Title: Eternal Insanity

Author: Crimson ([email protected])

Website

Rating: G

Pairing/main characters: Gambit, Cyclops

Series/Sequel: unfinished, parts 1-9

Summary: Antartica, Sinister, vampires, memory loss...

Disclaimer: Thierry, Robert Fletcher and Rosa Salvatore are mine. Also, Zoë Miranda Salvatore owns herself. And of corse, everyone else is owned by Marvel Comics.

Date: Feb 1998 to current day times

Archive/distribution: All you gotta do is tell me where.

Warning: This story is a product of me not being able to sleep at 3:30 in the morning. Anyone who knows me knows that I don't think very coherently when I'm tired, and right now I'm too tired to climb the two flights of stairs to my bedroom, to go to sleep... Oh, no, wait... I'm confusing tired with lazy again... At any rate I'm not to be held accountable for anything I write here. Violence, Angst, convenient memory loss, rambling.

Notes: I got in an odd mood one night. I wanted to write and I was having writers block with WTFH. Eternal Insanity is the result. I didn't think this was going to go anywhere, but no I actually have a plot.

As always with me, Italics are thought, bold is computerized speach and Bold Italics are Telepathy.

___________________________________________

 

Eternal Insanity

By Crimson

 

Chapter One

He walked through the barren waste land, not sure what to do next. Her voice rung in his ears, her words tainted his thoughts, the betrayed look on her face burned his eyes. Of all the X- Men, she was the one closest to his heart. Everything would have been fine, if only she had accepted. Not forgiven, he would never have asked for that, but if only she could have understood. Everything, all the pain, torment, and regret he felt every day, and even worse, every night, of his life; his thoughts, his memories-- his dreams-- every moment since it happened; none of it was as damaging as looking into her eyes when she had left him.
He had looked into her eyes so many times before, and seen into her soul. The vision he had seen then was one of tortured love. She loved him with all her heart. She, he believed, would have married him if it weren't for her powers. That was the only barrier in the way of their love. Last night they had gotten past that barrier, but then she had looked back at him, into his eyes, and for the first time, into his soul. She saw not what was there, not his feelings for her, and for the rest of the X-Men, but the thing that had tortured him for most of his life. His past with one of the most evil men who had ever lived, rivaled only by Apocalypse and Onslaught.
Onslaught. Now there was a name. Professor Xavier. His... the X- Men's leader, their founder, then man who became as much of a father to him as Jean Luc had ever been.
Jean Luc, his father. He had exiled him for something he had done. Thrown him out because he had taken a life. Ironic how much alike his old family and his new family were. Deep inside, he wished Bishop had been right about him after all. It would have made things a lot easier, for him and the others. If only...
Merde, c'est froid.' (shit, it's cold.) He thought to himself. The Antarctic tends to be that way. He was wandering around dressed in only a pair of gloves, pants and boots. He had been wandering blindly in the cold since Rogue had left him. What was that? Two, three hours ago? No. He'd have been dead by then. It felt like that though. He dropped to his knees. "I'd sell my soul for a fur coat right now."
Out of nowhere, a heavy parka fell in front of him. "Is that so?" He looked up to see a pale man with red eyes, black lips, metallic armour and a shredded cape, looking down on him with a predatory look on his face.
Any other man would have cringed back at the sight of this man; at the pure fear his image inspired, but then again, Gambit wasn't any man. The fear was there, but he would die before he let Essex know that.
He picked up the coat and put it on as Sinister bent down to help him up. "I said fur," he toyed, leaning fully on Sinister. Oddly enough, Essex was the first man that Remy had ever trusted, that was before what happened with the Morlocks. Now that he had seen the true power that that man possessed, he feared him more than he had ever feared anything in his life. That was the point of the joke. Whenever he was truly afraid or uncomfortable he would reflexively tell a joke or make a sarcastic comment, in an attempt to get more comfortable with the situation.
Sinister was familiar with his tactics, and ignored him without so much as a shrug. "The X- Men have decided. They don't want you. Rogue, doesn't want you. Your family doesn't want you. You have no one else to turn to. It is time for you to return to your master."
Gambit was too cold to respond. The reality of what Sinister had just said didn't even sink in. All that he knew was that the man who had given him a home when no one else wanted him, had come back for him. It wasn't the same man that other people knew him to be. When his mother walked out on him, Essex was there. When his adopted family exiled him, Essex was there. And now? Now that his surrogate family had abandoned him to die in a frozen waste land, who was there for him? Essex, of course.
A sudden pang of regret flooded over him as a portal appeared in front of the two of them. How could he ever betray this man? He was the only man on earth who always came back for him, who always protected him, no matter what he did. He leaned his head on Sinister's shoulder and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry... Father."

 

Chapter Two

Gambit awoke to the nagging feeling that something was different. Slowly, he started to open his eyes... then decided better of it as a blinding flash of light hit him. Around him, he could sense another presence get up from where they were seated next to him and walk across the room. A moment later, he felt the light dim on his eyelids.
"Better Cajun?"
Opening his eyes slightly, Remy stared at the man who had been sitting at his side. Through the bright red slits, he could make out a tall well built man making his way back towards him. "...Tooth..." He muttered.
SabreTooth's gaze remained unchanged as he looked down on Gambit's figure. "You askin' or tellin'?"
"Outta ALL o' his puppets, Chat, Sinister gave YOU guard duty?" Sitting up slowly, Gambit gave SabreTooth an amused look. "What you do t' deserve that? Pee on de man's carpet?"
"Trust me Cajun, babysittin' YOU was not what I was plannin' fer today!" He snarled, crossing his arms and offering no help to the struggling Gambit.
Though Gambit probably wouldn't have accepted it if he did anyway. There was a complex loathing between the two. Personally, they probably would have gotten along, if it weren't for Sinister. Tooth was Sinister's toy assassin... no check that... assassin's had honor. Creed was more like a vicious animal, that killed without even blinking. Sinister could always count on his murderous side, he would never betray Sinister, he enjoyed the job too much.
Gambit was completely different. He was a connoisseur of information, a spy, a hacker, a fighter, a power house. He was a professional and he was good at what he did, but above all else, he was Sinister's son. Born and breed to do Sinister's bidding. Together, they could probably take Sinister and all his Marauders.
That was why he kept them at each other's throat. He used one to keep the other in line, making sure neither grew to like each other enough to start working together against him. After Genevieve though, that wasn't hard. He just had to make sure that they didn't take it too far. He learned that after the Massacre.
"So where is de old man?"
"Out."
Gambit frowned, "So where are we?" He asked getting to his feet but not really expecting a straight answer.
"In one of his labs."
"How perceptive homme. WHERE?"
"On Earth."
Heaving a sigh, Gambit got up and started walking towards the door.
SabreTooth grabbed him by the arm and spun him around to face him. "Where do you think YOU'RE going?"
"Out." he replied with quiet strength, satanic eyes bristling with bloody red energy.
"Funny kid, but I don't think so. You ain't goin' NO where 'till Mr. Sinister gets back." He replied, throwing Gambit back full force against the table.
Undaunted, Gambit stood right back up and started walking to the door again.
"You got a death wish Cajun, or are ya just deaf?" Creed snarled at him, as he grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him close, laying his claws on his jugular.
"I gotta' go to de bathroom, ya got a problem wit' dat?" Gambit replied, fingering the Queen of hearts.
"Children." One single word was all it took to break the two up. The commanding tone came from the shadows, on the far side of the room, away from the door. They each stood down, as a child would, if scolded.
"Creed. Leave." SabreTooth nodded, heading for the door. After he was gone Sinister turned to Gambit the way a father should, and looked at him in a way, those who didn't know him would think, that bordered on love. "Remy, Remy, Remy... Will you ever grow up?"
"He started it," Remy muttered, not looking at Essex.
Sinister sighed. "Come. There is a lot to be done."

 

Chapter Three

Remy walked side by side with his father. He felt as if it had been a very long time since he was this content, but for some reason, he could not remember why.
He shrugged off the feeling as Sinister spoke to him. "How do you feel?"
"My head's spinnin' a bit, but other than that, I feel fine."
Loss of accent? Sinister noted to himself. I wonder how much he remembers of his time with the X- Men.
"Then you are feeling no after affects from your contact with Rogue."
Gambit stopped at the mention of Rogue's name. Somewhere in the pit of his stomach he knew the name, but recognition slipped away as fast as it had appeared. "Father?" He asked in confusion, then added, "I'm afraid I don't know who that is."
Sinister frowned. Apparently whatever he had remembered when he woke up was now lost to him. He shook his head and sighed. "What is the last thing you remember before you woke up today Remy?"
Remy thought it was an odd question, but thought back to the last thing he remembered. He opened his mouth to say something, and then it was gone. He remembered something else but forgot it just as soon. Alarmed, he looked to his father for help.
Sinister sighed. He cupped his son's cheek with his hand. "It's all right Rembrandt. Don't be afraid. You have to be strong."
Gambit's jaw tightened and he stood up straight. "Yes, sir."
Sinister's face went into a mask. He didn't want to let Remy know, but he was very afraid for him. If his mind continued to lose memories at this speed, it could very well drive him to the point of death. "Come," Sinister said, gently but firmly, gesturing down the hall. "I have a few tests to run."
Remy nodded sadly and started walking again. Sinister's mind was spinning. The last time Remy was this bad Sinister had nearly lost him. Then, in an attempt to save him, he had lost him, not to death, but to Jean Luc LeBeau.
The two entered a room and moved to a bed in the center. Sinister gestured for Remy to have a seat and he obliged without question. As Sinister set up an experiment, Gambit's mind started to wander.
Visions of different people, different faces, appeared in his head. A gorgeous black woman with beautiful blue eyes, and long white hair; A brown haired man in red sun glasses; A red haired man in a green suit; A bald man with a red mustache; one in a wheelchair; A breath taking brunette with deep emerald eyes; A blond woman with mysterious violet eyes; A red head with green eyes; Another red haired man...¹
"Remy?" Sinister asked, breaking him out of his reverie.
He blinked and looked back at him, the visions already fading from his mind. "Yes?"
"You were remembering something?" Sinister asked in suspicion.
Remy shook his head, thinking. "Faces," He uttered, "But they're gone now."
Sinister nodded, noting that to himself. "The equipment is ready. We can perform the procedure."
"Yes, sir," Remy replied obediently, with a nod of his head.
"Lay down," Sinister commanded, as he came towards Gambit with various monitoring wires.
Gambit obliged, and Sinister placed the wires on his temples and forehead, fastening them with surgical tape. He turned on the monitors, half knowing what he was about to discover, and recorded Gambit's brain waves.
What he saw disturbed him greatly. Gambit's mind was rapidly deteriorating. His memories were being rapidly destroyed, and he knew from past experience that there was nothing he could do to help.
Sinister sighed, and looked up at Remy. Nothing I can do. But perhaps there is someone else who can. "I am done with you for now. Find Creed and Vertigo and go with them."
"Yes, sir," Gambit replied simply, walking out the door to follow his master's advice.
Sinister sighed and turned back to his screen. It was going to be a long night.

Gambit walked into a ready room to find SabreTooth and Vertigo preparing for a mission.
Vertigo looked up at him as he came in. "How's it going?" She asked, looking down at what she was doing again.
He grimaced. "Slowly," He replied, then nodded to their equipment. "Laptop?"
SabreTooth looked up at him. "Yep."
Gambit nodded, picking up a few disks, fidgeting with them and then putting them back down.
Vertigo looked back at him and smiled sideways. "Bored?"
Gambit smiled. "What gives you that impression?"
"Nothing in particular," Vertigo replied, shrugging.
"So... Where you two goin' tonight?" prodded Gambit.
Vertigo threw a back pack and black tight suit at him. "Mr. Sinister already called down to tell us that you would be joining us, so you can stop hinting."
"That obvious?"
"More so."
He smiled brightly. "I'll go change."
When he was gone Creed turned to Vertigo. "What do ya think happened to his accent?"
Vertigo shrugged. "I don't know, but I miss it. It's disconcerting not to hear him being his arrogant old self."
Creed became thoughtful, then shrugged, as Gambit came back into the room. "Where Are we going anyway?"
"V.S.M.² It's--"
"--A medical company in New York."
Creed looked up, interested. "How'd ya' know that?"
Gambit squinted. "They do research on mutants right? The... Legacy Virus."
Vertigo nodded, "Yeah that's right. We're going in to steal their files. Ought to be right up your alley."
Creed stood up and walked towards Gambit, who had not responded to Vertigo. "You all right Cajun?"
Gambit gave his head a hard shake, and stared back into Creed's eyes, "Cajun? What do you mean by that?"
Vertigo stepped up and passed SabreTooth his bag. "It's time to go boys."

