Subject: [southernstarsfic] Between The Darkness & The Light part 25/?
Date: Mon, 11 Aug 2003 19:44:08 +1000
From: "Amanda Sichter" <wolf@hawknet.com.au>


My goodness it seems a long time since I last posted a chapter of this.
That's probably because it IS a long time since I last posted a chapter of
this. Hopefully, you haven't all forgotten it completely. If you have,
previous chapters are available at the marvellous Fonts of Wisdom run by
Luba at
http://home.att.net/~lubakmetyk/

(and I promise to work on Kitty and Pete next, Luba because I know
otherwise the pout will happen and I couldn't cope with that!).

Hopefully the next chapter won't take anywhere near as long to come out.

Rated: PG for one swear word.

Disclaimer: Azimuth, Lynch and the passing strangers are mine. Everyone
else belongs to Marvel (if they belonged to me there'd be far more cocoa
butter involved). I'm not making a profit and suing me would just be silly.

Between The Darkness And The Light

'He's feeling better, isn't he?' Ororo asked Azimuth as she sat down beside
her on the bench-press.

'How'd you guess?' replied Azimuth, watching as Remy strained the muscles
in his left bicep, slowly lifting the weight from the base of the machine.
It was a decidedly impressive bicep and she appeared to be enjoying sitting
around the Danger Room and ogling her lover.

'It may be the exercise,' said 'Ro, smiling gently. 'It has been not quite
three weeks. I am sure someone with Remy's extensive injuries would not
normally be,' she sought for a word, ended up using one Henry had taught
her, 'gallivanting around a gym as he is doing in such a short space of
time.'

'Hank thinks Lilandra sent an upgraded biobed,' said Azimuth. 'Even for an
X-Man he's doing pretty well. His bruising's gone, his dislocations are
basically healed and all we've got to wait for is the bones to knit and
he's done. About another week and a half. So, what, four weeks all up?
Pretty impressive.' She rolled her eyes suddenly. 'And thank goodness. I
didn't know how whiny he could get when he was sick.'

'You do realise, chere, dat I can hear every word?' said Gambit calmly,
curling his bicep again.

'Really?' said Azimuth, with an excess of innocence. 'I never would have
guessed.' She flashed a grin at him when he looked at her and he couldn't
help the smile that curled the corner of his mouth.

'I don' t'ink dat a few small requests for improved conditions counts as
"whiny",' said Remy, in the same calm voice.

'A few small requests?' said Azimuth archly.

'A mere soupcon of suggestions,' replied Remy.

'Other than the seventy-two requests for a really *good* pinot noir?'
teased Azimuth. 'The many discussions about my inability to cook jambalaya
correctly? And how many times have we had to move your bed?'

'Neuf,' shrugged Remy, releasing the weight and mopping the sweat from his
forehead. 'Maybe dix.' He tried to keep a straight face but the smile
played at the corners of his mouth again.

'Saying it in French doesn't make it better,' grinned Azimuth. She rose
from her seat on the bench-press and, crossing the room, laid her hand on
his left shoulder lightly. He gripped her other hand and leaned his weight
against her, stretching his good arm. It was only when he had finished the
stretch that he sighed.

'Be good to do some real exercise, non?' he said.

Although the question was obviously rhetorical, Azimuth answered it.
'Cracked pelvis.' She shrugged. 'You know Beast says no work on anything
else until it's stabilised. Don't want you doing any more damage.' The last
was said fiercely, possessively and Remy pulled her in close for a
reassuring kiss.

'No more Sinister,' he whispered when they broke apart. 'No more damage.'

There was a noise from Ororo and they turned, simultaneous, to face her.
For a fleeting moment she thought of wounded angels but she gathered her
thoughts swiftly. 'You know we cannot wait much longer,' she said.

'We?' asked Remy.

'Wait?' asked Azimuth.

'That is what we are doing, is it not?' asked 'Ro, suddenly puzzled.
'Waiting for Remy to be well enough to discuss what happened with Mr
Sinister.'

The lovers exchanged a confused glance. 'I t'ought you were goin' to ask
me,' said Remy. 'Dat's what I've been waitin' for. Been ready to talk since
le Bete let me out of de biobed.'

'I thought,' added Azimuth and then cut herself short. 'It doesn't matter.'
She waved an apologetic hand. 'Crossed wires. Sorry. My fault.'

