A short time later, Hank quietly entered the room and gently scooped the sobbing Rogue easily into his arms, carrying her out of the room and placing her in his office again. Reaching for a box of tissues, he handed them to her and sat beside her, patting her shoulders affectionately with his big blue furry hands while she tried to pull herself together.
“Rogue, his life is not in any danger,” he assured her in his calm, cultured voice, trying to comfort her.
“I know, but there are so many.... complications now,” she hedged her words, knowing if she even tried to explain the realizations and emotions which were tearing her apart, that she would collapse into grieving hysteria again.
“Time, Rogue; you’ll both need time to adjust. It heals many things, you know,” he gave her a knowing glance, making her smile a little at his attempted witticism. “And who knows what the future may bring? A vaccine has been developed that shuts down mutations. Perhaps a counter-vaccine may be developed to reverse the ‘cure.’ Things change, and there is no end to the medical possibilities,” he paused to give her time to assimilate what he was saying, “or hope.”
Rogue sniffed, blew her nose again, and thought over what he’d said, things that hadn’t even occurred to her. A cure for the cure? It wasn’t impossible, she realized, knowing that Hank wouldn’t have made up the story just to ease her crying. Her stomach rumbled audibly, and she slapped a hand over her belly to quiet the embarrassing sound.
“Come,” Hank stood and reached a furry hand to her, “we’re both going to the dining hall. I need some supper, too, and when was the last time you ate, young lady?”
“Uh, yesterday? I didn’t have time today, before we went into the city where I thought maybe we’d grab a late lunch, but then it happened...” she waved an arm toward the room where Logan lay under sedation. “But I want to come back here and be with Logan when we’re through, okay?” She mopped her reddened eyes one last time.
Hank gave her a slight, gentlemanly bow. “Agreed. Since you are a rare-type blood donor, I will simply have to give you some special allowances,” he grinned down at her, then pushed her gently toward the door.
Logan became aware of being warm and comfortable, drifting as if he were coming out of a twilight sleep. There were beeping sounds around him that were strange, but he didn’t seem to be able to work his way up to caring. A grunt of contentment vibrated in his chest, and he drifted away again.
Tucked beside him on the bed, Rogue stirred at the sound. She had wiggled herself close to him in the night, cautious to avoid any monitor leads or IV tubes, and held on to him until she fell asleep against his shoulder. Rousing now from her sleep-induced stupor, she slithered up on the bed and looked at his face: eyes still closed, skin less pale, breathing normal. She ignored the beeping monitors and lightly touched her finger to the pulse point at his throat. He seemed somehow to be better, although exactly how, she could not determine.
Pushing a few stray locks of hair from his forehead, she looked around to see one of the pre-meds coming in with a breakfast tray, so it had to be morning.
“Still not awake, huh?” The girl placed the tray to the side and checked Logan over quickly, taking pulse, checking breathing, peeping under an eyelid, checking bandages, all very quickly. Rogue noted that the IV was gone, probably removed sometime in the night when they were both sound asleep. Only a piece of tape and cotton padding remained where the IV needle had pierced his forearm. “I’ll just leave this stuff here. He should wake up soon. Try to get him to eat.”
“Thanks,” mumbled Rogue, still coming to herself. The girl left.
Snuggling back down against his shoulder, she let her fingers stray across his bare chest above the sheet, tracing trails through the soft dark hairs that covered his skin there. Her fingers then slipped across to stroke his other shoulder, reveling in the amazingly firm, thick layer of muscle there. She had spent so much time and effort ‘not’ touching anyone skin to skin, that she wanted to take advantage of every opportunity now, especially with Logan. Maybe her touch alone would....
“Hey,” her eyes snapped up to his at his whisper.
“Hey, you... wondered when you were gonna wake up,” Rogue couldn’t bring herself to ask the inevitable questions. How are you? Are you in pain? Do you know what’s happened? Do you remember getting sixty-plus stitches in your hands? Do you remember the claws ripping out and slicing your skin to shreds? Do you really comprehend that you can’t heal fast now? She looked closely at his eyes: the pupils were very dilated. He was still loopy from the drugs.
“You sleepin’ here with me?” His voice was a little slurred and confused.
“Yeah, just wanted to stay close until you woke up. I wanted to thank you for this necklace.” His eyes slowly wandered down her front to where she pulled the magnolia blossom from beneath her shirt, then they drifted back to her face with a groggy smile.
