Disclaimer: Maggie and Jessica are mine. I'm working on a diabolical plot to make the rest mine, all mine!
Apologies for this chapter being so long in the making. The lack of opportunity to write while I was away, coupled with a string of domestic distractions contrived to delay my return to the keyboard. That and the fact I fell into yet another pit of writers block slugs. Thankfully Dee (MidLifeCrisi) was on hand once again to haul my sorry ass to safety. Great catch Dee:0)
Thanks to JoeGood2003, Dee (MidLifeCrisis), Dr. Nat dayrunner 145, Taluliaka, firefly750, Merilyneb, IYLuvr200 and A Reader for their encouraging reviews.
On a more serious note, my prayers go out to the people of New Orleans and all the souls whose lives have been affected by Hurricane Katrina. The devastation left in the path of this monster of nature has stunned the world.
Chapter 12: A Shock to the System
There are ghosts in the darkness. I don't believe in ghosts but that don't stop the bastards talking to me. Their susurrus echoes faintly just beyond the range of my hearing. I can sense they're frantic; afraid. What the fuck have ghosts got to be frightened of? Ain't they supposed to be the ones doing the scaring? I wish they'd shut the fuck up and leave me be.
Logan.
Well waddaya know? One of 'em knows my name. I can't decide if that's a good or a bad thing so I ignore it in the hope it'll get bored and go haunt someone else.
Logan!
My name carries like an urgent whisper blown on the wind, filling the darkness and disturbing my peace. Casper can't take a subtle hint so it's time for a more direct approach.
Fuck off!
C'mon big fella, give me a sign here.
The words form an angry, persistent buzz in my ears. You wanna sign? I gotta sign for ya. In the darkness I flip my invisible tormentor Shroedinger's finger.
Now go the fuck away will ya?
Somewhere beyond the darkness I can hear another noise, a broken sigh. Is someone crying? Could be someone laughing. I can't be sure. The sound gradually drifts away.
Times passes, I think, but here in the darkness there's no way of telling. It's so peaceful here; no fear, no pain. Nothing.
No, that's no longer true.
Tendrils of pain infect the darkness, making it convulse, bringing unwanted intrusions from outside. A ravening beast lurks in the brightening shadows, poised to sink its brutal talons into me, to claim me for it's own. It stinks of something that has dogged my every footstep for fifteen years. The rank smell of fear.
Nightmare grips me but it's evolved; transcended; moved on. Gone are the semi lucid flashbacks of immersion tanks and vague figures in bio-hazard suits injecting me with molten hatred. Someone's decided to up the ante and coat my nerve endings in acid, strip them raw and inject them with molten metal too. Wish that was all but it ain't. There's a vicious twist to this new avenue of pain being explored. Pressure envelopes my rib cage like a vice, crushing the air from my lungs, sending pain stabbing through my chest like spear thrusts. Short of dropping a mountain on my head, and maybe not even then, this ain't supposed to be possible. How can it be happening? Has some perverted fucker discovered a way to soften adamantium and is running trials by pureeing the life outta me?
Lungs are on fire, starved of oxygen; struggling to breathe. Airways're blocked. Something's covering my nose and mouth, something that reeks of plastic and worse. I'm suffocating. Gotta get it off 'coz even I can die of asphyxiation. Don't wanna die. Not helpless like this. Not even in a nightmare.
Panic triggers a threat response and the adrenaline boost burns through my arteries and adds fuel to the flames already consuming me. Instead of the anticipated surge in strength my head spins as the constriction in my chest tightens making it even harder to breath. As nightmares go this bugger is off the scale. The claws spring smoothly from their housing, bringing with them a more familiar, acceptable pain and I anticipate the welcome intrusion of reality. What I experience is warm blood welling up and spilling across both sets of knuckles. Too much of it. The agony isn't subsiding. This ain't no nightmare. It's fucking real.
I'm back in the hands of my torturers!
A disembodied female voice announces, "Damn. We've got V-tach. Moira I need thirty milligrams of lidocaine, stat."
"So much? Is that wise?" Second voice's female too but this one's got a strange, lilting accent. They're importing sadists now?
"How the hell should I know? Nothing about this guy is straightforward. Just do as I ask. Shit, what's he doing?"
Stupid bitches forgot to strap me down. Nothing works right and my arms feel like a couple of tons of lead are attached to 'em. Only by a supreme force of will can I make them move. The exertion makes breathing worse. Feels like I'm trying to breathe wet concrete. Gotta get this thing off of my face. Fingers the size of bed rolls finally rip away the suffocating plastic and it falls, clattering on some nearby surface. The effort's almost too much and I let my arms fall to my side as the frenzied beating of my heart thunders inside my head and chest. Can't stay here. Can't let them see how helpless I am. Can't let them violate my mind and body again. Gotta be strong. Gotta move. Gotta get away from here. Gotta kill 'em if I can.
The accented voice says, "The laddie's waking up, hen."
"And he's unsheathed those blades. This job's complicated enough without having to play dodge the claws. I thought the Professor was guarding against that."
