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Chapters
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
 
 
 

The Companion Picture - REVIEW THIS STORY

Written by Dandelion
Last updated: 12/03/2009 06:26:08 PM

Chapter 27

"Here's the mail, Charles," Jean breezed into the front room, arms laden with envelopes and packages.

"Thank you, Jean," Charles looked back out the window.

Jean paused, looking at the older man with some concern. "Is anything wrong?"

He looked up at her. The slight smile he gave her crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Wrong? No, I suppose not."

Jean sat down. "You're thinking about Magnus again, aren't you?"

Charles chuckled softly, "You have wonderful insight, Jean. I *am* thinking about Magnus. I'm also thinking about Remy and Rogue. I'm thinking of a great many things."

"Remy made his decision to go with Magnus. And Rogue made her decision to go after Remy." Jean's voice was gentle, almost chiding in its way.

Charles glanced at her, almost laughing at Jean's den-mother tendencies. "Remy, I am finding, often has more than one reason for doing things."

Jean shrugged, "Whatever his reasons, Charles, he's old enough to make his own decisions."

Charles nodded, "Of course." He turned back to the window, silent once more. He had yet to tell the others about the letter he had received from Remy several days before, postmarked from Miami. One reason he had neglected to speak of its contents to the rest of the X-Men was simply because there was a definite lack of interest in Remy.

Charles found that very disturbing. Ororo and Bishop were the only ones that mentioned him and Charles, though he had to admit to himself was guilty of exactly the same thing as the others, had to wonder why.

Remy's letter caused Charles to seriously question every moment Gambit had spent in the mansion.

"What did you think of Remy, Jean?"

Jean shrugged, not committing. "What was there to think? He was very agile. Very charming. Very handsome. A bit sleazy. And really, quite a chauvinist. I remember him trying to shield me from the streets in Cairo." She shook her head. "I found him vaguely insulting at times. I often wondered why Storm and Rogue had anything to do with him. I often wondered why *we* had anything to do with him."

Charles blinked, stunned at Jean's casual derision of the man. Jean had always been one to go the extra mile when it came to getting to know people. She had been the first one to reach Logan, after all.

That she would dismiss the man so completely was unlike her. And yet, wasn't that the exact same thing he had done until he had received the letter?

"You said you had the mail?" He asked, changing the subject.

"Mm-hmm." Jean dropped some of the envelopes on the table and steadied the larger parcels in her arms. "This one is addressed to Bishop in care of you."

Charles took the package, a smallish cylindrical object, with obvious interest. There was a definite lack of people sending mail to Bishop and since Charles' name was on the item as well, he felt a little justified in taking a closer look. "This is Forge's handwriting."

Jean looked up from separating the rest of the mail, "Things must be pretty busy in Langley if Forge couldn't bring it himself."

Charles looked at Forge's deliberate, technical style of handwriting. "Indeed." He pressed the intercom button on his hoverchair. "Bishop, a package has arrived for you from Forge."

Artur Kastanek had set up shop in the deserted headquarters of X-Factor. A laptop, a briefcase filled with dossiers, and a few other necessities were all he needed as he puzzled out Forge's flight and the reasons thereof.

Kastanek had been working for the F.B.I. for a few years before he had been picked up by Granger and the Department of Defense. Kastanek's area of interest was mutant affairs. He had worked with several and worked against even more.

It would be very easy to classify Artur Kastanek as a man with a vendetta. A man with an unceasing hatred for all mutants, similar to Graydon Creed. He knew the rumors and whispers and he allowed them to continue for one reason: they served his purpose.

In truth, Artur Kastanek did not mindlessly hate all mutants. He didn't even hate the majority of them. There were always exceptions, however. Victor Creed being one of those. Kastanek seethed over the governments attempt to use him as a tool. Victor Creed was a rabid dog, on par with any other criminal that killed for the thrill of it.

Kastanek thought Creed should have been put down long ago.

In regards to Forge, Kastanek had an admiration he kept a tight lid on. Artur had been tempted early on in his career to resent Forge his mutant ability. In thinking on it, however, he had to look on it from a different point of view.

Most people looked on mutants as if they were genetic anathema. Forge was a genius, he could build anything. Kastanek found that exciting. He had taken the view in that why should he resent Forge for some quirk in his genetic structure and not resent another genius, like Einstein or Edison, for exactly the same thing.

Something made Einstein see things differently from the rest of the world. The same with Edison. Who was to say they weren't some early rendition of mutant able to understand and create things that no one else had ever thought of? Kastanek looked at Forge as a genius, someone able to create things that would help a lot of people. He would also be able to create things capable of great destruction. In Artur's view, both were needed.

