Betrayal - REVIEW THIS STORY

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

Chapter 28

"Dat enough, Jean?" Remy eyed the mound of grated cheese before him.

Jean looked over from her position by the stove. "Looks like it. Thanks."

"No problem." Remy set the remaining hunk of cheddar down in its wrapper and happily pushed the cutting board with the mounded scrapings away. That's what he got for hanging around in the kitchen while breakfast was in the works. However, it was a small price to pay for Rogue's company. She had breakfast duty today, along with Jean.

At the moment, the object of his attention was cheerfully ignoring him as she chatted with Jean about the day's plans. Remy didn't mind. It was a tease, and they both knew it. So did Jean, and since she was tolerant enough to play the middleman, the atmosphere in the kitchen was festive.

Remy sipped his coffee. He was seated at the little breakfast bar that lined the back of one of the legs of the U-shaped counter.

Rogue was directly across from him, facing away as she rolled out the dough for her much prized scratch buscuits. Remy admired the view without comment, mostly for Jean's sake. Rogue's wardrobe had gone through a startling metamorphosis due to her new control of her powers. It was a subject of some spirited discussion among the male members of the household-- she was proving to be as showy in her tastes as Psylocke. This morning's short cutoffs and halter top were no exception. Jean noticed his attention and gave him a look of mock disgust that was spoiled by the smile that kept creeping onto her lips. Remy gave her his best "Who me?" innocent smile and Jean wagged her wooden spoon at him in silent warning.

With her back turned, Rogue was unaware of the exchange and continued telling Jean about the play they were all supposed to be seeing that night. Remy and Jean both fought to keep from laughing out loud at her obliviousness. Remy was impressed when Jean managed to answer a question in a nearly-normal voice.

Rogue turned around and put her hands on her hips, leaving flour smudges. "Y'all are havin' an awful lot a fun at mah expense," she said severely, but her smile belied her tone.

"I was just telling Remy to behave himself," Jean answered without a trace of remorse. "Defending your honor, as a good friend ought." Remy wasn't sure how she kept a straight face.

A familiar, wicked twinkle lit Rogue's eyes. "If ah was concerned about holdin' on ta mah *honor*, girl, ah'd be datin' somebody else." Both of Jean's eyebrows went up in surprised amusement at her implication.

"Is dat an invitation, chere?" Rogue met his challenging stare without fear.

"If ya think ya'all are up to it," she replied. Her smile was downright predatory. Then she gave him a last, sultry look and turned back to her biscuit-making.

Jean leaned against the counter, chuckling. "Remy," she told him in an undertone, "you are in *so* much trouble."

"Don' I know it," he answered in the same undertone. "But dat's de fun of it, neh?"

Rogue's teasing was still only teasing, though the relationship was slowly working its way toward changing that. Remy didn't mind. Foreplay was entirely too much fun to rush.

Eventually, Rogue had all of the dough cut into rounds and laid out on cookie sheets that she stacked beside the oven, prepatory to baking. Then she crossed the kitchen to help Jean chop up the remaining omelet ingredients. That put the three of them in friendly proximity, with Remy facing the two women over the counter. Rogue's collar had been converted by Forge into a heavy but decorative necklace, which glinted in the light as she moved. She had three of them now, of various styles, and she and Jean were deep in a discussion about which would look best with a certain dress. Remy tuned them out. It was one of those mystifying female discussions, especially when they started talking about colors. He had yet to understand why they didn't simply call a blue dress "blue". It had to be teal or sea foam or some other such bizarre label, the true meaning of which he would never decipher.

He scraped the remains of a pepper into the bowl and looked up to see if Jean wanted any more. He froze in shock. Over Rogue's shoulder he could see a man standing in the doorway. But his mutant power hadn't detected anything, despite the fact that he could feel other members of the X-men moving around in other parts of the house that were much further away.

The man was dressed in black combat fatigues and held a high power energy weapon. Heckler and Koch. A detatched corner of Remy's mind identified the gun. He had a split second vision of what that gun could do-- Of Rogue, head thrown back in agony as the beam lanced through her, the edges of the wound licked by flames as flesh and bone were consumed, and the air filled with the sickly sweet smell of burning meat.

