Subject: Family Matters 9 (impending spanking, no sex)
From: dswdiane@aol.com
Date: 30 Mar 1997 06:17:15 GMT

Family Matters, Chapter 9

Remy had had a difficult week. Stuck in his room, he had reviewed and organized the data downloaded from Sinister's computers, although he had barely made a dent in examining all the files. He had served as a communications liaison for the teams and had continued to work on organizing the data on the Legacy virus left for him by Hank as well as adding the new data sent from Muir Island.

Warren's team had occasionally come back to the mansion from New York and he had been grateful for the company when members of that team had visited him in his room. The view of the outside world from his window grew more and more attractive with each passing day. He wanted to be outside so badly that he spent hours sitting on his window seat hanging out the window and imagining himself riding his bike through the woods.

And Archangel's team spent more time in the city than at the mansion. They were staying at his penthouse apartment more often than not since the Hellfire club had many events in the evenings and at night. They had discovered little, but they were having an interesting social life. Remy felt as if he were having no life at all. Several nights he had crept downstairs and raided the liquor cabinet just to sedate himself.

And as days and days went by with no sign of Sinister, he had had less and less work to do as communications liaison. He ended up feeling even more lonely and isolated.

The video Sinister has left the team in San Francisco, detailing the involvement between Sinister and Remy, had sent Remy right over the edge. He felt as if he were going to jump out of his skin after viewing it. Sinister had, of course, presented Remy's involvement in the worst possible light as if Remy were his willing helper and assistant. He saw clones he had cared about on the screen and he was eaten up with anger and remorse.

It seemed to be a good night to hit the liquor cabinet.

The level of bourbon in the bottle was getting alarmingly low and Remy was not at all sure that anyone would believe that members of Warren's team had been imbibing.

Nevertheless, Remy poured himself a very stiff drink as he thought about the problem of the disappearing alcohol. He sat in the family room with the bottle at his side, picked up the newspaper, and thought.

It was fairly obvious to him that Sinister was not going to emerge and engage with Scott's team. He hadn't yet. The team had spent a day in Boston, two days in New Orleans, another one in Seattle and now were spending the night in San Francisco. There had been no sign of Sinister.

Remy poured himself another drink and downed it quickly. He felt a pleasant buzz and poured again. It had been almost a full week since the professor had placed him one week of room arrest. He had what he thought was less than 24 hours to go before he would be free to escape. He hadn't discussed it with the professor, but he hoped to join Cyclops's team on the west coast.

According to the paper, Lush was the star attraction at a rock music festival in a nearby town. Remy loved Lush. He poured himself yet another strong drink and noticed that the bottle was almost empty. Well, he thought, an empty bourbon bottle would not be particularly easy to explain. And the last thing he wanted was the possibility of being in trouble again. He somehow didn't think that trips downstairs to get drunk fell into the category of a necessary reason to violate his room restriction.

At that particular point in time and with the amount of bourbon he had already put into his system, it seemed perfectly logical and reasonable to run out quickly and replace the alcohol so no questions need be asked. He finished off the booze in the bottle and took it out to the trash, burying it under piles of garbage.

Within moments, he was on his Harley heading toward the nearby town where he picked up a new bottle of Wild Turkey. Then after a moment of thought, he grabbed another to keep in his room. He went outside and took another drink to start the process of getting the level of the bottle down to where it had been when he started sneaking drinks. He took three more huge swallows, gasping as the straight bourbon hit his guts and then decided to at least cruise by the club where the bands were playing.

He went to the club, worrying that he might be contacted by Scott's team. But since there had been no contact with Sinister, the calls from that team had diminished. He had talked to them after they had gone back to their hotel. It was unlikely that he would hear from them again. He sat outside the club and tried to seriously consider the possibility that he would be caught and what the possible consequences might be. He certainly didn't want to be put back on room restriction for yet another period of any time at all. It was true that the longer he stayed gone, the more likely it was that he would miss a communication from someone. He thought about it some more. The music from inside the club poured out into the parking lot and his foot started tapping impatiently.

