CHAPTER 14: THE HUNT

I am one as you are three
Try to find messiah in your trinity
Your city to burn
Your city to burn

I Am One, Smashing Pumpkins


Rogue awoke in darkness with her head on fire, synapses a riot of pain from Jean's mental punch.

Must be alive. Couldn't be in this much pain an' not be. Now Ah just have to figure out—

A split second, her son's shivering awareness against hers, welcome and warm and she was so relieved that he was alive and okay. And then pain like acid fire through her neural pathways as they exploded into blackness, and it hadn't been Jean at all, it had been—

"Jean-Luc!" she cried out, sitting up suddenly. The world swam in and out of focus, turning gray, and she nearly fell backward again.

"Chere." The voice was hoarse and rasped with a sorrow she was just beginning to feel, and she felt his hands reach for her, tangle in her matted hair as he helped her sit up.

"Jean-Luc?" she asked, not quite able to help herself from leaning against him.

Remy bowed his head against hers, and she could feel him tremble beneath the thin, wet cover of his clothing. "Shadow King got 'im, chere. We tried. I'm sorry."

"Then we'll get him back," she snapped, voice harsh as she shook off his embrace and tried to rise to her feet. Her legs swayed and trembled beneath her, and Remy was there, somehow in that utter, pitch blackness, to catch her when she fell.

"Irineé?" she asked, her voice weak and flagging with despair.

"She made it out wit' us," Remy said, and she could hear in his voice that he was glad to be able to give her that much, at least. "She's gone to find de lights in dis place." He paused another moment, and then answered the question that had been trembling on the tip of her tongue, the one she'd not quite dared to ask.

"Jus' de t'ree of us, now."

And suddenly Rogue remembered it all, every horrifying second. "We have ta keep movin'," she said, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. "The others know about these tunnels. They'll find us."

She couldn't see his face in the darkness, but she could almost imagine the way it would tighten with anger and frustration; could see it in her mind clear as memory.

"I know, chere. But we got to wait for her. Figure we got a few minutes before dey figure out where we went."

She nodded, knowing she wouldn't leave Irineé despite that the girl could have found them with her telepathy. She relaxed into Remy's arms with a sob, tears slipping from behind her eyes in a mixture of exhaustion and terror. Jean-Luc, gone, claimed by the Shadow King. And Magnus, oh, Magnus. Even if they survived and he became himself again, could he ever forgive himself for what had happened?

"Don' cry, chere," Remy whispered, and hugged her closer. "We be all right."

Rogue snorted a brittle laugh through her tears, despite herself, and shook her head. "There's only the three of us left, Remy, against the most powerful of our teammates and the Shadow King himself. We barely defeated him before, and it took all of us to do it."

There was a moment of silence as Remy pondered that, and Rogue felt as if she were sinking into the floor, defeat crushing against her like a leaden weight, her limbs weak and useless, head lolling against his shoulder as she waited for the inevitable.

"Don' give up yet, chere. 'Tween de t'ree of us, I figure de enemy ought t' be sayin' dere prayers."

She sniffled another, quieter laugh, something deep inside her calmed by his easy, devil-may-care humor. He'd always had this way of easing her, of making her feel safe no matter what was happening, and though deep down she knew it was nothing more than bravado and false hope, she let it come within her and wash over her aching, tired soul in a slow, smooth wave. Her sobs leveled out slowly and subsided, tears drying up, and she wondered for a moment if it was his humor or simple shock that was settling in. And with that awareness, she was suddenly, acutely, painfully reminded of Remy's arms locked around her, the warmth of his body against her, the slow inhale and exhale of his breath, the rhythmic beating of his heart, the very scent of him that she had known only in memory for the last six and half years. She could feel his cheek pressed against her hair, his lips warm and soft against her forehead, and she found herself turning toward him—partly out of instinct and partly out of a need for comfort—her mouth seeking his in the encompassing blackness.

The lights clicked on.

Rogue's eyes fluttered and opened, protesting the light. Small, dim bulbs beneath plastic domes ran down the length of the rock walls as far as one could see, but she didn't care about those right now, deep emerald irises locked with burning crimson ones in the sudden, revealing light.