"Get down!" Remy roared and dove over the counter at the two women. His speed and agility were such that neither woman knew what was happening until they were on the floor.

"Remy, what--?" Rogue struggled to roll over despite having had the breath knocked out of her. But Remy was already up and running for the doorway.

"Cerebro! Intruder on the grounds!" he yelled at the air, knowing the system would monitor him despite its invisibility. Immediately, alarms began to blare throughout the house.

Cards slipped easily into his hands as he ran. He charged them without thought, but his target had disappeared from the doorway. He dove through and rolled to his feet, aware of possible ambush, but there was no one in the hallway. In either direction. His mutant power catalogued each of the X-men, but nothing outside of that. Scott and Hank rounded the corner at a dead run, slowing when they saw him.

"What happened?" Scott demanded.

"Where is he?!" Remy was still searching the hall.

"Where is who? Cerebro isn't registering any unauthorized presence." Scott looked over Remy's shoulder to the two women who had emerged from the kitchen. Jean shook her head and Rogue shrugged.

"Sorry, sugar. Ah didn't see him."

"He was dere."

"Then we'll have to search the grounds." Scott began giving orders into his communicator. Cerebro had already locked the facility down, but Remy knew a few people who wouldn't be stopped by that. Still, there was nothing to do but search in the hopes that this man wouldn't be one of them.

The search took three hours and turned up absolutely nothing. Even with all of the X-men participating. Remy was in a black mood and beginning to doubt his sanity by the time they gave up and gathered in the war room.

"Can you describe this man?" the professor asked Remy.

"`Course. You t'ink I'm halucinatin', don' you." It wasn't really a question. He could hear the skepticism in the Professor's voice.

"Not necessarily." The professor raised a hand to forestall further protests. "But the physical evidence does not seem to indicate that there was ever anyone present in the house. Neither Cerebro's sensors or Wolverine's nose could find traces of anything unusual. Also, considering the amount of psychic trauma you have been subjected to of late, I cannot rule out the possibility that this was a halucination. However, this is the X-men, and strange things often happen here. Please, describe the man you saw."

Only somewhat placated, Remy concentrated on the image of the man standing in the doorway. "He was `bout six foot two, two hundred, maybe. Blond hair-- real short. Military style. Dark eyes, brown, maybe. Clean shaven. Had a scar at de corner o' his right eye." He indicated the location. "Prob'ly a knife wound."

"What makes you say that?"

Remy shrugged. "Straight an' clean. Might a been a bullet graze. Most everyt'ing else makes more of a mess."

The professor took a moment to consider the explanation. He seemed a bit surprised by the analysis. Eventually he indicated that Remy should continue.

"He was wearin' black fatigues. Didn' see no insignia. Pretty standard equipment, `cept de gun-- dat was a Heckler and Koch energy rifle. De eighty-eight, wit an extended power pack."

Bishop leaned forward. "That is one of the most powerful hand weapons of this time period."

"Expensive, too," Logan agreed in his cusomary growl. "No punk off the street could afford something like that. This guy sounds like a professional."

"*If* he isn't just a figment of Gambit's imagination," Archangel amended.

"I know what I saw, wings," Remy answered coldly. "He was dere."

"Enough." The Professor's tone silenced them both. "We can run Gambit's description through Cerebro and the various agencies to which we have access. Perhaps we can settle this mystery by identifying the man."

The Professor entered the information, then sat back and waited. A little yellow smiley face appeared on the screen-- Hank's addition to the programming-- which signalled that the machine was searching. After twenty minutes or so, the input screen disappeared and was replaced by a photograph of a man's face. Remy recognized him immediately. The photo retreated to the upper left hand corner of the screen. Data filled the rest.

"Well, whaddaya know," Logan said.

"Is this the man?" the professor asked. Remy nodded.

The man's name was Edward Toussant. He was a professional mercenary, currently known to be a member of the Star Company.

Remy felt a strange stab of relief, followed by more confusion. He had been secretly afraid that he *had* been hallucinating. But the man he'd seen was real. And in the business, though what a mercenary company would want with the X-men, he couldn't guess.