1. In case you were wondering: Storm, Cyclops, Jean Luc, Henri, Xavier, Rogue, Bella Donna, Jean, and a man I haven't introduced yet named Thierry.
2. V.S.M. Stands for Victoire Sur le Morte (Don't take my word that that's spelled right!) Which is french for Victory over death.
CRIM§ON

 

Chapter Four

It was January in New York, and the night was brutally cold, a cold front moving in from the west was bringing with it a massive blizzard, making most of the citizens of New England seek shelter from the snow and negative thirty temperatures¹.
Most, but not all. Gambit, SabreTooth and Vertigo were crouched on a hill, surveying V.S.M. Medical Headquarters. The building was built in the shape of an L, the longer side being six stories high, whereas the smaller half was only five.
The building was surrounded by a rectangular stone wall standing about three meters high which met on either side of pair of gates. The gates themselves were about three and a quarter meters tall, with a shelter in the middle for a guard or two. Every twenty feet, on the top of the fence there were two cameras, pointed in opposite directions, which rotated slowly.
Gambit sighed and tossed a look at SabreTooth, who returned the same look to him. "That's pitiful," Gambit muttered. Creed nodded in agreement.
"Oh come on, you two. It's a medical research facility. It's not like they're expecting someone to break in."
Creed smiled wickedly, "Their loss."
Gambit smirked. "Literally."
Vertigo crawled up between them and put on a head set. "Alright. Ten o' clock. Officially they've been closed for an hour now. There should only be a few people inside, and they can be easily avoided. The target is on the fifth floor, left wing. You need to get in, steal the files, plant the virus, and get out.
"You have thirty minutes before security finishes their sweep of the fifth floor. After that you have fifteen before they return. That should be enough time for Gambit to hack the system." She turned to Creed. "While he's doing that, it's your job to trash any and all back up files.
"I want you in constant radio contact with me. If anything goes wrong, I want to know immediately, so I can get you out. Try to stay together as much as possible, we don't need you not being able to reach each other if there's an emergency. And keep your coats tight. It's getting pretty frosty out and with you two going up the out-"
"Yes mom," Gambit and SabreTooth uttered in unison.
Vertigo rolled her eyes. "Grow up. You two are starting to get more and more alike as the days go on."
Creed chuckled and made towards the fence. Gambit smiled and got up to follow, but Vertigo caught his arm. "Be careful." She mouthed, worried expression written all over her face.
He put a reassuring hand to hers, holding it there for a moment, and then went to follow Creed, who was sitting at the base of the fence.
Vertigo's voice cut in through his head set as he ran down the hill. Cameras'll be down for ten seconds, in five, four, three, two...
Gambit, on the count of one, leapt and landed on the other side of the fence in a single bound, Creed following close on his tail. They ran towards the building at top throttle.
Gambit silently kept track of the amount of time they were taking. The seconds beat on in his head with every step he took. With less then a second to spare, he jumped into the shadows, where the camera wouldn't be able to pick him up.
At the same time, Creed jumped for the side out the building, digging his claws in to the side, and climbing up. When he reached the second floor, he looked down to where Gambit was hiding in the shadows, only to find that Gambit wasn't there anymore.
Putting a hand to his transmitter, he whispered, "Check. Am I comin' through?"
Vertigo's voice came back to him in perfect clarity. Loud and clear, SabreTooth.
Creed searched for Gambit, but soon gave up. "Where's the Kid?" He asked Vertigo over the link.
"Right above you, Victor," Came Gambit's reply, from startlingly close above.
Creed jumped. He hadn't smelled Gambit going by him, and he surely hadn't seen him. "How do you do that?" He asked in mild interest.
"Stayed down wind and in the shadows," He replied simply, charging another small hand hold right into the building. "The storm helps. Anyway, we should be going."
Creed nodded and followed in Gambit's tracks.
When they were at the fifth story, Gambit went to move to one of the windows, but Creed halted his progression by grabbing his leg. "We still got twenty-five minutes. Just hold tight and wait."
Gambit nodded and leaned into the building to wait. As he did, his mind began to wonder. He closed his eyes and allowed it to happen.
He remembered being very cold; colder then he was now. Walking in the cold, thinking about a woman. A woman he loved. She had hurt him, and now he felt like he was dying. He saw her face in his mind's eye, and it took his breath away.
He looked up at her, in the cold light of the winter sun. A light glow silhouetted her body, as she hovered in place, looking like a beautiful angel. Tears filled her Scarlet O' Hera green eyes, as she said her final good-byes to the man she loved and left him to freeze to death, with no hope of salvation.
He wandered around, thinking about his friends, and how much they hated him, for something he had done, but for the life of him, he couldn't think of what exactly that was. The cold ate away at his soul, and in the brightness, his vision dimmed, and he fell.
As his mind slipped, so did his grasp on the building, and he fell backwards off the wall. Lucky for him, Creed was directly below him, and he managed to catch him by the arm.
"Hang on Kid," Creed whispered, seeing that Gambit was still partially out of it.
He pulled Gambit back up, and held him so that they were facing each other. "Okay now. Snap out of it."
Gambit blinked at him, slowly coming back to himself, and realizing their situation once again. "Thanks Victor," he whispered. "I... I guess the cold must be getting to me."
Vertigo's voice cut into his thoughts. I told you so!
"Vertigo this is Creed. We're going in," Creed communicated, nodding to Gambit for him to open the window.
As Gambit worked on the alarm system, SabreTooth pondered his condition. He remembers how to pick locks and hack computers, but he doesn't remember his accent?
"We're in," Gambit conveyed, opening the window and jumping in.
Alright, boys. The main computer is the corner office on the end, Creed, your target is across the hall. Be careful. I'll be in the HSAT² monitoring your progress. Vertigo out.
Gambit looked to Creed, who nodded for him to go. The two walked cautiously into the hall, each splitting off at their respective destinations.
When Gambit entered the room, he opened his pack and took out his lap top, connecting it to the terminal inside. Using a cloning program, he managed to trick the computer into thinking that he had already entered all of the correct passwords.
Opening the files in MS DOS format and copied the files onto his CDs. Then he took out the virus, and plugged it into the computer with no problems. "I'm almost done here Victor. How's it going for you?"
I'll be done in about seven.
"Alright. We'll meet back in the room we came in. Gambit out."
Gambit looked around the room. It was a regular square office, located on the corner of the fifth story, giving the owner a perfect view of the rolling tree covered hills. Gambit couldn't help but think of how beautiful it must have been in the Fall, when the leaves had turned crisp reds, oranges and golds.
As he was staring out the window, he noticed an odd plane coming in for a landing. He ran to the window and peered out to see four people exit the plane, and head towards the building.
"Victor! We got trouble!" He expressed over his open link, as he packed up his equipment.
What's up, kid?
"Company," He hissed, unplugging his PC from the hard drive. "We gotta get out!"
Shit! Where are they?
"Four of 'em comin in the front door. They got a big plane between us and Vertigo. Looks like a blackbird, only it lands upright."
Vertigo, is he talkin' about who I think he is?
You got Cyclops, Phoenix, Beast and Reyes movin' in on your position as we speak!
Gambit grabbed his bag and headed towards the door. He peered down the hall, in the direction which he had come, and saw an elevator rising to their floor. Directly in front of him was a door marked stairs.
He grabbed the disc with the virus and went out the door, towards Creed. Vertigo's voice cut into his ear piece, No! Go the other way! You got people comin' at you in the elevator!
"I can't just abandon Creed!"
Get outta here! I can take care of myself!
Gambit eyed the lights on top of the elevator which signaled they were just passing the fourth floor. "I ain't just leavin' ya here!" He hollered into his piece.
You get yer ass outta here now, or when I get my hands on you, ya won't be able to stand fer a year!
The light on top of the elevator stopped, and the doors started to open.
The stairs, Remy, the stairs! Vertigo yelled at him, as she started the plane.
He turned and ran towards the stairs, cursing his own cowardice as he did so.
"Stop or I'll shoot!" The stereo typical command of a night watchman came ringing from behind, just before the five shots.
He managed to dodge the first two, thanks to his reflexes, but the other three struck well. The third shot, which Gambit assumed must have been aimed at his head, took the left side of his forehead, just above his temple, piercing his headset, and cutting him off from his allies. The fourth shot came through his back pack, and lap top into his left shoulder blade, and exited out the front.
The fifth shot hit with precise accuracy. It entered his right thigh and embedded itself in his leg, causing him to fall sideways into the wall. One of his pursuers jumped at him, and the two of them fell rolling to the ground.
They wrestled for a moment, before Gambit got the upper hand and knocked them apart, grabbing his gun in the process. Gambit stood and leaned back on the wall. He brought his arm up quickly, aiming it at the still standing guard, who returned the favor with his own gun.
"It would appear we have a stand off," The guard breathed, sick fear shining through his bravado.
Gambit nodded, then turned his gun on the downed guard who was just sitting up. "Way I see it you have two choices: Either you let this simple hacker go, and save you buddy's life, or I blow his brains all over the wall, and you are forced to take my life to save your own. You really don't want to do that now do you?"
"How about option number three, you worthless piece of trash," yelled the one from the ground. "Mikey there blows Your brains all over the wall before you get the chance, assuming you have any!"
"Witty banter from a Rent-a-cop. But you forget the obvious. I am not here alone. Kill me, and you and Mikey there never see your families again," Gambit replied calmly and smoothly. "Now drop the clip and throw the piece behind me."
Mikey held his arm down, dropped the clip and then tossed the gun behind Gambit. "Thanks," Gambit muttered, charging and dropping a card on the floor, as he ran towards the elevator.
As the door closed behind him, he heard the explosion behind him. Taking a chance that the other people had been coming up the stairs, he pushed the button for the main floor, leaned back against the wall and waited for the elevator to hit the bottom.
When the doors opened, he ran out as fast as he could, and found himself face to face with a tall man in a red visor. The man fired a blast which nearly caught him, but he dropped and rolled under it and came up with the gun under the taller man's throat.
"Gambit?!?" A red haired woman exclaimed from the side of the room.
Gambit squinted and took a steep back from Cyclops and pulled the gun back. He eyed Cyclops, turned to look at Jean, and then looked back at Cyclops.
"What do you think you're doing?!?" Cyclops asked incredulously.
Gambit's head was spinning. He didn't know who these people were, but something inside told him they wouldn't hurt him. He placed his gun in the back of his pants.
"What do you care?" He asked in serious interest.
"You're injured. You've been shot," a big blue guy declared.
He blinked and looked to where the voice had come from. "I noticed," he uttered, taking another step back from Cyclops.
Cyclops cocked his head sideways. Something was wrong here. "Jean?"
He doesn't know who we are. It's like his mind can't remember us. Scott, there's more. All of his surface thoughts, they're of Sinister.
Are you saying Sinister erased his memories?
I don't know. But it's very likely. He needs our help.
"Gambit?" Cyclops asked. Gambit looked up at him, deep question rooted in his eyes. "You're hurt. You need medical attention. Let us help you," Cyclops prodded, extending a hand for Gambit to take.
Gambit took another step back, but looked as if he wanted to listen. "We're your friends, we just want to help you."
Gambit shook his head and swallowed. "I... I..." He shook his head and backed up a step. "Have to go," He whispered, but didn't take another step.
"Remy please?" Scott pleaded taking a step towards Gambit, still offering his hand.
The sound of his name spoken by this man peaked something deep inside his heart. He closed his eyes and concentrated on this feeling, being rewarded with a name. "Scott?" He whispered, not really sure that was his name.
Scott smiled and nodded, still holding out his hand. Slowly, Gambit raised his black gloved hand towards Scott's. He closed his eyes, trying to lose himself in memories that were no longer there. As he did so, his hand shook and his entire body started trembling. He pulled his hand away from Scott and placed both to his head, collapsing to his knees as he did so.
He swallowed hard, as a throbbing pain in his head threatened to overwhelm him. "Why...?" He asked out loud, in a tortured tone, "Why can't I remember?"
Creed came out of staircase just in time to see Gambit fall, and Scott run towards him. Figuring that someone must have hit him with a blast of some sort, he hollered to Gambit, "Remy!" Knowing it would distract Cyclops long enough for Gambit to escape.
"Victor?" Gambit asked, as he felt two hands on his shoulders. Then he felt heat pass his head. Jerking his head up, he was shocked to see a bright red light emanating from Scott's eyes firing upon a face of a man he had come to call an ally, if not a friend.
Grabbing the first object he could get his hands on, he charged and threw at Cyclops, pushing him as far away as he could. He stumbled to his feet, unsure if he would be able to escape these four in his condition, but very determined to try.
Gambit surveyed the room and saw that a black woman and a red haired woman had gone over to their fallen friend and were trying to help him up. He took a few shaky steeps backwards, and felt himself land against a rather large individual.
Whirling on a step, he pulled out the revolver and aimed it at the person he had fallen into. "Victor!" Gambit yelled, trying to move his partner to action.
Gambit looked in the general direction of where Creed had been hit. He saw Creed get up and come towards him, with only minor burns on his chest. As Victor walked past him, towards the main door, Gambit started in that direction himself.
He stumbled once and fell back, but Creed was there to catch him. "Don't try to follow us," hissed Creed, as the two of them backed out the door. Soon they were lost to the X-Men in the snow, and on their way back to wherever they had been.
Cecilia looked to the other X-Men when they were gone and asked, "What was that all about?"
Under his visor, Cyclops's eyes squinted and flashed crimson in anger. "I don't know. But I intend to find out."