Eyes are open but I'm seeing only blurs of light and vague shadows that swim in and out of my field of vision. And I got the clinical stink of the laboratory in my nose now. Ain't the one I'm used to. That one plies at the bottom of a lake. But these places are all the fucking same, right? Mouth's dry like old twigs and ashes. Something's nagging at the back of my mind. An amorphous urgency that's battering away, demanding I sheath my claws. They're inside my head again. Forcing me to do things I ain't gonna.
"RRRrraggghhh…"
Throat's too constricted to articulate. Breathing's a serious problem and I suck down air in short, gasping pants. No strength to sit up I try and roll but my body refuses to obey me. I'm as weak and as vulnerable as a newborn. What the hell's going on? What's happened to my healing factor? What the fuck have they done to me? Whatever it is they ain't fucking doing it again. And why is it so damned hot in here? I gotta get out; gotta get away.
"Logan's mind has descended into a feral state. Charles is no longer able to elicit a rational response from him." There's fear in the lilting voice. Good.
"He's panicking, trying to roll off the table," the first voice announces brusquely. "If he dislodges the IVs and prevents us stabilising him we could be looking at another cardiac arrest. Maybe even a funeral."
Cardiac Arrest? Again? My fucking heart stopped beating?
Something pins my wrists down and I try to struggle free. Nightmare visions burst into horrific animation inside my head. Chemicals, laboratories and doctors add up to something I don't wanna be acquainted with no more. Hate doctors. Don't trust the motherfuckers. Doctors ripped me open, tortured me, destroyed my mind and poured molten metal on my bones. Gotta get out of here.
"Logan?" The weird accent again, pitched a little higher this time, broken somehow, as if her throat is raw. "Yer safe. Nae one can hurt yeh. Please sheath yer claws." She's the bitch pinning my wrists down. Sheath my claws? No fucking way!
"Grrrrahhh!" The growl comes out as a hoarse, almost imperceptible croak. Was that me? Can't be.
"We'll have to restrain him, Moira. I can't risk either of us being skewered."
"That's nae a good idea, hen. The laddie has a mortal fear o' being shackled."
"And I've got a mortal fear of being stabbed to death. If Charles can't control him then we have to. He's not leaving us any choice."
Not gonna happen. Yer not having me at yer fucking mercy. I won't let ya. I'll kill ya first.
"Maggie's on her way down."
"What the hell can Maggie do? We don't have time for this, Moira."
"Maggie's an empath. She has the skill to reach Logan on a more primal level."
"If I don't get the lidocaine in him now her trip downstairs will be for nothing."
"Then do it, Cecilia."
"Not until his wrists are in restraints. If you won't do it I will. Hold him still."
I try to shake them off but all I achieve is a palsied trembling of my limbs as I feel leather cuffs being fastened around my wrists. The plastic smother is jammed over my face once more. That's when the animal breaks loose and coherent thought breaks down. Instinct and feral senses turn my surroundings into shrink wrap and everything goes crazy.
Suffocating. Life being crushed from me. Choking chemical smell then wildfire surges through my veins, flash burning everything in its path. Can't stop it.
Cornered.
Agonised.
Brutalised.
Terrified.
Helpless.
Lash out.
Kill the tormentors.
Body not responding.
Nothing works.
Stop the pain.
Stop the fear.
Stop everything.
Run and hide.
"Logan. It's Maggie."
Kill you.
No threat.
Tear you. Rip you. Kill you.
No threat.
Kill you?
No threat.
Liar.
Safe.
No. Pain. Fear. Trapped. Not safe. Liar!
No threat.
"Trust your instincts, Logan. Smell the truth."
Safe. No threat.
Trust. You? Fear. Pain. They are here. They are pain. They are fear. No trust.
No threat.
"Trapped!"
"Not anymore. Your hands are free Logan."
No threat. Safe.
Free? Yes!
"Safe? Free?" So tired.
"Yes, Logan."
Cool dampness on my face. Soothing. Feels good.
"That's it, pet. Relax. Let the animal go. I'm here now. You're safe."
"Maggie?"
"Yes, pet?
"Do I know you?"
-o0o-
Can't breathe; lot of hard work for no fucking return. No wonder. Plastic obscuring my face. Stink makes me feel sick. I pull it off.
Vision's blurred. A coffee coloured blob poking from a baggy blue sleeve thrusts the thing over my face, smothering me again. I struggle. Don't want it; try and turn my head away to no avail.
"Nuhhhh," I gasp.
"It's oxygen, Logan. It'll help you to breathe." Female. And kinda familiar but I can't place her. "I'll give you something to make it easier, okay." She looms over me and there's a weird clicking noise, like insects scuttling across ceramic. I can smell chemicals and suddenly I feel a mild tingling sensation spreading from my right hand and up my arm. Drugs! The fucking bitch is drugging me.
"Nooooo!"
"Hey tough guy. Barely conscious and causing me more trouble, huh?"
"G'fuck y'self."
"That famed verbal abuse of yours is music to my ears, stud. Do you know where you are?"
Stud? That what passes for bedside manner 'round here or has the bitch been peaking? "In hell. Wass wrong? Som'n's wrong." The words are muffled by the mask. Why the fuck am I slurring my speech like a goddamn drunk?
"You're doing fine, Logan," She assures me.
Fine? If I'm doing fine why the fuck am I here?
The blurs turn grey. Leached of colour everything goes away for a while.
