Logan emerged from the tiny general store into the wan Alaska sunlight, blinking at the sight before him. He'd come up here to avoid all the guilt, hostility and blame that hovered over the Institute since they'd left Gambit to die, feelings that had only gotten thicker since he'd returned. Logan was shocked to see the Cajun himself standing next to Logan's battered pickup, looking nervous and strangely shy beneath his thief's veneer of cool composure.

"I'm surprised to see you here, LeBeau. I'd think you'd have had enough of cold and ice for a lifetime," said Logan, stowing his purchases beneath the tarp. Remy was thin, and pale, and Logan ached a little for the dark circles beneath his strange eyes. He'd had a part in those, and he felt it was one of the more shameful acts in his long career of shameful acts.

"Remy couldn' stan' t'be 'round dere no more," he said softly. "Y'... seemed like ya didn' mind me so much."

Logan didn't quite know how to take that, and he'd always been bad with apologies. He'd tried a few times, back at the mansion, but they never seemed to work out. Instead, he just grunted and unlocked the truck. "Get in, then," he prompted, when Remy just stared.

Remy hurried to comply, scrambling into the truck's cold interior and huddling deeper into his omnipresent trench coat. Logan couldn't see how the Cajun's usual clothes would be nearly enough to protect him from the cold, and he poked at the dash for a bit until, with a wheeze and a whine, gentle heat began to pour from the grate. "You'll need better clothes if you're gonna stay with me, I've only got a wood stove."

Remy nodded miserably. "Remy didn' bring much 'sides himself an' money."

"Left in a hurry?" said Logan, keeping his tone light and conversational. Well, for him, anyway.

Remy nodded again, but didn't explain, and Logan didn't press. Instead, he said, "Shit. There's only one bed."

Remy's eyes went wide as Logan turned down the long, snowy lane that led to his little cabin in the wilderness. He'd chosen a place just close enough to town that he could easily get provisions, but not so near that people would try and be neighborly, much. "Ah," said Remy. "You don' wan' to share wit' Remy, ah understan'."

Logan looked over. Remy was the picture of misery, even that thin veneer of cool gone in the utter desolation that swept over him. "That's not what I meant," he said gruffly. "I just didn't know if you'd be uncomfortable, sleepin' with another man."

"Oh," said Remy, eyes going wide. "Ah'm... don' you know I like de boys an' de girls, Logan?"

Logan blinked. "That wasn't... wait, are you hitting on me?"

Remy's huddle had slowly uncurled to a sprawl, an offering. His face had warmed up into a seductive mask, one that Logan recognized from seeing him charm others. "Remy don' 'ave much to offer a man like de Wolverine, but I got a few tricks up m'sleeve."

Logan shook his head. "I don't want your body in payment."

Remy deflated again, leaving him in a loose bundle of limp limbs. The suggestive tilt left his hips, and he seemed almost more appealing this way, open, vulnerable. Logan shifted his hips uncomfortably as they pulled up at the tiny one-bedroom cabin, tires crunching over snow and branch to get into the equally tiny garage. It had been hard, giving up extra space inside to keep the truck under roof, but well worth it in the long run.

"Den Remy 'as nothin' t'offer, an' will go." He slunk out of the truck, defeated, and started out the door.

"That's not what I meant, dammit!" Logan exploded, suddenly tired of the tight guilt in his chest. "Fucking... I'm sorry we hurt you, and I don't need any payment. You're welcome to stay as long as you want, eat my food, sleep in my bed, anything you need to feel better after the way we treated you. Understand?"

Remy had gone instinctively into a defensive crouch at the first explosion from Logan's lips, but he stood, straight and confused, by the end. "Y'mean it?"

"Yes, goddammit." Logan grabbed the groceries out of the truck and hit the button to close the garage door. He was at the small inner door to the house when he added, "And just for the record, you're welcome to share my bed in any way you want, but I don't take guilt fucks or pity fucks. You fuck me, it's because you want me, not because you feel like you've gotta."

He went inside quickly, stowing the groceries and starting up the wood stove, not meeting Remy's eyes. Remy stood in the middle of the small room, glancing at the curtains that were all that separated bedroom from living room, bathroom from kitchen. Everything was really one big room, to let the heat spread, with the outer walls insulated against the cold. Once the fire was going well, Logan had run out of ways to avoid conversation, so he tried changing the topic.

"Bedroom," he said shortly, pulling back the curtain to reveal a big, soft bed that took up the entire space. There were a couple of niches in the wall for a glass of water or a book, and a pile of rumpled bedclothes. He turned, intending to let the curtain down and show Remy the rest of the amenities, when he found himself shoved roughly up against the wall. "Y'want Remy," came the soft voice in his ear, even as nimble hands picked at his clothing. "Remy wants you."

Logan tried to struggle up, but his bones had gone liquid from the long-missed heat of another man grinding against him. Remy silenced his protests with a deep kiss, chuckling when his cold fingers found Logan's nipples and swallowing the resultant growl. "Remy's gonna show us bot' a good time."