X-Men: Dark Mirror (28 page)

She just stood there staring at her feet. Or his. It was hard to tell. He glanced down at his boots and they were dirty, scuffed with age and mud.

He sensed movement at the end of the hall. Kurt, stopping to lean against the wall. His arms were folded over his chest. Something about his posture wasn't quite right, but that was the new normal. Nothing at all had been right since Seattle.

"You can't seem to stay away," Kurt said.

'When did a man have to stay away from the woman he loves?"

Words to win a woman by. Rogue finally looked at him—momentary, lovely—and deep warmth spread through Remy's heart, sweet as her green shy eyes.

Kurt moved closer. His yellow eyes glinted with a cold light and Remy, though he smiled, felt the dagger in his heart, his own cold readiness to fight and win should Kurt, this new stranger in a friend's body, provoke him.

But he did not. All he said was, "Rogue, do you want to go for a walk?" and Rogue hesitated. Kurt held out his hand and after a moment she took it and allowed herself to be drawn from her room past Remy into the hall. Kurt smiled, as if to say,
She listens to me, not to you, and how does that make you feel?

Like going for a walk.

"That sounds like a lovely idea,
mon frere."
Remy gathered up Rogue's other arm and tucked it against his body. He felt her quiver, but she did not pull away. Kurt looked disappointed, and Remy wondered if someone had forgotten to inform the blue teleporter that Rogue was his sister and therefore certain behaviors toward her might very well be inappropriate.

The three of them walked down the hall in silence, descending to the stairs to the main entry hall. Remy said, "I haven't been smelling much sulphur lately. You cuttin' back?"

For a moment Kurt looked confused, and then he said, "I've just felt like using my legs more, that's all." His accent was barely discernable and his voice was rough, a noted contrast to his usual soft-spoken nature. Remy wanted to laugh. Kurt, liking to use his legs? Even when the man was not teleporting, he somersaulted through the air, traversed halls in a series of cartwheels, flew through the house like it was nothing but a circus tent and he was the main attraction. Kurt might seem unassuming, but that was more of an act than the act.

Past the lobby down another hall. Remy would have guided Rogue out into the fresh air, but it was clear that Kurt had another destination in mind, and he was content to follow and observe. Anything he learned here might be useful—and soon. He could not see the status quo continuing much longer.

As they drew near the gym a strange sensation overcame him. Premonition, maybe. He felt nauseated. Sweat prickled against his back and a cold hard band tightened around his heart.

He heard something, then. Thick, like fists on flesh.

Remy let go of Rogue's arm and ran down the hall. He reached into his pockets for cards, for his retractable staff, for all those things he fought with because that horrible feeling was strong now, high in his throat, and when he rounded that corner into the gym it was worse than he could imagine because it was something he had never thought to see, something he could not bring himself to believe.

Wolverine was beating Jubilee to death. She was trying to fight, still struggling, but his fists were strong and fast and—

Remy did not stop running. Cards cut his fingers and he fanned them bright and hot, hot and willing and furious, and as Wolverine looked up with that sick mad look in his eyes and blood flecking his chin, Remy barreled into him and shoved those cards into his mouth.

He flung himself backward, still moving, still flying, and grabbed Jubilee without a pause in step, holding her tight against his body. She breathed, "Wolvie," and then the cards went off and Remy fell to his knees as the shock wave pushed him down. He glanced over his shoulder. He could not see Wolverine's face, but his hands still moved.

So did Remy. He climbed to his feet. Kurt and Rogue blocked the gym's entrance. Rogue's expression was horrified, but he did not know if it was for Wolverine's benefit or Jubilee's. Kurt showed nothing at all.

Hoisting Jubilee higher in his arms, Remy reached into his pocket for more cards. Held them up for Kurt and Rogue to see and in his head he said,
If you try to stop me I will kill you I will blow your heads
off
I will set you on fire and it will feel so good
, and he felt those thoughts enter his gaze, his walk, the line of his mouth.

