Post by Gambit on Jan 23, 2007 15:51:23 GMT -5
Continued from here
Reaching the very corner of the southwest wing of the mansion, there was no one around, the back door leading only to some rec rooms that were rarely used except for large school functions. She allowed him to lean on her with her body between him and the wall.
Lifting a hand, red light spires reached from her fingertips, webbing like a catscradle and quickly multiplying into a myriad of polygon shapes. “Let me at least… try it, Hunter?” She said, drawing a line along his eyebrow with the tip of her finger, her thumb now stained brown from the blood that had been red a few minutes ago.
The remnants of blood and sweat where she touched him bubbled and fizzed, quickly burning away with the faint smell of sulphur. “Let me try it.” She looked up at him with an honest, clear expression that carried with it such depth, it was as if a child and an old woman looked up at him at the very same time.
There was a faint stinging with her touch which made him instinctively pull away initially. But for some reason he could not fathom, he trusted her. He trusted her with his very life - and her brief and almost off-hand comment that she could kill him with her powers set his senses jangling.
"My head isn't the only part of me that's injured, cherie," he said, leaning down to whisper the words in her ear in the most suggestive way possible. "You gon' try t'heal th' rest of me as well?"
Wanda lost her breath, and closed her eyes tight, fist clenching to keep the chaos sphere she’d just created intact. The gasp she gave him in response to his words was all the answer he would get, but came in such a passionate rush he had know its meaning clearly.
“Be careful,” she said, sounding genuinely worried. “Just a kiss and we broke windows. I don’t want to break the rest of you as well.”
She opened her eyes again, looking at him, caught up in the excitement and danger of what they were doing. What was it they were doing?
Opening her hand again, she whispered unintelligibly for a moment and brushed her palm over the area of the cut. The chaos orb connected with every nerve in the upper half of his body and yanked at it, making him go numb for a split second like a flash. The red orb shattered just as it had before.
For a second, all the last between them was the rushing of her breath, fast and stuttering. She held tightly to him, searching his face with her eyes.
The wound was gone, but only superficially. His hair, his skin, his eyes were clear of any blemish or trace of blood or sweat. But he could feel the pains till beneath the surface of his skin.
Wanda smiled distantly. “You’re alive,” she said, and it was almost a question.
When he heard her draw in her breath, he took a slight step back, heeding her warning and not wanting to cause any unnecessary destruction. She raised her hand and passed the orb over him and it was his turn to draw in his breath.
It was like stepping into a bath of freezing cold water, numbing every sense in his body. The feeling passed almost as soon as it started, however, and he swallowed back the urge to cry out.
"Oui," he said. "Very much alive, petite."
He was suddenly very much aware of every ache and pain in his battered body. That he was so fit and healthy was very much on his side - but even the strongest and most well-honed body could only take so much. And the Hunt was beginning to physically take its toll on him.
He looked better. That was all they needed. Now if luck was on their side, no one would bother them on their way to his room. She took his hand, and pulled him gently with her towards the door.
“Steps, only steps, not so far to go from where you’ve come.” It sounded like a bit of childish poetry, but the encouragement to keep going had its meaning in any case. She remembered his door in the long hallway without thinking twice, and opened his door for him, letting him step in first. When he was inside, she quietly shut the door behind herself.
Both hands stayed on the brass doorknob behind her, and she stayed there leaning against the door like a child too timid to enter.
Once he was inside his room, he dropped down to sit on the bed, grateful for the sanctuary of the mansion yet again. It seemed to be - at least for now - an unwritten rule that none of those who had been pitted against him in the Hunt would dare step over the threshold of Xavier's Institute.
"Merci," he said, softly. "Guess I took more of a poundin' than I realised." With no hint of self-consciousness at all, he rose to his feet again, stripping off the shirt and t-shirt he wore. His body was already starting to blossom in a mass of bruises.
He put a hand gently to his ribs and winced. "Damn me, but that guy had quite th' kick."
Looking up at her, he gave her a smile. "Chere, don't look so scared. I ain't gon' bite. I promise I ain't gon' do anythin' bad again."
“You did nothing so awful to begin with, nothing I would not ask you to do again, were you not already suffering,” she said plainly, smiling a little.
