A Case of Mistaken Identity: Ch. 6 Disclaimer: The X-Men belong to Marvel, the Coda to Wildstorm, and the story to me. It had been a month since the trio had returned from Tokyo with more questions than answers, and that month had been anything but peaceful for the denizens of the Xavier Institute in Westchester County... Sir Charles Xavier sat and watched the monitors in Sickbay, his haggard face reflecting his inner turmoil and sense of helplessness: his inability to reach the mind of Emma Frost, sometime White Queen of the Hellfire Club. Her body lived, but for some reason, her persona was hidden, unreachable and hidden... He'd failed her, and he'd failed his first student, his protoge.... Lady Jeanne Grey lay in another bed, just as unreachable as Emma, but for different reasons. His mind replayed the scene over and over again, remembering how Kwannon had seduced Scott Summers away from Jeanne, and how the young redheaded psi's confrontation with the woman they'd believed to be Elisabeth Braddock had turned her mind inside out with that damnable psychic knife.... And he watched as the real Liz Braddock continued to keep a vigil beside Jeanne's side. She was invisible to all the mansion's non-sentient systems, and only when he hooked into the Cerebro unit could he get any readings on her physical status... He nor Henry McCoy knew what to make of her hybrid physiology, but they both had a feeling that something was very wrong. They'd compared the readings they'd taken on her with those of the Psylocke that the X-Forces had known before Australia, and there were disturbing differences that Hank was still struggling to identify... Charles shook his head sadly, trying to find the strength to go on. To surpass his frustration, his inability to read this enigmatic woman whose presence threatened to disrupt the sanctity of refuge that he'd created here. He scanned over the readings of her from the time she'd first joined the X-Forces: she was a powerful telepath, even more so than Jean had last tested at, but not so powerful that he should have not been able to read her, ascertaining only her general mood at best. Liz stretched, the numbness in her limbs was getting harder to banish, though she told no one of her troubles. Sitting here worrying about the chilly tingling in her hands and feet was not helping Jeanne, she told herself sternly as she rebraided her long amethyst hair out of the way. She considered the various means she'd used in attempting to contact the young woman's mind. Nothing had worked, and something had built a nearly invulnerable wall around Jeanne's mind. Nothing short of a psycho-blast or the like would be able to breach it.... Liz carefully examined it with her astral Aspect, an amethyst butterfly; and then in frustration turned to her Sight... And there lay the answer, right before her! She cursed herself under her breath, in a language that made Charles' ears burn, for not having though of it before... But before she could implement her theory, Remy LeBeau and Ororo Munroe entered the room... She squelched her outrage at the interruption, reminding herself that Storm was one of Jeanne's best friends, with every right to be concerned about Jeanne's welfare... She felt the Egyptian woman's hand on her shoulder, "Elisabeth, you have been down here for almost 12 hours, with out any breaks for food or rest. I must insist that you leave her side for a while..." Liz sighed, Storm was right...and her rebellious stomach growled right on cue... "Alright, but you must call me if there is any change... I will return--later." The Otherworld telepath unfolded herself out of the lotus position she'd assumed on the chair with a bit less than her customary grace and shot a glance at the roguishly handsome Cajun thief that seemed to dog her every move. Not that she minded the attention, and her pursuer was decidedly charming, but he was *supposed* to be Rogue's boyfriend, wasn't he? "Come along, chere... Remy's made ya some good ol' fashion vittles tha'll have ya beggin' for mo'...." he announced with that infectious grin, "Don' ya worry, Stormy. I'LL take d' best of care wit' demoiselle 'Lisabeth! Y'll no' know her when I'm done wit' 'er...." He took her by the hand and lead her out of Sickbay, his odd garnet eyes sparkling with mischief, and some of his unruly auburn hair falling into his eyes as he kissed her hand, "Well, I t'ink dat you goin' t' like what Remy got in mind fer ya, ma petite... If ya don' mind a bit a sweet talkin' an' a bit a fun, y'know." Liz didn't normally like being touched, but somehow, she didn't find her- self objecting to the Cajun's long slender fingers interlacing