Part 5

Walking through the empty halls toward the kitchen, Remy tightened the bandana around his head, hearing the fabric squeak from the moisture his wet fuzz of hair had given it. The shower this morning had been badly needed to wake him up. Especially after last night.

He was tired of the dreams; it was time to do something about them.

I am Remy, hear me roar. He thought to himself, baring his mind・s teeth at the images that had disturbed him for the last few days.

He shook his head, feeling the bandana staying satisfactorily secure. He really needed to get more sleep.

The hallway was quite deserted, his spatial sense not picking up much in the way of movement and he decided that the X-Men were probably all downstairs for breakfast already.

The dreams were so vivid, experienced in the first person as if he had been there himself. And they included the Witness. A chill rode its way up and down his spine. He needed to know where they were coming from.

Lines of movement started to streak the kinetic field that it was his mutant ability to sense and manipulate, and as he came closer to the kitchen they became more vivid, more pronounced. He counted five separate patterns.

Turning the last corner that blocked his view brought him into a bustling breakfast scene that could only exist in the X-Mansion. It must have been Jean・s turn to cook, because she was standing at the stove flipping pancakes and transferring them to Beast, who stood ready at her side with a pile of plates balanced on three of his four limbs. Scott was sitting at the table, scowling at the hole in the wall that Remy had so deftly created the day before. He looked normal and healthy, so different than he had the last night.

The floor was clean now, the tiles shining as if they had just been mopped and smelling very strongly of pine. On the table, place settings had already been put out, knives and forks and 5 different flavors of syrup to please every whim of the varied tastes the mansion harbored・plus 7 or 8 bottles of spices for the more daring meal taker. Remy grinned wickedly.

Jean was the first to acknowledge Remy・s presence. "Good morning, Remy," she commented, without turning to see him enter the room.

"Mornin・ Jean," he replied.

Rogue looked up from the refrigerator she was peering into enthusiastically. She turned to meet his eyes. Her hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, and she was still in the tank top and pajama pants she must have slept in. "Well, look at the swamp rat the tide brought in this mornin・," she commented, green eyes bright and joking. She smiled and turned away.

She・d liked the flowers. He・d expected that the roses could go either way: she could react by thinking he was trying to buy her off and get mad, or she could appreciate it as a thoughtful gesture. It was really a toss of the die depending on her mood, but Remy had always liked a good gamble. Apparently, he was lucky today.

There was one more occupant unaccounted for, and a sharp laugh from the corner rounded out the five he・d detected earlier with the identity of Bobby Drake, AKA Iceman, one of the original X-Men and the resident joker. Remy walked further into the room, until he could get a clear view of Bobby in full ice form, leaning back and holding his stomach as he laughed and pointed. Following the line of his finger, Remy saw the hole in the wall, now covered with a thick plate of ice, but molded into a relief of Scott・s face, scowling and marred with a curled moustache, bushy eyebrows, and spiky hair. Scott was obviously not amused.

"Bobby, stop. Now."

Jean smiled, turning around, her long red hair blocking half her face, but her playful expression still visible. "I don・t know, honey. I kind of like it."

Scott・s expression was horrified. "Jean! Stop encouraging him!"

Bobby was still laughing hysterically in the corner, but the image was already fading, the ice becoming smooth and flat. Remy watched it disappear, eyebrows raised slightly. He hadn・t known that Bobby had so much control over his powers, to create something so exact and detailed. As a mutant at least, he had matured.

Remy took a seat at the table, across and a few chairs over from Scott. "See," he mumbled, mostly to himself but loud enough so that most of the X-Men could hear now that their laughter had subdued itself. "Dat hole wasn・ all dat bad. It could be our new form of entertainment. Maybe I was onto somet・ing here. Instead o・ T.V., y・ just punch a hole in de wall and de kids are amused f・r hours."

Beast was coming toward the table with plates full of pancakes, delicately balanced in his blue, furry arms. He rolled his eyes. "Of course, you forget my Cajun friend, about the added cost of the heating bill, which would not only put families across the country into poverty, but which would exhaust our limited and valuable energy resources so that all of our many powered gadgets would cease to work and all we would have left to do is stare at the hole that had caused our predicament."

Remy looked at him for a moment, blinking and unconsciously taking the plate of pancakes Hank handed him. "So, in de end, de hole is de only t・ing left dat still works. Right?"

"I guess so."

Remy grinned suddenly. "Durable and entertaining. I like dat."

Hank・s answer was only to chuckle and shake his head.

The table was already crowding as the X-Men all gathered to take their seats. Rogue took a chair next to him, trying not to make the seating arrangement look intentional. She busied herself with cutting up her pancakes and dowsing them in syrup, not meeting his gaze. It was funny how someone so strong willed, so independent and powerful could be so terrified at the same time. The insults she・d more than occasionally throw at him, the walls he constantly ran into, all an attempt not let her care too much, just in case she ended up getting hurt. He・d spent his lifetime analyzing people, categorizing personality types to predict people・s actions, to find the perfect target, and with an empathic ability his impressions were usually right. Gently, deliberately, he touched her mind with his. Her gaze snapped to him and he smirked before looking away.

