Part 8
Remy was surprised to enter the kitchen a few hours later to see a complete breakfast in the works. The stove was occupied by Rogue who was busily frying what looked like and smelled like eggs. Joseph stood next to her mixing iced tea. After a moment of listening Remy realized that Rogue was giving the young, amnesic man directions on how to make the drink. That guy really was too sheltered.
He fought down the wave of jealousy at seeing the two together and dropped into a chair at the table across from Bobby. The other man looked at him, a dark expression on his face. Layers of sweaters clothed him and his arms were wrapped tightly around his body. He swayed gently back and forth in his seat as if he were trying to push away a great chill. Remy gave him a strange look; it was only mid-autumn and not incredibly cold for the time of year. Drake's expression darkened further in reaction.
"Where have you been?" he snapped, the words laden heavily with suspicion.
"Now really ain't de time, Drake," Remy's tone could have frozen fire. He didn't need this boy giving him trouble now.
"Avoiding the question, Gambit?"
"Non, jus' givin' y' fair warning."
Bobby seemed to retreat for a second before his expression hardened again and he decided to press the issue. "Thanks for the thought. Now answer the question."
In reply Remy leaned forward across the table, willing the unnerving, red eyes he was gifted/cursed with at birth to glow brightly. Red eyes he no longer possessed. After a moment Remy realized this but forced his stare to remain steady and unfaltering nonetheless. "I don' take orders," he sneered.
Bobby stepped up to the staring contest, trying to meet the intimidating gaze. He failed, flinching away after a minute. "No, you just betray those who trust you," he mumbled under his breath.
Remy managed to hear the comment. Standing suddenly, he placed his clenched fists on the table, supporting his weight on them so he could lean forward over Bobby. "You f'rget dat I've risked my hide f'r this team over an' over 'gain, and dat not once was I not dere when I was needed. I proved myself. You betrayed me by not trustin' dat I would never do anyt'ing t' hurt de X-Men." Normally he wouldn't have reacted so harshly to the insult but right now he really wasn't in the mood. Besides, that had been a pretty low blow. "You also f'rget dat I c'n kick y' butt," he added smugly.
Rogue turned from where she was, twisting so that she could keep one hand on the frying pan. "Both o' ya boys bettah calm down. We got enough problems without ya'll causin' more."
Remy didn't look at her but after another minute, when he felt Drake was sufficiently intimidated, he sat down. He remained tense and kept his eyes on Bobby a bit longer. The other man did not meet his stare, a light blush staining his cheeks. Finally Remy eased back in the seat, sprawling across it in a more comfortable position, easy confidence written across the tight mask of his features. Satisfied, Rogue turned back to her cooking. Joseph watched a moment longer and then resumed mixing the iced tea.
A long silence ensued before Rogue's southern drawl interrupted it. "So where have ya been, Remy?" The question was asked casually, but there was a peculiar edge to it, like she was testing him. Asking him to put to rest some fear she had. Remy's gaze snapped to the woman standing over the stove. Even she didn't trust him!
"What is dis, an interigation?" he snapped angrily.
Rogue didn't turn to face him as she spoke. "No, sugah. It's jus' a question. What are ya gettin' all riled up about?" She was challenging him, finding his reaction to be proof that he was up to no good. His eyes narrowed unconsciously. Despite having absorbed his very essence on several occasions, she still knew so little about him. She still refused to see so much.
"Y' t'ink I'm riled up now? Y' ain't seen not'in yet."
"Stop avoidin' the subject," she retorted crisply.
"Remy, please just answer the question." He looked up, surprised to see Betsy standing nearby, looking upon him with an unreadable expression. That woman walked way too quietly. He contemplated her words for a moment. There was no suspicion there. It was said more like a statement than anything. She wasn't questioning his integrity or his motives. She wasn't accusing him. A tight smile spread across his face.
"Sure chere, jus' gotta ask me nicely," Rogue glared at him from where she stood. "Been searchin' de mansion for any sign o' what caused us t' loose our powers. I also checked t' see if Cerebro found anyt'ing. Ain't turned up not'in'." He sighed, discouraged. It was all true. After he had left the medlab, he'd searched for clues, any sort of lead. But there was nothing, and as a result the frustration was building up inside of him.
