Always Coming Home

It is cold here. Snowflakes settle in his eyelashes and his breath mists on the antarctic air. So very cold here. The snow melts against his skin, glowing as it does, leaving wet streaks down his face. It releases a little warmth. Not much, but enough to prevent hypothermia from setting in. Throughout his short life, Remy leBeau has used his power for many things. To assist him on a pinch, to save the world, even to impress the odd woman or two. Never before like this. Never before to *survive*. He looks up, ignoring the bite of the cold against his skin, and searches the landscape for the citadel from which he had previously escaped. The white line of the horizon provides him no comfort and tears trickle down his cheeks, melting the snowflakes. He is exhausted, sustained only by spite and pride, and even that is running out. When he set out on this journey, his steps seemed like defiance of his fate, defiance of the fate to which she sentenced him. It was as if he said that he didn't care for her judgement or her condemnation - he would carry on. To where is still a mystery to him. He can't go to the mansion, nor to his home guild. He is unwelcome at both those places. Or is he? Renewed hope pushes him forward. It was only Rogue who said that he had no place with the X-Men or with her. And in the long run, despite how much her words hurt him, he need not listen to her. A smile settles across his face. He will return to the place which was once like home to him. The Xavier Institute of Higher Learning.

Rogue pushes the empty carton of chocolate icecream away from her and reaches for another one. She is numb now, barely tasting the flavor or feeling the cold. It has been a few hours since the Trial and all she wants to do is forget. The young man, Joseph, sitting opposite her is silent. He doesn't know what to say - after all, what do you say to a woman who sentenced the man she loved to death?

Storm sits on the roof, watching the skies. Her best friend is out there in the cold of Antarctica and she wonders how he is doing. Whether he still is alive. The thought disquiets her, as does her helplessness, so she does the only thing she can. She prays.

"Protect him, mother, if only for your humble daughter's sake."

"It's still so strange." Jean says as she pours coffee into a mug and hands it to her husband. "Gambit's gone."

Scott Summers nods, "I don't agree with what Rogue did, if that's what you mean."

"Why?" Her blue eyes are curious.

"To me, the X-Men have always been about second chances, both for the world and the individual. By condemning him for his crimes, we haven't given him a real second chance to make things better."

"I never thought you liked the guy."

"I don't." He sips his coffee, "But that doesn't mean I think he deserves to die."

"It's . . . difficult when one of your own betrays you."

"That's where I think you're wrong . . . Remy has *never* betrayed us."

The citadel. He crawls inside, drained of any energy. It has taken all his strength to get this far and he collapses in the atrium. Tomorrow, he will see if he can salvage anything from this place; but for now, he sleeps . . . .

Part 1: Dead Scenes

Yes: I have re-entered your olden haunts at last;

Through the years, through the dead scenes I have tracked you;

What have you now found to say of our past -

Scanned across the dark space wherein I have lacked you?

Summer gave us sweets, but autumn wrought division?

Things were not lastly as firstly well

With us twain, you tell?

But all's closed now, despite Time's derision.'

From After a Journey by Thomas Hardy

Gambit's footsteps echo hollowly down the passageways of the citadel. He has been looking for food and a means of transportation for hours now. Nothing but cold metal and colder memories.

"Y'would t'ink dat Mags would keep dis place better stocked." He says to himself, "It is such a lovely holiday spot, after all."

He stops before a large, locked door. The sort of door one would find leading to a hangar or a supply depot.

"An' invest in a better citadel security system." He inserts a slender iron rod into the door and charges it with explosive kinetic energy. "Not dat dat would help gainst me."

He dives for cover behind a crate as the lock explodes into shrapnel.

"Mon Dieu." He exclaims, "Dere be a whole airforce in dere."

"So, kid . . . you think you're pretty tough." He snarls, "Let's see how tough you are lyin' in a bed in the ICU."

She says nothing but extracts a bone dagger from her back. Reflexes take over and she spins in death-dance, cutting and slashing, dodging and weaving. Finally, she stands over the body of her opponent. Sabretooth.

"No. I know I am."

"End simulation." A carefully modulated voice comes over the intercom.

"Now white-hair wants to play?" She smirks, "Careful, bright one, I always break my toys."

"Your threats shall accomplish nothing." Storm walks into the Danger Room, "I have defeated you once before; needs be, I will defeat you again."

"I underestimated you. I won't make the same mistake twice."

"No, but you have made a mistake in coming here, Marrow." Storm says, "The X-Men are not home to terrorists and murderers."

"But you are home to gene-traitors?" She replies and smiles as she sees the look on Storm's face. The horror and pain in her eyes. "I know all about pretty-boy leBeau and what he did. How he caused my kind to be killed."

"That is more than enough." Lightning flickers at Storm's fingertips, "You know nothing of him other than what people say. Other than the rumors surrounding his departure."

"I know how you've always wanted him. Didn't it hurt you when he told you that he loved the one called Rogue? Didn't it make you mad, bright one."

"No." She says, "Remy and I are good friends. Neither of us wished it to become anything more."

"Keep saying that and one day you might even believe it yourself." Marrow smiles, "Bye for now, Storm. I may even see you later - but you won't see me." The door of the Danger Room closes behind her with a swish. And Storm wonders, if they have invited the devil into the house, what hell there is to pay?