She was thankful for the adult rooms, the ones with their own bathrooms. She had been given one when she’d arrived at the school but only because they were concerned for her interactions with others. It was the same with Jean in her first days, though she’d eventually been moved to the dorms… but still Wanda resented any special treatment Jean had been given. Most particularly after all that had happened between she and Wanda’s father.
Frowning as the memory walked through her mind, Wanda moved to the little bathroom and stepped in, ignoring the haphazard scatter of Remy’s things to turn on the bath and make sure it was hot enough. Drawing her fingers back with a wince, she watched the flow of water from the tap to make sure it wasn’t actually boiling. It was so difficult sometimes to tell what was real, and what wasn’t. But then, Wanda knew everything was real, at some level. Even illusion.
The image of scorched wood crawled up the doorway from the bathroom, tainting the wooden walls of Remy’s room with black that slowly creeped out wherever steam touched it from the bathroom within. When Wanda stepped back into the room after Remy, little flames ate their way over her dress, her arms, her hair- whispering away as if only a turn of the light.
“You should bathe.” She gestured behind her. “It will make those feel a little better.” A long-fingered glance towards his bruises. It didn’t seem entirely within Wanda’s realm of thought to consider the man before her was half naked.
Her magic, her illusions, whatever they were, still played stupid games with Remy's head and the partial sight of his bathroom apparently bursting into flame almost made him leap into action - before he remembered just who was there with him.
"It ain't real," he murmured, more to himself than to anybody in particular. He looked up at Wanda as she came back out the bathroom and gave her his most encouraging smile, unconsciously switching on his own mental abilities as he did so. "You're quite right, petite," he agreed. "Good soak will help. And a glass or three of Lynchburg's finest will take the sting away - y'want one?"
He indicated the quarter-full bottle on the side.
Oh how the sight of the bottle startled her. And yet as he smiled, her heart raced for a wholly different reason. That old familiar feeling, her head swimming, lips tingling, the feeling of breath being stolen from her lungs… the blinked a little, a beautiful smile blooming on her red lips.
“That would be lovely,” she said. Not exactly deciding to relax- Remy’s nature simply did that to her, no thought involved- she untied the string at her throat and let the cloak drop from her shoulders, leaving them bare as the neckline of her red dress reached from shoulder to shoulder. A stray bit of red hair drew across the pale expanse of collarbone revealed there and for a moment, looked like a reedy red snake slithering over her skin. Then it was gone as she shifted her long hair behind her.
“But you won’t be seducing me with drink at the expense of your comfort. Pour them, and be off.” She gestured to the bathroom with a wider smile, sitting down on the bed with a bit of a bounce.
"You really are beautiful, Wanda," said Remy - and for once, she heard no attempt to be charming or flirtatious in his voice. He spoke pure, honest truth - which was strangely refreshing.
He gave her another smile and crossed to the side, pouring out two measures of the bourbon and taking a hefty swig from the bottle into the bargain. "To absent friends," he said, holding up his glass. "An' their welcome return."
He downed the drink in one practised gulp and set his empty glass down. The fiery liquor was already doing its job: he could feel it flowing through him like a painkiller. "Bath," he said, vaguely and headed to the bathroom.
The young Cajun paused at the door.
"At least come say au revoir if y'get th' urge t'leave, cherie, 'k?"
She looked at him over her glass as she took a sip, and when she lifted her face to lick her lips, she nodded.
When he’d gone, she looked around his room. It was identical to all the others, of course. She leaned over his bed, laying her head on his pillow and looking across the room rather blankly. Distracted by his smell, she turned her face into the bedclothes and inhaled, her blue eyes wide open and fingers tracing a seam along one of his blankets.
Then Wanda sat up again, picking up the glass he’d poured the alcohol into and looking at it. Remy had swallowed the whole thing down. Lifting it to her lips, she opened her throat and tossed the drink back. Thank goodness for reflex, as Wanda managed to swallow before sputtering. Coughing hard, she put her hand over her mouth as her eyes watered.
Wanda looked back at the bathroom door and blinked, wiping her eyes. This sort of drink was dangerous. She never really understood why people preferred it… she was familiar with wine, which had a flavor like something recognizable as a fruit. This was… well it couldn’t be healthy. Vaguely sweet, a smoky aftertaste, and already she felt tingly from what little she’d tasted.
Somehow it seemed to sum up her new friend perfectly.
