The Game of Empires - REVIEW THIS STORY

Written by Valerie Jones
Last updated: 02/13/2010 03:54:13 PM

Chapter 22

For his part, Remy could have turned to stone for all the reaction he was showing. He lounged in a folding chair in the farthest corner of the room from Charles, his arms crossed and his long face betraying absolutely nothing. Jean could read no more from his mind than she could from his face, though she now had an inkling of how his shields could be so strong. That didn’t keep her from wishing she could see through them, however, if even a little bit.

The only veteran X-Man missing from the room was Scott. After the confrontation outside, Charles had returned to the house and made a single phone call. Sometime after that, Scott had left, telling Jean only that he would be back in a few hours.

"So where’s ol’ fearless leader?" Logan asked her, his expression grim in contrast to his words. "It ain’t like him t’ be late t’ a team meetin’."

"He went to the airport," Charles answered quietly. "At my request." His eyes turned toward Remy but jerked away before they reached him. "There is one other person who should be included in this."

"Not to spoil the surprise or anything--" Bobby’s attempted levity sounded flat in the tense room, "but what exactly is ’this’?"

Charles didn’t answer, and Jean could feel the uncertainty in the minds around her rise yet another notch. She surveyed the room, her gaze eventually meeting Logan’s and pausing there. She was surprised by the sadness that shadowed his normally clear blue eyes.

"Seems t’ me it’s a reckonin’ o’ sorts." Logan broke away from Jean to look at Charles. "Ain’ it."

Charles simply nodded.

Bobby harrumphed, misinterpreting the exchange. "Well, it’s about time," he groused, darting a glance at Gambit.

Jean felt a burst of anger as Charles’ head snapped up, centering on the young mutant. As much as she loved him like a younger brother, Bobby’s occasional prejudices bothered her, and the one he held against Gambit was stronger than most.

Bobby paled under Charles’ cold stare. Jean could feel Charles fighting for control of his temper and was somewhat reassured when he mastered it.

"This ’reckoning’, as Logan so aptly put it does, indeed, have a great deal to do with Remy but very little to do with the Morlocks." Charles straightened in his seat as many X-Men cast covert looks in Gambit’s direction. Seated beside Remy, Ororo’s brows dipped at the mention of the Morlocks, and Jean found herself wondering how the other woman had resolved those issues in her heart.

Charles’ voice firmed. "This is my reckoning, Bobby. For what I have done to Remy... and to you all."

Bobby turned to look uncertainly at Gambit, then back to Charles. Out of the corner of her eye, Jean saw Remy stiffen and felt a stab of sympathy. She couldn’t begin to imagine how he was feeling right now.

Off to one side, nearly equidistant from both Remy and Charles, stood Lilandra. She wore an emotionless mask similar to Gambit’s, though Jean suspected there was a great deal going on behind it. Jean forbore prying, even a little, because the emotions involved were so intensely personal that she felt like a voyeur whenever she accidentally caught a stray thought.

The sound of a car engine pulling up in front of the house effectively ended the discussion. The gathered mutants waited silently, listening to the sounds of the front door opening and closing, and the mismatched cadence of footsteps growing nearer. Jean was not surprised to see the man who entered behind Scott, but she was fairly certain everyone else was.

Gambit’s nonchalance shattered and he sprang to his feet, his eyes glowing. The heavy shields that hid his mind cracked for a moment and Jean felt the razor edge of his anger slide across her psyche. It was an anger that hid a tremendous well of hurt behind it, she realized.

"You!"

Jean Luc LeBeau turned and met Remy’s gaze. "Oui," he agreed softly. Then he pulled himself up to his full height and bowed to Remy with remarkable grace. It was an archaic but courtly gesture, almost never seen in the United States, and yet it seemed somehow appropriate.

Remy was taken aback. His eyes narrowed suspiciously and his gaze remained locked on Jean Luc as the thief crossed the room and extended his hand to Charles. Jean felt a hot flash of betrayal from Remy at the gesture before his shields solidified.

She was still struggling with her own emotions following Charles betrayal when he’d given her over to Onslaught, so she could hardly imagine what Remy was thinking at that moment with not one father, but two seemingly united against him...

