POV: Maggie (original character)
The Wolverine is back.
He shows up every few months, ready for a fight, and no one knows he's a regular but me. Everyone else is too drunk, distracted, or high on bloodlust to notice. He only fights one night, starting with his first opponent early in the evening and leaving early in the morning after defeating all takers. He pockets his share of the profits, at least a few thousand dollars, and then he's gone. He can't stay for longer than that or even the dimwitted bar-bums will start to figure out what I have: that he can't lose.
He's a pretty good actor. He lets the rubes get in a few hits and stumbles around dramatically before he fights back, and even then, he takes his time. If he took them out right away, no one would bet against him and there wouldn't be nearly as big a purse at the end of the night. It's only when someone pisses him off that he takes them down fast.
I know his secret, though. He takes too many hits to keep fighting all night unless he has an advantage. I've seen it in action out behind the bar after a particularly bloody fight when he didn't think anyone was looking. He heals. Sure, he covers it up pretty good, leaving old blood from wounds hours ago healed on his skin, but I can tell. He's a mutant.
I've never let on that I know. Every time he comes in, I pretend like it's the first time, greeting him like I would any of the hardened men that drag themselves off the highway and into my run-down bar.
"What'll ya have?" I ask with a touch of disinterest, my eyes never leaving the bit of bar I'm swabbing.
"Gimmie a beer."
I grab him a Molson Golden and return to my bartending duties. During the fights, he usually drinks whiskey, but before and after, he always drinks beer.
"There a fight tonight?" he asks.
"There's a fight every Friday night," I answer.
"When's it start?"
"Talk to Pete," I say, pointing over at the 6 foot 5 inch mass that is my brother.
Dad's owned this place since before I was born, and I've practically grown up in here. When I was younger, Pete and I'd help Mom clean up in the mornings after the bar was closed and Dad was asleep. When she died, he needed our help even more. Pete worked there from the time he was old enough, and I peeked in so many times, that Dad got sick of yelling at me to leave. Could you blame me? It was the only really interesting place in our whole, backwoods town. When I was old enough, I insisted on becoming a waitress and helping out, too.
Dad didn't want me there, and he made me dress so conservatively at first that I felt like a nun. He had Pete follow me like a shadow for days. It was only after he saw I could handle myself with the rough clientele, that he loosened up a little.
Right before he died, he told Pete and me to sell the bar and leave. He wanted us to move on with our lives. We tried to obey his wishes, but that was easier said than done. Who wanted to buy a run-down bar in the middle of nowhere with the scum of the earth as the preferred customers? Besides, if we left, I'd never get to see the Wolverine in action again. Speaking of which, where was he now?
Scanning the steadily filling bar, I finally saw him by the cage, unbuttoning his shirts. You know, I might not have figured out the little scam he's running if it wasn't for one thing. I mean, he's gone for so long between fights and he only fights for one night. If he'd kept his shirt on, I might not have even noticed him. Of course, after one glimpse of that magnificent chest and back, I knew I would never forget him.
That's one of the main reasons I've never ratted him out or given him any indication that I know. To deny myself the pleasure of watching that man brawl, fluid and raw, sweaty and energetic, would be almost physically painful. Not only that, he was also one of the better behaved customers outside of the fighting cage. He never tried to grope me, never came on to me with lewd comments and crude gestures. He just drank, fought, and left.
I heard the squeal of feedback as Pete turned on the microphone. He never could get the thing to work without that high-pitched grating noise, and to me and the regular crowd, it meant that the fights were about to begin.
"Tonight," Pete began, using his deep, getting-ready-to-rumble voice, "We start with an out-of-towner in the cage. Who will challenge the Wolverine?"
Standing alone, the Wolverine is an imposing figure. However, crouching slightly next to my taller, broader, muscular brother, he looked formidable, but beatable. This was the first of his well-played illusions.
"I'll fight 'im!" Bernie yelled.
Bernie's a regular. He drives a rig throughout Alberta and over into British Columbia sometimes, but he always stops here when he's passing through. He's big, dumb, and always either drunk or getting there. He isn't the best opponent for the Wolverine to begin his performance with. He'd been drinking since the bar opened and he was already thoroughly sloshed. No one would believe it if the Wolverine acted like a punch from Bernie hurt. In fact, I'd be surprised if Bernie could even get one hit in with the way he swayed up to the cage.
As it was, the Wolverine took one look at Bernie, landed a quick punch squarely on his jaw, and knocked him out. He didn't even break a sweat. I'd hoped for a little more action.
He scanned the crowd, his eyes stopping on me. He mouthed the word, "Whisky," and I nodded. Picking up a glass and a full bottle of Jack Daniels, I made my way through the bar towards him. Meanwhile, Pete had climbed back up into the cage.
"Is that the best we can do?" Pete asked into the microphone, egging the crowd on. "We've got a real fighter here. We need a real challenger. Is there anyone out there man enough?"
"I am!" a shout came from the door of the bar.
I didn't recognize the voice. He must just be passing though. Hell, the majority of my customers are just passing through. When I turned, leaving the glass and bottle at the side of the cage, I saw that he was tall, not as tall as the Wolverine, but close. He looked strong enough, his wife-beater style tank top accentuating his muscles. As he entered the cage, he shook his greasy, dirty blond hair and cracked his knuckles before easing into a defensive posture that screamed martial arts training. The Wolverine was an untrained scrapper, but I had no doubt that he could beat this guy, no matter what fancy moves he had.
The guy liked to kick, and the Wolverine took a few quick hits to the face and chest before he started fighting back. He took his time with the guy, punching, blocking, and accepting blows, almost like he was savoring the experience before finally putting an end to the battle with a solid upper-cut to Blondie's jaw. Sweaty and invigorated, he picked up the bottle and poured himself a generous helping of liquor before the next fight.
Since I was the only one who knew what he was, I was the only one that knew when something went wrong. At the beginning of the sixth fight, he started getting tired. His movements slowed. After ten fights, he stumbled over his feet, and almost tripped. It didn't look like an act. As the night progressed, he allowed fewer blows and ended the fights almost as quickly as they'd begun. Hours before the bar was due to close, the fighting was over. No one was willing to take him on, and the betting had dried up when everyone realized that he would always win.
When Pete declared an end to the night's brawling, the Wolverine left the cage and went to the restroom to clean his wounds and dress. I left the bar to pick up the leftover bottle of Jack Daniels. Usually he drinks at least two bottles of the stuff, but tonight, he'd never asked for a second bottle, and this one was still two-thirds full.
The bar had mostly cleared out by the time he came back to claim his winnings. Even though drinks were still available, the fight crowd left when the bloodshed stopped.
I'd already received his much smaller than usual take from Pete and was ready to hand it over when he sat down. When I looked up at him, slumped at the end of the bar, I couldn't stop a gasp of surprise.
"You're still bleeding," I whispered, and indeed, he was.
He'd gotten a nasty gash on his forehead when his face was knocked into the metal cage in one of the last fights. The gash was smaller now, but it was still oozing blood.
"Yeah," he muttered noncommittally. "You got my money?"
"Here," I said, passing him the small wad of bills with one hand. Then I pulled out a clean bar towel with the other hand and reached for the wound. He flinched away, and I lowered my eyes. "Sorry, I just wanted to help."
"S'okay," he replied, reaching out his hand for the towel and placing it on his own forehead.
"I have a first-aid kit," I said. "I'm sure there's some butterfly Band-Aids that could hold that gash together until it heals."
"Thanks," he said.
That's the Wolverine, quite a talker. I rummaged under the bar until I produced the small first-aid kit. I quickly found the Band-Aids and asked him to lean forward so I could reach him over the bar. He complied with a grunt of pain, but no further comment. It took three to close the wound.
"Why aren't you healing?" I wondered.
"What?" he asked, pulling away sharply and standing up with a pained expression.
Dammit, I'd said that out loud. Well, the secret was out. He knew that I knew, and the curiosity was killing me.
"Don't worry. I won't tell anyone. I was just wondering. I know you heal, but why is it taking so long?"
"How do you know?" he asked in a raspy whisper.
"I have eyes and I'm not stupid. I've known for years."
He stepped up and reached forward, grabbing my shirt collar and pulling my face towards his. "Who else knows?"
It's a good thing for him Pete was in the back. If my brother saw what he was doing, mutation or no, this guy'd be in a world of serious hurt.
"No one," I answered, shaking my head as much as I could in his grip.
He stared into my eyes for a second before releasing me, probably deciding I could be believed. Straightening his jacket, he turned to leave, and I knew I'd never see him again. I couldn't let him go without asking again.
"Why isn't it working?" I asked, being deliberately vague for the benefit of the few patrons still here.
"It is," he called over his shoulder. "It's just slower."
"Why?"
He turned at the door, his face edged with pain and weariness, and he responded. "I don't know."
POV: Kitty
Rogue's having one of her "Erik" days.
Her paperclip sculpture of what can only be described as some sort of quasi-pyramid is growing large enough on her desk to attract attention in our small class. It's unreal the way she can keep it standing. It looks fragile enough that a breath might knock it over, but as long as she's concentrating, I've never seen anything take down one of her masterpieces.
She told me once how she did it, but all the details about balancing the positive and negative ions inherent in the metal sounded like one of the professor's physics classes. I already get enough of that in school, thank you.
I know, one month from graduation, and I've developed a serious case of senior-itis. Jubes is much worse than I am, though. She barely does any homework at all and spends her time in class looking out the window, passing notes, or...
"Rogue, in what year did the Six-Day War take place and who were the combatants?" Miss Munroe asked.
Dammit, I hate it when she does that. She'll talk on and on about a subject and then, when you least expect it, she'll attack. Questions fly at random students like sniper fire, and if you don't answer correctly, you're dead. At least she didn't call on me.
"1967. Israel attacked Egypt, Jordan, and Syria," Rogue answered dully, without taking her eyes off her sculpture.
Now I know for a fact that Rogue didn't read the lesson, but on her "Erik" days, she seems to know more than Miss Munroe herself.
"Erik loves history and lives for the news," Rogue'd told me once. "He thinks if you don't learn from history, you're doomed to repeat it."
It just isn't fair. It's like she has a full-time expert whispering the answers to her. It's not just her, either. I know that the telepaths try to read minds during our tests. It got so bad a while back that Dr. Grey or Professor Xavier had to come in during exam time. Why can't I have a useful mutation like those? It's not like phasing through my table'll help me get higher marks.
"Kitty, what lands did Israel gain as a result of the Six-Days War?" Miss Munroe asked, catching me distracted again.
"Umm," I answer, drawing the sound out into a sentence to try and give myself a chance to think. Israel... lands... I should know this. I'm Jewish for heaven's sake. Where's all that fighting take place?
"Uh, the West Bank," I start.
After a long pause, she nods, and says, "Yes, continue."
"The, um, Gaza Strip?"
"Uh huh," she encourages. "Three more."
Three more? Three? You've gotta be kidding me. Call on someone else. But I know she won't. She'll just stand up there staring at me until I'm done or until I get it wrong.
"Well, um, there's... let's see... Jerusalem?"
"East Jerusalem. Right. Two more."
Two... two... C'mon, there's...
The tinkling of falling paperclips distracts me from my impending doom as the pyramid collapses on Rogue's desk. When I turn to look at her, I can see that she's already up and running out of the room.
"I'll get her, Miss Munroe," I say, jumping up and running out before she can order me back. Saved by the Rogue!
Of course I'm concerned for my friend, nothing's ever distracted her enough to drop a sculpture before, but that doesn't mean I can't be extremely grateful for escaping Miss Munroe's attentions.
As soon as I got out in the hall, I knew that there was nothing wrong. In fact, for the first time in over a month, Rogue seemed perfectly right.
"Logan!" she screamed as she jumped into his arms.
I swear, if he didn't have that metal skeleton, that bear hug would've broken a few ribs. He didn't seem to mind, though. He was smiling, actually smiling, and hugging her right back.
"Good ta see ya, kid," he said with a chuckling laugh.
"What's up?" Jubes whispered, coming up behind me, having taken the chance to escape class, too.
"Logan's back," I answered with a whisper of my own.
"What are you doing back so soon?" Rogue asked as Logan set her down.
Logan looked a little puzzled. "This coming from the girl who didn't want me to go?"
"Yeah, but the Professor told me ya left to find your past. I figured that's a lot to find, and I..." Rogue looked down at her feet. "I guess I didn't expect to see you back so soon."
"Well, I could go again," he said in a teasing tone, reaching down to pick up his bag.
"No!" Rogue blurted out, then took a second to lower her voice. "No, that's ok. You can stay."
"Good ta know I'm welcome."
"You always are. You know that."
"I'm beginning to get the idea," he said with another smile.
Geez, the guy hadn't smiled the whole week and a half he'd been here before. At least, not from what I'd seen. Of course, most of that time he'd been in a coma, but still, this much grinning was almost unnerving.
"Is Jeanie around?" he asked, looking around the foyer.
Because he looked away, Jubes and I could see what he didn't. Rogue's smile cracked and fell into a million pieces like the Ming vase Peter'd bumped into last year. She tried her best to piece herself back together, but there was no way that Logan'd fail to notice.
"She's in D.C. with the Professor," Jubes said, stepping out from behind the pillar where we'd been eavesdropping and coming to Rogue's rescue.
Logan looked up at her and I came out to stand next to her, figuring it was pointless to stay hidden now that Logan knew someone was here.
"D.C., huh? How long 'til she's back?" Logan's attention rested solely on Jubilee, giving Rogue a much needed chance to pull on a mask of normalcy.
It was a mask she was used to wearing, especially around our concerned, well-meaning teachers. Their hovering, cloying attentions after the whole almost-dying, Magneto-and-Logan-absorbing thing had felt suffocating to me, and I wasn't even the focus of it. Rogue's whole I'm-ok-you're-ok demeanor was a defense mechanism more than anything else.
"She should be back on the weekend, right Kitty?"
"Huh? Uh, yeah, on Saturday," I answered.
"Sounds good. Is my room still free?" Logan asked, looking back to Rogue.
She looked up at him, startled from her thoughts.
"Yeah," I jumped in, answering for her. "It's still right by our rooms."
"Ok," Logan responded. Then, looking back at Rogue with a slightly confused expression, he said, "Well, I'll just get settled then." He picked up his bag and strode off towards the main staircase.
Jubes and I quietly walked over to Rogue, each taking a gloved hand in silent support. It was only after we'd heard his footsteps ascend the stairs and drift away completely that Rogue's tears started to fall.
"Why'd he ask for Jean?" she asked in a high-pitched, almost weepy voice. "I know he flirted with her, but I didn't think... I mean, the part of him I absorbed didn't have those kinds of feelings for her."
"Maybe he wanted to see her 'cause she's a doctor," I proposed.
Neither Jubes nor Rogue said anything to that, they just looked at me like I was the dumbest form of life. Oh yeah, he has that healing thing. Duh, Kitty. Real smart there.
"Well... I mean...," I stuttered, "you don't know why he wants to see her. It might not be what you think."
"What else could it possibly be?" Rogue asked.
Jubes and I looked at each other, but neither of us had an answer.
"You see?" Rogue whined. "He still thinks of me as a kid."
"Well you still are a kid," I said.
Rogue and Jubes looked up at me with startled, almost betrayed expressions. Whoops, so not the right thing to say. Kitty, keep your opinions to yourself.
"I'm eighteen," Rogue protested.
"Yeah... well... you know..." I stumbled over my words, trying to explain. "He's probably so old everyone's a kid to him. Besides, you're still in high school. Are you really ready for a serious relationship?"
Rogue actually stopped to think about that one. "Maybe not, but I know he cares about me. I can feel it. He should wait for me, shouldn't he? I mean... Jean?"
I can agree with that one. "Yeah, she's practically married."
The school bell interrupted our discussion as classes let out. The student body is so small that we only have enough students to fill two classrooms. Even with Dr. Grey and Professor Xavier gone, school went on as usual. We just switched around between two teachers instead of four.
"C'mon it's time for English and Mr. Summers'll make us recite poetry if we're late," I said, pulling Rogue into a sideways hug and leading her back to Miss Munroe's class and our bookbags.
"Yeah," Jubes added with a sly grin, "and don't sweat the Wolvster. We'll get 'im straightened out."