1. -30°C is about -22°F.
2. High Speed Air Transportation.
CRIM§ON?

 

Chapter Five

Cyclops sat alone in the War Room, cordless in hand, deliberating over what had happened, and what to do about it. He came to the conclusion that he was annoyed. He hadn't been in Antarctica for Gambit's Trial but he was sure he didn't like what was happening because of it.
Remy had been a wild card as long as he had been a member of the X-Men. He had been lawless and arrogant and down right irritating, but the one thing that Gambit had never struck him as was a traitor. That word never crossed his mind in connection with Gambit, even with Bishop's insistence.
Loyal was a good word. After seeing him in the lower catacombs of New Orleans, holding his wife in his arms as she died, and then standing up and fighting for the safety of his family, relentlessly.
But traitor was the word which they labeled him, and that was only one of the words which stuck out in Cyclops's head for the past two weeks. The others flashed in his mind, and as they did, his mind automatically reversed them.
Ruthless. That was another one going around about him. But to Scott, that just didn't seem right. Gambit had always seemed to have a second nature about him that made him feel for other people.
Sure he hid it with his false bravado, but underneath that laid a deeper sense, almost empathic in nature, that allowed him to feel the pain of those around him, and as Gambit had noted this pain, he seemed almost to reach out to those hurt, and try to help them. Cyclops marvelled at the amount of brooding this man did. When he felt all that love for humanity, how could he feel so much hate for himself?
Of course there was always that old chemistry law. He couldn't remember the name of it exactly, but he did remember what it was about. The law stated that if energy was put into something, it had to have been taken from something. For example, an unlit match had what was know as Potental energy. That is, there was energy within the match that had the potential to be more, but for the moment was content to remain the way it was.
If potential energy was struck with Kenetic energy, the molecules would begin to move, creating different results, for example the lighting of a match. The tip of the match, and the back of the match pack used to light it, possessed potential energy. The friction between the two was constructed of kinetic energy. As the match passed, the charge in the friction was traded off for the potential energy
in the match tip. An equal exchange. Potential and Kinetic energies trade places exactly. The same amount in as out. Somewhere deep inside, the analytical side of him wondered where Gambit's charge was stored within him, but that wasn't the point of his train of thought.
A theory based upon this law stated the same things about emotions. For every person in the world who was happy, there was an exact number of people who were equally as unhappy. Scott wondered if Gambit sacrificed his own pleasure to help those in need, and more to the point, he wondered if Gambit even realized it.
The third word that the others had been saying about Gambit came to mind. Mercenary. A money-grubbing soldier of fortune, that had killed for the mere promise of money. Nothing could be farther from the truth for Remy.
Hero. No better way to put it. Cyclops remembered the Professor's exact words. He had looked at Gambit and asked "How many times must the scoundrel prove himself a hero, before he believes it himself?"
If someone could possibly say that Cyclops, leader of the Uncanny X-Men, was a poor judge of character, then that would be their opinion. But the World's foremost telepath did not just go around, making false assessments of people.
With that final thought, Scott dialled and put the phone to his ear. He had to find the truth. If anyone on Earth could help him now, it would be this man.

Gambit's mind was spinning as he searched for Scott in his memories. Where had he met this man before? He couldn't remember. But if they had never met, then how did they know each other's name? He just had a feeling that he knew this man, but he didn't know why.
His head ached from the effort of searching, and so he decided to try a different approach. Climbing out of bed, he made his way to one of Sinister's main computer labs.
It was six minutes to four in the morning, and he was pretty sure that everyone would either be asleep, out on a mission or helping Sinister in his lab. Any one of the above things would keep the rest of the Marauders out of his hair while he checked a few files.
Gambit sat down in front of a terminal, wincing at the pain in his right thigh. Sinister had managed to remove the bullet, and there was no permanent damage, but still it hurt, one does not forget being shot overnight after all.
"Computer, admit access. Subject: Gambit. Voice check and password: Twenty-four, eighty-seven."
Subject Gambit. Password: two, four, eight, seven, confirmed. Welcome Remy. The
mechanical voice of the computer systems came. What do you require?
Gambit sighed. What did he require? He had the face in his mind, and the name on the tip of his tongue, but he wanted to find this person and ask him a few questions. "Search query, name: Scott"
There are currently three million, six hundred eighty-two thousand, nine hundred twelve people with the first name Scott in this data base. There are five million, eight hundred ninety-three thousand, one hundred thirty-three people with the last name Scott.
"Let's narrow the search a little. Computer, access only files where the subject is a male, English speaking, North American. Give approximate number."
There are approximately one hundred eighty-seven thousand subjects within search parameters.
"Try Caucasian with red or brown hair, between six foot three and six foot six, and between the ages of twenty and twenty five."
There are one thousand, two hundred ninety-two subjects within search parameters.
Gambit frowned. "Try... " He was at a loss, and then something hit him, or rather, it had hit Creed.
"Try mutant subjects."
Twenty-eight.
"With the power to create energy blasts from their heads?"
Two subjects found.
"On screen."
The screen in front of Gambit split down the middle, as the two subjects came up in front of him. The first was Richard Scott, a lawyer from Flin Flon, Manitoba, Canada. The second was Scott Summers, unemployed, from NYC.
"Computer, dossier for Scott Summers," Gambit stated in excitement.
Complying:
Subject: Scott Summers
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown
Age: Twenty-four
Height: 6'5"
Nationality: American
Code Name: Cyclops
"Computer hold."
Holding.
"Current location?"
Searching. Westchester, New York. Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, home of the X-Men.
"X-Men?"
The X-Men are a group of mutants dedicated to the co-existence of mutants and ordinary humans. Other causes include: Protecting both mutant and human kind, offering a school where mutants can learn to use their powers and researching a cure for the Legacy Virus.
"Profile the X-Men," Gambit queried.
Profile contents?
"Names, code names and powers of members, as well as anything which would be useful to know if in battle with or against them."
Compiling information. Complete.
Profile:
X- Men.
Founder/ Leader: Professor Charles Francis Xavier. Power: Telepathy.
Field Commander: Scott "Cyclops" Summers. Power: Optic Blasts. Powers cannot be controlled without an optic visor.
Field Commander: Ororo "Storm" Munroe. Power: Ability to control and create the weather. Acute Claustrophobia.
Jean "Phoenix" Grey Summers. Power: Telepathy and Telekinesis. Once possessed by the entity known as the Phoenix.
Doctor Henry "Beast" McCoy. Power: Increased metabolic physiology, and superior intellect.
Warren "Angel" Worthington III. Power: Physical mutation giving him feathered wings.
Elizabeth "Psylocke" Braddock. Power: Telepathy focused into a psychic knife, which extends out of the tip of her hand. Experience with the Crimson Dawn left her with heightened telepathic senses, and new abilities, such as teleportation. Trained Ninja.
Robert "Iceman" Drake. Power: Manipulation of frozen water molecules.
Logan "Wolverine" Machiera. Power: Heightened senses and healing factor. Three
retractable bone claws on each hand. Experimented upon by the Canadian Government. Possesses multiple false memories. Age: 83 years.
Solange "Rogue" Macross. Power: Ability to absorb another's powers, memories and persona, temporarily or permanently through skin to skin contact. Permanently absorbed the powers of Carol "Ms. Marvel" Danvers: Near invulnerability, flight and a deepened seventh sense.
"Computer hold on current subject. On screen."
The image came up on the monitor in front of Gambit, and he sucked in a deep breath. Sinister's words about his 'Contact with Rogue' passed through his mind momentarily, but only momentarily.
There was another memory of this woman which sparked inside him.
Her image, more beautiful then the stars in an Arizona sky, more breathtaking then the snow on the peaks of the Rockies in Colorado, more intense splendour then a sun rise over a Mississippi bayou...
Or rather a Louisiana one...
Rogue... Ma Belle amour... His eyes glistened over with tears and he reached out to the screen and brushed her face with the tips of his fingers. He remembered how he had hurt her, and how much she hated him, but more then that, he felt how much he loved her, and how much it hurt now to have lost her.
At least that's why he thought he had felt the pain. Memories flooded over him, as he collapsed to the ground, clutching his head in severe pain. The flashes of faces he had seen before came back again, but this time, he remembered who they were, and what they had meant to his life.
Storm, first as a small child, then as a grown up, as his friend. The woman who had brought him to the X-Men, the only real family he had ever had.
Cyclops, the man he strove to be perfect for. There was something between them, it wasn't really love, but it was close. It was a common trust that they would always be there when the other needed, and Gambit wished for all he was worth that he was here to help him now.
Jean Luc, his father.
Henri, his brother.
In fear, Gambit tried to call out. The memories were coming too fast, and out of order, confusing and flooding him, and his mind was burning because of it. "Fa..." He squeaked out.
Professor Xavier, the man who became his surrogate father, his leader, and his friend.
"Father," He managed to whisper.
His Beautiful Rogue.
Getting no response, he decided to try a different approach. Putting his hand to the floor, he charged it.
Bella Donna, his wife.
He heard a presence behind him coming up behind him. "Jesus Christ! Comm Room 6 to Med Lab 1. Sir, you better get down here, it's Gambit."
Jean... A telepath... Maybe she could help me...
I'm on my way.
Thierry... Thierry... what ever happened to Thierry...?
"Father...?" He whispered.
"He's commin'. Just hang on." Came a voice from the door.
Wolverine.
Gambit opened his eyes and saw the glow all around him. Managing to concentrate, he pulled it back inside himself, so that his father would be able to reach him. CLAIRE.
The voice came closer, "What's happening to you?"
"Too fast... Can't understand... confusing... hurting... need help..." Gambit muttered. MARIUS.
"Help..." He whispered in pain.
HANKMcCOYALEXANDRIALAPINSARAHJULLIANGENEVIEVE NICKFURYGREYCROWTANTEMATTIEWARRENCALISTO...
Strong arms moved around Gambit, as visions flashed in his mind's eye, taunting, hurting and confusing him. He felt himself being lifted from the floor and carried away, but he didn't care anymore, he just wanted it all to stop.
His mind drifted to his birth mother and held on her image, just as oblivion hit.

