Betrayal - REVIEW THIS STORY

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

Chapter 33

"They've been in there a long time." Scott paced a short track between the corner of the professor's desk and his wife's chair.

"Yes, they have." Psylocke was sipping at her tea. A paper plate with a half-eaten sandwich rested on the arm of her chair. Similar evidence of a hastily assembled dinner was scattered around the room.

Rogue simply watched them, and said nothing. She hadn't been able to eat. Her stomach was tied into too many knots. She was grateful for Storm's steadying presence beside her but was not able to respond to the other woman's attempts to distract her. The longer she was forced to wait, the worse her fears became. She knew the kind of pain Remy carried around inside of him, even if she couldn't remember the source. It was a dark shadow in her heart-- a part of him that would always be with her. And having finally found a kind of peace with that, she was now terrified of having to face the truth, of having to remember. She hadn't been able to cope with the truth last time. Her memories of her time in Florida were fuzzy, but she knew that much. Remy's memories had driven her to the brink of insanity and she was afraid she would be no better prepared to deal with them now.

Bobby's hands squeezed her shoulders gently. "They're all fine, Rogue. Right, Betsy?" He purposely did not look at Emma, and she ignored him in return. Rogue didn't know exactly what they had worked out, but they seemed to be maintaining a bizarre love-hate relationship based on some kind of mutual respect. She didn't understand it in the least, but Bobby seemed content. He was growing into his powers, and was no longer racked with uncertainty, so she was happy for him.

Psylocke quickly swallowed another bite of her sandwich. "All of the disturbances on the astral plane have smoothed out. I'm not sure why they haven't emerg--" She broke off abruptly as both she and Emma stiffened. Betsy's sandwich tumbled to the floor in pieces with the plate falling on top. Both hands went to her temples as she closed her eyes in concentration.

"What in the world?" Emma's question was directed at no one in particular. She, too, held fingers to her temples. The air almost seemed to crackle with energy, and Rogue felt her heart skip a beat.

"They've hit the damage." Betsy opened her eyes for a moment, and Rogue thought she saw fear there. "Psi blasts are our biggest concern now."

Emma nodded and both women looked toward Remy. Rogue followed their gazes. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Rogue could only stare. She could feel the echoes of his pain through the imprint of his mind in her own. She wanted to scream at them all, to tell them to stop hurting him, but she knew from her own experiences that there were no cures for this pain. She lived with it, too. Terrified, she reached out to take one of Remy's hands in her own, hoping that it would be some small comfort.

It was like sinking through molassas, Jean thought. They had found the tree and armored themselves against the psychic backlash Charles had experienced when he had touched the bark before. Now they were sinking into the thick trunk, headed toward the roots in the hopes that this symbolism would take them to the root of the damage to Gambit's mind. She could feel the blackness sucking at her, trying to drown her in its agony, but its power was muted by their shields. *A little preparation makes a big difference* she told herself and was immediately horrified to realize she was quoting one of her mother's favorites.

"Does it feel like we are being drawn towards something?" Charles asked her. His "voice" sounded strange-- as if he were speaking to her from the inside of a metal shell. Jean tried to gauge their progress.

"Yes," she finally agreed, "it does." Her own voice sounded tinny as well. "I hope we aren't causing Gambit any problems by doing this," she added after a moment. She had some serious reservations about how much they could interfere with this tree without harming the mind around them.

Charles nodded. "So far, we are causing only pain, I believe. We can withdraw the moment it appears we are doing him any harm beyond that."

The darkness began to gray around them. They were arriving somewhere. Dark shadows began to take form on all sides, building a scene they couldn't quite see. Then, as the light increased, the images became clearer. Finally, they found themselves standing in the middle of a kitchen.

"We're at the mansion." Jean couldn't hide her surprise. She turned in a circle, taking in the scene. It was definitely the kitchen she had been using for the past fifteen years. Everything was familiar, from the stocky white appliances to the checkerboard tiled counters to the-- well, the wallpaper was different. But it was the people who populated the kitchen that were the biggest surprise.

