The Vengeful Soul
by
Zerelda X


X-Men belong to Marvel. Charlotte belongs to me, as does the Quapoan tribe and the Torelans. Luna Foundation and its inhabitants belong to MGM/Showtime/Trilogy. No profit, no foul. Strictly for entertainment only.

Huge thanks to Michele who helped jump start me by playing Xavier!!

---

"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 base 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.

"Six 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 wince.

~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 half breed 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, even tenderly, 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 room. 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 open that one.

She picked up the phone after reading the brief message from Emma Frost 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 four 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?"

"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 was extremely horrific. I am certain he will be located very soon."

The line hummed a moment in silence.

"I noticed several 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 cannot be positive, but the circumstantial evidence is overwhelming. I spoke with Charlotte Ashcroft 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 had 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't have to deal with 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 her compound, but to just show up unannounced? That 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 that 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.

~*~*~*~*~

Logan pulled the rented van up to the end of the track and parked. He glanced into the back seat at Ororo and Hank. They were both asleep. The flight had been long, even though they had taken one of Frost Enterprises private jets. The rental van had been waiting for them, but the last leg of the journey had been the longest. Damned woman lived in the middle of nowhere.

Bishop stepped out of the passenger side and stretched. He hadn't been able to contact Charlotte; he hoped she'd notice they were out here and let them in. He wouldn't have come at all, but Storm insisted. He couldn't say no to her.

Logan joined him outside. "How long ya think she'll make us wait?" He lit a cigar.

"I'm thinking maybe forever," Charlotte's voice floated from behind them. "Yeah, forever definitely has possibilities. Or maybe just through the first snowfall. Might make some interesting snowmen. You got a reason to be here? Not one of you have been invited."

The men turned around. She approached them slowly, a twelve inch black metal dagger in her hand, late afternoon sunshine glinting off the lethal double edges of its length. She held it low and ready, as if she knew how to use it, had used it in the past. She glanced in the window at the sleeping couple. "There's nothing for you here. Go away." She turned angry, glowing eyes on Logan.

Logan had learned a lot about body language over the years. Hers told him she was furious, killing furious. He remembered that look, too. Every muscle in her body was coiled tight and ready to spring. Oh, yeah, she had Gambit here, and she was protecting him. It wouldn't take much to set her off now.

"We came to help with Gambit," Bishop told her.

She wasn't impressed and looked it.

The rookie was intimidated by her. Logan took over the explanation. "We been lookin' for Gambit, even went to find him. We couldn't stay at the mansion, Cyclops ain't wantin' us around 'cause we took up for him."

"I know what happened. I spoke to Emma and she told me you were coming. I'm still not inclined to extend an invitation." Her voice held the faint old British accent of her youth.

Ororo sat up and rubbed her eyes, spotting the three out the window. She opened the door to get out. "Remy, is he...."

"He's alive, no thanks to his family." Charlotte didn't turn around to face the other woman, but her contempt echoed loud and clear.

"Please, we must see him," Ororo reached for Charlotte's shoulder to find herself blocked by a shimmering energy field that instantly surrounded the smaller woman.

"I still haven't heard a good reason why I should allow you in my home. Hell, I haven't heard a good reason why I shouldn't fry you all where you stand." And pray for buzzards.

Ororo dropped her hand, not knowing what to say to that. Logan's eyes narrowed at the threat, it was a threat, but Bishop didn't react.

"Please," the large man asked quietly, a word that didn't cross his tongue often.

Charlotte took a deep breath and released it slowly. Logan watched her fight for control in fascination. "Okay, for now. I make no promises that you will be staying. Get back in the van." She slid the knife into the sheath on her thigh and walked to the end the the dirt road. At the very edge she stepped in between two trees...and disappeared from view.

Bishop climbed into the driver's seat, Ororo in the passenger side, and followed her in.

~Come on,~ an impatient voice chimed in Logan's head. ~You going to stand there all day?~

He moved through the trees to find her waiting for him on the other side. When he caught up to her she turned her back to him, continuing up a long gravel road. Trees lined either side for nearly a quarter mile, then opened up to a wide view of the valley, a small lake at the far end. Ahead was a large two-story house. The van pulled up to the front steps. Ororo flew out of the van and up the stairs, Hank following her.

"What was that?" he asked, looking back at the road.

"Security shields. Covers the whole area. I like my privacy from uninvited guests."

He let that one go by. "How is he?"

"How do you think he is? He's sick, half conscious, and willing himself to die." The words tasted bitter, her anger singing out loud and clear in every syllable. "Bishop tell everyone he was here?"

"No, Hank figured it out. To be honest, it was a relief." There was no trace of the warm, playful woman he'd spent a weekend with in New York the month before.

"Right." Her tone told him exactly what she thought of that.

"Ya got it wrong. We went after him soon as we found out what happened, Storm an' me. Didn't find nothin', though."

"He would have been dead by then." She started up the stairs. "No smoking inside."

She found them in the guest room, Ororo sitting by Remy on the bed, clasping his hand. Hank was checking his vitals, examining his hands and feet. Gambit's eyes were slit, his cracked and swollen lips slightly parted. Talking hurt, but his eyes spoke volumes. He was happy to see his friend. Turning away, she bumped into Bishop in the hall.

"Thank you for going after him," he said.

"There shouldn't have been a reason for anyone to go after him," she snapped. "He shouldn't have been left there." She brushed by him and entered the kitchen.

"Yer preachin' to the converted, darlin'," Logan remarked behind her.

To their surprise, she backed down, the accent fading from her voice. "I know. I've been without a sparring partner for more than a week, temper gets the best of me." She pulled open the fridge. "Beer?" Starting a fight wouldn't help now. Maybe later after the anger receded some and she was in no danger of actually killing someone.

Logan nodded his agreement. She handed him a bottle, then looked up at Bishop. She could still explode at any moment, he noted. He shook his head. "I'll patrol." He left them quickly.

"Patrol? Must be his way of saying 'I'm outta here'. One of these days I'm going to get into that boy's head," she mused, "if I ever get brave enough." She opened a soda. "Now what?"

"What?"

"You four left the team. Now what are you going to do?"

He shrugged. "Don't know. Emma wants us to come to the school an' help train the kids."

"That's a good idea. Isn't that what Xavier's school started out to be? Doesn't seem like that's going on much anymore."

"It ain't. We knew that when Cyke demanded we choose between the team an' Gumbo. Thought Gumbo was part of the team. Shouldn't be a choice."

"Damn," she breathed. She put her soda back in the fridge. "I need a real drink."

He followed her into the library, where she opened a wall cabinet to reveal a small bar. She pulled out a bottle of whisky and poured a healthy glass.

He could smell the age of the liquor. "Darlin', ya been holdin' out on the good stuff."

"Watch it, buddy, and show some respect, this stuff's older than you are." She swallowed. "You want a glass?"

He nodded. She poured him one and then took a seat on the couch, kicking off her boots and folding her legs under her. He sat at the other end.

He closed his eyes and let the liquor slide down his throat. This was good. She had expensive tastes, but they were tastes a man could appreciate.

They sat in a comfortable silence, each occupied with their own thoughts. He looked over at her to find her eyes closed. Sleep made her look even younger than she already did, even with the knife still strapped to her leg. Certainly too young to be drinking. He reached over for her glass before she spilled it, pouring the rest into his. Can't let the good stuff go to waste.

Hank poked his head into the room, then let his jaw drop as he noticed what Logan didn't, the sheer size of the library and the floor-to-ceiling shelves full of books. The room itself must have taken up more than half of the usable downstairs space. He moved into the room to peruse some of the titles. There were rare first editions of the classics, titles in every subject, even shelves of penny dreadfuls and dime novels that were popular in the last century. "Oh, my."

Logan gestured at him to be quiet, nodding to the sleep woman. Hank mimed his agreement, then motioned him outside the room.

He took a moment to ease her down on the sofa so she stretched full length. He considered taking the knife, but decided against it. She'd wake up and try to put it through his heart. Might be fun to try later. She did say she needed a combat partner.

"How's Gumbo?" Logan asked.

"Frankly, he is in better condition than I expected, given the circumstances of his ill-health. She has taken excellent care of him. It could not have been easy for her," Hank sat at the eating bar in the kitchen. "His blankets show signs of scorching, he apparently had little control of his power while unconscious. He's lucid enough at the moment, but his fever is still very high." He looked thoughtful. "I would dearly love to know how she counteracted the effects of frostbite. I do not suppose she will tell me."