A wordless moment passed, gazes locked, thoughts each their own, mouths only a few inches apart. Neither moved nor dared to speak, as if afraid to break the silence, and after a short span of time that felt like eternity in Rogue's mind, Remy's eyes went misty and distant, their focus if not their gaze leaving her face behind.

"I remembered somet'in' while I was sleepin'," Remy said, his eyes still distant and dreaming. "I remembered I had another wife, Belladonna, Belle… I t'ought she was coming back to ruin everyt'ing. I t'ought Lorna was her… I almost… killed her. I went down to de storage room to find my t'ings… like I was in some kind of trance… found my trench coat, my cigarettes, all de t'ings you packed away, chere." His eyes rose to search Rogue's face, and she could barely stand to meet them.

"I remember her, chere. Remember cat's eyes and golden hair and heartless, cold cruelty like no other. My wife," he proclaimed, voice deep and bitter, and shook his head. "I remember her…" his eyes focused on her again and she mourned for the sadness she saw there. "But not you."

She reached up to touch him, trying not to let the pain his words brought cut too deep into her heart. "It was the Shadow King, Remy. He got inside all our dreams, made us see and think things that weren't real."

He nodded, as if to say he understood. "Don' matter why it happened, chere. Got me t'inkin', dough. Wonderin' if mebbe my other wife was like that, den mebbe…" he trailed off and finally looked down, as if defeated, as if unable to finish his sentence.

Rogue reached out and lifted his chin up, bringing his eyes up to hers again. And oh, it hurt to think what he was thinking, to know in her heart that he still didn't love her, or remember her, or even trust her. And yet his arms were around her, whole and real after almost seven years, and no matter how much it hurt, she had to say something.

"Wonderin' if maybe Ah was like her, too? If maybe this whole thing with your family is a… lie," she stumbled over the word, and forced herself to go on. "Or a trick, or somethin' awful ya can't remember yet?"

He nodded again, and her heart folded in on itself like a paper flower.

She began to pull from his embrace, tears flowing to the forefront again, struggling to maintain her composure as she nodded in reply. "Ah understand. Ah—"

He stopped her, pulled her close again, put his hand against her cheek and looked down at her with eyes that hadn't looked at her like that in years; eyes that took her breath away and made her feel like an awkward gawky, sixteen year old girl all over again.

He ran his thumb along her lower lip and slowly shook his head. "But even dough I can't help but t'ink dat… you're not like dat, are you chere?" His voice was slow and filled with soft wonder. "I don't know who you are, or how we were toget'r, but I know you not like dat. I can see how much you… you care 'bout me. Dat's real, even if not'in else is. An' even dough I can't remember my daddy's name or where I grew up, I got a feelin' ain't too many people cared 'bout me like dat in my life."

"Remy…" she felt all the breath leave her body, felt herself melt into his arms, her will, her memory, all thoughts of battle and everything else blotted out by his words, by having him so near.

She reached up and cupped his face between her hands, rising up to meet his mouth and—

The sound of footsteps pounded up the corridor, and the two of them broke apart, springing to their feet. Soft thoughts scattered and fled before the panicked thundering of their hearts as they stood side by side, eyes narrowed and bodies taut, two wild animals prepared for the fight of their life.

"Did I miss anything?" Irineé asked as she rounded the corner.


There were entire galaxies within Jean-Luc's mind, and he moved between them with long, slow steps. It occurred to him suddenly that he was traveling light-years with a single movement, and he wasn't sure if this was his mind or someone else's or the universe itself. He slipped sideways, spun off from the axis of a thought with a tilt, and careened off into the stars.

And then there were arms around him, soft and sweet, words like a symphony whispered in his ear.

"Is it safe?" he whispered, eyes wide with wonder and filled with a billion, unfathomable pinpricks of light.

As long as I am with you, the voice answered.

He took another step and stars coiled around him, strung together like Christmas lights on a silken cord, milky clouds tangled in their weave.

Come, Jean-Luc, let me show you true power.

And then everything changed.


"What's she doing?" Madelyne asked with a frown.

The Shadow King smiled and reached out, caressing her cheek and savoring the shadowed line of jealousy that curled in deep around her lower lip, lurking there like a serpent beneath rose petals. "Showing him the secrets of his power."

