In which the wounded and weary are tended to, much snark is had all around, and everybody just wants to go the hell home.
Trask, freshly memory-wiped, was safely delivered back to his institution. It was obvious that the orderly wanted to ask why the hell he stank like smoke, but no information was forthcoming, so the young man just shook his head and took his charge back inside.
"Popsicles," Kitty mumbled. "Now."
Logan doubted she'd be awake long enough to enjoy one, but Anathea and her crew looked like a group of hopeful puppies – well, all but Albert, who was an unconscious lump on the floor. Even poor Lia looked a little brighter at the idea.
"You're quite demanding, for a tiny person," Erik said. He sounded only half awake himself.
"Quiet, you," Kitty said. "I can totally punch you in the chest."
"But you won't," he retorted. "First of all, you'd have to sit up, and second of all, if you really wanted to hurt me you'd have done it by now."
"Jerk," Kitty muttered, the word muffled a little by his shoulder.
"Bitch," he returned, but he said it fondly, which was just wrong. No matter how much Logan tried to get used to them being…well, them, he still couldn't manage it. At least he didn't seem to be alone in that.
Tired though he was, he wasn't having a problem keeping his eyes open. Hosting the Stranger had been draining beyond belief, but he was still cruising on adrenaline. Realistically, they were probably going to have to spend the night somewhere, since there was no way Hank was in any condition for another six-hour flight. Somebody would have to look in on the kittens, though, to make sure the little furballs hadn't flipped over their water dish or something. He sure as hell didn't want to try to sleep on the plane – the needed a couple hotel rooms. More than a couple, since he also didn't want a repeat of their last, incredibly crowded stay in a too-small room.
Much as he wanted to get Marie alone, it was too soon. They both needed rest, and he simply didn't have all the supplies he wanted. He hadn't been kidding about hitting up a fabric store back home: if they were going to do this, they were going to do it right, dammit. Plenty of time, plenty of space, and definitely plenty of privacy. He doubted Marie had much experience in that department, and the last thing he wanted to do was scare her, or make her uncomfortable. They'd take this at her pace, no matter how long it took to get there.
Ahead of him, Clarice shifted in her seat, wincing. They needed medical supplies, too, and some real food – Popsicles weren't exactly filling. He hoped he wasn't the only one awake enough to deal with all that, because he really didn't want to have to do it alone. Looking around the bus told him he might just have to.
"Need to see the kittens," Clarice said, touching her abdomen and grimacing. "Kittens first, Popsicles later."
"Nuh-uh," Kitty mumbled.
Logan rolled his eyes. "Kitty, I'm gonna need your help with that. If I just open the door, the damn things might stampede me."
Evidently that mental image was too much for Ororo, who gave him a tired laugh. "I'd pay to see that," she said.
"I'll just portal in," Clarice said, before Kitty could respond. "Just to make sure."
"Be careful, okay?" Marie asked sleepily. "You did just have your guts rearranged. Sharley said you're not all exactly healed, and won't be for a while."
"I know, I know," Clarice sighed. "I'll just hop in and pet a few. Poor things have to be so confused on their own."
"They're kittens, not children," Logan grumbled.
"Bit your tongue," Kitty said, the words an almost indecipherable mutter. "They're our babies."
Now it was Erik who rolled his eyes. "Go the fuck to sleep already."
Charles couldn't quite grasp the fact that it was all over. It was over, and they were soon to go home. What they were going to do then he had no idea, and just now, he couldn't be bothered to care in the slightest. Whatever nightmares might follow would be the ordinary reaction of people exposed to horrible things, without any supernatural influence behind them. They could actually build lives now.
True, it was going to be difficult: Alfred was still technically alive, and they really ought to see if Kitty could put his heart back. Out of the entire group, Charles and Hank were the only two who legally existed, though he was certain Raven had a whole host of ID's tailored to her. Erik was too recognizable (and too notorious) to use any that he might have hidden away.
A false ID was easy enough to make, but fabricating an entire background was much more difficult. Anathea and her people might never be able to cope with living outside the mansion, and he doubted many of the others would want to. The mansion as it was now might not be the school they had all been used to in the future, but the entire group from the future counted at as 'home' within their minds. That was probably a good thing, because if he was truly to rebuild the school, he'd need all the help he could get.
