This one is very long. For that I apologize. Sometimes I get carried away. REVIEW REPLIES: Ish: I'm glad none of all these details are confusing! If you say it's nicely balanced, I shall believe you! Rogue4787: Gah I only realized like a week ago that this Rogue-Remy fic seriously lacks some decent Rogue-Remyness. I think I'm getting too carried away with plot development! But worry not, because it'll all come soon. jynxclaymore: Yeah, trouble just follows Remy and now that he's feeling super guilty, he just has to go looking for trouble, doesn't he? jadare: Thanks for going to the trouble of going desk-top to leave a review! Glad to know there are such avid readers out there!
THANK YOU for the reviews! They are helpful in helping me decide in which direction things need to go!
Chapter 11 – Hunt
Morning sunlight couldn't wash away the long night's deep and heinous darkness. A cloud seemed to hang on everyone at Xavier's school. The students barely spoke to each other, leaving an unnatural stillness in the air. The solemn atmosphere mimicked that of a funeral. No one spoke during breakfast, except for to ask someone to pass the orange juice or jam.
"So...school starts next week," Rahne said in between bites of toast. "Senior year."
Jubilee wrinkled her nose, "I can't even think about that. I've totally forgotten."
"I can't even think of going back to Bayville High after all this," Roberto groaned. "We're going to get so much shit after all this anti-mutant drama."
"Are the Morlocks going to have... a mass funeral?" Amara said softly.
Everyone looked at her, then turned grim faces back to stare at the food.
"Also, something's definitely going on that Xavier and the dream team aren't telling us," Jubilee suddenly said. "I mean, we're X-Men, too. Shouldn't we be kept in the loop?"
"I guess we are kind of young still," Rahne offered.
"Ugh, I hate that excuse! Rogue is only, what, three years older than me, and she's all Rambo all of a sudden? I saw her prepping the jet this morning. She's going somewhere important."
Roberto shrugged, "She was basically a mercenary for two years. I think that boosts her resume a little."
Jubilee sighed and shook her head, "I hate being left out of the action."
"Did you guys see that guy come in this morning?"
"Could you be more vague, Rahne?"
"I can't remember his name! Haven't seen him in years. What was it—Larry? Lars? The earthquake dude."
"Lance? Lance Alvers?"
"Yea that's it! He came really early and met with the Professor."
"Wasn't he part of the Brotherhood? That guy was bad news."
"No he wasn't. He was just seriously misguided."
"Couldn't have been that bad if Kitty liked him."
"Why's he even here?"
"I don't know. But he looked good. Clean-cut hair. Nice clothes. Got some muscles. Doesn't look like he's from the wrong side of the tracks anymore."
"Don't let Kitty hear you talk like that..."
"Oh, please, Amara, Kitty can't possibly still be hung up on him. They were never really that much of a thing anyway. Child's play."
"Like how old you are now?'
"Whatever."
"Wait, wasn't he in X-Corps, too, with Rogue?"
"What are you saying, Roberto?"
"Maybe he's coming to see her."
"Why—like they had a thing?"
"Lot can happen in two years."
X
Rogue had always liked hangars. She wasn't sure what it was about them—maybe the wide open space, their smooth metal structure, the soaring vehicles they housed. Or maybe it was just that hangars were the first step in the quickest and closest path to freedom. Nothing beat air travel.
She sat in the X-jet cockpit, sipping a cup of coffee and watching over the computer screen. She was waiting for Sean Cassidy's contact in Mongolia to connect. The signal had been absent for more than six minutes and she was beginning to grow impatient. Just when she was about to give up—God knew she had other things to do—the connection bleeped to life.
"Hello? Agent Rogue?" after a whirr of static.
"Hi there, you can just call me Rogue. What's your name?"
"Mr. Cassidy didn't tell you?"
"He did."
"Ah. Of course.Temür at your service, ma'am."
"Nice to meet ya, sir. What were the coordinates Cassidy gave you?"
"51.5° north 100.65° east. Turta in Hovsgol Province."
"Good. I'll be landing the jet there. It's my understanding that this place doesn't have much when it comes to locals."
"No, ma'am. Highlands with a few nomads. But I think I've got what you are looking for."
"Good. I'll be there in seven hours if my bird flies fast. And if I go undetected by the nationals."
"Be careful. We're close to the Russian border and they watch their airspace closely."
"Understood. See you at 1800."
"Copy that." The line closed with a sharp click.
Rogue sat back in the chair and continued to drink her coffee. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out the mysterious stone talisman Garbha-hsien had given her. Her fingers traced over the indiscernible etchings. She wondered what it was Temür had found that might answer some of her questions. The last thing she wanted was to go on some wild goose chase Indiana Jones-style.
Something moved in the hangar.
Rogue sat forward and calmly set her coffee down, slipping the talisman back in her pocket. She peered over the jet's dash, sharp eyes searching the hangar. Nothing. There had been something there. She knew it—
"You must be getting rusty."
Rogue rolled her eyes, recognizing the voice immediately. "Like Ah didn't hear your big feet trotting up the ramp." She turned around, one hand on her hip and an eyebrow raised, "Miss the good ol' days or somethin', Lance?"
Lance Alvers leaned comfortably against one of the jet's seats, dressed sharply in dark slacks, a crisp white shirt, and matching jacket. "Just broke out of jail," he shrugged. "Safest place for mutants seems to be here."
Rogue smiled. She had to admit, it was good to see an old friend. "So what happened? What about X-Corps?"
"I had to leave. I couldn't stay there when stuff here was going horribly wrong."
"What?"
"Hello, Rogue, where have you been? Anti-mutant attacks? Friends of Humanity?"
She sighed and waved her hand as if trying to swat the thoughts away, "Ah can't think about that now. How're Sean and the others?"
"Piotr ran back to Russia for...something to do with a sister? I can't really remember."
Rogue rolled her eyes, "Always the attentive listener, Alvers."
"Hey, you know he has a heavy accent! Anyway the others are still going at it. I left when they were still in Greece. You know how the xenophobia has gotten really bad? Well it's got nothing on the mutantphobia. It even had Sean cursing about wanting to put the perps we captured in Gitmo."
"Harsh."
"Or just same old same old. So you heading somewhere?"
"As a matter of fact: Mongolia."
"What for?"
"Long story."
"I got time."
Rogue sighed and looked at the clock on the dashboard. "Well Ah don't. So you better buckle up or get out. Ah'm leaving now."
