The air in the courtroom was tense, almost difficult to breathe. Or maybe it was just the situation. Henry McCoy sat alone at the defense table. He had said he didn't need his own lawyer, not that anyone protested, knowing he was an avid reader of the law and had taken the New York bar exam for fun a couple years ago. Across the aisle from him sat District Attorney John Abernale. Both stared straight at the judge, who was looking over the evidence and proposals Abernale had spent the past two hours presenting. Right behind them behind the bar separating the court from the public gallery sat Xavier, Ororo and Logan. In the subsequent rows, all the X-Men. Even Remy was there. Rogue caught his eye for a half a second, but quickly looked away. Days later Jean's words still echoed in her mind. He's dangerous for you. She had avoided them both since the day the mansion was attacked. She felt a mix of guilt and vexation toward Jean, though more of the latter. But she had enough to worry about without having to consider Jean's feelings too. Like Lance, who sat at the opposite end of the pew and stared at her unnervingly.
The courtroom was crowded to the brink, packed with police officers, New York City officials, journalists, various lawyers with a topical interest, and private citizens, some who supported mutant rights and others who did not. Through the windows wafted the chants of protestors outside the courthouse. They seemed to be protesting against each other.
"No more mutants!" "Mutants go home!"
"Mutants are human!" "Mutants have rights!"
Rogue sat between Kitty and Kurt, glancing at the clock every couple of minutes. With an exasperated sigh, "For god's sake…"
"I know," Kitty yawned, "you'd think, like, a judge would read faster."
"I zink it's a bit more involved zan zat," Kurt said. He wasn't using his hologram inducer, Rogue noticed. In fact, she hadn't seen him wear it in a long time. This made her proud of him.
"Duh, Kurt. I'm not an idiot."
"Sssh," Scott said, eyes trained on the judge's bench behind his rose-quartz glasses, "it's going to happen any minute."
Rogue stared at the judge and considered poking around in his mind telepathically, but decided against it. She had listened to Abernale's arguments, how he presented Lieutenant Stacy's report on the identical origins of the weapons, which have no connection to Henry McCoy, and how the DA's office and the public would be better served starting an investigation on the attackers of the Institute to find the true criminals responsible. She couldn't see how any rational judge following rule of law could not exonerate Hank. She was so lost in thought she didn't hear the judge's decision as he read it out loud. Suddenly the courtroom erupted into a cacophony of relief and outrage, celebration and curses. The judge was alarmed, slamming his gavel and shouting, "Order! Order!"
Logan and Scott were at Hank's side in less than a heartbeat, followed by the rest of the X-Men. John Abernale ushered them through the excited crowd in the courtroom as police officers tried to hold everyone back. "Didn't expect such a strong negative reaction," he said to the Professor. "This is far from anything like a landmark case."
"Yes," the Professor agreed, "I fear we still have much work to do."
Rogue shifted into a golden eagle and soared above the entourage.
Kurt's eyes widened in surprise, "Vhat the..."
"Get over it, Kurt!" Kitty tugged him along.
"I'm never going to get used to zat!"
As they spilled out of the courthouse, Hank uttered, "Oh my stars and garters."
The air was filled with commotion, as noisy as a carnival but with none of the levity. Hundreds of voices shouted at the same time. A hubbub of activity crowded the courthouse surroundings. Throngs of protestors swarmed around the X-Men, barely held back by the dutiful police. They carried anti-mutant signs and mutant effigies hung by the neck, screaming their racist chants, faces twisted into expressions of hate that had seen their pinnacle in the 20th century. But the difference was the outspoken opposition. A pro-mutant faction had gathered, smaller but no less vocal. Homo sapien and homo superior together brandished signs of peace and tolerance, shouting slogans that seemed more attuned with the present era, "Mutants are brothers!" "Evolution is fact!" "Mutants are human!"
Reporters swarmed around them the most aggressively.
"Mr. McCoy, how does freedom feel?"
"Henry McCoy, did you expect this outcome?"
"What does this mean for mutant rights?"
"How do you respond to these anti-mutant protestors?"
Hank paused in front of the cameras, pushing his rimless glasses up on his blue fuzzy nose, "I can only say that the judge's decision was a sound one based on rule of law, which is all any citizen can expect from its government. I maintain that I have always been innocent, and I have complete faith that John Abernale and the authorities will bring the true perpetrators of these crimes against both mutants and non-mutants to justice."
