The Jean Grey School, Westchester, New York

The Past, Three Weeks Ago

Gambit wasn't exactly sure where he was at first. After wandering through the woods for a few minutes, there came a sensation of familiarity. He recognized the variety of trees surrounding him and the cast of pale yellow light he'd come to know in the northeast. Gambit was pretty sure he was back in Westchester, New York. The recognizable sight of the lake before him confirmed that he was not far from The Jean Grey School. Though he knew where he was, he wasn't entirely certain he knew when he was. Gambit started around the edge of the lake, ambling along with his hands in his pockets, in no particular hurry. There was a strange feeling of stillness inside his head that he rarely experienced. The scenery around him, the calls of birds, the light wind off the lake, the reflection on the water's surface of the white puffy clouds above, buoyed his tranquil mood. He kept his eyes to his feet, watching where he stepped in the overlong grass which had been laid flat by months of snow. Up ahead, he caught a glimpse of something blue laying on the turf. Gambit approached the object and stood over it. It was a blue jacket, part of the JGS uniform. Gambit smirked and stooped to pick up the jacket. At the very least it was a sign that Gambit was in the right time period. When he checked the label on the inside collar of the jacket, he saw the initials QQ written in black ink there. Gambit's smile widened. Perhaps he could run the jacket up the flagpole and have Mr. Quire retrieve it, as a lesson in personal responsibility. The fact that the flagpole was on top of one of the levitating towers floating about eight stories above the ground only added impact to the lesson.

As he held the jacket, he could feel the weight of something in one of the pockets. Gambit riffled in the pocket and turned out a pocket watch. For a moment, he stood staring at the worn brass watch case. Then it seemed he was seeing double for a moment: a vision of two of his left hands holding two identical watches. His breath caught in his throat and a wave of vertigo passed over him. Too late, he realized he was about to experience one of those flashes of forgotten memory. Gambit staggered and tumbled forward as the memories overtook him.

Of the three thousand one-hundred and seventy seven days of Remy's life, this one was the worst. It seemed no sooner than he had been taken in by Jean-Luc that he had been abandoned. Left behind, while the man he had been instructed to address as 'father' went off on an unknown errand. Remy had been deposited at Tante Mattie's house out in the middle of absolutely nowhere, leaving Remy without the comfort and the company of the city streets he knew and loved. After a few hours dogging his Tante's heels, Remy had been instructed to go outside and play. Whatever that entailed, Remy hadn't understood. He had wandered about the yard until he spotted the only other structure to be seen in this godforsaken stretch of bayou wilderness. The building was an old shed, full of rusting odds and ends, spiderwebs, and to Remy's amusement, a litter of kittens. There were five kittens in all, with black and white fur, too small to even have their eyes open yet. Remy had spent nearly an hour picking up the kittens, holding them in his lap, pressing their soft bodies to his cheek. He started to decide on names for the kittens, but it was difficult because they all looked so much alike, he kept forgetting which one was named what. He was still puzzling it out when he heard a sound and looked up. That was when he realized that the litter of kittens was in fact a litter of polekittens and the mother polecat had returned. She was not happy to see him.

Remy flew out of the shed, reeling and retching at the horrifying stench that seared his nose and throat. The scent of skunk was so much more when it was up close and personal, it took on new and terrible proportions. Tante Mattie emerged from her cottage to see what all the commotion was about. She exclaimed and fretted over Remy's predicament. A thick yellow goo had been sprayed across his face and the front of his shirt, his favorite shirt that his brother Henri had given him (no strings attached, Henri had promised). Mattie dispensed with his shirt. It was gone, put into the trash even though he begged her to let him keep it. Now Remy was in a galvanized tub with Mattie above him. She was pouring canned tomatoes over his head. Remy hated tomatoes almost as much as he hated peas. He hated them more now that he was wearing them. When the tomatoes seemed to not be resolving the situation, Mattie retreated to her cottage to regroup and possibly find another remedy. Remy sat miserably in the tub, his eyes stinging, his nose running, covered head to toe in tomato sauce. It was the worst day ever.

