Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Laura grips her tray tightly as she approaches the cafeteria tables. Yesterday, there was an empty one, but today a small group of girls sit there. She can feel Peter standing at her back. He is waiting for her to make a choice, and so she does: She walks past the table. Past the girls. They call out to Peter. They wave at him. They try to get him to sit down with them. Peter ignores them, his eyes not wavering from the back of Laura's head. 

Outside the cafeteria, Laura finds a stone staircase leading out to the gardens where the school grows its own food. It had been explained to them during orientation. The students are all assigned chores based on their mutant skill-set. The gardens are run by those with nature abilities. Peter was assigned wall and ceiling cleaning duties. Laura had been designated to be a livestock butcher. 

Laura's dark green eyes scan the surrounding yard for danger. Peter reaches out with his senses. They feel no real danger, despite over a hundred mutants in the building behind them. Peter climbs onto the stone railing. He sits on the edge, balancing his tray on his knees. Laura sits on the step under him. It is a position they are used to, one they were designed to be in: Peter high, Laura low. S61 and X23. Unstoppable. 

Laura passes Peter her apple. He breaks it in half, forcing her to take the rest back. They eat in silence, not even their chewing making sound. A flock of birds fly overhead. It is nice. Laura leans her head onto Peter's thigh. He cards his fingers through her hair. Maybe Headmistress Pride was right. Maybe everything would be okay.

°•°♤°•°

Laura reaches high for the book, her fingertips brush the rough binding as it slips from her grasp. Peter would have caught it, she knows. Instead it makes a loud THWACK against the wall behind her. Right next to the bathroom door as it swings open. Jubilee stands there in shock. The other girls push past her, laughing as they walk down the hallway. 

Laura waits until they're gone before she starts to pick up her things. They're strewn about the bathroom floor. Her backpack sits soggy in a toilet. Jubilee reaches for Laura's book, but Laura grabs it first. She likes Jubilee. She thinks Jubilee is a spy. She should not like people sent to spy on her, but she does. 

Jubilee looks concerned as she starts drying Laura's bag in the hand dryer.“Does this happen a lot?”

“No,” Laura growls. She takes her less-soaked bag from Jubilee and shoves her things into it. “I know how to intercept projectile targets.” She did not need this reported back to the faculty–to Weapon X. Her mission was to integrate into the student body. For her to fail such a simple task would be unacceptable. 

“I meant the bullying,” Jubilee corrects knowingly. “Logan would have a fit if he kn–” she cuts off when Laura's claws extend. “I won't tell him, but I think you should.”

“He does not wish to see me,” Laura informs. She retracts her claws. It's time to get to class. Laura already knows the material, but her assignment is not the learning–it’s the learning to get along. She has to prove to the staff she is capable of integration into normal society. She can not fail. 

Jubilee follows her down the hallway. “He's the student dean, Laura. He's supposed to see students. He's told me I can drop by anytime. I'm sure it will be the same for you.”

“It is not the same for me,” her voice is flat, carefully without emotion. 

“Why wouldn't it be?”

The question stills the air between them. Jubilee has a good heart. Laura hates being one of the people to change that. She answers anyway. “Because I am a monster.” Laura tells her. “Because I am the worst parts of him. When he sees me, he remembers what he used to be. Why would he want that?”

Jubilee does not look convinced. “I think you should try. We can go right now. I'll take you.” She links arms with Laura. Together they walk to the faculty offices. A woman with perfect hair sits behind the desk. She calls in to Weapon X. After a moment, Laura is sent in.

Laura closes the door behind her. She clears her throat softly. “Weapon X, sir? I am to inform you–”

“Don't call me that.” Weapon X sits behind his desk. Though his voice and tone are flat, Laura can smell his anger. 

“I am sorry…” Part of her expects to be punished for her insolence, but the man just looks tired. “Should I call you Handler, sir?” 

“Just Logan.” Logan says. “What do you need, Laura? Make it quick, I'm in the middle of something important and I can't deal with interruptions.” He looks at the clock on his desk. “You should be in class.”

“I apologize, sir,” She takes a step backwards, her fingers reaching for the doorknob. She knew this was a bad idea. “I will no longer interrupt.” He does not stop her. She exits. She ignores Jubilee asking if she is okay. Jubilee follows her anyway.

“Well?” She looks expectant. “Is he going to do anything?” 

“No,” Laura grinds out. She continues her march down the hallway. She takes a deep breath of air–more to find Peter than because she actually needs it. He's close enough that she knows he's safe. She needs to get to class.

“What did he say?” Jubilee stays on her heels, her questions not easing up.

“He is very busy. He does not have time for interruptions,” Laura repeats. “I am to return to class.”

“Oh, Laura,” Jubilee touches her arm. This is a mistake. Laura presses Jubilee to the wall by a forearm over her windpipe. 

