“Well, wasn’t that a brilliant idea,” Scott noted clapping his hands. “They left, didn’t they? Get this fucking leech off from me!” Logan grunted. “Which one?” Scott asked and earned a nasty glare from Logan who was struggling to stand up, a battle he was losing rapidly due to blood loss. As long as he was in close contact with the baby the wounds his claws had made when tearing out through his knuckles stayed open.
Patrons and the staff of the diner had cleared out from the first sign of the claws, most of them finally recognizing the man standing in front of them. Only few had stayed, but when Logan had raised his bloodied fist and licked one of the claws clean, feral gleam in his eyes they had quickly evacuated leaving Scott to sort things out.
Logan let out a relieved sigh when Scott released him from the baby. “Get out. Get in to the car, just in case if those yahoos decide to come back… I’ll come with you as soon as…” He slid on to the floor, leaning his back against the counter and waving his injured hand, painting a crimson trail around him. “What about Rogue?” Scott asked. “Get that fucking baby out of here first!” Logan growled.
His vision was already blurring. His heart was working overtime, trying to compensate the lack of blood. He reached for Rogue as soon as he could feel his strength starting to return. The girl was unconscious, and it took an effort to jostle her over, but finally he got her exactly where he wanted, cradled against his chest, her forehead only inches from his lips.
He laid there for a long moment, just waiting and listening his body, swaying on the hazy ground between pain and oblivion. If he as much as moved his pinkie powerful tremors started, dragging cold sweat from every pore and churning nausea at the pit of his stomach. It was better to stay still and wait.
They couldn’t retreat to Xavier, too many lives at risk there. He couldn’t send the kid on her way with the baby; they wouldn’t survive alone on the road. He couldn’t take off with the baby alone, in the best case scenario he probably could keep it alive for a while, but babies needed taking care of and he lacked the knowledge of how to do that. He’d have to heal Rogue so that she could take care of the baby. He’d have to heal himself so that he could take care of both of them.
As soon as he wasn’t about to pass out or puke his guts out when he moved he raised his good hand and grasped a fistful of Rogue’s hair, marveling how pure the white streak on her forehead looked. “Well, here goes nothing, kid…” He brought her closer and kissed her forehead.
For a long moment nothing happened. It was the Statue of the Liberty all over again. Seconds ticked by, turning to minutes. “Come on, kid… Come on…” He murmured drawing her closer until her face was resting at the crook of his neck. She was out cold, passed out with her mutation turned off. Perhaps it took a conscious effort to turn it back on once the baby had turned it off? He didn’t know.
When he turned his head he saw Scott standing on the doorway, his back turned and his gaze combing the abandoned parking lot constantly. He spat out the bitter saliva burning at the back of his throat and shook Rogue hard, hoping to rouse her. “Come on, kid… Trying to bail out from your duties?” It wasn’t working. Every passing minute he felt physically better, but an awful cold and twisting feeling at the back of his mind wouldn’t let go. It wasn’t working. He was touching her skin on skin, and it wasn’t working. Only way Rogue’s skin should have been rejecting him was if she were dead.
He shook her again. There was no way he was going to let her die now. Not now, not like this. She had a whole life ahead of her. It wasn’t her place to drop and play dead because bunch of freaks couldn’t accept a little different baby at their midst. It hadn’t even been her battle, her war to wage to begin with.
He scooted a bit upwards, dragging her lifeless form with him. His injured hand protested, but it was already healing rapidly, torn tissues knitting back together at sickening pace. He grasped the front of the jacket she was wearing, forcing her up and facing him.
Her face was pale, her lips slightly parted. Eyes closed as if she was just sleeping. He brought her closer. “I’ll fucking mutilate your corpse and feed it to fucking skunks if you dare to go and die on me… You hear me, kid? I’ll… I’ll carve your gravestone… I’ll carve ‘Kid’ on it, then maybe a sissy poem about kittens and kids and sugar and…” It wasn’t working. It wasn’t working. He raised one hand, holding her up with the other. Cradled her face with his palm, running the pad of his thumb over her lips, his eyes scanning something, anything, a sign that there still was life inside of the lifeless husk he was holding.
Rogue’s mutation slammed back on full force.
Agonized scream tore forth, making Scott spun around and barge in. Logan wasn’t completely sure of how much was enough, or how much would be too much for him, but as soon as he heard Rogue’s shoulder snapping back in alignment he started to struggle to get away from her. It wasn’t working; his whole body was rigid from the pain, every muscle and tendon paralyzed. “Scott…” He managed to gurgle right before darkness fell.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
The pic: http://roudevil.deviantart.com/art/Dying-of-a-Wolverine-75902178
I kind of took a liberty to turn the tables a bit... *cringes*
I kind of took a liberty to turn the tables a bit... *cringes*