by Kassia

Suddenly it came over me that everything would go wrong. It sounds crazy, Keyes, but it's true, so help me. I couldn't hear my own footsteps. It was the walk of a dead man.
-Fred MacMurray, "Double Indemnity"

Part 5

His hat was sitting on the table at his elbow. He thought it would be in poor taste to wear it now, all things considered. It was about 2 AM, and the house was still and silent, except for the soft sounds of someone settled in the kitchen, and the occasional toll of the godfather clock. Each deep note it struck sounded ominous, as if it were conscious of what was happening, and was counting down to... the testing of a hypothesis, really.

He could easily be wrong. He hoped he was wrong.

*Don't think about it.*

The seconds ticked by. It would have felt like a long time, except that each passing second was just Now, bearing no connection to past or future. The past was over and the future bleak, so Scott did his best to ignore them both and concentrate on the ticks.

Finally he heard the front door open, and he wistfully recalled a time when all that existed was the beautiful ticking of the grandfather clock. A shadowy figure slunk down the hallway, pass the living room door. Scott swallowed his discomfort - and any other human feelings he had - and called, "Remy?"

Gambit's face, cloaked in shadow, turned towards him. His eyes briefly glinted as he regarded Scott. He slipped into the room, barely making a sound, as if he was a shade of Gambit, devoid of substance.

"You didn't have to wait up for me, Scott." He was just kidding. You had to admire that.

"It seemed the least I could do."

"Ah." Remy sounded amused, in a morbid sort of way. He reached over to the lamp near Scott's elbow and turned it on. "Dat's better."

"Sit down, Gambit."

"Yes, sir." His tone lacked the mockery Scott would have expected to accompany the respectful title. He should have known better than to have expectations where Remy LeBeau was involved.

"You know why I want to talk to you?"

"I can guess. Might as well tell me, anyway."

They had been whispering up until now. It made for a rather eerie, secretive atmosphere that wouldn't do during this conversation. He said, in a clear voice that seemed to him to fill the room and all the rooms beyond, "It's about Marvin A. Gatsburg's death. I want to know why you killed him."

Remy blinked. "Do you, Cyke?"

"Very much."

"Dat might be hard to answer. Let me collect my t'oughts, why don't you? What makes you so sure I did it?"

The sound of a door opening, ever so softly. "We saw the surveillance photographs," Remy flinched at the volume of Scott's voice, "and I spoke to the receptionist who admitted you. You were there at the FOH building, on the day of the murder. Do you deny it?"

"Guess I can't," murmured the other X-Man. "Can you tell me why I killed him?"

"No," admitted Scott.

"Maybe 'cause he didn't," came a whisper from the doorway.

Gambit looked over at the doorway, and then turned back to Scott, comprehension dawning on his features, and, with it, fury. "You son of a bitch," he hissed.

Scott knew he deserved that. Another time, he would have been hurt, or at least indignant. Now he just felt wary. He looked past Gambit's angry countenance and said, "Come in, Rogue. Sit down."

For once, Rogue's face was expressionless, while Gambit's was alive with all sorts of emotions, none of them pleasant. Rogue drifted in like a sedated tumbleweed, and sat down next to Gambit. "He was there, but he never touched the man," she said, with admirable composure. God, but she was a good person to have on your team.

"Yes. Go on. Tell me the whole thing, Rogue. Why you did it, what happened, and how Gambit got so involved."

Her facade melted away, and her voice was tiny when she spoke, "Now?"

"Yes, now."

* - * - *

Adam Stevens was a great kid. He was bright and cheerful and friendly and ambitious. He was goin' places. Places the rest of us couldn't even dream of, much less achieve.

Some people might think that I was romanticizing his memory, what with him being dead and all. I'm not. Just ask Sam.

Aside from his other impressive qualities, Adam was also a telepath. A powerful one by my estimate, but we'll never know. He didn't want training, didn't want to tap into his potential. He had finally figured out how to shut the voices out of his head, and that was enough for him. His friend, though - Nick - he needed more help. So Adam set out to get it for him.

I still don't know if he meant to meet me, or if it actually was just an accident like he said. The point was, he spotted me, and he knew I was an X-Man. He thought I could maybe help convince his friend to get some training about his powers. That's it. That was my part in Adam Steven's life. And we had coffee a couple of times. And I introduced Sam to them, which I regret now, because if it hadn't been for me Sam wouldn't have lost two friends. But I'm not gonna think about that.