Scott had been on the phone all night trying to track down the one person he believed might hold some answers. When he had finally found him, he found that 'It couldn't be discussed over the phone.' But someone would be sent to discuss it.
It was almost five in the morning by the time he returned to the infirmary. Hank had left him there, believing that since this was Cyclops, he would stay put. That was his first mistake. His second was not coming to check up on him.
Scott didn't blame him though. The information they had lost earlier was very important to Hank's research. In fact, one of his fellow scientists were very close to discovering a cure. Now that information was destroyed. Viruses in the computers, and hard copies destroyed. Hank was doing everything in his power to solve the virus, but was not being very successful.
Cyclops took a deep breath, immediately regretting his decision to do so, as his wounds on the tissue around his ribs were immediately pulled.
He didn't resent Gambit for firing upon him. Gambit was afraid and confused, and Cyclops had just fired upon the only person that he felt he could trust.
He also didn't regret firing upon Creed. Just because he was the leader of the team, that didn't mean he wasn't allowed to want revenge, and at that moment, Creed was the closest he could get to Sinister.
Cyclops wondered about Sinister, and why he would do such a thing to Gambit. Erasing his loyalties was one thing, but he had actually erased Gambit's memories. His hopes and dreams. Everything he was, and everything he had ever felt was gone, and that made Cyclops more angry then he had ever been in his entire life.
He had seen villains kill before, and that had repulsed, and angered him. But Sinister hadn't just taken Gambit's life, he had taken his soul. The anger inside Scott was so strong that he found he could not sleep, despite the late hour. But not wanting to be too tired the next day, or rather later that day, he decided to try anyway.
At 6:30, he finally managed to get to sleep. As he drifted off, the only thing on his mind, was getting some answers.

Notes: I have a few things to say.
One: I don't like Cyclops. I never did like Cyclops. I am, however, sick and tired of all those Gambit hates Cyclops, Cyclops hates Gambit stories which are quite unjustified, and usually slanderous.
Two: I am by NO means a Chemistry expert, so whatever I said, although I'm pretty sure is correct, may be slightly off. If anyone can think of the names of the law or the theory, could you please tell me, because it's driving me nuts!
And Three: No, I am not a psychopath who knows the exact number of Scott's on the planet.
CRIM§ON?

 

Chapter Six

One hour after he had fallen asleep, Cyclops awoke in the infirmary. Slowly opening his eyes, he saw his wife's face hovering over him.
"Jean," He grunted.
"Do I need to have Hank post guards down here to keep you in here?" She asked, slightly irritated.
"What do you mean?" Cyclops questioned innocently.
"You were out of bed last night, Love of mine," She accused.
"Why do you think that?"
Jean frowned. "Don't lie to a telepath, Scott, it's insulting."
"I'm not lying." Scott squinted trying to read her. "I'm genuinely curious as to how you found out."
Jean sighed. It didn't really bother her that he had been out of bed when he wasn't supposed to be, especially not for the reason why, but she hated when he lied to her. "You have guests."
"Guests? As in plural?"
"Three. Two men and a woman."
"He sent three?" Scott jumped out of bed, again ignoring his bruised ribs, and went for the door.
"Come with me, Jean, Hank," he said pausing at the door. "We're going to get some answers."

Scott arrived in the rec room with Jean and Hank right on his tail. Already seated inside were Cecilia Reyes, Joseph, Storm and Iceman. In the centre of the room, seated in a rather large arm chair, was a distinguished looking man with emerald green eyes and long red hair, tied back in a tight pony tail.
His light green garb appeared to be straight out of the eighteenth century, completed with high boots and sabre. He wore on his face an expression of complete calmness, but his eyes betrayed the fear he felt deep inside.
Standing over his left shoulder was a man of about thirty years of age, dressed in similar clothes, only his were dark blue lined in red. His light blue eyes spoke chapters for the conflicting turmoil he felt inside. There was confusion, protective love, protective responsibility, fear, hate, trust and mistrust.
He had a light beard and mustache which matched his long strawberry hair perfectly. His hair, too, was tied back in a ponytail, but it appeared that it was merely for show, and that if he wasn't here, there was no way that it would have been up.
Sitting on a sofa next to them, was a plump Jamaican woman. Her eyes were black as coal, but they spoke of nothing but kindness and love. The still look which held her face was enough to make Scott shiver. It was clear to all that she was focusing a lot of concentration on something, but for the life of any X- Man in the room, they did not know why.
As Scott entered the room, the man in green rose to his feet. "M. Summers," he stated, Parisian drawl slightly colouring his tone.
Scott nodded to him, and gestured to the rest of the people in the room. "Ororo Monroe, Robert Drake, Joseph, Jean Summers, Doctor Henry McCoy, and Doctor Cecilia Reyes."
The man in green put one hand to his chest, and bowed slightly. "Jean Luc LeBeau. This is Remy's Guardian, Mattie, and my nephew and Honour Guard, Lapin." He turned pointedly to Hank, "I offer my sincerest regret for the theft of the medical data. M. Summers tells me y' still have a few files that were missed."
"Indeed. Unfortunately, said files have been infected with a virus equally as devious as the Legacy itself."
Jean Luc nodded. "Is it possible that Lapin have a look at those files? He may be of some service."
He half smiled at their response. "Lapin is the highest respected computer technologist in the Guild... and my heir in Remy's absence." The second part was added in near silence. "He is more then qualified t' handle the problems with the files."
Cecilia stepped forward and eyed the unlikely computer genius. "Do you really think you can reverse the virus?"
Lapin smiled comfortably at the scrutiny. "Taught Remy e'eryt'ing 'e know 'bout hackin' Chere." He shook his head. "I can' fix dem, doubt n'one c'n."
Some of the others nodded in acceptance, but Cecilia was at a loss. Her left eye brow twitched upwards in curiosity of his words. Lapin sighed. "Oui."
Cecilia nodded. Cyclops told Hank and Cecilia to take him to the files, and then gestured for them all to have a seat.
Jean Luc waited until Lapin was long out of earshot before beginning. "I knew this day would come eventually," he almost whispered, apparently to himself, losing the french colour. "I had just hoped that it wouldn't be 'till long after I was gone." The people in the room around him had no idea of the ramifications of that single sentence, but accepted it as an opener to whatever he was about to say.
"Rembrandt Elijah Fletcher, Rembrandt Essex, the man you have come to know as Remy LeBeau, is from a time that is not our own." He waited an instant to let that set in before continuing. "Rembrandt Elijah Fletcher was born in 1693, to parents Robert Fletcher, and Rosa Salvatore."
Scott's eyebrows arose in disbelief, not that he didn't want to believe, just that it was difficult.
"You're saying that Remy is over three hundred years old?"
"Dat's exactly what he's sayin' Chile. Hush now, an' let 'im continue."
"His parents weren't exactly what one would call... Normal. His mother was descended from a long line of gypsy witches, an' 'is father was a Benefactor."
"Benefactor?" Bobby and Joseph asked in unison.
Jean Luc's face went contemplative for a moment, as he wondered exactly how much he could tell these people. He knew that Remy trusted them, heart and soul, with his life, but then again, he had also trusted Sinister. "I don't know how much Remy has told you about our kin," He began, "But basically, for a small price, it is possible to receive what is known to the thieves as The Elixir of Life. Upon drinking this Elixir, a person may become immortal, in a sense. The one what gives us the
Elixir is known as de Benefactor, or Benefactress."
That explains the uniforms, Scott thought to himself, for now, willing to except what it was that Jean Luc was saying. "What do you mean, 'In a sense'?"
"The Elixir stops a person from gettin' older, but it can't do nothin' for a shot gun t' the head, if ya' know what I mean," Logan responded, coming in the room. "Hello Jean Luc."
Jean Luc nodded in his direction, "Logan. It's good to see you again."
"You two know each other?" Scott asked.
Logan smiled. "Longer then I've known the X- Men."
"D'accord. Longer than I have known Remy. Come in, Logan, an' 'ave a seat. I have a lot to say, an' you might wanna hear it."
Logan came in the room and sat down, as Jean Luc stood, and walked to the large bay window.
Staring out it, he took a deep breath, and began. "Robert Fletcher had always been a wealthy person. He had grown up on a large family estate in the beautiful county of Cornwall, England. When he was young, his mother an' sister had been murdered by bandits. His father had always taught him not to hate the people responsible, because the Good Lord forgives, and so should they. He said that everything was done for a reason, and that in the end, it would all be for the greater purpose.
"Because of his father's teachings, he ended up becoming a man of God himself. When 'is father died three years later, Robert decided to set off, to spread the Holy Word to the rest o' the world.

Land's End, Cornwall, England, 1689.
Robert Fletcher looked up at his family estate for what was to be the last time. His ship would be leaving soon, and then his life would start all over again.
Robert walked down the slow sloping path towards the harbour that he had walked a thousand times before, but this time, it seemed somehow new to him, as he truly took in it's beauty for the first time since he could remember.
From the path, he could see the ocean, the white sails of the ships on the harbour standing out in perfect contrast to the sparkling blue giants man had deemed waves. Every so often, a white crest would peak the top of the sapphire marvels, and give great complement to the feathery bleached puffs in the azure sky, which showed no signs of fading on the horizon.
A light breeze came up behind him, and tussled his short henna hair. His ginger eyes sparkled with mingled sadness and excitement as he made for the ship.
The voyage was to take him to a Spanish Port, where they would receive more travellers, and then it would be off to America, the new world, where Robert was sure there would be men in need of religion.
He pulled a gold pocket watch out of his new trousers. He smiled at the simplicity of the small yellow object, which had become such a useful object in his everyday life. His things were already being loaded to the ship, and he had only a short time to get to the docks.
Forgetting about the beauty of the day God had created for the humans on Earth, he picked up his pace and headed towards his transportation. It was going to be a long voyage.

Jean Luc was interrupted by Lapin, Hank and Cecilia returning from checking the files. He lifted his eyebrows to Lapin, wishing to know what, if any, progress had been made.
Lapin shook his head in shame of his own short comings. "It's de VOI. Dere's nothing I c'n do."
Jean Luc nodded in acceptance and understanding. The others in the room, however, were not as well versed on the subject of computer viruses. "VOI" Jean asked.
Jean Luc sighed. "The Virus of Insanity. So named because all who try to solve it give up in frustration, believing that only someone gone completely mad could have constructed it."
"Least dat's what de "Legit" is," Lapin grunted with a sad smile. Everyone turned to look at him.
"Rabbit?" Hank asked in confusion, making Lapin smile crookedly at the English version of his code name.
"Most world class hackers t'ink dat de answer has to be insanely simple, right in front of our faces, we just can' figure out what."
Bobby snickered. "World Class Hackers? Don't you think that's a bit of an oxy moron? And besides, what do hackers have to do with solving viruses?"
Lapin's naturally smiling eyes went ice cold, shotting daggers at Bobby. "Hackers wish only t' free information f'r everybody. Some create viruses to accomplish dis purpose, but most of us just go about it by theft. An' if y' have any thoughts on dat, I s'gest y' keep dem t' y'self," he fumed. "A lot of us are out dere tryin' t' undo viruses. Tryin' t' stop dem. I's people like YOU what give us all a bad rep."
Bobby's mouth dropped open at his blatant show of hostility towards his small joke. Jean Luc looked softly towards Lapin. "Perhaps it would better for you to wait outside."
"Per'aps," He sniped shortly, then made a small bow to Jean Luc, a nod of respect to Cyclops, turned, and left.
"What was that all about?" Bobby asked in confusion at the blatant hostility towards his small joke.
Hank cleared his throat, "Bobby, what you just said to Lapin, would be akin to accusing me of creating the Legacy Virus, in order to farther my own career. You insulted what the man believes to be right. Whether or not it is, is of no consequence. You do not insult the very essence of a person's being, and remain that person's friend."
Cecilia interjected, "Like telling any of us, that because there are mutants who were bent on the destruction of all normal humans, all of us must be as well. That the work we do, could, in no way, be for the good of man, but rather, quite the opposite."
Bobby still appeared not to get it, so Jean Luc interceded. He seemed not to be angry, merely gravely saddened, but his words cut straight to the quick. "Tell me, Mr. Drake; How is it that you, a known mutant, profess to be a good person? I recall hearing on the news, just recently, that a mutant, by the name of Onslaught, put a rather large hole in Central Park, trying to destroy all man kind. How is it then, that you can be a good person? You are after all, a mutant." The sound of gasping was heard from all X- Men in the room, as the leader of the New Orleans Guild of Thieves, insulted their very reason for existing, by using their own leader as an example, and hitting very close to home. He turned back to the window. "It seems no matter where you go, or what you do, everyone is susceptible to typecasting."
Bobby opened his mouth to say something, took a look at Cyclops, and closed it, seeing the look on his face. Scott cleared his throat. "Please, Mr. LeBeau, continue."
Jean Luc nodded without turning around, and continued with the story. "The ship docked in Cape Finisterre, Spain. Robert, and a few others, decided to get off and stretch their legs, while the new passengers arrived. He came across a small village which was having a commotion.

