It felt like they ran for hours, leaving the jet miles and miles behind them, as Rogue struggled to keep pace with Logan, crashing through the overgrowth where he bounded effortlessly, holding Gambit over his shoulder with his left arm, using his right-hand claws to cut them a path through the jungle. Rogue could barely see her hand in front of her face in the darkness of the night-time jungle, relying on sticking as close to Logan as she dared, his heightened animalistic senses their only guide through the dark, dense foliage.

Gasping, her heart hammering in her chest, she suddenly stumbled, pitching headlong into the dirt with a pained cry. He was by her side in an instant, pulling her upright, sniffing the air.

"No more, Logan," she panted, breathlessly, "ah'm sorry... ah gotta rest a minute..."

"Not here, darlin'," he shook his head, barely visible in the darkness, "too dangerous. We gotta keep goin'... but I think we can slow down a bit."

"Gambit?" she asked, desperately, through her heaving breaths.

"Still out cold," she could hear the undercurrent of worry in his rough voice, "he ain't even stirred. C'mon. Let's see if we can find some sort of shelter..."

They pressed on in the darkness, at a thankfully much slower pace, but Rogue found herself still breathing heavily. The rucksack straps chafed her shoulders, while her back and legs ached with the exertion of carrying her burden and keeping up their escape pace. She tried to recall a time before her powers had manifested, but could not remember ever feeling so worn and exhausted as she did now without them.

"Here," Wolverine came to a sudden stop, "this'll have to do, fer now, until it gets light..."

"What...?" breathless, sore and exhausted, Rogue could only make out impenetrable blackness in front of them.

Then, her eyes adjusted, and she realised they were standing before a large tree, with a deep, hollow hole nestled between two vast roots. Logan was already lowering Gambit to the floor, leaning him back against the tree. The Cajun slumped back, and Rogue's own aches and pains were forgotten as she shrugged out of the backpack, discarding it carelessly as she dropped down in front of Gambit, cradling his face in both her hands.

"Remy? Remy, can y'hear me, sugar?" she patted his cheek, gently, trying to rouse him, "Remy, come on honey, open them eyes for me... please?"

There was no response to her desperate pleadings, and she turned tearful eyes towards Logan.

"He feels like a block of ice," she said, her voice cracking with emotion, "can we risk lighting a fire?"

Feeling like the worst kind of monster, Logan shook his head; "Can't risk bein' spotted. Pretty sure there'll be sentinels patrollin' the skies. The tree canopy might be thick enough to mask our heat signatures, but a fire'd be too obvious."

He reached for the backpack, pulling it open, tugging out the only blanket Rogue had been able to stuff in around their bottles of water, food and bandages.

"Here," he pressed the woollen fabric into her hands, "wrap 'im in this, try ta warm 'im up a bit."

She nodded, gratefully accepting the covering, swiftly but carefully wrapping it around Gambit's shoulders, tugging it down between his back and the tree trunk, before swaddling the sides around his arms, tucking it around his torso. For lack of anything else to do, she sat down beside him, and gently rested her head on his right shoulder. Her own pain and exhaustion won out, as her eyes inadvertently drifted closed, and she slipped into slumber. Wolverine wordlessly took up a defensive position in front of his teammates, and waited for the sun to rise.

...

...

Pain... it speared through his side like a hot lance, spreading fire through his waist and stomach, snatching the air from his lungs and robbing him of all breath. He tried to drag in a rasping breath but choked on the agony of doing so, his head looping in sickening surges as he struggled to make sense of what was going on.

"Remy?"

That voice. That southern drawl. It was so familiar, he clung to it desperately, trying to turn his head towards the comforting sound, but his body, weakened and shivering, would not obey.

"Remy... open yer eyes for me, sugar, ah need ta see ya..."

He tried to obey, he tried to speak, but he felt like he was freezing and burning at the same time, trembling with the sheer agony wracking his body, weakening him and making him feel sick to his stomach.

"Aw, hell, sugar," Rogue's voice went up an octave as her bare hand gently brushed his forehead; her touch felt cold, and oddly soothing, despite the ice in his veins, "Logan! Logan, he's burnin' up!"

