Title: Child Of The Snows Chapter 12.
Author: Andrea The Mad
E-Mail: andreaslaymaker@hotmail.co.uk - good, bad and ugly welcome. But if you hate it, at least try and be polite.
Disclaimer: Only Smoke belongs to me, a fact she is unlikely to let me forget. Everyone else belongs to Marvel - please don't sue me, I'm skint.
Archive Rights: DDFH - where else? But if you want it, just ask.
Rating: R for general unpleasantness, squickiness and quite a bit of bad language. But then, if you're squeamish you probably bailed out ages ago.
Summary: Smoke awakens, and lacks a sense of purpose.
Soundtrack: Thank doG for the Red Hot Chilli Peppers. Their new album has been a great help here!
Chapter 12
Lost
Pain. Lots of pain. From insistent burning, to niggling aches, to sharp stabbing crackles. Ouch. Feels like transformation, but a lot longer and…not quite.
Where am I?
Smells sort of like, well, a bit medical-ish. But not entirely. Should I open my eyes? Have I still got eyes? Hmm. Worry about that later. Can't hear anyone in the…well, wherever I am. Sounds small. Can't smell anyone. People been here recently…Him. Her. The blue one. Now that was a surprise. Lots of people around, but…away. Long way away. Quiet in here. Smells quite nice, actually. Flowers. Polish. Beeswax, I think.
OK, time to find out if I still have eyes, and if they still work. Ha! Wouldn't that be funny?
Smoke gingerly opened her eyes and looked around.
Pleasant room, neutral, warm colours on the walls. Wood floor. Dark, russet drapes at the window, currently pulled back to allow the morning sunshine to stream through cheerfully, and play with the dust motes that sparkled above the rug. Bathroom over there. Smells clean - hate a dirty bathroom. Ugh. Definitely medical, but disguised to be, well, not. Friendly.
Oh. Well. OK then. Perhaps they're not all that bad, then. Even so, best have a look around. Find an escape route…just in case.
She sat up, and looked down at herself in the bed.
Ah. Hmm. Arms and legs again, is it? Wonder when that happened? And a drip - she raised her hand and frowned at the catheter pointing out of the back of it - that's coming out. *Rip* Ow. Hate those things. Better tie a knot in that line, or it'll leak all over the damn floor. OK, done. And - looking down, then lifting the covers to see herself - oh my, a nightie. A pink nightie? Someone is going to be in some very deep doo-dahs when I find out who put me in a pink bloody nightdress whilst I was out. Seriously. I mean, pink. Bastards. Oh yeah.
She made to pull it off over her head, but collapsed back on to the pillows with a faint moan.
Oh, shit! What the hell is wrong with me? I can hardly sodding move!
Pale and sweating, she lifted an arm out of the bed and waved it about vaguely, trying to gauge how much strength and control she had left.
Answer? Not a hell of a lot. Question. What hurts? Everything. Not helpful. Feet - she wiggled them - check. Ouch. Joints and muscles - yup. Ribs - she gave them a poke - oh bloody hell. Ow. Lungs? Deep breath - no, they seem OK. Shoulders, arms, fingers - check, check, check. All present and correct, all bloody sore. So what do I do if someone comes in and tries any funny stuff? I dunno, I could always faint on them. Or puke on them, that's always good.
Her introspection was broken when the door cracked open to admit the considerable blue furry bulk of her doctor, Henry Mc Coy. Painful or not, she flew across the room and backed into the furthest corner, giving him a growl worthy of the Wolverine.
"I'm…I'm not going to hurt you. But it is highly gratifying to see that you are awake and - I see, no drip, why am I not surprised? Please, come out of there and stop growling at me. I really mean you no harm."
Standing there with his hands outstretched to show her he was carrying no weapon, and with honest concern written all over his big blue face, she reluctantly had to admit that she believed him. After all, he appeared to have saved her life. The growling rattled to a halt, although she continued to give him her best come-and-get-bit glare.
"You won't hurt me?"
"On my life and honour, no."
"Good"
And with that, she collapsed into unconsciousness once more.
*****
"She should be - ah yes, there we go. Hello, Smoke? Marie is here, would you like to speak to her? I thought you might be awakening about now, so when she asked if she might visit I acquiesced. If you don't want her to I can always - "
A hand stretches out from the covers, and touches blue lips gently.
"S'ok. Now…..buzz off, huh?"
"Oh. Ah. Alright."
Feet pad quietly away, and the door closes. Smoke stretches - less pain now, just a bit stiff. Good. Someone else beside the bed. Open eyes, blink. Her.
"Hi, how ya feelin'?"
Peek under the covers. Blue pyjamas. Thank god. Sit up, that's better.
"Ah, hello. Much…much better, thanks."
"That's good. You had us all worried there for a moment, y'know? And you scared the bejesus out of Hank when you went and collapsed on him."
