Going to the beach. Sushi. Jasmine tea. Chocolate chip cookie dough Hagen-Daaz ice cream. The Rocky Horror Picture Show shown every weekend at midnight at a few choice theaters. The subway. Hot-dog and pretzel carts. New Year's Eve at Times Square. Carriage rides in Central Park. The Big Apple.
Dr. Jean Grey had learned, at times, to live without her sanity.
She had already known that something had gone wrong even before they dragged Scott in, still unconscious, terribly pale from the loss of blood, the Grim Reaper trailing after with an air of sullen expectancy. She had known because she had been unable to ping him telepathically somewhere along the way of them kicking around aboveground. It had been a long, horribly drawn-out hour while she had waited for their return, a million thoughts to think of, a million ways a person could be killed. She knew that many ways because she saw it in other people's minds. So many dark ideas, so many methods to shirk the concept, the badge of humanity.
Being a telepath was a right bitch, sometimes.
But Jean had steeled herself, banished her emotions to some dark and secret cave, as hard as it was, when she saw him that way. She refused to succumb to even the unpredictable, unstable hormones of her pregnancy, becoming nothing but Doctor Grey. It had been so hard. So damned hard. All she had wanted to do was curl up and cry with him near her then. But even if there was Hank, her skills in medicine had been needed.
Logan had helped. He had said a line that made her actually want to laugh, though that would have broken the flood gates holding back the tears for damn sure. He'd said, all bristly:
"His ass better be fine, cuz I still gotta thank him for these damn cigars, and I just know he'll be all smug about it until I do."
Fortunately, they found that the bullet had passed through his shoulder. Too high for the heart, too low to shatter the collarbone. Somehow it didn't destroy his scapula. Surgery was neat and tidy. Blood transfusions went without a hitch.
And after all of that, after Scott was snug in a bed in the medlab, after he was pronounced stable, after Hank chided her for needing rest, and after everyone else that had wanted to check on him left, Jean stayed on at his side.
And it was only after all of that did she finally give in and cry out the pent-up tears to get rid of them, outing them from that dark and secret cave as if purging a toxin while resting her head on the unharmed side of his chest. And it was only after that did Scott wake up enough to realize where he was, and who was with him, marveling and disturbed at how weak he felt when he brought his hand up to stroke her red hair.
And it was only after that that everything was, more or less, back to normal.
As normal as it could be, anyway.
*****
Logan, for whatever reason, had insisted on going back outside after they dropped off Scott to drag the corpse of the guy who had called himself Bulldog underground with them. When Marie had pressed him on the issue, he had simply, obliquely stated that he "smelled funny."
Well, besides smelling like a dead guy that had just been disemboweled, which she would never describe as funny, but more along the lines of sickening, putrid, or otherwise disgusting, she couldn't really tell what he was talking about. But knowing Logan, and knowing his nose, she had agreed to go and help him, even though he didn't want any, because she didn't like the thought of him tramping around out there to fetch a dead body and bring it back alone.
...not that he couldn't take care of himself, really. No, she had pondered the question of just why she wanted to go with him the entire time they had been outside, the fog finally seeping away into oblivion, revealing the clearing of where the mansion had once stood. She had supposed that it was because of Scott, and seeing that look in Jean's eyes, as hard as the telepath had tried to hide it, that quiet terror of loss, that spurred her on. Bullets wouldn't have stopped Logan, she knew on a conscious level, but ... well, the heart rarely listened to reason and logic. And she hadn't wanted to be away from him right then. They had all been reminded of just how tenuous their residency on the planet was. It was a reminder that managed to harden the shell of a person, as often as they got it, as often as it was thrust into their face and made apparent, but it never quite got rid of that soft and fragile core, the soul. No matter how hard they tried, they still felt it in some way.
In any case, life was short, consider it precious, live it to the fullest, yaddayadda. She got it. Really, she did. So she had gone out with him, he grumbling about how she should be back inside the whole way, she grumbling back about having to go collect a dead guy that had tried to kill her, and somehow it felt homey. It felt almost like they were a regular couple performing a regular chore on a regular day in a regular world. Never mind the obscene macabre quality to it as he had tried to figure out the best way to carry Bulldog back without getting gore all over him.
Love was funny that way, sometimes.
After returning, they stashed him in one of the cold storage slots in the tiny morgue they possessed, and then wandered off without much purpose. Adrenaline had sucked the life out of them, leaving them tired, weary. They stank of dirt and grime and the dead. So, they decided on showers, and then they decided on bed.
After reaffirming that they were, in fact, very much alive, after reassuring each other with the act of love in its most physical, its rawest and sweetest form, Marie fell asleep to the mingling scents of soap and cigar and that subtle feral manliness she knew so well.
Nothing had ever smelled better.
*****
Logan's nose and paranoia had, as they had in times past, proven themselves fruitful, to a degree. It had taken Hank a few days to get around to performing an autopsy on Bulldog, but whatever it was that he discovered had excited him like a kid on Christmas morning.
Well, that was Hank for you; he could cheer on a fungal spore in the process of mitotic division with as much enthusiasm as a diehard football fan cheering on his team in the Superbowl.
