By His Wounds…1 Peter 2:24
Flashes of light. Color. Sound.
Ororo knelt beside Logan, trying to staunch the blood trickling rapidly from a cut where his head had hit the examination table. “Jean!”
The doctor was leaning over her original patient, holding her down with gloved hands. “Rogue! Calm down. It’s all right.” The girl fought her wildly for a few seconds, then her eyes seemed to come into focus, even as her face contorted into a grimace of pain.
It’s me. I’m here. Stay with me, darlin’.
She cried out, bringing her hands to her head. Her vision cleared and she felt Jean’s hands on her shoulders, holding her down. A tidal wave of sensation flooded her—scent, noise, colors—and she knew what had happened. It was too much, and she pressed her hands against her eyes, willing it all to stop.
“Jean, he’s seizing.” She felt Jean’s hold on her relax and instinctively let herself go limp as the doctor’s attention was drawn to the new emergency. She opened her eyes as Jean’s hands left her entirely and then squeezed them shut again quickly, trying to integrate the sensory onslaught. Things were on her, running into her, and she clawed at her face, yanked at a tube that fed into her nose. She choked and coughed as it came out, and a putrid greenish-black liquid spilled out over her chest. She flung the object away from her and tried to recoil from the smell.
It’s okay, Marie. You’re gonna be all right.
“That’s it. Just keep pressure on it. Don’t worry about that. Scalp wounds always bleed like crazy.”
She turned toward Jean’s voice and forced her eyes open. She saw Logan, lying on the floor, blood trickling down one side of his face as Jean and Ororo attended to him. She reached toward something that hurt her arm and her fingers found the IV. She pulled it out, wincing, and a trickle of blood ran down her arm. She stared at the bright red streak.
Jean looked up. “Rogue—don’t move, please. It’s all right. I’ll be right there.” The girl didn’t respond; she was looking at Logan. “Just stay there. ‘Ro—over there, the defibrillator. Quickly. It’s just the one button right on the front. And give me that bottle.”
It’s all right. I’m gonna take care of you.
She couldn’t stop a whimper from escaping. Make it stop. I don’t want to hear. I don’t want to know.
“Turn the dial to two hundred.” There was a tearing sound as Jean ripped Logan’s shirt open, squeezed something from a container onto his bare chest. “Clear.”
Marie could feel the sharp crack of electricity from where she lay and her own body tensed as the acrid scent of ozone and singed hair reached her sharpened senses. She closed her eyes again, squeezing them tightly, willing the world to stop spinning.
“Three hundred. Clear.”
She couldn’t get away from it. Another lancing jolt of electricity, another blow to her senses, and she curled up on her side, trying to make it stop. Her skin tingled and she rubbed hard at her face with the back of one bare hand. The sensation made her wince again and she must have made another sound, because Jean’s voice called out to her again.
“Rogue, it’s all right. You hear me? He’s all right. There’s a pulse, a strong one.” Her attention was clearly pulled between her two patients. “Just take it easy. I’ll be right there.”
It isn’t all right. Marie blinked, wincing against the lights. She sat up, dizziness washing over her, and she held up a hand when Jean started to return to her. She shook her head. Her eyes fell on Logan’s jacket, lying on the table next to hers, she moved quickly, snatching it and in the same movement retreating into a corner of the lab. Her legs wouldn’t hold her up and she sank down, hiding her face in the worn leather. Its scent was comforting, familiar; it blocked out some of the acrid chemical stench that surrounded her.
Jean didn’t approach her. The girl looked like a trapped animal gone to ground, and she remembered all too well what had happened the first time she’d touched him. She reached out mentally towards Xavier instead.
Professor?
Yes? How is she?
Logan’s here. He touched her. Healed her. Can you come down?
There was a pause.
I will be there immediately. What about Logan?
His heart stopped and I had to shock him. He’s unconscious, but his vital signs are strong now. I think he’ll be all right. Marie is awake, but I’m not sure she understands what’s going on.
Is she calm?
Yes. She’s just— Jean sent him a mental image of the girl.
Don’t disturb her. I’m on my way.
************************************************
Please, god, don’t let me have killed Logan.
That’s all I can think at first. I didn’t expect to wake up at all, much less to colors too bright and sounds too loud to be natural. I didn’t want to wake up. I crouch in the corner and bury my face in the jacket I’m holding; I’m just trying to escape the smell of my own vomit and urine clinging to me, the antiseptic and strange odors of the lab, trying to avoid retching up anything my stomach still holds. I realize I know who’s in the room without looking, just by their scent. Jean, under the chemical smells, is warm and musky, like sandalwood and roses, and Ororo is there, smelling like grass and rain and sunlight. And then Logan—I can’t describe it, beyond the tobacco and leather and whiskey that are just the edges of his scent. It’s something I’d know anywhere, among a million other people. It’s intoxicating, and I close my eyes, the better to breathe it in. I don’t understand how he can be here. But I don’t really care about the whys and hows.