"・thought I should tell you all that Remy will be joining our training session after breakfast. I・ve decided to bring him back to limited duties," came Scott・s conversational tone, grabbing Remy・s attention with the mention of his name.

Remy met Scott・s eyes but didn・t say anything.

He caught Jean・s smile from the corner of his vision. "So does that mean that Remy can start doing the dishes again?"

Remy・s gaze snapped to her in terror. "Dishes? But I be so sore, Jean. De pain, it・s horrible." He gave her the most pathetic expression he could muster.

"Try it on someone who・ll buy it. The clean up is yours today, Cajun."

She was still looking at him as he gave her a downcast look, and then there was a voice in his brain, one that didn・t belong there. *Scott wants me to start training you in the use of your empathy,* Jean thought into his mind.

She gave no indication that she was talking to somebody telepathically, and he tried to do the same, masking his surprise as smoothly as possibly. She casually looked down and began to eat some of her pancakes. He followed suit, almost forgetting to shower his food in spices.

*No,* he thought back rather loudly. He didn・t need any telepaths in his head right now, there was enough of a mess in there already.

He waited for her response, not expecting what came. She gave him a mental raspberry, and he realized she was getting back at him for ignoring her the other day in the tunnels. *This isn・t a choice. You need to learn how to use your abilities, or else they are going to become a weakness for others to exploit.*

*Blah, blah, blah.*

She asked someone to pass the syrup out loud and he wondered how she could talk and keep a mental conversation at the same time, when he could barely manage to keep his expression unsuspecting and mentally speak.

*Just give it a try. I・m not going to invade your mind, simply guide you.*

Remy saw Scott give Jean a curious look and he wondered whether she was talking to him mentally or if Scott could just feel her distraction through their psychic rampart.

He thought about it, knowing she was right. He・d been learning to use every resource to its maximum ability since he was a child. To not do so now would be against his nature. He had walls; he could bring them up in his mind if she tried to go in too far. And he found with surprise that he trusted her not to push too hard. *Alright,* he said, almost forgetting to speak in his mind. *But if y・ push too deep de lesson is over.*

*Deal,* she replied.

He got the sensation that she was nodding. Distantly he heard the sounds of the X-Men eating and far away conversation. Somebody laughed. He paid attention only long enough to make sure it didn・t involve him.

*When?* he asked.

*How about an hour after the training session ends?*

*Fine.*

He felt another nod and then the connection was gone. He breathed a mental sigh of relief at having his mind belong to himself again. He really hated sharing the space between his ears with psychics. It put him too much on edge.

Everyone was just about finishing up eating, and he realized that even his plate as almost empty. Standing, he reached up and stretched, trying to look casual enough that nobody would notice his movements. If he was lucky, he would make it out of here before anybody remembered the dishes thing. Carefully, he sneaked around the table, leaving the X-Men to their chattering. If anybody could talk, it was these people.

He made it almost to freedom before a patch of unexpected ice appeared in front of him. He stepped down on it and his legs came out from beneath him. There was a blue blur of movement and then Beast was behind him, catching him before he could fall. A chorus of laughs circled the room, with Bobby・s riding above the rest. As soon as he had his balance within reach, Remy pushed off of the furry Beast and started toward Bobby.

"Oh, now dat was not cool, Ice Cube. Remy gonna make you regret dat." He didn・t really intend to hurt him, just scare him a little.

"You know what, my young Cajun friend? I do believe that you are in need of a hug right about now," came Beast・s voice over his shoulder. Before Remy had a chance to react, there were two very furry and very strong arms wrapped around his waist, picking him up and carrying him to be deposited in front of the sink.

The arms were gone. There was a pause and then Hank was dumping an armful of plates into the sink to be rinsed and placed in the dishwasher.

Remy could feel the flurry of movement behind him as he began to turn to protest. By the time he was facing the table all the X-Men were gone, leaving only dirty plates behind. He turned back to the sink, growling as he saw the pile of used eating ware there.

And then he decided that if he was going to be stuck here doing chores, he was at least going to enjoy himself.

The kitchen filled with the sounds of Bruce Springstein・s Born in the USA. With a Cajun accent. Sung very loud. And purposely off key. He even let his voice crack a few times. That would teach them to make him wash dishes.

And when the song was done, he sang it again. Even louder.

*******

The sweat was dripping into his eyes now, burning and blurring his vision, but he couldn・t wipe it away, not if he wanted to keep a move ahead of Cyclops.

He saw a yellow streak swipe toward him, and he ducked with the accuracy that his kinetic sense allowed him. As Cyclops went with the momentum of his attempted punch, Gambit aimed a kick at his adversary・s exposed side, targeting the black, circular device attached there. Blinking lights beckoned him, promising him another point. The lights blurred into a pale yellow glow. He blinked. The image cleared.

Somehow Cyclops managed to avoid him, rolling to the ground and coming up ready to attack again. But it was slow, lagging, and Gambit knew that that he was wearing him down. Now the trick was to see who would run out of energy first.