There came the sound of tires on gravel as a vehicle pulled up Tante Mattie's long drive. Remy watched as a figure appeared from around the corner of Mattie's cottage. It was Jean-Luc. Remy could see his father's shocked expression; eyes wide, mouth slack. The older man suddenly broke into a run towards Remy, falling to his knees before the tub. His hands closed down on Remy's shoulders, sliding down his thin bare arms and examining him in a frenzied panic.

"Mon dieu, Remy!" Jean-Luc cried. "Where are you hurt?"

Then the smell seemed to hit Jean-Luc like a physical blow. He gasped then coughed spasmodically. Remy realized the expression he had seen on Jean-Luc's face was one of fear; that his father had seen the red tomato juice and mistaken it for blood. Jean-Luc had been afraid his son had been hurt. The realization sent a wave of emotion through Remy. He extended his arms and threw them around his father's shoulders, burying his face in Jean-Luc's neck.

"Ack! Remy –!" Jean-Luc gasped, appalled by the terrible odor. He understood by now that Remy was not harmed at all, and to his credit he did not thrust the child away to make his escape.

"I – want – to go – hooome!" Remy wailed, milking the moment for all it was worth as Jean-Luc's arms closed around him. The misery Remy had been experiencing evaporated, and instead his chest filled with a effervescent feeling of happiness. Somebody cared about him.

Remy was in Tante Mattie's cottage. Days seemed to have elapsed in an eyeblink because he was now thirteen years old. He was laying back on Mattie's couch, covered in a patchwork quilt. Once again, he found himself to be miserable. This time he was glad to be at Mattie's and away from other people. If it weren't for other people and their germs, he wouldn't have gotten sick. Remy scratched idly at a spot on his neck, grimacing to himself. He held his paperback book open with the opposite hand.

"Now, quit dat scratchin'," Tante Mattie scolded from where she stood minding her stove, not even bothering to turn to look at Remy directly.

Remy ignored her and itched his chest, then a spot on his ribcage.

"What'd I tell you?" Mattie said and Remy scratched his head.

"It's in my hair!" Remy groused and turned a page in his book.

"If you keep at it, you'll give yourself scars," Tante Mattie said and turned to face him now, her hands fisted on her hips.

"So heal me all ready!" Remy complained.

"I'm an old lady," Mattie told him. "I can't be wastin' my powers on a little thing like de chicken pox when there's others who need my help more."

Remy made a sound of disgust and continued on scratching. He squirmed against the couch cushions to scratch his back. Tante Mattie sighed and picked up two oven mitts from where they hung by the oven door. She marched over to Remy and snatched the book from his hand, setting the paperback down onto the chest that served as her coffee table. Mattie grabbed one of Remy's wrists and plunked an oven mitt down onto his hand. Then took his other hand and covered it as well.

"Hey!" Remy said, and made to toss the mitts off.

"You keep them on, or I'll tape 'em down t'your arms!" Tante Mattie threatened.

"Okay, okay!" Remy said. "I won't scratch no more!"

Tante Mattie frowned down at him, her dark eyes watching him carefully. Remy scowled and looked at the oven mitts with disgust. Mattie's expression softened. She picked up his paperback book from where she had laid it open on the table. She pulled the rocking chair nearer to Remy's place on the couch and seated herself.

"What'chu doin'?" Remy grumbled.

"I'll read t'you, de rest of dis book," Tante Mattie responded.

"I can read it myself," Remy snapped.

"Not with them mitts on your hands, you can't," Mattie told him matter-of-factly.

Remy let out a long-winded sigh of despair.

"Where'd you leave off?" Mattie asked.

Remy shrugged and stared at the ceiling despondently.

Tante Mattie's eyes ran over the pages and she settled into the chair, ignoring Remy's sullen behavior. She began to read: "'You have a traitor there, Aiss – Alsan –.'"

"Aslan," Remy corrected.

"'Aslan,'" Mattie repeated. "'Said the Witch. Of course everyone present knew that she meant Edmund. But Edmund had got past thinking about himself after all he'd been through and after the talk he'd had that morning. He just went on looking at Aslan. It didn't seem to matter what the Witch said.'"

Mattie interrupted herself: "Now what'd this Edmund go and do that made him a traitor?"

