares themselves because they are anything but simple.

I’d take violent, scary rage over confusion, unease… fucking sorrow any day, easy. These dreams feed off shit that’s just better left alone; they keep diggin’ around in the back of my head and draggin’ up lost memories and feelings that needed to stay lost. Of all the times my damn memory has failed me, it picks now to come back with a vengeance, right? Fucking figures.

 And what’s now, ya ask? Now’s me comin’ “home” (I’m usin’ that title real lightly nowadays) from a trip to Japan to find that all hell has broken loose. Only… it hadn’t. When I walked in the front door, everything was as it should be. Jeannie was cooking. Ororo was gardening. Drake was fucking around. Hank was researching. Warren was bein’ an ass. Rogue was brooding. And Cyke was off playing Fearless Leader somewhere. All was right in the House of Freaks.

 Or, so I thought. There was something off in the air, though, something that I didn’t understand or like. I know deal with a lot of shit ‘cause of feral beast inside me, but it does have it’s advantages. Enhanced senses. Survivor’s mentality. Animalistic wits. So when I walked in and saw everything so deceptively calm and “right,” something inside told me this was the calm after the storm. And a bad storm, at that.

Seeking out the most responsible, level-headed person I could think of (without resorting to talkin’ ta Slim), I stalked off to the kitchen to interrogate our resident red-head. She was busy stirring some real foul smelling stew, but offered up a half smile in my direction before speaking up. Jean’s voice was passive and caring as ever, but there was a wavering lilt to it that even my hearing barely picked up.

“Logan, welcome back. How was Japan?”

“Fine,” I grunted in response. “What’s goin’ on ‘round here?”

 She blinked at me before setting the spoon down on the counter and turning her full attention towards me. “What do you mean, Logan?”

 “I mean, Red, ‘xactly what I said. What’s goin’ on? Somethin’ ain’t right here and I wanna know what it is.” Hey, I may have no patience but at least I’m not growlin’ at her for trying to keep something from me. It’s a start.

 A sigh broke past her pink lips and she seemed to deflate a little, leaning back against the counters. “You’re right, something is wrong.”

 Right when I was about to snap at her for beating around the bush, she snagged a mug and gestured to the table while she filled it with some strong coffee. “Take a seat, Logan.”

 Hiding my confusion and dread with an indignant glare, I walked over and grabbed a chair, turning it around and straddling it. I watched her carefully, noticin’ the stiff and tired way she was carrying herself. This was something she wasn’t happy about and something she really didn’t want to tell me.

“Alright, Jeannie. I’m sittin’, now what the fuck is wrong wit’ this picture?” I asked with a concerned tone, takin’ the sting out of my question, one that was more demand than anything else.

 Another damn sigh. This really wasn’t gonna sit well, but I don’t do suspense.

 “While you were gone, a lot happened. There was the mission to Antarctica, obviously, but that hardly went as planned. You know I wasn’t there; this is a second person account from the others, so bear with me on the sketchy details. The trouble really didn’t have all that much to do with the mission, it happened afterwards. And it all had to do with Gambit-”
 

“Gumbo?” I cut in, noticing the way she used his code name instead of his given name. What had the kid done now, flirted the fur off a polar bear?

 “Yes, apparently our young Cajun friend had some nasty secrets pent up that he never bothered to tell any of the team, or the Professor.”

“Had?” I interrupted again, with a slight growl. Why did I hate this conversation, already? The gloomy forbearing sense that I felt when I walked in doubled the second I realized she was using a past tense at every mention of Remy.

“Logan, please,” she sighed again, asking me not to interrupt anymore. “Anyway, it apparently came out that Gambit was responsible for leading the Marauders and Sabertooth straight to the Morlocks.” Her voice got sharp and there was an edge to her scent that hadn’t been there earlier. “He was responsible for their deaths. The team was outraged, as you can imagine. Eric the Red held a trial, and one thing led to another…” Jean’s voice trailed off and the disgust in her scent faded a little. “They left him there, in Antarctica.”

I’d been silent as the grave during her whole drawn out, dramatic spiel. Hadn’t said another word, just let her sit there and tell me… tell me that the righteous X-Men had left a teammate behind, willingly. Purposely. Suddenly, I snapped out of my own version of disgust. I was fucking outraged.

“They WHAT?” I roared, standing up with my hands resting on the table, looming over the daring red-head seated across the table from me.

 She looked taken aback, her green eyes wide with shock as she looked at me. Guess Red didn’t expect me to be pissed they left one of their own… our own out in some god forsaken waste land to die. Well, ain’t that a comforting thought?

“Logan, I don’t-” She stammered at me.

“Ya don’t what, Jeannie? Don’t know why I’m pissed? Don’t think there’s a problem wit’ ya leavin’ the Cajun out there by his self? Fuck that. I’m goin’ ta go get him, and when I get back-”

She stopped my raging rant with one, softly spoken sentence, her eyes downcast at the lukewarm cup of coffee in her hands.

“He’s dead, Logan.”

 And that’s when the dreams began.