Rogue let out a wordless cry of horror as Gambit shuddered and went limp in her embrace. She cradled him in her arms, clutching his head to her chest, tears running down her face as Storm, Beast and Jean crowded in around them, their expressions all transfixed in horror.

"Rogue... is he...?" Storm trailed off, unable to voice the question on all of their lips.

"He... he's still breathin'," Rogue choked back a sob, burying her face in Gambit's unruly hair, as she cried out; "what in tarnation is goin' on around here? What happened ta him? Look at his hands..."

"Our powers were stolen and temporarily manifested in a human soldier," Storm sounded disgusted at the violation, "Gambit came to our rescue... his injuries were sustained in the battle with the enhanced human... he had the combined powers of myself, Wolverine... and you, Rogue."

"Mah powers?" Rogue repeated, her eyes welling up with fresh tears as she raised her head and gazed at Storm in horror, "mah powers... did this... ta Remy?"

"Our powers," Storm corrected her, "yes – our powers. But not us. Not you. This was not your fault, Rogue. It is up to us to help him now."

"Oh dear," Beast sighed, casting a critical eye over the unconscious Cajun, "this is most distressing..."

"Is he gonna be okay, Hank?" Rogue asked, turning her green-eyed gaze to their resident doctor.

Beast hesitated, taking in the sight of Gambit's battered body, as he crouched down, one clawed finger checking the fallen man's pulse. He could see a large lump forming around a deep laceration on his forehead that ran a steady trickle of blood down Gambit's face; there were blisters and burns littering his arms and chest, let alone the horrendous burns to his hands, and Beast could hear the shallow wheezing of every breath he was struggling to take.

"I do not know," he said, eventually, in a troubled voice, "he was not fully recuperated from his ordeal in Genosha... and these wounds are extensive. We must get him back to base, as quickly as possible."

"I've rounded up the last of the soldiers," Wolverine announced, striding over to them, still cradling a stolen gun, "how's the Cajun?"

"Not good, my friend," Beast replied, shaking his head, "he is critically injured... and we are a long way from home."

"He saved us all," Storm intoned, "Wolverine... did any of the scientists hold a key to removing these horrendous collars from our necks?"

"Sorry, darlin', no dice," Wolverine shook his head, "some of ya had better come with me – we need ta search the lab for a key an' destroy any more of these damn collars, an' the research ta go with 'em. Don't want any other eggheads gettin' the wrong ideas... Also need to make sure there're no other mutants locked up in that damn place."

"But what about Gambit?" Rogue protested, still cradling the unconscious Cajun protectively, "we need ta get him home, an' fast..."

"Wolverine is right," Beast said, in a gentle tone, "there is nothing we can do for him until Cyclops returns with the Blackbird. He should not be long. Storm, Wolverine and I will be as fast as we can – you and Jean stay here with him. As soon as Scott arrives, we will rejoin you."

At Beast's beckon, the three of them sprinted away into the lab, leaving Rogue still nursing Gambit in her arms, Jean crouching beside them, one hand on Rogue's arm, the other resting lightly on Gambit's chest. He remained completely limp, eyes closed, breathing shallow and ragged.

"He'll be okay, Rogue," Jean's voice faltered slightly, as she tried to reassure her friend, "we'll get him back to base and get him patched up in no time..."

"Aw, Jean," Rogue's voice broke, as she held Gambit's near-lifeless body close to her chest, "it's so unfair... he'd barely recovered from his injury an' illness from our last mission, he's been workin' so hard to get better... an now... his hands... I can't stop lookin' at his darn hands..."

"We will see him through this," Jean told her, supportively, rubbing her arm, "he will be back on his feet in no time... wait... listen; I can hear the jet!"

"Thank God," Rogue raised her face to the sky in unison with Jean, as the Blackbird soared overhead, turned, and executed a neat, vertical landing in the space vacated by the fleeing military jets. The ramp extended and Scott came running down, sprinting towards them, skidding to a halt in horror as he saw the sobbing Rogue cradling Gambit's broken body.

"Oh my God..."