Lance smirked, "Now that's more like it." He took the co-pilot's seat and began familiarizing himself with the computer system. "I see you've got some files on Mongolia up here... who's Garbha-hsien?"
"I'll brief you on the way," Rogue said, strapping herself in and securing the ship. She raised the ramp and started the engines. "Didn't you say you came back to help here?"
Lance looked at her blankly, then smiled, "What, I can't catch up with my old team mate?"
"Guess Ah wouldn't mind the company. Long flight."
"Excellent. Let's go hunting."
X
Cerebro was something Logan had never felt comfortable about. Its abilities and sheer power made him nervous. If there was anything at the Xavier Institute their enemies could want, it was this supercomputer. All they needed was a decent telepath and unimaginable damage could be done...
"Logan, did you near me?"
"Sorry, Chuck, what?"
"Must I continuously tell you not to call me that? Gambit was in Seattle. But it looks like he's on the move again."
"Where to?"
"He's on a plane... it's hard to pinpoint...one minute... United Airlines to...New Orleans."
Logan looked up at the ceiling of the spherical room and sighed, "So I gotta go to Louisiana."
"Not a fan of the Deep South, Logan?" One could almost hear a smirk in Xavier's voice.
"Too much fried food, hellova lot of hicks, and bad public education."
"I'm sure you can put those compunctions aside. He'll be landing in...Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport. You can take the helicopter. Rogue left with the jet a few hours ago. And bring Jean with you. I'll let her know she should get prepared."
"Got it. You should know, if the Cajun doesn't cooperate, I'm not going to hesitate with force."
"Do what's necessary, but only that much, Logan, please."
"Understood." Logan left the Cerebro room and headed straight for his quarters. He packed a light bag with extra clothes. One never knew how long these search-and-obtain missions would last.
He was down in the hangar in less than five minutes prepping the chopper. Something dripped from its underbelly, he noticed. Oil leak. He cursed under his breath and grabbed the toolbox. After a few minutes tinkering, the leak was stopped. Blotches of dark fuel stained his shirt. In the cockpit he pulled off his shirt and rummaged through his bag for a clean one.
"Oh—sorry."
Logan spun around, shirtless, and locked eyes with a staring Jean standing awkwardly, a backpack over one shoulder. For just five seconds too long her eyes wandered along his chest, the firm dips and swells of his muscles and up to his face. Logan noticed. His mutant abilities were heightened senses and awareness; he couldn't not notice. He cleared his throat and pulled on his shirt, "Grab a seat, Red. We're heading out."
"Right. Yeah. Ok." She sat down and buckled her seatbelt with unnecessary expediency. For the whole ride to New Orleans, she kept her eyes trained out the window, so thankful she was the telepath, not her companion.
X
It was hot and humid, the type of weather that made your skin feel lke it was constantly coated with a thin film of butter. As he stood outside the airport arrivals gate with Jean, he thought about how lucky Rogue was to be trekking through the arrid plateaus of Mongolia. No humidity at altitudes like that.
"What time is Gambit's flight supposed to land?" Jean's voice broke into his thoughts.
Logan had noticed her tension during the entire flight from New York. He chose to ignore it. She was just a girl. "According to the info Charles sent us, right about...now."
Dressed in inconspicuous jeans and a navy T-shirt with Ray Bans over his mutated eyes, Remy LeBeau looked like any other traveler, except with a tendency to turn the head of every woman he walked past. His mouth was drawn into a flat line and he seemed to walk with a slouch. He did not have any luggage. Immediately, he got into a cab.
"Come on, Red," Logan said. "We're on." Pushing through the crowds of travelers, he hailed them a taxi. As they piled in, "Follow that cab," he said.
"I'm sorry, sah, but I dunno which one y'talkin' 'bout."
From the backseat, Jean stifled a chuckle as Logan rolled his eyes.
"That one!"
"Calm down, sonny! I'm on it!" The cabbie sped them forward.
They merged onto the interstate, cutting in and around cars to follow Gambit's cab. Once off the highway, the streets eventually began to narrow, the buildings growing closer together. In the dusky light, the French Quarter seemed to glow with amber warmth. Bars and restaurants that never closed had awakened from daytime snoozing to the loyal patrons of New Orleans nightlife.
"I think you've been here before," Jean said, "the first time, when Gambit kidnapped Rogue."
"You mean he kidnapped her another time?" Logan smirked.
Jean pursed her lips together, "Oh, you know what I mean." She seemed intrigued by the Spanish-style buildings with semblances of French colonial influence. Most of the original buildings had burned down in the Great New Orleans Fire. What remained were the flat-tiled roofs and city code-violating wooden siding with stucco walls, the colorful painting and elaborate ironwork decorating balconies and galleries. "This place looks kind of romantic," she said. She caught Logan's eye in the rearview mirror and cleared her throat, looking away.
"Looks like y'chap's stopped," the cabbie said, pulling up against a curb. He nodded ahead, to where Gambit was getting out of his taxi.
"Thanks, bub," Logan said, giving him a few bills. They got out of the cab and followed Gambit down the street.
The young man walked with purpose, moving past other pedestrians as if impatient with his own stride.
"He's sure walking fast," Jean panted, as she picked up her speed. They were 20 paces behind him.
"He's seen us," Logan said.
"What, how? He hasn't looked back once."
"Trust me, he knows."
As if to prove the point, Gambit abruptly turned and cut down a side street.
"Come on!" Logan hissed, grabbing Jean's hand and pulling her forward.
The streets of the French Quarter were getting crowded. Tourists and locals alike had flooded the area for its famous nightlife and tantalizing culinary tastes. Logan and Jean zigzagged through and around them, nudging past people who yelled at them in frustration, "Excuse you!" Gambit was always just a little too far ahead, not even running, but managing to cut around people and corners as if he were walking through them. As they turned onto another side street, Jean stopped and leaned against a wall to catch her breath.
"How is he doing this?" she gasped. "God, I need water."
"Guy's a pro," Logan said, head tilted as if judging the air. "This way."
"How do you know?"
"Scent."
"Of course," Jean sighed and followed Logan through another crevice of the French Quarter. As they got to the end of the street, Logan stopped and peeked around the corner.
"Looks like Gumbo fancies himself a drink. Red, you're going into that restaurant."
Jean's eyes widened, "Uh, what?"
"This is a...delicate situation," Logan said. "We need to try to convince him to come back with us. Now I'm totally fine with just knocking him out, but that'll cause a scene. I think you can do a better job of cajoling him than I can."