“Do not touch me,” she growls. She really does like Jubilee. “You do not get to pretend to be concerned for me. Please. Leave me alone.” She lets Jubilee go. The girl stands there. Laura starts back down the hallway. Jubilee does not follow. Good. 

Class is miserable. 

Laura finds Peter outside by a half wall. He is twisting something over and over in his hand. A black and red glove. Deadpool's glove. She has not seen it since the man had given it to Peter, but she knew it was always tucked away somewhere on her brother. She can smell it when they are close.

The moment Laura is in his sensing range, Peter looks up at her. She does not stop walking until her forehead is buried in his stomach. Peter wraps his arms around her. He pets her hair back. “We will make it,” she promises him as Peter scratches her head reassuringly. 

One year. They had survived worse for longer. They will be able to survive this. They both will come out just fine.

°•°♤°•°

The coffee mug hits the floor and cracks, sending a dark stain across the tile. Her stomach spasms and she coughs, blood, bile, and coffee come up filling her mouth with bitter acidity. Laura spits the dark mess into a nearby potted plant. It lands with a splat, long streams of dark saliva still dripping from her lips. She can feel her organs going into failure. Breathing will be the next thing to go. She does not have long. She needs to find someplace to stay until her body recovers. 

There is a door a few feet away. She thinks it is a storage unit. It will work. It has to. Laura stumbles to it. She lands hard against the wall as she loses control over her balance. Her fingers wrap around the handle. The door is locked. It breaks easily. Laura falls to her knees the moment she shuts the door behind her. She only has enough time to lean against the wall before what is left of her vision fades.

°•°♤°•°

It was the explosion that caught their attention. It rumbled the whole building like an earthquake. They could hear screaming. Peter looked at her, eyes wide. He only said one word, but it was enough that Laura knew exactly what happened. Avalanche. Whatever had caused that explosion was taking the mountain down with them. 

Laura did not know what to do. She did not know how to save them. Even with their enhancements, she doubted they could survive both explosions and being buried by thousands of tons of snow. She could not just sit there, though.

The guards had disappeared. Called away to deal with the internal problems. Laura grabbed Peter's hand. Maybe the helicopters were unmanned. Maybe they could get away. They turned the corner and ran right into a wall that shouldn't have been there.

Only, they did not have red walls in the Facility. 

A masked man looked down at them.

Laura hissed on instinct, moving herself in front of Peter, who had already gotten himself into an attack position on the wall. The man didn't attack, though. He just watched the light glint off their dog tags. “Fucking kids?” The man's voice sounded angry, but it also sounded sad. “You two wanna get outta here?”

“Yes,” Peter answered for them. Laura could see the hair rising on his skin. The avalanche was close.

“Hold on tight,” the man told them, grabbing them. There was a flash of light and then they were gone.

°•°♤°•°

“Petite,” a voice says softly, tapping at her cheek. Laura swings wildly. Her arm is caught. She has just come back to life. The rigor mortis is still thawing. “There ya are, petite,” the voice is calm. Soothing. She wants them to keep talking. “What are ya doin’ wit da brooms?” 

Laura forces her eyes open. The man before her seems out of place. He is clearly not a student. He is not a teacher that Laura recognizes. She wonders if he is one of the adult mutants that show up from time to time to visit with the staff. It does not reflect well on her, dying in a closet. 

“I apologize.” She struggles to sit up. She still cannot breath well. Her nose is clogged. She blows into her shirt. Chucks of congealed blood come out. Laura takes a deep breath for the first time in a few hours. “I will be out of your way shortly.” She just needs the muscles in her legs to start working again.

“Ah'm in no rush.” The man sits down in the small space. His tan coat fans around him. He stretches his legs out. “So? What are ya doin’ wit da brooms?”

“I was poisoned.” It is a statement without much feeling. He looks shocked. She knows she must seem incompetent. She should be more aware of her surroundings than that. “It was bleach. They tried to use coffee to cover it.”

“Cher,” the man speaks slowly, “are ya sayin’ on'a da students tried ta kill ya?”

“No,” Laura tells him. She rolls her ankles to get the stiffness out. “They succeeded at it, but I cannot die permanently. I do not believe they thought the death would be the final result.”

“They're torturin’ ya,” he settles on.

Laura nods. That seems right. “Yes.”

“Have ya told anyone? Logan should–”

“The dean has no time for interruptions,” Laura tells him. She tries standing. Her knees hold. She gets to her feet. She is mostly leaning against the shelving unit, but she is up.

The man stands. He helps her steady. “Ah'm sure if ya went ta Logan–”

“I have,” she assures him. “He has no time for interruptions.”

“Dat ol’ bastard sent ya away?” He sounds upset. Unlike Jubilee he does not sound surprised. “Ain't ya his kid or somethin'?”

