Chapter 12 finally done.  As I've said before, this is
a WIP and in there are occasionally things that don't
fit with previous chapters, or that weren't brougth up
earlier.  Next draft (when I get to it) things will
make more sense, I promise.  However, I'm pretty happy
with this chapter.

XT

Title: Three of a Kind - 12
Author: X_tricks2000@yahoo.com
Archive: Lu, Eoen others, please no as this is a WIP
Series: Three of a Kind
Pairing: Remy/Paul NC-17
Summary: Taxes, late nights and changes.

Chapter 12?

"No more - please - no more."  Scott groaned and
dropped his aching head into his folded arms.  Paper
rustled, almost drowning out Charles' soft laugh.  "I
give up - I'll do anything.  Just - no more financial
prospectuses.  Magneto was right, I'll join the
Brotherhood.  Capitalism is a human institution
designed to drive mutants insane."

"I thought that was spandex."  Helena's cool voice was
amused.  "And didn't you want to upgrade the Blackbird
this year?  That takes money.  We're more than halfway
done.  For today."

Scott groaned again but pushed himself back up.  He
could do this.  He was a hero after all.  "Where's the
coffee?"

Helena handed the airpot over and Scott poured himself
another cup, grimacing at the first bitter sip.  It
was far past dinner, the kids were asleep, and he
thought enviously of Jean - probably warm and drowsy
in their bed. She'd done her part already, producing
the reports and anticipated financial needs for next
year's medical and research needs.

"Where were we?"  Charles asked and Scott dutifully
picked up the next piece of paper.

The employment figures and worker's compensation
packages."  Helena reminded them.  It was her job.
Helena was the Academy's financial advisor; a licensed
CPA with a law degree.  And a mutant.

Scott glanced over at her and smiled tiredly.  The
lights gleamed off her smooth scales. He'd known her
for several years, he used to have fantasies about
her. Sometimes he still wondered, in between fantasies
of his wife or Emma.  Sometime all three figured
prominently; red and black and white - an irritable
image.

Helena's mutation inflicted on her all the public
discrimination visible mutant's face and, like the
vast majority of mutants, it did little else.  She had
no incredible powers or strengths, no psychic talents,
no energy beams.  Helena had scales.  In Scott's
opinion, it made the tall woman even more striking.
She was model tall and model slender, dark skinned and
the translucent, iridescent scales only added to her
striking beauty.

"Scott -"  Charles murmured, shuffling papers.  "the
forms?"

"Right."  Scott muttered, flushing.  He must be tired.

All the papers and data-disks spread across the formal
dining room table were the apex of months of work and
research.  Charles had a team of accountants and they
worked year round to produce the results spread piled
them.  Illegal purchases, like the parts and supplies
for the Blackbird, were hidden among more innocent
figures.  Employment figures, liscencing fees for the
various computer programs and the medical facility and
the teaching credentials all had to be renewed,
maintained and paid for.  Investments, accounts,
stocks and bonds all had to be totaled up and,
hopefully, when the red and the black were added
together the accounts all ended up in the black.
Really, all he was here for was to sign papers and get
filled in on what was going on for this year's
inevitable IRS audit.

Xavier's academy was audited every year - every single
year - by both the federal and local governments.  The
education department also dropped by and anyone else
that could use their beauacracy to harass a mutant
owned business.  After two months of headaches, late
nights and staring at spreadsheets on a computer
screen, Scott felt like he'd rather face something
simple like, say, Apocalypse or another alien
invasion.  He'd certainly feel less persecuted.

"I think that's enough for tonight.  What about you?"
Charles finally said, sometime in the depths of the
health insurance figures.

Helena's head was propped wearily in her hand.  "I
think probably decisions made at three am aren't the
best ones."

"I'm sorry we had to delay this so long."  Scott
offered apologetically.  "But things have been really
unsettled here the last few months."

Helena shook her head.  "That's not the problem.  It's
the expansion of the research facilities that's the
problem.  Coordinating that  with the school's
liscencing is a nightmare.  I really think you two
need to consider physically separating the school from
the - rest of it.  It would simplify the legal
aspects."

"And split our forces - it would simplify a great deal
for our enemies as well."  Scott said.

"Please - tomorrow."  Charles broke in tiredly,
breaking off briefly as an enormous yawn overcame him.
 "Tomorrow is soon enough for that.  Helena, will you
stay the night?  It's a long drive back to the city.
You're tired and you're welcome of course."

She stood and stretched, silk business suit hissing
softly over her smooth skin.  "I think I will.  Thank
you, Charles."

The professor waved her off with a smile.  "The guest
room at the back of the second floor is ready."

Scott stood and stretched himself as Helena left.

"Scott."  Charles' voice stopped him.

"Hmm?"

"Wait a moment will you?"

"Now?"  Scott slumped back into his seat, rubbing the
back of his neck.

"Yes."  Charles rolled around to stop by his chair.
"Scott -  Jean told me - "

Scott gave the professor a bewildered look, stomach
clenching at the worry his guardian wasn't able to
hide.  "Told you what?"

Charles took a deep breath.  "She's pregnant."

