He was walking down the stairs when he first heard Scott yell his name. Wincing against the headache rattling his skull, he tried to ignore the shouts.

"Gambit! Gambit? Do you hear me?"

He looked down at Scott¡¦s annoyed expression waiting for him at the bottom of the staircase. The leader of the X-Men stood in full uniform, yellow spandex and all, ruby quarts visor masking the frustrated expression that was no doubt present in the eyes. "Yeah, Scott. I hear ya," Remy managed to mumble.

"We need to talk. Let¡¦s take a walk." He was about to turn away, but something made Scott pause and stare at him for a moment, tilting his head. Some of the hardness left the expression. "Remy, are you okay?"

Remy was standing in front of Scott now, looking into the other¡¦s face. He glanced away for a moment, trying to clear his head, to tie the indifferent mask on tighter. "I¡¦m fine. Jus¡¦ a bad day is all."

Scott nodded and then turned sharply. "Follow me." The anger was back, concern abandoned. He walked out of the room and Remy came obediently behind, too tired and worn to argue.

The dream was still lingering in his mind, and the more he tried to push it away, the more it came back on him, forcing him to remember the vivid reality of it, the solid yet intangible quality that made it seem so much like a memory. A memory. Was that what it was? A repressed memory from his childhood that had just randomly decided to come back on him in a flashback? But what had triggered it? It had been so¡¦ real.

They were in the hall now, and Remy tried to force his mind out of its trauma-induced haze. He blinked a few times and took a deep breath, sticking his hands in his pockets to distract himself. Instead of trying to forget about the dream, about running helplessly through dark alleys in search of a help he couldn¡¦t find, he forced his brain to occupy itself with other things. Like the meeting he had later that night. Or the verbal thrashing he was about to get from Scott.

Scott. He realized that they had stopped in front of a room, one of the mansion¡¦s many studies, and that Cyclops was opening the door. Gesturing with his head, he indicated that Remy should enter first. Remy walked in, noting the sharp wood odor of the room. All the furnishings were new, and all were pine from the looks of it. There wasn¡¦t too much in the way of furniture¡¦a desk, some chairs, a couch and a few empty bookcases. None of the items looked overly elegant or expensive either, nothing that his trained thief eyes would pay much attention to. Apparently Xavier¡¦s accounts weren¡¦t endless. The mansion was slowly getting refurbished after Bastion¡¦s attack on it, but the X-Men were trying to keep some semblance of a budget.

There was the sound of the door closing and Scott walked past Remy to sit behind the big desk. He nodded toward one of the chairs on the other side of it. "Would you like to take a seat?"

"Non. I would like to get dis over wit¡¦." He walked over to a wall next to the desk and leaned back against it. The fabric of his duster made a chaffing noise as it rubbed on the spackled off-white paint.

"That makes two of us." Scott leaned back in the chair, resting his arms on the armrests and steepling his fingers in front of his face. He observed Remy for a moment, seeming to evaluate the situation.

Remy was struck by how much Scott reminded him of Xavier in that instant. If only the Professor could be there to see how much his protégé had come to be like him, instead of locked away in some government containment center for his part in Onslaught.

"First I want to know where you were this morning. After you put a hole in the kitchen, that is."

Remy crossed his arms over his chest casually. "I was out."

"That¡¦s it?" Scott¡¦s voice rose in disbelief. Or maybe it was exasperation.

"Yep."

"You are an X-Man, and as leader of the X-Men¡¦" he paused and took a breath, as if he knew that what would come next could be consequential, "¡¦I demand to know where you were."

Remy¡¦s brow dropped over his flaming red eyes. "Y¡¦ demand?" he challenged.

"Yes. You have a habit of being unaccounted for, and I can¡¦t depend on you as a member of this team if that doesn¡¦t change. Jean called for you telepathically and you ignored her. I want to know where you were." Scott was leaning forward on the desk now, ruby quarts visor staring at Remy.

"I had somet¡¦ing important t¡¦ do. If it had been an emergency, I woulda been here. Ot¡¦erwise, dat¡¦s de best I can do."

"Well, that¡¦s not good enough." He said it with a straight expression, his voice steady.

Red eyes shot to glare at the man across the desk. "Why don¡¦ you ask your wife?" he said in an icy tone, even though he already knew that Scott had tried.