'Oui,' agreed Remy. 'Her fault.' Azimuth glared at him in mock outrage and
he smiled not even slightly innocently back at her. 'You keep distractin'
me, chere,' he pointed out.

Ororo smiled at that. Azimuth was good at distracting Remy, of that there
could be no doubt. The teasing and flirting, she had to admit, did more to
keep Remy from brooding on his guilt than any technique she had yet tried.
Her tone was hopeful as she asked, 'So - if I organise for the X-Men to
meet this afternoon?' She was answered by Remy's nod.

'Not like I'm goin' anywhere,' he said, motioning downwards at the
wheelchair he sat in, the lightweight casts that still enclosed his left
leg and right arm. 'Got not much else to do, either.'

Azimuth shrugged when 'Ro looked at her for confirmation. 'I'm trying to
get through Proust,' she said. 'Meeting with the X-Men's gotta be less
painful than that.'

'Chere,' protested Remy. 'Dere's not'ing wrong wit' Proust.'

She rolled her eyes at him. 'What time?' she asked Ororo.

'Make it two. In the War Room,' 'Ro replied.

'We'll see you there,' said Azimuth. 'Shower time,' she said to Remy and,
sliding behind his chair, started to wheel him from the room.

The last thing Ororo heard before the door slid shut was Remy's voice
saying, 'De t'ing 'bout Proust is dat you really have to read him in
French. Den you can appreciate his use of de language,' followed by
Azimuth's, 'Oh, well, that makes it *much* easier then.' For a moment Storm
grinned, remembering when a rather sheepish Gambit had confessed that his
love of classic books had been brought on by his long-ago inability to
quickly fence a stash of first editions he had stolen from an antiquarian
bookstore. It was, she supposed, one of the more unusual reasons to start
on the classics. She was still smiling as she left the Danger Room to
organise the afternoon's meeting.

*    *    *    *    *

It seemed as if the War Room was filled with X-Men by the time Remy and
Azimuth arrived but they both had a well-developed ability to escape notice
and managed to seat themselves quietly at the table before anyone saw them.
Ororo flashed them a small smile and then called the team to order.

She opened her mouth, her expression grave, and Remy knew that she had
prepared a speech to start the meeting, something undoubtedly serious and
thoughtful. But then her mouth snapped shut and she suddenly looked weary.
'We know why we're here,' she said softly and turned to Remy. 'Gambit?' she
said.

He raised an eyebrow, startled at her lack of preliminaries, but nodded.
'Sinister is dead,' he said and his voice was hoarse with unidentifiable
emotion. 'I killed him. Is dat what you wanted?' The question wasn't
directed at Ororo but hung, defiant, in the air.

'We're not here as a confessional,' said Scott. 'Or a Star Chamber. Azimuth
told us what happened. She told us that you never intended to kill Mr
Sinister. So - what went wrong?'

For a long moment the two men glared at each other but Remy snapped his
gaze away before it became ostentatiously confrontational. He gathered his
thoughts, becoming aware as he did so of the light touch of Azimuth's hand
upon his thigh. Revelation came to him suddenly, realisation that she
didn't know what had happened any more than the X-Men. She had gone
willingly with him into the maelstrom of Sinister's lab, had waited
patiently, never pressing him, for his explanation of Sinister's death. To
apologise for what he had done, to be angry or defensive, was to betray her
faith in him.

So his voice was flat, without emotion, as he said, 'I didn' mean it. We
didn' mean it. I jus' - wanted him out of our lives. I t'ought if I showed
him my power den he'd leave us alone. If he knew I could hurt him. Dat I'd
kill him if he touched Azimuth again.' The last was said with an
unconscious fierceness.

'What power?' asked Scott. 'What changed, that you thought you could
threaten Sinister?'

'Not'ing changed,' replied Gambit. ''Cept I t'ought dat I could control it.
Dat Jeannie gave me 'nough trainin' dat I could hold it all together when I
touched him.' He looked down at his hands, suddenly lost. 'But not'ing
changed,' he whispered.

'But you charged organic matter,' said Jean. 'You've never been able to do
that before. Something *must* have changed.'

Remy snorted, suddenly and genuinely amused. He held up his hand, let
cerise fire spread along his fingers until they glowed. 'Every time someone
say dat, I wonder what dey t'ink I'm made of. Always been able to charge
organic matter, chere,' he said to Jean, letting the charge drain back into
him. 'Jus' - not a good idea, non? People end up dead.'