"Cajole?" Jean echoed, one side of her mouth curling up as if she didn't like the taste of the word in her mouth.
"Yep. Cajole."
"Ok, I don't really know what that means but I'll try..."
"Keep your comm link open. I want to be able to hear everything that goes on in there."
Jean sighed and straightened out her clothing. She tied her hair into a ponytail, feeling sweaty, gross, and in no state to do any effective cajoling, "All right, but don't hate me if I fail."
"Never, Red," Logan half-smiled.
Jean smiled back and could feel a warmth crawling onto her cheeks. Oh, God, she thought, what is wrong with me? She quickly turned and crossed the street to the entrance of the bar. Once inside a flood of cool air conditioning hit her face. It was a welcome reprieve from the mugginess of a Southern summer outside. The restaurant was barely lit, save for the slanted sunlight streaming in from the windows. Light bluegrass music played over the speakers. Only a handful of patrons sat in the bar section, a few already getting started on an early dinner in the dining area. Remy LeBeau sat at the counter, his back to the door, a glass of whiskey at his fingertips.
Jean approached and awkwardly sat on a stool one away from him, "Uh, hi."
Remy seemed genuinely surprised to see her. Then he started chuckling.
Jean looked around as Remy continued to laugh. The bartender at the other end of the bar wiping glasses glanced at them for a second before returning to work. She cleared her throat, "I really don't see what's funny."
"Don't y'petite?" Remy said, chuckling into his whiskey glass as he took a swig. He winced, "Agh, should've gotten bourbon."
"Look, whatever, I just came here to talk to you."
"Nice job trackin' me. T'ough I t'nk dat be Logan's handiwork, non?"
"Can we please talk?"
"Got not'ing t'talk about."
"Don't be like that. We know you're in some trouble. We want to help."
"I highly doubt dat, mon ami, not when y'find out de truth."
At his words, Jean thought of all the slayed Morlocks, all the bodies Rogue and Logan carried out of the sewers. She couldn't believe Gambit would have anything to do with such a horrific crime. With her telepathic powers on low, she could feel a sadness seeping out of him, however hard he tried to hide it with that exterior of nonchalance and arrogance. This man had serious defense mechanisms. "What's the truth then, Remy?" she prodded.
"Why don' y' just read m'mind, chere?"
"Because I respect your privacy."
"Dat's what's wrong wit' you X-Men. Too soft. No room for dat in de world dese days." He finished his glass and waved the bartender over for top-off, "Bourbon this time, mon frere. And leave the bottle."
"Haven't you had enough?" Jean frowned.
"'Enough' is relative," Remy said, and knocked back another shot.
Jean waited until the bartender left. She lowered her voice, "Are you in this funk because of last night? Logan found a card in the sewers. It looked like one of yours..."
Remy noticeably stiffened. He kept his eyes trained ahead and said nothing.
Jean swallowed the lump in her throat. She was not used to these sorts of interactions. Sure, she had been trained to fight and defend, to use her powers. But the delicate matters of interrogation and persuasion? She was in untread waters, and would have to count on her keen intuition and empathy. "And then there's Shaw and the Friends of Humanity. You working with a very disturbed Lorna Danes..."
"Y' t'ink y'know what's going on," Remy asked, voice flat and hard. "Y'know nothing."
She was losing him. She had to play the only card she really had, "I know Rogue is grateful you saved her life."
Remy spared a glance at her, as if he were surprised at her words.
"We all are. If it weren't for you, she'd be dead. And she would never admit it but she misses you. A lot. After you left I helped her to try and get past it, and it worked for a while, but then she left. Did you know that? She was so upset she just left home and went off to join some paramilitary group, fighting international criminals, putting her life at risk every day for God knows what. Now she's back and she's...stronger and more controlled. But something's not quite all right there, I can feel it. I think she needs help." The words were spilling out of her in a tense wave of sincerity. He was looking at her now and she stared into his hard red and black eyes with a frantic intensity in her warm blues, "Last night we found the Morlocks brutally murdered. Dead bodies everywhere, so much blood and pain. Somehow Rogue could stomach carrying the bodies, just moved them out of the sewers as if she did that sort of thing every day. Heck, maybe she did when she was fighting terrorists in Pakistan or military juntas in Myanmar or wherever. That's how affected she was by you. She's built these walls around herself as if they make her invulnerable but she's not, Remy. And the longer she keeps bottling everything up like it's no big deal, like it doesn't affect her—one day she's going to pop. And with her mutant abilities, that's dangerous—for her, for everyone around her. You saw what happened at the hotel. You saw how Sebastian Shaw took advantage of her." Jean was almost breathless.
Remy looked into his glass. After a few seconds, "And what do y'expect me t' do, fille?"
The coldness of his words took her aback. Anger began to boil at the pit of her stomach. With a snap of telekinetic power, she broke the glass in his hands into four even pieces. The bourbon spilled over his fingers.
"Didn't see dat comin'," he said, and set the shards down carefully to avoid being cut.
Jean glared at him, "I expect you to stop the act. Because all of this—the Morlock massacre, the power negating collars, the laboratory full of mutant experiments, the Friends of Humanity—all of it could get Rogue killed and you're invovled somehow. I know you don't want a part in that. Because you love her."
He glared right back, shoulders squared, biceps tight, looking ready to attack. "You so sure 'bout dat, Jean Grey? How you know? Maybe I just played de girl 'cause she was de easiest target. Sad lil' loner who couldn't touch, just begging for some homme to come in and sweetin' her virgin little—"
Jean heard the words and his tone of voice and felt the contradicting feelings radiating from him—self-loathing, guilt, despair—but the words were strong, the tone convincing. Her hand was up before she realized it, moving to slap him. But he caught it midair and jerked her forward until they were face to face and he breathed rough hot air onto her cheeks.
"Y' don't know me, little girl," he seethed. "Y' don' know what I've done, what I can do, so shut your mouth."
The door to the restaurant slammed open as Logan burst inside. He was on Remy in an instant, knocking him back with a punch to the face. Remy flew over bar counter, breaking glasses and bottles of liquor. Screams erupted in the restaurant.
"You okay, Red?" Logan said, squeezing her shoulder.
Jean felt uncomfortable under the concern in Logan's eyes, "Yeah it's fine—he didn't hurt me. It was my fault. Logan—go easy."
"Go easy?"
Mirthless laughter floated up from behind the bar as Remy stood up, dusting himself off. "What's dis, you two de dream team now? How would good ol' One-Eye feel 'bout dat?"
