"You ladies are looking rather...dewy?" Hank said tentatively.
It was true, both Jean and Betsy were damp. Sweating, you might say, if you were less polite.
"I need a shower," Betsy said and stood from the chair at the hospital bedside.
From the bed, Remy watched her go. "Can't take de heat," he commented.
Jean plucked a few tissues from a nearby box and blotted her upper lip. She was seated on Remy's opposite side.
"Hot in there, was it?" Hank said to Jean with a sly smile and nodded at Remy.
"I've been hotter," Jean said smartly and stood. She briefly touched Remy's shoulder. "Try to get some rest."
He smiled up at her. "None for de wicked."
Jean briefly touched her lips to the side of his head before departing.
"Did ya see dat?" Remy asked Hank excitedly. "Wait'll I tell Logan!"
Hank patted Remy's opposite shoulder. "Maybe a momentary pause in attempts on your own life."
Hank sat in the chair Elisabeth had vacated. That was when Remy realized his left wrist was held to the bedrail in a soft restraint. He saw his forearm was covered under a bedsheet, but there was a suspicious tube emerging from beneath. His eyes followed the tube upwards, where it seemed the thing was attached to a bag of transparent liquid.
"Now, don't panic," Hank began as that was precisely what Remy began to do.
"What'd you stick me wit'!? Get it out!"
"Intravenous fluids," Hank said calmly. "You were dehydrated."
"Fluids! Fluids? What fluids? Gin is a fluid! Antifreeze is a fluid!"
"I will remove it now, if you will just be still."
"Chained me t'de bed! I got no choice!" Remy's hands began to flare with pinkish light.
Hank hastily reached under the sheet and extracted the IV. "Done! Done, no harm!" he then pulled the Velcro restraint apart. Remy clasped his injured wrist in his opposite hand and glared at Hank. Still the picture of calm Hank added: "It looks as though you've retained your ability to transmute potential to explosive kinetic energy."
"Transmute you inta big blue dust bunnies!" Remy grouched.
Hank sank back into the chair, causing it to creak. "This phobia of yours," he began. "It's more than just fear. You are in some way fundamentally opposed to medical treatment."
Remy felt his guard come up. He watched the doctor warily.
"You'd never had an exam until a few months ago," Hank said. "Am I right in guessing you've never been vaccinated?"
Remy had no response for that either.
"You refused the painkillers when your hand was broken. You mentioned a faith healer of some kind? For Warren?"
"Well it didn't look like medicine was helpin' him out, now did it?" Remy replied hotly.
Hank crossed one arm across his chest, placed a clawed fist under his chin. "Roman Catholic, not Christian Science?"
"Catholic, weh. Though I have read de works of Mary Baker Eddy, and while I might quibble wit' some of her-."
Hank held up his hand. "My friend, I believe this is where we will find ourselves in disagreement. I will not even entertain a debate on the matter, because I don't want to give credence to-."
"Sure, you go ahead and keep your thinkin' to yourself. Heaven help you if I call inta question your beliefs. Mebbe they wouldn't stand up t'de test? What is faith, if it's not been tested? Just blindness!"
Hank drew a steadying breath, and Remy could tell the doctor was trying to prevent himself from going toe-to-toe with him now.
"I don't operate on faith alone," Hank said finally. He turned to the bedside table and retrieved a deck of playing cards. "Would you mind terribly performing a brief demonstration of your abilities? We'll conduct a more thorough exam in the Danger Room when you're feeling up to it."
Remy snatched the deck from Hank's hands, still feeling angry. Anger was a good distraction. Remy would rather argue religion than talk about what he'd seen in that Weapon X facility, about what happened there with the needles and tubes. Or what happened after, to his father, because Remy was so careless and afraid. He opened the box, scored the top of the deck with a thumbnail, and extracted the deck. Cut and shuffled it in one hand three times. Remy drew the top card and looked at it. King of Diamonds, reversed. B-A-D, bad. Single-eyed king, who sees only one way, his own. A treacherous schemer.
The playing card flared abruptly, and Remy tempered the charge. The card deteriorated.
"I would prefer to conduct a scan, but instead I'll just ask: how do you feel?" Hank asked. "From an-internal energy standpoint?"
Remy put a hand to his chest. He saw he was wearing a hospital gown, his legs covered in a sheet. "I feel it. Still. Not out of control, just like a low hum."
"It does not seem that you've retained the ability to heal yourself, at least not as quickly as before. Your face, I'm afraid to say, is quite battered."
Remy plucked the front of his hospital gown, looked down at his chest. "Been marked," he said, looking at the diamond-shaped scar on his chest. Not a scar from being shot in the chest, as he'd thought. Something else.
Hank was still talking: "Jean severed some connections, but your powers remain. They are just not accessible to you. It's possible your brain may heal or find other ways to compensate for the loss..."
Remy felt a tremor start somewhere in his stomach. His mind was in total revolt. Without the vault, there seemed to be nowhere for him to put the feelings or flashes of memory he was experiencing. They were instead manifesting themselves in his now shaking hands.
"Remy?" Hank said quietly. Hank put a hand on his shoulder and Remy jerked himself away, moved to avoid Hank's touch.
"Stop it. Don't touch me," Remy said, voice rough. "Just stop talking."
Hank sat forward, rested his chin on his fist and watched Remy carefully, silent for several long moments. "Alright," he said finally. "Would you like to test me? Perhaps you can tell me what Ms. Baker Eddy had to say. I'll listen, keep an open mind."
"My arguments escape me at de moment," Remy said, his throat tight. "But if you are feeling sinister. Go off and see a minister. He'll try in vain, to take away the pain, of being a hopeless unbeliever."
"Some other time, then. When you're feeling more yourself...It was a heinous violation, what was done to you. You did nothing to bring that on yourself. You are not to blame," Hank said. "The best way to truly defeat Sinister is to recover. To have total victory, you must heal yourself. It may not feel this way now, but it will get better. There are several people here, who can relate and commiserate with your experience. You are not alone."
"X-Folks get possessed a lot, do you?"
"Define: 'a lot,'" Hank said. He reached across Remy to retrieve the box of tissues Jean had used. Placed it in Remy's lap.
"Like a damned soap opera, dis place," he added, crumpling several tissues in his fist. "So who all's got an evil twin?"
"I wouldn't have described her as being 'evil', but rightfully troubled."
Remy laughed weakly.
"Ororo was kind enough to retrieve your clothes from the wreckage of your apartment," Hank said. "You'll feel better once you've got something more colorful to wear."
"Is dat a doctor's opinion?"
"The students are all here, New Mutants and our charges from X-Factor. I believe they are having a spirited competition in the arena of decorative baked goods. Christmas cookies. Would you care to help judge the finalists?"
"I might follow my doctor's advice in dis one instance."
"Rogue told me you are not to eat anything colored red. Do you have an explanation for that?"
"You're de expert. Why don't you tell me?"
"I wonder if you don't suffer from some form of adult attention deficit hyperactivity disorder."
"Forget I asked."
Next time: The past comes back to haunt Gambit.
Remy's Random Reference:
But if you are feeling sinister - Feeling Sinister, Belle & Sebastian
Aw, can you believe there are only two more chapters?