He thought they would let him pass, but Kurt grabbed his arm and Remy spun with cards burning between his fingers and he threw them at Kurt—through Kurt, because he teleported in a cloud of smoke—and the gym shook again with an explosion that sent Rogue huddling to the ground with her hands over her head, shaking. Remy ran into the hall, cradling Jubilee tight against him. He heard air pop, felt a rush of something cool against his neck, and he turned in time to see Kurt bounce off the wall at his head.

Remy ducked, barely avoiding a set of sharp fingernails that raked the air near his cheek. Kurt said, "Come on now and play," and the voice was different, higher, without any hint of a German accent. Jubilee stirred in Remy's arms and a moment later Kurt screamed. Remy glanced over his shoulder, still running, and saw a glittering cloud of plasma eating through Kurt's clothing, burning his skin.

Remy reached the infirmary and he slapped the intercom, yelling for Ororo to come find him in the medlab.

He lay Jubilee down on the bed and her red eyes were open, conscious, utterly horrified. Bruises marred her swollen face, while her lips looked like one large cut. He thought her nose might be broken.

"He's not there," Jubilee breathed, and the heartbreak in her eyes made him want to go back and kill the bastard for good. "Remy, he's not in there."

"Ma
petite"
he began, but she shook her head.

"No. He would have stopped himself if he had been in there. Wolvie would have stopped. He would never hurt me.
Never."
Tears trickled from her eyes and Remy smoothed them away with a light touch.

"Jamais
," he soothed. "You are right. Wolverine would never hurt you,
ma petite.
Never."

"You sure about that?" said a new voice. Scott. Remy snarled, whirling on the balls of his feet, moving away from Jubilee as fast as he could because Scott had his hand on his visor and red light shot from his eyes, punching a hole through the wall where Remy had stood only seconds before.

Cards sparked hot between his fingers and he flung them hard at Scott, who dodged back into the hall while explosions rocked the walls and floor. Remy stumbled, catching himself, and then raced toward the doorway, grabbing a sheet from the end of a bed and bundling it tight against his chest, burying his hands in cotton and feeling it burn with power. He fought to hold it in, to keep the energy contained, and he tasted blood in his mouth as he bit his lip. He entered the hall and saw Scott sprawled on the ground, trying to stand. Remy smiled and ran right over Scott, draping that sheet on his body as he passed, and he knew the moment it should explode, knew it like the beating of his own heart, but when he heard the final roar, the thunder, the sound was muffled and the air did not shake. He turned and saw Jean at the end of the hall, her hands outstretched, face screwed up in concentration. Scott was still in one piece—unconscious, maybe—but charred bits of ash, the remains of the sheet, fluttered on top of him like dark snow.

"Merde,"
Remy said, and Jean's face relaxed into a smile. He felt himself picked up by a hand—her hand, flexing—and he hit the wall hard. Slammed again and again, and he heard Jubilee's faint voice call his name. Jean laughed and he looked at her through the haze of pain, looked and saw her hair begin to rise. Remy felt electricity gather in the air.

Thank you
, he thought, just as a bolt of lightning seared the ground near Jean's feet. Remy dropped to the ground. So did Jean, staggering to her knees. He saw Ororo appear from behind her. She held a piece of the torn-up floor, and she brought it down hard over Jean's head.

"Perfect timing," Remy said to her, stepping over Scott's still body.

"I thought so," she said, and ran into the infirmary.

Everywhere Ororo saw a war zone, but nothing was worse than the first moment she saw Jubilee.

"Goddess," she murmured, looking at the girl's ruined face. "Remy, who did this?"

"Wolverine," he said, grim.

"No," Jubilee whispered.

"His impostor," Remy corrected himself. "The impostor did this."

"I'll be fine," Jubilee said weakly. "Really. This just looks bad." She hesitated. "Does it look bad?"

"Badges of war," Remy said gendy.

"Oh," she breathed. "That bad."