The serpent beneath her lips coiled as if struck, and the smooth skin between her eyebrows twitched once, flexing with an expression of covetousness. Reptilian and brilliant green, her eyes settled on him. "You know I could do it better."

He laughed and ran a hand over her brilliant copper-colored hair. "All in good time, my dear. All in good time."


"Jean-Luc…" Irineé whispered. Her eyes fluttered up toward the ceiling, pupils contracting with fear, a shudder rippling throughout the length of her slender body. "I can feel him…"

"We have to go," Remy said, grasping Rogue's shoulder.

Irineé didn't move, just stood, trembling like a rabbit transfixed by the beams of oncoming headlights.

"Irineé." Rogue pulled from Remy's grasp, grabbed the younger girl by her shoulders, jolting her roughly. "Irineé!" The girl's eyes rolled up in her head, showing only the pure whites for an instant, then lolled back down, settling on her mother with a dazed lack of focus.

"Mom? They're…. searching for us." She rolled bonelessly back and forth between Rogue's clutching hands, caught as if by the rhythm of a snake charmer.

"Ah know, shugah," Rogue answered, her voice level, though Remy could still hear the panic in it. "Ah need you to cloak us, okay? Hide us from their scans."

"He's… so strong," Irineé whispered, and shuddered again, her head falling forward. Strands of white hair, still damp from Storm's rain, fell forward into her face and clung to her cheek like frightened children. From where he stood, Remy could only see one of her eyes, and it rolled up, white showing like a spooked horse. "She's with him."

"Shut it out, shugah," Rogue said, voice gentle as she rubbed her daughter's shoulders. "Shut them both out. Ah know you're strong enough."

Irineé's head lolled a moment longer, and she nodded once, gasping for breath. Then she pulled her neck straight, head held high and proud, and Remy thought he might have gasped himself, so impressive was her effort. Eyes the color of young forest leaves focused on a fixed point in the distance, and her jaw clenched, mouth a sharp pink slash against the pale skin of her face as she focused her entire will on the task before her. Her body tensed, trembling not with fear now, but sheer force of will, and she stood back from her mother's grip, feet planted slightly apart, shoulders squared.

"Go back to where you came from, bitch," she uttered, her mouth tightening violently around the final word.


In the collision of universes, Jean-Luc suddenly felt the arms around him relax; fingers slipping away down the keyboard of his ribs with an almost musical sound.

No.

And then he was floating, alone in a void of blackness.


Phoenix threw back her head with a wail that pierced the mind of every living body within the room. It was the sound of nails down a chalkboard, of a soul torn asunder, of the ultimate agony any sane mind could endure, and it played up and down the spine of every person present, digging in with gleefully sharp fingers, spasming with discordant music across every synapse.

Jean-Luc hit the ground like a sack of bricks, brain shut down, body convulsing as if in seizure. He flopped like a dead fish as the Phoenix wailed and the Shadow King watched on.

Madelyne looked up through gritted teeth and grinning blood, deep crimson trailing from both her nostrils and trickling from her ears.

She licked her lower lip and looked up to meet her master's eyes. "I told you… I could do it better…"


Irineé closed her eyes, bowed her head as if gathering her strength, and then nodded once.

Emerald green eyes snapped open, fixing Rogue and Remy with a gaze more cold than he would have ever believed Irineé (his daughter) capable of.

"They're gone."

"Jean-Luc?" Rogue asked, and her voice trembled just a little.

"Alive," Irineé reported, her voice still toneless. She paused a moment, and then a glimmer of warmth trickled back into her voice as she spoke again. "He's lost inside his own mind. It'll take a long while for them to get him back. Even longer for her to do more than cry every time she tries to use her power," she added with a smirk.

Uncomfortable with the blood lust that curved, slight and sinuous in Irineé's smile, Remy cleared his throat. "Um… cherie, who dis "she" you keep mentionin'?"

"The Phoenix," she said, short and succinct, and he could see the coldness fading from her with rapidity as she slowly returned to herself.

"You… you took out de Phoenix, cherie?" he asked, unable to keep his eyes from widening in disbelief. He didn't know as much as they knew about Jean Grey, for sure, but what he did know was enough to make him stop cold in his mental tracks at the thought of this little girl shutting down a powerhouse like that.