The Friends of Humanity had set up a dais on the courthouse lawn hours before to hold their own pro-Registration Act event. They had attracted a sizable crowd of onlookers. Graydon Creed stood upon the dais, waving his arms dramatically as he spoke into a megaphone, "And now they've exonerated a mutant who attempted to murder our mayor! Nation, the system is broken! Don't let these so-called liberal progressives fool you! Mutants are and forever will be dangerous! Stand with the Friends of Humanity and show your support for the Mutant Registration Act!"
Rogue resisted the urge to swoop down and claw out Graydon Creed's eyes. Hank and the others were almost to the vans, where Bobby and Roberto were waiting to drive everyone back home, those who needed the transportation anyway. Despite the rowdy protestors and their cacophonous shouting, everything seemed like it would be ok. They would get home safely without incident.
She should have known better.
He was on her before she even realized he was there. Startled, she began shifting back into human form. Strong hands grabbed onto her and a familiar force floated her up by the metal in the soles of her boots. You've got to be kiddin' me, she thought incredulously.
"Dear Rogue," Magneto said, smiling in a devilish way that no one else his age could have pulled off, "rumors of your development have not been exaggerated."
Rumors? "Let go," she said flatly.
"Don't care to join me for my announcement?"
With a puff of sulphurous smoke, she disappeared from his side, reappearing on the ground with the other X-Men. "Professor—"
"I see him, Rogue," Xavier said, brow furrowed with concern. "Eric, what are you doing now..."
"Bub knows how to make an entrance after all this time," Logan muttered. "Chuck, we better make moves…"
"Wait, Logan, he wouldn't risk something like this without good reason…"
Shouts of surprise and fear sounded from the crowds as they caught sight of the all-too familiar Magneto.
"Terrorist!"
"Shoot him!"
Magneto didn't give the police a chance to react. With a wave of his hand, their guns flew from their holsters and were dismantled in unison, clattering in pieces to the ground.
"Calm yourselves!" he bellowed. "I come with only a message." He reached out to every journalist's camera and pointed them at himself. "And it is a message you will all want to hear."
Rogue felt strange, a tingling on the back of her neck. Something was off…but she couldn't place her finger on what.
"My message is for all mutant brothers and sisters, as well as for the humans who have long feared us," Magneto declared. He floated in the air within a protective magnetic field like the omen of some second coming. His voice had changed since they last saw him. No longer did it sound like the hardened tenor of a revolutionary poised for a grueling war. Now there was the slight ring of something that had always been elusive to Magneto: hope.
"You may think of me as a terrorist, but you will know me now as the leader of a new era, an era where we shall finally know peace between our kinds, separate but prosperous. I have laid the foundation for a mutant society free of the reach of the unevolved bureaucracies of human governments. Yes, brothers and sisters, we shall have a home to call ours at last."
A silver orb floated from his belt and hovered in the air over the crowds, which tensed in anticipation of some new mutant aggression. But when the orb flipped open, a hologram spilled out over them and around them, filling the air so completely that they felt almost transported to the scene it depicted.
The land was vibrant, glowing with lush greens and the warm earthy tones of life. Around it was a sapphire ocean that lapped against white sand shores. The hologram image zoomed in past barrier mountains to a scintillating city at the heart of the island. Sky scraping towers and wide plazas. Empty and begging to be filled.
Rogue was hit with a strong déjà vu, and then a dreadful sinking feeling. She had seen this place before. You'll save us all Rogue… Paradise won't wait forever for you… There will be no room for him and us… Her strange dream with Selene on the way to Mongolia. Where she had seen this very place Magneto now projected for them all. But how was it possible? Were Magneto and Selene working together? But he would never be in line with an oaf like Sebastien Shaw? What was Selene's angle with Shaw? Rogue's mind reeled with endless conspiracies and plots, each as convoluted and unlikely as the next.
"See before you, my brothers and sisters: Genosha," Magneto bellowed triumphantly. "The promised land is real, and we shall see it grow and prosper with the gifts nature has bestowed upon us."
It's the promised land, Rogue.
She suddenly realized she was no longer remembering a past interaction with Selene, but experiencing a completely new one. It was there again, that foreign and now familiar presence in her mind.
Do you see, Rogue?
