Betrayal - REVIEW THIS STORY

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

Chapter 9

Bishop ran the cloth over the gun barrel without really being aware of it. He had taken the weapon apart and cleaned it three times in a row now. It was a familiar activity, and one he did not need much attention for. He was sitting on his bed, the cleaning supplies spread out on a towel beside him, but his eyes were focused on the floor. He was trying to understand how he felt. He hadn't slept in nearly two days, not since the Witness' -- arrival. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw a dizzying montage of images-- the X-men, dead in various ways, Jean's final message, the Witness, Gambit. And all of it left him feeling so completely lost, so completely helpless, that he could barely stand it.

A knock on the door stilled his hand and his thoughts. His finger curled around the trigger, though he didn't raise the weapon.

"Bishop, sugar, y'all right in there?" Rogue peeked around the edge of his door.

"Of course." He began putting the cleaning supplies away. "Did you want something?" he asked without looking at her.

The door creaked as she opened it and stepped inside. He deliberately kept the hinge un-lubricated, though he knew most professionals would think to oil the hinges before trying the door. Rogue crossed the room and stood in front of him. She watched him putting all of the cleaning supplies into their case without comment.

When he had finished, he looked up at her. They were nearly eye-level, despite the fact that he was seated. Rogue did not meet his gaze. She was staring at her gloved hands, which were knitted together as if she needed to hold on to them to keep them still.

"Ah just wanted t' know about the Witness," she began without preamble. "Y'all grew up with him, an' ah thought. . . ." She took a deep breath. "Ah thought ya might be willin' t' tell me about him." She looked directly into his eyes for one brief moment, and Bishop saw the conflicting hope and fear there.

"He's the head of one of the biggest crime syndicates in the country, Rogue." Bishop knew he wasn't being very gentle. But he didn't want to see her get her heart broken--again.

"Ah know. Ya said that before." But the expression in her eyes hadn't changed.

"Then I'll be more specific." Bishop's words came out clipped, angry. Rogue simply refused to see the truth so often. For her own sake, he wanted to end this fascination before it caused her any more grief. He was not quite willing to admit to himself that he was at least as angry at himself for similar reasons.

"The Witness' -- *Gambit's*-- syndicate controls almost all of the major criminal activity up and down the east coast, along with some overseas interests. It's drugs, extortion, gambling, high-dollar theft, of course, assassination, prostitution. . . . " Rogue winced and he relented. Her face had completely drained of color.

"Wasn't-- wasn't there anything good?"

Bishop shrugged, and his own nagging doubts converged. "I don't know. He took in strays. Me. Shard. Shackle. We probably would have died out on our own. But I can't say I believe that it was out of the goodness of his heart."

Rogue was silent, and Bishop wondered if hurting her like this was really the best thing. But it seemed like the wisest thing to do.

After a moment, Rogue wrapped her arms around herself. "So who's Shackle?"

Bishop sighed. "She is-- she was--" He fumbled with the verb tenses. "--just another stray. The Witness took her in about a year after me and Shard." He paused, wondering if he should say anything else. He wasn't certain how the words might come out. Shackle's life with the Witness was something he had never resolved in his own heart, but Rogue deserved the best explanation he could give her.

"She'd been used -- badly. Somebody's entertainment piece. She was only eleven or so, but the Witness said she'd been a toy for a couple of years, at least." Bishop was lost in his own memories now, unaware of Rogue's presence.

"She never got over what happened to her. *He* said there was something broken inside her, and it never did heal." He paused. "She likes knives."

"The Witness taught her. . . everything, I guess. To be a thief and assassin. The rest of the business." He turned the gun over in his hands. "She's his protege, and personal bodyguard. Maybe his lover. I don't know."

He looked up at Rogue. "But she's a cold killer, and he's the one who taught her. He said it was just giving her something useful to do, since there was no way to really help her, but I don't believe that. She's a useful tool to him, and that's all." Bishop stood and Rogue backed away. She was spooked. She would be gone in a couple of moments, he knew.

"Just don't be fooled, Rogue!" he called after her as she disappeared into the corridor.

Bishop sighed and glanced at his reflection in the wall mirror that Storm had given him. *Let's hope that I will not be fooled, either.* Despite all the years he had spent learning to be vigilant, he was very afraid that he had already missed the most vital piece of this puzzle.