. I .
Winter had grasped the village of Salem Center in its icy clutches, cruel, bitter, unrelenting. The snows of yesterday had frosted over, leaving Gambit to half-walk, half-skitter across the pavement up towards the Xavier Mansion. There was something about the cold that matched his present mood as he trudged up into the crisp, deeper snow that lay outside the gates. Something frigid, damp, but most of all numbing. He drove his hands into the pockets of his trench coat, suddenly hardly able to breathe. All this time, after everything, and he was coming back here. Why did he always come running back? What so enthralled him, so enraptured him that he could not stay away? Only one thing he’d ever truly loved resided here – and even that love had frosted over.
“Aren’t you gonna go in?”
He turned to Fontanelle beside him, dressed in a black leather duster ala The Matrix and topped off dark beret. She had come with him as back up, for support – right now, she was the only person he could truly trust.
“Guess I’m gonna have to,” he sighed, looking up at the mansion looming overhead. “After everyt’ing dat’s happened…”
“They need to know,” Fontanelle replied. “And you need to join them.”
“I ain’t decided dat yet,” he muttered. Dat’s the answer, he thought to himself. A lingerin’ sense of duty. I got info for de X-Men dat dey need – info presented in my very person. Dat’s why I’m goin’ back. It don’t mean I gotta stay.
“If you’re so unsure about this, then at least let’s go inside and warm up some,” the woman beside him protested. “Give them the news, have a shot of brandy, then make tracks. This has to be done, Rems, one way or another.”
He eyed her, the oddball woman beside him, mutant dream-therapist, collaborator of the X-Men; a woman he had, only recently, discovered was his half-sister. Life couldn’t possibly have dredged up any more crazy twists and turns, he thought wryly.
“You’re right,” he said, at last. “Let’s go.”
Half an hour later, and an emergency meeting had been called in the War Room. Remy had chosen to stand on the sidelines of the gathering X-Men, uncomfortable to be amongst old comrades and friends that he had left behind what seemed such a long time ago. Gathered as a whole were all the teams now residing in the mansion. Team Alpha – the group he had once belonged to, fore-runners of the X-Men; Team Omega, temporarily away from their base in San Francisco; Unit X, the mansion’s support faculty, which included his ex-wife, Nightshade; and Generation Next’s recently returned leader, Cable. Though there was no animosity in their glances, Remy invariably felt awkward in their collective presence. These were people he had never truly fit in with, many of whom he had only tentatively called friends. There was no doubt that he had earned the right to call himself an X-Man over the years; it did not stop him from feeling like the prodigal son, nevertheless. Some of his teammates had found it difficult to trust him – others had had no cause to at all. All had given him the benefit of the doubt. It was something he had never felt he had truly deserved.
But one face joined the rest, and all the previous uneasiness he had felt in front of the others seemed to pale in comparison. Rogue – not just comrade, not just friend, but also lover. The very same lover who had turned him away not once, but twice. Between them had existed a love so passionate that he had believed nothing could sunder it. He had been wrong, more times than he cared to remember. And now, as she entered the room and saw him, her face blanched and her brow furrowed; quickly she averted her gaze from him, suddenly embarrassed. He, on the other hand, continued to stare at her, with little intention other than to gauge his own feelings towards her. Anger and bitterness were there, certainly. Maybe even a certain amount of hate. But he had not been expecting the thin vein of warmth that suddenly snaked through the cold of his heart. It perplexed him.
Only then did he turn his eyes away.
“I must say Gloria, that this is a highly impromptu call for a meeting – especially without consulting me first.” Professor Charles Xavier was saying from his place hunched over in his hoverchair. “I am curious to know as to what has warranted this gathering.”
“I apologize, Professor,” Fontanelle replied grimly. “But the two of us – Gambit and I – have uncovered some information which absolutely can’t go unheeded. It has specific links to Destiny’s Diaries.”