-o0o-
Something's wrong. I can feel it in my alloy coated bones. Inside my head the animal rages, urging me to get the fuck outta Dodge before something worse happens.
Something worse than what?
I lie there staring up at a clinical white ceiling with diffused fluorescent lights, taking my bearings. There's a machine beeping away close by. The stink of anaesthetic and other medicated chemical shit assaults my nose. And I'm not alone. I can hear someone breathing, shallow and even, as if asleep. A strong sense of déjà vu twists my gut and instinctively I lift my arms and feel relief flood through me. No restraints.
Nose tells me the nearby presence is female. No denying that giveaway musky odour. The eyes confirm it. Slim, dark skinned woman with braided and beaded hair and rumpled blue scrubs seated and slumped over a desk. Definitely asleep. The rank smell of sweat tells me she ain't washed for a while. Neither have I. This is significant. Time has passed. At least twenty four hours worth, probably more.
The desire to leave quickens my blood and I try to roll on my side noiselessly, swing my legs off of whatever I'm lying on but find myself getting tangled up in plastic tubes and wires. I'm hooked up to something. Several somethings. Rooms spinning so I pause, wait for it to stop. I check the woman. She doesn't stir.
Nose prongs. My chest feels like a chorus line of elephants has tap-danced on it so maybe the oxygen was a requirement. Breathing hurts but I don't seem to be struggling so the prongs are the first to go. I've got tubes and wires coming out of what seems like everywhere. I'm hooked up to IVs and a whole bunch of monitors. I begin plucking at the electrodes and grimace like a wuss as chest hair comes out with some of 'em.. No point silently beating feet if I'm hauling a cartload of electronics after my ass. The screen flatlines as the last of the electrodes falls away and a continual, monotone drone replaces the beeping. Another glance at the woman finds her head still resting on her folded arms.
I manage to sit up but dizziness makes my head spin like a son of a bitch. I feel weak too, like I've been drained of energy, like Rogue's done her vampire thing. And the left side of my face and neck burn. Exploratory fingers discover ragged lines of healing tissue. Something cut me but good.
Removing the IV lines is going to be trickier than the electrodes. I start plucking at the canula on the back of my right hand.
"Still giving me grief, I see. What do you think you're doing, Logan?"
Narrowly focused on making my escape I hadn't heard the change in her breathing pattern or the rustle of clothing as she stirred herself from the chair. The doctor, a vague memory tells me that's she ain't no nurse, looks and smells exhausted. And she's too small to cause me any problems.
"Leaving."
"Do you think that's a good idea."
"Don't give a shit. I'm goin'."
"And just how far do you think you'll get with a pulmonary embolism?"
"A what?"
"You have a blood clot in your lung."
"That's impossible. I don't get blood clots."
"You do when your supercharged immune system attacks and destroys the cells in transfused blood products so they form massive clots."
It does? "Ain't hardly gonna kill me," I say with conviction.
"And you're sure of that are you tough guy?"
Behind her rimless spectacles the warm brown skin around her eyes is smudged, almost like bruising, and seamed with faint lines; the whites of her deep brown eyes are bloodshot. Shoulders drooping, her head falls forward causing the tiny wooden beads on her many braids to rattle together. She looks defeated, like she's just about to be served with a medical malpractice suit. Ya ain't inspiring confidence, darlin'. And yer too damn familiar by half.
"Don't call me that!" Damn doctors. Who the fuck d'ya think ya talking to, woman?
"Okay. Logan, " she emphasises my name, "do you know where you are?"
What sort of stupid fucking question is that? Damn good one actually. Where the hell am I? Caught off guard I glare at her.
"Sorry, I didn't quite catch that. Was that a "no idea" scowl or one of your patented "fuck you" scowls?"
"Waddaya think?"
"I think it wouldn't hurt you to answer the question."
"How long've I been here?" I counter, stalling for time while I frantically search my brain for an answer to her question.
"Two days."
Two days? "Shit!"
"I get the distinct impression you're stalling, Logan. Do you know where you are?"
Not being able to answer one simple question is pissing me off. I feel spaced out and rummaging through my head for an answer ain't producing the goods. I reckon whatever's being pushed through those IVs is responsible. Then the answer emerges from the murk.
"Med-lab," I reply grudgingly. So now I got the where but the absence of why and how is bugging the crap out of me. Did I get my ass mauled on a mission? How come it's taking so long for the wounds to heal? Did I have to do the suck me dry thing with Rogue again? Explains my enervation. So how come I can't remember a fucking thing? I'm missing something here and Doctor Babe has the answers. It's written all over her in scent and body language. She's as twitchy as a bag of ferrets and dripping guilt like a leaky sump.
"Thank you. Now we're making progress."
"The only progress I'm interested in making, sweetheart, is through the door and outta this fucking lab. But first, yer gonna tell me how ya screwed up my healing factor." I rack my brains for her name. Can't find it. I know her though. Know her scent. My senses are intact even if my memory's hazy.
"What makes you think I have?"
"Because I've been at your tender mercy for two fucking days, the wounds on my neck are only partially healed and I feel like shit."
"Fair comment. Your unique physiology and the paucity of medical records proved to be difficult challenge." She folds her arms around herself defensively and chews her bottom lip. "Your healing factor is nothing short of phenomenal. Would you care to enlighten me about it?"
