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Chapters
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
 
 
 

Betrayal - REVIEW THIS STORY

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

Chapter 36

Remy LeBeau stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Water dripped from his chin, where he'd just rinsed the last of the shaving cream away. He picked up the towel without looking and dried his face, all the while staring at the stranger in the mirror. The features hadn't changed, but the man behind them was very different.

*So who are y' dis mornin'?* he asked the reflection. From Cerebro, he knew he'd slept for two days, and the undefinable stillness that he sensed in the house made him certain that the X-men now knew everything. He had been dawdling over getting ready for nearly an hour, just because it gave him a reason not to go out and face them.

*Still, y' can' hide here forever, Remy.* He paused, letting the towel slide from his fingers into the sink. Remy. That wasn't even his name anymore. Not Remy. Not LeBeau. It was Rem'aillon Neramani. A Shi'ar name that sounded completely alien to his French-trained ear.

He shook the thoughts away and finished drying off. Then he went to get dressed. Torn jeans, tank shirt, boots. The combination was fairly normal for him, but still it made him pause. He knew perfectly well that it was a rejection of what was considered proper and respectable. He'd been doing that for years. But now that attitude that he'd hidden behind so often seemed pale and pathetic. But what would be better? Clean up his act? Cut his hair short and get rid of the earring? Try to look like Scott, like Charles Xavier's son *ought* to look like?

He tossed himself backward onto the bed, put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. Charles Xavier's son. He rolled the thought around in his head. More than anything, he dreaded seeing the Professor. For so long, he'd wondered who his parents were, what they were like. Why they hadn't wanted him. But now he knew, and they'd turned out to be more than he'd ever hoped for. But what would the Professor think of him? Would he be. . . . .disappointed? Remy snorted. Yeah, probably.

Remy sighed and sat up. He might as well get it over with. Chances were he'd be leaving before dark, anyway. He didn't think the X-men would be too willing to forgive what he'd done.

*Y' knew it'd cost y' everyt'ing,* he told himself. For a moment, the room seemed intolerably empty. There had been no one waiting for him when he woke. Not Rogue, not Ororo, not even the Professor. It was possible they were just giving him some privacy, but in his heart he doubted that. It was just that he was a fool who kept hoping for miracles.

The antique clock on the bureau chimed, twelve minutes slow as always. Remy looked around at the accumulation of his life with the X-men. There wasn't much, but everything he looked at brought back memories. The garter from Scott and Jean's wedding hung on the corner of the mirror. His eyes fastened on it for several long moments, then fell to the com badge on the dresser that glinted metallically in the morning light. He picked it up and considered it, then dropped it into his pocket. As much as he really wanted to leave it, he could just hear Scott reading him the riot act for not keeping the com badge on him at all times. He almost smiled. It seemed strange that he still cared about things like that.

All conversation died when he stepped into the dining room. Remy held grimly to his best poker face and looked them over. He noted the two absences immediately, and his heart sank. Rogue and the Professor. After a moment, Storm rose and approached him.

"Good morning, Remy." Her smile was genuine. Deftly, she took him by the arm and led him toward the table. "Are you hungry?"

"Uh, I guess." To his surprise, Scott nodded briefly at him, expression neutral, then went back to what seemed to be a conversation in progress with Bishop and Logan. From the hand language, it appeared to have something to do with aircraft approach vectors. Logan gave him a somewhat friendlier nod as they passed. Bishop's eyes remained locked in front of him.

Storm was doing an excellent job of managing him, Remy thought wryly as she settled him in the empty chair beside her place. Without asking, she began to serve him breakfast. Other conversations began to pick up around the table.

Across from him, Beast swallowed a mouthful of sausage and gestured at Remy with the empty fork. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

Remy almost told him what a stupid question that was, but stopped himself. "Fine." The last thing he needed to do was deliberately antagonize people.

Hank didn't seem to notice. "Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to take a look at you once we're done here. I'll admit it's probably a horrible thing to be poked and prodded by a curious physician, but I would appreciate it immensely." His smile was disarming.