"That's me."

Charles' expression of surprise, she was sure, mirrored her own. He was studying the scene before them with unusual intensity. And Jean couldn't blame him. The Jean of the mind image was pouring coffee into the filter cup of the coffee machine. She was dressed in blue jeans and a sweatshirt, and had her hair roughly pulled back into a ponytail. Jean could think of a hundred mornings when she had done exactly the same thing. Beside her stood Lilandra, Empress Shi'ar and Charles' love. The black feathered crest that served her species in place of hair quivered as she vigorously stirred the contents of a large bowl. She was wrapped in what Jean would have to call a rather dowdy robe, though it looked soft enough to be worth the fashion sacrifice. The two women were chatting conversationally, though Jean found the thought of Lilandra making breakfast somewhat odd. The third person in the room was a child. A boy of four or five, complete with blue pajamas and unruly red hair. He perched on one of the tall bar stools that backed one leg of the counter, eating cereal.

"This doesn't make any sense. . . ." Charles' words were faint. His thoughts seemed to be spinning as fast as her own.

"It seems like pieces of a lot of things, all thrown together," she agreed. "Actually, that's not so unusual. It's just strange now because Remy's mind has been so organized up to this point."

"Indeed." Charles tried to put his hand on the boy's shoulder, but it passed through. They exchanged glances. "It's not a construct. It must be memory of some sort since we don't exist here."

"Are you sure?"

A brief smile lit Charles' features. "Not at all. That is simply my current hypothesis. In truth, it is Lilandra's presence that makes me most curious. Remy seems to have an inordinately strong attachment to all things Shi'ar, though he has only been to Shi'ar space the one time. If I didn't know the truth, I might have to wonder what might have happened between him and Lilandra during that visit."

"Charles!" Jean wasn't certain if he were joking or not. Still, his expression was clear. He didn't seem unduly concerned.

As they spoke, the door to the kitchen opened and Rogue walked in. She, too, was robed. It was obviously early morning at the mansion. At a second glance, Jean realized that Rogue didn't look very good. She was pale and walked carefully, as if she might be injured or sick. She went to the sink and filled a glass with water from the spigot. She took a drink, swishing it around in her mouth and then spit it out into the sink with a grimace.

The mind-Jean smiled sympathetically at her. "One of those mornings?" she inquired. She did not seem the least bit worried.

"Every mornin's one a those mornin's, sugar," Rogue answered without looking up.

"Well, it'll get better. I was only sick for three months, both times." Jean pulled out the freshly brewed coffee. "Would you like some coffee? It's decaf."

Rogue's expression of disgust was almost comical. "Uhg. No."

She went to the refridgerator and Jean turned to Lilandra.

"Lil?"

"Please," the shi'ar woman answered. Jean got out two mugs and poured the coffee. Rogue returned to the counter with a pitcher of dark red liquid.

"What's that?" Jean asked.

Rogue sniffed the contents cautiously. "Cranberry juice, ah think."

She set the pitcher down and sank gratefully into one of the chairs at the little dinette table.

Jean grinned. "Poor thing. You look so miserable."

Lilandra paused in her breakfast preparations and turned to Rogue.

"Be grateful it's not worse. I was restricted to my bed for the entire time. I couldn't have stood up if my life depended on it, most days."

Rogue managed to smile. "Ya body was tryin' ta cope with a baby that was only half ya own species. At least ah don't have *that* problem."

Jean and Charles shared a startled look. Rogue pregnant?

Charles shrugged. "So much for my hypothesis. This has to be some kind of fantasy construct."

Jean agreed, and was beginning to find it all decidedly weird.

"I'm done," the boy Remy piped up, dropping his spoon into his bowl with a splash. The bowl was still well over half-full.

"Where's Rachel?"

Lilandra glanced at him. "You are *not* done. Eat your breakfast."