"I am surprised you are still conscious," Ororo said, fighting for control. Thunder shook the room, accompanied by a cold wind that made her shiver in anticipation. The power tickled her skin; she knew what her eyes would look like if she had a mirror. She was ready—more than ready—and she wanted a fight. One look in Gambit's eyes told her that he felt the same.

First, though, she had to remember Jubilee. She had to focus on what was most important. Everything else was merely icing on the cake. Ororo hurried to the counter where Hank kept his most advanced medical devices, some of which had been borrowed from the Shi'ar. Alien technology could not be beaten in terms of efficiency.

"I'm still conscious because I'm tough," Jubilee said, though Ororo noticed a slight slurring to her words. She thought Jubilee might have a concussion.

"Yes, you are quite tough," Ororo said, in a voice more gende than she felt. "It is one of your many remarkable talents." Ororo gave her several shots of medicine that Hank always used for those X-Men who had had bad run- ins with tougher and larger adversaries than themselves. She touched Jubilee's hand and said, "Rest. By tomorrow you will feel much better."

"What about the others?" she asked. "What about
him?"

She could not say his name. Remy swallowed hard. Ororo said, "They are done here, Jubilee. They are done and gone, as of now. I promise you. I will not let this stand, no matter whose bodies they wear."

"Rough," said a familiar voice. Ororo and Remy turned. Scott leaned against the doorway. Remy held up an array of cards.

"Don' move" he said. "Games over, Scott. Or whoever you are."

"You don't know who I am? I thought the face made it obvious." Scott smiled, cold. He glanced down at Jubilee. "How bad is it?"

"Go to hell," Jubilee said, before either one of them could answer. Her jaw was stiffening up; in another ten minutes she would not be able to talk at all.

"What she said," Remy added.

Scott continued to smile and it was eerie how his expression did not change. Unnatural, as though it had been pasted on his face for him and he could not move his mouth until given permission. His eyes certainly did not reflect that tight smile. His eyes were dark with fury, with rage, and Ororo realized that the hard edge of anger was something she had seen for quite some time now, in all their faces. Subtle, though. Reined in.

She heard movement in the hall behind Scott, and Jean appeared: cold, face sharp. Blood trickled down the side of her temple. Ororo's hair stirred and she knew it was not her own power, but Jean, teasing her, playing without humor. Kurt arrived, followed by Rogue, and finally, as she knew would happen and dreaded, Logan entered the infirmary. Most of his face was missing, but the parts that remained were knitting together before her eyes. His skull glimmered beneath a light sheen of blood.

He did not look at Jubilee, which Ororo found odd. She could not take that as a sign of guilty feelings; rather, almost, as punishment.

Jubilee tried to sit up straight when Logan entered the room, but Remy put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. She did not relax. Her eyes, what little Ororo could see of them in her swelling face, were haunted.

"What is this?" Ororo asked, preparing herself for battle. She stood straight, tall, summoning the Goddess within her as shield and weapon. She gazed into the faces of those who should have been her friends and said, "Why have you become strangers? Why enemies? Who are you?"

"I don't understand those questions," Scott said. "Why are you asking us these things?"

"Because you are not who you say you are," she whispered, and the quiet in her voice was merely the lull, the prelude to something bigger, devastating. Remy knew her well; he inched closer to Jubilee.

"Maybe
we
don't know who we are," Jean said. "Maybe we're just as confused."

"And maybe I am also tired of games," Ororo said, and let go of her control, tearing down those hard-fought walls she kept around her emotions, those deadly emotions that were the wellspring of her gift, that gave it power. To feel too much was a killing thing—like now, like her rage—and there was no buildup, no slow kiss of wind, but a hurricane ram that knocked the men and women in front of her off their feet, slamming them hard against the wall. Hail cut their faces deep, drawing blood.

She expected them to fight back, looked forward to it with visceral desire, but they did nothing. They lay against the wall like dolls and allowed Ororo to punish them. It made no sense.