“I am a clone of Weapon X using his genetic code and the DNA of a scientist from the Facility,” she corrects.

“Part his DNA, part someone else's,” the man muses, “seems like his kid t’me.” 

Laura is mostly standing on her own now. She knows she has missed the last half of her class day. She broke probation. She should clean herself up before receiving her punishment. “I will be leaving now.” She stops at the door. Laura turns back to look at the man. “Thank you. For the company.”

“Anytime, cher,” he says with a small grin. “Maybe next time when ya aren't recoverin’ from death.”

When Laura returns to her dorm room, Jubilee is there, pacing. She attacks Laura with a hug the moment she sees the other girl. “Oh my god,” she sounds worried. “You're okay! One of the girls was joking about putting bleach in your coffee and then you didn't show up to class. I got worried.”

“I am fine,” Laura says, extracting herself from the hug. “The bleach is no longer in my system. I am better now.”

Jubilee looks at her, stunned. “They actually poisoned you?”

Laura removes her bloody shirt. It is black. She does not think it will stain. She uses the back to finish cleaning her face. She can feel dried blood still in her lungs and esophagus. She pulls on a fresh grey hoodie as she walks past Jubilee to the door. The girl follows. They leave their room together. 

“I'll walk with you to the infirmary,” Jubilee offers her.

“I am not going to the infirmary,” she informs Jubilee. “I have broken probation. I will be receiving my punishment.”

“But it wasn't your fault! You were poisoned!” She sounds angry. The situation has nothing to do with her. Laura does not understand. “If Logan knew–”

“He would do nothing!” Laura's voice comes out louder than she means. The few students loitering in the hallway look over at them. She lowers her volume to just above a whisper. “He does not care, Jubilee. I am not his sister. I am not his daughter. I am nothing to him. I have stolen his face. I am a reminder of truly awful times. I do not know how to make you understand this, Jubilee.” Laura feels tired, but she is sure it is only her body recovering. “Were he given a choice, I am sure Weapon X would have wished me dead when the Facility exploded.”

Jubilee is stunned into silence. She looks heart broken. “You can't really mean that.”

“I am… pleased,” she tries to find the right words, “that Logan has made repentance in his life by raising young heros. You are a hero, Jubilee. It has been made abundantly clear that I am not. It is expected that our experiences are different. Do not feel burdened by it.”

“Laura, you can't just drop this and move on. What happens if they try again?”

“I will be more careful,” she promises. As they enter the office, the intercom goes off, causing Laura to flinch.  

“Will Laura Kinney please report to–oh,” the receptionist stops her announcement as she sees Laura. “I shouldn't add precognition to your file, should I?” 

“No,” Laura responds. “I broke probation. I am reporting for punishment.”

“Well,” she say, as though it were the first time anyone has reported on their own. “Let me see what we have. Ah! Professor LeBeau has requested help grading papers. Why don't you stop by his classroom and work out a time.”

“Thank you,” she says, turning to leave.

“Oh, Laura!” The secretary called out. “Dean Howlett would like a moment with you.”

Laura and Jubilee exchange a look. Jubilee looks hopeful. Laura does not. She sighs. She has already died today, what is the worst that could happen? “You can leave without me,” she tells Jubilee before she enters the office.

Logan is not happy. Hard lines are set on his face. Laura understands where so many stories of the Wolverine come from. “Poison, Laura?” His voice was barely containing the rage that filled the room. Laura wanted to gag at how thick the smell of it was. He had heard about the poison. About her failing. He was angry at her because of it. She had made an amateur mistake. She was angry with herself.

“SHIELD wanted to lock you away.“ Logan was still talking. Still angry. “They wanted to turn you and your brother into their attack dogs. Kitty stopped that. She convinced them to give you two a shot at being normal children.” Laura did not know how the subjects were related. She kept her eyes trained on the wall. “This is how you repay her?”

Laura's breathing hitches. It barely flares her nostrils. She risks a glance at Wolverine. He is looking at her with unveiled disgust. She uses her claws to bring herself to focus. The pain helps. In and out. In and out. Splitting the skin layer by layer. Stopping just before the dermal layer tears only to repeat the process again. Her chest hurts. Her eyes sting. She keeps her breathing as even as she can. She must still be recovering from death to make her body feel this way.

Logan is looking at her expectantly. 

Laura does not know what she is supposed to say. She is not even sure of what is happening. Logan seems to think she does. “I am sorry,” she offers, feeling it is the best possible approach. If she were to repent for the–shame?–she had brought, perhaps it would lessen Logan’s anger. 

He growls at her. His anger does not feel lessened. “Fighting is one thing. It's quick and impulsive, but poison is premeditated. This can't be looked past, Laura.” He pauses for a long moment. He waits for her to respond. He prompts. “Do you have anything to say?”