"No wonder she's sleepin'," Logan said. She was completely exhausted. "What do we do now?"

"I would like to have access to my medical lab, but as that is not a possibility at the present time, we simply care for him the best way we know. She is well stocked with the more common prescription medicines." He'd taken a peek in the small room off the kitchen and found her pharmacy and first aid supplies. Some were very familiar to him, most were not. There were many bottles labeled in an unrecognized language, many packets of dried plants. She didn't just recommend sources of folk medicine to him, she practiced the concept.

"What if he really needs to go back?"

"Then we will deal with that situation at that time," Hank said firmly. "Either back to the Snow Valley school or the mansion. I am unable to fathom Cyclops's position in this matter, but I cannot believe the professor would deny Gambit medical treatment."

"That's when Xavier comes back," Logan reminded him. "Till then, Cyke's runnin' things an' he ain't bein' reasonable." Maybe he'd get to help Cyclops's see reason. Maybe.

~*~*~*~*~

"Darlin', ya got company comin'." Logan stuck his head in Remy's room where Charlotte and Hank were talking quietly.

Charlotte looked over at him, confused. Company? She got up to follow him out, Hank behind her.

She stepped out on the porch to find Bishop facing off with a group of five men. Ororo stood back out of the way, poised for a fight.

The group of men stood quietly, but Charlotte could tell they were preparing to defend themselves. All the signs were there. The magic was beginning to manifest itself, sparks shooting from their collective aura. The power of five was about to make a painful introduction.

Oh, damn. With everything that had happened lately, she'd completely forgotten. After two hundred years.

"Hold on," she called to Bishop, stepping around him to place herself directly between the charged weapon he held on them and the magic gathering itself to strike. "It's okay, they belong here."

Bishop looked doubtful, but slowly lowered the muzzle towards the ground.

The shamen relaxed. The magic faded.

Charlotte let out a breath and turned back to men.

"Grandmother," the eldest of them spoke. He wore his age and wisdom with dignity, the 74 years he'd lived left few signs on his face. His silver-gray hair was held neatly in place with a strip of leather, his dark eyes spoke of a long, full life.

`I'm sorry` she told them, taking Bear's hand. `I forgot you were coming.`

The five men, the current generation of Quapoa shamen but one, were dressed in buckskin, faces painted, hair long and unbound. On each chest a silver medallion was proudly worn, bearing the sign of the ancestor claimed and served.

Bear bowed his head in ceremonious acceptance of her apology. `It is time for the rites, Grandmother.`

`I know, the summer gathering. I have no excuse for my neglect.`

`I believe we will allow you to claim old age this once.`

She swallowed a laugh, but her eyes twinkled. Bear winked at her, holding her hand tightly. She could still see the boy he'd been in his eyes.

`Come and gather what you need,` she told him. `Raven should be here shortly.`

He moved past her towards the house, the others following behind. Each one stopped to greet her formally. They moved silently past the men on the porch into the house and to the library.

Thomas was on his way up from the basement, already attired in proper clothing and paint. He carried several items wrapped in buckskin.

`Raven,` the others greeted him. He handed each a wrapped object.

They filed back out, Thomas holding back to speak with his mother. He glanced around at the X-Men. "We'll have a lot to talk about when we're done," he commented.

"You'd better go, Raven," Charlotte answered. "I'll see you at dusk tomorrow." She reached up to touch the wing symbol on his cheek, then the raven medallion against his skin. Touching the past and future.

He rested his forehead against hers for a long moment, the way his father had done each time before the rituals, then left with the others.

Charlotte stood staring after them for a moment, then shook herself out of the mood. "While you're here," she said to the others, "don't wander over to the next valley. In fact, stay around this house."

"What is happening?" Ororo asked.

"Tomorrow is the summer solstice. They are the shamen of the Quapoa tribe. They've come for the ceremonies to renew their bonds with the magic."

Magic? Hank's brows rose as he glanced at Storm and Logan. He couldn't remember if Thomas had ever mentioned magic in their long association. Surely he would have remember that. He didn't recall Thomas ever telling him he was a shaman, either.

Charlotte looked at each one directly until she'd gotten their agreement. Bishop looked disgruntled, but he knew better than to challenge her. He grudgingly gave her a nod.

~*~*~*~*~

Charlotte, Ororo and Hank returned to Remy's room. Charlotte sighed as she took her seat again. Hank looked at her curiously.

"He is your grandchild?" he asked.

She didn't understand what he was talking about, her mind on the rites. Then it dawned on her. "The title is honorary. I've lived so long, their ancestors felt uncomfortable calling me by name, especially as they were taught to respect their elders with the title of Grandmother or Grandfather. It pretty much stuck."

"Chere..." Remy breathed the word.

They jumped up to his bedside.

"What do you need?" Hank asked him, peering into his eyes.

"Noise."

"Nothing to be worried about," Charlotte assured him, brushing his hair off his face. "Bishop made some new friends."

His mouth stretched slightly in a suggestion of a smile, but Charlotte could 'hear' his faint chuckles. "Water."

"I'll get more ice," she told him.

Hank had propped Remy up a little more in bed with an extra pillow. Ororo reached for the bowl, then sat on the bed next to him and began carefully spooning shaved ice into his mouth.

"You've corresponded with several of those men. They are some of my resources on folk medicine." Charlotte leaned against the doorway.

Hank rubbed him chin thoughtfully. "I am sure Thomas was not in the house. How did he get in without being seen?"

"Come on."

She led him down to the lower level. "I told you my father was a mutant and my mother was an alien, a race called the Torel. They were a technologically advanced civilization, even then."

"Space travel does tend to suggest intelligence."

"True, but lengthy space voyages weren't the preferred method of travel for them." She flipped on a light in a small room. He tried to follow her, but a force field bounced him back. "Sorry about that," she tapped on the keyboard at the controls. "Try it now."

He entered, frowning at the doorway. Then the device in the corner caught his attention. A large flat disk, made of the same black metal she wore around her neck and carried as weapons, about four feet in diameter lay on the floor. The control board sat in another corner. "What is it?" He moved closer for a better look.

"It's a transport gate. I think my mother used it to go back and forth to her home planet, but at some point she altered it to operate on this planet alone. I use it to get around. I do live in the middle of nowhere here."

"This is the method you employed to retrieve Gambit?"

"Bishop called me with his last known coordinates and I gated down to bring him back."

"It is capable of transferring more than one person?"

"It's worked so far." She picked up a belt. "It's a one-way trip, so I use a homing device to get back. The gate is bio-locked, just like the doorway, only myself or Thomas can actually operate it."

"We have teams who use teleportation devices, we've even had members who could teleport themselves," he said, looking over the control panel. "The X-Men have not employed such a mode of transportation."

She nodded. "I know. I keep this one very low profile. I didn't want any outsiders trying to steal it. The entire valley and the next are shielded with Torelan technology. That's why the 'paths couldn't find Remy. The field completely camouflages everything inside. It's rather handy."

"I would imagine so," Hank agreed thoughtfully. "About the power source-"

~*~*~*~*~

Later that evening Charlotte walked up from the lake, using time alone to bring her anger under control. The solicitude they were showing worked her nerves. She knew they genuinely cared about Remy, but it still grated. Left to die an ice wasteland. It was cruel beyond anything.

She spotted Logan on the porch. As angry as she was, she felt better with him nearby. 'My soul will find yours.'

She smiled slightly as she mounted the steps.

"Have a seat," Logan patted the space next to him on the glider. "Beer?"

"No, thanks, not much of a beer drinker. I keep it on hand for the boys." She sat down and leaned back, stretching her legs out. "What a day." He was certainly making himself at home. "Emma told me about the showdown at the Xavier corral, but I think she gave me the made-for-TV version. What happened?"

Logan puffed on his cigar for a moment, collecting his thoughts, wondering how much to tell her. "Ya gotta understand, Gambit ain't liked too well by some of the team. He's secretive, an' his attitude rubs some the wrong way. He an' Storm used to run together in New Orleans, she won't hear anythin' wrong 'bout him."

"It seems that he has no problem getting along with the women on the team," Charlotte mused. "It's just the men."

