[Thanks to Jeanniebird for giving me the comic context.
A huge special thanks to MidLifeCrisis for being my Adamantium Poisoning guru and medical/overall beta. Without your help, this chapter would've flopped. THANK YOU!
The song that was going through my head as I wrote parts of this: "Waking up in Vegas" by Katy Pery]
Chapter 2: Pride and Stupidity
I never ended up taking a long ride through the forest like I originally planned. I couldn't just let myself go anymore: my reflexes were dull and I nearly crashed twice.I still don't want to go back to the mansion, though. I don't want to be coddled over (except by Jean), and Chuck was already doing just that. So, I'm going to a place where no one cares who I am or what my story is.
"Hey, Logan! The usual?" The bartender asks.
"Huh? Yeah, sure." I reply.
I park myself at the bar and the bartender slides me my glass of black-label whiskey.
"Thanks." It tastes stronger than normal, burns for longer. 'Course, not enough to stop me. Eh… Oh well. Must be a human thing.
"'Nother one, man?"
I nod as I finish the first. I hope I'll get used to the damn burning soon.
The second tastes funny. I sniff it out of habit but smell nothing different from the first. Figures. Either my sense of taste is bitin' the dust or someone's trying to poison me. And I honestly don't give a single flying fuck.
My head begins to throb. I peer down into my near-full glass. Bottoms up.
My head. Why's it hurt? Why're the lights sodamnbright?
A voice booms like a crack of thunder in my head. "Hey! Quit your foolin' around! You scared me there."
Sprawled on the bathroom floor, my head pounding like a bass drum, I shift my aching body to get a better look at the voice. Squinting, I see undulating ribbons of color as I struggle to focus.
Holy shit! Pressing my palm to my right eye I realize it's swollen shut.
"W-what happened?"
"What didn't happen?"
Shit. He better be joking .His expression is all seriousness, though. Fuck.
Heaving myself to my feet, I'm in dire need of a grab-bar to keep my balance. "Couldja gimmie the gist?"
"Well- you started to say things that didn't make any sense – like how much you miss your buddies from the Great War… wasn't that, like, World War one or two or something? But you're what, 30? 35… maybe? Anyway, then you tried to lead the other patrons in some Japanese song, and then you failed at trying to woo a few women – at once. After they rejected you," Right about then, I really started to wish I hadn't asked. "You started complaining about how much you hate this one guy who stole your girl-"
"Bub, I asked for a summary, not a fucking novelization." I block some of the light with a hand as I pretend to run fingers through my hair.
"Let me finish." He pleads… or demands. I can't tell.
What I can tell is I don't like where this is going. "So then, you… Er… 'flirted' with this woman whose husband was sitting right next to her. That's where that shiner came from. You almost fought back but you got sick and I checked on you when you didn't come out for a while but you were out cold. I was about to call for help because I've never seen you this bad off but then you woke up. There, done."
Least I didn't wake up in prison, or not at all.
"What time is it?" I groan.
"It's nearly four-thirty… in the morning… My shift ends in a few minutes. Ya don't look like you should drive."
That little quip was like a hammer to my pride. After all, I did piss the Hulk off once and he tore me in half. Had to crawl over a mile in the forest to find my legs. And I'm still standing, dammit! Well, sorta. The bar creaks again as I shift my weight. I guess I took too long to answer him because he fidgets nervously and speaks again.
"…so… you've been a good patron for a long time… if you need a ride…"
I grimace. He doesn't want to do it. He and I both know that. He's trying to keep my business. No doubt his boss put him up to it. On top of that, I really don't want to be in debt to an acquaintance. Kurt already owes me one anyway.
"Don't worry 'bout it; I got a friend in the area who'll understand."
He nods and smiles in relief.
After he left, I shuffle over to the sink. Jeez, that's my face? The pale, beat up creature in the mirror staring backing back looks like he's got one foot in the grave.
Nope, not healing.
Aw crap! The room does a slow spin. And who's playing with the dimmer switch?
Suddenly my stomach lurches. Feeling hot, sour bile scour my throat, I lean over and hurl the booze and my guts into the sink.
Soon as the world quits spinning, I rinse out the putrid tastes and press a cool paper towel to my swollen eye. Calling the ex-elf was my next priority. I pull out my phone from my jacket pocket and dial the number.