"No I wouldn't. I know ya fucked up so just spill it will ya? And keep it simple. None of them fancy twenty dollar words quacks are so fond of."
Her face stricken with guilt, she closes her eyes – are her lashes really that long? - inhales deeply and then looks directly at me, resolute, her professional facade firmly in place. Whatever happens next she's gonna take it on the chin with dignity. Gotta admire that. Maybe I should tell her I got no damn use for lawyers. As far as I'm concerned the bastards occupy an evolutionary niche somewhere south of slime mould. Ain't gonna tell her yet though 'coz I'm enjoying watching her squirm. Small payment for what she's about to spring to.
"Very well. But please answer this question first. Prior to the blood transfusion administered by Doctor Grey following the Liberty Island incident, have you ever undergone a similar procedure to replace loss of fluids?"
"Not that I recall. Why?"
"Because your healing factor packed a nasty surprise I wasn't prepared for."
"Really? What did it do? Demand to see yer qualifications?"
"This isn't a laughing matter, Logan. You nearly died."
"I doubt that." I've survived worse than you'll ever dish out, doll.
"Rahne's claws lacerated your carotid artery and this resulted in catastrophic blood loss before your healing factor repaired the damaged vessel."
Whoa! Who the fuck's Rahne? The name evokes green eyes, red hair and a 'tude the size of Alaska. "You saying a kid did this?" A damn kid tore out my throat?
"What's the last thing you remember?"
My brows creases as I concentrate on finding the answer. "Not sure. I think I was in the garage and Beam Boy was involved. Everything seems to be blank after that."
"Beam Boy?"
"Ya know. Summers. The guy whose colon is so rigid ya could use it as a rocket launcher."
Her lips quirk into a smile. I like the way her eyes shine when she smiles. Eyes never lie. Not to me. "You're suffering from amnesia. It's to be expected."
"Why can't I remember what happened? Did I hit my head or something? Will my memory return?" If some cocksucker screwed with my head I swear I'll hunt him down and kill his ass slowly and painfully.
"You don't have head trauma and no one has interfered with your mind, Logan. Your memory loss is due to the combination of oxygen deprivation, medication and trauma. Usually the loss is temporary but I have to inform you that some or all of the loss could be permanent. It's evident you have some recall of short term memory so I'm confident the prognosis is favourable."
I can smell she's telling the truth. Coming from a doctor that's something. "Then maybe you'd better start by filling in the details."
"I'm not familiar with them all but I think that would be a good idea."
"I'm all ears."
"You were talking to Rahne in the library when she attacked you."
I get the feeling this ain't the first time. Is there something about the kid that makes her unstable? "Any idea why?"
"No. You can't remember and she's too traumatised to talk about it yet."
"I hurt her?"
The doc ain't shaking her head. And she ain't making eye contact no more. Shit!
"Rendered her unconscious. According to eyewitnesses you were talking about not being afraid when she manifested a sudden, unprovoked feral episode. One of her claws lacerated your carotid causing you to haemorrhage at an appalling rate while you grappled with her. Seriously Logan, she didn't leave you any alternative. Don't worry, she's okay."
The awful truth congeals in my guts and turned them to water. I beat up a kid? What sort of sick fuck am I? Chest constricts, makes me work harder for breath.
"You've gone pale." She seizes my wrist and feels my pulse. "C'mon. Get your ass back on the bed. Whether you like it or not you aren't out of the woods yet."
"I'm fine. Leave me be." I try to pull my hand from her grasp but her grip is too firm. She let's go but her point has been made.
"Bullshit."
"Some fucking bedside manner you got." Christ on stilts but that makes me sound like some sorry ass whiner.
"Whatever gets the job done, hombre."
She raises the backrest so I'm not flat on my back and helps me swing my legs up on the – she calls this a bed? Satisfied that I'm comfortable she busies herself reattaching electrodes. Is it my imagination or is the beeping machine beeping a little faster than before?
"That's more than enough excitement for the time being. I think it's best you rest now and we'll continue this little chat later, okay?"
"I wanna know," I demand. "I shoulda recovered from a torn throat. What went wrong?"
Doc draws up a chair and sits at my side. Guess this is gonna take time. "You lost half of your blood volume before your healing factor repaired the artery and then you went into severe hypovolemic shock."
Nearly half? Fuck! "Hypo what?"
"Hypovolemic shock. Reduced blood volume reduces the availability of oxy-haemoglobin and starves vital organs of oxygen. If this is allowed to continue your organs begin to shut down and this is very serious…"
This I don't need to know. "Hey, I've seen ER, okay?"
The doctor smiles. "Okay. So you understand some of the basic medical jargon. That's good."
"Don't be so fucking patronising."
"Patronise you, the scary Wolverine? I wouldn't dare."
Scary? If you knew really how scary I can be, darlin', it'd wipe that smile clean off of ya pretty face. "So what went wrong?"
Instantly sober she continues, "Moira typed and cross matched your blood. You're blood group is Rhesus O Negative which tallies with Doctor Grey's notes. You were exanguinating at a frightening rate so it was vital I transfuse you. Shortly after the procedure ended things began to go very badly wrong."
"You saying it was Jeanie's fault?"
