Piotr hauled the grisly metal-clad skeleton onto the deck of the ‘Bird, and reached for Storm’s hand when she’d unhooked the cable. The big Russian hauled her easily aboard as well, her wetsuit still dripping. “Everything okay down there?” he asked.
“Yes, though we didn’t find nearly as much as I would have hoped for...” Storm accepted the dripping handful of x-rays from the twins and helped them aboard the jet. Mike was winching in the last few feet of cable and the bones, untangling debris and grasses as the cable went into the reel. Unseen by the others, he pulled loose a chain and some metal bits from the rib cage, pocketed them quickly, and finished securing the cable to the winch. Within moments, the jet streaked into the sky.
*
The insistent beeping sounds from the monitors jarred Rogue awake. She gasped at the erratic heart rate and yelled for Hank, who ran into the room. Going straight to the monitors, he said, “He’s experiencing arrhythmia. I can treat that,” and he was gone again toward the drugs cabinet, returning to inject another drug and hang another bag on the IV rod.
“Do you have the right equipment here for life support, while you research the adamantium?”
Hank averted his eyes momentarily to scan the monitors, then spoke softly, “Everything we need is here. But Rogue, you and I need to discuss something; in my office, please.”
“But I want to stay close.”
“I know, but it won’t take long, then you can come back here if you want. In my office, now, please,” Hank’s voice was taking on the stern, professional tone, what she thought of as his doctor-voice. She followed him without question.
Settling Rogue in his own office chair, Hank stood beside her and opened a folder on his desk top, turning it to show her the papers inside. Staring at the open file, her eyes swept over some legal papers, “I don’t understand. What is all this?”
“This is called a DNR, a legal order signed and filed by a patient, instructing the attending doctor not to use any ‘heroic’ measures to prolong life in the case of a terminal illness or injury. DNR stands for ‘do not resuscitate.’ That’s Logan’s signature at the bottom.”
Rogue was speechless for a moment, then, “This is wrong. It’s just... it’s wrong...”
“I’m sorry, Rogue, but it’s very specific, and it’s recent, and it is legally binding. Logan requested in writing never to be put on life support. All I’m legally permitted to do is make him comfortable and treat any non-life-threatening incidents, like the arrhythmia just now.”
Rogue once again looked at the paper, the signature, and the dates. “I don’t care. This is wrong.”
“Logan signed this while you were in Canada on a mission. I’m not surprised that he didn’t tell you, because things like this are very personal, and very painful. It’s not a decision most people make lightly.”
Rogue drew a deep, shaky breath before protesting, “He told me that he didn’t want to die now, that he’d gotten past that dark point in his life. He told me this directly, so that invalidates this piece of paper, doesn’t it? He signed this while he was still recovering emotionally from getting the cure by a Brotherhood attack.” She gingerly closed the file folder and laid both hands palm down on the desktop, before continuing, “He was in an intensely emotional state and maybe a depression when he signed this, and that makes it... makes it...” she searched for the words.
Hank spoke gently, “If you’re implying that Logan was legally incompetent when he signed these papers, that would be incorrect.” He knelt beside Rogue, knowing she was at the breaking point, and put one arm around the girl’s shoulders. “You and I both know that Logan may be many things, but incompetent is not one of them. This was his choice, and I have to abide by it, as much as I dislike it. And you, my dear, must work on accepting his choice. It is, after all, his life and his decision.”
Rogue stayed silent and rigid beneath his comforting arm. Noting a shiver running through her, Hank grasped at some form of support for the girl.
“Rogue, you’ve been here all night, and I know you don’t want to go to your own room to sleep. Why don’t you take a walk, perhaps visit the chapel for some introspective quiet, and then come back here when you feel like it? I’ll be alternating between monitoring Logan, searching for some answers, and perhaps grabbing a much-needed nap while we await the team’s return.”
Still silent, Rogue stood and walked out of the office like a robot, going down the hallway toward the elevator. Hank hoped she was taking his advice and heading for the chapel to absorb everything he’d just told her. Checking the monitors once more, Hank returned to his desk and napped briefly.
Rogue stopped in the hallway outside the chapel and fought off a wave of nausea as she shook all over. The muscles in her legs felt like ice water and her hands shook uncontrollably. Bracing her whole body against the wall, she tried to cry, but rage burnt away the tears before they could fall. Gasping for breath, she stumbled again toward the chapel door and entered, leaving the door ajar behind her.
The peace of the mansion’s all-faith chapel seemed more like a mausoleum to her; cold, empty, pointless to her overwrought emotions. A few candles burned on one side of the room, carefully placed in glass and on a rack. Artwork of different faiths tastefully decorated the walls, and the center of the room was lined with wooden benches, much finer than the basic wooden pews she’d seen when her grandmother had taken her to the little neighborhood Southern Baptist church as a child. There was no one else in sight; she was alone with God, or a reasonable facsimile.
Choking back the ragged breaths, she paced the perimeter of the room, her eyes scanning images of Buddha, Odin, the stag-horned Cernunnos, Jehovah, Green Tara, the savage Kali, the svelte Nile River Goddess alongside the rotund Venus of Willendorf; Storm had drawn those for one of the art classes. Rogue dragged her fingertips along the wall to keep them from shaking or tearing at her own hair. Finally the gasping sobs broke forth and she collapsed to her knees below a crucifix of elegantly carved mahogany, her mind’s control breaking as her body succumbed to her grief. In time, she mopped the tears from her eyes and tried feebly to climb to her feet, grasping a nearby table and upsetting a little ceramic statuette of Jesus Christ, which rolled and tumbled and fell at her feet.
