Sorry this was later than usual, no time, no time! I barely have time for things! Ok, no freaking out. Sorry about the lack of review replies, I really like that part but I'm sure you guys won't mind if I spent my time writing these chapters instead, because, yeah, I uploaded two tonight!
Jubilee moved through the damaged kitchen with no luck in locating the coffee pot. She hoped it wasn't smashed like everything else. She had already spent half an hour cleaning the mess and could not find it. With every step her feet grated fine china into even smaller bits, making her wonder what had wreaked such havoc in the first place. She bit her lip nervously and sifted through the mess. Worry etched at her nerves as she thought about everything that was happening. She had never felt more uninformed, couldn't remember having such little control over life.
First it was the mutant predator, hunting down her people one by one. Then her parents came and hauled her away from her friends. But then she returned, was finally taking action against all the heinousness—and she did not feel any better than if she had just remained at home. If anything she was even more disturbed. Who were those men? Where had the shapeshifter come from? And those eyes, those evil red eyes...
Jubilee shook her head vigorously. "Stop thinking about it!" she snapped at herself and ran a hand through her silky black hair. She gasped with elation at spotting the coffee pot. Miraculously it lay on the floor, sporting many scratches to the glass but no cracks. She quickly began brewing a large pot of java. They were going to need the extra boost of energy, not having rested since returning to the Institute; there was no way any of them could get to sleep. She glanced at the clock. 6:07AM. She hadn't checked on her comatose friends for a couple hours now. After pouring herself a large mug of coffee, she walked to the Med Bay.
Ray and Roberto had been working on fixing the patio door and sweeping up shards of broken glass. They spent thirty-five minutes prying forks and knives from the kitchen door and took even longer removing the motorcycle skid marks from the foyer. Together they wheeled the Harley out of the foyer and towards the garage. It was then that the thought occurred to Ray, "That Gambit guy still around?"
"Huh," Roberto sighed, stroke his mouth. His split lip had ceased its bleeding, but was now a scarlet scab of soft tissue. "He would've left, right? I mean, what's to keep him from leaving after Mr. McCoy fixed him up."
Ray huffed, "You didn't notice how he made eyes at Rogue all the time?"
"Yeah, sure, but she's untouchable and Gambit doesn't look like one for platonic relationships."
"Guess not," Ray conceded. "Seems like a guy who doesn't like being tied down."
They propped the motorcycle against the wall of the garage, admired it for a few moments, and went back outside. The summer morning was cool, drops of dew still visible on various plants. An azure sky blushing with white cumulus clouds seemed to smile down at them, insist that the world was a better place than recent events led them to believe.
"I didn't even notice what a pretty day it is," Roberto muttered. He felt the warmth of the sun on his skin, began absorbing its energy. He always felt better afterwards. "It's just us now, huh. The adults are gone, the X-Men are gone...what the hell are we supposed to do now?" He gritted his teeth, tension building in his muscles. He seriously needed some physical exertion to exhaust this anxious energy.
Ray shook his head as they walked towards the mansion. "Don't know, man. We just have to keep our cool, figure something out. The Acolytes and Brotherhood are out of the picture...maybe the Morlocks can help."
"Maybe," Roberto said doubtfully. "If they're not all comatose already."
Ray opened his mouth to reply but stopped. He looked around, hearing a strange yet familiar whirring sound reach his ears. "Hey, what's that?"
"Don't know," Roberto said, scanning the area. "It's coming from..."
They turned towards the woods, in the direction of the sea. They weren't sure where to look or for what. After a few confused moments they finally spotted an aircraft, not very far away at all, and heading directly towards the Institute.
"X-jet?" Roberto said hopefully. "The Professor and them—"
"No," Ray shook his head, squinting. "It's too small. It's..." He noticed a trail of smoke streaming from the tail, saw the aircraft buckling unstably. It flew nearer and nearer, growing in size as it approached at an alarming speed. He missed the obvious, staring in dumb curiosity until the fact hit him: "Oh, hell—it's going to crash!"
They scurried towards the mansion, hoping that the plane wouldn't crash into the building. That was the very last thing they needed.
The small jet screamed as it swooped past them, held steady by an invisible force that was fast weakening. Ray and Roberto flew aside from the violent gusts of air. The jet's belly scraped against the tree tops until the nose dipped low enough, digging into the undergrowth. Branches, leaves, and trees flew apart from the plane's forward rampage, chunks of dirt and pebbles spraying into the air. The rumbling of metal grating against earth came to a numb silence as the jet slowed to a bumpy stop.
Ray and Roberto sorely climbed to their feet. Ray favored a scraped elbow as he turned towards the foreign aircraft. Steam rose in wispy tendrils from several areas of the abused vessel. He half-expected the thing to blow up from being so damaged. It always happened in movies, at the most unforeseen and inconvenient times.