Hank turned the bus into the car park of a large supermarket, where they discovered a slight problem: nobody had any actual cash. The task of acquiring Popsicles (and all the other food they'd need) fell to Charles and his credit card, a thing he could have done without. At least Logan and Ororo were willing to go with him.
"I could sleep for the next year," Ororo said, dropping things in the trolley seemingly at random. At least it was late enough that there were few people around to see what she – what all of them – looked like at the moment.
"Me too," Logan said. "After I eat an entire damn cow, anyway. We're gonna need at least three hotel rooms, if we can even find a hotel open at this time of night."
"It's Paris," Charles said. "Truly the city that never sleeps. Throw enough money at the concierge and they're willing to overlook any manner of oddities." Granted, this group looked very odd indeed, but still. He could more than afford it.
He looked at their cart. An entire case of Perrier sparkling water, eight loaves of bread, four jars of peanut butter and jam, a pound of beef and a pound of turkey from the deli, and a fifth of very expensive bourbon. It also held enough boxes of medical gauze to patch up a small army, and an assortment of antiseptic creams. He was quite sure Logan would have grabbed an actual suture kit, had one actually been available. Toothbrushes, toothpaste, dental floss, and a large bottle of paracetamol rounded out the purchase.
They saved the Popsicles for last, so that they wouldn't be a melted mess by the time they reached the bus again. Charles couldn't actually remember the last time he had a Popsicle, and the extent to which he looked forward to one was almost pathetic.
Half the bus's occupants were asleep by the time they made it outside, but they stirred when the groceries were loaded. Logan ripped into the flat of water and passed the bottles around, and the sound of sixteen people guzzling as though their lives depended on it was so absurdly hilarious that Charles almost choked.
Logan, who had downed his bottle in about thirty second flat, let out an extremely impressive belch that actually echoed down the length of the bus. None of his companions from the future looked remotely surprised, but it made Hank shoot his own water out his nose.
"Nice," Marie said. "Hank, you're not gonna choke to death up there, are you?"
Hank gave her a vague wave that was probably meant to be reassuring. Unfortunately, he was coughing so hard that the gesture was mostly pointless.
"Spit it out," Logan said, thumping him on the back. "Unless you want me to drive."
"No!" That was almost everybody on the bus, somehow achieving perfect unison.
It might have been sheer panic that allowed Hank to cough up all the water he'd inhaled. He might well have shaved off all his fur, if it would keep Logan from driving anything ever again.
"Thought so," Logan grinned. "All right, children, we have Popsicles."
"Clarice, gimme a grape one," Kitty said, reaching out and making a one-armed grabby-hand in the general direction of the grocery box.
"Don't you dare drip that on me," Erik warned.
"Can't make any promises." When Clarice handed her a Popsicle, she sat up as much as Erik would actually let her, and tore the wrapper off with her teeth. There was something worryingly feral about the action.
"Charming," Erik said dryly. He let her sit up properly, though with obvious reluctance to actually relinquish his hold on her.
Wrong, Charles thought. So very, very wrong. He accepted a cherry Popsicle, and was quite surprised at how much it soothed him. The incredibly artificial flavor was somehow calming, and though it didn't make him any less weary, he felt himself relaxing in spite of everything.
Once they'd all settled – more or less – Hank pulled out onto the road again, trying to steer with one hand so he could eat his own Popsicle. For a few moments, there was no sound but quite a bit of slurping.
"We sound like feeding time at the goddamn dolphin exhibit at Sea World," Clarice observed.
Marie giggled. "Slurp, slurp."
"That's what she said," Erik and Kitty retorted in unison.
Raven dissolved into helpless laughter, and Clarice was not far behind. Ororo just covered her face with her free hand. "What is wrong with you all?"
"I don't think you've got any kinda reasonable ground to ask that question," Logan said. "Especially not with teeth that orange."
Charles hazarded a glance at his elder self. Even through his obvious exhaustion, he looked amused. Then again, Ororo's teeth really were fantastically orange.
Erik was quite happy to use his mangled chest as an excuse to avoid lugging all those groceries into the hotel. Everybody who hadn't been sliced into ribbons could deal with that, thank you very much.
Clarice was still going on about checking on the kittens, but nobody else seemed willing to go with her. He had an unfortunate suspicion that she was going to steal the bus once they were all inside, and probably fall asleep at the wheel. If she wanted to deal with it that badly, she could portal herself there, and not wreck their only vehicle.
