Okay, this was written for Kaylee's disability challenge. I had a minor booboo myself, thought 'Christ this is irritating,' and the idea was born. I don't know if it sucks or not, if it doesn't please let me know, I'l kinda edit a little and post the rest. If, on the other hand, it does, just don't say anything and I'll get the message loud and clear.
Disclaimer: They're not mine, I'm not making any money from them. Story itself mine.
Warning: I think I managed to get through without naughty language aside from some blasphemy, but don't hold me to that. We have a bit of a emotion-with-a-trowel warning though, and if you're religiously opposed to Gambit and Rogue you ain't gonna like some of it.
Could've Been Worse: Part One
by Diamonde
Remy took a deep breath in, and slowly released it. This should be easy, he'd done it a hundred times before. In the rain and gale-force winds of Storm grieving, in the snow, in the dark. Now it was daylight, the weather was perfect, and everything was so familiar.
Gambit stepped out onto the topmost ridge of the roof, steadied himself and began to walk. His balance was perfect, and for his feet it was second nature. His right knee, however, buckled on the third step and threw him sideways. He rolled down the roof, tried to catch himself, missed, and bounced painfully over the edge, fingers scrabbling frantically at the guttering.
He cursed viciously, saw the ground rushing up towards him... And had most of his remaining breath knocked out of him as Rogue's familiar arms broke his fall.
Green eyes filled with concern bored into his. "Remy! What the heck did you think ya were *doin'* up there?"
"De rumba," he snarled back. "Put me down!"
"If ya want me to." She put him gently on the ground.
Seven or eight months ago things would have been different, Gambit reflected. If she'd caught him at all, she just would have waited until they were within safe falling distance and left him to his own devices, knowing he'd control his own descent and land like a cat. He always had. Now she had to know his feet were on the ground before she'd let him take his own weight, not letting go until she was sure he was balanced. He hated her for it. "How many times I have to tell you, Rogue? Let me be."
She looked at him sadly. "Y'know, time was when mah favourite swamp-rat would do just about anythin' to fly with me as long as he could."
"Times change." He didn't mean it, they both knew it. He still wanted to be up there with her, or Storm, or Sam or even Warren. Whoever was handy when he felt like a tortoise and declared he'd kill himself if he didn't get up out of the mud soon. But flying wasn't being caught, 'saved' from his own mistake.
"Would you like t' come flyin', Remy? Ah was feelin' a little claustrophobic mahself…"
"Don't patronize me." Another barb, one of hundreds, all ignored the same way. Remy turned, refusing to look her in the eye, and headed towards the nearest door. His damaged knee screamed in pain from the abuse it had taken on the roof, but he limped determinedly on.
"Let me-"
He could feel the hands reaching out, and was almost tempted to lean back into them. Not quite tempted enough, though. "Chere, please. I *can* still walk." He knew he was lucky to be able to do that, they'd said as much. If it hadn't been for Forge and the Shi'Ar technology he'd be missing half a leg now, instead of just having a useless knee that collapsed on him at the worst possible times. And held him on imprisoned on the ground, unable to do the simplest things that he'd taken for granted at eight. He could barely climb a fire escape the normal way now, let alone bounce up the side with the same effort he used to breathe.
Remy hobbled inside and sat down on a couch, wincing as he stuffed a cushion under his right leg. Oh, the things he'd done. Taken a running leap from a rooftop to fall twelve feet and land on Magneto as he flew past... He almost smiled at that memory. He'd knocked the wind right out of Magnus, sending them both crashing into a florist shop. Fun days. Then general public had found the image of the two of them covered in pansies and swearing at each other in French particularly amusing. Throwing carnations had been fun too, especially since they'd still been in the bucket with several litres of charged water. Remy shook his head, subconsciously trying to banish the thought. He couldn't do things like that anymore, ever.
Clenching his teeth, Remy struggled up and limped to the elevator. Stairs were another thing he couldn't do the way he used to, and best avoided on a bad day. No sprinting up then three at a time just ahead of an extremely angry Summers, Bobby had to do that alone now. Remy's jaw clenched and he changed his mind, going to a lower level instead. *Not dead yet,* he thought firmly to the depression. *De show ain't over 'til de fat lady sings, and we don' have many around here.*
A few minutes later Gambit was appropriately dressed, standing in the empty gymnasium and running through the mental lock-down procedures that would keep his thoughts away from the telepaths. He was doing that more and more often lately, Remy reflected as he looked around. They kept trying to find excuses to look inside his head, and they were giving him funny looks when he refused. Why did they worry? He knew he was lucky to be alive. It was almost amusing the way things had worked out, really. If he'd taken a car he'd most probably be dead, but he'd been on the Harley and was thrown clear. Being hurled over a car with a crushed knee hadn't been fun, but better than going under the truck.
Remy reached for the bar and started to do chin-ups. After all the times he'd escaped unharmed against all odds, a simple three-vehicle accident smashed his knee beyond repair. Any of Forge's bionics were too heavy for his unusual bone structure, and all the other possibilities they suggested weren't quite out of the development stage yet. Even then.. Remy had made them tell him exactly how extensive the nerve damage was. Enough so that he'd never get full mobility back, even if everything else magically repaired itself.
Sweating, he lowered himself back onto the ground and limped across to one of the machines. Sit ups were good, they didn't involve his legs at all and at that angle they were hard enough that he only concentrated on the effort. Remy had no idea how many hid did, but eventually his stomach muscles refused to work any more. He lay there waiting for world stop spinning enough to get up.
"Overdone it?" Scott's upside-down face appeared in his blurry vision.
"No," Remy grated out, ignoring screaming muscles and dragging himself up. "Help me get onto dat one." He waved at another machine.
Scott looked carefully at him. *He's working hard but not dangerously so. The worst he can do is pull something.* "It's lunchtime. Why don't we come back in an hour or two?"
"More exercise an' less food'd do you some good." Remy ignored the casually offered hand and heaved himself to his feet, ignoring the warning throb from his knee.
"It probably would," Scott agreed quietly.