Chapter 19      

The man disciplines himself to silence as the face appears before him.  As always, the projection wears no expression, but he senses both displeasure and a grudging admiration.  But then, he might simply be projecting the emotions he expects his opponent to feel, he tells himself.

Beside him, Forge shifts slightly.  "Time to see if he pays up."

The Witness nods.  "Oui."

"You're being awfully calm about this, you realize.  I'm about ready to start dancing on the tables."  Forge smiles.  "We won!"

For the barest moment, the Witness' reserve cracks and the mischievous grin of his youth shines through.  "I'd like to see y' dancin' on de table."  Then his calm mask returns.  "But, as y' said, we still waitin' t' see if he pays up."

Forge doesn't respond.  The face before them has solidified and watches them from seemingly empty eyes.

"Congratulations," it begins.  "You have answered the challenge."

The Witness remains silent.  For once, he holds the position of power in this little game.

The face pauses, as if expecting a reply, but then continues, "I will, of course, fulfill my obligation, as set down at the beginning of this contest."

The Witness nods in acknowledgement, and the face begins to dissolve.  When it is gone, he allows himself a sigh. 

Forge's expression is highly skeptical.  "That's it?"

"What were y' expectin'?"

"I have no idea, but that wasn't it."

The Witness stirs.  "You c'n complain about de lack o' fanfare later.  We need to get goin' before de timeline change gets here."  He heads toward the door.

"So where are we going?"  Forge asks, following.

The Witness glances back over his shoulder.  "To see de X-Men."

#

For once, silence reigned the X-men.  They were all gathered in the War Room, seated around the conference table.  All except for Gambit, who still slept.  Jean had finally finished speaking, and now sipped at a glass of water.  Her green eyes watched them all over the rim.  Charles was beginning to think that the War Room had been a poor choice of locations to gather everyone and explain what they had learned.  The expressions he saw on their faces were not what he might have hoped for.

Not unsurprising, perhaps, but Charles had found himself unable to talk easily about what he had so recently discovered about Remy.  So the task had fallen to Jean. She had been speaking steadily for the last two hours.  Finally, Charles forced himself to find his voice.

"I would like to simply throw the floor open at this point."  He surveyed each of the X-Men in turn.  "I want to hear your reactions and opinions to these... revelations."

There was a quiet shuffle as people shifted in their seats, but no one spoke immediately.  Gazes slowly focused on Ororo and Rogue.  Ororo watched them all in return, her expression unreadable.  Only the troubled crease between her aristocratic brows hinted at mixed emotions.  Rogue sat with her head bowed, staring at the hands clasped in her lap.  Waves of red hair obscured her face.  Charles was very concerned for her.  He had seen the expression in her eyes as Jean's words had been drowned by memory-- Remy's memories, permanently locked inside her mind.  He didn't know exactly how much she remembered, but he could tell from watching her that it was more than enough.  Her eyes had become dark hollows in a deathly pale face before she lowered them.  She had not moved a muscle since.  He wasn't entirely certain she had even heard the rest of the story.

As if his scrutiny required some kind of response, Rogue climbed to her feet, moving slowly as if she ached to her very core.  Without looking at anyone, she turned and walked to the door.  Charles caught only a glimpse of her face, but he saw no trace of tears or any other hint of emotion.  The door slid aside for her, its whispering sound seeming more muted than normal.  Then she was gone, and the door resealed itself with a sense of finality.  A few moments later, the dull report of a sonic boom announced her departure.  The small, detached part of Charles' mind wondered if she had broken the windows.  Sealed underground as they were, they wouldn't be able to hear such things.  Then he chided himself for thinking about such trivialities when much more important things were at stake.  He knew that it was just a protective reflex-- to keep him from wondering if she would ever come back.

"That was a really rotten thing for him to do to her, y'know," muttered Bobby.

"What was?" asked Logan from beside him.

"Kissing her-- letting her absorb his memories."  Bobby swung his arm in a directionless, angry gesture.  "He knew it would rip her up."

"Maybe."  Jean set her glass down.  Her voice was tired.  "But we all stared at that crystal wave and thought we were going to die."  She looked at the other X-Men who had been there that day.  "I'll agree it turned out to be a mistake, but it's an understandable one."

"No way, Jean."  Bobby's jaw had taken a stubborn set.  "I don't buy that.  It shouldn't have been worth the risk no matter what was going on."

"I have to agree with Bobby."  Scott's voice was heavy and spoke very loudly to Charles of the tension between husband and wife.  Jean turned to look at her husband, the question written on her face.