with hers... Neither did she mind the odd, charming tone that his voice sometimes took when he talked to her. She shivered slightly as she underwent a sense of deja vu over being alone in the turbolift with him... "What's d' matter, chere?" he asked, brushing her bangs out of her face with his free hand,"You awfully quiet, dis evenin'... Somethin' you wanta talk 'bout?" "It's nothing, Gambit...." she replied, trying to keep her voice steady, despite her sense of foreboding, "I just get flashes of Sight sometimes, and sometimes I get scared by what I See, that's all." He nodded skeptically and slipped an arm around her, giving her a hug and a kiss on the forehead. He might not yet know what was troubling the newest addition to the X-Forces, but there was something about her charming sadness and aloofness that drew him in, in a way profoundly different than Rogue. "What say you and I go get somethin' t'eat, petite? You been all cooped up in dis tomb fo' weeks now, wit'out a break..." he suggested, letting that irresistible charm seep into his voice, "My momma always say that all work an' no play make a dull boy, so Remy's always played plenty... You jest let me take care of ya, chere...." Liz looked, for a moment, like she might protest; but no matter how he said the truth, it was still the truth: she had been spending almost every waking moment tending to Jeanne's needs or monitoring Emma Frost. She tended to pour herself into work so that she could forget her problems... It was like solving somebody else's made hers seem less monumental. At the moment she was happy to drift along on the gently soothing sounds of Gambit's Cajun accent, "I assume that you have a remedy for my 'dullness' then, Messieur LeBeau?" He winked at her, "You right quick, chere... You go put on somethin' pretty, an' trust ol' Remy here t'show you how t'have fun in a right 'n proper way!! What vittles I scammed up'll wait 'til t'morrow... We goin' out t'night, kay?" She raised a violet eyebrow Spockishly and caressed the surface of his mind, hoping to glean an insight to what trump card the Cajun thief had up his sleeve... As she exited the elevator she smiled at his retreating back, wondering about his motives...and her own. Half an hour later, in the boathouse "guest quarters" she'd been relegated to, Liz was contemplating what to wear with her classic 'little black dress' by Donna Karen when a knock came at her door, and she heard Warren Worthington's voice muffled through the solid oak, "Say, Liz! You ready for a pleasant surprise?" She didn't look up when he invited himself in, "I suppose. My mood could use a boost..." Diamonds? Pearls? Amethysts? What was a girl to do when you had more money than you could ever spend in 10 lifetimes? She decided to mix the parures of diamonds and amethysts to match her hair and eyes to excellent effect. She was oblivious to the effect her stunning appearance had on Warren, as he admired her lean, sculptured build, "What's wrong? Anything I can help with, Liz?" She shook her head slightly as she quickly wound up her waist-length hair into a Spanish chignon and secured it with two glittering silver combs, "Not unless you can find a miracle cure for Jeanne's coma. I've tried just about everything I can think of to reach her, but to no avail... Storm has insisted that I take the remainder of the day off..." Warren brushed some of his pale gold hair out of his face, smiling hopefully at her, "Tall order... Will these do anything to put a smile on that lovely face for now?" She reached out to take the carefully wrapped package, which was revealed to be a dozen long-stemmed red roses. Warren gasped as he took in the full effect of 'Britain's most beautiful woman': dressed to the nines in a simple cocktail dress of black suede leather with a high neckline and long dolman sleeves that left her shoulders bare much as her first pink costume had. The short skirt and princess lines showed off her sleek figure and long legs much to Warren's interest and discomfort, but the low heeled boots that reached to just above her knees gave her the look of modern day pirate. He felt his face warming, not realizing that blushing red under blue skin was turning him a ghastly shade of fushia... "They are beautiful!!" she whispered, delight reaching her unusual violet eyes, "I...I don't know what to say... but who?" He shrugged, feeling like an awkward highschool boy: not quite brave enough to admit his crush. "Umm...they were just delivered. You must have a secret admirer... Could it be from an old friend on the other side of the Pond??" She looked among the blood red blossoms and found a card, written in a