Retrieving the statue she cradled it in both hands briefly while searching for it’s proper place on the table. Turning the smooth, cool statuette in her hands, she peered down into the peace-radiating visage of Christ, his feet surrounded by stony little ceramic doves, his hands folded placidly within the sleeves of his humble robe.
Snuffling deeply, she raised her eyes to the wall and saw a painting of Christ raising Lazarus from the dead.
Something inside Rogue broke free. The statuette smashed into a thousand pieces as she hurled it against the altar, her voice shrieking in the stillness of the chapel, “Fraud! It’s all a fraud, a fable, a kid’s bedtime story. YOU are a fraud!” She raged on, into the stillness, “You and your preachers and priests and followers and stories and the whole ‘brotherly love” and “caring father” shit, it’s all just a big joke!”
Her hands went to the edge of the table and it upturned easily, scattering the items across the carpeting. “You don’t give a SHIT about anything! People, humans, mutants, we’re all just one big joke, right? Or else you don’t even exist, and we’re all here on our own. Wouldn’t that just be the biggest joke of all?!!?”
A reading chair lifted easily in her hands and crashed into the center of the room. “What else can you take away from me? My family, my life, and the only man I ever wanted? I get one night? One glorious night, and then he’s dying? The man who couldn’t die is refusing life support just when both our lives are becoming something that we both need, both want? Tell me how that is just, and right, and loving, and a part of your Big Plan? Huh?”
She sobbed again and shoved her disheveled hair away from her eyes, “The minister told us you were a loving father, a compassionate, forgiving....” her voice quavered for a breath, then the grief boiled out again in rage. “Fuck this whole lie! Fuck this excuse...” and she grabbed the upturned altar table with unrealized strength, raised it above her head and forcefully slammed it against the candle rack, sending molten wax and shards of glass scattering about the room. One unbroken candle cup spilled forth it’s molten wax and the carpet beneath it ignited. The flames spread as Rogue stood sobbing incoherently, barely aware of her surroundings.
Soon the flicker of flames lit her face in the darkened room, and she realized the fire was spreading. Screams poured forth from her tortured throat and she cast about the room for a fire extinguisher or a blanket, water, anything! Suddenly the overhead sprinklers came on and began raining down in the area. At the same time, Kurt ran into the room, clad only in drawstring pants. Comprehending the scene before him, he bampfed away and was back within seconds with a sopping wet blanket draped across his thick-fingered hands. In moments he slapped the blanket down on the flames and stomped on it, putting the fire completely out.
Surveying the wrecked chapel and the white-faced, shaking woman, he asked, “Rogue, what happened?” He turned the sprinklers off at a wall device.
Panting from the spent rage, tears streaming freely down her face, she whispered, “Logan is dying.”
Kurt’s face showed his astonishment, and his emotion. “Oh, Rogue, liebling... I am so sorry,” and he strode slowly toward her, bare arms outstretched to embrace her.
Leaning into his embrace, Rogue let the teleporter hold her while she tried to put her mind in order, but the tingling started before she could even comprehend what was happening. Kurt had gone stiff in her arms, and as she pulled back to look at his face, she saw in horror that the veins beneath his scarred blue skin were thrumming and straining. The angelic symbols seemed to throb with her life-stealing energy as she began draining his power into her. The unexpected rush shocked her momentarily. Her mutation was active again!
Jerking away from Kurt, she saw him drop to the floor, stunned and nearly unconscious. “Rogue...” he gasped out and trembled as she staggered back from him.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I didn’t know... I’m so sorry,” she gasped over and over, then ran for the hall. Kitty was close by and limping toward her with Jubilee running hard to catch up from the end of the hallway. Rogue slammed herself back against the wall to avoid colliding with her team mates. “Help Kurt, please,” she implored, and edged away as the young women entered the chapel. Kurt was already sitting up and shaking his head, trying to get oriented.
Easing up the hallway, Rogue fought off a sudden urge to scream herself into hysterical numbness. A memory tickled her brain, and she walked slowly, stiffly, back the hallway toward the Med Lab. The dream.... what had the Wolverine said in her dream? Be mean. Be cunning. Use every trick in the book, and make up some.
Rogue felt herself go hard inside, as cold as steel, a horrible plan jelling in her head. She raced toward Hank’s office.
Tiptoeing the last few yards, she saw Hank slumped in his office chair, chin on his chest, sleeping soundly, snoring a little. Glancing around the Med Lab to assure there was no one else present, she stepped lightly behind Hank’s chair and whispered, “Life support. What is required? What tools? How is it done? Tell me about life support, Doctor McCoy.”
Her hands eased toward his face.
*
NOTE: the chapter title “Burn Down the Mission” is a song title by Elton John and Bernie Taupin, circa 1970, and one of my favorites. It seemed appropriate to the chapter.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Things come out of Alkali Lake, Hank explains legalities to Rogue, and things get hot for Kurt as Rogue gets to have her own melt-down.
NOTE: WARNING! If you are sensitive to religious topics, you will want to skip this chapter entirely. It’s not pleasant, and you have been warned.
NOTE: WARNING! If you are sensitive to religious topics, you will want to skip this chapter entirely. It’s not pleasant, and you have been warned.