At night, the lights in the medical bay automatically dimmed to the lowest level, casting long, eerie shadows from the array of equipment fitted to the high-tech laboratory. There was only one occupied bed, in a corner of the room, surrounded by a privacy curtain. The occupant of the bed began to stir, letting out a low groan. Slowly, Gambit blinked his eyes open, wincing at the pounding headache that assailed him. As his vision came back into focus, he realised he was in the medical bay, though his recollection of how he had ended up here was fuzzy at best.

Oh, yeah... that kiss...

"Totally worth it," he murmured, hoarsely, his mouth dry and throat raspy from lack of use, "ohh... my head..."

Gambit raised a hand to cradle his temple, and slowly sat up, grimacing at the wave of nausea and dizziness that came up to meet him as he did so. He glanced down at himself; he was wearing only a thin hospital gown, and as well as intravenous drips there were catheters, monitors and various other lines connected to him – he removed them all, switching off all of the machines as they beeped loud warnings at the sudden loss of the readings they were monitoring, wincing at the discomfort as he removed them but relieved to be rid of all of the attachments. He saw his uniform, folded neatly on top of a nearby cabinet. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and experimentally tried to stand. Were it not for his hold on the bed, he would have collapsed to the floor, his legs weak and shaky, barely able to support him.

"Mon dieu," he uttered, through gritted teeth, "how long Gambit been asleep?"

Cursing his frailty, he took a couple of deep breaths, trying to stave off the dizziness that assailed him. He leaned heavily on the bed for a few minutes, until he regained his equilibrium. Forcing himself upright, feeling as weak as a kitten, he staggered over to the cabinet. Shedding the hospital gown, he managed to don his uniform with shaking hands. Forgoing his hood, he left his long hair hanging loose, stuffing the hood and his gloves carelessly into a coat pocket. After he pulled his coat on, he sat back down on the bed for a moment, nursing his aching, spinning head in both hands.

"Ugh..." he groaned, "maybe gettin' up was a bad plan..."

However, he hated hospitals at the best of times, and he had no desire to get back into the uncomfortable bed. He wanted two things; coffee, and his own bed, in the familiar, safe surroundings of his room. However, getting there would be another matter. Closing his eyes briefly, telling himself not to pass out again, Gambit reached into his coat with his trembling hand, and pulled out his trusty bo-jitsu staff. He flicked it out to its full length and held it vertically, planting one end of the long pole on the floor. Standing up, he was able to lean on the staff, using it to take some of the weight his shaky legs seemed unwilling to support. He took another steadying breath, taking an experimental step forward. Excellent. Only several dozen more and he might be half-way to where he wanted to be...

Slowly, he made his way into the corridor, feeling a little stronger as his body slowly readjusted to being upright and mobile, instead of reclined, unconscious, on a bed. The staff tapped lightly on the floor with each wavering step, his other hand bracing himself against the wall, until he reached the lift. Stepping inside, he leaned gratefully against the side, hitting the button that would take him up to the main house. Slumped in the corner, he tried to keep his eyes open, but they seemed to want to slip closed of their own accord.

Damn, he was so tired...

There was a quiet ping and the doors slid open, revealing a darkened corridor, and it was only then that Gambit realised it was the middle of the night. That explained why he hadn't seen anyone else; they would all be asleep. He was normally the only one still awake at this kind of hour, and if he hadn't been so exhausted he would have been amused at the thought.

Finally, he stumbled into the kitchen, and turned on the coffee pot, blinking heavy eyelids as it slowly began to fill. Overcome by lethargy, he slumped into one of the chairs at the table while he waited for the brew, hooking his elbow around his staff to prevent it dropping to the floor as he all but collapsed into the seat. He folded his arms on the table top, and, without really realising what he was doing, he leaned forwards, until his forehead rested on his forearms. His eyes slid shut, and he surrendered to the beckoning embrace of unconsciousness.

"Hey..."

A rough hand shook his shoulder; Gambit stirred, groaning.

"Hey, Gumbo... wake up!"

"Whu...?" he mumbled, incoherently, "What...?"