Cape Finisterre, Spain, 1689.
Robert looked out at the land before him. Spain was really a beautiful land, but he still found himself yearning for home. He sighed to himself and wondered exactly why he was doing this.
Spain and England were on the brink of going to war with each other, and this voyage of his and his companions was actually putting them all in quite a bit of danger.
In Spain they were seen as a threat to national security, and back home they were just known as traitors. He should have never left. He knew that much, but there was something there, something pulling him away from his home, toward an uncertain life. A life where actual living may have been becoming something of an endangered quality. Yet he still believed that he could make a difference, and that meant more to him than living a safe life ever could.
He sighed again and began to walk over to where one of the crew men who he had made friends with were. "How long until we set off again?" He asked, eyeing the pier.
"You've got about two hours, land lubber," he joked with a slight twinkle in his eye, "But watch yourself, mate. With all that's going on around here, you might as well have a target on your back."
Robert nodded and started towards the gangway, but his friend caught his arm. "Don't talk to anyone lad," He said more seriously.
Robert gave him a look. One that said I'm a grown man, I can take care of myself, and don't call me lad.
"Your clothes won't help you here Father. The military don't care about Heaven and Hell, and having a Preacher with an English tongue, well, you might get hurt."
Robert smiled grimly and nodded, walking down to the pier.
Fifteen minutes later, he was completely lost in a foreign town, and that wasn't even the worst of it.

 

Chapter Seven

Cape Finisterre, Spain, 1689.
Robert was lost in a forign place, in the darkness of the night. He had no idea how to get back to the pier, and he couldn't ask for dirrections, because he didn't even speak the language.
He came across a horde of people that were surrounding one person who was yelling things in the forign language. Angry things.
As he came closer, the man turned the attention of the crowd to him. Robert didn't know weather to stay and try to find out what was going on, or run before they turned on him.
He didn't have enough time to try and decide. Members of the crowd grabbed hold of his arms, and pushed him to the centre with the main speaker.
Though Robert saw no danger towards him from this man, but there was a certain coldness in his dark brown eyes that made him shiver. The man was of average height and build, and though he was not ugly, he was not handsome either. His jet black hair was cut short, framing his forehead and his well tended mustashe and beard were the perfect complement.
He smiled as he spoke in words Robert had no way of knowing, and looked as if he expected something from him.
(Good sir, you are a man of God. Bless us that we might protect ourselves from the French devils that seek to destroy our good land!)¹
Robert blinked as all eyes came to him. What do they want? he wondered without speaking. The man gave him a grating look when he didn't respond.
(Sir, you do me wrong by not responding. Why do you pause, as if you don't understand?)
Robert shook his head and opened his mouth. What is he asking of me?
Before he got a chance to move, the stranger grabbed his arm and shook him.
(You don't understand me, do you?) He threw him to the ground.
Dear God, help me. Jack was right. My dress has made me a target, and my ignorance of this language makes me a fool.
(Are you a Frenchman sent to spy? Speak to me dog!)
"I have no quarrel with you, I am merely looking for my ship, and my passage..."
Unaware of what french actually sounded like, the angry loyalist mistook the sound of one forign tounge for another, and promptly kicked Robert in the stomach. It was at this point that he became aware of two figures in the mob.
The first was a beautiful young woman with long black hair, covered, just as her garb, by a violet cape, as if to hide her identity. Dazeling emerald green eyes, traced with fear, stared out at him from the cover of the darkness.
"No!" He yelled as he recieved another assult to the stomach.
Her companion was a tall redhaired man, with eyes just as stunning in blue. A similair cape covered him as well, hiding him amongst the crowd.
"Dear God..." He whispered to himself through the pain.
(We will not give in to...)
(Stop! Enough violence! It was not french, it was english!) The woman yelled just as their leader pulled back to deal another kick.
(Who speaks? Come forth.)
With her head down she slowly stepped to the front of the mob. When she would move forth no more, he stepped over Robert and moved to meet her. When he reached her, he yanked her hood down in anger. (The knave is defended by a gypsy whoar!) He reached back to slap her down, but his arm was haulted by the woman's rather large, rather ticked off companion.
(I believe my sister said enough violence.) He said softly, yet the anger in his eyes was aparent.
For some reason, the man who had attacked Robert lost all of his fire, and backed down, to a point that he fleed the area. Within a few minutes, the entire crowd had dispersed.
"Are you all right?" The woman asked kneeling before him.
He blinked. The woman before him was breath taking. She was dressed in Emerald green and dark purple. Her jet black, wavey hair fell past her waist in a one length cloak of darkness and her emerald eyes were like that of a cat. Around her forehead she wore an odd necklace- like tiara made of ivory beads, each one engraved with a different design. From the centre of the row, a small gold cross hung, resting on her head.
"Father?"
"Ah, yes, I'll be fine."
The taller man came behind him and helped him to his feet. "We should hurry if we are to get to the ship in time." He spoke to the woman.
"You are going to the pier?" Robert asked, in hopes of finding his own ship.
"Yes. We will help you find your way," he replied, snaking his arm around Robert as he stumbled.
"Thank you, Uhhh..." he baited.
"Thierry. This is my sister Rosa."
"What did you say to get them to stop?" Robert asked, as the three travelers made their way to the pier.
"I told them that you were English, our ally, not French, our adversary."
"But I thought that England and Spain were enemies in the war."
"If that were so, I wouldn't be helping you."
Robert blinked. He had thought that they were helping him because they didn't want to see him, or anyone for that matter, hurt, not because their countries were allied in some war.
Thierry, realizing the mistake in his words, spoke quickly to calm him. "That's not the way I meant it. I meant that your ship probablly wouldn't have been allowed in the harbour if our countries were at the brink of war."
Robert nodded at his repention.
"Come, we have to hurry," Rosa whispered.
The three then made their way to Robert's ship.

"But wait a minute..." Bobby said in mild confussion.
Jean Luc turned to him in interest, his face in the expressionless mask which they had all seen Gambit imploy from time to time. Cyclops deduced that it was a tactic to use when a need to be diplomatic arose. As prince, Gambit must have been taught as a child how to control his expressions, so as not to tip his hand, as it were.
"I thought you said that England and Spain were at war with each other or somethin'."
"Non. Robert, and his fellow countrymen had been misinformed. I don't know how, why, or who by."
"Alison Baxter," Mattie uttered. Jean Luc motioned for her to countinue, so she did. Shrugging, she explained, "De poor chile was in love, an' didn' wan' Robert t' go, so she tried to scare dem all."
Hank nodded. "Simple enough. I had wondered about that."
"Yes, but we stray." He looked to Bobby as if to ask if there was anything else. When Bobby shook his head, he countinued.
"Rosa and Thierry just happened to be joining Robert on his voyage to the America. They had lived through enough persecution towards their so called witchcraft in their homeland, and were looking to start a new life in a land where no one had any preconcieved notions about them.
"The voyage was not as enjoyable as time went on however. Passengers were only allowed above deck once a day, and they were all getting restless. There was a supersticious belief by most sailors of the time that women onboard were badluck, so Rosa was not even allowed up at all. In loyality, Thierry had always stayed to comfort her.
As the voyage went on, Rosa and Robert fell deeper and deeper in love. She was taken back by his gentilness, and he by her intelligence. It was as if it was ment to be. As the long days passed, Rosa and Robert found ways to make them shorter by talking and laughing into the late hours of the night.
Their friendship was not the only notable change in the bizzare trio. With the passing of each day, Thierry appeared to become more and more irritable. It appeared to Robert that his foul mood was rubbing off on Rosa, as everytime Robert saw Rosa after she had just been with Thierry, she seemed more distant and a lot less healthy.
It occured to Robert that all the time below decks might be having their toll on the two of them. By the end of the voyage Rosa had been confined to a bed, and was barely able to hold her own head up. Robert sat through it all with her, falling deeper and deeper in love with each passing moment.
When they arrived in port very earily on a Sunday morning, Robert was almost bouncing with nervous tension and couped up energy. He got top side as fast as he could and inhaled the frosted New England air. When he returned to where Rosa and Thierry had been, they weren't there.
He searched for them long into the day, unable to give up on the woman he had come to love, before finally calling it quits for the day. He went to find the local church where he could get in contact with someone who would help him find shelter.
That night he was visited by a vision. As he slept the air around him seemed to transform into a pale figure of a woman. "Rooooberrrrrt...." it whistled in the calmness of the night.
Robert stirred ever so slightly. He rolled over, opened his eyes a crack, and then sat bolt upright in shock of the vision that befell his eyes. It was that of a beautiful woman, dressed in the same colours that Rosa had been. She had long flowing hair that seemed to merely fade into the darkness of the night night.
At first glance the semi translucant woman looked identical to Rosa, but there were subtle differences between the two. Her hair was straighter, wavy still, but not so tightly curled. Her face was younger, more perfectly cut. Her eyes were the same beautiful emerald green that Rosa's had been, but contrairy to her facial features, they bespoke an ageless wisdom which showed how old she truly was. Her physic was smaller, more muscular than Rosa, and was shown by the tight fitting pants.
"What manner of ghost--?"
"You are needed else where." The woman insisted, ignoring the bewilderment in his eyes.
"What? What do you mean?"
She seemed disapointed. "You are needed for bigger things."
"Like what? Who are you?"
Ignoring him, she said, "Go to Rosa. Help her."
At that he was sparked to his feet. "Is she in trouble? How do I find her?" The figure didn't respond, but merely floated on the currents with the winds. Shakily, Robert reached to light the candle next to his bed. "Be you Demon or Angel, ghost or spirt, I bid you speak!" He finally lit the candle and turned to the woman, but she was gone.
He spun rapidly trying to find her, almost putting out the flame, but it was to no avail. She was gone.
The man he had been staying with came into the room. "Robert, are you alright? I heard voices."
Robert nodded. "So did I."
The man's wife came up behind him. "You look frightened out of your wits! Would you like me to get you anything?"
"No. Thankyou. I'm fine," He spoke in a whisper, resting the candle back on the table. "Just first night jitters in an odd place. I'm fine."
"You're sure you don't need anything."
He nodded, and the three once again said their goodnights. Robert blew out the candle. His last thoughts before he drifted back to sleep were that of wondering what happened to Rosa, and just what a life with her would be like.

1. Translated from Spanish.
Heaven's Oceans
The rain is Heaven's oceans on the rise,
High above a ledge of clouds, beyond the darkened skies,
They fall to Earth on winds of love
Herolds of the Lord above
I know that when I die, I'm gonna soar on heaven's oceans in the sky.
CRIM§ON?