Sage visibly perked up from her corner by the computers, but said nothing. Remy noticed the action with a certain amount of begrudging interest. So, it seemed that the question of Irene Adler’s diaries had taken on more than just a relative significance to the gifted cyberpath – Remy wouldn’t have been surprised if they had even become an obsession with her. Sage had never been known to do things by halves; anything she did not understand she would dissect thoroughly, often with little concern for any of the involved parties. This was exactly what Remy despised about the woman. It was something he could never understand in her, her persistence, her conviction, her single-mindedness in all her endeavours, to the point of excluding all possibility of human sensibility. Whereas his mind was attuned purely to the realm of intuition and instinct, hers was to the cold analytical realm of logic and science.
And for that he hated her. He hated her for forcing Rogue to jump-start her powers for the single, untested cause of Destiny’s Diaries.
For, after all, what were the clinical writings of some absurd journal to human love?
“This all sounds very mysterious,” the professor mused with a slight smile twisting his lips. “Please, Gloria, do inform us.”
Fontanelle looked pleased to effectively spill the beans. Remy almost envied her her enthusiasm.
“In the time we were away from the mansion, we managed to infiltrate Sinister’s base – effectively from within,” the older woman explained. “It was there that we discovered Sinister’s true purpose in all this – he was working with Destiny as a covert member of her Savants. It was he who developed the EX-gene drug that was used on -” She paused delicately, “ – certain of our members.”
“Hm,” Sage murmured, unable to keep silent any longer. “Finally it makes sense. I had had trouble accounting for the Diaries’ mysterious ‘Genengineer’. I had always presumed it was a reference to Genosha’s mutates, perhaps even Magneto. But Sinister, of course, makes perfect sense.”
“But why work with Destiny?” Bobby asked. “We all know that psycho only has interest in the study of mutant genes. What possible advantage could Destiny give him in his nutcase experiments?”
“Destiny does have access to all the most powerful mutants in the world, don’t forget,” Cable replied darkly. “A veritable and almost limitless supply of mutants to experiment on.”
“But Destiny is using those mutants as a power source,” the White Queen cut in, crossing her arms. “Could she afford to break the link in the chain and hand her mutant ‘batteries’ over to Sinister’s experiments? And for what reason would she think it beneficial to do so?”
“I must admit I hadn’t thought of any of those possibilities. You may all be right,” Fontanelle conceded. “But it seems Sinister’s interest in Destiny was far more personal.”
“Meaning?” Jubilee and Boom-Boom echoed in impatience.
“What we discovered was something far more sinister – pun not intended,” Fontanelle continued, obviously enjoying this. “The true origin of Gambit, Remy LeBeau.”
“I do wish you’d stop dat, Glor,” Remy mumbled. “You’re makin’ me blush.”
“What was it?” Ororo asked calmly, looking pointedly towards her old friend.
“Dat I was a product of the Black Womb project,” he answered quickly, pre-empting his half-sister, the sarcasm heavy in his voice. “Sinister’s last and greatest pet project, made by plantin’ his seed into de womb of Amanda Mueller, the Black Womb.”
“Sinister’s your father?!” Bobby cried, his eyes bulging. “And I thought the whole Darth Vader-Luke Skywalker deal was sick!”
Lorna threw him a warning look and he quickly fell silent, before Jean spoke up.
“But why?”
“Sinister found out that my mother had a latent mutant gene that she could pass down onto her children,” Fontanelle explained for a reluctant Remy. “He used her to create several ‘experiments’, but ultimately lost interest – until he decided to create an ‘ultimate’ form of mutant, a true expression of all that was best of both human and mutant genes. A merging, shall we say, of both races’ unique points. Of course, only his genes were good enough for the experiments. The result was Remy. But Sinister considered him a failure and ultimately abandoned him.”
There was a silence, during which no one quite knew what to say. Rogue simply stared at him, green eyes wide, tremulous. Remy merely returned the gaze without expression.
“Yes,” he added into the unbelieving quiet. “Nice to know that you’re at de bottom of de pile.”
She averted her gaze, frowning.
“No, but it makes perfect sense,” Sage repeated herself, almost as if relishing this new bit of information. “Sinister, the Genengineer. Black Womb, who we can now safely identify as the Mater. And Gambit, their son, an omega-class mutant that Sinister failed to spot until it was too late – the Witness.”