"No. Doctor Grey's notes were very thorough. She was an extremely competent physician."
Damn straight she was. Mollified I growl, "Go on."
"I followed the established procedure for the treatment of hypovolemia. Infusion of fluids including saline and blood products via a central line, oxygen and Epinephrine to increase blood pressure and cardiac output. You were doing so well until your system went into meltdown. Fortunately Moira was at hand to assist me otherwise I'm not sure what would have happened."
Meltdown? "I ain't following you."
"You suffered a massive transfusion reaction. After repairing the damaged artery, elements in your healing factor attacked and destroyed the infused red blood cells. Moira performed a test that revealed the extent of the hemolysis…"
What did I say? Quacks and their fancy words. "I said keep it simple will ya?"
"…destruction of the infused blood cells. This caused a condition called agglutination, where certain kinds of blood cells become sticky and clump together. Another test revealed your levels of prothrombin were dangerously high. I administered an anticoagulant but an embolus, a clot, had already formed and lodged in one of your lungs."
"My healing factor caused this?" She's gotta be mistaken. My healing factor prevents shit like this from happening.
"Luckily, Moira was on hand to diagnose the problem. Unfortunately that wasn't the end of the crisis. While I was setting up a heparin syringe you went into cardiac arrest."
I'm having difficulty taking this on board. Shit like this does not happen to the tough, bad Wolverine, not even when metal is poured on my bones. "So, did I light up like a fucking Christmas tree when you used the paddles?"
"With your metal skeleton electrical defibrillation was out of the question. Your healing factor was compromised, badly weakened by blood loss and the battle with the transfused blood cells so we couldn't risk weakening you further by electrocuting you. Normal procedures went out of the window and time was running out so, out of desperation, I injected you with enough neuro-epinephrine to resuscitate half of New York State. It worked. Unfortunately it awakened your feral side. I was forced to keep you sedated after you went nuts and tried to claw your way out of the med-lab."
"I did?" Well at least something sounds right.
"Yeah, it was pretty scary for a while even when you were restrained. Maggie helped calm you down because you were fighting the sedative."
"Did I hurt anyone?"
Beads clack as she shakes her head. "The only casualty was my wits."
"Ya should've just left me, Doc. None of this would've happened if ya'd just let my healing factor work it's mojo."
"I wasn't prepared to risk your life on that assumption, Logan. Your blood is your healing factor and you'd lost a hell of a lot of it. I guess I underestimated the half you had left. It put up one hell of a fight."
The lady made a bad call. She knows it and I can smell it. But one things puzzles me.
"Why didn't this happen when Jean transfused me?"
Doc shrugs. "I can only speculate. There was nothing in Doctor Grey's notes to suggest you would suffer such an extreme transfusion reaction. Best guess is saving Rogue drained you to within an inch of your life and all but neutralised your healing factor for a while. It's likely this event prevented a transfusion reaction. It's also possible you built up a resistance to the antigens or foreign DNA in the first transfusion and this triggered an extreme response to the second one. Moira is qualified to answer your question if you would permit her to research the problem. It might be prudent to donate blood on a regular basis in case an emergency like this occurs again."
So ya can experiment with it? No more fucking experiments. Not ever. "No need. Ain't gonna happen again. Besides, you can tell 'em it won't work. Tell 'em I can heal without help."
"You're an X Man. You go into dangerous situations and risk injury so don't be so sure you'll never need help in a similar situation. Your unique physiology makes your blood incompatible with anyone else's. I hope there isn't a next time but if it happens, and there is no compatible blood available, I'll infuse saline to hydrate and stabilise you and let nature and your healing factor take its course and hope for the best. It's against my instincts and medical training but hard way twenty twenty hindsight has taught me otherwise."
Shit, I can't let her beat herself up over this any longer. At least she tried to help me.
"Ya did what ya thought was right. Seems to me Jeannie woulda done the same. Not your fault, okay? Ya couldn't've known." I sure as hell didn't.
"Your generosity doesn't make me feel better but it's appreciated. Thank you." Actually that ain't true. Relief rises from her like warm air.
"When can I get outta here?"
"When I'm satisfied the embolism has dissolved."
That ain't the answer I'm looking for. "And when will that be?"
"Just as soon as the heparin and your healing factor beat the crap out of it."
Fair enough. I can stand a few hours more in this place. Maybe. "Healing factor needs fuel. Any chance of a steak? Make it bloody."
"No chance I'm afraid. However, Maggie has prepared some of her nutritious and very tasty chicken broth."
Chicken broth.
Chicken broth!
Don't she understand I need solid sustenance? A mountain of protein.
"Just the ticket for an invalid." She smiles at me, revealing her perfect white teeth.
"Fuck you too."
Patting me on the shoulder her smiling lips widen into a grin. "Atta boy!"
"Stuff the broth. I want real food," I demand. And I ain't letting up on ya 'til ya deliver, sister.
"It is real food."
"Then you eat it."
"I might just do that." She rises from the chair, strolls over to her desk, picks up the phone and punches a short series of numbers.
"Whatcha doing?"
"Ordering a take-out."
What? And all I get is chicken broth? "Ya gonna make me sit there and watch you eat food while I get nothing but strained dish water?
"Of course not, stud. I'll take it into my office and eat it."