But Forge had run. He had disassembled everything and disappeared. Wildchild had gone missing shortly thereafter. Mystique had disappeared at the same time as Forge. No one knew where Havok was. Polaris had gone rogue. Kastanek tapped all of this information into his laptop.

"Do you think I'm an idiot, Forge?" He murmured as he sipped his coffee. "I realize this is all some part of a plan. You're a veteran of war, you know how the game is played. Granger may want to look at you as some mutant who's only break was an errant gene that enables you to build things, but some of us know better."

Kastanek stood up and wandered around the room, pausing every now and again to look at the dossiers he had spread about. "Worst case scenario, Forge has found out all about Black Pyramid. Who's involved and what they plan. If that's the case, it is almost certain that Forge is pulling his forces together." He pinned a few pictures on the wall. "Sean Cassidy."

He stepped back and flipped through some files. "Hmm. Headmaster at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters in Boston. Interesting. It *was* in Westchester, New York and is now on the exact location of another private school..." he sifted through some more files. "Run by Emma Frost, CEO of Frost Enterprises, one-time member of the Hellfire Club," he pinned her picture up as well. "And she's still there."

"Then we have this one," Kastanek pinned a picture of Charles Xavier. "Professor Xavier, who do you think you're kidding?"

Bishop stood looking at the package. "This must be the matrix I gave Forge. It contains all the holographic information on my sister. There were some unexpected problems and I asked him to take a look at it."

Charles nodded. "Well, that explains that."

Bishop nodded, "If you don't mind, Professor, I'd like to take this to the Danger Room and get it running again."

"Of course, Bishop, don't let me keep you." Bishop nodded crisply and exited the room. Charles looked after him his brow furrowed. There were many explanations for the package, but Charles had to admit to some trepidation in regards to it. Forge's not delivering it in person was odd, but easily explainable. The same held true for the package being in care of his name. There was also no mention from Forge that it was on its way or any communication from him whatsoever.

Charles rubbed his chin, deep in thought when Hank McCoy strolled in, clipboard in hand. "You rang?"

Charles looked up, trading one mystery for another. "Yes, Hank, would you mind giving me your impressions of Remy?"

"Our wayward Cajun friend?" Hank raised his eyebrows. "I think he is quite the individual."

"How so?"

"All the time he spent with us and we never asked any questions? I find that more than a little peculiar. There was certainly more than enough reasons for us to question him. I'd often rationalize him away, but there was always a nagging at the back of my mind."

Charles looked interested, "Which was?"

"Ororo would not feel so strongly for someone who appeared so stereotypical and inconsequential."

Charles started at Hank for several moments, "My thoughts exactly."

Hank paused. He found the tone in the Professor's voice hard to read, "Charles what's this all about?"

Wordlessly, Charles handed Hank a letter. Hank glanced at it, noting its somewhat ragged appearance. It seemed as though it had been read several times.

"Read it," Charles prompted.

Hank started to, but was interrupted by Bishop's voice over the intercom. "Professor, could I request your assistance in the Danger Room? There's something here I think you should see."

Charles sighed, "Of course, Bishop. I'll be there shortly." He looked at Hank and gestured to the letter. "Let me know what you think of that, Hank."

"Of course, Sir."

Kastanek stared at the group of pictures on the wall. Sean Cassidy, Emma Frost, Moira MacTaggart, and Charles Xavier. He held one more picture, of a beautiful black woman with stark white hair, shooting lightening bolts out of her hands. Kastanek added that picture to the rest.

"Now then," he said aloud, stepping back. "Aside from their connection to Forge, what do all of these people have in common? Why, their connections to each other of course. Sean Cassidy spent a great deal of time on the Muir Isle center run by MacTaggart, who is, at this point, the only human to have contracted virus-L. Xavier and MacTaggart are often flying to each others facilities. Xavier resides at the Institute for Higher Learning that bears his name, which used to be the School for Gifted Youngsters that Cassidy and Frost now run. And this one," he looked at the picture of the other woman. "What's the name," he looked through his files. "Ah, yes. Ororo Munroe, also known as Storm. Once leader of outlaw mutant group known as X-Men, which ironically enough, our own Havok was once a member of. And, here's the interesting part. She and Havok and a number of others should be dead after that situation in Dallas in which someone in particular used them to seal some portal to keep what was described as a demon away from earth. Who was that someone?" Kastanek reached into his files for one last picture.

"Forge!" He pinned it up as well. "And as it turns out, they aren't dead! Sloppy work people! Very sloppy."