Scott's hands closed spasmodically on the arms of his
chair.  He stared at Charles, feeling the blood drain
from his face.  "Pregnant - oh - god.  God."

The professor glanced briefly down at his hands folded
in his lap then met Scott's eyes steadily.  Despite
the thick red quartz, Charles had always known how to
do that - see his eyes behind the sheltering glass.
"She asked me to tell you."

Scott looked away, lips pressed together in anger and
fear.  "Right.  What did she think I was going to do -
yell at her?"

"I think she wanted to give you the opportunity to
*be* angry without feeling unnecessarily guilty about
it."  The professor's gray eyes were sympathetic.

"Is she going to - try to keep it?"

"I believe so."

Scott shot him a sharp look. "You didn't give her some
lecture did you, Charles?  Convince her it was the
moral thing to do?"

The professor leaned back in his chair, offended.  "Do
you think I would do that? To her or to you?  I know
you're looking for someone to blame -"

"I'm not -"  Scott put his head in his hands and
groaned.  Fear and a faint, nearly crushed hope, made
his stomach turn.  "right - I am.  I'm sorry."

He felt Charles' hand on his shoulder, squeezing
gently.  "It's fine, Scott.  I know - how difficult
this is."

Scott clutched his face in his hands, breathing deep
to control his fear.  "Just what we needed, on top of
everything else."

"Perhaps it's time for you to start mending fences."
The professor suggested.  "With Logan -"

"I am!"

"And Remy."

Scott was silent.  He wasn't sure what to say,
honestly.  He hadn't really let himself think about
the thief - their newest full member - the one who'd
lied to him face-to-face.  The one he believed had
convinced Logan to lie to him as well.  He'd been
trying to ignore the whole situation - he'd been
ignoring the thief instead.  He'd paid little
attention to the emotional upheaval between Remy and
Logan - only allowing himself to feel surprise that
Logan had allowed the thief to care for him when he
was feral.  Before the arrival of the Cajun, that had
been Scott's job.  He felt the unexpected bite of
jealousy.  Another thing he hadn't let himself feel.

"I don't even know where to start."  He groaned.  "He
- he's, god, he's a thief."

"A mutant."

"A mobster."

"He's an X-man and he's risked his life for you - he's
fighting like the rest of us for hope, for the
future."  Charles looked briefly away.  "Yes, I'm
troubled by his past but if we cannot look beyond that
- and towards the future - we have no hope at all.
He's been struggling lately - along with the rest of
us.  It's been a difficult year."

Scott flopped back in his chair.  "It's late.  I don't
have a clue what to do about him."

Charles smiled at him.  "Sleep on it.  Go see Jean."

"Right."  Scott stared at the professor for a long
moment, to tired to move.  Too scared.  Seeing Jean,
hearing what Charles had told him from her lips, would
make it all real.  Too real.  The last time Jean had
decided to get pregnant, the miscarriage had nearly
killed her.  And the time before that.

"Go to bed." Charles said again.  "I am."

"Charles -"

The professor paused at the door way, craning his head
around rather than turn his chair.  "Yes?"

"Is it yours?"

Scott saw the flutter of his old guardian's eyelids in
profile before he turned away again and knew the
answer.

"Ask Jean, Scott.  Go and talk to Jean."

Scott sat in the empty room, staring blankly at the
scattered papers.  At least she hadn't used Logan's
sperm this time.  He wondered if it made him feel
better or worse.

He sat for awhile longer before he pulled himself to
his feet.  He should go to bed.  He needed to go to
bed, but he didn't want to.
Scott just didn't think he could face her.  It wasn't
just that he was angry - and he *was* angry, he
realized.  Jean hadn't told him, she'd told the
professor.  He understood why.  Standing with his
fists clenched in the dark hallway, Scott certainly
understood why.  But still - he would have liked to
know - from her.  Like to know before she got herself
pregnant, have his chance to remind her how much he
loved her.  How he couldn't bear to lose her.  Not
even for this.

He was terrified.  Scared because he could lose her
and why this scared him more than having Magneto throw
a building on her, he didn't know.  Maybe because he
trusted her to take care of herself - be smart and
brave and powerful.  She couldn't use her telekinesis
on a fetus, couldn't use her psychic powers to save
her own life when - if - she miscarried.  Maybe just
because watching her get sicker and sicker as the baby
she wanted so badly tried to kill her had just been
too much for him.  He still had nightmares of the
blood.

He knew that putting it off wasn't going to help and
he was tired enough that maybe he wouldn't yell.  Or
cry.  Scott headed slowly towards the stairs, dragging
his feet like he was seventeen again and being sent to
his room as a punishment.  A dim light from one of the
ground floor study rooms caught his attention and he
turned towards it, eager to be distracted.

Paul looked up from what he was doing when Scott
stopped in the doorway.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?"  He asked.

Paul's face shifted, closing up and Scott cursed
himself for saying exactly the wrong thing.

"Shouldn't you?"  Paul shot back.

Scott came in, standing across the table from the
skinny adolescent who had been the spark for so much
trouble.  He knew Logan blamed Paul for everything
that had gone wrong lately and there were times when
Scott felt a bit of that resentment himself.  They'd
been helping young mutants like Paul for years - ones
with much more traumatic gifts like Marie - why did
Paul have to be so difficult?