One ring.
Two rings.
Three rings. Damn it. He better answ-
A click and a groan. "Mein freund, this better be good…"
" Hell's a fire, Elf. Ya know I wouldn't call at o-dark thirty for no good reason."
I hear Kurt curse in German under his breath. "What is the problem?"
"I got transportation problems." It's a variation of the truth. "And I need a lift."
More cursing, louder this time. "Fine but you owe me for this, mein freund."
"Hell no. Call it even from the last danger room session. You know the one where…."
Kurt's laugh cuts me off. "Alright. I won't be long. Promise me you won't do anything monumentally stupid between now and my arrival…"
'Monumentally' is a very subjective term. So is 'selective truth'.
"No prob."
I start to wonder if someone put steel shavings in the Jack. Feels like somebody stuffed cotton down my throat and I still taste galvanized vomit. Frickin' headache just won't quit. Shielding my eyes from the lights, I finally make it into the bar and slide into a corner booth to wait for my ride.
I growl in frustration. My bike's just outside, begging to be driven.
But Kurt's already coming and my keys aren't about to.
So I wait.
And wait.
I tap my foot and an older brunette waitress comes over. "Would you like to order something, dear?"
I barely glance up. My voice is a lot rougher than usual. It cracks, too. "Glass o' water an' a cup a joe, thanks." I hand her a few bucks for her trouble.
Kurt comes in as I finish my second coffee and third cup of water. Didn't do much, I still feel like shit.
His eyebrows furrow in concern the second he sees me. "Mein Gott, you look horrible!"
Aw, Dammit. This was after I cleaned up some, too. "Thanks." I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
Kurt looks guilty.
"Sorry, Logan. No offense… what happened?"
"It's a long story, elf." My voice cracks again. Kurt raises an eyebrow.
"Ah… I see." Elf really is a good friend and doesn't push. " In any case, Let's get home."
He watches closely as I get up. Casual as I can, I hold on to the edge of the booth. If Kurt noticed anything, he kept his mouth shut.
He leads me out to the car, again keeping silent as I stumble and weave a crooked path.
"If you need to lie down get in back. Oh, and kindly do not puke in my car."
Yeah, knew he couldn't keep his mouth shut forever.
Flashing an evil grin, I say, "I'm fine."
Resigned, he sighs, gets in the driver's seat and starts the car.
We don't talk much on the drive home. I spend most of my time glaring intently at the headliner since looking out the windows is making me nauseous. I can see Kurt shaking his head at me out of my peripherals.
People were already downstairs waiting when we come home. More specifically, the intervention squad: 'Roro, Jean, Hank, and li'l Scotty.
Fuck.
They were standing in tight formation. Jean had her arms across her full and perky chest, tapping her foot, and glaring at me. If she's hot normally, she's on fire when she's angry. I watch her arms tighten oh-so slightly around her gorgeous-
"Logan," 'Roro says with a gentle yet forceful tone. "As your friends, we wish to express our concerns about recent events."
"You have to remember that your actions affect the team as a whole." Cyke's frustration is obvious. I snarl at him just to make him flinch.
"I'm not the one who told ya to get up from yer beauty rest."
"Logan, if we cannot compel the High Evolutionary to restore our mutant abilities, we may very well be stuck like this for a long time, perhaps the rest of our lives. If you continue to engage in such risky behavior, your life may come to an end sooner than it should."
"Who asked ya, bub?" I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
Headache's back full force. Ignoring it ain't happening.
"You're going to become a liability to the team if you keep this up, mister." Scott-the-pansy-ass "leader" said.
I take a step towards him with a snarl. "Ya think I'm a liability, bub? Healing factor or not I could pound your sorry ass into the ground without breaking a sweat. You wanna talk about liabilities, Scotty-boy?"
Suddenly Jean has a hand on both of our shoulders and takes turns glaring at us.
"Stop it. Both of you. You're both right and you're both very wrong. Logan, you're correct in that none of us are strong or powerful as we once were, but we all need to understand our limitations now. That goes for BOTH of you."
She glares at the both of us again, and then she softens like caramel in the sun, turning to me. "None of us want to see you hurt."