"Well ain't that just fucking peachy."
"If you're a good boy I might let you breathe in the aroma. Only if you're very good mind."
The beast inside me stirs. "Grrrrrrrrr." Growling certainly gets her attention.
"What was that?"
In reply she gets a taste of my scariest fuck off and die snarl.
"Thought so. You don't get so much as a sniff for that, mister."
That does it. "I don't have to sit here and take this."
She glares at me. "You'll stay right where you are or I'll sedate your sorry ass. Oh, hi Maggie. Yeah, I'd say we're maxed out on the bee wash scale. Category five at least. Five minutes? I'll try to contain the situation until you arrive."
Bee wash scale? What the heck is that?
Placing the receiver on it's cradle she turns and smiles at me. "Maybe I'll have Maggie puree you some meat and potatoes tomorrow."
I ain't gonna be here tomorrow, sweetheart. "Yeah? Well you can take your baby food and stick it up your ass."
"I do that and there's only one other item left on the menu."
Stony silence. I know when I'm being baited.
"Nothing to say?"
What's the point? She ain't gonna deliver anything I wanna hear.
For the next few minutes I watch her busy herself with a small holdall. Her name still eludes me. Celina? Selma? Something like that. It'll come to me. Snarky bitch will do as a stand in. As I search for my awol memories a feeling of unease washes over me. Ya know the sinking sensation ya get in ya gut when you've got on the plane and ya can't remember whether or not ya locked front door? Well this is way worse than that. There's something important I need to remember and I can't find it.
Doc fastens the hold all and shoves it to the back of the desk. "You going somewhere?"
"Why, do you care?"
"Nope."
"Then I'm not telling." She tries unsuccessfully to smooth some of the creases out of her scrubs, makes a face and gives up.
Yeah. She's a real snarky bitch. Maybe it's because she's running on empty. She's radiating fatigue like there's no tomorrow and that's enough to make anyone fell cranky.
Servos whir as the door slides aside. Maggie enters the med-lab carrying a tray with a covered dish, a lump of crustless bread and a jug of water. Wafting in with her is a delicious aroma that sends my salivary glands into overdrive. It's definitely chicken but no gruel ever smelled that good. Maybe Doc was funning with me. My stomach growls loudly in anticipation.
"Dear me. The atmosphere in here is so chilly it could freeze a penguin's bottom," Maggie observes as she places the tray on top of a handy filing cabinet.
"Logan isn't happy about the cuisine. Funny thing is, his nostrils started flaring the moment you walked in so it seems that chicken broth doesn't sound too bad after all, huh?"
"Waddaya expect of a man that's been fed nothing but intravenous plastic bag for two days?" Feels a hell of a lot longer than that.
"Take no notice of him, petal," Maggie says as she wheels a mobile bed table across the lab.. "Logan has a relationship with food that would put a gannet to shame."
"Do not!" I declare. Beer, maybe. Do gannets drink beer?
"Pet, when it comes to scrumping food from the kitchen you are way ahead of the field. The competition, and it is impressive, couldn't hold a candle to you."
After positioning the table across my lap Maggie fiddles with a lever to adjust the height so I ain't bumping my knees on it.
"That right?" I can't help grinning. My money would have been on Mister Frosty. The kid has a black hole where his stomach should be.
"That's because the competition doesn't have a healing factor constantly fighting off the effects of alcohol, tobacco and adamantium poisoning," Doctor Snark states matter of factly. Bet she's a real hoot at parties. What does she do for an encore? Weld razor blades to bedpans?
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean? You saying the adamantium was self inflicted?"
"Of course not. I'm simply suggesting your larger than life appetite is proportionate to your physiological need to maintain your healing factor at an optimum level."
"Ya know what, Doc? I'd never've worked that out without ya help." I ain't hiding my sarcasm. Where the hell do these people get off acquainting feral with stupid?
"I didn't mean it that way, Logan."
"Then what did ya mean?"
"Other than stating the case for the bloody obvious? Nothing at all."
Maggie steps in. "Logan, Cecilia was only trying to be helpful," she says in full arbitration mode. She's giving off calmness and I can feel it lapping against my mind like small waves breaking on a beach.
"Don't need it. Don't want it," I growl. I've had a bellyful of helpful. All it's gotten me is a big ass heparin syringe and chicken broth.
"That is less than gracious, pet."
"So sue me."
Cecilia. The name initiates a small memory cascade. Cecilia Reyes, Puerto Rican doctor temporarily filling in until Charlie can find a permanent replacement for Jeannie. She's a mutant. Grade A bitch. An apparently limitless capacity to piss me off.
"It's all right, Maggie," Cecilia interjects. "It's common for patients to be grouchy after a serious trauma. He'll be his old self in no time."
"This is his old self, dear."
"Really? Tough break." The beads rattle as Cecilia shakes her head in mock disbelief. Both of 'em are carrying on this conversation like I ain't present.
"Hey, I'm right here listening to this crap. And I ain't fucking grouchy, okay?"
In a sweet as sugar voice, Snarkster says, "Of course you aren't. Logan. Your behaviour is perfectly normal for someone suffering from Asinus Syndrome."
She's just made that up. I can read it in her eyes. "You calling me an asshole?"
"No but it's close enough."