Paul was bent over the table, which he'd cleared to
make room for the elaborate domino maze he'd set up.
Scott watched the long, careful fingers standing a
half dozen dominoes in a tight spiral which connected
to a series of lines which spread out across the table
and a bunch of different colors and patterns, marching
over a stack of books that had been set up and to a
single ivory domino, poised and waiting.

"Must have taken hours to set this up." Scott said,
interested despite himself.  He hadn't know there were
that many dominoes in the house.  Paul only shrugged
at him with a brief glance out of his red and black
eyes.  He wasn't wearing his glasses which made him
seem less - hostile -somehow.  Not younger, thank god.
 But definitely more approachable.

"Can't sleep?"  Scott persisted.  He knew it was far
to late for him to try to hold a conversation but he
was too tired to care.  Being careful with Paul hadn't
gotten him anywhere anyway.  If his defenses were down
this late, maybe Paul's would be as well.

"Nope."  Paul put down the last handful of dominos and
stood back, head tipped to one side, and studied his
creation.  "Itching for a hit."

"Aren't you - mostly done with the program?"  Scott
knew quite well that Paul was in his last month on his
six month program.  By spring, Paul was supposed to be
free of any addiction.  They'd done *something* for
him, at least.  Even if they'd really never been able
to get through to him.

Paul's twisted a shoulder dismissively, a movement no
normal human could make and full of disdain.  "Sure.
Doesn't mean I don't want it.  Still.  Always."

"Why?"  Scott finally burst out.

Paul turned and gave him a startlingly sweet, almost
surprised smile.  It made him beautiful and  Scott
felt for the first time what everyone else complained
about.  That charm, that appeal that made him
positively ache to touch him.  "No one here even
bothered to ask me before."

"You - were unconscious." He muttered.  Hank's
deception had been a sore spot between Charles and the
doctor for months.

Paul rubbed his eyes.  "I did smack - well, for the
usual reasons, you know.  Get away from all the shit
I'm rolling in all the time.  Pain killer.  Brain
stroke.  But - it helps me see."

Scott blinked at him.

"I can't see much, really."  Paul said hesitantly.
"Most of the time.  There's all this  - stuff -
everywhere I look.  It isn't' really there, I guess.
But when I do smack, its not so bad.  And the  - the
empathy and the charm, that’s not so bad either."

"It dulls your gifts."

"Guess so."

"Remy said -"  Paul looked sharply at him and Scott
guessed that he'd felt his surge of unease and
irritation.

"Sorry."

Paul blinked.  "He has the same thing.  His eyes - but
not so bad.  The glasses help, some.  He says - it's
*energy* from the sun.  The energy from the sun heats
the molecules, adding kinetic energy and he sees it.
Guess I do to.  Just can't do anything about it.  Remy
says he can work with it and when he does, his eyes
get better.  Guess I'm just going to be blind."

"You're not blind."

"Not now but I don't know what it's going to be like
when Simba finishes yanking the methadone out from
under me."  Paul came over to where Scott stood at the
start of the maze.  "Remy thinks it won't be as bad as
I think.  He says -"

"Are you two sleeping together?"  Scott, listening to
the constant repetition of the Cajun's name, had to
ask.  Paul shot him another smile, sharp and sarcastic
this time.

"Sleeping together?"

"Having - sex."  Scott ground out, feeling the flush
crawl up his face.  God, blushing in front of Paul
wasn't going to do much for his status as a teacher.

Paul's smile gentled and his eyes flicked away from
Scott's.  He was obviously thinking of something else,
something Scott really wasn't sure he wanted to know
about.  "Not really.  Just - sort of messing around.
All PG, you know?  But we are *sleeping* together."

He felt only marginally relieved.  It was a
disturbingly persistent image, Paul and Remy tangled
together.  They suited each other.  The two of them
were easily the tallest in the school, Paul - despite
his age - towered over Scott.  But he was startlingly
thin, thinner than Remy who had the highly developed
muscles of someone who worked out for a living.  Scott
looked Paul up and down.  He remembered his
frightening gauntness when Paul had first arrived.  At
least that was gone.  Paul was wearing an oversize
wife-beater - he had to have stolen it from Logan -
and his bare arms were slim and long boned.  Pants
that were long enough in the leg for him were always
to big in the waist but he wasn't as greyhound gaunt
as he used to be.  Scott saw, with satisfaction, there
was even a hint of fullness at his waist.  Seeing
Paul, clear eyed and not starving might be a small
victory but it was a victory none the less.  Scott was
used to small victories.

"If you've got Remy, why are you harassing Logan?"
Scott said, amazed at the words even as he said them.
He stared at the dominos, rather than at Paul.

Paul gave that amazing, inhuman shrug again.  "I don't
have Remy.  He ain't mine.  He really wants Logan
anyway.  Just - needs some touch.  Me too so - you
know -"

"Touch?"  Scott asked.  It was something Remy had
mentioned, more than once.  The need for touch and the
charm that drew people to touch him.  Evidently Paul
shared that trait, like he shared many other traits
with Remy.  The two of them were a real statistical
impossibility.

