Warning #2: I know my previous stories are all at least partially comedy, but this isn't. Not at all. Don't look so shocked.

Little Boy Lost

"Bishop! Go-" Cyclops stopped talking as he looked around and frowned. "Where did she go?" The mutant psi they'd been battling had apparently disappeared between one word and the next.

"Somewhere out of my range." Psylocke sighed. "She paused our minds while she ran away."

"Hey swamp boy. Y' okay?" Rogue floated to the ground where Gambit was lying. He'd hardly been tapped, so she wasn't worried. Musta just fallen wrong and decided to skip the rest of the fight.

"Well, we'll just have to find her. Everyone get back to the Blackbird before people start talking about property damage."

"Scott! Gambit's -- Ah don't know what's wrong, but it ain't good. He looks fine, but he won't wake up."

Cyclops and Psylocke both hurried over. Gambit was lying on a pile of rubble, looking almost asleep until you got close enough to see that his face was paler than it should be and his breathing was far too shallow. Betsy reached out and put a hand on his forehead, frowning as she began a telepathic scan. She took her hand away again almost immediately, looking worried.

"You're right, Rogue. This is not good. In fact, I would dare to say that it is incredibly bad." Psylocke didn't believe in pulling punches in these sort of situations. The truth was what was required, denial would only confuse and patronize the person asking.

"What's wrong with him?" Cyclops admitted that Gambit had never been a friend of his, but he was still concerned.

"Some sort of telepathic shock is the best I can do. He has retreated a long way into his mind, and it will take a much stronger telepath than me to get through to him."

"Is he in any immediate danger?"

"No, but we should get him back to the mansion as soon as possible. If it gets worse, then it may begin to affect the involuntary areas of his brain."

Bishop nodded and picked up the unconscious Cajun. It felt strange, carrying the closest thing you had to a father like he was a small child who'd fallen asleep. Bishop also noted, with disapproval, that Gambit didn't weigh anywhere near enough for a man of his height.

"Involuntary areas meanin' what exactly?" Rogue wasn't paying attention to any odd circumstances, she was furious. "Heartbeat, breathin', that sort of thing?"

Betsy nodded. "That sort of thing. Also, the longer he's in the harder it will be for us to find him and get him out."

"Ah'll kill the bitch." Rogue stopped and turned around meaningfully. Betsy reached out and grabbed her arm.

"No, it would be better if you came with us."

"Why? Ah think the easiest way to solve this is to get that nasty little witch and make her undo whatevah it was she did, and then Ah'll kill her."

Betsy sighed in exasperation. "He might not let anybody else in, Rogue. He certainly wouldn't let me in. He likes you, he may let us help him if we bring you with us. Now is not the time to run off because you feel aggressive."

"Well... let's hurry up and get him home before she gets too far away."

They took him to the Blackbird and careful laid him across two of the seats. They all responded in their different ways to their teammates injury. Rogue fidgeted, unable to sit still, while Bishop sat motionless with his gun across his knees and watched Rogue jump around. Cyclops flew the plane in silence, but Betsy knew that he would, as always, feel responsible for any harm that befell an X-Man under his command. For herself, she sat next to Gambit and explored the barrier in his mind. He had always had strong mental shields, and she could understand why. He had deep dark secrets to hide, like more than a few other X-Men she could think of including herself. He also resented anyone trying to push past what he was willing to let them know about him, so his thoughts were always guarded. This was different, though. Usually his thoughts were simply self-contained and cloudy, not so much difficult to read as irritatingly hard to find, but the shield up now was like a black wall. It held her out quite forcefully but was in many ways less sophisticated than his normal methods, in the same was as a stealth bomber is more sophisticated than a tank. It was a waste of energy. For him to do so probably meant that he was extremely distressed.

Not pushing but simply running her thoughts over his wall, Psylocke found little cracks. It was an inexpert construction, with a concentrated effort someone could slip through into the proper mental landscape. Whether they could find Remy once inside was a different matter. She debated trying, but decided against it. This wasn't really her area of expertise, and she could easily do more harm than good. Much better for the professor or Jean to do it, Gambit wouldn't trust me. Lord knows I wouldn't trust me either if I was him.

* * *

"I've never seen anything like it." Jean shook her head.

"I have." Professor Xavier leaned forwards, gently brushing a stray piece of red-brown hair out of Remy's closed eyes. "In one memorable Holocaust survivor. Her memories were so traumatic that she'd hidden in her own mind, lost in horrors that she didn't know were over. That was not on this scale, however. Gabrielle's case was far simpler, and I understood her trauma. With Gambit, not only is the cause unnatural but I have no idea what is happening inside."

"So what do we do?"

"We try to coax him back to reality. It will probably be hard, and he may fight us. Possibly he won't even know who we are. Jean, you and I will go in together. Betsy will make sure we remain anchored and don't get lost. Gambit has a formidable mind, I do not think we would enjoy being trapped in there with him."

Jean nodded as teacher and student established the rapport needed to take the journey together, then they slipped into Gambit's unconscious mind.

