Title: Hold On

Author: eoen

Pairing: Remy/Jean/Scott/Logan

Rating: PG to PG-13 for language

Summary: Sometimes it's easier to hold on the pain of the past.

Archive: yes, just let me know where (All yours Lu)

Email: wedchild@mail.com

Series/Sequel: Two's Company series. Follows "Action Reaction"

Web Page: http://www.yathink.tvheaven.com

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em.

Warnings: Slash referred to.



Hold On
By Eoen

"Let me get this straight," Scott said to Logan. "You," he pointed at the Canadian. "Want me," he gestured to himself. "To go in there," he swept and arm towards the boathouse. "And break up an argument between two red-heads."

"Yeah."

"You're insane. That is the stupidest action I could take. I don't have a healing factor and either one of them could kill me. Besides, do you step in when I fight with Jean? No. Do I interfere when you fight with her? No. Therefore, this is something they'll have to work out on their own. I'm going to the Mansion. We4 can see the explosions from the back porch."

"I'm gonna stay."

"Idiot."

Logan followed his lover to the Mansion.



"Non, Jeannie, I ain't gonna tell no one what be hidin' in m' head. Memories be buried f' a reason."

"Remy, this is important. You will not be able to keep those memories locked up."

"Why not? I been doin' good f' so many years. Remy'll just rebuild his shields."

"If you don't face your fears they'll swallow you up."

"Y' don' understand, chere," he said quietly. His eyes dropped. "I live t'rough it once. I can' do it again."

"Tell me what happened. Tell me why I should let you run away again."

"Y' goddamned bitch. Y' got no right t' tell me what t' do. Y' got no right t' make me live t'rough dose memories. They sent Roguie away. Dey so dark."

"The fear is what keeps you from living, Remy."

"Non. It keeps Remy from dyin'." His voice was hoarse from screaming at her and buried tears.

"Talk to me or to the professor or to Scott. Someone needs to know. You had nightmares last night that make Logan's seem tame. And you didn't even move. You just curled up into a little ball at the edge of the bed. You didn't make a sound. But in your head your were screaming. It's eating you up. You can't go on like this."

"Non."

"Remy." She put a hand on his arm and he jerked away. "Give me your hand, Gambit."

"Don'." He sounded defeated.

"Don't what?"

"Don' touch m'." She blinked and let her hand drop away. His eyes were downcast, so he didn't see her movements. His shields were so tight that his mind was like an empty space when Jean reached out for him, the equivalent of a ghost.

"What's wrong, honey?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head.

"Remy, let me see your eyes." He stepped away from her. "Look at me, Remy."

"Non," he whispered. "I gotta go." He left the house, coat flaring behind him.



"Scott, Logan," Warren greeted. He got himself a glass of orange juice and sat down at the table. He was just about to snag the business section when LeBeau banged through the backdoor and grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator. "A little early isn't it, Gambit?"

"Y' listen close cuz I ain't gonna say dis twice. I ain't in de mood f' y'r holier-than-thou, rich-boy, pissed at the worl', judgemental attitude t'day. Dere's only One dat's got de right t' judge m' and y' ain't Him, no matter how y'r sycophants treat y'. So keep y'r mout' civil or I'll become what y'r so sure Gambit be an' shove y'r perfect, white teet' down y'r t'roat."

Angel gaped for a moment. "Just because your screwing the boss, you don't have the right to talk to me that way."

"But y' got the right t' call m' a murderer and a whore?"

Warren's eyes widened. "And a spy too."

"Ain't my fault y' talk loud enough t' wake the dead. Ain't like y' ever liked m' or trusted m'.

Warren's wings spread wide and he stood. "You are a murderer and a fucking traitor, so I'm justified."

"I ain't *never* betrayed y'all. Y' didn' know me. Y' can't begin t' understand m'. Y' ain't get any way t' judge m' 'cept through y'r own pain."

"I lost my wings because of you. Goddamned, Marauder."

"Enough!" Scott snapped. "Warren, back off."

"Now you're defending him? Why? Because he's a good fuck? Are you letting your emotions make your decisions now?"

"No, my logic. You need to calm down. Talk to the professor."

"I'm not the one that's letting a murderer stay here."

"I'd be careful where you start throwing that word, War." Scott's voice was soft and deadly. His anger was tightly controlled, but his eyes flared. "Gambit is not the only person in this house who's killed. He's not the only person that's ever been used. And he's not the only person you've ever accused without full knowledge. If I remember correctly, there's at least one other street-rat you've called a whore and a killer and other less savory things. He turned into your best friend and someone you followed into Hell a few times."

"That's a stretch, Slim."

"No, Warren. You didn't want me here. I was nothing more than a reckless geek. You told the professor that you didn't want to work with a juvenial delinquent who didn't know the meaning of right and wrong. I grew up, Warren. Obviously, you didn't."