"I did. She told me to ask you. Now, I want an answer." The tone was cold, and Remy could feel the waves of anger and frustration that accompanied it. Usually Scott was pretty good at not leaking emotions and triggering Remy¡¦s empathy. It came from living with a telepath. But now some of it was coming through. He wondered if that was on purpose.

Remy pushed off of the wall and took a few steps toward the desk. "Look Scott, you wanna be a good leader an¡¦ keep control o¡¦ your team? I understand dat. But I ain¡¦t gonna kiss your feet an¡¦ ask your forgiveness." He stepped up to the desk and leaned on it, his hands pressed firmly on the wood top. "I don¡¦ take orders less I want to, an¡¦ in dis case I say no. I told you I was doin¡¦ somet¡¦ing important, an¡¦ dat¡¦s gonna have to be enough. I ain¡¦t been on a mission since I been injured. Y¡¦ won¡¦t even allow me t¡¦ practice in de danger room. What does it matter if I¡¦m gone a few hours?"

They were at even eye level now, red irises to red quartz. "It matters. You are a member of this team and you follow the same rules as everybody else."

"I don¡¦ see you keepin¡¦ anyone else out o¡¦ training sessions. I don¡¦ see you treatin¡¦ dem like chil¡¦ren."

The strong jaw worked. "You want to be treated like an adult? Act like one. You¡¦re injured. That¡¦s why you aren¡¦t allowed to train in the danger room. You know that."

Remy had to restrain the impulse to roll his eyes. "Accordin¡¦ t¡¦ Hank, I made a remarkable recovery."

"And according to Hank, that recovery is also unexplainable and should be impossible."

Remy scoffed and pushed back off the desk until he was upright again. "Isn¡¦t dat what bein¡¦ a mutant is all about?"

Scott leaned back. Remy watched him carefully, noting the hostility still present in the body language that he had learned to read so well.

The visor tilted slightly and the subject changed. "Are you willing to tell me how you managed to create a new opening in the side of the mansion then?"

"Sure."

"Well that¡¦s a relief."

Remy smirked slightly adding a mischievous glint to his expression. "But are y¡¦ sure you want t¡¦ know?"

Scott paused for only a fraction of a second. "Yes. Go on."

"I was makin¡¦ pancakes." He waited for the confusion to cross Scott¡¦s face. It could be so much fun tormenting a straight and narrow guy like Cyclops.

"You were making pancakes." Scott repeated the words slowly and carefully, as if he were making sure he had heard them right.

Remy nodded.

Scott shook his head. "Gambit, last time I checked, the recipe for pancakes didn¡¦t entail knocking out a wall."

Remy smirked. "I bet last time you checked you couldn¡¦ charge objects wit¡¦ kinetic energy eit¡¦er."

"No." His tone sounded strained. "Why don¡¦t you tell me exactly what happened."

Remy shrugged nonchalantly. "I was doin¡¦ a training activity I used t¡¦ use as a pup. It involves controlling m¡¦ power t¡¦ a degree where I c¡¦n manipulate molecules an¡¦ create a temperature change exact enough t¡¦ cook a pancake."

"Remy, you can¡¦t control temperature."

"Non, but I c¡¦n control kinetic energy, an¡¦ temperature is jus¡¦ de average kinetic energy o¡¦ an object. Granted, it¡¦s not de most natural use o¡¦ my powers, but it can be done. It jus¡¦ requires a lot o¡¦ concentration."

Scott sighed heavily. "Alright. So, what went wrong?"

"I got distracted an¡¦ lost m¡¦ focus. De pan got overcharged an¡¦ I had t¡¦ get rid o¡¦ it before it exploded. I tried t¡¦ throw it out de window but I guess it didn¡¦ quite make it dere."

"You guess?" he said in pained tones.

"Look, I¡¦ll pay f¡¦r de wall."

"You¡¦re right. You will. And you will also be punished for your disappearance too." Scott pushed himself up so that he was standing in front of the chair. "I want 24 hours of training time logged this week, 10 of which should be in the Danger Room"

Remy¡¦s eyebrows rose. "De Danger Room?"

Scott continued. "And after each Danger Room session I want you to go to Hank for a check up."

Remy¡¦s expression fell. He knew there had to be a catch. He tried to mask his disappointment the best he could. It was always better to show less. He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. "Fine."