Irineé frowned at him, not quite understanding. "Yeah. I…" she trailed off as she realized the gravity of what he'd just said. "…did," she finished, her voice ending on an up note, almost like a question.

Remy turned to Rogue, saw pale skin and red-rimmed eyes that were almost as terrified as he felt. "Dis Shadow King, chere. How we defeat 'im before?"

Rogue wrapped her arms around her still damp body, shivering beneath the second skin of her green and white uniform. Somehow, Remy guessed she wasn't just shivering from the cold.

"We didn't," she answered with a look at Irineé.

"We did," Irineé said with sudden realization. She met Remy's eyes, and he saw the same fear he'd felt reflected in their depths. "Me and Jean-Luc."

Silence reigned for a moment, and Remy felt the slow, annoying burn of common sense returning.

"We have to go back and get him," Irinee began, her voice rising in pitch, excited and hopeful as she almost pleaded. "With the two of us—"

"No," Rogue interrupted, her voice a short, inarguable reprimand. Irinee deflated like a burst balloon, and Remy struggled to follow the logic, his mind stringing pieces of fractured memory together with this new information.

"We can't go back," Rogue said, more quiet now as she softened, placing a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Much as Ah wish we could." Her face contorted with conflict, but Remy watched as she willed it away, features smoothing over like sculpted marble. He didn't know who she was—not really—but he sensed somehow that she'd been different once; that she'd been just as impetuous and passionate as he still was. He could still see that fire crackling just beneath the skin, but it was tempered now, honed, held in check by a discipline he could only begin to guess the source of. What had she been through since he'd died? Before he'd died for that matter? And why did he care?

"Mom…" Irinee pleaded once more, emerald eyes desperate.

"Ah know, shugah. Ah want him back, too." She winced once more, and this time Remy thought she might crack—but she swallowed hard and pulled herself together by sheer force of will alone. "But there's too many of them. An' they'll be comin' for us now, anyway."

Shaken from his train of thought by the prospect, Remy focused on Rogue and blinked once. "Great. So now what?"

"Now," Rogue said, reaching out and clasping his hand in hers, "we run."


Logan growled low in his throat, body crouched and coiled tight over the unconscious body of the Phoenix, ready to spring at anyone who came too near. His mind was a jumble of nerves and instincts, a cacophony of inner voices that screamed and wailed together in one, single, succinct message.

-KILL—

"You wish to avenge her," the Shadow King said, and laid his hand upon Logan's head.

Logan tilted his head back like a dog and leaned into the hard fingers that played along the base of his skull, relishing the touch of his master's hand. Even so, his eyes flashed fire, and his lips drew back from his teeth, feral canines exposed in warning to any others who might come near.

"Go then. Hunt them. Find them." Long, bony fingers curled in the hair at the back of Logan's neck, pulling backward and exposing his throat rather than caressing. The Shadow King's eyes glowed fierce red as Logan looked up at his master, and he whimpered, a low growl of confusion that reverberated in the back of his throat.

"Bring them to me alive if you can; dead if you cannot."

Logan's eyes strayed to the lithe body crumpled on the floor, and the Shadow King smiled, indulgent.

"I will protect her. Go."

Low to the ground, almost scampering on all fours, Logan went.


In his wake, Ororo stepped forward, leaning down over the inert body of Jean Grey.

Dark fingers tangled in shimmering, auburn red, icy blue eyes riveted by the coppery highlights that glistened and flowed in her hand.

"I want her," she said, her voice harsh and petulant, eyes never leaving the fascination of Jean's shining locks.

"For a pet?" the Shadow King asked, the ghost of a smile curving his lips.

Snatching her hand away, Ororo shook her head once, brief and violent. Pulling the stray strands of shimmering red knotted between her fingers as if they were filth she had scraped from her boots, she tossed them aside with disdain.

"To make her suffer. Make her pay." Ororo reached again, this time for Jean's face, fingers crooked into a claw, nails extended.

The Shadow King's hand clenched around her wrist hard enough to fracture the tiny, delicate bones inside. She cried out in pain and lowered her head in supplication, white and silver hair falling forward over her face like a curtain as she cringed.

"Oh, Ororo," he said, pulling her by her wrist to her feet, and she clenched her teeth in agony, willing herself to meet his eyes as she knew she must. He could do worse. Would do worse, if she resisted.