Scott took a preparatory breath.  "But this is all secondary to the real issue, which is Gambit's involvement with Sinister."  If possible, the stillness around the table became thicker.  No one had wanted to be the one to broach the subject that loomed in front of them all.  "I think this information supports the opinion I've expressed in the past-- that Gambit does not belong with the X-Men."  He nodded in Charles' direction.  "Despite all of the personal complications, which I do sympathize with."

"I agree with Scott," Warren interjected before Charles could speak.  His expression was unyielding.

"Why?"  Charles tried to keep his voice neutral.  He did want to hear their opinions.  Still, he knew he was highly biased, and probably in more than one direction.  He didn't really trust his own opinions at this point, which is why he had asked the X-Men for theirs.  "What are your reasons?  Scott has expressed his own to me in the past, though it might be useful for him to lay them out again."  Charles looked between the two men.

Scott took the initiative, though reluctantly.  "I've said all of this before, but I just don't think Gambit is the right kind of person to be an X-Man."

"An' what kind a person is that, exactly?"  Logan's growl was less than happy.

Scott sighed.  "When you get right down to it, Logan, Remy is the kind of person who always puts his own interests first, even if he doesn't realize he's doing it.  Knowing what we do now, I have to say that it's not surprising he is that way.  But that still doesn't change the facts.  The X-Men is built on trust.  Trust in each other, of course, but more importantly, trust that each and every one of us is putting the dream first, so that we're all fighting for a common goal.  I'm not entirely sure what Remy's goals are, if he has any, but I can guarantee it's not to make the world safer for mutants.  I'm afraid that, eventually, someone is going to get hurt because of that."

"Besides Rogue, you mean."

"Robert!"  Ororo's voice was sharp.  "That was uncalled for."  Bobby settled back into his seat with a sullen frown.

"I'm not trying to condemn Gambit, Bobby."  Scott crossed his arms.  "Though I do think some kind of punishment is appropriate for what he did."

"The X-Men's purpose is not to punish mutants for their past crimes," Charles said.  "Nor is it our right."

Scott nodded, "Of course.  That's not what I meant."

"And I can guarantee you that no physical punishment you could dream up would be worse than having to live with his guilt."  Jean's expression was hard.  "What would you have us do?  Chain him up in the basement like Sabretooth?"

Anger sparked behind the ruby glasses, and though his eyes weren't visible, the sudden tightening of Scott's jaw made his anger clear.  "Of course not!  This is entirely different and you know it, Jean."

"We just can't trust him," Warren put in before an argument erupted.  "He worked for Sinister once-- knowing that what he was doing was wrong.  Even if he regrets it now, there's no reason to believe that he might not fall into doing the same thing again.  And this time, it could easily be the people in this room who ended up dead."

"Very well, Warren," Jean said.  Her voice was so brittle with anger that Charles stared at her in surprise.  "Then I guess we'll just have to throw you off the team, too."

"What?  Why?"  Warren's wings rustled in response to his emotions.

"You worked for Apocalypse once-- knowing that what you were doing was wrong.  How can we know you won't someday go back to him?"

The sudden flush of blood in Warren's face turned his skin purple.  His wings exploded from his back with a sound like the hiss of a living thing.  The tips of flechettes emerged, orienting on Jean.  She didn't move except to raise her chin a fraction.

"Warren!  That's enough!"  Scott's voice cracked authoritatively.  He had one hand on his glasses, the other held out protectively in front of his wife.  Warren's eyes widened in sudden fear.  He still did not have complete control over the wings Apocalypse had given him, but the shock of nearly shooting a teammate sobered him.  The metallic wings twitched and then furled.

"You've made your point," he said.

Jean's shoulders slumped.  "I'm sorry to be so harsh, Warren, but the point has to be made.  And it's not just you."  She looked around the table.  "As the dark Phoenix, I destroyed entire solar systems."  Her expression said that the memories still haunted her.  "And even though you can argue that it wasn't really me, that another force was controlling me-- part of it was me.  Remy's crimes are a pittance next to that."  She paused and turned to Logan, her expression apologetic.  "We have no idea what crimes Wolverine may have committed in the past.  Even he doesn't know."  She turned next to Bishop, who had remained amazingly silent.  "Bishop's actions with the X.S.E, though considered justified in his time, we consider murder."  Bishop's eyes widened a fraction at the blunt statement.  Jean looked next at Ororo.  "Storm set herself up as a goddess, demanding worship and tribute. Rogue was once a dedicated member of the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants.  She tried to kill X-Men on several occasions.  But we took her in, anyway.  And how many of you believe she might go back to her old ways?" 