“Logan, it’s the most beautiful, elegant thing I’ve ever had, and it just makes me go all syrupy inside.” She stroked his cheek before continuing, “Thank you.” Leaning forward, she kissed him lightly on the side of the mouth. Turning more toward her, their lips met again in a soft, lingering kiss before he seemed to grow restless. She eased back again to look at him. He was frowning now and looking around the room, and she noticed that the dilation of his pupils was less marked than before - he was becoming coherent again.
“Marie, where the hell am I?”
It was a long, difficult, tense explanation, and Rogue took it slowly, step by step, the way she remembered everything happening. Logan watched her eyes through the entire story, not saying a word or showing any emotion; he had everything locked down. When she finally ran out of words, he asked her one question.
“What day is it?”
Rubbing her hand over her face, she thought for a moment before answering him. Her days and nights had gotten scrambled sleeping in the Med Lab. “Sunday. I think it’s Sunday now.”
Logan tried to rise to a sitting position, but the bandaged hands made it awkward, and halfway up he seemed to go groggy again and melted back onto the pillow. Trying to comfort him, she bunched the pillow under his head and looked again at his eyes.
“The stuff they gave you is messing you up - you’re still kind of high from the sedation.” He lay in stony silence, not responding to her. At that moment Hank swept in and shooed Rogue off the bed.
Staring at her over his glasses, he laid out the rules, “You, young lady, are going to breakfast, and then to your room for some decent rest. Visiting hours are officially over until further notice. No arguments.”
Rogue gave them both a look of reluctant resignation, then placed a light kiss on Logan’s forehead, and left.
“She’s been here all night with you. Did she explain what happened?”
“Yeah.” No emotion came with the minimal response, so Hank continued.
“Now, after a brief examination, I’ll instruct you in caring for the stitches in your hands; and once you’re feeling steady on your feet, I’ll release you from Observation. However, I will ask you to stay close for a few days, preferably on the mansion grounds, so I can be sure you’re recovering satisfactorily.”
“Yeah.”
Hank was less than reassured by Logan’s lack of communication. Last night he had been extremely agitated, cursing a blue streak, hostile to the point that the pre-meds had later told Hank they had been afraid of being faced with the claws if Logan lost control of his fiery temper. That had encouraged Hank to use the sedation, but now his patient was too quiet.
Hank unwrapped the bandages. The cuts were red and the hands and fingers swollen, the stitches pulling cross-tracks in the skin, but there was no sign of infection. Hank swabbed the stitches with disinfectant. Normally, Logan would have been grousing, revolted by the smell; but he said nothing, just winced a little as the liquid burned the raw flesh. Pushing the tray of equipment aside, Hank regarded Logan.
“I’ll leave your hands unwrapped for a while so you can eat more comfortably,” he slid the breakfast tray into place. “I’ve got some work to do elsewhere. I’ll come back in half an hour and apply fresh bandages. By then you should be clear-headed and ready to be released.”
Logan just sat in silence, looking at his wounded hands lying in his lap. Hank silently left the area, but made sure the security monitor was active over Logan’s bed, just in case. Motioning one of the pre-med assistants over to the main desk, he indicated the monitor.
“If he tries to rise from the bed, seems to be in great pain, or does anything suspicious, call me immediately. I’ll be in my office for a short while only, then back here.”
Hank noticed the questioning look on the student’s face. She asked, “What do you mean by ‘suspicious,’ Doctor McCoy?”
Hank leaned in closer and spoke in a low tone, “I realize we haven’t covered this in any pre-med classes yet, but you are getting a crash course in something called ‘suicide watch.’ The first thing you need to know is this: you do ‘not’ tell anyone what you are doing here, ever. This falls in the realm of ethics and confidentiality. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” the girl was wide-eyed and astounded.
“Good. I’ll be in my office with the door open, in case you need me.”
Shelly Hanson drove into the countryside early Sunday morning for some privacy. Parking beneath a tree by a roadside market, she dialed Toad’s number.
“Yeah?” his sleepy voice grumbled.
“Sorry to wake you so early on a weekend, but it was my only chance.”
“Eh, don’t worry it, love. How are things there?”
“Things are very quiet, tense, some people being noticeably absent, or upset, and based on what I’ve been able to pick up, our effort was a total success. I’ve only gotten bits and pieces of conversations, but it all indicates that the ‘medicine’ you delivered did the job.”
