Betrayal - REVIEW THIS STORY

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

Chapter 44

"Rogue said that you left the day before the X-men were killed." Jean drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. It made her look like a little girl curled up in the overstuffed chair. It was obvious the memories-- Remy's memories-- still haunted her. "Where were you?"

The Witness cocked his head and studied her. His expression was guarded. After a moment, he shrugged minutely. "Unconscious, mostly." Then he looked away.

"What happened?" The Professor leaned forward in his hoverchair.

The Witness stood abruptly, his cloak swirling about his legs. He walked over to the bay windows that lined one wall of the large living room and stood staring out at the grounds. "I'm going t' have t' start wit a little general information about time theory." He turned to face the room, and the X-men assembled there. He nodded to Hank. "Jump in whenever, Hank. Dis all based on your work."

Hank's eyebrows rose in interest. "My work? I have done some theorizing on the subject, but I would hesitate to go so far as to call it work."

Another miniscule shrug. "Den it's still in de future. I never found a date on de journals."

"My. . . personal journals?" Hank seemed nonplussed.

The Witness' mouth hinted at a smile. "You *were* dead, Hank."

Hank sat back, frowning. "I suppose that's true enough. But I still find the idea a bit unnerving."

The Witness turned his attention to the X-men at large. "You're already aware o' how easily de timeline can be changed." Several nods followed the statement. "Each change causes a new permutation. Generally, dese changes in de timeline are localized to one t'ing-- an event, a person, or, in de case o' de X-men, a group o' people. Dat's called de focus."

He nodded toward Forge. "As far as we know, dere have been five permutations in de timeline wit de X-men as de focus. In de original line, de X-men were betrayed and killed just like you saw, except dat I was dere and ended up dead, too."

The Professor opened his mouth to speak, but the Witness held up a hand, forstalling him. "Dat's what would have happened if not'ing had interfered. Den dose events would have led t' de future dat Rachel came from."

Jean's head snapped up. "Rachel? The Rachel we knew?" She gestured toward Scott.

The Witness nodded. "Oui. De one who was a hound an' den went forward in time t' become Mother Askani."

Scott and Jean both stared at him. "How do you know. . . ?" Scott began.

"Dat she was de one founded de clan Askani?" He smiled lightly. "Combine telepathy wit de ability t' travel in time an' eventually y' know jus' about everyt'ing."

Jean's eyes widened slightly. "I see."

Scott opened his mouth and then abruptly shut it. The Witness eyed him, his expression thoroughly amused.

"Did y' decide t' spare me de lecture on moral responsibility?" he asked.

Scott's lips thinned. "Something like that," he answered stiffly.

After a brief moment, the Witness mastered his amusement and went on. "De. . . event, f' lack of a better term. . . dat kept me from bein' killed wit de rest o' de X-men created a second permutation. I get t' de details o' what happened in a bit. If not'ing had interfered in de timeline, it would have led to de future Bishop, myself and Forge come from. And, eventually, to de future Cable grew up in."

"Bishop's arrival here created de third permutation. I never looked into de far future o' dat one because no one ever came back from dere. An' I knew Legion was goin' t' change it all anyway."

The Professor stiffened. "Legion?"

"Legion's trip back in time is somet'ing of a constant. It crops up in almost every timeline."

Hank was nodding in understanding. "Then the fourth permutation would be the Age of Apocalypse, correct?"

"Oui. An' since dat one was cut off back at de beginning, it didn' have much effect on de long term. However, since dere *were* some carryovers-- like Beast's double-- we have de fifth permutation, which is where we are now."

"I have a question." Bishop stood toward the back of the room, arms crossed. "The Age of Apocalypse existed because Professor Xavier was killed twenty years in the past. How could Gambit possibly have existed in that timeline?" He glanced toward Remy.

"He *was* there. I saw him."

Remy was taken aback by the almost accusing stare. But he had to admit Bishop had a good point, and he was curious, too.

The Witness seemed suddenly weary. "Dat has t' do wit de nature of paradox," he answered. "De physical laws dat govern time don' seem t' care if someone jus' suddenly appears from another time or dimension. De timeline jus' accepts dem an' goes on wit its business. De problems only occur when dat person is wit'in dere original time. In de case o' de Age of Apocalypse, it would seem logical dat I couldn' exist since my father was killed some thirty years b'fore I was born. But, because I was outside o' my original time, de timeline didn' care about dat. So y' have Gambit in de Age of Apocalypse.

"Now, if dat timeline had been allowed to continue-- an' if dey hadn' blown up de world-- eventually, we would have gotten t' de day I was born. Which is impossible since de professor was long dead, o' course. An' since it *is* de first day o' my original time, de paradox becomes a problem an' collapses.

"De collapse would probably be complete, meanin' dat de effects would be felt both forward and back. My existence would effectively have been erased, an' de timeline would have changed t' cope wit having all of my actions undone. When it all settled, not only would Gambit not have ever existed, no one in de timeline would even be aware dat t'ings had been different once."

Remy felt a cold stab as the Witness spoke. The idea of being *erased* was scary.

Bishop considered the Witness' words for a while, his expression clouded. Finally, he turned back. "Then the same thing will happen to me, once time goes forward to the day I was born. So what was the point of sending me here, if paradox will erase everything?"

"First of all," the Witness answered, "for you t' be erased, y' birth has t' be wiped out by somet'ing dat occurs in dis permutation. I've done what I can t' make sure dat don' happen. Dere still may be some small paradoxes, but dey usually don' collapse. Only de big ones do."

