It's quiet.

I've never seen the Institute so quiet before. Michelangelo, Raphael, and I are sitting scattered around the destroyed corridor, hoping for miracles. Like I do in most of these situations, I begin a silent conversation with an old friend.

Hey God? It's me again. Your old buddy Pete. Listen, I know that you and me have something of a rocky relationship, and I don't call or send flowers or anything anymore. Been busy chastising the sinners. Not that I'm being self-righteous, since doing that kind of stuff always get me in trouble. Just… don't let anything happen to anymore good people, okay? I don't know if you consider mutants "people," but… I'd like to believe that you do. They just risked their lives today—for family, for friends, for total strangers—and they did it because they know the value of a life. And anyone that knows the value of a life has to fall under the "God's children" category, right? I mean… just spare them, okay? Leo's too young, and Rogue's only just starting to get her life back on track, and Kurt… I still need to give him one good punch on the shoulder, and I don't think it's appropriate to do that at his funeral.

The thought of Kurt's funeral almost makes the frustrated tears start to fall, and I jump to my feet. I don't know what I mean to do—punch a wall, storm into one of the rooms, yell and scream—but Kitty comes out of Kurt's room, and her expression calms me down a little.

"Kurt's conscious," she tells me with a small smile. She seems like she'd be glowing in her relief, but she probably doesn't want to needlessly get the turtles' hopes up. "We pretty much drained our last healer, but Kurt's opening his eyes and wondering what all the hubbub is about. 'All I did vas simply visk my life for the vell-being of others.'" She giggles, and I take her mockery of his accent as a sign that things are going well.

"That's good to hear." Kitty and I turn around to see Michelangelo looking up at us from the floor, a tiny, forced smile on his face. He hasn't been doing too well since we got back, and I'm thinking that Don isn't the only one who's going to walk away from this experience with serious issues. "Real good to hear. I like Kurt. He's fuzzy."

Raphael offers a distracted snicker, but he doesn't even attempt an insult.

"Anyway," Mike continues, "how's uh… sorry, I don't remember her name. The girl with the white streaks in her hair and the Southern twang? I remember her doing something pretty scary to me while I was possessed, but then I kinda blanked out. Is she gonna be okay?"

Kitty smiles gently at him as she answers, "Rogue's going to be fine. She's a pretty tough gal. Logan's in there with her now. She basically absorbed your powers and strength to put you out of commission—that's kinda what she does. Anyway, Logan's always had a soft spot for her, so when she gets hurt, he lets her leech off of his healing abilities for a bit."

"Talk about robbin' the cradle," Raphael mutters. "Woulda thought he was too old for somebody like her."

"Not that kind of soft spot," Kitty replies, surprised. "Despite the adamantium exterior, Logan's a big softie on the inside. Just don't let on that you know that, or he'll get grumpy and puncture your lungs… if you're lucky."

"Sounds like somebody I know," Mike remarks blandly, tilting his head towards Raphael. The joke's lacking in any humor, but I still try and offer a laugh. Mikey shouldn't be like this. He's the happy turtle, not the emo turtle. Surely he understands that none of this is actually his fault?

"So Kurt's startin' to come around," Raphael says, standing up with a wince, "and the little Southern Belle's spendin' some bondin' time with Wolverine. Peachy. Now when's this French jerk gonna come back with his crazy voodoo medicine?"

"Actually," I remind him, "it's not voodoo. Just some gumbo 'she make special.'"

"I don't give a crap what it is, Pete!" Raphael yells at me. "All I know is-"

He suddenly clams up, and I know why when I see who's just entered the scene. Emma and her stupid psychic powers have such a way with shutting people up. "I would hope that you'd know to keep your voices down," Emma says sternly. "Just because some of our patients have staved off death doesn't mean that-"

"Oh, don't even get me started, lady," Raphael snarls. That Emma. Always the eloquent one. "You play some fancy mind games, and I can deal with that. But when ya start messin' around my head and talkin' about your friends and my bro as 'patients' on the verge 'a death, there ain't much else I can say other than tellin' ya how much of a royal pain in the-"

"Raph," Mike murmurs, standing up and grabbing his brother's arm. "Not now. She's the principal of a school filled with kids with superpowers. Do you really wanna tick her off after she just helped save our lives from some giant robot mutant named after the end of the world?"

