Chapter 20

"You low-down, slimy, belly-crawling snake!"  Forge stops dead in the doorway and stares at the machinery that occupies most of the cavernous room.

Several steps ahead of him, the Witness turns.  His expression is only mildly curious.

"I thought it was destroyed!"  Forge gestures toward the machine.

"You were supposed to."

"You set that up?"  Forge's anger has not dimmed.  In fact, the expression in his eyes has grown black.

The Witness only nods.

"My... daughter was killed in that raid."  Forge forces the words out.  His hands have balled into fists.

The Witness nods again, sadly.  "I know.  She wasn' supposed t' be dere.  De folks dat were supposed t' be sittin' on her underestimated her powers."  He turns away and steps toward the machine.  "But, in a little while, she'll never have been born.  So it don' much matter anymore."

Forge stands silently for several long minutes as the Witness busies himself with a control panel.  Then, "You really bet everything on that, didn't you?" he says.

"Oui."  The Witness does not look up.

"Why?"  Forge crosses the room.  His anger has been replaced by pained curiosity.

"Why what?"

"Why take this?"  He gestures at the intricate metal construction that rises well above their heads.  "I was going to go back to the X-Men.  Warn them."

"Dat would've been 'gainst de rules."

"How?  You weren't sending me.  That's the loophole that let Bishop go back.  He made the choice himself."

The Witness pauses to look at Forge.  "De difference is dat you were actin' on information I gave you.  Bishop wasn'.  He made de choice blind."  He flips a set of switches.  "If y'd gone back, de paradox would've wrecked everyt'ing."

Forge is silent, thinking.  Then, "You should have asked me, Remy."  His eyes are old and sad.  "I could have mothballed this project myself... No one had to get hurt."

The Witness' gaze is flat, but not unsympathetic.  "You weren' listenin' t' me in dose days, remember?  I ran out o' choices."  A deep thrumming rises through the floor as the machine powers up.

Forge sighs and checks his watch.  "How much time do we have?"

The Witness closes his eyes, feeling with his mind for the disturbance.  "On dis end, 'bout five minutes."  The impending time wave rushes toward them like a black wall.  Remy LeBeau has no interest in being present when it hits.  Not yet, at least.  He sets a countdown timer.

"De automatic recall'll trip two minutes after we leave.  It's set t' give us forty-eight hours in de past.  Den--"

"Then we get yanked back here just in time to be smashed by the new time line."  Forge's expression is grim.  "I know how it works."

Without another word, the two men step between the focusing arrays.  After a moment, their forms seem to ripple and elongate as invisible energy is bounced back and forth across the space they occupy.  Then, with a miniature thunderclap of displaced air, they are gone.

#

Remy found himself out at the end of the small dock, staring into the water.  He hadn't planned to go there, but it was a straight line from the back door.  He had been walking blindly-- long strides that took him away from the house as quickly as possible without admitting he was running away.  The only reason he had stopped was that he had run out of land.  The next step would put him in the lake.  He rocked back and forth on his heels, considering.  It has suddenly become a difficult choice whether to turn around and backtrack so that he could go around the lake, or to just jump in and swim.  All he was really aware of was that he wanted to be as far away as possible from this place and these people as he could get.  He had seen their eyes and their knowing stares.  Their disgust at what he had done.  Even Storm, though she had been kind, had only sadness in her eyes.  It made his gut ache.

He noticed his distorted reflection in the rippled water.  Should've know better, he told it.  Carin' only gets y' hurt. Then his mouth quirked into a haunted smile.  But maybe dat's life's way o' evenin' out de score.

"Is that really what you believe, Remy?"  The question was soft and sad.

Remy stiffened.  "You readin' my mind dese days?  I t'ought dat was against y' personal code o' conduct."

Charles sighed.  "I'm afraid your defenses are not what they have been in the past.  You're projecting-- I couldn't help but overhear.  I'm... sorry for the intrusion."

Remy turned around, but could not bring himself to meet the other man's eyes.  After several moments of uncomfortable silence, he finally blurted out, "I don' even know what t' call you."  He felt completely helpless before this man who was supposed to be his father.  Helpless and insufficient.

To his surprise, Charles began to laugh, though his mirth was strained.  "I don't know the answer to that one, either."  His solemnity returned.  "I suppose you should simply pick whatever is most comfortable to you."

But that don' tell me what you want, does it?  Or are y' just tryin' t' be nice and not tell me?  The thoughts had hardly passed through his mind before Remy remembered what caliber of telepath he was talking to. He tried to slam shut the doors of his mind, but he knew he'd been far too late when Charles looked away.

After a bare moment, Charles turned back.  This time their gazes met.  Remy wasn't sure, but he thought he saw both hurt and anger reflected there.  Charles didn't bother trying to pretend he hadn't heard.

"I don't know what I want," he admitted slowly.  "I--  this is hard.  All of these things that are part of the past for you haven't happened to me yet.  My memories of you begin two years ago.  I've seen your past, but I don't remember it.  I don't remember a... a child."

