A/N: More X-Men appearances in the next chapter. I want to thank everyone for their support of all my writing, and I can only hope that you enjoy this installment as much as you seem to the other ones. More updates are on the way, so please bear with me.

"I just don't understand it."

I glanced up from the mug of hot chocolate Jean had fixed me. She had taken the seat across from me at the kitchen's marble island, chin resting in her hand as she watched me. I took a moment before replying, simply studying her face. She had always been beautiful, without a doubt, but now she glowed. There really wasn't any other way to describe it. Pregnancy was treating her well.

"Y' don't understand what, Jeannie?"

She stood from the bar stool with only marginal difficulty, and started pacing from the island to the fridge and back again, rubbing her tummy absent-mindedly with every step. "You just said you're not angry at Rogue. Now, don't misunderstand me. I love Rogue, she's one of my closest friends, and I know the troubles she's had because of her powers. But thinking of it from your perspective...I don't think I'd be able to forgive her. How can you do it?"

I said nothing for a long minute. Jean was brilliant, both in intelligence and power. But she could never truly understand the complexities of the relationship I shared with Rogue. I barely did half the time. I took another sip of hot chocolate.

"S' not dat easy,"I said softly. Jean stopped pacing, and sat back down, hanging off my words with rapt attention. "It's hard enough being me inside m' head. Rogue was t'rown in dere wit' all my t'oughts, most o' which ain't exactly butterflies and daffodils. If I have trouble being in dere, I couldn' expect her t' last long."

Jean favoured me with a look that could only be described as pitious. "You think she didn't know what she was doing when she left you there."

I was thankfully saved from answering when a figure appeared in the doorway. A tall, bulky, fuzzy, blue figure holding a medical bag in a hand so gargantuan it was almost funny. Almost. Jean had sent Scott, Logan, and Bobby away with very detailed instructions not to mention my return to anyone. Using her exact words, "You should settle in before everyone comes crashing through that doorway." I was glad she thought that way. Facing the others was going to be hard enough slowly, and one at a time. The idea of seeing them en masse made my heart beat just a little faster in my chest. I assumed she had called Hank telepathically, because he didn't look surprised to see me.

"Remy,"he said softly, inclining his great furry head in my direction.

I didn't respond. Truth is I didn't have any idea what to say. Hank had always been particularly hard for me to read, even with my empathic skills. But my secondary mutation had been out of whack lately, and I was hesitant to try to use it. I couldn't tell if the crinkling I noticed in his forehead was a result of concern, or anger.

He set his bag of supplies on the island, and turned to look at Jean. I was suddenly struck by the sensation of a conversation taking place quite literally over my head. Again, hesitant to use my powers as I was, I was helpless to do anything but stare and hope that eventually they would let me in.

Turns out I was in luck. After about a minute, Hank nodded minutely and turned to regard me once more. "Jean suggested I give you a rudimentary exam. There are certain health risks to being...uh..well, that is..." He stared down at his hands, clearly flustered.

My eyes widened quite noticeably in surprise. In all the years I've known Hank McCoy, I've never seen him at loss for words, and he really seemed to be drowning here.

"S'okay, Bete,"I said even as he looked to Jean for some kind of help. "Y'can say it."

"...exposed to the elements, as you were,"he finished finally. His gaze was even and strong, holding my eyes in his sights almost as if he didn't want me to misread him. I chose to ignore it. There were important and certainly more stressful things on my mind than the subtlties of Hank's intentions. He opened his medical bag and pulled out a stethoscope. "Would you remove your jacket and shirt, please?"

The muscles in my face went slack, and I could feel my jaw dropping to the floor. I glanced at Jean for some kind of clarification, but she did nothing but shrug her shoulders and smile. "Y' serious? Y'want t'do dis here?"

Hank looked up from his preparations on the island, and I searched for some kind of sign of the practical joke that was assuredly about to take place. But one thing I had learned about the doctor over the years was that he doesn't lie well. It was the main reason why Bobby and I used to leave him out of whatever complicated caper we were planning that week. And it was the same reason why I could look at him now and know that he was seriously intent on conducting this exam in the mansion's kitchen.

Jean slid off her stool to remove the doorstop and shut the swinging door.

"Remy, if I remember correctly, you hold some kind of adverse reaction to the medlab, and anything that resembles it. While you have never shared with me why, I am no less reluctant to believe you. So instead of asking Jean to bring you to me, I came to you. Alright?"