She still has her hand on my chest and I see in the way she's looking at me that this is more than just a group warning. I barely hear what else she says as I find myself lost in her emerald eyes. It looks wrong to see them in such a pained face. Suddenly her face becomes pleading, expecting a response.
"I'll be more careful. Promise."
She smiles and nods at me but I can feel my heart rip when she stands with Scott. It might just be wishful thinking, but for a second she looks just as torn.
"I think we can leave it at this for now." 'Roro has her poker face on, and with my senses shot, I can't see through it.
Everyone agrees so I go down the hall. Chuck sees me walking by from in the library and calls me over.
"Good morning, Logan." As I walk into the room, Chuck lays down his copy of Dicken's A Tale of Two Cities.
"I just had this discussion with the rest of them, Chuck. It's settled."
"Of course. However, you are wrong in assuming I intended to chide you about mistakes you've already made. Those are in the past and there is nothing we can do to change that. I merely wanted to wish you a good morning."
Wait. "What?"
He smiles knowingly. "I did warn you. When you proved unwilling to heed my warning, I found the only thing I could do was… what's that phrase you use with the children? Oh, yes," His eye glints. "'Let the scars of learning happen'." Very funny. My eyes narrow.
"So, Chuck, how're you coping with this whole deal?" Getting the focus off me sounds as good a plan as any.
"To be honest, I feel a bit… handicapped, actually." He chuckles. "It's peculiar, not being connected to the team and students. Though, I've already grown fond of the extra silence for when I wish to read." He gazes wistfully at the shelves of books. He looks back at me and smiles. "Well, good morning."
"Good morning, Chuck." I nod and let him go back to reading.
After I got a hot shower and a change of clothes, I began wandering the upstairs hallways. Only a few kids are up now, all in pajamas. It feels too quiet, but oddly peaceful.
Back, knees, and hips still hurt like hell, though.
I feel old. My aching back says I'm old.
Hank said my age was impossible to tell because of my healing factor.
The guy bartending said I was talking about shit from WWI, like I was there.
Elise says she remembers some but says I'm probably better off not knowing. I don't even know for sure whether she's actually my sister or just crazy. Which is actually a greater possibility than anyone cares to admit.
And Chuck wants me to figure it all out on my own but won't give me a hint how. That really pisses me off sometimes.
I growl in frustration, walking aimlessly through the halls. There are only a few kids around since its late morning.
Elise is curled up tightly in a blanket next to a bathroom door with one hand holding a rag and the other a bottle of mouthwash. Looking paler than normal (almost didn't think it was possible), she has huge dark circles under her eyes. Staring at me, her expression is dull and lifeless.
"You look like shit." She says without one hint of sarcasm.
I glare down at her, "And what does that make you?"
"Someone who wishes she got more sleep." She groans," 'Least I'm still bruise free thankyaverymuch."
As much as she's trying to do to hide it, she looks very ill. Isn't that boy supposed to be looking after her? Where is he?
"Why ain't John with ya?"
"Didn't want to wake him e'ery time I had to puke. I think he's still asleep, actually." She smiled weakly and laid her head back on the wall.
I tried to tease her a little to mask my concern, "Oh, for a second there I thought you just ran outta vodka."
She gave me a confused look and I pointed to the bottle of mouthwash. She stuck her tongue out at me like a defiant two-year old. Didn't work, but at least she ain't cross with me for more than a second.
"Nah, but I bet that woulda worked, too." She started to get up and dry heaved for a bit.
"You sure ya ain't pregnant or something?" I ask as I rub her back. She promptly swats my head with the plastic mouthwash bottle
"Yes, I'm very sure I'm not. Besides nearly throwing up my guts every few minutes, I have no other possible symptoms of pregnancy."
I know if I wait, she'll explain more, which is usually amusing. 3… 2… 1…
"… and I already failed the piss-stick test three times," she continues.
…Right on schedule. No wonder she got bitchy when I teased her about it. If it weren't for her being this sick I'd probably think her expression was hilarious. Change of subject.
"You had breakfast yet?"I ask.
She freezes and stares at me like I'm nuts. "Of course not! I'm waiting until I think I won't throw it up again a minute later. Food isn't exactly appetizing at the moment, anyway."