"Mebbe so. He an' Rogue spark off each other, too much sometimes. When they were in Antarctica an' the Marauders put him on trial, she kissed him an' absorbed his mem'ries, found out 'bout him bein' with the Marauders an' the Morlock massacre. Kid's got blood on his hands. It was too much for her, she flew off an' left him there."

"Blood on his hands? You're kidding, right? Is there one person on your team who isn't covered in blood?"

"No, but when ya don't like a man, ya use anythin' ya can to get rid of him. Cyke an' Angel don't like him, they think he's the traitor Bishop came here to kill."

"He's not a traitor."

"We don't know that."

"I know it. I've been in his head for the last week, I know he's not a traitor."

"How can ya be so sure?"

"Have you ever looked at a painting," she said slowly, "and suddenly you're able to see into the picture, past the streaks of paint and brushstrokes, right into the soul of the artist? It's like you've peeled back the layers of perception down to the bare bones and you see it all so clearly. In that one moment you see the answer."

"What answer?"

"To the question it's asking you. I've been in museums around the world. I've never failed to see at least one person staring at a painting or an object and you know, just know, they've found that answer. Sometimes it's enough to change their perception of their own world."

"It's a great deal more profound when you look at a person and see through all the layers we build up to protect ourselves and find their soul. You know them, intimately. Not the facts or circumstances of their lives, but their feelings, their convictions, their own morality. It wasn't just the mind link. I looked into him and I knew. He is not your traitor." *Just like I looked into you and found my soul.*

"The rest of us ain't got that option." He caught that last thought from her. He couldn't tell if it was deliberately sent or not, but made him feel good.

"Then why are you here?" She turned in her seat to face him, tucking her leg under her. Her knee brushed his thigh.

"I know what's happenin' now ain't fair to Gambit. Cyke's outta control, an' he ain't got the right to judge him. 'Course, Cyke don't like me much, either. Don't believe the kid was in his right mind during the massacre, he tried to save them. Sinister was experimentin' on him. He's free of it now, an' I trust him as much as I can trust anyone. He ain't gonna be able to defend himself till he's back on his feet." He finished his beer. "It came down to a choice. Follow Cyke's new order an' ignore Gambit, or leave. We left."

"Will you go back?" *Do you want to go back?*

He shrugged. "Don't know. Mebbe when things cool down. Hank'll go back, once he gets over being mad an' Gambit's recovered. Storm, too. They got too much history with the X-Men to stay gone. Bishop'll go back, he ain't finished the job he came here to do yet." He glanced over at her. "You afraid we're here to stay?" He meant himself.

She laughed softly. "No. That's the last thing I'm worried about. Company is nice, once I got over that kill 'em all now and sort out the details later moment on the road earlier. Guess I've been alone too long this time."

"How long ya lived here?"

"On and off, about 200 years. I moved here and bonded to Thomas' father Raven in 1798."

"He's a mutant?" He'd never gotten around to asking before.

She shook her head. "He has an extended lifespan, but he doesn't carry the X factor. Just as well, that could have really complicated his life."

"What's he do?" He debated whether to have another beer or not, then decided against it. He'd have to get up and go get one, and he was loath to break the mood they'd fallen into. It was...nice, peaceful.

"He's a consultant for the Luna Foundation in San Francisco."

"Never heard of 'em."

"They don't make the news too often. The group specializes in unexplained phenomenon, primarily supernatural in nature."

"Like ghosts?" His voice sounded skeptical.

"Like ghosts. All the shamen are magicians. They come in handy."

He did realized there were six men somewhere nearby performing a ceremony for magic, but he still had a problem accepting the concept. If he couldn't hold it, smell it or taste it, he doubted it. "Yeah, sure."

She grinned, she liked this part, then whispered a few unintelligible words, rubbing her fingertips together lightly. He heard a faint 'whoosh', then a ribbon of fire licked her fingers. He reached out to touch, only to be burned before the flames were gone.

Logan took her hand in his, examining it closely. He could smell the odor of smoke and something more, but no other sign. "That could've been a trick." The smoke dissipated quickly, all that was left was the scent of her soap and the natural musk of her skin. He didn't release her hand.

"Could've," she agreed, "but it's not. The Quapoa practice magic, the members were much sought after as healers and protectors. Raven was also a shaman and he taught me a few spells. They do come in handy. I never have to worry about having matches." She didn't pull her hand back. His large hand felt warm and safe wrapped around hers.

"Didn't ya call Thomas Raven earlier?"

Her voice softened. "The title is hereditary. Legends say the Quapoa tribe is descended from six magical creatures: Raven, Crow, Bear, Wolf, Coyote and Fox. It's passed from father to son, or grandson."

She reached out with her other hand and lightly touched his cheek, turning his face to hers, effortlessly drinking in the emotions eddying through his mind. Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to his, her eyes meeting his, waiting for a response.

He didn't move for a long moment, just feeling the softness of her mouth against his, watching her eyes glow a bit. When her mouth moved slightly under his, he took possession, pulling her into his lap. He moved his hands to hold her face, deepening the kiss, tasting her. Her eyes closed, but not before he saw the amber gold blaze. Her arms wrapped around his neck.

Then, just as quickly, it was over. Her forehead rested against his, her body intimately pressed against him. Then her good sense took over. She laughed a little as she untangled herself from his arms and stood up, moving away.

"What a day," she shook her head ruefully. "I've managed to swing from thoughts of scalping to seducing the.....that thought's better left alone. I think it's time I stayed out of trouble and went to bed. I'm sorry." She gave him a half smile and headed through the front door.

"Don't apologize, darlin'," Logan said softly. "I'm not." Not sorry at all. Damn woman.

~*~*~*~*~

Logan descended the stairs early the next morning in time to catch sight of Charlotte leaving the house. He watched her from a window heading down towards the lake. She disappeared quickly through the trees.

He checked Remy's room first, finding Ororo sitting with him. She raised her head from the book in her lap and smiled.

"Good morning, Logan."

"Mornin'. How's he doin'?"

"Better now. Henry said he had a difficult night." She rested her eyes on Remy fondly while he slept. "He wore himself down."

"Ya want me to sit with him now? Ya go get some sleep."

"I did sleep. I relieved Henry and Charlotte a little while ago. Henry has gone to bed and I believe she said something about exercise. Perhaps later."

He nodded and left her.

Stepping out on the porch with a cup of coffee, he looked over the area. From this vantage point he could see nearly the entire valley and part of the lake. The morning was fresh, still. Surrounding the whole were the silent giants, the huge trees that had never known a logger's presence. It was easy to believe that the outside world didn't exist.

He finished his coffee and left the cup on the porch railing. He was going to find Charlotte.

~*~*~*~*~

Towards the water he heard a strange sort of music, almost like wind song. He followed it, letting the sounds draw him closer.

Stepping into a small clearing he found her. She was dressed in black, tight fitting leggings and shirt, her hair braided and twisted around her head. In her hands she held a sword.

The song came from the sword, as she swung and circled it around her body in stretching exercises. The early morning light glinted off the blade. She handled it easily, the weapon an extension of her body. She moved cleanly, her motions almost lyrical.

He watched her for a long while, admiring her form, her manipulation of the blade. He'd seen very few with the confidence to handle such a weapon in his lifetime. Her skill was on par with Betsy's; he wondered briefly how they would fare against each other.

He moved around the open area silently to face her. Her eyes were closed, her concentration focused on the task at hand. He could clearly see the killer in her now, in every line and muscle that responded exactly as she commanded.

As quiet as he was, her attention shifted to him. Her hands kept moving, but her eyes opened and looked straight into his. The hunter in him became the hunted when the killer lurking behind her eyes focused on him. He felt vaguely uneasy, even as he admired her skill.

Taking a soft breath, she shifted her stance and began swinging the blade in loose, one-handed circles, the sword dancing around her body in ever tightening arcs, her eyes not leaving his, drawing him into the blade dance with her.

Ten yards away he felt the blade coming closer, the sharp edge skating just over his skin. He felt the hilt in his hand, the total mind focus, smelled the leather and sweat.

She shifted the grip to the other hand, the dance halting abruptly, the sword held downward in her grasp, offering him the hilt. Offering him her soul.

After a long moment he stepped forward, not taking his eyes from hers. He understood now. This was the killer, not the woman they met on the road. This woman would slaughter without a word. There was no anger in her now, no distraction. A born predator, this Charlotte would not be goaded into foolish action. This woman didn't need words to articulate her intentions or deal with her fury.

