Betrayal - REVIEW THIS STORY

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

Chapter 46

Bishop sat in the continuous drizzle and contemplated the ants that trekked industriously past the toe of his boot. It was useless for him to search any longer. If Gambit had left the grounds, he was long gone, and if he was still there, he didn't want to be found. Bishop didn't know what to think about any of it. He was worried for a man that he had-- secretly-- begun to think of as a friend. In his own way, Gambit had always been very kind to him, as if he understood how out-of-place Bishop felt. And he probably did understand. Perfectly.

A rustle of leaves alerted him to another's approach. He looked up to find the Witness walking toward him. The Witness stopped when he was near and looked around at the small glade.

"T'ought y' might like trees, once y' got used t' dem."

"Yeah." In his own time, trees had made Bishop nervous. They had always seemed so alien.

The Witness was still studying the surroundings. The mansion was just visible through the foliage. He took a deep breath, savoring the clean air.

"I'd forgotten what dis place like," he commented softly.

Bishop watched him for a moment, then "Do you know where Gambit went?" he asked.

The Witness shook his head. "None o' dis happened t' me."

"So how did you find out . . .?"

"Who I am?" The Witness skewered him with a sharp stare. "I remembered." His gaze grew distant. "I walked through dat house an' I knew I'd seen it b'fore. I had nightmares f' months. Eventually it all came back. Dat's when I stared t' figure out why de Gamemaster was doin' dis t' me."

Bishop looked back down at the ants. "I'm sorry," he finally said.

"F' what?"

Bishop didn't look up. "For not. . . believing. . . in you. For thinking you were a monster." He looked up then, but the Witness' expression was not one he could identify.

The elegant eyebrows twitched. "Oh, you were right, pup," the Witness said qietly, and his voice was chilling. "I am a monster." He turned back toward the distant mansion.

Bishop looked at him questioningly, and he continued, "Some o' de t'ings I've done t' make sure today happened are. . . . unforgivable." The lines of his face were hard and cold. Bishop felt like he was staring at a living skeleton. There was nothing soft, nothing *human* about him.

Bishop realized something in that instant. He had long suspected that the Witness had done horrible things-- things even Gambit would not conceive of-- and now that suspicion was confirmed. And yet, he had chosen that path deliberately, sacrificing even his conscience to bring the X-men back to life. Now Bishop wondered, if there were such a thing as Judgement, how would the Witness be weighed?

Finally, he stood and walked over to the Witness, coming up beside him. "Maybe so," he agreed. "Cyclops likes to talk about the ends not justifying the means." The Witness glanced sidelong at him, and Bishop continued, "I never have believed that."

He was rewarded with the tiniest of nods, a gesture of gratitude. "You make a good X-man, pup."

Bishop stared at the mansion and considered his life. "You made me an X-man, Father," he replied quietly.

Jean accepted the glass Hank handed her and sat down at the kitchen table with a tired sigh. She was far more weary than she ought to be, she thought. But the high tensions in the house wore away at her mind like the wind pulling snow off the top of a drift.

There were times she regretted her power, and these past months had certainly become one of them. Still, how could she truly regret? The truth they had discovered would save all of their lives-- all except one. And that was the thing that left her feeling so worn down.

"Jean?" Scott stood in the doorway. "Where's Gambit?" She had taken up the watch after Warren.

Jean swallowed a mouthful of lemonade. "The roof."

"The *roof*!"

"Yes. He's fine, Scott." She pulled out one of the empty chairs.

"Here, have a seat."

Scott walked over to the proferred chair and put his hands on the back. "You're sure?"

Slightly exasperated, she answered, "Of course. He'd hardly hurt himself if he jumped off the roof anyway. Unless he did a swan dive and managed to break his neck, but that's definitely not Remy's style." She smiled at him. "Relax, o.k.?" She tapped her temple. "I've got him."

Scott sighed and sat down.

"Lemonade?" Hank asked.

Scott shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "Where's Rogue?"

Jean and Hank both shrugged. "She was asleep on the couch in the den, the last time I saw her," Hank answered.

"I haven't even had a chance to talk to her. How is she taking this?"

Jean set her glass back on the table. "Oh, she threw a small tantrum at first, but now that Remy's shown up again, she seems to be all right. I don't think they've spoken to each other yet, though."

"I hate to say it, but I think I'd be grateful for some kind of normal crisis right about now." Scott made a sweeping gesture.

"Rampaging mutants, Friends of Humanity. Anything."

"I couldn't agree more." Hank rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and leaned back in his chair. His gaze was more thoughtful than usual. "And yet, after spending some time conversing with the Witness, I, too, am convinced of the necessity of everything that has happened here."

