CHAPTER 2
Whuth'fuck?
Sumthin' cold and wet gushing down my face and sloshing onto my chest. Water? Startled out of oblivion, I accidentally inhale the fluid and choke. My gut responds with a series of dry heaves that ignite an explosion of white hot agony behind my eyes. As gut muscles contract, the pain in my groin also intensifies, throbbing in cruel unison to my heartbeat. Fire sears my chest as the water mixes with sweat and washes the salt sting into the cuts. I'm hurting bad. Figure Creed musta continued with the beating after I passed out and now the bastard's wanting more.
"Wake up!"
The command hits me with the intensity of a slap. More so since it ain't Creed's voice, not unless he's been scoring helium. I crank open an eye, the one that ain't quite so swollen shut, and find a raven haired, blue eyed beauty staring at me, a half empty bottle in her hand poised to deliver the rest of its payload. She's dressed for outdoors; blue sweater, black gabardine pants and hiking boots. Force of habit sets me to sniffing her which brings home the hard fact my enhanced senses are screwed. I'm forced to retrieve information the old fashioned way.
"Who the fuck're you?" Shit, my voice sounds as broken as my face.
The question seems to surprise her. "You don't recognise me, Logan?"
"Should I?" I search her face looking for something familiar. Nope, nada. She knows my name but I don't know her from shit. Gimme a frigging clue will ya, lady?
"My name is Raven Darkholme but you knew me as Mystique."
The blue bitch? Seems it's my day to collect murderous scumbags and she completes the set. Yeah, I can see it now. The shape of her eyes, the fullness of her lips, that cute nose. She's beautiful, not that ugly was an issue when her ass was blue and scaly. Beauty's only skin deep though. Those eyes are as hard and as cold as an Alaskan winter. Figure that beneath the peaches and cream complexion she's still a double bagger clean down to the bone. Her being here can't be good. Figure another helping of seven shades is on the menu.
"What the hell do you want? Come here to admire yer boss's handiwork didja?
She screws the top back on the bottle and sets it on the floor. "He's not my boss."
"Yeah, I heard Mags dumped ya like hot shit after ya took one for him. Copping his own dose give the son of a bitch second thoughts, huh?"
Arched brows knit together in a frown. "Do you want to escape or shall I leave you here to rot?"
What the fuck's she up to? "This a trick question?"
"Quit playing dumb, Logan . We both know you're anything but."
That's a first. I search her face, looking for signs of her trademark contempt but find none. "So, you gonna get me the hell off this thing or what?"
My apparent compliance brings her a step closer. "I will let you go but first you have to give me your word."
Hell is this? "My word? That I won't kick your skanky ass from one end of Canada to the other?"
Ex lizard lady smiles and shakes her head. "Have you looked in a mirror lately?"
Cool fingers brush my face lightly and even that touch brings pain. Unable to flinch I just glare at her.
"What do you want, Mystique?"
"I'm Raven now." The piercing blue eyes blaze with anger but I don't think it's aimed at me. "And I want you to help me."
She wants my help? After what she did? After what I did? "Why the fuck would I do that?"
Folding her arms across her chest she strikes a confident pose. The nervous pink tongue moistening her lips tells a different story. "Hear me out. You're a mess, Logan. I can see your healing factor has gone and without it you're going to die a slow and agonising death."
That was delivered without so much as a ghost of a smile. Her control is impressive.
"Hell, if I'd thought my demise would draw a crowd I'da sold tickets."
Her patience snaps revealing the true nature of the beast. Arms whip from their embrace and she marches around the table to my side. I can feel her hot breath on my face as she spits out, "Shut up you fucking retard and listen to me. I want you to help me. To team up with me while you still have the strength to be useful."
Not a born again altruist then. "And I'm gonna do that because...?"
"Because I'm going to make you an offer that not even your jackass pig-headedness will allow you to refuse. I want to give you the opportunity to get even. I want you to help me kill Erik."
Kill Erik. Never have two words sounded so good together. Kill Erik. Yeah, that works for me. So does kill Creed.
"Like you need to ask? Lemme off this goddam rack will ya?"
"Your word or I'm gone."
What the fuck is this? "I said I'll help ya. What the hell d'ya want from me?"
"Your word that when this is over we go our separate ways. No handing me over to the authorities."
She's on the lam. So that's what's got her panties in a bunch. She's powerless in more ways than one and no powers means no mutant strength. And she needs help taking down her old scumbag buddies. The same scumbags who fucked me over and pissed me off. Yeah, I wanna piece of that action.
"Well?" The intensity pooling in those cold eyes is undeniable. She wants an answer and I want my butt demagnetised. I don't see a problem with this.
"To off Mags we need to go through Creed first. Add Creed's severed head to the deal and I'll give you whatever word ya like." Plus a few ya don't like.
Raven laughs. The sound is cold and brittle; treacherous as broken glass. "I knew I could count on you. Consider Creed's head as a bonus."
"That's nice. Now switch the fucking magnet off will ya?"
Without another word Raven stoops to operate the controls. A click and the table judders and begins to drop to the horizontal. Another click and the electronic hum dies, freeing me. Moving gingerly, trying not to aggravate the agony radiating from my groin, I swing my legs over the edge of the table and use the momentum to sit up. Dizziness and nausea strike and I fight them off.