Pouring another glass, she stood and moved to the bathroom door. Touching it gingerly with just the tips of her fingers, she peeked in, red hair hanging like a banner down the side of the door. She continued inside, moving to set the glass on the edge of the tub, and pulled over a washrag from the little pile of linens on the counter. Sitting down at the edge of the tub, she wet the rag in his bathwater and took his wrist in her hand, moving to wash the length of it clean of blood and sweat.
All without a word, or so much as a glance at him since she’d entered the room.
He'd slid into the warm, moist embrace of the bath with relief and had closed his eyes in relaxation. He had been aware of her entering the bathroom, but hadn't opened his eyes until she took his wrist and wiped it with the cloth. Then his peculiar red-on-black eyes snapped open and he studied her intently.
Wordlessly, he held up his arm for her to clean as well and then leaned forward so she could see the knife wound between his shoulderblades. It was little more than a surface break, but it was long, as though someone would have stabbed him, but it had ended up as a graze. It needed proper cleansing and it was obvious that he couldn't reach it.
Amazing what he said without words. Somehow they didn't seem to be needed.
Wanda frowned a little, sighing softly between her lips as the cloth drew hot water up his arm and along the top of his shoulders, trailing down over that wound. She wet the cloth again and very carefully rinsed the skin around the wound.
“They draw lines along you to mark you as their own,” she whispered. “Hunter do you believe it will ever be done?”
He didn’t answer, and she didn’t wait for one. “Do you really believe it?” If there was ever a time for his hackles to raise, it would be now.
His hackles were nowhere near rising. He was exhausted, and relaxed from the alcohol and the hot water. He smiled, ruefully.
"There was a time, chere petite, when I thought it would be over swiftly. But they do not call th' Hunt off for another year. I don't think I can survive many more attacks. So maybe...oui - it will be over swiftly now an' th' Hunters can take their prey back to La Croix."
He put his hand over hers and stroked one finger up her arm.
"Maybe I should just give m'self up t'them. Never thought I'd hear m'self say this, Scarlet, but I'm givin' up th' fight. It's gettin' too close to th' school, y'know?"
“Then take it from the school,” she said. “If you care so much for the people here. Take it where they cannot find you.”
I have places they cannot find you, she thought, but didn’t share it with him just yet. The places she would go, would be just as dangerous. Firstly, she could kill him at any point, though through no intent of her own. Pietro was just as dangerous, particularly if he thought Remy a threat to his beloved sister.
And that they were on their way to South America… well. She just wasn’t sure Remy would take well to her father, or her father to Remy.
“There are far more worthy things to give yourself over to,” she said, missing the suggestion in her own words. But she did lean in and kiss his shoulder, thinking to herself how very like Pietro he really was.
"I am tired," he said, and she knew that he was not just stating how he felt physically; that he was also describing the mental drain on his strength that this whole business had finally put on him. "I have had enough now." He shifted in the bath as she kissed his shoulder.
"You are right, cherie," he said and his tone turned sad. "I have t' take it away from here. I owe these people so much, but I fear that th' sanctuary ain't gonna last." He looked up at her and she saw a vulnerability there that few ever saw in him.
"I gotta swallow m'pride an' get help," he said, quietly. "Or it's Remy LeBeau, R.I.P. An' I got a lotta things I'm glad t'be alive for." He reached up a wet hand to cup her chin. "A lot of things, y'hear me, chere?"
She blinked slowly, hazily, in that sleepy way of hers. “Why rejoice over butterflies passing by the sill when you have eagles nesting in the branches out your window?”
Turning her eyes back to his body, she looked to the wound on his shoulder again. “You don’t have bandages in here, do you...”
Folding up the washcloth and neatly laying it along the edge of the tub, she stood and looked around her thoughtfully. Wanda looked back at him a moment, then wandered out into the bedroom again.
A few minutes later, and she still had not returned.
Remy remained in the bath water for a few moments longer then, when she didn't return stepped out and swathed himself in a towel. He felt so tired and, despite his youth and vigour, desperately worn out and tired.
"Wanda?"
He headed out from the bathroom, his long hair wet and hanging around his shoulders, dripping down his body. "Petite? Where y'go?"
Wanda was laid out along his bed on her stomach, her face tipped into the shelter of her arms, sunlight coming in the window across her red dress and equally intense copper coloured hair. Having found her mind a little fogged from the drink, she’d apparently fallen asleep.
