The Vengeful Soul: Part One

by Kerri G.

"What?" Charlotte shook her head. She couldn't have heard him right. Her fingers were white around the cordless phone.

"She left him there," Bishop repeated. "The Marauders put him on trial. They persuaded Rogue to kiss him and find the truth for herself. She absorbed his memories and discovered things about him we didn't know, things about the Morlock massacre. She left him in the Antarctic."

The sudden rage colored her vision. "Where? I want the coordinates now." She moved to the gate room. "Give them to me," she demanded a second time.

He rattled off the location. "I hope you can find him."

"I'm sure you do. Anyone know you called me?" She punched in the numbers. She meant Logan. Did he know and agree with Rogue's actions?

"No."

"Well, normally I'd tell you to give them my best, but right now my best wants to bring back the practice of taking scalps. You might want to mention that."

No, he didn't think he'd mention that to the team. As divided as they were now, it might be adopted as the new X-men secret handshake.

She hung up and took the belt from where it sat on a nearby table. She made herself take the time to get a parka and gloves from the upstairs closet, nearly forgetting about her own safety. Those damned self-righteous bastards! Passing judgment like they were gods.

She activated the gate and stepped through-

The wind whipped his frozen form around, making the struggle to just stay on his feet nearly impossible, never mind getting out of here. He wasn't getting out of here.

The snow and ice would be his grave. He was already dead, the rest of him hadn't caught on to the idea yet. He could no longer feel the ice barbs through his clothes. He should have stayed in the cave once he regained consciousness, but that would have been a slower death. He wanted to hurry this last journey along.

He wondered at the symbolism of a snow storm in the land of ice and snow. Beautiful snow and ice, beating a dead man to death. How many times must he die?

The storm was causing hallucinations, he thought bemusedly to himself. He could see a black figure moving towards him fast, almost flying, calling his name. "Remy!"

This had to be Death coming for him. He tried to open his arms, but his frozen limbs wouldn't obey. 'I'm ready, take me!' his soul screamed out, though he couldn't make a sound. Death would be a blessed gift. He fell forward to his knees as the figure drew closer.

It caught him before he fell on his face. He took one last look, expecting to see the rotting skull of his black savior. Instead he glimpsed the golden eyes and the terrible, raging face of an angel. 'Angel of Death', he thought. The devil sent his dark angel to bring his favorite cajun thief home. He let go of his soul gratefully, sure his journey was ended.

Charlotte took a firm hold on him, then hit the homing button.

Hot. He didn't realize Hell would be so hot and clinging, the blanket of heat weighing him down. He struggled against it weakly, his body sweat-slicked and boiling over. The bayou never felt like this.

"Remy, wake up! You're charging the blanket." Charlotte pulled the smoldering folds from his fingers, holding his hands in a tight grip, taking the kinetic energy into herself. "Come on, boy. Open your eyes and look at me."

The firm voice forced him to obey. His eyelids opened into slits. "Where..." he rasped, unable to speak or swallow, the dry raspiness of his mouth and throat almost painful. His lips were swollen and cracked, just closing his mouth made them hurt. He could taste the faintest coppery essence of his own blood. His eyes opened a little more.

"Char...." the word had no sound, just a puff of air.

"Good, you're awake. I'm going to feed you some shaved ice. Just relax." She let go of his hands and reached for a small bowl and a spoon. Carefully, she spooned a bit into his mouth, avoiding his lips.

The taste and cooling sensation of the ice chips felt like heaven to him. He swallow convulsively, the pain-pleasure bring tears to his eyes. 'More,' he breathed. She fed him the entire bowl, then a second helping. The effort to swallow exhausted him.

She pulled the blankets off him and began bathing the sweat off his body from a basin on the table set by the bed. He made a halfhearted attempt to stop her that was more thought than action, but she brushed both away. "You'll never rest if you're hot and sweaty. Hell, your temperature hasn't come down, yet. 'Sides, I've been doing this for the last week, you have no secrets left. The cold is *not* a man's best friend."

He lay still under her ministrations, trying to remember how he got here, wherever here was. All he could remember was Antarctica and Rogue, her face when she absorbed his memories. He remembered her leaving him there to die. Why wasn't he dead? He deserved worse.

Finally she was done and he was covered up with a light sheet and blanket. He could still feel the heat, but he did feel better. "Where am I?" he asked as loudly as he could manage without his throat screaming in agony. Still more puffs of breath.

"Somehow, I thought you would have something more enlightened to say after being unconscious for 6 days. Maybe some story about the 'white light' and your great great uncle twice removed coming to tell you it wasn't your time." She sat on the bed next to him, leaning over slightly to hear him.

"6 days? Not dead?"

"Not dead. Don't sound so disappointed. You've been unconscious and delirious for the last week. It's a good thing I need less sleep as I get older, you nearly set the bed on fire a couple of times."

He wanted to say more, but he couldn't find the strength.

<Better?> she asked, opening a link between them. The wild jumble of half thoughts and images made her cringe mentally.

<Why?> It was somewhat easier to think, but not by much.