"I always knew you were a woman after my own heart," he said with an insidious smile. "In many ways, you are the worst of us all."

She smiled despite the pain, basking in her master's praise. "May I have her then, master?" she asked, remembering her manners this time.

"No." The Shadow King's smile wavered, changing shape just a bit.

"I have something even better planned for you, my dearest."


As plans went, running seemed like the best idea Remy had heard so far. And if Rogue, in her leader capacity, happened to agree with him, well… who was he to argue?

So why wasn't he happy about it?

He kept up with the pace, but he looked back with ever-increasing frequency, overcome with some nagging, ultimately noble purpose he couldn't even begin to fathom. As far as he could tell, he was a sarcastic Mr. Know It All that got on everyone's last nerve and avoided anything serious like it was on fire. He was the "punch line" guy, the smooth, suave, debonair one who never really risked anything important or stayed too long in one place. He should have left the night that Irineé—oh wait, correction, Jean-Luc—stopped him.

You really are a sucker for women in distress, hombre.

…Or mebbe you jus' care 'bout dese people. Your family.

Was that possible? Was there some part of him that lay dormant beneath the surface, sending out impulses of feeling, inspiring stupid self-sacrificing stunts like the one Rogue had told him about and the ones he was contemplating now?

How the hell had he ended up here? And why was he still here?

Maybe he was just stupid.

Dim daylight broke at the end of the tunnel, painting spilling shades of red all along the cave walls, and it was too reminiscent of the recent blood that had been spattered all over the hangar bay.

They slowed as they came up to the exit of the cliff face, desert stretched out before them like a bloody wasteland ready to swallow them with its dry, hollow teeth.

"We made it," Rogue said, pondering the failing daylight.

He nodded, common sense taking a momentary backseat to cynicism—it felt like standard operating procedure, anyway. "An' now what we do, chere? Hail a taxi?"

She fixed him with an ironic sideways glance. "Ya remember taxi's?" she asked, half exasperated, half annoyed.

"Only vaguely," he replied with a wink.

Dat's it, Remy, keep up de bravado, play along, play dumb and be de funny guy. Den maybe dey won't catch on t' what a noble idiot you actually turnin' out t' be.

And somewhere in the forefront of his mind, taxi cabs danced along in bright, gay yellow, black and white checkered patterns whooshing merrily by. He did remember taxi cabs… and—

The horses hooves clip-clop along against the pavement, and there's snow—he can smell it, it's so real, the pure, brisk scent tied up in the musk of the equine animals that pull them gently along the streets of New York. They're cuddled up together in the carriage (cab, hansom cab) provides, and she's leaning against him, her eyes so green and wide, like heaven and God and everything he's ever dreamed of that he never really believed in.

"Dis is how I wanted it t'be since I first looked at you, Roguie. Beyond all de flirtin' an' teasin'-past all de games an' all de uncertainty. I know we can be hurt, girl. Physically as well as emotionally. I know, one kiss from you—one touch , flesh to flesh—might give me some serious hurtin'… but I'm willin' t'take de risk for you…"

"You willin' t'do de same for me?"

His mind blooms into sudden understanding like a fire flower, his thoughts catching like kindling with the feeling of the moment. Then. He'd known then. He'd understood. If he could just hold on to it, keep it, make it part of him forever…

…and then it's gone. Not like his other memories; it's still there, remembered, swirling beneath the surface, fluxing and vibrating with color and scent and feeling—but it's just a memory. It's not time travel, it's not surround sound and Technicolor anymore. He's not there in that carriage (hansom cab) and she's not the young, sad doe-eyed girl he'd been falling deeper in love with by the moment.

Falling deeper in love with her by the moment… He'd been falling in love with her then. How long ago?

And why didn't that memory bring back the feelings he should be feeling? Why didn't it conjure feelings of marriage and children? What happened in between that and…

…and when he'd died?

And why didn't he care anymore?


Logan loped along the narrow stretch of tunnel, their scent bright and electric blue, hot and vital as it danced along his olfactory senses, metallic taste dripping down the length of his throat.

They smelled like fear, and blood, and tight knots of intestine coiled up in terror.

They smelled like food.