This Charlotte he met in Austria.

He took the sword and stepped back. Her eyes blinked, then a slow smile crossed her face. "Morning."

"Mornin'," he told her quietly. "Quite a show, darlin'."

She picked up a towel from the ground next to her, wiping the sweat from her face and neck. "Just keeping in practice. Never know when you might find yourself in a situation calling for extreme force." She shot him a look. "Want to practice with me?"

He looked down at the weapon in his hand. It was a broadsword, with a cross hilt and a leather-covered grip, the raven symbol etched into the hilt. The double-edged blade was honed to a lethal sheen. "Mebbe another time." She sounded like she expected to find herself in one tomorrow, even hoped for it.

Charlotte shrugged. "Okay." She took the sword from him and re-sheathed it in a scabbard she picked up from the ground, swinging it over her shoulder. "Come on."

They walked leisurely down towards the lake, the utter stillness of the valley surrounding them. He watched her out of the corner of his eye. She moved easily, as though her centuries here had allowed her to absorb the very essence of the forest. She belonged here, it was a part of her. She made him feel old and out of place.

Charlotte took a seat on a rock by the water's edge, slipping the sword over her head and resting it against the rock by her side. He stood a ways from her, still faintly uneasy and drawn to this side of her persona, all at once.

"I don't remember Indians ever usin' swords," he said.

"I couldn't speak for them all, but I didn't learn from the tribe. Picked it up just after the turn of the century, both Thomas and I learned. Raven taught me to fight with a knife, among other things." She smiled with the thought of 'other things.'

"'Ro said you were up with Gambit again last night."

"Hank got me just before midnight to help calm him down." Remy had charged the bedclothes again. The nights were the worst for him. She might have gotten him back alive, but the battle for his life was proving harder to win.

"How come no one woke me up?"

"Didn't realize you'd want to be part of the party. There didn't seem to be much point for everyone to be awake. We let you and Ororo sleep so we could get some rest later."

"You ain't restin' now."

"I'm still working on my anger." Her hand briefly touch the sword at her side. There was still a lot of rage inside, rage against the one who left Jean-Luc's child to die.

~*~*~*~*~

Thomas reappeared after dusk, his face shadowed and exhausted, but peaceful. He nodded to his mother than turned to Hank. "We are extending an invitation to you, Logan and Bishop to join us for dinner."

Hank looked pleased. "I am unable to speak for the others, but I gladly accept."

Logan agreed to go, along with Bishop.

Charlotte and Ororo were left looking at each other over the kitchen counter.

"A male-only gathering?" Ororo commented with a lifted brow.

"It's traditional. Women's Lib has no place here." Although outsiders weren't generally welcome, either. What was going on? "It'll give us a chance to talk."

"I haven't thanked you for what you've done for Remy and for letting us stay here."

"Please don't thank me."

Ororo gave her a questioning look.

"Let's go sit in the library."

Ororo took a seat in a chair to the side of the fireplace. Logan had started a fire to ward off the chill that followed the sunset. She looked up at the painting over the mantle. "Is that your son?"

Charlotte smiled wistfully. "No. That's Raven, Thomas's father."

Ororo examined it carefully. His face was dignified, handsome; the face of a man who knew life intimately and was content. His hair showed some traces of gray at the temples, his eyes a liquid black. It was clear that whoever painted this portrait did so with a great deal of love.

"Thomas does bear a remarkable resemblance to him."

"Both in his appearance and his temperament. He was a very good bondmate."

"I didn't realize you had been married."

"It was a long time ago."

"What is it like to live three centuries?" Ororo sat back down, accepting a glass of port from Charlotte.

Charlotte took the chair on the other side. "It's had its rewards."

Ororo looked down at her glass. Perhaps her question had been too personal.

"Living a long life when those around you don't is a very special cruelty. It seems I'm always saying good-bye to someone I love, either in death, or before they notice I'm different. It hurts."

"On the other hand, I've been able to pursue my interests to my heart's content. I've had to give some things up," her eyes rested on the portrait, "but I gain as well as lose. I have the unique pleasure of having my son as my friend, something more parents and children should experience. I have been able to travel to every place that interests me."

"It sounds like a wonderful gift."

"It does, and it can be at times, but it's very lonely." Charlotte said. "I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy."

~*~*~*~*~

Thomas led them through the pass to the next valley. The village was still there, just as it was the last time any of the tribe lived there. It was now a meeting place for their bi-yearly gatherings. A place of tradition, where the magic seemed to seep up through the ground and shimmer on shafts of sunlight through the trees. The cluster of lodge dwellings were quiet, save for the large building in the middle of the compound.

Far from the solemn attitudes they'd arrived with, the group was rather jovial. Now that the rites were successfully executed and their pact with the magic renewed they celebrated.

They'd all stripped down to brief loin clothes, even the oldest among them who put men a third his age to shame. As a race, the Quapoan men were tall, lean-hipped and broad shoulders, thick with muscle that spoke of active, vibrant lifestyles. These men were the among the finest examples of manhood produced by any race on earth.

Thomas pulled off his clothes and accepted an earthenware bowl, drinking deeply from it. He offered it to Hank.

Hank took it, giving it a careful look. "What is this?" he asked.

"Honeyed wine."

Hank took a breath, and drank. He handed it back, then his eyes widen and he shuddered. "That's wine?" he gasped, as the fiery after-effect danced along his nerve endings in exquisite pain.

They all laughed. "A very potent wine," one of the shaman answered.

"Pass that over," Logan said, his eyes glinting with interest.

Bishop sat back out of the way, watching the others. He'd refused the wine, preferring to keep a steady head. They all seemed quite happy, eating, drinking, laughing easily. Logan and Hank fell into the spirit of the gathering rapidly, both wearing nothing but their boxers.

While Logan seemed eerily at home within the group, Hank's Xena boxers did nothing to elevate the conversation of the members. Bear asked him where he got them, the elder a huge fan of the sword wielding female. Hank promised to send him a pair from the store where he purchased them. Bishop knew it would be up to him to remind Hank of his promise, the wine going immediately to the large mutant's head. He seriously doubted Beast's chances at remembering his own name by morning.

Logan fared only a little better with the alcohol. It was fast overcoming his healing factor, would outstrip it soon enough. A nasty little devil in Bishop hoped the older man would experience something of a hangover before the effects were negated.

He noticed each of the Quapoan men speak to Logan individually, questioning him about himself, pressing more wine and food on him. His suspicious nature frowned, the nasty little devil relegated to the dust bin, for the moment. He took Thomas aside at one point and asked him why.

Thomas motioned him outside the lodge where the air was clear and the laughter not so loud.

"Why wouldn't they want to know more about him?" he responded. "They know he's Charlotte's chosen, even if he's not wearing the bonding medallion now. It's a matter of time before he will be again. My father has been dead for nearly 150 years, but she is still a shaman's woman and subject to certain rules and conditions. Every man in there has a stake in this, and before the bonding is complete every shaman will have to agree to the marriage."

Bishop scowled. A wave of ribald guffaws from the lodge grew louder.

"She's not just another woman here. She is the reason we still have our history, our culture, the reason we can still practice our faith. Do you realize we may be the only tribe left that still has possession of our ancestral home? She staked the land early in this country's history, then shielded it to hide from speculators and land barons. She's held the land in an unspoken trust until the laws changed and I was able take possession."

"We take care of our own. It is important those men in there like and respect Logan."

"And if they don't?"

"Then he'll have to fight for her, if he wants her badly enough." Inside, singing started. Incredibly, Bishop heard Logan's gruff voice raised in a bawdy drinking song. "I don't believe acceptance will be a problem," Thomas concluded. "I invited him here now so they could inspect him. He's not what they expected, but he is her choice. They will make allowances for him."

~*~*~*~*~

Near the early dawn, Storm was awakened by something large and heavy hitting the front door. She looked over at Charlotte, who dozed in the chair on the other side of Remy. She had Remy's hand in hers, having fallen asleep while comforting him through a restless period. Remy had clutched her hand tightly, Ororo could see faint traces of bruising along the exposed portion of Charlotte's hand, corresponding marks to her own.

She sat up and rubbed her eyes, the movement stirring Charlotte, who yawned. They both bent over Remy. He was sleeping quietly now, his breathing still faintly raspy and shallow.

