X-MEN ETERNITY

X-Factor #6: "The Thief and the Angel"
Rated PG-13 for violence and language

by R. John Burke
X-Men Eternity Message Board: http://solofan.proboards76.com/index.cgi

DISCLAIMER: The X-Men are a copyright of Marvel Comics. I don't own them, but this is only non-profit fan fiction. No money is involved and no infringement is intended.

This is also partly a work of historical fiction; all characters are either fictitious or used fictitiously, and no infringement or insult is intended.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: X-Men Eternity started (in Uncanny #1: The Shattering) with the events at the end of "House of M" and went in a different direction. "X-Factor: Eternity" deals with the part of the team that has become trapped in an alternate 19^th Century America.

**************************************************************

Rogue was having the most horrible dream. She thought she was beating the tar out of Wolverine. Okay, that wasn't really the horrible part. It was the part where she was enjoying the hell out of herself that bothered her.

"How about Rogue? Feel like tusslin' with Rogue, sugah?" (* for this whole scene, see X-Force #6)

...WHAM! She smashed Wolvie up against a wall. Part of Rogue winced in sympathy for her friend; another part sort of laughed it off, in an unnaturally giddy manner. Heal *that*, sucker!

Piotr Rasputin was there, too-- Colossus. Nice guy, Petey, and nobody could deny he was a fine-looking man. There had been a time, briefly, when Pete had been able to touch her in his armored-up form. They'd kissed, maybe flirted a little, but nothing had come of it; Rogue had been stuck on Gambit and Pete... well, he couldn't see past that mealy-mouthed little kitten with her claws sunk in him. And if that wasn't enough, he'd up and died on her, the big tease!

*I oughta kill him for that,* Rogue thought, and found to her surprise that she enjoyed the idea.

Wolvie first, though. No big reason, really. Logan was a stand-up guy. Saved her life a few times.

It was the cigars, she decided. She'd been wanting to tell him for years to give up those stinky cigars that polluted the atmosphere for everybody else. But you couldn't tell Wolvie anything. He never listened.

He was listening *now*.

Before she could drive the point home, though, she seemed to be fading away; the feral snarl on Wolvie's face became very distant, as Rogue was summoned from... wherever she'd been, doing... whatever she was doing. None of it was very clear. Quite the nightmare.

She noticed Jonothon Starsmore-- Chamber-- on the way out, almost like they passed in the hall. He'd been summoned next. Maybe *he'd* get to kill Wolvie. Part of Rogue was disappointed.

"Jono?" she said, and he turned to her with a lifeless, haunted look in his eyes, like he was having the same dream. "Where are we? What th' hell happened?"

Jono's eyebrows knitted together. "I think yer absorbed me, luv. An' then the Slayer absorbed *you*." (* see last issue)

Rogue blushed. "Oops. So much for great ideas."

"Eh. I appreciate the effort." Jono paused, as though listening to something. "Pardon me. Seems I've got to go kill Wolverine."

"I was just doin' that," Rogue said. "I should've wanted to stop, but... I didn't."

Jono turned, shaking his head as he did: "Me, neither. I think th' Slayer's got us. We're just shadows now. Silhouettes of ourselves, driven by him, if yer take my meaning."

"I don't, really. I just wanna know one thing: How do we get out of this?"

"I don't think we *can*," he said. Then he was gone, leaving Rogue to her nightmare.

****

"You'll never get away with this."

"Oh, that's a *good* one. Tell the truth, dear, did Xavier teach you that? Or did you just pick it out of the Big Book of Damsel in Distress clichés?"

Richmond, Virginia
Autumn 1861
Alternate Reality #915

Sophie Cuckoo was a prisoner in her own mind. Her renegade sister, Esme, had forced her way in, broken off her telepathic connection to the Five-in-One group mind (or what remained of it), and physically taken control of Sophie's motor functions. Now the girl could only watch, helpless, while her sister used her body to serve the villainous Slayer and deceived her friends with her own tongue. Sophie wanted to scream, but she couldn't even do that.

She could keep up a bold front, however, sneering at her sister's image in her mind: "If you think I'm in distress now, *dear*, wait 'till you see what I'm doing to do to you when I get my body back. I'll snatch out your hair and-- no, *better*. Remember how it felt to be killed by Magneto? I'll take away all your memories but *that* one and make you live it over and *over* and..."

"You'd do well not to give me any ideas," Esme said, grinning. "Remember I'm the one in control. I can do anything I want-- to your body, to your mind, to your X-Men. Don't test me, dear."

Sophie's mental image folded its arms and turned aside. "You won't fool them. You're a prissy little snot. You'll give yourself away."

"We'll see." Esme's quiet satisfaction was horrible; worse than if she'd been ranting and raving in Sophie's mind. "Well... I have some shopping to do. I'm going into the city with Dr. Reyes and the Guthries. Maybe I won't kill them... yet."

Sophie whirled on her, but Esme was already retreating from the contact, returning her awareness to the real world of Reality 915, where she controlled Sophie's every move. Sophie could see everything she was doing, the little swagger she adopted, quickly dropped as she approached Sam Guthrie-- the X-Man, Cannonball. She did a little turn in the elaborate dress Sophie had to wear.

"How do I look?"

The lanky young man grinned from ear to ear. "Pretty as a picture, Sophie. You're gonna break some hearts if we stay in this timeline, girl."