Remy turned onto his side, putting his mittened hands between his knees. "He was selfish...forgot about his family and went off wit' de Witch even though it was plain as day she was de Devil."

"Hmph," Mattie said, looking at the pages closely. "And who's dis Asland?"

"Aslan. He's de lion, like what it says on de cover," Remy told her. "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe."

Tante Mattie was quiet for such a long time that Remy looked up at her. When their eyes met, she gave him a grim smile and brushed the hair that had fallen into his eyes back from his face. "Most folks get de chicken pox as little kids. It's worse when you're all grown up," she said.

Remy regarded her solemnly for a moment. He hadn't been behaving particularly 'grown up' since he'd arrived at Mattie's home. But it wasn't often he was allowed to act his own age, not when so much was expected of him as a son, a thief, and the future leader of the Guild.

"So," Mattie said, looking back to the book. "We've got de lion, we've got de witch...now where's dis wardrobe?"

"Maybe you should start at de beginning," Remy told her.

"You're nearly done with this book," Mattie said, flipping through the final pages. "You really want to read it all again?"

"I'm not reading it. You are," Remy said and settled his head more comfortably onto the pillow. "I want to hear it from the beginning. Let's start over."

Gambit was laying on his side with the side of his face pressed to the damp grass, staring at the underside of a large split log. He didn't know how long he had been laying there, though the cast of shadows and the encroaching coolness in the air told him the afternoon was waning. Though conscious, he continued to lay prone in a sort of a daze. He remembered so many things he had forgotten. There was the day his brother Henri had given Remy his old bicycle. He recalled getting the pocket watch he now held in his hand, a gift from the peculiar man known as The Witness. Then the first time he and Belle had kissed, and Remy realizing that Belle wasn't just a friend who was a girl, but something else. Gambit had spent so long trying not to remember the bad things of his past, that he'd forgotten all the good things as well. They brought with them a sort of sadness, that those times were gone and that he might never have a chance to have those things he remembered fondly again; family, companionship, love. He had spent a good deal of time convincing himself he didn't need any of these things, not with the trouble they often brought him.

With a groan, he sat up and rubbed a palm across his face. It wouldn't do to be caught laying face-down in the grass. There was grit in his eyebrows and beard. The hair on his head was stiff with dried sweat and sand. He really wanted a hot shower. But first he had to talk to Logan, and hope the X-Men didn't ask him too many awkward questions such as: Where have you been? and What have you been doing? Using the log to brace himself, Gambit climbed to his feet. He looked down at himself. His clothing was torn and soiled. When he slapped at the blades of wet grass clinging to his jeans, little clouds of dust formed. He sighed. For certain he was going to get interrogated. Maybe he should go jump in the lake.

In the distance, he heard a short scream. Gambit looked up, his eyes scanning the forest. He was immediately alert. Gambit's ears strained to hear another sound, but there was nothing. He started for the woods. Gambit walked quickly, ducking under low-hanging branches and skirting thick underbrush. The scream had come from the direction of the school. He thought it sounded like Jean. He told himself perhaps Kitty was running the young X-Men through their paces, that they were likely engaged in a training exercise. There was no reason to assume there was an emergency. Through the bare limbs of the trees, Gambit could see a blast of red light; one of Cyclops' optic beams arcing towards the sky. Birds flew in a panic away from the area. Gambit quickened his pace, slapping away tree limbs as he passed. He was just passing between two closely growing pines when something burst forward and collided with him.

There was a flash of his own pinkish power signature and Gambit was knocked off his feet by a repellant force, falling backwards into to leaf litter. When he sat up, he saw a figure struggling from out of the pine trees. When the figure turned, his and Gambit's eyes met.

"Holy Hell!" Gambit cried, finding that he was staring at the equally surprised and much younger version of himself. Gambit leapt to his feet and his younger self cast an anxious glance back from where he came. The younger Remy darted forward and Gambit stepped into his path. Gambit asked: "Where de hell do you think you're going?"

"Away from dis place!" his younger self answered. They both winced at the high-pitched squawk of the boy's voice.