"Jean Luc, it’s good to see you again." Charles accepted the proffered hand, his face creasing with the first genuine smile Jean had seen since their return.

Jean Luc returned the smile with equal affection. "Charles." But then his smile died. "I assume dis means de time has come."

Charles nodded and gestured to an empty chair beside him. Jean Luc settled himself quickly, seeming oblivious to the roomful of stares that were fastened on him. Jean smiled to herself. The boy she had met so long ago had carried himself well, but she could definitely see where Remy had learned his unflappable cool.

"De last time we spoke, Remy told me a bit ’bout Onslaught." The comment from Jean Luc was almost conversational, but the gaze that settled on Remy momentarily before returning to Charles was anything but. "What happened? I don’ remember dat bein’ part o’ de plan."

In the corner, Remy’s eyes narrowed to slits. All around Jean, the thoughts of the X-Men echoed the sentiment, but no one spoke. They were all at least as interested in Charles’ answer as Jean Luc was.

Charles shook his head sadly. "It wasn’t. We... I should have done this sometime after we returned from Avalon, but I... allowed myself to be distracted."

Jean Luc’s snort spoke volumes. Charles’ lips twisted wryly. "All right. I put it off out of sheer terror. And then, when I began to suspect that there was something... wrong with me, I didn’t dare."

Jean was surprised by how much Jean Luc’s arrival fortified Charles. The other man’s presence alone had dulled the sharp edge of his pain. But, she mused, if the Cajun thief was the only confidant he’d had for such heavy secrets, perhaps that wasn’t surprising after all.

Jean Luc simply nodded as if that explanation was sufficient for him.

Through their link, Jean could feel Scott’s confusion, his suspicion, and a sense of burgeoning dread. The X-Men’s field leader turned one of the remaining empty chairs around, sat down on it backwards and folded his arms across the back. His every motion was an understated defiance that Jean was certain was not lost on Charles.

"We’re all here, Professor," Scott said, his clipped tone betraying his feelings by the utter lack of emotion. "As you requested."

The small comfort Jean Luc had brought Charles evaporated as he turned to Scott. Jean felt a sudden lump in her throat. Scott’s shattered trust was like a bed of hot, jagged splinters against her mind and Charles’ grief at seeing that broken trust assaulted her from the other side. Jean squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, fighting for control.

Charles met Scott’s gaze for several long moments, then broadened his focus to take in the whole room. "Very well. I suppose the best thing will be to start here in the present." He turned once again to Scott. "Scott or Jean, will you please explain why you came searching for me? What you... discovered about me?"

Jean looked to her husband questioningly and he nodded tersely. You’re the one that figured it out. Jean was dismayed by the anger in his mental tone, though she knew it wasn’t directed at her.

Jean sighed. "While Scott and I were in Alaska, I kept going over some of the... encounters I’d had with Onslaught on the Astral plane." Jean saw Betsy’s eyebrows rise sharply at that. The two telepaths had spoken little about the events of Onslaught, mostly because Jean had avoided the issue whenever Betsy questioned her.

"At one point, Onslaught took me into Charles’ mind and threw me down into a pit filled with all of the ugly thoughts and evil inclinations Charles had ever had in his life." She saw some surprise on the faces around her and shook her head. "Everyone has those thoughts and feelings, but we tend to disperse them in our minds, tuck them away in corners where we won’t have to look at them again. But Charles had put all of that mental. . . muck into a single location." She shivered involuntarily at the memory. "Onslaught took me there because he wanted to use those things to erode my confidence in Charles. He failed in that, but once Onslaught was gone, I kept going back to that place in my memory because it bothered me so." She swept the room with her gaze. "What I finally discovered was that the pit Charles created in his mind was a protective shield for a doorway. A locked door in his mind behind which is hidden... I don’t know what, exactly. Secrets he has been keeping for a very long time." She turned to look at Charles. "That’s why we started looking for him."

Charles nodded slowly. "Now the time has come for me to open that door and show you all that is behind it." He took a deep, bracing breath. "The story is very long and convoluted. I must ask you to be patient and listen until I’m finished. It simply isn’t going to make any sense at first." He paused as if struck by a sudden thought. Then he turned to Jean.