"Aw, dammit, Gumbo," a second, familiar voice joined the first one, and Wolverine's face swam into view in front of his blurry vision.

It occurred to him that he'd only just opened his eyes, as he took in their gaunt, worried faces. He tried to smile and utter some vague reassurance, but his tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth, and he could only groan in sick dismay as Logan parted the blanket wrapped around him, revealing the now heavily soiled bandages around his waist. Rogue clapped her hands to her mouth, her expression horrified, and Logan wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"This is what I was afraid of," Logan growled, "wound smells infected."

"What can we do?" Rogue asked, tremulously.

"Not much," grimaced Logan, "definitely gonna have ta change that dressing though."

"Mon amis," Gambit finally managed to croak, "ce n'est pas bien. Tu dois me quitter... sauvez-vous..."

My friend, it's no good. You've got to leave me... save yourselves...

"Sorry, Gumbo, didn't quite catch that," Wolverine shook his head, already reaching into their backpack, rummaging through their limited supplies, "here, darlin', gonna need these."

He handed Rogue one of their few remaining rolls of bandages and a bottle of water, and then he positioned himself in front of Gambit, Rogue to his left-hand side, ready to clean and re-dress the wound. Logan carefully cut through the soiled dressing with one claw, and Gambit hissed in pain as the other man eased the padding away from his wound. Logan tried not to wrinkle his nose in disgust; the wound was still raw in the centre, the edges looking red and inflamed. Yellowish pus seeped from around the edges and to his heightened sense of smell, it was fetid. He heard Rogue's gasp of dismay; she couldn't smell what he had with the bandages on, and the shock of seeing the horrific injury deteriorating must have been truly frightening.

"Ah..." the Cajun winced and groaned, weakly, "mon dieu... Gambit sorry – he not enjoyin' this holiday one bit, chère..."

"You'll be okay, Remy," Rogue took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, "just hang in there, sugar."

Logan rocked back on his heels, reaching for the bottle of water and the last two dressing pads. Their supplies were diminishing, but he wasn't about to leave Gambit in a worse state than necessary. He looked at Rogue, taking a deep breath.

"Hold 'im, darlin'," he told her, gruffly, "hold 'im tight, an' if he yells, cover 'is mouth. I'm gonna clean this out as best I can, an' it's gonna hurt. If he hollers, it could attract unwanted attention."

"Oh, no..." Rogue's voice was choked with emotion, but nonetheless, she carefully slid herself behind Gambit, so that she was kneeling with him supported against her chest, "give me your hands, sugar..."

"Gambit won' cry out, mes amis," he promised, moving his arms obligingly.

Rogue grasped his wrists and held on to him, his arms crossed over his chest, hers wrapped around him supportively.. Logan crouched in front of him, effectively pinning his legs to the floor, to stop him from kicking or flailing inadvertently.

"Brace yerself, Gumbo, this ain't gonna be no picnic..."

Both of them could feel the tremors coursing through Gambit's weakened frame, and the heat of fever emanating from him. Rogue tightened her grip ever so slightly, and Wolverine soaked one of the dressing pads with water from the bottle. Hesitating for only a moment, he then poured some of the water straight onto Gambit's torn flesh. The Cajun hissed through his teeth and arched his back in response to the icy agony that lanced through him, but this was nothing compared to the sensation as Logan applied the dressing pad and began to cleanse the pus away from the wound. It felt like white-hot razor blades being gouged into his raw skin.

"It's okay, Remy, it's okay," Rogue kept up a steady litany of whispered reassurances, almost as if she was trying to placate herself as much as her sick and wounded friend, "it'll be okay, shush now, sugar, you'll be okay, it'll be over soon..."

"Ah-!" Gambit bit back on a cry of pain, his back arched, straining to pull away from the torment.

"Easy, pal, easy, almost done," Logan promised him.

His words had little effect, as Gambit gave a terrible shudder, and then just went limp in Rogue's arms, the tension running out of him like melting ice water in an instant, his head dropping as he slumped over.

