The next few days went on as they usually did, but it was plane that Gambit was getting restless, needing an outlet for his frustration and cabin fever. Logan decided it was time to unveil a special surprise he had been working on, some thing the Professor and Beast were still weary of. They finally agreed one evening after finding Gambit drunk in the kitchen after picking the lock to the liquor cabinet. He sat on the counter, a mostly empty bottle of whisky in his hand, smiling and hic-uping as he hummed the tune to frare au jack que. Havoc and Polis had found him, and tried unsuccessfully to retrieve the bottle from his hands. Resigning, they called down to Storm and Jean for help, knowing Cyclops would have a fit. Unfortunately, most of the team had just been on a recon mission, and came piling into the kitchen just in time to see the four circled around the inebriated Cajun, who grinned at them raising his bottle, before falling from the counter. And so a few days later, all were gathered out side the base to witness the unveiling of the big surprise. Gambit wore a suspicious smirk as Rouge lead him by the hand to the middle of the crowd.

"Professor,…..are you sure he's ready for this?" Cyclops asked in a skeptical tone.

"No,………but Logan has a point. Perhaps a bit of independence and freedom will do him good, providing of coarse Logan accompany him." Charles sighed. They watched with amused smiles as Gambit approached Wolverine, who was leaning against something coved in a sheet. The Canadian was smoking a cigar and suppressing a grin. He looked Gambit over, as if appraising him, before finally standing aside and gesturing with his hands. Remy looked at him with a befuddled look, then to the others crowded around.

"Well go ahead Shuga,……..see what it is." Rouge bit her lip in excitement, already well aware of the present hidden beneath. With one cocked eyebrow and casual shrug, he pulled off the sheet and stepped back, eyes wide and mouth opened.

A maroon Harley, sat glistening in the sun, chrome polished and waxed, with all the bells and whistles of his last. It was a splitting image of his former love, with the exception of the four aces, painted on the sides, a touch, Rouge knew he would enjoy. He let out a deflated breath, then looked around excitedly, as if asking, "For me?" Wolverine chuckled and nodded, watching as Gambit's shacking hands ran over the body, caressing the bike as he would a woman. They all stood waiting for the memory flash that was bound to occur, but it didn't come until he hopped onto it, coat whipping behind him as he turned the key and revved the engine. It hit him hard, as it usually did, causing him to gasp in pain as he brought his hands to his head, before falling off to the side and into the awaiting arms of Rouge, who held him steady as he shook. A moment or two later, he was back, looking up at the faces with a startled and confused expression, he jumped to his feet, and tilted his head, scratching it.

"What's wrong Gumbo?" Logan grunted folding his arms. Gambit looked at him, then opened his mouth as if to speak, but uttered only mumbled gibberish that sounded like French. It was as close as he came to speaking, but no one could understand him, including Henry and the Professor who were both fluent in French. When Logan answered him with a puzzled shrug, he became frustrated and started to pace, before finally turning back and demonstrating with his hands. He did it often, acting out his questions for the X-men like a game of shreds, which worked better sometimes then others. He pointed to the Bike then got on it, making a noise that imitated a motor and pretending to drive, then, without warning he leapt off the vehicle, flipping in the air and rolling on the ground, all the while mumbling his nonsense language.. The X-Men watched with knitted brows, trying their best to understand. He stood up and clapped his hands, bringing them apart and yelling, "Boom!" Then pointed back to the bike, an innocent look on his face. Each of his team mates looked at each other for answers until the Professor entered his mind to understand what he was trying to say.

"Ah,…….He is confused because he remembers his other bike crashing against the wall." Charles mused.

"Well,……We got ya a new one,…….fixed it up the way ya had it." Wolverine answered, as if it was no big deal. Remy's eyes grew again, as did his smile, he looked from, Logan to the bike and back again, before seizing the shorter man in a mighty bear hug, and placing a wet kiss on each of his sideburn covered cheeks. Wolverine pushed him off, with a stunned grunt, swearing as he wiped his face off, glaring at the Cajun who paid him no mind, his attention back on the Motorcycle. The others laughed at Wolverine as he grumble to him self.

"God damn Cajun frog,…….always kissing anything that walks past em,'……..twice on each god damned cheek." He muttered in fake annoyance, trying to hide the fact he was glade the Cajun liked the motorcycle, especially after all the time he had put into it. Gambit was running all around it, bouncing about like a child on Christmas day. Grabbing his team mates by their hands and pointing at the bike. He blitz attacked Logan twice more with frantic hugs and kisses, then darting away before he could be shoved off. Finally Logan went and got his Harley, pulling up next to Gambit, and grunting, gesturing his head towards the road. He didn't have to say a word, as Gambit hopped on his own bike and took off down the road, leading the way, a wild grin plastered on his face. Rouge took to the air and fallowed slightly behind, just in case.