"You with me, Cajun?"

"Wolverine?"

"Yeah," Logan quirked a dry smile as Gambit raised his head, peering at him blearily, "what the hell ya doin', Cajun? Thought you were still out like a light in the med bay."

"Woke up," Gambit slurred, raising one hand to his aching head, "wanted coffee..."

"Ya could've just called someone," Logan told him, gruffly, "yer in no fit state to be runnin' around just yet... here."

He dumped a mug of coffee in front of Gambit, who automatically curled one hand around it, drawing it closer, even as the other still cradled his head, elbow resting on the table for support. The coffee smelled heavenly, but the mug might as well have weighed a tonne. With a herculean effort, he managed to raise it to his lips, taking a sip, savouring the bitter taste.

"Does Beast know yer up?"

Gambit managed a slow shake of his aching head.

"Him an' Rogue are gonna throw a fit if they find yer not in the med bay," Logan said, conversationally, "ya want me ta call one o' them? Ya really don't look well, Gumbo."

"Non... not yet, mon amis," Gambit mumbled, "jus'... jus' need to pull myself together a bit first. Don'... don' wanna worry 'em..."

"Bit too late fer that," Logan grunted, as Gambit took another mouthful of the coffee, "think ya already scared the livin' daylights outta most of us."

"Didn't mean to," Gambit slurred, vaguely.

"Well, I got a hell of a shock when I saw it was you passed out on the table just now," Wolverine remarked, sitting down opposite him with his own mug of coffee, "smelled the coffee and wondered who else was up at this ungodly hour. Good thing I came ta check. How're ya feelin'?"

"Like Gambit got hit by a bus," he croaked, honestly, "how... how long was I out?"

Wolverine snorted a humourless laugh; "You've been unconscious for ten days, Cajun."

Gambit stared at him, shocked, as he tried to process this information; "Ten days?"

"Nearly eleven," Wolverine grimaced, taking a swig of his coffee, "Rogue's been goin' out of her mind thinkin' she nearly killed ya. Took over a week fer ya powers to wear off of her. We lost a lotta coffee mugs in the meantime..."

"Mon dieu..." Gambit closed his eyes again, rubbing a shaking hand over his pale face, "ugh..."

"Don't pass out on me again, Gumbo, I ain't carryin' ya back to the med bay."

"Don' wanna go back dere," Gambit shuddered, "jus' wan' coffee... an' my own bed..."

"I hear ya, bub," smirked Wolverine, "drink up – least I can do is see ya don't fall flat on yer face gettin' ta ya room..."

"T'anks," said Gambit, dryly, "I think..."

He took another mouthful of the coffee, hoping the caffeine might energise him enough to walk back to his room; he had never felt so tired, so utterly drained and exhausted. His head lolled forwards as his shoulders sagged; sleeping at the table might not be comfortable but it did have a certain appeal... He was therefore taken by surprise when he felt a strong hand take him by the wrist; his right arm was draped across a burly pair of shoulders, as a left arm wrapped around his waist, and he found himself being pulled out of the chair, lifted to his feet. Wolverine was a lot shorter than the lanky Cajun, but seemed to have no trouble supporting most of Gambit's weight as he wavered, vision dimming alarmingly as he stood up. He managed to get a grip on his bo in his left hand, trying to support himself with it, so Logan wasn't carrying him so much.

"C'mon, Gumbo – let's getcha ta bed – think ya'd better lie down, before ya fall down."

"Oui, mon amis," he muttered, weakly, "je suis tellement fatigué..."

I'm so tired...

"Je sais," Wolverine replied, gruffly, "allez, on va te mettre au lit."

I know. Come on, let's get you to bed.

The two of them staggered out of the kitchen and towards the lift. Hitting the button that would take them to the floor housing their private quarters, Wolverine allowed Gambit to sag against the wall, head dropping into a shaking hand as he cradled what looked like the mother of all hangovers. The Cajun was as white as a sheet, with dark circles shadowing his eyes. After nearly a fortnight unconscious, being fed through tubes and heavily medicated, he looked thinner than Wolverine remembered, almost gaunt, and he trembled visibly with the effort of merely standing.