Their astral forms were well if invisibly armoured, but the dark street where they appeared was silent and empty except for shadows. The shadows of many people who should be there hurried past, but no bodies accompanied them. The streets were dirty, the area was poor and somehow felt that it had lost hope. It was almost certainly New Orleans, although probably a corrupted memory. Chances were it didn't so much represent the city's actual geography but how the one real occupant felt. The sky also reflected his state of mind, filled with boiling dark clouds that swirled in unnatural patterns. Jean shivered in a sudden chill gust of wind and tightened her psychic defenses.

"You won't need all dat, y'know." They both spun around to see a small blonde girl sitting behind them on an old crate. She was rather casually eating an apple.

"Won't need what?"

"All y' protections. Dey ain't important here, not'ing gonna attack you."

The professor was fairly sure that this wasn't Gambit, even if the accent was the same. At the same time he hoped that she knew enough to be right, he didn't want to meet the monsters that a person like Remy could dream up. "Who are you?"

"A memory wit' shape. One dat knows what going on here, and dat you aren't gonna be able t' help."

That didn't sound promising. For a memory she was quite solid, indicating reasonable capability and understanding. "Why not?"

"He won' let you. Remy ain't about t' let you or d' redhead close to where he be."

Professor Xavier walked toward the little girl, but she didn't get any closer. The half-rotted crate stayed at approximately six feet in front of him. Deciding to try a different tactic, he turned and walked the other way, towards a vague sense of psychic activity.

"Nuh-uh." The girl reappeared in front of him, standing on both small feet now. "You don' get in. I won't let you, he won't let you. You pity too much, you don' understand him."

"You might be surprised by how much I understand, child. To begin with, I understand that Remy is lost and hurting inside his own mind."

"He ain't lost, he just need be found. You don' know him well enough to know why or what you gotta do. You got no real relationship wit' him, he won't let y' wander 'round in his mind."

"Who will he let in?" Jean frowned. "Is it just us, or everyone?"

She took another bite of her illusionary apple. "Dunno. Know dat dere's one person I could pro'ly let past, t'ough she might not be any help. Up to her."

"Can she come in through us?"

"You c'n bring her in, but den you leave."

"That would be very risky for her. She wouldn't be able to get out on her own, and-"

The pretty little girl snorted derisively. "You see anybody gettin' hurt round here 'cept him? Dat ain't what dis is about. 'Sides, Remy wouldn' hurt her none. Cut off his own hand first, d' big softy."

"We'll get her."

She shrugged. "I ain't going nowhere, but Remy's not good." She looked unhappily at the sky. "Can't you feel it?"

"Yes, we can." Professor Xavier could feel the suffering swirl around him as he left Gambit's mind, although there was something very odd about it.

"Well?"

"There's a little girl who won't let us in. She says he doesn't want our help because we don't know him well enough, but there is a she who can come in. I'm guessing that's you, Rogue." Jean rubbed her face with her hands, as if there was some sort of psychic dirt she wanted to get rid of. Certainly there was a feeling of filthy despair that still clung to her.

"The problem is, if you went in we would have to leave you there. If you can't help him, then you might both be stuck in there." Professor X looked at her levelly. "It must be your choice."

Rogue glanced at the pale, handsome face that looked half-dead already. The vitality and charm that had always made her feel a little scared was gone. "If y'all think that's the only way to get him out of this." She took a deep breath. "But if I ain't back in an hour, come lookin'."

The little girl's response, however, was not what they had expected. She looked at Rogue and shook her head, a few small braids flicking through her hair. "Dis isn't de one. She sees too much o' de image he send out an' not enough of de trut'. He never let dis one see him helpless." She sighed. "He's a vain sonuvabitch, but y' gotta love him anyways."

Rogue looked at her carefully. Though younger than when she'd last seen it, the face was familiar. It was a little unsettling to see her holding such a dominant place in Remy's mind, but from what she had absorbed from the other woman she could see why. "You're Belladonna, aren't you?"

"Not really. I'm just a shadow of her, a bit of somet'ing he remembers 'bout her from de old days. Back before we got married an' long before you." She looked at them all impatiently. "Now go get de right one, we don' have a lot of time."

"It would help if you could tell us who she is." Jean was beginning to worry. Rogue had been their obvious first suspect, but in reality it could be one of any number of people Remy had known in his eventful life. Perhaps it was the nurse he'd had as a child, or some old ex-girlfriend that none of them knew.

Belladonna looked at Jean with vague, impersonal insolence. "I don't know her name. She's like --" A little frown creased her face into an endearingly young expression of thought. "Dere used to be a little girl like her in here, but den she got big. She was a t'ief, like Remy. Wasn't long ago, but she got big real quick."

All three breathed imaginary sighs of relief as they realised who Belladonna meant. then they slipped out into the mundane world again to break the news to her.

"Storm? We made a small mistake. You're the one Belladonna's after."

"Belladonna?" Storm looked surprised, as well she might.

"That's who th' little gal with the attitude is." Rogue didn't know how she felt about not being the one Remy felt close enough to share his pain with. She could understand vanity and pride, but couldn't he understand that she would do whatever she could to help him? It hurt a little that they weren't close enough for him to trust her with his weakness.

