[A/N:] Since I've decided to make a short series of one-shots related to "Fragility", they'll all go here. Please R&R!
This one's called "Adventures in Insomnia" and is Elise's POV between chapters 5 and 6.
Oh god. The blood's everywhere. He's pale as a sheet and fading fast.
I hold his fingers, careful to stay clear of his knuckles, "Stay awake Logan, C'mon, you can do it. Stay awake-"
He collapses back onto his pillow and closes his eyes.
"Logan? Guys, I need help!" Tears cloud my vision.
He's dying. Ohmygodhe'sdying.
"John, help me move him. There we go. Easy does it." Hank says.
Xavier follows them. I just try and stay outta the way.
I wrap my arms around myself – as if that helps anything – and close my eyes.
Logan's gonna die. He's gonna die and I can't help and he won't come back and I'll be alone and-
The sudden closeness of Ororo's voice damn near makes me jump out of my own skin "He'll be all right, don't worry." Until my eyes shoot open, I don't realize she has her arms wrapped around me. Don't feel it at all until she hugs me tightly.
"He's in good hands."
Her words are a little comforting, but I still want- need- to go downstairs and see him. The second Ororo lets go, I bolt for the nearest elevator. If the adrenaline rush hadn't numbed me, I prob'ly wouln'ta made it that far.
Despite having only slept for about four hours in the past forty-eight, I couldn't be more awake. My heart pounds in my ears and I'm half-tempted to run down the stairs until I need to use the elevator to reach the subbasement. The things run too damn slow. But the voice of reason says I know I'll regret it later.
"Move faster, dammit!" I yell, about to kick the elevator doors. As if obeying my threat, they open.
Before they're fully open, I'm already halfway down the hall. There's a trail of blood drops leading to the medlab. My hand's covered in more of it. My chest tightens. I feel dizzy. Have to stop, hold the wall.
I cough loud and hard. It feels like I snorted shards'a glass and 'm trying to get rid of 'em.
Hafta gasp for air when I'm done. Gasp and breathe heavy for a bit. I glare at the door like it's its fault for being so damn far away.
I'm doing this, dammit and I ain't about to let some stupid sick feelings stop me. Finally, I make it to the door. I press my hand to the scanner and the door opens.
Logan's on one of the beds. Xavier's using surgical glue on the wounds and Hank's wrapping up his other hand. John's grabbing stuff for them. The monitor's freaking out over Logan's vitals.
"Warning: Weak pulse. BP 58 over 46"
Shit! That's bad, that's real bad.
Please be okay. Please be okay. God, Buddha, Ra or whoever you are, if you exist you've sure as hell never listened to me before, but dammit please let him be okay.
Hank grabs IV bags full of blood and saline. He cleans off the inside of Logan's elbow. He pulls the cap off the needle and the room shifts.
"Strap it down."
I struggle as hard as I can against the restraints. Can't let them hurt me aga-
Before I can finish the thought, one of the masked figures stabs my arm with a syringe full of enough paralytic to kill an elephant. My scream is muffled and painful from the breathing tube. I still feel everything as they dissect me like a frog. Can't struggle, can't scream, forced to watch.
Another day, same place.
Groggy as hell. Hate that feeling. Room spinning.
"Administer the vector virus."
"Yes Dr. Creemin."
All of a sudden, I feel needles stabbing me. Some really fucking huge one goes into my thigh bone. Can't scream. All I can muster is a pathetic whimper. They use more and more. My whole body burns as my healing factor kicks into hyper-drive. Temperature rises, so does pain.
Make it stop, please God make it stop.
It won't. Every square inch of me's in agony and it's getting worse. They keep making it worse.
"Elise."
The heart monitor lets everyone know I'm in pain. No one cares.
Someone runs in, "Weapon X escaped! Bolt the doors!"
"Elise?"
Through the pain, I notice lingering on the man is an oddly familiar scent.
My stomach twists. Too familiar.
"Nooo!" I howl.
"Elise? Elise, are you okay?" John asks.
I'm sitting on the floor shaking like I got Parkinson's. Breathing too fast. Heart pounding in my ears. "Huh? Oh. Yeah. 'M fine. H-how's Logan?"
"The bleeding's been halted and his blood pressure is returning to normal," Hank says. "The crisis has been averted. You may return to bed if you wish."
I don't. "I'm staying here."
Hank nods, pulls a chair by Logan's bed for me, and starts doing something on his tablet. Looks like he's drawing, maybe. Xavier says goodnight to everyone and leaves. John just stands by my chair.
"I'm fine, really. You can go to bed if you want."
He nods and kneels down to kiss me.
"Oh, could you bring me some books, though?" Because I really feel like shit and "The elevator and I had words earlier."
But mostly because I feel like shit and don't wanna get up again.
"Sure, any preference?"
"Anything but the medical dictionary," I groan.
He gives me a gentle smile and goes upstairs.
I rest my head in my arms on the side of the bed.
"Hank, how long's he gonna be out?"
"Difficult to say," He strokes his fur-covered chin. "A few hours at the least, but could be much longer. However, the good news is his vitals are improving rapidly."
I sigh, "Okay."