It was after midnight. There was a possibility that the team in San Francisco would call again. Of course, they already might have called again. He wondered what he would say if questioned and decided that zonked out sleep might account for his lack of response at such a late hour. Besides, the person most likely to call him was Rogue. He decided to make a preemptive call to her before going into the club.. He revved up his bike and moved far away from the club to allow himself enough quiet to use the cell phone. . He routed his call through the computer and caught Rogue in the hotel, telling her that he had been sleepless for nights, had crashed soundly, and was about to sleep again. He felt vaguely guilty about lying to Rogue, but it hardly seemed to matter as he sipped repeatedly at his bottle of Wild Turkey.

He went back to the club parking lot and tucked both bottles into the canvas side bags on his bike before he went inside. He knew he was seriously buzzed from the bourbon and ordered a beer while he listened to one of the warm-up bands. Lush was scheduled for last billing of the night.

On his first trip to the bathroom, he heard giggles from one of the stalls. He thought he recognized the voice of one of his buddies and inquired at the door. George let him into the stall where he and his girlfriend were smoking a joint. It was passed to Remy who hesitated for only a moment before sucking deeply.

By the time, Remy, George, and Penny were back out in the club, they were all high. Remy rarely felt like drinking while he was high on pot, so he ordered a coke and chatted with George, Penny, and their friends in the interminable time it took for Lush to set up. Just before the band started playing again, they went back to the restroom and smoked again.

When the music started, Remy was feeling no pain. He and his friends were standing at a bar on a raised platform at level with the stage. Remy stood near the edge and danced like a fool, flirting outrageously with the lead female singer who noticed him indeed and danced with him as she sang. He occasionally got more sodas from the bartender to deal with the dryness in his mouth, and had a wonderful time.

The set ended and Remy went back to the bathroom with one of George's friends. He was more than ready to smoke some more pot, but this guy had something else, a plastic bag of white powder which he pulled out of the pockets of his jacket along with sterile wrapped disposable syringes.

"What in de hell you got dere, homme?" Remy asked.

"Pure pharmaceutical cocaine, man. Want to shoot up with me?"

"Why not j'st snort it, ami?"

"Because the rush is awesome, dude. C'mon, are you a virgin or what? I know what I'm doin'"

Remy held his arm out and George's friend tied off his upper arm and found a vein to shoot.

As the cocaine rush flushed through his body, Remy felt as if he were experiencing the intensity of six orgasms. He barely noticed as his new "friend" tied off and found his own vein to inject. Remy leaned against the wall and felt higher than a satellite.

By the time they were both back at the bar, Remy was starting to remember why he had always hated cocaine. Every part of his body was tense. His teeth were clenching and he felt as paranoid as a communist sympathizer during the McCarthy witch hunts.

He ordered a double bourbon and went outside to drink it. It was a quiet night with a gibbous moon. He sat on the steps of the club and sipped his drink. The cocaine had obliterated his high from the pot and the booze and his mind was racing. He felt as if he were thinking clearly for the first time that night and he was scared.

I am in deep, deep trouble, he thought. *I have set myself up. Oh, ye gods, but I have truly set myself up. What did I think I was doing? Did I really think I would lie and lie and lie to my family? I'm sick of lying.*

He buried his face in his hands and groaned. *I am really gonna get it. I am gonna get it bad. I am not gonna be able sit down for days.*

His bottom tingled in anticipation of what he knew was coming to him. He was aware that it didn't even really matter if he were "caught". He knew that he would confess about what he had done. He knew he would be punished. And he knew with excruciating clarity that he wanted to be punished. He felt sick. He sat there on the steps and imagined himself over Logan's knees. He vividly imagined his pants being pulled down. He hated having his bottom bared almost as much as he hated the pain of the spanking. He imagined the burning spanks blazing against his naked butt, one smack after another, until he was sobbing and then continuing even after he was sobbing. His breath caught. He balled up his fist and hit himself on his leg hard enough to leave a bruise.