"Good. Then that¡¦s all." And with that Scott walked out from behind the desk and left the room.

Remy had to admit, it could have gone worse.

*******

Remy wasn¡¦t sure if he should expect to find anybody in the living room when he entered. There hadn¡¦t been any training sessions scheduled for the day, and with the free time the X-Men may have decided to take a trip to Salem for the day. The other option was that they would all be lazing around together around the TV.

But what he did find was neither senerio. Rogue was sitting in one corner of the couch, alone, and staring at the news flashing across the television in front of her. She didn¡¦t seem to notice him standing in the room a few feet behind her. Gently, he reached out with his mind to feel her mood. She seemed somewhat passive and calm, if not a little serious.

"Ya know, I can feel it when ya do that. Ah¡¦m not sure how. Maybe it has ta do with that shadow o¡¦ ya that ah still carry around with me in mah mind." She didn¡¦t turn to face him.

He pulled the feeling hand of his empathy back. He hadn¡¦t known she could sense him sensing her.

"It¡¦s okay, sugah. It¡¦s kinda comfortin¡¦ actually. Like a gentle caress. ¡¦Sides, ah ain¡¦t got nothin¡¦ ta hide."

He couldn¡¦t tell if she was berating him or if she hadn¡¦t meant anything by the comment.

So he gave her an equally ambiguous reply. "¡¦Course not, cherie," and walked around the couch to sit next to her, not too close, but close enough that she would know he was willing to get closer. He stretched out so that his arms were spread out along the couch on either side of him. His right arm screamed out in pain, reminding him of his injury, and he pulled it back down into his lap, hiding his wince as best he could. He had been downplaying the degree of pain he was in quite a bit, not wanting the X-Men to realize how hurt he was and overreact like they usually did.

His left arm was still outstretched, offering a snuggle, and after a few moments Rogue took the invitation and leaned up against him, pressing her face into his shirt. It was comforting to feel her beside him and somehow it helped everything to seem a little better. Some of the tension slipped out of his mind and body and he almost relaxed.

She let out a little sigh and then, "Psylocke and Angel are thinking of leaving tonight."

He leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes, running his left hand through her auburn hair with the white stripe down the top. He was careful not to touch her skin, knowing that to do so would mean her absorbing his powers, his memory, and even his personality for a time. "Are dey? Why so early?"

"Hank gave Warren the okay ta go. He said that his wings were healed enough that it was safe to leave the mansion. He still ain¡¦t allowed ta fly, they were hurt pretty bad, but he just needs time ta relax. And besides that, he wants to concentrate on his company. He¡¦s been away from it for a while. And Betsy wants to concentrate on them. A bit of a difference in priorities if ya ask me, but maybe it works for them."

Remy didn¡¦t say anything. Warren and him hadn¡¦t talked much since he¡¦d gotten out of the hospital, even though both of them had spent a lot of time in the medlab together. When Sinister had "turned off" their powers with his nano probes, Warren¡¦s wings had started to die, suffering from severe gangrene. Hank was thinking of amputating before the nanos were destroyed. After they all had their powers back, the damage in the Angel¡¦s wings hadn¡¦t gotten any worse, but was still significant. The appendages were basically regenerating themselves, and no one knew to what degree they would be able to heal on their own. Last time Warren had had them amputated, they hadn¡¦t been able to grow back at all.

It was hard not to feel guilty for the nanos and all the trouble they had caused. There were parts of the story the X-Men didn¡¦t know, parts that he kept in that overflowing chest of secrets in his mind. Like the premonitions he had had before Sinister had captured them and put them in his lab. Or the flashbacks he had had while being held captive. Or that he was the one who had spread the nanos to the other X-Men. Sinister had told him that part while the rest were unconscious on the floor of his base in upstate New York. The nanos had been crawling all over Rogue when he had saved her from Sinister¡¦s stronghold and they had immediately crawled onto him, spreading to every person he touched and to every person they touched and so on. Rogue couldn¡¦t have physical contact with anyone, so once she took a shower and got rid of all of the nanos crawling over her skin she was no longer able to spread it. That left Remy as the primary carrier. He knew that it could have been anyone, anyone who had had any contact with her when she was rescued, that maybe even Hank had been contaminated by her when he was treating her immediately afterwards at the mansion, but that didn¡¦t completely prevent Remy from blaming himself. He was notorious for angsting, no matter how much he tried not to be.