"Selene…" she murmured. Strange, that it didn't alarm her.
Beside her, Kurt raised an eyebrow, "Vhat, sis?"
"We shall depart from these lands that do not want us. Do not be fooled by the release of the good Henry McCoy from imprisonment today; it is not a sign that our unevolved brethren are accepting us. Any of us can be subjected to the next witch hunt," Magneto said. "But in Genosha, you will be wanted. In Genosha, you will thrive.
"The Brotherhood of Mutants have arranged transportation for all who wish to begin new lives in our fledgling mutant nation. Transport will depart from key cities around the world. Find your way to them, my brothers and sisters, and we shall ensure your passage to the promised land. Of course, those who do not require physical transport can follow by their own graces! In two week's time the revolution shall begin, and I hope you will all rise with me. Rise to greet our new and glorious future in a nation of our own, a true and lasting home."
A stunned silence followed as the hologram projection began to fade away around them. Humans and mutants alike stared at Magneto with awe and incredulity. It was absurd, his words and the ideas they held. The practical and logistical considerations themselves were astronomically preposterous. How could he have created an entire nation in just a few years? How could a functioning city just be sitting there, waiting for them? Would the world's governments even allow their citizens to abscond, a mutant nation to exist? And yet the hope he provided was a powerful notion. Suddenly there was a choice to be made, and this choice could free both sides of the great divide from horrors so many had individually experienced from their would-be brothers. Suddenly both mutant and humans could see a future where things returned to their own versions of normal.
It was Xavier who broke the spell. "Eric!" he called up to his old friend and foe. "What is the meaning of this? We are meant to co-exist, not fracture our society!"
Magneto smiled like a prophet addressing an unbeliever, "My dear friend, Charles. This is but a version of your dream. Mutants and humans shall live in peace as you always wanted! Only separate. Look around you! They don't want us here, and we don't want them either. This is the compromise you have long sought, only you were too afraid to embrace it."
"This is folly, Eric," Xavier said. "Divided we shall only be enticed by the easy path of conflict. We must find common ground, build a future where all have a stake in the common prosperity! Or we risk losing everything. Don't you understand?" He addressed the crowd and though he sat in a wheelchair at a lower height than them all, the crowd seemed to shrink back to make room for his noble presence. "Partition is not the path to peace! Partition will only make us strangers to each other, sowing distrust and hate. Surely you must all see this! There are no impregnable walls between nations on this earth. We can never be separate."
Some stood watching with no clear understanding of the change in the wind. Others began to question their very existence.
Do you see? the voice called to her gently. I am not your enemy.
Rogue looked at the faces around her. Where was Selene? She was so near, but where? Rogue could feel it.
"To each his own, Charles. Time will tell which one of us is right. Brothers and sisters, Genosha awaits you." With a farewell wave, he raised himself higher and higher into the sky until he vanished in a cluster of cumulus clouds.
Even with such unverified proof as the hologram, everything had changed. Mutants looked at their human friends in confusion, their resolve to fight the good fight for mutant rights crumbling under the thought that it may no longer be necessary. What about mutant children with homo sapien parents? What of mutants with human husbands and wives? Boyfriends? Girlfriends? The rifts this strange Genosha would cause were innumerable, but instead of being squashed from consideration, Genosha began to germinate in the minds of many as what Magneto had called it: the promised land.
The protests suddenly lost their energy as this enormous news was digested. It had been broadcast in real time and was surely already picked up by social media and global news outlets. The world would soon react. Graydon Creed continued to shout into his megaphone, to fewer attentive ears. All thought of Henry McCoy's exoneration disappeared. The X-Men made their way to the vans in peace, silent and heavy with the uncertainty that Genosha brought to Xavier's dream.
X
Among Xavier's own people, cracks began to form over the following days. The younger students, more revolutionary and less concerned with details by nature, argued with their parents about the idea of moving to Genosha and the possible obsolescence of the Xavier Institute. The older team members began debating the merits and flaws of Genosha daily. Each ad hoc session ended at an impasse and no clear answer. Meanwhile, global media exploded with coverage and commentary of Magneto's speech. Military spokespeople from several countries announced efforts to locate this mutant island nation, calling it a nascent military stronghold. Academic and field experts from nearly every topic voiced endless and conflicting opinions of what a mutant nation could mean for geopolitics and balance of power. The debate at the Institute raged on, distracting the team from more immediate problems, in Gambit's view.