Remy shrugged.  "Lots o' folks get strapped wit kids dey don' want, Professor.  Least I'm plenty old enough t' take care o' myself an' get out o' de way."  He started to turn away.

"I don't want you to leave, Remy." 

Remy closed his eyes.  It was just one little sentence, but one that he so desperately wanted to hear.  Especially when it came from the mouth of a man he knew would not lie to him.  Especially when it came from this man.  Still, that didn't change anything, really.

"I don' belong here.  You an' me both know dat."

"I know nothing of the sort."  There was anger now in Charles' voice.  "This is your home."

Remy sighed.  "I been tryin' t' be an X-Man since I got here, Professor.  It's time I stopped pretendin' t' be somethin' I'm not."

"An' if ya don't stop sniveling, it's gonna be time fer ya ta stop pretendin' yer conscious."  Both Charles and Remy were startled by the new voice.  Logan stood three steps behind Charles' hoverchair, glowering at Remy.  He stood with his arms crossed over his chest. His fingers flexed rhythmically, as if he itched to extend his claws.  Remy hadn't felt him approach, but that wasn't too unusual with Wolverine.  He knew how to move so that he both looked and felt like a natural part of the landscape.

Remy wasn't certain how to respond.  Sniveling?   He was, for once, trying to be responsible and not cause any more pain, for any of them.  "Aren' you de one dat's always tellin' me t' grow up an' quit playin' games?"

"I just call 'em like I see 'em, kid."

"And?"  Remy was confused.  It sounded for all the world like they were agreeing, but Logan's expression said otherwise.

"And yer a snot-nosed punk most o' the time.  But ya earned a place on this team because ya fought for it.  Leavin' now just makes ya a coward."

Remy felt a hot flash of anger at the insult.  Cards slid into his hand, coming to sudden, glowing life like a newly lit flare.  "I'll go 'round wit you anytime, Wolverine."

Logan smiled like a predator with his belly full.  "Prove me wrong an' we'll see, kid."  Then he pivoted on one heel and sauntered away.

Remy watched him go, his thoughts tumbling in confusion.  He understood what Logan had been trying to say.  He just wasn't sure he believed it.

"He's right, you know," Charles said.  "The past is not who you are now.  What you do from today on is what will determine if you belong with the X-Men or not.  That choice is yours."

Remy considered the implications of what he said.  "Sorta sounds like y' puttin' me on probation," he concluded finally.

Charles tried to stifle his laughter, which emerged as a muffled snort. 

"What's so funny?"

"I'm sorry Remy.  Please forgive me.  I just find it painfully amusing to realize that I seem to be a rotten father, but a very effective professor."

"You're not--"

"A rotten father?"  They stared at each other.  Charles' expression dared Remy to deny what he said. Remy found he couldn't summon the glib persona that could have lied to him with a perfectly straight face.  All of his facades had been shattered and the pieces ground into dust.  It left him feeling dangerously exposed.

Charles sighed, but it was a relaxed sound, as if the tension were draining out of him.  "Perhaps you should put me on probation, too.  This can be a trial period for us both."

Remy nodded slowly.  Some of the coldness was seeping out of him.  He still didn't feel like he belonged, but maybe it was worth trying to for just a little while longer.

#

Rogue woke to the sound of voices-- a man and a woman, with the continuous piping of children mixed in.  She opened her eyes resentfully.  The family was intruding on what she had always felt was her own private piece of Mississippi River bank.  She sat up, wincing at stiff muscles.  Despite her powers, the ground was still an uncomfortable place to sleep. 

She was curled up at the base of her favorite tree.  The old tire swing still hung out over the water as it had since her childhood.  One of the couple's little boys was currently aboard.  As Rogue watched, he reached the top of his arc over the water and let go, falling into the water with a yell.  She smiled despite herself.  There was something infectious about a child's joy.

The couple had not noticed Rogue.  The tree grew out of a hummock of land that overlooked the small beach.  It canted heavily toward the water, and looked like it might lose its grip on the bank at any moment and tumble into the river.  Seated by the tangle of roots, Rogue was behind and above the family.  She wrapped her hands around her knees and watched them.  The couple had spread out towels on the bank and now sat side by side, watching the two boys who sported in the water.  Watching them awakened the now-familiar ache.  The two below her were engaged in a round of subtle flirting, from the brush of one shoulder against another to the sidelong glances they gave each other to the way the woman tilted her head back, ostensibly to bare her neck to the warm sun.  Rogue wanted to run away screaming, but she couldn't move.  She couldn't bear to interrupt the scene, as much as it felt like someone was driving hot irons into her belly.

One of the boys climbed out of the water and hurtled toward the man, throwing himself into his father's arms.  The two fell backwards and the result was a brief wrestling match that ended only because the boy was giggling so hard he couldn't breathe.  Tears misted Rogue's vision.  Through them, the scene changed.  The man took on a different visage-- taller, leaner.  The voice became smoother, rich in its accent, and the laughter was one that she had heard only once, in that little Cajun restaurant in Greenwich Village.  One magical night when he had thrown all of his problems away and had laughed freely at a joke she'd made.  The boy in his arms would have red hair, of course, and a healthy dose of his father's penchant for trouble.

