I've been wanting to do this for a while. It's a Buffy/X-Men crossover. Slash, so don't like, don't read.

This is set after Antarctica in the X-Men universe and after the Buffy season, ignoring the Angel series.

Enjoy!

Jean stepped back from the door in surprise. Trask was standing there in all his intimidating glory.

She pressed the intercom button. "Logan...?" She called out hesitantly. "There's...there's someone here to...see you." It felt strange calling Logan up because of a visitor. Not that he didn't get them, but they were rare, and it felt like calling him up and asking if he wanted to "go outside and play" like a child.

"I don't need Logan for this." Trask told her gruffly. "This is something for you guys. I got a mutant here. Knocked out cold. Been out since we found him two days ago. We can't get him up for nothin'."

"Well, Hank probably has something to give him." She buzzed the intercom again. "Hank, you're needed in the foyer."

"I will be up in a moment." Came the reply.

"Doubt it. We tried every drug that the military possesses, and a few that we don't. I'd be surprised if we didn't fry his liver. But that's not the issue either."

"Okay, but that does sound like an issue..." Jean started.

"Look, the guy is dead. Not breathing, no pulse, dead."

Jean's brow furrowed. "Why do you want us to look at a corpse? We don't know how to raise the dead, even with drugs."

Trask gave her a look.

"Yet we seem to keep popping back up don't we? But I don't know what you think Hank will be able to do. Why are you even trying drugs? What makes you think he's not as he seems? You know, dead. Does he have a physical mutation?"

"No. His mutation is being alive without air or a beating heart. He twitches, his eyes and he mumbles every now and again, like someone asleep."

Jean just stared. "Wow, that's new. Even for us."

"Yeah. But we're doin' something wrong. He's dying, for real, and even we can see it. His lips are turning gray, he's moving and talking less. No one knows what to do. He's no fun unless he's awake, so we figured we'd give him to you for a bit. See if you can figure it out."

"Yes, dear?" Hank stepped out into the foyer. "Ah, Hello, Trask." The doctor called out happily.

Trask grunted. "I just explained to your girl. We got him out in the van. I'll get some of my men to bring him in."

As Trask turned and walked out the door towards a van guarded by two men, Hank turned to Jean.

"What, pray tell, is going on? When has Trask ever brought us anyone?"

"This mutant is dead apparently. That's his mutation."

Hank looked at the van, intrigued. "Really? Now how do you suppose that happened? Though I have seen some very strange things. It boggles my mind."

"Yes, Hank," Jean said rolling her eyes. "I know."

"Want us to take him to the lab?" Trask called out. He was standing next to a stretcher where a young man lay prone.

"Yes, do come around to the back door." Hank answered, before hurrying down to the lab, a look of glee on his face.

"Yeah Jean?" Logan called from the top of the stairwell. "You wanted me?"

"Oh, sorry Logan. Wrong person."

Logan grunted before going back to his room.

Hank checked the monitors. No breath. No pulse. Yet the young man moved position every so often, though feebly. Hank had no choice but to accept that he had no idea how to treat the young man.

He pulled out a needle. He needed to get some blood work done on him. Hank noticed how thin the man looked. He hoped he had enough blood for Hank to run a few tests. He tied off the arm with rubber tubing and inserted the needle into the vein on the inside of his arm. He drew the plunger back. He stared in confusion. There seemed to be a block. He pulled harder. A thin trickle of something thick and red, much too thick to be blood came out.

Oh dear, Hank thought to himself. I don't think I can preform a blood test without blood...

He put the blood on a slide to look at it under the microscope. The red fluid, though liquid, had the texture of sand. When looking at it under the microscope, he discovered that the cells were dead.

He swiveled in his chair, perplexed about how to proceed. He did not know this man's history. If he was severely allergic to anything, how his mutation reacted...He simply did not know how to proceed. If he did not figure it out soon though, this man would die. That much had been made clear to him.

"Hank..." Hank turned to Scott who walked in, wearing an old tee-shirt and jeans splattered with paint, supporting Remy who was in much the same condition, except he was limping and the arm that he held to his chest was covered in blood.

"Oh dear." Hank rushed over to relieve Scott of his burden. "What happened?"

"We were painting the house. He was on the ladder. I have no idea how it happened, but he fell, cut himself on something and I think he twisted his ankle. Maybe broke some bones in his foot. He landed hard."

"I'll go back to painting the house. Unless you want me to stay..." Scott started.

"Non, y' go finish it. If y' don't, it'll never get done." Remy told him shifting his weight onto Hank. "'m not dead."

"Right." Scott left.

"You sit here." Hank told Remy. "Acquaint yourself with out new guess. Tell him a bit about yourself. And grab those bandages on the shelf, I need to go get some disinfectant."

"Uh, Hank?" But he was gone. Remy looked nervously at the flat lined monitor. Dead people creeped him out when they were laying right next to him. And what was Hank talking about? Get to know him? "He probably had a pet rock when he was a kid." Remy mumbled.

He reached out for to get the bandages with his right hand. He forgot that his entire wrist was bloody. "Oh shit." He said when a drop of blood fell onto the dead man's cheek, running down his face like a red tear. "That's embarrassing." He paused for a moment before reaching a hand down to wipe away the blood.

Brown eyes flash open and Remy stared in shock.