POV: Jean
When I finally slipped into bed, well past midnight, after a week of arguing with bigoted senators and prejudiced representatives, all I wanted to do was curl up in the warmth of my lover's arms and dream. Needless to say, I didn't get what I wanted.
Scott rolled over and I could tell from the ruby glow of his night goggles that he was looking at me. He didn't pull me close. He didn't say, "Missed you," "Love you," or any of the other sweet expressions I'd come to expect when returning from a business trip. Instead, he said, "Logan's back."
Of all the ways he'd ever greeted me, this was the most unexpected. Why did he think this was so important that he'd have to tell me first thing?
"Ok..." I answered, my voice revealing my confusion. "That's nice."
He didn't comment further, so I went back to settling into bed. I burrowed down into my pillow and let out a deep sigh, releasing all the tension I'd been carrying around with me this past week.
"I hate hotel beds. They're stiff and uncomfortable, and they don't come with a complimentary Scott," I teased.
"He's been asking for you," Scott answered in an almost gruff voice.
"Mmm, who?" I asked, feeling myself giving in to my drowsiness.
"Logan!" Scott practically yelled.
Well, that caught my attention. I could feel his projected anger even through my Congress-strengthened shields.
"Scott? What's wrong? What did Logan do?"
"He wants you."
"What for?" I asked, genuinely confused. Sleep-deprivation and jet-lag were combining forces to make this conversation very difficult to follow. He'd already said Logan wanted to see me. What was making him so angry, and why couldn't Logan wait until tomorrow?
"It's obvious. Ever since he came here the first time, he's wanted to steal you from me."
"Steal me?" I asked, incredulously.
Ok, obviously the man next to me is not my fiancee. He must be a testosterone-pumped, neanderthallic pod-person that replaced my Scott sometime during my week-long absence. I half-expected him to thump his chest and say, "Me Cyclops, you Jean."
"I didn't know I was your property," I added.
"Jean... No... I mean..." Scott stuttered, catching on to my change in mood. "He flirted with you the whole time he was here last month."
"No," I corrected with my best school teacher voice, "he worried about Rogue the whole time he was here. He teased me sometimes, mainly to help me become more comfortable around him."
"More comfortable?" Scott intoned, disbelief dripping from his voice. "I know flirting, Jean. He was coming on to you, and now he's back."
"Yes, he's back, and I seriously doubt he traveled all this way just to seduce an engaged woman," I said, skepticism oozing from my voice.
"Jean, you just don't realize how irresistible you are. Of course, he came to take you away from me."
"Scott, my love, this is one of the most flattering and insulting conversations I've ever had." I said, flinging the bed covers off of my body.
I had my pillow under my arm and was heading for the main room of our suite when he said, "Jean... What?"
"Scott, from what you just said, I can either surmise that you believe I love you, but I'm a slut who will jump into bed with any man that offers, or you don't believe I love you, and I'm just a heartless bitch who's using you until a better opportunity comes along. Which is it?"
Scott's mouth opened and closed like a freshly-caught fish, but he didn't answer my question.
"I'll see you tomorrow," I said, tucking my pillow tighter to my body and turning to leave again.
He found his voice and asked, "Where are you going?" worry tinging the anger in his voice.
"I'm sleeping on the couch," I said sharply and left our bedroom.
He sighed and laid back down in our bed. Our king-sized, Serta Perfect Sleeper bed. I entered the main room and laid down on our love seat. Our two-cushion, too short for anyone with legs, love seat.
This isn't right. Aren't men supposed to sleep on the couch when couples argue? Isn't that a rule? My statement that I was going to sleep on the couch was his cue to say, "No, darling. It's all my fault. I'll sleep on the couch. You haven't had a decent night's sleep since Sunday and you deserve the rest more than I."
Instead, he didn't say anything. He just settled down for a good night's sleep in our scientifically-designed, individually-wrapped-coil constructed, paradise of a bed while I did my best to fold my body in two on the couch.
The next day, I woke up way too early and in a completely miserable mood. I had to roll onto the floor to get myself out of the yoga-like position I'd slept in. Once there, I discovered that my body had grown several new muscles during the night and every one of them was stiff and sore. I couldn't move without a wrenching protest from one body part or another.
I trudged back into the bedroom only to find my lover sleeping blissfully in the middle of our bed, arms and legs spread wide. Whenever I'm gone on business, I still keep to my side of the bed, but apparently, given the opportunity, he'll hog the entire space.
That was the last straw. If he's so concerned about our relationship, how can he sleep so peacefully?
I stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door, then I spent a few minutes just banging things around and making noise. If I had to be up at 6:30 on a Saturday morning, then Scott should suffer along with me. It's his fault I was up anyway, him and his stupid male possessiveness.
Only after I was satisfied that I'd been sufficiently obnoxious did I stop making useless noises and began my shower. Once I stepped under the water, my tight muscles succumbed to the soothing heat and I began to relax.
After thirty luxurious minutes, I emerged feeling almost human. My lighter mood didn't last long. Upon exiting the bathroom, I discovered that despite all the noise I'd made, Scott had slept peacefully through the entire performance.
I left for the kitchen, disgusted with my fiancee's impenetrable slumber. What good is it stomping around and being mad at someone if they aren't awake to witness it?
"Morning, Red," a gruff voice greeted me as I stepped into the kitchen.
Logan stood before me, fully dressed and wide awake, drinking a cup of coffee at the counter.
"Coffee?" he offered, holding up his cup.
"What are you doing up so early?" I asked, totally baffled as to why anyone would willingly be up at the crack of dawn.
"I like mornings," he grunted.
I have never been able to understand morning people. It's the weekend, for heaven's sake. Sleep in. Relax. The sun'll still be there when you get up at a decent hour, like noon. There's no need for all this "Seize the Day" crap.
"Oh," was what I replied instead. "Sure, coffee will be nice."
He busied himself for a minute, finding a mug and preparing a cup for me. I just sat down on one of the counter stools, trying not to fall back asleep.
"Here," he said.
"Thanks," I replied.
Yes, we were both utilizing the full depth and breadth of our conversational skills. What can I say? We don't know each other all that well. I've only actually talked to him a handful of times, and the topic was usually either flirtatious or medical in nature. I really don't know the first thing about him. After tasting my cup of coffee, I did find out a little more about him, though.
Between gasps and coughs, I said, "Your healing factor must be better than I thought if you can survive this."
"Coffee's not that strong," he said defensively.
I looked in my cup and replied, "I think mine just moved."
He harrumphed and said, "If you don't like it, make yourself a new pot."
"I don't think I need to. There was enough caffeine in that sip to keep a narcoleptic awake for days." His eyebrows drew up in confusion, and I just waved my hand at him, dismissively. "Never mind. Doctor joke. Not that funny anyway."
"So, why're you up so early," he asked, changing the subject with a sly grin. "Trouble in paradise?"
"What?"
"You and Scooter," he answered, not elaborating.
"Things are fine between Scott and me," I said defensively.
"O' course," he mockingly agreed.
"Well, it was nice seeing you, Logan. Welcome back," I said, setting down my coffee cup and getting up to leave.
"I was hopin' we'd talk longer," he said, adding, "some place more private."
"Look, Logan," I said, my voice firm and clipped, "that's not a good idea."
"But, I need to talk to ya, darlin'."
"Logan, I had a long night, and I'm not in the mood for this. Unless it's a medical issue, I'm not..."
"It is," his whisper cut me off. There was none of the flirtatious bravado in that statement, just the truth.
"Well, why didn't you say in the first place?" I asked, confused and frustrated at how we'd had to dance around the issue.
"I heal, Jeanie. It's what I've always done. Now, it's not working right and..." his voice lowered until I could barely hear it. "I just dunno."
"We'll figure it out," I said trying to be comforting.
In truth, I lived for these moments. I didn't go to college for eight years and intern for one year because I liked dating college guys. I love a medical mystery, and mutations are the most interesting mysteries of all. What could possibly be wrong with a mutation as medically ingrained as Logan's?
"Rogue, maybe you should sit down," I said, trying to calm the pacing young woman.
She just continued to ask questions as she walked. "Why'd you call me down here, Dr. Grey?" Turn, pace. "Why'd you take all those samples of my blood?" Turn, pace. "What does this have to do with Logan?"
"Marie. Sit down with me, darlin'." Logan encouraged. "Give 'er a chance to tell us."
He was successful where I'd failed. The teenager sat, holding his hand in her gloved one but jiggling her legs impatiently.
"I needed your blood to confirm my findings from Logan's tests," I began. "His healing factor has slowed. He is actually producing less white blood cells and platelets and his metabolism has slowed. He's still above human standards," I reassured them, "but there's a noticeable decline from his previous tests. Rogue, have you ever wondered why you retained some of Magneto's power?"
"I thought it was a use it or lose it thing. I lost Logan's healing power 'cause I didn't use it."
"You're wrong, Rogue. You haven't used Logan's power because you haven't been injured. From your blood tests, I have determined that you've incorporated some of Logan's healing abilities into your body." I took a deep breath and continued. "It would seem that you just don't borrow powers. You also steal a portion of them."
POV: Venom (original character)
I hate mutants. Humans won't be safe until every last one of them is exterminated.
Oh, I've heard all the arguments. Mutants shouldn't be registered. Locking them up would be wrong. They're no different than any normal human. I know better.
They're all killers, every last one of them. I've seen the records. Sure, they all look like innocent kids, but these teenagers have maimed or killed more innocent people than they'd care to remember or admit.
"It's not my fault. It was an accident," is a classic excuse from this group. Nothing is ever their fault, whether they blow up a building, freeze a person faster than liquid nitrogen, or set a city block afire. If they didn't mean to do it then they think that somehow makes them immune to the consequences of their actions. There are thousands of drunk drivers in prisons across the country who didn't mean to kill the pedestrians they hit. Despite their regrets, they are still punished. Shouldn't the same be true of mutants?
Even worse than those mutants who kill on a small scale, are those megalomaniacs that believe they alone can create and enforce world-wide laws. Their crimes against humanity, ranging from the destruction of priceless property to the wanton murder of countless innocents, make them one of the top threats to the survival of the human species.
Despite these reasons, the thing I hate most about mutants isn't their threat to others or their belief in their own superiority. The thing I hate the most is that I am one of them.
Cassandra Ryan lived a relatively happy life in Elko, Nevada with her loving parents and two, somewhat tolerable brothers until a Tuesday in the spring of her sixteenth year. She'd caught her palm on a bit of chain link fence while playing basketball and the wound bled freely.
Mrs. Spencer, the gym teacher, was first to examine the injury, and therefore, she was the first to die. Only minutes after Cassie had left class and reported to the school nurse, her classmates ran in yelling that Mrs. Spencer was dying. When Cassie returned to the basketball court with Nurse Jacobs, she saw Mrs. Spencer locked in the throes of a violent seizure. She wasn't jerking around spastically like Cassie'd seen on TV. Instead, her body was stiff, arching up and down with her head and heels the only parts touching the ground. Her every muscle was tensed from her feet to her face, her lips drawn into an almost smiling grimace and her eyes bulging wide.
Nurse Jacobs yelled at Cassie's classmates to call 9-1-1, but there wasn't much more that she could do. After minutes, the seizures stopped, and Mrs. Spencer's body completely relaxed. Her skin was coated with a fine sweat, and her lips started to turn blue. She'd stopped breathing.
The nurse tried to help her, but having been the one to clean Cassie's wound minutes before, she began to experience symptoms of her own. Every sound was sharper, every image clearer, and she felt the restless need to do something about it, despite her patient's needs. She reached for Mrs. Spencer's face to begin CPR, but her arms shot out abruptly, her movement exaggerated, and she couldn't obtain the finer motor coordination necessary to pinch her patient's nose and tip her head to the proper angle to begin rescue breathing. In fact, the more she tried, the harder it became until her body became rigid and began to seize.
Cassie, terrified by the gruesome deaths occurring right before her eyes and unaware that her blood was the cause, hugged her best friend tight, her exposed wound brushing against her friend's bare arm. Her friend, Melanie Walker, took longer to die than her unlucky teachers. The paramedics arrived minutes before her symptoms developed. They had been working on Nurse Jacobs when Mellie started to feel odd. They were able to intubate her after the first round of convulsions and kept her breathing. She made it to the hospital, although she wouldn't survive the night.
The police arrived shortly after the ambulance and immediately began questioning students. An older officer, graying at the temples, noticed Cassie's injury. The paramedics were busy, so he pulled out one of his handkerchiefs and wrapped the gash. Her blood soaked through the material when he pressed it onto the wound, but he took no notice at the time. He wouldn't live to remember the incident later.
As the body count rose, the basketball court was suspected. It was quickly ruled out, though, when everyone was moved back into the school and people started to die who hadn't been outside. It took a total of ten deaths before Cassie realized that it was her. Everyone she had touched, or more specifically, who had touched her blood, collapsed within ten to fifteen minutes and died hours later, even with medical attention. Ten people who otherwise would have lived for several decades longer died that day because of Cassie. It was her fault.
With the realization that she was a mutant and a murderer, Cassandra Ryan died and I was born. I am Venom, walking death.
I lived on the streets for years wrapped up in so many layers that no one would ever suffer at my hand again. It didn't make any difference. I picked the wrong places to sleep, the wrong people to meet, and the wrong streets to walk. I never attacked, but it didn't matter. I still killed.
It got to the point where I wanted to die, too. I thought about killing myself every day, but there were two reasons why I didn't. First, I'd killed thirty-one people. I didn't deserve death. I deserved a long life of suffering for what I'd done, far away from people. Second, death wouldn't stop my murdering blood. I'd be dead, but I'd take at least a dozen people with me as they came across and dealt with my bleeding corpse.
I was starving on the streets when Charles Xavier found me. His voice whispered to my mind, promising a safe place where I could live with my fellow mutants in peace. It sounded like everything I needed. If I'd known what would happen, though, I wouldn't have gone.
"Venom! Join us in our recreation," Hank called to me.
Hank and Warren were playing one-on-one basketball, but Scott wanted to join in and they needed a fourth.
"No way!" I called from the patio.
Hank's a doctor, so he more than most people should realize how deadly I am. How he could possibly suggest that I play basketball of all things? That's what had started all my problems in the first place.
Scott found Remy and I did eventually wander over to the sidelines to watch. Can you blame me? It was teachers against students, shirts versus skins, and Scott's and Remy's perfect chests glistened temptingly in the sunlight.
As I stood there, having sinful fantasies that I would never be able to make reality, I discovered how much I'd changed over the seven months I'd been at the mansion. That first month, I didn't even leave my room. I sealed myself off from everyone for their own protection. It was only after the meals stopped arriving on my doorstep that I was forced to emerge from my self-imposed prison. At first, I scavenged from the refrigerator when everyone was asleep, but the professor put a stop to that. One night, I discovered that the kitchen was locked. After days, hunger forced me out of my exile, and I ate my first meal with the mansion's small population.
I got to know the other students, all eight of them, and eventually joined their ranks. None of us was younger than eighteen, but we still needed our GEDs. Hank and Warren weren't the best teachers (I still don't understand half of what Hank was trying to teach me about biology), but they were nice and they really understood what we were going through. That more than made up for any of their short-comings.
Looking back now, I can see that Hank's death was all my fault. I'd let my guard down and he paid the price. I had no business being that close to their game. I should have been on the patio, or better yet, locked in my room. I wasn't, though. When he came hurtling towards the sidelines after an errant ball, his body met mine, a claw grazed my flesh, and I knew.
"You're dead," I whispered as he pulled himself off of me. He looked confused for a moment, then he saw the scratch on my arm and the corresponding smear of blood on his fur and he understood.
I ran.
I could hear the commotion below my room as they entered the mansion minutes after me, Hank still five or ten minutes away from symptoms. He was going to try, but unlike the famous saying, a physician can't always heal himself and when the seizures took over, none of them knew what to do.
I watched the funeral procession from my window, but I didn't leave my room. I didn't leave for days. No food showed up and I didn't go hunting for it. I didn't deserve to live, but I didn't deserve the freedom of death. I deserved suffering, I emerged from my room in the depth of the night after almost a week, drained from hunger, but only looking for enough food to extend my pain, not sate my body's needs. The kitchen wasn't locked. In fact, it was never locked again. No one wanted to see the person who had brought death where before there was always hope.