"Fascinating." Hank pushed his glasses back up on his nose. "Absolutely fascinating." He glanced at Remy and then back at the Witness. "However this does lead me to the rather ominous question of what--" He paused as the Witness held up a hand.

"Not yet, Hank."

Hank's expression was at first surprised, but after a moment that faded and was replaced by something undefineably sad. "I understand," he said. He seemed to withdraw into himself, sinking back into the couch. He crossed his arms and laid his chin on his chest. For all Remy could tell, he was no longer paying any attention to the conversation.

Remy glanced at the Professor to see if he had any idea what they were talking about, but the Professor was staring at the top of his hoverchair, brow drawn. Remy wasn't sure what he might be thinking. But then he looked up, and his expression was very troubled.

"Please, finish what you came here to say." He motioned for the Witness to continue, and then steepled his hands before him. It was obvious to Remy that, whatever the big secret was, both Hank and the Professor had figured it out, and neither one was happy about it. Dread filled him. Whatever it was, it had to do with him. He tightened his grip on Rogue's hand and felt her squeeze back, but it was little comfort. He had the horrible feeling that the world was about to come apart again.

The Witness took a deep breath, as if even he needed to prepare for what he was going to say. "I did leave de house de morning before de X-men were killed. It was routine-- I don' even remember what, now. I was plannin' t' be home f' dinner." He stared directly at Rogue. "Only six guys wit stunners an' gas grenades jumped me. I was out `til well after de X-men died. Didn' know dat at first, o' course." Only the tightening around his eyes betrayed his pain at the memories. His voice remained even.

"De Gamemaster was waitin' f' me when I woke up. He said--" The Witness looked up to the ceiling for a moment as if gathering strength. "He said `De X-men are dead, an' I have a challenge for you.' I didn' believe him. De X-men always manage to survive, right? Anyway, de Gamemaster's supposed t' be omniscent, so he knew about de betrayal ahead o' time. I guess he t'ought it was too ironic dat de same t'ing dat sent me back in time and made me who I am, also ended up killing me. So he offered me my life, an' a chance to save de X-men. De only catches were dat de X-men already dead, an' dat I couldn' do anyt'ing *direct* t' save dem because it would cause a paradox which would undo anyt'ing I did. De Gamemaster gave me a set o' rules to avoid de paradox-- turned it into a kind o' gamble. If I won, he agreed t' use his power t' protect de X-men." The Witness turned to Professor Xavier. "So don' be shocked if he shows up every so often t' warn y' `bout somet'ing.

"If he won, he would have de satisfaction of provin' dat even Charles Xavier's son was unworthy o' facin' de High Lord Ascension."

Scott straigtened in surprise, and the Witness turned to him. "Very different from your test, eh Scott?"

Scott nodded, his expression troubled. "Yes."

The Witness returned his attention to the room at large. "After dat, dey jus' disappeared, an' I walked. I really t'ought it was some sick joke. . . . . `til I got home." He looked away and closed his eyes. "Dieu."

Forge stood up. "Leave it, Remy. They know what happened."

His expression was sympathetic.

The Witness gathered himself. "Not everything," he said. Then he turned to Remy.

"De game was rigged from de beginning," he said, and the cold in Remy's stomach turned to ice. "Dere's no way for me to win."

"But, de X-men are going t' live now, right?" Remy felt like he was holding his breath.

"Oui." He smiled bitterly. "So officially, I win. But dat's not how it works." He pulled his cloak more tightly about him. "Follow de logic: Because o' what you know now, de X-men won' allow Colossus t' betray dem. An' if he don' do dat, he won' try t' kill you."

Remy stared at the Witness in stunned silence as understanding hit him. If the X-men weren't betrayed, then Colossus would never try to kill Remy, which would in turn mean that his powers wouldn't be awakened then, and he wouldn't transport himself back to New Orleans thirty years in the past. He would never grow up on the streets of New Orleans or be taken in by the Thieves guild. In short, there would never be a Remy LeBeau-- never be a Gambit.

"You said dis would cost me my life." It came out as a choked whisper.

The Witness' face was completely expressionless. "So I did."

"But I'm still here, now?" Remy couldn't help but glance down at himself to make sure that was, indeed, the case.

The Witness nodded. "Remember, paradox only occurs in y' original timeline. De X-men would have been betrayed about ten years from now. Dat's when de paradox will collapse."

Remy could only stare at him. He was going to die in ten years. No, worse than that-- he was going to be erased. Everything he had been, everything he had done, would be gone. And no one would ever know that he had been there. Not his guild, not the X-men. . . . not even Rogue.

"Nooooo!" The cry echoed the pain in his heart, but it was Rogue who voiced it. She was on her feet, fists balled. She crossed the distance to the Witness in three steps, and slapped him, hard.

"Why?" she demanded hoarsely.

Anger and confusion flared in the Witness' eyes. Gingerly, he touched the blood that welled at the corner of his mouth. "Why what?"

Rogue's next breath was a sob. She wrapped both arms about her waist, and knotted her hands in the fabric of her shirt. Her soul was in her eyes, wounded and bleeding. "Why did ya teach me ta love, if ya knew it could only break mah heart?"

Remy felt the knife stab in his heart, saw it reflected on the Witness' face. It was just too much. All of his dreams were shattered into dust, and the hope he had clung to so grimly was useless. With a wordless cry, he ran out of the room. And he kept running, heedless of where his feet took him. The pain in his heart weighed heavily, seeming to draw him further and further down into the lower levels of the house. His footsteps echoed mockingly in the empty halls.