I watch Logan's chest move as he breathes. Stretching out from his back I see one of the biggest and most vibrant bruises I've ever seen. Though it seems his entire body is coated with them, including the one around his eye starting to turn green, and he's still so pale, he looks so peaceful. Well, at least not in pain or having nightmares. Which, by my estimation, is a step in the right direction.
I rest my face by his shoulder. As I think on it, I've done something sorta like this, over a century ago.
I was young, about six, and woke up from a nightmare. I found him sitting on the porch shaving away at a stick with a knife. He stopped what he was doing and looked up to see me tear-soaked and clutching a well-loved doll.
"What's wrong, Lizzy?" He asked.
"Had a bad dream," I sniffled.
He didn't ask me what about; back then it was the same every time. My first distinct memory was of waking up to loud noises one night and toddling over to my mother's room, only to find my dad's, my mother's, and the gardener's (whom I found out later may have been Logan and my father) gory corpses on the floor. It took me many years to piece together what had happened, since Logan never talked about it and, I suspect, may have forgotten completely shortly after we left that house. I still have nightmares about it, occasionally.
"C'mere," he said and gestured.
I climbed up next to him and he pulled me into a warm, secure hug and stroked my curly auburn hair. Shortly thereafter, I'd fallen asleep curled up next to him.
Besides Logan's memories, I think the thing I most miss is being able to feel someone's warmth. Dulled or absent skin-pain I can totally deal with. But feeling like I'm trapped in glass, unable to feel most-all temperature or gentle touches is torture. You'd never know how important shoulder rubs and stuff are until you can't feel them.
Back to the present, John's here with a large stack of books. Hank appears to have left. Wonder where he went?
I hear John kiss me on the cheek so I turn around.
"Will these do?" he motions to the stack next to me.
"Yes, thank you."
He takes my hand and kisses it, "Anything for you, m'lady."
I smile back to him. "Oh, now I know ya need rest," I tease.
What time is it, anyway? I glance at the clock. 2:38? Yeesh!
Smile gone, he's all seriousness now, "So do you. And our bed has to be more comfortable than one of those chairs."
"I don't intend to sleep here. I'll come up at some point, okay?"
"Okay," he says. By his expression I know he'll hold me to that. "I love you. "
"Love ya, too."
He leaves, and I finish rereading "Macbeh", "A Tale of two Cities", "Much Ado about Nothing", and get about halfway through the collection of poems by Edgar Allen Poe. To be fair, I've read them so many times I really only skim the pages.
I get bored with reading and decide t' sit outside for a bit. When I open the door, Hank pokes his head out of his lab.
"I see you're still awake," he says.
"I could say the same."
"Heading off to bed?"
"No, but I ain't leaving the grounds so don't worry 'bout it."
"Are you going to come back down here?"
"Prob'ly," I say.
I do have my books down here. Plus, my phone's dead so I can't play Fruit Ninja an Angry Birds for a few more hours.
He nods and lets me do whatever it is I'm doing. Oh! I was gonna go outside for a bit. I hop in the elevator and press the button for ground floor.
Ugggh. Everything hurts! Maybe I shoulda just stayed put and kept reading. Remember, genius, hindsight is always 20 freakin'20. Luckily, I have my 'scrips in my jacket pockets. I check the label. Been long'nough since I took it last so I take a dose out and try to swallow it.
So apparently dry mouth plus dry-swallowing equals pills sticking inside mouth and gagging. Okay. But why the fuck does it taste so bad?!
Doors open and I scoot over to the restroom to take a swig outta the sink. Manage to swallow the vile stuff and promptly start coughing.
Soon as I'm done, I blurt, "'Sugar-coated' my ass!"
You fucking dumbass. So. Glad. No one. Saw that.
I wander over to the back doors and slip out. The sky's still black and the stars're out, but just over the horizon is a bright red-orange streak. I sit on a stone bench for a few minutes to wait for the pain meds to start kicking in, and then I truck it over to the nearest patch of forest.
I take off my shoes and socks for a moment. Not that it does much for the sensation of the looming morning, but it just feels right.
A doe's eyes shine through the brush. She sees me, and quickly darts the other way. A distant bird sings a sad song, like he's mourning the night and lamenting the start of a new day. Dawn shines through the trees, creating a brilliant silhouette, contrasting fiery scarlet with soft and seductive black.
It seems like the light and darkness are forever at war. Morning is gaining ground, and will win this battle – for now. And then night will overtake it again when morning least expects it.
I look down to see a thin branch and some scattered feathers. An idea sparks so I quickly throw on my shoes and socks and gather them. I go back inside quick as I can without causing too much pain and find the old leather bootlaces I'd since replaced but haven't yet thrown away. I bend the branch to make a small loop and secure it with some of the lace. I make a design in the center with the rest of one and use the other to make strings to attach the feathers to. Proud of my handiwork, I go back to the subbasement.
Before I can sit back down, Logan stirs.
Excited, I nearly sing "Good morning, sleeping beauty."