“That was why Sinister joined the Savants,” Fontanelle nodded. “After discovering Remy’s true nature through the Diaries, he saw it is the only way to regain contact and, ultimately, control of him. Bring him back into the fold, so to speak.”
“I take it he asked you to join him,” the Professor spoke up after a short silence, addressing Remy.
“ ‘Course he did,” he replied through gritted teeth. “An’ o’ course I told him where t’ stick it. I wasn’ goin’ to fall in wit’ dat lunatic; but for your information, I ain’t stayin’ here neither. Truth is, I only came here to tell you what you all needed to know. Well, I’ve helped you out. S’ time now for me t’ leave dis asylum. Don’t need to have anythin’ to do wit’ any of dis anymore. I’ll only get in de way.”
“I understand your sentiments, my friend,” Ororo interrupted softly. “But you have misjudged our intentions. We need you here, Remy.”
“As a friend, ‘Ro, or as an X-Man?” he asked bitterly. “Truthfully, who here but you ever learnt t’ trust me enough to call me friend? Why should I stay if I can’t earn any of your trust?”
“You have more than earned our trust, Gambit,” Xavier put in firmly. “As well as your place amongst us as an X-Man.”
“So you say. But how d’ you know dat I really am worthy of your trust? Funny t’ing is, all my life I’ve been cursin’ my genes for makin’ me what I am, for givin’ me a life I never wanted. Professor, you tol’ me dat our genes gave us powers, and dat those powers gave us responsibility. But now dat I know de truth of what I am, what responsibility does dat give me? What does it say ‘bout me?”
“That you, or no one else has to be guided by what your genes say you are,” Xavier answered quietly. “And that your responsibility still hasn’t changed at all.”
Remy shook his head, laughing harshly. “What, dat I still gotta make good wit’ what I got? Professor, what if I ain’t got a good bone in me? Truth is, I’m sick o’ tryin’ to make good. I’m sick o’ thinkin’ that everythin’ I ever touched or ever did has gone bad. Sinister ain’t got no hold over me, but neither have you. Any of you!” He half looked at her then, wanting – perhaps sadistically so – for her to hate herself for forcing him away. “Dis cajun leads his own life!” he cried in sudden rage, turning his eyes away for her. “An’ from now on, I’m goin’ where I want t’ go, so you can screw your predictions an’ your prophecies! I’ve had it wit’ dis! Wit’ everythin’!”
“You’re wrong,” Sage spoke up coldly yet calmly, catching him off guard. “You can’t leave because you know you have nowhere else to go. To do so would only lead you back to the place you’re trying to run from. Nothing could be more helpless.”
He rounded on her, suddenly furious to hear those words from her, her of all people. How dare she presume to know anything about his life and his feelings!
“So you’re sayin’ I should stay here to fulfil dose precious prophecies of yours!” he spat at her. “Dat everythin’ else is a lie? For a woman who spends her life relyin’ so much on empirical data, you’re puttin’ a whole lot o’ faith into some screwball predictions!”
“And for a man who prides himself on being so independent from everything he is, you’re doing an awful lot of running,” she stated coolly, meeting his enraged gaze with calm icy blue eyes. “Or are you so afraid to admit that the only good thing you’ve ever had is here with us? Is it so much easier for you to throw it away?” Remy bristled, both at her tone and her words, incensed at the implication beneath them. Did she know? How could she possibly know, when she didn’t even think like a human…?
A coldness swept over him, crawling insidiously up his spine to lodge firmly at the base of his neck. For a moment he could not speak, could not even move out of fear that this woman he so hated could possibly be the only one who understood him. Quickly he bent his glance from hers, defeated.
“I don’ have t’ listen to dis,” he muttered darkly, turning to the door. To leave was the only sense of self-control he had left. Yet even as he left the room, he felt her eyes on his back, and his hackles stood on end.
*
“You were too harsh.”