Roberto was already soaking up more solar energy in anticipation of a fight. He nodded towards Ray and both approached the craft slowly. By trained reflex they moved into a fighting stance at the first sound.
Much to their surprise, a familiar red beam blasted an exit in the side of the plane.
"Cyclops?" Ray shot a confused look at Roberto, who was gawking at the jet.
The smoke cleared and a slender figure climbed out unsteadily. Her face was shrouded by tangled auburn hair, white stripes in front fluttering wispily. Large splotches of blood covered her chest, stained her hands. She looked up, green eyes tired and pleading. "Help him," she uttered, and collapsed to the ground.
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Jubilee came rushing out of the Med Bay, coffee still clutched in one hand. She met Ray and Roberto in the kitchen, saw a bloodied Rogue in Ray's arms, and her muscles went slack. The porcelain mug shattered to the floor, coffee splashing in a messy pattern on the linoleum.
"What—how—oh my God!" she gasped.
Roberto, with his heightened mutant strength, hefted an even bloodier Gambit. "We need to get him some help," he said. "The nearest hospital, where—"
"Oh, my stars and garters."
All three turned towards the voice. Ray and Roberto nearly dropped the people they carried. Hank stood in the doorway, groggily rubbing his eyes. "Come on now, get those two into the Med Bay. We just got some empty beds."
"I was just coming to tell you guys," Jubilee said. She closed her eyes, gesticulating as if it was easier to think that way. "The others—they're waking up and Hank was first and Kurt's already porting around in a panic and Jean is having a migraine and—what was that noise??" She seemed to be near hysterics. Too many things were happening at once.
Hank, ever the voice was reason and calm, told her, "It's all right, Jubilation. Everything is going to fine." He seemed very tired but was otherwise fully functional. He rubbed his head, "Gambit is bleeding profusely, Roberto. Quickly, get him into the surgical area. What's Rogue's condition?"
"It's not her blood," Ray said. "Gambit's the one with the bullet holes. And there are four other guys in that plane but we couldn't carry them all..."
"Hurry now," Hank ushered them. "Time is of the essence." He followed the boys into the Med Bay with Jubilee trailing behind.
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Roberto stood at the sink, washing his hands. He had already lathered and rinsed five times, but after handling so many bloody people, he wasn't feeling quite so sanitary. There was Gambit, a bloody pilot, a bloody red-haired man, an unconscious youth and then a certain old fellow who was refusing to answer anybody's questions, despite being the only conscious person they had discovered on the crash-landed jet. Roberto, what with his enhanced strength, did most of the lifting. He sighed and grabbed the soap bar for another round of washing.
"Try this." A furry blue paw handed him a bottle of medicated antibacterial wash.
Roberto didn't hesitate to take it. "Thanks, Mr. McCoy."
The beastly doctor nodded and removed his spectacles. He rubbed his eyes tiredly before putting them back on. "After you're done, I suggest you join the others in the reconstruction efforts. It seems our home has undergone much injury these past few days. God only knows what occurred here." He shook his head.
"You all right?" Roberto asked worriedly. "You jumped into surgery really soon after waking up."
Hank waved away his comment as though the notion was impossible. "Nonsense. I had at least an hour to recuperate before Jubilee discovered us awake. And besides, it is inherent in my mutation that I have heightened stamina." He moved away from the sink, to the tiny refrigerator he kept in his Med Bay office. Pulling out a water bottle, he unscrewed the cap and took a long drink.
"How was it, by the way?" Roberto asked.
"The surgery?" Hank recapped the bottle, set it on his desk. "As good as could be. Gambit lost a lot of blood, but he's a very lucky lad. Jean helped a lot as well. She's demonstrating innate medical instinct...but, ah, it was fortunate that Rogue arrived when she did. Another hour and he would have been beyond our aid."
Roberto shook his head and released a guttural breath, "Jesus, what do you think happened? I mean, Ray, Jubilee, and I thought we were the only ones left—besides Jamie you know, but—hell, then that airplane crashed in the backyard..." He shook his head again. "And that old man isn't telling us anything. I swear Ray is just going to zap him to get some answers pretty soon."
"I don't doubt it." Hank offered an assuring smile and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Don't worry yourself too much. All the loose strings will be tied in due time. I believe it's safe to say that the worst is over. Our friends are recovering by the minute and the Professor, Logan, and Storm have radioed, informed us of their homecoming." He led Roberto through the doors of his office and into the Med Bay lounge. "Fix yourself some dinner, Roberto, or go on up to bed if you're tired."
Roberto shook his head, "Nah. I'll help the others with the clean up. Wanna see how everybody's reacting to Colossus and Pyro being around." With a half-hearted smirk, he left the Med Bay, but not before sparing one last glance in the direction of Rogue's bed. He frowned worriedly, wondering just what she had been through, then promptly departed.