If it were up to me, I wouldn't think about any of it, but Scott's demand that I tell the story brought it all bubbling to the surface.

Gatsburg's office didn't have that crisp, inviting smell that pervades the offices of honest, hard-working people who drink coffee and make photo-copies and use Post-its. In fact, the place was a smell vacuum - and that was much more daunting than a bad smell. The furniture was modern and undoubtedly expensive, but ugly nonetheless. For some reason, I was pleased to find this man whom I hated so had bad taste in furnishings.

He was obviously surprised when his window was flung open, but not thrown off balance so much as he would've been had he been someone who didn't work at a building where they lived in daily expectation of a mutant attack.

"Ah'm here about your son."

He blinked. "My son?"

I wanted to strangle him right then. "The one you killed."

"*I* killed?" he repeated, looking oh-so-shocked.

"Had killed," I amended.

"Miss, Miss - " I didn't supply him with a name, and he stumbled on, "I didn't have my son killed. I don't know where you came up with that idea."

I dove across his desk abruptly, and his face registered real fear as I grabbed his arm and used it to fling him - gently, really - to the other side of the room. He slid to a jarring, but harmless, stop against the bookshelf. "Don't you dare press that button."

"Button?" he croaked.

"Yes, button," I replied impatiently, annoyed by his insistence of dancing around everything I said. "Or were you reaching for a gun you have stored away under there? Ah don't really care, either way. All Ah want from you is a nice, succinct explanation as to why you're such a son of a bitch. Ya got," I glanced at the clock on the wall, "thirty seconds."

The tick of the second hand grew audible. He stared at me, aghast, face twitching like some dying rodent.

"Twenty," I said amiably.

He closed his eyes.

"Fifteen."

I was surprised when he actually spoke. "You're an X-Man, aren't you? This isn't quite your style. I didn't recognize one of you, out of uniform. And probably AWOL, too."

Without knowing what I was doing, I ran my hands back through my hair, pulling it so tightly at the back that it hurt my scalp. I don't know why I did that. "Ah just want some answers."

"I don't know how you knew my son, Miss - Rogue, isn't it?"

"Doesn't matter what Ah'm called. Just tell me why you did it."

He looked toward the window, which I hadn't bothered to close. It was a fall evening, the light almost completely gone and the air growing chiller by the second. "I didn't like that he had to be killed," said Gatsburg slowly, "but - he had to be. I'm working for a cause here. He was going against that cause, endangering it and my - my fight. I wish that people weren't born like that, with that kind of power. They wouldn't be, in a just world. It's not a just world."

I wanted to cut him off, tell him I wasn't here for his goddamn speech, before I remembered that I *was* there to hear his goddamn speech. At least, so I told myself.

"You know the ones that bear the brunt of the stigma, the ones with obvious mutations, they're usually the most harmless. It's the others, the ones with hidden power, you have to watch out for. I mean, look at you. You look almost normal..." He trailed off, at a mere narrowing of the eyes from me. Sometimes it's good to be feared. "You know about my son's power?"

"He was a good kid. He used it for good."

"Even the Devil can quote the scripture," he replied, even more quietly. He began to get to his feet. "There, I've given you your answer. I hope you're satisfied." He walked past me, rather shakily, towards his desk, his steps growing more confident as I made no move to stop him. He stopped, suddenly, just out of arm's reach. "Anyway, maybe it's better to be dead than living as what he was. Maybe now he has a hope of heaven."

That was when I killed him. My left hand grabbed his shoulder, turning him to face me directly, and my other hand slammed into his face.

I didn't quite recognize what I was thinking at the time. It was just a nebulous, nameless sort of knowledge. Later, when I forced myself to think it over, I realized it was a combination of three things: one, that he could and would use his cause to justify thousands of deaths if need be. Two, he had killed his son to save his career, no more, no less. And three...

Three...

That I was angry as hell at him for being so quiet, almost... reasonable. I was angry at him for being a bad man instead of a villain.

And it was probably that anger that powered my fist. As if I needed more power.

Of course, the version I gave Scott was a bit edited.

* - * - *

"Ah went to talk to him, find out why he had done what he had done. Ah wasn't planning on killing him, Ah just wanted closure of some sort, ya know?"

She looked up from her hands, to try to meet Scott's eyes in a plea for understanding, but they were masked by the red glasses. "How did you know that he had killed his son?"

*Warren.* "Instinct."

Both she and Gambit involuntarily flinched back as Scott removed his glasses. His eyes were closed, though. There was silence as he rubbed the ruby quartz lenses with the end of his shirt, and then slid them back on his face.