firm yet elegant masculine hand. "My dear Baroness Braddock, perhaps we could renew old acquaintances over dinner Friday, say 8 pm? You know where... An Old Friend." Her eyes narrowed, as a crackle of excitement coursed through her, a prospect of dark delight--harking back to past experiences and memories of a time she'd cherished above all others. It left her feeling both guilty and curious... Her Sight shimmered when she touched the card, showing her tantalizing glimpses of a man she recalled with warmth and respect. Warren was concerned by the wax seal on the miniature envelope: the Hellfire Club, "You'd better tell Sir Charles about this... It could be a trap!" His skin paling suddenly as he thought about the NorAm branch's rather sordid reputation, and the oddness of Liz' possibly having connections with the X-Forces' traditional rival/enemies... and she was a Baroness! He'd known that she was of the English gentry, but not a peer in her own right. It was almost to much for him to swallow at once. Liz looked over her shoulder at him, as if he were a child, and dismissed his concerns with a gentile snort, "Come now, Warren! It's sweet of you to worry, but I'm not a child. I can look after myself..." She placed the sweet scented flowers in a vase, before gathering up her evening bag and a beautiful black leather longcoat. She was wondering just who could have known she was here... Even Brian, that brainless twin of hers didn't know what was going on, or that she was even alive. Liz swept out of the room, herding the blue-skinned blonde playboy-millionaire-mutant before her. She suddenly realised why he'd bought the roses, and why she hadn't paid any attention to him before: he reminded her too much of both of her brothers; and she didn't like blondes in the first place. she thought to herself, She glided silently into the Victorian drawing room, slightly wrinkling her nose at the 'tartanitis' of the period furnishings. Sir Henry McCoy, Nathan Grey and the mysterious black man called Bishop were playing chess over Killian's Red, when Bishop's head snapped up at her nearly silent approach. His eyes widened in appreciation; approval at her attire and the silent grace with which she moved. Nathan "Cable" Grey stared at her, his jaw dropping open; and to his credit, Henry arose with dignity and sketched a bow while kissing her hand... She sensed their thoughts, which expressed their reactions more clearly than their stuttering words... "Hullo chaps, I hope I'm not disturbing your game..." Bishop's mind was open and honest in a rather sailor-ish way, "Elisabeth?! I---I?!" She smiled impishly at them, "...but is this dress too much for a dinner engagement?" Cable ran a cybernetic hand over his militarily precise haircut as some less than military thoughts ran though him mind, <> Sparkling violet eyes met his with a wink, the careful way he touched her mind brought new knowledge about the character of a man she barely knew, and with that knowledge, a feeling of kinship, understanding and gratitude for her efforts to help Jeanne. It was like a gentle kiss of sunlight and like being momentarily enfolded in a gently protective embrace, that for a moment shut out the cacophony of most of NorAm...<> She withdrew from the link, to find Bishop standing beside her and Henry gently pirouetting her so he could appreciate the view from all angles. She squeezed his hand affectionately, "...Or should I don something more demure?" He kissed her on the cheek, "That's a new look for you, milady Elisabeth..." " 'Tis indeed, milord!" she replied, taking delight in their approval and interest, "I trust this won't turn *too* many heads in high society on this side of the Pond?" Henry let her pull away, knowing she would have felt his concern for her over the last few weeks. He liked her, and his concern was for an unusual young woman who was fast becoming a friend...not just the medical curiosity that had yet to be satisfied... Something was changing within her, and it some part of him could tell it frightened Sir Charles Xavier, and that in itself bothered him. She sensed the presence of her evening escort in the doorway, "Say, chere, y'ready t'hit th' road? Y'r knight in black leather got his trusty Harley saddled up, waitin'..." She turned toward that smooth, silky voice with a brilliant smile that dimmed the room as she glided across the parquet floor, "What do you think, Remy? It would appear that we have similar taste in more than a few things, oui?" His garnet eyes began to glow softly as he whistled. He'd been expecting something a bit different, but this was definitely a first class babe... A little warmth