Eight years passed. I existed, but I didn't live. I watched, but I never participated. I was the living ghost of the mansion, a twisted tale used to scare new students. I never emerged during the daylight hours. That is, until I heard a conversation that was the key to my redemption.
It was the new student and the man who'd brought her. They were sitting on a bench three stories below my open window, and the wind carried their voices up to me.
"Logan, I am death," a high-pitched voice lamented.
That got my attention. I more than anyone else could understand the sentiment.
"No yer not, darlin'. You've been careful and nothing's happened. This won't change nothing," a gruff voice soothed.
"It changes everything. My skin doesn't just borrow powers, it steals them. If you touch me again, it could kill you."
"Darlin', I ain't worried. I've already touched ya twice," the confident voice answered.
"Yes, and you're already weakened by it," the young woman countered. "If you touch me again you might not wake up, or if you do, you might not be able to heal again. Can you really sit there and tell me you'd want to give up your healing power?"
"Darlin', if you were dying, I'd give up everything to save ya."
"That's easy to say now, but think about it. You wouldn't be able to use your claws because your hands wouldn't heal. You couldn't fight anymore and expect to walk away unscathed. If you ran into Sabretooth again, he'd kill you with one twist of his claws. My life isn't worth your death."
"It is to me," he answered, his voice certain and steady.
They continued to argue below me, but I was caught up by one of their comments. The girl's skin absorbed other mutant's powers, permanently. She could create perfection from mutation. She was doomed to a life separate from others, like I was, but with her gift, one of us might find life.
My penance was at an end. I had been forgiven and a way had been created for me to return to humanity, free of the guilt of mutation. I lay on my bed, rubbing the scar on my palm and experiencing an emotion I hadn't felt since the day I'd first killed: Hope.
POV: Scott
I've hardly seen Jean all week. She's either in the Med Lab surrounded by piles of incomprehensible reports or talking with Logan or Rogue. The few times she came back to our room for the night, I asked her what's going on, but she always mumbled something about doctor-patient confidentiality and went back to whatever DNA hieroglyphics she was previously decoding.
Whatever it is, it's consuming her every waking moment. Sometimes, it even affects her dreams. She's woken me up more than once by turning on the bedside lamp and scribbling some medical gibberish on the notepad she keeps there. Once, writing in the notepad wasn't enough. At three o'clock in the morning, she actually got out of bed and told me she was going down to the Med Lab to try out her idea. Since she won't just tell me what's going on, I've been forced to watch and draw my own conclusions. It definitely involves Logan. The first night she got back, she became really angry when I suggested there might be something between them, but her actions since then have told me different. They don't just talk, they whisper. They sit on a bench or stand together with their heads bent so closely together that their lips are only inches away from each other. Whenever I approach them, they immediately back off and either stop talking completely or start discussing something inane like the weather until I leave.
Not only that, sometimes when they're talking, Jean holds his hands. I watched him rubbing them one day, along the knuckles as he sometimes does, when Jean stopped him. She gently took his hands, examining them like they were some wonderful mystery, and then she started rubbing them like he does as they continued to talk.
It's maddening! With his mutation, it's not like Logan needs her medical expertise, but he's spent several hours alone with her in the Med Lab. Of course, whenever I try to go in there when they're together, the door's locked and Jean asks me to come back later. She's my fiancee. We're supposed to get married in two months, but she's spending more time with someone that she told me just last Saturday was closer to a perfect stranger than with me. What am I supposed to think?
If Jean and Logan's behavior is frustrating, Rogue's part in all of this is infuriating. Ever since Logan came back and started spending time with Jean, Rogue's been a different girl. She's practically living in her room now, only leaving for classes and meals. She doesn't hang out with any of her friends, and she's avoiding touch again.
We've worked so hard with her and the other students this past month to make sure that her mutation didn't keep her from normal, social interaction. When she was on the road, she learned it was safer to be alone, but in a mansion full of teenagers, she needed to get comfortable around people again. She was just getting used to pats on the back, shaking hands, and even hugs from her girlfriends. With Logan's return, she started avoiding people again. In fact, Logan was the only one she allowed to touch her, and even with him she still flinched.
It had to be her crush on Logan. Jean told me all about it when he'd left. Seeing him and Jean becoming so close was killing all the self-confidence she'd developed.
When I noticed these changes in her, I realized I had to take action. If not for my sake, then at least for Rogue's. Jean was too preoccupied to have a real conversation, so I waited until I could find Logan alone.
It took several days. He was always either talking with Rogue or hovering close-by, but I finally found him one night in the kitchen before lights out.
"What do you think you're doing?" I asked the man crouching half-way into the refrigerator.
"What's it looks like?" he answered, pulling out my six-pack of Coors and setting it on the counter.
"That's my beer!" I protested, forgetting what I'd come to discuss for a moment.
"Yeah," he mumbled. "It's piss-poor quality, but I'm out of my own stash and I need a drink."
I was torn for a moment, wanting to defend my beer both from his pilfering and his quality judgement, but then I reminded myself why I'd wanted to speak with him, and a beer wasn't a bad idea. I reached out and grabbed myself a can, too.
When we'd both settled down and drunk a little, I asked, "So what's going on with Jean?"
"Whadda ya mean?" he casually answered, playing dumb.
"I know something's going on, and I know it involves Rogue. I'm going to speak to her when..."
"You stay away from Rogue," he growled, slamming his beer on the countertop.
"She's one of my students, and she's obviously very upset by whatever's going on between you and..."
"Don't, Summers," he interrupted. "Just do what I say. She's going through enough without you sticking your nose in it. It ain't your business."
"It is when it involves my fiancee," I argued.
"No it ain't," he countered. "*Especially* when it involves your fiancee."
That answer was just so incongruous and unexpected that it got me thinking. I'd been so obsessed with Logan and Jean spending time together that I didn't take into account all the testing and research she'd been doing in the lab. I've seen the pages of information she was sorting through. When I'd asked her about it, she kept quiet because of doctor-patient privilege.
"It's medical, isn't it? There's something wrong with Rogue."
"That's for Rogue to say," Logan answered, but from his disheartened expression, I could tell that I was right.
I was about to say more when Logan's head raised and cocked to one side, like he was listening to something I couldn't hear. Before I could ask him what was going on, his face drew into an angry snarl and with a growl, he turned and charged out of the kitchen.
I've never seen Logan with an expression of such pure, animalistic fury, not even when he was fighting at the Statue of Liberty. He'd heard something to cause this reaction, and in a mansion full of children, I wasn't about to let him rampage unchecked. I sped after him.
He was already up the staircase when I emerged from the kitchen, and his claws were out, shining in the dimmed lights.
"Logan," I called in my most commanding tone as I ran, pushing myself to try to catch up.
I could see that he was practically flying down the hallway, when I reached the top of the stairs. Before I could call to him again, he attacked the door to Rogue and Jubilee's room, slicing through the lock and bursting inside.
I heard the unmistakable crunching sound of a forceful punch and then the sound of a body slamming against a wall. By the time I reached the room and flicked on the lights, the fight was over.
Jubilee must still be out on her date, but Rogue was there, sitting on her bed crying and clutching Logan tightly. Logan, who had just seconds previously been in an almost insane rage was gently stroking her hair, and whispering to her, "Are you ok? Did she touch you?"
She? I scanned the room and found Rogue's attacker slumped against the far wall. She was barely recognizable as female, so thin as to be almost emaciated. Her dull brown hair was chopped unevenly around her head, ranging from an inch to two inches in length at different sections. It didn't appear to be any particular style. She probably just chopped it herself in an attempt to keep the shaggy thatch off of her face.
The woman was clutching her right hand to her chest protectively, and her nose was broken and bleeding, the blood shining bright against her pale, almost translucent skin. She was lucky. She'd probably been too close to Rogue for Logan to use his claws. That's the only reason I could think of that she was still alive.
"Who are you?" I asked, raising my right hand instinctively to my temple only to find that I was wearing my glasses and not my visor. I couldn't risk an uncontrolled blast in the mansion, so I dropped my hand and took up a defensive crouch instead.
The woman didn't even glance in my direction, her eyes fixed on Logan and Rogue. Her whisper-thin voice spoke, raspy and almost grating, "You're dead."
I had an instant flash of deja vu. I'd heard those same words spoken years before, a prediction that had soon proved true. Looking at the woman from a new perspective, I immediately recognized her face even sharpened as it was by the harsh angles of starvation.
"Venom," I said.
She turned her head to me, and I saw the blood from her broken nose and understood what she's meant when she'd spoken.
Whipping around I inspected Logan and Rogue with a more discerning eye. Rogue had flecks of blood on her face, probably spattered there when Logan'd punched Venom. Logan's right knuckles were painted with red streaks. They'd both been exposed. I didn't know how Logan's healing factor would respond to the poison, but Rogue...
"Rogue, did she touch your skin?" I asked, demanding an answer.
She just nodded.
"How long?"
"S-seconds," she answered shakily.
"Dammit," I swore. Not long enough. Venom was right. Both of them would probably die tonight. "Logan, take Rogue into the bathroom. Wash off the blood and get down to the Med Lab."
"Cyke, what..." he started to ask, but there wasn't time for detailed explanations.
"Her blood," I said, pointing at Venom, "is poison. Get it off and get to Jean. Now!"
Logan immediately took action, and I paused for a moment, opening my mind to Jean to warn her of her coming patients. ~Jean. Logan and Rogue have been exposed to poisonous blood. They're going to the Med Lab. Whatever you do, don't let any of that blood touch you.~
I could feel her confusion, but I blocked off the connection before she could question me. I still had to deal with Venom. Logan rushed Rogue out of the bathroom and out the door, while I decided what to do.
I yanked open Rogue's top dresser drawer and pulled out several scarves and gloves, throwing a handful at Venom. "Use those. Clean up your face and stop that bleeding."
She complied silently, wincing when she touched her damaged nose.
"Why, Venom. Why'd you come back. Why'd you attack Rogue?"
Venom answered my last question with a quiet, "She's mine."
"What?" I asked, incredulous.
"She was brought here for me. She can heal my mutation and make me human again. I can live again."
"She's not yours, Venom. She..."
"She can't touch anyway," Venom interrupted. "My mutation won't change anything. Besides, you have to let me touch her now. If you don't, she'll die. The man'll die anyway, but I can save her."
I had to admit, she had a point.
POV: Jean
"Jeanie?" Logan's voice, filled with desperation and near panic drew me away from my preparations as he and Rogue entered the lab. At a quick glance, neither of them seemed symptomatic, but that could change quickly.
I'd donned level two biohazard gear thanks to Scott's warning and was ready to treat them. It was basically the standard surgical attire except for a long-sleeved plastic jumpsuit to cover my scrubs and a face shield to protect my skin from any poison remaining.
"Over there," I said pointing at the privacy screens I'd set up in a corner of the room. "Take everything off, get any remaining blood off your skin, and put on the hospital gowns."
They obeyed without one clever quip or comment, and that more than anything underscored how seriously they were taking their predicament.
When they emerged, I pointed them to the beds I'd summoned from the floor. I had blood kits waiting by each bed. I needed to take samples from both of them to get some sort of idea of the type of poison I was facing. Logan refused to lay down on his bed. Instead, he helped Rogue onto her bed and stayed by her side, touching her shoulder where the thin fabric of the gown protected him.
"Logan, I need to examine both of you,"
"Her first, Red," he responded, his voice brooking no arguments.
"Ok, she's first, but you're next, Logan," I answered, my own voice just as strong.
I drew Rogue's blood without any problems, but a few minutes later, when I was drawing a sample from Logan as he sat next to her bed, she started to shift uncomfortably.
"The lights," she mumbled, clumsily pulling her arm up to try and cover her eyes. Her movements were jerky and uncoordinated.
Logan immediately stood up, ignoring the fact that I still had a needle in his vein. I quickly extracted it so he wouldn't injure himself and turned my attention to Rogue as well.
"Marie," Logan asked. "What's wrong? What about the lights?"
"Too bright," she whined, her voice rising in pain.
I psychically adjusted the light level while Logan settled a hand comfortingly on her shoulder. She flinched away from his touch, wincing like she'd been burned. She was starting to sweat, a fine sheen developing on her face.
"Rogue, what is it?" I asked. "Can you tell me what your symptoms are?"
"Everything hurts. Don't talk. Don't touch," she gasped out through gritted teeth.
Her heart monitor started beeping more rapidly and then her whole body stiffened, every muscle tightening.
"Jean, do something!" Logan demanded, his voice frantic with worry.
Rogue arched up off the bed and started convulsing so violently that I worried she might fall off.
"Hold her down," I ordered Logan as I ran to the supply room for soft restraints.
I'd only used them once, when a young mutant boy had come into my care. Mark was a telepath who'd spent the better part of three years in an insane asylum before coming to the mansion. He'd been manipulated by the voices in his head to hurt himself and the restraints were the only way to protect him from harm until the professor could reach him. Just the thought of what he'd had to endure made me shudder to this day.
Since it'd been years since I'd used them, it took me over a minute to find the restraints. When I came rushing back into the room, I was greeted by a horrifying image. Rogue was lying quiet on the medical table and Logan was slumped over her, his bare hand still touching her forehead.
I screamed something unintelligible as I used my power to throw him off of her. I couldn't let him touch her for one more second. Logan collapsed to the floor bonelessly, seemingly lifeless. I never should have left him alone with her.
As I levitated his body up to the table I'd prepared for him, Scott burst into the Med Lab with a small, thin woman in tow.
"Jean, she's the one who..." he started to say, then he stopped when he saw Logan and Rogue, both unconscious and unmoving.
"Put her in the quarantine room," I said, not even looking up from Logan's body.
I summoned E.K.G. pads from the nearby heart monitor and quickly hooked him up. His heart was beating rapidly, almost twice the normal rhythm, but he wasn't breathing. I mentally floated an intubation tray over to his bed and quickly tubed him, starting the artificial respirator.
Once he was temporarily stabilized, I checked on Rogue. Her heart had slowed down to a normal rhythm and she was breathing normally. From everything I could tell, she was unconscious, but otherwise unhurt.
Scott returned from the quarantine rooms in the back of the lab just as Logan started seizing. His body stiffened and his claws shot out, then he started arching and straightening, slamming forcefully into the bed.
"Scott, those restraints," I shouted, cocking my head in the direction of the leather bindings I'd abandoned on the floor. I was using my body and my telekinesis to hold Logan down and it was barely working. I couldn't keep him still for long. We attached the leather chest strap first, cinching it down on his chest when he'd straightened out during the seizure. With Logan's chest held down and his body taut, it was easier to get the other straps into place.
It was only after we'd gotten his body securely fastened that I realized Logan was in danger of something far worse than just falling off a table. His jaw was clenched shut so tightly that he'd clamped off the ventilator tubing. He wasn't getting any air.
"Dammit!" I shouted, trying to pry his jaw open with my hands and my TK. It didn't work. The brain can only last four to six minutes without oxygen before irreparable damage occurs. Logan'd been seizing for about two minutes, and I had no idea when he'd stop.
Diazepam! I could administer it intravenously to stop the seizures. Leaving Scott by Logan's side, I hurried to the drug locker and flung it open. Grabbing an I.V. kit, saline bag, and a bottle of diazepam, I went back to my patient.
The seizure was affecting every muscle in his body. Even the muscles in his face were twisted up in a tight smile. His eyes were wide open, almost bulging, and the pupils were so dilated that I could barely detect the hazel color. I couldn't tell if he was awake or unconscious, but I hoped he couldn't feel what was happening to him.
I immediately found a vein in his straining arm and set up the drip, administering a little more than would be called for in a human patient, but not too much. Rogue had absorbed his powers, so he was temporarily weakened, but there was no way to tell how much of his abilities she had permanently acquired.
The seizures stopped as quickly as they'd begun, Logan's body collapsing into complete relaxation. His jaw was still locked closed, but there was enough space to maneuver the tubing out of his throat.
I pulled over a tracheotomy tray and set it next to his bed. When I placed my gloved left hand on his neck to tighten the skin for my scalpel cut, the muscles in his neck jumped. He was tied down well enough to allow for the minor surgery, however, despite how difficult his flexing muscles made the procedure. Finally, almost five minutes after the start of his seizure, I had established a more secure airway for him.