However his good mood and high spirits came crashing down two days later as he was flipping through the Professor's files on the computer and stumbled across a picture of Sinister. He stared hard at the demonic face in front of his eyes, before the words Morlock and Massacre came popping out of the text underneath. The familiar throbbing pain in his head began to take over, his vision blurred, and his breath became shallow and short. Slowly the thoughts and images floated back into his memory, then came the sounds of screams and snapping bones. His head spun and throbbed as the chaos with in him grew. Beast had been with him, but left to go check some test results, as they were allowing him more alone time and freedom. No one was there to assist him during the episode, no one able to hear his mournful cries, and watch him curl up under the desk, rocking himself. His eyes were wide open, but all he could see was death, the slaughter of hundreds, nameless faces, crying out to him as he ran through the tunnels with their blood on his hands. In between the endless scenes of violence and murder, were glimpses of Sinister, grinning at him with his gagged teeth, he had needles full of toxic chemicals, and knives for dissection. Pain, pain and fear and blood, his own and countless others. It was becoming too much, the throbbing in his skull was amplified by the chaos of his mind, all twisting inside him, till he felt the vomit rising in his throat.

With haggard gasps for air, and dispirit cries he crawled out from under the desk, and scrambled to his feet, running out the door and down the hall, away from the picture of Sinister, and the nightmares it brought him. But he could not out run the sights and sounds of his forgotten past, no matter how fast he ran. He fled the base, running blindly through the fields and forests that surrounded it. The branches scratched his face and tore at his cloths, like the hands of the dead, pulling at his soul. His coat was snagged on some briers, but he could not stop, they were after him, hunting him down. He pulled himself free, leaving the trench coat behind.

He collapsed at last, crawling into the under brush of the dense forest, and curling up, crying in silence as he held his breath, to afraid to make a sound. It was a cold night out, frost covered the ground, and he laid frozen in place, eyes wide with terror. The memories would not stop, they could not stop, each playing out before his eyes again and again. He knew he was responsible, some how, for the deaths of so many. He felt his guilt and shame feed into his fear of Sinister. He thought of Rouge, wanting her warmth, needing her there by his side, but then he remembered Antarctica, the cold, the loneliness, they had abandoned him, she had abandon him. He deserved it he knew, he was guilty of murder and God knows what else. He heaved violently, vomiting as he chocked on his tears. He wanted to die, God let him die, let him freeze to death right here, alone and cold and forgotten, the way a man as worthless as he deserved to die. They hated him, all of them, and they were right too. His body shook with silent sobs as his mind became slow, his thought filled with fog, misery covering him like a blanket.

Hours later, just before dawn, he felt strong arms around him, gently lifting his frozen form from the ground and cradling him like a child. Who was this angle of mercy, and why were they helping him, he who had blood on his hands. A warm tear fell from above onto his rubbery cheeks' and stung. A voice came next, broken, but strong and deep.

"Storm to Cyclops, we have found him, tell Beast to ready the sick bay, he is frozen from the cold." She gazed down at the barely conscious form in her arms, and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, then looked up to Wolverine and Night crawler, who stood next to them. She nodded to Kurt, who knelt down, and gingerly lifted Remy into his own arms, whispering a prayer in German, before vanishing in a cloud of sulfur with the Cajun in tow.

"He'll be ok Ro'." Logan helped the weather Goddess to her feet, clutching Remy's discarded Trench coat in the other hand

"I do not doubt it my friend." She sighed then lifted them both into the air, heading back to the base.

When Gambit finally woke up, he was not were he thought he was. Instead of laying frozen in the waste land of Antarctica, or strapped to a dissection table in Sinister's lab, he was wrapped up in soft blue sheets, with a quilt resting on top. His head, though still aching was cradled in pillows. He opened his weary eyes and blinked into the dimly lit room, shivering he pulled the blankets tighter, then sneezed, fallowed by a moan. His throat was sore, his head stuffy, and he couldn't stop shaking. Where was he any way? Not the X-mansion,……..this sick bay looked different. He tried to clear his foggy mind and put together his last conscious thought. He groaned with a heavy heart as he remembered the trial, Rouge and the others had discovered his secret and had left him to die,…..as he should have. Before he could muse further on the subject, the door opened, letting in a bright light from the hall way. He closed his eyes, and steadied his breath, to appear sleeping.

"Don't bother fakeing it Cajun, I know yer awake!" Wolverine grunted as he pulled up a chair next to the bed.

"Logan!……….Were am I?" He asked with a horse shout, then coughed so hard his whole body hurt.

"Easy Gumbo, no need to shout. Ya know I can't understand none of that gibberish ya keep speaking." Wolverine forcefully pushed him back into the pillows, than lay a hand on his forehead. "Damn kid, yer still burning up, even though yer shakin' like Drake just Iced ya over!" Gambit looked up at his fellow X-Man in confusion. Why couldn't he understand him?

"Wolverine?…….How did I get back from Antarctica?…….Were is Rouge?…….Were are the others?" He was struggling to sit up, but was to weak with sickness, and Logan kept him pined.

"Look Gambit,……just cool it, or Hank'll have to sedate ya!…….Don't worry,……..Sinister ain't here,……..your with friends, the X-Men, remember?" He sat back down as Remy, gazed at him in frustration and confusion.

"Remember?…….Of course I remember!…..What in de hell is going on here?" Gambit sat up strait and staggered out of bed, shivering and unsteady on his feet.

