Fatigue and depression blended into exhaustion as Rogue seemed to slip in and out of deep sleep, not grasping the passing of time, lost to whether it was daylight or dark as she held vigil on Logan’s bed. There was food, and the bathroom, and the quiet movements of the techs. Hank brought her juice and vitamins, and spoke soft words of comfort, then left while she again slept with her arm laid gently around Logan’s waist.
Waking once in the quiet depth of night as Hank slept and no techs were present, Rogue eased off the bed and tiptoed to the nearby sink to splash cool water on her face. Peering into the mirror, she ignored her own ghosted eyes, shoved her hair back into a sloppy ponytail, and checked the inside of her head for the presence of Hank’s fading memories. It was bandage-changing time: she’d taken the night shift so Hank and the techs could get some decent sleep. She tried to teleport to the bed, but still stood with feet firmly planted. Kurt’s download into her brain had faded. Hank’s would be next, likely in a matter of a few minutes.
Hurrying to the bed, Rogue started checking over the leads, analyzing the monitors’ readings, examining Logan’s skin and eyes and listening to his heart through a stethoscope Hank had lent her. The arrhythmia seemed to have abated, but he was still weak and thready. Looking at his closed eyes, she thought perhaps he wasn’t as ashen as he had been, but the lights were lowered for comfort, so she didn’t trust that assessment. Likely the dialysis was making some kind of improvements.
Turning the sheets down, she started on the bandage over her beloved tattoo, peeling away the gauze and pad, swabbing down the inked skin. Before she could apply antibiotic ointment, she frowned and leaned closer. Something was different.
Flipping on the overhead light, she bent closer and peered intently at the tattoo. The sight of it made her go warm and gooey inside every time she looked at it. But the skin in the area seemed less red, less swollen, almost like it had healed a bit.
Rogue shook her head and blew a deep, sighing breath. Surely if he was healing, the mutation would reject the ink. It had to be a trick of her own weariness and stress. Unwrapping the bandages from Logan’s left hand, she started peeling back the gauze and padding, and gasped when several stitches fell out of the bandages. She thought for a moment that she’d somehow pulled them out by accident.
Picking up one of the stitches, she held it to the light and examined it. The tiny stitch was whole, a perfect knotted circle. Every loose stitch was perfect, none torn or even strained out of shape. She felt a flush of hope run through her, and quickly pulled away all the wrappings from his hands and arms. Logan’s skin lay bared before her, and there were loose little stitches scattered all over his smooth, perfect knuckles, over the bed sheet by his arms, and some tumbled to the floor at her feet. Even the initial scar tissue from the attack in the park was gone. Looking intently at his face under the brighter light, she noted his normal color was returning. His mutation was kicking in!
Rogue gave a whoop of joy that shook Hank awake in his office and he came running in, half-dressed and groggy with sleep. He fumbled for the belt of his dressing robe, realizing he’d thrown on his lab coat instead.
“What’s wrong? What happened?!?”
“He’s healing! He’s healing, Hank! He’s gonna live! Look!” She held out a handful of little stitches, “Look at the hands, the arms, at the tattoo, at his skin.... everything. It’s all.... better!”
Wedging his spectacles onto his nose, Hank leaned down and peered intently at everything she’d indicated, then at the monitors, then he deftly snatched the stethoscope from around her neck without touching her skin, and listened intently to Logan’s heart and lungs.
“He’s definitely improving,” Hank confirmed. “I want to draw blood. Stay with him and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Stepping away from the bed, Hank turned quickly and bodily swept Rogue up in his powerful arms, swinging her around the room for a brief moment of mutual joy as they both cackled with laughter! Putting her back on her feet, he went into the Med Lab’s supply area to gather the blood draw equipment.
Rogue bent over Logan and whispered, “I told you! I knew you could do...” Her words were cut short when he started coughing and choking, gagging on the breathing tube. He was waking up still on the respirator.
“Hank!” she yelled, but he was out of earshot. Logan was starting to flail both arms around, still choking and fighting the tube. “Oh no... no... Hank!”
Before she realized what she was doing, Rogue had crawled onto the bed, straddled Logan’s straining body, and started removing the tube with knowing, confident hands. As soon as the respirator mask was pulled away and the trach tube was out, he quieted down. Rogue listened, her nerves near the breaking point, until his body started drawing deep, natural breaths on his own. The cacophony of the still-attached monitors drew Hank back.
“I see he’s improving rather rapidly,” Hank chuckled, then checked over the equipment once more. With a confident grin, Hank started turning off the life support systems, untangling the various leads and returning them to the carts.
“Did I do right?” Rogue crawled off the bed, suddenly self-conscious.
“Yes. Am I still present in your head, telling you what to do next?”
Rogue stood quietly for several moments, then admitted, “No. I have no clue what to do. I think you just faded away.”
“It hasn’t been thirty-seven days for Logan. Either each person reacts differently to the cure, or else his regenerating mutation fought off a lot of it before being overwhelmed and shutting down. Either way, we now have three confirmed cases of the temporary effect of the cure: you, Logan, and Mystique. Unfortunately, that means eventually Magneto will likely return.”
“Right now, I don’t care. We’ve whupped his ass before, we can do it again if we have to.”
“Now that you know Logan is going to pull out of this, I insist you go to your own room and get some decent rest, young lady.”
“Nope.”
“Rogue...” Hank growled the warning.
“Sorry, doc, but I promised Logan I’d stay right here until he woke up and smiled at me. It won’t be long.”
“In that case, I’m going back to sleep. Wake me if you need me.”
“Okay,” Rogue agreed as Hank turned toward the door. “Uh, Hank, didn’t you forget something?”
Checking for his glasses, he patted all pockets and looked thoughtful. Then he looked confused.
“Blood draw?”
“Oh!”
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Author's Chapter Notes:
Rogue has to play doctor, and Hank gets confused.