"Shut your face, Cajun," Logan snapped. "Touch her again, and you're going to have three very big problems." He raised his fist, slowly extending his adamantium claws. "Now, you got two choices: Come with us willingly or tied up."
"De X-Men in de business o' kidnappin' now, mon frere?" Remy slowly touched a line of newly polished glasses, charging up their molecules until they glowed to threatening brightness. "What if I don't come easy? Y' want t'risk the lives of people in dis wonderful establishment?"
Logan huffed and shook his head, retracting his claws, "This all a joke to you, boy? I'm not going to play your game. There are other ways."
"No, mon ami," Remy said, his expression darkening, "there aren't."
Jean knew it was her cue. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the mind of Remy LeBeau. She heard him cry out when she began trying to break into his psyche. Somehow he had natural blocks, as if his life as a thief and mercenary had lent him great powers of privacy. She concentrated, adding more force. Finally breaking in, she could feel his resistence immediately. Get out o' m'head! Don't do dis! Dey're comin'!
Remy, I'm just trying to get information. She was starting to see images, his most recent memories. The needle in Seattle, jutting into the cloudy sky. A pale-skinned, frightening-looking man in a white lab coat. A laboratory. So familiar... Pain. Frustration. Anger. An ampule with some sort of liquid in it—
From inside Remy's mind, Jean could feel something hard and blunt hit the head of her physical body. The impact distracted her powers as they knocked her out. She fell to the ground, clinging desperately to consciousness. She could hear one last thought of Remy's before she succumbed to blackness.
I didn' want t'drag y'guys into dis.
X
"Wait, literally... all of them?"
Rogue's mind was filled with images from last night's fatalities, the broken and bloodied bodies she had carried in her arms. She remembered the red eyes in the darkness, the ones that reminded her of Remy. Had he been there? Why? How? It was an effort to push all these thoughts away, to focus on the now, on her mission. She couldn't afford to be burdened by rumination. It broke her concentration.
"Some survived," she said, eyes scanning the dashboard monitors every now and again. The jet's computer had plotted a direct course for them to Mongolia, and the autopilot was giving them smooth sailing. But Rogue never liked allowing machines complete autonomy, so she remained vigilant.
"But...who would go after the Morlocks?" Lance exclaimed, completely dumbfounded by the news. "They don't do anything but hang out in their tunnels!"
"The mutants who attacked them, they weren't doing it on their own," Rogue said. "Someone did the hiring, wanted their DNA samples."
"DNA? Great. Fan-frickin'-tastic. I knew this was going to get even more twisted. Do we have any leads on that?"
"Logan mentioned he was checking something out before Ah left, but he wouldn't tell me more. Ah think this hit him hard, too."
"If it's bad enough to ruffle the Wolverine's feathers, then it's bad."
"Trust me, Lance, it's worse than bad."
"Especially with that power cancelling collar you mentioned. What the hell is going on in the world these days?"
Rogue had no idea. It was chaos. But she had a feeling this trip to Mongolia would shed a little light on the mysteries. Over the next few hours of the flight, Lance and her took turns in the pilot seat. On the last shift, a fatigue so great washed over her, and she realized she had not slept for nearly a whole day. She dozed off in her seat. She could feel the hum of the jet engine beneathe her, rocking her to sleep. And she dreamed.
She stood on a cliff face, staring out on to a wide expanse of a city scintillating in the bright sunlight. Somehow from her high perch she could see people walking in the streets, sipping coffee in cafes, chatting away in office buildings and apartment buildings, could sense their contentment. They worked, they relaxed, they lived so peacefully—and they were all mutants.
"It's the promised land, Rogue."
She turned to face the woman next to her. Selene. She was beautiful, dark hair fluttering lightly in the mountain breeze, soft smile on her ageless lips.
"What do you mean?" Rogue asked. She felt no anger, no apprehension, and thought that was strange. Logically she knew she had ill feelings toward this phantom woman, but her dream-self could not viscerally sense any of that vexation.
Selene put a soft hand on her shoulder, smile unwavering, "You were right, I am a mutant. We are all brothers and sisters, Rogue. We shouldn't fight each other. And this, this place is where we can truly call home."
Rogue looked out over the land, past the city citadels and dwarf mountains, and could make out the gleaming surface of ocean. She realized they were on an island. "Where am Ah?"
"Paradise," Selene whispered. "And you can make it possible."
"Me?"
"You'll save us all, Rogue."
"From what? How?"
"There will be no room for him and us."
Rogue's eyes widened, "What, who?"
"You know who."
"No. Ah don't."
"Do not lie to yourself, Rogue. That will only impede your progress." Selene slowly waved a hand over the city and people below, "All of them need you. We all need you. He will only get in the way. He will only hurt you and fetter you, divid you. You must choose."
"Ah don't understand."
"You will. You have to know what to see."
Rogue glared at her, the absent anger beginning to simmer to the surface of her consciousness, "You keep saying that, but how the hell am Ah supposed to know what that means?"
"Patience, Rogue..."
"No! This is bullshit! Who are you? What are you talking about? Where is this place? Is it even real or are ya messing with my head again?" Rogue grabbed Selene's shoulders, clutching her harder than she knew was necessary. The woman felt soft under her strong fingers, almost delicate, but she knew it was a facade. The moment their skin touched, she could feel the vitality pulsing inside her, a great and terrible power.
The smile left Selene's face, replaced by a resigned sadness. "Paradise won't wait forever for you," she said. "You will come to me when you see." And she began to disintegrate, her body dehydrating so rapidly she began granules of sand in mere seconds, just like Garbha-hsien.
Rogue gasped, watching the woman she was holding mere moments ago become nothing but dust in her palms.
She awoke with a start, confused and dazed. The dream had felt so real, as if it had been more than a dream. Had Selene somehow gotten into her head? Could this mutant have such powers? Were they connected? The hum of the engines was gone. They were no longer in the air.
"Got your beauty rest, sunshine? You were out for a long time. I landed at your coordinates." Lance was trying to manuever the security systems. "You have some anti-theft on this boat, right?"
Rogue rubbed her eyes and stood, nudging Lance out of the way, "Let me do it. I have to make a call first." She turned on the radio to hail Temür, but stopped when she saw something moving right below the nose of the jet outside.
A lean Mongolian man with a friendly face, dressed in dusy khakis and a heavily pocketed vest, waved at them. Temür.
"That your contact?" Lance asked.
