Hank’s tests came back showing Laura’s wound was caused on a molecular level, further confirming someone attacked her with the Muramasa Blade. Logan gripped the steel bar that ran alongside the bed, his knuckles whitening as he thought back to when he had given a piece of his soul to create the powerful katana – a weapon forged from his hunger for revenge at the murder of Itsu and their unborn child. Knowing the cursed sword was responsible for the potential death of the only family he had - and Laura was family, regardless of how she came into the world - dug deeper into him than any blade could.
Logan picked up her small hand and held it in his, careful of the stitches that held closed the cuts her claws had made through the soft flesh between her knuckles. Laura had so much going against her. Hank told him daily blood transfusions of Logan’s plasma could only go so far, in order for Laura to survive the massive trauma to her body she would need her negated healing factor to return and as it was, she was barely staying alive. Logan blinked back the moisture that swam in his eyes. Laura had to live. It was his fault the Muramasa Blade was brought into existence and now, yet again, his misspent past had come back to hurt people he loved.
Logan rubbed his eyes with the thumb and forefinger of his free hand, the depletion of his own blood and no sleep combining to make his vision blur. Opening them, he focused on Rogue. She wouldn’t allow anyone but her care for the young girl’s hygienic needs; wouldn’t allow anyone but her change the bandages and tubes that drained and replenished Laura’s small body. When Hank became overwhelmed by the excessive damage to Laura’s internal organs, Rogue touched him to absorb the necessary skills and knowledge to assist in repairing the amount of lacerations caused by the deep slash across the young girl’s abdomen. She had worked alongside Hank for hours that first night- suturing, cauterizing, suctioning – relentlessly keeping Laura alive with an unwavering determination that had yet to wane.
Logan bent down in front of her, reminded of when he last saw Rogue sleeping in this position – same tear-streaked face, same look of sadness scarring her beautiful face – and his heart twisted much in the same way it had then. He dragged her peppermint and vanilla scent deep into his lungs, remembering that pivotal night when his world finally righted itself from its bent axis, when he had been given an undeserved second chance at happiness.
God, how he loved her. Almost too much.
Rogue shifted, uncomfortable, the large pale green cotton pants and shirt she had taken from the medical cupboard loose around her body. Gently, Logan lifted her into his arms and sat down, holding her on his lap, her head resting against his shoulder. A soft sigh escaped her as she settled against the hard planes of his body, taking in a ragged breath and releasing it with a contented purr. Logan smiled at the sound, feeling it vibrate gently against his chest, and the peace that came over him chased away his fragmented thoughts.
Nuzzling her hair, he whispered, “I love you,” before the beeping and whirring sounds of the life support machines gave way to the unified beating of their hearts, carrying him over into slumber.
Inhaling his scent, Rogue fell into an even deeper sleep.
“How is he?”
Hank looked up from where he sitting at his desk to see Rogue standing by the doorway. The wrinkled condition of the medical scrubs Rogue was wearing told him she slept in Laura’s room again last night and he frowned, wishing Rogue would sleep upstairs in the bedroom they still considered hers, even if she did not.
“Charles is doing very well, all things considered." Hank stood up and pulled off his reading glasses, tossing them onto his desk where he had been reviewing his patient’s chart. “He is exhibiting none of the typical physical ailments associated with persistent unconsciousness, which is fortunate. It had been a concern of mine initially, but it appears his body is retaining its top physical condition despite its immobility.”
Rogue nodded briskly. She kept her eyes fixed on the man lying on the bed, his face serene in its dormancy. Watching his chest rise and lower in an even, steady rhythm, Rogue was unprepared for the powerful emotions that competed inside her at the sight of his torpidity. She felt confusion, fear, anger…and guilt. Lots and lots of guilt.
“It’s not your fault, Rogue.” Hank approached her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened.”
Her eyes shot up to his, startled. Rogue had forgotten he was feral and would be able to pick up on her feelings. Her voice was cold when she replied, “I don’t.”
Hank regarded her for a few moments, puzzled at her tone. “I can understand how upsetting this must be for you. It is for all of us. I wish we knew why he wanted to keep you from leaving.” He looked to Charles, clearly worried for his old friend.
“And yet, not knowing didn’t stop you from trying to do just that.”
The doctor returned his eyes to her, surprised to be met with an accusing glare. “I was confident Charles’ misconception of you would be corrected,” he began to explain, but found himself suddenly pulling back defensively when she stepped forward to interrupt him. Rogue’s eyes were shards of ice.
“I am sure your dear Professor Xavier would be pleased to know what a loyal pet you are to him.”