A look of infinite tenderness, few any in this world would ever see, crossed Remy's face. "Ah, chere," he murmured, softly, reaching for a blanket from the top of his wardrobe. He lay it over her and sat down at the end of the bed, reaching to stroke her hair.
The hot bath had done wonders for his aches, but he knew that come the morning he would be stiff as a board. It was the price he had to pay just to stay alive.
Absently he stroked Wanda's stunning hair, his eyes fixed on the window, staring off into the middle distance.
His touch woke her, and she lifted her head after a moments, turning her face towards him. For a long time she just looked at him, blue eyes so bright against the backdrop of a fair skinned face.
Her hand peeked out of the blanket he’d laid over her, long arm draped in red. She drew her fingertips down his bare arm, pausing to circle over his wrist, investigating the knuckles on his hand. Then hers slipped beneath his, and she took his hand, pulling him toward her.
“Rest Hunter… and we’ll find a place for you to go, when you wake.”
What little she’d seen of him told her he’d likely try to tell her he hadn’t a mind for sleep, or would want to sleep on the floor, or some other nonsense. She didn’t want for him to sleep anywhere else but in his own bed. Neither did she want to move.
“Don’t resist me,” she said plainly, her eyes fixed on his.
He closed his eyes at her touch, felt strangely sleepy at her words and nodded. Almost as though in some sort of trance, he climbed onto the bed and dropped down onto it, still wearing nothing but the towel. It was the easiest thing in the world to put out an arm and offer to draw her into an embrace.
"Sleep, oui," he mumbled. "Sounds like a plan."
Injured, exhausted mentally and physically and sleepy from the alcohol and the hot bath, Remy dropped quickly into a slumber.
Pulling the blanket over both of them, Wanda shivered just slightly as she turned her face into his neck and closed her eyes.
She didn’t sleep at first, mind too busy with all the comparisons to the only man she’d ever been this close to. And she found herself wondering what Pietro would think of her Hunter; the man to whom she felt so close though they had spent less than a day in one another’s presence. This would all end in disaster. But for the moment, she let herself indulge in sleep.
Reaching the very corner of the southwest wing of the mansion, there was no one around, the back door leading only to some rec rooms that were rarely used except for large school functions. She allowed him to lean on her with her body between him and the wall.
Lifting a hand, red light spires reached from her fingertips, webbing like a catscradle and quickly multiplying into a myriad of polygon shapes. “Let me at least… try it, Hunter?” She said, drawing a line along his eyebrow with the tip of her finger, her thumb now stained brown from the blood that had been red a few minutes ago.
The remnants of blood and sweat where she touched him bubbled and fizzed, quickly burning away with the faint smell of sulphur. “Let me try it.” She looked up at him with an honest, clear expression that carried with it such depth, it was as if a child and an old woman looked up at him at the very same time.
There was a faint stinging with her touch which made him instinctively pull away initially. But for some reason he could not fathom, he trusted her. He trusted her with his very life - and her brief and almost off-hand comment that she could kill him with her powers set his senses jangling.
"My head isn't the only part of me that's injured, cherie," he said, leaning down to whisper the words in her ear in the most suggestive way possible. "You gon' try t'heal th' rest of me as well?"
Wanda lost her breath, and closed her eyes tight, fist clenching to keep the chaos sphere she’d just created intact. The gasp she gave him in response to his words was all the answer he would get, but came in such a passionate rush he had know its meaning clearly.
“Be careful,” she said, sounding genuinely worried. “Just a kiss and we broke windows. I don’t want to break the rest of you as well.”
She opened her eyes again, looking at him, caught up in the excitement and danger of what they were doing. What was it they were doing?
Opening her hand again, she whispered unintelligibly for a moment and brushed her palm over the area of the cut. The chaos orb connected with every nerve in the upper half of his body and yanked at it, making him go numb for a split second like a flash. The red orb shattered just as it had before.
For a second, all the last between them was the rushing of her breath, fast and stuttering. She held tightly to him, searching his face with her eyes.
The wound was gone, but only superficially. His hair, his skin, his eyes were clear of any blemish or trace of blood or sweat. But he could feel the pains till beneath the surface of his skin.