"Yeah. Go and introduce yourself. I'll lock up here." As Lance left, Rogue deflated into the pilot's seat. She felt exhausted by the dream, which she was beginning to suspect had been actual contact with that woman Selene. She did not seem menacing, however infuriatingly cryptic. In fact, she reminded Rogue of Garbha-hsien, the way she spoke, the urgency. Was she not the enemy after all? What was it she wanted Rogue to do? Where was that island, that "paradise"? And most eerily, had she been talking about Remy? How was that even possible?
Or maybe it had just been a dream. Or perhaps Rogue was losing her mind again.
Outside Lance had told a joke that had Temür laughing. They waved her down to join them.
Great, Rogue thought with a roll of her eyes, bro time.
When she stepped out of the jet, she could finally see the raw beauty of the arrid mountainous landscape. The amber hues of dawn washed everything in a warm, fiery glow, even though the fading night had left a chilly breeze. There was nothing for miles around—no man-made structures, no people. Except off in the distance of the reddish earth, she could see a lone man herding a few goats.
After introductions, Temür handed her a brown shawl, "It is cold. Wrap this around yourselves. It will also keep you from breathing in the dust if it gets windy. May I see the artifact?"
Rogue handed him Garbha-hsien's talisman. Temür examined it with great interest. "Yes," he said, "it is exactly like the others."
"Not to sound rude," Lance piped up, "but how are you an expert on this?"
Temür removed a small magnifying glass from his pocket to better scrutinize the markings on the stone. "I'm an anthropologist at Tsinghua University. My specialty is the ancient origins of people like you, mutants. You are familiar with En-sabah Nur?"
Lance and Rogue exchanged knowing looks.
"I was on the team that first discovered the artifacts depicting En-sabah Nur. I spearheaded the initial research. I've been in Mongolia for two years investigating another similar occurrence."
"What do you mean 'similar occurence'?"
"Mutant behavior. There are oral histories that have been passed down for generations, hundreds of years, and they tell of beings with inhuman powers." Temür handed the talisman back to Rogue and dropped his magnifying glass back into one of the many pockets of his vest. "And these oral histories were painted in the caves. We are heading north. Follow me."
"What exactly did you find?" Rogue asked. She followed Temür away from the jet, toward an outcropping of a plateau twenty meters away.
"I've spent a lot of time living among the nomads," Temür said. "They are wary of outsiders, as you can understand. However, they pointed me to some ancient caves, one of the last temples that haven't been looted. That stone of yours, there are others with similar markings that I found inside this very temple. In ancient script, it reads 'the eternal outsider'."
Last of the Ex-... Eternal outsider. Cataclysm.
They came to the foot of the plateau and followed Temür up the side. They climbed up the jagged cliffside on rocks that provided no easy footing. Before they had gone too far up, Temür leapt into a hidden alcove concealed by a large section of razor-like rock jutting up from the base. From the ground, it the grotto was virtually invisible.
"Now I see why this place wasn't looted," Lance said, dusting himself off. "I definitely didn't wear the right shoes for this."
Rogue chuckled, "That's what you get for trying to look like a pretty boy."
Lance flashed her a sideways smile, "Are you saying I look pretty?" He held her glance for a few seconds too long.
Without a word she turned to join Temür, who was standing beside a passageway into the side of the mountain. He turned on a flashlight, "The temple is inside."
The tunnel was cramped and low ceilinged. They crouched low to get through. Temür's flashlight being too weak for her tastes, Rogue decided to light the path her own way. She raised a hand and summoned flames to ignite in her palm. The torch burned so bright, Temür shut off his flash light with a smile.
"I've always envied you mutants," he admitted. "In all my years studying your anthropologic history, your abilities have never ceased to amaze me."
"If only the rest of the world felt the same," Lance huffed. "Looks like we're here."
They entered the main chamber, an open space with a large circular stone in the center and smaller stoneworks littering the area around. Archaic tools for painting and carving lay around it, as if their owners had left for a lunch break and would return any minute. Rogue saw talismans similar to hers lined up at the foot of the north-facing wall. Upon the wall were elaborate etchings and drawings depicting scenes she could not comprehend. She held the light up higher to get a better view.
"You've found it," Temür said. "This is what I wanted to show you. This wall is dedicated entirely to a being known commonly among local legends as Saul. You know him as Garbha-hsien, his more ancient name."
Lance peered at the cave paintings with the look of a teenager staring at the complex equations of quantum mechanics, "How can you make sense of any of this?"
"Long months of study," Temür chuckled. He pointed at a section illustrating a humanoid shape with lines splaying out from its body. "Here is told the story of Saul—or Garbh-hsien—who was first seen centuries ago. Since then, according to local legend, he lived among the people and never aged. He became their benevolent god, aiding them in times of crises like drought, earthquake, disease, war. He was wise beyond his years but carried with him a darkness everywhere he went. His superhuman abilities seemed vast: strength, immortality, bursts of power that could shatter stone. No one dared attack the people under his protection. Nowadays obviously we know him as one of the first mutants."
"So what happened?" Rogue asked. "How did he end up tracking me down in New York?"
"The legends say Saul was very troubled by the knowledge he possessed. That darkness he carried with him, he never spoke of it, except to a young man, his apprentice, with whom he shared everything. This 'darkness' as the legends call it—there is no better translation of the ancient word—still isn't quite clear. Perhaps it is not literal but figurative, meaning Saul had a great worry on his mind. Many believe he foresaw a great disaster that would befall the people."
Thousands will perish...she has eradicated us all... Only you can stop it... the Cataclysm...
Rogue felt a chill slither up her spine, "He could see the future?"
"Perhaps. His exact mutant abilities aren't known. We cannot know what disaster or what people, or if it has already happened. It's all legend."
"Clearly it's not," Lance said, "since this guy actually showed up and accosted Rogue."
Temür put a hand to his chin and frowned in deep thought, "If that man you met was truly Saul, Rogue, then your problems are bigger than anything I can help you with. However, there is one bit of information you may find helpful. Saul Garbha-hsien the "eternal outsider", or "external" as he was sometimes called..."
Last of the Externals. That was it. Rogue could feel her heart speed up at the excitement of a piece coming together in this mind boggling puzzle.
"...was not the only one of his kind. In the apprentice's last writings before his death, it was written that there were others like Saul, precisely, there were seven others. Each represented an intangible concept: despair, fortitude, guile, ferocity, opportunity, wisdom, patience, and corruption. Saul was the champion of patience."
Lance wrinkled his nose, "Sounds like he had some messed up friends."
