Wolverine groaned, raising one hand to his head, massaging a sizeable lump on his temple. Even as he touched it, it was already shrinking, a testament to his incredible healing abilities. He blinked his eyes open, fighting his way back to wakefulness. Smoke still lingered in the cockpit – or at least, what was left of it. As he glanced around, he could see gaping holes in the fuselage, beyond which the jungle appeared dense and foreboding. However, the state of the jet was his secondary concern; there were two other passengers to worry about, both of whom lacked his resilience and healing abilities.

"Rogue? Gambit?" he called out, gruffly, fumbling to release his safety restraints.

A soft groan to his left caught his enhanced hearing, and he turned towards it, sniffing the acrid air. Aside from the smoke, there was a distinct smell of blood leaving an unpleasant metallic tang he could practically taste. It was far too familiar, and he tried to ignore it.

"Rogue? You okay, darlin'?"

"L...Logan?" the Southern belle slurred, "Wh... what happened?"

"Those damned Genoshans shot us down," he growled, "looks like they didn't want ta let ya go so easy. You okay?"

"Yuh... yeah, ah think so..." she still sounded dazed, as Wolverine finally gave up on the twisted buckle of his restraints, unsheathed his claws, and cut himself free.

Clambering to his feet, he got his first real look around the remains of the Blackbird, and he realised, with a sinking feeling, there was no hope of ever getting it airborne again. The whole rear end of the craft was, quite simply, gone. Ragged ends of twisted metal with scorched, melted tips reached like twisted fingers for the trees beyond; as Logan looked back, he could see a trail of destruction in the wake of the remains of the jet, where it had crashed through the jungle before coming to rest.

He abandoned his assessment of the damage and crossed to Rogue, claws still drawn, slicing her free of her restraints and then catching her as she almost fell forwards out of her chair. A cut on her forehead dribbled a thin trail of blood down the side of her face, and her left cheek looked red and swollen, promising to leave a colourful bruise, but she seemed otherwise unharmed as he helped her to her feet. The bright yellow Genoshan suppression collar around her neck still glowed dully, indicating that it was, unfortunately, still functioning.

"Gambit?" Rogue queried, stumbling slightly and still clinging to Logan for support.

"Dunno," was his less-than-helpful reply.

She staggered forwards even as Logan raised his eyes towards the cockpit. From behind, all he could see was one brown leather-clad arm, hanging limply over the side of the pilot's chair. He moved as well, only half a step behind Rogue as she came in front of the chair, and he saw her eyes go wide even as her face went paler.

"Gambit!" her voice shot up in pitch as she dropped to her knees in front of their pilot, and Wolverine realised then that it was likely only his skill in bringing down what was left of their ship that had kept them all alive. At least, he hoped they were all alive...

He moved to stand beside Rogue as her gloved hand hesitantly cupped Gambit's jaw, cradling his face gently.

"Remy? Say somethin', sugar ... please?"

Their pilot did not oblige – he remained unconscious, oblivious of her pleading. Wolverine sniffed, and then growled in the back of his throat.

"Careful, darlin'" he rumbled, "I think he's hurt pretty bad."

"Oh, Remy..." Rogue's voice broke slightly, still cradling his face, even as Wolverine reached past her and used his claws to slice through the safety restraints at the pilot's shoulders. Without their support he began to slump forwards, but Rogue caught him in her arms, gently holding him upright. She positioned herself to one side of the chair, her arm braced across the Cajun's chest as she supported him, allowing Logan to continue his inspection of their unconscious friend. Aside from some scrapes and bruises, his head, face, chest and arms appeared intact, but the smell of blood was unmistakeable and Logan growled a curse as his eyes fell to Gambit's left-hand side.

Beneath his trademark brown trench coat, something glistened wetly, and Logan used one finger to push the fabric of the coat to one side to get a better view. A deep, jagged gash had been gouged through his uniform and into his flesh by a twisted piece of shrapnel, and the wound was still oozing blood. Sheathing his claws, Logan realised there was nothing they could do with the Cajun still slumped in the chair.

"We're gonna have to move him, darlin'," he shot a quick look at Rogue's pale face, "an' you ain't got your strength with that collar on. Go see if ya can find somethin' ta lay 'im down on, an' then a first aid kit, if there's anythin' left ta salvage..."