As he'd feared, Kitty had indeed dripped Popsicle all over what was left of his shirt. Given that the shirt mostly consisted of shreds and bloodstains, he supposed he didn't have much right to be too annoyed, but still. Blood dried; Popsicle residue just got…sticky.
"Wake up," he said, giving her a little shake. "We've landed."
Kitty groaned. "Goddammit, I was actually asleep," she grumbled. "Where did we land?"
"A halfway decent hotel, fortunately. Move it – I need to look at your back, before you pass out again."
She hauled herself to her feet with no small amount of difficulty, and immediately almost lost her footing. Her legs had probably fallen asleep, curled up as she'd been, and she glowered at him. "Move it, he said," she muttered. "It'll be fun, he said."
"I never said it would be fun," he said, with a tinge of asperity. "Just necessary. I need to grab some of the first aid supplies."
He'd barely finished speaking before Logan threw a box of gauze-rolls at him, followed immediately by a large tube of antibiotic ointment. He managed to catch the first, but the second hit him right in the chest – which of course sent a sharp jag of pain through his entire body. He glared at Logan, who looked completely unrepentant.
"Don't do anythin' I wouldn't do," Logan said, stepping out of the bus.
"What does that leave?" Kitty asked, mostly of herself. "Quilting and figure-skating?"
The mental image of Logan trying to figure-skate was so ridiculous that Erik couldn't help but laugh. "Thank you for that," he said dryly. "Because I needed to picture Logan in a spangly leotard."
Kitty burst out laughing, even as she hopped toward the front of the bus. "I do what I can," she said. "Just give me a second, will you."
"Oh, for God's sake." He shoved the bandages and antibiotic ointment into her arms and picked her up, ignoring her startled (and somewhat pained) yelp. "It'll be morning before we even reach the door."
"…Ow," she said, shooting him a dirty look. "Little warning next time?"
"I doubt it." He followed the others down the walkway, grimacing at the stickiness of the remains of that damned Popsicle. He had to wonder just what in the hell they looked like, this pair of people streaked with half-dried gore, and hoped nobody would be stupid enough to comment. Honestly, he was too tired to bother murdering someone right now.
The room wasn't fancy, but it was quiet and clean, and the bathroom had enough towels to clean out far more wounds than either of them had. Erik could easily deal with his own, but Kitty couldn't, and he was curious to see if hers had healed to the extent he suspected.
"Wash up," he said, once he'd let her back down on her feet in the bathroom doorway, "and take off your shirt. I need to look at your back."
Kitty looked at him, quirking an eyebrow. "Whoa there, sailor," she said. "Pretty sure you're supposed to at least buy me a drink first."
"Oh, shut up and wash your face," he said, trying not to laugh. "You look like you're wearing a Halloween mask."
"Yeah, that's not my blood," she pointed out, rinsing her filthy hands under the tap before reaching for a washcloth. Unfortunately, all the linens were white, which meant the cleaning staff was in for a nasty shock tomorrow.
"Thank you for reminding me," he muttered, opening the box of gauze. He didn't dare touch anything until he'd washed his own hands, which he had to shove Kitty out of the way to accomplish. The sink was splashed with streaks of red and rust, and somehow, the sight of it was more nauseating than anything he'd yet encountered tonight.
"Dude, are you okay?" Kitty asked, peering up at him with deep concern. "You're really pale."
"I did lose several pints of blood," he pointed out, giving himself a mental shake. He couldn't afford to get sick now.
She winced. "Right. You probably should have eaten more than a couple Popsicles. Just saying."
"I'll be fine," he grumbled, both irritated and obscurely uncomfortable. "Shirt. Off." It wasn't as though there was much to remove anyway, thanks to the Memories' claws, but there was enough to get in the way.
"Somebody's feeling bossy." She tried to weasel her way out of the thing, and only succeeded in getting her left arm stuck. "Little help?"
"I think that might be an entirely new level of ineptitude," Erik said, shaking his head. He was somewhat hesitant to help her, and he wasn't quite sure why. He'd spent much of the night trying – and failing – to keep her from bleeding to death with nothing but his hands. Touching her now should not be so unsettling. "Hold still."
