Betrayal - REVIEW THIS STORY

Written by Valerie Jones
Last updated: 01/02/2007 02:01:11 AM

Chapter 34

Emma Frost slid from her chair with a cry of pain. She landed on her knees, eyes wide and the heels of her hands digging into her temples as if she could somehow physically push the pain away. Betsy saw her fall and tried to bolster her shields, but she couldn't tell how much effect she was having. Emma bore the brunt of the assault, being the link between the professor and Jean, and themselves.

Betsy dug deeper within herself for the power she needed. They were being pummeled by raw emotion from Gambit. Fueled by his telepathy, the waves of pain and loss were being driven toward the minds around them like missiles. Only the shields she and Emma held steady prevented them from getting through. In a distant corner of her mind, Betsy thought that this was probably a lot more than the professor had expected. Otherwise, he would simply have ordered everyone to leave.

Emma, she knew through their link, was also receiving waves of distress from the professor and Jean themselves. But they didn't seem to be threatened, only hurting, and they did not yield to Emma's efforts to recall them to their bodies.

Sudden blackness erupted on the astral plane and Betsy screamed.

She knew she screamed, even though she didn't hear her own voice. It was the same darkness that had nearly drowned her when she had probed Gambit's mind-- that suffocating, swirling pit of loss and despair that tried to suck her soul out of the marrow of her bones. It swirled around her, trying to draw her through the protection of her shields. Those shields seemed awfully fragile now, and her fear made them quiver.

A sharp stab of physical pain distracted her. She opened her eyes to find Logan's face only a few inches away. Her cheek stung, but she could only cling to the solid calm of his blue eyes.

"Don't ya dare fold, darlin'," he told her in his gravely voice. "We need you." The words held her in a firm grasp and wouldn't let her go. She looked beyond him to where Emma knelt. Her face was tear-streaked but calm, as if she had already decided that nothing was going to break her composure, let alone her shields. The unexpected show of courage gave Elizabeth even more determination. She sat up and shook off Logan's grasp.

"Thanks, Logan," she managed. "I've got it."

"I'm glad to hear it, love." Warren's voice was quiet, but disturbed. Betsy felt the familiar rustle as one wing settled around her. One hand rested on her shoulder as the other one pointed toward the corner of the room, behind Gambit. "I think we're going to need everything you've got."

The bookshelf behind Gambit had dissolved into a black inferno that raged in a tight circle the size of a dinner plate. Betsy knew that darkness, though she couldn't say how it could manifest physically as well as on the astral plane. As she watched in horror, the circle slowly expanded.

Charles and Jean followed the mind-Jean and Remy through the mansion's lower floor. They knew where she was headed-- the weapon's locker near the lifts. A brief explosion rattled the building, momentarily drowning out the sound of gunfire from elsewhere in the house. Jean was talking to herself as she dragged the unprotesting boy along, as if that were the only way she could force her mind to function. Still, she held to her training-- checking the corners and taking a roundabout route that was less likely to be occupied.

"Cerebro's down. . . . powers suppressed. . . . " She flattened herself and her charge against the wall at the last corner and then peeked around. Apparently seeing nothing, they bolted across the foyer that fronted the lifts. The weapons locker was on the far side, a solid gray square mounted on the wall.

"Gunfire in at least. . . " She pulled up the heavy bracket that sealed the locker with a grunt. "Three. . . .places." The energy rifles and smaller hand weapons were neatly stored in their places. A rack below them held powerpacks and a small string of grenades.

"Professor's study. . . . first. Upstairs. . . ." She grabbed one of the rifles and a powerpack, slapping the one into the other with the familiarity of long practice. "Maybe Storm's loft. . . . Can't tell. . . . " She took the grenades, too, looping the string over her shoulder.

"Explosion . . . . downstairs. Probably the other lifts. . . . ."

She grabbed Remy's hand again and turned to him. She took a deep breath before she spoke, as if she knew she needed to concentrate in order to be understandable. "Remy, stay right with me, o.k.? I'm going to need both hands sometimes, so you have to stay with me." The little boy nodded solemnly.

"Good." Jean seemed to be drawing herself together more with each passing moment. "And if anyone starts shooting, you just get down on the floor, o.k.?" Again, a nod.

They started toward the back of the house and Charles' study.

"If they're blowing the lifts, they'll be coming this way," Jean remarked to Charles. She was amazed at how calm she sounded. It was as if her mind had become detached. It was that other Jean who was creeping through the house, rifle held ready-- who faced possible death around each corner. Jean herself felt an odd freedom to analyze and plan, as if she were involved in a playback session of one of their danger room sequences.

