Storm’s voice shouting his name broke the hallucination’s spell as Logan snapped back to reality. Above his head he saw a golden spark dance briefly just as Storm ran to him with her eyes glowing white, her arms outstretched toward the barb of lightning that would have spelled his instant death if it had struck him. Storm deflected the bolt of energy back into the sky, her wild white hair floating in a nimbus around her. She stood straddle of his legs as the shatter of crackling energy left her hands, then she stared down at him.
“Can you stand up? Can you walk?”
Moving his arms and legs to test his mobility, Logan nodded and struggled to his feet, swaying beside her.
“Pull your claws in, Logan, please.”
He looked down and saw the claws still bared and bloody, the red rivulets running down both his injured arms, sped along by the pattering rain. One wrist was slashed nearly to the bone and pumping blood. The claws slid back into his torn hands as Storm risked coming closer to him, grasping his slashed wrist in her bare hand to staunch the flow of blood.
“Come with me, quickly,” Storm took his arm in hers and they walked unsteadily back toward the mansion, wrapping the tail of his shirt around the cuts to absorb the blood. Pacing carefully, side by side, they headed for the kitchen door.
“I called you a bitch, ‘Ro... I’m sorry. There’s no excuse,” Logan’s voice held an unusual tone of raw regret that touched Storm. He seemed somewhat stunned by his injuries.
“Apology accepted. I know things are bad for you right now. That’s a good enough excuse for me,” she hugged him against her, one arm going around his waist as they reached the patio. “Can you make it to the Med Lab?” He nodded as they slipped through the door, out of the growing storm.
Ororo took one look backward at the skies, knowing that the storm would be fierce, maybe devastating before long. It was natural, but it was ominous in it’s intensity. There would be storm warnings out for many counties by now, and Ororo could taste the rotation in the clouds. Tornados were a distinct and threatening presence, waiting to be birthed downward from the heavy clouds. She’d barely shut the door before more lightning shattered the skies and rain began beating down in sheets.
Logan’s whispered voice brought her attention back, “Did you see anyone out there with me? Anyone at all?”
“No - why do you ask?”
“For a while I thought there were people around me. Guess not, if you didn’t see ‘em, or the snakes,” Logan was weaving and stumbling, seemingly unable to walk a straight line.
“Snakes? Forgive me for asking this, but have you been drinking?” Storm asked softly, nothing the shocked looks on faces around them as they worked their way toward the elevator.
“No. Nothing.”
“Oh my gawd!” Rogue gasped as she came out of the elevator, then lunged back in, holding the open-door button while the two entered, “What happened?!”
Storm waited for Logan to answer her as Rogue gently pressed her hands to his back and chest, trying to see what damage had been done, but he seemed to be focused inward, silent. “I’m not sure; he was in the woods when I found him,” Storm commented as she pushed the button for Med Lab level.
“Sugar, what did you do? Was it the claws?” Rogue smoothed back his damp, stray hair, noting the pallor and feverish skin.
“Yeah... I thought I was....” Logan stopped short, groaned in pain, and clutched his folded and wrapped arms against his chest. “It hurts inside...”
His body seemed to slowly lean sideways as if his equilibrium were off, and he collapsed to the floor of the elevator, both women unable to support his weight. Frantic with worry, Rogue quickly knelt beside Logan, cradling his head in her trembling hands as Storm locked the doors open and ran for Hank.
*
Piotr and Bobby shook off their sodden coats as they stomped in from the garage. Both roads into town were submerged beneath rising flood waters and fallen trees. Multiple tornado warnings dominated the radio and television, and several funnel clouds had been spotted just a few miles away. “Glad we’ve got everyone here for a change,” Bobby commented as he hung up the dripping coat beside the fireplace in the common room.
“I’m glad we’ve got such a huge underground shelter, even if this place is built like a fortress,” Piotr added. “If we have to go below for cover, at least there’s plenty of room for everyone.” He tossed both shoes onto the hearth where they began to drain a puddle across the stones, little trails of steam disappearing up the chimney’s draw.
Grabbing the mansion’s emergency plans, they started making lists of everything they’d need as they organized the student body to take cover below ground. Assigning coordinators to each age group, they tackled their chores with efficiency. Kitty and Jubilee each took a group of kids to their rooms for any personal needs like asthma inhalers and extra clothing before marching them below ground level until the funnel clouds had cleared the area.
“I thought Rogue was a group leader - where is she?” Kitty asked as she eased her sprained ankle up onto a spare chair in a room below ground. The kids around her were organizing pillows and blankets into friendly cliques, some digging into the stash of snacks. A few sat wide-eyed in fear of the storm.
“Dunno, chica,” Jubilee commented, then spoke a little more softly to Kitty, “Maybe watching ‘The Wizard of Oz’ last night wasn’t such a good thing.”
Kitty grinned and snuggled an eight-year-old against her side, “I’ll try to have her paged.”
*
The page echoed distantly in Med Lab where Hank and a few assistants worked over Logan, while Storm tried to soothe a nervous, pacing Rogue in the next room.