They surround her - twisted parodies of people, of things. The abominations approach, their gait jerky and shuffling. Yet she waits. Breathing. Steadying herself . . . . She attacks in a cat-like movement, knocking out several with each blow. Tendons stretch as muscles move bones. Eyes dart around. Feet connect. Cartilege cracks. Bones break. Figures disappear as they touch the cold, stone floor. The room is empty now and the woman known simply as Rogue wipes the sweat of her forehead before collapsing. She knows she has pushed herself too hard and that she is paying the price for it now, but she doesn't much care. It felt good to release the repressed anger and frustration that had been building up for the past four years. Too good. And she is scared. After spending most of her life fighting for control over both her powers and emotions, she has tasted freedom. Now, like the bird who has been released from its cage, she knows she never can return.

"I'm worried about Rogue." Robert Drake scoops another hand of popcorn into his mouth, "Muy worried."

"What's wrong with Miss Rogue?" Cannonball asks.

"Nothing, Sam." Iceman replies sarcastically, "She's just acting like Sybil. One minute, she's depressed; the next, she's happy - too happy - if you get my drift."

"Ah guess she has every right ta do so, aftah what happened in Antarctica."

"She won't even talk about that to me. Her best friend."

"Maybe there are some pains that you can't talk about." Sam pauses, "When mah daddy died, Ah couldn't even sort out how Ah felt about it mahself. O' course, Ah was sad; but Ah was also angry with him foh never bein' at home when Ah was growin' up an' now foh leavin' me when Ah was a man."

"The thing is, Sam, I think she needs to talk about it, or else it will keep on building up inside her until . . . ." He gestures with his hands, "BOOM!"

"Ah sure wouldn't want ta see Miss Rogue when she's mad."

"I have and, how can I put it, Etna has nothing on her."

"Gosh."

"Yeah, Sam. You got it in one. Gosh."

California. The Golden State. Playground of the wealthy, hedonistic and famous. Home of stars. The sand crunches beneath Gambit's feet, running into the cracks between his toes, warming him. A sun hangs low over the hazy horizon, bordered by ocean and white villas. So different to the land of snow and ice from which he escaped. The plane is $100 in his pocket, courtesy of an obliging junkyard dealer who asked no questions. An old friend - as close to one as a thief could ever get - an accomplice who found markets for hot merchandise and paid cash. Non-sequential bills, of course. He suddenly thinks how easy staying here would be. To start a new life. To forget in this land of dreams and stars. Had it not been for the gentle pressure of a card against his thigh, he might have considered it. He pulls it out like he has so often on this journey. It is charred, crumbling at the edges, brittle, but legible. Queen of Hearts. He knows he should have left it in Antarctica. Should have burned it. Torn it up. And he would have if it had not been for her words when she gave it to him. Carry it and think of me in those times we aren't together - though Ah hope those're few.' He should hate her for leaving him. For betraying him and his love. For rejecting his final attempt at reconciliation, like a child who by stating what he wants, thinks that he will get it.

"But . . . I love you."

"You're honest with those you love, Gambit. Otherwise . . . it's a gamble."

Guess I lost, non?' He asks the woman on the card. Her enigmatic smile reveals nothing and he pockets her with the knowledge that he will carry her in his heart and never forget.

Rogue picks up the photograph that lies next to her bed, tracing the frame with a gloved finger.

"Nevah knew how much Ah took you foh granted, sugah, til Ah didn't have ya no more."

Remy smiles back at her - confident, unafraid, cocky - so different to when she had left him. Then . . . then he had looked terrified, she realises. He had broken down every barrier he had put up against the world; he had exposed himself to her and she had not cared. Or had she?

Tears trickle down Rogue's cheeks and onto her white pillow. She had not been in possession of her senses at the time of her judgement. It was as if she had been outside her body watching a stranger condemn the man she loved to die. She'd tried to call out to him, tell him that she loved and forgave him, but her lips passed the death-sentence, as did his soul inside her. Rogue kisses the photograph before replacing it on her table.

"Ya lost all right t'do dat when ya betrayed me, chere."

"Remy?!" She stands suddenly and looks around the room. No-one.

"Girl, you must be goin' crazy." She tells herself, "Hearin' voices when there ain't nobody there."

"How d'ya t'ink I feel, ma belle? Bein' left by de woman I loved t'die."

"Leave me alone . . . ." She turns and runs down the hallway, trying to escape his voice.

"An' dis from de woman who said dat she wanted t'spend her life wit' me."

"This ain't happenin'." Rogue trips and skids along the polished wooden floor.

"Are you alright?"Cecilia Reyes asks.

"Ah'm . . . fine."

"You didn't sound it. What's going on?"

"Nothin' you would understand."

"I haven't understood much since I arrived here. Why should this be any different?" She extends a hand, "Get up. You're called Rogue, aren't you?"

"Yeah. An' you're th' doctor that Bobby brought back with him from his leave of absence." She says, standing, "Guess it was too much ta hope that he'd just pick up another ugly T-shirt."

"Cecilia Reyes. Want to fill me in on what's happening with you? Maybe I can help."

"You can't. Ah've got to deal with this on mah own."

"You sound like me. Hurt but too stubborn to ask for help." She shrugs, "Suit yourself. It makes no difference to me either way."

"Then you know why Ah can't."

"I also know why you should."

"Don't you see, doc? Ah can't talk about this to anyone b'cause they would nevah understand."

"They won't understand if you don't try to make them." She replies, "It's about time you stopped whining about your problems and started doing something about them."

"Like you have, Cecilia?"

"Don't lay a guilt trip on me. I'm not the one whose been walking around the mansion as hangdog as heck the past few weeks."

"Tell me, Cecilia. Do y'all know what I've just been through?"

"No worse than what I have. I lost everything to Operation: Zero Tolerance. My work, my friends, my *whole life*."