To be honest, I have no idea if her idea made sense or not. Never really had to find out. I shrug. "At least get something to drink. Want me to get you something?"
She glares at me and narrows her eyes. "Thanks, but I'm perfectly capable of getting it myself."
She stands up as tall as she can with her hands on her hips. I watch closely as she pulls herself together and starts walking to the nearest elevator.
"I'm coming with you."
Shit. I'm starting to sound like the rest of 'em.
I use the fact that Elise doesn't want to risk tripping down the stairs as an excuse to use the elevator down. I feel lightheaded and my vision started to fade in and out again, so I lean against one of the walls.
"So… how did you get that shiner?" Elise smirks at me.
I shrug. "Bar fight."
She swats the back of my head with her hand. "You idiot! Whadja do that for?"
"Whadja hit me for?" On top of the headache I already had, that stung.
The doors open and she gets out first, obviously overacting how well she wants us to think she is. Subtlety sure ain't her forte.
"Fer bein' an idiot!"
We part. The room starts to spin faster than a car on black ice. Speaking of black, that's where my vision's going now. I sit down.
Gone.
Kitty's shrill yell startles me awake. Man, that kid's got a pair a lungs on her. "ELISE! WAVING A CHOPSTICK CROSS AND ACTING LIKE I HAVE THE PLAGUE IS NOT GOING TO KEEP YOU FROM GETTING MY FLU! I BET YOU HAVE IT ALREADY!"
The fuck..? No one is watching, so I slowly and carefully get out of the chair before trying to stretch my back and legs a little. My back sounds like a bag of popcorn and hurts a lot worse than it had before.
Eventually I make it into the kitchen. The little argument has been sorted out. John's finally awake and downstairs, the adults have congregated in the kitchen, and Elise is resisting Hank's efforts to get her to comply with his medical advice.
Meanwhile, no one notices me hobble in and lean against a wall where I vow to stay until everyone else leaves. I grab a bottled water from the case on the counter next to me and drink some. I hadn't realized how thirsty I was until I started drinking.
"I'm fine." Elise growls.
"You've been vomiting for the past few hours." Hank says. Gulp.
"Which people without healing factors do sometimes…?"
"…When there's something wrong. An illness." He retorted.
"It's not that bad." Her voice is raspy and cracked. I finish off the bottle and re-cap it before tossing it into the recycling bin. It's a small relief I made it in the bin so I don't have to get it.
"Would I be correct in my assumption that you've never been vaccinated… for anything?"
"Yeah. So?"I hear her reply. How is this possible? I just downed a bottle of water and my mouth is still as dry as before!
"…Which would mean you've never had a flu shot." Hank continues. Feels like I've been chewing aluminum foil. Tastes like it, too. I don't remember doing that, though.
"Yes, Hank, I think that's still included in 'anything'." She rolls her eyes dramatically.
And now for the staring contest. Elise may be almost as stubborn as I am, but Hank has always been better at keeping calm. Elise's fingers twitch in frustration. She knows she isn't going to win this. Hank leans closer, still the epitome of calm.
"Your 'human' immune system has had little to no experience in dealing with pathogens since for the vast majority of your life you've been protected by your healing factor. You likely don't have any immunities because you never needed them. You effectively have the immune system of a newborn."
"… so?" She asks. Fuck it. New bottle.
"Newborns often need to be hospitalized from diseases which people with more developed immune systems find inconsequential. Influenza would be one such disease."
Huh. Same thing with hangovers? Maybe it'll get better with time. The vision blackout thing needs to end. So does this damn headache… I try to be discreet as I rub my temple. I take a few more gulps of water. Water's supposed to help with headaches, right? Or was that heat exhaustion…
Elise's wide eyes betray fear for a split second before she becomes skeptical rather than outright defiant.
"I'll think about it." And that was the end of that. Everyone went back to what they were doing.
I'm hungry… Wonder what there is around here. I started to shuffle over to the 'fridge to- OW! I nearly fell over. Not because of blacking out, but because the muscles in my leg suddenly go tighter than a bow string.
Hank is the only other person in the room. Of course he noticed. Just my fucking luck.
"Logan, I need to know all the symptoms you've experienced since yesterday."
I growled at him. "If this is about my drinking, we've already been over this."