He decided to check out entirely. Magneto's not so little revelation hadn't stirred him the way it had the others. Genosha was no promised land to him. There was nowhere he could go to escape from his past, from what he had done. To him, all of it was a distraction from some very pressing worries. Essex. Power negating collars. The Friends of Humanity. Malice. He didn't want to dream or argue about a paradise that no one had seen. In his experience, there was no such thing as paradise and everyone was too caught up in the frenzy to realize it. Instead, he wanted to focus on righting the wrongs he had helped commit. Who knew what twisted ends he had helped Essex, Malice, and apparently Sebastien Shaw accomplish? He had to make it right. And there was only one place he knew he had to start. Opportunity favored him that day: Spyke woke up at last.
The joy at the mansion came strongest from Storm, but Spyke's recovery gave a necessary lift to everyone's moods. The good doctor McCoy was now in charge of his care and reported that though there was much recovery ahead of him, recover he certainly would. The celebration held in Spyke's hospital room was low key and brief to give him time to rest. They knew this wasn't the end. The Morlocks were still gone.
Remy went when he knew Spyke was alone later that evening. The young man was not asleep as he should have been, but staring at a blood-stained smartphone in his hands. As Remy entered, he stiffened without looking up.
Remy stopped and leaned against the doorway, not having decided which was the best approach for this one.
"I was wondering when you'd show up," Evan said, eyes fixated on the phone. The screen was dark. "When the others said you were here…" A dry laugh escaped his throat, then turned into a painful hacking cough. Remy winced. "…it sounded like a huge cosmic joke. Gambit's part of the team. Unreal….. I know you were there."
There was no point in denying that. "Yes. I didn't know what dey were go'n' do, but I had a hand in it nonetheless. And m'go'n' be sorry about dat f' de rest 'f my life."
Evan finally looked up at him. There was anger and blame in his eyes, but an unexpectedly reserved amount. He looked back at the cell phone lying dark in his hands, "I know they're all dead."
"Not de little girl, Sarah. She's in de next room, homme. De X-girls been takin' good care of her."
"I know that," Evan snapped. He stared down at his phone and seemed to deflate, "Rogue brought this back for me. She found it in the sewers when she was…moving them. I have pictures of them all. They were my family. But I can't bring myself to turn it on and actually look at them again. Because they're all dead. My family is dead. Do you get that?" He didn't seem to actually want an answer. "And you were there. You came with those murderers, who massacred us. And for what—some genetic samples?"
Remy's red eyes smoldered at the floor. He decided to let the boy just get it all out of his system and remained silent.
"I heard you. You were trying to stop them, or something. Maybe I can give you the benefit of the doubt for that. But I sure as hell don't trust you, Gambit. You're nothing but a mercenary to me. And a lot of the others see you that way too."
"M'not looking f' forgiveness, Spyke. I just want t'set t'ings right."
Evan's face contorted. "How will things ever be right again?!" he bellowed, jerking forward in his cot. He recoiled from himself in pain, falling back against the mattress with rapid breaths.
"Calm down, kid. You'll reopen dose wounds."
"Do you even know what comes out of your mouth?" Evan gritted. He tried to control his breathing, waiting for the pain to subside. "Is there anything real about you?"
"What are you—"
"You know Rogue was messed up for a long time because of you. You think I don't know what you did to her? Does that make a dent in you at all?"
Remy's jaw tightened, "Careful, mon ami. I came to apologize t' you. Wit' full sincerity. Not t' dig up de past."
Evan almost laughed, "The past? Wake up, Gambit. Nothing's in the past. And I don't want your frickin' apology, ok? You say you want to make things right but all I see is a smooth-talkin' Acolyte who's never done anything for anybody but himself—no matter what the consequences are for everyone else. As far as I can tell, you just leave everything worse off than you found it. Do you get that?"
The words stung, and might even be statistically true. When he thought about his life the past few years, he couldn't conjure up a single thing he'd touched that didn't result in some sort of misery. New Orleans and the Guilds. The X-Men. Rogue.
"M'go'n' make amends, Spyke," he said. "I'll try till I die. You have my word."
"Your word? What's that even worth?"
"Everyt'ing. I got not'ing left, you get dat? S'just me an' all de terrible t'ings I've left in my wake. I got not'ing left at all."