stole through him as he contemplated the evening's plans. She was a telepath, but how had she known to wear something so _right_?? And he knew that she was experiencing a similar sensation as he felt those amethyst eyes sweeping over...no--through...him. She unconsciously wet her lips and sucked in her breath: he was wearing well broken-in black leather 'jeans', a deep russet coloured dress shirt, boots and a classic black 'Harley' jacket that looked as comfortable as it did good. And no matter what he did to that unruly mane of auburn hair, it always fell into his eyes in a most charming fashion... This was a man who didn't have to work at looking good, he was simply born with it; not unlike herself Liz thought as he slipped her longcoat over her shoulders, "Of course I'm ready; I was just getting a bit of an ego boost... Can you blame a lady for seeking approval when she's locked her self up in this tomb of a mansion for weeks on end? Heaven forbid that I should be out of fashion..." "You got d'look, petite..." he whispered in her ear, "you got d'walk, and you got d'talk! Now maybe Remy teach you how to dance, non?" He slid his arm around her shoulders, gently steering her away from her admirers. Gambit didn't quite know what he was going to do, but he had a few ideas... As they slipped out the front door, her mood changed again like quicksilver, "S'matter, chere? You got a face like thunder. Everthin' okay?" Liz's violet eyes sparkled as she wrenched the attempted mindbrush, glaring up at the second story window of the library, sending it back to it's origin, with a taste of the sheer power of her mind: her psychoblasts, to get her point across, <> She settled on the large Harley SoftTail as he started it's trademarked rumbling to life, "Tis not worth discussing, Remy. I'd really rather think about something other than this 'prison' we sentence ourselves to..." Remy LeBeau couldn't agree more, he wanted away from here, and the painful experiences he'd endured with Rogue over the last few months. He was a romantic at heart, though he'd have been hard pressed to admit it; and this odd, gorgeous creature had shown up out of no where. As perfect a lady as his romantic heart could hope to find, apparently as badly hurt as he was and just as stubbornly proud. He knew that she liked to walk on the wild side, she had outwitted the Coda and danger wasn't likely a stranger to the woman who was snuggling into his back as they roared out of the court yard... It didn't stop him from teasing her however, "Sure t'ing, chere. Just hold on t'me tight--it could be a bumpy ride!" Liz squeezed the roguish Cajun and kissed his ear lightly, "Mmmmm, sounds delighful. I like it when things get interesting, y'know..." She laid her cheek against his soft hair as she slipped her hands into the pockets of his jacket for warmth. She liked the smell of saddle soap, leather and amber and pachouli that perpetually reminded her of the other 'outsider' here at Xavier's. Remy LeBeau was the sort of man her mother'd warned her about before she'd gone away to university at the Royal Academy for Performing Arts: suave, urbane, sophisticated, roguishly seductive, charming and witty; altogether too damn gorgeous for his own good and more than a little dangerous to boot. But who was she to talk? She's been in ESPionage and a psi-spy for Her Majesty's Secret Service and SHIELD before she'd joined the X-Forces... After all, a baron's daughter could move in the best social circles, and could go places as a fashion model with out being suspected of anything. And add her psychic abilities to that potent mix of breeding, beauty and brains--she'd been a female James Bond of sorts. No matter that she'd lost her vision, and gained psiber eyes: everything that hadn't killed her over the years, had only made her stronger and wiser. Even the long period when she'd been imprisoned by the Coda, taught their 'tenants' and ways of com- bat, had made her a force to be reckoned with. They'd even taught her to do things with her psychic abilities that would astonish accomplished telepaths like Sir Charles Xavier, Baroness Emma Frost and certainly Lady Jeanne Grey... Emma approved, but the other two? Not bloody likely, she thought to herself, even though those same techniques might just save Jeanne's life and sanity! She didn't even mind the Coda Bloodmarque that 'marred' her face. It gave her beauty a fierce, intimidating edge. No one could call her soft and pampered these days... Liz dared to lightly touch Gambit's mind, and to her surprise felt him welcome the link with a brief empathic caress. And on the ride to the Big Apple, they mindspoke of things