"Ya really ought to have stayed in the med bay, Gumbo," Logan grumbled, eyeing him critically.

Gambit snorted a humourless laugh, too exhausted to form any kind of a comeback. The lift reached their floor and the doors obligingly opened for them, and Wolverine took up his supporting role once more, as Gambit leaned heavily against him, barely able to drag one foot in front of the other, until they reached the door to his room. Wolverine pushed it open, not bothering to turn on the light as he dragged the Cajun over to the bed, depositing him on the edge of it.

"I hope ya don't expect me ta undress ya or tuck ya in..." growled Logan, crossing back to the door and leaning against the frame, folding his arms resolutely.

Gambit shook his head, letting his staff lean against the wall beside the bed, before bracing his elbows on his knees and burying his face in the palms of his hands for a long moment as he tried, with little success, to pull himself together. Eventually, he reached down and tugged off his boots, dropping them carelessly on the floor. Logan remained leaning against the doorframe, silhouetted by the low light of the corridor behind him, watching the younger man carefully; ready to assist despite his protestations to the contrary. Gambit slowly shouldered out of his coat, casting it to one side beside his boots. Not bothering to strip out of his shirt and trousers, he managed to worm his way under the duvet; with a relieved sigh, his eyes slid closed as soon as his head hit the pillow, and Logan permitted himself a small smile as he heard the other man's breathing even out, as he immediately tumbled into a deep slumber.

Padding quietly down the corridor, Logan checked his watch. It was still ridiculously early, but... what the hell. He reached another door, and knocked, gently, not wanting to raise the whole household. It took another three attempts, but eventually the door opened and he was met by a pair of bleary green eyes that blinked at him, owlishly.

"Logan?" Rogue yawned, rubbing her eyes sleepily, "What in tarnation...? What time is it?"

"Early," he grunted, "c'mon. Somethin' ya gotta see, darlin'."

"Couldn't it wait until morning?" she grumbled, nonetheless reaching for her dressing gown and cinching it tight around her waist as she habitually pulled on a pair of gloves, and obediently slipped through the door to follow him.

"Apparently not," Logan smirked, leading her down the corridor, to the still-open door, "in here..."

"What the-?" Rogue's eyes widened when she saw the occupied bed, "Remy!"

"Shhh," Wolverine grinned, holding a finger to his lips, "damned idiot Cajun woke up and wandered out of the med bay. Found 'im in the kitchen, couldn't keep 'is eyes open. He's just sleepin', don't worry."

"Ah don't believe it..." Rogue approached the bed, slowly, not taking her eyes off the slumbering occupant, "shouldn't we take him back to the med bay?"

"He didn't wanna go," Logan shrugged, "figured he might as well sleep in 'is own bed than down there. Thought ya might wanna sit with 'im a while. Make sure he don't wander off again!"

"Ah do," Rogue said, softly, turning and flashing him a grateful look, "thanks, Logan."

"Any time, darlin'... I'll go grab ya some coffee."

He quietly slipped away, as Rogue approached the bed, and carefully sat down on the edge. Gambit did not even stir, his breathing deep, slow and even as he slept. She reached out, and with a hand that trembled only slightly with her shock, she brushed the hair away from his eyes.

"Ya damned fool," she murmured, affectionately.

By the time Logan returned with the coffee, Rogue had fetched a blanket from her room. Throwing it around her shoulders, she had dragged an armchair as close to the bed as she could manage and curled up in it, wrapping her hands around the steaming mug appreciatively.

"Call me if ya need anythin', darlin'," Wolverine told her, softly, as he paused in the doorway.

"Thanks, Logan," she smiled, appreciatively, "ah think we'll be okay, though ah'm gonna kick his ass for being such an idiot when he wakes up."

"Sure ya are," he grinned, knowingly, "jus'... yell if ya need help, okay?"

"Will do. G'night, Logan."

"G'night."

He closed the door behind him, and left her to her vigil.