He didn't need to elaborate. She took a deep breath to release some of the rage that still bubbled inside her when she thought of the others leaving him there to die. "How about some more ice?" She left to get it.

He opened his eyes a little more and took in the dimly lit bedroom around him. He wasn't at the mansion, that much he knew. And he could believe he wasn't dead. Heaven wouldn't hurt this much, and with his sins Hell would hurt a lot more.

She came back in with a bigger bowl this time, a little calmer than when she left. She'd used the opportunity to get rid of the extra energy she'd taken from him to charge a stick of wood and throw it into the lake.

<Why?> The melting ice tasted better than anything he could remember. Why would she save a monster like him, when his own friends wouldn't? He felt the ice in his soul.

"Why not? You're no more or less a murderer than I am, or anyone else. I wouldn't have left my worst enemy there to die, much less my friend. I don't know if we're friends, but we surely aren't enemies." No, the enemy would be dead *before* she left.

He wasn't ready to hear kind words from a woman. <How did I get here?>

"Bishop called me and told me where you were. I went to get you, brought you here, and I've been Florence Nightingale ever since." The air around her seemed to swirl. 'Control, control,' she reminded herself.

<Didn' he tell you what happened?>

"He told me you were left in the most inhospitable spot on the planet. I didn't need any other explanation." Six days and nights of nursing him through his nightmares told her what happened. Six days and nights of being linked to his subconscious to keep him alive told her everything else.

<I did somet'ing, lot of t'ings an' I never tol' dem, never honest 'bout.> A tear escaped, trickling down the side of his face into his hair. <I am a monster.>

"No, you're not a monster, you're a man. Only a man."

His thoughts began to break up incoherently. He tried to tell her, but she refused to 'listen'. "No more," she told him firmly. "You want to wear sack cloth and ashes, you'll do it on your own time. Later on, if it will make you feel better, I'll listen to everything you want to say. It's not going to change my mind about you."

"Rogue." Her name escaped him in a tortured whisper. Now his body started to shake. The cold he felt inside spread to the rest of him.

"Rogue has her own demons to battle." And she'd earned herself another one, in the form of a very ticked off centurian with lots of interesting toys to play with. She set the bowl down and slipped her shoes off, climbing into the bed with him. She gathered him close to her, offering her warmth. He turned to her blindly, trying to burrow into her, pushing his face against her neck. His body shook as the chills took him over.

Gently she laid a warm hand against his forehead. <You're going to sleep for awhile.>

His eyes drooped shut under her psi-suggestion, his breathing slowed. She took an extra minute to prevent the nightmares so he would rest this time. For a long time she held him, until the shaking stopped and he rested in a more natural sleep.

She left the first floor guest room and headed down for the computer lab. She could hear her phone ringing, but she didn't answer it. She hadn't answered it since she brought Remy back. She was afraid it would be Bishop, and in her present state of mind she'd probably toast him or anyone else there.

She switched on the guest room monitor to keep an eye on her patient, then turned to her e-mail. She dumped the trash immediately, then sorted through various messages from assorted friends and acquaintances. One gave the Massachusetts school address, so she did open that one.

She picked up the phone after reading the brief message from Emma about a history class the kids had on the American Revolution. Emma was reminding her she agreed to guest lecture. There was no way she could leave Remy alone here until he was better. At least till he got over those thoughts of dying in his head. It felt like she was on a suicide watch.

The phone rang 4 times before it was picked up, by Hank. "Charlotte." His voice was subdued, nothing of the cheerful mad scientist he often mimicked for her.

"Is there a problem at the school?" she asked immediately.

"No, the students are fine, though some are currently suffering from the flu. I offered to stay here while Emma is at the mansion assisting in a special project. Is there something I can do for you?" He needed to get away from the mansion right now.

"No. I'd promised I'd be at the school in a few days to lecture a history class, but I wanted to let Emma know I can't make it."

"I will certainly inform her of the change in plans."

"What is it? There's something wrong."

He sighed. "Remy is missing, and Jean, Betsy and Emma are looking for him with Cerebro. The situation it occurred under is extremely...horrific. I'm sure they'll find him soon."

The line hummed a moment in silence.

"I notice a few days ago you accessed my medical data banks," he said. "Did you find everything you needed?"

Charlotte cringed. She thought she'd got in and out without being detected, even though he'd given his consent to her occasional forays into his general files for information. She'd needed his notes on treating Remy, mutant physiology didn't always respond to conventional medicine, and everything he had on hypothermia. "Yes, thanks for asking." The files on the team members were off limits, she'd had to hack her way in.

"If there is nothing else?" He sounded tired.

"No, nothing. Thank you, Hank."

After the good-byes were said, Hank hung up the phone. He didn't know why he mentioned her trip into his data banks, except something about it nagged at him. Well, he had time to spare and too much free time played havoc with his thought process. He went to the computer room and opened a line to his system at the mansion. He'd just review what she was looking at before. Maybe he could suggest some follow-up reading to help her out. There was nothing he could do for anyone right now and worrying about Gambit was non-productive.

