Hope everyone enjoys! - please remember to R & R!
Special thanks to Webaholic for her help with Hank's dialogue and her incredible beta skills!!
Just as Kurt thought he might actually fall asleep himself with his wife's scent of cinnamon and vanilla surrounding him, there was a soft knock at the door. Heaving a sigh and maneuvering a sleeping Rachel off his shoulder and onto a pillow, Kurt got up and opened the door slightly. Rogue stood there, obviously embarrassed.
"I'm sorry, Kurt. I'm not disturbing you, am I?" A flush spread up over her cheeks.
For a moment, Kurt wondered if the entire school thought he and Rachel did nothing but have sex when they weren't in public. He shook his head. "Nien, Fraulien. How can I help you?"
"Logan wanted to see you...that is if your not...you know...busy..." Her blush crept all the way up to her hairline.
Chuckling, Kurt assured her that he was not 'busy.' Scripting a tiny white lie on a note pad by the bed, telling Rachel he'd been called to a meeting, he kissed her non responsive cheek and shut the door softly. Then, he followed the other resident Southern belle down the hallway.
Kurt frowned at the small white sphere in his hand. It lay in stark contrast to his indigo fingers as he examined it. "What is this? A ping pong ball?"
Logan nodded as they both leaned against the Bentley's opened hood. Stretching out his arm, he took it back. "A low tech way to foul up a high tech car." Kurt backed away as Logan unhooked the hood and let it close. "Found it in the gas tank."
Their voices bounced around the mansion's cavernous garage that was home to the many civilian vehicles the X men used when not on duty. Rachel's reassembled Bentley was taking center stage at the moment.
"Obviously, it was put there deliberately...", the German summarized.
Logan nodded and continued, "Since Rachel was going home from the airport, my bet would be our guy sabotaged the car while it was sitting in the airport parking lot. Just spring the gas cap door open, pop it in. No fuss, no muss."
Logan sat down on the tail gate of his old pick up truck, wiping his hands on a greasy rag as Kurt climbed on top of the Bentley's roof. "So long as the car's in stop and go traffic, the ball floats on top of the gas. But, once it's been going steady for a little bit - say, going through a tunnel - the ball gets sucked to the bottom of the tank and blocks any gas from getting through. Recipe for instant stall. Fouls up the fuel injectors so the car won't start back up." He waved away the needless question. "Yeah, I already reset 'em."
"I'm going to assume we're getting the surveillance videos of the parking lot?" Kurt ventured.
Logan nodded. "That would be a good assumption. Xavier is seein' to it."
"How would they have gotten the cap door open?" Kurt asked, almost to himself. He didn't see evidence of forced entry.
Logan frowned. "If I had to take a guess, I'd say someone had a key." Finished with the rag, he tossed it into the bed. The smell of engine oil and gasoline was strong on his hands and in his nose. It felt good to work with his hands again. In his opinion, Xavier's people depended too heavily on machines to do their work for them.
Kurt cocked his head to the side. "That doesn't sound like Rachel. She's not that trusting. I can't see her just giving someone a key to her car."
Logan ended with "You'd have to ask her."
There was a long silence between the two. It was no secret Logan held it against Rachel for the way things had ended four months ago. If Kurt was incapable of holding a grudge, Logan was an expert at it. Finally Kurt broke the quiet.
"I love her, Logan."
The older mutant shook his head. His voice held an incredulous attitude. "You must."
Jumping off the roof gracefully, Kurt settled next to the Canadian on the truck bed. "I do. And if there is any chance at all we can work things out, I have to try." His tail coiled around the way it always did when he was saying something very difficult. "I know you don't like her. But, I'm asking you, as a friend-"
"She walked out on ya, Elf." Logan glared at Kurt, "It got tough and she just packed up and blew outta here. Left you here holding the bag." He drew up his mouth in anger. "She ain't got what it takes to live this life." He motioned around him. "All this pretty crap we surround ourselves with. Fancy words, noble intentions." He lit up a cigar that would have been forbidden inside. "We're fighters, Elf. Plain and simple. At the end of the day, we're just a couple of foot soldiers fighting for our survival. She ain't got it in her to fight our fight."
"That's where you're wrong, mein Freund." Kurt shook his head. "She may not fight as we do. But she fights our war just the same. Or perhaps you've forgotten the Prenatal Testing program that died after her visit to the committee overseeing it?"
Logan was quiet as he took a drag. No one had ever able to find out what she'd said in that meeting. But, whatever it was, it had worked.
Kurt changed the subject. "The professor believes she is under some kind of telepathic influence..."
Logan's glare didn't lessen, but it was joined by a spark of interest. "What kind of influence?"
Kurt studied his hands as he answered. "I am not sure. But it's been going on for some time." He clenched his hands into fists as he remembered watching Rachel scream in agony on her apartment floor.