"Ain't dat a bit late, Hank?" Remy gave up on trying to keep up the polite pretense. His nerves were strung taut.

"A bit late for what?"

"T' be tellin' me I'm not all de way human? Shouldn' y' have said somet'ing a long time ago?" The table quieted abruptly.

Hank set his fork down and dabbed at his lips with the napkin before answering. "I'm afraid I didn't know, as odd as that may sound."

"How could y' possibly not know? I don' remember how many times I been in dat infirmary." Remy tried to keep his voice from rising, but he felt an odd sense of betrayal. Couldn't someone have warned him that he wasn't who or what he thought?

Hank smiled in sympathy. "I can understand your frustration, but the truth is that when one is dealing with mutants, the old adage applies-- `Anything goes'." He shrugged. "I have certainly been aware that you have highly exotic blood chemistry. You should have known that as well if you'd ever had your blood typed. But that's common to almost all energy-users. Mutants who generate or convert energy from other sources have to metabolize that energy somehow. Usually, it's done through the blood, and perhaps the liver. The chemical requirements to create or store energy radically alters the blood, and makes it type as an exotic, compatible only with O positive type or itself. Your blood is different from, but not any *more* different, than Scott's or Bishop's. I never had any reason to look beyond mutancy for an explanation."

Remy considered that for a moment and was forced to concede the point. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Hank continued before he could utter a sound, "I went back and checked your X-rays, too. Again, I knew your skeleton was unusual. Non-standard, as it's officially called. Most of the joints are different, with higher rotational allowances and duplicated sets of ligaments. Strange bone composition, too. Your skeleton weighs about twenty pounds less than it ought-- or did you ever wonder why the scale says one-seventy-five when it ought to be a lot closer to two-hundred?" Hank didn't wait for a reply. "Still, I simply assumed that the changes were a mutation that accounted for your agility. After all, *my* skeleton is a lot less human than yours, so I never really looked for any other explanation." Hank picked up his fork, stabbed a new piece of sausage and put it in his mouth. Still chewing, he added, "Now that I know to look for Shi'ar influences, I'm very curious. You're only the second human-Shi'ar mix we know of."

Remy simply stared at Beast, thoroughly bemused. He'd been spoiling for a fight, whether he really wanted to admit it or not, and had gotten a scholarly lecture instead. It was impossible to stay angry with Hank's almost childlike curiosity.

"You know," Hank was wagging his fork thoughtfully, "Adam X is that other human-Shi'ar mix I mentioned. We haven't exactly had much contact with him, but I do believe he's your cousin."

"Huh?"

Further down the table, Scott turned abruptly to stare at Hank.

"What do you mean, Hank?"

"Well, Adam is D'Ken's son and your half brother," he pointed at Scott, "as much as you dislike the fact." He turned to Remy. "D'Ken and Lilandra are, or were, siblings, making him your cousin." He set his fork down again. "Strange, isn't it?"

Remy stood abruptly. His head felt like it was spinning. "`Scuse me."

"Remy, you have not eaten." Storm watched him with concern.

"Where are you going?"

Remy didn't look at her. "Jus' got t' get some air, Stormy." He took two steps and stopped, unable to leave the room without asking the one question he'd been doing his best to throttle for fear of the answer. He turned back to Ororo. "Have y' seen Rogue, chere?" He tried to make the question sound casual, though he didn't believe for a moment that he could fool her. The suddenly renewed silence and her sympathetic expression confirmed his worst fears before she ever spoke.

"I am sorry. Rogue left yesterday and has not returned."

Remy felt as if rivulets of ice were creeping down his spine. "Did she take her com badge?"

"No."

Snap. Just like that. She was gone again. This time, probably forever. Remy fought down the urge to run out of the room. He'd known this would happen. He had. And even though the X-men had seemed to be willing to pretend that today was just another day, he knew that the changes were irrevocable.

 

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