Hank stared at her as she spun on her heel and left the room, shocked at the look of contempt Rogue threw at him before she rounded the corner to return to the critical care area of the sick bay.
Ororo found Rogue sitting on the steps leading down from the back terrace, pressing a cold beer against her neck in an attempt to alleviate the oppressive heat in the air. Rogue looked at the weather-wielding mutant through the corner of her eye but other than that, did nothing to acknowledge her presence. Sighing, Ororo sat down on the step next to her.
“You are upset with me.”
It wasn’t a question. Rogue brought the bottle to her lips and tipped its contents into her mouth, keeping her narrowed eyes on the lone cloud in the distance. It was clear she wanted to be left alone.
“I’ve learned you are upset with Henry as well.”
Rogue maintained her silence, leaning back onto one elbow and stretching her legs out in front of her, keeping her fingers loose around the glass neck of her beer.
“You are being very unfair, Rogue.”
She whipped her head sharply to face Ororo, the muscles of her body tensing with anger. Ororo’s eyes were hard.
“You had no right speaking to Henry the way you did this morning.”
Rogue snorted in laughter and shook her head in disbelief, returning the beer to her mouth and refocusing on the quickly approaching cloud in the sky. The conversation, at least to her, was over.
Seeing that Rogue returned to ignoring her, Ororo suggested drily, “If you have a problem with any of us, you should at least be respectful enough to discuss it instead of resorting to childish barbs.”
Rogue took her time finishing the beer in her hand, enjoying the taste despite the company. She knew Logan kept a decent stash of Molson at the academy and it only took a quick peek into his memories to determine where it was. It would serve him right if she emptied the refrigerator in the boathouse in retaliation for him leaving this morning for parts unknown. Realizing that Ororo wasn’t going leave, Rogue rolled the now empty bottle between her hands and drawled, “Looks like it’s you who has a problem with me.”
“Yes. I do.”
“That’s too bad.”
Rogue stood up but Ororo blocked her, making Rogue’s eyebrow rise at the aggressive move. “It doesn’t take much to get you to run away, does it, Rogue? You’ve got more Wolverine in you than I thought.”
Rogue laughed, genuinely amused at Ororo’s attempt to make her angry. “What is it, Storm? Wanna beat me up because I hurt your little boy-toy’s feelings?” Blue eyes flashed white and Rogue laughed again, folding her arms across her chest. “My opinion of him extends to you as well if it makes it easier for you to take the first shot.”
Ororo kept a lid on her temper and replied, “It doesn’t.” She took a cleansing breath, reminding herself that she wanted to fix things between them, not make them worse. “I don’t understand why you are so angry with us. We are your friends.”
“My friends? Let’s see. A week ago, you, Cyclops and Beast tried to take me prisoner. That's not very friendly.”
Ororo frowned. “I admit, I was shocked to see you and the professor at odds, but I’m sure there must be an explanation as to why he wanted your departure prevented.”
“Do you even hear yourself? He didn’t want my departure prevented. He wanted me held against my will.”
“He must have had a good reason at the time.”
Rogue caught the uncertainty that flashed through the other woman’s eyes but it did nothing to lessen her anger. She moved to brush past her but Ororo grabbed her arm, preventing her. “You have to listen to me.”
Rogue looked pointedly at the hand gripping her forearm, her eyes hidden under their lids. “Let. Go.”
But Ororo held on, despite feeling a bit lightheaded. “We are X-Men, Rogue. Our loyalties lie with Charles Xavier.”
“Someone who attacks his own team, who turns colleagues against each other, doesn’t deserve that kind of loyalty.”
Ororo stared at her. “We didn’t turn on each other. We were simply doing what Charles wanted.”
“Yes. What he wanted.” Rogue’s eyes flickered. “Is it always about what Xavier wants?”
“I don’t like what you are implying.”
“I don’t like being attacked by mindless lapdogs.”
“You’re way off, Rogue. Charles is a wonderful, caring man. He does not control us.”
Rogue leaned into her menacingly. “You keep telling yourself that the next time you find yourself obeying the almighty Professor Xavier without question.”
Dark clouds gathered above them and Ororo cast her eyes briefly upwards, bewildered. “You, out of all of us, should know what kind of man Charles Xavier is. Before the theft of your memories, there was nothing you wouldn’t do if he asked it of you.”
Rogue growled and kept her eyes averted. "Yeah, I heard." Lightning flashed above, its resulting thunder shaking the ground beneath them. “Things change. Blind faith just doesn’t cut it for me, anymore.”
“What the hell is going on here?”