"Sure."  Paul rubbed his arms, as he spoke, looking at
Scott awkwardly.  "Just - need to touch, to feel
someone sometimes.  A lot of times, I guess."

"Does it have to be - sex?"  Scott watched Paul shift
closer to him and decided not to move away.

Paul rolled his eyes - a very disconcerting guesture
and very adolescent.  "Like, what else is there?  I
mean, who do you touch?  Everyone thinks of sex when
they touch someone.  And fucking feels good."

"There are a lot of different ways to feel good and
different ways to touch."  Scott argued.  "I don't
just touch Jean and not all touches are sexual."

"You sound like the professor."  Paul snapped.  "What
the hell do you know?  I don't see you being all
touchy feely with your friends!  You're scared what
people are going to think if you touch anyone!  You
won't even talk to Logan!  You think Remy is some kind
of sleaze-ball."

Paul leaned close to hiss in his face, crimson eyes
angry.  "I know a hell of a lot about sleaze, Mr.
Summers and Remy ain't it.  I wish he were a little
more sleazy, I'd be getting some then, wouldn't I?  He
wants you to like him.  You and Logan.  I don't see
why he's bothering.  And you act like some suck up
rich boy - but that isn't what you really are is it?"

Scott stiffened.  He didn't need to hear this from
Paul.  "Paul -"

"What's the matter, Mr. Summers?"  Paul whispered.
"Remembering what it feels like?  How much did you
charge for your ass? Sixty dollars?  Forty?  Less?
Remembering those times when you liked it?  When you
wanted to be close to someone so bad, you even liked
the tricks?"

"Stop it!"  Scott cried, fists clenched and that close
to hitting Paul.  He was looking scornfully at him and
damn if Paul hadn't put his finger just where things
were most tense, most painful.  Those memories.  Those
times when he was so desperate, so lonely that Jack's
abuse was welcome.  Those last months before Charles
found him when he was starting to forget that it was
wrong, what he was doing and what was happening to
him.  Paul found that feeling and dragged it, kicking
and screaming, into the light where Scott couldn't
ignore it anymore.

"You think Remy's like that?"  Paul was watching him
closely, not doubt feeling his churning emotions and
perhaps his churning stomach.  "He cried.  He cried
when we were done.  'Cause he felt so bad."

Scott flinched.  He hadn't known that.  Hadn't wanted
to know that, maybe.  It was easier to assume that the
thief's humor and clever jokes and amused, sarcastic
smile was all that he was.  Scott too tired to avoid
the realization that he hadn't wanted to let Remy in,
he hadn't wanted to have another friend to worry
about, he didn't want to risk getting hurt.  He hadn't
wanted to see the flashes of desperation and
loneliness in the thief's eyes.  But, forced to face
the truth, Scott couldn't just put it aside again.

Honestly, he just couldn't imagine Remy treating
anyone the way Jack had treated him, anymore than he
could imagine Logan acting like that.  Scott's anger
and resentment collapsed and he thought instead of how
miserable the whole situation was and he didn't' need
to add to it.  And he didn't want to leave Logan to
face it on his own anymore.  Maybe he didn't want to
leave Remy alone with it either.  Scott had to admit
that he was pretty tired of being alone himself.

"I - hadn't known that."  He said.  He ran a tired
hand thorough his hair.  There wasn't anyway for him
to just go back to ignoring Remy anymore, which meant
that he'd have to figure out what to do.  What to say.
 He'd rarely talked to Remy about anything beyond
missions.  Scott groaned softly to himself.  Why did
everything have to happen at once?  "I'm not sure - I
wanted to know that."

"Tough."  Paul hesitated then blurted out, going from
startling perceptive and adult to suddenly immature.
"Um.  You won't tell him I told you?"

Scott chuckled and didn't answer while Paul fidgeted.
"Are you going to set off your dominos Paul?  You
spent all night putting them together."

They both paused a moment, studying the table, then
Paul flicked the first domino over.  They went down,
the soft rattle growing as the dominos fell, one after
the other - after the other - after the other.  Scott
watched the chain reaction, the pattern collapsing,
all the hours of careful work gone in a couple of
moments.  His stomach ached, everything could fall
apart, and he wasn't thinking of the dominos.  Logan.
Jean.  Remy.  He glanced over at the tall young man
next to him.  Paul.  Scott dropped into a chair,
suddenly too exhausted to stand.  He should have gone
to bed.

"What are you so freaked about?"  Paul blinked at him,
startled.  "Mr. Summers?"

"Ahh - "  Scott's throat tightened and he was startled
by the urge to just tell Paul.  Late nights seemed to
inspire confessions.   Somehow in the last few
moments, Paul had gone from a child and a student to -
something else.  But some secrets weren't his own to
tell and Scott closed his mouth again.

He looked up at the young man then down at those long
hands and felt the brutal ache in is neck where the
muscles were so tight they hurt.  He thought about
touch, about how he always avoided being touched, and
about showing Paul what else there was in the world
besides sex and being used.  He could use that
reminder himself, it seemed.  "You wanted to know what
else there was besides sex?"

Paul's head tipped in question.  "Huh?"

