Marie’s eyes fluttered open, a muted, fuzzy sounding, steady beep the only noise she could pick out from her hazy surroundings. A sterile, white industrial tile ceiling soared over her, its characteristic, darker gray pock marks swimming as her eyes tried to focus. In her head, her companions babbled incoherently, Wolverine growling, Erik rambling about mutant experimentation, and Bobby…well who knows what that dickweed was talking about, surfing or some shit.
Turning her head gently, Marie realized her movement was restricted by a neck brace. She gulped gingerly, and the brace rubbed against what must have been seat belt burn on her throat and chin. A slight moan of pain escaped her lips, which were chapped and dry. Her tongue felt like sandpaper. She almost choked on the intubated piece of plastic that kept her airway open and clear. Trying not to panic, she lifted her hands towards the mouthpiece, wincing as an IV needle pulled sharply in her hand. Suddenly, soft, firm fingers held her arms in place, preventing her from moving.
“It’s alright hon, let me help you with that.” An unfamiliar woman chirped. Still unable to turn her head, Rogue stared at the ceiling as chubby fingers plucked at the tube. “Now, your throat is going to feel very sore.” she cautioned, “Relax and let the tube slide out, you may feel like coughing.”
Marie breathed in deeply and forced her squeamishness down as she tried not to picture the tube sliding up her esophagus as the experienced woman quickly removed the tube. Marie’s head pounded as she coughed. Her throat throbbed agonizingly with each one, doubling her pain.
“I’m so glad you’re awake!” the cheery voice hummed. Her identity was revealed as a plump, older woman popped into Marie’s limited vision. Her too red lipstick, blue eye shadow, and excessive rouge pinned her as an eighties-child, and the funky, yellow triangles dangling from her ears clashed horribly with the pink-and-white candy-striper apron she wore over her aqua scrubs. “I’m Sandy, your nurse, been taking care of you for a week now darling!”
“A week?” Marie manage to whisper, abused vocal chords aching.
“Well, after that accident, it’s a surprise you’re even alive! For heaven’s sake, you’ve been in a medical coma the entire time baby girl. No ID, no information, no money…and no one looking for you either! Do you have a name sweetie?” Sandy prattled. Much to Marie’s chagrin, a chart and goofy pen with a koosh ball dangled in her face as Sandy jotted down notes.
“My name is Jane.” Marie mumbled, “Jane Smith.”
“Well that’s not original!” Sandy chortled, “Your momma must have been an unimaginative one.”
“Family name.” Marie mumbled, grumpily. She would kill for a cup of water right about now.
“Now sugar, we’re going to have to change your bandages.” Sandy said. “Don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing…” she mumbled, sadness suddenly slipping into her chipper bedside manner.
“Is something bad…bad wrong with me?” Marie whispered, eyes shutting tightly as Sandy’s soft hands changed the dressing on her gunshot wound. She had to get out of this hospital, at least to avoid Sandy asking more questions.
“The doctor’s gonna have to talk to you about that, sweetie.” Sandy said, a small smile on her face. “I’ll go get him, okay? If you need anything, just press this little red button.” A remote was plopped into her hand, and Marie closed her eyes, stomach rolling in dread.
What was wrong? She mentally took stock of the aches and pain. Most of her body just felt numb, probably due to excessive pain killers. She tilted her neck as far forward as it would go and noted the feet shaped lumps under the covers, meaning her limbs must be intact. Sighing in relief, she smacked her lips loudly, trying to stimulate saliva production. Hadn’t anyone in this hospital ever heard of dry mouth as a side effect of certain drugs?
Footsteps clipped down the quiet corridor. The darkness coming through the tiny window across the room interspersed with the twinkling of distant street lights meant that it must be quite late. The door to her private room creaked open, and the musky smell of a man’s cologne washed over her as the squeak of sensible tennis shoes signaled the entrance of her nurse.
“Miss Smith,” the nurse beamed, “This is Dr. McDowell.”
“Hello.” Marie managed to choke out.
“Well, Miss...Smith, if you could look at me please,” the man began abruptly, a pocket flash light suddenly beaming in her eyes as his finger whipped back and forth in front of her. She complied, eagerly willing the test to be over.
“Everything in your brain, despite the severity of your injuries, is neurologically sound, Ms. Smith.” Dr. McDowell said, flipping through her charts. Walking to the opposite side of the room, he turned on an x-ray viewing machine and stuck several views up at an angle that she could see.