"Indeed, though I find it very curious that you and your sister have both had strange symptoms starting at very close to the same time. Regardless of whether or not you were drinking and she has the flu, I don't believe it's merely a coincidence. Try sitting with your leg stretched out and pulling your toes towards you."
I just stare at him, confused.
"Am I wrong in assuming it's a muscle cramp?"
I shake my head 'no' and do as he said. Irritatingly, it feels a little better.
"Alright, Hank. Howsabout we discuss this over an early lunch?"
Hank nods and smiles.
We set up shop in his office for privacy. We both have cold cuts and the furball has his digital tablet to write down whatever I say. Even though he's a good friend, the idea of having him taking notes has me on edge.
Hank swallows a bite and looks up to me. "So, Logan, besides not having your healing factor, was there anything strange on the flight home?"
"Well," I lean back and put my feet on the table. Hank gave a disapproving glance but didn't say anything. "Besides havin' a strong urge to wipe the smirk offa Summers' face- Oh wait!"
"Logan, we agreed this is a potentially serious matter. It could be nothing, but I won't know unless you cooperate."
I sighed. "Nope. Nothing off on the flight home."
He scribbled some notes and mumbled to himself:
"Elise complained of a headache, though…"
He stopped scribbling and looked up at me. "Have you had a headache?"
"Yeah."
"When did it start?"
I shrug. "Uh… 'bout right after I got outta the jet." I glanced up to try to read what he was writing, but the font was too small. I took the opportunity to take a few more bites of my food.
Shit. Please. Not now.
But I just ate!
The sudden wave of nausea is horrible. I lean back and close my eyes and try to think of anything that had nothing to do with puke.
The ceiling.
The ceiling is white.
The ceiling is white.
The ceil-
"Logan? Is something the matter?"
My gut clenches.
Do not. Open. Mouth.
Trash can's on the other side of the room. Getting up and running don't seem like a good idea. But neither does just sitting here.
"Logan?" He got up and put a hand on my shoulder.
I have one hand over my mouth and the other pointing to the trash can. My gut clenches again.
"Here." He hands me the can and I immediately spill my lunch into it.
"Thanks." I cough and wipe my mouth with the napkin he gave me. After, I take a swig of water and flop back in the chair. Hank changed the bag and left the can next to me.
"New symptom: Vomiting. Since the two symptoms I have written down apply to both of you, this supports my theory that the illnesses are related. However, I still need more information. Headache and vomiting can be the symptoms of a lot of diseases. Any more symptoms?"
"Muscle cramps. Back hurts. Rest o' me hurts, too."
Hank writes some more and pushes the glasses up his nose.
"Your back pain, describe it. Where is the pain?"
"Uh, hell if I know. It just hurts. A dull ache, kinda low, 'round here." I rub the middle of my back.
More notes. He looks them over and frowns.
"Anything else?"
"Get kinda dizzy. Feels like I'm gonna pass out."
He looks me over before writing a few more things down.
"I'd like to do some blood work. Do you think you can stand?"
"Yeah." With some effort and a helluva lot of pain, I stand up. Hank carefully leads me to the medlab.
He motions to the bed closest to us. "Sit; lie down, whichever is more comfortable."
I brace myself for the pain of getting up, but it does feel a little better to lie down. Hank washes up and puts on blue rubber gloves – I cringe at the sound of them snapping – before coming back with a blood draw kit displayed neatly on a cart.
"Clench your fist."
I do so and he picks up the rubber strip and tied it around my arm. The alcohol pad was cold. I don't look until after he already has the needle in my arm. The blood flows down the tube and into a small vial. Then he switches the vial for a different one. He does this a few times. He takes the needle out of my arm and unties the band.
"Snoopy or Batman?" He grins and holds up two bandages.
I give him a very meaningful snarl. The meaning: "FUCK NO!"
He chuckles and covers the needle mark with a piece of gauze and a strip of tape.
"You do realize I was merely… what's the phrase… "Yanking your chain"?" He grins again. "The tests shouldn't take too long." He rummages through a drawer and hands me a sterile cup.
"In the meantime…" He says. My eyes narrow at him.
"Hank…"
"It's necessary, I assure you. Now, If you'll excuse me, I must retrieve your sister."