Laura is still trying to strategize an approach. If apologizing for her mistakes was not what soothes the Wolverine, it might be reassurance he is after. “It will not happen again,” she says carefully, promising. She wouldn't embarrass him like that in the future. It was a different kind of warfare than she is used to. She was learning. She needed time to acclimate. 

That was what Headmistress Pride had said. She was giving them the year to acclimate. Laura had hoped her failure to observe a combatant tampering with her drink would have been covered under a grace period, but she had learned at the Facility that rules were dependent on who was enforcing them and she wasn't speaking with Headmistress Pride.

“You're right,” Logan agrees, “it won't. I called SHIELD. They'll send someone to escort you.”

She hadn't realized how deeply she was being punished until that moment. How bad her failure must have been. The realization that it would not be an in-school punishment hits her hard. “I understand.” She does not. Laura can feel her throat closing up. It has to be the dried blood still lodged there. She forces her words out as evenly as possible. “I will go quietly when SHIELD comes for me.” 

“I wish there was another option.” She does not believe him.

“Peter–”

“Peter’s status as a student here has never been in question,” Logan told her.

Laura nods. This she understands. People looked at Peter and his soft hair and sad eyes and saw a victim. People looked at her, at her claws, at her sharp teeth, and saw a monster. “Thank you. I will be grading papers in Professor LeBeau's office.” 

She hesitates at the door, looking down at the brass knob. “Is there anything I could do to have you reconsider?”

Logan's voice is final. “No.”

Laura leaves. Jubilee is gone. She is grateful. She does not want to say goodbye. 

°•°♤°•°

Professor LeBeau teaches Sex Education. At least, the door Laura finds says that he does. She knocks as she enters. The man from the closet earlier leans against a desk. He is looking at stacks of papers. He glances up at her. “Ah, petite. Feelin’ better?”

“Yes,” she says. It is not even a lie. She felt better the moment she saw him.

“Did Logan talk t’ya?”

The better feeling goes away. “Yes.”

Professor LeBeau watched her for a moment. “Ev'rythin’ settled?” Laure feels he wants to ask more. He doesn't. 

“Yes.” She wants to move on. “You requested assistance with grading?”

He gestures to the stacks on the desk next to him. “Take yur pick. Ah’ve been pussyfootin’ da test papers fo' t’long.”

Laura picked up a test and scanned the questions before taking a red pen from the cup on the desk.

“Ah have a cheat sheet for ya,” he offers. 

“I do not need it.” She started marking the answers. “I am familiar with the material, Professor.”

The man makes a face. “Ah don’ even like bein’ called that in class. Ya call me Remy or Gambit, yeah?”

“Yes,” Laura agrees softly, taking up another test. 

They work in comfortable silence for a while. The stack of upgraded exams steadily disappears. “Tell me, petite,” Remy hands her another grouping of papers, “if ya already know how ta be a mutant, what are ya learnin’ here?”

That answer is easy: “How to be a person.”

There is a knock on the door. Laura looks over to see Deadpool. Peter would have a fit if he knew the man was here. Deadpool's masked face brightens. “One of the Assas-twins! Ohhhh. That makes sense now,” he said more to himself than the room. Then he addressed Laura directly. “Thanks for the pay day, baby claws. Ready to go? I'll try to convince Cap to let us stop for ice cream on the way back.”

Laura has never had ice cream before. She doubts she would get a chance to try it soon, if ever, but the consideration is nice. She stacks the papers and hands them to Remy. After slight hesitation, she presses her cheek to his. His whiskers scratch against her skin. “Thank you for the company.” She turns to Deadpool. “I am ready.” She offers her wrists to him, but he ignores them, wrapping an arm around her shoulders instead.

Deadpool leads her down the hallway as Remy follows after them, asking questions that Laura can't find the energy to answer and Deadpool is flatly ignoring. Outside a SHIELD jet waits. Captain America stands guard. He looks surprised to see Deadpool easily walk Laura out. 

Exasperated, Remy turns to Steve for answers. “Ah'm surprised SHIELD's got Captain America ta do their dirty work,” he bites out bitterly. He sounds like he is ready to fight. Laura wants to tell him it's not worth is, she is not worth it, but she can't find the words to speak. Remy is speaking enough to everyone. “Takin’ a li'l girl away from her home is shameful.” 

“Excuse me?” Captain America takes offense. “If you knew what this little girl is capable of, you'd be thanking me, Gambit. You haven't seen the kind of destruction X23 is capable of.”

“Oh, sure,” he laughs, "go an’ act like she's the enemy jus’ ‘cos the folks who made her. Ya ain't got room t’talk there, loverboy.”