Still, it was only a temporary solution. I had no idea what kind of poison he had in his system or how to treat him. Blood studies would take time that he might not have. With his metallic skeleton, I couldn't risk him going into cardiac arrest. I might not be able to bring him back.
Scott had been there the entire time, watching as I worked on Logan, but I'd been too busy to acknowledge his offers of help until now. "Scott, get on my computer, the medical database, and look up these symptoms for a poison."
I waited while Scott got a pen and notepad. "Sensitivity to light, sound, and touch. Tonic and clonic seizures. Pupils dilated. Eyes wide open. Got it?"
"Got it," he replied.
Even with the seizure medication, Logan was twitching. It seemed to correspond to the sound of my voice, but I couldn't be sure. The heart monitors and his ventilator were also making a lot of noise in the room and the twitching didn't stop completely when I'd stopped speaking.
While Scott searched my comprehensive database, I changed gloves and walked back to the quarantine rooms to find the mutant who had started all this. Why she had attacked Logan and Rogue and how she had gotten on the mansion grounds in the first place were questions foremost in my mind, but I pushed them aside. My patient couldn't wait for me to satisfy my curiosity.
"How do you treat it?" I asked without preamble.
She looked up from her crouched position on the floor in the back corner. Her face was so pale and sharply lined, she looked almost like a cadaver, like a warning of the death she brought to others.
She didn't ask me what I was talking about, she just answered, "You don't. They die."
I wasn't about to accept that death sentence. "There has to be a way."
"No one's ever figured it out," she said, her raspy voice slightly tinged with regret. "They die too fast."
I couldn't believe that. How could this woman kill without trying everything in her power to find a cure for the next time an accident happened?
"Jean?" Scott's voice called to me from the main room. "I think I found something."
I left our pitiful captive behind to see if Scott's search for answers was more productive than mine.
"Venom tell you anything?" Scott asked as he surrendered the computer chair to me.
"Venom? That's her name?" I asked, settling into the chair. When I saw what was up on the screen, I forgot any curiosity I had about our mysterious intruder. "Strychnine?"
"Yes," Scott answered. "It has the same symptoms."
I examined the information. "It takes much larger doses to produce these reactions with skin contact and the activation time is 15 to 30 minutes. So, it's looks like we have a fast acting strychnine derivative on our hands."
Treatment. I scrolled down the page only to find that there was no treatment medication for dermal exposure. All the medications had to do with oral exposure to the poison. As I scanned paragraphs of suggesting gastric lavage and ipecac, I found a piece of information that I could actually use.
"In poisoning by strychnine," the article began, "the patient must be kept absolutely quiet, no noises should be permitted, nor should even a draught of air be permitted to strike the body."
Of course, Rogue had been so sensitive to touch and light before the seizures began. Logan is still twitching despite the I.V. anticonvulsants. Maybe if I got him into a quiet room...
"Scott, I need your help," I said, rising from the computer station and going back to the supply room for a stretcher.
"Ok," he said, following me as I gathered the things I needed.
Scott and I released Logan from the soft restraints. Even though he was still jerking a little, there was no danger of him falling anymore. I TK'd Logan onto the stretcher and spent a few moments detaching him from the fixed machines and transferred him to the portable heart monitor and ventilator. I pushed the stretcher while Scott rolled the ventilator behind us.
I had just gotten Logan hooked up to the more permanent equipment in his new room and had switched the readouts to silent alarm when I heard Rogue's blood-chilling scream from the main room of the Med Lab. "LO-GAN!!!"
POV: Rogue
"Marie?"
I was falling, falling in an oily, numbing darkness, falling away from the pain and torment of my body until his voice caught me.
"Marie? Darlin', come back."
"Logan?" I could feel him, his presence, all around me. Protecting me. Buoying me up. I reached for him.
"That's it. That's right, baby."
His voice infused me with power. Where weakness had resided, strength now dwelled. Where there had been emptiness, there was now love.
"Marie, follow me," his voice pleaded.
I obeyed.
As I rose out of the numbing blackness sensations flooded me, overwhelming me. The lights in the room glared down, piercingly bright even through my closed eyelids. A loud, high-pitched beeping repeated over and over, pounding into me until I thought I would scream from the pain. Distant voices joined the beeping to ground my already tender nerves to powder. Worst of all was the coarse gown covering my body, rubbing my skin raw.
"Logan, it hurts," I whimpered weakly.
"I know, Marie, but I'm here with you. It'll fade."
His voice was so close, yet so gentle. It didn't hurt like all the other sounds overpowering my senses. It was like a cooling balm in a world of flame.
"Open your eyes for me, Marie."
"I can't. It's too bright."
"You can, baby. I'll help you." He paused and a warmth spread through my veins, dulling the light and muffling the sound a little. "Better?"
"Yes."
"Wake up, Marie."
Focusing all my energy on my eyes, I managed to open my eyelids just a crack, squinting through the metallic glare of the room. I expected Logan's face to bend over me and block out the light at any moment, but it didn't happen.
"Logan?" I whispered, my own voice loud and grating to my ears.
~Welcome back, baby,~ I heard him say.
His voice was so close that his lips had to be right up against my ear, but I could see that there was no one there. Then I realized why his voice didn't hurt when everything else did. It was coming from inside of me.
"You touched me," I accused in a raspy gasp.
~I had to, darlin'.~
"I told you. No touching, no matter what," I said, my voice rising in volume despite the pain it was causing me.
~You were dyin'. I didn't have a choice.~
Dying? If I was that badly hurt, then... I quickly shut my eyes, concentrating, looking for Logan. He was everywhere, his presence filling me.
Too much.
My eyes snapped open, and I tried to get them to focus despite the lights. I gazed over at the bed Jean had prepared for him, but it was empty. The sheets were twisted askew and the floor around it was strewn with carelessly abandoned medical supplies and equipment, but Logan was gone.
Too much. I'd taken too much, and I'd killed him. He was dead and it was all my fault.
A hint of a personality rose in my mind, echoing my words. ~Killed him. My fault. Thirty-three.~
The voice faded as quickly as it'd risen, but the overwhelming guilt and remorse remained.
"LO-GAN!!!" I wailed in my grief.
He was the only person who truly loved me, who cared more about me than anything else, and who had given his life for mine. It wasn't a fair trade. I wanted him back.
~I'm here, darlin'.~
"You're dead!" I yelled.
"Rogue?" a gentle voice asked. Jeanie. I didn't want her. I wanted Logan.
"Logan," I whimpered, my tears burning trails down my cheeks. I didn't care about the pain anymore. No physical pain could compare to the grief consuming my soul.
"Logan can't be here right now," Jean offered in a soothing voice.
"Dead. Killed. Too much. Too much." I answered between sobs.
"No," Jean said, reaching out to stroke my hair. I know she meant well, but every movement of every strand yanked on my beleaguered senses. "Logan's not dead."
That got my attention. I raised my eyes to hers and then turned my gaze to the empty bed saying, "Gone. Dead."
She seemed to catch my meaning.
"No, Rogue. He's just hurt. I had to move him to a private room."
"Have to see him," I begged.
"I'm sorry, Rogue. You can't. He's too critical."
She's lying. She had to be. If he were alive, he'd be here.
"I'm not lying," Jean insisted.
Did I say that out loud? I didn't know. Couldn't tell.
"Rogue, trust us," a deeper voice added. "He's right in the other room."
Scott? Where'd he come from? I didn't care. I wanted Logan.
I pulled my hands up to waist-level on the bed and pushed, trying to sit up. My muscles felt so stiff, almost like I'd never bent over in my life. I gasped at the pain, but I wouldn't let it stop me. If Logan was alive, I had to see him. If he was dead, I had to know.
"Rogue, don't." Jean commanded, pressing down on my shoulders and easily settling me back on the bed.
I wouldn't be deterred. I jerkily tried to sit up again.
"Rogue," Scott speaking now, from the other side of my bed. "you have to rest, now. Get your strength back. Logan wouldn't want you to overexert yourself. He's alive. Just trust us."
~He's right, darlin'. Rest now. Trust 'em,~ Logan's voice spoke to me, but I could tell that he didn't quite believe them either.
"I want to see Logan. Now," I insisted, successfully pushing myself up to a seated position, "Even if I have to go through both of you to do it."
Seeing my determination and probably figuring that I wouldn't calm down until they conceded, Jean said, "Scott, bring over a wheelchair."
Scott looked like he wanted to protest, but then he gave in with a short nod a retrieved a chair.
It was only about forty feet from my bed to Logan's quarantine room and I didn't do anything more than sit, but I felt like I'd run a marathon by the time we arrived. Logan lay prone on the bed before us in almost total darkness, visible through an observation window. His chest rose and fell mechanically as air was forced into his lungs. He was unnaturally pale, his body coated in a sweaty sheen, but he was alive. I could tell from the trembling of his left hand. There was something left of him in there. He wasn't just a dead husk kept alive by machines.
I didn't realize I was crying until I felt wet drops hit my folded hands. Logan was alive. He was hurt, but he was alive.
"Ok?" Jean asked with a gentle voice. "Can we take you back?"
I just nodded, drained from my journey and the worry that had consumed me.
~I'm still here, baby. I won't leave ya,~ Logan reassured me.
"How much, Jean?" I mumbled. "How much did I take?"
"We won't know until he wakes up. Just rest for now."
I settled back into my chair as Scott turned it around and pushed me back towards the main room and my bed. Right next to Logan's, was another quarantine room, and I caught sight of a familiar figure crouched in the back corner.
"Stop," I said. It was hardly a forceful command, but Scott complied anyway.
The woman who'd attacked me was banging the back of her head into the wall, mouthing words to herself.
"What's she saying?" I asked Jean.
"The rooms are sound-proofed," Jean said as she fingered the controls of a speaker attached to the wall.
As the speaker was turned on, I heard her voice repeating over and over, "Thirty-four... thirty-four."
That was the same voice as in my head. The number was different, but the guilt was the same. As she hit her head against the wall once again, she caught sight of the three of us at the observation window. Her eyes fixed on me, and her face twisted up into a clumsy smile which looked out of place on her bruised visage.
"Thirty-three," she said.
"Thirty-two," I corrected.
POV: Professor Xavier
Even though it was only ten in the evening, I was more than ready for sleep. The administration of a school is a full-time job. Just because tomorrow is a Saturday doesn't mean I don't have work to do. After being gone last week with Jean on our lobbying trip, it'd taken a week just to catch up with the school's business, not to mention my classes.
Jean has told me on more than one occasion to focus on the affairs of the school and turn my classes over to another teacher, but I can't bear to lose those two hours I have with the students, one-on-one. It makes me feel connected to them. Of course, it is also very draining, but the benefits are worth the extra hours and lost sleep.
Speaking of which, I planned to gain back some of those lost hours tonight. I was already half-way there, propped up comfortably in bed against a mound of pillows, having spent the past half-hour reading. Most of my students would probably think that I read Dickens or Lewis whenever I have a spare moment. Although I do enjoy the classics, my collection is not nearly so limited. I am currently reading Rowling, specifically the first Harry Potter book.
It would be impossible not to notice how popular the series had become with the younger teen and pre-teen students. However, after several months, I began to notice the books in the hands of even the junior and senior students. When I casually mentioned that I thought it was just a children's book, Jubilee corrected me, saying it was "mega cool" and loaning me a copy.
Now that I'm half way through the Sorcerer's Stone, I understand completely why the books have become a part of life here. They are allegorical tales, using magic and witchcraft as a means of communicating the difficulties faced by newly manifested mutants. The idea of Harry discovering himself to be different from his family who summarily rejects and mistreats him and going to a school where he could be not only accepted but encouraged to seek out his full potential was so similar to some of my own student's experiences as to make me wonder whether the author was a mutant herself. It might be something worth researching. She was already bringing understanding of the mutant condition to the hearts of the general population, even if they didn't seem to realize it.
It was something I'd have to do another time, though. I set the book on the nightstand, discarded my extra pillows, and lifted the covers. It's easier to shimmy my way down into a prone position without the covers twisting up around my unmoving legs. When I was first injured, it was a clumsy process of moving and adjusting over and over until I was down. Now, with decades of practice, I can do it with one quick downward shift and then sit up to straighten out my legs afterwards.
The last step in my bedtime routine is to fortify my mental shielding. During the day, when I am awake and alert, I like to keep my shields lower so I can get a sense of the overall feelings of the student body. I also like to be able to pick up projected hints from my students as to how they are so I can advise and guide them more effectively.
At night, however, I need more protective shields for the benefit of both myself and my students. Several of the teenagers who live at this school and even some of the teachers have occasional nightmares. If my shields are not strong enough, I will experience the emotions if not the actual sights and sounds associated with the dreams. It would be a horrible breach of privacy on my part.
The privacy and self-determination of others has been of paramount concern to me since about a year after my powers manifested. I first learned that I was a mutant when I was twelve, waiting for my parents outside of my headmaster's office. I can't remember the exact circumstances resulting in the meeting, but I know it was something bad. I was what my mother called a "spirited boy" and what the headmaster called a "disruptive troublemaker." Meetings with my mother had become commonplace, but this was the first time my father had left his office to attend a meeting. I had to have done something heinous for him to be present.
I remember the anxious worry I felt, sitting on that hard wooden chair next to the headmaster's door. My ear was up against the wall, and I was straining with all my might to catch any word or phrase that might give me a hint as to how much trouble I was in.
Suddenly, I realized that even though I couldn't hear what they were saying, I could sense their emotions. Father was furious. Mother was worried. The headmaster was righteously indignant. Just as I was coming to understand their emotions, words, phrases, half-thoughts, and disjointed images filled my head. At first, it was only the three of them, but soon it expanded until a cacophony of voices filled my head. It was confusing agony. I couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't even think. I was completely overwhelmed by the thoughts of those around me.
I had to protect myself, so I tried my best to ignore the voices and started creating bricks. I stacked them around me, creating floor, walls, and ceiling entirely out of the sturdiest material my imagination could provide. As I laid the last brick into place, my mind became my own again, the overpowering voices suddenly gone, leaving behind the deafening silence of a mind that was my own again.
I opened my eyes to find myself in a hospital bed. I'd been in a coma-like state for a month.
Over the next year, I modified my brick fortress, pushing it out away from my body so it was less like a vertical tomb and more like a fort. In fact, I started thinking of it like that. The brick changed to a thick, sturdy wood, and the fort moved up into a tree, away from the jabbering masses, I added accessories including a sealed window, a spy glass, and a flag with an X emblem on it.
When I was thirteen, I met Bridget Campbell. She was a stunning blonde, my age but over two inches taller than me and seemingly so much more mature. I wanted her to like me so much. I would sit and stare and her in class, wishing that she would come up and talk to me. One day, I saw her in the park. I stared at her as usual, wishing and hoping that she would approach me. Without even realizing it, I'd trained my imaginary spy glass on her through the window in my mental fort.
She looked up, saw me, and smiled. She pranced over to me and immediately began telling me everything I'd ever wanted to hear from her but never dreamed would be a possibility. Then she bent over and started kissing me passionately. It was a little too much sensation for my thirteen year old mind to take in, and I lost whatever concentration I'd been holding. Bridget immediately backed away from me putting her hand to her lips with a shocked expression. She ran away, never to speak to me again, and I realized that I had been controlling her. I had been making her do the things that I'd dreamed of for so long.
It wasn't real. It felt wrong, almost dirty, to force my will upon another person. I vowed that day that I would do everything in my power to learn how to control my gifts. Now, here I am, a headmaster of a school of my own. Teaching others how to control their gifts as well.
I settled into sleep tonight only to be aroused no more than an hour later by overwhelming emotions, despite my stronger shielding. It took only a second to realize that no one student's nightmare had woken me. Something very real and very frightening was occurring right now. Logan's barely controlled rage and terror for Marie, Rogue's fear after being attacked and touched again, Jean's professional concern barely covering frantic worry for her patients, Scott's confusion and shock at discovering Venom, and Venom, my one failure, experiencing a mixture of guilt, fear, pain, and joy.