The professor was more worried about Storm. "Will you take the risk?"

"Remy saved my life before he even knew me. It would be cowardly not to help him when he so desperately needs it." Storm sat down on the bed next to her friend. "Whenever you are ready."

Once again they stood in the semi-abandoned streets. The clouds had darkened, they were now purple and an unhealthy green. Belladonna was sitting as they had left her, back on her crate with her knees pulled up. She jumped off as soon as she saw Storm. "Yes, she's de right one." Belladonna nodded happily. "Now shoo, she gotta do dis alone."

The professor and Jean returned to their own bodies, leaving Storm alone with the miniature version of Gambit's ex-wife. "You are not going to help me then, Belladonna?" In a place such as this I need all the help available. My friend, why could you not have let in someone more used to such things?

"I can't, I'm not real. But I show you de way." One slightly sticky little hand reached out and took Storm's, leading her down the maze of back streets.

"Why are you so young, child? Surely in a situation like this you would be safer as your true age." Storm shivered as a chilly wind blew through the alley. Immune as she was to normal weather, emotional wind was something altogether different.

"I can't. Dis is how old I was now." She pushed her hair out of hr eyes and continued to lead confidently through the deserted city.

Storm frowned at the odd use of tenses. "Are you saying that this is the past?"

"No, dis is de present, but it's what de present was years ago."

Somehow that made sense to her. "Then why am I not as young as you?"

"Because you real and know dat you aren't. He don't, so dis is how old I am. He don't know me yet, but when he t'inks of de Big Easy he always t'ink of me too, so I'm still here but not wit' him." She stopped. "I can't go on no more, de rest is up to you." She looked up sadly. "De nasty one put him in a bad memory, an' he can't get out. You have to help him get over the badness." She faded away, the ghostly wind still blowing her short blonde hair.

Storm looked around, wondering where Remy was and, if he didn't know that he wasn't a child, how old he would be when she found him. Perhaps no older than I was when he found me. One house on the dingy street stood out. Somehow it was more real than the others, more solid. Storm decided to go into that one. The front door was easy to pick, easy as breathing for someone like her. It opened onto a dingy hallway, filled with dirt and rubbish. As she stepped inside there was a feeling of finality. Once you walked into this house you couldn't take it back. Overcoming her misgivings with a silent prayer, she walked cautiously along the hall, looking into every room she found.

Now Storm would understand why it was this memory the woman had pushed him into, there is no better mental trap for a person than a memory of a time when they couldn't escape. Remy was a very small child, no more than six. He didn't fight the beating, he just curled into a small ball and whatever kicks and punches were aimed at him with equal hopelessness. Feeling sick, Storm tried to move towards him but it felt as if she was trying to run through water. There was no sound except the wind and no light except the unwholesomely glowing sky, but she could almost see the mental scarring being laid down. Remy's whole so-close-no-closer attitude had been a long outdated form of defense, built into an impenetrable wall by a child's fear. He had loved people and people had loved him, but there had always been a little core of Remy that was untouchable. Now she understood why. It wasn't just the beating, by the look of the man administering it things were about to get a lot worse. The next stage of adult dominance and violation would leave fewer physical scars but far deeper emotional ones. And still Remy wasn't fighting. He was used to this treatment, and considered it inevitable. Rage boiled up in Storm. Her own childhood had been hard enough, but this sort of abuse was intolerable.

"NO!" Her voice shattered something, she could move again. The little Remy on the floor looked up, noticing her for the first time. Storm hardly noticed, her attention was focussed on the room's other occupant. "You can not treat a child this way!" A blast of wind, not the sickly winds that had blown before but her own fresh mountain winds, blew him away from Remy and into a wall. "Eveery child is a precious gift, but most especially this one."

Her opponent disappeared, leaving no sign that he had ever existed. Shocked, Storm turned back towards Remy. He was still a small, dirty and undernourished little boy, but the red-rimmed eyes were lucid. "You t'ink I'm special?" It was a boy's voice, not the real Remy yet, and the naked hope was heartbreaking.

Storm fell to her knees and wrapped him in a tight hug. "Very special. Especially to me." The little arms wrapped around her, timidly at first then almost desperately affectionate. Their tears mingled and dropped to the floor. But in a person's mind not all is as it seems. Somewhere, one teardrop kept falling, and dissolved a tiny piece of a very old wall.

Storm didn't know how long they sat there, but eventually the little-boy version of Remy stopped crying. Pulling away a little she absently tidied his hair and looked into the adorable little red-on-black eyes. "Where are we, Remy?"

"A place. I didn't have anywhere else to go. Den I found out dat dis wasn't a nice place, but dey wouldn't let me leave." He blinked. "No, I remember leaving. I climbed out that window over dere and went -- somewhere. I don' remember all of it so good." Remy was beginning to age, and the ghost New Orleans faded. "But I do remember dat in a few years I pick a nice man's pocket an' he t'inks it's cute. He t'ought I was special too." The now adult Remy reached out and hugged her again.

Storm felt a faint drift then a pull, and things changed. They were sitting on the bed out in the real world, holding onto each other. And it felt very, very nice.

The End