"Look - I've got a killer neck ache.  Rub it for me,
will you?"

Paul came over and, with considerable hesitation, put
his hands on the back of Scott's neck.  "Um.  I can't
always control my - empathy.  You might - feel things.
 From me."

"That's alright."  Scott muttered.  He rather thought
it would be nice to *not* feel his own feelings right
now.  Paul's hands shifted, they were very warm, and
Scott groaned as those fingers dug into the hard knot
of muscle at the base of his skull.  God, Paul had the
touch.  He was finding every knot and ache, thumbs
pressed into the heavy muscles at the juncture of
shoulder and neck, fingertips massaging his skull
gently.  Paul rubbed for a while and Scott let his
head hang, hands slack on his knees.

Then, there was something else.  Something more.
Scott was too relaxed to stiffen.  It wasn't Paul's
emotions or at least he didn't think so.  It felt
incredible.

"Is that alright?"  Paul whispered uncertainly.

"Jesus, god, what is it?"  Scott groaned.  "Don't
stop."

Paul's breath caught in a soft snicker.  "I got magic
fingers."

Scott didn't have a clue what he was talking about and
was too far gone to care.  He sighed as  Paul's hands
slid across his shoulders, trailing warmth and that
wonderfully soothing sensation that was turning him to
jelly.  It wasn't - thank  god - sexual but it was
incredibly sensual.  He let Paul pick up his arms, one
at time, and rested his head on the table as Paul
rubbed his biceps, his palms and all the way down to
his fingertips.  Warm, warm and a deep, pleasant
tingle.  Paul seemed to have a second sense for just
where he hurt and just how to release the tension.
The headache Scott had been nursing for days simply
dissolved.

Paul's hands were moving in big, lazy circles on his
back and Scott could feel - he was, he realized,
feeling some of Paul's emotions after all - how
content he was.  Paul liked this too and was a little
confused.  He'd expected sex.  For Paul, things that
felt this good were usually sex.  Scott felt dimly
triumphant.  It wasn't sex that Paul had to have.
Paul needed physical contact and that was something
Scott could handle.  That was something he could find
a way to provide.  And Paul could just keep on rubbing
him like this forever.  Scott's eyes closed and he
realized he was quite likely to fall asleep here,
under the warmth of Paul's touch and attention.

He was half asleep when Paul's attention shifted - as
strange thing to feel from the inside.  Then he
realized that the front door had opened and someone
was already standing at the doorway to the study while
Scott was still stupidly trying to push himself
upright.  He was just too relaxed and so tired.

Hey - didn't mean to interrupt anything." A very
familiar voice snapped him awake.  "You know you
should be renting a room for that.  I can spot you,
Scott.  I'm good for it."

Scott blinked at the blonde hair and the tense,
perfect grin.  "Warren?"

Warren's smile widened and his pale blue eyes moved
between Paul - who jerked his hands from Scott's
shoulders like he'd been burned - and him.  Curiosity
and something less pleasant moved in those beautiful
eyes, Scott brushed it aside.

"God.  *Warren!*"  He felt suddenly, ridiculously
better and moved to fling his arms around his oldest,
best friend.  Scott felt the awkward bundle of bone
strapped down between Warren's shoulders and he eased
his grip.  "What are you doing here?"

"Jean called me." Warren said, voice muffled in
Scott's shoulders as he pressed his face close.  "Of
course I came."
 
************************

They went out to do heroic shit again and Paul got to
see the Blackbird for the first time.  Leaning on the
windowsill with John and Bobby and Marie, he watched
it soar out into the dark sky, the air ripping like
heavy cloth behind it.  It left them alone except for
the professor and the housekeepers.  So, hours later,
everyone was asleep there was no one around to see him
sneak into Remy's room.

He knew Remy wasn't here, he'd gone off with everyone
else.  Paul slid inside and eased the door shut.  The
faint spill of moonlight was enough to see by and Paul
leaned against the wall for a moment.  Remy's room was
cluttered with his things - pictures on the walls and
pretty things on the dresser.  Paul knew the closet
was full of fancy clothes.  His fingers twitched, a
few months ago he would have cleaned this place out
and sold all this crap to a pawnshop.  Now he knew the
person behind all the stuff.  He knew how much Remy
liked his things and how miserable the Cajun would be
if it was gone.  It made Paul wonder about other
people, people he'd stolen from and how much it must
have hurt to come home to a tossed room.  He shook the
thought off irritably.  It was just crap.

Paul went and sat down on the rumpled bed; the X-men
had been dragged out of sleep by whatever they'd gone
to do.  He picked up the framed picture that always
sat on the nightstand and studied it.  A red eyed
little kid grinned up at thin, tall man, skinny arms
wrapped around his foster father's waist.  Jean-Luc
and Remy.  Remy had told him about his foster father,
told him where he lived and - just recently - given
him a phone number.  'if he was ever in New Orleans
and needed a place to crash', Remy had said casually,
not feeling at all casual inside.  Remy knew he was
going to leave.  Paul bit his lip and rubbed his
finger over the photo.  Remy looked happy, happier
than he did now.