"I can certainly return the compliment. Have you been working out, Sam? There's something *about* you today that just... fascinates me."

Sam cleared his throat and turned bright red. "Whoa! I'm gonna-- I think I'll just see what's keepin' Paige. I'll be-- *ahem*-- I'll go. 'Scuse me."

"Hurry back. I'll be right here waiting."

Exit Sam Guthrie, at a run. Esme started chuckling, while stream poured forth from Sophie's ears.

"Thanks for making me a trollop," she said to herself.

*Oh, like you don't think he's cute,* Esme thought. *Mind your manners, dear, or next time I'll hit on Paige...*

"Stop enjoying this."

Esme's voice seemed to be all around Sophie, constricting her, binding her into a tiny cell inside her own mind. *I haven't -begun- to enjoy myself. Wait 'till you see what comes next... oh, but that would be telling. For now, your body seems to be hungry. Maybe I'll feed it a whole pecan pie. You weren't serious about that diet, were you?*

Her sense disappeared. Sophie looked around at the nothingness surrounding her, and sighed. "It's bad enough she's evil; does she have to be *mean*, too?"

****

Remy LeBeau lit a cigarette, blew out a slow puff of smoke, and flicked ash on the ground. Besides that, he hardly moved, resting in the shadows across from Mechanic's Hall in Richmond, seat of the Confederate Department of War.

Soldiers tromped in and out, clad in anything from gray to homespun butternut to more ambitious variations that reminded Remy of superhero costumes back home, or possibly Halloween costumes. The fellow in red baggy pants who introduced himself as a Louisiana Zouave made Remy want to be from Mississippi. But fashion critique was not the purpose of his visit. If Remy LeBeau empathized with any creature on Earth, it was the fox, and today he was giving himself a chance to be hunted.

*Speaking of, I reckon coffee break's over,* Remy thought. He ground out the cigarette and stepped into the light.

Clad in dirty robes and dark glasses, tapping the ground with his staff and waving a tin cup, he passed himself off as a blind beggar, turning a weakness-- his red eyes, which would be impossible to explain in this time period-- into a strength. Nobody paid him two thoughts as he crossed the busy street ahead of a horse and carriage, and a few of them did deposit coins that clattered merrily in his cup as he moved. Remy supposed he ought to feel guilty about taking their money-- then he laughed to himself, because Remy never felt guilty about taking *anyone's* money.

He moved away from the War Department, eyes searching the skies behind his glasses, listening to the coins drop into his cup: *Clink*. *Clink*. *Clank*.

*Crinkle*.

Remy frowned. *Crinkle?*

He glanced into the cup. Somebody had dropped in a whole Confederate banknote-- soon to be worth far less than scrap metal off a Sentinel, but at this moment-- early in the war-- still a generous donation.

*Now, who do I know who's a big spender?*

"Bonjour, *Monsieur Ange*," he said, a smile playing at his lips. "Got a bit o' business fo' you, if you interested."

Warren Worthington grabbed Remy's elbow and guided him back into an alley, then spent a long moment looking him up and down with angry blue eyes before speaking:

"That was quick. Don't tell me Rogue screwed up already?"

Another man might have been offended. The X-Man called Gambit had learned long ago that words could take any shape you liked, but lacking substance, weren't worth getting riled over. Sticks and stones.

"Rogue's gone," he said. "Slayer got her."

"Damn shame," said Warren. "And now you come to me? I'm your-- Plan B, you said? (* also last issue) Me, the traitor?"

Remy made himself grin. "We all traitors here, mon ami. Play de game all you like. It's what side you on when all bets are in dat count."

"And you trust me? Just like that?"

The two men stared at each other. A little of Gambit's grin disappeared.

"Not even a bit," he said. "Don' never trust a smart man, Monsieur Ange. Reckon we both of us smart men, non?"

Warren took a step back. "No. You're a *clever* man, Remy, not *smart*. Do you know what the difference is?"

"Bet you gon' tell me."

"A clever man knows how things work-- just well enough to get what he wants. A smart man knows *why* things work-- so he can make others get it for him."

Something in his voice... Remy tensed, readying his staff, not sure where exactly he was reading a threat but trusting his instincts.

Warren said, "If, for example, somebody wanted to draw your remaining X-Men into one place and cut them to pieces... the way to do that would be to motivate you-- the clever man-- to lead them into a trap. Of course, he'd need the right bait. Take Rogue. You're predictable where she's concerned, Re--"

Gambit had heard enough. His staff swung around toward Warren's head-- he'd caught the Angel off-guard that way once before (* last issue), but this time the other man effortlessly caught it-- *bare-handed*, caught pure adamantium-- wrenched it from his grasp, and tossed it aside.

"--my," the Angel continued, not even pausing between syllables. "Then our friend would let you think you're smart, let you think you have a plan to use this vessel against the Slayer, when the reverse has been true all along. And then you'd kill yourself and your team with your own... cleverness."

Gambit tossed a playing card. It exploded at Warren's chest-level, carving a gash in his flesh-- but it healed almost instantly, as though the Angel's fancy healing factor had been souped-up beyond all reason. Then *he* took a swing. Gambit dodged. It crushed the brick where his head would have been. Warren Worthington had never been *that* strong in his life, but Rogue had been. If the Slayer had somehow granted him some of her power...