"Oh." Rogue turned back to her cooking, but he caught the blush rising to her cheeks. "Ah'm sorry Remy. Ah didn't mean ta point the finger at ya. This is just very... frustratin'. Some o' our own are injured an' we don' even know why." Her shoulders sagged a bit as she sighed.
"'S okay chere. Guess I jus' have one o' dose suspicious personalities."
A few chairs over Betsy sat down, rubbing her temple. The action reminded Remy of his own pounding headache that had failed to dissipate over time like his nausea had. It was a throbbing pain right behind his eyes and now that he was still and doing nothing it became more noticeable. It drove him to his feet in the hopes of finding a distraction. He decided that maybe making his own omelet wouldn't be a bad idea.
Wandering over to the cooking area, he set about gathering ingredients. "I leave de mansion f'r a little while an' de whole spice cabinet falls inta disarray," Remy muttered to himself as he peered into the redwood cupboard "You northerners don' have any sense o' taste." He reached in and pulled out the few flavorings he could find and turned to glance sidelong at Rogue. Her scrambled eggs were finished and she was busy pushing them onto plates to hand out to anyone who wanted some.
Remy's hand began to itch suddenly and he looked down to see tiny cuts littering its back. They were all about the size of a pinprick and looked to be maybe a day or so old. He wondered where he could have got them but passed the wounds of nonchalantly as being nothing out of the ordinary, only something he'd gotten when he wasn't paying much attention.
"Is this good?" he heard Joseph ask, referring to the iced tea he had mixed.
"I dunno, let me have a taste, sugah... oh, umm... *cough* it's... uh... perfect." Remy hid a smile at Rogue's desperate attempt to hide her distaste. She glanced over at him with a sour expression on her face that soured even further when she noticed the smirk he was wearing.
"Ya want me to leave the burner on and the fryin' pan here for ya?"
"Merci." She vacated the space in front of the stove and, balancing plates on her arms, managed to make it to the table without dropping anything. Joseph followed her and behind him, Remy heard a few muttered 'thank you's followed by the clanging of utensils as the table's occupants began to eat.
At the stove Remy proceeded to crack eggs in a bowl, beating them and then pouring them into the hot pan. It was strangely gratifying and calming to perform such a common, habitual act. A wry smile touched his lips. He'd wasted hours sitting on the roof in angst time after time, brooding over his life when all he'd really needed was some eggs to give him solace. The amusement died quickly though as the ivory color of the egg whites reminded him of the snow haired woman in the room below him fighting for her life.
At the table he heard Betsy speak up, "I checked the mansion for clues also but I didn't find anything. Wolverine is out checking the grounds, though I doubt he'll find much without his enhanced senses. I figured at least searching the guest rooms would produce results." He imagined her shrugging in the silence. "But there was nothing."
"What a minute!" Rogue interjected. "Ya checked our bedrooms?"
"It was necessary," Betsy replied calmly.
"Necessary! Ah don't think goin' through somebody's personal stuff is necessary!"
"I doubt you have much personal stuff left after Bastion cleaned the mansion out," Betsy returned.
"It doesn't mattah!" Rogue yelled exasperated, then added more quietly, "It's the principle of the thing."
"I agree with Rogue, you should have informed us of your intent before you entered our rooms without permission," Joseph added.
"Why? What do you have to hide?" The accusation in Betsy's tone was plain.
"Nothing!" Rogue retorted angrily. Remy half-turned to watch. The idea of Betsy having searched his room didn't thrill him, but he knew she would find nothing of importance. A good thief knew never to leave anything worth hiding unhidden. All his belongings were tucked safely away in his suitcase, guarded by a lock that she would have no chance of picking.
"Then what is the problem?" asked Betsy calmly. "Warren and many of our other teammates are injured and we do not know who to blame. Finding out is worth a little sacrifice of privacy."
He thought he caught a glint of sadness and regret in her eyes. Remy figured she was probably crying inside over Warren's condition but the warrior in her would never let her show it. He understood the mask she wore. He often sported a similar one himself, letting it fall only when he was surrounded by those he trusted. Lately, he'd been wearing the mask more and more often.
Rogue's eyes sparked with anger. "That's easy fer you ta say when yer not the one sacrificing yer privacy."
Bobby tried to hide the smirk on his face but failed. "Oooh, cat fight." he mumbled. Remy couldn't help a slight chuckle despite the tense situation. Rogue shot an angry look at him, which he returned with the most innocent expression he could muster.