She has eradicated us all. Rogue stared at the section of the wall Temür was pointing at, where the eight Externals were depicted, each with a foreign symbol illustrating the concept they embodied. "Some of the Externals are women," she noticed, judging by the drawings.
"That's right," Temür said. "Guile and Corruption seem to be female."
"How feminist," Lance drawled.
Rogue increased the power of the fire in her hand to light up the higher sections of the wall. Something had caught her attention, a drawing of a blobby shape surrounded by horizontal swiggles. "Is that supposed to be an island?" Like the one from her dream?
Temür followed her gaze, "Ah yes, the legend of Shangri-la, or Utopia, or Paradise—there are many names for this place. Saul often told the people of a land surrounded by water on all sides that would be the home of people like him. There, he hoped one day his kind and humankind could live together in mutual understanding and brotherhood. But long before that day, there would be the darkness, the foretold disaster."
Paradise won't wait forever for you, Rogue. You will come to me when you see. Things in her dream, realizing in the real world. She felt strange, that sensation of waking up from a vivid dream and not being able to discern what was real from what was not.
"The Cataclysm," Rogue said.
Temür looked at her, eyebrows furrowed, "Cataclysm? Hmm... I suppose that could be a more accurate translation for the ancient word. This drawing here..." He directed their gaze to a painting shaped like a spark, with a human-like shape at the center, all of it encased in a thick circle. "...this is the being that will bring about the Cataclysm, as foretold by Saul."
"This sounds like Apocalypse all over again," Lance groaned.
Rogue scowled, "Apocalypse is gone. This is a whole new ball game. Temür, is it an External that will cause the Cataclysm? Does it say when?"
"It's impossible to tell. Saul left no indication. Perhaps he did not know."
"You'd think the guy would be less vague about such important things," Lance said. "How is this going to help us?"
Rogue didn't hear him, lost in a mind full of images from the dream, the memory of Garbha-hsien's last words, Selene. "The Externals are all dead," she suddenly said.
Lance and Temür stared at her. "How do you know?" Temür asked. He took out a notepad and began scribbling. "Is there evidence?"
"Garbha-hsien—Saul—whatever his name was, he told me right before he died. He said 'she' had 'eradicated' them all. Is there anything here that says who 'she' might be?"
Temür's brow furrowed even further, as if his face was capable of boundless frowning. "Unfortunately not. But this is incredibly disturbing, that someone could destroy the Externals, who were immortal."
Lance shrugged, "Being immortal doesn't mean you can't be killed."
What did all this mean? Rogue wondered. Why had Garbha-hsien led her here? If all the Externals were dead, what did any of this matter? She stared up at the cave paintings, wondering what clues were there that she just wasn't seeing. A vague inkling pointed her to the island, and the explosion-like illustration of the Cataclysm. It's the promised land, Rogue. It was not coincedence. Selene had actually visited her subconscious. That disturbed her more than anything. How much access did that woman have?
"What is the Cataclysm supposed to be anyway?" she asked.
Temür looked at her gravely, "A horrible event. I can only imagine it involves death, great multitudes of death."
Rogue shuddered. Lance saw and put a hand on her shoulder. She shot him a warning look and he removed it. To Temür, "Does the name Selene mean anything to you?"
"Hmm...no. Should it?"
"Ah don't know."
They stood in silence, staring up at the wall of untold secrets. "It has been centuries since Saul first warned the people of this event," Temür finally said. "That he has approached you now, that you have come to this place, all this tells me something great and terrible is right on the horizon."
"What are you saying?" Lance frowned.
Temür gestured toward the paintings, "I'm saying be prepared."
X
By the dull throb in his skull, Remy knew he'd been captured. He came to and found himself sitting tied up with plastic cords to a chair in a very famliar salon. Exactly as he'd planned. He had gone to that restaurant knowing it was a haunt for Rippers. The only hitch was, he had company.
"Well ain't this sweet, Gumbo," Logan growled drowsily, bound in a chair against the other wall. "Back at your friends' house."
"Nobody asked y' t'come along," Remy drawled. Judging by the dizziness and headache, he realized they had been shot with tranquilizers. Probably because Logan would have torn up all the Rippers otherwise. "Y' all right there, homme? Lookin' a little pasty."
"Bastards tranq'd me with a extra strong dose... Red, hey Red... Jean!"
She lay on the floor, hands and feet bound. She groaned inaudibly then was quiet again.
"What the hell'd you get us mixed up in, Cajun?" Logan demanded. He twisted in the chair, trying to loosen the cords, or, trying to get his fists at the right angle to extract his claws and cut them.
Remy looked at the floor, remembering the day he came back home with Henri. He remembered the Rippers' promises, the Rippers' lies, Belladonna's pleas, the death of Belladonna's father. "Y' best keep quiet, Logan," he said. "Their business is wit' me, not you."
"Little late for that, don't you think? We've clearly been thrown into the same shithole."
The door to the salon opened for Julien Bourdreaux and two Rippers to enter. "Well, well Remy LeBeau," Julien said. "Y' make it too easy for us, non?"
"I came back as promised. Let de ot'ers go."
"An' where be de fun in dat?"
Logan groaned from his chair, "Your accents are killing me."
"Shut y' mout'!" Julien snapped, signalling one of his men. Logan received a sharp punch to the face. "Y' friends be here for insurance, Remy, in case y' refuse to cooperate."
"M'here, ain't I? Go on. Kill me."
"Why you talking crazy, Gumbo?" Logan exclaimed. Of all things, he would never have expected a hired thief, a mercenary, to surrender to execution. For his outburst he received another hit to the jawline. He spat out blood and leered at his attacker out of the corner of his eye. "One more, bub...just give me one more..."
"Kill you?" Julien laughed humorlessly. "Y' killed my fat'er, LeBeau. Killin' y' be too light a punishment. Dose freak powers of yours killed Rippers and T'ieves dat day. Ain't dat right?" When Remy didn't look at him, "'Course s' right. Now y' back, powers back in control, neh? Seekin' redemption f' y' deeds, boy? Well I got news for y': dere ain't no redemption here. You'll be in hell de rest of y 'days."
Remy remembered it all, the look of horror on his father's face, on Tante Mattie's and Henri's, at the dead bodies around him after his powers stopped surging. His body had charged inexplicably, uncontrollably, exploding with the excess energy, killing and injuring so many around him. Thieves and Rippers, wasted in mere seconds—all because of Le Diable Blanc, living up to his name in the worst of ways. Had that power just been waiting to break free, was he inherently meant to kill so many people. What did that make him then? A true diable? It would make sense, especially now with Morlock blood on his hands. So much killing around him. So much death...