Warren flexed the muscles of his back, tearing the coat he wore and spreading his wings. They fanned out to either side, trapping Remy in the alley, and hammered a one-two combination into the Cajun's midsection. Gambit went down...

...and swept with his legs, knocking the Angel back against the opposite wall in a tangle of his own wings. Gambit picked up a piece of shattered brick and supercharged it, hurling it like a slingshot's stone toward his head. A flap of the wings knocked it aside before it exploded.

Gambit lunged for his staff. Warren Worthington's boot came down on it. He picked up Remy by the lapels of his cloak and lifted him into the air:

"Any clever last words?"

****

The soldiers in gray and homespun marched past, line after line of them, grinning and clutching their muskets or whatever mismatched weapons they had on hand, for all the world like their little regional conflict was in the bag, when in fact it seemed likely-- judging either by historical precedent or their current situation-- to end in painful and soul-crushing defeat.

They were the 24^th Virginia Infantry, under the command of General Jubal "Stonewall" Early, whom Sam Guthrie knew was never meant to bear that nickname. But the arrival of the X-Men (* in issue #1) had thrown history in this timeline out of whack, and time had to scramble to patch up the holes. A general who was meant to be a hero to his people ended in abject failure, while another who had been a supporting player rose to prominence. All part of the fun of the Multiverse.

"Look at 'em," said a quiet voice behind Sam, brimming with barely-concealed hostility. "They strut around like they own the place."

He shrugged. "Grant ain't at the gates yet, Doc. They *do* own the place."

"Yeah. And everyone in it."

Sam frowned back at her; as a medical doctor whose pigmentation forced her to pose as a slave in this time and place, Cecilia Reyes could be forgiven a rigidly negative opinion of a nation that considered all the black faces in the parade-watching crowd to be their property. As their resident expert-- basically their only guy who'd ever bothered to read a book on the Civil War-- Sam felt compelled to object:

"Most of these fellas'll never own slaves. Their home's been invaded. They're poor slobs fightin' somebody else's war."

"So's the Toad when he's working for Magneto. That ever stop you from bashing his face in?"

Sam grimaced. "I don't generally bash th' Toad. My momma used t' tell me, always be kind to fools, Sammy, 'cause they'll always have ya outnumbered."

Cecilia laughed. "Fair enough. I hear Gladiator's more your speed, anyway. You should bring that up more often. Impresses the *chicas* like nobody's business."

Sam turned to watch the soldiers pass. He refused the change of subject: "I'm just sayin', these guys ain't evil. They don't know any better."

"The ignorance excuse. *Love* that one. Look, Sam, I don't mean any personal offense to your ancestors, who I'm sure fought bravely--"

"--for the Union," Sam said. "I'm from Kentucky, Doc. We never seceded."

"No kidding? Didn't know that."

"Bet ya didn't care, either."

"Not so much. Almost, though."

"Hey, guys," said a new voice. It belonged to Paige Guthrie, Sam's sister, who got to wear a much prettier dress than Cecilias, even if the dark circles under her eyes tended to spoil the effect. Sam felt bad, and wished he knew how to help the kid. She was deeply in love with Warren Worthington-- or, possibly, with Jonothon Starsmore. The way their luck was running, she wouldn't be getting much sleep either way. But she kept a light tone as she said: "Sophie an' I brought lunch."

"Great, I'm starved. Let's find us a little out-of-the-way place--"

"Where we can treat me like a person, you mean?" Cecilia muttered.

Sam turned red; there *was* that. Too much cultural sensitivity could get them in a lot of trouble if they were observed. Maybe the Doc was right not to make excuses.

They eased their way into reverse, moving away from the city square. To Sam's surprise and general discomfort, thin fingers wrapped around his hand in a surprisingly tenacious grip, leading him through the crowd.

"Come on, Sam! I know the perfect spot-- you'll sit next to *me*, won't you?"

It wasn't any less surprising the second time it happened, and Sam's reaction sounded roughly like: "HEM! Er-- I-- we-- they-- wow-- gotta-- why!"

Paige giggled. Sam sent her a glare that, as children, would have put every doll she owned in mortal danger. Thus encouraged, she tactfully extracted Sophie and suggested they go set things up. Sophie made moon eyes over her shoulder the whole way, though.

With nobody around to observe, Cecilia eased a little closer and slapped Sam on the back. "Kid likes you."

"Aw..."

"Hey, in this century, they're getting *married* at her age." Cecilia winked at him. "Maybe you should tell her the Gladiator story."

"Ain't funny."

"Why? You're a reasonably healthy young guy, Sam Guthrie. Nothing wrong with a little crush."

Sam studied his shoes. "Sophie ain't got one. Not so she'd act like that. It's weird."

"Oh?" Cecilia's tone reflected new seriousness. "We'll keep an eye on her."

"Yup," Sam agreed, and moved to join the others--

WHAM! Something went flying past his nose. It turned out to be a suit of ragged gray with the body of a whole Confederate soldier attached-- the fellow hit a wall behind Sam and Cecilia and crumpled, laying still at the bottom of it.

"What the hell...?" said the doctor.

"Dunno," Sam said. "Gonna find out."

He turned and blasted down the little side street from whence the man had come. A crowd of people where there, beating up on... somebody. Or something. They had picked precisely the wrong day to act like bullies. Not only was there a genuine superhero in the area, he was in a bad mood. Sam hit them hard, scattering folks every which way.