She hissed in pain when he pulled the thing over her head, and he fought a wince. Her back was a mess of blood, scabs, and what looked for all the world like brand-new scar tissue. She still had pieces of a ruinous sports bra, but he wasn't about to ask her to remove that. He'd rather not get punched in the chest, thank you very much.
"Bad?" she asked, looking at him over her shoulder.
"Worse," Erik said. "I doubt I need to tell you this is going to hurt." He soaked a clean washcloth under the tap, wrung it out, and wiped at the first of the cuts as gently as he could.
Kitty hissed again. "Mother fuckin', titty suckin', two-balled bitch!" she growled, automatically shying away.
Erik looked down at her – well, at the top of her head – and burst out laughing before he knew what he was doing. "I don't think I've heard that one before," he said, dabbing at her wound again.
"It's from a movie that hasn't come out yet," she explained, shying away a second time. "I thought it was appropriate."
Privately, he had to agree. "Be that as it may, you really do need to hold still, or I'll never get this done."
"I know, I know," she said, only to flinch away a third time. This was getting them nowhere.
"I think I have a better idea," he said, momentarily abandoning her to turn on the shower. He tried to set the water to something that wouldn't burn the cuts, but wouldn't freeze her, either.
"Whoa, whoa, what the – dude, I don't have any spare clothes," she protested, even as he half-dragged her across the floor.
"I think you'll live," he said, and shoved her under the spray.
She screeched like a mashed cat, but he was savvy enough to expect the blow she tried to aim at his chest. At least he'd been mostly right about the water temperature: it wasn't hot, but it wasn't frigid, either. He thought it actually felt pretty good, but Kitty clearly did not agree.
"This will only take longer if you struggle," he said, trying to dab at her back with the washcloth and avoid getting smacked at the same time.
She paused, and turned to shoot him an incredulous look. "That," she said, "sounds so, so, so wrong." She barely managed to finish the sentence before she cracked up entirely, sputtering when the water hit her in the face.
As much as Erik wanted to protest…she had a point. "You know what I meant," he said, carefully washing the worst of the cuts. At least she finally held still, even if her continued giggling made his job slightly more difficult.
As he'd suspected, the injuries looked far older than they actually were. Only the deepest of them oozed upon its introduction to water: the rest really were just a combination of scabs and scars. Still, they had to be cleaned and properly bandaged, or she'd risk sepsis.
"Done yet?" she asked, her tone suggesting she knew full well that he wasn't.
"I'll tell you when I'm done. In case you'd forgotten, you did get your entire back sliced like a package of bacon," he said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. He knew this probably did really hurt, and she was at least trying to hold still. Somehow, with the worst of the blood washed away, the cuts looked even worse – it was much more obvious just how deep they actually were. No wonder they'd killed her.
"Oh, trust me, I hadn't forgotten," she hissed, through gritted teeth. "How long was I – ouch! – dead for, anyway?"
Erik paused. "Too long," he said quietly. "Don't you ever do that again, by the way."
Again she tried to turn to look at him. "Do what?"
"Die on me," he said, and he had to force himself to meet her eyes. "Once was enough."
"I'll keep that in mind," she said, giving him a somewhat strange look before turning away again. "Though speaking of sliced meat, we need to look at your chest."
"I need to look at my chest," he corrected. "I don't need your help."
"Well, you're getting it," she retorted, tensing when the washcloth hit a particularly sensitive patch of scab. "It won't sting enough if I let you do it on your own."
Erik snorted, rinsing away the last of the blood. Her hair remained a bloody, sweaty tangle, though, so he shoved her head forward into the spray, soaking it thoroughly.
"What the – !" Kitty yelped, spluttering. She glared at him over her shoulder, looking very much like, well, a wet, pissed-off cat. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Washing your hair, if you'll shut up long enough to let me do it," he retorted. The tiny hotel-sized bottle of shampoo probably wasn't enough, but it was better than nothing. "Turn your head, will you? Otherwise this will all go in your eyes."
"…Right," she said, but she didn't actually protest. When he worked the shampoo into her hair, he'd swear she actually purred. Unfortunately, that suddenly made him wish the water was much colder.
Well. This was a problem.
He focused on her injuries, since there was nothing at all pleasant about those. They were as effective a mood-killer as anything he'd ever seen. Hopefully that would stick, or he had no idea what he was going to do. Well, other than potentially get punched in the chest.