“What the hell happened to him?” Rogue’s hand rested against the glass, watching every movement around the table where Logan lay, numbed with local anesthetic and sedated, once again having his hands and now his wrist and both forearms stitched. Hank had said it would take time - the cuts and holes were numerous and it was delicate work.
“I truly don’t know, baby,” Storm rested one hand on the girl’s shoulder, knowing how emotionally invested she was in Logan. “When I got within sight, he was on his knees, bleeding, claws out. He completely collapsed then, and I could feel lightning coming. I deflected it, and helped him back into the mansion. He asked me if I had seen anyone around him, and said something about snakes. Rogue, I think he was hallucinating. He denied being drunk.”
“You saved his life. Thank you,” Rogue turned tearful eyes to Storm and hugged her tightly. They heard the repeated page calling Rogue to her group leader’s assignment.
“Don’t worry - I’ll handle it for you so you can stay here, if you want?” Storm offered, Rogue nodding her agreement. She noted how quickly Rogue reverted to old habits, pulling her sleeves down over her bare hands, fingers clutching the cuffs for dear life out of an unconscious and very nervous habit. With a quick squeeze of moral support, Storm left.
Twenty minutes later, the lights suddenly flickered and went out, leaving Med Lab plunged into darkness. Rogue felt momentarily disoriented as she again pressed her hands to the glass partition, listening as the normally placid Hank swore like a sailor. Within a few seconds, the school’s emergency generators hummed to life. There would be enough power to maintain the essentials, but nothing else. Med Lab had first priority, then the security system, then everything else like the kitchen and hallway lights. Several halls away, frightened children squealed with alarm as they were plunged momentarily into darkness. Older voices calmed and soothed them as flashlights, candles, and battery-powered lanterns softened the gloom. An hour later, Rogue still stood riveted at the window, watching Hank and his pre-med students work diligently over Logan. He lay still as a stone, the sedation seeming to have taken him over completely. Once again IV tubes snaked across the table, but this time there were more bags hanging than the first time he’d popped the claws after the cure. Aching to know the details, Rogue forced herself to stand silent, giving Hank every moment to help her lover.
She lost track of time, but noted one assistant hurry out, then return a few minutes later to report to Hank, who just shook his head in frustration. Snapping on the intercom, Hank summoned her into the treatment room.
“Tell me how I can help.”
“Rogue, we have an unfortunate situation on our hands. Logan needs a unit of blood, but due to the storm, the roads are impassable and air delivery is also out of the question.”
“Take mine,” she volunteered instantly, “you said we’re both the same rare type, and he got my blood before. You already know we’re compatible,” Rogue was rolling up her sleeve as she spoke.
“The problem is, my dear, a sufficient amount of time has not passed for you to donate again. It’s close, but it’s your choice. Donating again this soon will leave you feeling very weak, but under the circumstances, and knowing you are a healthy young woman, I’m leaving the choice to your discretion.”
“Tap me.” The sleeve was up and one assistant guided her onto a table near Logan. Rogue relaxed back on the table as the needle slid in, and rocked her head to one side to watch Logan while her blood flowed into the bag below the table.
Hank seated Rogue in his office while she munched cookies and drank apple juice to fight off the dizziness, then instructed her, “I want you to go to the kitchens, find anything that you can under the circumstances that’s fit to eat, fill your stomach, and get some sleep. You need to rebuild your blood: red meat, green leafy vegetables, supplements, molasses cookies, anything rich in iron. You need rest.”
“I’m too nervous to eat, so I’m stayin’ here,” Hank noted the edge of her accent sharpening as she fidgeted with her sleeves.
“Doctor’s orders.”
“I love you to pieces, Hank, but I’m stickin’.”
With a sudden whir of power, the electric came back on, lights brightening and motors on non-essential equipment humming to life.
“I’ll make a deal with you, Rogue: you go eat a good meal, put on some warm, comfortable clothes, and I’ll let you come back to be with Logan for a while. Agreed?”
Rogue gritted her teeth momentarily, and asked, “Just tell me he’s gonna be okay first?”
Hank smoothed his hands on the desk and said, “All the wounds are clean and closed, he’s sleeping peacefully, his blood volume is up where it should be thanks to you, and he’s on antibiotics. What more do you need to know?”
“Okay. Burger time it is,” she said tiredly, “I’ll be back in about an hour.” She shuffled slowly out the door, taking a few moments to lean over the table where Logan still lay, once again swathed in bandages, sleeping soundly. From his doorway, Hank watched Rogue soothe her fingers softly over Logan’s face, then lightly kiss his lips and whisper a few words before exiting the Med Lab.
Lowering his eyes to his own desktop, Hank opened the file he’d been accumulating the past few hours. Thankfully, Rogue had accepted his diagnosis of Logan’s obvious wounds, without pressing for more details or promises on his chances for recovery, so Hank hadn’t needed to lie to the girl. The symptoms were unmistakable. The situation causing the symptoms was the next hurdle to be conquered.
Hank scrubbed his fingertips over his face briskly. How did one conquer the unconquerable? How to save a life that couldn’t be saved?
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Stormy weather lashes the mansion, while Hank navigates the truth around Rogue’s need to know.