"Y' fat'er an' I reached an agreement, boy," Julien's voice broke into his thoughts. "Y' belong to us now."
Jean-Luc had traded him in. He wasn't surprised, though his curiosity did make him wonder what for.
"I own you," Julien sneered. "Anyt'ing the Rippers need, you will deliver. Especially wit' dose mutant powers o' yours. And here comes your warden, boy."
The door to the salon opened again. A young woman walked in, canary-blond hair pulled into a ponytail. She wore a black dress and jacket with black heels, as if she were on her way to a funeral. Her pretty eyes were trained on Remy as she approached, a troubled look on her exquisite features.
"Belle," Remy couldn't look at her. "I came back t' settle de score. Didn't t'ink you'd be de one I'd have t' settle it wit'."
She stood in front of him, arms crossed, climbing onto her resolve, "What Remy, y' t'ink I'm not a Ripper, too? Dis my family. I'll inherit all dis one day, and I got t' keep de peace." She knelt down beside him, lifting his face by the chin to look at her. Her features began to soften, "An' I want you here t' keep it wit' me chere. It ain't too late for dat,"
Remy turned away, "It is too late, Belle. M'not de man f' dat job anymore."
She bristled, standing up and turning her back. "We had a future, Remy, and y' ruined it."
"We weren't meant t' be. Y' know dat, Belle."
At those words, she spun around, her hand smacking against the side of his face. "How dare you," she seethed. "You loved me."
"I did, chere, but dis wasn't de life I wanted. And y' just couldn't see it..."
"Well now y' done it, Remy. S' all gone and look where you've ended up. I don't like dis any more dan you do, but tell me, tell me, what am I supposed t' do?" She seemed to be pleading behind her anger, behind her unwavering loyalty to the Rippers.
"How about live and let live, Blondie?" Logan said. With a sharp snikt his adamantium claws sliced through the cords that bound him. He was flying through the air before anyone could react, slamming into the guard that had punched him and knocking him out cold in one swift blow. He pummeled into the second man without missing a beat.
"De prisoner is free!" Julien howled. "Security breach!"
More Rippers burst into the salon, coming at Wolverine with fists he beat back viciously. Regardless of his skills, he couldn't take them all at once. Remy grudgingly charged the cords tying his hands until they disintegrated, setting him free. He had not wanted to fight, but he couldn't very well let them kill Logan. They had brought guns. He lifted the chair and smashed it into kindling, picking up the splinters to charge as mini-bombs.
"Remy's gone back on his word!" Julien screamed. "KILL HIM!" His cry drowned out Belladonna's pleas, "No! Stop!" as the Rippers refocused their efforts on killing the Thief.
He didn't make it easy for him, dodging blows, attacking with charged splinters. The Rippers efforts were so split between Remy and Logan, that the X-Man was able to gain the upperhand. He eliminated the single Ripper between him and the most valuable target, and seized her throat, adamantium claws extracted just close enough to graze her skin.
Belladonna screamed, trying to squirm out of Wolverine's grasp to no avail. "Everyone stop! Unless you want me to make Blondie here a few inches shorter. Now, let us all talk like civilized people. You're gonna let me, LeBeau, and the redhead walk out of here nice."
Merde, Remy thought. Dis is out of control. He tried to think of a way to get Belladonna out of Logan's clutches, when he saw Julien out of the corner of his eye, holding a pistol against a still-unconscious Jean's forehead. Merde deux fois.
"Foolish man," Julien sneered. "Y' t'ink s' so easy to outsmart a Ripper? Let go o' my sister, or y' girlfriend gets it."
A primal fury burned in Logan's eyes as he and Julien glared back at each other, both men tense and ready to deal the final blow. The others watched, knowing the situation had gone to a place no one wanted it to be, but not knowing how to stop it.
"Stop dis!" Remy suddenly shouted. He stood between them, hands held up, "Both of you, don't go doin' somet'ing y' both go'n' regret."
Julien did not flinch, "Y' mutie friend lets Belle go first."
"Don't count on it," Logan glared.
"Why you so keen to save dis T'ief anyway, mutant," Julien demanded. He pushed the barrel of the gun harder into Jean's temple, who was beginning to stir. She moaned lightly. "Y' willing t' risk de life o' dis pretty young fille for a scumbag murderer?"
"He's got a point," Remy said. "Let Belle go, Logan, and you an' Jean can get outta here."
"See, that won't fly with me, Gumbo. You are coming with us."
Belladonna twisted pointlessly in Wolverine's grip. "Shoot her, Julien!" she shouted. "He go'n' kill me anyway!" She shrieked when Logan pressed his blades against her face, nearly enough to cut the surface of her skin. Her panicked scream seemed to rattle her brother.
"All right!" Julien shouted. "We duel. Winner take all."
Logan almost laughed, "You livin' in the 17th century, bub?"
"S' a matter of honor, mutant," Julien spat. "We don' expect de likes of you t'understand dat. Me against LeBeau. He wins, y' all go free. He loses, he's ours. Ripper's word."
Remy nodded at Logan, giving him an entreating look, "S'fair homme. Let me take responsibility for dis."
Logan looked at one Cajun to the next, wondering what period film he'd wandered into. Now he had another reason to dislike the Deep South: antiquated customs. He retracted his claws and released Belladonna to her brother, who in turn pocketed his pistol. "All right, bub. I always enjoy a good show."
X
"So... they're fighting to the death?"
"Supposedly."
"And you're okay with that?"
"Didn't have much of a choice, Red. Had to do something while you were taking a nap."
"Hey—oh, whatever. Do you think Gambit has a chance?"
"He'll win."
"How are you so confident?"
"Gumbo's a scrapper. Gotta be one to know one."
"Did you just insult me?"
"Sensitive much?"
Jean scowled and crossed her arms, turning her attention back to where everyone else's eyes were fixated.
Dozens of Rippers and Thieves had gathered in the field near the Ripper homestead. Word had spread of Le Diable Blanc's return and this day of reckoning. All had heard of what he'd done two years ago when he first came home, all the people who'd died at the hands of his great and terrible powers. But tonight was different. Tonight Remy LeBeau was fighting Julien Bourdreaux, no mutant abilities, only their mettle. The two had been enemies since childhood, one always stealing from the other, beating the other, trying to out-earn, out-fight, out-smart each other. Their tumultuous history had all led up to this moment when they could face one another without the sway of other forces—not their clan, not their families, not Belladonna. She stood at the sidelines, wringing her hands. It couldn't be easy, watching the two men you loved fight each other to the death.