"God damnit Cajun, relax!……….Were in the hell do you think yer going?" Wolverine stood between him and the door.

"Get out of the way Mon amie!" Gambit warned, before coughing so hard he fell against the wall

"Calm down Gambit,………..I ain't gonna hurt ya!" Wolverine was talking to him as if he were a child. Before he could say another word the door opened and in stepped Rouge with the Professor and Hank, all surprised to see him out of bed.

"Remy, shuga…….yer sick, ya need tah be in bed." Rouge walked toward him but he backed away.

"Qui, cuz you left me to die in Antarctica!" He spate, becoming resentful as his frustration grew.

"He seems up set. Do you think he doesn't know where he is?" Rouge asked the Professor as she moved closer toward him.

"Didn't you hear me!?" He fumed as he sneezed again, feeling exhausted and becoming more and more frustrated and confused.

"I don't know, his shields are up. Gambit, I need you to lower your shields so I can understand what happened." Xavier was talking to him the same way, as if he was crazy or retarded.

"Non!……None of you are making any sense!…….I ain't letting no one in moi head!……Not no more!…….You just want to dig around for more reasons to hate me!" He was shouting through heavy breaths and racking coughs and sneezes. His fever was causing him to become delirious and unreasonable, but all he could think about was those words Rouge spat in his face, before leaving him in the bitter cold. He felt deeply hurt by their betrayal, no matter how deserving it was, and the shame and guilt were eating him up. Storm, Cyclops and Jean all entered the room, concerned looks on their faces.

"What seems to be the matter?" Scott asked the Professor.

"We're not quit sure. He is obviously upset, but It appears he dose recognize us………Perhaps he is caught up in his newest memory." The Professor mused, as they watched a very agitated Cajun pass back and forth, occasionally shooting them dirty looks.

"Have you tried to uncover what the newest set of memories are?" Jean asked.

"Yes, but he has his shields up and refuses to lower them. I can only presume that they were centered around Mr. Sinister, and his dealings with the man." The Professor answered.

"STOP!……..I'm right here!…….Don' talk 'bout me like I ain't here!……..And what do you mean dealings?………You know full well I worked for em'!………..That's my great secret!………..The reason I ain't worthy nuff' for your precious X-Men!" Despite himself, his eyes were tearing up, but he was damned If he would let them see him in such a state. He had made up his mind that he was leaving, even though his legs shook from the stain of standing. He was in no condition to go anywhere, but his anger and determination would suffice for lack of strength and physical well being. With a final irritated huff at their lack of comprehension, he shoved past them, smacking Rouge's hand away as he stormed out of the room.

It was odd that despite the fact he had no idea were he was, he knew exactly were every thing else was. He passed the Kitchen, and took a right, going past several of the X-Men's bed rooms until he reached his desired location. Remy, knew the door was unlocked, as well as the contents of the room. It was his room, well sort of, though he didn't sleep their much. He threw on his uniform and Trench coat, shacking with teeth chattering, and sneezing all the while. Then he threw some cloths into a duffle, grabbed his keys and took off. As he walked toward the exit, he became more and more aware of his conflicting memories and thoughts. He was going to ride his bike, but his bike had smashed into a wall, but Wolverine had got him a knew one, and that was only a few days ago. He stopped right before he reached the door, his face betraying his utter confusion.

He slowly, with a feverish mind, recalled the events of the last few days. How was it possible that he have two sets of memories for the same span of time. Unless,……..His blood ran cold, as he broke out in a sweat. Sinister must have him! He was playing tricks on Remy's mind, toying with him, the way he used to when he was a confused kid of 19. That meant he wasn't really walking at all, but was strapped to a lab table some were with electrodes monitoring his brain waves as Sinister fed him this hallucination. He began to panic, feeling more and more confused; he dropped the bag and looked around willing himself to wake up.

"It's not real, It's not real!" He shouted, falling to his knees.

"Remy,…….it's ok shuga!…….Just take it easy." Rouge was at the end of the hall, the others all behind her.

"Non!…….You ain't real, none of you!…….I know it's you Sinister, now wake me up!" His words still came out in a mish mesh of Cajun slang, broken English and French, making it impossible to understand a word he was saying.

"His shields are faltering due to his illness and extreme emotional stress!………I'm picking up something,…….it's all so confusing and jumbled." The Professor focused on Gambit who was yelling up at the ceiling and punching the wall.

"What's going on?" Siren asked as she rounded the corner with Cable.

"It appears Gambit's mind has gone through a massive memory recovery and now he is confused as to what is happening……………Hmmmmm,………He thinks this is all an illusion created by Sinister." Emma Frost had received a signal from Jean and had arrived at the other end of the hall, closest to Gambit.

"Yes Emma, your right,……….this is going to be tough to explain!" Xavier sighed as he made his way toward Remy who on his knees, for-head resting against the wall, mumbling with his eyes shut tight. For the next several hours the telepaths worked with Gambit to help him piece together the chaotic stream of memories, still unsorted but painfully present in his mind. To their surprise, Gambit now remembered everything up to the trial, as well as other memory fragments he had uncovered the past few weeks.