Then he saw what they were beating up on, and the real trouble began.

****

"Last words, mon ami? After all we been through together? Can't b'lieve you gon' kill an X-Man. How de Slayer get t' you, eh? Not too late t' double-cross him. Might even be fun. Imagine what Paige gon' say when she hear 'bout this. Wouldn't you rather tell her you workin' fo' us all along? I give you a real good report, mon ami, if you spare my life..."

There was something dead in Warren Worthington's blue eyes as he glowered up at Remy. "Any last words, *keeping in mind* that I'm immune to your power of persuasion?"

"Ah," said Remy, making a face. "Ought t' explain de rules in advance next time. Dat case, I got jus' one word."

"And that is?"

"Bang."

...BANG! On cue, Warren dropped him and fell back against the wall, grabbing at his foot-- or where it had been before his boot exploded. Remy had taken the precaution of charging it up while he was on the ground, on the theory that a good hotfoot never hurt anybody.

Well, that wasn't strictly true-- actually, if Warren had been a normal man, or maybe even what he'd been before the Slayer got him, he'd have been lame for life. As it was, Remy could see the wound healing before his eyes, and knew he had only moments. He grabbed up his staff and, wedging it between the sides of the narrow alley, started working his way up the walls.

A minute later, he glimpsed daylight, and levered himself up onto the roof. He looked out over Richmond, wondering if going for altitude had really been the best idea against a man whose whole identity was as a flier... on the other hand, they couldn't very well wage this fight on the ground amongst the common folk, and it would serve Remy's purposes to let his opponent do well... for now.

As much as he'd been expecting it, he flinched and almost fell when the the Angel, now fully healed, streaked up out of the alley and soared high into the sun. Then he reversed course and headed straight for Remy on a dive-bombing mission.

BLAM! BAM! POW! Remy tossed a few cards to keep him off-balance. Like a fighter pilot plowing through flack, Warren kept coming. Then he held forth his own hands, and...

ZRRRRAAAAACK! Opened a hole in the roof almost at Gambit's feet. The Cajun cursed. A bit of psionic energy on loan from Chamber?

"You got a real problem stickin' to de rules o' de game, mon ami!"

*Of course,* Gambit thought as the Angel swept down upon him, *so do I...*

He waited... waited... allowed Warren to get into point-blank range, holding his staff as though he'd fight. Then he bailed out, rolled, and detonated a card in the other man's face. Dazzled, the Angel crashed straight through the roof, into the attic of the building below. Somebody screamed. Gambit sighed; they just weren't very good at keeping a low profile. He pulled back his staff, ready to crack the traitor's skull when he re-emerged.

But the first thing to pop up out of the hole he'd made wasn't Warren Worthington. It was the bald head of a perfectly innocent bystander, some clerk or functionary, who kicked and struggled in the Angel's grasp as a powerful beat of wings lifted them up into the air.

Warren grinned at him. "What do you think, Remy? Shall I pitch him off the roof?"

"You ain't gon' do dat."

"Why not? You would, wouldn't you? Do you have *any* principles, Remy, or just a series of-- forgive the expression-- gambits? I think it's the latter. We are the games we play, don't you agree? Well, this is my game-- throw away the staff, and the cards, or he dies."

"Don' think so."

The two men locked eyes. The poor bystander continued to scream. Warren made a face.

"This is a bluff," he said. "You're trying to bluff me. You won't let me kill him."

"You won' do it, mon ami."

Warren grinned. "Oh, no?"

He released his grip, and the screaming man began to fall...

****

The blanket was set out in a secluded corner of parkland, the picnic basket unloaded, and the sun shone down on a blissfully idyllic scene. It would have made Esme gag if not for the amusing spectacle of Paige Guthrie stalking back and forth like a caged lioness. She'd nearly trampled the food a couple of times, and kept craning her neck to look back into the city.

"Something wrong?" Esme asked, in her sweetest good-sister voice.

"Nothing!" Paige snapped, for at least the eighth time. "Just... wonderin' what's keeping Sam."

"Are you *sure* that's what's bothering you?" Esme framed the question around a huge mouthful of pie.

"'Course it is! Why, what--" Paige frowned. "Hey, leave some of that for the rest of us."

"Just enjoying myself," Esme said. "After all, tomorrow might never come."

"Stop bein' realistic. You're too young for it." Paige smacked a fist into her open palm. "I better go see if he needs some--"

"If it's Warren you're worried about, he'll be along. You needn't be nervous. I'm sure he's forgiven you for stomping on his heart like that. (* X-Factor #4)"

Paige whirled on her. "You little--! It's none of your business!"

Esme shrugged. She decided to wash down the pie with something palette-cleansing... like fried chicken. "It wasn't a hard observation to make. I think you need to decide whose side you're really on... Warren's, or the X-Men's."

"Warren *is* an X-Man!"

"Is he? He's not acting like it."

"Where do you get off? Just 'cause he made a few mistakes--"

"If you say so." Esme finished gnawing through a chicken bone, tossed it aside, and licked her fingers. In the back of her mind, she could hear Sophie ranting. She liked that, so she started on another piece. "Maybe Warren's just found something better."

She watched in amusement as Paige got redder and redder: "What d'you mean, somethin' better?"