'Like Mr Sinister,' said Ororo softly, almost a question.

'Jus' - a mistake. Dere's not'ing much can - *could* t'reaten him. Not'ing
much dat got past his guard. But he didn' know 'bout what I could do. Wit'
Azimuth dere to hold him, I could touch him and den I t'ought I could hold
it together. T'ought I wouldn' end up wit' him inside my head.' He gave a
half-smile that had no joy in it. 'Got dat wrong, neh?'

'You can't control it,' Jean stated.

'Not once I charge somet'ing living. I t'ought maybe I was over it - wit'
what you taught me. But he made me all wrong.'

'What were you plannin'?' asked Logan. 'How were you goin' to keep him away
from you?'

Remy let his hand trail down, caught Azimuth's fingers in his own, felt the
quick grip of her consent, her comfort. 'T'ought I could show him dat he
couldn' stop us from hurtin' him. Not when we're together. Azimuth can'
hurt him but she got enough power to hold him. Long enough for me to touch
him, anyway. And I could show him dat I could hurt him when I touched him,
could charge him up.' He sighed. 'I was supposed to let him go. Supposed to
charge him, den drain him and tell him to stay away from us or nex' time
Gambit wouldn' drain de power out of him.' His half-laugh was as harsh as
razor wire. 'Guess nex' time came a bit early.'

Azimuth said it first, although he knew they all wanted to ask the
question. 'What happened?' she said. 'Why couldn't you let him go?' The
fear in her voice was weeks old, an echo of terror remembered.

He knew that if anyone deserved the truth it was her, because she was the
one who had gone with him, who he had let down so badly when he failed. 'He
got inside my head,' he whispered. 'Or I got inside his.' He held up his
hand again, let power flicker up and down his fingers in a stroboscopic
display, then closed his fist on it. 'I can control dis so well, non? Can
charge air a molecule t'ick around my fingers to keep my prints from
showing. Can keep a charge inside a bo and stop de charge from touching
flesh even when I hit someone. But de t'ing inside my head - I let it out
and I can' stop it.' It shook him, as it had always shaken him, when he
thought of how the thing inside his head (he couldn't think of it as
telepathy, too clinical a word) could leap out of him, tear away from him
and ravage outwards. He was a thief and to be such demanded perfect
control, absolute mastery of mind and body and spirit. The thing inside his
head was him and yet was nothing like him.

'What did it do?' asked Betsy, staring at him in fascination.

'Latched onto his mind,' said Remy. 'Joined us. It - it's like falling into
de charge, into each other. Dere's no separation and de charge is
everyt'ing, de power is everyt'ing. All I - he - we wanted to do was
disappear inside de heat. Once dat happens I can' stop de charge. If
Azimuth hadn' twisted me apart from him, I'd have gone up wit' him.'

'We know,' said Jean. He looked at her in puzzlement and she nodded at
Azimuth. 'Betsy and I looked inside Azimuth's head when she first told us
what she'd seen. We know how close it was. That you didn't want it to
happen.'

He felt relief like a cool breeze through his heart. Sinister was dead and
there would be no recriminations, no blame. For one brief moment he thought
he might be given a small measure of peace to resolve his own feelings
towards what he had done, to soothe the conflicted places in his soul.

It was Beast who shattered that illusion. 'You've killed before, haven't
you?' he asked and Remy felt his heart seize within him again.

'What?' he whispered, his throat suddenly dry.

'You said it in the hospital when you awoke from the coma. You said, "Not
again."' Henry's glance was strange, speculative. 'You've killed before.'
This time it wasn't a question.

Things twisted inside Remy's head, broke apart, remade themselves. He
smiled at Beast. 'Don' know what you're talking 'bout,' he said. 'I was
just comin' out of a coma, non?'

'I, too, heard you say it,' said Storm quietly. 'Azimuth knew what you were
talking about.'

Remy glanced at Azimuth, saw the same closed expression on her face as he
knew would be on his. He could feel the tension suddenly, the emotions in
the room turning to suspicion.

'She knew,' said Henry. 'Which means it happened when you were together.
Not this time. When you were both in Sinister's hands.' He was thinking out
loud.

Remy gave a laugh that didn't even shake. 'You can t'ink dat if you want,
Henri,' he said lightly. 'But if I'd done somet'ing like dat, don' you
t'ink I would have told you by now?'