Charles didn't answer. His eyes were haunted, as if he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes, but couldn't turn away from the scene that flowed around them. Jean understood. The horror of it all held her as well, despite the feeling of detachment. She was aware that she would, in all probability, see her own death. . . . but so far that was only a mental awareness. She felt numbed.

The mind-Jean peered around a corner and suddenly jerked her head back. Standing further out into the hall, Jean and Charles could see the three men who walked purposefully down the hall. They were in a loose flanking formation, and looked ready for trouble. Jean didn't think they had seen her doppleganger at the corner.

The mind-Jean motioned for Remy to stay where he was, and then dove out into the hallway, firing rapidly as she crossed the empty space and then flattened herself against the far wall, opposite where she had started. Jean and Charles saw one of the black clad men fall, his shoulder and arm burned away. The mind-Jean pulled a grenade from the string, automatically arming it, and tossed it out into the hallway through the return fire. Remy squatted down and covered his ears when she did, flinching as the grenade went off and sent a wall of flames roaring past his hiding place. The sound of the explosion drowned out the screams. Jean repeated her dash across the mouth of the hallway, firing again, to be sure that she had hit all of the intruders.

When the smoke cleared enough to see, she led Remy into the hall. They picked their way across the bodies and continued on.

Charles turned to Jean as they followed. "What kind of life do we lead, that my five year old son is trained to respond to this kind of violence?"

Jean wasn't sure how to answer. She thought for a moment. "How many times has this house been leveled by our enemies?" she finally replied. "I would hope we've taught our children to protect themselves. Trouble always comes looking for the X-men."

Charles' gaze was distant. "Perhaps we have no business having children, then," he murmured, so softly that Jean wasn't certain she heard him properly. Since she didn't know what to say, she didn't ask.

Jean and Remy reached the Professor's study. The door was open, and they could hear voices inside. Jean paused at the doorway to listen. Her back was pressed against the opened door, and her head turned toward the opening. Jean and Charles saw the man who approached from behind her, but could give no warning. The mind-Jean was too engrossed in her listening to notice his silent approach. Remy, too, was facing the wrong direction. He turned at the last moment, eyes widening as he registered the soldier who was nearly on them. His cry of warning came to late. The soldier brought the butt of his rifle down on Jean's skull with a dull thud. Jean collapsed with a cry, the gun tumbling from her hands.

The man grabbed Remy by the hair when he tried to scramble away. "Oh, no you don't," he said, and hoisted the boy into the crook of one arm, holding him around the stomach with arms and legs dangling. He kicked Jean's rifle into the study and then took her by the back of her sweatshirt, forcing the reeling woman forward in a half-walk, half-crawl. He pushed her down onto her face in front of a tall, pale man dressed all in black. The struggling boy he kept pinned in his arms.

Jean climbed slowly to her hands and knees. She looked around her from that vantage, and did not make a sound as she surveyed the ruin. The real Jean gasped for her and clapped a hand to her mouth. Charles, too, looked stunned.

The mind-Charles sat in his now-grounded hoverchair. He was dressed in the green and blue silk robe that Jean and Scott had given him last Christmas. His head was bowed forward, and Jean could see that a fair portion of that head was missing. The right side of his robe was stained black with blood. In front of the hoverchair, Scott Summers lay on his stomach, obviously dead as well. Jean felt tears burn her eyes. She had always thought she was prepared for the possibility of losing Scott. She'd thought about it, planned for it, if it ever happened. But to suddenly be staring at her husband's lifeless body sent such a wrenching pain through her that she felt like her knees were going to buckle.

Still, the sight that most horrified Jean was the empty eyes of the little girl whose body was half-buried under Scott's. Jean knew her daughter's face-- red hair, green eyes. An eight or nine year old angel whose life Jean had never seen. Only her death. And to her surprise, the mind around her echoed the feelings of loss. Rachel had been his friend.

The men in the room ignored the bodies as they considered Jean and Remy. The boy had stopped struggling and Jean had pulled herself up onto her knees so that she could face her captors. The muzzle of the soldier's energy rifle rested against her cheek. Her eyes were flat, but the fire of defiance continued to burn. She met the gaze of the pale man without flinching, and without showing an ounce of reaction to the deaths of her husband and daughter. Jean was chilled to see herself that way, but also somehow proud that she had not been broken.

