Logan’s face registered his fear as I swam to consciousness with him leaning over me.
He hadn’t known I was having dizzy spells until he turned from unlocking our second-floor motel room door and saw me waver a moment, then tumble backwards down the stairs. The first thing I remember is his face looming over me, and everything below my eyebrows hurting.
“Kid? Talk to me... Marie? Christ, kid, are ya hurt bad? Turn your skin on and take a hit off me.”
“No,” I mutter, not really grasping much except the knowledge that turning my skin on him would hurt him. “Just... wait... ow.” My head starts focusing and I realize I have a trickle of blood running down the side of my face and a banger of a headache. I try to struggle to a sitting position, but he pushes me back down and that is when I notice he’s staring aghast at the lower half of my body.
I’m bleeding.
Down ‘there’.
And everything hurts.
“I’m calling 911 – lay still,” he fusses as he’s fumbling through my purse for the cell phone and muttering obscenities. Then, “Fuck it. Marie, turn your damned skin on and let me fix it!” He’s shaky and near-panicking. That’s a first for me to witness.
“No!” I yell at him with as much intensity as I can muster, which isn’t much but I’m under duress here. “We don’t know what’ll happen.”
“Whadda ya mean? Take my healing. It ain’t rocket science. You need a quick-fix.”
I’m starting to focus now and things are better, except the pain in my head and my back and everything in between. “No, I mean I don’t know how it’ll affect the baby. If my skin acts against it, well... we just don’t know.” I reach in the purse and pull the cell out of the side pouch and hand it to him. “Call.”
Within five minutes there’s an emergency squad and paramedics are hovering around me. They eventually haul me into the nearest ER and the incessant tests and exams start. Logan is half-focused on answering questions and signing papers while he tries to stay as close to me as possible between examinations. I double-check my control over my mutation and start worrying about the paperwork and blood tests and possible DNA samples and my mutation and his temper and everything that could possibly go wrong with two mutant strangers in town showing up in the ER, and him fresh out of the city jail. This is not a place I want either of us to be.
I focus on our safety and security instead of the blood and pain. The next time we have a moment of privacy, I lean over and whisper to Logan at my side, “Get me out of here as soon as possible. I don’t like any of this; the invasion, the data, the medical stuff, just... get me out of here.”
He gives me that look that I know so well when he’s working up a head of steam for a lecture. He’s my lover and team mate now, instead of my teacher, so I don’t have to cooperate, but I’ll hear him out.
“You’ve got two choices: turn your skin on with me, or let them take care of you. Pick one.”
“You’re a real bastard sometimes, ya know?” He doesn’t deserve that, but I’m not in a good place emotionally right now.
“Yeah, darlin’, I am. And this big bastard’s got two priorities right now: you, and my little bastard in your belly. If we’re keeping him... or her... then we gotta be smart.”
It’s the first time he’s verbally acknowledged anything like a confirmation of our accident, let alone referred to the baby as a separate individual, instead of just a condition of mine. I have to ask, “Do you want it?”
“Do you?” he counters quickly, damn him. Before I can even think of a response, the doctor comes in again. He talks, and Logan sits quiet as a stone, and I run hot and cold inside. Diagnosis: no concussion, no broken bones, one sprained wrist, one slight abrasion over my left eyebrow at the hairline, and an early-term miscarriage. No permanent damage, and I should be fine in a month or two, though he recommends I not try for another pregnancy too soon. My body needs to recover.
Do I want to see a counselor? No. Just get me the hell out of here. I refuse everything they offer, including a night’s stay for observation, demand the paperwork to release me, accept a wrist brace for the sprain, and we check me out of the hospital. I’m steady on my feet again, and Logan calls a cab. He keeps an arm around me every moment we’re standing or walking. I know he’s afraid I’ll pass out or fall again, but even though I’m feeling weak, I still feel capable.
The cab deposits us at the motel again and this time we take the elevator up to our second floor room, even though it’s a longer walk. He won’t risk the stairs again. Once I’m sprawled on the bed, he retrieves my bag from the Continental parked below, and finally shuts out the noise of the city behind the locked door. He comes over and lays down beside me, an arm over me and his body tight against my hip and leg. The words seem to erupt from my mouth.
“I’m sorry.”
“Hush.”
“I am... I mean, I don’t know how you felt about the whole thing because you’re so damned hard to read about emotional stuff. But if you wanted it, I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t.” His words still shock me more than the fall down the stairs, even though I suspected that fatherhood wasn’t on his agenda for this century. But he seems to realize there’s more that he needs to say so I’ll understand him. “It’s not that I didn’t want a baby with you. It’s that... that we should have a choice about it.”
“Ohhh,” I breathe, not wanting to interrupt his flow of thoughts and words.
“I know this ain’t the time or place for startin’ a family. If they jumpstart the goddamn registration act again, we’ll have to leave the country. Having a kid would make it harder, on us and the kid. And you’re still damned young, and I’m still a bastard, and... everything still sucks.” He thinks for a while, then, “But maybe, later, when we know we’re stable and safe, if you wanted one...” He plants a big kiss on my forehead then, right below the scuff that had been bleeding before, and adds, “If you wanted a kid under those circumstances, I’d throw myself on the grenade and father it.”
“You are truly a romantic son of a bitch,” I grouse with all the sarcasm I can crank out. “I might as well pay for a sperm donor.” That makes him chuckle for about three seconds, and then he goes serious-faced and rolls over to crouch above me, careful not to press his body weight down anywhere because he’s so heavy. He drills his eyes into mine.
“No man is gonna be breedin’ you but me. You’re mine, I’m yours, and that’s the end of it.”
“Agreed. Feed me.”
“Love to.” He gives me the deepest, most tender kiss I never thought he was capable of, then scoots off to find food. I cry myself out before he gets back, and we spend the next two days sleeping and eating carry-out and watching old movies while my strength comes back. No more dizzies, no more nausea, no more fretting.
And I know in my heart that whatever life throws at us, we can handle it together. I come out of the whole experience with a new-found confidence in the man that is Logan, the love of my life, and maybe someday, father of our children.
God help us all.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
"Take my healing. It ain’t rocket science. You need a quick-fix."