"Did you search our rooms too?" she asked sassily.
"Non petite, I didn' think I would find much considering most o' dem are completely empty." He raised his eyebrows as if to say 'including yours, so why are you so protective of it?' She watched him for a moment and then shook her head in frustration.
"This mansion used to be my home an' mah room held memories of mah whole life. Ta you it might jus' be an empty space but ta me... it's a lot more. Ya should've respected that an' asked me first." Her voice was quieter than before, some semblance of calm working into it.
"It is foolish to become so attached to such a place." But Betsy returned her attention back to her eggs as she spoke. Her body language said that she saw no point in continuing such an argument. "But next time I will ask first." That was as close to an apology as Betsy was going to get. Rogue seemed satisfied enough to let the subject drop and they continued to eat in silence.
Remy watched them all a moment longer. They had changed so much, hardened by the pummeling of suffering they'd endured. First Onlaught, then Operation: Zero Tolerance, then his own Trial, and countless other things. And now this. The smiles and jokes were gone, the family ripped to shreds by a myriad of conflicting stresses. Tensions were too strong, words too bitter, the dream too distant. What would Xavier think if he were here? The X-Men were strong, and their ties to each other had held them together through crisis after crisis... but now even those were being destroyed, leaving only a thin, worn little string connecting them. ...But then, sometimes the worn were also the strongest, toughened over time to resist even the most taxing obstacles. The X-Men would survive this. They were fighters, hard to break, hard to kill. No matter how dismal things might seem they would go on. They had to. Otherwise, what hope would the world have?
Remy tried not to consider the desolate future Bishop had brought with him. Tried not to consider the fact that all the X-Men had died except for him. Maybe that was because he wasn't an X-Man. That hadn't been something he'd really considered until now, but after the Trial it seemed plausible. Maybe the death of the X-Men wouldn't include him because he would not be a member of the team at the time. He'd never really bought into the idea that Xavier had been the traitor; it just didn't feel right. And if he was, who was to say that someone else wouldn't try and succeed in destroying the X-Men anyway? They had sure made enough enemies. The death of the X-Men. The possibility of the end of the dream had never seemed so possible, so close. And he knew the others felt it. They were doubting. And doubt leads to failure.
The eggs began sizzling behind him and Remy quickly turned, hurrying to flip the omelet before it burned. The spices speckled the yellow surface and their pungent smell filled his nose. Perfect. The food finished cooking and he slid it onto a plate conveniently waiting nearby. He set it on the counter and turned off the stove. Now what to drink? Behind him Remy heard Bobby starting to cough. Between gasps of air he managed to identify the cause of his troubles. "Hey Joseph... --cough-- ...you think you could have put another couple of tons of sugar in this thing? I don't think its –gag-- sweet enough yet." So iced tea was definitely not an option.
Contemplating whether it was too early in the morning for a beer, Remy reached into the cabinet to get a glass. Behind him he heard a heavy footfalls entering the kitchen and then someone discretely clearing their throat. Remy turned in curiosity, holding a crystal clear glass in his hand. The shiny surface glinted in the light of the morning sun filtering in through the windows.
Near the entrance to the room stood Henry McCoy, an uncomfortable expression on his face. He reached up and nervously adjusted the glasses perched on his nose. "Umm... I have some news to share with you all." He didn't continue for a moment, shifting uncomfortably as if trying to figure out exactly how to phrase his words. Remy's first instinct was that something had happened to one of the patients in the medlab and his grasp on the glass slowly tightened in anticipation.
"Come on Blue, spill it already... Oh wait, I guess you're not exactly blue anymore... umm... Peach?" Henry shot Bobby an annoyed look at his poorly placed humor and then took a deep breath, preparing himself to speak.
"Up until this point we haven't been able to determine why our powers suddenly disappeared." He paused, as if to let his words sink in. "Well, it has been determined."
Five pairs of eyes focused on the doctor with steady intensity.
"I was able to take a sample of Storm's blood and examine it under a microscope. After magnifying it an exceedingly great amount I was able to see a foreign element that was present, tiny objects, which I call nanoprobes, that were in the blood stream. And though I wasn't able to observe it directly, there was sufficient evidence to confirm that they have been manipulating our X-Factor genes. The other patients, Cecilia, and myself all have the same minute machines flowing through our bodies and it is presumable that the rest of you share them too." He paused for a second as the X-Men exchanged horrified looks.