There was another picture, unframed, tucked into the
edge of the heavy silver frame of Remy and his father.
 A snapshot of Logan and he was smiling for once, he
obviously didn't know someone had taken a picture of
him.  He looked relaxed  and happy, a basketball under
own arm and grinning at Scott who was flopped on the
grass, exhausted and sweaty.  Logan looked happy then
too.

Paul put the pictures back and crawled into Remy's
bed, pulling up the covers and inhaling the small of
cigarettes, cologne and sweat.  He closed his eyes,
trying to go to sleep.  Maybe Remy would come with him
when he left.  Paul's eyes flicked open and he
absentmindedly watched the slow dance of energy in the
dark.  He didn't need anyone.  He really didn't but -
maybe it would be kind of cool to have a - a friend to
hang with.  Or, maybe both of them would come.  Logan
*and* Remy.  They didn't like it here anymore than he
did.  Paul sighed, shifting restlessly.  He knew that
wasn't true and he knew for sure that Logan would
never leave this place.  Not for him, especially.  And
Remy - Paul blinked, eyes welling, - he wouldn't have
given Paul his father's phone number if he was
planning to go with him.  Paul  swallowed hard.  When
he left, he'd be going on his own.

Despite himself, tears slid down his temples.  It
didn't' matter, he tried to convince himself.
Everyone here was just a bunch of stupid, uptight
jerks and he wasn't going to stay.  He wasn't.  He
didn't like it here and no one liked him - except Remy
and John and Marie and - Paul rolled angrily onto his
side and stared at the gleam of moonlight on the
picture frame.  He wasn't going to stay and he didn't
need *anyone.*

He didn't know when he fell asleep but he woke as
Remy's door was slammed open.  The nearby pain jerked
him awake, blinking in the sudden light and crying
out.

"Ah - P-paul, Cher."  Remy said painfully.  He was
propped on Logan's shoulder and he was a mess.  His
heavy leather duster was torn and covered with some
kind of stinking oil.  The kevlar bracers on his left
arm and leg were scraped, dented and torn.  So was his
clothes and a horrible scrape on his cheek was
swelling and turning purple.  Logan was hanging onto
his belt and his good arm as Remy limped painfully
into his room.

 Paul scrambled nervously to his feet.  "What
happened?"

He moved aside as Logan lowered the thief carefully
onto his bed.  Remy groaned.

"Nothin' to bad."  Logan growled.  He was angry and
uneasy, worried about Remy and not willing to think
about it.  He stared hard at Paul, jaw working. His
leather uniform was as torn and filthy - and covered
in blood - but he wasn't hurt.  "Fell off a building."

"What?"  Paul fidgeted helplessly.  "Shouldn't you -
um - see Hank or something?"

"Non.  Non, s'v plait, Paul."  Remy groaned rolling
slowly onto his back and letting his battered leg
trail off the side of the bed.  There was a sharp
surge of fear at the mention of the doctor. "Not hurt
bad, me.  Just need to rest, eh?"

Logan grunted, staring doubtfully down at the prone
thief.  "Ya hit yer head?  If ya hit yer head, ya
going t'see the doc."

"Non.  Remy didn't hit his head.  T'anks for helping
Remy up here."  Remy gave Logan a weary, smile.  The
Cajun was too exhausted to hide his feelings and Logan
tensed, unease washing through him.  Remy's lips
thinned, smile erased, and he looked away from the
Canadian.  Paul sighed as Logan backed away.

"Whatever bub."  Logan muttered.  "Hey - kid, you keep
an eye on him will ya?"

"Me?"  Paul yelped.  But Logan was already retreating,
slamming the door shut.

"Non - "  Remy said sourly.  "You don need to stay,
Cher.  Remy be okay."

Paul eyed Remy, feeling the battered pain rolling off
him.  The thief was trying, one handed, to pull his
bracers off. "Sure."

Paul sat gingerly down on the side of the bed and
unbuckled the bracers, pulling them off and laying
them aside.  "Let me do it.  Just quit moving around."

Remy sighed and let him help, watching Paul from half
closed eyes.  He had one black eye and a swollen,
split lip.  His fingertips were bloody, several nails
torn.  The oil on his coat had smeared all over the
sheets.

"You really stink."  Paul muttered, working carefully
on the side fastenings of Remy's chest plate.

"Tonight we all stunk."  Remy muttered.  "Bunch of
half-baked slavers get de drop on us."

Remy broke off with a groan as Paul helped him out of
the chest plate.  Paul threw the heavy coat onto the
floor with a grimace.  "T'rew me de hell off de
building.  Der Remy is, hanging off one of dose stupid
gargoyles while dey laugh at him.  Spent de whole
battle jus climbing back up.  Fearless got his arm
broken and someone shot 'Ro's foot."

"Everyone's okay though, right?"

"Oui - oh, oui.  Not'ing to bad and we got dem rounded
up finally.  Like chasing chickens, catching dem all."

"So, no classes tomorrow huh?"  Paul suggested
grinning.

Remy smiled at him.  "Probably not, Cher.  Eh -?"

"The buckles are all bent.  I can't get them open."
Paul said, wrestling with one of Remy's boots.

