Logan looked up at the sound of a desk scraping along the floor. "It's Gambit," Scott stated. "He decided to redecorate his room after his latest fight with the Mississippi Marauder. We don't have to worry unless he goes out drinking. He just needs space."
"You confessor now?" the Canadian asked.
"Just guessing. If he wanted to talk, Storm is in her room." Logan settled back and started flipping through the channels. "The girls are out for the night. Except for Rogue who's flown off to think somewhere."
Logan snorted. "I'll tell the Icecube to bunk with Hank in the lab. Give the Cajun some privacy.
Gambit surveyed his walls. They were bare of furniture and pictures. The bookshelf blocked the door. He pulled the curtains shut. He opened his paint kit and pulled out the pack of black markers he kept there for sketching. The memories danced in front of his eyes, blurring and melding into a kalidescope cacophony of pain and guilt and blood.
Remy clutched the marker and started in the corner with Julian impaled on the end of his rapier. His quick strokes caught the surprise in the dark eyes. Belle watched behind him tears on her face, wedding gown stained at the hem.
Then came Genevieve laying crumpled in the shadow of Notre Dame with Creed's leering face above her -- half in the dark. His fangs gleamed and he held out the necklace between his fingers.
The old priest came next, laying in the shards of the stained glass window that had shattered in the midst of Remy's tears.
The theatre next with Rogue's angry eyes glaring at him as she pushed him away.
Scalphunter lay on Sinister's table, tubes and needles imbedded in his body.
Henri LeBeau was next, laying dead on the Mansion's front law. Cyclops looked down at him suddenly, arms crossed, frown on his lips, ripped from sleep by the tripped alarms. Mercy's eyes were puffy and red from the wake.
A hundred other details worked free under his fingers. The last wall was devoted to the Massacre, rendered in loving detail. He was there, dangling like a child from Creed's fingers, the damning diamond on his throat and Sinister's gloating face above it all.
His fingers tightened around his palette knife, knuckles white. It was time to finish the work properly.
Logan's nose twitched. He could've sworn he smelled blood, but there was raw meat from the groceries on the counter, so that was likely all it was.
Rogue walked through the front door, face determined. She was going to sit down and talk things out with her lover. She was going to stop running. She knocked on his door. "Remy? Sugah?" she called. She sighed. He must've gone out. Or else he didn't want to talk to her. Her resolve faltered. She went to her room and sat, hugging the little raccoon bandit he'd gotten her for Valentine's.
"Jean will monitor the session while I go find Gambit." The team shuffled their feet a bit, but got ready for their morning workout.
Scott knocked on the door. He tried the knob, finding it unlocked. He tried to push open the door. It was blocked by something. The door opened just enough to let the smell out.
Worried now, Scott put his body into the job, managing to inch the door open. He slipped in carefully and stopped. The walls were a horror-story biography of their resident thief in sharp black and white. He found Gambit slumped in the corner under the picture of the Massacre. He didn't bother to take a pulse. He closed his eyes. He sank to his knees next to the puddle of blood. He didn't call the team until the session was over. It was Logan who showed first. Logan blocked the door so Rogue and Storm couldn't see. Later, much later, they would say their goodbyes.