Hank sighed. Grabbing some charts along the way, he entered the main patient sector of the Med Bay. Seven beds were currently being occupied. Scott, Lance, and Amara remained in bed rest, still quite weak from muscle atrophy. At the moment Jean sat at Scott's bedside, holding his hand and engaged in a quiet conversation. Every once in a while one of them would laugh, give the other a reassuring squeeze of the fingers. Amara was peacefully reading a Seventeen magazine while Lance slowly sipped from a Styrofoam cup.
"How's the soup, Mr. Alvers?" Hank approached. He checked the boy's vitals as he spoke. "I haven't tried it myself, but I trust Tabitha and Wanda can brew a decent stew?"
"A little watery," Lance replied, "but it's okay." He seemed anxious to get out of bed, as though uncomfortable with being under the X-Men's care. "So, I can get out of here now, right?"
"Another day in bed will do you well," Hank told him. He scratched some notes onto the boy's chart and smiled like a good doctor. "Finish that whole cup, digest a bit, and then take a slow walk around the Med Bay. You have to reintroduce your muscles to movement a little bit."
Lance nodded and Hank moved to the next patient.
"Utterly absurd," Amara said as he approached. "I wouldn't pay seventy dollars for that poncho. It's so ugly!"
"Fad interests are fads for a reason, yes?" Hank chuckled.
Amara huffed, "It's the shock factor. Afterwards you wonder 'What was I thinking' because you realize just how gross the outfit was." She flipped the page and smiled, "Now this angora sweater I can understand." She was strangely cheerful and indifferent towards her situation. Before being rendered comatose, it was obvious that she had been frightened and insecure, but her present attitude contradicted the previous trepidation.
Hank knew why: none of the victims could clearly remember what happened to them. It seemed their minds had been so boggled and confused during the mutant predator's attack that memories of the actual deed were disrupted beyond potency, no longer comprehensible. Images of a wispy face and fading semblances of fear floated about Hank's memories—but nothing concrete enough to evoke any post-trauma symptoms. He was glad for that, already having many things to worry about.
When he moved on to the next bed, Jean and Scott were equally amiable. Scott himself said he felt very well-rested, though slightly weak from days of lacking movement. Hank then moved to check on the wounded pilot and the red-haired stranger. Both were heavily sedated but recovering well. After scribbling the appropriate notes on their charts, Hank approached the young brunette man holding an ice pack to his head.
"How are you feeling, Mr. Napes?"
"Uh...fine."
Hank noticed the apprehensive glances directed his way. "Looks can be deceiving," he said to the young man. "I don't bite."
Napes released a nervous laugh. "Heh, yeah...so, when can I get out of here?"
"After you've answered some of our questions."
"Listen, seriously, I don't know what's going on. I mean, this is just a gig, y'know? I'm trying to pay my way through college and I sleep half the time on the job anyway so please don't do mutant tortures on me or anything because—"
"Mr. Napes, relax," Hank cut him off. "We do not torture people. That is not the X-Men's purpose. Otherwise I wouldn't bother doctoring you."
Napes frowned as the logic dawned on him. "Guess not," he shrugged.
"Jean," Hank called, "would you please escort Mr. Napes to the main living area? Ray and the others are questioning the other...guest."
Jean hesitantly stood from Scott's side. Waving the young man to walk ahead of her, she followed him out of the Med Bay.
With a resigned sigh, Hank moved on to his last patient.
She had miniscule injuries when brought into the Med Bay. The worst wounds were tiny scratches along her hands and neck; save for a bruise on her jaw and frayed skin around the wrists, Rogue was completely well. Or so she physically appeared. Hank went through the usual routine of checking the vital signs. He stood at her bedside, counting the intervals of her pulse and breathing rate; he checked the dilations of her pupils and then body temperature—all appeared within normal parameters. Jotting down the results, he frowned in deep contemplation. She had slept through the entire day without so much as a twitch or murmur. Hank doubted it was because of physical exertion, though he guessed that also must have been substantial. He admired the girl's persevering strength, the stamina she possessed that might easily have been on par with his own. At the same time, he wondered about her mental state as well. What Ray and Roberto had described when the jet crash-landed...
Rapid footsteps patted through the air and Tabitha suddenly appeared in the Med Bay, short blond hair slightly windblown. "They're back!" she exclaimed excitedly.
Nobody required further elaboration. Hank filed away the patients' charts and eagerly joined the others gathering in the foyer. He smiled with the knowledge that the X-Men were now whole again.
Heh, I just realized that this chapter had almost no Rogue/Remy in it at all! Well, hope the next one's better...yet we are still in the process of recovery.