"The professor can block the telepathic abuse so long as she stays here." Kurt continued. "So we have to keep her here. And we have to do it without letting her know what is going on." He sighed. "In case there is a kill switch-"
"Ready to blow her brain to bits if she figures things out..." Logan finished. Some of his glare lightened as he gave his friend with a level stare. "Do you think she left because she was 'influenced'?"
Kurt shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe." He stood up, shoving his hands in his pockets, studying the floor. "But she's here now." He brought his gaze back up to meet Logan's.
"I'm not asking you to like her." He held Logan's eye with a fierceness that was rare for the cavalier mutant. "But I'm asking you, as a friend, to work out your differences with her."
Logan gave a disgruntled humph as he blew smoke up in the air. He didn't like her...didn't trust her. But Kurt was his friend. And he'd do a lot for his friends.
Hank McCoy loved puzzles. Any kind of puzzle. From logic puzzles to math puzzles. Even the crossword puzzles in the newspapers were rarely left without Hank's handiwork on them. He stared down at an empty prescription bottle with Rachel's name on it. This was a puzzle.
His keen eye stared back up at the screen brazenly displaying the frontal lobes of Rachel's brain dotted by what appeared to be millions of teeny tiny spiders. He scratched his head as if they might have leapt off the scan in into his fur.
Nanobots. Very clever. Someone had infected Kurt's dear lady with literally untold numbers of tiny molecular sized machines that were prompting and punishing her. The question was: How? How was one infected with this magnitude of nanobots without knowing it? He felt the answer was in the palm of his hand, literally.
Dr. Bomenmang was a name unfamiliar to him. He'd assumed this doctor worked in the same practice as Dr. Johnson, the stress expert Hank had referred Rachel to. Frankly, it had been such a harrowing time, he'd never even bothered to question it. But, now he stared down the bottle dwarfed in his large hand and frowned.
He also frowned at the numerous other scans he'd taken of Rachel. In particular, a scan of her reproductive cavity. His frown was more sad than disconcerted. He thought about the grief Gracie's death had brought on his two friends. And of the incredibly foolish things grief can make a person do.
He chuckled despite himself. There was a time when he had called Rachel Donivan a lot of thing – friend was not one of them.
In his former role as head of Mutant Affairs, Hank suspected several companies of conducting illegal experiments on mutants. Donivan Enterprises was in the top five. The kind of advances they made in genetic research couldn't be done in a petri dish.
He'd seen the reports of the extremely generous contributions Donivan Enterprises made to mutant charities. He'd also heard the disturbing rumors about the halfway houses set up using Donivan's money. Rumors of humans and mutants alike who took refuge in those places and were never heard from again. But given the transient, unreliable nature of the witnesses, getting any kind of concrete evidence on the matter was simply impossible.
Rachel Donivan had been his biggest opponent in his investigation. She stood up for her father's company with a zealous kind of fire one usually reserved for religious wars. She had fought Hank at every turn as if she'd made it her personal crusade to keep him out of Donivan Enterprises and uphold her father's reputation.
To Hank's relief, he'd been able to determine that her research had been completely mutant free. 'Gene Targeting to Prevent Accumulation of Deleterious Genetic Mutation Due to Lacking Biodiversity in Endangered Primates' It was a mouthful to say, but there was no sinister underbelly to it. Rachel, honestly, was trying to use her expertise to do some good in the world. But, by the time he drew that conclusion, too much had been said between them, too many battle lines had been drawn.
In fact, there were so many hard feelings, it wasn't until she had been here several weeks that she'd even sit down and share a cup of coffee with him. And a month longer to admit that she'd been wrong. That woman could hold a grudge almost as well as Logan could.
Turning his mind back to his work, he grimly studied the lining on her uterine wall again. Triple checking himself. He was suddenly glad for doctor/patient confidentiality as he pressed a button and the scan disappeared. If Kurt found out about this, it would be from Rachel, not him.
Speaking of which, he turned to see Kurt making his way into lab. "Well...speak of the devil.." Hank grinned.
"Very funny..." Kurt smirked, taking a seat on a bench. "Find out anything?"
Too much Hank thought ruefully. "Yes. We know the what and the how, just not the who or the why." He pointed to the remaining time lapse scan showing Rachel's brain alive with crawling minuscule spots. "Those are nanobots."
"Nanobots?" Kurt repeated, disbelieving. "I thought nanobot technology was theoretical."
"They're not terribly sophisticated." He enlarged the scan and isolated a single bot, bringing to up to a viewable size. "They are similar to receivers. When they get a signal from another source, they perform a predetermined function, such as stimulating Rachel's pleasure/pain center – resulting in the horrific migraines she's been having."
Kurt was angry. Hank didn't have to be clairvoyant to know that. All he had to do was watch Kurt's tail which was more or less a barometer of his emotions. Right now, it was coiled around the cross bars of his bench trying to bend the metal with the intensity of his fury.