"Better than his old friends. Better than you. After all, you did toss him aside for a Cockney freak. What's *with* that, anyway? Are you *blind*, girl? Because--"

"I did nothin' of the kind! Y'all'd better watch yo' mouth"

Bingo. When the Southern accent got heavy, Paige was steamed. Esme remained the picture of innocence with a little shrug. "If you say so."

Blinking in the sunlight, she reached for another piece of chicken--

Paige kicked over the picnic basket and dragged Esme up by her arms. The Cuckoo reflected that she might have done *too* thorough a job.

"I said enough a' that, you little-- I mean it, I wanna know what you're-- hey, what's with your eye?"

"Pardon?" Esme blinked again.

"Your eyes. What d'you keep blinkin' for?"

"I am *not*--" Blink. Blink-blink-blink. Esme sighed, realization dawning. *Sophie*. "It's nothing. The sun's too bright."

"No, it ain't. What the *hell's* with you today? Is this some kinda telepath thing, because--"

"Yes!" said Esme. *Twitch.* Her whole face scrunched up that time. "That's what it is. Give me a moment, won't you?"

Ignoring Paige's annoyance, Esme retreated inside herself, her eyes glowing bright as she sought the place in her mind-- well, in Sophie's mind-- where another consciousness was stored. She saw her sister as though sitting at a table, attractively decked out in prisoner's garb, complete with serial number 5-000-1.

"Stop that."

Sophie turned the innocent look back on her. "Stop what, dear?"

"What you're doing. It's *extremely* irritating."

"Is it?" Her captive sister shrugged. "Can't help it. It's a tic, you know. Happens whenever a sister has a psychotic episode in my body."

She stepped forward, summoning her power. "You *will* stop, or I'll--"

"What? Hurt Paige? Go ahead and try. I think she can take me."

Esme counted slowly to ten, then tried again: "I've been very pleasant, letting you take up space in a body that doesn't need you anymore. But that can change. How would you like to spend the rest of your days as a drooling vegetable?"

"It beats this." Sophie shrugged. "Besides, you're doing a better job of warning them than I could."

"Do you think so?"

Her sister nodded. "The flirting with Sam, goading them, the eating. It's not *all* to annoy me. Even you can be subtler than this. It's like you want them to find out."

"I wouldn't go that far," Esme said. "It wouldn't break my heart if they were to know exactly who beat them, and why... but practically speaking, dear, there's just not going to be time for it to matter. So I might as well have fun."

"The X-Men are going to stomp you so hard, the Molecule Man won't be able to put your pieces back together."

"Your pieces, dear." She smiled. "Until then, you're *ruining* my fun, so stop it. Otherwise..."

"Are you kidding?" Sophie said. She held up both hands and started to laugh. "It will be worth a few bruises to watch this."

In a burst of white light, Sophie faded, her laughter echoing behind her. Esme shook herself and came back to the argument with Paige. At least the twitch had stopped.

"Well?" the junior X-Man demanded.

"You have lots of siblings, don't you, Paige? Even more than me? I'm so very sorry for you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, unhand me!" Esme tore out of her grasp and did her best to keep a sneer off her face. "Psychic bulletin, dear: Sam's in danger. Better run to him."

Paige made a face. "Dunno if I trust you."

"All right, then. I'll sit down and finish my lunch, and maybe he'll die and maybe he won't. I'm okay with that if you are."

"Yeah, right!" Paige reached for her elbow again, but Esme jerked away. "C'mon, kid...!"

She tore away her top layer of skin-- a disgusting spectacle which Esme was quite certain she'd never get used to-- revealing a rubbery form that moved faster than any human could. Paige was gone in a flash, in her brother's direction.

Esme retrieved a chicken leg for the road and followed at a more leisurely pace, whistling "Dixie." This, she decided, was *more* than worth coming back from the dead. This was more fun than she'd had in years. No X-Man was going to ruin it for her-- and no bossy sister, either.

****

*Well, -that- wasn't supposed to happen...*

For accuracy's sake, it should be noted that is not what was going through Remy LeBeau's mind when the fellow on the roof began to drop. What was going through his mind was a string of broken French so foul that it would have gotten him slapped by every matron in New Orleans. But it *amounted* to: *Well, that wasn't supposed to happen.*

Gambit leaped into action-- literally, hurling himself to the edge of the roof and catching the fellow's collar with his staff. He flipped him back onto the roof, but lost his own balance in doing so. Remy felt a gut-wrenching stab as he stepped out over open space, and wondered if he'd still be irresistibly handsome after the fall dislocated every bone in his body.

Then, suddenly, strong hands appeared under his arms, supporting him. He breathed a sigh of relief at the typical X-Men timing, as Warren Worthington circled around and deposited him back on the roof. Then the Angel sank to hands and knees beside him, gasping.

"What the...?" Warren murmured. "What happened? I can't believe-- I almost killed him!"

"Rest easy, mon ami. You been havin' a dream, dat's all. Figured dat might snap you out of it."

"But I-- Remy, I was talking to you, in New Orleans (* last issue)... and then-- then what?"

Remy shrugged. "What you'd expect. De nasty try a double-cross."

"It took over my mind."

"My eye!" the Cajun said, and laughed. "Fella gets possessed by dat critter, his eyes turn all black. Yours were blue de whole time; I watched."

Warren shook his head. "I--yes, you're right. I saw that. (* in #4) But how did you know?"