"I thought I heard someone outside," Ororo said.

"Did the men come back?" Come to think of it, the men didn't show up all night. She thought perhaps they'd bedded down with the others at the lodge.

Curiosity got the better of them. They walked out to peek at the front porch.

Logan and Hank were both sound asleep, snoring heavily. They were still dressed in only their underwear, dropped in heaps on her front porch. Bishop was nowhere to be seen.

"This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity," Charlotte told Ororo. "Believe me, when those come around, you don't pass 'em up." Blackmail potential. She could smell it, along with the odor of stale smoke, just like Coyote's special blend, and drunken male flesh.

She stepped into the library and came back with a camera. "Every special occasion should be marked with a picture and blown up to poster size."

A small smile crossed Ororo's face. "That would be most unkind."

"I make it a practice to be unkind as often as possible. Especially when I see Xena underwear on a furry blue butt."

~*~*~*~*~

Remy's fever shot up to a dangerous level that night. He thrashed in his bed, despite the mind link Charlotte forced on him. Bishop and Logan held him down while Hank tried to cool him off with ice. The remedies they'd tried weren't working with his physiology. They repeatedly bathed him in the melted-snow water of the lake, but to no avail.

"If only we were back in my lab," Hank gritted between his teeth. A hospital would be the next choice. Maybe with an extra bed for himself, the hangover was killing him. He'd never take another drink as long as he lived unless he poured it himself. Maybe bottled it himself, too.

"It'd take too long to get him back," Logan said.

"Hank, if you can get him quiet enough for the trip, I'll take him back," Charlotte said. She sat in a chair behind the bed they'd pulled out from the wall. She had both hands on Remy's head, trying to ever so gently force her will on his rampaging mind without damaging him. It was all she could do to keep him from charging the bed itself.

"I don't know how you kept him quiet up to now," Hank wondered aloud.

"I crawled in bed with him and held him close," Charlotte answered absently, concentrating on her task. "Calms most men down pretty quick. Works for snoring, too."

Remy's eyes rolled open and fixated on Ororo next to him. "Stormy, it's s' hot."

"We are going to take you to the med lab," Storm told him, wiping his face with a cold towel. "You must be quiet."

He nodded as though he understood her words, glassy eyes glowing red and black.

"Storm, call the mansion, please, and tell them we're on our way," Hank wrapped the sheet around Remy's naked body. The heat poured off him in waves. He coughed weakly, unable to get air into his lungs.

"What arrival time should I tell them? Should they send the Blackbird?"

"Tell them about five minutes, no bird," Charlotte answered.

Storm's eyes widened, but she disappeared to the kitchen.

Charlotte used a few precious minutes and gave his mind one last careful push, then let go. Hank lifted him up.

Bishop took Remy from Hank. "I am more accustomed to the transfer," he explained briefly. Logan gave them both an inquiring look. He didn't like secrets, and Bishop was turning out to have more than his fair share.

Storm set the phone back down as they passed her. "Jean said all clear. Scott is not currently on the estate. She will be waiting for us."

Charlotte led the way to the gate room, stopping briefly to strap on the weapon she'd worn to greet them on the road. She disabled the bio-lock to let them in.

"We can't all go. Maybe someone will stay behind?"

Every face looked at her in harsh determination. She let out a sigh. No one wanted to cooperate at all. She was fast regretting the impulse that let them stay.

She wrapped a homing belt around Bishop's thick upper arm and motioned him onto the gate platform. Hank joined them along with Storm. They were gone in a flash of light.

"Darlin', ya got lots of explainin' to do," Logan drawled.

She fastened another homing belt around her waist. "Sez you and what army, babe?" She grinned at him. The prospect of a fight lit her eyes from the inside.

He grinned back, then swept her up in his arms, kissing her hard, and carried her to the gate.

When she broke the kiss and opened her eyes, they were on the mansion grounds. Hank and Bishop were disappearing through the front door with Remy, Storm and Jean right behind them.

Charlotte pulled away and ran after them.

~*~*~*~*~

Hank had Remy on the examination table, attaching sensors and turning the equipment on. Even his headache seemed to subside a bit inside his familiar environment. Now he didn't feel so helpless.

Charlotte pushed past Bishop and the women, putting a hand on Remy's forehead. "He's charging," she said shortly, taking both his hands in hers, absorbing the energy. The Cajun fought her, squeezing her fingers in his stronger grip, but she held on, drawing the power from him.

Hank prepared a hypodermic and injected the patient. He went limp, his hold on her hands slackened.

She released him and flexed her fingers, wincing a little. "That hurt." She brushed his hair off his face with a tender gesture. "Anything I can do, Hank?"

"Not now."

"Okay. I'd better step outside and fire this charge before I do something foolish." She turned around and came face to face with Warren. "Too late."

Warren stood at the doorway, a heavy scowl on his face. "Is he-"

"No, he's still alive. Sorry about that." Charlotte's voice cut through the sudden tension. One hand rested on the hilt of her dagger. "You here to finish the job?"

"Maybe I will."

"Maybe you'll deal with me." The air crackled around her with suppressed fury. She looked happy at the challenge, hungry for it.

Bishop jerked Charlotte up and over his shoulder, catching her unawares, and carried her out of the lab and down the hall, her curses ringing in his ears. He took the elevator down one floor to the Danger room. He slipped her knife from its sheath, tossed her inside and ducked out of the way, the doors locking automatically behind him. She must have jumped after him, he heard her body hit the doors.

In the control room, he looked down at her yelling at him. From past experience he knew carrying around the extra energy was causing her to behave aggressively. At least she was yelling. It was when she stopped that she was at her most dangerous. Warren presented a convenient, all too eager target.

"What's goin' on?" Logan entered behind him. He arrived in time to hear her berate Bishop all the way down the hall.

"Trying to avoid trouble," Bishop muttered. "She took a charge from Gambit, it's making her crazy. She's got to let it out. Any suggestions on a fight program?"

"I'll go in," Logan said, his eyes lighting up. "Just give us a little privacy." He'd been wanting to see her fight since yesterday morning when he found her practicing. Wanted to see how good she really was.

Bishop waited until Logan entered the Danger room, hearing her scream in a multitude of languages, then the sound of a body hitting the floor. He engaged the privacy protocols and left them to it.

"What did you do with her?" Hank asked when he returned to the med lab. Warren had been ordered to leave, mumbling words about traitors.

"She is occupied in releasing the charge. She has a tendency to become more aggressive when she has a surplus of energy, particularly in an emotional situation."

Betsy joined the group gathered around the bed. "Will he be all right?" Warren glared at them from the doorway, but knew better than to try anything with the women around. Not on a bet would he tempt the fury of an X-woman. Not when each one of the three surrounding the murderer's bed could take him apart and reassemble him in new and interesting ways.

"Yes. Charlotte kept him alive this long, we're not going to lose him now."

"She seems very passionate about his safety," Betsy commented.

"She does appear to be very overprotective of Remy," Hank mused. "Why is that, Bishop?"

"She has her reasons." Her odd notions of family.

~*~*~*~*~

Charlotte fell back, panting hard, from a blow to her mid-section, barely avoiding the full impact. Logan was pulling his punches, she thought irritably, her eyes narrowing. Time to change the tune, maybe show him some Indian wrestling, the old-fashioned Quapoan way. Just like Raven taught her. Cover and attack.

She heard Raven's voice in her head. When hard pressed in battle, confuse your enemy.

Logan watched her move to her feet, fluid, graceful. She'd been running on pure heat and adrenaline for the last hour, striking wildly, but with a fair accuracy. She had moves and techniques that he'd never seen before. She made him struggle at this, work at not seriously hurting her. He wondered if she brought the same intensity to everything she did. He certainly hoped so.

Then her scent changed, the way she moved changed. The look in her eyes focused on him for the first time and not her anger. She began chanting softly, he could barely hear the sounds of the words.

Instead of leaping for him, she circled around him, moving like she did in the forest at home. Almost like he was her prey. It suddenly tickled him to be the one hunted. Kicked his libido up a few thousand notches, too, in response to the female predator emerging inside her.

Charlotte automatically noted the change in his attitude, the aggressive male coming into heat in response to her unspoken invitation. In a few steps, she shielded herself. A few more and she disappeared from his view, using the magic to hide completely, the medallion glowing hotly against her skin before it too was gone. Confuse, cover and attack.