I took a moment to even out my breathing, and nodded tersely. Jean had remained on this side of the door when she had closed it; clearly she planned to give some kind of assistance for whatever Hank had planned on doing. I didn't like it one bit. There were things about me that Hank, as a professional medical doctor would understand, and overlook as best he could. Jean wouldn't be so forgiving.

I made a day of slipping out of my duster, folding it up neatly and slinging over the back of an empty counter stool. The rattling of the pills in one of my inner pockets echoed in the silence of the room, but neither Jean nor Hank reacted. The dark brown, button up shirt I had picked up somewhere in my travels was difficult to manage through gloved hands, but I wasn't about to shed them. Hank seemed to notice this, but the only sign was a slight raising of his eyebrow. My breathing had sped up somewhere in the past couple of minutes, and my heartbeat was keeping a fast tempo in my ears. I didn't want them to see this. Either of them. I had spent hours staring in the mirror since...Antarctica, and if I didn't like what I saw I really doubted they would. But they continued to stare, apparently oblivious to how difficult this was for me.

Suddenly angry at their non-chalance, I ripped open the last few buttons, tore the shirt off my shoulders and slammed it down on the island. Jean's sharp intake of air was like a gunshot going off. I closed my eyes softly, mortified at the blush I felt creeping into my cheeks, but I could still feel their eyes burning holes in my skin. I felt rather than heard Hank take a step closer. His touch on my back was light, but I sub-consciously flinched away nonetheless. His fingertips traced a scar across my back, from the top of the right shoulder blade down to the bottom of the left side of my ribcage.

"How did these happen?"he asked, and I was arrogantly satisfied to hear the shock in his tone. He moved on to another scar, this one a little deeper that ran down the length of my spine, parellel to it. His fingers counted my vertabrae that stuck out too far for my liking.

"I got off de...de island, but not wit'out a price."

I could feel the tension in the air thicken as they both searched for a meaning behind my words. They weren't going to get it from me.

Hank cleared his throat. "Well, this will take nothing but a moment. I'd like to listen to your breathing."

I nodded, but didn't open my eyes. I didn't want to watch him work, to see him react to the story of my life as told by old scars and injuries. But more importantly, I couldn't bear to see the pity I would unquestionably find in their eyes.

The cold, circular feel of metal against my back told me Hank was getting started. I followed his orders, taking as deep a breath as I could manage on command, waiting patiently while he listened both sides front and back. After what seemed to be a lifetime, he stepped away and told me quietly that I could put my shirt back on. I thrust my arms into the sleeves, and didn't even wait to button it up before throwing my duster on overtop. There was nothing more important in that moment than putting on as many layers as I could, creating as thick a barrier as I could between me and them. I set to the task of doing up the shirt, which was a chore much to difficult for my trembling hands to manage. In evident sympathy for my rather sorry condition, Jean slid over and relieved me of my duties. With a soft smile she took my hands in hers, and set them on the countertop. Her steady fingers conquered the shirt in less time than it took for Hank to put his stethoscope away. Her long-nailed, deceptively strong hands smoothed the wrinkles from the fabric, and while her left hand fell back to her side, her right remained against my chest. The warmth of her skin was transfered through the thick cotton, and sent tingles up and down my side. Again, she smiled with a tenderness that made my eyes suspiciously watery.

"Remy, I do believe you are suffering from a case of rather severe pneumonia, but I'd like to take some x-rays to be certain."

Embarrassed, I stepped away from Jean. "Y'don't need t'do dat, Bete." I pulled the bottles of medication out of my jacket pocket and set them down on the counter. "I'll save ye de trouble, enh?"

A frown creased Hank's forehead as he reached out and picked up them up in a great meaty paw. "When did you get these?"he asked, after a brief moment spent reading the label.

I shrugged. "Dunno. Bout t'ree, four months mebbe. Un docteur in Australia was willin' to help out a po' sick Cajun."

He handed back the vials, and I slipped them into a different pocket. "Remy, these antibiotics are supposed to be taken according to a strict regimen. I see that you haven't been following it. If you had, I wouldn't have been able to detect the pneumonia at all."

I made a face. "Yeah, well, dere isn't always time."

"What are the painkillers for?" I glanced up at him to catch his gaze. The lecture waiting in his eyes was obvious; it was the same one he had given me a thousand times already about following the doctor's orders. Lucky for me he appeared to realize I really wasn't in the mood for another lecture.