Maggie places the tray in front of me and lifts the lid off the dish so that my face is bathed in hot, aromatic steam.. "This tastes nicer when it's hot. I've baked some soft bread especially for you to dunk in the broth. Bon appetite, Logan." Taking the jug, Maggie fills a tumbler with iced water and sets it down next to the dish.
"Mmmm, smells divine. I could use some of that," Doc Snark says as she sniffs the air.
"I've left you a bowlful in the warming oven, petal. Thought you might appreciate something simple to fill your insides before catching up on some shut-eye."
"That's really sweet of you Maggie." Cecilia grabs her bag and swings it over her shoulder. "Any problems you call me and I'll be straight down, okay?"
"Don't worry. Moira will be popping by to take over in a couple of hours. Just you get some well earned rest," Maggie says in her familiar motherly voice.
"Thanks. See You Maggie. You too, tough guy. You behave yourself now."
I give her the universal sign for spin on it. Her laughter echoes as she exits the lab.
Side show gone, I stare at the bowl. The broth sure as hell looks like dishwater, especially with the tiny blobs of grease floating on the surface. Here goes nothing. Scooping some into the spoon I take a sample slurp. It's damn good so I set to it like it's a royal feast.
"Not as bad as you thought then?"
I shake my head as I stuff a piece of broth soaked bread into my mouth.
"Good. Try to leave the pattern intact because the bowl is one of a set."
"Everyone's a fucking comedian today," I observe as polish off the last of the broth.
"Laughter makes the world go round, pet."
"So does beer."
"No beer. No alcohol of any description. Cecilia was very specific about that. I'm afraid caffeine is on the prohibited substances list too."
Damn! "I suppose a smoke's out of the question then," I ask hopefully
Maggie peers at me over her spectacles and frowns. "That wouldn't be a terribly good idea now would it, pet. Besides, nicotine is sub-listed under pigs will fly first."
Double damn! No Booze. No smokes. Not even any Java. I'm in hell.
"You don't need to be here, Maggie. I'm sure ya have stuff to do."
"Nice try, Logan but you're stuck with me until Moira arrives. Cecilia thought it prudent not to leave you to your own devices so at this moment in time you are my stuff to do."
Huh? "Ya babysitting me? Reyes worried I'll chew the furniture and stick my fingers in live sockets?"
A deep sigh escapes Maggie's lips. "If Scott informed you that alcohol was bad for you and you should refrain from imbibing forthwith, what would you do?"
That's easy. "I'd tell the interfering dickweed to shove his head up his own ass."
"And that is precisely why I am here. You have a life threatening medical condition, a severely weakened healing factor and a serious problem following advice you don't like. Do you really need me to join the dots?"
She's right but I ain't gonna admit it. I want out of the med-lab in the worst possible way. Places like this make my ass hairs twitch and coat my spine in ice. "Why can't I rest up in my own room? It's more comfortable there. I'll even promise to be a good boy if that's what it takes."
Maggie stares at me with those pale brown eyes of hers and nods slightly. "I'll see what Cecilia says. Meanwhile, there is no reason you can't have a few home comforts. I can ask Scott to arrange for a portable TV if you like."
"No thanks." Ain't asking Boy Scout for any favours. Besides, there ain't any hockey on the boob tube until Saturday and I plan to be outta here by then come hell or high water.
"I've brought some playing cards." Maggie reaches into a pocket and draws out a deck, maybe would could pass the time with a few games.
"Very thoughtful," I mutter without enthusiasm.
"What would you like to play, pet?"
"How about strip poker?"
"Since you are half naked already you'd be at a disadvantage."
"So play to lose," I suggest, wriggling my eyebrows.
"You're bad to the bone, Logan. In the nicest possible way of course."
"You have no idea, Maggie."
"Not cards then." Maggie drops the cards back into her pocket. "Bobby offered the use of his games console. He mentioned your fondness for a particular game. What was it now? Ah, yes. Doom Two."
Wow! That's a turn up. Mister Frosty offering to part with his precious Playstation. Even on a temporary basis that's impressive. "Tell him thanks, but no."
"Chess?"
"Nuh-uh."
"Well, we could always do something old fashioned."
Shit! She ain't gonna suggest I Spy or charades is she?
"Don't go all cornered wolf on me, Logan. I'm merely suggesting we talk. You know how to talk don't you? Just put your lips together and flap them."
Maggie's actually manages to put a genuine smile on my face. How about that?
"Depends on what you wanna talk about." My inner Logan ain't on the agenda. Any subject concerning how I can get the fuck out of the med-lab will receive enthusiastic participation.
"Well we could talk about your young lady. She has been rather worried about you. Given the closeness you two share I'm surprised you haven't asked after her."
My young lady? What the fuck is Maggie talking about. I know she can't mean Rogue. My previous uneasiness flares. I'm missing something important here. Something vital. There's a stirring in the back of my mind but whatever it is refuses to venture forth from the fog of amnesia. "You wanna run that by me again, Maggie? The last few days are still a bit hazy."
"Jessica. She strikes me as a very nice girl. Sunny disposition. Even temperament. Lots of spirit and common sense. All in all an excellent combination."