Something in the weight of his words, the self-loathing and desperation in his tone, left a crack in Evan's resolve to hate him. A mutually understood silence fell over them for a few moments.
Remy watched Evan press the power button on his cell phone, watched him open the photo application and scroll through images of his fallen friends. His face was unreadable.
"You want to set things right?" he suddenly said. "You mean that?"
Remy nodded.
"How?"
"How up to date are you on the intel?"
"I made them tell me everything."
"In your state, mon frère? Gotta say, m'impressed."
"Thanks, but get to the point."
"Mais, m' go'n' t' pay Dr. Nathaniel Essex a visit."
"The mad scientist who's obsessed with Rogue?"
"Oui."
"And then what, pump him for information?"
"And remove him from de equation. He is knees deep in everyt'ing. M' go'n t'find out everyt'ing he knows. Wolverine's been trying to track him down in New York City. I'll start dere."
"I have a better idea. Have you heard of Revive?"
Something pricked in Remy's memory, something Kitty Pryde had reported days ago that he hadn't thought about since, "Dat sports drink?"
"Yea. The one that's been making mutants sick."
"Didn't you all put a stop to dat years ago?"
"It might be the same poison in different packaging or something completely different."
"What's dat got to do wit' Essex?"
"Probably nothing. But I want you to look into it."
"Look, mon frere, I get dat you're out of action f' a long spell but—"
"You said you wanted to set things right. Is that about balancing the scales or getting revenge? Is it about you or the bigger picture. I'm out of action because of you, and I was investigating Revive when your crew came—"
"Dey weren't my 'crew'."
"—and messed everything up. So you owe me, Gambit. You owe me time, and you owe me life."
Remy stared at this broken X-Man turned Morlock, this young man who was barely a child when he abandoned all the comforts and privileges at the Xavier Institute to live in the sewers of New York City with some of the most invisible of mutant kind. And now he was displaying a wisdom and magnanimity beyond his youth, the marks of a true and decent leader. Remy wondered how he didn't crumble under the pressure and pain.
"All right, homme. Can't argue wit' an assessment like that. Where did you leave off in dis investigation of yours?"
Evan leaned forward slightly, a tiny light in the darkness that would cloud his eyes for the rest of his life, "I'll tell you everything."
X
Remy walked out of Evan's room with a renewed sense of purpose. He knew where he had to go and what he had to do. The idle days of discussion and inaction were over. The fact that he was continuing Spyke's mission gave it more meaning. He would do right by him. He would.
His thoughts came to a halt when he saw her.
She was leaning against the hallway, arms crossed staring out of focus at nothing—like someone who had been listening for a while. He paused and she looked up. The expression in her eyes. He couldn't read her eyes anymore. He wasn't sure what that meant, if anything.
She didn't try to hide her eavesdropping, "Ah heard."
He didn't want to wonder how she might have interpreted it all. This wasn't the time. Maybe it never would be. "Den you know I have places t' be." He moved past her and she followed him out of the med bay into the main corridor.
"Ah didn't know, Remy."
"Well, now y' do."
"Please, Ah—"
"What? All of a sudden y' want t' talk?"
"Ah'm sorry. Ah wasn't tryin' to ignore you—"
"Why now? 'Cause de timing suits you?" He marched into the gear room and began scanning for equipment he might need. Probably grapple hooks, night vision goggles, evidence collection bags… He had no idea where this new quest could take him.
"You know that's not how it is," she said.
"I don't really know what anyt'ing is."
"Ya think Ah do?"
"Y' sure do excel at setting de protocols f' interaction, chere." He picked up a couple smoke screen grenades to examine.
She snatched them out of his hand and set them aside, "Will you just stop for one second?"
"I said I have places t'be."
"Remy, this isn't easy for me. You think Ah know what to do about…about anything?"
The air between them was thick with resentment and anger, pent up emotions that had had nowhere to go until now. They both felt it, and at some subconscious level wondered if it would make them tear each other apart.
"M'not really dat interested in your agonizing about all de big problems in de world, Rogue. Join de club."
She grabbed his arm and jerked him around to face her, "How dare you."
The duffle bag thumped to the floor.
"How dare I? M'not not de one playin' games."
"Games? That's rich, coming from you."