 

Chapter Eight

New England, 1689.
Robert was depressed. He had searched through the day and long into the night. Unable to find the women of his dreams- either the one he loved, or the one who had quite literally come to him in his sleep- he was discouraged, and ready to give in to defeat.
It was at this point that he spotted a woman standing in the shadows, merely watching him. She was stark and beautiful, and had the eyes of a cat. He realized that she was the woman from the night before. She watched him with all of the intensity of a preaditor, causing Robert to shiver.
He thought about turning around, and leaving this woman to the shadows, but was not about to lose the woman he loved. He made his way to where she was, as she started to fade into the mist. "Wait!" He whispered loud enough for her to hear. He did not want to attract any attention from onlookers, who might think him crazy. Something he himself was beginning to think.
He started to almost run to where she was, but by the time he arrived, she was gone. "If you want me to find her so much, then why will you not help me?!?" He whispered loudly in anger.
"Taken to speaking to shadows, Preacher?"
Robert blinked and spun on the familiar voice. "Thierry!"
Thierry nodded to the shadows, suspiciously. "Who were you talking to?"
Robert sighed. "A ghost from my imagination."
Thierry nodded expressionlessly, and started walking, inviting Robert to join him. They walked together in silence. Thierry fighting to find the exact words to say what he had to, Robert doing the same. "Rosa is... in danger... You... You are the only one that can help her..." He seemed ashamed at this fact.
"I know."
Thierry blinked. "You know? How?"
Again Robert sighed. "I was told." He was beginning to think himself delusional, and didn't want to try to explain to this man what he had seen.
Thierry stared at him hard, studding his face, and then he nodded almost as if in understanding. Robert did not know how that would be possible, but didn't question it. They continued to walk in silence, out of the town, and long into the woods. They came across a river where Thierry offered Robert a drink, filling a wineskin himself.
They then came across a rather large house. Thierry opened the door and walked in, inviting Robert to follow. They went down a set of stairs into a cellar. Robert shivered at the dampness, wondering why they were going there, but remaining silent.
Thierry opened the door to the cellar to reveal a stone fortified room with no windows, filled along the edges with tables. Upon the tables and the floor sat candles. There was a path through the centre where Rosa lay unconsious upon a table.
Robert ran to her side. She was strugling in a delerious fevor, and was damp with cold sweat. He took up her hand, and was frightened at how cold it felt. He touched her forhead and found that despite the moisture, it was burning up. "She needs a doctor,"he uttered in worried tones.
"No doctor can help her now." The small voice came from the other side of the make- shift bed, and Robert was startled that he had not seen the other person.
He lifted his eyes to her, and his mouth dropped open in shock as he once again was gifted by the vision he had seen the night before. This time however she was entirely solid, and showed no signs of leaving him. "Who are you?" He whispered.
"That is not important." She turned to Thierry. "I assume that you haven't told him what he needs to do."
Thierry shook his head, and Robert was ellated in discovering that he was not the only one seeing this woman. The woman sighed deeply, and Robert turned back to her. "Robert," she uttered, then paused as if gathering her thoughts. "I assume you notice the condition of Rosa on the trip across." Robert nodded. "Do you have any inclination as to why she was taken so ill?"
He shook his head. "None of the ship's physicains could find anything wrong."
Thierry took a deep breath and began relating the story. "The Salvatore blood line has an unusual circumstance. One of our ancestors, a man named Marcus, was... One might say Possessed by a deamon's spirit. A priest was called to Exercise the offending creature, but something went deadly wrong. The deamon was left in a state of half life; Still inhibiting the man's body, but not quite taking entire control of it. Discouraged and angered by this lack of control, the deamon cursed him.
"The curse was supposed to prevent him from continuing our life line, by eradicatingthe possibulity of him having children, but again something went wrong. In the deamon's state of half life, and half power, the spell was cast incorrectly, and the effects were changed."
Robert was pale at the thought of a deamon inhabbiting someone's body. He had only heard rumours about such circomstances. "How?" He managed to croak out.
"Contrary to the ideals of the spell, he was indeed quite able to have children. He had two in fact. A boy and a girl. But they were the ones who suffered from the curse. Allergic to the sun, and lacking in blood, they needed an outside supply to survive. This was accomplished by the simple drinking of animal blood." Robert made a face. "But there was an upside to this curse as well. They were now apparently invounrable... Immortal. They were faster and stronger and more intelligent than the other children around them, and they knew it. It was because of this that they began to become discontented and argumentitive.
"Years passed. Their parents long since turning to dust, when Antony, the Salvatore boy got in a fight with one of the other boys. In the fight Antony bit the other boy on the throat, and drained his blood, killing him. His sister, Miranda, was horrified. She saw the evil in her brother, and ran from him, confining herself to her home in fear that she would end up the same way. It was a month before anyone came looking for her, and to her dismay, the one who had come was Antony.
"He was pale and sickly, with large black circles under his eyes, but carried an air about him that bespoke the feroisity and animal instinct that he possessed. Miranda could smell the stench of death all around him, and was afraid of him. He was not to be argued with."
"What happened?" Robert was mortified, and yet at the same time mystified by the odd story. He had heard tales of such creatures, but never one so convincing.
The woman came forward and stared him in the eyes. "She was sitting at her kitchen table when he arrived. He just stood there watching her, almost daring her to move with his sunken, sickly eyes. And she was terror- stricken enough to stay still. They remained like that through the night. It wasn't until the first rays of dawn began to shine through the window that either of them moved. Antony frowned at the glass hole, and then he passed her by and ventured into the house.
"Miranda let out a breath of air, as if she hadn't breathed the entire night. When she drew up the courage and strength to move, she ran from the house. She found a gypsy preistess named Melissa, and told her the story of herself and her brother. Melissa told Miranda that she could do nothing to save her brother, but would help Miranda protect herself. She cast a second curse which would erase the first from Miranda's soul."
"Did it work?"
"Essentailly. it was effective in ceasing the cravings, and she was no longer tortured by visions of deamons but, as it was said to her 'Only a kiss of True passion from one who could see beyond the evil would ever truly erase the curse from her blood'. Also, to her dismay, the death she longed for did not come as she had hoped it might. And similar as it had been to her father, the curse would be passed to any sons she might have."
"Just the sons?"
She nodded. "Melissa changed the curse so that it would only effect the male Salvatores. The women were almost free from it's touch."
"Almost?"
She sighed out of frustration. "You ask a lot of questions... The curse is latient in the women. It would not effect them as it originally did Miranda and Antony. But if one of them were to have a son, he would share Antony's fate."
Robert could see how annoied she was becoming with him, and didn't want to upset her any farther, but still wanted to know more. "Whatever happened to them?"
"Years passed, and finally Antony attacked Melissa. He had wanted Miranda to join him, and was angry that Melissa had saved her. Miranda managed to kill him, but not before Melissa was killed. As Melissa died in her arms, Miranda swore that she would make sure that the blood line would be destroied, and never again would a creature like Antony be created."
"But I thought you said that Antony was immortal? How then was he killed?"
"Immortals, much like externals, can be killed. It's just difficult."
"I'm sorry... externals??"
The woman looked annoyed by his ignorance. "They are of no concern at the moment. Right now our main concern is protecting Rosa from the curse. And only you can do that."
"Wait a minute, you said that only the males were affected, why is this effecting her?!?"
Thierry came forward, breaking the silence that had fallen over him. "That would be my fault."
Robert turned back to Thierry. Realization struck him, that since Thierry was a male member of the Salvatore family he would be prone to infection. "What do you mean?" He stammered.
"As I'm sure you've already guessed, I am effected by this curse. On the trip across, I needed blood to survive. Rosa provided me with that. Had I have been aware of how ill she was becoming, I would never have taken so much. But that is not the problem here. Apparently the lack of blood has caused the curse to some how manufest itself inside of Rosa's body. She is changing into what the women of our herritage have always feared. And I can not stop it. You, however, can."
Robert was perplexed. "How?
Thierry handed him the wineskin. "Holly Water." At Robert's questioning gaze, he continued, "Because of the origional failed excersism, our kind is vounerable to it."
Robert took the wineskin. He eyed it thoughtfully. "What else are you vounerable to?"
Thierry looked offended. "Are you planning to write an article?"
Robert blinked at the statement. He hadn't attended to be rude, or to come off the way he had. "I was merely curious as to how it was that Antony was killed. I didn't mean anything by my querry." An uncomfortable silence followed, as Thierry tried to asertain if Robert would become a threat. "Right... I'll get to work on this then..."
"Sunlight," the woman began suddenly. "Because it represents good. Antony became vounerable to it when he first began to kill, and it only got worse as time went on." She had, apparently, already figured that Robert was no threat, and wanted to show some sign of trust. "Crosses," she continued, pausing slightly in thought. "I do not pretend to be an advocate of the Christian religion, but as the excercism used these objects, they became strong signs against the deamon's power. Also these," She pointed to her forehead. Around it was a set of beads that were similar to the ones Rosa had worn, only older and more intricate. She didn't explain why they fought off the deamon's presence, but merely that they did.
Robert nodded.