Jessica. A picture forms in my minds eye. Dishevelled hair the colour of red honey. Blue eyes as bright and clear as a summer sky. Lips sweeter and more luscious than any peach. Skin the texture of silk. And a wild passion that rivals my own. How could I have forgotten Jessie?
"Ahh shit. I'd arranged to meet her. She'll think I stood her up." I gotta see her. It's an imperative. I need to touch her, to breath her in. I need…
"Don't worry, Logan. I found her telephone number in your jacket pocket after we stripped off your blood soaked clothing. I'm afraid the sleeve of your leather jacket is beyond repair by the way."
Don't give a fuck about the jacket. I can buy a new one. "You spoke to her?"
"And explained you had suffered an injury. At first she didn't believe me. Seemed to think I was making excuses for you."
I nod slowly. "She knows about my healing factor. I told her about my mutation." I told her and she still wanted me.
"Yes, I realised that. I managed to convince her you'd encountered a situation from which even your healing factor couldn't extricate you. I suggested she work her shift at the bar and arranged to meet her at the Auger Inn. The poor child risked being sacked when she asked her employer for a few days off. I managed to persuade the gentleman that Jessica attracted customers to his establishment and sacking her would be tantamount to cutting off his nose to spite his face. Thankfully he accepted my point of view."
That must've killed the bastard. Sal's the type to sack someone for taking time off to attend their mother's funeral. "Where's Jessie now?"
"Where she's been since she arrived. Upstairs."
So close. Why hasn't she been to see me? "I wanna see her."
I get a sense of chagrin flowing from Maggie and her lips are pursed. I get the feeling she's been fighting in my corner and lost. "That may not be possible just now, pet. Maybe tomorrow would be better."
No way in fucking hell am I taking this shit. "I wanna see her now."
"There is a problem. You'll have to be patient and I promise you, you will be able to see Jessica."
"I don't do patient. If she's upstairs what's the fucking problem?"
"There's a question of security protocol. Jessica has not been given clearance to access the lower levels yet."
Why not? There's a simple solution to that. "Get Charlie to check her out."
"That's isn't possible at the moment, pet. He and Ororo are attending a meeting in Washington." She looks genuinely sorry about the whole thing. This isn't her fault but I can guess who's behind it.
"Fucking Summers."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Summers. It's him ain't it? That pusbag cocksucker is refusing her access on purpose and laughing his ass off in the process."
This time there's an edge to Maggie's voice and it's directed at me. "I hardly think Scott would be so deliberately unkind and please could you curb your language, Logan. There really is no need…"
I cut off her words with a savage gesture. "I'm not a kid, Maggie."
"No you're not which is why I expect at least a modicum of restraint."
"Yeah, whatever."
"Charles will be returning later this evening. I am sure this can be resolved amicably." Maggie is trying to use her empathy to calm me, to get me to see reason. All I want is to see Jessica. Knowing she's so close is driving me nuts.
"It's gonna get resolved right now. If she can't come to me then I'm walking out of the fucking med-lab right now."
"Logan, be reasonable."
I start pulling off the electrodes. As the last one peels off my skin the monitor issues its flatline wail.
"Please don't do this." Maggie places her hand over one of mine. I brush it off.
"If Jessie can't come to me then I'm going to her." I mean it. There's something inside me driving me to this need and I can feel the animal howling deep, deep down. It wants what I want.
"Even if it kills you?"
What's this? Shock tactics? "Like that's gonna happen." One tug and the canula in the back of my hand is gone. I fling it aside. Last to go are the nose prongs.
"Logan, I'm begging you, please do not do this."
With empathy turned on to the max Maggie hits me hard, her message akin to a physical force – THIS IS WRONG!
"I just wanna see her, Maggie. I need to see her."
Ain't listening. I've been fucked with and turned inside out for two days by people who've been making stuff up as they go along.. Now Summers is being an asswipe about visiting privileges. My need to see Jessie is all consuming. Even the ass kicking I'm gonna deliver to Beam Boy takes second place. Free of wires and tubes I push aside the table and slide off the bed, the cuffs of my sweat pants riding up to mid shin as I lower myself to the floor. Beneath my bare feet the tiles are cool and slightly rough. My skin feels sticky against the tiles as I put my full weight on them.
The exertion makes the room spin and I grip the edge of the bed to steady myself while I wait for the vertigo to subside. Meanwhile, Maggie ain't letting up none on the empathic suggestion front. I wouldn't blame anyone else for caving in under the onslaught. But I ain't anyone else. Coupled with the empathic suggestion she's exuding is an emotional pall of fear and concern laced with exasperation. I guess she's a tad pissed off at me, first time I've ever seen a crack in her cool exterior. It don't give me any pleasure to see her this way. And I ain't gonna let it get between me and the door.
"Logan, this has gone far enough!" The commanding tone in her voice is sufficient for me to snap my head around and look at her. On seeing she's won my attention she continues, "I understand your need and I'm on your side in this. Now please get back into bed and I'll see what I can do to persuade Scott to allow Jessica access to the med-lab."
The act of turning my head sharply makes the room gyrate and I suddenly regret having a full stomach.. Before I can form a response the room does a back-flip giving the floor the opportunity to blindside me. Pain spreads outwards from the back of my skull causing my vision to dissolve into jagged, blinding white streaks.
Then everything blinks out.
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