He turned away again, tossing the files to the floor. He looked around the room. "I've got my locale. Xavier's Institute for Higher Learning. The man spent some significant time there somewhere between the Dallas incident and his return to his Aerie. The question is, what am I looking for?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, "Not Forge. That would be too easy. He's got to be getting messages to his contacts. I could bug their lines but...no, Forge is too smart to disappear and then contact them by telephone. Especially since he knows we'll be looking for him."

Kastanek took a deep breath and thought about the holograms Forge had set up in this building. He could turn the rooms into anything he wanted. He remembered coming into the building and finding himself in some Tolkien landscape with fountains, birds and the smell of amber.

Forge had odd tendencies, Kastanek never doubted that, but he was brilliant. "It's no wonder he turned this place into a hundred different landscape, it's pretty grim without some enhancement. No doubts the man had some great ideas with holographic projection. From every screen saver scene he used in this building to that girl..."

Kastanek stopped. He turned around to look at the pictures again. "That's it. She's got all the information in her." He laughed out loud and raised his mug to Forge's photo. "Forge, you *are* a genius!"

"The famous Professor X," Shard sang out, as Charles entered the Danger Room. "Got your thinking cap on straight?" She pantomimed adjusting a hat on her head, grinning and winking with her tattooed eye.

Charles looked at Bishop.

"She's behaving oddly," he remarked.

"Is she?" Charles looked back at the hologram who was lounging on a pile of projected boxes, kicking one foot in the air repeatedly.

"How can you tell?"

"I know my sister," Bishop replied stoically.

"But this is a holographic program, isn't it?" Charles looked back at Shard. "Couldn't there be bugs in the programming?"

"That's why I sent her to Forge."

"You know," Shard sat up. "Just because I'm transparent doesn't mean that my auditory sensors don't work. In other words, I can hear just fine, Captain Picard!" She wiggled her fingers at Charles under her chin.

"Shard!!" Bishop exploded. "This is Professor Charles Xavier! The founder of the X- Men! You will show him the respect he deserves!"

Shard glared at her brother, stuck her fingers in her ears and turned her back on both men.

Charles hid a smile as Bishop whirled to face him.

"Professor, I must apologize for my sister. I don't understand why she's acting this way, this isn't like her."

Charles waved his hand soothingly. "It's all right, Bishop."

Shard turned around and held out her hands imploringly. "'My companion is enraged! Why, he compares with me! he earns his praise! Fighting like that makes us dearer to Charles'."

Both men blinked. Bishop picked the canister that held the holo-matrix off the floor and frowned fiercely. "It would seem, Sir, that Forge has failed."

Charles looked at Shard thoughtfully. "I find that highly unlikely, Bishop. Is there a note or anything included?"

"No, Professor, there is not."

"What she said strikes a familiar chord in me, but I can't quite place it. Shard," he smiled at the hologram. "Would you mind repeating what you just said?"

Shard folded her arms stubbornly. "I'm not in the habit of repeating myself." She reclined and cast her gaze at Bishop. "'Less shame,' my Guide said, ever just and kind, 'would wash away a greater fault than yours. Therefore, put back all sorrow from your mind; and never forget that I am always by you should it occur again, as we walk on, that we find ourselves where others of this crew fall to such petty wrangling and upbraiding. The wish to hear such baseness is degrading.'"

Charles looked to Bishop. "Is your sister inclined to quote Dante on occasion?"

Bishop turned his gaze slowly to Charles.

"Professor, since I have arrived from the future I admit I have taken the liberty of indulging myself at times. We did not have access to art or literature. Randall had gone to great lengths to get a hold of Beast's writings. Shard never read the writings of Dante."

"Would something like that have to be programmed in?" Charles looked back at Shard.

"I believe it would."

Charles rubbed his chin, realizing that there was a method to Shard's apparent madness. "But why would Forge have programmed her to quote Dante?"

Hank McCoy sat downstairs in his lab with the letter that Charles had given him to read. 'He gave me a chance to be the worst I could be and I took it gladly. I'm not proud of it, but I can't hide it anymore.' Hank rubbed his eyes. "How did I miss this?" He said aloud. "Remy was in front of me the whole time. How could I not see the anger in his eyes when we delved into Sinister's base? How could I have been so lax as to ignore what was so obviously in front of me?"

Hank leaned back in his chair. "Very

observant, Dr. McCoy. Very observant, indeed."

"Beating yourself up again, Hankster?"