“That will be the best news he’s heard in weeks. I’ll report it in a little while. How are you? Everything holding together?”
“I’m fine, and settled in, and everything’s peachy. I won’t keep you; I just wanted to take the opportunity to talk in private, away from there. I’ll talk to you again in a few days, unless something major happens.”
“Good job, love. Take care of yourself,” the connection clicked off. Shelly stashed her cell phone away, smoothed her hair, smiled brightly at her reflection in the rearview mirror, and drove on toward the nearest town, intent on a celebratory shopping expedition after the stores opened for the day.
Hank returned to Logan’s room to find him sitting upright, cross-legged, and not having touched a bite of food from the tray.
“Eat.” Hank looked him squarely in the eyes.
“Ain’t hungry. I think this is what a hangover feels like, or so I’m told,” Logan was turning his bared hands back and forth, inspecting both front and back, from all angles. “So, doc, is this my life now? I’m a little fuzzy on everything that was said yesterday, but Marie updated me on the actual attack, and I do remember most of it now.”
Hank put the chart down on the table and removed his glasses. He knew Logan would appreciate a no-nonsense approach. “Yes, this is your life now. Your hands will take a few weeks to heal. You are probably feeling a ‘hangover’ sensation because of the drug cocktail you’ve been given, meaning the mutant cure vaccine, plus the drugs I ordered here for pain and infection. That feeling, and I assume you mean nausea, will pass in time. You do need to eat, but it can wait a few hours while you adjust.”
“You mean, every time I pop the claws now, it’ll be more stitches, and more weeks to heal them?” Logan was hard-voiced, being very business-like, and it worried Hank.
“That is exactly what I mean. With enough repetitions, eventually you’ll develop so much scar tissue that the fingers and surrounding skin may start to deform. Blood loss and the risk of infection are both very serious issues. My best advice to you is never to extend the claws again unless it’s a matter of life or death. The damage they do to you now is simply too severe.”
“What do I have to do to get them healed up quicker?”
“Come here twice a day for the first few days, to get the bandages changed and the area cleaned. Keep your hands dry at first. Limit motion. If you do something that hurts, or feels like the stitches are pulling, stop doing it. If the stitches start to itch, do not scratch them. I’ll give you a course of antibiotics and pain pills, and during that time you should drink no alcohol - it interferes with the effectiveness of the medications. You are weak from blood loss, and even though you’ve had a transfusion, it will still take a day or two to get back on your feet properly. You should eat well to get strength back. And stay out of the Danger Room until I clear you for it. Do you know you are a rare blood type?”
“No. Never needed to know. Can’t be too rare if you got a donor for me on short notice,” Logan’s eyes went back to the stitches and the swollen fingers beyond.
“You are blood type O negative, what we call the universal donor. Anyone can receive your blood, but you can only receive more O negative blood. Fortunately, your match happens to have donated blood a few days ago and we had it here immediately at hand. Once you’ve recovered from this injury, if you’re willing, I’d like you to donate as often as possible so we can stockpile blood for the both of you here. She might need it some day, as well.”
“She? Who?” Logan was curious enough now to look at Hank.
“It’s Rogue. She’s your rare donor.”
One eyebrow quirked momentarily before Logan changed the subject, “Where are my clothes?”
Toad finished the report to Eric, and watched the older man’s smile of approval as he spoke, “I believe our young Miss Hanson will turn out to be a most valuable asset.”
“She’s a sweetie pie, for sure. Shame she has to stay there with ‘them,’ instead of here with us. We could use a woman’s touch to brighten this place up again.”
Both men regarded the other in silence, knowing the absence of Mystique from their core group left a void as yet unfilled.
Toad broke the silence, “Do you worry that Shel will turn on us? I mean, she’s a natural as an agent with her mutation, but it could work both ways, right? She could be droppin’ stuff here to listen to us.”
“Always the suspicious one, Toad. I doubt that our Miss Hanson is a double-agent. She has aided us in doing the most damage we could do to the X-Men with our one tiny weapon. She is now monitoring the after-effects of that strike. Granted, I would prefer to have a telepath look into her motives, but since none are available to us currently, we’ll simply have to rely on instinct, logic, and attention to detail. And it has been my experience that working both sides of a war to one’s personal advantage requires a level of intelligence that I don’t believe our Miss Hanson has achieved in her young life.” Eyeing Toad knowingly, Eric asked, “Have you seen or heard anything to make you ask that question?”
