Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was after 2 a.m. when Remy's phone rang. He had come home late, his body aching after a complicated mission that lasted several days. All he asked for was a hot shower and a good night's sleep to recover. He had the shower, but the night would have to wait.
With a disgruntled grunt, he grabbed the phone from his bedside table. Unknown number. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then picked up.

"Quoi?"

"I found a kitten."

Remy sat up immediately. The number might be unknown, but the voice wasn't.

"Laura," he breathed.

"It's alone in an alley. Near a garbage can. It’s raining."

Her voice was detached, factual. Almost mechanical. Pure Laura. Remy inhaled. A protective impulse surged within him. He wanted to ask what she was doing outside, in the rain, in an alley, at two in the morning. He said nothing.

"It's wet," she added, as a new piece of information.

No questions, no requests. Just this chain of simple truths that set the scene in which she found herself.

Remy was already up. He placed the phone on the bed and turned it on speaker while he looked for some clothes.

"Isn't its mother nearby?"

"Yes. Her body is in the dumpster."

A fleeting emotion. Barely perceptible, but just enough for Remy to hear. He finished fastening his jeans and went to find his shoes. On the phone, Laura's voice continued with her silent plea for help.

"I think it's too young to survive without its mother."

Now fully awake, dressed, with a pack of cards slipped into a pocket and his key ring between his fingers, Remy picked up the phone, turned off the speaker and held it to his ear.

"Send me your location, petite. I'm coming."

* * *

When Remy arrived, Laura was soaked. Her hair, her skin, her clothes, everything was dripping with raindrops that continued to fall relentlessly in the middle of the gloomy night.

"You could have found a shelter somewhere."

"You told me not to move."

It was true. He had told her that after receiving the exact address. He hadn't thought she would take it literally. He should have known, though.

Laura was wearing a sleeveless tank top. In her hands, she held her jacket, crumpled into a ball, inside which was a tiny kitten. About five weeks old, Remy estimated. Young. Too young.

Despite the protection offered by the jacket, its gray fur remained wet, ruffled after what appeared to have been an attempt to dry it. It was trembling, its eyelids closed.
Remy took off his own coat, placed it on the teen's shoulders. He also left his hand there, as a gesture of comfort, support, and taking over.

"Come on. There's a clinic nearby, they'll take care of this little fellah."

Laura's hands pressed tightly around the ball in her hands. She let herself be guided without resistance.

"It stopped meowing," she murmured, a childlike fragility in her voice.

Remy said nothing. The pressure of his fingers tightened, mimicking his heart which clenched with resigned apprehension.

* * *

Outside, the rain had stopped. Remy and Laura were sitting in the clinic's waiting room. The on-call vet had taken the kitten in immediately. He told them they could go home if they wanted.

Laura hadn't said anything. Remy had replied that they would stay a little while. That was thirty minutes ago.

Thirty minutes of waiting.

Thirty minutes of silence.

Thirty minutes suspended in time, where fear and hope mingled in a fear of hoping.

Remy had made several trips back and forth between his seat, the coffee machine, the toilets, and another seat. Regularly, he tried to break the silence, both to occupy himself and to lighten the atmosphere.

"You want something to drink?"

"You were out late."

"The coffee isn't too bad."

"It stopped raining."

Each time, he was met with silence. Laura didn't even look at him. She sat motionless, focused, staring at a point on the wall, barely blinking. After the fifth attempt, Remy finally sat down, his coffee cup in hand, becoming silent himself.

And then, after what felt like an eternity, Laura stood up. Not a trace of emotion crossed her face. Her eyes didn't seek Remy's, nor even the door through which the vet had taken the cat. Just an agile movement, one of a shell that had silenced everything that made her human.

"Its heart stopped," she said simply. "It's over."

Remy blinked, taken aback by the sudden announcement as well as by the person who made it. He wanted to say something, anything. He didn't get the chance, because the door opened, and the vet reappeared, his face grim. He looked around for Remy, then approached him. Laura took the opportunity to slip away and leave the clinic.

