Logan returned to the downed jet sometime after midday – the sun was high in the sky overhead, having burned off the morning mist. Birds chattered loudly in the trees and insects chirped loudly. Thankfully, there was no sign of pursuit or Genoshan patrols and he had managed to snare a rabbit, though he had found no sign of running water nearby. He decided to try and rig up something to collect condensation that could be boiled over their fire if they needed to top up their reserves. Out of deference to his colleagues, he skinned, gutted and butchered the rabbit away from the jet, gathering the meat and wrapping it in a parcel made from large leaves and vines to make it easy to carry.
On his return, he noticed that the fire was running low on fuel and Rogue was nowhere in sight, so he left the rabbit meat to one side and set about gathering more wood. He stoked up the fire again; although he did not need the heat, particularly after his morning of exertion, it was clear that Gambit did need it, and Wolverine was reluctant to let it go out, especially as he was unsure of their ability to relight it if it extinguished. Gambit was clearly fading fast, and using his abilities to charge objects with his bio-kinetic energy would only sap his strength further.
With the fire once again stoked up, Logan found a length of metal debris and, using his adamantium claws, whittled it into a couple of long, thin skewers. He fashioned a couple of rough tripods either side of the fire, skewered the rabbit meat onto his rudimentary kebab sticks, and rested them over the fire between the tripods. Leaving the meat to cook, he straightened up, as Rogue finally reappeared – her sleeves were rolled up and she carelessly brushed her hair back out of her eyes.
"Mmm, somethin' smells good," she commented, "ya didn't happen ta find any coffee out there, did ya?"
"Sorry darlin'," he grinned, humourlessly, "just a rabbit an' some firewood. Good news is; no sign of pursuit. Bad news is; no sign of water or rescue."
He reached out and rotated the skewers, determined to cook the meat evenly, as he took a sip from one of their precious water bottles. He did not take much – enough to stay hydrated, but not enough to slake his thirst, well aware of the need to preserve their meagre supply.
"What'cha been doin'?" he asked, glancing around – he could see some of the debris has been cleared away and the place was generally tidier. Their supplies had been gathered together nearer to the fire, though the collection was depressingly small.
"Jus' clearin' up and checkin' the supplies," she said, nonchalantly, "ah couldn' get the beacon workin' – there's no darn power left in the 'bird an' most o' the circuits are fried. Nothin' ah can do."
"Didn't think so, but worth a try," Logan looked around the cockpit again, "communications?"
"All shot," she shook her head, tapping the distinctive 'X' badge on her chest, "even our suit communicators are down without the 'bird's beacon to boost the signals."
"Looks like we're still stuck here, then," growled Logan.
He hated the inactivity of simply awaiting rescue like some damsel in distress, but he'd had enough survival training and experience to know that unless they were in immediate danger, they were better off staying put until someone could find them – a crashed plane in a jungle would be much easier to find than three loan figures running around on foot. And that was without taking into account the fact that one of their party was in no state to be carried, let alone walk out under his own steam.
"Ah hate just waitin' around like this," Rogue swung her arms helplessly, turning around on the spot and taking a few steps away, before turning and walking back again, "ah hate feelin' so... so... so damn useless!"
"Look, darlin', it is what it is," he tried to keep his voice even, but being reassuring wasn't his strong suit, "all we gotta do is make it another couple a' days, then they'll come lookin' fer us. Sometimes, that jus' means sittin' tight. 'Sides, even if we wanted to make a run fer it, what we gonna do about Gumbo over there?" he jerked his thumb over his shoulder to emphasise his point, "Movin' 'im too far could kill 'im, plain an' simple. So whadda we supposed to do, other than sit here an' wait?"
"Ah know," Rogue sounded despondent, and Logan sighed, realising he hadn't done anything to improve her despair.
"C'mon," he told her, sitting cross-legged on a mattress and patting the space beside him, "show off yer cookin' skills an' keep an eye on this rabbit."
"Can't remember the last time ah had rabbit," she commented, obligingly turning the skewers over the fire as the meat began to cook, "mah daddy used'ter catch 'em sometimes... back before he knew he had a mutant fer a daughter..."
She trailed off and dipped her head, and Logan awkwardly patted her shoulder, a clumsy attempt to comfort and reassure her. It was a crude attempt, but nonetheless she raised her head and offered him a wan smile. The sun was high overhead as they sat in companionable silence until both Logan and Rogue were satisfied their rabbit was properly cooked. He carefully removed the skewers from the fire, as she produced a small, relatively flat piece of metal panelling to serve as a plate. Logan used one claw to slide the hot chunks of roasted meat off the skewers and onto the plate, setting aside the skewers to cool in case he had the opportunity to use them again. They allowed the meat to rest for a minute or two, before Rogue picked up a piece and took a hesitant bite.
"Well," she said, chewing on the hot meat carefully, "could do with some seasonin', but otherwise, not bad, sugar!"
"Happy to oblige," Logan picked up his own piece and bit down; to his taste, the meat was overcooked, but he cared more about lifting Rogue's spirits than satisfying his owl palate, so he ate without comment.
"D'ya think we should wake him?" Rogue asked, softly, nodding her head towards Gambit, "he ain't eaten anythin' since yesterday mornin', afore you boys had ta save me from those Genoshan swamp rats."
Logan cast an assessing look at Gambit. The younger man was asleep; his right arm rested limply on his chest over the covers, which rose and fell with slow, shallow breaths. His face remained unnaturally pale, and although his eyes were closed, they shifted restlessly beneath the lids, his visible hand occasionally twitching atop the blanket as he shivered or flinched in pain.
"Might be a bit hard on his stomach," he replied, at length, chewing on another piece of meat, "might be better off with some of the rations. Don' wanna wake 'im, though – at least if he's sleepin', he ain't aware he's hurtin'. Maybe leave 'im be, get 'im ta eat when he wakes up."
"Ah wish there was more we could do for him," Rogue sighed, selecting another chunk of meat and rolling it between her fingers, "ah hate seein' him in so much pain..."
Logan bit back the comment that it was only going to get worse, the longer they had to wait for rescue. He had seen men die from less severe wounds under prolonged conditions, forced to wait for rescues that never came, bleeding out over a lengthy time, raving with pain and fever, wracked by infections or, in one case, simply executed by an uncaring officer unwilling to be slowed down by an injured man. The officer himself had not made it out of that particular scenario, Logan himself had made sure of that. He pushed the memories from his mind; he professed no great fondness for the Cajun aloud, but of the X-men, Gambit was one of the few he actually enjoyed spending any time with. The Cajun had a tolerance for hard spirits that almost rivalled his own, an entertaining flamboyant streak that Logan lacked, and an enjoyment for any sort of gambling that he shared with his clawed and whiskered friend. The two of them were friends, and Logan hated to see him laid low by injury, almost as much as Rogue.
They finished the rest of their meagre meal, washed down with a little water, and Logan clapped his hands to his legs, getting to his feet.
"C'mon," he told her, "best to stay active and find things to do. You can give me a hand gathering up some more wood for the fire tonight, an' then we need to find some way of gathering rain water or condensation to top up our water supply."
"Beats sittin' around, I guess. Lead the way, sugar."
