Havok in Vietnam
Chapter Two - November 12th, 1972
They'd been trying to recapture Binh Dinh, and more specifically, Quong Tri. But by the end of September, they'd lost the battles, Quong Tri lay in rubble, and Alex Summers lay in a hospital bed. He'd not intended to be here, really, when the crate of fireworks exploded around him, Alex would rather hoping that he'd face some flaming... no, glory wasn't the right word. Yet, neither was escape. He didn't know the word for it. But Alex hadn't intended to end up in a hospital bed, burns down his left side, covering almost half his torso and it even managed to scar his ass. Luckily, he'd managed to cover his face, and sleeves hid those burns on his arms. At least, his pretty face - if he'd ever stop frowning - was left in tact to scowl another day.
Everything was white and clean. He'd yelled at the nurses for long enough that they'd decided to wrap the curtain around his bed and leave him be. He didn't want to talk to anyone else anyway. There were other mutants out here, he'd seen them. Been forced to share a bunk house with them. Not that he minded. At least other mutants held a chance against him, should Havok ever of lost his temper. But it was happening less and less - he'd noticed. Somewhere between Charles' early faith in him and the violence of war all around him, Alex seemed to of found some kind of outlet. Instead, he was now just bitter. Like a harsh lemon or cold steel. His mind clean and slowly a furor bubbled away.
He didn't like being in the hospital bed. It stopped him from being out there, in the field. Stopped him from hurling cosmic energy back out at the enemy. Then again, to them, he was the enemy. War was complicated. Alex wasn't looking for some divine purpose. He wasn't looking to fight for his country. Really, Alex had no loyalty to them, but they served his interests, so for now, he'd stay.
It was snowing outside, and laying there, with a rock for a pillow underneath him, Alex felt colder than a polar bears nipple. Though predictable, he hated it. Slowly, painfully, he tried to shift under the sheets that rattled like plastic each time he moved. Those sheets were still and uncomfortable, Alex could of sworn they were made out of some kind of plastic he he hadn't seen one be torn apart in some other patient's fury. He supposed it saved on cleaning. Alex could of accused the nurses of being damn lazy if he didn't know any better. But he did know better, because every day they'd come in and check his bandages. Deliver Mail. Give him a bath. Usher him to the rec room. Usher him to the cafeteria. It was as military in here - this place of respite and relaxation - as it was out there, with drills and whistles and officers who liked to watch their split slide down your nose. It established dominance, in their eyes. Alex thought they were just assholes.
The blonde mutant craned his neck to try and let his blue eyes see above the curtain, to the clock. Perhaps if they got another pillow, he'd see it better. Perhaps if he wasn't so rude, they'd open the curtain. But the minute hand was getting closer to the hour, which meant he couldn't of been awake for too long. Between the Army and prison, Alex was an early riser - 8am was practically a lie-in. Falling back onto the pillow, Alex shut his eyes briefly and tried to remember the order of the day. Nurses made their rounds in shifts every half an hour. Two or three stayed at the desk to sleep or take in new arrivals, and one would take that half an hour walk around the ward, with his bed as one of the last stops. Alex was lucky, he supposed. At least he got to lay his head and marred body in a burns ward. Bullet wounds weren't the priority here. The nurses were better equipped to deal with infection and scarring. But the shuffling of shoes growing slowly louder meant that it was either the end of another rotation of rounds or...
Post.
A nurse walked in, eyes down and reading over the thin pile of brown envelopes held between her hands. She was new - or at least Alex hadn't seen her before. She was young - maybe a year or so younger than he. She was thin. Wearing a one of those white nurse dresses that didn't quite come to her knee... more like her middle thigh. Then again, she had legs as long as runway tracks, so maybe nothing fit her. What struck Alex as odd was the army jacket she had draped over her shoulders. It was like his - well, the one he had folded into a pile on top of the rest of his uniform in the cupboard - but it couldn't of been hers. Not unless her name was Blacker. The nurse lifted her head, tucked some of that white blonde hair out of her face - it should of been tied up anyway - and revealed to him a soft, makeup-less face that looked more asleep than it did awake. "You've got mail" she stated - though it was pretty obvious - before she held out her hand with the brown envelope.