After a brief exchange, having thanked and paid the man for his time and services despite the outcome, Remy left the clinic. He reached into his pocket and regretted not having a pack of cigarettes. He would gladly smoke one right there, in the middle of this damp, heavy night, to shake off the feeling of death and injustice.

Laura stood beside his bike. She hadn't left.

Her face was downcast, her bare arms crossed. Her jacket was still inside, with the kitten. Her hair hadn't had a chance to dry completely in the waiting room, and its frizz was visible under the streetlight.

"You'll catch a cold," said Remy.

She shrugged.

"I can't get sick."

It was true. Remy stopped beside her. He wanted to talk to her, comfort her, take her in his arms, but he knew her well enough to know she wasn't ready yet. The emotions were too raw. Hidden, but raw.

A moment passed.

"Thank you for coming," she muttered, without looking at him. "Sorry to have bothered you for nothing."

"You didn't bother me, petite. And that wasn't nothing."

A fleeting shrug. Barely noticeable. Just like before, on the phone, she wasn't asking for anything. She slipped her hands into her jeans pockets and straightened up.

"I have to go," she announced.

Remy hesitated. Again, questions flooded his mind. He pictured her wandering the dark streets, alone, until dawn. She won't be in danger, of course. She knew how to defend herself. She didn't need protection, she never had.

"Laura," he decided. "Come with me. Spend the night at my place, take some time to rest."

"No need."

"Wasn't a suggestion, petite. You're coming with me."

Laura stared at him. In her eyes, there was a spark of teenage rebellion. That urge to refuse, to avoid submitting, simply out of pride and dignity. But it was quickly replaced by a barely exposed vulnerability. She took a breath, then nodded in acceptance.

* * *

At Remy's, the guest room was always ready. Just in case. Visitors came and went, one after the other, depending on their needs. Some stayed only one night, others stopped for longer. Laura was one of the regular guests. One of those who had their own pajamas in a drawer, and well-established routines.

When they arrived at the apartment, Remy sent her to take a hot shower. He knew she could manage without his help, so he took the opportunity to rummage through the freezer looking for something quick to prepare. He didn't need to ask to know she hadn't eaten anything recently, and he preferred not to think about the last time she'd had a proper meal, other than instant noodles or cereal.

He put some soup to heat up and grabbed ground meat to quickly make meatballs. Nicely spiced, just the way Laura liked them. They were cooked when she appeared, dressed in black silk pajamas and an oversized hoodie. Her hair was clean and dry, her face tired.

She paused for a split second at the kitchen entrance, inhaled the aromas wafting from there, then went to fetch two plates and some cutlery from the cupboard. She placed them on the table and sat down while Remy filled them.

On the wall, the clock read four in the morning, while outside, the darkness of night swallowed everything. Laura began to eat, without a word. Remy watched her, then took a few bites himself, more to keep her company than because he was hungry. She devoured a full plate, then a second. As she poured herself a third helping, Remy decided to break the silence.

"Tough day, huh?"

This was evident in her appetite. He had spent enough time with Logan, and later Laura, to recognize this characteristic voraciousness that results from intense use of their healing factor. Unfortunately, neither of them seemed inclined to properly meet their bodies needs.

"Want to talk about it?"

Laura froze, the spoon suspended halfway between her plate and her mouth. She looked at him uncertainly and uttered her first words since they were at the apartment.

"About my day?"

"About whatever you want."

A split second of hesitation. The spoon turned half a millimeter, as if itself had lost its way, then...

"No."

Laura set the spoon down and brought the entire plate to her mouth. In a gulp, she emptied it and rose from her chair.

"It was good. Thank you."

"Laura..."

"I'm going to bed."

Remy wanted to hold her back, to make her talk, to prevent her from locking herself away in this silence and these repressed emotions.

There were days when it wasn't like that. Moments when she came to visit him because she wanted to. Nights when she stayed in the guest room because she needed company, and she was able to express it. Times when she was smiling, funny, full of life.

And then there were nights like this one. Encounters, words, events that rekindled emotions too heavy to bear, causing her to retreat into her old habits. Loneliness, silence, rejection of others.