"At least that was out of your control, Ah was given th' choice whether ta save or condemn th' man Ah love, an' Ah sentenced him ta die."

"At least you were given a choice."

"Not a proper one." Rogue bows her head, "Else Ah would never have chosen ta do what Ah did."

"Rogue." She says more gently than before.

"Forget it."

When the young woman lifts her face again, her eyes are hard with hatred. With contempt and a subtle shade of pain with which Cecilia is all too familar. The pain of resolute emptiness. Of having your heart torn from you when you saw your father die before your eyes. And not for the first time Doctor Reyes wonders what good it is knowing everything about the human body when she knows so little about the human soul.

Part 2: Charmer

False though she be to me and Love,

I'll ne'er pursure Revenge;

For still the Charmer I approve,

Tho' I deplore her change.

In Hours of Bliss we oft have met,

They could not always last;

And though the present I regret,

I'm grateful for the past.

Song by William Congreve

"He's been here the last two nights, Ronnie. Always alone, always orders the same thing. I think he's trouble."

"I don't care if he is the devil incarnate as long as he pays." The man shrugs his shoulders, "I'm running a business, not a courtroom."

"Is that what you're going to say when the police come round asking uncomfortable questions?"

"You're being ridiculous, Linda." He says, "Last time I checked, being single and liking double lattes wasn't a crime."

She looks at him, trying to work out what it is about him that gives her the creeps. Shortish auburn hair, eyes hidden by dark glasses, expensive suit by the looks of the fabric and the cut. Nothing out of the ordinary.

"If you've finished playing Agatha Christie, table four needs to be served." Ronnie says impatiently.

"Yeah. I'm on it." She fakes a smile, although she is disturbed. Scared. Mainly because she has no idea why . . . .

New York, New York. More specifically, Poppa Gumbo's Cajun Cookout. Best cajun food out of New Orleans, or so Gambit used to swear. Not much has changed with the cuisine. He stirs his double latte and remembers the person he most wants to forget. He doesn't know why, of all the restaurants in New York - in Chinatown, in Little Italy - he chose this one with all its memories. Not painful in themselves, but painful nonetheless.

"Shoulda gone straight t'de mansion, Remy. Shoulda bitten de bullet, stead o' puttin' it off like...."

The coward that Eric the Red said he was. Like he had all his life. Evading his responsibilty to Belle. The truth of his actions long ago. Rogue's questions. And now, her ultimate judgement. A judgement he is scared the others will share.

"It be bout time I stopped runnin' an' started facin' up t'what I did."

He pushes the half-empty latte away from him and leaves a crisp dollar bill on the plate. It is time to face the jury. . . .

The water flows around her body, eddying around her ankles as she kicks. Arm up. Arm down. Leg up. Leg down. The repetitive strokes relax her, provide her some respite from thinking.

"Enjoying the swim, traitor-lover?" A voice pulls her back to consciousness.

"Marrow."

"Look how pure the water is. How clean. How transparent." Marrow cups water in her hand, "So different to the effluent that we Morlocks swam in. Brown until it ran red with blood on the day of the Massacre."

"Ah don't know why you're tellin' me this." Rogue climbs out of the pool and wraps a towel around her body, painfully self-conscious of Marrow's probing stare, "Sure. Th' massacre was terrible, but Ah - we - did everything we could ta stop it.&quuot;

"Did you?" Her blue eyes flash, "Did you really?"

"Ah don't like where this is goin' . . . ."

"Tough, traitor-lover." She approaches Rogue, drawing a bone knife, "If you don't like it, you'll have to shut me up yourself."

She drops the blade at the Mississippian's feet.

"Back off, Marrow. You'll be glad y'all did."

"Maybe you should have done that with leBeau, before falling in love with him. People like him don't deserve to be happy. People like you."

"Shut up."

"Not that I blame you." She smiles, "I know from first-hand experience exactly how . . . charming Mr leBeau can be. How he makes you believe that everything turns out for the best. He makes you think a miracle is a wish away. But you realise that he is lying when you wake up cold and afraid on a New York sidewalk. No family. No friends. Nothing."

"How dare you?" Her green eyes blaze as she steps closer to Marrow. "You don't know him. You nevah have. Ah've been inside his mind, Ah know what he's made of."

"Which is why you left him to die."

"It ain't your place ta judge me . . . any more than it was mine ta judge him."

"Yet you did and I will do the same."

"Believe in capital punishment, Marrow?" Rogue bends and picks up the knife.

"Do you?"

"Push me an' you'll find out."

The thrust of the knife is sudden and tears through Rogue's bare leg. Blood streams down and pools on the tiled floor. Her green eyes narrow as she looks at the Morlock.

"I don't take to being threatened by anyone." Marrow says, "Especially not traitor-lovers."

"SHUT UP." She flies at her, knocking her to the ground.

"Oolmph." Marrow gasps as the wind is forced out of her lungs. Scrambling back to her feet, she extracts a bone-dagger.

"Ah've defeated assassins without mah powers. What makes you think that you stand a chance?"

"Assassins have honor. I don't."

The knife flies at her and Rogue catches it, crushing it into powder beneath her fingers.

"Nice try. Take more'n that ta defeat me though."

The powder begins to glow in her hand, exploding as she throws it at Marrow.

"Even use his powers?" Marrow's breath is ragged. Painful.

"If'n Ah have ta."

Marrow lashes out with a leg, connecting with Rogue's lower back, and swears softly as she realizes that she has hurt herself more than the other woman. A hard punch to her jaw. A kick to her head. Nothing. Pain explodes behind her eyes as Rogue uppercuts her then dissipates into darkness. The young woman bends over the Morlock's silent frame.