"Wait a minute. Do you mean to tell us that Gambit's not only hundreds of years old, but that he's a vampire." Bobby once again interrupted. "That's just some old story made up to frighten kids around campfires! No way they really exist."
Jean Luc sighed. He had expected such a response, and still hadn't figured what to say to asuade some of the doubt. He was merely telling the story how it was told to him. He had taken it as truth without question. After all, the life of his son counted on it. He sighed in discontent.
It was fortunate for him then, that Wolverine did know what to say. "Just 'cause you never saw somethin', don't mean someone else hasn't," he grunted.
"Are you saying that you've seen vampires?" Bobby eyed him skeptically.
"Plenty before I joined the X- Men, and plenty since," Logan responded easily.
Bobby didn't know what to make of what Logan meant by that comment, so instead he brought up a different point. "Oh come on! Don't you think that a little something like 'Hey I need to suck your blood to survive' may have come up before now?"
Jean Luc sighed. "And I'm sure that would have gone over just as well as 'Hey, I was de one dat caused de death of de Morlocks'."
"Point taken," Hank agreed. "But I was his physician, and there were nothing in his DNA that would have caused him to be even the slightest bit enemic."
"Been tryin' to figure dat one out for years, mon ami. No one really understands that to the fullmost. Maybe his mutant DNA interfeered with the curse," he ventured. "I don' really know."
Beast gestured for him to continue. Jean Luc nodded, trying to get his train of thought back in order. He peered at Scott, and wondered why he had been so silent for so long. He hoped to any God that would listen that Scott believed him. If he believed him, then the others might be so inclined to do so as well.
"Robert blessed the water, and Thierry gave it to Rosa to drink. He believed that by having the water inside of her, it would protect her from the inside out. They prayed that it would do more good than harm. As it was, Rosa screamed out in agony as the liquid slid down her throat.
"They waited hours for some sort of change, but none seemed to occur. She strugeled and fought as if possessed, or mad. It wasn't until the first rays of sunlight that she began to quiet."
"But you said there were no windows in the room." Bobby reminded him.
"It didn't matter. De night was over, the darkness done an' gone. And with the first rays of light, Rosa began to feel better. In fact she felt great. It wasn't long before she and Robert were wed, and four years later, much to the dismay of Zoë, Remy was born."
" Zoë ?" Jean asked.
Jean Luc nodded. "The woman who was in Robert's Dream . Zoë Salvatore. She was related to Rosa... I'm not sure how. I've been told dat maybe she was Rosa and Thierry's sister."
"You don't believe this though?" Scott asked. He shook his head. "Well who do you think she was?"
"I'm not here t' tell you what I think, I'm here to tell you what I know." He sighed deeply. "But I t'ink that maybe she was Miranda. It just seems fitting."
"Why do you say that?" Ororo asked.
"She was adiment 'bout stopping Rosa an' Robert from being married, and when she learned of Rosa's pregnancy, there was a screaming match that ended in a fist fight. Had Thierry not come between the two, I have no doubt that one of them would have ended up dead.
"Then, once Remy was born, she loved him like no other. She didn't like kids at all, but when Remy was concerned, it was like a part of her heart melted, and she protected him from anyone and everyone she thought may have done him harm.
"Amazing, non? Dat a woman who was so dedicated to Remy's destruction could have ever loved him de way she did." He took a moment to ponder over this before continuing. "The young family, joined by Thierry, and Zoë, soon made the biggest mistake they ever would. They took up and moved to Salem."
Ororo went pale. "Salem...? By the Goddess..."
Jean Luc nodded in agreeance with her sentiment. "None of them were aware of the hysteria surrounding anything supernatural at the time. They had wanted to find a small quiet place where they could raise Remy without casting any suspicion to his unusual eyes. Robert and Thierry had bought a home on the outskirts of Salem. They believed that it would be peaceful enough for them to live without being bothered by any of the locals.
"The trip there was rough. Remy was young and though not as apt to cry as most infants, he would still keep one or more of them awake long after sun set. When they arrived in Salem, they all began to have feelings of uneasyness.
"Zoë was unsettled about the entire experience. Finally she gave in to her suspicions, and bought a ticket back to Europe."
Salem, Mass. 1694.
Zoë looked out over a deck. In her arms she held a small sleeping baby. The sun was just beginning to rise over the horizon, and she enjoyed feeling the warmth on her face. "Do you see that little one?" she whispered to the young boy.
He stirred at the sudden sound, blinking at the sky before him. He could not possibly be expected to understand the words coming out of her mouth, but still Zoë continued on. "Your Uncil can never know the beauty of dawn. He gave up that privledge a long time ago. But you... You will be different. You will be loved and you will be happy. I will not allow the mistake of one man hundreds of years ago destroy your innocence, as it has to so many who have come before you. This I promise to you: You will forever know the dawn."
He blinked at her and yawned. "Now Rembrant, I don't want you to think that I am abandoning you. But I have to go away for some time. I know that you will be raised to appreciate all the life around you, and under the guidance of those around you, that you will never feel the hate and pain that your family has always had to endure. Your parents are more than capible of taking care of you," She sounded almost as if trying to calm herself than anything else, as she walked into the house and headed for Remy's cradle. "And with Thierry's help they will do a masterful job of protecting you from those that would do you wrong."
"They're going to have to do so without me," Thierry's voice came from in front of Zoë.
Zoë looked up at him in shock. Not because she was suprised to see him, she had known he was there, but because of his words. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm going with you. I don't think that the people in town are very found of me."
"You are paranoid Thierry." She thought the same thing about herself actually, but didn't want him to feel bad by hearing her agree with him.
"Oh really? Then why are you leaving?" He asked, knowing full well why.
Zoë frowned. "I don't know. It's just that I feel like something's wrong. I can't stand being here. And... The town... They're suspicious of the whole lot of us. To make matters worse, their suspicions are well founded." She took a deep breath and then looked down at Remy, who had once again fallen to sleep. "I'm worried for his safety Thierry," she whispered. "Only harm can come to him if he stays."
"Try telling them that."
She frowned, making her disapproval auidable in her voice. "I have. They're so stubborn. They say that they won't let prejduce kick them from their home again." She inhalled deeply. "I'm half tempted to bring him with me."
Thierry sat down far away from the window. "You'd have to get him a ticket first," he replied casually, taking a mouthful of water.
"I already have," she stated quietly without raising her eyes from Remy.
Thierry almost choked on his drink. "Are you serious?!?"
She nodded. "I have tickets for all of us. I am not leaving any chance that they might come with us be ruined by the fact that they don't have tickets."
Thierry nodded. After a comfortable silence he asked, "When do we leave?"
"Tonight. So we have until then to convince them to join us."
Thierry finished his drink and set his cup on the table. "Until then." He then left the room and headed off to sleep. Rosa approaching him as he went. "Morning Rosa," he said in passing and kissed her on her cheek.
"Good morning Thierry. Have a good sleep," she replied as he went to the cellar, shutting the door behind him.
Rosa went to Zoë, who handed her Remy. "Hello sleepy one. Did you have a good visit with Zoë?" Rosa asked him. He yawned at her in response. Rosa smiled at him. "You are going to sleep your life away."
Zoë eyed Rosa carefully. "Rosa. I do think that you should reconsider and come with us."
Rosa was about to argue, but got caught up on the word us . "What do you mean us ?"
"Thierry has decided to come back. And I really think that you should follow in his lead."
"Zoë we're going to be fine here on our own. I've always managed before, and I will continue to do so long after you're gone."
"You were never alone before."
"I have Robert."
After a long pause, Zoë said quietly, "Have I ever been wrong before child?"
Rosa frowned. "No... But you have never accused an entire town of conspiring against innocent people before. The simple idea that this entire community is trying to have us killed is rediculas. And for the claims of what crimes would they do this? Dealing with the Devil? Robert is a man of the church. They would not accuse him and his family of such crimes."
It was now Zoë's turn to frown. She had always known Rosa to be a stuborn person, but this time she believed that her attitude could end up doing her and her family grave harm. She seriously contemplated knocking her and Robert unconscious and dragging them aboard the ship herself. "I can't make you do anything against your will," she replied resigned. "But I beg you to be careful."
Rosa smiled. "We will. You worry too much. You'll see. Everything's going to be fine."
Zoë smiled back, but she didn't feel it in her heart. "You're probably right."
The rest of the day went off without a hitch. Zoë packed her and Thierry's things, and made ready for their trip. Nothing went wrong that she could put her finger on, but she could tell that something wasn't right, and it was tearing her apart inside.
When night fell Robert accompinied them to the ship. The skies were darker than usual, and the cold seeped through their clothes. They hadn't wanted to take the chance of Remy getting ill, so Rosa stayed back with him.
When they got to the ship they began loading their possitions on board. Just as the three were saying their last goodbyes, Zoë looked up and concentrated on the town.
She had the same intense look on her face as the first day Robert had met her, and he had the same reaction as it had before, nervous shivers running down his spine. Robert looked at Thierry and found the same expression on his face.
Thierry took a step towards the town. "Get on the boat," he commanded intensily.
Before Robert had even half a chance to respond, Zoë had him by the arm and was leading him up the gangway. By the time they were half way up, there was a large flash of orange tinged light that filled the air, and brightened the dark night. Robert turned back to look at where it had come from.
In the distance, on the outskirts of town, they could see their small house burning to the ground. Across the town, there were other houses a light. The entire sky was filling with a putred black smoke, comprised of people's homes, their posetions, their memories.
Robert shrinked Zoë's grasp and ran back down towards Thierry. "Rosa and Rembrant. They were in the house." His face was ghostly with fear, and his eyes wide from shock.
"Wait here Robert. I'm going after them," Thierry stated.
Robert grabbed his arm. "I'm going with you."
Thierry pushed him off forcefully, and turned him to the ship. "No, you stay here where it's safe."
Robert turned back on him, anger and desperation in his eyes and voice. "Nowhere is safe with out my wife and child... My life is nothing without them by my side."
Thierry sighed. "Wait as long as you can for us!" he yelled to the captain who nodded in response. Then the two of them took off into the town.
They didn't have any troubles finding the mob. A large ring of people surrounded one vouceterous man. A group of about twenty other people, mostly young women, who were all tied and gaged were sitting just beside them, one of which was Rosa. The man in the centre was holding Remy, using him as an example. As he spoke, he held Remy up to the crowd, and Remy could do nothing in defence but cry.
"What do we do?" Robert asked Thierry as the two of them peered from the back of the crowd.
Robert was shocked as a low growl emmiting from Thierry came to him as his response, but not as shocked as he was when he heard Zoë's voice cut into his thoughts. They want deamons...? She hissed, Then we give them deamons... As Robert turned to look at her, he found she was once again semi translucent and he found himself almost afraid of her.
"We distract the crowd, and you get my sister," Thierry's voice seemed different to Robert somehow. When Robert looked closely, he saw that Thierry had acquired a set of fangs and his eyes were glowing like hot coals.
He wanted to jump away, but found he couldn't. "What about my son?" he asked, more calmly than he felt.
"Leave that to me."
Robert barely had time to nod his agreeance before Thierry lept from the back of the crowd and went straight fot the man holding his nefew.
"Give me the boy!" He hollared angrly at the mob's leader. For a moment the crowd backed up a step, almost as if stunned by the fact that they had been right all along... But only for a moment.
One man close to Thierry jumped at him and stabbed him with a pitch fork yelling "Monster!"
Almost immediately following his removal of the foreign object, Thierry's wounds healed themselves. "Do you really think you can injure me with that pitiful toy?!?" He exclaimed. "Better men than you have tried to put me out of their misery and failed! What makes you think you'll be any different?"
The stereotypical villianous canter Thierry was spouting almost fooled Robert into believing that the deamon had overtaken his body. Soon though Zoë's voice cut into his head urging him to free Rosa.
As Thierry occupied the crowd, Robert snuck around them, and managed to get to his wife. He untied and ungaged her and urged her to go to the ship. As she started running he moved to untie the others. By the time he reached the third person, someone began to notice what he was doing.
He felt a quick pain in the back of his head and for a moment everything went black. Shortly after, he felt a strong hand pull him up, and opened his eyes to see Thierry's face. A moment after he regained his equalibrium, he noticed that Thierry held Remy in his arms.
"Get moving!" Thierry ordered, thrusting the small bundle towards Robert.
Robert looked around to notice that he was being luged along by Thierry and one of the men he had freed. Just ahead of them were some of the others who had been tied along side of Rosa and the entire enterage was being chased by the mob.
"For the love of all that is Holy..." Robert muttered. He took Remy from Thierry, and started running from his own power. He nodded his thanks to the other man, who nodded back.
Thierry, by this point, had turned around and was now facing the crowd, trying to buy the others enough time to get clear. The horde was, for the most part, scared back by Thierry's show, but not entirely.
Robert could do nothing but run, as the relentless mass started attacking and bringing down those along side him. He huddled Remy closer to him. By now he had reached the docs and could see the boat. Rosa and Zoë were standing on the gang plank, ill looks on their features.
Someone from behind him bumped him, and he fell hard to the ground. Feet kicked and hands pulled as he tried to get back up. Someone latched on to his ankle, but he kicked them away and got to his feet.
He was now close enough to the back of the crowd that the mob was just behind him. He felt a sharp pain in his back, and knew that he had been struck by a pitch fork. It wasn't deep enough to knock him down, but the throbbing pain that went through him was enough to slow him down.
Thierry came beside him and pulled him along. "You have to keep going," he hissed. Rocks and torches were whirling past them, and Robert leaned hard on Thierry.
Without a word, he handed Remy to him. He looked long and hard into Thierry's eyes. "I can die a peaceful death, knowing that my son is alive..." he whispered.
Thierry didn't want to take Remy from Robert, knowing that if he did, Robert would have no reason to continue to fight, but Robert didn't give him much of a choice, as he dropped Remy without waiting to know if Thierry had a grip on him. The two were then separated by a small group of the accused Witches. The last Thierry saw of Robert, was his head disapearing beneath the crowd.
Robert was afraid, but knew that Thierry would protect his son. The mob had overtaken him, and were kicking and beating him. He lay in a battered heap, just taking the assult without fighting back. If the mob was concentrating on him, then they weren't concentrating on catching his Thierry.
Oblivion was close for him. The loud yells of the crowd began to dim in his ears. Then the beating stopped. At least that's what it felt like. He could still feel the jars of each blow, but didn't recognize the pain. He felt a tender touch light on the side of his face. His eyes opened as much as they could, and he saw the face of an angel. Rosa was laying beside him, enduring the same beating he was.
At first he thought he was imagining things-- he hoped he was imagining things-- but somehow he knew he wasn't. He reached out to her and took her hand in his. She had run from her sanctuary when she had seen him fall, and was now going to share his fate.
As the darkness surrounded him, Robert felt a sickness unlike any he had ever felt before. He was going to die. And not only that, his wife was going to die by his side. Pointless deaths that would prove nothing. It was not the way he felt their lives together should end, but he took solace I knowing that Remy was safe.

 

Notes: I've come across a mistake. In part six of this story, I said that Remy was born in 1693. This was because I had read tha the Salem Witch Trials took place in 1694. Now, just recently I came across a book that says that they happened in 1692. I don't know which one of these is correct, so I'm just going to stick with 1694 since it makes sense with my story. Sorry if I'm choosing the wrong date, But I can't very well have Gambit's parents killed before he was born now can I?
I am truly sorry about Jean Luc's accent. At first I thought of him having little to no accent because of how he was more of the 'Upper class' thief, but in reading the new 'Gambit Series' ('bout friggin' time Marvel...) I see that his Cajun is just as thick as Remy's, if not more so. *Sigh* So now I find myself waning back and forth between trying to slowly work it back in, and thinking that I've used it too much. If it gets over used, or left out entirely, please ignore me. It's late... Or early depending on how you look at it... And I'm tired out of my mind as usual (It's been over a year since I started this thing and Yes, I am still an ensomniac, but at least now I have a computer in my room!!! If you have no clue what the Hell I'm talking about, read what I wrote at the end of the first part...)
WHAT THE HELL WAS I TALKING ABOUT?!?!
Oh, right, accents... Yeah... Whatever... Sleep... Need sleep...
Crimson.