He could still feel her, she couldn't hide from his senses. The air around them thickened, he could almost hear the rough purr in her breathing before that was gone as well.

A soft touch stroked his lower lip. He snapped at it, growling. More touches, the side of his face, his chest, across his ribs and stomach, hip and thigh, senses that were already heightened in the fight now sparked into passion. He made a grab for her and missed, the momentum taking him forward in a roll.

Logan jumped back to his feet, remembering belatedly Thomas once saying she didn't fight fair. Two could play this game, if he could ignore the clamoring of his body long enough to act out his part. He stood still, feet planted apart, head lowered and shoulders hunched slightly. He waited. He didn't have long to wait.

A hand traced a line from his ear down his chest to the waistband of his pants. His muscles tensed, but he didn't move. His shirt was pulled free, the buttons popping off. Then her hands caressed his skin. He still couldn't see her, but he felt her. He closed his eyes, they weren't much help at the moment, and tried opening his mind to hers.

The psychic feedback slammed into him hard, his whole body jerking back with the force of her emotions whiplashing through his soul, hitting the wall and sliding down to rest on the floor. He gritted his teeth against the wave of lust that encompassed him, a distinct 'alien' feel to it. Then he realized it was her bloodlust he felt, bloodlust that had altered into intense sexual hunger, wholly feminine and unfamiliar to him.

She lost her cover at the sudden release of emotion, becoming visible as she fell back from him. With the release and the resulting explosion of her senses, she could do nothing more than lie on the floor and struggle to bring herself back under control, her breathing ragged and harsh.

After long minutes spent in comparative silence, the sounds of labored breathing surrounding them, Charlotte slowly moved herself into a sitting position. She looked at Logan looking at her and offered a half smile. "Next time we try this with swords, 'kay?"

He found it in him to chuckle at her hopeful words. "Nah. Next time we do this," he crawled over to straddle her body between his arms and legs, forcing her back down, "we'll do it in a more private place, darlin'." He leaned down to cover her mouth with his, kissing her thoroughly. She didn't bother to agree or disagree, just wind her arms around his neck and returned his embrace. Too bad it wasn't more private.

~*~*~*~*~

Charlotte strode back into the lab in her disheveled state, ignoring the looks the others gave her. She'd taken Logan's shirt to cover the rips and tears he'd put in hers. Hank's eyes roamed over her several times before he cleared his throat.

"I take it you managed to release the extra energy?" he asked wryly.

"Yeah," she answered offhandedly. "You should see the other guy." She brushed her hand over Remy's forehead. "He's cooler, resting easier. When will he be ready to travel, Doctor?"

Bishop stood scowling in the doorway, but he handed over her knife at a level look from her. She resheathed it, giving him a warning glare, telling him without a word what would happen the next time he took her weapon.

"Isn't that Logan's shirt?" Jean asked. Charlotte turned her gaze on the redhead. "What I meant to say was that the professor will be here tomorrow. If you would stay the night, we can get all this straightened out." Jean was embarrassed at the personal question that came out of her mouth. It was none of her business.

"I think it is a good idea," Storm added.

"Fine, you stay. I'm taking Remy back as soon as he's fit to move."

"You cannot do that," Storm told her, slight commanding tone to her voice.

"The hell I can't." A hand on her weapon indicated her willingness to put Ororo to the test. "This team already threw him out and I found him. Makes him my responsibility." And she thought that fight released all her stomp 'em urges. She found one more inside just aching to get out and crash on someone getting in her way.

"Why are you so attached to him," Jean asked Charlotte. She got the sense of something else here, something beyond the ordinary consideration one might expect from a relative stranger.

"It's personal. Family business."

~*~*~*~*~

After standing under the sharp spray of cold water for a good ten minutes, Charlotte finally turned on the hot, trying to ease the aches and pains of combat, not that it had been all that strenuous. And what had it gotten her? Emotional release, sure, but she was still physically wound up. Maybe a few more rounds with Logan. This time try a few of the wrestling holds she'd learned. 'No, stop that,' she told herself roughly, 'you want to lose.'

She stepped out of the shower and wrapping a towel around her hair. She looked around for a second towel, couldn't find one, then shrugged. It was summertime, she'd dry soon enough.

In the guest room Logan sat by the open window, a lit cigar between his teeth. He was gazing out at the night sky.

She found him there, uninvited, but shrugged that off too. "You didn't happen to bring an extra towel with you, did you?"

He swung around to find her standing behind him. "Nah, but ya can sit on my lap an' I'll help ya dry off."

"Pass." She slipped on the light shirt and shorts Jean loaned her wet. "I could've sworn I locked that door. You always sneak up on women in the shower? There are easier ways to get a date this century, or so I've heard."

He didn't rise to the bait, although she was tempting him to do just that. "What did ya mean by 'family'?"

She didn't pretend to misunderstand him. "Just what I said. Jean-Luc is an old friend of mine. When you've buried as many as I have, you treasure the ones that are still around, including their children." She sat in the chair across from him. "I remember him as child. Beautiful, charming boy. Jean-Luc was so sure he'd be running the Guild some day." She smiled at the memory. "Every time he got caught, he'd flash that smile and charm his way out of trouble. I'm surprised Henri didn't hate him for stealing the spotlight." Though he had been resentful in his younger years.

"That's why ya went after him?"

"I would have gone after any of you, not just him." Her eyes flashed a warning. "I must admit it does have a certain balance, though. Some elements of my life just keep popping up at the most unexpected times."

"What now?"

"Well, I'm kinda hungry. Expending a lot of energy does that to a person."

He stubbed his cigar out and got to his feet. "I mean, are ya goin' back now?" He reached for her and pulling her into his arms. He kissed her neck, nibbling on the warm damp skin.

The feel of his teeth sent a shiver down her spine and she moved her neck to give him more access. Her eyes unfocused, then she pulled away before he turned her into a mindless lump of jello.

Purple Jell-o.

Purple Rain.

Purple Passion.

Purple People Eater.

....it was a one-eyed, one horn, flyin'.....

'Shut up!' she ordered herself, the strain of unresolved tension twisting inside her. Too much, too fast, it was making her silly. In another minute she'd be giggling. Giggling! Like a damned kid. 'Help, someone!'

"I'm going back with Remy, as soon as Hank gives the go ahead." She rubbed her hair with the towel, then twisted the damp mass back out of the way. "If you, Storm and Hank want to stay, fine by me. I might hurt someone if I stay." 'Or I just might make a huge fool of myself.' Which would be worse? Toss-up.

"Ya won't."

"People around here are begging for it, I would be impolite to refuse the invitation. Question is, do I do this one at a time, or all at once?"

His eyes narrowed. "Ain't gonna be no fightin' here."

"There's always a fight, one way or another." She backed him up against the wall. "Just have to decide which way it's gonna be," her voice lowered to a whisper against his mouth. She leaned in, barely touching her lips to his, pressing her body against his. His body tensed. "Who it's gonna be with," she ran her tongue over his lips, "and how much fun I want to make it for my opponent."

He groaned when she sucked his lower lip between her teeth, growled when she bit down hard, drawing blood. His head swam when she licked the red drops from him. His eyes closed.

Then she was gone, out the door and down the hall.

'Preciate ya tryin' to make it interestin' darlin' but it ain't necessary,' he thought, taking a calming breath. 'Ain't necessary at all.' Round Two had just begun.

~*~*~*~*~

The kitchen was deserted when she entered. She opened the huge refridgerator. "So, how do you tell what belongs to who?" she asked aloud.

Before the silence could answer back, Jean came in. "I thought I heard you in here. I saved some dinner for you and Logan. I'll heat it up."

In a few minutes, she set a plate of pasta set in front of her. She sat across from Charlotte, clearly attempting to say something. Charlotte debated whether or not to open that particular can of worms, then decided to go ahead. This was the day for foolish actions. What was one or two more? ~Something on your mind?~

Jean looked startled. She was trying to find a tactful way of broaching the subject again. ~We still want you to stay until Professor Xavier gets back tomorrow.~

~Who's we?~

~You're right, just me and Storm. I'm sure the professor can help us settle this so we can start rebuilding the team.~

~You put a lot of faith in Xavier. Maybe he can't salvage this situation. You can't just wave a wand and make it all disappear. It's not that easy. If it was, I would have tried it decades ago.~ Didn't these people ever make a move without approval from above? One that didn't involve passing sentence on a team member?