Toad gave a snort of laughter, “No, I’m just always looking for the angles. It pays to be a step ahead if you can.”
“And it would behoove us to keep Miss Hanson on a short leash, and with little information useable against us, don’t you think?”
“Ahhh, you don’t trust her, then, even though you don’t think she’s smart enough to be a threat,” Toad caught the intense gleam in Eric’s eyes.
“I trust no one, Toad, including you. I’ve seen the way you look at the girl; heard the tone of your voice when you speak with her. I warn you: do not give her too much. Allow her to work for us, but do not encourage her beyond that. Woo her later if you wish; enjoy her, but do not give her any power, any knowledge, any weapons against the Brotherhood. She is young and malleable. If she proves herself trustworthy after a length of time, then I’ll start trusting her with a little more responsibility, in incremental steps. Currently, she’s performing a service which she is uniquely qualified for, and she should do nothing beyond that: just monitor and communicate, and prove her worth. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yeah. Not a problem, boss.”
Rogue inwardly winced at Bobby’s voice calling her name as she left her room, but turned a smiling face to him as he approached.
“Hey, you busy? Wanna go into town for a while?”
“Thanks, but I need some down time right now. I want to stick close until Logan’s better.” Rogue noted that Bobby hadn’t inquired about her night spent in the Med Lab.
“How bad is it? I heard the scuttlebutt around here, that it was the cure vaccine someone hit him with, right?”
Rogue bent one knee and bumped her toes against the floor before she answered the question, “Yeah. Another mutant, probably Toad, injected Logan with the cure. Now he’s injured and everything is kind of touchy. So let’s not dwell on that, okay?”
“Okay,” Bobby agreed softly. “What about you? Are you okay? I know he’s your friend,” Rogue noted Bobby’s voice tightening on those last words.
“I’m fine, and I’m also going to be the support system for Logan. I’m the only person here who’s taken the cure, so I’m the only one to share a common experience, for what it’s worth and when he wants it.”
“But the deed is done, and you’ve got a life of your own. Don’t...” Rogue cut him off with a cutting motion of her hand.
“Don’t try to talk me out of doing anything right now. If you’re that hard up for company, go ask Kitty to drive into town with you.” Rogue stomped off, leaving Bobby to call her name once, then angrily shrug her off.
Halfway down the corridor toward Med Lab, Rogue encountered Logan walking toward her, hands bandaged and wearing only the regulation X-team sweats. She silently berated herself for not thinking to bring him fresh clothing since what he’d worn into the city had been blood-soaked upon their return.
“Hey, look at you!” Rogue smiled the words at Logan, then fell into step beside him. He barely registered her presence with a nod, never breaking stride down the corridor. Stepping into the elevator, he stared at the panel for a moment before gingerly pushing the button to the third floor of teacher’s rooms, then gently folded both hands to his chest. He spoke softly to her, barely above the hum of the elevator’s mechanisms.
“Hank told me you donated blood, that we’re a rare match,” he turned his head toward her, their eyes meeting momentarily. “Thanks. Never thought we’d be in this situation, but thanks.” His dark head lowered again, studying the floor.
His awkwardness broke Rogue’s heart, but she didn’t show it. Stepping closer to him, she lightly placed her fingers on his forearms and pushed his arms apart to shoulder width, then stepped in and wrapped her own arms around his waist, holding him close, her head resting against his shoulder. She felt him gently encircle her shoulders, and they stood in warmth and quiet for the few moments before the door slid open. His voice broke their silence first.
“I’m gonna go crash in my room, alone. Alone. I need to think.”
“Okay,” she slid back a little and looked him over once more. “I’ll promise to leave you alone all day, on one condition: you eat what I bring you.”
“No conditions.” The hard edge in the voice was back.
“I’ll bring you some lunch.”
“No. Make it supper, about sundown, and not before. And just you. I don’t wanna talk to anyone yet.” He slid away from her embrace and stepped out of the elevator toward his door, before speaking over his shoulder to her, “I’m not kidding around, Marie. Nobody but you. I’m not in the mood for anyone to fuck around with me, got it?”
“Got it.”
He closed the door in her face. After a moment’s fumbling, she heard the lock click into place.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Hank diagnoses Logan, Logan retreats from everyone, and Rogue withdraws from Bobby. Magneto admits his suspicions about, well, everyone.