Steve's cheeks flushed, but he stood his ground. “She is the enemy, LeBeau. She attacked a student of her own accord. She's accepted her punishment.”

“What student?” Remy looks at Laura, “Da one who poisoned you?”

“X23 is the one poisoning people,” Steve tells him, not giving Laura the space to answer. “She harmed another student, Gambit. She can't stay here.”

“When?” Remy's voice is a challenge, a protective shield. A battering ram.

Steve stumbled. “What?”

“When did she poison da student?” Remy asked. “Where is dat student now? Dead? In da infirmary?”

“I…” Steve wracked his brain for an answer. “I don't know.”

“Ah found dat girl in a storage closet covered in her own blood. On’a da other student spiked her coffee with bleach. Dat seem more plausible then a missing student who was, for som’ reason, poisoned by a girl with claws?”

“She confessed to the crime, Gambit,” Captain America argues weakly, his conviction gone. 

“Did she? Has anyone even asked her anything? Or are you telling her the version everyone will believe?”

Steve looks unsure. His eyes waver between a furious Remy and a compliant Laura, before a voice broke the gathering tension. “Gambit?” 

Laura finches at Logan's voice, but she does not move. She carefully forces her body to uncoil. She cannot breathe. 

“What are you doing out here, Cajun?” Laura can feel Logan's eyes on her as his voice fills with distaste. “You said you'd leave easy.”

“Ah’m trying to save your ass from makin’ a huge mistake, homme.” Remy growled out, marching up to the man. “Tell me in dat big, thick skull of yours, what does ‘check on Laura, she got poisoned at lunch’ mean, because Ah certainly didn't have SHIELD kidnapping her in mind.”

“Laura was poisoned?” Confusion laced Logan's voice.

“Someone spiked her coffee.”

It was quiet for a long moment before Logan spoke. “Laura. Why didn't you say anything?”

She can feel them all looking at her. Waiting for an answer. She gives them the only one she has. “There was nothing I could for you to reconsider,” she says softly. Tears drip onto the gravel walk. She cannot remember crying before. She does not like it.

“Why didn't you tell me this was happening?”

“You are doing important things,” she reminds him, “You do not have time for interruptions.”

“I didn't mean–”

“You did.”

Logan looks torn between what to say next. He is saved by Peter's hoarse voice coming from the doorway. “Laura!” Her brother rushes out, Jubilee just behind him. Standing at the door is Deadpool. No one had even noticed him vanish.

“You are staying here, Peter,” she promises, “it's okay.”

Peter looks around frantically for a second, then grabs Deadpool by the arm and bites. Hard. “I have attacked someone. Take me with my sister.”

“Was that supposed to make my arm go numb and my dick go hard,” Deadpool asked, “because it worked.”

Logan and Captain America look lost for words. Remy isn't. “We goin’ back inside now.” He reaches out for Laura but she does not move.

“I will go with SHIELD,” Laura tells him. “Headmistress Pride was wrong. I cannot learn to be a child.” She looks at Captain America. “I already know how to be a weapon.”

Peter's arm brushes hers as he comes and stands next to her defiantly. Twin weapons. Heavy arms sling over both of their shoulders as Deadpool draped himself on the two. “That's it,” he announces, “we are definitely getting ice cream.”

Chapter Text

Laura slides under Wade's legs, cutting at his femoral arteries as Peter's organic webs grab him and sharply pull forward. The man stumbles to the ground and Laura is on top of him in less than a second. Her claw buries in the back of his skull. She can hear his eye pop as it is pierced. The buzzer sounds and the air goes stagnant. Laura retracts her claws. Peter lands silently next to her before reaching his hand out and helping her to her feet. They look at the time: 2:34.2. It's within a few seconds of their last three scores.

Behind them, Wade sits up and pops his spine back into place. His body knits itself back together despite the gallons of blood that had been lost over the several hours they had been training. “You know, I like being carved alive as much as the next guy,” he says, standing up, “but you two should take a break.” 

“I am not tired,” Laura lies. She is exhausted, but every time she closes her eyes, she is back in Logan's office surrounded by the smell of anger and disappointment. Peter places a hand on her arm. He looks ready to drop right there. It is not fair for her to keep pushing him for her own benefit. She lets out a deep breath. “I will go workout. You get rest, Peter.”

“Actually,” Wade says, mid post-training stretching, “I think you should go to your room.” His voice has one of those tones Laura hates. The ones that say I know more than I am telling you, but I will not say so out loud.

Laura studies him. It frustrates her that he will not speak plainly, but she is aware that anything not-said is kept quiet for a reason. Wade looks at her with a charming smile that never quite meets his eyes (until he directs it at Peter). Curiosity finally wins out. “...I will go to my quarters.”

“Good idea! Samesies.” Wade presses the button that sanitizes the room on their way out. It was a fun new feature Laura was still trying to get used to. 