"But the nanos were not unmarked. I do not know whether it is an appellation or a message, but an ominous picture of a diamond was etched in red on each of them."
Red diamonds. Red like blood. Diamonds etched in blood. The image drove a cold, tight clamp to enclose Remy's heart. And squeeze. Hard. Bitter emotions washed over him. Anger. Hate. Fear. Diamonds etched in blood. He'd hoped never to hear that phrase again, had tried to escape it, though it always followed him into his worst nightmares. Diamonds etched in blood. The mark of Sinister. With a loud crash the glass slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor. He leaned back and grabbed the counter behind him with both hands for support, suddenly feeling very weak.
The shattered shards of glass skittered across the floor, sending eerie chiming sounds through the room. "Remy?" Hank questioned, concerned.
"Y' sure it was red diamonds...?" The whisper was weak, disbelieving.
"Yes, positive. I even had Dr. Reyes confirm it." His brow crinkled in confusion. "Though I do not understand why that has such meaning to you."
"Dat symbol is... Sinister's mark... his signature."
Hank's eyes widened slightly. "Are you sure?"
"Oui."
"Absolutely positive?"
"Oui. Ain't a mistake. Dere only one man I know who would use dat symbol, and dat's Sinister." Remy's voice sounded faint, and he was still leaning on the counter for support, though he seemed to be regaining his composure somewhat.
"This is not good," Hank commented quietly to himself, shaking his head gently. "My stars and garters, this is really not good."
"Oui," Remy agreed.
"Wait a minute," Bobby interjected. "You're telling me Sinister put these little machines inside of us? How in the world would he be able to do that without us knowing?" Nobody provided any answer and silence prevailed, but slowly, one by one, every pair of eyes settled on Rogue. She stared at the table shaking her head as if she were trying to convince herself that the implication of her guilt couldn't be true.
Gradually regaining his strength, Remy walked over to the table. Rogue sat on a chair at one corner and Remy settled on his haunches diagonal from her, along the side perpendicular to the one she sat at. They were almost eye level and he reached across the wood surface to lay his hand on top of her outstretched one, as much to support her as to prevent her from escaping. She flinched slightly, unaccustomed to the feeling of touch on her bare hands, but remained overall despondent. "Rogue," he began quietly, "Y' gonna have ta tell me everyt'ing dat happened wit' Sinister."
She didn't seem like she was going to respond, but finally she nodded and turned slowly to face him. The eyes that looked at him were brimmed with tears. "Ah wasn't really his captive until the last week. Before that ah went ta scheduled appointments willingly, thinkin' he was jus' a doctor who could help me. It wasn't until ah decided not ta have the treatment to rid me of my powers that he revealed himself ta me." Though she was looking in Remy's general direction, her gaze was unfocused and far away, as if she were not really seeing him, but watching memories play across her mind instead.
"Ah was unconscious most o' the time... an' for a good while mah powers were suppressed. Ah really don't know what he did ta me but... ah woke up once with black an' blues on my arm an tiny holes from some kinda injection... Ah'm sorry... that's all ah remember." She came back to herself and transferred her gaze to Hank, questioning him with her eyes.
Hank didn't answer for a moment, considering the information. "It may be possible that you brought the nanos to the mansion and they then spread like a virus. But that would indicate they are being controlled by some outside force. If you were the carrier it would be absurd to think that we were all infected at the same time, especially since we were all separated when we lost our powers. At the exact same time, I might add. We must have been infected individually and then all the probes were activated at once." He rubbed his chin speculatively. "But there is no way to prove that."
"Wait a minute," Bobby protested. "Before we start blaming Rogue, how do we know Remy didn't bring those nano thingies here. He's had a history with Sinister."
"Come on Bobby, y' ain't dat stupid. If I bought de nanos t' destroy de team, why would I infect m'self too? An' why would I stick around to be discovered?" Sarcasm spilled off the words.
"Maybe you weren't infected. Maybe it's just a deception."
"An how do y' suppose I magically transformed m' eyes from red an' black to brown?"
"Contacts?"
"Now you're reaching."
Bobby accepted defeat with a slight tinge of red rising to his cheeks. Standing, Remy turned abruptly to face Henry. "C'n we use Cerebro t' find Sinister?"