"Your friend has a point," Emma stated, bemused. "Of course, I wouldn't abuse my powers as headmistress so foolishly, especially when I can deal with you myself if your insults actually managed to offend me. Still, whether or not you choose to acknowledge the severity of Leonardo's ailment, at least have the decency to keep your voices down for the sakes of the doctors working on him. Henry and this Leatherhead fellow have been keeping a faithful vigil besides him, and I'd rather you not jar them into making a mistake that could lead to contagion. From what I understand, mouth rot is not the most pleasant of diseases."

Raphael looks down again, apparently way too tired to give her the beating that he's probably envisioning. "No," he admits, "it ain't. And that's why I don't like thinkin' 'a Leo havin' to deal with it for any longer than he has to. So as soon as Swamp Boy gets back with his miracle gumbo, you tell him to get his butt over here, capisce?"

Emma remains silent for a moment, and judging from the discomfort on Raphael's face, they're having a telepathic conversation. Raph suddenly turns away, slumping back down to the floor with his shell against the wall. Michelangelo joins him.

"Well," Emma tells me and Kitty, "that certainly was a refreshing way to start the day. After a shower and a few Advil, I almost feel like my old self again."

"Pity," Kitty replies. "My most sincere condolences."

"Droll, Pryde," Emma replies. "Very droll."

"So, uh, question," I bring up. "Not meaning to be the naysayer or anything, especially since we've already had to deal with demons, disease, and Apocalypse, but uh… is anyone else concerned about the fact that the natural order of the Celestials has now gone haywire? I mean, according to that book of Kurt's and what Apocalypse said, we should be ready for a literal apocalypse sometime soon."

"I consider that a load of nonsense," Emma responds. "This 'natural order' of the Celestials is just a bureaucratic way for them to police the galaxy. It simply means that, with one of their laws broken, the rest of them no longer hold any meaning, and so their entire way of judging existence must be called into question. As for our lives down here, nothing will change much…. It simply means that we're on our own."

"Right," I answer. "And how do you know this?"

"I'm psychic, remember?" Emma replies. So she's not without wit.

"Question number two," Raphael brings up from his post, "or rather, number one, since it still didn't get answered. When's the ragin' Cajun comin' back from the swamp?"

"The Bayou's not exactly a hop, skip, and jump away," Kitty tells him. "For all we know, they might not even be on their way back yet. Besides the swamp's a bit tricky to navigate, even for somebody born and raised over there. And as for gypsies… they're even more unpredictable. So the simple answer? They'll get here when they get here."

"Who'll be gettin' here, now?"

We all turn to see Rogue stumbling out of her room, one arm around Logan so she could keep her balance. Kitty cries out her name and runs to hug her, careful not to make any skin-to-skin contact. "I thought I heard somebody mention somethin' about a Cajun," Rogue murmurs. "Don't tell me that lousy good-for-nothin' swamp rat's back pesterin' us again, is he?"

Before the turtles could ask what she means, I shake my head. "Rogue, that good-for-nothing swamp rat's our main hope of saving one of the turtles' lives. Now's not the time to berate him." I don't think Raphael or Mike would be particularly happy about knowing that Leonardo's life is in the hands of Rogue's ex-boyfriend who's also a former thief and assassin that can't be trusted for more than thirty seconds.

"Logan told me one o' the turtle boys is sick," Rogue says as Logan and Kitty continue to help her towards us. "From the looks o' it, we all got a little banged up in that there rescue. Looks like my boy made it out okay, though." She says the last sentence while giving Mike a small smile.

As Michelangelo returns her smile with an uncertain grin of his own, I roll my eyes and reply, "Yeah, other than some possible psychological damage, he'll be just fine. And I guess we can say the same for Donatello, too."

"Must be the woman's touch," Kitty remarks. "We drive 'em crazy." I resist the urge to make a comment, which is just as well. It doesn't look like things are going to take a light-hearted turn any time soon.

The door to Leo's room opens, and Hank and Leatherhead step out, removing the precautionary surgical masks from their faces as they close the doors behind them. Seeing their downcast eyes, Raphael and Michelangelo stand up once again. I see Mike put his hand on Raph's shoulder, either to comfort him, to comfort himself, or to simply prevent Raph from flying off the handle.

After a moment, Leatherhead finally speaks. "The good news is, the stomatitis seems to be under control. We're quite lucky that it's bacterial stomatitis and not viral, since viral is much more difficult to treat and much more dangerous. We believe that he was given just a small dose of it strictly for its unpleasantness. With proper sanitation, it should clear up in as early as forty-eight hours. The… unfortunate news is… we're not sure he has forty-eight hours."