"Got my ways."

The Angel half-collapsed, and Remy reached out to steady him. "He did *something.* I have such a headache..."

"Reckon you just on loan. De Slayer's extendin' himself to de limit, t' fight us all. Sometimes he need a little help."

Warren looked up suddenly, a murderous expression on his face. "Sophie-- no, it was *Esme*. She did something to me."

"Bien sûr," Remy said. Of course.

"Remy, we have to stop her! She--"

He tried to rise. Remy placed a hand on his arm. "Relax, mon ami. It's handled."

"It--" Warren made a face. "You knew about Esme?"

"No two women are alike, Monsieur Ange. You of all people ought to know dat." Remy leaned back and lit another cigarette. "Welcome to Plan B. We sit back, we wait, we let de cocky *bebette* make a mistake."

Warren grunted. "Sounds like you've got it all figured out."

"Who de smart one now, eh?"

"Tell me, then, Remy-- does your Plan B account for *that*?"

Remy frowned. "For what?"

"THAT!" The exclamation came not from Warren, but from the fellow on the roof with them, who promptly fainted at the sight of a spinning white portal of energy, not three meters away. Poor fellow, Remy thought. He's had a hard day.

Warren gamely rose to his feet, ready to fight if this was another trick of the Slayer's, but Remy gestured him back...

...and sure enough, it was the lady who appeared out of the portal, not the tiger. Or maybe it was both, since the lady was Emma Frost, headmistress of the Xavier Institute.

"Gentlemen," said her astral form, "I don't have time to explain (* you can read Uncanny X-Men #5-6 and X-Force #6 for that), but we've found a way to reach back through time and bring you home. I suggest you collect your team and follow. As quickly as possible, please. I've a number of stops to make."

Warren arched an eyebrow at Remy. "Tell me you planned this, too."

"Well, no," Remy admitted. He blew a ring of smoke and grinned. "She gon' make a hell of a Plan C, though..."

****

Paige Guthrie reached the corner just as the intelligent folk of Richmond were running away. She heard angry, wordless shouting; turned to find something gray, angry, and roughly half again as big as the Hulk smashing her brother with both fists. Protected by his blast field, Sam just bounced off-- until he tried to pull up from a brick building, hit it headfirst, and got buried in the debris. Paige ran to him, while out of the corner of her eye, she watched Cecilia Reyes try to hold the thing off. She looked like a mouse trying to tame a lion. If the white stragglers who'd started the brawl hadn't been so busy with the screaming and fleeing part, they might have learned something from the selfless way this apparent slave put herself on the line for them. Paige supposed it was an awful lot to ask people to reshape their worldview at a time like this. She hoped they'd remember later.

"Sam! Hey, Sammy, c'mon!" Paige tossed bricks aside and helped her brother to his feet. "Thought you were supposed to be invulnerable..."

Sam groaned. "He just rung my bell a little, that's all. I'm okay. Help Cecilia."

Paige nodded, although her head buzzed a bit, too. She chalked it up to a stress headache-- she figured she'd more than earned one in the last few weeks.

"HEY!" she cried, as the thing was about to pound Cecilia into the ground. When it turned in her direction, Paige husked to solid steel. She got a good look for the first time: Solid gray with glowing eyes and fangs, too big to be a Marauder, too animate for one of the living statues they'd been fighting. (* issues 1-5). What it looked like was...

"Sam, is that what I think it is?"

"Depends what you think it is."

"I *think* it's a Horseman of Apocalypse."

Sam nodded, still clutching his head. "Good guess. Which one d'you figure him for?"

Paige looked the bruiser up and down. He hadn't attacked yet, and Cecilia was able to scramble back to join her friends, saying as she did:

"He's not Famine, that's for sure. That sucker look like he's been missing meals to you?"

"Warren tried to warn us about Apocalypse bein' here," Paige said.

"Yeah, well, he's all we need right now," said Cecilia.

"We'll apologize to Warren later!" Sam said. "HIT 'im now!"

"Right." Paige stepped up. *C'mon, baby, I'm in the mood for a good scrap...*

It regarded her strangely. Then it roared and charged. Paige squeezed her hands together, ducked low, and then came up and-- BAM!-- hit him with twin fists of solid steel. The Horseman picked her up, shook its head a few times, and with another roar, tossed her against the same wall Sam had hit. She made a hole just above his.

By the time she got back into the fight, Sam was blasting full-speed-- but the Horseman stepped aside at the last instant and hammered him, knocking him down. Then Cecilia stepped in with a force-field lance. She took a bite out of the thing's side before it knocked her away, too.

Paige husked back to rubber and ran at it, hoping to get the drop on it and hit it someplace vulnerable. Instead it turned and knocked her senseless. She bounced halfway down the street and lay still.

Funny thing, though: As she lay half-conscious, watching through a red haze while the Horseman pummeled Cecilia, she thought maybe he wasn't a Horseman as all-- just a muscular guy with a white ponytail, who kept trying to warn her friends about something, but they wouldn't listen...

Paige thought that was very odd, at least until she passed out.

****

Sam Guthrie saw red when his sister went down, and the ringing in his head didn't help. He wanted to blast this brute into oblivion, and took off after it with gusto, slamming into its midsection and knocking it across the street. It threw him off, but Sam circled around, mentally painting a bullseye right between its shoulder blades...