What on earth had he been thinking? He hated coke. He had always hated coke. What in the world had possessed him to shoot it up? He knew it was thoroughly unacceptable behavior and that while he might have escaped a spanking for drinking and leaving his room, there was no way he could avoid getting bottom bared and paddled for drinking and driving and shooting up coke.

His stomach clenched and he felt deeply nauseous. How could he have imagined that he would get away with all this? He felt terrified icicles forming in his guts. He gulped down the bourbon and felt some relief from the almost unbearable tension in his muscles. He looked up at the moon and continued to think about his predicament. He was obviously in deep and serious trouble and he had no doubt that he was going to get a long and painful spanking. Nor did he have much doubt that his family was going to be seriously displeased with him.

He listened to the buzz of conversation and laughter from inside the club and wondered if he could drink enough and/or smoke enough to have few more minutes of fun before he went home. He knew that once he was back in his room, he would be miserable until he had an opportunity to confess and take the consequences.

He went back into the club and ordered another double bourbon. He took another trip to the bathroom with George and Penny and smoked more pot and then ordered two more double bourbons. The alcohol started to blur the edges of his own self criticism and self hatred, but the pot high only enhanced his preoccupation with the images of his bottom bared and spanked. He continued to feel a burning tingling in his butt. He couldn't shake the images from his head and he was not having a good time.

He ordered one last double before the band came back. He had collected himself, enough to share one last wink with the lead female singer before he left.

He said his goodbyes to George and his friends and stumbled out. He was almost too drunk to walk.

Remy went to his bike and pulled out one of the bottles taking a deep and shuddering gulp. He continued to be tormented by images of the spanking he knew he was going to get. He vividly imagined being pulled face down over Logan's lap. He envisioned his pants and underwear coming down and he imagined the pain in his butt as he got the spanking he so richly and obviously deserved. He felt like a child who had seriously misbehaved. He knew quite well that he would cry like a child when he got his bottom spanked. For a moment he considered simply starting to sob right there in the parking lot. He was very upset. But he knew it would do no good and help him cope not at all. He trembled with dread.

He continued trembling as he started to leave. He knew he had no business driving in his condition and knew if he managed to get arrested for DUI he would collect a punishment far worse than what he had earned thus far. He walked his bike back toward the mansion until he got to a path in the woods off the main roads. It was unnavigable except by bike and it would offer him a sort of short cut home. He would be out of the law's jurisdiction and was very unlikely to encounter any other vehicle.

Oh, hell, he thought. *Might as well try one more time t' try to have some fun before I go home. I prob'ly not gonna be able t' ride again for awhile."

He took the bike into the off-road paths through the woods. He wanted to push his bike and himself to the limits and thoroughly enjoy himself one more time before he was punished for his behavior.

He drove his Harley as fast as it would go over the dirt trails between the town and the mansion. It was like flying. He steered expertly and sailed through the air over many a hill and incline. The concentration he needed to keep the bike on the trail forced everything else out of his mind. It was an enormous relief.

Until he hit a patch of gravel that spun his bike out from under him. It slipped and slid for what seemed to be hours until it hit a tree at an awesome velocity. The bottles of bourbon shattered in the canvas bags and shards of glass pierced him throughout his legs. The bike collapsed upon him smashing him to the ground and his head hit the trunk of the tree with enormous force. As Remy lapsed into unconsciousness, he was aware through his link with his father that he had screamed for help. He was badly hurt and deeply scared and bleeding from numerous wounds.

* * *

In San Francisco, Jean was searching telepathically for any sign of Storm and Bishop. Logan was pacing impatiently, ready to go out and look for them.

Jean froze suddenly and her tension was communicated to the rest of the group.

"Remy has been hurt," she announced. "The professor just contacted me. He is wounded badly and Charles has no idea how it happened."