Scott called everyone into the war room, asking them to hurry. They filed in, an unusually quiet group. Tempers were running high as the team found itself divided on the issue of Gambit and the Morlock murders. Scott had always dislike the Cajun thief, he felt vindicated now that the murdering bastard had been exposed. Warren followed this opinion with a close second. The other side of the issue, Ororo and Logan, continued to argue that everyone there had a past with too many skeletons rattling around in it, but Scott wouldn't listen. The rest of the team fell in between.

They all turned their attention to Hank on the monitor, who managed to convey the impression he was jumping up and down with excitement inside.

"Before I present my theory, I would like to know if any progress has been made in locating Gambit?" he asked.

Jean shook her head. "No luck. I think he's dead. There's no other explanation." Jean had the most difficult position on the team. She wanted to support Scott, but in her heart she couldn't turn her back on Remy. Everyone had their secrets. Everyone in the room had taken an innocent life. She was no exception.

"I believe I know where he is."

He had everyone's attention with that. "Let me say first I can't be sure, but the circumstantial evidence is overwhelming. I spoke with Charlotte a little more than an hour ago; Emma, she says she won't be able to come to the school for the lecture."

Emma nodded. She'd talk to Charlotte later.

"I mentioned to Charlotte that I noticed she'd been in my medical data base, which she does occasionally with my approval. What she was looking for had bothered me; why, I didn't know until I went back over those same files just now. She accessed data on treating hypothermia and frostbite."

Logan's head snapped up, then shot over to look at Bishop. "Ya mean *she's* got him?"

"I cannot say for sure, but it certainly is plausible."

"Well?" Logan demanded, still looking at Bishop.

Bishop returned his glare with a cool, unreadable look. He didn't respond.

He didn't need to. The room erupted in chaos.

Scott finally shouted order back into the room. "You are going to have to decide what is more important," he told Ororo coldly. "Your duty to the team or that traitor."

"My duty? How dare you?" her voice held more than ice, it was thick with contempt. "How dare you pass judgment on a man who is not here to defend himself. A man who fought for the same dream, the same *duty,* alongside us. If being a member of this team," she spat the bitter words out, "means that I have to behave in such a inhuman manner to one of our own, then I am leaving. Can you say your hands are clean? Any of you?" She swung around to include them all. "Is this what the dream has brought us? You," she turned back to Cyclops, "are behaving no better than those who hate us." She stalked from the room in her most imperious form.

"She's right," Logan added. "This ain't a team anymore, not with that attitude. Ya been hopin' Gumbo's dead so ya don' have to deal wi' him, or yerselves." He followed the goddess out.

"Anyone else feel like that, leave now," Scott ordered. "We don't need anyone who can't give their all for the good of the team." He expected Logan to walk out, he never liked him much either, but Ororo?

Emma got to her feet. "I agree with them," she said coldly. "Maybe you can afford to throw away your team members, but I won't. Consider the X-men restricted from my school without an express invitation." Her eyes told Cyclops his would come at the crack of doom.

Cyclops's attention fell on Bishop. "You did this," he accused. "Did you tell her where to find him?"

"I did my job," Bishop ground out between his teeth. "I protected an X-man." He, too, turned his back on him and left.

Scott fought to take control of himself. The team was falling apart over that damned murderer. "Hank, I need you to come back to the mansion."

"I don't believe so," Hank said quietly. "I do not believe there is a place for me there. Not anymore." He broke the connection.

Silence fell over the room. Scott looked over at his remaining X-men. How had he lost control of it all so badly?

Jean's face revealed the most, even without her presence in his mind. She was bitterly disappointed in him.

Ororo stopped Bishop in the hallway. "Will you take me to Remy?" she asked him.

He didn't answer her right away. The pros and cons arranged themselves neatly in his head, the cons definitely outweighing the pros. He could find it her compound, but to just show up unannounced? Could be a disaster.

Logan stood behind her, waiting for his answer. He didn't know where Charlotte lived, and she hadn't answered the phone when he tried to call. Their growing relationship had not progressed far enough for him to feel he could made demands on her. At that moment he hated Bishop for knowing more about her than he did.

Finally, Bishop nodded. "I don't know if she'll allow us entry, but we can try. It's not going to be easy," he warned. "She's beyond angry right now that he was in need of rescue. She's as likely to slaughter us as welcome us in."

Emma strode down the stairs, her suitcase in her hand. "I've barred the X-men from the school," she said abruptly. "That does not include the three of you. If you need a place to go, you are welcomed there."

"We were discussing our plans now," Ororo said. "We will be going where Remy is." She ignored the fact they were probably not going to be allowed in. She would deal with that when the time came.

"I need to get in touch with her first," Bishop answered. "She hasn't answered her telephone this past week." Not since he called to tell her about Gambit.

"I have a direct line with her at the school. Come back with me until you can finalize your plans." She 'listened' a moment. "I believe Henry also has declined to return here. He may want to go with you."

"Thank you," Ororo said. "We will need to gather a few things together before we leave." She floated up the stairwell to her landing.

[next part]

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