------
Author's Note:
Greetings.
Don't bother me about characterization. There is a method to my madness. Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the story. And leave reviews. Non- profit fanfic authors thrive on the buggers. Since we obviously don't charge for these, we settle for basking in reader reviews.
Synopsis:
Pietro slowly recovers from his spinal injury during the late fight with Magneto and his allies. It's slow going as the Professor and the rest of the faculty and students try to integrate the remains of the Brotherhood into their world. Our favorite speedster learns some lessons along the way.
Alternate Universe. Set after the events of 'Speed Limits,' my previous flick. Later chapters will occur simultaneously with 'Queen's Side Castle.' If you haven't read 'Speed Limits,' then you'll end up scratching your head. A lot.
Disclaimer:
I don't own any of these characters. If I did, it wouldn't be a cartoon. It'd be a WB show starring a horde of really attractive people with a special guest appearance by Patrick Stewart as Xavier. And I'd also be rich, as X-Men is a big franchise.
Instead, I'll settle for borrowing these folks for a little action, adventure, romance, drama, comedy and the rest. Seems only fair.
Cheers.
Jack
------
Blink.
I stared up at the ceiling, caught in that hazy twilight between sleep and wakefulness. White tiles filled my vision. This wasn't the Brotherhood house, unless someone had knocked over a bank and paid for renovations. I wouldn't put that past Todd, but it probably hadn't happened. Besides, if the house had been worked on, I'm sure they'd have gotten rid of that god-awful draft. I yawned and tried to sit up when it hit me.
I couldn't feel my legs.
Yeah, I panicked. Sue me. I stared down my body, seeing my legs outlined against the sheets. Ok, calm down, I told myself. You can still run. I was breathing really fast, on the verge of hyperventilating. It took an act of will I wasn't sure I had to slow my breaths down to something resembling normal. I'd worry about the strange room when I figured out what was wrong with my legs.
I tried to reach out and feel them, make sure they were real legs, but my arms were restrained. No, I wasn't tied up, thank you very much, but there were a lot of tubes sticking into my skin. Lots of needles.
Needles.
I felt a scream building and had to choke it down. It left a bad taste in my mouth. I remembered now why I couldn't feel my legs. My father had shoved a huge hypodermic through my gut. My own father! I lay back against the pillows, glaring at the ceiling tiles. All right, in all fairness, he hadn't been aiming at ME. I just happened to get in his way. Big surprise, I guess.
He'd been aiming at Kurt and Logan. If it had just been Logan he'd been trying to stick, I'd have probably let him. Even the Brotherhood knows that Logan can heal just about anything. But Kurt didn't have that ability. What was that fool thinking, shielding Logan with his own body? Why did I do such a stupid thing?
And why do I feel like it was the right thing?
I pondered this for a few minutes, counting the tiles again. The only noise in the room was a steady beeping from one of those heart monitors you see in a hospital. This wasn't a hospital, though. The room didn't have a single window except for the one out to the hallway. I had a pretty good idea that I was underground. Was I with Xavier's geeks? Taking charity from baldy wasn't my cup of tea, so I started looking around for a button or whatever you use to call a nurse with.
No luck. I fought down the urge to panic again, but a really pathetic squeak came out anyway. Darn it, Pietro. You can do better than that. Be strong! That's all Dad ever wanted you to do anyway. The sound echoed through the room.
Must have been a really loud squeak, now that I think about it, because that big furry guy (Hank?) poked his head into the window frame and raised his eyebrows at me. I gave him a little finger wave. Why on Earth was he smiling like that? Doesn't he know that he's got fangs the size of my thumbs?
There's a question I'd have to ask. Did they just prop the Beast up on the porch at Halloween to scare off trick-or-treaters?
He opened the door and walked up to the bed. I don't remember him being this big last time I was this close to him. Jeez. I think he could have palmed my head.
"And how are we feeling today, Mr. Maximoff?" he rumbled at me. The sound was deafening after twenty minutes of listening to that machine beep at me. I swallowed a couple times. My throat was really, really dry.