"Oh. Sorry about that." Smoke wrinkled her forehead in a frown. "I didn't offend him just now, did I?"
"Nah. He's a good man; he's been cluckin' over you like an old mother hen, been real protective, especially since - "
Marie didn't need to continue. Smoke could feel it all, coming off her in waves; she'd been picking it up through the walls pretty much every time she drifted close to the surface of consciousness. Jean, who else? She'd spent the whole time smouldering about the mutant who'd thrown the whole place into chaos; upset her best friend, assaulted her husband and - worst of all - seemed to have brought Rogue and the Wolverine closer together. That had really upset her. She didn't necessarily want Logan; oh no, she just didn't want anyone else to have him.
"I don't like her. She hasn't been…treating me, has she?"
"No. Hank's been keeping her clear. He only got a bit upset once; apparently it was her that suggested the pink nightdress. You've been fretting about that for two days - couldn't stop muttering about it, despite being asleep."
"Oh" tears sprang to her eyes "poor man. He seems so…nice. And poor Jean, really; she's so unsure of herself, that's why she's so…well…"
"Bitchy?"
"Um. Yeah. It must be horrible to hate yourself so much you hate everyone else too. Mind you," and here a thoughtful frown appeared on her face, "Just because I understand it, does not mean I have to like it!"
"Good for you, sugah. Now, to the real reason for my visit; the Professor wasn't sure if you'd be feeling up to a visit from him so he sent me with some messages. First: you're OK staying here with us?"
Smoke's eyes went very wide, and she scooted lower under the covers.
"In the…you know? The, uh, mansion? Oh. Well. Ah. Too many people. Uh - "
"It's OK." Marie laid her hand gently over Smoke's where it was fretfully plucking at the bedspread, "Not in the mansion. There's a little cottage thing - used to belong to the gamekeeper - it's being renovated for you now."
"For me? Why?"
"Cause you're one of us, sugah. Now, don't cry - really - all that, y'know, other stuff that happened? That was all our fault. We dragged you down here and expected you just to cope. 'Ro gave the Prof and Logan hell for that, let me tell you. Then the Prof gave Jubes and Gumbo seven shades of shinola about scarin' you off. Man, you shoulda been there - "
"Rogue - "
"Shush. You feeling strong enough to get out of bed? Cause I thought you might like to take a walk around, if you're feeling up to it."
Smoke gave up. Welcome back to the world, I guess. These Americans - excitable lot. I don't think I'll ever fit in but hey - ugh, that speech pattern is infective, I'm sure - She's OK, and He's alright, the Man In Charge is English and means well, and the Big Blue Doctor is nice, but what about the rest of them? Red Hair hates you. Yellow Dress isn't keen, and that one She called…Gumbo? How odd…he's just scary. And they want me to stay? Maybe they won't mind if I just sort of…of mooch about a bit. Bark at intruders. Howl at the moon a bit.
A great wave of loneliness and - be honest with yourself, girl - self pity just came roaring out of nowhere and flattened any fledgling self confidence beginning to show a fang in Smoke's battered soul.
"No, I…please, leave me be for a bit. I'll be fine, honest. It was very kind of you to come visit. Please thank everyone. Please -"
Marie could see, and feel, that things were about to get out of hand again. Time for a tactical withdrawal. She rose to go, patting her friend's trembling hand gently.
"OK, but if you need me, just ask Hank. He can find me." Smiling kindly at Smoke - who had progressed to just staring at the wall and shaking - she gently eased herself out the door, and walked swiftly to a small conference room where Logan, Hank, and Professor Xavier were waiting.
"How'd it go?" asked Logan, opening his arms to her. She took refuge in them, and buried her face in his shoulder.
"I can only assume from our friends' slightly worried countenance that things did not go as well as could have been hoped." Hank looked glum.
Marie leaned back from Logan's chest and took a deep breath before turning to face the others.
"She's scared. I'm having a really hard time getting through to her; I think it's the idea of just lurking about here that's bothering her so much. I mean, who wants to feel useless?" Marie sighed sadly, causing Logan to pull her into him even more tightly. He kissed the top of her head gently, then cocked an eyebrow at Xavier.
"Chuck? You're a Brit - do you know anything that might help? Cos I'm stumped. I got her here - you said you could help her. Can you? Or should I just take her back up into those mountains and turn her loose?"
Xavier looked uncomfortable for a moment.
"You're right, Logan; we may have badly miscalculated how we handled the whole episode," Logan met Hank's gaze and rolled his eyes at the Professors cavalier use of the word 'we' in this context, "but I feel I might have an idea of how to handle the current crisis. Are we all still determined to help this poor lost soul?"
"You hafta ask?"
"Sure thing, sugah."
"You have my word, as a scientist and as an X-Man."
"Good."
********