Despite the months he'd spent with her, Remy still didn't have the instruction manual to get her out of there. That didn't stop him from staying. From trying. He made sure the basics were met: a roof over her head, a bed, a shower, a meal. Sleep was one of the basics, so he let her go and cleared away what was left on the table.

* * *

Sunlight filtered through Remy's curtains when a noise in the hallway caught his attention. He didn't get up right away, as if pretending he was asleep. It was foolish, of course. Laura's keen senses had probably already told her that he, too, was awake. Perhaps she'd heard him tossing and turning in bed for the past hour, unable to fall back asleep. Fatigue weighed heavily on his body, but his mind was too agitated to allow sleep to come. Worry gnawed at him, and remorse as well. He wished he could have changed how the night had ended.

With a sigh, he resigned himself and stood up. He left his room and crossed the corridor. All the lights in the apartment were off, but the morning light outside was sufficient to move around.

Laura was in the living room. Settled in one of the two small armchairs, her legs drawn up to her chest. She was still wearing the oversized sweatshirt, but this time the hood was pulled up over her head, leaving only a few strands of dark hair escaping.

Remy approached without a word. As silent as he was, he knew she could hear him move. He sat down on the sofa, not too close, not too far. Just the right distance. A moment passed without a sound, save for their breathing and the beating of their hearts, worn down by the night.

"It wasn't your fault," Remy said softly after several minutes.

Nothing. Not a movement, not a sound. Just Laura, motionless, withdrawn, suffering silently.

"It was probably doomed before you found it. Too young. Too damaged already. We can't perform miracles. You tried, and that's already a lot."

This time, she moved. Just a little. She curled up further, squeezed her knees together, probably clenched her jaw. Remy imagined the tears in her eyes, under the hood, and his heart ached.

"You can't keep this to yourself, petite. This pain, this guilt...you have the right to be sad. You have the right to express it."

Seconds hung in the silence of the dawn. Then Laura's voice rose. Low, distant, a little broken.

"I didn't react quickly enough. I just stood there, useless."

"You called me. That wasn't useless."

"It was stupid. Childish. I could have taken it to the clinic myself."

"You're a child. Even if you don't like to hear it, there are things you're more childish about than other kids your age. You felt overwhelmed by the situation and you called for help. That's good. That's important."

A movement, under the hood. A sniffle. She wiped the wetness from her face with the back of her sleeve.

"I didn't even ask you to come," she murmured.

"You didn't need to ask."

"I don't know how you do it. To understand without being told."

Remy smiled. A sad smile. An understanding smile.

"That's my secret talent."

Amusement didn't reach Laura. Not last night, nor this morning. She hugged herself tightly, sinking into the soft edges of her seat as if to disappear into it. She didn't speak right away, as if words were frightening, then she found the courage to utter them.

"I was too young, too. Too damaged. I would have preferred to die."

Remy closed his eyelids. He inhaled deeply. He counted slowly in his head, taking the time to calm his own heart, to extinguish the burning in his eyes, to untie the lump in his throat.

When he opened them again, he was already standing. He took the few steps that separated him from the solitary armchair and knelt right in front of it. He held out his hands, searching for Laura's. He made her unfold her arms, accept his palms, his presence, his closeness. He pressed his fingers against hers, hard, perhaps a little too hard, but he wanted to be sure she felt it, understood it, heard it.

"Don't say that, petite. I'm happy you're here. You have classmates, family, friends. You bring things to the world, positive things. I know that life is complicated. It hurts. There are wounds that are hard to heal, even for you. Especially for you. But despite everything, it's worth it. You're worth it."

He released one of her hands to push back her hood. Gently but firmly, he forced her out of her hiding place, revealing her face, her fears, her tears.

"You don't have to carry this alone, Laura."

She looked at him, the day's weariness, the shadow of death, failure, and guilt visible in her reddened, dark-circled eyes. She seemed young and vulnerable, not at all an emotionless weapon, not at all an adult capable of fending for herself. Just a 17-year-old girl who had tried to save a kitten and hadn't succeeded.

She did not resist when Remy pulled her against him, and let herself fall into an embrace she had not asked for, but which he knew she needed.