They stood facing each other, muscles tense, eyes fixated on the other's. Without words or referee they knew how this fight would be executed, when to start, how to end it. Just when the crowd thought the stare-down would never end, they were at each other's throats. The blows came quickly—Remy, a strong right hook to Julien's face—Julien, a kick to Remy's gut—Remy, rolling over the ground to get behind Julien, grabbing him from behind—Julien, elbowing him in the face—Remy, knocking Julien down with a kick to the back of the knee... Flesh broke, blood spilled, and all the while the crowd stared at the bloodsport in awe.
"Logan," Jean said hesitantly, "maybe we should stop this. It's barbaric."
"We're not one of them. We can't interfere."
"But...don't we have some kind of moral duty? As X-Men?"
"Nothing mutant about an old fashioned fight."
"And that makes it right?"
"Look, the Cajun's got some heavy demons in him, in case you haven't noticed. Coming here was the only way he could think of do right by them. So I'm going to let him do right by his people and himself, because I know about demons, Red. And they aren't as good of company as you."
Jean looked back at the fight, at a Gambit getting bloodier and more tired by the second. "I thought you didn't trust him," she said. "You're talking about him as if he's a friend."
"Of course I don't trust him. Whatever happened to the Morlocks, with Shaw and the Friends of Humanity—he's involved. But after this show of self-sacrifice, I'm willing to give him more of the benefit of the doubt."
The crowd suddenly cried out, a collective screech of shock and wonder.
"Logan!" Jean cried. "Gambit's down!"
Remy lay on the ground, panting as Julien stood over him.
"Y' surrender, T'ief?" Julien spat. "Or do I have t' finish y' off?"
"Julien no," Belladonna pleaded from the sidelines. "Don't kill him. Please."
"Shut up, Belle. M' gonna do what I—" Julien's jaw slamming shut cut off his words as Remy's foot smashed into his face.
He had feigned fatigue. He was just getting started. With a series of vicious kicks, flips, and punches with alacrity and dexterity worthy of a gymnast, Remy LeBeau pummeled Julien till he could no longer see or stand, the last leg of the fight, the final push. In truth, Julien was never going to be match for him in a fight. Only his arrogance allowed him to think so. The Ripper leader fell to a heap on the ground. Remy fell on him, grabbing his head in his arms in a choke hold ready to break his neck.
"Remy!" Belladonna screamed. "Stop it! Remy!'
Jean moved forward to use her powers, but Logan grabbed her arm, "No. He's got this."
"M' done wit' dis place, Julien," Remy panted into his ear. "I won. Now y' leave me out of everyt'ing dat's got to do wit' dis place, wit' de Guilds. D'accord? I want no part in it!"
Julien spat blood, staring at Remy through bruised and swollen eyes. "D'accord," he said. "On de Guild's honor."
Remy released him, stood up, and brushed himself off. He took off his shirt to wipe the blood from his face. As he walked away from the fight area, from Julien and Belladonna and all that had made up his childhood, a homely looking African American woman approached him. She wore a simple yellow sundress with a purple sash wrapped around her head to keep her cottony hair at bay.
"You go'n' leave wit'out sayin' goodbye, boy?"
"Tante Mattie...lookin' beautiful as usual." He was surprised to see her, this nanny who had raised him since boyhood, who had cooked for him, taught him to be polite to strangers and to respect women, and whipped him good with her switch when he went out of line. Time showed on her face, in the tired lines that betrayed her years and the rough lifestyle of being part of the Thieves' Guild.
"Y' did good, Remy," she said.
"How can y' say dat."
"'Cause y' didn' kill dat sonofabitch," she said matter-of-factly. She placed a hand on his bruised shoulder, "And everyone dis side o' de Mississippi knows he done deserved it. Y' made a choice, son. De right one. Dat t'ing dat happened two years 'go? Dat was no choice of yours. Dat blood ain't on y' hands."
Remy looked at his fingers as if he could see the blood of the dead, "I got other blood on m' hands, Tante."
"Den you'll have t'square wit' dat somehow. But not here, Remy. Don't dwell on what's happened here. Ain't no more dis place can do for y' or to y'. Y' understand, son?" She reached up and held his face, "Dere are bigger t'ings for y' to worry about. Out dere." She tipped her head toward Logan and Jean, who stood watching them.
Remy always had a strange feeling Tante Mattie knew things. She was a healer, possibly even a very powerful mutant, but her uncanny intuition made her seem prescient, which was impossible. The way she said that last sentence to him made him wonder. "What you mean, Tante?"
"Not'ing. Goodbye, Remy." As quietly as she came, she left, falling in with the rest of Rippers and Thieves who were beginning to disperse.
Belladonna was helping Julien to his feet. She began leading him away in the direction of the Ripper mansion, but she stopped, turning back to look at Remy.
He met her gaze.
"Y' really just go'n' leave again?" she called over to him.
"I don't belong here, chere."
She looked at the ground with those sad blue eyes. Then with a shake of her head, she turned away to tend to her brother.
Remy watched them go, his people, his past. Tante Mattie's words had given him some iota of relief, but they also seemed to be a harbinger of things to come, things he did not anticipate would be pleasant. He walked over to the X-Men, who watched him expectantly.
"I'm sorry, Remy," Jean said.
He could have laughed. He supposed some girls were just naturally full of more sugar than spice."What y' sorry for, p'tite? Dis mess my own doin'."
Jean shrugged uncertainly, "I don't know...all this looked sad for you. Seemed like the right thing to say."
"So, Gumbo?" Logan prompted. "What's it going to be?"
Remy looked him straight in the eye. After a few stubborn seconds, "Y' don't like me much, do you?"
"Not really."
"Den why y' went t'rough all dat fightin' just t' drag me back to Xavier?"
"Because, bub, I can empathize with whatever it is you're carrying around in there, but that don't mean I trust you anymore for it. Also, we need to know what you know. I came down here for the sole purpose of fetching you. So, what'll it be, Cajun."
Remy looked back toward the Ripper house once again. Belladonna and her brother were out of sight. Everyone had left. It was almost disconcerting, how everyone simply turned their backs, no words, no last exchanges, as if he had not once been the prince of the infamous Thieves' Guild.
"Den let's go," he said.