Chapter 3
Authors Note: First off I just want to say how horribly sorry I am for not updating. I spent 3 months doing medical processing for the Air Force, got sick two times, college semester started, and generally life just came up and gave me a swift kick in the butt. I'm still not sure where I'm going with this, but hopefully I'll be able to figure it out. Anyways, enjoy.
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Jean sauntered quietly back and forth across the med lab. She glanced at her watch and noted it was about 3 in the morning. After finding her asleep on the floor, Hank had taken Rogue back upstairs to her own room and now he and Storm were both napping on cots across the med lab. They had decided once Logan stabilized that it would be best to take shifts looking after him. Jean walked back to the table and stood there, looking down at Logan. He looked frail and weak, not at all like tough and rugged Wolverine. His skin was pale, except for the flush in his cheeks and dotted with beads of perspiration. The heart monitor he was connected to beeped a steady rhythm. Jean checked the drip on the IV, and the breathing tube they'd been forced to put in after he started having seizures. She removed the cloth from his forehead and replaced it with a cold one, then took another cloth and gently wiped across his bare chest and over his arms. She stopped when he began to stir.
"Logan?" she whispered softly, sitting down next to him and taking a hold of one of his hands. "Open your eyes." He didn't move again and Jean was afraid that maybe it was just an involuntary response. "Please Logan, come on."
Logan's eyelids fluttered open, then promptly closed. Jean dimmed the lights with her powers. Slowly he opened his eyes again and let them wander.
"You gave us a big scare," Jean smiled, still holding onto his hand. She sensed he was confused. "I'm not sure why, but you got very, very sick. Your temperature shot up to 106..."
Logan's eyes closed again. All the information was too much to process. He was tired, and confused, and he hurt. When Jean stopped talking, he turned to her and reached up cautiously to the tube in his mouth.
"We can take it out," she informed him, turning a crank on the table that brought him to a sitting position. "On the count of 3 I want you to blow, and I'll take the tube out. 1, 2, 3"
As he blew outward, Jean pulled on the tube. Once it was out he began to gag and cough and sputter. "Nice, deep breaths," she told him, and then handed him a cup of water.
The coughing and gagging had woken Storm and Hank up and before he knew it, Logan had an audience standing around him. He felt uncomfortable being hooked up to all the wires and tubes and machines, as well as being half naked.
"My throat hurts," he whispered.
"Well that's probably from the tube," Jean smoothed back his hair. "You were having seizures and we had to put that in to help you breathe."
"This isn't supposed to happen." He began coughing again.
Jean's face fell flat. "I'm running tests to try and figure out what's going on. But for now, all I can do is treat your symptoms."
"Jean.." Logan said and swallowed hard.
"What's wrong?"
He continued swallowing. A strange feeling was welling up in the pit of his stomach. Jean managed to get the pan in front of him just before he lurched sideways and started to vomit. Logan looked absolutely miserable. Jean could tell this was definitely a new experience for him. All she could do was rub his back until he was finished. If it weren't for the fact that he felt so horrible, he would have vehemently protested being watched while he threw up.
"Here. This should help," Storm smiled sympathetically as she handed him another glass of water.
Logan took the glass with a grunt of thanks and began to drink it. Too quickly he decided, because it didn't stay down very long. This time he put up a fight and between heaves managed to croak out, "Could you guys just leave me alone. I don't need an audience." His stomach flipped again and he continued to vomit.
Jean looked to Storm and Hank and gave them a nod to say that she could handle it. They understood and after saying they hoped he felt better, left Jean to tend to Logan.
"You know, being sick isn't anything to be ashamed of."
"It is when you don't get sick," Logan replied, leaning back on the bed and turning away from her. "I'm tired."
Sighing, Jean made sure that her patient was warm and comfortable and left him alone to rest. She dimmed the lights and on her way out, told him if he needed anything to use the button attached to the bed.