As the impact of the scene began to wear off, Jean began to notice more. Primarily, she recognized the man who stood with the tall, pale man who seemed to be the leader of the mercenaries. His name was Sebastian Shaw.

"Shaw." She made no effort to disguise the fury that burned through her.

"He has been trying to kill the X-men for years," said Charles. He, too, was coldly angry. "It appears he finally succeeded."

Another soldier entered the room. He held something that resembled a rocket launcher casually balanced on his shoulder. Jean could tell it was an energy weapon of some sort, but the mouth of the barrel was so wide, she couldn't imaging what kind of beam it put out.

"Did you get him?" the pale man asked.

The soldier nodded smugly. "Yep." He patted the weapon. "That metal skeleton melted right down."

"Casualties?"

The soldier's expression turned solemn. "Yeah. He went straight through Stanton and his boys like they was so much meat. It took me that long to get the lock on him."

"I warned you Logan would not fall easily." All eyes turned toward the new voice that spoke from the doorway. On her knees, Jean's body sagged in defeat. Her eyes emptied at this last shock.

"Peter," she whispered. "Why?" She sounded like a small child.

The tall, metal-skinned man turned towards her. His smile was bittersweet, and Jean could see the madness that burned behind his eyes. "Because the lies had to be stopped," he told her.

The mind-Jean shook her head, though her eyes never left his face.

"I. . . don't understand."

"The lies, Jean! His lies!" Peter Rasputin gestured angrily towards the now-dead Professor.

When she didn't respond, he continued, "Don't you see? He told us that we would make the world better. That people wouldn't hate us anymore. That we could be happy!" Colossus slammed his fist into the corner of the desk, shattering it. Jean flinched as the wooden shards exploded around her. The desk canted forward from the loss of a leg, it's contents spilling onto the floor at Jean's knees. She stared hollowly at the pile of tumbled papers.

"It wasn't his fault," she said without looking up.

The real Jean took Charles' arm. He was staring at the scene with a glimmer of tears shining in his eyes. Jean had never seem him look so. . . . bereft. But Peter had been one of his first students, and despite all of the horrible things that had happened to him, Charles had never given up hope that he would be strong enough to survive the pain and go forward from there. Jean, herself, had always believed that. Even when he left to join Magneto, she had believed he would come back, eventually. But never would she have believed he was capable of this.

Colossus crossed his massive arms and glared at Jean. "Your loyalty makes you blind, little one. What did his "dream" ever bring us, except pain? He was a viper who mesmerized us with promises, and then struck with fangs and poison when we thought we were safe!"

Jean's brow crinkled slightly. It was obvious she didn't really understand what he was saying. Neither did the two who stood silent witness to the scene.

"Did you come home just to kill us, Peter?" she finally asked.

Charles cringed at the question, as if it had struck him physically.

The metal mutant's roar of fury startled everyone in the room. He grabbed the heavy oak desk and hurled it at the wall behind the professor, narrowly missing the bowed head. The desk crashed through the outside wall, shattering the nearby window. Pieces of glass and fragments of paneling rained down onto the carpet.

"It's not my fault!" Colossus screamed at Jean. "His lies destroyed my brother! They drove him mad!" He kicked the hoverchair, toppling it. "He killed my parents and my poor, sweet Illyana. . . . " The rage abruptly gave way to overwhelming sorrow at the mention of Illyana's name. Peter covered his face with one hand. After a moment, though, he raised his head and looked at Jean again. When he spoke, his voice was ragged with both fury and tears. "And now my wife does not even speak to me because of his "dream"! She will not even allow me to see my children! My children!"

"He's mad," the real Jean said softly.

Beside her, Charles nodded through his tears. "Yes."

The mind-Jean endured the tirade in silence. Her face had grown hard. When he finished speaking, she met his gaze squarely. "But it is *you*, Peter, and not the Professor who has taken my husband and daughter from me."

"Noooo!" It was almost a howl. Colossus turned and buried his fists in the wall near Shaw and the mercenary. The two men backed up warily.

For a moment, all eyes were off of Jean. Without warning, she grabbed the gun that was still aimed at her from behind. But instead of trying to take it away from the soldier who guarded her, she simply deflected its aim over her shoulder and squeezed the man's hand on the trigger. The energy beam sizzled past her ear and burned into the wall between the mercenary leader and Shaw. In the single moment of surprise that brought her, she surged to her feet, out of the grasp of her captor who also had to deal with renewed struggles from the little boy he held. Jean took two steps and dove across Charles' overturned hoverchair. Energy beams lanced through the air around her as the mercenary leader and the one who had hit her fired their weapons. The chair made a small but solid shield as she fumbled with the books on one of the lower shelves. Finally, she hit the emergency release on Charles' trapdoor. A portion of the bookshelves swung inward, and Jean tumbled through the opening into the blackness beyond. The panel swung shut automatically, many of the books already burning from the laser fire.