She'd been quiet for eight years, but I should have known her self-imposed isolation wouldn't last forever. I just hadn't wanted to face it. I had failed her so horribly.
I'd made her to do too much too quickly. I should have let her move at her own pace. I should have waited until Henry had finished formulating the antidote before forcing her to mingle with the other students, but I didn't.
Henry had been the first of my students, a child shunned by all who looked upon him, but gifted with an extraordinary mind. Under my tutelage and encouragement, he'd excelled becoming a medical doctor as well as a Ph.D. several times over. His death crushed me.
For the first few years after his loss, it was easier to blame the reclusive woman who had accepted the guilt wholeheartedly than to take into account the circumstances resulting in his death.
I'm ashamed to say that I hated her. She had not purposefully taken away a man I'd come to think of as my son, but I'd treated her as if she had. I'd allowed her to fade into the shadows of the mansion, becoming a ghost herself.
After several years, my feelings towards her changed as my anger gave way to understanding, but I felt it was too late. How could I approach her now after ignoring her for so long? I buried myself in my work, trying to hide from the knowledge of my failure as she hid from the residents of the mansion.
Now, she had revealed herself, and from the increasingly worried thoughts, mixed with unrecognizable medical terminology I was getting from Jean, her blood was killing someone again.
My mind might be powerful, but no one will ever say that my body is strong or fast again. It took me time to maneuver out of bed and into my chair so I could make my way down to the Med Lab. Jean's thoughts were racing, and I didn't want to disturb her just to have my curiosity satisfied, so I was forced to wait for my answers. Still, from the emotions crashing over me in waves, I could surmise how events were playing out below me.
Rogue's presence had weakened for a moment only to be dramatically strengthened while Logan faded away from me almost completely. I could only surmise that he had touched her, allowing her to absorb his healing abilities, but at what price to him?
It took a maddeningly long time to reach the Med Lab and when I arrived, no one was in the main area. I could hear voices down the hall, so I proceeded in that direction.
I found Jean and Scott standing next to a seated Rogue all looking through the observation window of the first isolation room. Jean adjusted the speaker, and I could hear Venom's voice for the first time in eight years, raspy and weak from disuse. She was repeating a number to herself. "Thirty-four."
The first few weeks after Henry's death, I could feel her dreams. She'd reverted to sleeping during the day so that she could get her meals at night while the halls were empty. Even though I pushed her away from my mind, I couldn't block myself completely off from my students, so I ended up catching a few stray thoughts. Every time I heard her, her guilt-ridden mind was repeating a number, "Thirty-two."
I understood what the number meant. When I'd first introduced myself to her, she'd warned me away saying that she'd killed thirty-one people and would likely kill more. Upon Henry's death, her number changed to thirty-two, and now, here in the Med Lab, it sounded like she'd added two more people to her tally.
Even before I could open my mouth to ask who else besides Logan was injured, Venom had adjusted her number down to thirty-three, and Rogue had answered thirty-two.
I moved my chair forward to join them. Jean and Scott turned to acknowledge my presence, but Rogue's attention was focused completely on the room before her.
Now that I had moved, I could see Venom crouched in the far corner of the room. Her eyes were bruised and her nose looked out of joint, but most striking was her skin-and-bones figure. She'd always been small in stature, but now her extreme thinness made her seem even smaller. Pity and guilt flooded though me as I realized my role in her decline.
As I watched, Venom shook her head sadly in response to Rogue's correction and said, "Thirty-three."
Rogue, who had been slumped in her wheelchair and was to all appearances exhausted, sat up straight, anger blazing in her eyes. "Look here, you bitch. He's not dying so you can shut your trap about that number thing right now."
Jean's pager vibrated at her waist and she pulled it up sharply.
"No!" she yelled, turning on her heel and running into the next quarantine room without saying a word to any of us. I could feel her rising concern, and when I searched for Logan, his presence was too faint to keep a fix on.
Rogue was sitting frozen in her chair, her eyes wide and her breaths coming in short gasps. She started whispering "No," over and over, each time increasing the volume of the word until she was yelling. "No! Logan!"
"Scott, get her back to her bed."
"No! Stop! I need to see Logan!" Rogue protested as Scott wheeled her away.
Unable to help Scott or Jean, I remained with Venom.
"Why did you attack Logan?" I asked, confused as to what had caused her to come out of hiding.
"He attacked me," she answered, starting to pound her head back against the wall.
"Why?"
"I don't know... She's mine," Venom answered, confusion mingling with her pain and guilt.
"Who?"
"The girl. She cures mutation. She's the answer to myprayers. She came here to save me."
"Rogue? Did shetell you that?"
"No, but I heard them talking about it. She's here for me, Xavier. Just let me touch her and I'll leave. I'll never kill anyone again."
I shook my head. "I can't let you touch her."
"But... she's mine." she answered, clearly not understanding what the problem was.
POV: Jean
I'd set Logan's monitors to beep my pager if there was any change in his condition. I had hoped that the poison's affects would be similar to strychnine, wherein the real danger to the patient comes from asphyxia. With the tracheotomy, I thought Logan would stabilize. Unfortunately, the poison he'd been exposed to was more complex than it would initially appear. I wasn't out of his room ten minutes before my pager started vibrating.
As soon as I entered the room, I could see the problem displayed on his heart monitor. He was throwing a run of PVCs. In a healthy person, an occasional Premature Ventricular Contraction is nothing to worry about. However, with a patient as sick as Logan, running several PVCs in a row is dangerous. It could push him into an unstable heart rhythm.
I administered lidocaine, IV push, and thankfully, his heart returned to a more regular rhythm. However, since I had no idea what had caused the symptom in the first place, it could happen again. I needed to research the poison and see if I could figure out how to treat him.
I returned to the main lab, passing Charles on the way but not sparing a moment to speak to him. He seemed to be more occupied by his conversation with the woman who'd caused this situation anyway.
As I walked down the hall, I could hear Scott trying to convince Rogue to get into bed. In spite of her weakened condition, she was almost spitting in anger.
"Take me back to Logan! Now, dammit!"
"No," Scott firmly answered.
"Rogue, he's stabilized," I said as I entered the room.
"Jean," Rogue said, turning to me. "I gotta be with him. Please."
I really didn't have time for this, but she was so upset, and she was still my patient. I would just have to make time. "He's still critical. He can't have any visitors.
"I could just hold his hand and talk to him," she reasoned. "It might help if he knows someone's there."
"The poison's made him extremely sensitive to external stimulation, Rogue. Do you remember how painful light and noise were to you?"
Rogue looked down and then gave a small nod.
"Right now, the best thing you can do for him is to let him rest and to get some rest yourself."
Rogue calmed down, considering my suggestion. Finally, she said, "Ok, but only if you wake me up if something happens."
"Agreed."
I turned to Scott and he nodded, helping Rogue into bed so I could take the discarded blood samples I'd collected from both Logan and Rogue to the back lab for analysis.
I was only minutes into my work when Charles knocked on the door.
"Jean, I just remembered. Our previous physician did some research into finding a cure for Venom's blood. The notes should still be on file."
"Dr. MacTaggert? I could just call her..."
"No," he interrupted, "the doctor before her. His name was Dr. Henry McCoy."
"Oh," I said, then added, "I don't believe I'm familiar with him. Do you have his phone number so I could..."
"He died," Charles said, and I could see the pain that the statement brought him. "An accident with Venom."
I expected him to elaborate, but he just sat back in his chair again with a weary sigh. He had such a forlorn expression on his face, and I could tell this Henry must have been very important to him, but to Logan, time was of the essence.
"Do you know how far he got in his research? Are there any of her blood samples still frozen?"
"Venom never let us sample her blood. She was too afraid of accidents. Henry was working from the hospital records and tissue samples of the victims we could identify. He had some theories, but in the first practical opportunity to test them, he was the patient. His files should still be located on the mainframe."
"I'll take a look. Thanks, Charles."
Speaking of Venom, I really should check on her condition before I took off all of my biohazard gear. She'd been injured enough to cause some sort of blood loss, and she might need treatment. I pulled back on the face shield I'd discarded in my work and walked back towards the quarantine rooms.
"Venom, I'm Dr. Jean Grey."
She looked up at me and from her black eyes and the dried blood on her clothes, I could guess that her nose had been broken. She was also protectively clutching her right hand in her left and I suspected an additional injury there. She didn't say anything, though.
"I'd like to treat your injuries if..."
"No!" she answered quickly.
"You're hurt. If I could just examine..."
"Stay away."
She was jumpy and nervous and I'd already seen with Logan and Rogue just how well she could defend herself. I still had no idea why she had attacked them or how she had gotten into the mansion. If I pressed her, Logan might end up without a doctor.
"Ok. I'll stay away for now, but that looks like it hurts. Could I at least get you some Ibuprofen?" It should help with the pain and reduce any swelling she was experiencing.
She nodded and added, "But stay away."
I got her one dose and some water in a plastic cup and opened the door to her room. If it was possible, she seemed to push back even further into the corner. I set down the medicine just inside the door and left, returning to the lab to see if I could find this Dr. McCoy's research.
There were actually hundreds of pages of raw data both on the computer and in the filing cabinets I hadn't cleared out on my arrival, including a partial DNA breakout of the poison. This Henry guy obviously had not counted on anyone needing his notes but him. They had random comments and half-sentences scrawled all over the pages in the hurried, chicken-scratch writing that doctors are so famous for. Scott accuses me of the same horrid penmanship, but at least I can read it.
It was taking me hours to go through it all, and most of it was undecipherable without a point of reference, but a few scribbles caught my attention. On a photocopy of Steven Ramirez's medical chart, Henry had circled, "multiple organ failure." Then he'd written out to the side, "lungs, kidneys, liver, heart... Cause? Would dialysis help? Drugs to flush poison?"
Good questions, Henry. I wish you had the answers.
It would take weeks to extract the poison's DNA from the blood samples and code it completely. Logan didn't have that long, so I chose to rely on Henry's partial mapping and hope for the best.
I started running computer models projecting from the DNA which drugs might counteract the poison. While the computer was compiling the data, I ran scans of both Logan's and Rogue's blood samples. The results were confusing and unreliable. It would seem that Logan's transference of his powers to Rogue meant that both samples were already abnormal. It was difficult to determine which abnormalities were the result of Logan's natural healing abilities and which were the result of those abilities reacting to the poison.
Even as I tried to concentrate and formulate solutions, my research kept being interrupted since I had to keep checking on Logan's condition. Why can't this school have lab technicians, nurses, and a team of doctors? Even with my telekinesis, I am only one person and can only do a few things at a time. I've asked Charles for additional staff on more than one occasion, but he just puts me off, saying physicians who can be trusted with all our secrets are hard to come by.
Logan's condition continued to deteriorate, and I wasn't finding answers quickly enough to stop it. After the first hour, Logan's foley output had decreased dramatically. His kidneys were shutting down. The liver and kidneys are the means by which the human body clears out toxins. If they aren't functioning, toxins build up in the body and kill the patient.
A little past two in the morning, I left my analysis to take yet another blood sample from Logan. His blood workup was constantly changing as a result of his most recent touching of Rogue. I had hoped that at least some of his healing abilities would kick in, but they appeared to either be dormant or permanently lost to Rogue's absorption.
Each time I walk into the quiet, dimly lit room, I am struck by the incongruous image of Logan, who had always been so full of life and energy, relying on machines for all his life functions. I try to be quiet while I take the samples so as not to harm him further. That is, if he's still conscious of the outside world. He'd fallen into a deep coma shortly after I'd transferred him to this room and besides a minor twitching in his left hand, he was completely unresponsive.
Even though I didn't dare use my voice, I still tried to contact him telepathically.
~Logan, can you hear me?~
No response.
~Logan, if you can hear me, give me a sign. Open your eyes, move your mouth, send me an emotion.~
Nothing. It was so frustrating. I wanted some sort of sign.
~Logan, if you can hear me, lay completely still except twitch your hand.~
*I don't think that counts,* a deep, familiar voice broadcast to my mind.
~Charles.~ I turned around and saw the professor sitting in the doorway.
*How is Logan? Have you made any progress?*
~He's worse, no progress, and, frankly, it's pissing me off. Charles, do you remember when I told you that I love medical mysteries?~
*Yes.*
~Well screw that. I want to know exactly how to treat this right now. I'll enjoy my mysteries later when someone's life isn't on the line.~
*I understand.* He paused for a moment and then sent, *I saw in the main room that you'd finally convinced Rogue to sleep. How is she doing?*
~Fine. Last I checked, she's recovering completely. Logan's healing ability must have counteracted the poi...~
Oh hell. I'd been going about this all wrong! My thoughts raced faster than I could hold onto them. I'd been focusing on developing an antitoxin from scratch when I had the perfect, proven serum just waiting for me out in the main lab. Rogue's blood. Logan's healing factor had to have cleared the poison out of her system. There should still be some traces of the cure in her system. That is, if I hadn't waited too long.
POV: Logan
I didn't wake up slowly or gradually. I went from complete nothingness to a world of sensation in the space of a second.
Marie. I had been touching her and then I'd blacked out. I must still be in the Med Lab recoverin'. I sniffed at the air experimentally and the medicinal, air-conditioned smell confirmed my suspicions. I could also pick up a touch of Marie and Jean, but it smelled like they hadn't been around in days. That couldn't be right.
Pain tinged my senses, throbbing dully in my joints, and when I squinted my eyes open and turned to look at my surroundings, it blossomed into stabbing clarity in my throat.
There was something there. I could feel it pulling on my skin and pushing into my throat. I reached up a clumsy hand and grasped it, a plastic, ribbed tube. I tugged on it experimentally, but it was secured well and the torture produced by that small movement made it clear I couldn't remove it that way. I wasn't about to leave it there, though. I'd just use my claws to free myself from the tether and then go find Jeanie to take the rest out.
Pain shot like fire up my right arm and through my body when I unsheathed my claws. They'd always hurt when they came out, but this was mind-numbing agony. It felt like the flesh from my knuckles to my elbow was ripped wide open. I tried to scream, but no sound came out.
A calming hand came out of nowhere and rested on my forehead. I looked up and Jean's face swam in my vision. I didn't know anyone was in the room with me. Even now, although I could see and feel her, I still couldn't smell her that well. It almost felt like she wasn't really there.
"Logan," Jean said with a calm but firm voice, "put them back in and release your oxygen tube, ok? You're in the Med Lab. You're safe. Do you understand?"
I did what she said, pulling my claws back in with a wet, sucking sound. The pain flashed through me again, taking my breath away. My arm throbbed angrily in beat with my heart and the burning wasn't going away. Instead, the new sensation of sticky liquid on my fingers added to my discomfort.
Jean swore and picked up my arm. Argh! It felt like her fingers were blades and every place she touched, a new torment was born.
'Stop it! Stop it! No!' I screamed in my mind since I couldn't get anything out of my mouth.
She gasped and dropped my arm back down to my side.
"I'm sorry, Logan, but you're bleeding," she said, looking down at me apologetically. "I'll inject some morphine and then get you stitched up, ok?"
Anything to stop the pain was fine with me. I tried to nod, but didn't get very far before the tube got in the way. Sweat was dripping down my face and my heart was pounding as I tried to catch my breath. I could feel the cool oxygen tickling as it entered my throat and it felt odd to say the least to breathe without actually passing air through my mouth or nose.
I heard Jean's heels clicking around on the metallic floor and then, the shifting of cloth down by my legs. I angled my head down as far as it would go, and there sat a rumpled Marie just opening her eyes.
"Logan? You're awake!"
She looked all right, healthy. It must've worked.
"Jean," Marie said, looking up past my body. "I can smell the pain on him. Can't you do something?"
"Right now, Rogue," Jean said, returning to my side with a needle.
Marie can *smell* my pain? That's strange 'cause I can barely even smell her presence. I saw Jean inject the medication into the IV tubing at my left and pretty soon, the sharp torment of my arm faded away to a dull throbbing.
Jean laid out her instruments and used another needle to inject more medication at different points along my arm. Soon I felt a pins and needles, tingling sensation and the throbbing pain disappeared.
"Can you feel this?" Jean asked as she moved my arm, lying it down on a sterile table to fix it.