I laugh humorlessly. "How much you wanna bet you'll have to put a gun to her head just to get her to set foot in here?"
He sighs. "I pray it will not require such extraordinary measures." He presses a button on the wall while I shuffle over to the bathroom.
A little while later, I place the mostly filled sealed cup on the counter next to Hank. He's starting to run the tests. The door slides open.
"You called?" John asks, carrying Elise in and placing her on another bed. She clenches her teeth and stews, shooting daggers at Hank. John sits by her in an attempt to calm her.
"Yes, thank you. I have to run some tests on Elise." Hank say as he snaps on another pair of gloves. He parks himself in a chair next to the bed they're sitting on.
"What? ME? Why?"
"Because you are ill and I have a disconcerting suspicion I know what the cause is." He has another sterile cup in one hand and had the blood draw kit on the other side of him. "Pick your poison."
Her eyes flit between the choices, lingering on the needle. She's breathing fast and she fidgets with her hands. She blushes scarlet before snatching the cup and hurrying to the bathroom. As she locks the door, I have to wonder: how's Hank planning on getting her out now?
Seven minutes pass, the door ain't budged. Hadn't furball seen this coming? He rubs the bridge of his nose. He's about to say something, but a machine in front of him starts printing. He grabs the paper and looks it over.
"John, would you do me a favor and coax her out?" Hank asks. John nods back and goes to the door to reason, plead and maybe bribe.
Hank walks over to me and speaks quietly. I doubt John would be able to hear him. "I regret to admit, but it seems my initial suspicion was correct. There is a significant amount of adamantium in your bloodstream. Even so, I can hardly fathom the amount. We both knew adamantium has poisonous properties, though we assumed we would never have the misfortune of discovering the full extent-"
"Hank. Long story short."
"Most heavy metal poisonings take months, years to cause symptoms. This has taken just a few hours to manifest. I will need to perform another blood test in the morning. You need to-"
"Hank," I warn. "What aren't you telling me?"
"Out of curiosity, I once delved into the properties of adamantium in order to determine what a likely course the poisoning could take." He sighs. "All the diseases I found to be similar almost certainly end in death or severe handicap when the person continues to be exposed to the offending substance."
What? Death?
Well, I can't exactly get away from my own skeleton – or even convince bucket-head to try to rip it out of me again. I shudder at that memory.
Death is for quitters. "I'm too damn stubborn to give up that easy."
Suppose I'll just have to show the damn disease who's boss.
Hank's mouth twitches into a small smile. It doesn't last, though.
"I know it's not rational! That doesn't make it any less horrifying!" Drama queen.
I slide off the bed. Almost wasn't ready for the pain of moving again. I bang on the door twice.
"Elise, getting yourself worked up isn't gonna help anything."
"Well too. Damn. Late." She sniffles. "Just leave me alooooone." John walks away. Traitor.
"You're gonna have to get a blood test whether you want to or not." I say. No response. Just quick, heavy breathing and the occasional whimper. Hank comes over.
"Unfortunately, you're only prolonging the inevitable. I could have already had the results had you cooperated. Also, you will need another test in the morning after fasting for twelve hours."
"But… can't I just. Wait. In here until. The twelve. Hours. Are up?"
"No." Hank rubs the bridge of his nose. "That is an exceedingly unwise decision for numerous reasons."
John comes back with a screwdriver and proceeds to take apart the door handle.
"I'm sorry, love." He opens the door. She's curled up in a corner, drenched in sweat and tears. John goes to help her to her feet.
I watch in slow motion as her eyes glaze and she raises a hand to her forehead. She never even touches it, though, because she's already collapsing into her husband's arms.
So frail. Never seen her like this. Good thing she hadn't heard the conversation yet. If she's this worked up over a little piece of metal, what's gonna happen when she knows what's going on?
John brushes the hair off her still face. The only indication she's still alive is the small movement of her breathing. The way he cradles her, he knows whatever the outcome, this is going to be a long haul. The lines quickly forming on his face are far beyond his years.
I can muscle through my own pain. Done it for years. I'll fight this 'til the day they put the last nail in. I'm strong enough for that.
Am I strong enough to watch Elise go through the same?
Guess I'll have to be.