"He's still alive, Scott," Jean interjected, quickly, well aware of how the scene must look, "but only just... can you bring a stretcher from the jet? He is severely injured, I do not want to aggravate his wounds by trying to carry him too far..."

"I'm on it," Scott gave a brusque nod and ran back to the jet, scrambling up the ramp, returning moments later, with a stretcher thrown over one shoulder.

He dropped it to the ground beside the prone Gambit, rolling it open. Between the three of them, they gently lifted their fallen comrade onto the canvas stretched between the two carrying poles; all of them felt their worry increase by another notch when he made no sound or gave any reaction to the movement.

"Where are the others?" Scott asked, urgently, glancing around, "we need to get him back to the base, immediately!"

"Searching the lab for a key to get the collars off," Jean explained, quickly, "freeing any other imprisoned mutants, and destroying Kolton's research. It is concerning that he escaped; I am so worried that he will simply resume his work elsewhere..."

"Well, he won't find it so easy now we know what he's up to," Cyclops growled, clenching his fists, as he glared at the laboratory building behind them, "finally – here they come."

Sure enough, Beast and Wolverine came sprinting towards them, Storm soaring overhead – their collars nowhere to be seen.

"We found a remote control to release the collars," Beast explained, somewhat unnecessarily, "and we have destroyed the computer core, along with all of the remaining prototype collars, save the ones around your necks..."

"We can remove them once we're in the air," Scott said, swiftly, "Beast, Wolverine – get Gambit into the jet. We need to get him back to base, pronto."

"Agreed," Beast nodded; he and Wolverine took up positions at either end of the stretcher, grasping the poles, and gently lifted their injured friend.

Storm bent down, picking up Gambit's treasured bo-jitsu staff from where it lay, dropped and forgotten, on the damp ground. She stared at it for a long moment, then carefully retracted it, and placed it gently into one of the inside pockets of his coat.

Gambit's left arm slipped from the stretcher, hanging limply over the side. A droplet of blood fell from his ruined fingers, the other hand draped over his abdomen, as they carried his recumbent form towards the waiting Blackbird. They manoeuvred the stretcher up the ramp even as Cyclops scrambled for the pilot's seat, retracting the ramp and starting the take-off procedure. Storm approached Rogue, holding the remote control for the collar from around her neck. At the press of a button it unlocked and clattered to the deck; her gloved hands went to her throat, rubbing at the welts and needle marks left by the torturous device.

"Thanks, sugar," she mumbled, tiredly, "ah'm gettin' mighty sick o' these suppression collars..."

Storm gave her a gentle, sympathetic smile, as the two of them headed to the back of the jet, bracing themselves against the turbulence of take-off. Wolverine and Beast carefully placed the stretcher on the medical bed, Beast gently but firmly holding Gambit in place as the jet launched into the sky. Beast activated several scanners, reviewing the readouts even as he examined his patient. He gently fitted a cervical collar around the unconscious man's neck, immobilising his head and shoulders, before slipping an oxygen mask over his face, covering his nose and mouth. Storm released Jean from her suppression collar, leaving only briefly to relieve Cyclops of his, before returning to Gambit's side.

Rogue, Storm, Jean and Wolverine all stood a silent vigil around the bed, not taking their eyes off their unmoving friend. Beast took up a pair of scissors, cutting open the front of Gambit's damp and scorched shirt. There were sharp intakes of breath and murmurs of horror as he revealed the true extent of the damage; the Cajun's torso was covered with raw burns and blisters, interspersed with various cuts, abrasions, and a livid red mark covering most of his left hand side, already darkening into a deep bruise. Beast gently probed the area with his fingers, feeling the crunch of movement. He snatched his hand back, as Gambit let out a low moan.

"Gambit?" Rogue broke the silence, snapping immediately to his side, but the Cajun gave no further indication of consciousness, as she raised her green eyes to meet Beast's sorrowful blue ones, "Hank? How's he doin'?"

