A couple of hours later, they had finally finished sorting through the wreckage of their fallen jet. They had found a case of bottled water which, if rationed, would last them for a couple of days. Most of their food supplies for the mission had been stored in the rear part of the jet, so all they had left were a half dozen meagre ration packs, enough for only two meals each. Their medical supplies were also severely limited; they had a few bandages but no suture kit, no intravenous fluids, not even any disinfectant – again, most of the supplies had been destroyed in the explosion. The Blackbird normally had enough supplies to function as an emergency field hospital for crew injured on missions, but was now reduced to next to nothing. They had salvaged a couple more singed mattresses from the bunks and some blankets, so they could at least rest in some comfort, but they had already agreed one of them needed to be awake at all times – to guard against Genoshans, animal attacks, await rescue, and to watch over the injured Gambit.

Wolverine had set himself to gathering some wood to make a fire; despite his concern about giving away their position, he was hoping the Genoshans had assumed them killed in the explosion, and fires from any wreckage were to be expected. Besides, he could see Gambit was still shivering beneath the blanket; shock from pain and blood loss was having a severe effect on the younger man, so Wolverine's claws had made short work of a few tree branches and he had gathered up twigs for kindling. He began building a fire between the makeshift beds, arranged in a triangle so everyone got equal benefit from the warmth. The jungle beyond was no rainforest, there was a distinct lack of heat and humidity, so Wolverine expected the temperature to plummet overnight.

Rogue had busied herself at the pilot's console, trying to see if she could get the emergency locator beacon working, or even their communications systems, but thus far to no avail. Wolverine could see the panel was completely devoid of power and severely damaged, but it gave the Southerner something to occupy her mind, besides worrying about Gambit, who was flickering in and out of consciousness. Wolverine was growing increasingly concerned about the injuries he had sustained in the crash and his chances of survival. He growled to himself as he turned back to the fire – the wood was very green, and therefore difficult to light. He tried several times with his lighter, but got only a few damp sparks.

"Damn it," he grumbled, "Rogue, ya got anythin' that'll kick start this fire?"

"Sorry, sugar," she wandered back over to him, and sat down cross-legged on one of the mattresses, "there ain't much left of use 'round here."

"Damned wood's too fresh," Logan groused, still trying to get the damp kindling to ignite from his lighter, "gotta try an' get a fire goin' – gonna get cold overnight."

A movement caught his eye, and he glanced up. Gambit was stirring, reaching out towards the fire. Rogue realised his intentions, and her eyes widened.

"Gambit! No! Ya need to save yer strength!"

"Don' worry, chère," he tried to sound reassuring, despite the slight quiver in his voice, "Gambit, he can still do dis... not need too much now, though..."

Clutching his right hand to his injured side and pushing the blanket aside for a moment, Gambit stretched out with his left hand towards the pile of wood. His fingers closed around one log, and he closed his eyes briefly as he concentrated, sending a small charge of kinetic energy through the timber. As he pulled his hand back, the log ignited, but did not explode, and the fire soon caught. Wolverine quirked a wry smile.

"Nice work, Gumbo," he said, gruffly, but then his expression fell, "aw, dammit..."

The Cajun lifted his right hand away from his left side, inspecting his stained fingers; Wolverine could both see and smell the blood on him. The wound was still bleeding, and the movement had only exacerbated it. Red blood was seeping through the white bandages; instinctively, Gambit curled his right hand protectively around his side, trying to apply some pressure to stem the flow.

"We gotta redress that wound, Cajun," Logan told him, bluntly, "Rogue – bandages."

She nodded and obligingly fetched more bandages and a couple of thick dressing pads, as Logan unsheathed one claw and very carefully cut away the stained bindings. Gambit bit back a yelp of pain as he peeled back the wet bandages, shivering, even as a sheen of sweat broke out across his face and chest.

"Mon dieu," the Cajun muttered, weakly, gritting his teeth, as he caught sight of the ugly, deep wound.

The laceration was midway between his waist and hip, a deep gouge in the flesh at least seven or eight inches long, transecting his stomach, side, and back, and still oozing blood. The edges were jagged and Logan wished again that they had a suture kit, or, better yet, that they were back at the base with Gambit safe in the hands of Dr. Hank McCoy. At least the stray shrapnel didn't seem to have punctured any vital organs.

"Gonna lift ya up a bit, Gumbo, so Rogue here can reach around ya to wrap this thing proper. Ain't no gentle way to do this, bub, so yer gonna have to brace yerself."

Gambit clenched his teeth and managed a curt nod. Wolverine slid one hand beneath the younger man's back, and despite his words, lifted him up as gently as he could. Even this slight movement jarred his side and Gambit could not help the gasp of pain that escaped him, and Wolverine grabbed the hand that instinctively went to clutch at the wound.

"Easy, bub, take it easy," he muttered, "Rogue, be quick, darlin', but make sure he's wrapped tight."

Wolverine could feel Gambit shuddering in his grip as Rogue worked, once again cleaning the blood away with a cloth and some of their precious water supply, before applying a couple of thick dressing pads and then binding the whole thing together with a roll of bandage. His waist once again swathed in white wrapping, Gambit found himself being lowered back onto the pillow with a gentleness he never knew Wolverine was capable of.

"Merci, mon amis," he whispered, trembling with pain and weakness.

Rogue adjusted the blanket back over him, tucking it around his shoulders and once again brushing his unruly hair back out of his eyes. Normally, the gesture might have invoked some flirtatious remark, but all she could read in those red eyes was pain and fear. And it might only have been her imagination, but those eyes didn't seem to be glowing as brightly as usual, and that truly scared her.