Ororo was standing in Sage’s domain, surrounded by a plethora of wires, computer screens and whirring machinery, feeling distinctly out of her element. Sage herself was tapping away at her virtual keyboard – Ororo supposed she was adding new data to her work on the Libris Veritatus. There was an impassive look on the other woman’s flawless face, the porcelain skin glistening in the reflected light of the flickering computer screens. It galled Storm that Sage should seem so uninterested in what she had to say. Over the years that the woman had come to work for Xavier at the mansion, Ororo had managed to develop a certain understanding with the enigmatic Tessa. She had even come to consider her as something of a friend. But, Ororo suddenly realized, they had never really interacted on an emotional level. That was why she was standing here in this once so familiar room, feeling annoyed and alienated, trying to confront this most singular of women with the fact that, yes – she actually did feel angry with her.
“Tessa, are you listening to me?” she persisted when the dark-haired woman did not answer.
Sage continued to tap away, her eyes fixated on the computer screen.
“I can hear you perfectly, Storm,” she said in that same deadpan tone she always used.
“Then by the goddess, why do you not answer me?” Ororo demanded, her voice climbing a notch despite her best efforts to keep her temper level.
“You made a statement, not a question, Ororo,” Sage replied evenly. “And since I agreed with you, I didn’t see much of a point in replying.”
That was not the retort Storm had been expecting.
“So you agreed with me?” she echoed uncertainly.
“Many of the others have made the same observation,” Sage returned dryly. Ororo wasn’t sure whether it was humour that she heard in those temperate tones. She paused, feeling that the more she spoke to her the less she understood her.
“Then why did you say all those things to him?” she questioned at last. “Even after everything he had been through? He needs our sympathy, not our scorn, Tessa.”
“I said those things because he needed to hear them,” Sage answered simply, her voice clinical. Ororo gazed at her with narrowed eyes.
“You don’t like Remy, do you?”
“Not particularly,” Sage admitted candidly. There was, nevertheless, now a spark of interest in her eyes.
“Why? Because you can’t read him the way you can read some of the rest of us? Does it frustrate you so much to know that you can’t?” The anger was rising in Storm’s voice. She could feel it, curling through her the way it always did. She held it down with an effort. As though infected by the rawness of the emotion, a smile actually began to twist on Sage’s red lips.
“You misunderstand me, Ororo,” she answered lightly, stopping her typing to look back at the taller woman. “I have no interest in ‘reading’ Gambit. There is much he is able to keep hidden – in that you are right. But ironically, he is one of the easiest of us all to read. His passions, his motivations – anyone can read them in the minutest of his actions. Can’t you see it, Ororo? Is that what frustrates you so? That he is your friend, and that you find it impossible to reach him?”
Ororo bristled. It was not the words, nor even the soft tone of her voice. It was that Sage should so easily have seen, so easily have known…
“And do you suppose that you can reach him, Tessa, with all those harsh words you said to him?” she countered, swallowing her growing rage.
“I can only attempt to make him think about his actions,” Sage replied, looking suddenly tired, pinching the bridge of her nose and massaging it with a short sigh. “But I can’t change how he thinks. Regardless of everything, Ororo, he must stay here. The Diaries say we need him.”
“So that is it?” Ororo almost exploded, the words heated. “Does everything truly revolve around the Diaries for you? That you should want him to stay with us for that sole purpose, with none of his best interests at heart? Can you be so cold?”
There was a momentary silence on Sage’s part – maybe it was even hesitation.
“Yes,” she replied at last, looking back up at the computer screens with contemplation rather than impatience. Ororo saw the look, and knew it was hopeless to tackle her. There was no use in any more arguments. With one last hard look at the woman before her, she turned, reaching for the door handle.
“I won’t disturb you any longer,” she said coldly, before leaving the room and pulling the door to with a dissonant click.
Sage turned to face the computer again, her expression brooding. Her fingers spread across the keyboard with the touch of a lover; her eyes closed and a trembling sigh escaped from her lips. For the first time in weeks she felt tired. So damn tired. She was, after all, human. Why use computers, or even telepathy to read a person? It was just as easy to read faces, to read the nervous twitches on one’s mouth, to catch coded glances between old lovers over a crowded room. That was why she had said all she had. That was why she felt this gnawing sense of foreboding.
With a short grimace she drew in a breath and began typing again.
All this blood racing right there under her skin, and didn’t anyone ever stop to think how warm she could be?
*