Wanda smiled distantly. “You’re alive,” she said, and it was almost a question.
When he heard her draw in her breath, he took a slight step back, heeding her warning and not wanting to cause any unnecessary destruction. She raised her hand and passed the orb over him and it was his turn to draw in his breath.
It was like stepping into a bath of freezing cold water, numbing every sense in his body. The feeling passed almost as soon as it started, however, and he swallowed back the urge to cry out.
"Oui," he said. "Very much alive, petite."
He was suddenly very much aware of every ache and pain in his battered body. That he was so fit and healthy was very much on his side - but even the strongest and most well-honed body could only take so much. And the Hunt was beginning to physically take its toll on him.
He looked better. That was all they needed. Now if luck was on their side, no one would bother them on their way to his room. She took his hand, and pulled him gently with her towards the door.
“Steps, only steps, not so far to go from where you’ve come.” It sounded like a bit of childish poetry, but the encouragement to keep going had its meaning in any case. She remembered his door in the long hallway without thinking twice, and opened his door for him, letting him step in first. When he was inside, she quietly shut the door behind herself.
Both hands stayed on the brass doorknob behind her, and she stayed there leaning against the door like a child too timid to enter.
Once he was inside his room, he dropped down to sit on the bed, grateful for the sanctuary of the mansion yet again. It seemed to be - at least for now - an unwritten rule that none of those who had been pitted against him in the Hunt would dare step over the threshold of Xavier's Institute.
"Merci," he said, softly. "Guess I took more of a poundin' than I realised." With no hint of self-consciousness at all, he rose to his feet again, stripping off the shirt and t-shirt he wore. His body was already starting to blossom in a mass of bruises.
He put a hand gently to his ribs and winced. "Damn me, but that guy had quite th' kick."
Looking up at her, he gave her a smile. "Chere, don't look so scared. I ain't gon' bite. I promise I ain't gon' do anythin' bad again."
“You did nothing so awful to begin with, nothing I would not ask you to do again, were you not already suffering,” she said plainly, smiling a little.
She was thankful for the adult rooms, the ones with their own bathrooms. She had been given one when she’d arrived at the school but only because they were concerned for her interactions with others. It was the same with Jean in her first days, though she’d eventually been moved to the dorms… but still Wanda resented any special treatment Jean had been given. Most particularly after all that had happened between she and Wanda’s father.
Frowning as the memory walked through her mind, Wanda moved to the little bathroom and stepped in, ignoring the haphazard scatter of Remy’s things to turn on the bath and make sure it was hot enough. Drawing her fingers back with a wince, she watched the flow of water from the tap to make sure it wasn’t actually boiling. It was so difficult sometimes to tell what was real, and what wasn’t. But then, Wanda knew everything was real, at some level. Even illusion.
The image of scorched wood crawled up the doorway from the bathroom, tainting the wooden walls of Remy’s room with black that slowly creeped out wherever steam touched it from the bathroom within. When Wanda stepped back into the room after Remy, little flames ate their way over her dress, her arms, her hair- whispering away as if only a turn of the light.
“You should bathe.” She gestured behind her. “It will make those feel a little better.” A long-fingered glance towards his bruises. It didn’t seem entirely within Wanda’s realm of thought to consider the man before her was half naked.
Her magic, her illusions, whatever they were, still played stupid games with Remy's head and the partial sight of his bathroom apparently bursting into flame almost made him leap into action - before he remembered just who was there with him.
"It ain't real," he murmured, more to himself than to anybody in particular. He looked up at Wanda as she came back out the bathroom and gave her his most encouraging smile, unconsciously switching on his own mental abilities as he did so. "You're quite right, petite," he agreed. "Good soak will help. And a glass or three of Lynchburg's finest will take the sting away - y'want one?"
He indicated the quarter-full bottle on the side.
Oh how the sight of the bottle startled her. And yet as he smiled, her heart raced for a wholly different reason. That old familiar feeling, her head swimming, lips tingling, the feeling of breath being stolen from her lungs… the blinked a little, a beautiful smile blooming on her red lips.
“That would be lovely,” she said. Not exactly deciding to relax- Remy’s nature simply did that to her, no thought involved- she untied the string at her throat and let the cloak drop from her shoulders, leaving them bare as the neckline of her red dress reached from shoulder to shoulder. A stray bit of red hair drew across the pale expanse of collarbone revealed there and for a moment, looked like a reedy red snake slithering over her skin. Then it was gone as she shifted her long hair behind her.