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For a long time Logan lay very still, staring out into the dimly lit room. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep but he was achy, hot, and the beeping of the heart monitor was starting to drive him nuts. Finally he grabbed at the wires attached to his chest and ripped them off. Unfortunately, instead of simply making the beeping stop, the monitor began going haywire. Alarms went off, and the beeping turned to a steady hum, thinking that his heart had actually stopped.
"Aww shit," he rasped, covering his ears. He sat up and fought back a wave of dizziness and then started pushing buttons to try and shut the annoying machine off. It refused to comply, and he was about five seconds from simply putting a claw through it.
"What's going on in here?" a tired voice said above the noise. Jean hurried in and looked from Logan to the machine, and then to the dangling wires.
Jean was wearing sweat pants and a long sleeve pajama top. Even in his current state, Logan still mused at the fact that Jean could pull off looking sexy in pajamas. "Sorry," he whispered. His throat was killing him. "I couldn't sleep, and that machine was bugging the shit out of me."
Rolling her eyes, Jean shut the machine off. She was tired. Between Scott, and spending most of the night looking after Logan, she had had very little sleep. It was beginning to show. "Just, sleep. The more rest you get, the quicker you'll get better." She frowned and then turned to go back upstairs.
Logan watched her go and then settled back onto the bed. He sneezed a few times, rolled around to try and find a comfortable position, and managed to fall into a coughing, tossing and turning, congested sleep.
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"Hey shugah," Rogue smiled as she stepped tentatively into the med-lab. "How are you feeling?"
Logan was playing with the controls on the bed he'd been moved to. "Fine," he replied flatly without even looking at Rogue. He didn't want anyone to see him in such a miserable state.
"You really scared us," she said softly, looking down at her hands. "I mean...well I was really scared."
He looked over at her and then broke into a series of loud sneezes, then followed them up with a very loud attempt at keeping snot from running down his face. Rogue looked rather disgusted. She walked across the room and returned with a box of Kleenex.
"Here..these work much better than sucking that junk down into your throat. It'll upset your stomach even more," she informed him.
Logan slowly pulled one of the tissues from the box. He'd never been sick before. How did people do this? There was no way he was going ask Rogue for instructions on how to blow his nose. He stared at her while he held the tissue in his hands. She got the hint.
"You rest, and if you're feeling better later I'll come back and we can play a board game or something." She smiled at him and headed out of the room.
As soon as she was gone, Logan put the tissue to his nose and blew. He winced as his ears popped unmercifully. He tried it again, this time a little softer, and to his amazement he discovered it was a much better way of unclogging his stuffed up sinuses. Maybe if I keep doing this I can get all the junk out and be able to breathe, he thought. For the next half hour he sat, engrossed in blowing his nose. He kept pulling tissue after tissue from the box. Finally, when the box was empty and he was surrounded by used Kleenex but was still stuffed up, he grumbled and settled back into the bed. Now he had another ailment to add to his growing list. He'd have to remember to ask for extra-soft tissues when Jean came back. He had a feeling he must look like Rudolph.
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"Whoa," Jean surveyed the room. Logan was nowhere to be seen, but his bed, and the floor around it were littered with crumpled up tissues. The toilet in the adjoining bathroom flushed and Logan appeared a moment later. "You feeling any better?"
He grumbled and pushed the Kleenex onto the floor, then climbed back into the bed. "No."
"Well, I thought maybe if you think your stomach can hold a little bit of food that you might like some soup." She handed him the bowl and then started to sweep up the tissues. "You used an entire box of Kleenex?"
"I'm really stuffed up," he sniffed to demonstrate while he played with the soup. Tentatively he sipped some of it and waited to see what would happen.
Suddenly an agitated and whiney voice came over the intercom. "Jeeeeean?" it wailed.
"What is it Scott?" Jean sighed, speaking back through the intercom.
"Can I have lunch?" Scott's voice came back.