"It might be best to give you all an idea of where we will eventually arrive." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Jean has told you that I... removed some memories from the minds of the five original X-Men."

Jean felt the surge of hurt and betrayal from those around her. Jean had said it once, but for the Professor to openly admit to such an act made it impossible to disbelieve.

Charles’ gaze faltered. "Jean," he said softly, "will you please restore those memories as you did with your own?"

Jean nodded. "What about the others?" What about Remy?

"If one of you four would be willing to share your memories with the rest, that would probably be the best choice."

And Remy’s memories? she persisted.

You know it’s more than just a week for him, Charles answered wearily. You can’t just go into his mind and restore his memories.

Why not?

Because you would die.

Jean could only stare at Charles for a moment, disturbed by his flat prediction. After a moment, Charles met her gaze. "Jean, please."

She bit her lip, but then nodded. "All right."

Trying to shove away her uncertainties, she turned her thoughts to the task that Charles had set for her. Restoring the memories of the original X-Men would be relatively simple. Her thoughts settled momentarily on Warren and she felt a pang of sorrow. He’d been there, too, and she wondered what he would think if he could see Remy as something other than the man who created the Marauders. Sighing, she offered up a fleeting prayer for his safety, then forced herself back to her task.

Jean cleared her throat self-consciously. "I can restore Scott’s, Hank’s and Bobby’s memories, and then replay my own memories of that time for the rest of you." She felt a flush of warmth rising in her cheeks as she mentally reviewed what she would be giving them. "Just please bear in mind that I was sixteen at the time and had a tremendous crush."

Scott’s eyebrows dipped and she could feel his perplexity through their link. "A crush? On who?"

Jean rolled her eyes toward the ceiling with a resigned sigh. "Remy."

Remy, who had finally returned to his seat, sat bolt upright. "Quoi?"

"What?" Scott echoed in disbelief.

Jean met her husband’s bewildered gaze and smiled sheepishly. "Nevermind. You’ll see."

The X-Men were all gaping at her in various degrees of surprise, but before anyone could come up with another embarrassing question for her, Jean touched their minds and showed them the events of that week so many years ago. By the time she was done, they were no longer staring at her. They were staring at Remy. Rogue had both hands clapped over her mouth in an expression of dismayed surprise, and even Ororo had turned toward him, her eyes wide.

"Now jus’ wait a minute--" he began, his thoughts projecting surprise, doubt and a defensive anger. "Dat never happened!"

Jean bit her lip at the vehement denial. It wasn’t so much about the events of that week and his presence at the mansion. Those, though strange, were fairly innocuous. It was the accumulated shock of so many revelations-- of so many pieces of his life torn apart, exposed as a long-term fraud perpetrated on him by the only people he had ever allowed himself to trust.

Charles’ fingers gripped the arms of his wheelchair until the knuckles turned white. "Yes, it did," he returned evenly. "You just don’t remember."

Remy’s eyes narrowed to slits, the red glow of his pupils snaking out through his eyelashes like tiny fingers of flame. In that moment, he ceased to look even remotely human and his mental shields snapped back into place with such force that Jean winced in sympathy.

"Sounds like y’ done an awful lot o’ messin’ wit’ m’ head." The words were flat, angry.

Wolverine’s growl punctuated his sentiment, and Jean glanced over at him. Of all of those present, she guessed, he would be the most angered by what Charles had done.

Charles took a deep breath, his expression reflecting deep regret. "Yes... I have."

"How much?" Remy demanded and Jean felt Charles’ mind clench with apprehension.

Charles didn’t answer immediately and Remy turned his anger towards the man that, until recently, he had called father.

"How much?!" he demanded again.

This was a pivotal moment, and Jean found herself leaning forward in anticipation. She had some idea what the answer would be, but she, too, wanted to know the whole truth.

Charles glanced briefly at Jean Luc as if looking for support, then turned back at Remy. "Everything you remember before joining the Thieves Guild is false."

The glowing eyes slowly widened in disbelief. "But... I was fifteen..." He was stunned, his face draining of color.