“But you won’t be seducing me with drink at the expense of your comfort. Pour them, and be off.” She gestured to the bathroom with a wider smile, sitting down on the bed with a bit of a bounce.
"You really are beautiful, Wanda," said Remy - and for once, she heard no attempt to be charming or flirtatious in his voice. He spoke pure, honest truth - which was strangely refreshing.
He gave her another smile and crossed to the side, pouring out two measures of the bourbon and taking a hefty swig from the bottle into the bargain. "To absent friends," he said, holding up his glass. "An' their welcome return."
He downed the drink in one practised gulp and set his empty glass down. The fiery liquor was already doing its job: he could feel it flowing through him like a painkiller. "Bath," he said, vaguely and headed to the bathroom.
The young Cajun paused at the door.
"At least come say au revoir if y'get th' urge t'leave, cherie, 'k?"
She looked at him over her glass as she took a sip, and when she lifted her face to lick her lips, she nodded.
When he’d gone, she looked around his room. It was identical to all the others, of course. She leaned over his bed, laying her head on his pillow and looking across the room rather blankly. Distracted by his smell, she turned her face into the bedclothes and inhaled, her blue eyes wide open and fingers tracing a seam along one of his blankets.
Then Wanda sat up again, picking up the glass he’d poured the alcohol into and looking at it. Remy had swallowed the whole thing down. Lifting it to her lips, she opened her throat and tossed the drink back. Thank goodness for reflex, as Wanda managed to swallow before sputtering. Coughing hard, she put her hand over her mouth as her eyes watered.
Wanda looked back at the bathroom door and blinked, wiping her eyes. This sort of drink was dangerous. She never really understood why people preferred it… she was familiar with wine, which had a flavor like something recognizable as a fruit. This was… well it couldn’t be healthy. Vaguely sweet, a smoky aftertaste, and already she felt tingly from what little she’d tasted.
Somehow it seemed to sum up her new friend perfectly.
Pouring another glass, she stood and moved to the bathroom door. Touching it gingerly with just the tips of her fingers, she peeked in, red hair hanging like a banner down the side of the door. She continued inside, moving to set the glass on the edge of the tub, and pulled over a washrag from the little pile of linens on the counter. Sitting down at the edge of the tub, she wet the rag in his bathwater and took his wrist in her hand, moving to wash the length of it clean of blood and sweat.
All without a word, or so much as a glance at him since she’d entered the room.
He'd slid into the warm, moist embrace of the bath with relief and had closed his eyes in relaxation. He had been aware of her entering the bathroom, but hadn't opened his eyes until she took his wrist and wiped it with the cloth. Then his peculiar red-on-black eyes snapped open and he studied her intently.
Wordlessly, he held up his arm for her to clean as well and then leaned forward so she could see the knife wound between his shoulderblades. It was little more than a surface break, but it was long, as though someone would have stabbed him, but it had ended up as a graze. It needed proper cleansing and it was obvious that he couldn't reach it.
Amazing what he said without words. Somehow they didn't seem to be needed.
Wanda frowned a little, sighing softly between her lips as the cloth drew hot water up his arm and along the top of his shoulders, trailing down over that wound. She wet the cloth again and very carefully rinsed the skin around the wound.
“They draw lines along you to mark you as their own,” she whispered. “Hunter do you believe it will ever be done?”
He didn’t answer, and she didn’t wait for one. “Do you really believe it?” If there was ever a time for his hackles to raise, it would be now.
His hackles were nowhere near rising. He was exhausted, and relaxed from the alcohol and the hot water. He smiled, ruefully.
"There was a time, chere petite, when I thought it would be over swiftly. But they do not call th' Hunt off for another year. I don't think I can survive many more attacks. So maybe...oui - it will be over swiftly now an' th' Hunters can take their prey back to La Croix."
He put his hand over hers and stroked one finger up her arm.
"Maybe I should just give m'self up t'them. Never thought I'd hear m'self say this, Scarlet, but I'm givin' up th' fight. It's gettin' too close to th' school, y'know?"
“Then take it from the school,” she said. “If you care so much for the people here. Take it where they cannot find you.”