"Ah'm sorry, Marrow, but this time y'all went too far."

No answer. Rogue dips her wounded leg into the swimming pool and redness spreads over the transparent surface. . . .

"My dear, you have sustained some damage to the quadraceps." Beast peels off his surgical gloves and throws them in the trash, "Fortunately, it seems that it will heal by itself and not need surgery."

"Thanks." Rogue replaces the towel around her slim waist and jumps off the table.

"Not so fast, Rogue." Beast smiles, "I still have to suture the wound."

"Great." She sits down again and stretches out her leg, "Go for it, Hank."

"Now that you are at my tender mercy, I would like to ask you a few questions." He pauses, "Starting with why you'd attack a woman who evidently is a few molecules short of a polymer."

"She provoked me. Ah snapped - it won't happen again." She says curtly, "Frankly, Hank. Ah'm surprised y'all agreed ta see me aftah what Ah did. Ah know you didn't approve o' mah choice."

He inserts the needle into her skin and begins to close the wound, "Even if I did not believe in the sanctity of all life, my encounter with my deplorable doppelganger has shown me that Gambit could very easily be me. None of us are above making mistakes. Not even you."

"It wasn't a mistake, Hank."

"Wasn't it?" He looks into her eyes, seeing the false brightness that is there.

"Ah'm not so sure any more." She says quietly, "Ah loved Remy. Ah nevah wanted ta hurt him . . . but . . . but . . . he used me."

"Used you?" Beast bends back over his suturing.

"Th' ol' shrink's trick o' repeatin' th' last words of a sentence, Hank? Ah thought that was beneath y'all."

"Y'all?" He repeats, grinning.

"Forget it. Ah'll get Reyes ta finish th' job." She stands.

"Sit. I will not let that barely-competent surgeon lay her hands on you."

"Professional jealousy?"

"Not in the slightest. Just because she has more experience in emergency medicine than I have is no reason to envy her." Beast says, hastily, "But you were saying that you felt Remy used you?"

"Ta judge him, like he wouldn't judge himself." She sighs, "He controlled me. Made me leave him behind ta die. Made me say Ah didn't care."

"Do you?"

"Hank. He's everythin' ta me." Tears fill her eyes, "An' Ah'm scared that he hates me. That he can't forgive me. That . . . ."

He takes her in his arms and comforts her, blue fur preventing any contact with her bare skin.

"Shhh . . . . Although I cannot give you assurance that his feelings now are not as you described, I can say that he indeed did love you. May still love you."

"Now . . . Ah feel like Ah'm losin' control, Beast." She sobs into his chest, "Attackin' Marrow like Ah did."

"She's hardly Miss Morlock Personality, my dear." Beast replies, "Even I sometimes feel that I should create a need for my surplus Plaster of Paris."

"But . . . but . . . it coulda been anyone. Scott. Storm. Bobby. Joseph." Rogue says, "An' Ah wouldn't've cared that they were my friends."

"Rogue. Everyone goes through periods in their lives where they feel that they are losing control." He strokes her hair, "I went through my personal crucible when Infectia caused the reemergance of my hirsuite condition."

"What?"

"When Infectia caused me to once more become hairier than an English Sheepdog on Rogaine."

"Oh."

"Dry those eyes." Beast passes her a handkerchief, "One pair of red ones per couple is usually enough."

Rogue laughs weakly and dabs at her eyes.

"Is that a smile I see on that beautiful face?"

"Thanks, Hank." She squeezes his hand, "Ah don't know what Ah would do without you."

"See that quack by the name of Cecilia Reyes?" He suggests.

"You *are* jealous, Hank."

"Get going before I decide that you need a tetanus shot to go with those stitches."

The smile fades off his face as he closes the door behind her and sits down, face in his clumsy-delicate hands. Talking to Rogue has reminded him of his own pain, which he thought he had forgotten. Exorcised. And while he may hide it, he knows that it is still there, lingering on the borders of sensation, waiting for the moment when he lets his guard down to cripple him again.

The young man stands on the doorstep and looks up at the mansion. He is wearing a dark suit and darker glasses which hide his unusual eyes. He runs a nervous hand through his shortish auburn hair, as if improving his appearance might change the way they feel about him. Change the outcome of the trial . . . .

Part 3: Waking Dreams

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,

Into the living sea of waking dreams,

Where there is neither sense of life nor joys,

But the vast shipwreck of my life's esteems;

And een the dearest - that I loved the best -

Are strange - nay, rather stranger than the rest'

From I Am by John Clare

His hand shakes as he knocks at the door and he places it into the pocket of his jacket to disguise his nervousness. He has been rehearsing his lines all the way from the restaurant and he still doesn't know what to say. Footsteps echo behind the polished wood and he wonders whether *she* will answer it and, if so, whether he will flee. Something in him still wants to escape, like a child who knocks on doors and then runs as fast as he can to hide.

'Stopped bein' a boy long ago.' He mutters to himself, and hears the silent answer of Eric the Red in his mind.

'Yet you still do not act like a man.'

"Dat's what I'm doin' right now, Red." He replies silently and waits, watching the approaching figure as it crimps and stretches behind the glass, and he feels his chest grow tight as he sees the flash of white that is its hair. Joseph . . . Rogue . . . or . . . .

"Not another lawyer." Storm opens the door and steps outside into the crisp morning air. "I am afraid that no amount of persuasion will allow us to relinquish Xavier's estate to his brother, Mister . . . ?"