There was a sudden scream from somewhere off to the side, probably from one of the many other sparring matches occurring in the Danger Room presently disguised as a city metropolis. Cyclops・ head snapped around to find the source of the noise. And Gambit saw his opportunity. Taking advantage of the moment of distraction, he dove forward, grabbing Cyclops at the waist and bringing him to the floor. The next moment he had Cyclops under him and had tagged all three targets that his adversary was wearing: both sides and the chest. They beeped indignantly.

A hand grabbed the back of Gambit・s coat, the movement hardly discernable in the melting pot of kinetic trails that his mind was detecting from all the fighting going on. It was strong, wrapping itself in the fabric of his trench coat and even the spandex underneath, and as the ground left him and he was propelled backwards, he saw that the hand had belonged to Wolverine, one of Cyclops・ teammates in this training exercise. There was a moment when there was nothing under him and he knew that landing was going to hurt. He tried to relax his muscles to get ready for it. And then the floor was back, announcing its presence painfully. Hard concrete from a rough sidewalk dug into his back.

The bulky Canadian was moving toward him. "That was low Cajun, attackin・ a man while he was lookin・ after someone・s safety."

Gambit climbed to his feet, feeling his body dragging and aching, reminding him that he wasn・t used to this much activity yet. His arm screamed at him. It had been utterly useless after the first fifteen minutes, stiffening and jamming as soon as he tried to exert it. Now it was simply dead weight that he had to worry about getting in the way. "So is attacking a man from behind." He had to work very hard at making the words a steady growl that wasn・t interrupted by gasps for air.

"No," Wolverine shook his head, almost close enough for hand to hand combat now but still not going offensive. "that・s just called surprise."

And then the attack came. Wolverine・s fist was like a freeze frame in Gambit・s vision before he dodged away to avoid it, but the Canadian・s leg was already in the way to block the evasive movement, and instead of smoothly avoiding the blow, Gambit found himself tripping and off-balance. He caught himself before he could fall, but he lost valuable seconds that Wolverine used to elbow the target on his side. It beeped loudly. Gambit cursed under his breath.

"Another point scored on the Cajun."

He really regretted the no-power rule. A well-placed card would be perfect for wiping the feral grin off of Wolverine・s face.

"Oh, y・ gonna pay for dat one, ・Bub・."

Wolverine smiled wider as Gambit came at him again. He threw a left punch aimed directly at the toothy grin. It was blocked and he followed with a kick. Blocked. A punch. Blocked. Another. Blocked. And then Gambit saw his plan taking shape as Wolverine・s evasive manuevers brought him toward the building that lined the sidewalk they stood on. It was brick and very old, with a rusty fire escape hanging down the side・

Gambit suddenly jumped. His hands grabbed onto a fire escape hanging from the wall next to them, left one holding tight, right one weak and stunned. He almost slipped off, but held tight, fighting the pain, as momentum took his body forward and over his adversary・s head. He flipped and twisted in the air, the movement smooth despite its rough beginnings. The landing came, legs bending to keep his balance, and he was facing Wolverine・s back. His roundhouse kick was delivered before Wolverine could turn around, smacking him across the shoulders hard enough to throw him to the ground. He tried to roll to break the fall, and made it onto his back before Gambit was standing over him, stepping on the target that contrasted with the yellow spandex on Wolverine・s chest. Gambit reached into the pocket of the long trench coat he wore over his spandex uniform. A small metal cylinder came out easily, the staff that had been useless most of the training because of his injured arm. It telescoped out in a fluid motion.

Gambit smirked, aiming the staff at Wolverine・s head. "I believe de appropriate phrase is: Bang. Y・ dea・Que!?"

There was a ・snikt・ sound as a pair of long metal claws suddenly became visible and wrapped themselves through and in the fabric of the long trench coat Gambit wore. Wolverine yanked down. Hard. All the while propelling his body out from under Gambit・s crumbling stance and onto his own blue-booted feet. Gambit went down, now off-balance, with a horrible noise of ripping fabric. He landed on his back already starting to roll out of the way, but Wolverine was too fast and made it on top of him before he could, pinning him with his superior weight.

He slapped Gambit・s target and waited for the beep.

"Sorry, Gumbo. Were ya about to say, ・Y・ dead?・" He chuckled and bared his teeth.

And then the city dissolved around them, melting back into the plain metal walls of the danger room. A computerized voice announced that the timed session was now over. Wolverine rolled off of him and Gambit took a deep, unconstrained breath that about 200 pounds had been strangling. He lay there for a moment, and then fought his way to his feet, keeping as much pain out of his movements as he could. There was no fighting to distract the X-Men now; he had to be more careful nobody noticed how bad-off he really was. The last thing he wanted was sympathy. Or worse. Mothering.

"Y・ jus・ got a lucky shot," he mumbled to himself as he followed Wolverine to where the X-Men were all collecting near the Danger Room・s exit.

Wolverine caught the comment and threw back over his shoulder: "Keep tellin・ yerself that, Bub. I・ll rematch ya anytime. Like I always say: I・m the best there is at what I do."