Jean didn't answer.

Gods, was she just losing her will, or was there a reason behind all this? Maybe it was her turn to be the deities' little private joke this year. ~I have one condition.~ 'Damn, can't you keep your mouth shut, or you want a rematch? Got some more issues you want to pound out of someone? Maybe.'

~As long as it doesn't compromise the team.~

~You've all done that already, there's nothing left I could do on that one.~ The look on Jean's face shamed her. Jean genuinely cared about Remy. Charlotte knew she had no right to keep up the sarcasm. Jean didn't deserve it. It wasn't a hard request. She could gate out of here at any moment. ~I psi-lock the lab door. No one goes in or out unless I approve. I'll spend the night in there with him.~

~No one will hurt him.~

~Warren's here, isn't he? And he's aching for a chance at Remy. You might mention to him if he can't control his impulses I'm in the market for a new feather pillow.~

"You two knock it off and talk out loud," Logan grumbled as he entered. He gave Charlotte a disgruntled 'we're not done yet' look and sat down with the two women.

Charlotte didn't pay attention to him. She looked at Jean, waiting for an answer.

She really couldn't see any other way. At least the other woman could be reasonable. Jean nodded. "All right. Whatever you want."

~*~*~*~*~

Remy stirred restlessly, eyes blinking in confusion. A soft moan passed his lips. "Stormy?" He looked up at the face that appeared in his field of vision. "Charlotte?"

"Got it right that time," she said, brushing his hair off his forehead. "How you feel?"

"Better, I t'ink. Water."

"Good. Had to bring you back to the mansion, you were getting out of control. Hank thought it would be best." She held a cup for him, mopping up his chin when it spilled.

"De team --"

"They're not all here right now, so don't worry. No one's going to bother you."

"Wolverine say you protect me."

"Yep. It's an old Quapoan tradition. If you save someone's life, you are responsible for them. Personally, I never put much stock in that, people can live a hell of a long time." She smiled at him. "Besides, you're not that much trouble."

"Sorry, chere." He was trouble everywhere he went.

"Don't be sorry." She settled back down in her chair and took his free hand, the other had the IV Hank inserted earlier when he calmed down.

"Why? You never told me why you helped me?"

"Let me tell you a story."

He closed his eyes, too tired to feel frustrated that she didn't answer him again.

"Once upon a time, a relatively young woman embarked on a journey to a magical city to visit friends. They were very special friends. She'd made their acquaintance some years before when she was sent by the ambitious overlord for special instruction in the art of covert appropriation.

While she was in the magical city, a young boy attempted to steal her wallet from her coat pocket. He was a very handsome young boy, about nine years old, and he had a very charming smile. She could tell he would grow up to be a very handsome and fascinating scoundrel with the ladies.

Unfortunately, he was captured by the woman, as she had special powers of her own. The boy wasn't worried about getting caught. He believed that he would be able to charm his way out of the situation, but the woman was very hard to charm. She insisted on taking him home and speaking to his parents.

Much to her surprise, the young boy's adopted father was the friend she was coming to visit. Instead of being punished for what he attempted to do, the father punished the young boy for being unable to steal her wallet.

She tried to speak to the father about the boy's actions, assuring her friend the boy would get better in time. Her friend knew it was very difficult, if not impossible, to steal from a telepath, so he relented his harsh punishment. Instead, he told his son and his friend that while she was visiting the magical city, the young boy would be her guide, her companion, her errand boy, and anything else she might need while she was there. During this time, he was to steal her wallet if and when an opportunity arose.

The father was a very wise man. His actions provided the young boy with an opportunity to redeem himself and practice his skills. Sadly, the boy was unable to complete the task.

The young boy was an excellent guide and he did show his father's friend many interesting sights in the magical city, most of which were probably not listed in the guide book as places to visit. He took her to hear the music, to where the best food could be found, the most interesting hiding places and escape routes that he and his friends used. They had a very good time.

When her time came to leave, she was very sorry to say goodbye to her friend and his son, but it was time for her to go. She promised she'd come back to visit but she never saw the young boy again. When she did return to the magical city, he was no longer there.

She always knew, though, in that vague way one knows inside, that she would see the boy again. She just didn't realize that one of those times she would find him on an ice field in the Antarctic."

It didn't register for a long moment, then his hand tightened on hers. "Dat was you?"

"Yep, that was me. Nearly twenty years ago."

"When I asked him 'bout you, de old man told me if I could steal from you I be a good t'ief." His shoulders shook a little with faint laughter. "I 'member I had a crush on you, chere. Henri laugh at me when I told him I would marry you when I grew up. I forget 'bout you soon enough."

"Now I'm hurt," she laughed softly with him.

"Dat why you save a worthless life?"

"I went after you because you needed help, whether you wanted it or not. Maybe it meant more to me to help you because of who you are, but I would have done it for anyone. Whatever happened to cause the situation doesn't matter. To me you're still the young scamp that tried to pick my pocket."

"Not a boy no more, chere."

"No, you're not, but it might take me awhile to remember that. In the meantime, you just concentrate on getting back on your feet. Let me take care of all the pesky little details."

"Why de team let me back here?"

"Not all of them know yet, but I'm sure they will soon. I was set to take you back home, but Jean asked me to stay the night. Xavier is supposed to be back tomorrow." She glanced up at the clock. "Today. She's hoping he'll be able to defuse the problem."

"An' Cyclops okay with dat?"

"He's not here right now, but I can imagine he won't be too happy about it."

He looked down at their entwined hands and saw the knife on the bed. "Dere been problems?"

She followed his gaze. "No. The only one I had a fight with so far is Logan."

"Huh? He hit you, chere?" He thought they were close. Was the issue of his guilt coming between them?

"Not that kind of fight. We were just working off a little steam. You're going to have to make some decisions. Not right this moment, but soon. When you recover you'll need to decide what you want to do."

"Rogue here?" He had to know.

"No. Storm said she took off right after she returned from Antarctica. Bobby went with her. No one knows where they are right now." Hold the anger, don't let it out.

"De others?"

"Well, the only outright hostile person in the mansion at the moment is Angel." And, the gods bless him, he'd been doing his best to antagonize her all night, occasionally passing by the med lab doorway to glare at her and Remy. Charlotte found herself looking forward to another fight. Life could be good sometimes. Before she left, she was going to take him up on his challenge.

"T'ink maybe dey got a right to feel like dat?"

"No, I don't. I don't see anyone here pure enough to cast the first stone. When one shows up, I'll step out of the way and let the sinless one knock you on your ass. I may even hold their coat. 'Til then, no one's going to bother you until you're back on your feet and can take care of yourself. Then you can get the crap knocked out of you everyday if you want."

"You goin' to keep everyone away?" This delicate woman taking care of him, keeping away the bogeyman? It was enough to make him laugh, if it didn't hurt so damn much. It was enough to know he wasn't alone, much as he deserved it.

"Now, did I say they had to get through me? Storm's the scary one. Only the gods know what she'd do if someone hurts you."

~*~*~*~*~

Just past 8:00 am Hank looked over his patient, then his patient's keeper, peering at the dark smudges on Charlotte's face and neck. She slept bonelessly, like a child, the exhaustion finally overtaking her long enough to let her body rest. He gently untangled her hand from Remy's, which roused the Cajun to opening his eyes, and lifted her over to the next bed. It was a good thing he reminded her to adjust the door lock to allow him in, he'd never have gotten her to awaken long enough to lift the shield.

"Good morning," he told Remy. "How are you feeling?"

"Like someone use me for combat practice," Remy complained softly. "I hurt all over."

"You are going to hurt much more before you feel better," Hank warned.

"T'anks, I need to hear dat. Where's Stormy?"

"She's is most likely still asleep, the hour is still quite early for most after our late night activities. However, no one will be able to enter until Charlotte awakens and releases the lock on the door."

He gave Hank a confused look. "Lock on de door?" He could see for himself the door stood wide open.

"The only condition Charlotte imposed on Jean's request for her to stay last evening was that she psi-lock the doorway against any antagonists."

"She t'ink of everyt'ing."

"It appears so."

Storm got their attention from the doorway. "Professor Xavier has arrived."

The men looked over at the sleeping woman. "I believe the professor will have to await Lady Charlotte's convenience," Hank answered.