"leBeau." He removes the dark glasses and smiles at her, "I've been away a few weeks an' already m'best friend f'rgets who I am?"

"Remy." She whispers, "I hoped you would return, but . . . I feared that . . . that . . . . Goddess forgive me for my lack of faith in her protection."

"Tell ya Goddess merci' f'r me." He hugs her. " Part from de nasty case o' sunburn, I'm alive."

"Please come inside. I am sure that you have had enough cold for one lifetime." She stands aside and lets him enter.

"Oui." He looks around the sparse entrance hall, "Been doin' some redecoratin', chere?"

"Bastion." She provides as explanation, "While you were in space, his operatives captured us and stripped the mansion."

"Y'alright, Stormy?" His voice is worried.

"I am fine." She replies simply, "It is of you I should ask that question."

"T'ings could be worse." He smiles, "Got a good tan in Antarctica, an' now I have de . . . uh, freedom t'use it t'my advantage wit' de fairer sex."

"I am sorry that things did not work out better between Rogue and you."

His grin becomes brittle - false - and his eyes are hard when he looks at her.

"C'est la vie, non?" He shrugs, "Not de first time t'ings didn't. Won't be de last."

[That's life, no?]

"Will you permit me to ask an obvious question?"

"Shoot."

"Why did you return?"

"Trudgin' t'rough de snow in Antarctica, I didn't have much t'live for. M'love, m'friends- all o' dem had deserted me. Fact is I t'ought it might be nice t'curl up in de snow an' die quietly." He laughs, a broken sound, "*Dis* stopped me."

He spreads his arms to indicate the mansion, "De realisation dat I had turned my life around f'r de better, no matter what Eric de Red or Rogue said, kept me walkin' when it woulda been easier t'quit. Den I knew dat, although I had come here originally t'absolve m'self of my guilt over de massacre, Xavier's dream meant more t'me dan just a penance. Dat I believed what de Professor believed. I wasn't about t'throw dat away so easily."

"Then welcome home. I truly hope that I never have occasion to say that again." She kisses him lightly on the cheek.

"I hope de other's are as . . . kind . . . in deir judgements o' me."

"Judgements?" Her eyebrows rise, "You are surely not proposing . . . ."

"Dat ya judge me?" He nods, "Dat was de basic idea."

"Remy . . . ."

"Shhh . . . I know what I'm doin'." He places a finger on her lips, "Call de others, tell dem t'come to de War Room."

"Remy . . . ."

He smiles as he walks out of the room, "It be time f'r m'trial . . . ."

Rogue turns over the page of the book she is reading, attempting to forget the memories that dance like shadows across her mind. She can almost see him sitting on the chair, watching her with intent eyes. Feel his bitter, mocking smile.The words blur before her eyes and tears drip onto the surgical, white paper.

"D**n." She throws it away from her and it lands in the corner, bent backwards like a broken butterfly. "Why was y'all so stubborn?"

Her communicator beeps and she presses a button to activate it. It crackles into life with a burst of static.

"Go ahead?" She asks, struggling to keep the catch in her voice hidden.

"Rogue."Storm sounds excited and nervous all at once, "Please join us in the War Room immediately."

"Sure, Ro." She picks up a crumpled Kleenex from her bed and blows her nose with it, "Ain't like Ah got too much else ta do."

A few moments later, she pushes open the door to the War Room with a gloved hand. Her eyes widen in horror as she sees him standing there, tensed like a predator before a kill. Like a hungry wolf. The look on his face does nothing to alleviate her concerns. His eyes are cold fire, burning with pride and anger, and his smile is bitter as he greets her.

"Bonjour, chere."

The old address is spoken more out of habit than any affection for her and the realisation of that settles in her sternum like a lead weight.

"Remy . . . ." She whispers, "Y'all came back."

"Oui." He replies, "Never was much one f'r listenin' t'people."

"But . . . ."

"Chere. Let's deal wit' dis after de trial." He says angrily, " Stead o' airing our dirty laundry in public like dis."

"Call me Rogue." Her voice is as icy as his, "Ah ain't your lovah anymore."

"Hggmmm, hgggmmm." Cyclops clears his throat, "Would you take a seat, Rogue?"

"Sure." She shrugs and sits down next to Joseph, mouth curved in a frown.

"Are you okay?" The white-haired man whispers.

"Fine." She says, her eyes preoccupied, "Ah can't wait ta see him lie his way outta this one."

"The procedure is very simple." Cyclops continues, "I think everyone knows the truth about the Morlock Massacre and Gambit's involvement in it. The question is not whether he did it - he did - but whether he should be forgiven for it."

The thief nods, playing with something in his hands. It makes a tikk-tikking sound as he bends it backwards and it snaps forward.

"You will each be given a chance to voice your opinions, and we will count up the votes for and against his remaining." He pauses, "I would like to remind all of you that this man has placed his future in our hands. Consider this carefully before making your decision." He steps up to the head of the table, "As the de facto leader of the teams, I will speak first."

He places his hands in his pockets, "If there is one thing that Xavier has taught me, it is that nobody is beyond redemption. He has taken chances on all of you, believed in you when many others would not have. Even when his faith was unjustified, as in the case of Sabretooth, he did not lose his belief that everyone deserved a second chance. Gambit has done everything to justify Xavier's tenet. He has not once betrayed us or the dream. If the choice were solely up to me, he would stay."

Cyclops sits, "I now call on my wife, Jean, to give her opinion."