Hank turned his head to see Bobby Drake in the doorway, holding a tray loaded with sandwiches and soda. "Robert," he sat up. "Am I seeing what I think I'm seeing? What I *hope* I'm seeing?"

"If it's food, then yes." Bobby came into the lab and set the tray down on the traditional table. "So what's the crisis now?"

"No crisis, just hindsight." Hank took a bite of the sandwich, grunting his approval at Bobby's culinary wizardry with a knife and deli meat. After savoring the first bite he looked at his best friend. "Bobby, do you think that some of us don't pay attention to other members of the team the way we should?"

Bobby took a drink. "Absolutely."

Hank raised his eyebrows. "That's pretty affirmative pretty quickly. It would appear that your opinion is quite set."

"It is, Hank." Bobby replied. "I never thought about until recently, but you know, we have a tendency to be cliquish here. The original five of us are the worst." He took a bite of his sandwich. "Do you know I scarcely said a word to Rogue for as long as we've all been here together. My loss. She was a real good friend to me during that whole mess with my father. And I got to be a friend back to her during the roadtrip. But you know, Hank, if I had taken the time to get to know her before all of that, if we had been friends longer, maybe I could've really helped her. Maybe I could have gotten her to stay and work things out with Remy."

Hank stared. "Do you think that would have been the best of things?"

Bobby leveled his gaze on Hank. "I was there, man. I watched the whole miserable thing. I watched her tear herself apart all across the country. I watched him die inside while he tried his damnedest to undo everything. I saw every single agonizing moment and I couldn't do a thing to help either of them. You know why? Because I didn't know them well enough. Yeah, I think her staying would have been the best thing."

They were silent for several minutes. "I think," Hank said quietly. "That you have just proven my question. I had no idea about their final confrontation."

Bobby nodded. "Small wonder, then, that he left with scarcely a word to anyone. Except Storm. I should have talked to him, I know. Everyone should have known about it so they could help him out. Why don't we ever take the risk for each other, Hank? We can risk our lives, but we can't even reach out to our own team when they need it." He shook his head. "Peter, Warren, Betts, Rogue, Remy, Sean... All these people have had problems, Hank. I've head them too, so have you. And the rest of us seem to prefer to watch us crash and burn than help."

"That is a bleak picture, Drake-man."

"Prove me wrong. I'm dyin' to hear it."

Charles had moved to the control room of the Danger Room as Bishop deactivated his sister and put her away.

"Computer, print transcript," Charles said aloud.

"Default set as: " prompted the computer.

"Last hour."

"Printing."

Charles took the transcript and highlighted the two odd quotes from Shard. The one from Dante and the unrecognizable quote as well.

Bishop joined him, "Sir?"

"Bishop, I think we should hold off on any further work with Shard for a while. Also, I'd like to be present during any interaction with her."

The tall, time-disposed soldier looked dubious, but nodded silently.

"I'll be in my office."

Once he was alone, Charles looked over the transcripts in earnest. "Computer?"

"At ready," came the soft reply.

"Backlog files for search." Charles flipped through the pages reading over the first thing Shard said that caught his attention.

"Query for search?" The computer prompted.

"'My companion is enraged! Why, he compares with me! he earns his praise! Fighting like that makes us dearer to Charles'." Charles read.

"Estimated search time: 3 hours." The computer stated. "Commencing."

Charles picked up the phone and dialed Forge's private office.

"We're sorry, but the number you have dialed 703-281-7683 has been disconnected. Please check the number and dial again."

Charles hung up and called Boston.

"Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters," a rich Irish brogue answered. "Cassidy speakin'"

"Hello Sean," Charles replied.

"Charles! Aye, what can I do for ye?"

"I was wondering if you've been in touch with Forge recently."

There was a pause. "Sadly no. His government duties and me own work with the kids has kept of from talking to often. Is there a problem?"

"I would guess so," Charles answered. "His private line has been disconnected."

"That's odd. I'd heard nothing of that happening and I'm quite positive he would have left a new number."

"Yes, my thoughts exactly," Charles agreed. "We received a package from him today, with no message. It is the holo-matrix of Bishop's sister from the future."

"Uh-huh," Sean's voice remained impassive, but Charles could tell that the man was interested.

"Bishop claims that his sister is not acting at all like she normally does. She was acting oddly, but I couldn't really say."

"Anythin' specific?" Sean's detective tone of voice rang clear.

"As a matter of fact, yes," Charles turned his eye to the transcript again. "She spoke two quotes, one Dante and the other we aren't certain of at this point. Bishop assures me that she had no access to Dante in the future, so we can only assume that it was entered into her programming by Forge."

