Betrayal - REVIEW THIS STORY

Written by Valerie Jones
Last updated: 01/02/2007 02:01:11 AM

Chapter 18

Remy was sitting up in bed, talking with Storm, when Charles entered the room. He looked a good deal better today, Charles thought. At first, even the slightest movement of his head had caused excruciating pain, but that seemed to be fading. Healing, perhaps. Charles had not made any suggestions of a telepathic exam. At least not yet. Time was probably the best medicine and he did not want to push.

Remy glanced at Charles as he slipped into the room. His expression was not antagonistic, but he was very leery of telepaths in general. Storm noticed the sudden tension and blithely ignored it. She gave Charles a warm greeting as she stood.

"I expect the two of you would like to talk alone," she said. Then she turned to Remy with a smile and patted his hand. "I will return later."

"I be waitin', Stormy." Remy matched her smile for a moment, but it faded as she left the room.

"How are you feeling, Remy?" Charles moved his hoverchair into the space recently occupied by Storm.

"Hung over. You figure it's time t' start askin' some questions, Professor?" The red eyes met his directly, gave nothing away.

"I-- yes." On the rare occasions when Gambit decided to be direct, he was *very* direct. Charles had forgotten. For a moment, he studied his charge. He could not begin to guess how Gambit felt about him. He knew he was not a father-figure, as many of his original students viewed him. Nor did he think Gambit really considered him to be a teacher. He did seem to respect Charles' authority, but it almost seemed to be a matter of courtesy, since he was living in Charles' house, rather than a respect Charles had earned from him because of his life, his dream. Of all the X-men, Gambit was the only one Charles would say did not believe that they could make a better world. It was a philosophy he now understood, but it made him wonder why Remy stayed, and why he risked his life for a dream he didn't believe in.

Charles pushed his thoughts aside and returned to the real reason he had come. "You can probably guess what I want to ask. . . . " he began.

Remy shrugged. "Sure, Professor. Y' wan' t' know how my head got so messed up." He rubbed his temple gingerly. "Truth is, I don' know."

"You don't know?" Charles knew his disbelief showed in his words, and he saw the crackle of defensive anger in Remy's eyes.

"I know what y' tol' me. Dat I-- dat I killed somebody mind-t'-mind, like. But I don' remember anyt'ing like that."

"Then why were you so afraid of a telepathic probe?"

Remy's jaw tightened, as if he might deny having been afraid, but then he looked away. When he spoke, his voice was low.

"Telepath tried t' probe me once b'fore."

Charles suppressed his curiosity. This was obviously a painful memory. Just one more to add to the list, he thought sadly.

"What happened?" Charles asked.

For a moment, he didn't think Gambit was going to answer, but he did, and Charles realized that, for all of his carefully maintained distance, Remy desperately needed someone to talk to.

"I woke up in a hospital. Didn' know who I was or anyt'ing. Cops kept tryin' to ask me questions, `cause dey found me next t' a corpse. . . " He paused, struggling for words. "It was like dere was dis-- hole-- in my mind, kept tryin' t' suck me down. It was. . . . it was cold as death, like de voodoo monsters in de stories maman Sassa used t' tell. . . . " Remy was no longer paying any attention to Charles. "Dey kept me in dere hospital f' three, four months, `til I remembered enough t' break out. Even den, it was a long time `fore de nightmares went away. . . . `til I felt like I wasn' goin' crazy anymore."

He looked up at Charles. "It's better dis time. You an' Jeannie been shieldin' me, neh?"

"Yes, we have."

Remy nodded. "I c'n feel her, sometimes." Something close to a smile crossed his lips. "You too quiet."

Charles found himself oddly pleased by the compliment. "I will tell Jean she needs to practice," he said, and was rewarded by a grin and a momentary lapse in Gambit's reserve. Remy had appreciated the joke.

"When you're ready," he continued, "we can help you rebuild your shields. Your defensive abilities are fairly well developed, out of necessity I would assume. Have you had any training in your telepathic powers at all?"

"No."

"Hmmm." Charles considered the possibilities.

"I'm not interested, Professor." Remy must have been able to read the direction of his thoughts.

"There may be ways to work around the damage--"

"No."

Charles surrendered. "Very well. But bear in mind that you are leaving yourself open to an attack that you don't have any defense for."

Fear flickered in Gambit's eyes. He knew that very well. Charles continued to watch him, hoping to catch some glimpse of why he would refuse.

Remy finally answered the unspoken question. "It-- it hurts too much, Professor."

Charles nodded in sympathy. He had had a taste of that pain. He could hardly blame Remy for his refusal. But that didn't make him any less fearful for the young man's safety.