“Miss Smith, what you see here is your spine.” Dr. McDowell murmured, fingers tracing along the x-ray. “Now, the bullet wound you inexplicably received nicked a vein contributing to a major artery, and the subsequent blood loss caused you to wreck your car. The wreck, however,” he said, pointing to two of the vertebrae in her lower back, “did this to your spine.”
Marie’s stomach churned at the picture before her. Three of her vertebrae had been smashed into each other. Even with her limited medical training, she knew this wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all.
“Miss Smith,” the doctor said, “I’m afraid that the pressure put on your spinal cord from this compression fracture has paralyzed you from the waist down.”
Marie could hardly breathe then. Her vision swam, her mouth felt like the Sahara desert. Her fingers clenched the sheets, desperately, and she squeezed her eyelids shut to try and prevent the angry tears from falling onto the warm hospital blanket. Frustrated beyond belief, Marie finally managed to find her voice.
Shakily, she whispered, “Could I use the phone please?”
----------------------------------------
Logan’s heart almost jumped out of his chest when his cell phone rang, loudly and angrily from across the small lake house. Storm had converted the picturesque cabin into a bachelor pad for the feral mutant following the events of Alcatraz Island. It had a large screened in porch with a swinging hammocks, a fully equipped mini-kitchen and wine fridge, as well as a sweet loft in which a massive, king sized, good enough for the Emperor of Japan futon had been placed in between built in shelves that held Logan’s small collection of books, memorabilia, and personal possessions.
Naked, he stumbled down the stairs. The groggy mutant knocked into the thin table that held the keys to his bike and the only photograph in the entire house. The picture frame fell as the table shook, glass shattering on the floor.
“Fuck!” Logan growled, picking up the frame, careful not to spread the glass that crunched beneath his bare feet. One thumb brushed over the glass that split the face of a smiling white-and-brunette haired girl in two, her pale yellow and green dress and soft slippers spread out across the hammock just outside.
Scowling, Logan placed the frame gently on the counter and kicked the table for good measure. His keys jumped off, landing on his toes.
“Double fuck!” he hissed, fingers fumbling for the phone sitting on its charger next to the refrigerator. He flipped it open, disregarding the front screen that told him who was calling.
“Hello?” he groused, angry and grumpy from being awoken at 1:15, three hours before his normal, 4AM workout time.
“Logan?” a soft, velvety voice whispered.
He gulped audibly, anger draining from him. God, what had it been, five years, six years now? No trace, the trail gone cold? And now, here she was, on the phone with him?
“M...Marie?” he squeaked, then toughened up as he heard a soft sob on the other end of the line. Panicking slightly, he ran a hand through his messy hair. “Marie, darlin,’ what’s wrong?” he murmured. He had to keep her talking, or she would disappear, just like the last time.
“Can you come get me, please?” was all she supplied in response.
“Go ahead.” he supplied, gruffly, trying to keep the angry emotions from welling up as they expanded in his chest. God, he was just now remembering why he was so pissed with her. Who wouldn’t be, walking out, disappearing like that? He fumbled for a pen, even though he knew his memory was capable of retaining anything, absolutely anything she passed on to him.
“Corey-Dane Memorial Hospital in Verity, Maine.”
Dammit. She was injured.
“I’ll take the bike and be there as soon as possible.” he huffed, squeezing the paper tightly in his fist.
“No bike, you’re gonna need a van.” Marie responded, and he could almost feel her heart breaking over the phone. Something was horribly wrong, he could feel it in his bones.
“Alright, I’ll take the van darling and be there as soon as I possibly can.” he replied. The phone line went dead.
One adamantium laced fist slammed down onto the metal stove top, leaving a massive dent in one of the burners. “Sonufabitch.” he growled, nervousness plaguing his stomach.
Something was wrong. She wouldn’t have called otherwise.
Glancing down at the thin, silver wedding band on his left hand, Logan set his face determinedly. Even if his wife didn’t want to see him, and had only called reluctantly, he sure as hell wanted to see her.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Plot is moving along! Next lyrics are as follows :)
It’s a quarter after one
I’m all alone and I need you now
I know I said I wouldn’t call
But I’ve lost all control and I need you now
And I don’t know how I can do without
I just need you now
It’s a quarter after one
I’m all alone and I need you now
I know I said I wouldn’t call
But I’ve lost all control and I need you now
And I don’t know how I can do without
I just need you now
Chapter End Notes:
Let me know what you think :D