"Understandable."

"You worked with him for a time, yes?"

"We're good friends, Charles, if that's what ye're gettin' at. If you want, I can take a look at these quotes and see if I can figure out anythin' from them."

Charles smiled, as that is exactly what he was hoping Sean would offer. "I'd appreciate that."

"Fax it over then, but I warn ye, Charles. Forge's mind works in odd ways. I don't know how much help I'll be."

"Help is help," Charles assured him. "Thank you, Sean."

Artur Kastanek tromped through the sewers beneath the Xavier Institute. He moved slowly, cautiously, having already had some trouble with what he could described as a squid a few sectors back.

"Never did like calamari," he murmured. He was especially cautious after detecting signs of habitation within the sewer, though they were long disused.

Add to that some serious technology.

"The fixtures here have the stink of Forge all over them. Damn it, what does he know?" Kastanek waded through the muck and found himself in a secured zone.

"Well, well, well," he admired the laser grid. "Very nice work, I must say. Almost undetectable." He rooted into one of his pouches and pulled out a three inch long crystal, cut square.

Maneuvering it slowly and masterfully, Artur cleared a trail through the grid, without interrupting the laser flow in the least.

Just beyond was what he had been looking for. The circuit breaker for the computer system.

Having become somewhat familiar with Forge's methods of upgrading, Kastanek knew that Forge would have installed a separate subsystem for the computer network within the mansion.

All Artur had to do was monitor it. He jiggered the lock and started to open the door.

A soft splash caught his attention. Slowly, Kastanek eased his gun out of its holster, scanning the immediate area.

A feral growl erupted and Kastanek found himself on the wrong ends of Logan's claws. But as quickly as Logan could put his claws to the intruder's throat, he had a gun barrel tucked under his own chin.

"I can smell you government fucks a mile away," Logan growled.

Kastanek didn't reply. He only held Logan's gaze firmly and kept the gun barrel stuck squarely under his assailant's chin.

"I can tell ya, bub," Logan rasped, for the moment ignoring the man's gun resting comfortably under his own chin, "that I don't take too kindly to you people trespassing in my house."

"You people?" Kastanek spoke at last, his voice was calm and even betraying a sort of amusement. "If you weren't careful, Logan, someone may mistake you for being prejudiced."

"No more than you," Logan replied. He was mildly irritated at this man's knowledge of his identity, but he couldn't be surprised by it. So many had tried to use it as a way of taking him off guard.

"What do you know," Kastenek remarked. "It looks as if all those anti-mutant revelers aren't the only ones able to jump to conclusions. No. You aren't fooling anyone, Logan. You don't know me. You don't know anything about me. I on the other hand, know much about you." Kastanek laughed as he saw the glint in Logan's eyes change from murderous to apprehensive. "You've got a paper trail so long and so thick a blind man could follow it." His eyes widened in mock sympathy. "Except for you. Never were much on brains were you? All muscle and bones and nothing to show for it. Shame."

Logan's lip curled.

"Now, let go," Kastanek ordered. "Before I do it for you."

"You don't frighten me, kid," Logan sneered. "You ain't got the guts for--"

BLAM!

Bloody pieces of flesh and bone flew away from the back of Logan's head as he jerked back and fell into the shallow water.

Kastanek looked at the body. "And you've watched *The Sound of Music* a few too many times, Captain von Trapp." He moved forward and closed Logan's eyes. "Don't worry, Operative Minus, you aren't dead. And I wouldn't be so foolish to believe you were. Your healing factor has already started taking care of that nasty little head wound." He stood up and went back to his work of monitoring the computer systems' activity within the mansion.

"Of course, lying in this sewer, you are still a high risk for infection. Wouldn't it be a shame for you healing factor to overload and leave you a vegetable? Than what will you be the best at? Hmm? Will your friends miss you in time to save you?" He shrugged.

He closed the switcher box and locked it again, "Who knows, Logan, maybe that bullet will shake things up in your head so you will finally see clearly. None of your X-Men friends would have thought of this, I'm sure. I feel bad for your group, very few of your number has the guts or the initiative for the dream." Kastanek looked at Logan's body. It convulsed a bit, splashing some of the shallow water around.

Some of the water surrounding Logan's head was discolored.

"Bleeding nicely, I see. Well, I'm done here, Logan. Have a nice nap." He turned to leave and then stopped. "Oh, and if you *do* manage to survive this little encounter, do say hello to Forge for me."

Kastenek turned and disappeared back into the sewers.

Logan's body ceased convulsing and the Morlock tunnels returned to silence.

 

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