"At least two of his ribs are broken," he replied, casting an assessing look at the injured man before him, "and I think his lung is punctured; the wheezing is no doubt a combination of this, the broken ribs restricting his ability to breathe and a lingering effect of the pneumonia, exacerbated by the cold he contracted before our departure. He has what is no doubt a severe concussion and trauma to his neck, along with a multitude of burns, cuts, grazes and oedema from subcutaneous blood loss. His throat is badly bruised, and from the pattern of the bruising, I would say he was being choked by an extremely powerful grip, so he is likely to have damage to his trachea. The palms of his hands, wrists and fingers are covered in first and second degree burns. Furthermore, I am detecting extensive internal bruising and bleeding – these injuries must have been sustained in a relatively short space of time. I can only imagine... he must have been in intense pain."

"We found him unconscious in the laboratory when we awoke," Storm intoned, her voice quivering with barely-suppressed emotion, "Jean and I assumed that he freed us before confronting the human soldier who possessed our stolen powers. I fear our dear Gambit came off the worst."

"Yeah, the Sergeant with the collar was called away, came to try to stop us escaping," Wolverine growled, slowly shaking his head as he recalled their desperate fight to escape the hellish laboratory, "by that time we were already outside. The Cajun bought us the time we needed to find cover..."

"He did more than that," Jean chimed in, her eyes glistening with unshed tears at the recollection, "after he came to in the lab, he was the one who got me and Storm out of there... he told us to run to safety while he distracted that Sergeant long enough for our stolen powers to wear off. He was trying to buy us the time to escape... that's how he ended up... like this..."

"He succeeded," Wolverine acknowledged, angling a glance down at the unconscious man; "nice work, Cajun. When yer back on ya feet, the drinks are on me, pal."

"We'll be landing at base in a few hours," Cyclops called, from the front of the jet, "I'm going as fast as the jet can handle... how's Gambit doing?"

Jean went up to the front to fill in their pilot and team leader on the grim prognosis; Storm lead Wolverine away to take their seats for the rest of the flight, leaving Beast and Rogue tending to Gambit. Rogue remained by his side, absently stroking her fingers through his hair, taking in his bruised and pallid face, as Beast continued to tend to him, inserting an intravenous drip of fluids, painkillers and antibiotics. He handed her a pack of cleansing wipes and, at his gentle request, she aided him in cleansing the encrusted blood, dirt and grime from Gambit's exposed face, arms and torso. When he was cleaned up, Rogue assisted Beast in applying a dressing and wrapping a bandage around the deep laceration and bruise on Gambit's temple, careful not to move his head and neck too much, given the collar Beast had fitted, concerned as he was about neck and spinal trauma.

"Ah wish ah knew what happened to 'im, Hank," Rogue said, in a small, sad voice, as they worked, "the thought that mah powers might've done this ta poor Remy..."

"It was not your fault, Rogue," Beast assured her, firmly, as he applied an antiseptic and cooling salve to the worst of the burns, knowing it would do very little to help but needing to do something, "your powers were stolen from you – as they were from all of us. In fact, from the pattern of these burns, I strongly suspect Gambit was on the receiving end of some of his own powers, though the circumstances of how that may have come to pass still elude me..."

They continued to clean and apply ointment to the burns before covering them with non-adhesive dressings and wrapping supportive bandages around Gambit's waist and chest. Beast used a stethoscope several times to listen to his chest, using a pulse-ox monitor, he grimly reported that Gambit's left lung was compromised, filling with fluid, no doubt punctured by a broken rib. Throughout their ministrations, Gambit remained utterly still, and completely unresponsive, even when Beast gently lifted his eyelids, shining a light into the black pupils set into blood-red irises, gauging the response.

"He definitely has a severe concussion," Beast muttered, darkly, shaking his head, "the trauma to his head must have been extensive... the poor fellow; when I saw him walking towards that enhanced Sergeant, I had no idea he was so badly hurt already... I think he is bleeding into his brain, he is almost certainly slipping into a coma... this is most concerning..."

"Hank..." Rogue's voice held a hard edge, as she tried not to betray her terror, "he's gonna be okay though, right?"

Beast took one of her yellow-gloved hands in his furry blue paws, rubbing her knuckles supportively, as he replied; "I honestly do not know, my dear – but I shall do everything I can."