"I don't know yet. How are we?" I croaked back. I must have let a little grumpiness into my voice, because his smile wilted around the edges. Good. I couldn't think of a single reason to be nice to anyone who could patch me up and forget to reattach my freakin' legs. His huge hand reached past my head and I flinched. Darn it. He patted my shoulder.
"All things considered, you're doing pretty well."
I took a sip from the bottle of Gatorade he produced from somewhere behind me and nearly gagged. Ugh. It was the blue stuff. I hate the blue stuff. He chuckled.
"Little dry?"
I cleared my throat.
"Yeah, just a little."
He chuckled again. That sound was really starting to grate on my nerves.
"Really, Pietro, how do you feel?"
I considered that for a moment. Now that I thought about it, I was actually feeling pretty decent. Well, ok, the legs were still numb. Other than that, however, I just felt dry and sore.
My stomach growled and the sound was huge in the quiet room. We both stared down at my midsection and I realized suddenly why the room felt drafty.
"Uh, where are my clothes?"
"In the closet, of course," Hank told me. He was poking buttons on one of the machines near the bed. "Lance and Scott went over to that pit you call a boarding house a couple days ago and packed everything up." That was news. Not the part about the Brotherhood house being a pit - that was pretty much right on the mark - but that Lance and Scott had done anything together. I'd have to make a point of asking Lance about that.
"Lance is ok?" I asked, trying not to sound too concerned. Last time I'd seen him, he'd been tied up with a steel bar with that toxic crap running through his veins. Magneto had been on the verge of taking him and my sister away to who-knows-where when the X-Men had come to the rescue. Just like the cavalry. Heh.
"He's fine, just fine. So is Wanda," Hank said over his shoulder. He finished whatever he was doing and turned back to me. "How's dinner sound?"
My stomach growled again. "Sounds fine, I guess."
He grinned at me, flashing those huge fangs. Man, that was creepy.
"Fast or slow?" he asked. I looked down where he pointed at the bandages holding the needles in place. Ick.
"Fast. Ow!" I rubbed my forearm. "Could I please have some clothing?"
Call me a prude, but I didn't feel like flashing my bare, skinny ass at this guy. I winced as he pulled the last of the IVs out of my arms. Man, that hurt. Now I know why I hate getting shots. Heck. Considering that big one my father tried to give me, I think I could live without getting stuck again. Like, ever.
Hank disappeared behind me for a minute or two. I felt the sheets move as a t-shirt and jeans landed on the bed, followed quickly by underclothes. It felt really weird not to feel the weight of the fabric on my legs. That was going to take a lot of getting used to.
"You need help," he asked with a gesture at the clothes. I glared at him in reply and he got the point. He left the room, closing the door behind him. I waited until he was out of the window before I threw the covers back.
I can only imagine the look on my face, but it probably resembled that of a frog. My eyes nearly popped out of my head and I turned quite green. My chest and stomach were a mass of bruises, which stretched to eternity down my body. The only interruption was a wide bandage fastened around my middle, about an inch above my navel. I poked at that, wincing as my tender muscles protested.
I dimly remembered that redheaded doctor telling me that my spinal cord had been bruised and not completely severed. That probably explained why I still had feeling down to my groin. She'd told me this during one of the few lucid moments I'd had during the last, what, day? Week? How long had I been down here, anyway?
Well, if the color of the bruises were any indication, at least a week, probably more. Crap. Time flies when you're having feverish hallucinations.
My legs looked just as bad. I have very pale skin to begin. It looked like someone had spilled tempura paint all over me from my knees to my neck. The bruising was just that vivid and ugly.
I swallowed hard and struggled forever until I was in a sitting position. I never knew just how hard that was when you couldn't use your legs for leverage. Xavier probably had years more practice, but this couldn't get any easier. I felt tired just worming around to the point where I could sit on my own.