Phoenix stands, "As a telepath, I am able to invade people's private thoughts, discover what lies in every human - or mutant - heart. But I choose not to because I respect the fact that my friends are honest with me, that they have told the truth in its entirety. To discover that someone has deceived me, even through silence, makes me wonder whether they can ever be trusted again. Teams are built on trust and on mutual respect. To allow Gambit back into the team would go against that, and so, sadly, I say that he should leave."

"Psylocke."

The young ninja stands, "My experience with Gambit has shown me that, beneath the somewhat cocky exterior, lies a hero who is capable of deeply caring for others. But even if I did not know him as I do, I would not condemn him. I . . . Kwannon also knew what it was like to kill innocents for money."

"T'wasn't f'r money." Gambit interrupts. "Never woulda done it if it was f'r money."

She nods, continuing, "How can I judge him when I am not innocent myself? When it could be me on trial for my crimes?" She turns to face him, eyes serious, "Gambit stays."

"Garbage." Angel says contemptously, "All this talk of forgiveness and redemption clouds the issue. What he did was horrific, deplorable . . . . He assembled a cadre of soulless killers and led them into the Morlock Tunnels. Were it not for him, the Massacre would never have happened, I would never have lost my wings, the Marauders would never have been formed. He does not deserve our forgiveness nor our sympathy, he should suffer as he has made the Morlocks - *me* - suffer. He goes."

"May I speak, Scott?" Storm says, laying her hand on Gambit's shoulder, "This man was my savior when I met him as a child. He became my friend. My brother. I have always trusted in his essential goodness and nobility of spirit. To say that he is evil because of a mistake he made when he was young is analogous to saying that a person cannot change. Xavier did not subscribe to that belief, and nor will I. This man is a living example that redemption is possible. That one can rise above one's past, no matter how sordid." She smiles, "Which is why I say that he stays."

"Nice words, wind-witch." Marrow's voice grates across the assembled X-Men, "You never were much of a leader. Too weak. Too scared. I won't make the same mistake."

She draws a bone-knife, "Traitor leBeau killed my people. My family. Death is too good for him, better to let him live and remember far, far from home. Like I have to."

Marrow throws the blade, embedding it in the chair a few inches from his neck..

"Better to let him suffer. To wonder if my mercy is for real. To wonder whether I will kill him one day."

Gambit studies her, realising with horror that he has seen her before, "You . . . you be de girl I saved in de tunnels."

"And I should thank you for your . . . mercy? Better I died with my people, rather than lived with their memory."

"Ya gotta believe me dat I didn' know what Sinister had planned." He looks directly into her eyes, seeing the pain and insanity, "I may have been a t'ief but I wasn' a murderer."

"Oh no . . . you became a murderer when you accepted Sinister's filthy deal."

"Non. I became a murderer when I didn' walk away after de first one." He replies, "Sinister said dat everyone had a price t'charge, he was right. Mine was Belladonna."

"Belle?" Rogue interrupts, "Your wife?"

"Ex-wife." He corrects, "She was dead. Sinister said dat he could reanimate her . . . . I hadda take de risk, no matter what de cost was t'me."

"Did Sinister honor his side of the deal?" Storm asks.

"Should know better dan dat, Stormy. He cloned her. Gave her life, but not memories."

"Then how did she remember who you were when she came to the mansion?"

"Dat was de reason I did de second job - t'give Belle back her memories."

"I see." Storm nods her head. "Not for greed, but love."

"Noble." Marrow sneers, "To sacrifice a people for one woman."

"Let's get on wit' dis." He says, "It not matter why any more."

Rogue looks at him intently, conflicted. Sees the lack of emotion on his face and knows it is a mask. Sees the downcast eyes. The hand that flicks . . . a card? She is vaguely aware that the other X-Men are speaking, giving their testaments for better or worse.

"In all th' time Ah've known him, Mr leBeau's been a real swell guy, part from th' fact that he cheats at cards . . . ."

Tikk. Tikk.

"Never liked him - I told Rogue he was a jerk - I was right."

Tikk. Tikk.

"It isn't fair that I judge someone about whom I know zero . . . ."

Tikk. Tikk.

"Guy's a filthy traitor to us all . . . ."

Tikk. Tikk.

"I too committed atrocities under the guise of a noble cause and found forgiveness here. How can I offer anything else . . . . "

Tikk. Tikk.

"Don't know the oke and I can't judge someone I don't know, jy weet?"

[You know?]

Tikk. Tikk.

"My experience with my dark doppelganger has shown me that no-one is infallible . . . ."

Tikk. Tikk.

"At the moment, the votes are even - Beast, Storm, Joseph, Cannonball, Psylocke for; Phoenix, Marrow, Angel, Iceman, Wolverine against. Cecilia and Maggott have chosen not to vote." Cyclops looks at the only person who has not yet spoken, the person who stands to lose - or gain - the most, "It's all up to you, Rogue. Your choice."

The Mississippian walks to the head of the table and stands silently there. A single question repeats itself through her confused mind, as clear as a beacon on a stormy night. Do you let your heart make the decisions for you? She looks at the man she loves, at the object which he is palming with an elegant hand. And she understands all at once that there is often more truth in what your heart tells you than there is in all the courtrooms of the world.

"Ah've made mah decision." She says.

"Den I guess I get packin', Rogue."

"Not unless y'all wants ta go." She smiles shyly, "As far as Ah'm concerned, you're welcome ta stay."

"What made ya change ya mind?" He asks.

"Simple." She walks up to him and takes the object which he had been holding, "This did."

"Queen o' Hearts?"

"Yeah."

"Ya said t'keep it when we were apart . . . ."