That should go over with the head man pretty good, Remy thought to himself, leaning back. Did she save his life just to have Xavier officially throw him out?

~*~*~*~*~

Charles Xavier paused outside the medlab door. He took a deep breath, still reeling from the revelations he'd been treated to when he returned this morning. The first order of business would be to talk to Gambit, but that might prove more difficult to accomplish then he first believed. After hearing the others tell of Charlotte Ashcroft's actions, he wondered exactly what she would do if she felt her charge was threatened. A curious part of him wondered how to find out.

Hank looked up from his desk to see him at the doorway and went to Charlotte's bedside to nudge her awake. After rubbing her eyes and stretching, she frowned at the man in the chair. Sliding off the bed, she walked over to stand in front of it. She completely ignored the fact this was his home.

"Charlotte," he greeted her politely. "I would like to speak to Gambit."

She crossed her arms and leaned against the door jamb. "I don't think so. No one's earned that 'priviledge' yet."

"Indeed. I fully intend to make everyone of them aware of that. But I would like to speak to Remy first. I made the lad a promise my X-Men have utterly failed to honor."

"How can you make a promise and expect someone else to keep it? That makes no sense. I pulled him off an ice field, for god's sake!" Charlotte stopped and bit back the rest of her anger. "I'm finding your ideas of fellowship very hard to swallow."

Charles sighed patiently. "It seems I had higher expectations of them. I expected them to follow the example I showed them, to follow what I taught them. They haven't, and they will know that before this day is over. Please, I must speak to him."

Charlotte locked eyes with him. "Okay, but you should understand I made a promise, too, and I'm here to keep my word."

He nodded again, waiting for her to move aside. "I ask that you wait outside the medlab until we're finished. Please?" he asked quietly.

For a moment she looked like she'd refuse him outright, but Charlotte finally nodded curtly and exited the room.

Hank joined her in the hallway, shutting the door behind him. He waited calmly while she irritably paced the hallway in front of him. She reminded him of a restless lioness, all coiled tension and protective attitude.

It seemed like a very long time until the door swung open and Charles exited in a angry mood.

"You get what you came for?" Charlotte asked him coolly.

"Far more. Would you call a meeting for my study in ten minutes? I'd like everyone but Remy to be there, if he's stable enough to be left unattended."

"Call your own meeting, someone has to be here for him. With your students as caring as they are, I don't feel safe leaving him alone."

He had to agree to that. "You are probably correct. I would like you to hear what I have to say, you and Remy. Would you allow me to turn on the intercom?"

"That's up to you. I won't promise to keep my mouth shut."

"I wouldn't ask that of you."

"Good. I'm glad we understand each other."

~*~*~*~*~

The team filed into the study, already taking sides on the issue. Everyone knew what the meeting was about, right down to the conversation between Xavier and Charlotte. Scott held one position on one side, Ororo and Logan on the other. Warren paced back and forth at the rear of the room. His opinion was well known, and his temper threatened to escape his control.

Charles entered the room and took his accustomed position. Silence reigned as he looked at each of them in turn. Taking a deep breath, he set his eyes on the edge of the desk in front of him.

"Some years ago, I offered a place on the team to Logan. I had read his file and knew what he was. A paid assassin in the employ of the Canadian government. So why did I invite this dangerous man to live in my house, much less become one of my X-Men?"

"A few years later, a nameless young woman known only as Rogue showed up on my doorstep. She had not only fought for our enemies, she'd left a dear friend near death and permanently damaged. Why did I let this dangerous child join us?"

"Within days of returning from Limbo, Ilyanna Rasputin revealed to me much of what had become of her. I could guess the rest, and knew she could be a powerful and evil influence on the impressionable New Mutants. Yet I did not send her home to Russia, as common sense dictated."

There was still no reaction from the group.

"Scott, when Warren fell under the influence of Apocalypse, did you ever, for one moment, consider not forgiving him, not accepting him back, no matter what he'd done or become?"

Scott shifted in his chair, but he didn't answer.

"Several months ago, I became Onslaught. I nearly destroyed an entire city. I haven't the heart to see what the death toll was. Did anyone consider not allowing me to return? Do any of you have any objections to my return? Speak up, I want to hear them."

Several of them looked uncomfortable, but still no one responded.

"May I ask, then, why Remy was not so welcomed? Why he was left to die on an inhospitable bit of ice in the middle of Antarctica?"

Warren stopped his pacing. "He MURDERED those people. I lost my wings!"

For the first time, Charles showed his anger. "Remy did not murder anyone! He nearly got himself killed trying to save a little girl. He was already well on his way to the hospital, all but bleeding to death on the way."

"Professor, that's not fair," Scott began.

"No, it isn't."

Charlotte's voice floated over the intercom. "I've heard enough. Fair? You're arguing about fair? Charles, this isn't a school, and it's not a team. It's a damned sandbox!"

"Precisely my thoughts, Charlotte. They're behaving like children."

"Unsupervised children." Her complete disgust with them sang out loud and clear. "Perhaps you should start them in kindergarten again."

"Mebbe a few of 'em need a spankin'," Logan suggested, not even trying to be helpful.

"Please, Logan, don't start a fight," Jean asked tiredly.

"Where was all this concern when Remy needed it," Charlotte's voice demanded. They could hear Gambit in the background attempting to quiet her.

Charles continued. "Or at least talk to them as if they were. Warren, you accepted the role of hero. You risked your life to save others. Are you now claiming that you didn't understand the risks?"

"What has that got to do with Gambit? He's a danger to us all." He stopped pacing long enough to glare at his mentor.

"Yes, he might rise from his sickbed and attack us at any moment," Charles responded drily.

"This isn't very damned funny, Charles!" Warren retorted.

"I do not believe it was meant to be humorous," Storm said.

"No, it isn't. You need someone to blame for the loss of your wings and all that followed. Someone to hold responsible for your attempt at sucide. A scapegoat for all the guilt you have from allying yourself with Apocaplyse and attempting to commit wholesale murder. Along comes Gambit, a man who bears some responsibility for the events which led to the attack on the Morlocks, which in turn led to the loss of your wings. But you cannot stack this all upon that man, Warren. You might as well blame me for recruiting you in the first place. After all, if I'd left you in your boarding school, none of this would even have happened."

Warren didn't have a reply, but his face turned an alarming shade of violet.

"But, Warren, the fact is you choose to face the Morlocks without backup. To save the lives of those who couldn't properly defend themselves, you put yourself in harm's way. And you suffered. But Gambit did not tell you to go in alone, nor did he tell Harpoon and the others where you were. That series of events occurred on their own, without his help. His responsiblity ends with his leading the Marauders into the tunnels. The moment he realized what they were about to do and risked his own life to stop them, he ceased to be responsible for any further actions by them. You might bear in mind, he made the same sacrifice as you, putting himself in harm's way to save others. Sabretooth all but disemboweled him, yet Remy did not make a serious attempt on Creed's life during the months the man lived a mere three floors below his feet. What does that say about which one of you is truly acting heroically?"

"Gambit never told us, Professor," Scott cut in. "He put us at risk. From what Rogue saw, he still owes Sinister a favor. What do we do when that comes due?"

"Yes, he never told you, Scott. There's a very good reason for that. I told him to keep it a secret. Gambit told me his identity shortly after we battled Magneto on Avalon. Knowing the pain Sinister has caused you in the past, Scott, and the general feeling most of the X-Men held towards the slaughter of the Marauders, I advised him to not reveal his past just yet. I told him I would inform the teams when I felt the time was right. Gambit trusted me. Then Onslaught...was born. I'm afraid that bit of knowledge was buried."

He looked at each of his students in turn. "You see? Our own prejudices and difficulties kept him from doing what he so desperately wanted to do -- tell us the truth."

"You expect us to welcome him back here with open arms and pretend nothing is wrong?" Scott asked.

"I expect you to continue the policies of this school. If Gambit desires a place on this team, a place he has more than earned, then I expect him to be treated with the same tolerance as anyone else. Anyone who has a problem with this, I suggest some time away from the team to reconsider their views."

No one made a sound. They sat in stunned shock.

"If anyone would like to talk, please feel free to come see me. In the meantime, Gambit will be in residence."

"No, he won't." Charlotte's voice interrupted again. "I'm taking him home with me."

"That would be for the best," Charles answered. "I believe we all need a chance to heal."



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