The wall behind me felt cool, like a wet towel draped over my back. It felt quite good, actually. There was a padded sensation low on my back. I reached around and felt more padding. Oh God, that's right. The needle had driven right through me.
I blinked back tears and groped for the t-shirt. Pulling it over my head, I shrugged my shoulders to settle it. Ache, ache, ache. Jeez. Maybe I could convince the big furball outside the room to give me a painkiller.
Getting everything else settled into place was a little more difficult. I finally had to grab and drag my legs closer to the rest of me using both hands. They were so heavy, like leaden weights or one of Fred's sandwiches. I'd have to make a point of asking about Fred and Todd when I got out of here.
The underwear was uncomfortable. I'm just not a whitey-tighty kind of guy, you know? Have to admit that the little 'x' in a circle right over the crotch was a little over to top, too. The struggle to get it worked up my useless legs took a long time. I hate to admit it, but I was worn out after getting that far. It just wasn't freakin' fair! Why did this kind of crap always happen to people like me! I couldn't even get the jeans on.
I just couldn't handle this bull any longer. I slumped against the wall, and couldn't hold back the tears any longer. I needed to run! I had to keep moving. Lying unconscious in a hospital bed was one thing, especially if I was doped up to the eyeballs just to keep from moving. But to be awake and aware and not be able to even get my pants on? That was just too much.
The door creaked open again and I didn't care. I smelled perfume and felt someone sit on the edge of the bed. That Scottish doctor. She wrapped her arm around my shoulder, pulling me forward to lean against her own. I just lost it at that point.
"I know it's too much to handle, ye wee dear," she whispered in my ear, stroking my hair, rubbing my back. No kidding, lady. If her words were meant to be a comfort, she needed more practice. I took what I could get, though, and cried myself dry.
Eventually I pulled away, wiping the last traces of tears from my eyes and snorting heartily. Ah, at least the old nose still works, I thought. The woman adjusted her glasses and picked up the jeans from where I'd let them fall across my legs.
"There's a trick t' this," she said as if I hadn't just embarrassed myself. She scrunched the material up and slipped them over my feet. "Ever heard the phrase, 'everyone puts their trousers on one leg at a time'?"
I nodded, sniffing again.
"Well, ye don't do that n' more. It's a lot easier t' tug them up both a' once. Scoot forward," she said. Between the two of us, I moved away from the wall. She gently pressed me back into the pillow so I was sort of half propped-up. I watched as she drew the jeans up my legs. She made it look so easy I couldn't help but be envious. How many times had she done this in the past? For Xavier, maybe?
I had to stop her at a certain point, though. Someone had done their homework and made sure I had button-fly tan Levi's. When she reached for the button to do up the crotch, I stopped her.
"Um, I think I can manage it from here."
She didn't so much as bat an eye, just stood up and walked out. Thank God for small miracles.
I buttoned the jeans in a hurry, flexing my power just a bit. It didn't hurt at all to move quickly. Wow. That couldn't be right. I looked over to where the redhead was still on her way out the door. Could it? To test this theory, I kept my eye on her and unbuttoned the jeans. Then I fastened them again. And repeated the process several more times before she actually left the room.
Sweet! I did a little dance (well, ok, as best I could with only my upper body) and exulted at my success.
"You done showin' off?"
I jerked my head up, feeling a slow flush creep above the collar of the t-shirt. Logan stood framed in the doorway. I must have jerked involuntarily, but I did my best to cover the movement. Instead, I assumed a haughty expression.
"Just testing my power. I'm still the fastest man alive," I said, carefully studying my fingernails. I'd have to make a point of cleaning them, actually.
The big man chuckled and the sound made me shudder.
"Good," he said, with a wave at my unbuttoned jeans. I blushed again. "You've got little enough else to be proud of."
"Hey!" Well, really! How rude can you get?
"Logan!" Woohoo! Saved by the doctor.again. This was getting to be a habit.