I could feel the movement but no pain was associated with it. It was like my arm was separate from my body. Jean seemed to sense this and she started stitching on my hand. I didn't know why she thought the little stitches would help that much when my entire arm had been torn through, but she was the doc, and I didn't have much experience with this whole not-healing thing.
On the opposite side from Jean, Marie started telling me about everything that had happened in the eleven days I'd been out. Eleven days! That number'd thrown me for a loop. Last month when I'd touched Marie after Magneto'd tried to kill her, it'd taken a little more than three days to wake up. I wondered just how much of my healing factor she'd taken this time and if any more of my powers would come back.
She told me all about that weird bitch that had attacked her in the first place. She said that her name was Venom and that she'd been living in the mansion all this time but keeping to herself. Marie thought she'd gone loopy from the isolation and I believed her. Anyone who thought they could get away with hurting my Marie was insane. I just wish I'd caused more damage when I had the chance. Of course, I was more concerned with Marie at the time.
Marie said that this Venom gal was under the Professor's lock and key and that he was trying to find some sort of psychiatrist for her. I didn't give a rat's ass what happened to her as long as she stayed away from us. If I never saw her again, I'd be happy.
Two days after I'd woken up, Jean was ready to take out the trachy-what's-it so I didn't haveta have a damn tube in my throat anymore. Three days after that, I was off the oxygen and ready to leave the Med Lab. Not that I was completely healed. My arm was still black and blue and my hand was still bandaged, but Jean didn't have any reason why I couldn't go back to my room. Well, she did, but I wasn't listening.
"Logan, you've developed a low-grade fever. I just want to rule out infection."
"I'm going, Jeanie," I rasped. My throat was still far from peak and it'd take a while before my voice returned to normal. Still, I wasn't spending one more second in this confining lab.
"Ok, if you insist, but I'd like to check up on you every day. I want to make sure you keep healing."
"Whatever," I said pulling on my T-shirt. "Just let me go."
All I wanted to do was get back to my room, open the window, and go to sleep. I couldn't wait to smell something other than disinfectant laced with alcohol, and I wanted to stretch out on a real bed. Sure, I wished that I felt good enough to go outside and take a run, but I just felt totally run down.
You know, before I'd lost almost all of my powers to Marie, I had no idea how tiring pain could be. Even when you're taking medication, it wears on you, pulling the strength right out of your body. Not that I had any regrets. If it was between Marie dying and me putting up with being sore, I'd pick sore every time.
Marie doesn't quite see it that way. She's mad as hell that I touched her and gave her so much of my powers. I think she still sees me as kind of her protector. Even when I touched her before, I was perfectly fine once I woke up. I don't think she's ready to see me taking so long to heal.
I'm still not used to the idea, myself. I won't be able to pop my claws ever again without hurting myself real bad. Without them, what kind of use am I here? I'm not a teacher, I can't fight good anymore, and I sure don't want to live off of Chuck's charity. Maybe after I get healed up, I should leave and try to figure out what kinda job I could do. Marie'd probably hate me leaving again, but I gotta find something I'm good at besides fightin'. A man's gotta pull his own weight.
Speaking of which, I was struggling to pull my weight up the stairs to my room. The elevator to the lower levels stops at the ground floor, and I didn't feel like walking all the way down the hall to the one that serves the living quarters when my room's on this end, close to the stairs.
By the time I reached the top, I was huffing and puffing, truly glad that I'd decided to come up here during class time so I didn't have an audience. I stopped for a bit to catch my breath, then I shuffled to my bedroom. My joints ached and I felt a little dizzy. I really needed to get some sleep.
"Logan?" Marie's voice broke through my consciousness. "You awake, sugah?"
"Yeah," I grunted rolling over and sitting up in my darkened room. Whoa, that was a mistake. My head feels like there's a tight metal band around it, pressing into my temples, and sitting up that quick just made the pain worse.
"You didn't come down for dinner, so I brought some up to you," she said, and I could see her figure hold out a tray towards me, silhouetted in the hall lights.
"Must've slept through it," I answered, flicking on the lamp next to my bed.
Damn, that light just made my headache start to pound. Marie walked over and set down on my nightstand a plate containing a bloody, T-bone steak and baked potato and a bottle of Molson. This was usually my favorite meal, but now my stomach did flip flops at the smell of the dead flesh.
"You know, Marie. Thanks for this and all, but I'm just not hungry."
Her brows furrowed in confusion, drawing that cute line in the middle of her forehead I only see when she's thinking real hard.
"Are you sure? It's only been kissed by flame, just like you like it."
"Yeah, I'm sure. I think I'd just like to go back to sleep."
"Logan, what's wrong?" Marie asked and I could hear the concern in her voice. "You hardly ever sleep during the day, and you never turn down food." She knew me too well. That's what I get for letting her absorb all my memories. "I'll get Jean. This doesn't feel right."
"No, darlin', don't bother Jean. I'm fine, really. I'm just not healing as quick as I used to. It's gonna take a while before I'm back to a hundred percent."
Her face fell and I could see sadness fill her eyes. "I'm sorry about that. If I could give you back your powers, I would."
"Now don't you go blaming yourself. I knew what I was risking. Jean talked to both of us about your power before this even happened. I chose to touch ya, and I don't regret it, so don't you regret it either. I'm glad you're healthy and safe, and if a little pain is the price I haveta pay for that, I'm more'n willin'."
POV: Jubilee
I had just settled into a really interesting article in my newly-arrived People magazine, when the door flung open and Rogue stomped in.
"Hey, Roguie, how's tall, dark, and growly?"
"Tired," Rogue answered as she set down a really disgusting dinner platter on the table in front of me and plopped down on her bed.
Ok, the smell and sight of a bloody hunk of beef is really hindering my worship of the full-page, almost-obscenely-unclothed Heath Ledger picture laying in front of me. He too is a hunk of meat, but in an entirely different, much more pleasant way.
"Thanks for bringing me that, Rogue, but I already had dinner."
"Sorry, Jubes. I brought that up for Logan, but he'd rather sleep than eat it."
"Ok... so you thought I might want it instead?"
"No, sorry. I just wanted to, well, maybe talk, but you're right. I'll take this downstairs."
She picked up the platter again, but now she had my full attention. Rogue's been in one kind of bad mood or another since Logan came back and she hasn't told anyone why, or at least not anyone who'd tell me. Sure, I'm not exactly great at keeping secrets, but I'm her roommate. I should know everything. Now, here she was offering to bare all, and I wasn't about to let her get away.
"Rogue, set that down, girl," I said, taking her gloved hands and guiding the tray back to the desk. She flinched when I touched her, but not bad enough to drop the food. "Tell me what's been bugging ya."
We both sat down on her bed, she up by the pillows and me down by the base board. She pulled a pillow up from behind her back, and clutching it protectively to her chest, she crossed her legs and leaned back against the head board.
With a sigh, she started, "It's... well, it's just..."
"Logan?" I asked, trying to jump-start the conversation.
She looked up at me startled and then she said, "Yeah, well, he's part of it. He's a big part of it, but also, it's my... my mutation."
She spent the next few minutes telling me all about the tests with Jean and the discovery that she'd permanently acquired some of Logan's and Magneto's powers. She'd been avoiding everyone because she was afraid of permanently stealing their gifts.
"That's why Logan came back. He wasn't healin' as fast as he used to, and he thought Jeanie might tell him why."
Rogue was slipping into some of Logan's phrases and her accent was fading in and out, but I didn't interrupt her. She needed to get this out. It didn't matter which personality in there was helping her do it.
"Now that he touched me again, I've pretty much got all of it. That's why he's been in the Med Lab so long. Jeanie didn't say anything, but I could tell she thought he'd die. Venom sure thought he would."
"Whoa, hold the phone there, babe. Venom?"
Rogue explained to me that there'd been a mutant chick living above us for the past eight years, never leaving her room when anyone could see her, kinda like our own, private Quasi Modo.
"She wanted me to absorb her powers so she could be human again. That's why this thing about my skin can't get out, Jubes. There are a lot of kids here that are lookin' for a cure. You can't tell anyone." She leaned forward, her expression so intense.
"Ok, ok. I won't tell anyone," I answered, leaning back and holding up my hands in surrender. "Not even Kitty if you don't want me to. No worries, gal."
She kept staring at me, then she closed her eyes and breathed deeply through her nose.
"Ok," she said, seemingly satisfied with my answer, and relaxed back against the head board. "Anyway, Logan stopped her but not before she poisoned both of us. Logan touched me to save my life, and now I've got pretty much all of his powers."
"Dude. You mean his healing and senses and all that? Kewl."
"Jubes," she said, her voice dropping in disapproval.
"No, I mean. Yeah, it's crappy for him, but it's kinda neat for you. You're, like, untouchable now."
"But Logan can't heal, not like he used to. He's still recovering and I don't know if he'll ever be the same. What's he supposed to do with the rest of his life?"
"Live it, gal, like the rest of us. He's not dying; he's just not a superhero anymore."
"But if he hadn't touched me..." she looked down and clutched the pillow more tightly.
I leaned forward and grabbed her hand, getting her full attention. "None of that, babe. I'm not letting you grab a ticket for that guilt trip. From what you told me about this Venom chick, if he hadn't touched you, you'd be dead."
"Yeah, but..."
"No buts. He saved your life, again." And that just raised a whole new question in my mind. "Wait a second. If he saved you, who saved him? From what you said, that poison was deadly."
"He was dying. Seriously. I can still see him lying in that dark room, barely alive," she shuddered involuntarily at that mental picture. "Jeanie saved him. She took some of the antibodies from my blood and injected them into him."
"So he got the healing thing back with your blood?" I asked, slightly confused.
"Nope, just the antibodies. He's still takin' forever to heal, but at least he didn't die."
"Yeah, see, he'll be fine."
"But he's still... it doesn't feel right, Jubes. He slept the entire day away and he's still sleeping. That can't be good. Could there be something else wrong with him?"
"Nah, you know how much you sleep after the flu or something. He's just healing naturally. If you're really worried you can check up on him at breakfast before school."
As it happened, we did see the Wolvster at breakfast right before we had to leave. Rogue, Kitty, and I were just rising our dishes when he dragged himself in, still rumpled from sleep, in some dark pajama bottoms and no shirt.
Heavens, I'd forgotten how good that man looked shirtless. Of course, last time I'd seen him dressed this way, he was shaking on the floor after Rogue had touched him the first time. Come to think of it, he didn't look that much better now, obviously still recovering from his latest Rogue encounter. Even with all that against him, the man still has a chest to die for.
"Hey, Logan," Rogue said, smiling for the first time in weeks. "You want breakfast. You're steak's still in the fridge, and I could make you some eggs."
"Naw," he said, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes. "You go to class, kid. I'm just gonna grab a slice of toast."
"Toast? A slice?" she asked with the same astonished expression I might have if he said he was just gonna have some worms for breakfast.
"Yeah, toast," he answered defensively. "Go on now, you're gonna be late."
The next time I saw him was later that week. Rogue dragged him into the TV room and they overruled my Real World episode for hockey. I never get a chance to use the big screen TV. Every time I'm in there, somebody comes in and steals it away from me. I guess I could've gone up to our room and watched my show on our smaller TV, but I was pissed, so I stayed.
Some Canadian hockey team was playing another Canadian hockey team. I kept asking stupid questions, hoping that they'd get sick of me and leave, but they didn't, and I actually started to pay attention to the game. The pictures of some of the players came up on the screen, and I had to admit that a couple of them were cute, in a chiseled kinda way. Of course, they probably all had full sets of dentures from getting their teeth knocked out.
There were a couple of violent fights, with blood and everything, and that's when Rogue and Logan really got really into it, cheering for more gore. It was like that movie, Gladiator, where everyone wanted Russell Crowe to kill or be killed.
I was getting up to leave when Logan turned to Rogue and said, "Does this taste metallic to you?" handing her his beer can.
Ok, so that's why she hung out with Logan. He evidently didn't care that she was under the legal limit.
She sipped at it and said, "Nope, tastes fine to me."
"Huh, I thought it was the can," he said, then when she tried to hand it back to him, he said, "Keep it."
I was so getting in on this. "Hey, Rogue, can I have some?"
"No, kid," Logan growled before she could answer. "You're too young."
"But," I stammered. "She's my age, too."
"Yeah, but she's got my healing powers and my taste for the stuff," he argued. "You don't have either."
That's it. I got up and went to our room to watch a sensible show.
I didn't see him again until Friday night, and I really wasn't paying attention. St. John had just brought me back home three hours past curfew, and we were making out on the porch. Hell, if you're going to break curfew, why not make the most of it?
Anyway, I had St. John's tongue exactly where I wanted it when the front door burst open. We jumped apart so quickly that I was backed up against the stair railing before I realized I'd moved. Logan was standing there in the doorway, flushed and sweating, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts. He was breathing hard, and I don't even think he knew I was there before I spoke.
"Hey, Wolvie. What's up?"
He looked down at me and then over at St. John with a confused, distant expression.
"Too... hot," he said, then he shuffled down the steps and started walking across the lawn.
"Ok..." I said, staring after him. Then, St. John sidled up next to me again, and I forgot about everything else.
The next day, Rogue shook me awake.
"Jubes, I can't find Logan. No one's seen him, and I can't get a fresh scent.
"Can't help ya," I mumbled, turning over to go back to sleep. "Only saw him last night."
"Last night?"
I was immediately yanked up from my soft, warm bed and being shaken by none too gentle hands.
"Wake up, Jubes. When last night?"
Squinting at her, I said, "About three, maybe?"
"Three? Where?" she said, shaking me again. She was practically frantic, and I couldn't understand her worry, but it was starting to make me worry, too.
"Hang on," I said, getting up and putting on my robe. "I'll show you."
I lead her downstairs to the front door and tried to remember which direction he'd left in before St. John attracted my attention.
"I think... Yeah, he was walking this way, towards the lake. What's wrong, Rogue?"
"I went in his room this morning, and it didn't smell right. I don't know how to describe it. Sickly, maybe. Anyway, then I couldn't find him anywhere, and I..." she stopped mid-sentence, lifting up her head to sniff the air. "I've got him."
She started running, and I followed. We made our way through the woods towards the lake. It was only after we'd cleared the foliage that we saw him, collapsed on the shore, up to his waist in water.
POV: Logan
I'm burnin'.
My whole body is on fire from the inside out. They must've caught me again, the doctors. It's the only explanation for this bone-deep agony. I can barely walk, barely breathe, but somehow, I escaped.
My body's so weak that every step is a struggle, and I wish I'd eaten more while I had the chance and gained some strength. It doesn't matter that I had trouble keepin' anything but the blandest, smallest meal down. I should've kept trying; I should've told Jeanie I didn't because I knew she'd make me return to the Med Lab, and I hated that place. It brought back too many bad memories. Of course, now I'm running from the reality that created those memories, and I'm too sick to fight.
I'm surrounded by trees, the night breeze flowing through the branches to cool my flushed skin. It's not enough, not nearly cold enough. I've got to extinguish this inner fire before I burn up completely.
I push my way forward, not knowing my destination, just knowing I have to find it. I lean on any trees large enough to have exposed trunks whenever I come to them, sometimes resting for minutes, waiting until I can force my tortured body to walk again. The narrow path seems to shift in front of me, growing and shrinking, twisting and straightening, eventually becoming so distorted that it's easier to walk with my eyes closed.
Finally, I come to a clearing where a pristine lake glows in the moonlight. The water beckons to me, promising the icy peace for which I've been searching. I stumble towards it, wanting nothing more than to step in and allow its liquid tendrils to sap my heat away.
When I finally reach the shore, I can only take a few steps into the chilly elixir before my legs collapse underneath me, and I splash into the shallow water. I lay there forever, half-in and half-out of the lake, half-freezin' and half-burnin'.
After an eternity, the water begins to win, pulling the fever from my limbs and calling me down into its depths. I don't follow, though. I stay with the stars.
They fly all around me, spinning, dancing, singing, and laughing, like kids at recess. They saw me lying in the lake and floated down to play. Hours pass as they talk to me, telling me all the things they see when the world is asleep. I listen to their high-pitched, eager chatter until the cold seeps into my heart, drawing me into a deep, dreamless sleep.
"Logan!"