You’re not alone. I’m here. It’s his voice.
Without conscious effort, I’m in the room in my mind. The first thing I see is that the church doors are hanging open, torn off their hinges, the wood splintered. I don’t want to look inside, but I do.
What’s lying on the floor in the otherwise empty space isn’t complete enough to recognize as anything that used to be in human form. It’s scattered in bloody bits of pulp across the floor, and even as I look on in horror, they melt away, leaving only a bare oaken floor in a room with white walls.
I turn. The spot on the wall where my bedroom door used to be is smooth and unmarked. It’s vanished completely. The room whirls and expands around me, the walls shedding their grey hue, stretching into blinding whiteness as I look on. I start to run, and I have to go what seems a long way before I reach the third door.
It’s open as well, the bars retracted into the walls, the polished metal door standing wide. I’m shaking as I step over the threshold for the first time.
It’s a huge, vaulted chamber with walls of rough stone. There are two figures in its shadowy depths; I squint towards them and they become clearer. One is crouched over, naked, more animal than human, and he growls at the other, glaring suspiciously.
Logan’s back is to me. He glances over his shoulder and I know he sees me standing there. Then he reaches towards his double and I can’t quite see what he’s doing for a moment, but then he’s turning to face me and—there’s only one figure now.
I want so badly to run to him, to feel his arms around me, but it’s like that dream where you can’t move, where your limbs feel like they’re moving through molasses. He comes just a step closer, he stops, and I think for a second he’s going to speak, but he doesn’t. He just looks at me for a long moment, and his eyes are sad. Then he lifts his head, indicating that I should look behind me. I turn.
The door is melting away, and a golden hue is spreading outward, enveloping the whole room. The last door is there, moving towards me because I can’t move myself, opening wide even before I touch it. I look inside, and it too is bare, nothing there except white walls being washed with gold even as I look on. Nothing’s there. No, I’m wrong.
I’m there. Me.
I look back one last time, and the vaulted room is shimmering away into shadow. Logan’s form is barely discernable any more, but it’s there, and before the gold swallows everything up I do feel a touch, not quite physical, like the kiss of the summer breeze.
I should never have left her—alone—give me one more chance, darlin’. I swear I’ll never leave you alone again. Come back.
I gasp and open my eyes, and when I look up the Professor’s kind blue eyes are gazing back at me. He looks worn out and somehow older than usual, as though I’ve been gone for years. But I haven’t, I’m still crouched in the corner of the med lab, Logan’s jacket clutched against my chest, though his senses have faded enough that I’m no longer overwhelmed. The Professor smiles at me.
“Welcome back, my dear.”
“What—did you do that?’’ If he didn’t, that isn’t going to make any sense to him, but I can’t think straight just yet. He seems to understand the gist of what I’m asking.
“I saw no need to assist you, Rogue. I would have calmed you if you had appeared to be in distress, but I dislike entering anyone’s mind without their knowledge.”
“Logan—”
“Logan’s fine,” Jean says, and I look past the Professor’s chair to see her standing beside an examination table. Logan is on it, and she has her hand on his pulse. “He’s still out, but I’m sure he’ll wake up before too long.” Her lab coat is stained, covered with black smears and streaks of other things I don’t really want to think about, and I feel a rush of remorse for putting her through that.
“Can you tell me what happened?” The Professor holds out a hand to me and I crawl to him, putting my head in his lap like a small child. I don’t know why it’s my instinct to do that rather than to stay away, but somehow I just want him to make this all go away, and he looks so calm and quiet. He doesn’t shy away from my touch; I feel his hand stroke my hair gently.
“The room you made—all the people I absorbed were there, and then they all went away. The room went away. Did Logan do it?” I know I sound like a five-year-old.
“You did it,” he tells me. “The things in your mind are entirely under your control. I always told you that.”
He had, but I’d never really believed it. “But he was here.” I touch my forehead.
“Logan is over there.” Somehow the Profession understands what I mean, and his fingers on my head are soothing. “It’s difficult, dealing with the minds of others. But they are only thoughts, feelings. They aren’t real.”
I raise my head, look up at him. “Why did they go away?”
His expression is tired, but he tries to smile at me. “You integrated them, accepted them as part of yourself. Your experience of the world.” He touches my head again, reassuringly this time. “We’ll continue to work on it, of course. I had hoped that you realized—” He breaks off. “Come and see me when you’re ready, my dear.” I nod and get shakily to my feet, automatically wrapping the jacket I’m still holding around my shoulders. It’s cold in the lab. The Professor reaches up as though to take my hand and then stops, as though he’s afraid I won’t let him.
But it’s me who always worries about that, and he’s just been holding me in his lap as though I were his own daughter. Impulsively I lean down and hug him, and his arms close around my shoulders. He isn’t scared of me, and I gulp back more tears. At last I stand up, and somehow he doesn’t look so exhausted any more. He looks pleased. Almost proud. Maybe I’ve done something right tonight.