"Der a knife in my boot, cut de damn t'ings off.
Ruined anyway."  Remy muttered.  Paul pulled the blade
from Remy's boot - ten inches long and polished, high
tempered steel - and stared at it for a long moment.
He carefully cut the buckles on the ruined boot and
pulled it off then put the knife on the table, beside
the pictures.

He got Remy undressed and pulled the dirty sheet off
then went to get a washcloth.  Paul carefully wiped
the blood and filth off Remy, cleaning the long
fingers while the thief lay still, eyes mostly closed.
 Paul ran a fingertip very lightly over the cut on his
cheek.  He could feel the pain there - and a lot of
other places.  Remy was bruised and cut, sore and
aching.  Paul's own body ached in sympathy.

"You ever - use that thing?"  Paul asked slowly.

Remy was watching him.  "De knife? Oui.  Remy use it,
when he has to."

Paul's hand went unconsciously to his side and the
narrow scar there.  "I - I've never hurt anyone - not
bad.  I - can't.  It hurts too much.  Hurts me."

Remy nodded.  "Oui.  It hurts but sometimes you got to
fight to live.  Even if it hurts.  Remy don't like to
hurt people either.  But he not going to let people
get hurt if he can stop it - stop de evil people who
hurt because they want to.  Remy want - to make a
place where people don hurt each other but we ain't
der yet."

"There's always going to be assholes."  Paul shrugged,
attention drifting back to the cuts and bruises.  His
fingers itched. He rubbed them, feeling the
unpredictable tickle of his gift.

"Hey, Remy - Scott showed me something."  He
whispered, leaning over the taller man.  Paul ran his
finger over the hard, shaking muscles of Remy's arm.
He kept his touch light.  He couldn't massage like he
had Scott's shoulders but he could use his power -
maybe it would make Remy feel better.

"Quoi?"

Paul stroked his fingertips down the lean, hard
muscled arm and the prick of his gift strengthened,
itching in his finger tips much more than it ever had
before.  He could *see* it, a faint pink flicker
dancing over his skin - and Remy's.  The sparks and
flickers in his vision flowed dizzily, moving towards
him - towards his hands.  Remy groaned in relief and
Paul jerked back, startled.  The tips of his fingers
felt hot and full of pins and needles.  They still
glowed pink and Remy was staring at him.

"Uh - it wasn't like this before."  Paul said
nervously.  "Are you seeing it?"

"Oui."  Remy said softly.  He held up his own hand for
a moment - a card appearing in it - and Paul saw,
startled, a sudden, hot pink gleam at the other man's
finger tips.  The glitter in his eyes faded - as Remy
somehow pulled the energy in the air into the card.
He did it for a moment only, then tossed the glowing
card in the air.  It burst into bright fragments,
scattering over them.  Paul flinched.

"I don't do that!"

"Non."  Remy said cautiously.  He touched Paul's still
glowing hand.  Sparks leapt.  Paul's awareness of
Remy's injuries strengthened suddenly.  "W'at were you
going to do Cher?"

Paul stroked his hand along Remy's arm, pink light
trailing after his touch.  He could *feel* how it made
Remy feel better.  Remy's eyes flickered, the tension
around his mouth easing a little.  "That.  Scott - he
had a headache cause he was so uptight - and he told
me to rub him?  And I did - uh - before that I did
something with - someone else - and I could make her
feel - good.  Really good.  And when I did this to
Scott it made him relax."

"Making Remy feel pretty damn good too, Cher."  Remy
sank back onto the bed with a long sigh.  "Pulling de
pain right out."

Which was almost exactly what he was doing.  Paul
could feel the jangle of pain - of something - in
Remy, it was worse where he was injured and when he
touched those places his power did *something*.  He
didn't know what except it made Remy feel better  and
that made him feel better and the static in his eyes
was clearing for the first time in a very long time.

Paul stroked and rubbed Remy carefully, all over and
the more he did that, the better they both felt.  The
pain just faded away under his hands, Remy groaned in
pleasure and relief as Paul worked on his sore
muscles.

Paul shifted, straddling Remy and stroking his chest.
He had a cracked rib.  Paul's fingers trailed warmth
and soft light. It felt nice.  The feel of Remy's skin
and the sleek ripple of muscles felt pretty nice too
and Paul settled closer, watching Remy's face
carefully.

The thief blinked up at him, relaxed, comfortable and
it was the most natural thing in the world to dip down
and kiss him.  Remy sighed against his mouth, one hand
coming up to press him closer.

It wasn't like before.  It wasn't so frantic, so
desperate.  One thing just flowed into the next, one
kiss into another.  Everywhere they touched, Paul's
power manifested, spreading warmth through them both.
Remy's hand felt so good, stroking him, sliding up his
shirt.  Paul licked at the cut on Remy's lip and they
both laughed a little breathlessly at the tickle of
Paul's power on the tip of his tongue.  Paul took the
opportunity to slide his tongue into Remy's mouth,
tasting cigarettes and blood, feeling the smooth edges
of his teeth and the sensual velvet of Remy's
responsive tongue.  He felt Remy tense as he settled
himself more firmly against the Cajun.