I hear my name, but it isn't the stars or the lake calling to me now. It's Marie. I don't know how she got here, but she's found me. I feel her silk-covered hands flitting over my limp shoulders before they hook under my arms and pull, dragging me out of the sparkling lake bed.
"Jubilee," Marie shouts to the dark-haired girl behind her, "get help!" I wonder why she sounds so worried. Now that I've tempered the heat and my body is numbed, there's no more pain and no need for panic.
I hear pops and sparks similar to the singing last night and wonder if the stars have returned despite the brightness of the midday sun. I squint my eyes open and watch as Marie's roommate shoots multi-colored fireworks into the air, well above the treeline, like flares. I watch them fly until the light show ends, and the girl lowers her arms and walks towards me.
"That should get their attention."
"Oh, Jubes," Marie again, her voice trembling slightly. "He's so cold."
The shorter girl nods and then stumbles, mid-stride, barely catching herself. She puts both hands up to her head and says, "Whoa, I got a Jean/Professor conference call in my brain."
"Tell Jean to get here, now!" Marie commands and then turns back to me.
Her covered hands touch me again, gently caressing my face and smoothing back my hair. I open my eyes further, trying to focus on her, but she's too close, and her image remains fuzzy.
Soon Marie's friend kneels down on the other side of me. "Is he looking at you?"
"I think so." Marie's hand ran down my cheek, cupping it gently. "Logan? Sugah?"
I close my eyes trying to work up enough strength to answer her, but then her touch pulls away. When I open my eyes again, Jean is kneeling where Marie was seconds before. What the hell?
"Logan, just relax. We're taking you back," Jean says as she presses her finger to my throat, feeling my pulse.
Taking me back? Back to the doctors? Back to where the burnin' started? Why would Jean...
As these questions flow through my head, Jean looks up and speaks to someone out of my line of sight. The sun reflects off her eyes and they turn a distinctive yellow. Mystique! She'd pretended to be Marie to lower my guard and now she's playing at being Jean! She thinks I'm helpless, lying limp on the ground, but I'll prove to her that I can still fight back.
I blink and then Ororo's kneeling over me, shifting her arms under my shoulders in search of a good hold. Mystique should know better than to take that form with me. Even though I really can't smell her anymore, she should know that I'm not stupid enough to be fooled by that illusion.
Before I can act, I'm lifted and settled onto a soft stretcher and Mystique moves away only to return to my side as Marie again. She probably thinks I can't hurt her in that form, and I have to admit that it does give me a second's pause. I can't let her take me back, though. I have to fight.
I pop my claws on both hands, ignoring the searing pain, and attack. My movements are jerky and slow and her reflexes, perfect. I only catch her arm when I'd been aiming at her heart. I pull back to strike again as she sits on the ground, eyes wide in shock, but then my body freezes. No matter how hard I strain my muscles, I can't move an inch. Magneto. He's with her and I'm screwed.
Even as I stay frozen, mid-strike and straining, I know I've been beaten. The pinprick in my arm less than a minute later only confirms my conclusion as the sedative works its way into my blood stream and draws me into darkness.
Despite my weakened senses, I can smell the disinfectant-perfumed lab the instant I wake. I try to sit up, to get off the bed and escape again, but I'm tied down by leather straps and covered by a heat-radiating blanket I pull on the restraints with my arms and even release my claws to try and slice through them, but I only succeed in cutting my legs and ripping up my arms.
"Logan, stop!" Jeanie's voice approaches me from across the room.
Despite her concerned voice, I remind myself that it's not Jean. It's Mystique. She's captured me and taken me back to the lab. Already, my body sweats from an inner heat, and the cold numbness I'd searched so hard for is gone. An aching pain consumes my joints and a metallic taste fills my mouth, telling me that they've been playing with my skeleton while I've been unconscious. What I don't understand is why Mystique is involved with them. Have they paid her for my hide? Does bringing me back grant her immunity?
I lose all thoughts of Mystique when Marie bursts into the room, screaming my name. I can't see very clearly, but it looks like a man is holding her back, keeping her from me.
Mystique/Jean is still by my bed, so this is the real Marie. My heart freezes in panic as I realize that she's here and trapped along with me. She must have come searching for me, probably planning to rescue me from the lab and instead finding me at the lake. My weakness had gotten her captured, too.
Undiscovered strength flows through my body and I pull and slash at my restraints with new vigor. It doesn't matter if I cut myself. I'm cutting the table and my leg restraints, too. Pain doesn't matter when Marie's in danger. I growl in rage straining to help her, fighting to free myself.
"Please, let me touch him," Marie begs. "I can do it. I know I can."
She's almost free, and then she is, running from the doorway towards me. She's only a few feet away when the man tackles her from behind and she drops out of sight below the bed I'm attached to. I growl and pull, strain and slash, but I can't get free. Then, there's a needle in my arm and I feel the strength ebb out of me all at once, my body relaxing into sleep.
The next time I wake, I can't move. I can't open my eyes, can't pull at the restraints I feel still holding my body down, and can't even cry out in rage. They've paralyzed me. The last time they did that was to line my skeleton with adamantium. I could feel every slice, every scrape on my bones, every burn of searing metal, but I couldn't move. What are they planning to do to me this time?
I can hear the clicking of heels on metal and then my right eyelid is pulled open. A bright light shines into it, moves away, revealing a blurry, redheaded woman, and then moves back to shine in my eye again. My left eye undergoes the same treatment.
I hear Jean's voice, talking to someone I can't make out, and wonder why Mystique continues to bother with the Jean charade. I know who she really is and I haven't bothered to hide that fact. Besides, she's going to have to give it up anyway when the scientists replace her and start their work. That is, unless she plans to torture me beforehand. I wouldn't put it past the bitch. She might even kill me before they can start their experiments.
The thought of death is welcome for one second, and then I remember Marie. I have to stay alive. She's here too; I saw her. If they discover she's got my healing powers, there's no telling what they'll do to her. It doesn't matter that I'm paralyzed, weak, and probably dying. I have to hold on. I have to escape for her. If it kills me, I will get her out of here.
I hear the whoosh of a door opening and then Mystique asks with Jean's voice, "Are you ready for the test, Rogue?"
"Yes, I'm ready," Marie answers nervously.
Test? They're experimenting on her already? Why is she cooperating? Fight, Marie!
"You don't have to do this. I'll..." Mystique begins, but Marie interrupts her.
"Yes, I do. I have to for Logan."
That blue bitch! She's using me against Marie, making her do things against her will. I want to move; I want to yell, "Forget me, Marie. Fight! Escape!" but I can't move. I can't do anything but listen.
POV: Jean
It was a beautiful Saturday morning. There were no patients, no students, no all-consuming research, and no life-or-death situations to worry about. Just Scott, me, and our heavenly warm, manufactured to perfection, king-sized bed.
I didn't wake up to an alarm. I slept well into the morning, and woke up to Scott, my favorite way to begin the day.
We were just relaxing in each other's arms after being awake a couple of hours, discussing whether we should bother getting up at all when Susan started pounding on the door.
Susan is an eleven year old whose mutation developed at the beginning of puberty. She's a gamma-level, but she can't pass as a normal human so she had to matriculate into our school. She's a camouflager. Not a shape shifter like Mystique, she can't change her body, just the color of her skin. If she stood perfectly still against a wall and changed her skin colors, you'd probably never know she was in the room with you. Of course, here at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, we encourage students to wear clothes, so she rarely gets to use that special talent.
Instead, she's developed a mutant-level tattling ability. Whenever anyone does anything even close to breaking the rules, she's telling the teachers, the students, and anyone else who will listen. We've tried to convince her that we don't want to hear about every little infraction, but then she just starts walking around nude again. If the other kids can break the rules, she argues, why can't she? We've learned to just give in and listen when she tells on the other students just so she'll go away.
"Mr. Summers, Dr. Grey, I know you're in there." Her words were punctuated by another loud series of knocks. "Jubilee's gonna burn down the whole forest, and I thought you might like to know. I guess you don't care, though. I'll be sure to tell you when the flames reach the mansion."
"What?" Scott said, leaping out of bed. I just closed my eyes and reached out for Jubilee's thoughts. When I made contact, I felt the Professor there as well.
~Jubilee, what's going on?~ I asked.
There was a pause before she responded. ~Logan's dying out by the lake. We need you here now.~
I was surprised by her blunt statement, but I could feel her building panic, and simply thought, ~Show me.~
Jubilee allowed me to look through her eyes. Rogue was kneeling over a pale, limp Logan. His eyes were open, but they drifted around unfocused, and his lips were tinged a light blue. He was naked except for a soaking wet pair of black boxers, and it was obvious that he'd just been dragged out of the lake. At this time of year, the water's between 55 and 60 degrees, not freezing but cold enough to kill you if you're exposed to it too long.
~Jean, go now.~ The professor thought to me. ~I'll send Scott and Ororo to collect a stretcher and follow you.~
I acknowledged and closed the connection.
Scott was standing by the window, assuring Susan that we believed her even though Jubilee's sparks were no longer shooting into the sky. I threw off the bed covers, only taking the time to pull on a robe and my sneakers before I was running out the door.
"Jean?" I heard Scott call after me, but I didn't stop to answer.
"Jean! Help him!" Rogue screamed at me as I reached the clearing around the lake.
"What happened?" I asked, already kneeling down by Logan to assess his condition.
"I couldn't find Logan anywhere this morning. Jubes saw him last night and led me here."
"When last night?" I asked.
"Well, around three maybe," Jubilee answered uncertainly. Damn. He could've been in the water for hours.
Logan's eyes were closed, but when I pressed my fingers gently to his throat to feel for a pulse, they snapped open, glazed and confused.
I said, "Logan, just relax. We're taking you back," in an effort to calm and reassure him, but I'm not sure he heard me. His skin was cold and clammy under my hands, and his pulse was thready and weak, sure signs that he was already in shock.
What could possibly have compelled him to leave the mansion in the middle of the night and wander into the lake? He was still weak from touching Rogue, but he'd seemed to be improving. He stayed in his room a lot, but I'd seen him at odd times throughout the week and even though he'd seemed tired, I didn't notice anything serious.
Of course, once he'd escaped the Med Lab, he refused to come back for a checkup, but at the time I'd just thought it was his general reluctance to be around doctors. Now I could see that he'd been hiding his condition. I'd made sure the poison had cleared his system before releasing him so it couldn't be that, but it was obvious something was seriously wrong.
Scott and Ororo arrived a minute or two after me and we wasted no time. I grabbed the medical kit from Scott and instructed Rogue to step back while they moved Logan onto the stretcher. She returned to his side once they had him settled.
Scott was pulling out an emergency blanket and I was preparing a dose of medication when Logan growled, released his claws, and sat up, attacking Rogue. Rogue! I couldn't believe it, but I instinctively responded anyway, freezing him with my telekinesis.
"Rogue?" I asked, not looking away from Logan.
"I'm fine," she answered shakily. "It's healing."
Logan was struggling weakly against my hold, but he couldn't escape. I dropped the syringe I'd been preparing and readied a sedative instead. When I injected the dose into his arm, he responded quickly, his eyes rolling back in his head and his body going limp. I waited a few moments to be sure he was out and then released my TK grasp, allowing his body to collapse back onto the stretcher.
"What the hell was that?" Scott asked, reflecting my thoughts.
"Rogue, are you ok?" I asked, needing to know how many patients I was dealing with.
"I'm fine. It's already healed," She held out her arm and although the material was bloody, I could see that the underlying skin was unbroken. Her voice cracked as she asked, "Jean, why... what..."
I concentrated on Logan's thoughts then reeled back, dropping the connection almost as soon as I'd established it. "He's... His mind is confused. Delusional. Hallucinating."
Rogue crawled back up to Logan placing a comforting hand on his brow. "Why?"
"I don't know. Let's get him back to the lab."
I checked and double-checked the blood tests, but the results were the same. Given these figures, Logan should be dead already. He must have kept more of his healing factor than we'd originally suspected. Of course, it obviously wasn't nearly enough.
Taking a long, world-weary sigh, I summoned up my strength and left the Med Lab. Rogue was sitting on the floor in the hallway, and she jerkily got to her feet when she saw me emerge.
"Jean?"
"Come with me, Rogue," I said, not answering her unspoken question. It would be better to tell everyone together.
Ororo and Scott were waiting for us in the Professor's office. Scott immediately got up from his chair and walked over to me, putting a comforting arm around my shoulders in gentle support. I needed it.
"There's no easy way to say this," I began. "Logan is dying and there's not much I can do to stop it."
The room fell into silence, then Rogue's voice raised, rage mixed with anguish, "What the hell do you mean, 'Logan's dying?' He... no, he can't!"
"It's the adamantium," I answered. "He has heavy metal poisoning. I'm treating him with chelation therapy, but it's not coming close to treating the problem. He's massively overexposed, and his system is overwhelmed."
"But, you can just remove the metal and he'll be fine," Rogue said hopefully.
"There's no way he'd survive such an invasive procedure," I said, shaking my head.
"Then what are you going to do?" she demanded.
"Try to make him comfortable," I answered with a discouraged shrug.
"No!" Rogue shouted. "You can't just give up on him like that! He wouldn't... he... he's had that metal for fifteen years. Why now?"
"The healing factor was compensating, but he doesn't have enough of it anymore."
"Because of me," she said, collapsing into Scott's vacated chair. "He's dying because of me."
"Rogue, it's not your fault," I soothed, leaving Scott's arms to comfort her.
Just as I reached out a hand to her shaking shoulder, she sprung back up, and said, "I... I'll touch him again. I just have to reverse the flow."
I shook my head. "Rogue, we did tests. You know that part of your mutation is biologically based. You can't control it. With time, you might be able to stop absorbing thoughts, but you absorb other mutant's powers on the DNA level."
"I... I can. I have to. Logan'll die without his powers. I'll just touch him again..."
"And kill him," I finished. "You'll take whatever he has left."
"No, I'll save him," Rogue said, running out of the room. I ran after her, blocking her way.
"Rogue, I can't let you touch him, and if you insist, I'll restrict you from the Med Lab."
Rogue had backed down then, but hours later, she tried to get into the Med Lab and touch him. Logan was awake, although still out of touch with reality, and her presence had aggravated him. He'd released his claws and started slicing at the padded restraints, catching his own flesh more than once. I'd had to sedate him again. Thankfully, while I treated Logan, Scott was able to stop Rogue.
After I'd patched Logan's injuries, Scott, Ororo, the Professor, and I met with her again. She was so sure, so insistent and convincing, that I even started to doubt my firm beliefs. It was too dangerous to try it on Logan, though. The risks were just too great.
I was explaining this to her, trying to help her understand, when Scott said, "Try it on me."
"What?" I asked, incredulous.
"Rogue can try to transfer some of Magneto's powers to me. If it works, she'll be able to give Logan back his healing factor. If it doesn't..."
"If it doesn't, she'll have to wear ruby glasses for the rest of her life."
"Not necessarily. If she let go at the first sign of the pull, she probably won't keep any of my powers permanently. She only has so much of Logan's because he's touched her so many times for so long."
I hated this idea, but the doctor in me couldn't give up if there was any chance at saving my patient.
"Ok, but we do it in the Med Lab. I want to monitor both of you."
I decided to chemically paralyze Logan during the test. The only safe place to do it was the lab, but he'd reacted poorly to Rogue's presence before, barely missing an artery, and I couldn't risk a repeat performance. I'd just finished checking his vitals when Scott and Rogue entered.
She was wearing one of Scott's spare glasses, just in case. I asked her if she was ready and she said she was, so I motioned them over to the two, facing, metal chairs, and I hooked them both up to monitors.
Rogue pulled off a glove and leaned forward slowly, drawing the deadly skin inch by painful inch closer to my fiancee. I stood behind Scott, tightening my grip on his shoulders, ready to pull him away at the first sign of danger.
Finally, Rogue's skin brushed Scott's cheek. They both gasped and Rogue pulled away as if his skin was red hot.
"No," she said, then reached forward again, only to barely touch his skin again with the same results.
"I can't stop the pull," she said, her voice rising in pitch in her sadness. "I *have* to, but I can't. I... Logan."
She rose from the chair, kicking it over, and started pacing the room.
"I... He's going to... No! He can't. I have to..."
She began running her hands through her hair, agitated and furious.