Logan snickered and moved out of the doorway, crossing his arms to lean against the frame. Doctor MacTaggart, for that's what it said on her nametag, wheeled a snazzy wheelchair into the room, parking it by the bed. It looked like something out of a sci-fi flick, or maybe a comic book. In fact, it looked just like the one Xavier usually cruised around in. I peered a little closer at it.
"What, I don't rate a motorized one?" I laughed as I said it. Motor or not, at least it looked cool. Logan rolled his eyes at me.
"Yer on the scrawny side, boyo," the doctor said. She looked at a char tucked under her arm. "Five-foot-five and barely over seven stone." Seven what? I must have said that out loud. "Yer hardly over a hundred pounds," she told me somewhat sternly. Ok, so I was a bit underfed. So what?
"Once yer feeling a little stronger, you'll be able to wheel this yerself. Tha' should put a bit of meat on yer bones." Oh. That made sense. Beats working out in the gym, I guess.
Logan stepped forward. "We'll teach you how to get in and out of this thing later," he told me in a matter-of-fact voice. Before I could object, he scooped me up as though I weighed nothing. I suppose, in light of the fact that his biceps were as big around as my waist, I probably felt like a rag doll. A moment later, he had me settled in the chair. Doctor MacTaggart knelt and slipped my feet into something soft before making sure they were securely in place. I looked down.
"Bunny slippers. How cute."
Doctor MacTaggart just smiled at me. Logan moved around behind the chair and I felt his hands gripping the handles. He leaned over and I peered up at him. The grin on his face was somewhat unsettling, but I managed a faint one of my own.
"Hank said yer hungry."
Right. Food. My stomach growled yet again and I sighed.
"You might say that."
And with that, Doctor MacTaggart led our little party out of the sickroom. For the first time since before that fight with my father, I actually felt like the world wasn't going to blow up in my face. I was relatively clean, more or less in decent health and mostly clothed. Food was next on the schedule and then maybe I'd get to go outside for a while.
Oh yeah, life was looking up.
------
To Be Continued.
Author's Note:
Greetings.
Don't bother me about characterization. There is a method to my madness. Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the story. And leave reviews. Non- profit fanfic authors thrive on the buggers. Since we obviously don't charge for these, we settle for basking in reader reviews.
Synopsis:
Pietro slowly recovers from his spinal injury during the late fight with Magneto and his allies. It's slow going as the Professor and the rest of the faculty and students try to integrate the remains of the Brotherhood into their world. Our favorite speedster learns some lessons along the way.
Alternate Universe. Set after the events of 'Speed Limits,' my previous flick. Later chapters will occur simultaneously with 'Queen's Side Castle.' If you haven't read 'Speed Limits,' then you'll end up scratching your head. A lot.
Disclaimer:
I don't own any of these characters. If I did, it wouldn't be a cartoon. It'd be a WB show starring a horde of really attractive people with a special guest appearance by Patrick Stewart as Xavier. And I'd also be rich, as X-Men is a big franchise.
Instead, I'll settle for borrowing these folks for a little action, adventure, romance, drama, comedy and the rest. Seems only fair.
Cheers.
Jack
------
Blink.
I stared up at the ceiling, caught in that hazy twilight between sleep and wakefulness. White tiles filled my vision. This wasn't the Brotherhood house, unless someone had knocked over a bank and paid for renovations. I wouldn't put that past Todd, but it probably hadn't happened. Besides, if the house had been worked on, I'm sure they'd have gotten rid of that god-awful draft. I yawned and tried to sit up when it hit me.
I couldn't feel my legs.
Yeah, I panicked. Sue me. I stared down my body, seeing my legs outlined against the sheets. Ok, calm down, I told myself. You can still run. I was breathing really fast, on the verge of hyperventilating. It took an act of will I wasn't sure I had to slow my breaths down to something resembling normal. I'd worry about the strange room when I figured out what was wrong with my legs.