Expecting to get a huff or some snide remark, I'm thrown off when he slurs so bad you'd think his tongue wasn't on right. "Hey 'Lise"
His pupils are dilated and he looks distant. Lo and behold, over on the counter is an empty vial of one of those magical narcotic -ines.
I smile at him. "Hank sure didn't skimp on the post-stitches narcotics. You, big brother, are stoned," I giggle.
He returns with an incredibly goofy grin, "R'lly?"
It's real hard not to laugh at him like this, but somehow I manage.
"Oh yes," I put a hand on his shoulder. "Big time, get some rest."
He looks confused, like he doesn't understand, "Why donchu?"
I hold in a sigh, "Can't, not one bit all night."
Kinda wish I could sleep. Wait. Sleep… Aha!
I put the dreamcatcher on his bed. "Oh, and I made this. Sweet dreams."
"G'night," he whispers as he drifts back to sleep. I kiss his forehead and leave for Hank's lab.
"Hey Hank, Logan's fine but he's stoned out of his brains," I say as I walk in. "Also, I'm bored."
He looks at the clock and turns back to me. "You could go to sleep. It's nearly-"
"It's dawn. I checked."
I sit on one of the empty counters. He open his mouth as if he's about to say something, probably something about me sitting on the counter when there's a chair a few feet away. But he doesn't. He just goes back to what he was doing.
So, so bored. I swing my legs over the edge of the counter then start taping the beat to an obscure song on the counter, filling up the dead silence.
Oh, Idea! What if I come up with crazy shit and pretend to be totally serious about it. Hank's reactions are amusing sometimes. Peoples' reactions are usually amusing in general.
"Hey Hank, if, under normal conditions, Logan or I were to drink some crazy obscene amount of alcohol, would our blood be flammable?"
Hank stops what he's doing and cocks his head. After a second, he turns around.
His expression is absolutely priceless. Totally worth it. He hasn't even said a word yet and I'm already laughing hysterically - on the inside.
"That is entirely impossible," he says.
Faking denial the best I can, "Give me 3 reasons."
"For starters, alcohol itself is not flammable, only the vapors."
"So, what you're telling me is, if we boil it first we'll have a huge fireball?" I ask, stroking my chin.
By now, he seems to realize that I'm only messing around and relaxes his stance. I even manage a smirk out of him.
"That brings me to the second reason: if by 'normal conditions' you meant you had your healing factor, your body would have ways to counteract the alcohol before it made too much of a presence in your bloodstream. There simply wouldn't be a high enough concentration."
"But what if I didn't mean that?"
"Then you would die of alcohol poisoning...?"
I throw my hands up and grin, "great! All I need now is to find another 'a' thing to die from and I'll have a die-fecta. Is aluminum poisonous? Oh, wait, I know! Absinthe!" I laugh.
Hank quirks an eyebrow, "Your sleep deprivation is becoming more and more obvious. Colloquially, you're getting -"
I cut him off, giggling," Punchy? As in, someone spiked the punch?" I bust out laughing again.
He puts a hand on my shoulder, "the situation necessitates me to retrieve an item from the office of the medlab. Leaving the area would be contraindicated."
I blink, "Whoda what now?"
He sighs and looks me in the eye - hey, that rhymes! "Stay put."
He leaves me all alone and suddenly I decide to follow him. He's already looking for something in the office, reading papers and such.
I wander around the med lab and start talking. I don't care to whom. "At this point, I'm starting to think I gained a new super power: never. Sleeping. Ever! I mean, it's not like I really feel worse from not sleeping. Everything's freakin hilarious. Really the only bad part is how bored I am at weird hours. Though, last time I was this bored I ended up hiding Scott's costume and replacing it with a fluorescent pink one. That was funny, but I don't need a repeat."
I walk back and forth between the isles of glass cabinets. "Okay class, how will things end when you have a hyper feral who's now told not to do stuff? That's right, horribly. Being sick sucks."
A bottle of Nyquil catches my eye and I open the cabinet, take it out. "Maybe I should try and deal with this no-sleepy thing. Nyquil knocks you out, right? Okay, if you weigh more than - okay, well I weigh about 160-ish on days when I haven't had half my flesh ripped off by something unimaginable, so let's go with that."
I pour the appropriate dosage, "Bottoms - huh?!"
The medicine cup thingy is now a different medicine cup thingy and it has pills in it now!
"My dear, these over the counter remedies are doing more harm than good. I have formulated this-"
"Oh my god, it's the pill fairy!" I snort with laughter.
"I shall explain this further at a later date. For now, however, you are in dire need of some rest," he says, giving me a cup of water.
He starts leading me to the elevator. When the door closes I stare at the pills.
"You should take them now," he says.
They look icky. "Hank, these wouldn't happen to taste bad, would they?"
"No. Why?"
I swallow them. "No reason."
Scott is up and walking around on my floor. I bear hug him and say, "Good morning, sunshine! I'm goin'a bed. Just thought you should know."
Hank has his hand on my shoulder again and leads me to my room. When we get there, he wakes up John. I flop into bed.
"I need you to watch her. The sleeping pills I gave her should take effect in a few-"
THE END.
A/N:
...Seconds, apparently.
And for those who were wondering, yes. That is why the trypanophobia.