Torn between wanting to stay and wanting to help, Rogue nodded, and Wolverine braced one hand against Gambit's shoulder to support him as she stepped away, and he tightened his grip ever so slightly.

"Don't you go givin' up on me now, Gumbo," he growled, under his breath, "ya did good to bring us down like ya did, but now ya gotta hang in there. There'll be a rescue comin' soon, you'll see. Can ya hear me, Cajun?"

Under his hand, Gambit remained limp and unresponsive, and that worried Logan more than he cared to admit. He could hear Rogue rummaging around in the remains of the jet, uttering muffled curses and struggling to move the debris with her mutant powers of strength and flight repressed by the Genoshan collar. When they had first rescued her from the clutches of her captors, Logan had offered to try to pick the lock but Gambit had warned him not to. Gambit had experienced Genoshan hospitality first hand, and knew the collars had a tendency to explode if tampered with. They had decided to leave it alone until they could get back to base where Beast, Dr. Hank McCoy, had a key to safely remove the suppression collar. Wolverine regretted now not taking the time to try and steal one – Rogue's flight powers and strength would have been invaluable in getting them out of there.

A dull thump somewhere behind the chair snapped his attention back to the immediate situation, and Rogue called out, sounding uncharacteristically breathless.

"Ah found a mattress off'a bunk, an' there's an emergency first aid kit here with bandages an' all – can ya bring him over, Logan?"

"Sure thing."

Carefully, he eased one arm under Gambit's knees and the other behind his back, and then, as gently as possible, he lifted the injured man in a cradle-hold. Gambit's right slipped to hang limply at his side, and Logan knew he was still completely out cold; probably for best, as he wouldn't feel the agony of being moved. Logan made a mental note to check him over thoroughly, but the still-bleeding wound in his left side was their first concern. Wolverine straightened up, cradling Gambit in his arms, and picked his way carefully through the debris to where Rogue had dropped a mattress onto the floor, only slightly singed from the fires that had resulted from the missile strikes.

With as much care as possible, Logan lowered Gambit down and eased him onto the thin mattress, then brushed aside some debris so he could kneel beside the makeshift bed. Rogue knelt the other side, already rummaging through the first aid kit, pulling out some rolls of bandages.

"Can ya take off his shirt, Logan? We need to bind that wound."

Snickt

A single claw slit the Cajun's already ruined shirt from waist to throat, and Rogue gave a slight snort.

"Not quite what ah had in mind, but thanks," she murmured, and then her expression tightened as her eyes fell on the jagged incision that tore an angry red tear through pale skin, "aw, sugar..."

She gently wiped away the blood around the edges of the ugly wound, watching as more simply welled up, even as she applied a cleansing wipe to the injury. She hissed through clenched teeth, tears blurring her eyes as her gaze drifted to Gambit's pallid face. Logan also gently tugged off the other man's hood, pulling it off and discarding it to one side, allowing his long auburn ponytail to fall free, checking him over for any other significant injuries.

"Looks like he hit his head pretty hard," Logan noted, seeing a red lump just above the Cajun's left eye, "other than that, an' the hole in his side, I reckon he got off lightly."

"Aw, Remy..." Rogue murmured, as she paused to stroke a hand through the unconscious man's hair, "you're gonna be okay, sugar... you just gotta be..."

"Stay focussed, darlin'," Logan cautioned her, "we gotta get the bleedin' stopped, pronto."

"Yeah," Rogue passed Logan a dressing pad that he immediately applied to the wound, putting pressure on it to stem the bleeding, as Rogue began to unwind a bandage, "lift him up a bit, would ya? Ah'll wrap this nice an' tight..."

Logan nodded, scooping one hand under Gambit's shoulders and lifting him slightly off the bed, so Rogue could wrap the bandages around his waist. She worked quickly, but Logan's sensitive hearing picked up the slightest change in their patient's breathing.

"Hurry, darlin', I think he's wakin' up..."

"S'about time," Rogue sounded only slightly relieved, as she tied off the bandage, "there, that'll hold for now..."

Wolverine lowered Gambit back down onto the bed; Rogue had even found a pillow and was shaking out one of their emergency blankets; despite the warmth of the day, the Cajun was already starting to shiver, as he fought his way back to consciousness. A low groan escaped his lips, and Rogue immediately dropped the blanket, instead reaching out and gently running her fingers through his hair, speaking in a low, soothing tone.