Logan saw Jean ball one of her fists at her side. He ducked under his blanket and tried to pretend to be asleep. He figured that laying down might put him out of harms way if objects started to fly.
"I'm sure Storm would make you a sandwich if you asked her," Jean replied tersely.
There was a moment of silence before, "But I want you to make it."
Logan buried his face. He heard the door slam as Jean left the med-lab. Suddenly his stomach responded to the soup. He was going to be sick again. His attempt to remove himself from the bed didn't go quite as planned and he ended up tangled in the blanket, falling over the side of the bed and sending a flurry of tissues up into the air. He scrambled to the bathroom just in time. He felt really disgusting being covered in sweat and having a horrible metallic soup taste in his mouth. Throwing up seemed to sap him of the little bit of energy he had, he sank to the floor and let the coolness of the tiles press against his fevered forehead. It felt good against his face, but made the rest of his body shiver. He just wanted to go back to his bed; his nice, warm bed but he had run out of strength to drag himself from the floor.
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"Logan," a gentle voice said, which was followed by a soft hand gently shaking him.
"Mmmpff," he grumbled. When he opened his eyes, Storm was standing over him. He realized he'd fallen asleep on the bathroom floor.
"Come on, let's get you back to bed," She said, helping Logan get to his feet.
He was extremely dizzy, and was shivering so much his teeth were chattering. Storm managed to deposit him into the bed and cover him up. He continued to shiver.
"W-w-here's J-J-ean?"
"Shhh," Storm hushed him. "She's resting. Between you and Scott she hasn't had any sleep herself. Relax. Hank and I are here."
Hank appeared out of a closet with an extra blanket. "How are you feeling Mr. Logan?" he asked in his distinct, physician way.
Logan wished people would stop asking him that. He closed his eyes and burrowed into a ball, hoping to get warm. A moment later he felt Storm's soft hands on his burning face.
"Hank, he's really warm."
Something hard, which Logan guessed was a thermometer, was shoved in his ear. He tried to pull away from it and heard a sigh followed by Hank saying, "His fever has gone back up."
Just let me die peacefully, Logan cursed to himself. If they didn't stop hovering and smothering he thought he'd go crazy. Of course, going crazy would require energy, which he most certainly had none of at the moment.
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Logan spent two days quarantined in the med-lab, where he was repeatedly poked and prodded. They took his blood, made him pee in a cup, as well as stuck a little light up his nose, in his ears, and down his throat, which concluded that he was not only suffering from the flu and a horrible head and chest cold, but that his tonsils were quite inflamed. To add more to his misery, he'd been forced to allow Jean to give him a shot of penicillin in the rear-end. It seemed to only put a small dent in his fever but didn't do much of anything else, and every time she'd come into the room afterwards, he'd had to turn away so she wouldn't see how embarrassed he was. He was also surprised at the number of cards and thoughtful notes that came down from upstairs, as apparently word had circulated about his being ill. It hadn't occurred to him that he meant that much to the other occupants of the mansion.
As Logan entered his third day in the med lab, some good news finally came his way. "Well," Hank smiled as he examined the thermometer. "Your fever is down. Do you think you're feeling well enough to go back to your room upstairs?"
Logan thought about his soft bed and his own bathroom. He was feeling better, but he was still completely exhausted, congested, and his body ached, although he'd managed to keep a small amount of ginger-ale down. "Yeah. I think so."
Hank smiled. "Just stay in bed and take it easy, and you should be over this in a few days."
"Great," Logan grumbled and then coughed. "A few more days of hell."
"You'll be fine."
Logan sighed and sniffled as he tugged on a t-shirt and a pair of pants. He stood up and grabbed the edge of the bed to steady himself.
"Logan?" Hank questioned. "Maybe you should--"
Logan held up a hand and slowly shook his head. "I'm fine." He slowly made his way out of the med-lab and upstairs.
"Hey," Bobby called. "Hey how are you feeling?"