Silence answered the question.  Jean went on, turning this time to Charles.  "And you Charles, you have used your powers to tear a man's mind out."  She held up her hand.  "Despite the circumstances that may have made such action necessary, the facts remain.  We are all guilty of doing some terrible things."

"'Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.'"  Hank's claws rested lightly on the tabletop.  "I find I must agree with Jean.  It isn't our place to judge."

Charles felt a swell of relief.  His own heart was torn between condemning Remy for his actions and wanting to wipe the slate clean and give him the chance at a new life he knew the young man desperately wanted.  That he himself wanted, as well.  In the privacy of his thoughts, Charles was forced to admit it was in part out of guilt that he wanted to give Remy this chance.  Guilt that, somehow, if he had been able to be a part of Remy's life for more than a few years, these things would never have happened.  He wanted to make everything right, even though he knew he couldn't fix the past.

Ororo spoke into the silence following Jean's words.  "I must confess that I am... torn.  I have always suspected Remy had some dark portions to his past, though I truly did not guess how dark."  She paused and seemed to be considering her thoughts even as she voiced them.  "Remy saved my life when we first met.  But still, that is not what I have cherished about him."  Her gaze had taken on a faraway look.  "We were running for our lives from the Shadow King.  I was only a child, with little control over my powers, but I insisted on trying to fly an entire airplane as our escape, rather than just using the winds to carry us away.  Remy tried to convince me that it was suicide to take the airplane, but I would not listen.  He could have called me a fool-- rightly so-- and abandoned me to my fate."  She smiled slightly.  "He did call me a fool, though politely."  Her smile died.  "But he put his life in my hands instead of leaving."  Her gaze returned to the present.  "He trusted me long before I was willing to trust him.  And when I had nothing else, no one else to depend on and no memory of who I was, he was there.  In the years since I have known him, Remy has never betrayed my trust.

"It pains me greatly to know the past, but that does not change what I know about the present.  In my opinion, Remy is an X-Man for the same reason the rest of us are.  He has earned it."

Logan nodded in agreement.  "She's right.  Gambit's always toed the line with the rest of us.  He's put his life on the line too many times fer me ta believe that he don't care about anybody but himself."  He pointed at Scott.  "An' I don't much care if he believes in the Prof's dream or not.  Some days, I don't think too much of it myself."  He glanced sidelong at Charles.  "No offense, Chuck."

Charles managed to contain his surprise and nodded.  All eyes had come to rest on him.  He turned to the X-men who had yet to express an opinion, beginning with the most unlikely of the list.  "Bishop?"

The giant black man turned to look at him.  The "M" tattooed across his face stood out in stark contrast with the confusion in his eyes.  "I... would rather not say anything, Professor."

Charles felt a stab of pity.  Bishop had at least as much emotional stake in this as himself.  Come to think of it, he suddenly realized Bishop was his grandson.  The answering swirl of emotions threatened to distract him entirely from the current discussion.  He did his best to push the thought away, and then turned to Betsy.

"Elizabeth?"

She sighed.  "I honestly don't know, Professor.  I was right, but I don't want to just condemn him.  As a matter of practicality, he would most likely become our enemy-- in time perhaps a very powerful enemy.  From the personal side... I don't know.  I'm not sure I can forgive him, but I would be ashamed to discover that I am incapable of forgiving someone who obviously does regret his actions.  I think that's the most important thing.  Remy does regret what he's done.  He is trying to do what's right.  What right do we have to demand anything more?"

She shrugged uncomfortably.  "I'm not going to be comfortable having him at my back for a long time, though.  And Scott's right that that's dangerous in a battle."  Her gaze swept the room.  She seemed sheepish.  "I'm afraid I'm not going to be much help."

Charles turned to the last member of the team.  "Sam?"

The newest X-Man looked at him.  His gaze was direct, but not very confident.  "Ah have to agree with Scott, sir," he said.  The X-Men have to be a team in order to accomplish anything.  Ah don't think Gambit's ever going ta really be part o' the team."

Charles sighed and steepled his fingers in front of him.  If he were to tally a vote, it would be four for, four against, two undecided and one abstaining. And himself.  Now it was time to take up his role as leader of the X-Men, and hope that he could somehow separate his personal feelings from his duty to those who followed him.

He cleared his throat.  "Thank you all for expressing yourselves honestly.  I am reassured to know that each of you is willing to hold to your convictions, whether you think they agree with mine or not.