Henry looked at him and the speculative look changed to certainty. 'You
would. If you could. But you never talk about it. You avoid the subject.
Whenever you get close to talking about it you cut it off dead. We know you
were with Sinister. I should have realised after the Marauders. After the
werechild. Did he put memory implants in you, I wonder?'

'No,' said Remy calmly, damping down the flare of hope and fear inside of
him. 'Dere's not'ing in my head I didn' do. Not'ing in Azimuth's head she
didn' do.' His smile twisted. 'Though I s'pose we couldn' tell de
difference if he did. Be our memory now, non?'

Henry was contemplating something, staring at him and the room had gone
silent. Somehow they all knew that Beast was on the edge of something
large, was feeling around the shape of it. 'He wouldn't want to, would he?'
mused Henry. 'He wants you to keep your memories. They're there, we know
that. But you don't talk about them. You've never talked about them. The
only thing we know about the Massacre is what Rogue told us. And you said
she got it wrong.'

'Oui,' said Remy, a whisper from a desert-dry throat. 'She got it wrong. It
wasn' what happened.'

'And you escaped Mr Sinister after that. He couldn't have altered the
memories you had. Something pre-emptive he did. To Azimuth as well.
Probably to all his long-term patients - prisoners - or they'd go to the
police.'

Azimuth laughed suddenly, as short and dry as Remy's voice. 'You think a
lot of Sinister, don't you, Hank?' she rasped. 'That he could do that. That
he could stop us talking.'

'That's it, isn't it?' asked Henry and there was a great sympathy in his
eyes as he looked at them. 'You kept trying to tell me and I couldn't
understand it. All this time, all those evasions. He wanted you to
remember, didn't he? Wanted you to remember everything that happened to
you. So you're always under his control. Not memory implants. Something
else. Something subtler. What's inside your head, Remy? Azimuth?'

'Dere's not'ing,' said Remy but he could barely push the words out,
fighting his body's terrified reactions to a threat that shouldn't exist
any more.

'Yes there is,' replied Henry decisively. 'No memory changes because the
bad things have to remain. The threat has to be there. But you can't tell
your side of the story, either. Not to anyone. That's it, isn't it, Remy?
Sinister put something inside your head - changed something in your brain.
Partially psychic, I'd say, mostly mechanical. Nanomachines maybe, through
the speech and memory centres. He didn't change your memories but he's done
something that makes sure you can't talk about them. Am I right?'

There could be no answers, no straight answers ever. But there could be -
something else. A shudder ran through Remy, a long slow wave of something
he would never understand. His smile was ragged and his voice was so very
tired as he said, 'See, Henri? I told you one day you'd learn to ask the
right questions.'

*    *    *    *    *

'It's extraordinary,' said Psylocke flatly.

'What is?' asked Remy. His voice was mild but his distaste for the
telepathic presence in his mind was clear.

Betsy leaned back in her chair, her gaze hard. 'Your telepathy is wild,'
she said.
'Completely mismade. You didn't let us touch much of it, but it's an
absolute mess. There is no hope that you can ever control it fully.'

'But?' prompted Azimuth, not needing her power to know there was a "but"
coming.

'But,' concluded Betsy, 'you have absolutely exquisite power over your
shields. How?'

Remy shrugged. 'I'm a T'ief,' he said. 'A Guild T'ief. We're used to hiding
our t'oughts. Dat's why my shields were always so strong before. With what
Jean taught me, I jus' got a little fancy, non?' His grin was charming and
failed utterly to work on Betsy.

'You make us work in the dark,' she accused him. 'We are trying to help you
and you will not let any of your defences down.'

'Dere's a surprise,' he responded, all charm gone. 'I don' like people in
my head. Specially, when dey're not invited.'

'I thought you were dying,' said Psylocke, quick to her own defence.

'I'm sure dat soothes your conscience nicely,' observed Remy.

'Stop it,' said Jean abruptly. 'Betsy and I have both made mistakes trying
to get inside your head when you didn't want us. We've both apologised for
that. But now we're trying to help you. And if you won't help us - well,
why did you even agree to this in the first place?'

'Because,' said Remy, his voice very quiet, 'it's not enough what I did.
Killing Sinister. Everyt'ing has to go - everyt'ing he touched and twisted
and fucked over. I can' stand de t'ought dat he's still in my head. I can'
stand de t'ought dat he can still - do what he does. He's laughing at me,
chere, at bot' of us and I want to end it.'