"Fine, kid," Logan sniffled.
"You're up," Rogue smiled, appearing out of the living room. "They finally let you out?"
Logan erupted into several loud sneezes. Both Bobby and Rogue stepped back.
"Kleenex," he mumbled behind his hands.
Rogue hurried into the living room to grab a box and tossed it to Logan. He caught it with one hand, barely, and hurried into his room.
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"You're looking a little better," Jean smiled. She was sitting on the edge of Logan's bed, looking slightly more rested than the last time he'd seen her. "Did Hank take your temperature before he let you leave?"
"Mmmhmm," Logan nodded, sneezing into a Kleenex. "I can't...stop...ACHOO! ACHOO! sneezing...and I ache all over."
Jean looked at him sympathetically and pushed a damp strand of hair off his forehead. "You know what might make you feel better?"
If you curled up next to me and held me in your arms, Logan thought. "What?"
"A nice warm bath. That always makes me feel better."
That did sound nice. Logan shrugged, "I guess."
She patted him on the leg and then headed into his bathroom. He heard the water running a short time later and then from down the hall, "JEAN I NEED ANOTHER ICE PACK!" If he could have seen the ice pack Jean sent floating to Scott hit him in the face, he would have sent himself into a coughing fit from laughter.
"Go take your bath," Jean said, re-emerging from the bathroom. "I'll bring you a bowl of soup and some ginger-ale when I give Scott dinner."
"And some more tissues?" Logan sniffled, dragging himself off the bed.
"And some more tissues," Jean replied, smirking as she headed out the door.
Stumbling into the bathroom, Logan stripped off his clothes and stared at the bathtub of water. Tentatively he dipped a toe in, then slowly a foot. The water was pleasantly warm and he was thankful for Jean's idea. He eased the rest of himself in until he was sitting, then curled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. After a few moments he leaned into the water, so his back was resting on the slope of the tub.
A loud knock on the door followed by, "Logan!" startled him back to reality. The water had grown tepid. He'd fallen asleep in the bathtub!
"Logan, shug, are you alright?" Rogue's voice asked, edged with concern. She waited for a moment before a stuffed up, "yeah fine, kid" came back. A moment later he appeared, wrapped tightly in a flannel bathrobe. "Did you fall asleep?"
All she got in response was a mumble as Logan headed to the dresser and grabbed some clothes. Rogue left the room without a word and when she came back, Logan was now dressed in comfortable clothes, and she was carrying a hair dryer.
"What's that for?"
She proceeded to plug the dryer in. "You're sick, and you shouldn't be walking around, or sleeping with wt hair."
"Oh no," he started to protest and sent himself into a coughing fit.
Rogue took this chance to advance on him in his distracted state and before he could wiggle away, she'd turned the dryer on him. She knew he was weak, and wasn't going to put up a fight so instead he sat there, sniffling, arms crossed, sporting one of the ugliest scowls Rogue had ever seen.
"There," she smiled, "You're finished. Nice and dry." She kissed him on the top of the head and headed out the door with a, "Feel better Logan."
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Logan rolled over on his left side and stared out the window. He watched the snow fall and then rolled onto his stomach. Sniffling, he flopped on his back. After he'd managed to keep down a half a bowl of soup and some ginger-ale, he figured he must be getting better. Now he was rolling from side to side, trying to get comfortable. He was exhausted but achy and still moderately feverish, and his nose was so stuffed up he thought his eyes might pop out of his skull. Finally he couldn't stand it any longer. He sat up groggily and wrapped his blanket around himself so it covered over his head like a hood. Everyone else must be asleep, he decided. He hadn't bothered to look at the clock The only lights on were the dim hall lights. As he headed toward the living room, he noticed the television and a light were on. Oh just who I want to see, he scowled. Scott was stretched out on the couch, his ankle propped up and wrapped in ice, flipping through the television channels.