Warren's metal wings quivered in anger. "I was your best friend, Slim. When did that change? When did I get traded in for a thief?"

"When you stopped acting like Warren! You aren't yourself and haven't been since the Massacre. And you won't let anyone help. And I'm too. . . too scared to break through your walls." Scott's voice softened.

"Scared?" The bio-mechanical wings wavered.

"I don't like fights. I don't like anger when it's aimed at me. And I don't know how to reach you."

Warren glared at the thief. Remy stared blandly back.

"Talk to the professor, Wings. Please?"

"Why? Because you're fucking the thief?"

"Because I'm asking you to."

"Yeah. I'll talk to him. I'll let him know just how screwed up you are." Warren slammed out of the room. Scott pushed his coffee away and rubbed his temples as his headache flared. Gambit took over almost immediately. He drew the pain in through his hands. It was the only skill he knew he could always control. And it made him feel better, no matter what Jean screamed at him about it.

"Whatcha fightin' with Jeannie about?"

"Don' ask, cher. Not right now."

"Want a spar?" Logan offered.

"Oui. Dat'd be perfect."

Scott leaned back into Gambit's touch. "Go on. I'll wait for Jean and see what I can do."

"Merci, Scott."

"Welcome."



Warren stormed through the house for awhile, then caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He stopped. He looked like he was going to kill someone. He hadn't meant to get into a fight. He was trying to see things from the thief's point of view. He just couldn't help himself for some reason. He'd just reacted badly. He looked into his own eyes and winced. And had he really slammed Scott? There was a time he'd never have done something like that. There was a time he'd been a friend. "Where did I go wrong?"

His wings glinted in the early morning light that slanted down the hallway. "I trusted someone who offered to help me." His wings sagged a bit. "When did I lose my direction?"

"Do you really want an answer to that?" Bobby asked softly, Mountain Dew in one hand. He leaned against the wall.

"Yes, Bobby. I do."

"When you never told us you were having trouble dealing with the loss of your wings. Considering your harness and all, we thought you'd be happier without them. Warren Worthington the Third. We thought maybe your parents would welcome you back more joyfully. And when you started spending more time away from us, we thought that's what was going on. Why do you hate him, Wings? Because he gathered those monsters? Or because he reminds you of what you used to be?"

"You know something, Icecube? I don't know."

"Then maybe you have to figure that out."

"Maybe I do."



Scott stepped into the boathouse in search of the real feral partner in his love life. Jean was on the couch in sweats with a pint of ice cream. Scott sat down in the armchair and put his feet up on the coffee-table. After about ten minutes Jean crawled into his lap. She offered him a spoonful. He opened his mouth and let her pop it in. Chocolate Raspberry, he assessed.

"I don't want to talk about it."

He settled his arms around her waist.

"I can't talk about it."

He kissed her cold-sweet lips lightly.

"He's destroying himself and I can't force him to stop. And I'm so scared, Scott. I'm afraid we're going to lose him. Maybe if I'd tried harder in the beginning it wouldn't have gotten so bad."

"He wouldn't have trusted you."

"I know that." She shoved another spoonful into her mouth. "But I could have charmed him into it. We weren't married yet."

"I'd have killed him."

"I know. Still."

"What could you do that the Professor couldn't? Besides get him into bed."

"I wouldn't bet on that."

Scott blanched. "That's sick, Jeannie."

"But true. Gambit's got a thing for power."

"But not for telepaths. Not even when they're in perfect packages."

"He doesn't seem to mind too much now."

"But it's still there. What happened this morning?"

"I pushed him too fast, too hard, and too soon." She offered Scott another bite. Then, she took one herself. "I want him to open up to me, to remember things he doesn't want to remember."

"It's hard, Redd."

"I know that. You'd think I'd have learned my lesson with you. Christ on a crutch. You, Logan, Ro, everyone on this team has secrets they don't want to remember. But it feels so important."

"To you?"

"To Remy. It's something he needs to know."

"When he needs to know, he'll remember it. You have to let it go. Let him make the first move."

"He won't. I have to train him now. Before things get any worse. He doesn't filter out negative emotions. He just absorbs them."

"Like anger and disappointment, perhaps?"

Jean paused. "But he opened up to you."

"He doesn't think of Charles as the authority in his life, Jean."

She stared at him. "He accepts Sinister."

"And his father."

"And you."

"And me."

"So what do you know about these memories?"

'That they're better locked up. You've never been there, Jean. You went into a coma when your powers manifested. Your parents never abandoned you. The professor came to help you. Even your sister, wench that she is, still loves you. I know Remy's had two, maybe three people who give a damn if he lives or dies. His father, his wife and Sinister. His life is beyond your scope. Teach him to release the pain, but don't be his shrink. Be his friend. Set him free. Like you helped me."