Paul drew back slightly, staring down into the black
and red and eyes below him.  Remy's pupils were
dilated, wide in the darkness and from Paul's touch.
Paul could also feel the swelling of his cock against
his hip.  He could feel how Remy wanted him, and it
wasn't something he was doing *to* Remy.  It was
something they were doing together.

"I think we've waited long enough."  Paul said softly.
 "Don't you?"

Remy took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

"I want this.  You want this.  It isn't any more
complicated than that."  Paul whispered.  "I'll stop
if you want me to - but don't pretend it's for my own
damn good.  You're not taking advantage of me."

Remy blinked up at him then reached up to touch Paul's
face, running a thumb along his lip.  "You feel so
damn good, Cher."

"So do you."

Paul kissed Remy again, knowing he wasn't going to
stop him.  Some decision had been made, here or last
week or some other time.  Something had changed and
Remy wasn't afraid anymore.  Paul didn't know why - if
it was because of Logan's rejection or something - and
he didn't care.  Maybe Remy had stopped caring what
everyone else thought.  He kissed Remy and felt good
and they both felt good and Remy was seeing *him* now.
 Not some imaginary abused kid and not some stepping
stone to Logan.  Seeing him and wanting him.

Paul licked his way down Remy's neck, smiling at the
soft sounds he made.  He pinched his nipples gently,
pulling and twisting and Remy groaned, twisting
slightly then hissing, arching up for more.  His hands
slid up and down Paul's back, stroking him, cupping
the back of his head and holding him to Remy's chest
as he scooted down to suck on the hard brown nipples.

He traced the sparse line of hair on Remy's lower
belly, hand slipping down to cup the other man's
erection in his palm.  Remy arched, knees spreading,
tired enough that he was already quite close to
coming.  Paul whimpered, riding the sensation then
gasped as Remy snaked a hand between them to pinch one
of his nipples.  A quick and clever mouth moved over
his face, brushing kisses across his cheeks, his lips,
his chin.  Paul lifted his head and sighed blissfully
as Remy's mouth stroked across his pulse.

Shivering, Paul rocked against Remy, pushing his cock
against the other man's hip.  He ground instinctively,
loving the deep pulse of his trapped cock.  Remy
groaned.

"Unzip me, Cher.  Remy needs your touch."  He
whispered harshly.  Paul fumbled urgently with the
zipper on Remy's leather pants, the thief arched and
then Paul was holding his warm, naked cock in his
hand.  They both groaned and Paul's cock twitched
eagerly, loosely confined in his pajamas.  Mouths
locked together, one of Paul's hands in Remy's long
hair, he pumped Remy's cock slowly.  The thief's hips
rocked in time.  Paul sighed, burying his face in the
silky texture of Remy's hair and followed the thief's
movements.  God it was so good.  So close.  Feeling
Remy's pulse against his lips, against his fingers and
echoing in his mind.  Remy's pleasure feeding his own.
 

"God, I could just come from feeling you."  Paul
breathed.  "God, it feels so good."

"Ch-cher."  Remy panted, thrusting into his hands.
The thief scrambled at Paul's pants, pushing them
down.  "W'ant to feel you too."

Paul helped him push his pajamas down his thighs,
leaving them tangled around his knees.  He lifted
himself on his arms, staring down at Remy's flushed,
bruised face as he positioned himself carefully.  Paul
lowered his hips, until their cocks were pressed hot
to each other.  Remy's lashes fluttered and Paul
groaned loudly.  He could feel the rapid, eager little
pulse in Remy's cock and his own heart raced.  Paul
thrust, pre-cum dribbling out of him, onto the flushed
head of Remy's cock.  He moved, keeping them together
like that, pulsing against each other.

Remy finally groaned and reached down, wrapping his
long fingered hand around both their cocks.  He
pumped, jacking with increasing speed.  Paul arched,
shuddering at the friction around his cock and the hot
pulsing flesh pressed tightly to his own.  He threw
his head back and yelled Remy's name.  The feeling
rose, cresting sharply and they came, both of them in
a warm flood across Remy's fingers and over his chest
and belly.  Paul sank down, arms shaking, moaning at
the wetness and warmth.

Remy's arms came around him, holding him hard, panting
into his hair.  He didn't cry this time.

After a few moments, Paul rolled off, kicking his
pajama bottoms off onto the floor.  He skimmed the
worst of the cum off Remy's heaving belly with the
edge of his hand and wiped it on the sheets.  Remy
grimaced.  "Dat's my bed."

"Uh -hmm."  Paul said drowsily.  He rolled against
Remy's side, carefully arranging himself so he didn't
press on any of the man's injuries.  He moved Remy
over a little, so he didn't have to lie in the sticky
spot.  "Tomorrow's laundry day anyway."

Remy shifted, kissing the top of his head briefly.
"Remy don know if dis was a good idea -"

Paul stiffened.  Remy held him tighter.

"- But Remy know it wasn't a good idea to keep on
pretending.  We see how de next day is when it gets
here."

Paul trailed a luminous fingertip down the center of
Remy's chest and smiled as his breath caught.  "'Kay."

He lay there, listening to Remy's breathing slow as
the other man fell asleep and thought about going.  Or
staying.

TBC
 
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