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Cry

Page history last edited by PBworks 12 years, 8 months ago

Disclaimer: The X-men are owned by Marvel and their creators. The song is “Cry” by James Blunt. No money has or will be made from this fic.

A/N: *song lyrics*, ~thoughts~


 

Cry

 

 

Logan looked out at Remy sitting on the veranda; he was staring off into the moonlit garden. It had been a rough day, their mission had been a disaster and the kid was taking it really hard. A child had died at the hands of an angry mob of so-called-humans who didn’t have shred of humanity to spare between them. The child’s only crime was that her eyes were black. They had heard the taunts of the mob… “Devil’s child.”

 

When the path had cleared and they’d got to the little girl the crowd denied having anything to do with it. Saying that they had found her body beaten and broken like it was. Remy had picked up the little girl in his arms, she must have been around 8 or 9 years old, and her eyes were a fixed stare, wide open. The Cajun had pulled his shades off and turned his blazing gaze on the crowd.

 

*I have seen peace. I have seen pain,

Resting on the shoulders of your name.

Do you see the truth through all their lies?

Do you see the world through troubled eyes?

And if you want to talk about it anymore,

Lie here on the floor and cry on my shoulder,

I’m a friend.*

 

Logan ran a rough hand through his hair and pushed open the door and stepped out into the chill night air.

 

“Gumbo.” He held out one of the bottles of beer, that he held in his hand, to his team mate and friend, while he took a swig of his own.

 

Remy accepted the bottle wordlessly and went back to staring into space. Logan sat down and they shared the silence for a while before Logan spoke.

“There was nothin’ we could do, Rems, ya know that right.”

 

Logan could almost feel the emotions rolling off him and he shifted across to the Cajun. He wrapped an arm around him. “Let it go, darlin’. Let the tears go.”

 

As if Logan’s permission was all he needed, Remy buried his face in the flannel shirt and started to sob. The saline tang of tears assaulting Logan’s senses. He stroked the auburn hair to soothe his boy. The feral felt a pang at that, knowing full well that he wasn’t his, wishing like hell he was though. For a moment he wondered if this was Ok. But the way that Remy was clinging to him now, his tears soaking through his shirt, he figured it was just fine.

 

After the full body-racking sobs quieted, Remy pulled back and looked up at him. His face stained with the evidence of his tears. His watery red on black eyes swam and burned up at him as he held the Cajun on the veranda deck, cradled in his arms.

 

“Logan.” He breathed softly, desperately.

 

His mouth looking so tempting, The Feral leaned forward and brushed his lips gently over the other man’s. He met the lips with his own pressing against him, his mouth blossoming open and inviting the questing tongue into his mouth with a hesitant touch of the tip of his tongue against the Canadian’s.

 

Logan growled softly in pleasure; then reality smacked him upside the head and he pulled back. ~What am I doing?”~ He didn’t think he could do this, not again… couldn’t fall in love only to have his heart broken into tiny pieces by this thief of hearts. He looked so hurt when the older man pulled away and a twinge of regret and guilt sent a cold shard through his heart. It was already too late and his eyes prickled with his own tears, mourning the loss before it could come.

 

*I have seen birth. I have seen death.

Lived to see a lover’s final breath.

Do you see my guilt? Should I feel fright?

Is the fire of hesitation burning bright?

And if you want to talk about it once again,

On you I depend. I’ll cry on your shoulder.

You’re a friend.*

 

Remy’s eyes burned questioningly into Logan’s. His hand came up to caress the stubble-roughened cheek.

 

“Let m’ in cher? Let m’ love y’.” The Cajun looked up at him with sincere eyes. “Y’ don’ need t’ be scared o’ m’ Logan. Remy won’ hurt y’. Wan’ make it all better.”

 

Logan hesitated then turned his face slightly to kiss the hand that caressed his cheek. He wanted to be close to Remy, he really did, had wanted it for so long. But he was also so scared. He had done a lot of things in his lifetime that although he wasn’t too clear on the details, he still felt guilty about, how could the Cajun ever love an old man like him? The doubts swirled in his mind. He felt the brush of a mind against his own.

 

“Le’ m’ in Logan, trus’ m’ I’ll show y’.” He said softly.

 

*You and I have been through many things.

I’ll hold on to your heart.

I wouldn’t cry for anything,

But don’t go tearing your life apart.*

 

Logan had to concede. He was powerless to resist and he nodded. Remy’s eyes went slightly wider when he felt the emotions of his friend. He had no idea that Logan harboured such strong feelings for him, or that he carried so much guilt and pain. Remy showed Logan his own feelings and the Feral started to cry. He had never felt anything like it before.

 

“Ya really trust me that much, Rems?” Logan asked disbelieving.

 

The reply was a shy smile and a nod. “Oui, I trus’ y’ wit’ m’ life, cher, wit’ m’ heart an’ soul. Wit’ everyt’ing I have an’ am.”

 

Logan blinked back the tears; he couldn’t remember the last time he had cried, not for a long time for sure. Remy surprised him by leaning forward and lapping at one salty droplet, licking it away.

 

“Y’ been der f’ m’ when t’ings were bad, de wors’… we been t’rough some t’ings mais… we always made it out de ot’er side, non? Remy knows y’ cher… knows y’ faults an’ knows y’ frailties… mais… I also know de strengths an’ successes. Wan’ be wit’ y’, wan’ be dere f’ y’.”

 

 

*I have seen fear. I have seen faith.

Seen the look of anger on your face.

And if you want to talk about what will be,

Come and sit with me, and cry on my shoulder,

I’m a friend.*

 

Logan nodded, he wrapped his arms around Remy and pulled him against himelf, holding him tightly to him. Pressing his nose and mouth into the crook of the Cajun’s neck and inhaling deeply. Acceptance, for who he was and everything he’d done, and they each knew it worked both ways.

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