Mike's hand drops away from Raphael, and the latter turtle takes a step towards the two mutants serving as doctors. "What… what are ya talkin' about, Leatherhead?" I'm surprised by how quiet and reasonable Raphael's voice is. "If the stoma… stoma… if that mouth rot stuff is gettin' better, shouldn't… I mean…?"

"The septicemia is highly advanced," Hank breaks in, removing his glasses from his face. As he methodically begins to clean them with his lab coat, he explains, "We know too little of Leonardo's physiology to feel confident in treating him as either a turtle or a human, since there are significantly different approaches to treating the disease depending upon the species of the infected individual. We've attempted a powerful combination of treatments commonly used for both species, but there doesn't seem to be any improvement. The infection has begun spreading towards his major organs, and we fear-"

"Mon Dieu, is dis place ever fallin' apart."

We again turn around at the surprise entrance. Gambit has just entered on the other side of the corridor, and Donatello and Splinter are sprinting ahead of him. Sensei and student are each carrying what looks like a dirty canvas sack. Hm, I'm guessing that Don decided to place some stock in this swamp mumbo jumbo gumbo after all.

"Out of the way!" Donatello calls. "I need to get this stuff to him now." He's caught by surprise when Leatherhead blocks his way, shaking his head. "Leatherhead, wha-… oh God. We're not too late, are we? Please say we're not too late."

"You are not too late," Leatherhead tells him soothingly. "You are simply inadequately protected from the risk of contagion. Leonardo's illnesses are highly communicable, and it would be a horrific irony for you to rush in to heal him, only to be infected yourself. Tell me what I need to do with what you've brought, and I will see to it that it gets done." Though both Donatello and Splinter would much rather be allowed to see Leonardo themselves, they know he's right.

As they begin fishing through the bag and explaining to the doctors what they need to do, Gambit approaches Rogue almost bashfully. "Chere! Gambit heard you was sick, but I didn't want to subject you to de medicines o' de swamp. 'sides, I knew de Wolverine would take good care o' you."

"Remy," Rogue replies coldly, "the only reason I'm not kickin' your can all the way back to Louisiana is because ya might just have actually done somethin' right. You save that turtle boy in there, and I might just forget that you're a slimy little snake."

"Hey," Raphael pipes up, "don't give us reptiles a bad name, okay? What the heck did this guy do that was so bad, anyway?" When Rogue doesn't answer, Raphael looks to Gambit. He scratches the back of his head and looks away.

"Old flames," Logan explains. "Love's still there, but sometimes it burns a bit. " Rogue looks shocked when he pushes her towards Gambit. "Give Gumbo a chance, darlin'. He keeps coming back to the good guys, he can't be all that bad."

"An' here I though I joined up wit' de X-Men," Gambit says, putting an arm around Rogue. "Nobody told me dey became de Brady Bunch so darn quick. Which one you be, chere: Marsha or Jan?"

"Uh," Michelangelo murmurs, "you watch The Brady Bunch?"

"It pass de time," Gambit confesses.

"Donnie," Raphael calls as Hank and Leatherhead go back into Leonardo's room, "ya wanna explain to me what took ya six hours to come back with a couple 'a bags that look like somethin' you'd find in Mikey's room?"

"Impatient one, isn't he?" Emma remarks.

"Emma," Kitty answers, "go bend a spoon or something, okay?"

"It would appear that Mr. Gambit's gypsy friend," Splinter tells us, "is actually something of a biochemist. Her peers discredited her for using alternative methods in her research, and she has become something of a savior for those who live in the Bayou."

"She's quite remarkable," Donatello tells us, trying to keep his mind off of what's going on with Leo. "Apparently, when Gambit got blood poisoning all those years ago, he had gotten it from bacteria found within the swamp. She found a way to attack the bacteria with antibodies that can only be found within said swamp, and Gambit's case was cured in little more than a day. All thanks to herbal remedies, mixed with a touch of science."

"It be de most foul-tasting thing I ever had," Gambit confesses, "but it sure do the body good." Looking down at Rogue, he smiles as he adds, "Now you see why Gambit rather have Wolverine take care of you den make you put somethin' like dat in your pretty little mouth, no?"

I think we can all see a perverse punch line just dangling off the tip of his tongue, so Rogue elbows him hard in the ribs. "Can it, Cajun. Or your bog-ridden behind's gonna go sailin' over the front lawn."

"So, what do we do now?" Michelangelo asks. "We got some magical swamp science working for us but… I mean… will Leo…?" Donatello puts a hand on his brother's shoulder. After a moment, he looks at Raphael and does the same thing to him.

"We wait," Donatello says quietly. "That's all we can do."