Rogue gasped, "Sinister?"

Jean shook her head, "I've told him what happened here and he has no idea where they are, but they are not in this city. He wants us to go home and deal with Remy. He doesn't know how he got hurt. And he is sending Cable to get him."

Logan was torn between his worry about Storm and Bishop and concern about Remy.

"Oh, hell," he grumbled. "Could Cerebro help us locate Ro and Bishop?

"What about Remy?" Rogue was terrified.

Jean stared at both of them and shook herself, "Charles is sending Cable after Remy. Cerebro might help us find the others. Let's please go home."

* * *

Professor Charles Xavier was frantic. He contacted Cable telepathically about Remy's injuries, but he had little sense of where his son was or why he was even out of the mansion.

He quickly ordered Hank to fly back to the mansion to assist with any medical problems. He desperately wanted to go himself but he was deeply involved in discussions with Colossus and could not leave.

* * *

Cable was worried and furious by the time he found the injured boy. He used his telepathic powers to focus on pain and injury and zeroed in on nothing until Remy awoke and he was able to broadcast. It took a while before Cable found Remy, bleeding and hurt.

Cable found him semi-conscious beneath the tree Remy had slammed into.

I got him and he is alive Cable sent telepathically to Hank and the professor. *Now what do I do with him?*

He leaned over Remy and grimaced as alcohol fumes hit him in the face.

Can we switch to radio communication? Hank sent him. *I can think better if I'm talking.*

Cable chuckled and switched on his radio. Remy looked up at him blearily.

"Cable?" he inquired.

"Gambit," Cable responded. "I repeat, what do I do with him?"

"Tell me his condition," Hank requested.

"He's about half under his bike, under a tree which it looks like he hit pretty damn hard. There's a lot of blood, but it seems to be coagulating, not running freely anywhere I can see. He seems to be about half conscious and he might be drunk. On the other hand, he seems to be soaked in bourbon from at least one broken bottle in a bag on his bike."

"Don't move him."

"I'm not an idiot, Hank." Cable turned to Remy. "How you feeling, sport?"

"Hurt everywhere. I'm cold."

"Well, you're kinda wet, kid." Cable unrolled a blanket which he had brought with him and covered him. "He's probably shocky, Hank. I'm covering him. Look, I have some of my kids standing by with a stretcher. Tell me what I need to do to rule out a spinal cord injury. I think we need to get him inside and I would guess get some blood in him ASAP."

Cable followed Hank's instructions, telling Remy to move various appendages and report feelings in them. He carefully lifted the bike off Remy. He had already instructed his team to bring a stretcher. Shatterstar and Warpath showed up quickly, lifted Remy to the stretcher and took him back to the mansion, installing him in a bed in the med lab. Cable dismissed his team and hooked Remy up to an IV, feeding him plasma. There was little else he could do before Hank arrived and evaluated the medical situation.

Remy was getting more and more coherent as time passed. He looked up at Cable as the IV was inserted into his arm.

"I'm in big trouble, aren't I?" he asked in a shaky voice.

"Don't know, sport, but I would guess that you might be," Cable informed him gently. "I don't know what in hell you were doing out there on your bike, but I was informed you were on room restriction for the week. Unless you were engaged in saving the world, I would assume you are in very big trouble."

Remy shuddered and turned his face away. He felt closer to tears than he wanted to be and he was deeply scared about the trouble he knew full well he was in.

"Gambit, you are going to have to wait for Hank to treat you. He will be here any moment, now," Cable said simply. "Do you want me to wait here with you?"

"No, it's okay. I'm sorry you had to come out and get me. And I'll be okay until Hank gets here." Remy felt more injured and stressed than he was willing to admit, but he didn't want any pity.

"Actually, it doesn't matter what you want. I'm gonna be here until Hank gets here." Cable saw the anguished pain on Remy's face and reacted with instinctive compassion.