"The good news is that since these are fairly benign, in and of themselves, it should be a simple matter to disable them." Hank stared at Kurt. "And, since these little bots are of a basically uncomplicated design, there probably isn't a kill switch...though we should wait until they've all died off before we enlighten your wife."
"And the bad news?" His tail had not released the bars he was trying to strangle.
Hank took off his glasses, suddenly aware he'd been at this for hours. "It doesn't put us any closer to finding who put them there or why." He picked up the prescription bottle Rachel had left behind four months previous. "Did you ever meet this Dr. Bomenmang?"
Kurt shrugged, "A few times." He remembered an older gentleman who seemed to sincerely want to help Rachel through her loss. Through their loss. "Why?"
Working his mouth into a contrite twist Hank thought for a moment. "The thing that really bothers me is that there is such a multitude of these things loose on her brain. And their functional life span only seems to be a few days...." He tapped the bottle on the counter. "So, how are they being replaced so frequently without Rachel realizing it?"
Kurt took the prescription bottle, studied it for a moment, then handed it back to Hank. "Are you suggesting that the good Doktor might have something to do with this?"
"I'd never heard of him before. Rachel said he was on call for Dr. Johnson on the day of her appointment with him. He had her come to his personal office after the initial visit-" He handed the most damning evidence against Dr. Bomenmang. The directions read:
"Take 1-2 pills as needed for pain"
The wheels turned in the clever German's mind. "So...Rachel's head hurts...she takes these pills, which contain the nanobots, putting them in her bloodstream...the nanobots find their way to her brain...pain goes away...but now there are more nanobots prompting more pain...more pain - more pills...delivering more nanobots-"
"Till her brain looks like this." Hank finished, pointed at the scan of Rachel's frontal lobes again.
"How soon till they can be disabled?" Kurt felt a little nauseous as he stared at the scan. Unconsciously, he scratched his neck.
"Already working on it." Hank pulled up the nanobot image. "They work on a very narrow band width. Disabled, they'll float harmlessly in her head till they all die out in a matter of days. Over time, her body should be able eliminate them from her system."
"What are you waiting for?" Kurt asked, shaking his head, a slight bit irritated.
"Your permission. Since she can't be trusted to make that decision herself, it's your call as her spouse." Hank smiled.
"Do it." Kurt demanded, clenching his fist.
Hank nodded and began the prep work. "You might want to bring her back down here in a few days. I'll need to run a comparison scan and make sure they've all ceased functioning."
Kurt assured him that he'd bring her back down as soon as Hank was ready for her. He started to leave as he sensed Hank hesitate.
"What?"
For a moment, he thought Hank wasn't going to answer when the huge mutant turned to him. "How are you and Rachel doing?" The question seemed oddly ambiguous and Kurt wasn't sure how to answer.
"How are we doing...in what way?" he ventured carefully.
Hank cleared his throat as if embarrassed. "I know it's none of my business...but, have the two of you been...intimate recently?"
Kurt shook his head. Not you too, Hank... "We have." No sense being coy. He might have a very good explanation for needing to know.
"How recently?" he probed.
Kurt frowned, wondering where this was going. "Last night...this morning." He would have flushed, if not for the worry that was crawling up his spine.
"Before then?" Hank was obviously troubled as he ruffed up his hair.
Kurt's frown deepened as his eyes narrowed. "Not since Gracie's death..." He answered slowly. "Why?"
Hank regretted even asking as he had to shake his head. "Nothing, Kurt."
"Don't 'nothing' me, mein Freund." Kurt stood up, standing off with the much larger mutant. "Those are not questions one asks out of idle curiosity."
When Hank still would not reply, Kurt laid his hand on his shoulder. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. You are a friend and I respect your insight very much." If he suspected something to be wrong with Rachel, he wanted to know.
Hank grimaced. "Kurt, I consider you a friend, also. But, Rachel is my patient. And, there are some things I can not tell you without her direct permission."
"Her direct permission??" Kurt stepped back. "If something is wrong with my wife, don't I have a right to know?" He brushed his hair back from his forehead in frustration as Hank refused to divulge his knowledge. "Verdammst Du, Hank!" he cursed. "You practically said I HAD to give permission to have those nanobots disabled. What are you keeping from me??"
"I'm sorry, Kurt." And Hank truly was. "If ethical considerations allowed me to inform you, I assuredly would do so with all haste. But my hands are tied."
"So - you're not going to tell me what's wrong?" One would have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to see how outraged Kurt was. Perhaps the angriest Hank had ever seen him.
"No." Hank shook his head resolutely.
Kurt turned and left without another word. Hank slumped his massive shoulders as he sat down in his office chair. He shouldn't have said anything.
Instead of dwelling on what he should or shouldn't have done, he looked at prescription bottle still in his hand. Grabbing a notepad and pen, he scribbled the name down and stared at it for a long moment. Then, almost entranced, he began moving the letters around.