Gambit tried to reach for his younger counterpart but found a sharp crackle of resistance when he attempted to make contact. The younger mutant staggered backwards and away from his older self, his eyes seeking out an escape route.

"Tell me what –!" Gambit began when he was cut off by a sharp yell. That was Cyclops! Gambit let out an impatient sound and said to his younger self: "Well, forget you!" He started towards the sounds of commotion.

"Don't!" his younger self cried after him. "He'll take you too!"

Gambit glanced over his shoulder at his younger self, who was standing there in frozen fear, his eyes wide in his pale face. Somehow Gambit knew who his younger self was talking about, who he was so afraid of. "Go ahead and run, coward! It's what you're best at!" Gambit snapped to himself. Then he ran forward into the forest.

Gambit kept low, keeping himself hidden for the most part by the underbrush. He moved as quickly and silently as possible through the deepening shadows. Up ahead, he could hear a voice speaking. With his jaw set, he continued, swallowing his own fears in favor of the need to protect the younger X-Men. He came to a break in the trees where he found three figures. Jean was facing away from him, kneeling on the forest floor. Her back was stiff and her hands were fisted at her sides. She seemed to be struggling against an unseen force. Cyclops was facing Gambit, but he was on his hands and knees, searching blindly in the leaves for his missing visor. Before the two teens was Sinister, looking more like his usual self rather than the Victorian dandy Gambit had encountered at the doughnut shop. Gambit wondered what had changed.

Sinister stepped forward and picked up Cyclops' visor. It had been inches from the young man's searching hands. When Cyclops lunged towards Sinister hoping to reclaim his glasses, Sinister casually put a hand to the teen's forehead and pushed him backwards. Cyclops landed on his rump beside Jean.

"Now that I have your attention," Sinister said.

"Who are you?" Cyclops barked. "What do you want?"

Gambit continued creeping along the edge of the clearing, staying out of sight. He took a playing card from his jacket and charged it slowly, then held it beside his head. The flow of energy through Gambit's body tended to disrupt most telepath's ability to detect his thoughts, at least when he wasn't being attacked directly.

"You don't remember me, Scott?" Sinister asked in a mocking tone. "Your handlers haven't been keeping you abreast of current events, it seems."

Gambit was nearly behind Sinister now. His eyes scanned the surroundings, searching for something he could use to his advantage. There was a stout tree he thought he might be able to climb. He hoped he could do so silently, it had been awhile since he'd climbed a tree.

"As for what I want...You may find our wants to align with one another," Sinister continued.

"I doubt that," Cyclops snapped.

"A future for the mutant race," Sinister said as if Cyclops hadn't interrupted. "One where we are no longer marginalized by society or threatened with extinction. A future where mutants aren't just merely surviving, but thriving."

"What's that got to do with us?" Cyclops asked.

"I will give you all the answers, Scott," Sinister said and stepped forward. He held the visor in his hands and extended it towards Cyclops. "Your lenses. They could use some updating."

Cyclops reached out hesitantly and found the visor with his fingertips. He quickly snatched it back and placed the lenses over his eyes. Gambit took the opportunity to scale the tree trunk. He crept forward along a tree branch.

"What did you do to Jean?" Cyclops demanded, glancing at Jean who was still held rigid, though her eyes darted from Sinister back to Cyclops.

"She is unharmed," Sinister said cooly. "I simply want to avoid any needless fighting. Instead, I would like you both to listen."

Gambit was not directly above Sinister, but it was the best vantage point he could achieve. He held the charged card loosely in his fingers, preparing to let it fly.

"I promise I will only take a moment of your time," Sinister said and reached out a hand towards Cyclops' shoulder. "If you would just come –."

"No one's goin' anywhere wit'out a signed permission slip," Gambit said and as Sinister turned, the charged card he held snapped from his fingers. The card detonated against Sinister's chest and the man staggered. Gambit leapt from the tree branch.

"Go!" Gambit shouted at Cyclops and Jean, who had suddenly found herself free from Sinister's telekinetic grip. "Get out of here!"