Colossus jumped across the room and began tearing at the shelves. His efforts revealed the adamantium panels and supports that anchored that one corner of the room, but even his strength was not enough to rip through the heavy structure. All he succeeded in doing was denting the armored walls. Eventually, his rage wore out and he leaned against the metal wall, breathing heavily.

Silence descended on the room, save for the struggling boy.

"Put him down." The mercenary leader indicated Remy. The soldier complied and the mercenary leader trained his gun on the young boy. "Now don't move," he told Remy, who sank to the floor obediently, eyes wide.

"What are you going to do about Phoenix?" Shaw demanded.

The mercenary leader ignored him. "Find her," he ordered the two soldiers, "and kill her." They nodded, exchanged glances, and left.

Then the mercenary turned to Shaw. "Is that good enough, Mr. Shaw?" There was an undercurrent of contempt in his voice.

"What about him?" Shaw gestured toward Remy.

The mercenary's cold gaze didn't change. "You aren't paying me and my boys to kill children. That's the Russian's job." Now the disgust in his voice was unmistakable.

"Peter--" Shaw held up a hand to forestall Colossus.

Minutes stretched in silence. Then the radio on the mercenary's belt crackled. Without taking his attention from Remy, he picked it up. "Snow."

"It's a clean sweep, sir," the voice on the other end said. "We got `em all, except the woman they're chasing downstairs. And one of `em wasn't home."

"Which one?"

"The thief. Gambit."

The mercenary glanced at Shaw for his reaction. Shaw shrugged.

"He's not important. I got the ones I wanted."

The radio crackled again and a different voice said, "Colonel, we've got Phoenix cornered."

"Is there a problem?"

The voice paused. Then, "She's barricaded herself in the control room downstairs. The one that runs the hologram setup. We haven't been able to burn through-- she's got a forcefield up."

"Go through the danger room," Colossus said from the far side of the room. He seemed completely rational now. The Colonel repeated the suggestion into the radio.

"Uh, we tried that, sir. It's suicide, unless someone can shut down the room. She's got robots the size of buildings ready to attack as soon as the door opens."

The mercenary considered, then turned to Colossus. "Mr. Rasputin, would you care to give my men a hand?"

Colossus nodded brusquely and strode from the room. The Colonel spoke into the radio for a while, giving instructions for various people to join in the effort to get to Jean. Sebastian Shaw paced back and forth beside him, hands clasped behind his back.

Charles and Jean simply waited. They didn't know what else to do. Because this was Remy's memories, they were constrained by what he had seen and experienced. As much as they might have wanted to, they couldn't leave the wrecked office to watch events in other parts of the house.

Eventually, the stillness was broken once again by a voice from the radio.

"Did you get her?" the Colonel asked.

"Roger that, Colonel," the voice replied. "She was trying to transmit a distress call when we broke through. We're checking now to see if it could have gotten out."

"Right. Let me know, asap. We're going to have to clear out of here fast if any of their mutant friends got that message. Where's the Russian?"

"Don't know, Colonel. He said something about there being one more, and left. He might be on his way back to you." The soldier's voice was cautious, as if he were trying to convey a warning without saying anything overt.

"All right. Let me know about that transmission." Then he switched frequencies. "Halley?"

"Here, sir," came the tinny answer.

"Go ahead and shut down the suppression field, and get the gear packed up. We're done here."

"Yes, sir."

The Colonel replaced the radio at his belt.

Charles turned to Jean. "They must have set up field generators around the house. I wonder if we can see one." He crossed the room to the shattered window and peered outside. Jean wondered if he was truly curious, or if he simply wanted something to distract himself with. She knew how desperately *she* wanted to be away from there.

"There's a machine of some sort over there," he said after a moment, pointing, "but it's indistinct. Remy must have only caught a glance of it. It does look like it has an array." He returned to Jean.

"Peter must have shut down Cerebro during the night some time." Jean stared out the window, trying not to see the bodies. "It had to take them a while to set that kind of equipment up. Why wasn't anyone out on the grounds? Bishop is *always*--"

"Bishop isn't in this time line," Charles reminded her.