"Don' really know. He prescribed dem, but I don' take dem."

His look turned flat, and I knew that while I was an exceptional liar, I hadn't fooled him.

"Take off your gloves, Remy."

"Why?"

Hank's concerned look turned deadpan. "I don't really have to answer that, do I?"

My silence and outright refusal to look him in the eye angered the doctor. Frustration sharpened his words as he explained his reasoning. "Because frostbite is a high risk when exposed to cold temperatures. Because it can deaden skin and tissue, and in the worse cases, leave amputation as the only option. Because while I don't know you as well as some, I know that your stubborn defiance to show any sign of weakness is not only ridiculous in every aspect, but dangerous to your health, as has been proven in the past. Now I ask again, please show some sliver of common sense and allow me to examine your hands."

For a long moment, I didn't say anything. Couldn't say anything. I had served up quite a lot of crap in the time I had spent in this mansion, and it had always been Hank who ended up dealing with it. He had never been anything but patient with me, but it seemed that even the steadiest of people have their breaking points. I sighed softly. The nylon/polyester blend my gloves were made of were great for concealing fingerprints, but they had a tendency to stick to open wounds. But the time I had peeled them off both hands and deposited them on the counter, all the creases in Hank's face had melted away.

"Oh, Remy." He took my hands in his own with a tenderness that sometimes astonished me to know he was capable of. He had been right on the money with his concerns. A somewhat mild case of frostbite had deadened most of the skin on both my hands, and while for a time it had been solid black in some places, they had long since blistered over. The problem now was that the original blisters had never healed, and new ones continued to form over the older ones. It all left my hands a bloody, festering mess.

"Jesus,"Jean breathed, moving closer to Hank's side.

The doctor looked up at me, all traces of his earlier frustration long gone. "I trust your feet are in a similar condition?"

This time I could honestly shake my head. "Non. Lucky for me, I put socks on dat morning. Dey not so bad."

He shook his head slowly, then said, "Jean, my dear, could you please pass me some benadine scrub, and the four by four gauze?"

She immediately complied, carrying the requested items to the kitchen sink as Hank led me over by the wrists. "I will not lie to you, this will hurt a great deal. But it is entirely necessary to ward off the infection that is developing."

My eyes fell closed and I nodded. I never really had a problem with pain, either in the physical or mental state. In my experience, it was a way of life and a young child growing up on the streets learns quickly how to deal with it. But when Hank poured his betadine on my hands, and started scrubbing away at them, I saw stars. My knees went weak with the sharp, blinding pain, and I had to prop myself up against the counter to avoid kissing the floor. Jean was at my side in an instant, wrapping an arm around my waist and lending her support.

Fortunately for me, Hank worked quickly, and before the pain even receded, I noticed he was finished. He patted them dry with a handful of papertowels, then applied a thin layer of aloe vera cream.

"You'll need to get these bandages changed twice a day to avoid infection. Either Jean or myself could do it. I will prescribe a new round of antibiotics, and you will take them on schedule if you value your hide."

He smiled to take the harsh edge out of his words, and I nodded. Whether I could actually prove capable of doing so remained to be seen, but he didn't need to know that. He placed several pieces of gauze over the worst of the damage, and then wrapped both hands with a cotton mesh. He secured the bandaging with medical tape attaching the whole shebang to my wrist.

"I realise I may be wasting my breath by saying this, but it would do you well to limit the use of your hands. The healing process will begin much faster that way."

I didn't want to mention to him that I might need to use my hands to defend myself in the days to come. Jean flashed her starburst smile at Hank, probably for putting up with my stubbornness and not throttling me for it. She turned the look on me.

"Nobody touched your room, Remy. Do you want to go see it?"

Even without my empathic talents, I could read the hidden meaning in her words. To go see my room would be to leave this kitchen, and that would put me on neutral ground. In other words, there would be nothing between me and the others. Nothing, that is, except for a red-headed spitfire. I glanced over at Hank, and he favoured me with a soft smile. It occurred to me then that throughout the years I had known them, it had always been these two that came to me aid. There was a third that could fit into that category, but after learning of my past I doubted she would even look at me. But as a true test to the character of these two X-Men, they put behind whatever it was they were feeling, and gave me something I didn't deserve. Kindness. And I wasn't going to make them regret it.

"Sure, Jeannie. Let's go."

...to be continued...