Gambit wondered exactly what it was Wolverine thought he did. His breathing was slowing now, almost normal again, and the adrenaline was beginning to drain. He could feel his muscles slowly relaxing and the switch his mind was starting to make from combat mode to normal, everyday, Remy-mode.

He came up behind Storm and Rogue. They both turned to glance at him briefly, before their attention diverted to Cyclops as he began to conclude the training session with his assessment of it. Remy only gave it half of his attention, letting the other half think about how nice a shower would be right about now and about how good it would feel to get off the silly spandex that heroes always seemed to insist upon. He・d never particularly cared for the feel of the stretchy material・he was more of a silk and cotton kind of guy. He wore it more for the look than anything, and because it was admittedly convenient in combat for the freedom of movement it allowed.

Cyclops was reading off the tally of scores for the amount of times each X-Man・s target had been hit. Remy had done okay・not great, but decently, falling into the middle range of scores. He should have done better. He knew that, but full recovery was still not in his grasp.

Apparently Remy・s team had lost and Cyclops followed up that information by expressing his disappointment with the lack of teamwork the group had shown. At the start of the exercise, two teams had been created, but the session had consisted more of isolated scrimmages than collected team efforts. Individual targets on individual people had simply promoted individual combat.

And then Cyclops was finally done talking. Remy sighed, relieved. Ahead of him the Danger Room door slid open and X-Men began to file out. He followed, behind the group, the last to pass Cyclops where he waited with Jean for everyone to leave. The yellow, red-lensed visor turned toward him. "I expect Hank to be seeing you soon. I want a check-up after every session, especially since the logs say you were in here the other day but never stepped foot in the medlab afterwards."

Remy almost argued, but then considered how much energy that would take. His muscles hurt. His clothes were soaked. And it was getting harder to hide the pain on his face. He gave Scott a dirty look, and nodded, walking on past and out of the room.

Storm was waiting there for him.

Long white hair was tied back in a tight ponytail at her neck. He remembered how she had looked in pictures from before he had first met her, retro mohawk and all. And then later with her short bob and the variation bob with two longer section in the front. Thankfully the mohawk phase had passed, and the bobs hadn・t been too bad, but he liked her hair like this best: held away from her face so that her ice blue eyes could be seen against her dark complexion, the light blush to her cheeks, slightly darker now from the workout, complementing her. He・d always found her to be quite beautiful, in an exotic sort of way, but they had been friends first and he・d never felt the need to change that relationship. Besides, there was Rogue.

He stopped beside her, and then started walking again so that she could fall into step beside him. He nodded a greeting. "Hey, Stormy. How y・ feelin・?

"Hello, Remy." A slight pause. "I believe I have been better." Her voice sounded tired.

He looked at her then, past the perfect model-worthy face. He found the weary lines there, the tight muscles, the determined gaze, fighting something inside. She wouldn・t meet his eyes, looking forward down the hallway and the lift they were walking towards with all her apparent attention.

"Injuries still hurtin・ y・?" he asked gently. He knew the answer, the question was just to let her admit it.

His mind flashed back to an image weeks ago: Blood, dark and red and condemning meeting white hair, covering her chest as she fought against internal injuries, Hank and Cecilia frantically working over her, telling him to leave. It was a miracle she was alive. Much like himself.

She sighed and looked at him finally. "I am getting better, perhaps as quickly as can be hoped. I am just・ anxious. This feeling of weakness, of being so tired・I hate it." Her eyes fell to the floor again. He watched her, such a strong-willed woman. As long as he・d known her, she had never let anything drag her down, had always been determined, independent, and bent on accomplishing the impossible. Maybe that was why she followed Xavier・s dream.

Her eyes came to him suddenly, as if she were remembering something. "I am sorry. I should not be so selfish. How are you doing, Remy?"

Now it was his turn to look away. He gave a chuckle meant to sound carefree. It sounded strangled instead. "We Cajuns, we rubber-made. It take a lot to put us down, and when it do, we bounce right back."

"Liar," she said simply. It was a statement, not an accusation.

He didn・t say anything.

"I can see it in your eyes," she continued in that calm yet comforting way of hers. "I can see it in the way you hold yourself, in the way you move, hear it in the way you talk. You are hurt more than you tell us."

There was a long silence, but he felt his eyes on her, waiting for him to deny it. Anybody else he would have let sit in the silence. She wasn・t anybody else. "Y・ know me too well, ・Roro." He still wouldn・t admit it directly, not when part of him still liked to deny it, to pretend that everything was okay when he was sitting still and couldn・t feel the pain.

"Well, I have known you since I was a child."

He smiled, thankful that she wasn・t going to try to mother him. "Please," he said, jokingly rolling his eyes and putting a hand to his head, "don・ remind me."

She played along, giving him mock indignation. "As I remember, you were more of a child than myself. I saved your life on more than one occasion."

"Oh yeah?" He raised his eyebrows. They had reached the lift now, and they stepped into it alone, all of the other X-Men either ahead of them or behind on the trip upstairs to the mansion.

"Indeed."

"Name one time."