At that moment, Colossus walked back into the office. He was carrying a doll in one massive hand. No, not a doll, Jean realized with sinking horror. A baby, less than six months old. It hung limp in his grasp.

He dropped it next to Cyclops' head.

"Brian?" The question was a mere squeak from the boy who still sat on the floor.

Jean felt the tears she had been holding back burst forth. She could only guess that the baby was her own, but in her heart she was certain. "Charles, take us away from here!" she sobbed. "I can't watch any more!" She tried to pull away from him, to reach for the solace of her own body, her own mind, but he gripped her elbow and did not let go.

"We have to finish this, Jean." His voice was steady, though she could tell his horror was no less than her own. "For Remy's sake-- perhaps, even for Peter's. We have to finish this, if only to find out anything-- *anything* that might help prevent this day from happening."

The Colonel was staring at Colossus, slightly pale. Even he was shaken. He seemed to be considering his choices as Peter turned towards Remy.

"This is the last," Peter said as he advanced. "The Professor's own son. He can't be allowed to continue his father's lies."

The Colonel's gun wavered, as if he might change targets. Remy cringed back from the massive man that loomed over him. Colossus reached down and picked the boy up by the throat and began to squeeze. Jean and Charles felt the sudden snap vibrate through the mind around them. Jean's first thought was that Colossus had broken Remy's neck, though that made no sense. Then she realized that what she heard was the breaking of something in the boy's mind, relived by the mind that surrounded them.

They were suddenly engulfed in a swell of telepathic power, forced into activity long before it would normally have surfaced, as Remy fought for his life. Panicked by the grip that closed off his windpipe and sunk in fear and horror, Remy struck out at Colossus with the one weapon his body provided him. The psi blast was as powerful as the one Jean had deflected from Psylocke, but there was no one to shield Colossus. The telepathic force ripped through his mind like tissue. He staggered and screamed, dropping Remy to the ground and clasping his hands over his temples. Remy's posture mimicked his as his untrained mind became entangled with Peter's, and as his psi power drove into the part of Colossus' brain that maintained his heart and life functions, it dragged the terrified boy with it into darkness.

Jean stifled a startled cry as the black vortex erupted around them. Instinctively, she and Charles erected shields to protect themselves, but it was like being inside a bubble in the middle of a raging storm. Jean understood now, how Remy's mind could have been so badly damaged. As his psi blast destroyed the part of Peter's mind that kept his body functioning, he became locked into that death experience. And what Remy had lived through then, they were being forced to re-experience with him. Jean felt the stabbing pains in her head and felt her lungs freeze. Panic closed in as her lungs refused to work, to draw in the air she so desperately needed. Physical cold crept in, precursor to death. And through it all, undirected telepathic power flayed her mind, tearing it open and laying it out, strip by strip. Except that it was really Peter's mind that she felt being destroyed. The memories she saw were his, not her own, and she felt like she was drowning as he looked on his life for the last time. She felt his guilt and his madness, driven by the loss of everything and everyone that he loved. She felt his pain, and, eventually, she felt his death-- his overwhelming horror as the last guttural spark of the man who had been Peter Rasputin was extinguished.

Jean was barely aware of the black vortex that swirled in the ruins of the Professor's study. She saw it, but the importance of what she was seeing didn't strike her until it surged forward to swallow the little boy who lay curled fetally on the floor. For just a moment, Jean thought she saw something in the depths of the maelstrom-- a hint of yellow lamplight on cobblestones. Then she and Charles were caught up in the black storm and whirled away into madness. Jean couldn't keep any bearings, and the sense of being tossed around inside the vortex was making her nauseous. She clung to Charles as her only lifeline, and felt his grip in return.

Just as she was about to begin screaming, the vortex abruptly disappeared, leaving them reeling on a dark street. The boy Remy was slowly picking himself up off of the cobblestones. He looked around, his expression both curious and frightened. Jean could tell, even without feeling it from the mind around her, that he remembered nothing before that moment.

Words were unnecessary as Charles reached for the real world. They had seen everything. Jean held on to him, desperate to feel her own mind around her again. She felt battered and bruised, and wanted nothing more than to curl up around her wounds. She wanted to see Scott, and feel the secure grip of his arms around her. Together, she and Charles fled to the sanctuary their own bodies.