"I am forced to go back to the very beginning, to the purpose for which I created the X-Men.  That purpose is to teach mutants to live peacefully with non-mutants, and to protect mutants and humans from each other whenever one group decides to turn its intolerance into violence.  That is why each of you is here.  It is also why Remy is here-- to learn, as each of you has, how to live without hatred towards others.  To act to protect instead of destroy.  In these terms, I have to consider Gambit to be an unqualified success.  Proof of the validity of my dream.

"In more personal matters-- Remy is my son.  As difficult as that is to swallow, it is the truth.  Therefore, this is his home, to which he has a right that has nothing to do with the X-Men.  I will not take that away from him again."

"Amen ta that, Chuck," said Logan.

"So Gambit is going to stay with the X-Men."  Scott leaned back in his chair.  It wasn't a question.

Charles nodded and was saddened to know how much it hurt to be at odds with this man who was truly the son of his heart.  "If he wants to, yes," he said.  "I know there is the chance for a great deal of conflict because of this, and I do not want to see the X-Men torn apart.  More than anything, I do not want to see that.  All I'm asking is that each of you try to make this work."  He looked around and received acquiescing nods from most of the assembled.  He knew that was the best he could hope for.

#

Remy LeBeau stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror.  Water dripped from his chin where he'd just rinsed the last of the shaving cream away.  He picked up the towel without looking and dried his face, all the while staring at the stranger in the mirror.  The features hadn't changed, but the man behind them was very different.

So who are y' dis mornin'? he asked the reflection.  From Cerebro, he knew he'd slept for two days. The indefinable stillness he sensed in the house made him certain the X-Men now knew everything.  He had been dawdling over getting ready for nearly an hour just because it gave him a reason not to go out and face them.

Still, y' can' hide here forever, Remy. He paused, letting the towel slide from his fingers into the sink. Remy.  That wasn't even his name anymore.  Not Remy.  Not LeBeau.  It was Rem'aillon Neramani.  A Shi'ar name that sounded completely alien to his French-trained ear.

He shook the thoughts away and finished drying off.  Then he went to get dressed.  Torn jeans, tank shirt, boots.  The combination was normal for him, but still it made him pause.  He knew perfectly well that it was a rejection of what was considered proper and respectable.  He'd been doing that for years.  But now that attitude that he'd hidden behind so often seemed pale and pathetic.  But what would be better?  Clean up his act?  Cut his hair short and get rid of the earring?  Try to look like Scott, like Charles Xavier's son ought to look like?

He tossed himself backward onto the bed, put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling.  Charles Xavier's son.  He rolled the thought around.  More than anything, he dreaded seeing the Professor.  For so long he'd wondered who his parents were, what they were like.  Why they hadn't wanted him.  Now he knew, and they'd turned out to be more than he'd ever hoped for.  But what would the Professor think of him?  Would he be...disappointed?  Remy snorted.  Yeah, probably.

Remy sighed and sat up.  He might as well get it over with.  Chances were he'd be leaving before dark, anyway.  He didn't think the X-Men would be too willing to forgive what he'd done.

Y' knew it'd cost y' everyt'ing, he told himself.  For a moment, the room seemed intolerably empty.  No one had been waiting for him when he woke.  Not Rogue, not Ororo, not even the Professor.  It was possible they were just giving him some privacy, but in his heart he doubted that.  It was just that he was a fool who kept hoping for miracles.

The antique clock on the bureau chimed, twelve minutes slow as always.  Remy looked around at the accumulation of his life with the X-Men.  There wasn't much, but everything he looked at brought back memories.  The garter from Scott and Jean's wedding hung on the corner of the mirror.  His eyes fastened on it for several long moments, then fell to the com badge on the dresser that glinted metallically in the morning light.  He picked it up and considered it, then dropped it into his pocket.  As much as he really wanted to leave it, he could just hear Scott reading him the riot act for not keeping the com badge on him at all times.  He almost smiled.  It seemed strange that he still cared about things like that.

All conversation died when he stepped into the dining room.  Remy held grimly to his best poker face as he looked them over.  He noted the two absences immediately, and his heart sank.  Rogue and the Professor.  After a moment, Storm rose and approached him.

"Good morning, Remy."  Her smile seemed genuine.  Deftly, she took him by the arm and led him toward the table.  "Are you hungry?"

"Uh, I guess."  To his surprise, Scott nodded briefly at him, expression neutral, then went back to what seemed to be a conversation in progress with Bishop and Logan.  From the hand language, it appeared to have something to do with aircraft approach vectors.  Logan gave him a somewhat friendlier nod as they passed.  Bishop's eyes remained locked in front of him.