I tried to reach out and feel them, make sure they were real legs, but my arms were restrained. No, I wasn't tied up, thank you very much, but there were a lot of tubes sticking into my skin. Lots of needles.
Needles.
I felt a scream building and had to choke it down. It left a bad taste in my mouth. I remembered now why I couldn't feel my legs. My father had shoved a huge hypodermic through my gut. My own father! I lay back against the pillows, glaring at the ceiling tiles. All right, in all fairness, he hadn't been aiming at ME. I just happened to get in his way. Big surprise, I guess.
He'd been aiming at Kurt and Logan. If it had just been Logan he'd been trying to stick, I'd have probably let him. Even the Brotherhood knows that Logan can heal just about anything. But Kurt didn't have that ability. What was that fool thinking, shielding Logan with his own body? Why did I do such a stupid thing?
And why do I feel like it was the right thing?
I pondered this for a few minutes, counting the tiles again. The only noise in the room was a steady beeping from one of those heart monitors you see in a hospital. This wasn't a hospital, though. The room didn't have a single window except for the one out to the hallway. I had a pretty good idea that I was underground. Was I with Xavier's geeks? Taking charity from baldy wasn't my cup of tea, so I started looking around for a button or whatever you use to call a nurse with.
No luck. I fought down the urge to panic again, but a really pathetic squeak came out anyway. Darn it, Pietro. You can do better than that. Be strong! That's all Dad ever wanted you to do anyway. The sound echoed through the room.
Must have been a really loud squeak, now that I think about it, because that big furry guy (Hank?) poked his head into the window frame and raised his eyebrows at me. I gave him a little finger wave. Why on Earth was he smiling like that? Doesn't he know that he's got fangs the size of my thumbs?
There's a question I'd have to ask. Did they just prop the Beast up on the porch at Halloween to scare off trick-or-treaters?
He opened the door and walked up to the bed. I don't remember him being this big last time I was this close to him. Jeez. I think he could have palmed my head.
"And how are we feeling today, Mr. Maximoff?" he rumbled at me. The sound was deafening after twenty minutes of listening to that machine beep at me. I swallowed a couple times. My throat was really, really dry.
"I don't know yet. How are we?" I croaked back. I must have let a little grumpiness into my voice, because his smile wilted around the edges. Good. I couldn't think of a single reason to be nice to anyone who could patch me up and forget to reattach my freakin' legs. His huge hand reached past my head and I flinched. Darn it. He patted my shoulder.
"All things considered, you're doing pretty well."
I took a sip from the bottle of Gatorade he produced from somewhere behind me and nearly gagged. Ugh. It was the blue stuff. I hate the blue stuff. He chuckled.
"Little dry?"
I cleared my throat.
"Yeah, just a little."
He chuckled again. That sound was really starting to grate on my nerves.
"Really, Pietro, how do you feel?"
I considered that for a moment. Now that I thought about it, I was actually feeling pretty decent. Well, ok, the legs were still numb. Other than that, however, I just felt dry and sore.
My stomach growled and the sound was huge in the quiet room. We both stared down at my midsection and I realized suddenly why the room felt drafty.
"Uh, where are my clothes?"
"In the closet, of course," Hank told me. He was poking buttons on one of the machines near the bed. "Lance and Scott went over to that pit you call a boarding house a couple days ago and packed everything up." That was news. Not the part about the Brotherhood house being a pit - that was pretty much right on the mark - but that Lance and Scott had done anything together. I'd have to make a point of asking Lance about that.
"Lance is ok?" I asked, trying not to sound too concerned. Last time I'd seen him, he'd been tied up with a steel bar with that toxic crap running through his veins. Magneto had been on the verge of taking him and my sister away to who-knows-where when the X-Men had come to the rescue. Just like the cavalry. Heh.
"He's fine, just fine. So is Wanda," Hank said over his shoulder. He finished whatever he was doing and turned back to me. "How's dinner sound?"
My stomach growled again. "Sounds fine, I guess."
He grinned at me, flashing those huge fangs. Man, that was creepy.