Jean nodded slowly. 'I can understand that,' she said. 'But it doesn't help
much. We've explained exactly what we need to do but every time we get near
the problem, you kick us straight back out again.'

Remy shrugged. 'Reflex,' he said, almost apologetically. 'Can' have you
gettin' near my secrets, non?' He sighed. 'I need to be sure dat you won'
touch Guild secrets. And - de t'ing... what you...' his face twisted
in frustration as his tongue felt wooden again, old compulsions kicking in,
'when you go in my head, you're lookin' for a secret. When I t'ink dat -
reflex takes over and de shields slam down.'

'So it's not a concious decision?' asked Jean and slumped when Remy nodded.
Working inside his head had been a travail from the beginning - the strange
mix of psychic compulsion and physical alteration that Sinister had done
had meant they had to work on both the astral plane and within Remy's brain
structure. They had been able to map the general location and alterations
in Azimuth's brain and use that as a template to tackle Remy, but he had
made it much harder for them. Azimuth had fenced off certain portions of
her thoughts and memories behind shields - mostly Guild stuff, she had told
them, adding that Remy would have to disown her as a thief if she revealed
any of it. Remy had fenced off everything. He created a shield structure
that funnelled them in total darkness to the places they wanted to go and
then showed them only the bare minimum they asked for. And whenever they
got near the core - the mingled psychic/physical structure that was
Sinister's little machine - Remy kicked them straight back out of his head.
The whole process was making Jean's brain ache.

'We could put a compulsion in,' said Betsy. 'Inside the shields. So you
can't kick us out.'

'No!' The cry was virtually simultaneous from Remy and Azimuth. 'Not a
compulsion,' continued Azimuth. 'If you... what you... not a
compulsion,' she finished helplessly.

'It wouldn't be a good idea,' agreed Jean. 'With what's already in there
another compulsion wouldn't work. And if it did work, and we tried to set
it up in direct opposition to what's already there...'

'Remy's head could explode,' finished Betsy calmly.

'I hadn' considered dat possibility,' said Remy dryly. 'I t'ink I might
want to keep my secret now, non?'

'So you can't use telepathy?' said Azimuth. 'But it's Remy who's causing
the problem. What he perceives?'

'Yes,' said Jean, realisation dawning on her face.

'The... thing you seek,' said Azimuth carefully, 'I can change it. Not a
secret,' she said to Remy. 'A thing to steal. To steal from Sinister.' A
wicked smile touched her lips. 'Haven't you always wanted to steal
something from Sinister?'

He matched her smile. 'Always, chere. Change it,' he said.

She turned to face him, her expression becoming serious. Jean could see
nothing, feel nothing against her telepathy, but Gambit winced for a
moment, obviously feeling the itch/buzz of Azimuth's power in his head.

Azimuth turned back to Jean. 'I've done my best,' she shrugged.

'And we'll do ours,' said Jean. She reached out with her mind, meshed it
with Betsy's to create a telepathic probe that they pushed towards Remy's
mind. For an instant, as she faced the thick blackness of his shields, she
thought he was going to close them down, but then his shields changed
shape, shifting into the familiar funnel shape. Inwards they fell, into the
darkness, travelling blindly through the astral plane.

~There,~ said Jean to Betsy as a white shimmer grew in the distance as it
had so often before.

~Wait,~ replied Betsy. ~We still need to get to it.~

The darkness shifted and swelled for a moment and Jean felt the first
plunge of disappointment that they would be shut out again. Instead, the
darkness receded and the white shimmer finally resolved itself before them.

~I think this is what you're looking for,~ said Remy's voice inside their
head. ~It isn't going to be an easy thing to steal.~

~Oh,~ said Betsy.

It seemed the only thing to say. The thing Sinister had made was as complex
in Remy's mind as it had been in Azimuth's. The white shape of it curled
through the astral plane, turned in upon itself and out again, plunged in
and out of the physical structures in Remy's brain over and over again. To
tease it apart, to separate physical from psychic and remove them both
without causing any damage, would be a major undertaking. To do it twice
was going to take a very long time indeed.

~I guess we'd better get started,~ said Jean resolutely and she and Betsy
began their work.

End of Part 25

Amanda
wolf@hawknet.com.au
"To live at all is miracle enough." Mervyn Peake