“Hey, watch this!” Of course, as soon as she said that he knew this was not going to be good. He looked up from his perch on the rock shoreline to see Rogue running along the top of the one of the rock outcroppings bordering this side of the lake, then jumping off, falling in a flailing of arms to hit the water feet first. He held his breath for a few seconds, waiting for her head to appear, then released it when she bobbed to the surface, laughing.
“Shit, kid, that’s pretty nervy, ” He called to her and nodded approvingly at her bravado, even as the old man in him was half-tempted to lecture her ass on doing something that dangerous. Then he checked himself and smirked. He was okay when she was in the middle of a battle with the Brotherhood or the FOH or giant robots shooting lasers, but he was going to bend her ear over some cliff diving? Old man, you’re getting soft he chided himself, as he leaned back on one elbow and watched Rogue stroke across the lake in her one piece wetsuit. She looked like a seal, wallowing in the water, sleek and shiny; although he doubted she’d take that as a compliment since she’s groused about having to put on the constricting outfit earlier when he’d tossed it to her.
“There’s no one around for me to touch,” she whined, pouting cutely at him.
“It’s not yer power I’m thinking about; the lake is fed by glaciers” and he gestured to the mountains on the other side of the water about a mile off, dark blue jags of stone topped with snowy peaks even in June. She nodded and flounced off to her room to struggle into the suit, and he chuckled as he heard her swear as she wriggled it on. After she’d gotten her first face full of chilly water, courtesy of an unceremonious toss into the lake from Wolverine, Rogue admitted the wetsuit was a good idea, especially the booties and gloves that came with it, and he’d had a hard time dragging her out of the water for lunch for the last 2 days. She’d never gotten to swim much at the Institute with all the other kids around, all that skin bared and just ripe for the draining. She’d spent years sitting on a lounge watching everyone else have fun, pretending that watching was enough.
Rogue taken to scaling the rocks that ran along the western edge of the lake, opposite the shoreline where he put up two Adirondack chairs, towels, and a cooler. He watched as she scampered like a mouse, moving to all fours then upright again as she hopped from one crag to another, feet protected by the booties that came with the suit. She was really enjoying herself and he enjoyed watching her, only occasionally annoyed when she threw rocks down at him when he was swimming. He didn’t need a wetsuit, the water only felt bracing to him, so he just wore shorts. One time she’s snuck up behind him in the water and grabbed his ankle, yanking him under. When he’d surfaced, blowing out the mouthful of water he’d taken in, she’d leapt onto his shoulders and dunked him again, before streaking off through the water, daring him to chase her, laughing in a loud and free way like he hadn’t heard her do in a long time.
Yup, about as close to heaven as it got. He was starting to drowse in his chair, hand loosening its grip on the beer perched on the arm of the chair, his battered cowboy hat sliding down over his nose. He could listen to her all day, capering around like a kid again, free from all the worry that settled on her shoulder at Xavier’s. The fear of touching anyone by accident, the conscious restraint she always had to practice in a school full of people, teens and adults alike, bumping into each other in the halls and cafeteria, girls hugging each other during a giggle fest, guys high fiving each other and slapping each other’s shoulders after a DR session or during a pick-up game of mutant basketball, couples huddled over books they never read in the library, heads and hands touching. He knew how much it bothered her that she had to keep herself apart from everyone, both physically and emotionally, not wanting to get to close in any sense for fear someone could get hurt or she could wind up with another voice whispering in her head.
It had surprised him when she’d starting dating the ice cube, and he’d briefly wondered how they…but he’d dismissed that thought quickly as none of his business and was just glad she seemed to be happy and was trying to have as normal a life as one could have in a school stuffed to the rafters with kids who could blow up, melt, phase through, and stick to every surface in the blasted place. His only concern had been that Bobby treat her right, and with that thought in mind he’d placed himself in the “intimidating big brother polishing his shotgun on the porch when suitors come a-calling” role. Although in his case he’d just had to flash 6 razor sharp claws that never needed shining and he felt confident the ice-prick wasn’t stupid enough to hurt his little girl. Guess he was wrong, or the guy was just too dense to realize what dangerous ground he was treading on.