"*Amma--*" It was a familiar plaintive wail. Charles started, and Jean glanced at him curiously, but his gaze was fixed on the scene.

"Eat." Lilandra's voice had grown stern. "You may not go play with Rachel until you've finished your cereal."

The other Jean was hiding her amusement behind her hand, and Jean wondered who Rachel might be. The thought that sprung immediately to mind was almost disturbing.

"Are you all right, Charles?" She was further disturbed to find that he had turned pale.

He seemed to shake himself out of whatever thrall had held him. "I don't know," he admitted. "`Amma' in shi'ar means `mother' or, more precisely, `mommy'."

Jean sucked in her breath. "This can't be real. . . . can it? Lilandra doesn't have any children?"

"No, she doesn't."

"Why would Remy fix on Lilandra as a mother figure?"

Charles sighed. "I have no idea."

The scene continued before them, heedless of their conversation.

"Rachel is with her daddy," Jean told the boy. "They were going to try to finish up that box kite they've been working on. I'm sure they'd love to have your help once you're finished."

Reluctantly, Remy picked up his spoon and went back to eating. Rogue rose, and returned the pitcher of juice to the refridgerator. She had drunk about a half glass, and seemed to be feeling better. She crossed to where Lilandra was chopping potatoes.

"Can ah help?"

"Of course. Thank you." Lilandra moved over, making room for the other woman. Rogue took one of the chopping blocks and the knife Lilandra offered her. She flipped it experimentally, and ended up catching it by the blade. "Oops." There was no sign of blood on her bare palm.

Rogue sighed. "Ah don't know why ah thought it'd be fun ta learn how ta throw these things. Ah just don't seem ta have the talent for it."

"Not unless you want to borrow it from your husband." Jean was setting several pans of oil on the stove.

Rogue was smiling. "Not on ya life, gal. `To love, honor and nevah steal powers from'. It was in the weddin' vows." Her expression grew serious. "But speakin' a Remy, have either of y'all seen him this mornin'?"

"Hey, I'm right here!" the boy protested.

Rogue reached across the counter and touseled his hair. "Not you, sugar. Mah Remy."

"Oh." The boy looked disappointed for a moment.

"Eat, Rem'aillon," Lilandra reminded him. After a moment, she turned to the two women. "Did. . . . Charles say something after our last visit?" She sounded a bit uncertain, as if she might be asking an offensive question.

"About what?" Jean asked.

"About. . . . the jokes." Lilandra was acutely uncomfortable. "If Charles is really his father--" She gestured toward the boy.

Charles let out a small choking sound and Jean glanced at him curiously. He was actually going a little red in the face.

"I would *never* have believed that Remy sees me as a fatherly figure," he said by way of explanation. Jean tried to hide her smile at his expression.

"Oh, that." Rogue was grinning. "Actually, it was Remy that threw a fit. Ah mean, the Professuh wasn't too happy either, but he wasn't the one who blew out most a the windows in the east wing."

Jean had begun chuckling. "It was quite a sight, Lil. You really should have seen it. I don't think I can remember ever seeing Gambit that mad."

"Well, he felt like his honor'd been insulted." There was just a hint of defensiveness in Rogue's voice.

Jean held up a hand. "And I don't blame him. I'd have been mad too if people were-- even jokingly-- implying that I'd cheated on my wife. But between the coincidence of their names and how much they look alike, I can't say I was surprised."

Rogue sighed and studied the little boy who was busy scraping the last few spoonfuls of cereal into his mouth, oblivious to his part in the conversation. "Strange, ain't it?"

"What?" Lilandra looked at the boy.

"Ah keep looking at him and thinkin' that's probably what this one's gonna look like." She patted her still flat stomach.

The humor had returned to Jean's eyes. "Or more likely, he won't look like Gambit at all and we'll have to go through this all over again."

Rogue laughed. "Ah sure hope not." She paused a moment, and then continued in a far more serious tone, "Y'all nevah answered mah question, though. Has anybody seen Remy this mornin'?"