Remy nodded, grateful to have the company.

"What were you doing out and about, anyway?" Cable asked.

"Mainly just gettin' myself in deep trouble, mon ami, but de original excuse was dat I wanted to go pick up some bourbon. Not a real good reason for leaving room restriction, heh?"

"No, I don't quite think so," Cable shook his head. "And you managed to bang yourself up good." Remy nodded his agreement and Cable started to chat with him about inconsequentials. It had been agreed by all that Remy was not to be told about Sinister's abduction of Storm and Bishop until he had been treated for his injuries.

Remy was grateful to chat about nothing for awhile and simply have some company. He had become increasingly aware since he had regained consciousness that he had managed to get himself in serious trouble yet again. His list of crimes had accumulated to a point at which he was relatively certain that he would be collecting more than one spanking. His bottom continued to tingle with dire anticipation and the images still lingered in his head.

* * *

Hank was there soon after and examining Remy. He dismissed Cable and checked Remy out thoroughly.

"Well, you were lucky, Gambit," he said finally. "Most of your injuries are superficial and you should be back on your feet in no time. But I have some questions for you before I give can give you anything for the pain. How much have you had to drink?"

"Too much," Remy said honestly. "I had more dan 16 ounces of bourbon tonight."

Hank nodded, "I've taken blood for testing, Remy, but if you will simply tell me, I can get an idea of what you need. Tell me about this needle mark in your arm."

Remy shuddered and admitted what he had done. Two bright red patches flushed his cheeks as he awaited Hank's reaction which was worse even than he had feared.

"You let someone inject you a white powder that was supposed to be cocaine?" Hank was outraged and upset.

"It was cocaine," Remy protested.

"And how did you know that?" Hank was furious as was evident from his speech and body language. Remy's face burned intensely.

"Remy, do you know what could happen if you just inject any old white powder into your veins?" he demanded. Remy closed his eyes, nodded his head, and felt miserable. Hank lectured on. "You are bypassing all of your body's normal defense systems. You could have been killed if that powder had been contaminated. And even if it were really cocaine, what in hell were you thinking? Do you think cocaine is good for you?"

Hank lectured on and on. He was so angry that he could not see straight.

Remy nodded at the appropriate points in the lecture and felt wretchedly ashamed. He had never seen Hank so angry. He knew that he had been out of line, but he had not realized how upset his family would be with him. He felt as if his face were almost on fire.

Beast finally ran out of his angry diatribe. He paused and glared at Remy, noting the red flush of shame on his face, "I don't know what in hell I can give you for pain. I can't sedate you until we know if you sustained any injury to your brain when you smashed your head. And now you're telling me that you already have a veritable pharmaceutical soup in your veins anyway. Tell me, Remy, did you use any other drugs?"

Remy closed his eyes and then looking down at the bed admitted, "I smoked a bunch of pot."

"Oh, really," Hank rolled his eyes and glared at Remy again. "Want to tell me why you didn't bother to drop some LSD or take some speed or shoot up some heroin?"

"Nobody offered me any," Remy said quietly.

Hank stared at him a moment and almost laughed out loud at the honesty and simplicity of Remy's reply. He controlled himself and shook his head.

"I'm going to get you some ibuprofen, Remy. I really can't take a chance on anything else until we see what kind of drug stew you already have in you. And like I said, we can't sedate you until we know whether you have a concussion."

Hank left the room. Remy turned his face into the pillow on the bed and started to cry. It was time. He couldn't contain it any longer. If Hank, of all people, was so intensely angry with him, he knew that he had really screwed up.

Hank paused in the next room. He could clearly hear Remy's quiet sobbing. His anger was rapidly subsiding and he felt compassion for the injured boy. He went back into the room.

Remy couldn't look at him. He tried to hold his breath and stop his tears. It didn't work.

Hank looked down on him. He felt deeply sympathetic but didn't quite know what to do. He remembered that Logan had never asked Remy if it were okay to hold him while he cried. And he decided to do the same.