"Oh," was all he said.

Gambit frowned in apparent resentment of Scott's tactics. "Shall I tell my part now, Cyke?"

"If you don't mind."

* - * - *

I watched Rogue, seated in an armchair, staring blindly forward. It wasn't like Rogue to go three days without hurting me. Something was wrong.

If I had been in a funk like Rogue was, I would have insisted upon being left alone. I bet Rogue would prefer to be left alone, too, but I try not to let her preferences influence my decisions.

"Somet'ing got you down, *chere*?"

She didn't respond at first, but then she turned to look at me, and I froze at the look on her face. Her eyes were wide and scared and frightening, but for the life of me I couldn't tear my own away.

Suddenly, she took a deep breath. I know now that in that moment she was summoning all the courage and audacity and insanity she could, but at the time I was completely oblivious. I thought it was breath like any other. "Ah hafta go," she said, and suited her actions to her words.

When people who have that kind of look on their faces leave, they have a tendency to never come back. Years of being Remy LeBeau, surrounded by the depressing sort of people I have a tendency to attract, had taught me that.

I heard the door slam, and glanced out the window in time to see Rogue driving away. I figured that if I took the Harley I had a chance of keeping up with her and not being seen.

Looking back I know that if I had called to her, gotten her attention, that all of this would never have turned out like it did. I have to admit, if only to myself, that my main reason for not doing so was curiosity. I wanted to see where she would go, what she would do.

Years of being Remy LeBeau has also taught me that I'm a fool.

I'm pretty good at following people. I managed to keep track of Rogue all the way to New York, and then to the FOH building. I don't know how she knew which office the man was in; I never asked her. Maybe she knew it from that Adam kid. I don't know. I don't want to know.

When I saw her go in, I went into the lobby immediately. Right about then, I was starting to get an idea of what she was up to. Not that I thought she'd kill someone, but Gatsburg's name had been on the tip of everyone's tongues.

So I went on in, asked the cute receptionist where the man's office was, and went right upstairs in the FOH headquarters to become accessory to a murder.

* - * - *

Rogue leaned forward, lips parted, and whispered incredulously, "You knew 'cause of a look in my *eyes*?"

Remy shrugged his should-be-patented Remy shrug. "Sure." He met her gaze as he uttered the one syllable, and they stared intently at each other.

Scott cleared his throat. "And then?"

* - * - *

I don't know what I expected at the time. A big musical build up? Or maybe just a drum roll? A flash of light? Ripple dissolve?

Screams of pain. That's what I had expected. But he didn't have any time for that.

I thought things were as bad as they could get, me there all alone with the corpse I had just made, but then Remy burst in. I stared at him, first in disbelief, and then in horror, and then...

I suddenly felt very relieved. I've never been so happy to see anyone in my life. He slammed the door and locked it as soon as his eyes took the scene in; chalk one up for the Cajun's reflexes.

"*Mon dieu*." He said it like a prayer.

I've never seen the man thrown so off-balance before. I didn't know why. I was having no trouble maintaining *my* equilibrium.

Remy knew nothing if not how to behave in these kind of circumstances. "Rogue, Rogue, Rogue, we've got ta get outta here. *Chere*? Rogue?"

I blinked at him.

"*Chere*, can ya stand?"

I hadn't realized I wasn't. I glanced down at my folded legs. They didn't seem inclined to make any sort of movement. My gloved hand was resting on my thigh; it was still bloodstained from the literal blow I had just struck for justice.

You know, you evade death, and you evade, and you evade some more, and you think that's all you do, evade. You forget that it's because, if you stop evading, that's it. You never get another chance. You're down for good.

I looked at the bastard lying near me on the floor, his head a bloody pancake. No loss to the world if *he* was down for good.

Remy grabbed me by the arm, and pulled me to my feet. He was slightly wild-eyed, and looked around, muttering things. I tried to listen before I realized he was speaking in French. The only thing I made out was something about the door. He went over, and unlocked it.

"No, ya idiot," I hissed. "We're goin' out the window..."

Remy managed a look that bore some semblance to his usual subtly mocking glare. "I know dat, chere, but I'm unlocking it so *dey* don't."

"Oh. Of course."

Remy took a deep breath. "Out de window?"

"Yeah. Course."

We stood staring at each other for a moment.

"Uh, *chere*, are ya gonna carry me or do you expect me to jump?"

"Of... course." I took a deep breath of my own, and scooped him up, probably getting some brain and bone bits and such on his trench coat. We left it open, since it was that way when I came.