"Remy? Say somethin', sugar... c'mon, open them red eyes for me, darlin'."

"Chère...?" his voice was weak and raspy, laced with uncertainty, and tight with pain.

"Ah'm here, sugar," she murmured, reassuringly, still gently stroking his hair, "you'll be okay, ah promise."

"Wha... what happen'?" he asked, sounding dazed, "Gambit... he don' feel so good, chère. Dere's somet'in... wrong..."

"Ya got a hole in yer side, Cajun, when ya crashed the plane," Wolverine cut in, with a humourless grin, "we bound ya up, but ya ain't goin' nowhere right now."

"Oh..." Gambit blinked, processing this information, before asking; "Anyone else hurt, mes amis?"

"Just you, swamp rat," Rogue told him, with a click of her tongue, "wish ah could fly us outta here but looks like we gotta sit tight and wait for rescue."

"You don' gotta stay with Gambit, chère," he tried to shake his head, but only shivered, grimacing in obvious pain, "you an' Logan, you gotta get away, 'fore them Genoshans come a-lookin' for you."

"We ain't leavin', Gumbo," Wolverine replied, firmly, "there'll be a rescue comin' any time soon..."

He trailed off, and Rogue glanced up at him with wide eyes as the same thought occurred to them both at the same time. They were three days ahead of schedule. They would not be missed for at least another three to four days. Gambit empathically picked up on their shared dismay and shook his head, his hand reflexively clutching at his injured side as he gasped in pain.

"Dey ain't comin', no' for days," he mumbled, wincing, even as Rogue laid a gloved hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, "Gambit t'inks mes amis should get outta here, an' be quick."

"I said, we ain't leavin'," Logan repeated, emphatically, with a shake of his head, "besides, here we've got some level of shelter, the Genoshans ain't likely ta come lookin' through that thick jungle out there, an' when rescue comes, they'll be lookin' fer the 'bird. Better ta stay here an' wait. You just gotta hang in there, Gumbo. 'Sides, Chuck might realise somethin's wrong an' send the cavalry in early."

"Yeah," Rogue nodded, in agreement, "the Professor might send help sooner, we just gotta hang tight, like Logan says."

"Ohhhh, chère..." Gambit let out a low moan of pain, cradling his side with his right hand and shaking his head with a grimace, "easier said dan done..."

"Get some rest, sugar," Rogue gently stroked a stray lock of hair out of his eyes, the red irises shining back at her, brow creased, reflecting his pain.

"Why's it so cold, chère?" he mumbled, shivering.

"Cold?" Wolverine frowned; the day was very mild, certainly a comfortable enough temperature, "You must be goin' into shock. We'd better find a way to warm ya up..."

"Hah!" Rogue exclaimed, remembering something, "here, ah found this..."

She snatched up the blanket again, a plain creamy-grey coloured woollen thing, thin but warm, shook it out, and gently draped it over him. Gambit flashed her a grateful look, despite his continued shivering. She pulled it up and tucked it around his shoulders, then stroked her hand through his hair, wishing she had some way to ease his pain.

"Try to get some sleep," she told him, softly, "the time'll pass quicker if y'can sleep a bit."

Gambit simply gave a slight nod, as his eyes drifted closed, and Rogue exchanged a worried look with Wolverine.

"What do we do now?" she asked, "If ah had mah powers, ah'd just fly us both outta here..."

"We're just gonna have to survive the next coupla' days on our own," Wolverine replied, firmly, his voice determined, "let's start by seein' what supplies survived the crash – we got shelter, our next priority is water, then food and medical supplies."

Rogue glanced uncertainly down as Gambit, and Wolverine could tell she didn't want to leave the Cajun's side.

Professor, she thought desperately, Professor, if ya can hear me, we need help! Gambit's hurt, an' it's lookin' real bad... can ya hear me, Professor?

There was nothing, no response to her silent pleading. Logan slowly stood up, and then extended a hand towards her.

"C'mon," he told her, in a tone that brooked no argument, "let's get that cut on yer head cleaned up an' get goin'. The Cajun's goin' nowhere, let 'im sleep a while."

After another brief moment of hesitation, Rogue accepted the proffered hand, allowed Logan to help her to her feet, and they began their full assessment of their situation.