"Remy?" He felt Rogue shift her weight to look up at him. "Are you okay?"

He realized he had his free hand up to his temple, trying to massage away his headache. He opened his eyes and met her brilliant green stare. "Yeah, cherie. I¡¦m fine. Just tired is all."

"Did you speak to Scott?"

"Oui."

"And? How¡¦d it go? Did ya end up rollin¡¦ around on the ground like a couple o¡¦ pride wounded boys?"

Remy smiled. "Almost, cherie. Instead he gave me 24 hours o¡¦ logged training time this week, 10 in de danger room."

Rogue sucked in her breath. "Ouch, that¡¦s a lot, especially comin¡¦ off an injury. What did ya do? Make fun o¡¦ his wife?"

"Told him I was angry dat he wouldn¡¦ allow m¡¦ to train wit¡¦ de team."

Rogue shook her head against his chest. "Bad move."

"Yep. Least I¡¦m allowed in de danger room now." He put his head back again and brought his massaging hand down. It wasn¡¦t working and the pounding in his head was still there.

"Remy? Are ya sure ya¡¦re okay?"

He heard the concern in her voice. "Yeah, jus¡¦ ain¡¦t been sleepin¡¦ much lately." A smirk slipped onto his lips. "Why Rogue? Y¡¦ worried about Remy?"

"Ah didn¡¦t say that, swamp rat."

"Y¡¦ don¡¦t have to. It¡¦s okay, Rougie. You c¡¦n help it; it¡¦s just that animal magnetism I have. Handsome, sexy, charming¡¦"

"Arrogant, conceited¡¦ arrogant."

"Smart, courageous, fun-loving."

"Arrogant, overly-macho, arrogant, angsty."

The smirk on Remy¡¦s lips grew into a full-out grin. "Hey, when ya got it, ya got it. And I¡¦ll have you know that I haven¡¦t angsted in a whole¡¦ a whole¡¦"

"Keep talkin¡¦, sugah."

"Oh, fine." he consented. But then he mumbled quietly on the side, "But I¡¦m still handsomesexycharmingsmartcourageousandfun-loving¡¦" He opened one eye to see Rogue¡¦s playfully scorning expression. He closed it again and added, "Oh yeah, and arrogant."

She laughed and then, as the sound died down they fell into silence. Awkward silence. Flirting was easy; it came naturally for both of them. But in the quiets that were somehow more intimate than any words, he could feel the distance between them. They¡¦d needed to get to know each other again in the last few weeks after he¡¦d come back to the X-Men, and though they had come a long way, there was still that wedge between them. He wondered how much of that was his fault for still carrying the feeling of betrayal and pain around with him from being abandoned in Antarctica. He was trying to move on, to forget that and forgive, and though he didn¡¦t think he blamed her anymore, it still wasn¡¦t the same.

And it was in the silences that he felt the distance the most. It was also the silences that he tried the hardest to avoid.

"So where are de rest o¡¦ our merry bad o¡¦ mutants?" he asked through the oppressive absence of noise.

"Storm and Jean are helpin¡¦ Betsy pack and ah think the guys are all in de Rec Room chuggin¡¦ beers. Where Marrow is is anybody¡¦s guess. She¡¦s probably down in the tunnels or somethin¡¦"

"She¡¦s not in de tunnels," he said, knowing the comment would make Rogue suspicious, but also knowing that it was the closest he would come to telling her where he was earlier. He still couldn¡¦t open up to her like that.

She gave him a strange look, but she seemed to be able to tell that he wasn¡¦t going to give her any more information. He half expected her to ask anyway, but she didn¡¦t and he wondered if she was afraid of the answer she would get, or the lack of. It was tempting to use his empathy, but he didn¡¦t, not wanting her to feel it and not wanting to invade her privacy either.

"So why aren¡¦ y¡¦ up wit¡¦ de ladies, chere?"

She gave a modified shrug in her position pressed up against him. "Ah don¡¦t know. Didn¡¦t feel like it ah guess. Ah don¡¦t like good byes much, and that would have just prolonged it."