Scott felt the presence of someone behind him and turned his head to see who it was. His first instinct was to scowl and voice a smart remark. But he saw how miserable Logan looked and bit his tongue. In fact, he felt sort of sorry for the man. He figured it must be difficult to deal with being sick, when you'd never been sick in your life. Neither of them spoke.
Logan cleared his throat and made the first move, "How's the foot?"
"Fine," Scott looked down. "How's your...," he paused, unsure of what to say and finally settled on, "Cold."
"Fine," Logan echoed. He erupted into a few loud sneezes, and Scott turned his head to shield himself.
"You should sit down," Scott said in a monotone voice. He noticed Logan really wasn't looking too hot. Hesitantly he moved himself farther back on the couch to make more room.
Ok, I must be sicker than I thought. He's being nice to me. Am I dying, or is this some kind of a dream, Logan wondered? He was feeling dizzy though so he sat down on the other end of the couch. He broke into a fit of coughs that sent his sore throat into flames again.
Scott watched him for a few moments. Wow, he really is sick. "Have you taken anything?"
"Huh?"
"You should take something for that. You'll feel better, and you'll be able to get some sleep." Logan didn't answer, and finally Scott pulled himself up so he was standing on his good foot, and tucked his crutches under his arms. "Come on."
Reluctantly, Logan followed Scott to the kitchen. He stood there still wrapped in his blanket as the other mutant began rummaging through the cupboards. After a few moments he turned, showing he'd found what he was looking for.
"What's this stuff?" Logan rasped.
"It's Nyquil. Trust me, you'll feel a lot better once it kicks in."
"How much of it am I supposed to have?" Logan questioned, taking the bottle.
Scott rummaged around in the cupboard again. "I think a half of that little medicine cup should do it."
Logan examined the bottle again, and then poured some of it into the cup.
"You might want--" Scott started, and then cringed as Logan merely downed the medicine. "To get a glass of water," he finished as Logan began to hack and sputter while trying not to spit the foul mixture out all over the place.
"You could have warned me," Logan snarled, which set him coughing.
Scott frowned. The thanks I get for being nice, he muttered to himself.
A glass of water seemed to control the coughing and Logan finally asked, "So what are you doing up?"
"Couldn't sleep," was the response he got, as Scott popped a few pills into his mouth. He hobbled back to the living room with Logan following behind and settled back on the couch.
Slowly Logan made his way to the other end of the couch and stretched out. "I suppose If we both can't sleep, we might as well not sleep together.."
He got a funny look from Scott.
"That didn't come out the way I wanted it to."
"You're congested, and your brain is functioning less than usual," was the reply back.
Logan scowled. "You want another broken ankle one-eye?"
Neither one said anything else. Scott picked up the remote and started channel surfing again. He stopped on a VH1 special of a Britney Spears concert. "You can change it if you want," he offered the remote to Logan, his eyes glued to the TV behind his ruby-quartz glasses.
Logan tried to pretend not to be transfixed by Britney dancing on screen. "Um, well whatever...I don't really care."
The only sound in the living room came from the TV as silence reigned again between the two men.
"You know, I kind of feel bad for her," Scott finally spoke.
"What? Why?"
"Well I mean she gets all this negative attention just because she's not ashamed of her body."
Logan finally said what both men were thinking. "She's hot. I mean, hell if I was a chick I'd be showin' that off too. More chicks should be proud'a bein sexy."
When Scott didn't reply, Logan tore his eyes from the screen. He could tell by his breathing that his companion had fallen asleep. Turning back to Britney, he watched until his eyelids grew heavy and he fell asleep as well. That was how Jean and Storm found them the next morning. Logan curled up on his side, snoring with his mouth open at one end of the couch, and Scott at the other end, murmuring.
"Let them sleep," Jean smiled. "We'll get some peace and quiet, and they'll get some rest."
Storm smiled back and whispered, "I'll make the coffee," as the two women headed to the kitchen to get some breakfast.