Jean opened her eyes to chaos. She could already feel Charles acting to bolster the shields of the two women who stood against the raging vortex that occupied the far corner of Charles' office. Papers whipped through the air around them, making it difficult to focus. Jean could see Gambit curled on the floor in front of the vortex. From the outside, she could easily feel the connection between him and the furious black storm fueled by his pain. Everyone had backed away from the vortex with the exception of Rogue, who knelt by Gambit's side and stared into the darkness. It looked to Jean like she had begun to move him, only to discover that the vortex simply advanced when she did so. Elizabeth and Emma Frost both looked unconscious, though Jean knew they weren't. They were each supported between two X-men who had withdrawn them to the far side of the room. Charles' hoverchair had been moved away from the vortex by Storm who now laid a hand on his shoulder. Charles didn't acknowledge her. Wolverine stood in front of Charles' chair, claws unsheathed, as if his presence could protect the Professor. Jean herself was wrapped in her husband's arms. Their psychic link settled comfortably in her mind and she drew heavily on it for reassurance.

*Jean?* His mental voice was worried.

For a moment, all she could do was cling to him. Then, *I'm all right, Scott,* she told him.

"What *is* that thing, Professor?" Warren demanded. His metallic wings were open, shielding Betsy and Bishop, who held her from the other side.

Charles didn't answer. Jean didn't much feel like trying to explain, either. But she did know what she needed to do, before that vortex repeated its function and swallowed Remy up again. She forced herself away from Scott and went to kneel beside Rogue.

"Help me, Rogue." She pulled Remy into a sitting position with the other woman's help. Then she grabbed his collar and shook him.

"Remy, open your eyes! It's Jean. You have to open your eyes. I need your help, Remy!" The limp form didn't respond.

To her surprise, Rogue reached over and slapped the Cajun sharply. His eyes flew open. Jean caught his face in her hands, forcing their eyes to meet before she could lose him. The howl of the vortex swirling mere feet from them was frighteningly loud. She didn't dare look, but she was sure it was closing on them.

"Whatevah ya gotta do, sugar, do it fast," Rogue said in an undertone.

"Remy, look at me!" She couldn't tell who, if anyone, was behind the red eyes. But she was afraid to reach out with her mind, for what she might spark. He would have to break free on his own.

"Jean?" The voice was weak, but Jean felt a flood of relief.

"I'm right here," she reassured him.

"They're all dead." His expression was completely unguared, with the loss of a child's entire world written there.

"No, they're not." Jean gave him another little shake. This was what they had to break him out of. As long as he was locked into the past, the vortex would continue to grow until it consumed him as it had before. Jean didn't bother to wonder where or when this vortex emptied into. Perhaps it would be New Orleans, the same place and time as it had before. Perhaps it would be somewhere and somewhen else. Either way, Remy would be lost to them.

"Look, Rogue is right here." She pulled Rogue closer. Remy looked at her dully. Jean held her breath. Rogue was her best bet for awakening the man from the child.

After a moment he gasped and straightened. He caught Rogue's arm and pulled her closer, laying the other hand flat against her chest and then turning her to look at her back. Rogue's eyes went wide at the somewhat rude treatment, but she bit off her protest at Jean's warning headshake.

Remy released her abruptly and turned to look around the room, his red eyes flicking to each face as if memorizing them. Behind him, the black vortex began to shed pieces of itself, dissolving into a dark swirl that quickly collapsed on itself and disappeared.

The stillness was deafening. No one moved for several moments. The only motion was that of the airborne papers that fluttered to the floor like giant snowflakes.

Remy sagged against Rogue, eyes closed. Jean wasn't certain if it was from exhaustion, or simple withdrawal. She reached out to stroke his hair, as much to comfort herself as him. After a moment, she looked at Rogue.

"You should take him to bed. Sleep is probably the best thing, now." She tried to summon a smile for Rogue. "It will give his subconscious time to sort through. . . . everything." Her smile died.

"That is sound advice for yourself, too, Jean." Charles' voice was thin. When she turned to look at him, she was stunned by how weary he looked. She wondered if she looked that bad herself.

"And for you two as well," he added, nodding to Elizabeth and Emma. Betsy returned his nod, and Emma only shrugged.

"Storm, will you see to Emma's needs?"

"Of course, Professor." Storm moved to stand by the White Queen.

Jean climbed stiffly to her feet. "Charles?" she asked uncertainly. There was a flatness to his voice that disturbed her.

His gaze rose to hers for a bare moment, and did not allay her fears.

"I would like to be left alone. . . . if you all don't mind." But the politely phrased request was clearly an order.

Silently, the X-men filed out. Jean allowed Scott to take her home. Despite the midday hour, she made him stay with her, holding her, until she fell asleep.