He had lifted his head up and opened his eyes now. The TV was still on, forgotten and the volume on just loud enough to barely be heard. There was a man in a shirt and tie talking into a microphone with perfect, unaccented English. He looked to be in his mid-forties, light skin and his thinning hair blown back to make more volume. He was standing in front of what looked like a farm that the caption on the bottom of the screen said was in Michigan, talking about the recent disappearances of some local children. He droned on about how this had been the third town in the area to experience such an incident and how the kidnapper had left no clues to his identity. The local police were stumped. Remy stopped listening. It was the normal news story, the kind he¡¦d heard a million times over.

His headache was starting to die down, and he was thankful for that. He wondered if the pain had been from not sleeping or from over exerting his spatial sense.

"Ya think they¡¦ll actually pass that?" Rogue was pointing at the TV with a white-gloved finger. The picture had changed, and now he recognized Trish Tilby, Hank¡¦s on and off girlfriend (mansion gossip had it that they were presently "off"). She was wearing a clean-cut blue suit and her short hair was brushed back off her face. It looked like she was standing in the empty United States Senate room. Rogue grabbed the remote next to her and increased the volume.

"Recently, mutant registration has been discussed quite a bit between these walls. There have been advocates of both sides passionately speaking out their views, but since the imprisonment of the forerunner in mutant-rights debates, Professor Charles Xavier, the mutant defense has been loosing ground. If the mutant registration bill is passed, then all mutants will be required by law to undergo a registration procedure that will file away their superhuman powers and identities. Until this process is completed, their rights of citizenship will be suspended. In addition, newborn babies and all children under the age of puberty will need to be tested for the mutant gene. Of course, the main question delegating the decision is whether or not such action is constitutional and just. For now, the debate rages. This is Trish Tilby, reporting from the nation¡¦s Capitol."

The TV clicked off and Rogue dropped the remote on the couch. "If they sent Trish then this must be getting¡¦ serious. The anchor usually doesn¡¦t leave the studio."

"Either dat or she made her boss very mad."

"You think they¡¦re gonna pass that?"

Remy looked down at her. "I don¡¦ know, cherie. But eit¡¦er way, it won¡¦ make much difference. De government has already tried to do everyt¡¦ing to control mutants, dis will just make it legal."

"Well, it ain¡¦t fair and ah ain¡¦t gonna stand for it. If they start that registration, it ain¡¦t gonna be pretty."

"Non, I doubt it will be."

"Anyway, on a different note, how¡¦s about you show a gal a good time and take her out ta dinner tonight?" Her tone was light, hopeful.

He wished he didn¡¦t have to turn her down. "Sorry, chere. Not tonight."

"Why not?"

He shook his head. "I¡¦m busy."

She pulled away suddenly, sitting up. "Doin¡¦ what?" He saw the stubborn set of her expression, knew that she was in the perfect mood for a fight. He was too tired to argue.

"I¡¦ve got some t¡¦ings t¡¦ do. Anot¡¦er time perhaps, cherie, if you will grace me wit¡¦ de honor o¡¦ your presence." He gave her a charming smile, and when he thought he had sufficiently sugar coated the situation, he got ready to run. "I must be goin¡¦ now. I got 24 hours o¡¦ training to break into. T¡¦ank you for de lovely company."

He bowed slightly as he got up, ignoring the scowl on her face. Turning to leave, he threw a wave of calm at her with his empathy before he walked out the door, just to make sure she wouldn¡¦t come after him.

*******

The staff was a comforting weight in his hands, a solid tangible weapon, the one definite in the changing world around him. Carefully, he contracted in down to a small cylinder and slipped it into his duster pocket. He was in the streets of New York, in the forgotten back-alleys known only to the homeless and criminals who stuck to the shade. And it was night, a starless night so dark that even his enhanced night vision had trouble identifying the shapes that lurked around him.

The program he was running in the Danger Room now was one that he had used in the past. He¡¦d reprogrammed it the best he could from memory, since the original was lost when Bastion had raided the mansion, and he¡¦d managed to get it fairly accurate. There were differences, many only a circumstance of the limited abilities of the new danger room equipment. Long gone was the Shia¡¦ar technology that allowed solid holographic enemies in realistic settings. Granted, the holographic projections were relatively good, produced by some of the best technology present on earth and made by special order, but they were intangible. The effect of a building was a cooperative effort of projections and walls that slid in and out all over to make flat surfaces. It was far from what they used to have, but it was better than nothing.