He'd loved her. He didn't remember the rest, didn't know anything about anything else, but if he'd loved her, and if everything else she'd said had followed….

He should run.

It didn't feel real.

And yet, on some level, it did.

He had to do something. No matter what he thought, no matter what felt most comfortable on the surface, he couldn't ignore that deeper voice. It was there for a reason. He'd died for a reason, before.

The question he couldn't figure (one of many), was why?

He didn't know. But he couldn't just leave.

Could he?


Close. He was close now. He could almost taste their blood, their fear.

Alive, if you can…

His master's voice resonated in his head, rattling his skull, shattering his instincts.

Slow. He had to be slow. The animal in him raged to feast on their fear, to tear flesh from bone.

-HUNT—

-KILL—

-DESTROY—

He dug his fingers into the rocky bed of earth beneath, adamantium claws on the verge of popping. So easy. So simple. Metal claws, the rending of skin…

It's what he knows. What he understands.


"Remy?" Rogue asked, her voice tight and careful, as if she could see the questions running rampant through his mind. And probably she could; after all, his poker face seemed to have lost a lot of its grace since he came back from the dead.

Memories still teetered on the verge, so close to being revealed. He could feel them there, swimming behind his eyes.He opened his mouth, though he had no idea of what he was about to say—

and everything exploded.


He came for them with snarling fury, compact frame launching from the entrance of the cave, hair bristled straight up on end, mouth twisted back form his gnashing teeth in a terrible snarl. Saliva dripped from the tips of his canines, and he growled, a thick bubbling of black ire that rose from deep within his chest.

"Logan!" the girl squealed, and he loved the sound she made, like an animal about to be slaughtered.

He hit her square in the chest, pinning her to the ground. Adamantium claws thrust out, lodging deep in the rocky desert soil. Only four, two on each hand on either side of her arms, holding her still beneath him. The third claw, he would save to skewer her biceps whole if she tried anything stupid.

He cocked his head to the side and grinned at the other two who stood, watching; their bodies reeked with the scent of terror.


"Yes…" the Shadow King hissed in pleasure. "Bring her to me, Logan. Bring her now."


"Irineé!" Rogue shouted, terror gripping her like a living thing. "Stop him! Shut him down!"

"Logan…" the girl pleaded, her eyes beseeching him.

And Rogue knew it wouldn't do any good, any more than telling Irineé to shut him down would do any good. She could tell by looking at him that Logan was almost totally controlled by his animal side, and Irineé couldn't grab hold of his quicksilver, feral mind fast enough to shut it down.

Her daughter was their last hope. And the Shadow King knew it.


Remy had about a thousand thoughts in the span of a few milliseconds, and his head reeled with the intensity of all of them. But only one came through loud and clear.

She's my daughter.

The decision was as easy as pulling the playing card from his pocket and aiming it at the fragile space right between Logan's eyes.


The third claw eased from the sheath of his skin as Gambit tensed, moved. Logan's animal eyes held Remy's, challenged, gloated as the final claw pierced just the casing of flesh, drawing blood and whimpers from the prey beneath.

"Remy!" Rogue yelled, her voice filled with warning.

Mexican standoff.

He grit down on his teeth and dropped the hand that held the playing card. He wondered if he'd ever been a praying man before. Somehow he doubted it, but maybe if he started right now…

Dear God, I know we don' talk much, mostly 'cause I don' believe in you, but if—

The world exploded with brilliant white light, and Remy LeBeau hit the ground in blind, wide-eyed wonder.

Now dat's what I call service.



Logan whined and drew back as his eyes were assaulted by the light. Vision wasn't his main dependence, but it was the equivalent of being blasted by a supernova in the rapidly descending dark of the desert. Instinct screamed at him to let go of the girl, to back away and get to cover, and he pulled his claws from the ground—

He wasn't fast enough.


Irineé seized the moment, striking out with her mind, and Logan's unconscious body fell like dead weight at her side. She was on her feet in an instant, blinking against the luminescence even as it lessened.


A tall silhouette strode forward toward them, dust from the desert curling up like gray coils of smoke around its feet.

"Well, looks like I arrived in time after all," said a rich, feminine voice.

The light cleared.

"Mon Dieu," Remy whispered.