Well, that is, if the Superbowl had still existed.
In any case, the furry blue doctor with a penchant for absent-mindedness called them all together to go over his findings, which he had deemed as being High Priority. That meant they couldn't get out of it. Marie had groaned at that news, relatively uninterested in an autopsy report that was, no doubt, going to go over just how intriguing such and such vessel or this and that organ had reacted to being shredded by cold, unforgiving adamantium. And, after all, the guy had tried to kill her: even if she was putting up the whole I'm-just-fine act, she was repulsed about being in the room with him, dead or no. Being outside with his corpse had been bearable, but being in an enclosed space with it was nearly intolerable. She wasn't exactly sure that every little trace of Bulldog had finally been drop-kicked out of her head, either, and the prospect of that little remaining shred of him in her mind encountering--and freaking out about--his dead self was not entirely appealing.
She sucked it up and went, anyway.
Fortunately, the morgue had seen very little use in the past couple of years, and so there were still some plastic sheets covering up equipment that Hank had not needed to use while dissecting Rogue's one-time assailant. It did not appear to be a ghostly place like in horror flicks or crime lab TV shows from a bygone error, however, but was lit up brightly to better allow examination. It also smelled strongly of disinfectant and some kind of floral scent that Hank had attempted to spray around to mask the stench of decomposition. It wasn't doing its job very well, and Jean, of all people, with her medical degree and years of practice, was looking the greenest out of them, a hand held up over her nose and mouth.
Well, they said pregnant women could get all kinds of crazy sensitive to smell, Marie remembered. She felt bad for the telepath, who'd gone through enough in the past week and probably didn't need this, as curious as Jean might be about Hank's findings. Those two could nerd out about all things medical for hours, and she was probably the only one in the room actually looking forward to this briefing...
"I'm sorry to have called you together so late-" the Doctor McCoy had begun, breaking Marie's train of thought.
"It's actually mid-afternoon, Hank," Jubilee had interrupted, attempting to keep a straight face.
"Oh, I see, oh yes, of course," Hank continued, mildly flustered by the correction. He cleared his throat, and continued, "Scott I've ordered not to come, as he is still to maintain his bed rest, in case any of you were wondering. He seems highly displeased with me for my stern recommendation that he not leave the lower levels for another few weeks, but as I explained to him, he will be quite weak for at least another week, considering his current condition-"
An impatient Logan was the next to interrupt, with, "Hank, less small talk, more explanation for the meeting. It stinks down here."
Marie had to hold back a laugh at the owlish blink the Beast produced, despite herself. The poor man hated to be rushed, she knew, and was trying his hardest to make the morgue a place where they could feel a little comfortable, and not so, well...disgusted or weirded out. She snagged Logan's hand in her gloved one then, and gave it a light squeeze, just a quiet way of asking him to behave. He didn't appear to be terribly happy about that, judging by his expression, but he seemed to acquiesce.
"Well, as requested, on to business, then," Hank started, once again. "As you all well know, I was finally able to perform a thorough autopsy on our rather undesirable and quite living-impaired guest, and have come up with some possibly disturbing results. You see, as Marie pointed out the man's belief that he had an ulcer, and Logan's method of, er, termination, I first directed my attention to his abdominal cavity. As some of you may or may not know, the number of stomach complaints have gone up in the past year for our little community."
While he explained, Hank had made his way over to the wall that possessed two light panels. He switched one on, and then slipped a sheet of film into place. It was a close-up shot of the Bulldog's gut, in all of its gory splendor, and Jubilee and Kitty both groaned and looked ill at the same time for the sight of it.
Marie was a little proud of herself for not reacting that way.
"Hank, what is that discoloration in the stomach lining?" Jean asked, taking a couple of steps closer to the shot, and putting the entire lot of them to shame on the squeamish scale, considering how miserable she was.
"Ah, yes, that is exactly what I wanted to show you," the furry man continued, and circled the area with a claw. "As you can see, there is a dark greenish discoloration that has more or less accumulated in his stomach lining. This discoloration continues on into the duodendrum, the first portion of the small intestine. Obviously, this belies the fact that it is not as simple as an ulcer."
He swapped films on the light board then, producing a new shot of what looked like thousands of tiny, straight threads all jumbled together like pick-up-sticks.
"As this shot displays, the discoloration appears to be made up of millions of microscopic fibers, but crystal-like in composition. I ran some tests, and when subjected to certain types of light, particularly UV rays, these fibers reacted as iron filaments would to a magnet, pulled towards the light source while also anchored to each other."
"So what the hell is it?" groused Logan then, impatient over the fact that he didn't really understand what Hank was talking about.
With a mild frown, Hank then turned back to them and admitted, "I don't know. I've never seen anything quite like it. Jean?"
The redheaded doctor had moved closer to the film, and studied the strange substance for some time before replying, "The only thing that I can think of even being close to this would be Morgellons. Which...well, that was being disputed as fact or fiction back before They arrived."
