Heal Over
Chapter Two
"Come on, honey."
The translucent nozzle of the water bottle touched her chapped, nearly colorless lips, urging. But her mouth stayed closed, and she twisted her head from side to side. Her struggles weren't particularly fierce. The kid was half-awake; an infant had more strength.
Logan placed a thumb on the girl's chin, easing her teeth apart. "There, honey. Down the hatch." His voice was quiet.
It took a moment for her to understand: that water, rather than a medical tube or worse was making it's way down her throat. Even if she couldn't differentiate between it and fouler liquids, her body could. In a few seconds the kid's lips were sealed around the valve, pulling in long-lost nutrients(not skillfully-Logan had to squeeze the plastic to get it flowing). Suckling, like a baby. Worse than a baby: the raw, animal neediness of those whose humanity have been stripped away. Uncontrollable--instinct and muscle memory taking over. He didn't grudge her it. Logan placed a hand under her neck, lifting slightly. Didn't want the kid choking to death.
When he pulled the bottle away, to give her a break, she gave an uncontrolled whimper. Soft, hopeless, more of a wobbly exhale. Her lips trembled, searching, and Logan returned the nozzle. He was shocked to see the girl's hand lift--feeble, hesitating--and settle like a pale moth over the container, over his own fingers. As if she could actually hold it in place. Her eyes opened, just a crescent.
"There," he encouraged. "There you go. Easy. It's alright."
It was nearly empty when that hand fell back to the greasy mattress. And then she was still again, eyes closed. Exhausted with the effort of keeping herself alive.
Logan touched the girl's cheek, once. Then he sighed, stood, and ran a hand through his own untamable hair. He'd spent the majority of a sleepless night alternately staring at her and out at the parking lot, between the window blinds. The last of his cigars lay in the trashcan, nubs and ashes.
As the smoke formed lazy patterns, rising determinately but dissipating before it touched the ceiling, Logan's mind had suggested a dozen plans on what to do now. But those proposals belonged in the garbage, with his tobacco remains.
The sunlight did not shine so much as slink shamefully through the window, embarrassed to be seen in this motel. It highlighted the gray carpet, stiff in one place from someone's gum--and other less innocent stains Logan chose to ignore.
Dust motes floated through the air.
Logan gave the girl's injuries a once-over. There was little he could do, but he made sure the wounds hadn't gotten any worse.
Brown fingers on distressed, plum skin. Light, testing. He would have liked to give her a bath. The kid reeked--more of chemicals than dirt. Her flesh had a texture like starch. But he knew better than to remain here any longer than necessary. Logan chose a maroon, plaid shirt from his bag; the softest flannel he could find. Slid it over too-thin arms, too-thin....everything. She swam in it.
He took the bottom sheet off the bed, wrapping it around her protective and warm. The not-quite meticulous cleaning staff wouldn't miss it for awhile.
Logan toted her out out to the car once again. A few young boys, faces stained with kool-aid and clutching skateboards, stared until their mother screeched for them to get inside. As they climbed into their own van the woman shot Logan a suspicious look. Narrowed eyes, hand on her hips. Light sparkling off the delicate beads in her cornrows. Logan didn't meet her glare. No need to make the situation any more memorable. He settled the girl onto the leather, made the seat almost horizontal. The click of the metal strip going into the seat belt catch and then tires, rolling over the asphalt.
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Green high way signs, white lettering. "50 miles to Here", "200 miles to There". The view out the window shifted back and forth, from pastures to the fast food beacons of small towns. He tended not to stray far from the option of either. Complacency, sticking to one route, was how They got you.
It was all familiar to Logan. He'd been up and down this continent (and a few others) between his own travels and Chuck's various 'missions'.
He'd just never had someone along for the ride. Certainly not the diminished half-corpse that was this child.
As one area code became another, Logan decided to wait. Tread water. Eventually Xavier would deign to call him (and had it not been for her, Logan wouldn't pick up the phone). He was too much a valuable tool in the machine of the X-Men for Chuck's displeasure to hold. The question was whether he could keep the girl alive until then.
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"Here we go."
Logan had placed a towel on the bottom of the tub, softening the surface for her back. Now it was full--warm, but not hot. He eased the kid into the water, slow and careful.
Her eyes were open. Cloudy and fixed on the ceiling, as if seeing herself in a place far from here. Though Logan spoke to her--reassuring, conversational (though god knows that wasn't a technique his voice was used to), she gave no response. No sign she heard him at all.
His right arm was submerged, almost to his shoulder. The dingy wife-beater he wore was already sopping, sticking to his chest. His knees ached from the tile floor. Logan cradled the girl, drawing the soapy cloth over pale limbs. Her neck, her chest. Her arms and the creases of her elbows. Her shrunken stomach, and lower. Not one noise of protest. Not one flicker.
"It's alright, kid. Gonna get you clean, 'kay? That sound good?"
In minutes the water became murky, pink and brown. He had to drain and refill it again. And again. And again.
That starchiness of her skin bothered Logan, and not merely for the smell that kept his nose permanently scrunched. It put him in mind of chemical showers and the other ways humans used to break each other. Ways Logan was too aware of for any of the mansion's residents to be fully comfortable in his company. Even with a dozen baths and bars of soap, Logan had a feeling that scent wouldn't go away. Not for a long time.
