If Ever - REVIEW THIS STORY

Written by Painted Eyes
Last updated: 01/02/2007 02:01:11 AM

Chapter 7

"He's gonna take out half the mansion when he blows, boys." Psylocke tilted her sinuous eyebrows meaningfully, twisting sideways in Warren's lap so he squirmed pleasantly under her. "He's workin' toward suiciding while we sit here drinking beer ..."

Scott's head turned to her from the argument growing louder at the bar, he'd been wondering at the fact that it was between a pair of men he knew to be closer than brothers, "How do you know that?"

She gave him an eloquent roll of one elegant shoulder, an unrestrained and very unlikely giggle as Warren's hand stroked her hip.

"Felt it a few hours ago, workin' himself around to it. LeBeau's a superstitious man, though - suicide is all kinds of bad mojo. I figure he'll let the mansion fall on him."

A fist flew on the dance floor, a woman's excited shriek and Harry's uncharacteristically harried bouncers started wading through the press.

"Seems the heat is making people a bit irritable ..." Although Warren was smiling himself, teeth white against sky-blue skin.

"So you don't know for sure ... " Scott asked, nervous for no good reason he could see.

"Hell, man, he wants to die so bad, I say we give our good buddy a helping hand and save the walls." Bobby cracked, surprised himself to realize he was more than half-serious and back-pedaling at once; "Well, at least get his ass out of there before we're homeless."

Their eyes met across the table, something dark moving among them that none of them could see anymore. Psylocke and Warren, Bobby and Scott, all with resentments, each with their quarrel with the Cajun, their losses to protest.

Black bloody memories in Warren's eyes killed his smile and the same shifted into Psylocke's on his behalf; she offered her services avidly; "I say we find out what Rogue didn't get to in that twisted little mind of his." Lovingly examining the psychic knife rising out of her fingertips.

"We'd be doing Rogue a favor to get him out of all our lives." Bobby said grimly, "Bastard doesn't deserve her, jerking her around that way ..."

"Payback's a bitch." Warren murmured thoughtfully, something he'd fantasized many times that had never seemed quite so righteously possible.

Edging into an agreement no one remembered was anathema, an agreement at odds with the vows they'd given to the Professor and their own best instincts.

More voices were raised in several different parts of the rambling room; a pitcher hit the bar and light glinted on the shards of the upraised handle. They didn't think that was strange, either, though this was never a place for brawling.

"He left me to die in those tunnels, he left me pinned to the fucking wall like a trophy ..." Old rage breaking fresh in Warren, and Scott sat down, his attention now focused on his team where they sat together in calm conspiracy as if they discussed betrayal every day, as if the odd violence around them wasn't even there.

Deceit, treachery, the death of thousands on Remy LeBeau's head, how could they bear his presence among them despite the Professor's wishes?

"How do we know he isn't still working for Sinister?" Betsy's voice was a cool and persuasive purr, "He disappears for days at a time and Rogue didn't have time to get half his secrets - he wouldn't've had a stray thought I didn't know about it it'd been me."

Bobby took on a strident tone, "If the Morlock Massacre was only part of it, what else might he be liable for?"

Scott finally came into it. "My worry as team leader is that he's got access to every secret we have, I've warned the Professor again and again that he's too good a hacker - I think he's gotten into Cerebro more than once for who the hell knows what. Nothing's safe as long as he's there. No one."

"But the Professor doesn't listen to you, does he? It's not because he trusts him, Scott, I think he just wants to keep him alive for now, try one of his famous salvage jobs - " Psylocke felt her lover's anger like prickles under her skin.

Bobby snorted, "Shit, keeping that viper among us is making deals with the Devil, man, it isn't what we are. And it isn't like he's salvageable."

Wolverine's fists rose above a knot of particularly vicious fighting, his growl reverberating in the cacophony with gleeful energy as he exercised the bestial instincts that didn't often get to slip the leash.

"Where's Mrs. Summers, anyway?" Psylocke looked directly at Scott, satisfied by his startled realization. He stood up and the decision was made.