"Though Ah hope those times are few." She finishes, taking his hand in her gloved one, pressing the card into his palm. "We need ta talk."

"Rogue . . . ."

"Not now." She silences him, "We don't want ta air our dirty laundry in public."

Her words, although flippant, have a note of hurt in them.

"Dere's somet'ing dat I gotta say t'everyone here - but t'ya in particular, mon coeur."

She nods, "Go ahead - Ah ain't stoppin' ya."

He turns to face his team-mates, "I be sorry. F'r not tellin' ya what I did, f'r keepin' de truth a secret, f'r betrayin' ya trust. Sometimes it be too painful t'admit t'ya friends what ya did long ago - de Massacre was. I wanted t'forget about it, bout m'involvement in it, an' pretend it had never happened. Couldn' do dat, I see dat now. I guess I was wrong t'think dat a second chance meant f'rgettin' bout why I needed one in de first place." He pauses, "I hope de rest o' ya can f'rgive me one day as well. I t'ank de rest o' ya f'r ya trust - I promise ya dat I won't betray it again."

"Pretty speech, gene traitor." Marrow sneers, "Don't think any of that will save you when I decide that you've had enough time to regret."

"I won'. I jus' hope dat ya can f'rgive me too."

"Never." She shifts her stare to Rogue, "And as for you, traitor-lover, round one was a blast. Can't wait until round two."

"Why wait then?" Her green eyes blaze as she steps forward, "Ah'm happy ta take y'all down here an' now."

"Stop." Gambit steps between the two angry women, "If ya got a problem wit' me, I be more dan happy t'oblige ya another time, Marrow, but leave Rogue outta dis. She's done not'ing t'hurt ya."

"Why not now?"

"I've got m'good suit on." He grins, looking into her eyes. Marrow stares back, unwilling to drop her gaze and admit defeat, even when the world begins to shimmer and become hazy before her eyes.

"If this is meant to intimidate me, it isn't working."

"Believe me, petite, when I tell ya dat dat wasn't exactly de plan."

She feels her thoughts twist, form themselves into new patterns, coercing her. She fights against it, countering it with pure hatred. Without success. Marrow's eyes grow wide as if she has been dazzled by a brilliant light and she stumbles backwards out of the door.

"By the Goddess, what did you do?" Storm asks, running to where he is standing.

"Charmed her." He shrugs, "Used t'do it more often dan dis."

"You manipulated her mind?" Phoenix asks.

"Non. It be more sort of a hypnosis." Gambit says, "It'll wear off after a while."

"And how do we know that you won't use it on one of us?"

He smiles, "Coulda used it on any one o' ya durin' de trial - got ya t'say I'm innocent - but I didn'. Couldn' ever stand t'lose more dan I did dere."

Jean nods, "I'm . . . sorry for doubting your loyalty to the team. Welcome home, Remy."

"Merci, chere." He replies, "It be good t'be home."

"Don't get too attached to it just yet." Rogue says, an unreadable expression on her face.

"Pardonnez-moi?" His forehead furrows in confusion, "I t'ought ya said I could stay."

"Ah also said we needed ta talk." She smiles, "Tanight's as good a night as any."

Gambit nods, "Don' t'ink I got anyt'ing planned . . . ."

"Ah'll get changed an' we can go."

He grins, "What? An' spoil de charming rummage sale look?"

Rogue smoothes down her creased shirt and cut-offs more than a little self-consciously, "You can't say Ah didn't go all out foh your home-comin'."

"Dat I can't." He says, "Still, I t'ink de rest o' de world might prefer somet'ing a little less avant garde dan I do."

"Ah'll be back in a few seconds." She smiles teasingly, "If'n y'all think you can wait that long."

"Waited for weeks for dis moment. C'n wait anotha few seconds."

Marrow shakes her head, trying to clear the haze of thoughts and emotions from her mind. She is confused, cannot remember what happened and how she came to be outside the War Room.

"The others may have welcomed you back with open arms, but my pain runs far deeper than their's. There will come a day when your charm' can't save you from me. When your pretty-pretty can't help. And then . . . ." She draws a bone-knife, grateful for the pain that empties her mind of everything else but itself, and scrawls a phrase into the metal of the door. The words: Traitor dies again.

Part 4: I who have died . . .

(i who have died am alive again today,

and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth

day of life and love and wings:and of the gay

great happening illimitably earth)

From i thank You God for most this amazing by e.e. cummings

Central Park is dark. People walk through the sheltered lanes, brightening and fading as they walk in and out of the lamplight. Dark, but not completely so. Gambit looks at Rogue as they stand in silence. Her green eyes are preoccupied as she watches the moonlight on the lake; her lips curved in a half-smile. Her free hand hitches up her long, white dress, preventing it from trailing on the ground, revealing a few inches of ankle. He bends and picks up a stone, throwing it into the lake. It skips across the water, leaving ripples as it does, before sinking. He suddenly remembers walking with his father on a night similar to this one. A night where there had been no stars. He remembers the light of the windows of the French Quarter spilling golden across the street, and walking in the shadows, as all thieves did. He remembers wondering why his father had avoided the light. He had been fifteen then - it was the night he had been told about his arranged marriage to Belladonna. His father had looked so old and sad as he had put his arm around Remy's shoulder and said: "Ya may laugh wit' a woman, marry her, have t'ree children an' a mortgage, but don' call it love until ya've cried wit' her."

He had not meant Belladonna, Gambit realises, his father had always known that their feelings for each other were more out of duty, than any deep affection. He had even managed to deceive himself into thinking that he loved her. That their marriage was more than a hollow sham. That the price he paid for her resurrection was worth it.