"M'not doin' dis anymore, so why don' you just run back to the avalanche guy. He seems more dan willing to—"
She slapped him. It stung.
He could almost laugh at the ridiculousness of the entire situation. How did it get to this? He had left on such a good note with Spyke and now… "Dat de best y' can do, chere?" Come on, hit me. Make it count.
She moved to slap him again, but he caught her hand inches from his face and pushed her back against the shelves. He felt her heart throb against his chest.
"I know you can do better dan dat, chere."
"You lookin' for a beating, Cajun?"
"All dose powers have t'be good for somet'ing, non? Go on. Do y'worst."
He breathed hot sweet air onto her cheeks. She had wanted to tell him that he didn't need to go alone, didn't need to bear it all, that in spite of everything else about what they once were, were now or could be, she was still his friend. And that she wanted to beat the crap out of him for being an ass just to make a point. Instead the only words that came out were, "You just don't get it. You don't get it at all."
"No, I really don't," he said, voice hoarse. His red eyes smoldered in the dim lighting, staring deep into her lush greens.
And maybe she didn't either, her resolve to be angry crumbling as something else stirred to take its place. The heat of their bodies so close together roused a desperate need that had long been denied. So close. When would they be this close again? So much lost time. What was the point of it all?
She kissed him without another thought, surprised at her own hunger. He pulled back after a moment, stunned, and released her arm. What was happening? Neither of them knew. Did it matter? They stared at each other in silence, and he could finally read the expression in the green emeralds of her eyes: Want. She wanted him.
He moved by impulse and need, wrapping his strong arms around her, pressing her body to his, mouth finding hers with as much urgency as hers had found his. She remembered those lips, so familiar but strange at the same time. Exhilarating. It was almost maddening, his lips, his tongue teasing hers, his skin. Their bodies in this heated wrestle of desire. She didn't know where to do with her hands, grabbing him everywhere, anywhere, pulling him closer. Closer, they had to get closer. She felt his fingers sliding down her back, up her navel to her breasts, the touch she had wanted more than anyone else's. His mouth traveled down her throat, her chest, hands gently pulling away the thin straps of her tank top. Yess… She moaned and the sound goaded him on. He guided her legs as they wrapped around his torso, his hands sliding up the silken skin of her thigh and up her smooth back to unclasp her bra. She shuddered, body arching into him. He felt a throbbing heat rising from deep within, fueled by her desperate hands as they pulled his shirt up over his head and then attacked his belt buckle. Closer, they had to get closer. The clasps, cloth, all obstructions finally gave away. At last they were skin on skin, just the two of them. The way it should have been all along. The want, it had to be satiated. Their bodies screamed to be made whole. He held her face in both hands and kissed her, deep and lingering, and the aching inside her begged for him to relieve it. She opened to him, pulled him toward the center of all her desire and he followed, Dieu…mon dieu… So close, almost one—
Stop this.
She paused and held him back, palms pressing against his naked chest, her face buried in his shoulder.
He froze, breath coming deep and steady, unsure what was happening. Maybe… He caressed her arm. Where had she gone? Come back to me, chere… He leaned forward slowly and kissed her cheek. She let him, eyes shut tightly. What was happening? She tilted her head back and looked at him, pleading. Then she was kissing him again, hands clutching him desperately, nails digging into his flesh. Don't let go. Don't let go.
No. Not him. Stop this, Rogue.
This couldn't be happening. She began to feel deplorably exposed to that presence in her mind in this most intimate moment. How was it possible? How was she here now, of all times, of all places? No, go away. Leave us alone.
This is wrong.
His lips trailed down her neck, hand sliding down the small of her back. He brought the ardor back so easily after that brief hiccup. She tried to concentrate on him, on his smell, his breath on her skin—
No! The presence grew stronger, pushing away all her amorous thoughts with a surprising and intrusive force. He will contaminate you! The pure urgency in the message shook her. It filled her mind with abnormal potency. Panic rose in her chest.
She bucked against him, rasping, "Stop!"
He backed away immediately, confounded and slightly wounded, "Chere, what—" She looked appalled, borderline disgusted. Where had this come from? What had he done?
"Ah'm sorry. Ah'm sorry." She tried to cover herself with her arms, urgently pulling her bra and tank top back on. She found her panties and sweat pants, quickly phased into them. She couldn't look at him, mortified and near tears at the same time, as she fled the gear room.