Scott was standing at the bottom of the steps, the blonde woman standing between him and Logan appearing highly entertained at the scene before her. Rogue tore her arm from Ororo’s grasp, viciously snapping, “Ask your X-Man, Summers.”
Rogue ignored Scott’s shout for her to stop when she marched back into the mansion after slamming her empty beer bottle onto the nearest patio table. Logan sprinted up the steps to follow her as the wind continued to pick up in strength, swirling around the three mutants left behind.
“Were you really going to attack her, Storm?”
The cultured tone of Emma Frost’s amused voice carried over to where Ororo stood, platinum hair blowing about her stunned face. Locking onto Scott, her clear blue eyes were bright with confusion, telling X-Men leader that the sudden weather change wasn’t her doing.
Hearing their thoughts, Emma Frost’s face tightened in concentration, only to flinch from the psionic slap dealt her when she tried to enter Rogue’s mind.
“Hey darlin’, hold up.”
Rogue glared at the metal door at the bottom of the stairwell as she waited for Logan to catch up with her. When he did, she kept her eyes on the door’s metal handle, struggling to keep in control. Logan tilted his head in concern at the anger that was rolling off her.
“What happened out there?”
Rogue latched her eyes onto him. “Who is that woman?”
Logan blinked, taken aback by Rogue’s hostility. “She’s Emma Frost. Kayla’s sister.”
“Does she make it a habit entering people’s minds without permission?”
“Maybe,” Logan answered her honestly. “Did she enter yours?”
“She tried.” Her green eyes were on fire. “Where were you this morning?”
Logan blinked again, this time taken aback by her abrupt change of subject. “I picked Emma up from the airport. Her plane was delayed so I was held up for a bit.” Hazel eyes glinted devilishly. “Why? Did you miss me?”
Rogue huffed out a sound of disgust and threw open the door. Logan was close on her heels as she made her way down the corridor, saying, “I brought some of your things from the Avenger’s mansion.”
She stopped and turned to face him. “You went through my things?”
“Yep. Chose only the stuff I wanna see you in. Lots of lace. Lots of silk.”
Rogue squeezed the bridge of her nose, the headache that came on during her confrontation with Ororo worsening. “That’s not funny.”
His concern returned in an instant, seeing pain skitter across her face. Rogue pressed her fingers against her temples and winced when the pain didn’t let up. Logan led her to an empty room and made her sit on top of its bed, replacing her fingers with his stronger ones and massaging her head in hard circular motions. She closed her eyes and sighed gratefully, the sharp pains that wracked her brain moments ago subsiding under his ministrations.
“Thanks.” Rogue reached up with her hands to pull his away but Logan cupped her face in them instead, looking intently into her eyes.
“You okay?”
“Just a little headache. Being outside in the sun after being down here these past few days didn’t agree with me, I guess.” Rogue gave him a small smile. “You were kidding about my clothes, right?”
His hands left her face and slid down her arms until they held hers. Curling his fingers with around them, he answered, “Carol had a bag ready for me to pick up. Your unmentionables were left unmolested, don’t worry.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Thanks for getting my things, Logan. I appreciate it.” Rogue felt his fingers tighten, a strange light igniting his eyes. Confused, she asked, “Something wrong?”
A grin had broken out over his face. “My name. You said it.” He was looking at her like she just lassoed the sun and handed it to him. Her breath hitched when his gaze dropped to her lips and she licked them in anticipation; the butterflies already loose in her stomach turning manic. Suddenly, sounds of an alarm exploded around them and they both pulled back sharply, hearing them come from the direction of Laura’s room.
Logan ran ahead of her, almost slamming into Hank who was already with the young girl, pulling out the breathing tube from her windpipe. Laura was gagging, and Logan grabbed her hands as Hank carefully removed another tube that was fished down to the young girl’s stomach, placed there to prevent choking. Rogue pulled Laura up into a sitting position to make the bile and saliva fall away from the girl’s mouth and wiped her face tenderly before returning Laura into a half elevated position on the bed. Hank turned off the ventilator and the blaring of its alarm stopped as he placed an oxygen mask over the mouth and nose of the still sleeping child.
“Laura’s just regained the ability to breathe on her own,” he told them happily. “I’m keeping her in a medically induced coma to assist in reducing the swelling in her brain but I think, unbelievably, that this young lady has just cheated death.” Hank clapped a hand on Logan’s shoulder, adding, “You saved her life, my friend.”
Logan grabbed Hank by the shoulders. “No Hank. We all did.”
Rogue dissolved into tears. Logan reached for her and Hank left to afford them privacy as Logan caressed her hair and held her tight in his arms, whispering words of shared relief and joy into her ear.