I landed as soon as possible, and we walked a block over to where I parked the car. It was good to be walking, out in the air, no bodies - I glanced quickly around - lying prone on the ground. I loaded Gambit's bike into the trunk, which wouldn't close over it, and got into the driver's seat.

"You want me to drive?" asked Remy as I fumbled with the keys.

I shook my head. "Ah don't think you're in any condition to."

His eyebrows shot up, and darted to my bloody glove on the steering wheel, but he didn't argue. Instead he leaned back in the passenger seat and closed his eyes. I began to drive, and then stopped so suddenly that Remy almost hit the windshield despite my slow speed. "Wait, Remy!"

"What?"

"Are you sure - sure Gatsburg's dead?" His eyes began to widen, and I rushed on, "People survive the most horrible things. If he's still alive, dying slowly, Ah should maybe go back and kill him. A mercy killin'. Can you imagine living even for a little when-"

"Rogue, he's dead," said Gambit flatly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Drive."

I resumed driving, resisting the temptation to make the car go as fast as was physically possible, since I didn't want to attract attention.

Getting out of New York City is always bad, even when there's not much traffic, so we didn't speak for a while, me concentrating on the driving and Remy no doubt trying not to concentrate on anything at all. We were about a quarter of the way home when he spoke suddenly. "Do you want to come clean when we get back?"

My stomach twisted. "Ah - Ah... of course Ah do."

But I didn't want to at all, and it was suddenly borne upon me that I had just smashed a man's skull in. God, what was I thinking? I must've been insane... Oh God oh God oh God.

"Pull over," Remy said gently. I did so, and then I sat there staring into space for a moment before leaning against the steering wheel and sobbing frantically into my arms.

* - * - *

"It was really rather neatly done, for something that wasn't planned," opined Scott.

Remy cast him a glare, but Rogue just nodded. "Ah thought so, too."

"I was the weak link, I'm 'fraid," said Gambit.

"Remy, don't even - ya didn't even need to help me out."

There eyes met again, and this time there was a faint gleam of hope in Gambit's expression. Hope for what, for God's sake? Scott wanted to smack them both. "Go on," he instructed them coolly.

* - * - *

Beast once hypothesized that the effect of Rogue punching someone in the face with the full force of her strength would have roughly the same effect as shoving a grenade in the person's mouth.

I never expected her to test the hypothesis.

Seeing Rogue with the body at her feet had made me realize something. Every time she punched me, every time she fought or did anything, she was holding back.

I can't imagine doing that.

"You don't want to tell them," I said to Rogue.

She ran her fingers around the steering wheel, which would have to be cleaned later, though she had taken off her gloves. "Remy, how come you're sure he was dead when we left? Did you check his pulse? Did he have a certain look, like they say dead people always have in books, even though there are no other signs that they're dead? Remy?"

"He. Was. Dead."

"How do you know?" she persisted. "Ah'm not being paranoid. Ah'm just interested."

"If he wasn't den, he's dead now," I snapped, hoping firmness would get her back on track. A mistake, now that I think about it, because later I learned that the thought of him dying slowly in that condition was haunting her. "Rogue, you don't want to tell the ot'ers what happened, do you."

Rogue shook her head in agreement. She looked down at the bits of blood and such on her clothing, frowning at it. She was completely splattered. Looked like a modern painter. I resisted one of my usual badly-timed urges to kiss her and went on, "It's not like I haven't ever kept secrets from de team before. It's up to you, Rogue, whatever you want."

"I don't want to pull you into this with me." Her tears had stopped now, she was sitting up straight and thinking reasonably. Or as reasonably as someone could under such circumstances. It takes a lot to break that woman. I keep trying, though.

"Don't t'ink of me. Just you."

"It was... murder. Ah don't want to give Xavier that kinda dilemma. Ah think... Remy, stop me if Ah'm doing something horribly wrong. Ah don't want to tell them anything."

"Who'm I to judge-"

She cut me off. "Ah'm asking you to tell me, 'kay? As Ah see it, a long time ago, Xavier took a chance on me when no one else would. Trusted me. Ah've betrayed that trust, no denyin' that, but... Ah don't want him to know. Okay. Tell me. Tell me Ah'm wrong. Tell me Ah'm crazy."

Maybe, but I can out-crazy that girl any day of the week. So I slipped out of my trenchcoat. There was bit of blood on it, but it was the best I could do for her. We'd be having a helluva bonfire, later.