Jean watched him in concern. With his pupils hidden by the fiery red glow and his mind sealed off behind his shields, she had no way of gauging whether this was the onset of another stress-induced panic attack. She was reassured, however, when Ororo reached over to lay a hand on his arm and he responded with a glance in her direction, and then drew her closer, his expression tightening.

Jean’s attention was dragged away from the two as Logan leapt to his feet and stalked toward Charles. "Lemme get this straight, Chuck. Are ya sayin’ ya wiped out fifteen years o’ Gumbo’s memories?" His lips were curled in a snarl as he pointed behind him at Remy.

Charles met the fearsome gaze without flinching. "Yes, Logan, that’s what I’m saying."

Logan’s claws slid out of their sheaths with their familiar, frightening sound and Jean sucked in her breath. Around her, the X-Men tensed. Rogue stepped forward as if to intervene, but was restrained by Joseph’s hand on her shoulder. After a moment, she shook Joseph off, but stayed where she was.

Logan raised one hand, though he did not directly threaten Charles with his claws. "All these years ya been preachin’ at us ’bout usin’ our powers ta help folks an’ givin’ everyone the chance ta choose their own path..." The fingers of his raised hand curled into a fist as his anger grew. "Yer a hypocrite, Professor. What ya did ain’t any different from what Weapon X did ta me! It’s a kind o’ mental rape an’ don’t ya dare tell me ya had good enough reasons ta justify it!"

"Logan!" Scott barked a warning, coming out of his chair to place a restraining arm on the angry mutant though his gaze was fixed on Charles. Jean could feel Scott’s anger boiling beneath the surface and Charles’ shame as he faced them.

Logan shrugged off Scott’s grip, his attention focused entirely on Charles, who looked away from the righteous fury in the other man’s eyes.

"I... no longer know if the reasons were good enough." Charles pressed his lips together, his expression pained. "But what I did, I did with permission." He raised his gaze to Logan’s, and Jean could see the silent plea there.

After a moment, Logan lowered his arm, but Jean could tell from his expression that he was far from mollified. She glanced over at Remy, who stood with his arms crossed, his face hard with suppressed fury. She didn’t think he believed Charles’ claim, though he didn’t say anything.

Charles heaved a tired sigh. "Please, Logan. This will only make sense if I start at the beginning and explain everything."

Logan stared at him for several moments, then nodded abruptly. He turned on his heel and stalked back to his chair. "Start talkin’," he said as he sat.

Jean could see Charles collecting his thoughts. "There is no clear beginning to this story," he finally said, his gaze roving across them all. "But I suppose the best place to start is with our deaths." A flicker of surprise ran around the room, and Charles smiled humorlessly. "You see, the X-Men were betrayed and murdered by one of their own..."

Sighing contentedly, Renee closed her eyes and let herself slide completely beneath the warm water. Her bath was almost big enough to be labeled a pool. The stone tub was chiseled out of the native rock, with the lip sitting only a foot above the level of the floor. It was a circle nearly eight feet in diameter and perhaps four feet deep. Hot and cold water was piped in from somewhere within the mountain, though Renee hadn’t discovered where. Lilies floated on the surface of the water, filling the air with their gentle scent. Renee was very curious where the flowers came from. Her bath was always decorated with them. She knew they were in a desert and the flowers were very fragile. Still, Apocalypse had to have some kind of regular supply shipment to provide food and other perishables to his household.

Renee rolled over onto her stomach beneath the water with a languorous stretch. Her back and neck ached from the strain of hunching over Apocalypse’s console, and from the effort to absorb the information he threw at her. She was still very uncertain of what she’d gotten herself into. Apocalypse was a harsh taskmaster who held no sympathy for the physical or mental limits of his new student, which was apparently what she had become. It did not seem to matter to him that she couldn’t read Egyptian hieroglyphs at all and could hardly speak the language. He expected her to understand him no matter what language he used and today he had finally sent her away in disgust for her lack of comprehension.

Angel’s gloating grin as she’d walked away still made her cheeks burn. If her uncle had despised her before, he now hated her, and seemed intent on tormenting her at every opportunity. She had four puncture wounds on the back of her hand from where he’d sunk his talons into her skin in the process of handing her a data cube. He’d been careful not to allow his skin to touch hers and since his talons were effectively dead cells, they hadn’t triggered her powers. She was grateful for that, at least. There was nothing she could do to prevent his subtle attacks, but she was glad not to have to fight her powers at the same time.