Scott and Jean exchanged glances, and Hank continued,

"Apparently, the existence of the X-men is a kind of lynchpin in the course of humanity. For whatever reason, it seems to always be true that if the X-men exist, mutants and humans coexist in tense, but fairly peaceful accord. If the X-men do not exist, the planet dissolves into chaos, with either humans or mutants becoming a master race to the other." His lips quirked ruefully.

"I do not want to buy peace-- even relative peace-- with the life of a friend, but that seems to be the only option." He rapped one claw lightly against his glass. "I am just grateful that it was not my choice to make."

Remy sat and watched the rain. He had long since ceased to care that he was soaked to the bone. The roof was the only place where he felt like he was both alone and free. The rooftops had always meant safety for him, and so this was where he came when he needed to think, and to let his guard down for a little while.

A soft rush of air was his only warning as Rogue settled onto the shingles beside him. She must have been drifting with the breeze-- his mutant power hadn't picked her up. She was wearing her colors, and the leather jacket was already darkening in the rain. She said nothing, only sat down beside him and tucked her arms beneath her drawn up knees. She, too, stared out at the grounds.

"Ah want children, Remy," she said after a moment. Her eyes remained fixed straight ahead.

Remy bit his lip. It hurt, but not as much as he had expected. He was still numb inside. And it was only reasonable for her to want a real life, a real relationship-- something that could last. If she stayed with him, she could only be wasting the years on something that would never be.

"You'll find someone, chere," he managed through the tightness in his throat.

Rogue glanced briefly at him. "Idiot. Ah meant us. You an' me."

Her inflection didn't change. "Ah want children, Remy."

Remy tightened his arms around his knees. "What would be de point, chere? Dey'd never get t' grow up."

"Probably." Rogue turned her head toward him and laid her cheek against her knee. "But we've got ten years. Ah'm not ready t' give up yet."

Remy eyed her for a moment, then looked away. "Dat's crazy."

"No it isn't." Anger sparkled in her eyes. She straightened and looked directly at him. "Right now ah have everythin' ah evah wanted. Everythin' ah've dreamed of since ah was a lil girl. Ah'll take ten years, if that's all ah c'n have."

Remy didn't know how to respond. He wanted to believe her-- he did believe that she was sincere. But she wasn't really seeing the whole picture.

Before he could say anything, though, Rogue went on. "Besides, neither one a us can guarantee we're gonna live through tommorrow, let alone the next ten years."

Remy shook his head. "Oui, chere. But when I'm gone, everyt'ing be gone. Includin' dose chillen y' want. Y' won' even remember me."

Rogue was silent for several moments. She picked at a loose thread in her glove. "Beast says there's a chance-- a small one-- that the paradox won't collapse completely." She stared at her hands as if they had suddenly taken on a life of their own. "Ah might remember ya."

"Y' bein' foolish, girl." Remy went back to staring at the rain.

"Then y'all are just going ta give up?" The anger was back in her voice.

"I don' know what I'm gon' do," he answered truthfully.

Rogue stood. "Well, ah know what *ah'm* gonna do." She stretched with feline grace, turning her face up to the rain. "Ah'm going ta become a thief."

"What?" Remy's head jerked up, and he stared at her in disbelief.

Rogue dropped to a crouch beside him. There was a challenging glint in her eyes. "If ya want ta think that this is fate's way a doleing ya out a proper punishment fo' what ya did ta Tanya an' those others, fine. Ya can sit up here an' let the rest a ya life rot away." She stood once again. "But ah ain't going ta let life cheat me outta mah dreams. An' whatevah life don't feel like givin' up, ah'm goin' ta take." She glanced back down at him. "A thief ah once knew taught me `bout that." With a small toss of her head, she rose into the air.

"Rogue, wait!" Remy grabbed after her, and succeeded in catching her ankle. He was so stiff from sitting for several hours after his little danger room excercise, that he nearly fell in the process. But he couldn't let her go. Not when she was so right.

Rogue settled quickly back to the rooftop, smiling as she helped to steady him. Suddenly, Remy found himself with Rogue's waist tucked neatly into his arms as if it had always belonged there. And maybe that was truer than he knew.

"Is dis really what y' wan'?" he asked her.

Her eyes were deep and green and steady. "Yes."

Remy pulled her close and hugged her tightly, dizzy with relief. "Dis still crazy, girl," he said into her hair.

She leaned back to look at him. "We can do a lot a livin' in ten years, sugar."

"An' den?"

Rogue shrugged. "And then. . . . well, ah'll probably never know what ah lost." There was no compromise in her gaze.

It was strange, Remy reflected. Rogue had been mocking him, but what she said made sense. Maybe this *was* fate's way of punishing him. It was certainly fitting. He breathed deeply of the cool air and stared into Rogue's eyes. Ten years. So be it. He would just have to savor what he had for as long as it lasted.

Silently, he promised himself that fate would not regret giving him those ten years.