"It's not fair!" She screamed, punching the wall with her bare hand.
She ignored the blood flowing from her split knuckles and in seconds, the wounds had healed. Leaning against the wall she'd just attacked, she screamed again in pure agony, "Logan!" Three, seven-inch bone claws sprung from each clenched fist.
I know I should have been frightened by the claws, but I wasn't. The exposed bones gave me an idea. One that just might work.
POV: Jean
As I explored the possibilities in my mind, I dismissed the idea. Ethically, I couldn't ask Rogue to do that. Of course, ethically, how could I not ask her to do it if it would save my patient's life? As a doctor, I swore to do no harm, but Rogue probably wouldn't be permanently injured by the surgery given her healing abilities.
If I asked, I knew she would agree without question, but it might have serious consequences to her health. I don't fully know how Logan's healing factor works. Maybe I could perform only the procedure that wouldn't actually deprive Rogue of anything. The other aspects could be duplicated artificially, if only I knew the right mixture.
That was the real question. Logan's current lab tests are being manipulated by the metal wreaking havoc on his body chemistry, and I couldn't use his previous lab tests. They had the right mixture, but there was no way of knowing whether Rogue has drained all of his regenerative abilities or just taken a few aspects of them. That would throw the mixture off.
Wait. I could observe her body's reaction to the extraction surgery and then I would know the exact mixture despite either possibility. Of course, that was a whole other ethical dilemma. Could a doctor justify cutting into healthy flesh just to see how the body reacts? She'd be sedated of course, and it would be part of a surgery with another purpose, but it was still invasive.
Also, what would Logan's wishes be? He is the person I'm trying to save. Would he want me to do it, even if there was only a slight risk to Rogue? No, he'd adamantly refuse. She's always come first to him.
I'd just decided not to do it when I heard Scott say, "Jean, help me out here."
When I looked up, I realized that I'd been lost in my own thoughts while Rogue was falling apart. I could see slashes in some of the more vulnerable pieces of equipment throughout the lab and slashes even through her own clothing. Scott was laying on top of her on the floor, grasping her wrists above her head and securing her legs with his own, but she was raging like a rabid animal, snapping her teeth just inches away from his face in an effort to bite him and get free.
I immediately used my telekinesis to freeze her so Scott could escape. As he got to his feet, I gave him an assessing glance, but I didn't see any injuries.
"It's about time," he said. "She's going crazy."
I didn't spare a second to talk to Scott. Instead, I turned to my medical cabinet to get Rogue a sedative, still concentrating on keeping her in place. When I turned back, she'd stop fighting against my hold. Instead, she was sobbing where she lay, tears flooding down her face.
"My fault... my fault..." she was muttering under her breath.
Releasing my shields to do a surface scan, I was overwhelmed by the despair flowing through her. It was like a part of her was dying, not just a person she'd known for a few weeks.
I changed my decision. It wasn't just Logan's life on the line. Rogue's was also hanging in the balance. The bone marrow transplant would return at least part of Logan's healing factor. The platelet-derived growth factor in the blood would increase his healing ability. I wouldn't do the kidney transplant, though. It would give Logan a new adrenal gland, but that wasn't absolutely necessary. I could provide the adrenaline artificially to induce healing. In fact, I could probably induce the whole hormone cocktail artificially once I studied Rogue's reaction to the bone marrow extraction surgery. Her hormone levels during the healing process would let me know exactly the right amount to give Logan. It could work. It would work.
"Rogue," I said, sending a calming feeling to her mind. "I have an idea that just might save Logan."
"This is a bad idea," Scott said as I prepared my surgical field.
"If you don't want to help, Ororo's offered," I answered, not turning away from my work.
Rogue was lying on the surgical table, already sedated. I'd intubated her and set the monitors attached to her body to notify me of any problems. I could even oversee her brain waves. The thing that scared me most about this surgery was that her healing factor would overcome the sedative and she'd wake up in the middle. This way, if her level of consciousness changed in any way, I'd be able to take action.
Ororo was in the main lab watching over Logan, just in case his condition changed while I was otherwise occupied. It would be easy for her to switch places with Scott.
"No," he said. "I'll stay. But I think this is wrong."
"You saw how badly she was affected by Logan's condition. If Logan dies, she'll break."
I could see Scott's mouth open underneath the surgical mask to protest, but he didn't say anything. He couldn't. Rogue's reaction was too fresh in his mind.
"Ok," I said, "making the first incision."
This wouldn't be a typical bone marrow transplant. One of the great things about Rogue's mutation is that when she copied Logan's healing ability, she copied his DNA. Therefore, rejection wasn't a concern because the donation was as much a part of his body as it was hers. Also, Logan's current stem cells weren't sickly, so they didn't have to be removed with massive chemotherapy. In theory, they'd just incorporate the new cells into their number.
I drew my scalpel down making a neat incision over Rogue's hip bone. That was the ideal source for the marrow. I would have preferred to do a stem cell transplant because that doesn't require surgery for the donor, but it takes time, and Logan's pretty short on that right now.
Throughout the surgery, I drew blood samples, labeling them with the time. I'd use them afterwards to determine which hormones were released when and how much flooded her system.
When the surgery was done, I was more than a little relieved. It hadn't run quite as smoothly as I'd hoped. First, it had been very difficult to keep the incision open. The skin and muscle kept trying to close around it. Scott had to hold the retractors steady while I kept cutting. In addition, Rogue almost woke up twice. I thought I'd given her a sufficient dose after that first scare, but then her body had compensated again.
After I'd extracted enough marrow, Scott removed the retractors and we both watched Rogue's flesh pull closed and heal. We moved her into a bed next to Logan's and I retreated to my lab to siphon the stem cells out of the marrow for transplant and to analyze the blood data.
I wasn't there when Rogue woke up, but I heard her.
"Why isn't he better yet?" she yelled.
"Jean's working on it, Rogue," Scott answered.
"Rogue, no. Lie back down." That was Ororo's voice. It sounded like I should get out there.
When I emerged from my lab, Rogue was shakily on her feet, still trying to throw off the last effects of the sedative.
"Jean, he looks the same. What's going on?"
"I have to process the marrow. It'll take another half hour. Trust me, Rogue. I'm doing everything as quickly as I can."
She stumbled the few steps to Logan's side. "I'll stay with him," she said, stroking his hair with a gloved hand.
I didn't bother arguing with her. She was obviously determined to remain with him despite her need for more sleep.
"Scott, could you get Rogue a chair? I'll be back when the IV's ready."
He nodded and I returned to my work.
The actual transplant procedure is pretty easy on the donee. All that's necessary is an IV feed of the stem cells. They flow into the blood stream and find their own way to the marrow.
It would take a few days for the new, stronger platelets to be produced, but I could stimulate some healing now. I had the proper hormone cocktail. I administered epinephrine, thyroid hormones, growth hormone, as well as other hormones that induced healing and cell regeneration.
It worked. Logan immediately began to respond to treatment, the levels of free adamantium in his tissues lowering dramatically. After two days, I could see the advanced platelets and white blood cells in his blood samples. After four days, he was coming out of his delirium and started making enough sense that I thought it was finally safe to remove the restraints. After six days, he was able to get out of bed and walk a few steps. After ten days, I was finally sure that it'd be safe to let him go back to his room. I wouldn't put up with the game he'd played last time, though. I'd make sure he gave me daily blood samples for the next week even if I had to restrain him telekinetically.
Upon his release, I helped Logan back up to his room. I'd expected Rogue to do it, but she hadn't been down to visit all day. I knew Logan was wondering about her, but I'm sure something must have come up and she'd visit him later. I was wrong.
We found a note on Logan's pillow when I helped him into bed. Logan picked it up and read. Then, he crinkled it up into a ball and threw it on the floor.
He was off the bed, without my help, and pulling out his duffle bag when I picked up the note and read it.
Logan,
I almost killed you. I can't risk that again. Don't come after me.
Love,
Marie
POV: Rogue
~What the hell do you think you're doing?~ my inner Logan demanded.
'What does it look like? I'm running away,' I answered as I packed up my duffel bag, only taking what I'd arrived with.
~Why?~
'I... I don't want to hurt you again, Logan. I don't want to hurt anyone ever again.'
~That's bull!~ Logan's shout echoed through my mind. ~You think running away'll solve all your problems? They stay with you. Wherever you go, you'll still be a mutant.~
'Hey, I learned running from the master.' Ok, that was a low blow, and I knew it as soon as I thought it.
Logan's mental reply was barely a whisper. ~I came back.~
I could tell he was hurt by what I'd said, but I couldn't stop my reply. 'Only because I'd hurt you more than you thought I did.'
Logan's voice was soft and sad. ~I was going to come back anyway. I told you that.~
'Yeah, well, I'm not coming back. I don't want you to die.'
~Marie, you've got my memories. You know what my life was like before. There's nothing worth living for but you.~
He sounded so lost, but I knew he had more than me. Much more. 'What about your past? You've been searching for it since you can remember. It's kept you going.'
~What's a past worth when you don't have a future?~
I could feel the tears welling in my eyes, but I clamped down on my emotions. 'I'm not having this conversation. You'll thank me later.'
Using a technique the professor had taught me while Logan was gone, I built a mental brick room around myself. With each brick I lay, Logan protested more. I could hear Erik and David in the background, even Scott and Venom mumbled a little, but Logan was so much louder than any of them, I could only really hear what he was saying.
~No, Marie, don't shut me out.~
I didn't answer.
He tried a different tactic. ~It's not safe out there. How'll you protect yourself?~
Still, I didn't answer.
He tried something else. ~What kinda job will you get without a high school diploma? Just stay here for a while. I won't come near you; I promise. In fact, I'll leave. Just, you stay.~
I was working on the roof. There were only three more bricks left.
'I can't risk you or any of my friends, Logan. It's safer this way. Goodbye,' and with that, I sealed the room around myself.
At first, the silence was overwhelming. I'd been so used to having my every decision commented on, sort of a committee-rule. Now, I was alone. My own person in my own head. It wasn't what I'd expected. It felt lonely.
I finished my packing, and got into bed fully clothed. I had to wait a few hours before Jubilee came home from another date with St. John. It took even longer before I was sure that she was asleep and it was safe to go. I crept out of our room, duffel in hand, and walked next door to Logan's, leaving the note on his pillow. I'd taken to getting up early since absorbing so much of Logan so Jubes probably wouldn't notice my absence. I'll have plenty of lead time to get away.
I walked along the winding road to the train station like I had almost two months ago. Only, this time, I was alone with my thoughts. I was doing the right thing. I knew I was. Somehow, I'd make a life for myself, a life without anyone to be close to, but a life where everyone would be safe from me.
As I strode along the side of the quiet road, my thoughts turned to Logan. I'd been living on adrenaline and hope for weeks while I waited to see if he would heal or die. In fact, I had yet to come down, my nerves still strung tight. I'd thought I would lose him, and I couldn't live with the idea that I would be his killer. It wasn't right.
The thing that bothered me the most was that he'd known what would happen and he'd still touched me. Granted, now that I have a lot of his healing factor permanently, he probably won't have to touch me again, but accidents still happen. Even though Jean thought he'd be as good as new after the transplant and hormone therapy, I couldn't risk it happening again. It was for his own good.
He'd try to find me, but I know how he hunts. I could disguise my scent, throw him off the trail, and keep moving. He wouldn't find me. He'd have to give up and go on with his life eventually. Sure, I'd had my teenage dreams that he'd wait for me and we'd be married and happy forever, but that's a fairy tale wish. Life goes on.
When I was only a mile from the train station, I saw someone sitting against a tree in the distance. She looked kind of familiar, but she was too far away to make out. I kept walking and realized when I was about a hundred feet away that it was Venom. Jean had told me she'd left a few days ago with some clothes and money the professor had given her and a large vial of antidote.
I'd been surprised when she told me that. Erik had been, too. He'd come forward in my mind wondering what had caused Charles to lose hope in one of his children. After all, Charles still held hope that Erik would change.
Also, I wondered where she would go. What would a person who'd lived alone in a box-like room for eight years do in the outside world? Apparently, I was about to get my answer.
"Venom?" I asked, approaching her.
Ok, it was stupid, I'll admit. She'd attacked me before. Of course, now she has her antidote, so it should be safe to approach her.
As it turned out, I was completely safe. The wind changed direction, and the stench of rotting flesh filled my nostrils. She was dead, and from the smell, she'd been dead for over a day.
The animals must have smelled the poison on her because she was untouched. In fact, she looked almost normal, just like she was sleeping against the tree. The only indications of her demise besides the tear-inducing odor was her her face, drained of all color, and her posture, limp and relaxed. She'd never been anything but tense the few times I'd seen her alive.
A folded note was pinned to her shirt. It said in capital letters:
CAUTION: HAZARDOUS WASTE
I pulled off the note and read it. She warned whoever came across her body that she was a mutant and that if they came in contact with her blood, they should take the antidote in her backpack. She'd left detailed instructions regarding the effects of the poison, the amount of antidote to take, and how to dispose of her body to avoid contamination. She didn't say anything about herself, no reason why she'd committed suicide, no goodbyes to anyone, not even her name. The whole focus of the letter was on other people. She didn't want anyone else to suffer because of her.
All I could think of was that now she had the antidote, she could've lived a full life. She didn't have to worry about killing anyone ever again. Why had she done it? She wasn't an evil person. From the few memories I'd gotten in the seconds we'd touched, I knew that the deaths were all accidents. They hadn't been her fault. The only reason she'd taken the blame was so she could feel some sort of control over her mutation. Now, she'd been given control, and she'd chosen to give up.
Then I realized, that's what I was doing. Giving up. It was a sort of suicide to run away from my life and spend the rest of my time on earth avoiding people. I couldn't do it. I wouldn't surrender like that. I'd always been a fighter. When my parents had kicked me out, I'd survived. When Magneto killed me, and yes, he had killed me, I'd felt Logan giving me the choice, and I'd chosen survival. Now, I discovered that survival meant more than just being alive. It meant making the most of your life, having purpose, friendship, and perhaps even love.
I heard Logan's voice from the first floor. He was yelling.
"Let me go, Jeanie, or I'll slice ya in two!"
"I won't. You're too weak. Give yourself a few days to fully heal and then go after her."
Damn, I'd hoped to get back before he discovered the note. It'd taken too long to walk almost all the way to the station and back. I dropped my bag and ran for the stairs.
"To hell with healin'! Let me go!"
"Logan!" Oh great, that was Scott's voice. He'd just make things worse. "If you don't calm down, I'll have Jean sedate you and put you in restraints." See what I mean?
Logan roared in anger and frustration.
I finally reached his doorway, but there was a crowd of kids watching the show, and none of the players noticed me. I'd remedy that soon enough.
"Hey," I shouted from the back of the crowd. "I'm right here, sugah."
Jean and Scott whipped around to look at me standing behind the group of children, and in that critical second, Jean lost her concentration. Logan retracted his claws and barrelled through the children to snatch me up into his arms.
In a few seconds, I was comforted, terrified, confused, and ecstatic. Logan had been so desperate to hold me that he hadn't been careful of my skin. I felt his bare chin touch my forehead and waited with dread for the pull. A pull that would never come.
When I realized that he was safe, I burst into tears and started to hyperventilate in my joy. Logan's face paled and he turned to Jean with panic in his voice. "What's happenin' to her?"
I just shook my head, and gasped for air through my huge smile. Jean sat me down on the floor encouraging me to take deep breaths. How could breathing matter when I could touch? I pulled off a glove and reached for Logan. Jean backed away from the exposed skin, but Logan didn't. In fact, he reached out his hand to meet mine. When I laced my fingers through his, and gripped tight, I saw the wonder and joy I felt reflected in his face.
Jean said something about how I'd absorbed some of his DNA with my power and he'd absorbed some of my DNA with the transplant and that my skin must be reacting like his skin was part of my body. I didn't care about the details. I only cared that we could touch. I'd never hurt him with my mutation again.
It felt like we were finally done paying the price, and now we were just starting to receive the rewards.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
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Story Notes:
This takes place shortly after the end of the movie. It blantly disregards all comic and cartoon canon and relies solely on the information the movie presented for how the characters' mutations might work. Also, I play alot with POV. I'll try to make it clear who's talking and hope it's not too confusing.