I have places they cannot find you, she thought, but didn’t share it with him just yet. The places she would go, would be just as dangerous. Firstly, she could kill him at any point, though through no intent of her own. Pietro was just as dangerous, particularly if he thought Remy a threat to his beloved sister.
And that they were on their way to South America… well. She just wasn’t sure Remy would take well to her father, or her father to Remy.
“There are far more worthy things to give yourself over to,” she said, missing the suggestion in her own words. But she did lean in and kiss his shoulder, thinking to herself how very like Pietro he really was.
"I am tired," he said, and she knew that he was not just stating how he felt physically; that he was also describing the mental drain on his strength that this whole business had finally put on him. "I have had enough now." He shifted in the bath as she kissed his shoulder.
"You are right, cherie," he said and his tone turned sad. "I have t' take it away from here. I owe these people so much, but I fear that th' sanctuary ain't gonna last." He looked up at her and she saw a vulnerability there that few ever saw in him.
"I gotta swallow m'pride an' get help," he said, quietly. "Or it's Remy LeBeau, R.I.P. An' I got a lotta things I'm glad t'be alive for." He reached up a wet hand to cup her chin. "A lot of things, y'hear me, chere?"
She blinked slowly, hazily, in that sleepy way of hers. “Why rejoice over butterflies passing by the sill when you have eagles nesting in the branches out your window?”
Turning her eyes back to his body, she looked to the wound on his shoulder again. “You don’t have bandages in here, do you...”
Folding up the washcloth and neatly laying it along the edge of the tub, she stood and looked around her thoughtfully. Wanda looked back at him a moment, then wandered out into the bedroom again.
A few minutes later, and she still had not returned.
Remy remained in the bath water for a few moments longer then, when she didn't return stepped out and swathed himself in a towel. He felt so tired and, despite his youth and vigour, desperately worn out and tired.
"Wanda?"
He headed out from the bathroom, his long hair wet and hanging around his shoulders, dripping down his body. "Petite? Where y'go?"
Wanda was laid out along his bed on her stomach, her face tipped into the shelter of her arms, sunlight coming in the window across her red dress and equally intense copper coloured hair. Having found her mind a little fogged from the drink, she’d apparently fallen asleep.
A look of infinite tenderness, few any in this world would ever see, crossed Remy's face. "Ah, chere," he murmured, softly, reaching for a blanket from the top of his wardrobe. He lay it over her and sat down at the end of the bed, reaching to stroke her hair.
The hot bath had done wonders for his aches, but he knew that come the morning he would be stiff as a board. It was the price he had to pay just to stay alive.
Absently he stroked Wanda's stunning hair, his eyes fixed on the window, staring off into the middle distance.
His touch woke her, and she lifted her head after a moments, turning her face towards him. For a long time she just looked at him, blue eyes so bright against the backdrop of a fair skinned face.
Her hand peeked out of the blanket he’d laid over her, long arm draped in red. She drew her fingertips down his bare arm, pausing to circle over his wrist, investigating the knuckles on his hand. Then hers slipped beneath his, and she took his hand, pulling him toward her.
“Rest Hunter… and we’ll find a place for you to go, when you wake.”
What little she’d seen of him told her he’d likely try to tell her he hadn’t a mind for sleep, or would want to sleep on the floor, or some other nonsense. She didn’t want for him to sleep anywhere else but in his own bed. Neither did she want to move.
“Don’t resist me,” she said plainly, her eyes fixed on his.
He closed his eyes at her touch, felt strangely sleepy at her words and nodded. Almost as though in some sort of trance, he climbed onto the bed and dropped down onto it, still wearing nothing but the towel. It was the easiest thing in the world to put out an arm and offer to draw her into an embrace.
"Sleep, oui," he mumbled. "Sounds like a plan."
Injured, exhausted mentally and physically and sleepy from the alcohol and the hot bath, Remy dropped quickly into a slumber.
Pulling the blanket over both of them, Wanda shivered just slightly as she turned her face into his neck and closed her eyes.
She didn’t sleep at first, mind too busy with all the comparisons to the only man she’d ever been this close to. And she found herself wondering what Pietro would think of her Hunter; the man to whom she felt so close though they had spent less than a day in one another’s presence. This would all end in disaster. But for the moment, she let herself indulge in sleep.