that they might've never told anyone else... New York City... In a five star restaurant, high above Manhattan's Park Avenue, a young singer was met with enthusiastic applause from the patrons as well as the house jazz ensemble. The crystal chandeliers sparkling like the diamonds she wore, but even they faded in comparison to the light in her eyes. She slipped of the piano, after having performed a couple of old torch songs, her voice soft over the PA system, "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen... thank you very much..." From their table, Remy winked at her, his surprise and pride most evident to her mind, though the glow of the audience warmed her considerably... one woman thought, with more than a little admiration and envy. A Saudi Prince gazed longingly, A young Aussie tennis star caught her attention, Baroness Emma Frost raised her eyes from across the room, and looked directly at Liz, raising her champagne glass in recognition, <> Liz raised her eyebrows, and gave a subtle shrug, <> She blushed at a few of the thoughts that emanated from the audience, but she didn't mind too terribly. She also picked up some of the reactions when they realised just what man she was 'with'... one came through, followed by, She smiled, and let Remy escort her out onto the balcony for a breath of fresh air. "You eyes are a'dancin' like th' lights a'fore Christmas, chere. You enjoyin' y'self?" Liz took a deep breath, and sighed deeply, "Yes, I do believe I am, in spite of all my earlier protests, I must concede that you were correct, Messieur LeBeau. I _do_ need to get out more..." Later that evening, in Central Park...Remy and Liz were headed to a particularly hot dance spot in the Village, though not in a particular hurry to be anywhere. They were just wandering along, arms and minds linked in comfortable conversation, <> He smiled at her, She shrugged and felt his arm tighten around her waist, <> he replied, <'Sides, Remy got everythin' he needs.> He gently pulled her around to face him, a bemused grin cracking his face; Liz peered into his garnet eyes, not quite understanding, glad that her psiber eyes let her see as easily in the dark as she did in daylight. She was very aware of his nearness and the gentle warmth of his thoughts, though she couln'd have plucked any single thought or emotion from the mosaic of his psyche at the moment, <<....???? What do you mean by that, Remy??>> Remy tilted her chin up slightly, his voice very soft as he let all the barriers slip away, "Ah think you know, 'Lisabeth. An' ah mean it more'an ah've meant _anythin'_ b'fore, chere...which's pretty surprisin' if'n you t'ink 'bout it... Ah can't hide nothin' from you, no more..." She reached up, lightly running her fingers along that stubborn chin, reveling in the isolation andall the facets of the young-old man that stood with her, <> He winced slightly, not comprehending the subtly complex tapestry of a powerful psychic's mindscape,"Ah'm wounded, dat you not believe me..." Liz' silvery laughter bubbled forth at the confusion that spread over Remy's tanned, handsome face, <> Remy muttered, as she gently interrupted him, <> he paused, fumbling for the right way to say what he felt, and ferverenty wishing that his charm and wit hadn't abandoned him at a time like this, Bett's slipped into the embrace, and privately considered her companion's warring emotions--as well as her own. There was something to be said for 'bad' chaps like Remy, and she couldn't deny that he was appealing to her her in every way that she could think of. He wasn't intimidated by her Coda ways, nor did he mind that she was tall enough to look him in the eye. It seemed to her, that the adventures over in Japan had brought them a sense of being kindred spirits: they both believed in doing the right thing, though sometimes that brought them into conflict with the 'morals' of society. They were both alternately capable of being ruthless and compassionate; and who better to understand each other's invisible scars than an ex-thief and an ex-spy? She rested her chin on his shoulder, slipping a kiss onto his cheek, <> Remy cut her off, looking into violet hair that smelled of Yardley's English Lavender soap and perfume. _That_ was what purple should smell like, lavender and leather; resilient, enduringly regal and unrelenting... <> she whispered into his mind, letting her own barriers slip further away, yet protecting them both from outside interference. She held him tighter, knowing that he'd missed being held growing up as much as she had, and unwilling to let go of some- thing she'd not realised she'd been missing... They'd wandered Manhattan