"Shut your eyes," he ordered, tilting her head forward again to rinse her hair. She spluttered again, wiping at her face; she turned around before he was fully done, stepping back under the spray and letting the rest of the shampoo rinse out.
"You didn't shut your eyes, did you?" Erik asked, arching an eyebrow.
"I sort of did," she retorted, rubbing her eyes. "Just not fast enough. How about we deal with all those bandages, before the hot water runs out?"
She opened her eyes before he could say anything, and went still. Her expression went from amused to curious, and she tilted her head to one side, assessing. "What are you doing?" she asked, when he touched her hair again.
"Honestly?" he said. "I don't know. I do know I'd rather not stop."
"I…think I'd rather you didn't, either," Kitty said, clearly as surprised at what she'd said as he was. "I'm seriously awkward about this sort of thing. In case you hadn't noticed."
"I'm somewhat out of practice myself," he admitted. He was quite sure he was going to kiss her, all his mind's protests be damned. He didn't think he could stop himself even if he wanted to
Unfortunately, he didn't get the chance. Someone pounded on the bathroom door – hard, impatient blows that suggested she wasn't going to just wander off. "Some of us need to pee, you know," Clarice yelled.
Kitty burst into an uncontrollable fit of giggling. "Oops," she said. "So much for that idea. Get your own!" she yelled. "I'm bleeding all over this one."
"Oh," Clarice said, sounding rather subdued. "You need any help?"
"No, I think I'm good," Kitty replied, stifling another giggle. "I could use a spare shirt, if anyone's got one. Mine can't really be qualified as a shirt anymore."
"Gotcha," Clarice said. "Don't bleed to death."
Kitty shook her head, reaching out to pick at one of the knots on his makeshift bandage. "We probably better finish this up," she said. "Before somebody just barges on in and wonders what the fuck we're doing."
It was a good question. Erik himself wasn't entirely sure just what the hell he thought he was doing. It was probably a good thing they'd been interrupted – and not just because they were actually injured quite badly. They were probably both still in shock, and shock could make people do all sorts of things they'd regret later. If this did actually go…anywhere…he'd rather it not be because neither of them could really think straight.
"You're probably right," he agreed. "And we ought to hurry, before Clarice gets back and asks all sorts of questions I don't particularly care to answer right now."
"And she totally would," Kitty sighed. "Okay. Hopefully your cuts aren't as nasty as mine."
It took Clarice a while to find anyone willing to part with their shirt. Under normal circumstances, she knew Logan would have given her his, but he had Rogue practically glued to his side, and was too smart to risk dying if her chin hit his shoulder. Ororo wound up sacrificing her undershirt, which at least wasn't covered in soot and blood.
Actually using someone else's bathroom was harder than it ought to be, too. Everybody was taking turns showering in theirs, and she hoped like hell Kitty hadn't used all the hot water in theirs. Theoretically, she and Ororo were sharing a room with her (and probably Erik, since the two seemed joined at the damn spleen) and there was only so much water a water heater actually held.
"You're going to leave the kittens overnight, I hope," Ororo said. "Even all eight of them together couldn't flip over that water tray, and you're in no condition to be portaling anywhere."
"I know," she sighed. "I just want to sleep, but I'm not doing that until I get a fucking shower. Kitty's busy bleeding in ours. Somebody is going to have to deal with her back."
"Somebody probably already is," Ororo said dryly. "Notice who's missing."
Clarice made a face. "Oh, God," she groaned. "You don't think they're…you know, do you?"
Ororo took one look at her horrified expression and burst out laughing. "In their condition? I doubt it. I don't think we need to worry about our shower getting defiled."
Clarice shuddered. "Thanks for that," she muttered.
She needn't have worried. By the time she got back to the room, she discovered them both swathed in bandages like slightly damp mummies, sound asleep. She set the shirt on the end-table and tiptoed into the bathroom to take her own shower.
It looked like someone had been murdered in there. Half the towels were both wet and bloodstained, and the sink, counter, and walls of the shower were streaked with rusty-red. The sight made her shudder again, but it was hardly going to stop her. She had her own wounds to clean and bandage, and then she would happily sleep until tomorrow afternoon.
To all my Kitty/Erik shippers, have a present (slightly awkward, but with those two, right now, it totally would be). To all my Rogue/Logan shippers, you will have a gift once they get back to the mansion, and Logan has all his…supplies. Kitty's 'line from a movie' comes from Paul.