He sat on the edge of the bed and gathered Remy into his powerful arms. Remy resisted for a moment and then relaxed into the embrace and continued crying.

"I'm so. . .sorry. . ." he sobbed. Hank simply held him and let him cry.

"I'm in. . . trouble. . .aren't I?" Remy gasped out.

"Yep," Hank said simply. "You are gonna get your bottom spanked at least once, I'm sure, maybe more."

"I didn't. . . mean t'. . . be so bad," he protested, "I don'. . .know what. . . I was doin'."

"Remy, you did know what you were doing," he said gently. "Why are you so upset right now?"

"I. . . never. . .heard you. . . be. . . so angry. . .before," Remy sobbed. "I t'ink. . .dat everyone. . .gonna be. . . really mad at me.. . and I deserve everyone. . .being mad at. . .me. . . . Ain't. . .gonna t'ink dat I worth de. . .trouble I cause."

"Remy, don't go there. You are most likely going to be spanked until your bottom is red and blistered, but you are well worth the trouble you create."

Remy just cried harder with gut-wrenching sobs. He was revisited by images of the spanking he had coming and, even worse, he was visited by images of the anger he expected to see on Logan's face and Scott's face and Storm's.

"I. . .don'. . .want . . .a spankin'. . ." he said, "and. . .I don' want. . .everyone. . .t' be mad at . . .me."

Hank shook his head, "Now, I don't believe you at all, Remy. You never would have done what you did tonight from the very beginning if you didn't somehow want both to get your bottom blistered and to have everyone mad at you. I think you would make a lot more progress in dealing with all of this if you would just admit that both those facts are true."

Remy shook his head in protest.

"Oh, yes, Remy. You never would have left this house if you wanted to stay out of trouble. For heaven's sake, child, you only had one day left to go before you could have gone out anyway. I don't know what excuse you made to yourself, but with every choice you made out there you were setting yourself up for a spanking and for a lot of anger. How do you expect any of us to feel about you doing things to hurt yourself?"

Remy shuddered and suddenly remembered what Logan had told him when he had last been spanked, *if you threaten to hurt yourself again or succeed in hurting yourself, you'll get both, spanked soundly, sent to the corner, and then maybe spanked again.* And he remembered quite clearly that Logan had meant that he would be put in the corner with his pants down and his bare, spanked bottom on display. He actually stopped crying for a moment as rushes of intense fear raced through his belly. His face went white.

Hank looked down at him with concern. "What, Remy?"

Remy whispered "Logan. . ." in a voice that was strangled with fear.

"Yes, Remy, Logan is going to be pretty damn unhappy with you. And he is probably going to give you a spanking that you'll find truly memorable. But is this something that you just realized?" Hank was truly puzzled.

Still almost unable to speak through the lump in his throat, Remy managed to choke out to Hank what punishment Logan had threatened him with. And then he started to cry again. Hank didn't know any words of comfort to offer him and so he simply held him.

"De. . .worst. . .part. . ." Remy tried to explain, "it. . .not just de. . .shame of it. . . it's dat Logan. . .he always. . .he . . .I don' want t'. . .have t' stand dere. . .wit him. . . still. . .mad. . .at me. . .I hate. . .him bein'. . .mad."

"Logan has always held you after he has spanked you, hasn't he?" Hank asked. Remy nodded. "And that means a lot to you? Like it is over and you have been forgiven and all will be okay?"

"I don' know. . . if I can stand it. . . t' be. . ."

"Why don't you not worry about it right now. Logan might not even remember what he said." Hank actually thought the odds of that possibility were remote. If Logan had promised Remy that he would end up spanked and then bare bottomed in the corner if he hurt himself, then Remy was going to end up with a bare and very red bottom standing in the corner. But for now, he just wanted to calm him down. He needed some rest.

Remy nodded again. His sobs were quieting and he was exhausted and overwhelmed. "I t'ink dat I need to sleep, Henri."