It felt strange, moving from one organization of assassins to another. Things were different but familiar—much more familiar than the school had been and there is a little comfort in that, if not much. If it were not for the relative freedom she and Peter shared, Laura might have thought the last month or so had been an elaborate delusion. She fears one day waking up to find herself still at the Facility in Canada, with Peter, preparing for their next mission.

It is a short walk to the residential quarters and Peter branches off with Wade as they pass his room. Laura continues on to her own. Her body humming with anticipation of what waits behind her bedroom door. She opens it with a push of a button before stepping in and quickly pressing another button to close the door behind her again. “How did you get in here?” 

Remy LeBeau is relaxing against her desk,  reading one of the texts Laura is borrowing from the on-ship library. He looks up at her as she enters. His smile makes her blood rush. “Petite,” he says as if answering a silly question. “Ah'm da greatest t’eef in da worl’. Ah can go an’w’re Ah wan’.”

“You wanted to be here?” Laura asks, obvous confusion lacing her voice. She wanted to be here—because it was the best choice for everyone, but she can not imagine it was a place someone like Remy would want to be. It seems far too structured for him.

“Ah wanted ta see ya.” 

That is… pleasant. Heat starts to spread from Laura’s chest to the tip of her ears. She feels warmer than she should. “Why?”

Remy looks at her with a soft, but serious expression. “‘Cos ya worth seein’.”

“Oh.” Laura does not have a response to that. She should say something kind in return. “You are well accomplished in evading authority.” She makes her way to her bed and sits on the edge, well aware she is still covered in cooling sweat and blood. She does not know what she smells like, but it cannot be enjoyable. 

Remy looks unbothered by her state, however; at ease in the space as if he belongs there and she is the guest. The book on etiquette in his hands reminds Laura that she has not just been honing her fighting skills. Remy is a guest in her… well, not home, but her temporary dwelling at least. Good hosts offer drinks or snacks. She does not have much of either available, but… 

Laura pulls her bedside drawer open and removes a small foil wrapped item. She offers it to Remy. “Would you like one? They are called chocolate.” Wade had given a whole bag to Peter, who had shared it with her. She was saving her last one for when it seemed important enough to use. Now is appropriate, she thinks. 

Remy fingers brushes the palm of Laura's hand as he accepts the offering. “Ta, cher.” His fingers draw her attention and she watches him unwrap the candy. They were good thief's fingers, she thought: long and slender. Laura could imagine them dipping into pockets and purses and coming out with cash. Something in her sparks at being able to provide for someone who is so used to providing for himself. A small pur starts in her chest. Laura clears her throat with surprise and shakes it off—that had never happened to her before. It was a strange feeling. 

Remy balls the foil up and tucks it away in his pocket, “for later,” he informs with a wink. She thinks he would be happier teaching improvised weaponry and wonders if the sex education position was punishment of some kind. She does not know what he did to deserve punishment, but it was not working, if he was so willing to sneak aboard a SHIELD heli-carrier.

Laura is not good with words. She has not practiced conversations. She does not know what to say next. Remy, however,  goes back to the book he had picked up from the small stack. After a moment she reaches into the stack for another one. She is very aware of how close her body is to Remy's. If she breathed too deeply, they could touch. 

He did not seem to have the same awareness. No. It was less as though he were unaware and more that he was ignoring the proximity. As though he is this close to murder machines on a daily basis. Laura reminded herself that he did teach adolescents and it was not much different. She held her breath until she came back into her own space. 

The book she picked up was on developing interpersonal relationships. She had chosen it in the hopes to help Peter with his and Wade's relationship, but now she is curious about the information for a different reason. A silly, foolish reason. 

“Here, cher,” Remy soft voice the only warning she receives before he reaches out and brushes his fingers through her hair. Laura is positive her cheeks are flushed, they are warm enough. It felt amazing. The small pur starts up in her chest again, but Laura tamps it down when Remy pulls back with a piece of tendon pinched between his fingers.

Remy was looking at her with a curious expression, but Laura was too embarrassed to meet his eye. She feels ridiculous. What a stupid response to a simple touch.

“Da ya hav’a swim suit,” he asks, curiously.

She nods slightly, trying to get her voice to work. “Yes.” She had been provided one with her workout uniform.

“Good.” He steps back enough to replace his book on the top of the pile. “Get yurself changed n’ meet me in da therapy room. Ah'll wait as long as ya need.” He brushed his thumb across her cheek and it came back stained red, but the man acts as though he hardly notices. He grabs a tissue on the way to the door.

“Will—” Laura feels paranoid requesting it, but she had to be careful. Her and Peter's—and Wade's—DNA couldn't get into the wrong hands. She couldn't let more of them exist. “Will you throw that away here?” They incinerated all the trash as a partial fuel source.