She pushed some stray hair back out of her face, it having found its way loose in the fighting earlier. "The time you tried to seduce the girl in New Orleans one night in a restaurant after we had just done a big job. We had not even gotten rid of the loot yet; it was all outside sitting in your car. But of course, you were hungry and dinner could not wait any longer." She smiled gently, but he thought he detected some smugness in it. "You saw a redhead and decided to make conversation. It turned out she was a cop and had seen your picture before on the wanted list at her station."

"How was I supposed t・ know she was a cop!" he said in a defensive tone. "・Sides, we got away. ・Course, I stole a kiss first・ Dat was one fine femme." He smirked, knowing that his eyes probably looked quite evil in his expression.

Storm raised her brows now. "We only got away because I pretended to choke and she had to give me the heimlech maneuver. She didn・t have any record of me and as far as she knew I was just a child in danger. And," Storm was smirking now, "and that kiss. She was using your hormones to distract you so that she could put on the handcuffs."

His smile flipped over and he rubbed his wrists remembering the metal biting into his skin, harder than it was meant to, as his lips pulled away from hers in surprise. She・d gotten him good. "Oh, fine. But even if she had tried t・ take me in, I coulda picked de locks and got away."

"That is not the point." Her tone was laughing. "The point is that I saved you, making me right."

He was grumbling as the lift door opened to show the main floor. They stepped out together. "I wouldn・ classify dat as saving my life, and besides," he added, not ready to let her have the last word, "I saved your life on a few occasions too. One・I mean two words. Shadow King." He started regretting the words right after he said them. They still didn・t know where the Shadow King was after being freed from the prison Psylocke had made, and mentioning him might not have been the best idea.

There was nothing for a moment・ and then・

"Thank you," she said. It was so sudden, so unexpected, that it startled him out of his thoughts. He looked at her, meeting the blue eyes that were staring at him. There was silence and then he looked away.

"Sure Stormy, anytime."

"Remy?"

"Yeah?" They were climbing the stairs now.

"How are you?" she asked. And he knew from the tone of her voice that she wasn・t asking the same question as before. She wasn・t asking about his injuries, or his life, she was asking about him.

He thought for a moment. "I t・ink I・m okay." He turned his head toward her. "How ・bout you, Stormy?"

Her words tumbled out slowly, with spaces in between as she considered. "I believe that I too am・ okay."

"Dat・s good t・ hear," he replied as they reached the hallway of the residential rooms and the place where their paths would split. "As always, it be a pleasure talking wit・ you. Later, Stormy."

She smiled. "Goodbye, Remy."

And then he turned and walked away.

*******

It was quiet near the boathouse, except for the lapping of water against the dock in a gentle, steady rhythm. Patterns fell onto the grass designed by a high sun shining through still trees. He stepped through them, watching them change with his perspective and view until the wooden planks of the dock took over and blocked them out.

The house itself was starting to look aged, the wood siding weathered and faded. Somehow it had managed to sit here unscathed while the mansion itself was battered and broken time and time again. The result was a sense of peace, of untouched beauty found in survival. He ran his hand over the splintering siding, spreading out his senses to reach beyond the walls.

His mind touched another, one that was waiting for him to trip some invisible doorbell. One that was sealed in walls of armor thicker than his own and so much more efficient than his would ever be. No one got in that she didn・t want in. Of course the surface was open, her welcome mood, her curiosity, but beyond that・ she was as much an island as anybody else.

He reached the door, didn・t get a chance to knock before she was there opening it for him. He wondered why she didn・t just use her telekinesis. If she wanted to, she could make everything happen for her without ever moving a muscle. It must be tempting sometimes. Maybe that was why she didn・t.

"Mornin・ Jeanie," he greeted her with a charming smile.

She nodded in return. "Hello Remy." She stepped aside to let him in. He walked into the room, noticing every detail immediately, from the dark, patterned couch to the 24 inch TV screen, to the coffee table covered with magazines ranging from "Today・s Gardener" to "Vanity Fair".

"Scott will be gone for the next hour, so we should have plenty of time to work without distractions."

Remy nodded, turning to face her where she stood in front of the now closed door.

"Where are you most comfortable?" she asked.

He raised his eyebrows.

"Sometimes it・s easier to reach inside your mind when your body is comfortable."

He smirked. "De bed."

She gave him a scorning look. "No," was her simple answer.

His answer was a shrug and a forcibly casual look. The flirting was only there to hide his nervousness, an avenue to occupy his mind with instead of filling it with his fears and uncertainties, his worries and anxiety about having a psychic inside his mind. He was used to hiding in the shadows, had been made adapted for it in every way, from his especially acute eyesight to his heightened mental barriers. But Jean・s thoughts were like flashlights in his mind. He could feel her grazing the surface, trying to sense his mood, even if she left his actual thoughts to himself.

He nodded toward the couch they were standing only a few steps away from, patterned in a mottle of dark colors that looked like they were trying to imitate flowers.

"That will work fine," she said. "Would you like anything before we start? Something to drink?"

What he really wanted was a nice cold beer. But he didn・t say so, simply shook his head ・no・. The sooner they started the sooner they finished. And there were some things to discuss first.