And it barely mattered for this program at all. He moved through the shadows, staying out of the way of the eyes he saw peering out of the corners. This program was one of speed, agility, and accuracy. Rather than a fight that would require the solid holograms that they no longer had, this was a chase.

He was staying low against one of the buildings, staring out around him and moving forward slowly. It was cold here, an element added to distract him, and though his arms were raised in gooseflesh under his trenchcoat, he ignored it and focused on feeling around him. His kinetic sense spread out like a blanket, feeling for the fluctuations in the field that his body created, indicating movement. And then he felt it, the slow, steady movement of someone trying to slide away very quietly.

His eyes darted to the place where he knew his adversary was. Against one of the tall brick apartment buildings, dilapidated and ruined, he saw a shape, dark in the night. Carefully he moved toward it until he could make out the arms and legs of a man, the head with the dark mask pulled over it, the form lean and strong, young looking. He inched forward, making sure to keep to the darkness cast by the building next to him. Slowly he pulled out a card, silently. He took it in his right hand, aiming for the gun holstered to the belt his adversary was wearing.

He threw it. The throw went wide, his arm stiff and not moving the way he had been used to his whole life. The bricks a foot to the right of the man erupted in sparks and pink light. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that the explosion had really been against the titanium wall behind the projection, and that the shower of falling bricks was just a holographic image reacting to his actions.

The man¡¦s head snapped around to look at him, and the gun came into his hands. The shot fired off, but Remy was already dodging, feeling the waves ripple out from the bullet in the kinetic field around him. He rolled to the side and landed neatly on his feet, but the man was already running away, and it took him too long to recover, his reflexes too slow. By the time he took to the chase, the man¡¦s lead was significant, and he sprinted after, jumping over empty beer bottles and forgotten needles.

His lungs went into overtime, sucking in the rotten air in gasps much more pronounced than he would have liked. There was a homeless woman sleeping in the middle of the alley ahead of him, sprawled out on beds of newspapers, and he had to jump over her to avoid tripping. The man was getting closer, the distance between them shrinking.

And then the figure ahead turned a corner onto one of the wider roads. Remy followed, tilting into the turn to make it sharper. He came around and then abruptly stopped. The man was gone. He heard clanking above him and both his eyes and kinetic sense quickly darted upward in that direction. He arched his neck back, saw the man climbing a fire escape and, without hesitation, jumped up, grabbing the halfway dropped ladder and following. Pulling himself up with his arms, he eventually got his footing on the metal staircase.

The chase continued.

They came to the top of the building and with one swift move Remy pulled out a card and threw it, using his left hand this time. He¡¦d taught himself at a young age, when training to be a thief, how to be somewhat ambidextrous, but his right throw had still always been better: faster, more powerful and more accurate. The card hit the roof right behind his adversary¡¦s feet. The man stumbled forward, but managed to keep running. Remy gained a bit more distance on him.

The rooftop was running out, and he could see the end where a small wall marked the sharp drop down the building¡¦s side. The man didn¡¦t slow. In fact, he sped up, and then he leapt up to the small wall and went over the edge. Remy kept moving, not sure what had happened, but following his instincts. He retraced the man¡¦s exact path, stepped on the wall exactly the same way, and felt the ground leave him and the air rush by.

He landed on a shorter building an alley¡¦s distance away. His legs bent with the fall, reducing the impact, and he was moving again with barely a delay. He was starting to feel better, his reflexes gradually coming closer to par as he practiced using them. His muscles were warm, tense, and slightly tired, but it felt good to be using them, to be straining them, to know that he was getting stronger.

He saw the man ahead, looking over his shoulder, and seeing Remy only a few meters behind now. He turned a corner around a square structure built on the roof and Remy followed. He heard the door slam a moment before he came around and saw it. Yanking the heavy metal open he followed, leaping down the stairs on the other side. It was a full flight before he realized that the man was gone.

He stopped and listened, quieting his breathing so he could hear better. There was nothing. And then a loud shriek rushed up from somewhere a few floors below.

Moving into action, he silently moved down the stairs, following the sounds.

The screams continued.

It took him three flights to reach them, and then he stopped, pressing his ear to the door that would open into the main hallway of the floor. Spreading out with his extra senses, he felt only one figure moving, a very distraught figure, a figure in extreme pain.