"Fast or slow?" he asked. I looked down where he pointed at the bandages holding the needles in place. Ick.
"Fast. Ow!" I rubbed my forearm. "Could I please have some clothing?"
Call me a prude, but I didn't feel like flashing my bare, skinny ass at this guy. I winced as he pulled the last of the IVs out of my arms. Man, that hurt. Now I know why I hate getting shots. Heck. Considering that big one my father tried to give me, I think I could live without getting stuck again. Like, ever.
Hank disappeared behind me for a minute or two. I felt the sheets move as a t-shirt and jeans landed on the bed, followed quickly by underclothes. It felt really weird not to feel the weight of the fabric on my legs. That was going to take a lot of getting used to.
"You need help," he asked with a gesture at the clothes. I glared at him in reply and he got the point. He left the room, closing the door behind him. I waited until he was out of the window before I threw the covers back.
I can only imagine the look on my face, but it probably resembled that of a frog. My eyes nearly popped out of my head and I turned quite green. My chest and stomach were a mass of bruises, which stretched to eternity down my body. The only interruption was a wide bandage fastened around my middle, about an inch above my navel. I poked at that, wincing as my tender muscles protested.
I dimly remembered that redheaded doctor telling me that my spinal cord had been bruised and not completely severed. That probably explained why I still had feeling down to my groin. She'd told me this during one of the few lucid moments I'd had during the last, what, day? Week? How long had I been down here, anyway?
Well, if the color of the bruises were any indication, at least a week, probably more. Crap. Time flies when you're having feverish hallucinations.
My legs looked just as bad. I have very pale skin to begin. It looked like someone had spilled tempura paint all over me from my knees to my neck. The bruising was just that vivid and ugly.
I swallowed hard and struggled forever until I was in a sitting position. I never knew just how hard that was when you couldn't use your legs for leverage. Xavier probably had years more practice, but this couldn't get any easier. I felt tired just worming around to the point where I could sit on my own.
The wall behind me felt cool, like a wet towel draped over my back. It felt quite good, actually. There was a padded sensation low on my back. I reached around and felt more padding. Oh God, that's right. The needle had driven right through me.
I blinked back tears and groped for the t-shirt. Pulling it over my head, I shrugged my shoulders to settle it. Ache, ache, ache. Jeez. Maybe I could convince the big furball outside the room to give me a painkiller.
Getting everything else settled into place was a little more difficult. I finally had to grab and drag my legs closer to the rest of me using both hands. They were so heavy, like leaden weights or one of Fred's sandwiches. I'd have to make a point of asking about Fred and Todd when I got out of here.
The underwear was uncomfortable. I'm just not a whitey-tighty kind of guy, you know? Have to admit that the little 'x' in a circle right over the crotch was a little over to top, too. The struggle to get it worked up my useless legs took a long time. I hate to admit it, but I was worn out after getting that far. It just wasn't freakin' fair! Why did this kind of crap always happen to people like me! I couldn't even get the jeans on.
I just couldn't handle this bull any longer. I slumped against the wall, and couldn't hold back the tears any longer. I needed to run! I had to keep moving. Lying unconscious in a hospital bed was one thing, especially if I was doped up to the eyeballs just to keep from moving. But to be awake and aware and not be able to even get my pants on? That was just too much.
The door creaked open again and I didn't care. I smelled perfume and felt someone sit on the edge of the bed. That Scottish doctor. She wrapped her arm around my shoulder, pulling me forward to lean against her own. I just lost it at that point.
"I know it's too much to handle, ye wee dear," she whispered in my ear, stroking my hair, rubbing my back. No kidding, lady. If her words were meant to be a comfort, she needed more practice. I took what I could get, though, and cried myself dry.
Eventually I pulled away, wiping the last traces of tears from my eyes and snorting heartily. Ah, at least the old nose still works, I thought. The woman adjusted her glasses and picked up the jeans from where I'd let them fall across my legs.