Pushing the thoughts away, she surfaced. She opened her eyes, expecting to find Shala waiting at the tub’s edge with her robe, and gasped. Apocalypse stared at her impassively as she scrambled to tuck her body against the near wall of the pool, hopefully out of his line of sight, and stared at him wide eyed over the lip of the tub.

Unfazed, Apocalypse raised the complex-looking machine he held in his hands, showing it to her. "This module will help you to learn the hieroglyphs quickly."

Renee blinked the water out of her eyes, unnerved by his presence and his disinterested stare. "Now?"

The gray eyes narrowed fractionally. "Do not waste my time with foolish questions, healer."

Renee’s breath caught in her throat. Apocalypse had no patience for anything but instant obedience, but she found herself frozen in place by his stare.

"...thank you," she tried hesitantly, acutely aware of the slate-colored eyes that bored into her own.

For the barest moment, Apocalypse’s gaze faltered. Renee’s heart skipped a beat and her cheeks flared as a hard rush of adrenaline pulsed through her. He knew! For all his cold, aloof attitude and ageless superiority, the creature who fancied himself a god was still a man underneath and he knew he’d been staring.

Renee bit her lip against a peal of hysterical, terrified laughter. She was sorely tempted to simply sink back under the warm water and not come up again until he’d left, if she came up at all. But after that one flicker, his gaze had retaken hers and now held her with the flat inflexibility she was accustomed to, demanding that she obey. She was certain he knew she’d seen the momentary lapse, but he was not going to acknowledge it.

A hundred thoughts tumbled through her head as she stared up at him. He held the upper hand here and they both knew it. Apocalypse held the power to debase her in any manner he chose, including this one. And yet, that tiny piece of exposed humanity was a crack in his armor if she could find a way to use it. She was not manipulative by nature, but her years of service to the Shadow King had taught her something about the value of an advantage.

Gathering her wits as well as her courage, Renee nodded toward the small bench that sat against the wall. "My robe is over there." She held her breath as Apocalypse followed her gaze to the pile of white cloth that lay across the bench seat.

He did not move for a painfully long interval, but finally he turned. His face was completely devoid of expression as he crossed the room, set down the machine on the little bench and picked up her robe. She watched in fascination as he returned and held the long garment open for her. Their gazes met once more, and Apocalypse’s expression twitched with the barest acknowledgment. Then, to her utter amazement, he turned his head aside, averting his gaze.

Feeling as if her knees had turned to jelly, Renee climbed out of the tub in a cascade of water and slid into the waiting robe. Apocalypse’s demeanor was impersonal as he settled it over her shoulders, and he turned away as soon as she drew the heavy folds around her. He went to retrieve the machine he’d brought and then walked out into the main room of Renee’s quarters, leaving her nothing to do but follow.

The entity known only as the Gamesmaster allowed his awareness of the events transpiring in Apocalypse’s buried palace to fade with a sense of satisfaction. One of the aspects of his mutant power allowed him to become a witness to any occurrence he chose, and it was an invaluable ability.

The LeBeau child was everything he could have hoped for. She was a survivor like her father and that core of strength would make her exactly what was needed. Managing Apocalypse was a difficult task at best. Ancient and powerful, he was not swayed by most of the normal pressures the Gamesmaster could bring to bear against him. It had been necessary to weaken him or else nothing could have diverted him from his aeons-long march to High Lordship. However, having accomplished that task, the Gamesmaster was left with a new challenge, that of prying Apocalypse out of his fortress at the appropriate time. If the immortal mutant decided to retreat to his mystical sources and hibernate until his strength returned, all would be lost.

The Gamesmaster did not dwell on that possibility. As he watched, events played out according to his will, marching inexorably toward the end he desired. He would not fail. Xavier was fallen and Neramani would soon rise. Apocalypse, too, was well in hand. All that remained was to coach the final player into position.

Confident that his plan was proceeding apace, the Gamesmaster turned his attention toward Washington.