 

Chapter Nine

There was a small shocked silence in the room as what Jean Luc was stating overtook the assembled X-Men. Each one of them had at least a small amount of knowledge of what happened at witch trials in the early years of their country. Most even had the insight to compare early practitioners of the Wican religion to their own plight as mutants.
As they listened the horrors set upon a class of people simply because they believed something different were brought to vivid detail before their mind's eye. Jean Luc told them of how Rosa had screamed out not in fear of her own death, but for the safety of her husband and son. He told them how Robert had prayed to God for the safety of his son, the forgiveness of his and his companions sins and for the forgiveness of those that would do them wrong.
Ororo shed a silent tear for the loss of life in those innocents. Others around the room looked equally as involved in the history lesson that had turned into so much more. All felt the pain of loss for those who would have been long dead to them even if such crimes had not been committed against their persons. All could not explain why their hearts felt such a heavy burden.
The answer would have been simple had they examined the question long enough. They were heroes. They felt the loss of any life as if it was their fault and they felt guilty at not having been able to prevent it. The victims were all, by modern standards, innocents. And that played on the noble souls of all present at the time.
"As the flames took light to their bodies Rosa screamed out into the night, cursing a God that had forsaken her so. Through some sort of bond that was shared by mother and son, Remy was privilege to everything that was happening. Had Zoë not been a powerful enough telepath, Remy's mind would not have been able to survive the influx of despair and he likely would have died. As it were, the boy grew into a deep depression.
"Zoë found herself unable to deal with the pain that had been inflicted upon her by Rosa as she passed, and she soon left Thierry with the task of raising Remy alone. They sought refuge in a monastery in France and it was there that they lived for six years without further incident. Those in the monastery did not resent Remy for being such a freak and the two soon found a peace with themselves.

France, 1700
Remy grew into a bright quiet boy. He liked to watch things and understand how they worked. He examined detail with a watchful eye. He studied every book he was given and did masterfully on every written test.
For all in all he appeared to be growing into a normal healthy boy. Apart from having to wear a blindfold over his eyes any time he went to the market, you would not have known him from any other boy of 7. The only point in which you would have noticed anything wrong with him would have been when you attempted to engage him in conversation. As if he had taken a vow of silence at the age of 1, Remy was constantly mute.
Thierry tried to have him speak but not once would Remy return a single spoken word. Every night before bed for 6 years straight he would try to prod Remy's thoughts out of the cocoon of his mind.
At first it was similar to the way that a parent would try to coax a child into his or her first word, each one trying to get the child to say either momma or dadda in a playful attempt to prove to their mate that they were indeed the favourite of the two. But after time, Thierry started to notice that there was something wrong with the child. He had take him to physicians to see if they could locate anything wrong with his vocal systems, however none could ever find anything wrong.
After the statement by one such doctor that severe emotional trauma had caused children in past cases to draw into themselves, and then a prodding as to Remy's life story Thierry decided it best to give up on doctors being any help. He instead decided to bring Remy back to the world himself. What could some stranger tell him about his nephew that he didn't already know anyway?
Every night Thierry would tell Remy stories about his parents. He would tell him about their lives before they met each other and the meaning that was given to them once they found each other. He avoided telling Remy that it was Rosa's love for Robert and Robert's love for Remy that had led them both to their untimely ends. Even without this statement though, Remy still knew. He had felt their love as they died, and even though he was an infant when it had happened the memories had been burned into his mind just as their bodies had been burned to the stakes that had held them in their death beds. Thierry instead spent time describing the places that he and Rosa had been and even relayed Robert's description of England to him in such a manor that Remy felt he could actually smell the sea air. But still, Remy would not speak.
This way he remained, a silently inquisitive child locked in a shell of depression until one fateful night when Thierry did not appear at his bedside with a story for him. Remy did not try to sleep the entire night. Instead he sat and waited, as his patience had taught him to do. By the time that morning's light broke through his window, Thierry still had not arrived to see him.
Hurt and confused Remy decided to search him out. He wondered through the building that he had come to call home in search of some sign of his uncle. After a thorough investigation Remy decided that it would be best to take his searching else where.
Tying a scrap of cloth around his eyes as he was always taught to do, Remy ventured out into the unknown world alone. It was soon apparent to him that searching for someone in a city you aren't entirely familiar with when you can't see and you refuse to talk is a little more than difficult. He began to ask in a quiet, unsure voice if anyone had seen his uncle.
It took almost the full day before someone began to pay attention to the poor lost child, however it was not the attention that Remy had been hoping for. Someone, a man, grabbed him by the hair and started half pulling half dragging him to the centre of a gathering that had been taking place.
There were many men there yelling in angry tones and Remy found himself too afraid to move. Their French words were too fast for Remy to truly understand and he wrapped his arms around himself in a fear that he couldn't explain.
He began to pick out words that he had heard spoken in church. Devil, God, judgment, redemption, salvation... He was starting to wonder if this was perhaps a church meeting. He thought it possible that the man was so rough with him for attempting to sneak out of church on a Sunday. Remy wasn't really sure what day of the week it was, but it was possible it was Sunday.
Remy forced himself to try to relax. Church was a safe place, and maybe after they were done with their worship Remy could ask them to help him search for his uncle. Just as he was letting his guard fall down, a man grabbed the cloth that concealed his eyes and pulled it forcefully away from his eyes.
Remy yelped out in pain as the knot he had tied on his head pulled out some strands of hair that he had caught up in it. He looked up at the man who had done that to him and his eyes shone in anger and pain. There was a gasp heard and an odd noise as those in the circle surrounding him all took a step back as one. For a moment Remy was confused at the fear they were showing him and he forgot about the pain that had been caused to him.
Then came whispers that were slow enough that he was able to make them out.
"Demon child."
"White Devil."
"Jesus save us..."
"Mother Mary?"
"Dear God his eyes!"
Remy gasped at that statement. He sank to a ball and covered his face with his arms, but he was soon pulled back up by the first member of the mob. His arms were pulled behind his back and tied tightly in place and he was lifted from the ground by his hair. The mob parted to the side as he was brought towards them. They then fell in place behind them as the man holding Remy began to speak again. Remy was too afraid and too confused with what was going on to really attempt to concentrate on the foreign words and what they meant.
He was brought to the centre of town and thrown into a cage that looked like a large bird cage. The man continued to talk, but Remy didn't care to listen to what was being said. He closed his eyes tightly and shrunk into himself. He scolded himself for having had the stupidity to speak and draw attention to himself and he cried in fear.
He didn't know how much time had passed when his mind registered a new voice in the mix of angry ones. It was a voice he recognised. Thierry roared out words in an angry growl that a lion could be proud of. He was also speaking too fast for Remy to truly understand everything that was being said.
There were sounds of tearing and screaming and clanging and breaking. Remy cradled his head in his arms and did not open his eyes to the sounds around him. He held himself that way in fear and exhaustion until he finally passed out.
When he woke it was as if from a daze. He was no longer in his bird cage. He found his arms still held, but the grasp was gentile. Cautiously he opened his eyes to find his favourite teacher holding him in a protective grasp. He looked at those around him and found that he was surrounded by others from the monastery. He searched the crowd and found their attentions no longer focused on him.
Pushing to the front of the group he found a creature surely from the pits of Hell. He had scaled black wings and black eyes. His skin was pale and dry to a point that it appeared that it too may have been scales. The creature was seated back on his legs with his hands forward on the ground. Claws protruded from his fingers which appeared to be stained in blood. He looked like some hellish gargoyle from the tops of Notre Damme.
Still beneath all of that Remy could see the humanity. He tried to run forward and envelop the demon that was his family, but someone from the group around him caught him up in their arms. He bit his lip against a scream in protest and fought against their grasp until Thierry spoke. "Remy, please be still."
Obediently he did as he was requested to and stopped his struggles. His eyes filled with questioning tears and he stared at his uncle in a demanding plead for an explanation.
Thierry did his best to manage a smile. "I have to prove to them Remy. I have to show them that you are not the demon that they should be fearing. I will stay here willingly. I will show them what they fear and in return you will be safe." His eyes turned almost pleadingly to the others around him. "The sun is almost up. Please do not force him to watch this. Please allow him to leave."
One of the mob members nodded. Slowly Remy was pulled back from his uncle and although he did not fight their movements he began to scream pleadingly to his uncle. "Uncle non! Please Uncle Thierry. Please do not leave me alone! Please!" He broke into sobs that he found he could not control and he was lifted to his teacher's arms and carried away.
He was a good distance down the road and the sun was beginning to rise when he began to hear his uncle's screams. Pulling away from the group that had began to escort him down the street he ran back towards the mobs. Flames began to tickle the sky above them and they had pulled back into a looser circle around Thierry.
Remy watched in horror as slowly the flesh on his uncle's skin began to bubble and blister before it began melting off altogether. Then in a final tortured scream and a lick of a brilliant blue flame, he was reduced to less than a pile of ashes.
Remy sank to his knees. Slowly with a trembling hand he reached up and replaced the cloth around his eyes. He did not want to see. He did not want to see ever again. His senses were overloaded with the sensation of death. The stench of a burning human being and the sound of the screaming that Thierry's skin made as it exploded against the firestorm was too much for him to bear. He felt as though his heart was about to explode inside his chest.
He thought of his parents and of how they had been taken from him this way. He thought of the torture that as inflicted upon as they reached of each other through their grave of flame. He thought of the sizzling sound that their hair made as it was quickly singed by the flames of hatred that had caused their deaths. Then, without even realising that he was doing it, he pushed these thoughts outwards towards all of those around him.
Everyone gasped in horror as their minds were assaulted. Some began to scream as the visions began to be too much. Others fell to the ground and passed out. One of the assembled became horrified and kicked Remy in the head in an attempt to stop the visions in his mind.
He kicked and kicked and kicked until the pain that entered his mind stopped. Then others began to join him until they had almost beat him to death. They probably would have continued long past that point had they not been stopped.
Always a survivor, Remy pushed out with a power that he had just begun to tap. With an indefinable speed the very air around them became charred and Remy's assailants found that they could not breath. Remy tried to push himself to his feet and run but he discovered that he could no longer find the strength to bring himself upright.
It was then that a woman's arms came around him. He opened his eyes and found himself staring at a person that he recognised only from his dreams. She was his guardian angel. His parents had called her Zoë. Life. And that was what she was to him.
She held him to her chest as she raised the two of them to the air. She then turned a scolding eye on the crowd around them. She spoke to them both outloud and directly into their minds. "God has tested you on this day to see how you would be willing to react to one who was different. He has given you the chance to prove your worth in his eyes and you spit upon his loving gaze. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone indeed. Let he who is weak and afraid- even of this innocent- torture, beat and destroy all that they do not understand. One day you will come to know the true folly of your sins and that day shall be the day of your judgment."
She then lifted herself above the group and headed back to the missionary that Remy and Thierry had been living in for the past 6 years. Remy had ceased to react to any outside source and he simply held tightly to Zoë's shirt as shivers overtook his body.
When they arrived Zoë dropped to the floor and began to run inside. She ran through the halls as if she had been living there her entire life. She barely even had to look to turn. As she ran she chanted. They were words that Remy did not understand, but he enjoyed the sound of the lilt in her voice.
Remy could hear the sounds of doors slamming and locking behind him even though they were alone in the building and Zoë had not been stopping. Even through the blind he could see the oddly violet glow that followed him as they moved. He could feel the air around them take on a briskness and a dampness and realised that they were moving downwards.
When they had reached their apparent destination Zoë set Remy inside a silk-lined box. Remy recognised Thierry's sent surrounding him as Zoë pulled a blanket up over him. She paused in her chanting to instruct him as to what he should be doing. She thrust a set of beads into his palm and told him to hold tight to them and not to let go. "These were your mothers. Hold them tight and they will protect you from harm. Now Remy, I am going to leave you for a short time, but I will be back. I want you to go to sleep. You are very tired. I am going to close this lid on you but you will not be afraid. You will stay here, safe, and sleep until someone comes for you."
Remy heard the lid close above him and then lock in place. For a moment he was afraid that he would be trapped, but Zoë had told him that he wouldn't be afraid and so he pushed the thoughts of claustrophobia out of his mind and attempted to sleep.
His sleep was peaceful and dark. There were no dreams. His mind recognised that he was hungry, but he didn't leave to eat. He knew that his body was aching to be free and to move, but there were no movements to be had while asleep inside his coffin, and Zoë had said that he would stay there.
All remained silent inside his cage for almost one hundred years until, just as Zoë had predicted, Remy's sleep was interrupted.

 

TBC in Part10