She watched as the second boy joined the fray, tears leaking down her face.  They piled onto the man, clinging to him like little apes and screaming whenever he caught one and held him for a brief bout of tickling.  The tag-team approach failed, unsurprisingly, and eventually ended when the man scooped both boys up and carried them into the river, tossing them into the water despite the screeching protest.

It had all seemed so possible, just a few days ago.  Rogue sighed and wiped the tears away.  Every time she closed her eyes she heard Tanya's screams, felt the wild hatred.  It scared her more than anything ever had.  Her nightmares were filled with fire and explosions and the imagined cries of those trapped in the flames.  She didn't know how to live with that-- how to love that.

The commotion on the beach stilled.  All four were staring skyward, the boys jumping up and down and pointing.  Rogue craned her neck to see past the foliage that shaded her and was not surprised to see Storm descending.  She landed a short ways from the family, her blue cat's eyes scanning the area until she spotted Rogue.  The people watched them for several long moments then went back to their swimming, though they were far more subdued.  At another time, Rogue would have been encouraged to see that, but today she barely noticed.

"How'd ya find me?" she asked.

Storm smiled cooly.  "Intuition."  She climbed the last few steps to stand beside Rogue.  "Do you mind if I sit down?"

Rogue shrugged.  "Help yaself, sugar."

Storm settled beside her, smoothing her brightly colored skirt and tucking her bare feet beneath the hem.  Rogue snorted privately.  Storm was the only person she knew who would fly halfway across the country barefoot.

After a moment, Storm opened her mouth to speak, but Rogue cut her off.  "Save ya breath, sugar.  Ah'm not goin' back there."

"You are leaving the X-Men?"

Rogue nodded.  She kept her gaze fixed on the toes of her boots so she wouldn't have to meet Storm's eyes and the disapproval she was certain she would find there.

"You left us once before Rogue," Storm reminded her.  "It did not solve anything."

"Ah don't think there's any solvin' to be done."  Rogue closed her eyes, fighting tears.  "Ah just can't go back there."  She felt Storm's arm encircle her shoulders.

"Remy needs you," Storm said quietly.

"Needs me!"  Rogue exploded to her feet.  "He needs a psychiatrist!"  The tears she had been trying to hold back burst forth.  "Don't ya see, Storm?  Ah have his memories.  Ah remember bein' there."  She held out her hands.  "Ah remember doin' those things.  Ah remember how it sounded and smelled and felt."  Her knees buckled. She crumpled to the ground, arms wrapped protectively about her waist.  "An' ah'm so scared... "

Storm took Rogue into her arms, rocking her like a small child as she cried.  Then she took Rogue by both shoulders and stared directly into her eyes.  "That is why you are the only one who can help Remy.  Only you can truly share his pain."  Her eyes narrowed.  "It is a burden no person can carry alone."

Rogue pulled free of the other woman's grasp.  "What about you?  Remy says you're his best friend."

Storm sighed.  "I am doing what I can.  But you have touched on the heart of the matter.  I am only a friend."

The two women sat quietly, watching the children play below them.  Eventually, Rogue broke the silence.

"How...?  How could ah go back?  Ah don't think ah could evah look him in the eye again, knowin'... " She trailed off helplessly.

Storm cocked her head.  "How do you think Remy feels every time he tries to look any of us in the eye?  Would it really be so hard to forgive-- and give him a chance to start over?"

Rogue stared at the gently lapping water.  "How?"

Steel crept into Storm's voice.  "The same way we forgave you when you first joined the X-Men."

Rogue's head jerked up in surprise. She turned to Storm, suddenly at a loss for words.  Storm's expression was compelling.

"If nothing else, I demand this much from you, Rogue.  I was willing to forgive what you did to Carol Danvers, and accept that you were making a fresh start with the X-Men.  Now I want the same from you in return, for the sake of my friend."

Rogue knew she was staring, jaw agape, but she couldn't help it.  She couldn't help but feel intimidated.  Storm's anger was very thoroughly controlled, but she could sense it roiling beneath the surface.  Worse than that was the deep stab of guilt that accompanied Storm's words.  Storm was right and she knew it.  She had no right to judge-- she was guilty of enough crimes of her own.  Perhaps that was why Remy scared her so badly.  It was like staring into a dark mirror of her own soul, forcing her to face herself as much as him.  That made what Storm asked all that much harder.  She had to forgive herself, too.

"Ah'll try," she told the waiting woman.

Storm's smile was brief, but warm.  "Then shall we go home?"

Rogue shook her head.  "Not yet."  She stared at the river.  "Ah want ta stay here fo' a while longer."  She turned to Storm.  "But ah will come home.  Ya have mah word."

Storm nodded and rose.  "I will be waiting."  She rose on whispering winds that made the trees sway and bob.  Rogue watched until her form had dwindled into the midday sky.  Then she settled with her back to the tree trunk and leaned her head against the rough bark.  She had a lot to think about.