“Of course, cher,” he said easily, making a show of dropping the bloody tissue into the trash shoot. “At ya service.”

“Thank you. I… will see you in the therapy room shortly.”

°•°♤°•°

A large improvement on the Facility was the small bathroom in each living quarter. It reminded Laura of the few airplane bathrooms she had been on—except it had a shower slotted into the amalgamation as well.

She watched the water turn from red to pink before even touching the soap. It had been explained to them that toiletries, food, and extra uniforms beyond the monthly allowances would come out of their pay. They had never been paid before. They didn't want to do anything that could jeopardize that. It still took more soap than Laura liked to get clean enough to show up at the therapy room.

At first glance, she had thought the room was completely empty, but movement caught her eye as she walked in. Remy stood by the therapy pool, nearly naked except for what could possibly count as swim shorts. They are vibrant colors and look tight enough that Laura is concerned for his comfort. He seems as at ease as always, though. Much more at ease than Laura is. She feels like her heart is having arrhythmia.

“Hello, petite,” he greets, offering a hand to assist her into the therapy pool. She doesn't need help, but she wants the touch, and accepts it anyway. His skin feels rough against hers. She's never able to keep her calluses. She appreciates the feel of them as she steps into the water.

Laura knew how to swim, of course, but it had always been cold water–sometimes even frigid. She has never been wrapped up in warm water before. It settles into her bones and warms something deep in her core. Remy steps in after her, but his eyes have been on her the whole time and the realization that she had not schooled her face causes her to blush. 

“Ah like seein’ ya comfortable, petite,” he says softly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Laura leans into the touch, nuzzling against him slightly. “But it hurts my soul ta think it's for da first time.”

“Weapons do not get luxury,” she tells him simply, even as the hot water relaxes her muscles.

Remy scoffs. “Have ya seen Wilson with his collection? Dat boy kisses dos’ things g'night.”

Laura actually had seen him systematically cleaning his ‘babies.’ She is sure it is a self-stimulation, but that did not stop her from being jealous of the hunks of metal regardless. It is probably one of the things Peter likes most about Wade: how well he cares for a weapon.

Laura understands Remy's point, however. She presses her lips together, unable to find the words she wanted to explain what she could not even conceptualize. 

“Ah don' wan’ ya as the weapon, Laura,” Remy tells her, apparently his talent included stealing words that weren't even formed yet. He moves into the space behind her, the sound of moving water filling the quiet between his words. He wraps his arms around her. Laura cannot help but relax into him. “Others get da weapon. Ah wan’ what you won' give to anyone else.” Remy places a kiss on her shoulder, his tongue darting out to taste her skin. “Ah wan’ the girl.”

Laura had been punched, kicked, and cut. She had been beaten, drowned, and set aflame. She does not remember being kissed or pet or touched softly. Not by someone who made her feel like Remy did—whatever it actually meant. Her body shutters like it is being broken apart—and maybe it was. Between the soft kisses placed on her shoulders Remy continues to brush against her skin. She feels like she is dissolving into the water.

“What if there is no girl?” She does not give the words permission to leave, but her body is not listening to her right now. “What if there is only the weapon?”

“Ah don’ believe dat.” He tells her, his perfect fingers trailing along the valley of her hip. “Ah’ve seen her.”

Laura's voice trembles when she asks, “What if you are wrong?”

“Den let me fine’ou’ fo’ maself.” He encourages, turning her head slightly to kiss along her cheek.

“Okay,” Laura whispers, her lips nearly touching his.

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” she agrees. If she is honest, she is curious if he can do it. Rough lips brush softly against hers, quieting several parts of her brain. If anyone could do the impossible, it is the world's greatest thief.

Chapter Text

Laura, Peter, and Wade approach what has become their usual table in the mess hall. Typically, they sit alone, but today they have company already seated. Both Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes have full plates and Laura has a sinking feeling they are waiting for the trio to arrive. She wants to take Peter and keep walking, to move to a different table, but there are not many seats open—and none are at an empty table. 

Wade is the only one who does not hesitate to sit down. Laura catches his purposefully at ease posture,  though, and knows it is an act. “Well, this is a surprise! Get kicked out of the cool kids table? Slumming it with the X-Freaks?”

After a long, awkward silence, Bucky speaks up. “Steve wanted to invite Laura to spar this afternoon,” he says to none of them in particular, as though it's enough of an explanation for why they were choosing to invade the table. 

“Then why isn't Steve inviting her,” Wade questions coolly. Laura wonders if he would be as protective over her if she were not Peter's sister. She thought not. He would not even know her. She was thankful he did.

The table is quiet for long enough Laura feels as though it is her turn to speak. “If Captain America would like to invite me to spar, he is welcome to.”