"There's a trick t' this," she said as if I hadn't just embarrassed myself. She scrunched the material up and slipped them over my feet. "Ever heard the phrase, 'everyone puts their trousers on one leg at a time'?"
I nodded, sniffing again.
"Well, ye don't do that n' more. It's a lot easier t' tug them up both a' once. Scoot forward," she said. Between the two of us, I moved away from the wall. She gently pressed me back into the pillow so I was sort of half propped-up. I watched as she drew the jeans up my legs. She made it look so easy I couldn't help but be envious. How many times had she done this in the past? For Xavier, maybe?
I had to stop her at a certain point, though. Someone had done their homework and made sure I had button-fly tan Levi's. When she reached for the button to do up the crotch, I stopped her.
"Um, I think I can manage it from here."
She didn't so much as bat an eye, just stood up and walked out. Thank God for small miracles.
I buttoned the jeans in a hurry, flexing my power just a bit. It didn't hurt at all to move quickly. Wow. That couldn't be right. I looked over to where the redhead was still on her way out the door. Could it? To test this theory, I kept my eye on her and unbuttoned the jeans. Then I fastened them again. And repeated the process several more times before she actually left the room.
Sweet! I did a little dance (well, ok, as best I could with only my upper body) and exulted at my success.
"You done showin' off?"
I jerked my head up, feeling a slow flush creep above the collar of the t-shirt. Logan stood framed in the doorway. I must have jerked involuntarily, but I did my best to cover the movement. Instead, I assumed a haughty expression.
"Just testing my power. I'm still the fastest man alive," I said, carefully studying my fingernails. I'd have to make a point of cleaning them, actually.
The big man chuckled and the sound made me shudder.
"Good," he said, with a wave at my unbuttoned jeans. I blushed again. "You've got little enough else to be proud of."
"Hey!" Well, really! How rude can you get?
"Logan!" Woohoo! Saved by the doctor.again. This was getting to be a habit.
Logan snickered and moved out of the doorway, crossing his arms to lean against the frame. Doctor MacTaggart, for that's what it said on her nametag, wheeled a snazzy wheelchair into the room, parking it by the bed. It looked like something out of a sci-fi flick, or maybe a comic book. In fact, it looked just like the one Xavier usually cruised around in. I peered a little closer at it.
"What, I don't rate a motorized one?" I laughed as I said it. Motor or not, at least it looked cool. Logan rolled his eyes at me.
"Yer on the scrawny side, boyo," the doctor said. She looked at a char tucked under her arm. "Five-foot-five and barely over seven stone." Seven what? I must have said that out loud. "Yer hardly over a hundred pounds," she told me somewhat sternly. Ok, so I was a bit underfed. So what?
"Once yer feeling a little stronger, you'll be able to wheel this yerself. Tha' should put a bit of meat on yer bones." Oh. That made sense. Beats working out in the gym, I guess.
Logan stepped forward. "We'll teach you how to get in and out of this thing later," he told me in a matter-of-fact voice. Before I could object, he scooped me up as though I weighed nothing. I suppose, in light of the fact that his biceps were as big around as my waist, I probably felt like a rag doll. A moment later, he had me settled in the chair. Doctor MacTaggart knelt and slipped my feet into something soft before making sure they were securely in place. I looked down.
"Bunny slippers. How cute."
Doctor MacTaggart just smiled at me. Logan moved around behind the chair and I felt his hands gripping the handles. He leaned over and I peered up at him. The grin on his face was somewhat unsettling, but I managed a faint one of my own.
"Hank said yer hungry."
Right. Food. My stomach growled yet again and I sighed.
"You might say that."
And with that, Doctor MacTaggart led our little party out of the sickroom. For the first time since before that fight with my father, I actually felt like the world wasn't going to blow up in my face. I was relatively clean, more or less in decent health and mostly clothed. Food was next on the schedule and then maybe I'd get to go outside for a while.
Oh yeah, life was looking up.
------
To Be Continued.