"What exac・ly you planning t・ do, Jean?" They were sitting down on the couch now, each at opposite ends with a cushion sitting in the neutral ground between them. She sat in indian style, facing him, he simply shifted his body a little in her direction. He felt the cushion sink beneath his weight, trying to ward him into a false sense of comfort.

"I・m simply going to project my presence into the surface of you mind so that I can guide you in the use of your empathy・"

"Non." He shook his head vigorously. He・d been thinking about it since Jean had asked him to this lesson, and he had decided that he didn・t want her in his mind, especially with the visions he・d been having lately. Who knew what she would find? Maybe things he didn・t even know were there.

"Remy, you・re being difficult. I・m not going to invade your privacy, simply direct your power. Kind of like when your father tries to teach you to ride a bike and he holds the handle bars and walks with you until you get the hang of balancing."

He could feel his strong jaw setting itself tightly, and he knew his eyes were glowing. "M・ father never taught me to ride a bike." He thought he felt her regret her words in the light connection she was still keeping with him, but he wasn・t sure. It was hard for him to interpret the things he felt from other people a lot of the time.

She sighed. "Then how do you expect me to teach you?" Her green eyes challenged him to find another way.

"Tell me. Use words like de rest o・ de world does."

Her fire-red hair swayed back and forth as she shook her head. "It・s not that easy. The energies that guide psychic communication can・t be explained in words・ you have to feel it・ you have to know it." She gestured vaguely in the air with her hands.

"I wan・ you t・ try anyway. Otherwise, dis lesson is over now." He stood up to leave, giving his threat more force.

Her eyes examined him for a long moment. They narrowed. "What is it you want to hide so badly anyway?"

He watched the suspicion draw her face into shadows, suspicion that he knew would have never appeared there before Antarctica, before the X-Men realized just how much they didn・t know about him.

The hostility in his voice couldn・t be helped. "Exactly what are y・ accusing me of?"

She continued to stare at him for another long time. He fought with himself to meet her gaze, fighting the belief that she could see down into his mind, see all the bloodstains there. The past was gone. It was over. It was time to move forward.

"Jus・ give it a try, Jean. It ain・t gonna hurt."

Her gaze softened. She shook her head as if she were trying to shake off her mood. "I・m sorry. I・ve just been a little・ stressed lately," she mumbled, and then said more coherently, "Fine, we・ll try it."

He sat back down, closer this time and with one knee up on the couch so that he was facing her. "Merci." He wondered if her "stress" had to do with how he・d seen Scott in Xavier・s study the night before.

There was a black hair-tie around her wrist and she used it to tie her long hair up in a quick pony tale. Somehow she managed to make it look rather decent. Perhaps such was a special power that all the X-women shared. They always avoided looking as messy as they should in situations, one case in point was their uncanny resistance to looking disheveled in battle.

He tightened the bandana in his hair that had returned after his second shower of the day forced on by the training session that morning. Resettling himself on the couch, he made sure that he was comfortable; he had a feeling he would be sitting here for a while.

She did the same and then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, her expression similar to what she usually wore when preparing for some great psychic task.

"I t・ought we agreed. You stay outta my mind." His body tensed and his mind mirrored the reaction.

"We did. Relax, I・m not going into your head. I・m just trying to run through each step that I・m going to bring you through, in my own head. Maybe if I・m experiencing it I・ll be able to explain it better. Now close your eyes."

He closed his eyes, but kept his senses on alert, making up for the loss of his sight.

"And relax," she added sternly. "You・re going to have to believe that no one is going to hurt you for a while. Until you get more experienced, that・s the only way for you to reach the plane of your own mind."

He muttered a few complaints, but tried to do as he was told, running through each muscle group in his mind a forcing it to release its tension.

"Now, I want you to try to forget the outside world. I want you to go to that place right before you fall asleep at night, where the world ceases to exist and yet you are still awake."

He hesitated. "What if y・ don・t sleep at night?" he meant it to delay, she took it as him being difficult.

"Sssh. Quiet. Just focus."

A deep breath of air found its way into his lungs, swirling around, held there for a moment in the darkness and then slowly released. She had no idea what she was asking him to do, where she was forcing him to go. That place, right before the nightmares could capture him in their grasp, was where the screams lived, where he was defenseless, too far from reality to escape yet too aware to ignore it all. That was where memories of the past came back on him unbidden, where he could be haunted freely. No matter how composed he was when awake, no matter how at peace with himself he thought he was, no matter how much he really put his past behind him, this was always the place where it came back, where he lived out the torture of a subconscious bent on reminding him of all he had ever been.

The darkness was closing in now, getting deeper. He almost turned back, almost opened his eyes so that he could see Jean・s face, something tangible to remind him that he was still alive, that he could find his way back if he wanted, but then he heard her voice, so distant now, beckoning him onward.

"Reach around you, pull in all you psychic power. Wrap yourself in your empathy so that you wear it like a cloak・ Here is where we surpass normal people・ this is where your abilities come in. They can reach the conduit to the psychic plane, but they can・t make themselves into psychic energy to enter it. You can."

Her voice was far away, and he felt like she was calling to him over a faraway canyon, her words carried on the wind.