Bracing himself, he burst through the door, cards in hand, staff telescoping out. A body came into his arms and it took him a surprised moment to realize it was a woman. Looking down at the mass of weight leaned up against him, he saw wavy auburn hair with a white stripe that ran down the center.

He thought he felt his heart stop. The face came up to look at him, barely recognizable for all the splotches of blood and bruises that covered it. She was gasping. He realized that she was trying to speak.

"Who did this?" he breathed, blood already boiling with anger.

The dry lips parted a few times, her short breaths not enough to force the words out, but finally she managed to whisper two words. "New Son."

And then her green eyes closed and her breathing stopped and Rogue¡¦s body went limp. Falling to his knees with her still in his arms, he tried to sort out what was happening. And then his wide burning eyes looked up. And then he saw the bodies around him.

All the X-Men were there. All looked seriously injured. None were moving.

He stood suddenly, dropping Rouge and turning in the mist of them, searching for some movement, stretching out his empathy to graze the minds and find some sign of life.

There was none.

And then he remembered that he was in the Danger Room, and that none of this was real.

"Computer! End program!"

The images faded slowly, as he tried to figure out what had happened. That wasn¡¦t in the program; it never had been. And then he remembered that the holograms weren¡¦t solid, that he shouldn¡¦t have been able to touch them, to hold Rogue¡¦s dying body in his arms.

The projections were all gone. He looked around. He was standing on a metal platform a few feet above the ground.

And he was completely, utterly alone.

*******

She was back in her corner, retreating into the depths of his mind, afraid of being caught, of exposing herself too much. As long as she remained undiscovered she had an advantage.

It had been easier this time. She hadn¡¦t needed to share any personal memories, only to make up a scenario that would shock him, scare him. It was her best option right now, and she hoped that he would get the point, that he would stay away from New Son.

And if he didn¡¦t? She would find a way to make sure that they both didn¡¦t ruin the future again. And she would use any means necessary.

*******

The metal doors slid open quickly at his command and Remy came storming out, heading into the main hall. Somebody must have changed his program, and he was going to find out who it was. He followed the shiny walls around the Danger Room, bringing himself to the Control Room, keeping his steps quiet, despite the noisy floors.

He knew that he wasn¡¦t exactly calm or controlled right now and he could almost hear his father yelling at him to keep himself in check at all times, chastising him for loosing rationality, for taking risks.

He never had mastered that lesson.

It was the movement he felt through his kinetic sense that made him turn around.

Marrow stood there, bright pinkish-red hair sticking out among the bones that stabbed out at strange angles from her body. Her eyes were locked solidly on him, and she was fingering a long white dagger that was sticking out from her forearm.

"Aw, is the traitor afraid? Maybe a little on edge?" She smiled wickedly.

He returned her gaze with one of solidified fire. "Did y¡¦ change de program?"

She tilted her head. "Why, whatever do you mean?" Her sarcasm was biting.

"De Danger Room program. It was changed. Was it you?" His voice was low, his stance threatening. Maybe he deserved her hatred, but using the X-Men¡¦s deaths to get revenge on him was beyond acceptable.

Her smile grew. "Maybe it was." She shrugged nonchalantly.

The answer should have produced a firestorm of anger in him, but it didn¡¦t. Because she hadn¡¦t done it. He knew as soon as she had said it, feeling the confusion, the lie, with his empathy.

He relaxed a little. "Lyin¡¦ isn¡¦ nice."

"Neither are you."

They were left to staring match until Remy finally shook his head and turned away.

"Be careful where you put your back, Traitor. You never know when I might put a dagger in it."

He began walking away. "If I believed dat you would do dat, my back wouldn¡¦ be to you."

And then he was around the corner. She didn¡¦t throw anymore taunts at him. She didn¡¦t follow.

*******

He ran the diagnostic for the third time, but like both times previously the Control Room computer claimed there was nothing wrong. The program hadn¡¦t been altered since the last time he had made changes himself and the Danger Room wasn¡¦t malfunctioning.

But he knew what he¡¦d seen.

And he also knew somewhere beneath the layers of deception in which his brain basked, that the technology couldn¡¦t be blamed for his experience. That the equipment couldn¡¦t make tangible holograms, like the Rogue he had held in his arms, so real, so solid.

And that left only one explanation. That it was from something inside of him. Just like the dreams. Just like the visions.

Remy LeBeau was suddenly very worried.

What was wrong with him?