Storm was doing an excellent job of managing him, Remy thought wryly as she settled him in the empty chair beside her place.  Without asking, she began to serve him breakfast.  Other conversations began to pick up around the table.

Across from him, Beast swallowed a mouthful of sausage and gestured at Remy with the empty fork.  "How are you feeling?" he asked.

Remy almost told him what a stupid question that was, but stopped himself.  "Fine."  The last thing he needed to do was deliberately antagonize people.

Hank didn't seem to notice.  "Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to take a look at you once we're done here.  I'll admit it's probably a horrible thing to be poked and prodded by a curious physician, but I would appreciate it immensely."  His smile was disarming.

"Ain't dat a bit late, Hank?"  Remy gave up on trying to keep up the polite pretense.  His nerves were strung taut. 

"A bit late for what?"

"T' be tellin' me I'm not all de way human?  Shouldn' y' have said somet'ing a long time ago?"  The table quieted abruptly.

Hank set his fork down and dabbed at his lips with the napkin before answering.  "I'm afraid I didn't know, as odd as that may sound."

"How could y' possibly not know?  I don' remember how many times I been in dat infirmary."  Remy tried to keep his voice from rising, but he felt an odd sense of betrayal.  Couldn't someone have warned him that he wasn't who or what he thought?

Hank smiled in sympathy.  "I can understand your frustration, but the truth is that when one is dealing with mutants, the old adage applies-- 'Anything goes'."  He shrugged.  "I have certainly been aware that you have highly exotic blood chemistry.  You should have known it as well if you'd ever had your blood typed.  But that's common to most energy-users.  Mutants who generate or convert energy from other sources have to metabolize that energy somehow.  Usually, it's done through the blood, and perhaps the liver.  The chemical requirements to create or store energy radically alters the blood, and makes it type as an exotic. Your blood is different from, but not any more different, than Scott's or Bishop's.  I never had any reason to look beyond mutancy for an explanation."

Remy considered that for a moment and was forced to concede the point.  He opened his mouth to apologize, but Hank continued before he could utter a sound, "I went back and checked your X-rays, too.  Again, I knew your skeleton was unusual.  Most of the joints are different, with higher rotational allowances and duplicated sets of ligaments.  Strange bone composition, too.  Your skeleton weighs about twenty pounds less than it ought-- or did you ever wonder why the scale says one-seventy-five when it ought to be a lot closer to two-hundred?"  Hank didn't wait for a reply.  "Still, I simply assumed the changes were a mutation that accounted for your agility.  After all, my skeleton is a lot less human than yours, so I never really looked for any other explanation."  Hank picked up his fork, stabbed a new piece of sausage and put it in his mouth.  Still chewing, he added, "Now that I know to look for Shi'ar influences, I'm very curious.  You're only the second human-Shi'ar mix we know of."

Remy stared at Beast, thoroughly bemused.  He'd been spoiling for a fight, whether he really wanted to admit it or not, and had gotten a scholarly lecture instead.  It was impossible to stay angry with Hank's childlike curiosity.

"You know," Hank was wagging his fork thoughtfully, "Adam X is that other human-Shi'ar mix I mentioned.  We haven't exactly had much contact with him, but I do believe he's your cousin."

"Huh?"

Further down the table, Scott turned abruptly to stare at Hank.  "What do you mean, Hank?"

"Well, Adam is D'Ken's son and your half brother," he pointed at Scott, "as much as you dislike the fact."  He turned to Remy.  "D'Ken and Lilandra are-- or were-- siblings, making him your cousin."  He set his fork down again.  "Strange, isn't it?"

Remy stood abruptly.  His head felt like it was spinning.  "'Scuse me."

"Remy, you have not eaten."  Storm watched him with concern.  "Where are you going?"

Remy didn't look at her.  "Jus' got t' get some air, Stormy."  He took two steps and stopped, unable to leave the room without asking the one question he'd been doing his best to throttle for fear of the answer.  He turned back to Ororo.  "Have y' seen Rogue, chere?"  He tried to make the question sound casual, though he didn't believe for a moment that he could fool her.  The suddenly renewed silence and her sympathetic expression confirmed his worst fears before she ever spoke.

"I am sorry.  Rogue left yesterday and has not returned."

Remy felt as if rivulets of ice were creeping down his spine.  "Did she take her com badge?"

"No."

Snap.  Just like that.  She was gone again.  This time, probably forever.  Remy fought down the urge to run out of the room.  He'd known this would happen.  He had.  And even though the X-Men had seemed to be willing to pretend that today was just another day, he knew the changes were irrevocable.