He gathered his strength blindly, not sure of what he was doing, pulled in his empathic energy. He was starting to hear the screams now, the icy cold of their pain blowing at him from the depths of his conscious. It was always there, couldn・t be forgotten nor erased, his empathy had left an imprint in his mind because he had felt every single Morlock cry of pain as deeply as if it were his own・

He pulled the energy tighter and tighter, twisted it around himself to act as a barrier against the ghosts that haunted him, against the chill that followed him. *Jean?* he called out uncertainly. It was only after he said it that he realized he・d only thought it.

*I・m here,* she replied, her voice echoing through his mind, still far away but louder than before. She・d kept her end of the deal. She hadn・t gone into his mind, was only throwing her thoughts at him from her own with enough strength that he couldn・t help but hear them.

*What now?*

He thought he felt a smile. *Look down.*

He did, and he almost jumped. He saw his body, only not like he saw it everyday of his life when he got out of bed in the morning. It was blue, lightning bursts of energy streaking across the surface, and had a sort of translucent quality. The details were vague, he was just an outline and it reminded him of how Bobby Drake looked in ice form, only this was more fluid, always changing somehow, yet always recognizable as himself.

*How?* he breathed, amazed.

She chuckled. *Amazing, isn・t it? This is your psychic body. This is what we use to travel on the psychic plane. What does it look like?*

His eyes followed the lines of his limbs, traveling over the familiar lines of his body that were now so alien. He got the impression that something was missing, but he couldn・t place what it was. *Wow, I look good.* He tried to send her a smirk.

She laughed. *Don・t love yourself too much or anything. Really. Describe what you see to me.*

He touched his left arm with the fingers of his right. There was a spark and a surge of energy that he interpreted as touch. *M・ body is all a kind o・ glassy blue. It・s hard t・ describe, but it・s a really deep kind o・ blue・ like de kind you see on a clear, cloudless day when y・ feel like y・ can jus・ fall into the sky... An・ dere are sparks, lightning coursing t・rough m・ limbs.*

*Lightning? Like electricity?*

*Oui. Why? What does dat mean?*

*It means that you are a very strong empath. The intensity of color and sparks of energy show the strength of your power*

He held his fingers apart, watched the sparks dance between them. It was dark here, and the electricity was offset by the depth of the blackness. The screams were quieter now, unable to touch him as easily now with his newly created armor. He looked around, saw that this place was not simply a black hole, but that there was a forward and a back, a left and a right. Behind him he could see the light of the outside world, distant and far away, sounds echoing down as if through a long tunnel. In front of him he could sense the heaviness of sleep, could see a faded whirlwind of colors and he realized that the screams had a shape, streaks of red shrieking through the mix of other shades and hues. He watched them, and realized something・ they were coming from somewhere else, migrating past him. He turned to follow their path and saw that they came from the left.

His past. He turned to face that direction and saw the memories drifting there, saw the pain bleeding out to fill his dreams, saw the hemorrhage that kept him from sleeping every night.

*Remy?* he almost didn・t hear her through the sea of his own thoughts.

*Yah?* His eyes were glued to the past, to the things he saw there, both happy and sad.

*We・re ready for the next step now. I want you to turn around, back the way you came, but I want you to hold on to your powers tightly, keep them around you. I・m not sure how else to explain that. You・re just going to have to figure it out on your own.*

He looked back over his shoulder, saw the distant light there. *Where will dat take me?*

Her voice drifted to him. *Back to reality. Only you・ll be able to see it from the view of the psionic plane. It・s like・ like you are in another dimension looking at our world from a back door. The normal coverings don・t apply, and for you, since you are an empath, emotions will show as plain as clothing.*

*I have t・ do dis every time I want to use m・ empathy?* He saw the light flickering in the distance.

*No. As you get better you・ll learn shortcuts to use. This is just a deep meditation to help you get more in tune with the psychic plane.*

He nodded, wondered if she could sense the movement. *Oh,* he added, just in case she couldn・t.

His eyes traveled over his body again, before he started to move forward. He gathered his empathy tighter around him, over every limb as he surveyed it. And then he came to his left hand and he realized what was missing. The diamond wasn・t there, the scar tattooed between his knuckles and wrist that had appeared after his last encounter with Sinister. He stared at it for a second, told himself that its absence wasn・t so strange, that his whole body was lacking in detail and that something so small had a right to be missing. But then he noticed something else: a thin stream of light that streaked out from the spot where the diamond scar should have been. His eyes followed it, the string leading him on until he faced the one direction he hadn・t explored. If sleep was forward and reality was backward, and the left was the past・ then the right must be・ the future. He followed the glowing string with his eyes until he faced the darkness there, the pure emptiness of a place not yet filled with experience. The light streaked down into the distance, until it faded out of his sight.

He began to follow it, the bright filaments beckoning him on, calling him to see the secrets hidden in his mind. Faraway, light years away, he thought he heard Jean calling after him. He tried to send her a message, to tell her he was taking a slight detour, but he wasn・t sure if the message ever reached her.

And frankly, he didn・t much care.