Dozing off, his last thought was how happy Rogue was up her, so different from the sour smartass she’d been a few days ago.
Her sudden scream jolted him upright, one set of claws popping reflexively and the other hand sweeping his cowboy hat from his head. Horrified, he saw Rogue lose her grip on an outcropping of rock and start to fall backwards.
Shit, she’s at least 40 feet up and not over the water.
He scrambled to his feet, kicking over his chair in his haste, roaring, “Hang on!” But it was too late. Even as Wolverine ran with all the speed his superhuman body could muster, everything unwound in slow motion before his eyes. She’d had one hand wedged into a crack above her head and both her feet on a shallow ledge, apparently trying to inch her way over the water for a more daring leap than before, when the rock under her feet crumbled. For a second, she hung by her covered right hand, then the rock she was grasping broke free and she fell backwards. This part of the rock face wasn’t a straight up and down shot by any means, and as she tumbled she slammed into a boulder 10 feet down, taking the crushing hit on her right side, folding her nearly in half. She rolled off the boulder to her left and crashed into the ground, her legs folding awkwardly under her as loose rock showered her from above.
“NO!” he screamed as he scrambled to her, throwing himself over her as more stones, fortunately none large than a soccer ball, fell around them. He took the brunt of a few to his back and one sumbitch to his head, before the mini avalanche stopped. He pulled himself up and hovered over her, eyes and hands assessing the damage.
Shit, not good.
She had a huge goose egg already growing on her left temple and he could see the femur of her right leg sticking through the jagged edges of the torn wetsuit. “Rogue, Rogue, c’mon kid, talk to me.” Nothing, she was utterly still. He could hear her breathing, see the faint raise and fall of her chest under the neoprene, but there was something else. A faint gurgle and the coppery tang of blood in her breath. Fuck. She was bleeding internally, maybe a punctured lung b/c he was sure she’d crushed some ribs.
He tested her both her arms, nothing there appeared to be broken, although her right shoulder felt dislocated, maybe a fractured collarbone. Both her legs were broken, based on the angles they were splayed, but he couldn’t tell if left one was a compound fracture or not. He gently eased her out of the rubble, trying to keep her as still as possible but still move expediently. He felt her neck carefully, mindful the wetsuit didn’t reach all the way to her jaw and ascertained it wasn’t broken. He had to get her back to the cabin to help her; it wouldn’t do to touch her, let her drain his healing ability and leave both of them in a bad state by the lake. He had to get her inside, warmth and shelter. Praying he wasn’t doing further damage, he gently lifted her into his arms, wincing as the way her ribs ground together against his chest and the grisly mess of her thigh bone exposed to the air, and moved as quickly as he could back home.
Laying her carefully on the couch b/c he couldn’t take the chance of taking her all the way up the stairs to her room, he felt for her pulse at her neck. Thready but there and he bent down to listen to her breathing. Definitely blood in the lungs and god knows where else. He knew if he just sat on the couch and grabbed her face to heal her me might not be able to let go, her mutation drawing on his power and life force like a magnet, binding him to her, and he might fall onto her when he passed out, which would be a very bad thing. And he wasn’t sure how quickly or even if she could heal from this much damage; he’d never tried it before with anything this serious, with so many compounded injuries. He stripped the glove off her right hand, and draped it over the sofa’s side, then slid down the floor beside it, lying on his back, with his feet towards her head, her hand hanging over his waist covered by jeans and t-shirt. Lying on his back, he closed his eyes and breathed a silent prayer that this worked for both of them, then reached his hand forward and placed it under her limp palm.
For a few seconds he waited in agony, tensing for the pull of her mutation, scared out of his mind it was too late, then he felt it. A burning that started in the back of his hand where she touched him, then suddenly writhed under his skin and up his arm, through his shoulder, crawling over his face and neck and across his torso, snaking its way through every part of his body, sucking out his mutation, his heat, his mind, his soul. He struggled to hold his hand that few inches off the floor for as long as he could, before a gray haze began to form corners at his vision and he felt everything that he was pour from him into her small, still hand. The last thing he remembered before he flew apart was the sound of his hand dropping to the floor.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Wolverine doesn't have a choice.
Chapter End Notes:
More pain to come.