Jean rested her forehead against his. "I love you."

"Ditto."



"Come on, kid. Let go. Ya ain't gonna hurt me."

"Y' don' know dat."

The stronger accent was a bad sign. "Ya ain't killed Creed yet and yer not fuckin' him."

Remy gave him a rueful grin. He rested his weight on his toes.

"Gumbo?" Logan's jaw dropped. "Holy shit. All that crap about him killin' yer girl?"

"He t'reatened her, oui, but Gen's a pro." Remy shrugged.

"Ya got scars from fightin' him."

"Got scars from fightin' you."

Logan darted forward and pulled the Cajun to him. He kissed him harshly. "That ain't gonna happen again, Remy. This thing we got goin', it's exclusive. Got it?"

"D'Accord."

"Good." Logan kissed him more gently. "So show me what ya got hidin', Pretty Boy."

Remy bared his teeth in challenge. "Come and get me, Ole Man," he called as he backflipped away.



Bobby concentrated carefully on the miniature sculpture he was creating. It was barely three inches tall and less than an inch across. He'd borrowed Betsy's magnifying glass and was using it to study the tiny being. He never noticed Gambit stopping in the doorway, hair still wet from the Danger Room shower. He didn't notice him return a few minutes later with paper and pencil.

Warren ghosted by the scene once. Then, he returned to look over Gambit's shoulder. The thief glanced up at him, then back down at his work. Bobby declared the sculpture finished and set it into the glistening ice mansion he'd created. Hank had made a temperature controlled container for it out of an old goldfish tank they'd found in the attic. The professor was the first person he'd created and now he sat proudly in his replica study. The mangnifying glass made a clunk as it settled on the table.

He turned to get the files out of his cabinet and stopped short. "Uh, hi."

"Hey, Icecube. Looking good." Angel nodded at the mansion, then left.

"Wanted t' talk t' y', Bobby." Gambit shut the door.

"'Bout what?" Bobby peered at the sketchpad. Remy turned it around for him.

"Finances."

"Taxes cost a flat fee of two hundred dollars."

"I was thinkin' of more creative work." Bobby settled behind his desk. "You ever done off-shore work, Bobby?"

"Some. Not much. Emma's got a couple of investments in the islands."

"Y' interested in learnin' some more?"

"Sure."

"Even if it ain't exactly legal?"

Bobby snorted. "I've been a mutant terrorist since I was a teenage. How much more trouble can I get into?"

Gambit laughed. "Y' got a point, cher. Y' got a point. Let me make a couple of calls then. Also, gonna need y' to set up a non-profit account. Somethin' Scott and Remy be workin' on. Looks good."

Remy left. Bobby sighed and pulled out the academy records.



Hank McCoy took his research very seriously. He tested the sequencer once more. Bobby's results came up the same as they always did. He ran the last sample he had from Gambit. Once more the Shi'ar results blinked onto the screen. There was no English translation and Hank was about to chew the wiring. He resettled his glasses and re-read the results.



Betsy curled up next to Warren, beneath the protective curl of his arm. CNN was on, but he was reading the Wall Street Journal. She closed her eyes and breathed in her lover's scent.

"Oui, chere, I'm watchin'. What's de deal?" Gambit stopped behind the pair. His jaw dropped at the report came on.

"The Library of Congress reports that nearly two thousand antique texts disappeared some time in the past month. Officials noted the missing volumes when the digitization project restarted. A list of the missing titles in provided on the Library of Congress website. There is a $10,000 reward for any information leading to the recovery of these volumes. In world news, Israeli troops are gearing up for renewed conflict with Palestinian forces."

"Bon Dieu, Mercy. Who's dat stupid? Non, y' know better'n dat." Gambit left the room. Warren's eyes followed him.

"He couldn't have don't it. He was in a coma."

"I know he didn't do it. But he knows who did."

Betsy ceded the point and put the incident out of her mind.
"Ya owe us a story, Gumbo."

"Hehn?" Remy was comfortably snuggled against Logan's side, his head on the Canadian's shoulder. Jean was stroking his hair from her place on the other side of Wolverine. Scott was in the armchair, feet up on the coffeetable. He had a lap full of files and a notepad rigged to the arm of the chair.

"The chest," Jean answered, looking up from her magazine.

"Oh, that."

"Why were you so sure Mystique was after it?" Scott asked.

"Why's it so important?" Logan asked.

"Shush, y'all. Let po' Remy get his head t'gether."

"I'll call in a few days," Scott stated. Remy flicked him off.

"It's a pity Logan don't remember the ole man. I met him once. He's older'n dirt, I t'ink. Only five of those chests were made. Mon pere, he got one. Y' need all five t' solve the puzzle."

"Puzzle?" Jean prompted.