She took it, and put it on, watching me sharply as she did so. "What do ya say? Remy?"

"I think it was a good call."

I did think so. And I would have been right, too, if we hadn't been found out.

* - * - *

"After you got back, what happened?"

"You know that stuff," evaded Rogue. "We tripped around the house like people trapped in a nightmare."

"No. I mean with Sam."

"How did you know about Sam?"

"Ruby Stevens was over at the mansion. She spotted him."

"She was *here*?" Rogue looked from one to the other, and Gambit nodded confirmation. Her eyes widened. "You knew?"

"Gambit here talked her out of having dinner with us."

"You didn't tell me, Remy," stated Rogue, no accusation or appreciation in her voice. She turned back to Scott. "Why did she come here?:

"For no reason that need concern you. So, tell me about Sam."

* - * - *

Sam had met Adam Stevens. He knew Adam was a mutant. He also knew that the X-Men were investigating Adam's murder, and that I hadn't come forth with her connection to him.

He wouldn't give me away. Sam doesn't do that, though he's responsible as hell. But he did confront me. I hated it. I hated making him an accessory. But at the time I didn't think I could do otherwise.

In all fairness to him, he had no idea I had killed Adam. He just knew I was afraid of being suspected of doing so, and knew I was rather unbalanced about the whole thing.

"Rogue, go tell 'em. Tell 'em everything. You have to, now, before they find out themselves."

"Ah can't, Sam. If they ask, Ah'll tell 'em but... Ah don't want to get involved."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"No, it doesn't. And it won't. Ah'm sorry."

He talked to me again, later, in the kitchen. Yelling at me. Then I think he was starting to suspect, but he was having trouble wrapping his mind around the concept. I yelled back and in the end, right under Scott's nose, we came to an understanding.

I wish to death I had never introduced Sam to Adam and Nick. I didn't know Nick, but Sam says nice things about him. I hope Gatsburg is in hell. I regret killing him but - not so much, ya know? I'd rather go back and kill Gatsburg all over again then ever completely absorb someone's personality again. Though, God knows, Carol did me some good in many ways, and I can find a little comfort in the fact that I did my purgatory for absorbing her. But even Carol and the knowledge of what I had done to her couldn't keep the murderer in me from surfacing. God. *Murderer.*

I wouldn't be the only one on the X-Men. Just the least honorable. Killing a defenseless man. Logan would be ashamed of me. In fact, why isn't he? Couldn't he smell the fear, the murder on us? Probably. Just as Jean and Xavier and Betsy probably sensed it.

Here I am worrying about Sam, but Sam was just one X-Man. I might have turned the whole team into accessories, one way or another.

* - * - *

Scott had stood up while Rogue spoke, and was staring out the window. "I'm impressed." He spoke it to the lamp reflection on the window. "Living with this for almost a week and not tearing each other apart. That's impressive."

"We mostly avoided each other," admitted Rogue.

"Yeah. I didn't like dat."

Scott was glad he couldn't see whatever look they exchanged.

"It was the only-" Rogue began.

"Cut the crap," Remy interrupted her. "I've done worse than anyt'ing you could do, *chere*."

"Have you? Don't tell me."

"At least you were doing it for someone else."

"Adam," the words slipped out in the same soft tone a little girl might use to talk to her dolls, "Ah was doing it for Adam."

Scott turned suddenly to face both of them, and ground out, "What? Come his next birthday, you're gonna lay a nicely wrapped box with a smashed head in it on his grave?"

They both had identical looks of shock on their faces.

Scott closed his eyes, and took a few deep breaths before speaking. "Rogue," his tone was clipped now, professional, "I want you gone by tomorrow morning, before I get up. Take what you need. We'll store the rest for you, but don't expect to be coming back for it any time soon."

"If Rogue goes," said Gambit, "I go, too."

"I expected you to," replied Scott bluntly.

Gambit took the dismissal, and started out of the room. Rogue lingered a bit longer, and, once Remy was through the door, she went to Scott and demanded, her voice pitched low and breathy, "How did you know?"

What a question. He couldn't possibly answer it.

*Because it fit. Because you were at the center of everything, and it explains everyone's behavior if you did it. Because you were fighting with Sam, who knew the victim. Because Bobby was sick and Gambit looked like hell, and Bobby loves you and Gambit is in love with you. Because you could have done it. Because I can think of no one else, except Storm, who Gambit might follow and aid and abet in a murder. And because you confessed.*

"Instinct," shrugged Scott.