"Rest now, sugar," she told him, tenderly, "ah'll stay right here with ya."

Once again, heavy lids closed over blood-red eyes, and she watched as his breathing gradually evened out, and he surrendered to the call of unconsciousness. Even in slumber, though, his expression was tight with pain and he shivered intermittently beneath the blanket. Rogue's worried expression met Wolverine's grim countenance.

"It's bad, isn't it?" she asked, quietly, sounding both very young and very scared.

"Yeah," Wolverine saw no point in trying to sugar coat things, "he's lost a lot of blood an' that wound's still bleedin'. We got no fluids 'cept our bottled water to keep 'im hydrated, no antiseptic ta clean the wound, an' no antibiotics, so there's a pretty strong chance it'll get infected. He's in shock too; the best thing we can do is try to keep him calm and warm."

"But he's gonna be okay, right?" the edge of desperation in Rogue's voice was unmistakeable, "I mean, he's just gotta be..."

"Depends on how fast we can get outta here, darlin'," Logan replied, bluntly, "better start concentratin' real hard on lettin' Chuck know somethin's wrong, maybe he can pick up on ya psychic vibes or somethin', or else otherwise we gotta last at least three days out here..."

He trailed off as he glanced down as Gambit's taut, ashen face, tight with pain, even in slumber.

An' I don't think Gumbo here's gonna last that long, he thought to himself, Professor... if yer listenin' at all... we could do with ya help right about now.

Logan picked up one of their other two blankets, and handed it to Rogue. She wrapped it around her shoulders gratefully, and moved a little closer to the fire. Their mattresses had been arranged in a close triangle around their campfire, and she sat cross legged on the one closest to Gambit's head so she could stay warm and watch over him. Wolverine picked up the third blanket, and, to Rogue's surprise, spread it out over Gambit's recumbent form. He caught her expression and flashed a dry smile.

"He needs it more'n I do," he said, gruffly, "'sides, I'm Canadian. Cold don't bother me none."

He unsheathed a claw and gently prodded the fire, now that it had properly caught and was crackling away. He added some more kindling to increase the heat, and a couple of bigger logs to keep the fire going. He reached for a bottle of water and took a sip, handing it to Rogue. She took a drink, her gaze flicking between Gambit, Logan and the fire.

"So now what?" she asked, at last, "I ain't used to bein' grounded... We gotta be able to do somethin'..."

"Not much we can do, darlin'," he replied, bluntly, "we just gotta wait. No use wastin' too much energy as we ain't got much food or water to keep us goin'. It's gettin' dark now – we'll take it in turns to keep watch. In the mornin', I'll go out lookin' fer food an' water to add to our supplies. You keep an eye on the Cajun an' see if ya can get the emergency beacon workin'."

Rogue rested a soothing hand on the top of Gambit's head as he groaned and shifted restlessly in his slumber. She gently combed his hair with her fingers as he twitched, gasping, his eyes flickering open, hand reaching reflexively for his side beneath the blankets.

"Easy, sugar," Rogue murmured, softly.

"Ohhhh..." Gambit moaned, weakly, "mon dieu... chère... cela fait si mal..."

It hurts so much...

"Easy, darlin'," she whispered, her heart breaking to see him in so much pain, "you just gotta hold on for me, ya hear me?"

She picked up the water bottle and managed to persuade him to take some small sips, as she cradled his head in one hand and held the bottle for him, to prevent spilling any of the precious liquid. Energy spent, he could only sag back into her hand as she lowered him back down, careful not to jar his injury.

She did not speak much French herself, but she dredged her memory, and murmured, in her heavily accented, husky voice; "Repose toi, mon amour."

Rest easy, my love.

Logan, who did speak French, wisely stayed silent and pretended not to hear, as he idly stoked the fire again, and reached for a ration pack.

"Here," he tossed one to Rogue, "we gotta keep our strength up, ya better eat somethin'."

"Mah strength... ah'm as weak as a kitten and even less use," Rogue snorted, "you feel up to eatin' somethin', sugar?"

She glanced down at Gambit, but his eyes had closed once more and he did not respond. Rogue sighed and Wolverine politely averted his gaze as she leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on Remy's forehead.

"Ah, sugar," she sighed, "the one time ah can kiss ya without drainin' ya, an' yer fast asleep!"

She sat back, and tore open her emergency dried ration pack. They ate in relative yet comfortable silence, exchanging few words. The darkness began to descend and the forest around them seemed to close in as the shadows lengthened. From the trees came the calling of night-birds and the chatter of nocturnal animals. Rogue shivered and pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders as she shuffled a little closer to the fire.

"Get some sleep, darlin'," Logan told her, adding another log to the fire, "I'll take first watch. I'll wake ya in about four hours."

Rogue cast an uncertain glance at Gambit; his face looked even paler by the flickering light of the fire and he still shifted weakly beneath the blankets, shivering, the occasional gasp or moan of pain escaping him. He was barely semi-conscious, and clearly suffering.

"I'll keep an eye on Gumbo here," Wolverine assured her, "you need to rest up if yer gonna be of any help to 'im. You took a pretty nasty knock on the head too, darlin'. Get some sleep, I'll wake ya if I think he needs ya."

"Thanks, Logan," Rogue yawned, suddenly realising that she was, indeed, exhausted.

Wrapping the blanket around herself, she stretched out on the mattress, her head near to Gambit's, facing the fire as she savoured the warmth of it. Despite her chill, aches and discomfort, she was soon asleep. Left alone in the darkness, Logan kept watch.