"Remy!" Rogue exclaimed, leaning over him, still holding both of his hands across his chest, hugging him close, "Aw, no – Remy! Say somethin', sugar!"

"Relax, darlin'... he's just passed out from the pain," Logan told her, gruffly, not taking his eyes off his work, "probably for the best. We'll finish this, nice an' quick, then let 'im rest a while."

Wolverine set aside the cloth he had used to clean the laceration, ripped open the last fresh dressing, and pressed it against the still-oozing injury. He wrapped the bandages as tightly as he dared, wanting to keep the wound sealed without restricting Gambit's ability to breathe. The Cajun did not even stir, as Rogue slid from behind him, easing him back to lie down in the shelter of the tree hollow. She fastened his coat over his bare chest and then tucked the blanket around him as best she could.

"What're we gonna do, Logan?" she whispered, after a long moment of silence, "he ain't gonna be able to make it much further..."

Wolverine hesitated, mulling over their options. Option one was simply to stay where they were; the tree provided some shelter and the foliage around them was dense enough it would take a long time for anyone to find them – great for their pursuers, not so great for any potential rescuers. They were unlikely to be spotted by the sentinel patrols flying around overhead, protected as they were by the thick tree canopy. However, they also had limited supplies, could not risk starting a fire and there was no space for one here anyway, and there was no guarantee they would be able to find enough additional food and water to survive.

Option two was to head back to the jet, where they had ample shelter and had already made some preparations to stay there for a few days. It would be easy for a rescue party to find them there. The down side to this, of course, was that the Genoshans had already marked the location of the jet, it was likely to be guarded by sentinels, and even if they did manage to dispose of any guards, more would come and in greater numbers.

Option three was to press on through the dense forest, and see if they could find better shelter; Wolverine could smell a tang of salt on the air, so he had a feeling they were not too far from the coast. Perhaps they could find a cave or hollow near to the forest on the edge of the coast, where he had the option of catching fish, perhaps finding a fresh water stream, and being able to light a fire that would not attract unwanted attention. They might be able to signal a passing ship for assistance, and they would have a secure location to await rescue. However, this would mean having to move the critically-injured Gambit, and Wolverine was reluctant to cause the man any further suffering. Even carrying the sick man would aggravate his injury considerably, causing further bleeding and irritation.

As Logan and Rogue discussed their options, the sun climbed higher into the sky. They shared a ration pack between them, both ravenously hungry, but knowing they needed to conserve their food supply. They had only two and a half ration packs left, three litres of water, and one roll of bandage; their only remaining blanket was wrapped around Gambit and neither of them had any inclination towards depriving him of it.

"That settles it, then," Rogue drawled, eventually, "sounds like our best bet is to make for the coast. Can ya carry Gambit that far?"

"Darlin', I'd carry him the length of the continent if I had to, but that ain't the issue," Logan shook his head, "need ma hands free to cut through this damn jungle but if I put 'im on ma shoulder, it's gonna kill 'im."

"Nuh... not to w... worry, mes amis," another voice joined their conversation, sounding weak but determined, "y... you give Gambit a hand to stand... an' he follow you all de way."

"Them's mighty big promises, swamp rat," Rogue's relief at his return to consciousness was palpable, "you couldn't wrestle a de-clawed kitten in your state."

"Jus' help me up, mes amis, before Gambit change his mind."

Wolverine nodded, curtly, and extended his hand. Gambit accepted with his left hand, keeping his right hand clenched to his throbbing midriff, and allowed Logan to pull him to his feet. He bit off a wordless cry of pain as Rogue immediately stepped in to steady him. Gambit pulled his bo from one of his many pockets, shook the staff out to its full length, and planted the end firmly in the ground, leaning heavily against it. Rogue reached for their backpack, but Logan beat her to it, stuffing the blanket back inside and shouldering the pack himself.

"You lead the way," Rogue told him, wrapping her right arm around Gambit's waist and looping his left arm around her neck, "we'll try ta keep up."

With another silent nod, Logan sniffed the air, and struck out once more into the foreboding forest.