"You can sleep, Remy, but I'll have to wake you up fairly often to check you out for symptoms of a head injury. But you can drowse through the check ups. In the meantime, would you like me to go on holding you?" Hank asked gently.

Remy nodded. The blue fur didn't make such a bad pillow and he was scared that he would get a bad case of terrified anxiety if Hank let him go. A memory came to him. A good one.

"You used to hold me on your lap and read to me when I was little. I remember how the fur felt and smelled. And you read me all the Narnia books," he said in a very sleepy voice which once again had lost the Cajun accent and returned to the accent of his childhood. "You were reading me A HORSE AND HIS BOY when suddenly all the words made sense to me and I corrected you when you left out a sentence or didn't read it right or something. And you got all excited and started getting me to read this and that and everything. I don't know if I was three or four, but you thought it was wonderful. And I guess you sorta acted like I was wonderful."

As he spoke he let down some of his shields and sent Hank images of the experience. He drifted off to sleep, leaving Hank feeling deeply bemused and touched. He felt a moment of fury that an innocent little child had suffered so much trauma that the semi-adult person that child had become was stilling dealing with the aftermath of it all.

He gently lowered Remy to the bed and went out of the med lab. He called Scott's team who were on their way home on the Black Bird.

"Remy is mostly okay. He lost some blood. He hit his head pretty hard and I've got him on a standard watch for possible brain injury. But I think he's gonna be okay."

"And what in the hell was he doing?" Logan asked roughly.

"Well, I think you should hear the whole story from him yourself, but basically he went out drinking, drove his bike drunk, and crashed it on the dirt bike trails."

"I'm gonna kill him," Logan said grimly.

"He knows that, Logan," Hank said, "and he is scared as hell and pretty upset with himself. He knows he screwed up and he knows damn well that he is going to be punished. So could you try to go a little easy on him?"

"And how do you suggest that I go easy on him?"

"Like maybe go easy on the anger. Look, I know and he knows and you know that there is no avoiding the spanking he's earned. But he's even more scared of -- I quote "everyone being mad" at him -- than he is of the spanking that he knows is coming to him."

"And don't you think he deserves to have everyone angry at him?"

"Probably and I'm not suggesting that you not be angry. I just was wondering if you could keep it down to a dull roar instead of terrifying him."

"Gotcha. I'll see."

Scott's voice cut in, "I think the more appropriate response here would be that 'we' will see, all of us. I'm not very happy with Remy myself."

"I understand, Scott. Hell, I just read him the riot act down in med lab, myself. I was so angry I was afraid I would burst a blood vessel."

"How did he react, Hank?" Jean asked.

"He took it with his face burning and his hands shaking and then as soon as I was out to the room he started sobbing. He pretty much cried himself to sleep."

"Well, Hank, I can guarantee you that the boy is going to do a lot more crying before we are all through with him," Logan said relentlessly. There was a pause for a few seconds and then Logan said in a much gentler voice. "And he will probably get held and comforted while he does his crying. I, for one, wouldn't be so damn mad if I didn't care about the brat. And we ain't sadistic monsters, pal."

"I know all that, Logan. And there is something else he is scared about that I want to discuss with you when you get here. What's your ETA, guys?"

"I'd say another hour," Scott informed him. "Then we're gonna get Jean on Cerebro to look for Storm and Bishop while I look through the computer files we downloaded from Sinister. I want Rogue and Wolverine to get some rest. They both got battered a bit in the battle. When will we be able to talk to Remy?"

"Probably by this afternoon. I want him to sleep as much as possible and symptoms of a closed head injury sometimes don't show up for hours. I'm going to be waking him pretty frequently to monitor his symptoms so he's going to need a lot of hours to get any real rest. And I'm not sure he will be in any shape to be spanked until much later."

"It can wait," Logan said, "probably just make it worse for him anyway, anticipating what he's got coming."

To be continued.