The two women shook their heads. "Sorry."

"Is anything wrong?" Jean asked.

Rogue sighed. "Not that ah know of. But he left yesterday mornin' an' ah haven't seen him since."

Jean shrugged. "That's hardly unusual."

"No, but he usually tells me."

Jean watched the other woman for a moment. "If you're really worried, we can use Cerebro. . . ."

Rogue shook her head. "Nah. He'll show up. Ah married the wanderin' habits along with the man."

Jean crossed her arms. "I think I should be grateful my husband tends to stay at home."

Rogue had begun to smile. "Yup. Besides, it's Lilandra here whose the really bad one." She waved at Lilandra, who looked up in surprise. "She only comes ta visit once a year or so."

Lilandra's chin rose fractionally. "I have duties to--"

"`Course ya do, gal." Rogue cut her off with a friendly wave. "But if ah was the Professuh, ah think ah'd go crazy."

Lilandra looked like she might still protest, but suddenly her eyes went wide with shock. Rogue gasped, unable to utter another sound as a beam of pure energy lanced through her torso. She threw her head back in agony as the flesh around the beam caught fire. A bright flash of flame took much of her long hair and she sagged against the counter, supporting herself on her elbows as the beam abruptly cut out. She was too stunned to realize that she was dead.

Lilandra's scream shattered the stunned silence. She threw the knife she held at the black-clad figure who stood in the doorway. Jean recognized him as the mercenary Gambit had claimed to see. She felt cold inside despite the adrenaline that was pumping through her.

The knife struck the man's weapon squarely at the power pack, throwing white sparks. He yelped and dropped it as the sparks burned him. Then he rushed at Lilandra, drawing a tazer from a hip holster as he did. Lilandra met him partway, her own combat training allowing her to block his arm before he could use the weapon.

"Cerebro! Alarms! Alarms!" Jean was yelling at the air, but there were no responding claxons. The mercenary backhanded her with the hand that held the tazer and she staggered backwards, slamming into the counter near the sink with a grunt of pain. But the live tips of the tazer hadn't touched her.

Lilandra landed a hard blow, despite the armored vest he wore, and the man returned his attention to her. As they grappled in the small space, he reached down to draw the handgun that was holstered at his thigh. Rogue grasped at his arm, her breath bubbling weakly through blood covered lips. She tried to keep him from raising the weapon, but only succeeded in tearing the shoulder fabric of his uniform. He fired as her collapsing weight dragged his arm down, but his aim remained true. The side of Lilandra's head exploded, splattering dark blood across the white cabinets. She collapsed at his feet. Rogue, too, fell, and as the man was trying to disentangle himself, he took his attention off of Jean. Staggering, she grabbed one of the pans on the stove and hit him with it. There was no finesse to the maneuver, only desperation and fury. The hot oil splashed over him and he screamed shrilly. Jean didn't pause. She used the pan like a club until the man lay on the ground, unmoving.

When she looked up, it was straight into the eyes of the little boy who still sat at the counter, frozen in shock. The pan slid from her fingers to clang discordantly on the floor. She held out her hand to him.

"Come on, Remy. We have to go." Her voice was dull with her own shock. "We have to find Scott and the Professor." As she spoke, she gathered herself and her voice became steadier. Responding to the command, the boy climbed onto the counter.

Jean lifted him over the bodies that littered the floor and carried him to the doorway.

Jean and Charles could only stare at the carnage in horror.

"This. . . . this is . . . real." Charles' face was deathly pale as he stared at the destruction of his dream. "It just hasn't happened yet."

"The future?" Jean didn't want to believe it, but she had to. Nothing else made more sense. The implications spun through her mind. "But how?"

"Remy was there. He saw it. That's why he thought it was his fault." Charles did not seem to have heard Jean at all. When he turned to her, his eyes were wide, full of unguarded emotion. "He's my son."