Bucky looks at Steve encouragingly. “You said you wanted to do this,” he says in a low voice that they could all still hear anyway. 

Steve takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before meeting Laura's eyes. “Would you like to spar with me this afternoon?”

Laura takes a moment before sitting down. She does not need to think about her answer, but she has read it makes people feel more comfortable. “Okay.” 

Peter takes the space on the other side of Laura instead of his usual spot between her and Wade, creating a comforting barrier between her and the rest of the room. They eat mostly in silence with Wade and Bucky making the only efforts of small talk. 

Under the table, Peter's knee knocks against hers and Laura reminds herself to breathe. She does not know what Steve actually wants from her, but there is only one way to find out. Laura forces herself to finish her plate.

°•°♤°•°

“Wolverine told me they found the student who poisoned you.” The statement was said,  without any prelude, part way through their pre-sparing stretch.

“Yes,” Laura confirmed, pressing her nose to her knee. "I was informed.” She hopes that will be the end of the small talk. She has never really enjoyed conversation and this is on a subject she does not want to discuss. Her hope is in vain. 

“He also said you didn't want to press charges,” Steve continues, as though she had not been there for that part and was filling her in. 

Laura sighs. She is newly aware that, sometimes, a person needs to voice their thoughts to understand them. She wishes his thoughts were not about her. Standing from her stretch, Laura says, “There was no lasting damage. I am fine. I am done stretching and ready to spar.”

“It would be okay if you were angry,” Steve pushes, as if he were assigning the emotion to her. Laura did not need anyone telling her how she feels about anything. 

She does not feel angry. She feels annoyed. “Would you like to spar now, Captain?” She asks, leveling her gaze at him. She is done with this conversation. “Is that not why you asked me to join you?”

“Bucky said the Winter Soldier Program—” He tries again, but Laura cuts him off. She has been getting better—Wade lets her practice on him and after an hour she almost did not feel the anxiety associated with punishment. 

“The Winter Soldier Program is not the same as the Weapon X Program,” she informs flatly. She had assumed Steve would know the difference, but maybe it was all the same to him. “His experience—while valid—is different.” With that settled, she tried again to move on: “Would you like to spar now?” 

Steve does not seem distracted by the technique her book had called "changing the subject." She is definitely doing it wrong. He is looking at her like he is studying her and Laura feels like her marrow is made of slime. She wants him to stop. “I'm concerned with your emotional state.”

Laura could not help the harsh laugh that slipped from her throat. Was that it? Things were clicking easily into place and Laura could see the whole plan now: Steve had planned to get her alone. To antagonize her, maybe to provoke her to attack him. That is what he wants. He wants to be able to claim Laura is vicious and unstable. She does not understand why he wants that, but she is not going to give him the satisfaction. 

Maybe the school had trained her more than Laura realized because she does not rise to the bait. “My emotional state is: fine.” If Steve wants more of a reaction from her, he will have to use more than childish guerilla warfare.

“That's what I'm concerned about, Laura,” she could hear the pity in his voice, and, for a moment, his plan almost worked. “Your life has been completely turned upside-down and you're just taking it in stride.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” She asks, because he clearly wants to tell her anyway. “Lay down and cry? I am not a baby.”

“But you're human.”

Laura is taken back. That is news to her. “Am I?” She finds herself asking. “Have you suddenly come to see me as such? You have expressed a very different opinion previously.”

Steve looks… embarrassed. It was unusual for him. “Bucky talked to me about that. About what it's like being given orders you can't refuse. About what happens when you do.”

Laura does not want to talk about any of the Weapon Plus programs, so she decides not to. “I am going to punch things now. You are welcome to join me.” 

“Laura.” He stops her before she fully turns her back to him. “I'm sorry.” He looks tired. Defeated. “You were just a kid.”

“No,” she corrects, “I was never a child.” 

°•°♤°•°

The dark never held sway on Laura. She can see just as well in pitch as she can at noon. There is something about the quiet, though. When the world is hushed and time seems to expand, not paying attention to the rules of reality. It feels as though anything that happens during these times can fade away when the world comes to life again.

“Remy,” Laura asks softly into the night.

“Qui, petite?”

A small knot of anxiety releases in her chest. She did not know it would work, but she had hoped. “Will you come join me?”

There is a creak of metal and rustle of fabric before light feet land on the floor. The weight on the bed shifts. Remy adjusts them so Laura's head is on his chest and she can hear his heartbeat. Long, slender fingers brushed through her hair. “Ev’rythin’ al’ght?”

Instead of answering, Laura asks, “May I try something?”

“Of course,” he says softly, easily. 

Laura lets out a deep breath, doing her best to relax and conform to Remy's body. Her chest shutters as the first few tears fall. Remy keeps petting her hair, whispering to her softly as she sobs, clutching onto him like her life depends on it.