"We might be able to. But Cerebro isn't fully operational yet. Its systems were wiped when Zero Tolerance procured it and we have not been able to fully reprogram it yet. We will only have limited power. Sinister will only be detectable if he is located in a finite vicinity."
"It's worth a try," Betsy commented.
There were a few utterances of agreement, a few nods. It seemed that their next course of action was sure.
And then everything changed.
Remy's eyes squeezed shut against the stars that burst in front of them, against the burning feeling that consumed them. He could suddenly feel every movement in the room. All around there was chaos, and in front of him he could actually feel Hank changing size and growing larger. Remy's own bone structure was changing, his metabolism speeding up, his cells overflowing with energy. He was morphing on the molecular level. And it hurt. Really badly. He couldn't help falling to the ground and groaning in agony. He could feel the fear and horror of the X-Men around them and the pain of those whose transformations were as unpleasant as his own.
So this is what it felt like to suddenly become a mutant all at once.
Ouch. It wasn't an enjoyable experience.
Eventually the pain subsided enough for Remy to think straight. He knelt on the ground, forehead resting against he edge of the table and arms wrapped protectively around himself. He opened one eye carefully. When it seemed safe enough the other followed the action of its pair. Lifting his head, Remy glanced around the room, blinking several times. He'd become accustomed to having normal eyes, and now, with his mutant ones back and collecting their usual excess amount of light, the world seemed so much duller, a pastel quality tinting everything he saw. There was also the strange aura produced by the frequencies of light to either side of visible light in the electromagnetic spectrum. Light which his eyes were able to detect. He was able to see portions of the ultraviolet and infrared range while normal people couldn't observe anything beyond the visible spectrum, but normally his brain filtered it out unless he needed it. The process was similar to what the brain does to get rid of background noise. The ears hear it though the person is not aware of it. But his mind was still adjusting to having his strange sight back, and until it did he would just have to deal with inconvenience of seeing more than he was used to.
"Umm... power check?" Drake asked from the other side of the room where he was hurriedly stripping off layers of sweaters.
"I have mine back," commented Betsy distantly.
"Same here," added Rogue.
"As do I," Joseph confirmed.
"Got mine... definitely got mine," Remy croaked as he slowly stood.
"And obviously I am once again the bouncing, blue Beast." Henry gestured at the new, bright coat of fur that had grown over his massive body. Clothes hung off in rags, having been torn as the doctor regained his mutant mass, but luckily the boxers remained in tact, presumably having been oversized to begin with.
"Okay, so we got our powers back, anybody know how?" Rogue questioned. There was no answer. "Didn't think so," she said after a moment.
"I think our best course of action would be to continue with our earlier plans to find Sinister, before we loose our powers again," Joseph suggested.
"Then you will have to manage by yourselves, I'm going back to the medlab," Beast said, "I am no doubt needed there." With that he hurried out of the room.
The other X-Men exchanged looks for a few moments before Remy broke the uncertainty. "Well what're we waitin' f'r? We c'n manage t' work Cerebro wit'out Henry—"
"Oh no..." gasped Betsy, her eyes wide and unfocussed. One hand was pressed to her head in the manner shared by telepaths when using their powers, and the other was pressed over her open mouth.
Everybody was staring at her now, anxious looks on their faces as they saw how distraught she was. "Betsy, what is it?" asked Rogue uncertainly.
"The Shadow King..." she whispered in a barely audible voice. "He's free."
Nobody moved for a long stretch of seconds, paralysis having found its was into their bodies at the words. They had known that Betsy's telepathy was holding the Shadow King prisoner on the psionic plane. When her powers had been lost it only made sense that he would be freed...
Softly, Remy cleared his throat, waiting until he had everyone's attention. "We can' do anyt'ing 'bout that now. De Shadow King c'n be dealt wit' after we find Sinister... which we still have t' do by de way..."
The comment was enough impetus to get the X-Men moving and within seconds the kitchen was deserted. Half-eaten plates of eggs littered the table along with their accompanying drinks. Remy's omelet occupied the counter, alone and forgotten and now cold. On the floor pieces of the broken glass sparkled, neglected. Where the cup's once clear and perfect exterior had shone beautifully, clean glass reflecting light gloriously, possibly reminding one—if the light was just right—of a dream castle made of crystal, there was only sharp tiny pieces, shards of the former object offensively littering the floor.
But then glass—and dreams—always were so fragile and easy to shatter.