Wincing slightly from residual aches and pains, Logan looks over Remy's shoulder at the screen.
There they are...the brilliant engineer in the body cast, and beside him, eyes glittering with awareness and intelligence, abdomen unscarred and guts intact, gorgeous blue fur unsinged...
"Hank..."
Stretching his senses to their fullest as he watches the video, the feral can detect no signs of fakery. This is the real deal...
Logan slumps heavily into Remy's shoulder, relief flooding through him as he clutches the leather coat for support, his shoulders heaving with choked sobs.
He's OK...he's all right, this place hasn't gotten t'him. The snuff flick...it was a lie. He's alive. He's OK...
If it were any other X-Man in the room with him...anyone else, period...Logan would probably have tried harder to contain himself.
But this is Remy...and this is the most emotion he's had to let loose in a long time. Hank, and the immersion tank, and the needles, and the lightning, and that bitch gloating over him through the whole thing...
He holds on to Remy like a drowning man would clutch an inner tube, shaking uncontrollably as he lets the hurt and rage and trauma pour out of him.