Gambit landed upon Sinister, driving him to the ground. When the two hit the turf, Gambit thrust a second charged card into Sinister's reforming chest. One of Sinister's arms came up and swept Gambit aside. The second card exploded with a muffled bang. Gambit glanced up to see the two teens had not moved. They were going to squander the brief moment he had given them to escape. His eyes met Cyclops'. "I said go!" he shouted. "Now! That's a goddamned order!"

"We'll bring reinforcements!" Cyclops said and then seized Jean by her wrist and dragged her from the clearing.

Gambit didn't have a moment to enjoy the fact that someone had actually listened to him for once. Even with most of his chest and part of his jaw missing, Sinister was still fast. Gambit tried to jerk backwards, but Sinister's hand had closed down on the front of his shirt. There was a sound of tearing fabric as Gambit was pulled off his feet and then tossed across the clearing. He struck a tree trunk and fell forward. He wheezed in a gasp as the breath was knocked from his body. Gambit struggled to regain his feet as Sinister reformed on the opposite side of the clearing. The pair faced one another.

"LeBeau," Sinister said calmly as his jaw regained its shape. "You look as though you've been dragged by a team of wild horses."

"It was just de one mule," Gambit gasped, holding his side as he wheezed. He folded over and retrieved another handful of cards, coughing to disguise the movement. In an instant, he straightened and raised his arm to throw his cards. He found his hand caught in a powerful grip. Someone had snuck up on him from behind.

Before him, Sinister's eyes grew wide. Then his expression became strange. Suddenly, it seemed that Sinister became distorted, his face and form warped. While he observed this strange transformation, Gambit struggled against the restraining grip on his arm and fought the other arm encircling his chest.

"What!?" Gambit gasped.

Sinister was speechless, which made Gambit realize something was certainly amiss with him. Then Sinister split in two, pulling apart as if made from putty. From between the two halves of the squirming mass that was Sinister, Gambit could see Jean standing there, the adult version. Her face was a frozen mask, concentrating on the task of tearing Sinister apart. Jean strode forward, her purplish-red hair a nimbus of energy brought alive by the telekinetic forces she wielded. Gambit was held immobile as he was forced forward into the clearing.

"Well done, Five," said the voice from over Gambit's shoulder. Gambit went rigid. He realized he was being held by Sinister...a different Sinister. Sinister tossed him forward and Gambit fell to the clearing floor on his hands and knees. Jean's eyes rose to meet those of Sinister Prime's. Her eyes were flat and her full lips turned into a frown. A bead of blood ran from her left nostril.

"You cannot think to attack me, Five," Sinister Prime said. "And you cannot disobey me either. You are my creation, my clone. Should I ask you to do anything – anything at all – and you think to disobey me, you would only find yourself resetting to your default, and more biddable self."

Gambit righted himself, looking from Sinister Prime to Jean. Jean's eyes were wide with fear and her head shook in a silent 'no.'

"So when I ask you to," Sinister Prime raised a languid hand to point at Gambit, "kill this misera –."

Gambit spun and let fly the pocket watch he held in his grip. The watch flashed through the air and detonated against Sinister Prime's jaw. Sinister Prime arched backwards, his hands flying upward as he fell. Jean nearly collapsed forward, stumbling into the clearing towards Gambit.

"Remy!" she gasped as he gripped her by her upper arms.

"Jean! We have to –!" Gambit began, casting a glance back over at Sinister Prime, who was even then regaining his feet.

Jean's eyes flicked from one Sinister to the other, like a panicked bird in a cage, seeking escape. "What – what are we going to to?"

"Chère, look at me," Gambit said and claimed her face in both of his hands. "Calm down."

Jean's eyes found his and her face grew still. She inhaled slowly. "What are you thinking?"

He studied her carefully. "You tell me," he said. Jean's hands covered Gambit's and she took a shaking breath. She nodded slowly.

Then the two of them vanished in a flash of light.

~oOo~

A/N: This is the last chapter I had. I'm afraid this story will be on hiatus, but I won't say I quit. I had the entire story plotted and the final chapter written before I even posted my first chapter.

Thanks to all of you for your kind words and wishes for me and the hatchling. I think we've narrowed down the names and Charlotte Evelyn is looking like the winner. Though Camille, Claire, and Brigitte were also contenders. :-)