for hours, just talking--mindspeaking really-- often falling into a waltz or a tango at whim, and best of all laughing for the first time in far too long as the bells of St. Patrick's rang in the distance... <> she chided gently, <> He smiled at her, punctuating his words with kisses, his voice very soft and warm as rich, dark velvet, "But we be, Mademoiselle, la Baronesse Braddock... S'it Remy's fault he wan' d'whole dance floor t'himself, t'share wit'a most beautiful tel'path in d'world?" Liz returned his smile, raising an eyebrow skeptically, <> This young, would-be couple held each other close, afraid to let go... For a long moment, the pain and suffering, the fear and loathing that oft- defines their lives as mutant and 'alien', is all but forgotten. Minds that are ever dashed about by turbulent seas of thought and emotion are for now calm... Remy LeBeau laughed aloud as they spun in an Irish reel along the sidewalk, "O'course, chere... An' ah shoul' tell you dat Remy's really d'great jewel t'ief, who made off wit' d'missing Imperial Fabrege Eggs oh, a'decade r'so ago... An'did ah menshun dat ah'm really y'r longlost cousin from d'Shi'ar Empire--on y'r mama's side? Or dat you s'posed t've died an' come back from d'dead a couple a'dozen times??" She giggled at the outrageous suggestions, part of which were true, that he made. It felt good to laugh like this, to smile without feeling like it was expected of you, to be free with one's feelings--rather than laced into an emotional straitjacket that life at Xavier's seemed to force on one... His strange eyes, often hidden by shades, so not to 'freak the mundanes' were glowing with that odd inner light again. Liz _liked_ Remy's eyes. To her they were beautiful, <> They slowed to an easy walk, to catch their breath, and just to look at each other as the sun began to paint the eastern horizon ablaze with colour. Remy's hair looked like a forest afire at sunset, with rich streaks of copper and bronze that seemed glimmer like flames to her Sight. She studied the lazy smile, and the careless ease that the Cajun lapsed into around her. It dawned on her that he trusted her completely, with all his secrets...and that thought humbled her. Could she, nay, would she do any less? Liz suddenly realised that he was studying her as intently as she had him in the hours that had past, she wanted to know what he thought, and wanted to hear it from his own mind, <> Remy looked at her thoughtfully, caressing her cheek with long graceful fingers that had gently cracked defences far different than those around his baroness's heart and mind, She Felt his emotions reflecting gently into the recesses of her consciousness, banishing the doubts and many of the ghosts that had recently taken up residence there. She was alone for the first time since her Otherworld psychic abilities had manifested almost 18 years ago, yet she wasn't lonely anymore. Remy was there in the back of her head, not intruding, but *there* in a comforting way. She'd oft been afraid of letting another living being get this close to her, but now that she had it, the silence wasn't deafening--it was just silence; though she could 'hear' and 'feel' the aspects of her psychic abilities-it was as though she had a safe harbor to trust her sanity to... he whispered as she adjusted to the strangeness of his particular abilities, Liz relaxed gradually, leaning comfortably against the Cajun, letting her stiff British veneer ooze away for the time being. She enjoyed the way Remy held her, and she felt safe, even in the middle of Manhattan. She savoured the leisurely pace they set toward Fifth Avenue, thinking about what he'd just said, <> He looked at Liz for a minute, Much to her own surprise, and more to his, Liz acted on impulse; *her* answer was simply to kiss him soundly, the air charged with psychic energy that radiated out from both of them, giving the residents of the neighbor hood a rather pleasant if potent wakeup call, as she let her mind slip into synch with his in an outpouring of emotion. She was dimly aware that Remy had scooped her up, and was carrying her up a flight of stairs to a small brownstone. When their senses quite reeling, she found herself sitting comfortably on his lap in the parlour of an Art Deco era townhouse. She was content to stay where she was for the time being, content to just be. <> she purred absentmindedly, curling up in manner more agreeable to both of them, <> He kissed her on the forehead, then gently pulled the jewelled pins from her chignon, letting her long amethyst hair spill down her back, It was the first time she'd felt like one in a very, very long time....