Then something weird happened. Part of the wall Sam had demolished fell... dangerously close to a young woman who'd just stepped out of one of the nearby buildings. She screamed--

Until the Horseman pushed her out of the way and took the hit himself.

Sam pulled up, sharing a look with Cecilia. The bruiser turned toward her.

"Let 'im go!" Sam cried.

The doctor nodded and allowed the Horseman to run right past her. He didn't even *try* to get in a final blow. As he faded into the distance, Sam wondered if he even saw a monster at all, or just a big man... he shook his head, which felt full of cotton.

"Somebody's playing games," Cecilia said, as he hit the ground beside her.

"Let's talk about it somewheres else," Sam said, noting the people around them--

All of whom were frozen in place. In the middle of the road, facing them with brightly-glowing eyes, stood Sophie Cuckoo. She finished nibbling a chicken bone and tossed it away, grinning broadly.

"What's the matter?" she said. "Haven't you ever seen a pervasive full-sensory illusion before?"

"Who was that guy, really?" Sam demanded.

"Whoever, he really was super-strong," said Cecilia. "What hit my forcefield was no illusion."

"Yeah, I mighta recognized him..."

"Oh, this is tedious!" said the girl. "Hello? Dire threat just revealed! Isn't anyone going to pay attention to *me*?"

"Look, Sophie--" Sam said.

"Esme," said Cecilia.

The girl beamed. "THANK you, Doctor Reyes! I was beginning to think nobody would notice! What did you want, a blinking neon sign?"

"Look, kid, you don't have to--"

"Be quiet!" said Esme. She gestured, and Cecilia doubled over, clawing at her eyes.

"...Doc?" Sam said, kneeling beside her.

"They... won't... let me help them," she said, struggling with whatever mental demons Esme had unleashed. "They don't... even trust me... anymore. I'm supposed to be a DOCTOR, not a STINKING MUTIE FREAK!"

Her forcefield manifested, knocking Sam back. He turned on Esme angrily: "That's ENOUGH, kid! Let her go!"

Esme smiled. "Why don't you walk away, Sam? Don't make me do this. You'll completely lose that rugged sex appeal if I have to reduce you to a whimpering ball of self-doubt."

Sam stood up and slid his goggles into place. "Better take your shot, then, 'cause I'm comin' at ya."

Esme laughed. "You're going to blast me while I'm in the body of an innocent girl, Sam? Doesn't seem like your style."

"You got any *idea* how many sisters I grew up with?" Sam Guthrie asked. "That 'gentleman' stuff pretty much went out the window for survival's sake."

"Okay," Esme said. "Just remember I warned you..."

Sam blasted, trying to hold back so he wouldn't hurt the kid bad, while keeping in mind that anything less than a TKO would result in her frying his mind. He also kept an eye open for the inevitable trick. He wasn't terribly surprised when he blasted *through* her, Esme having projected her image someplace apart from her physical location.

He *was* a little surprised when Paige turned out to be right behind the image, barely recovered and coming up fast to aid her brother. Sam blasted into her steel form and dragged them both to the ground. He turned to try again.

"*Please,* Esme said, "you're embarrassing yourself."

Rather than freak him out, she just hit Sam with a burst of psychic energy sufficient to make him forget his name. Everything around him turned to shades of black and red...

****

...and Esme smiled.

"Sorry, Sam. It never would have worked between us. I'm brilliant and superior to those around me, and you're... well, not. Now... who wants to die? Don't everybody speak up at once..."

She strode into the midst of the X-Men she'd disassembled, and decided Dr. Reyes should go first, as she was still conscious. But before Esme could ready a mindblast--

"I take a piece o' dat action if you don' mind, p'tit."

She grinned, turning to behold Remy LeBeau, whose shadow stretched all the way across the street in the late afternoon light. He held his staff over his shoulder and generally looked casual-- except the red eyes, which were colder than Esme remembered them.

"Sorry," she said. "You're not my responsibility. A friend of yours should be along, to-- oh!"

She sensed the approach a moment before Warren Worthington swooped down and grabbed her from behind. Esme reached into his mind, but before she could do anything nasty, Remy's staff appeared under her throat.

"Don' suggest you do dat. Might not be healthy."

She glared at him. *His* mind would take some time to penetrate; meanwhile Worthington could snap her neck. But that didn't mean she was helpless...

"Suppose I released these bystanders?" she said. "How do you think they'd react to the spectacle of two grown men roughing up a child?"

Gambit smiled. "Well, they don' know you like we do, p'tit. You got a point, though."

"It wouldn't be gentlemanly for us to handle this," Warren said. "Doesn't it always suck to get called to the teacher's office?"

"Pardon...?"

The world turned white. Esme found herself back at Xavier's, in an all-too-familiar classroom, with Emma Frost perched on the edge of the desk in her familiar White Queen attire, smirking as usual. Looking down at herself, Esme saw that her own clothing matched.

"What's the meaning of this?"

"I simply thought you'd appreciate some fashion hints, since you seem to be going down my road."

"You turned weak and stupid over Mr. Summers," Esme said. "I'm not you. I *hate* when you say that."

"Yes, dear, I know. That's why I do it."

Esme glared. "What game are you trying to play, Miss Frost?"

"I'm not playing with you, Esme. I am asking you-- one more time-- to come back to us. Please. You don't know what's at stake."