"Thanks" was the half mumbled reply that she got from Alex, who all but snatched it out of her hand with an aggressive swipe of his hand. His eyes scanned the front, and the nurse offered him one last utterance before she left the room, dragging her feet back down the hall,
"That looks important, it's not a friendly letter" Alex was about to open his lips to give some variation of "no shit" but she was gone. The curtains were shut behind her and Havok was left alone with his thoughts and the brown letter - which had begun to feel particularly heavy in his hands.
He ripped it open in his hands, tearing through the top of the envelop to look at the faded paper that lingered within. Carelessly, the brown outer layer found itself on the floor, not three inches from the tin trash can. As he unfolded the letter, Alex could tell straight away who the letter was from: it was Hank. Considering that nerd had a furry blue monster lingering just centimeters from the surface, Hank sure did have writing neater than a goddamn typewriter. Alex's steely blue eyes scanned the writing;
Alex,
Hope you're doing well out there. Can't say that anything here is any better than since you left. Charles still drinks. The mansion lies in ruins.
Banshee is dead.
According to the official report, it was some kind of natural death. Whispers around here say otherwise. Charles refuses to openly acknowledge Sean's death, only continues to find his solace in whiskey. He won't confirm it, but we think Trask Industries were involved. Something big is coming, trust no one.
Hank.
Suddenly all that anger that Alex had felt bubbling and slowly stewing in his stomach was beginning to rear it's head. That furor in his bones was beginning to rise until an agonized, unintelligible scream was all that he could do to try and deal with those pangs of grief which began to stab their way through his chest. The nurse from before - Blacker - she pushed her way through the curtains, certainly more awake now that she had been. Alex thrashed in his bed, hitting his arms against the worn mattress before she wrapped bony fingers around his wrists, trying to pin him down.
Alex thrashed harder, and she pushed back against him with surprising force for a woman who looked like she hadn't eaten a hot meal in her life. Various mixtures of "shhhhh" spread from her lips as though he were a rowdy toddler, but had no luck in calming him. Alex's closed fist was alright with red energy - with his phasers set to stun - and then the nurse was pushed off of him, left to scramble and grab at the curtain to keep herself upright. The crimson flash of his powers had briefly lit up her white dress as though it'd been soaked in blood and left her blinded and dazed. Alex could see it in her eyes as she rose again, the softness in his face replaced by a scowl that was cold enough to match his own pained expression. But he didn't care. Shaking, shuddering breaths ripped through Alex's chest.
The nurse rose again from where she'd been holding her body weight against the curtain, staring with a burning irritation was she walked closer to him again - and either she wasn't afraid that outburst or was damn good at hiding any hesitation - before she crouched to pick up the brown envelope and move it back those three inches so it fell into the trash. The letter itself had turned to ash in his hands after that outburst, paper itself seemed less resilient than people even when Alex was trying to do minimal damage. But it didn't matter, those words in Hank's neat print were seared into Alex's mind and they would be until he finally got lucky enough to ascend from everything and be done with this shithole.
She stood to her full height, and there was a sarcasm and venom dripping from her tone as she asked him, "Do you need help with those ashes or can you tidy them yourself?"
Alex gave her a grunt in return, and turned his face away from her, so that he could stare pointedly into the white curtain and wait for her to leave. The nurse lingered, and took one small breath as though she would speak again. But silence, the unnatural kind that followed loud noises such as screaming or shell fire, was the only thing that washed through the ward; and then she was gone. The curtain was drawn with a pointed ring and Alex was left alone, again. As he always was.
The world had shifted beneath his feet so rapidly, and Alex knew it had changed because he had that feeling of motion sickness and his stomach was bunched up in his throat. Tears pricked in the back of his eyes but Havok refused to let them fall. Through his nose, Alex sucked in a snotty sniffle, trying to swallow that lump in his throat and the drumming - hammering - in his ears. He didn't bare to blink away the tears, afraid of what red haired Banshee would be waiting for him if he dared let his mind focus on anything except the clinical white and army greens around him.