“I’m sorry, Professor.” I can’t even remember why this seemed like a good idea. “I guess I wasn’t strong enough.”
He shakes his head. “You were too strong,” he corrects me. “It isn’t easy to conceal something so powerful from people like Jean and myself, I assure you.” Jean looks up with a little smile at that, but the Professor’s eyes are serious now and locked on me alone. “I wish I had known.”
I didn’t want anyone to know. “I thought it was something I had to do by myself.”
“No one needs to be strong enough to do everything alone, child.” He reaches out, then, and he does touch my hand, just for an instant, just long enough that I feel the pressure of his fingers on mine. “I hope you understand that.” I nod, and he wheels himself back, maneuvering himself out of the lab.
Almost in a daze, I go and stand beside Jean to look down at the man who just saved my life. Again. Logan looks like he’s just asleep. Jean has a sensor attached to his chest, where she ripped open his t-shirt when she had to shock him. I can still see the red marks, and Jean reaches to smooth the torn shirt over the burns. She nods toward the monitor that sits at the head of the bed. The colored lights and numbers don’t mean anything to me and it must show on my face.
“His pulse and blood pressure are steady. His temperature is a little high, but as I recall that’s normal for him.” She offers me a pair of latex gloves and I shake my head.
“I don’t think I should.” Jean gazes at me in silence for a moment; I can’t tell what she’s thinking. “How did he know?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “He knew. He didn’t say much—he came in and just ordered us out of the way, told us he was going to touch you.” Her gaze turns thoughtful. “It didn’t work for a few minutes and we thought—then it kicked in.” She turns that analytical doctor’s stare on me. “Did it feel any different than usual?”
What’s ‘usual’? , I want to ask her. It’s not like this happens every day. “It was—I don’t know. He was different this time. It was calmer.”
She nods, and I can practically hear the wheels turning in her head. “The first time you touched him, he’d just had a nightmare, right?” I nod. “That’s always scary, dealing with a mind that isn’t fully under control. And he’d hurt you. He was terrified for you, I’m sure.” It occurs to me for the first time—and I can’t believe I’ve never realized this before—that what I do isn’t really all that different from what she can do. Only she doesn’t have to be in direct contact with people to hear their thoughts. I remember, suddenly, something she said once about how hard it had been for her to learn to block other people out of her head. If I’d listened, maybe I would have understood this sooner.
“Logan made sure he was very calm before he touched you this time. I’m sure that made it easier for you to assimilate.” She puts a hand on my shoulder. “Tell you what. I know you’ll want to stay with him. Why don’t I get you some fresh clothes to change into? I have some scrubs that you can borrow, and I could get you some gloves, if you don’t mind my going into your room again.” I know she’s finding a reason to leave us alone, and I’m so grateful that my throat closes up and I can’t speak. I just nod. She squeezes my shoulder briefly. “I’ll be right back. Don’t worry. He’s going to be fine.” She leaves and I swallow back my tears.
It’s utterly silent in the lab once she leaves, so silent I’m aware of the sound of my own breath. I reach for the gloves after all. I can’t not touch him, even if it has to be through latex. I pull them on and put my hand on his face; I can feel the roughness of his beard through the glove. Oh, I remember that. He looks even scruffier than usual and I can’t help just a little smile breaking through. I feel like such a selfish little brat, but it’s just so good to see him. I move my hand down to his shoulder, letting myself remember the way his arms used to feel around me. No one else was ever so easily accepting of me, so careless of my poison skin. When I was upset, when he and I would watch TV together, sometimes for no reason at all, he would always make sure I knew someone wanted to be near me. When he left, I thought I’d finally made even him afraid of me.
He left. Just like that, anger burns through me, and for once I don’t push it away or force it down. Maybe I really am going insane, because I don’t understand how I can be feeling so many opposing things at the same time. I’m furious with him, and I’m worried about him and I’m ashamed of what I did. I don’t try to keep myself from feeling any of it.
I tak a deep breath once the worst of it has passed. Mostly, I think, I’m just glad he’s here. The silence in the room is still deafening, and I suddenly realize why.
I should know why he’s here. I should be hearing his voice, like I did before, only now—I don’t even know if what I heard a few minutes ago was really him or just my imagination, because it’s all gone, the rooms, the voices, everything. Jean was right, it’s different, and now when I try to sort through what I must have absorbed, I can’t get to it. It’s not the same. With a shock, I realize I’m alone in my head for the first time since I manifested. Without the voices, I’m more alone than I’ve been in five years. They must be there somewhere, if the Professor was right and they’re part of me. But I can’t hear them. I can’t hear him.
The only way I’ll know is if Logan tells me. So now he has to wake up.
I may have a lot to answer for, but so does he.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Wherein the consequences of actions begin to be made known. The beginning may be a little confusing, but stick with it.