"Sure I do. Your little mutant hierarchy. Everyone plays by Scott and Emma's rules, or gets left out of the game. Well, the Slayer has his *own* game and *I'm* making the rules. I don't need you holding my hand. I don't need to be one of the identical brats everybody's afraid of--"

Emma cleared her throat. "Yes, you're certainly improving your image *this* way."

"I'm *winning* this time, Miss Frost!" Esme almost went for her throat, and held back only because it was an astral image that she couldn't kill. "You can't stand that, but you won't take it from me, either."

"Nobody's got to take it, Esme. You can't hold onto it. You don't know how."

Something on her face... Emma wasn't sarcastic or angry. She wasn't even pitying, which Esme would have gouged her eyes out for, astral plane or none. She was just sad. That gave Esme pause.

"Please come back," said a new voice. Esme turned, startled-- it was Sophie, released from her mental prison to join the conversation. "Please, Esme. It's not too late. We can forget it all. I'll try harder this time. But you have to come back to us *now*. Please."

She sounded sincere. Esme took a breath, felt the absurd urge to accept, and denied it. "No. Too much has happened. We're not sisters anymore."

"We can be."

"No."

"Esme--" Emma said.

"NO! You can't beat me. You're too far away. Even if you weren't, I'm stronger than you now." Esme looked down at herself, changed the white clothing to black, and smiled. "Better. What did I tell you, Emma? I. Make. The. Rules."

The White Queen looked down. "So you do... that's why I had to distract you."

"What--?"

Quotation marks cannot do justice to the next thought through Esme's mind. It had to be felt to be believed. But a close approximation would be: "ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGHH!"

****

Remy LeBeau looked on sadly as Guillaume, his predecessor from the Thieves' Guild with the power to control the mutant energies of others (* X-Factor 3-5), pressed his lined, weathered palms against Esme's face and drained her of all the Slayer's excess energies. He'd already done the same for Warren, removing the tainted power Sophie had planted in his mind.

It hadn't been easy, getting the old man to agree. He'd been adamant to Rogue about staying out of this fight. But Remy had learned a long time ago that some men were born to the fight, and couldn't turn their backs on it, no matter how hard they tried.

So he'd said in front of Sophie (*last issue) that he had no interest in Guillaume, then had Sam fly the old man in later. That was his edge, his Plan B. He hadn't counted on it looking so... painful, for Esme or the old man. But at last Guillaume stepped back, wheezing for breath, and allowed Esme to crumple to the ground.

"Merci, Papere," Remy said, not for the first time.

"Don' thank me," Guillaume said. "It'll come back. Dis nasty here-- I can' hold him off fo' long. Mebbe when I was your age, but..."

Remy nodded. "We won't need long."

Emma's portal was already waiting. The White Queen's astral form crouched by Cecilia Reyes, helping her out of her delirium, while Warren scooped an unconscious Paige into his arms and guided her toward the ride home. Guillaume looked not a bit surprised to see a trans-dimensional portal smack in the middle of Richmond-- which Remy supposed should have keyed everyone to the fact that he was not a usual sort of old man.

"You get dat pretty cher o' your'n back, LeBeau, or you'll hear from me," Guillaume said. "If I was 50 years younger, I'd want dat one fo' myself."

He grinned. "Ah, you got plenty o' spry left, Papere. Bet you do alright wit' de ladies... 'cept Rogue, I mean."

"Not no more." Guillaume shook his head. "Reckon I had one good fight left in me, LeBeau. Never cared to spend it-- but now it's done. Now I rest fo' a good, long time. Au revoir, Monsier LeBeau."

"Merci beaucoup," Gambit said again, and watched the old man shuffle away.

He heard a small groan, and squatted beside Esme. "How you feel?"

The girl gasped. "You took it! You took everything he gave me!"

Remy shrugged. "Reckon you deserved it in de first place?"

"You fool!" She took a swing at Remy, clawing at him with sharp fingernails. He caught her arms and held them. "I won't go with you! I won't help you kill him! He's the only one who ever treated me well!"

"You a real poor judge o' character, p'tit. But you right. You ain't comin' wit' us."

Emma looked up suddenly. "What?"

He straighted up again. "She's too dangerous. Unless you can put Sophie back in control--"

"I'll rip this mind apart if you try," Esme snarled.

"Dat case, I like her right where she is."

"Gambit, I don't--" Emma stopped. Nodded. She didn't see another way, either.

Remy looked down at the traitor. "Yo' employer be back fo' you, p'tit. You give him a message, non? You tell him I come see him real soon. An' I leave wit' Rogue. Dat's a promise."

Esme glared. "He'll kill you all. Especially him."

She was looking at Warren Worthington, who made a face, then turned and carried Sophie through the portal. Cecilia Reyes and Emma followed. Gambit shook Sam Guthrie until he came awake with a start.

"Remy! I thought-- hell. How'd we do?"

"'Bout like usual, mon ami. But we done now." Remy looked around at the antique buildings of Richmond as he helped the boy to stand. "Past time we went home."

They stepped through the portal together, leaving Esme alone.

END

This arc of the “X-Factor: Eternity” series will conclude in “X-Men Eternity: The Crossroads,” a giant-size crossover between all 5 series, coming soon! A new story will begin with issue #7.

Next Up: "eXcalibur #6: The Girl Who Would Be Phoenix"