*******

He was coming. She could feel the pull of his form as he came closer to where she was, huddled in this vacant corner of his mind. She・d worried when he・d first agreed to this lesson, worried that he would get too close, that he would see something he couldn・t see before. She had been right.

She could have stopped him though. She could have given him anything from a headache to a life threatening illness to keep him from coming here.

But she hadn・t. She told herself that it wouldn・t have mattered, that he would have tried again, as soon as he was well again, that she couldn・t hide forever, that he would discover the place in his head where she lived eventually. She told herself that he probably wouldn・t find her anyway, that he・d probably overlook her presence completely. Obviously that last part had been wrong.

These were the things she told herself. But the truth・the truth, that was different. The truth was that she wanted him to find her. The truth was that she was tired of reliving her own pain every time she showed him a bit her past in hopes that he would be terrified enough to prevent the future. The truth was that she was lonely, that she wanted to see someone face to face, to talk to another human being. To confront him. To tell him that she hated him instead of hiding like a coward. To find out if she did even hate him anymore.

That last part was perhaps what she feared the most to learn. Because if she didn・t hate him, didn・t retch at the thought of him like she once had, than she might not have the strength to kill him anymore. And when she thought that she hated herself. The thought that she might have grown soft, might have let her mind get so close to his that she sometimes couldn・t separate the two, hung in front of her in ugly accusation.

And when it did she forced herself to remember. To see her parents lying dead on the floor, carpet soaked in red, red like his eyes as he stared at her and told her that he was trying to help her, talking with the same lips that had ordered her parents・ death. Her hate would come back in fire-soaked resolve and she would remember why she was here. To stop that from happening. To stop him.

He was the enemy. She had to confront him before she forgot that.

*******

It was so dark here・ so empty. Remy probably should have expected as much. He hadn・t experienced the future yet and as a result there was nothing available to fill it like his past. But he hadn・t been prepared for the vacancy, the loneliness here. It was like a giant room meant to hold hundreds of laughing guests that had been abandoned to echoing possibilities. It was eerie and frightening in its way.

And it really was very big. The space went on and on as he followed the threat of light, pulling himself along it and leaving the excess behind. He wondered if the size was relative to the length of his future, wondered if the space devoted to the future would be smaller if he had been much older and closer to his death.

And he also wondered how he was going to find his way out of here. He imagined that there were a million tricks that a skilled psychic could use to mark their path. Unfortunately he was far from skilled, and the closest expert had been left long ago and locked out of his mind. He didn・t doubt that she would eventually knock down his walls and come in after him. He hoped he had enough time before she did. Maybe his mental barriers would be strong enough to hold her for at least a little while.

He was starting to get used to this new body of his. At first moving had been awkward and strange, requiring specific thought and focused effort. It was easier now, more natural.

The string of light he was pulling through his hands had started to look different. It took him a moment to realize that it was no longer blue, but was looking more green now.

Maybe that meant something. Maybe that meant he was getting closer to wherever he was going.

*******

She looked down at the green wire of light that extended out from her form, watched it get taunt and then slacken a little・ taunt and slack・ taunt and slack. He was close. Very close.

She couldn・t help the anxiety she felt. It was easy to hide in his mind, to exact total control over his life without ever having to explain herself. This was different.

But she still had power over him. She had to remember that. His life was still in her hands.

*******

He could feel it now. Exactly what "it" was, he wasn・t sure, but it was like a buzz in the darkness around him. He wasn・t sure how to interpret it, or what it meant. But suddenly he didn・t feel so alone anymore, suddenly he didn・t feel so empty. And he knew that wherever this trail lead, it was worth whatever sacrifice he was making now. Because the buzz was familiar, and he had the inexplicable feeling that ahead of him he would find something that would change him.

The buzz was getting louder.

*******

She shook out her psychic body, looked over it. It had been so long since she had been anything tangible. She wondered what it felt like, if she would even remember how to use a real body anymore. The green, glowing and translucent form that she embodied spread light into the darkness around her. She knew that to any human who・d never experienced life from this perspective, she was quite dazzling. But to her eyes she was a faded image and she remembered a time when she was much brighter in her psychic form, a time when she was more vivid and solid. A time when she didn・t create the effect of a green mist slowly diffusing into the night.

He was close. Very close. The tension grew worse, because she had the horrible feeling that the next moments were her destiny. The future could either be born or destroyed, and it all depended on her.

*******

The glowing filaments had grown tight, the slack gone as he approached whatever anchored the other end. The blackness wasn・t so dark anymore and there was a pale greenish glow to it now.

Ahead of him he could see that green glow thicken into a haze and in the middle of that haze he could see a figure. A feminine figure of green light.

He was here.

*******

He was here.

She could see him standing there, blue psychic form glowing like a star. Lighting flickered through him, the sign of an Omega class mutant. He looked strong, looked clean, looked pure.

Even here he was a being of deception, because she knew him, perhaps better than he knew himself. Not only did she know who he was, but she knew who he would become. And he was and would be far from clean and pure.

She gathered herself and stepped forward to close the distance between them.

It was time to create the future.

 

end Part 5