"If this Toussant *was* here in the house, he wasn't alone." That from Logan.

"How y' figure dat?"

Logan fingered his watch. "I've run across Star Company before. I know their breakers-- they're good enough to get in here. But this guy ain't one of `em. He'd have to have help."

"What do you know about Star Company, LeBeau?" Bishop's tone was completely flat. It set the hairs on the back of Remy's neck bristling. Bishop knew something.

"Nothin'. I heard de name b'fore, but dat's it."

Bishop eyed him as if trying to decide whether to believe him or not. He didn't seem to reach any definite conclusion. But there was a great deal going on behind those eyes, Remy thought. Bishop wasn't very good at masking his emotions. He knew something about Star Company, something that he thought tied in to Remy.

Remy kept the thoughts to himself. It wasn't something he wanted to ask about with the other X-men present.

Hank had taken over the keyboard, and appeared to be searching for further information on Toussant or Star Company. He found what he was looking for and sat back.

"Both SHIELD and our very own CIA report that this Star Company is currently in the employ of the nation of Zair, as auxiliaries in their little border dispute. I cannot imagine what interest they would have in the X-men." He resettled his glasses on his nose.

"Nor can I," the Professor agreed. "However, we will go to alert status for a few days, just in case." He surveyed the gathered X-men. Cyclops was nodding, his expression thoughtful as he mentally rearranged schedules and plans to accomodate the professor's order.

"Otherwise," the Professor continued, "I think we will be forced to put this incident down in the `Unexplained' category until and unless something else happens." He glanced questioningly at Remy, who nodded. He couldn't really ask for anything more. As certain as he was that the man had been in the house, he couldn't prove it. Not even to himself.

The X-men dispersed slowly. Jean and Rogue headed for the kitchen with complaints of all the food that had gone to waste. Neither sounded particularly serious, and Rogue smiled at Remy as she passed.

Remy caught up with Wolverine as he was leaving the war room.

"Hey, Logan."

Logan stopped and turned.

"Can I ask a favor?"

"You c'n ask, kid. Don't mean I'll say yes." Logan's response was gruff as usual. Remy ignored the "kid". Logan was pushing to see how upset he really was.

"Will y' check de kitchen again?"

One bushy eyebrow rose. "This thing's got ya rattled, Cajun. You imagined the guy."

"How c'n I imagine somebody I never seen b'fore?"

Logan's expression grew thoughtful. "I thought that was a line fer the Prof. You really never crossed paths with these guys?"

Remy shook his head. Logan didn't speak for several minutes, but their course through the house had changed. They were now headed for the ground floor, and probably the kitchen. Remy was surprised how reassuring it was to know that Logan believed him.

"Ya said ya'd heard of these guys, at least. How much d' ya know about them?" Logan finally asked.

Remy shrugged. "Almost nothin'. I've heard dey're worth de money, if y' can afford dem."

"They are. They're one of the best merc outfits around. The Colonel's smart about the jobs he takes, too."

"De Colonel?"

"Yup. Used ta be with the Marines, back when. Retired with full honors, then decided to go private. He kept the rank. Most folks just call him Snow, though--" Logan paused. "You o.k., Cajun?"

Remy was staring at nothing. He'd had an instant's flash of recognition-- an image of a tall, impossibly pale man staring at him without anger or compassion from the other side of an automatic pistol. He couldn't place the image, couldn't recognize where or when he might have seen the man.

"Dis Snow--" Remy knew he sounded scared. He was scared. "he an albino, right? Real tall?"

"Yeah. I thought you didn't know these guys." Logan's expression was curious, wary, and even a little concerned.

"Neither did I." Remy let go of the image. It didn't make sense.

None of it made any sense.

As if sensing that Remy didn't want to say anything else, Logan changed the subject. "We're almost to the kitchen. Ya still want me ta take another look?"

Remy nodded. "Thanks."

As before, Logan found nothing. No sign, scent or trace that anyone besides the X-men had recently been there. Remy wasn't surprised. Eventually, Logan gave up and joined the others for a somewhat belated lunch. Remy ducked out. He wasn't hungry, and he didn't want to see any more X-men with their quizzical stares. Especially when he didn't have a single answer for their questions.