"I ran the fibers through the computer, and it was unable to identify the chemical make-up or exact atomic composition with a cursory check. I have it running a more thorough examination currently, but..." and here Hank took a deep breath, before continuing on. "I believe it to be an organism introduced to our ecology by Them."
"So...it's some kinda shit from outerspace, is what you're saying," Logan said, glancing between the picture and Hank. "What, some kinda biological warfare?"
The Beast shrugged then. "That is certainly a possible scenario. It could be a calculated introduction, or it could quite possibly be accidental. Most diseases and viruses that were introduced to other locations via human expansion--the conquering of the Americas would be the best example--were done so purely by accident."
"Yeah, but that shit don't look like chicken pox to me, bub."
"Well, no, but history suggests the possibility..."
"You think this is what's causing all of the stomach aches people have been getting lately, Hank?" Jean had turned her attention back to the others then, frowning mildly, her expression no doubt concealing a greater dread.
Hank took another deep breath, and then said, "Yes, I feel it to be a strong possibility, based on the facts that I have at hand. At first I thought that such ailments were on the increase due to our dependency on prepackaged foodstuffs, and their penchant for expiration, but this introduces an entirely new situation. I would have to run tests on several subjects here in order to confirm or disprove the hypothesis, but..."
"But?" Logan was the first to ask--looking extremely talkative compared to everybody else, for once--his brows both shooting upwards into small, hairy, wary peaks.
"We lack the necessary equipment needed here. Especially for something this completely foreign in nature. I believe that either the Columbia University Medical Center or else Mount Sinai should have what I need, as they were more or less left in tact after the scouring of the City..."
That caused Logan to throw his hands up and take a few, disgruntled steps away, more or less towards the door, before he turned back and said, "So you want us to go out and fetch you stuff, is really what it is."
"Unfortunately, I am not entirely sure that all of the equipment I would require could be 'fetched,' due to either the size or delicacy of the equipment."
Marie suddenly realized what Hank was getting at, and she went a little wide-eyed at the concept. "You need to go yourself, don't you, Hank?"
Everyone, but Hank, had started talking at once as soon as Marie had suggested it. Even then, she was thinking how strange it was, that the idea of one man actually going outside could be such a taboo. But Hank had established himself as such a fixture, such a precious, needed commodity for their little community, that it was actually something to be debated about. Strange, but that was how things were. She also knew that perhaps Hank hadn't wanted Scott to come to the meeting for more than just medical reasons: the man in the red shades would have adamantly denied such a request, hands down, and probably no one would have spoken against him, had he been there.
Not only that, however, but Hank was suggesting a journey into the ruins of New York City. A former shadow of itself, a decimated husk devoid of warmth and life, it was an extremely hazardous place to go, had been declared off-limits for the scavenging teams for some time now, and was a place that They seemed to like to frequent, for reasons unknown. Hank wouldn't be putting just himself on the line for such a foray.
After a few moments of multiple conversations that shifted around from person to person, weaving together and then fracturing apart as now Kitty brought up a point, then Remy a counter, then Logan a gruff denial of both points, Hank finally held up a clawed hand so that he could interject without completely raising his voice.
"I understand the trepidation that some of you might have, as I have already weighed the benefits and the consequences in my head, but I find it to be our only option at this point in time. If this strange infection is indeed highly malignant in nature, then we must find a way to quell it, which I cannot do here. Jean obviously cannot make such a dangerous trek in my stead, considering her current condition, and there is no one else who would be able to perform the tests that I need to run, so I must go. I will not ask any of you to go with me, however, because of the potential hazards-"
Logan cut him off there with, "Like Hell you're going alone, furball."
"-but I would certainly appreciate the company, would some of you be so inclined to accompany me," Hank completed, and then smiled faintly at the Wolverine, because the man had more or less volunteered with that statement, they all knew.
"Well," Marie said lightly, after a moment of quiet. "We better stop at Saks while we're there, then. Make the trip worthwhile, at least."
*****
Scott did not take the news particularly well. He had argued with Jean at first, and then demanded that he go along with the little expedition force that was preparing to leave the next day. She had weathered his anger and countered it with a firm calmness, denying him the chance to head up the team.
He was still furious when she kissed him gently, told him to get some sleep, and that she would be back soon. She needed to check on some things.
A day didn't go by that Jean didn't use Cerebro in the hopes of locating other people close to their vicinity. On that day, she stepped into the large room with the same intent, plus another task.
The rest of Bulldog's crew was still out there, somewhere, of course. She could have been vengeful, if she had wanted. The thought had crossed her mind, the things that she could have done to them with the amplifying power of Cerebro. Hell hath no fury, after all...
She didn't, though. Jean couldn't have brought herself to do that, even if they had actually killed Scott, instead of leaving him for dead. Instead, she went looking for them, so that she could let Logan know where they were, so he could pick a route that would avoid them.
Or go after them, if he wanted. That was something she wouldn't interfere with.
For once.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Good lord, has it been a while. My sincerest apologies to anyone who was reading this. I'll try to keep up with it, while I have some precious free time, but I won't be making any promises, because I honestly don't know how long it will last.