"This is how I was told it. Many, many years ago, the People held fearsome knowledge and the secret of Immortal life." Remy straightened. "But great power leads t' powerful enemies. The People knew their enemy's strengt' was too great t' fight outright. So they hid the ancient knowledge. They left their heritage an' brit'right in the dust of time. They hid themselves among the mortals, but their enemy gained strengt'. The People vowed t' protect the Secrets, even at the cost of their life. Five of the People held pieces of the key to the Secrets. Over time the People dissipated, but they were drawn t'gether again and again by a force more powerful then they could fight. They forges a new community in the Shadows where they live still.

"In the latest years, pursuit of the Secrets has been paramount. The Secrets will defeat the enemy and return the People t' their place in the light. The enemy will fall. But t' find the Secrets the five keys must be found and brought t'gehter. The chest is part of that. The key-holders chose the safest hidin' places they could. Four, non t'ree of the keys are missin' completely. The chest tells us where one of them is."

"But why is Mystique after the chest? It won't do her any good," Scott pointed out.

"But mebbe Destiney can read more'n a normal off of it."

"Who are the People?" Jean wondered.

Remy shrugged. "Remy just tell y' what he been told."

"Who is this enemy?"

"Heard plenty of different theories, me. No one knows. Could be anyone."

"Given he or she's Immortal and dangerous enough to drive a whole community underground. Sounds familiar."

"Scotty?"

"I've got a theory."

"Oui?"

"You know more than you've told us."

Remy smiled. "Never said y' were stupid. Tol' y' all I could."

Jean shook her head. "You sound as if you're a member of some secret society or something."

"Chere?" Jean looked over at him. "I am. At least t'ree." He smirked.

"There some sort of prophecy or somethin' that's set off the search?" Logan prompted.

"Oui."

"And what would this prophecy be?" Scott asked.

"Je suis desole. Can' tell."

"So who took the books?" Jean asked.

"Who knows? An idiot." The phone rang. Jean floated it over.

"Hello?"

"Hey, let me talk to the brat."

"Who is this?"

"Alice. Who else?"

Jean passed over the phone. Remy looked quizzically at her. "Yes?"

"Hey, Rems. Got something for you. Come by the club?"

"Tomorrow soon enough?"

"Depends on when you want the info."

"I'll be over t'night."

"That's my boy. I'll hold your space. Lemme talk to Scott."

"Why?"

"You're so suspicious."

"I know y', chere."

"Would I hurt you?"

"Probably depend on the price. Here, Scotty, she wants t' talk t' y'. Don' encourage her."

"Hello?" Scott asked in confusion as Logan tried to untangle himself from the roaming cord that was pulling against the back of his head."

"Hey, Scotty. Is the brat behaving or should I spank him?"

"Hello, Alice. Hands off."

"Ooooh, you're the possessive kind. I like that. You take good care of him or I'll call the SPCA."

"Yes, ma'am."

Alice giggled.

"Goodnight, Alice."

"Night, Summerses. Make him wear the collar. I like it. Suits his personality. I mean, you should meet his wife."

"Already have." Scott hung up. "Is she on Ritalin?"

"Non. Dat's all natural Alice. Even the hair." Gambit freed Logan's hair from the coils and got up. "I'll see y'all later. Don't wait up. Alice ain't goin' t' let m' off quick."

"Just stay sober. Call if you need a ride."

"Oui, mere."

"Worrying is in my job description."

Remy rolled his eyes. "Night, y'all."

The Cajun disappeared before they could respond. Jean snuggled closer to Logan. "Ya plannin' to work all night, Cyke?"

"Until I get this finished."

Jean yawned. "I'm heading up." She kissed Logan, and gave Scott a quick kiss as well. She was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. Logan let Scott work uninterrupted for a little while.

"Bet I could distract ya," he said.

"You could, but I really need to do this."

Logan snorted.



"Bon nuit, Alice. What have y' got f' Remy?" The Cajun purred into his friend's ear. She leaned back to talk to him.

"All the news that is the news on one special CD. Not available in stores. Yours for only thirty thousand. Free shipping and handling."

He slid his arms around her waist. One of the women at the bar glared at the owner. Remy ignored the look. "All yours, chere, with a couple clicks of a mouse."

"No clicking Safety." He laughed gently and ruffled her hair. "Come into my office."



Scott smirked as he heard a soft snore from the couch. He wanted a picture of big, tough Wolverine curled up in the corner of the couch with a beer bottle cradled in his arms like a baby. Unfortunately, if he got up to get a camera, he'd probably wake him. He sighed and put the last file aside. He watched Logan sleeping until his eyes slid shut.



Remy slipped into the front room. He spread Jean's abandoned afgan over Scott, then ghosted out to the mansion to scare the shit out of the professor in his bedroom.



FINIS