She was less than satisfied with the answer, and the look in her eyes made it clear that she thought she at least deserved an honest explanation. "*How did you know?*"

"That slip at Xavier's birthday dinner, where you said that Adam Stevens was killed because he was a mutant. Ruby Stevens told us that he was."

"That... oh. That little slip, and you knew me for a murderer?" She laughed unpleasantly. "Guess you knew me better than Ah did. Well, good work."

*Good work?* He felt like he had been struck, but trying to reassure her would just make it worse. He glanced over at the godfather clock. Two thirty. They didn't have much time until Scott was planning on waking up, and he had told Gambit and Rogue they had to be gone for then. "Better hurry and pack. Goodbye, Rogue."

"Goodbye, Scott."

He stood there for a little bit, listening to her ascending the stairs, before deciding on bed. But when he got to the stairs he found Remy standing at the bottom of them.

Scott's brow furrowed. "Gambit?

He should have seen it coming. Gambit's fist connected with the lower half of his face with amazing force. Scott's head snapped to the side, and he stumbled. His glasses went flying, but luckily his eyes were already squeezed shut in reflexive response to the blow.

He found his balance and straightened, probing the inside of his mouth with his bleeding tongue. "Dab, Reby. By jaw."

He felt his glasses being slid onto his face. He reached up to adjust them before opening his eyes, and regarded Gambit. Through the red lenses, nothing in the room appeared as bright as Remy's eyes did.

"Dat was for de trick you played on Rogue," he whispered.

Scott wiped the blood of his chin with the back of his hand and replied tonelessly, "You two take good care of each other, okay?"

Without another word or gesture, Remy turned and stumbled up the stairs. Scott went to the kitchen to pour himself a drink.

"Why did you have to go on?" "Too many people told me to stop." -Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart, "The Big Sleep"

EPILOGUE

The night was cool; it helped to wake them up a bit as they walked towards the garage. Maybe it was the reason Rogue was shivering, too, but Remy doubted it. She was holding her suitcases, one firmly in each hand, and she was staring up at the house.

"Shouldn't look back," he whispered.

"Ah can look back if Ah want."

Remy shrugged, and resumed walking, while Rogue resumed her staring. There were no lights on, except the kitchen light which she hadn't turned off, but she couldn't see that from where she was.

Suddenly, one switched on in one of the rooms. A figure was silhouetted against the orangeish light. A shiver ran down her spine; it was the same room that had held the person who had seen her on the night of the murder, in Gambit's blood splattered trench coat.

It was Bobby's room.

He didn't wave, or call anything, he just watched her, and she watched back. A silent goodbye. It would have to do.

Remy had gotten his bike from the garage, and had it revved up. It seemed to be growling impatiently at Rogue, so she turned from the house and flew quickly to the garage to get her car.

When she drove out into the driveway, Gambit was still there, waiting. She pulled up alongside him.

He smiled at her. Not a bitter smile, or even inappropriate. A hopeful one. "So, where do you wanna go, *chere*?"

Rogue considered. "Not anywhere that you or Ah grew up in."

"But dat leaves pretty much the whole world."

"Yeah, that's it. That's where Ah wanna go, Remy."

"*Si vous insistez, chere*." The motorcycle roared down the driveway, and Rogue pressed down on the gas and roared after him.

* * *

Xavier was staring out of his office window. He seemed incapable of looking her in the eye. He looked so tired, and Jean felt momentarily bitter. *A fine birthday present you've given him, Scott Summers.*

"I didn't know exactly what had happened- "

"But you sensed something was wrong." She let her words float gently in the air. No projectile phrases, no attacks here. This was the aftermath. This was the part where they gathered up the dead and sent them back home in wooden boxes. "I know. I sensed it, too."

"I never guessed that Scott would send them away."

Neither had Jean. But of course Scott had. *We should have known.*

"This wound will take a long time to heal," Xavier went on.

*It will scar.* "Yes. Nothing new in that."

"I could countermand the order," Xavier mused. "Tell them to come back."

"You know you can't. Things never would have been the same, if they left or if they stayed. Or even if Scott had left everything alone." *I wish he had left everything alone...*

"But he did what he thought right." Xavier frowned, and said more softly, almost to himself, "He did what *was* right."

*Oh, my Scott, how come we haven't broken you yet?* But Scott hadn't broken since the plane crash, not even when she was thought dead, or so Jean had heard. "Yes, he did. And that's all we can ask of him."

"I know."

And they both fell silent and listened to the breeze outside. It was shaping up to be a very sunny day.