He washed her hair with special attentiveness. (Those bizarre white streaks. What the fuck? Drugs? Chemicals? Stress?) He worried the cheap shampoo would irritate her scalp, that any accidental tug would set it bleeding again. He rinsed her with a McDonald's cup.
When he finished, Logan placed her tiny body on the bed, patted her dry with the towels (in his thoroughness, Logan used them all, and had to drip-dry himself). If she caught a cold now she'd die, no question. But he couldn't exactly ring out the girls hair, and wasn't the sort of man who carried a blow dryer (even if he had been, Logan wouldn't risk the hot air on her scalp).
Logan changed her bandages, noting that he'd have to buy more soon. Wrapped the girl in his shirt and the blankets. Her dark hair was thick, even wet, and Logan could imagine her being pretty once.
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And so the days passed. Another nondescript town, a cheap, unexceptional motel. Doing their best to keep them invisible. Logan had enough money to support them-years of bar fights and Xavier's payroll had seen to that.
She slept most of the time, and hardly moved when awake. It would have felt like being alone, if her scent with the air every time Logan drew breath. If the girl weren't always there, right there beside him twenty four hours a day--except when he had to run into a gas station or grocery store, and then he kept an eye on the car from the windows.
The height of their interaction came when Logan fed her. Cautious amounts, though he wished he could give her every scrap of food he could find. Fill in those valleys between her ribs. But that could destroy her malnourished stomach, so Logan bit back his instincts and went slow. Water, then broth, then soup. And if the girl wasn't accustomed to or reassured by his presence, she learned the bottle at her lips meant good things. She reacted the same way every time, desperate. She accepted whatever Logan gave her; drank as if the opportunity would never be offered again.
When he placed her hips on the cool porcelain of the toilet, the girl learned to piss. Logan's hands holding her up, her cheek against his stomach. The scent of urine.
Mixed with blood.
Logan bought whatever medical supplies he could find. Ointments, compresses, vitamins, bandages. But the degree and uncertain nature of the drugs charging through her bloodstream made him hesitant to giver her anything stronger than ibuprofen.
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He called one of the few inhabitants of the school not prone to judgement or self-serving. Ororo's empathy could be felt a thousand miles away. He remembered tangled sheets, her mocha skin sliding over his own, the power in her eyes and the scent of rain blending with lust. It had been two years, a fling to them both, and the weather witch was to this day the closest definition he had of "friend".
She said, "Tell me."
And Logan described the girl. From the lump on her arm to the cheese-grated mess of her feet; the kid's near-catatonia to the blood in her piss. When he'd finished, Logan could almost see the hand Storm pressed over her heart.
He read, from hesitances, the delicate neutrality of her words, that Jean shared The Professor's anger. How shocking. Logan glanced at his pack in the back seat. Grudgingly, he asked if Ororo could mention that he did have the files, if it counted. Three disks in black cases, wrapped in a pair of his jeans. Storm said she would, and promised to track down an old friend of hers, a Dr. McCoy. She said he might be able to help.
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Strange. Had the lab been as Xavier swore, a storage facility, Logan's toughest decision now would be steak or burger, blond or redhead. But he wasn't the type to whine over circumstances past. He knew that shit happened. Randomly, horribly. And the only choice available was surrender or adaptation. And Logan did not regret for one second his actions. He could repeat the night in that hellhole a thousand times without ever, ever choosing to leave the girl behind.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
First, I want to thank each of the frickin' amazing people who reviewed the first chapter. I never expected that many. Eight, at the most, and I got about twenty! Early in the morning after I first uploaded it(not gonna say how early, I'd like to keep my dignity), like a child at christmas, I hurried to check the stats. I had my fingers crossed for four, but told myself not to be disappointed if it was one or two....I thought the site had a glitch when I read eleven. I was dizzy with excitement. You were all very generous, and I'm grateful. I didn't think it would be so well recieved. And every time this chaper made me grit my teeth, I read them again. Thank you.
This chapter is shorter than I'd originally planned. I had a design in my head, but it was like wading through a lake. I realized I had to split it in half, for effectiveness and to keep the story moving. Don't worry, I'm working on the second part now. So, without further rambling, Happy Reading.
This chapter is shorter than I'd originally planned. I had a design in my head, but it was like wading through a lake. I realized I had to split it in half, for effectiveness and to keep the story moving. Don't worry, I'm working on the second part now. So, without further rambling, Happy Reading.
Chapter End Notes:
You know, it's strange. Chapters that can take up twelve pages in my notebook seem so tiny once I've typed them out. I really hope this one was as satisfactory as the last, and that you will give feedback. Thank you.
Oh, and I took many medical liberties in this story. I apologize if the inaccuracies offends anybody, and there are three things you should know:
1. I am not in the medical field.
2. All my knowledge comes from Google and my own imagination.
3. I probably wouldn't change anything, even if you flamed me.
Thanks again! Happy Easter.
P.S. Would anyone like to explain html tags to me?
Oh, and I took many medical liberties in this story. I apologize if the inaccuracies offends anybody, and there are three things you should know:
1. I am not in the medical field.
2. All my knowledge comes from Google and my own imagination.
3. I probably wouldn't change anything, even if you flamed me.
Thanks again! Happy Easter.
P.S. Would anyone like to explain html tags to me?