"Penny foh your thoughts?" Rogue's voice is quiet, as if she is scared of intruding again.

"Jus t'inking bout mon pere." He smiles, "An' de way he said dat it wasn't love unless ya've been

t'rough bad times wit' a femme."

"Remy . . . Ah . . . ."

"Shhh . . . I know ya weren't yaself de night o' de trial. Heard a lot o' m'self in what ya said, truth be told."

"Still doesn't make anything right." She sits, long skirt spilling across the grass, "There's been too much bad blood between us ta go back an' start again. Pretend nothing evah happened."

"Oui." He nods, "But mebbe we c'n move forward."

"Yeah, y'all were wrong ta pretend that you didn't have a past, an' Ah was wrong ta care that you did."

Gambit grins, "Can't help t'inking if I had told you about it before, we wouldn' be havin' dis conversation now."

"Maybe not, but we are." She plucks a piece of grass and twirls it around her finger like a ring, "Maybe we need ta."

"Oui." He says, "Needed t'have dis conversation months ago, when t'ings started fallin' apart. When ya came back from North Carolina . . . ."

"With Joseph on mah arm." She finishes quietly, "Gawd only knows how sorry Ah am foh not seein' how much Ah was hurtin' you by bein' with him."

"I was jealous." He admits, "Told Drake in Seattle dat ya'd come back t'de X-Men, but not t'me. Never really believed it until I saw ya with him."

"Y'all didn't seem ta need me." She says, "Heck, you started actin' like you didn't much want me."

"Christmas Eve?" He asks, a secretive smile playing across his lips.

"Yeah."

"Ya t'ink I wanted t'spend it alone, chere?" He turns to face her, "Dat I didn' know what Joe had planned an' how much it would mean t'ya?"

"You knew bout th' Z'noxx chamber?" She is incredulous.

"Oui. Knew dat Joe could give ya de one t'ing I couldn' - de ability t'touch wit'out fear." He becomes somber, "Part o' de reason I backed off later. T'ought ya'd be happier wit' someone ya could touch dan someone ya couldn'."

"Someone Ah once knew said that we needed ta learn that love is more than the physical." She smiles, "Ah've believed that evah since."

"Have ya, chere?"

She nods, "Ah've also learnt that there's more than one way of touchin' a person. You've touched me in a way that Joseph nevah could - no matter how many Z'noxx chambers he had."

"Caused ya a lot of pain as well by not tellin' ya bout de massacre." He says, "I t'ought dat if ya didn' know, ya would be safe. Guess de trial proved dat theory wrong."

Rogue is silent, rembering something she would rather forget. The touch of his lips on hers. The memories that flowed as if through a conduit into her mind. The pain and guilt she knew he had been living with ever since the massacre. A guilt which she now shared.

"F'r de record, I don' blame ya. Can't say I woulda done much different if I was in your shoes.", he continues.

"Ah always thought that when it came right down to it, Ah'd be understandin'. Forgivin'. An' then when it did, Ah wasn't." She sighs, "It seemed at th' time like every man Ah'd loved had betrayed me in some way or another."

"I don' understand."

"When Ah was a kid, mah daddy beat me." Her voice is hard, emotionless, "Told me he was doin' it because he loved me. Said he did it ta get th' wickedness out of me."

"Chere . . . ."

"Let me finish first."

Gambit nods his consent.

"Then Cody came along . . . made me fall in love with him. Touch him. Discover Ah had these blasted powers." She looks at her hands, holding them up as if they contain something poisonous, "Nevah thought Ah would love again. Knew that Ah couldn't." She pauses, "Ah suppose Ah was a bit of a flirt aftah that . . . used ta lead men on, an', whenevah it threatened ta turn serious, Ah pushed them away. But it was all different with you . . . . Foh th' first time in mah life Ah was honest with a man, an' when it turned out that you lied ta me bout your past, Ah was furious."

"I wanted t'protect ya from it. Was scared dat Sinister would use ya t'get t'me."

She laughs, "Sugah, th' sentiment was noble, but Ah *am* old enough ta take care of mahself."

"Know dat, chere." He smiles, "Ya seemed t'do pretty good while I was gone."

She snaps the grass blade that lies curled in her hands, "Seemed bein' th' operative word. Inside Ah was a wreck."

"Kinda like me when ya went away." He comments, "Makes me wonder why we put each other t'rough dis."

"Don't know." She shakes her head, strands of white hair falling across her face like a veil, "Ah'm pretty sure Jean an' Scott don't have these sort of problems."

"Oui. But who'd want t'be Jean an' Scott?" He jokes, "Almost fell out o' my chair when I heard Scott standin' up f'r me."

"Good thing he did, sugah." She smiles, " Cause Ah sure don't want ta lose you again."

"Don' ya see?" He says, "Ya never did."

"But . . . ."

"I've loved ya from de first time I saw ya, Rogue. Dat hasn't changed." He grins, "Never will."

"You know how Ah feel about you."

"Now *dat* sounds like me." He teases.

"Okay." She lifts her hands in mock surrender, "Ah love you. Is that what you wanted ta hear?"

He nods, "Dat an' whether ya t'ink we can move forward from dis - together?"

"You realise that it won't be th' same?"

"Don' much care as long as I'm wit' you."

"Then who'm Ah ta disagree?" She extends her hand for him to take it, "Should we go home, Remy?"

"Been waitin' all m'life f'r dis moment, chere." He stands, hand-in-hand with her, "Let's go."

~ Fin ~