An arm snakes around my shoulders. It's gentle. It's warm. It's gonna get ripped from its socket.
"Let me help you."
Like ya helped Rogue? I don't think so.
"Get yer fucking paws off me." I'm none too gentle pushing her away. Don't want help from the likes of her. Not the touching kind.
"Hey, take it easy you asshole," she snarls, slapping my hands away as she backs off.
Not far enough. Still too damn close for comfort. Past experience won't let my relax my guard so I watch her like a hawk. She relaxes her posture, folding her arms across her chest once more, shifting her weight onto her right hip. Manicured fingers set up a silent beat on her biceps, an outward sign of her annoyance. She's waiting. Waiting for me to get my shit together.
At first I do okay, finding my feet and pushing myself upright. Then the room lurches and my knees hit the floor with bruising force. Fucking concrete is as unforgiving as I am. Mystique shakes her head, eyes narrowed, watching me grip the table and struggle to my feet.
"Pig headed," she mutters. "Stay here and I'll find your clothes."
Stay here. Yeah, I can do that. Hopefully without falling on my ass again. So fucking weak I can't believe it. A side effect from the cure overdose? Hope that's all it is otherwise my vengeance rampage is fucked before it starts.
"I see you didn't go quietly," she says as she hands me a bundle of blood-soaked rags.
"Shoulda seen the other guy," I reply as I carefully pull on the tattered and deeply stained jeans. The blood is dry, the material stiff with it. How long have I been cooped up in this hole? While I shrug on my shirt she takes to pacing. Not used to seeing Mystique nervous as a rat in a snake pit. It's an experience.
"We need to move quickly before they return," she urges.
Pulling my socks on is a torment. I wouldn't bother but I know I'll regret it if I don't. "They ain't coming back. They left me to rot."
The pacing halts and she turns to me. "Want to bet your life on that?"
Do I? "Nope."
"There's hope for you yet." A smirk twists her lips.
My bootlaces defeat me so Raven, she sure as hell ain't acting like Mystique, pushes aside my hands and ties them for me. Like I'm some fucking brat to be mother-henned. I don't need that especially from a cast iron bitch like her.
Retrieving a duffel from around the base of the table she stows the bottle and shoulders the bag. "I have a JetRanger hidden a couple of miles away. The terrain's rough and steep, think you can manage it?"
"Sister, I'll get there if I have to crawl."
"Let's hope it won't come to that. We'll move faster if you let me help you. Take my arm."
Ya might want my help but I don't want yours, bitch. "Back off. I'll get outta this stinking hole under my own steam."
She shrugs and steps away, a sneer of contempt twisting her mouth. "Have it your own way you macho prick."
And I do. Walking is hell but I resist cradling my aching crotch as I execute a fast old man's shuffle to the door. Ain't gonna give her the satisfaction of seeing me suffer too much. The hall outside is long, dank and dim. The emergency lights cast poor illumination but without them we'd be in pitch black. Ain't too proud to use the wall for support as I follow her. Manage a fair clip too as muscles knotted by inactivity and punishment ease. And then we reach the stairs. They're steep and according to the sign were in sub-basement six. Fuck!
"Ain't there a lift?" God I sound like a whiney brat.
"Not anymore."
Goddammit! She stands there, hand on hip, her gaze cool and thoughtful. She arches a dark eyebrow.
"Has your dumb male pride run out of steam yet?"
"Ya think I can't climb a few fucking flights?"
A mocking smile quirks one side of her mouth. "I'll take that as a no."
Without another word she turns and begins a nimble ascent. Any other day I'd admire the way her buns twitch inside those pants as she pumps her slender legs. Strange how stomped nuts can modify a guy's interest. Course, I got more important things on my mind right now. Not keeling over and fainting like a girl for instance.
She's as agile as a gymnast and takes the stairs two at a time, the cow. In no time at all she reaches the top of the flight and disappears from view. Me? I'm about as agile as a ruptured slug. Feel like one too. Gripping the handrail like my life depends on it I haul myself up using pure willpower. Strength's failing, leaching away, leaving me weak and fighting for breath. Don't help that I'm sweating like a sumo wrestler in a steam bath with the effort. By the time I reach the top I'll look like a wrung out rag. Sweat stings my open wounds but I use the pain as a goad, forcing myself onwards and upwards.
Okay, I made the first flight. Only eleven more to go. If I'm lucky. Raven's footsteps echo down the stair well. At least one of us is making progress. Figure I might go faster on all fours. I'm right. Clambering is much easier. I make the next flight in no time at all.
Sub-basement Five the sign says. Ten more flights to go.
Over three hundred pounds of muscle, bone and adamantium take their toll, quickly robbing me of strength. Nauseated, panting for breath, my head pounding fit to burst, I sink onto the top tread of the next landing, stealing a few seconds to try and gather strength for the next flight. I ache like a sonuvabitch. Clambering may be faster but it's hard on my joints which feel like jagged rocks grinding together. I'm bruised and battered but I don't think Creed damaged anything vital except for my jewels. Why the fuck do I feel so bad? Surely adamantium poisoning don't take effect so damn quick?
"You okay down there?"
Bitch makes it sound like I told ya so.
"Sure, darlin'. Be with ya in no time," I holler back.
"Logan , why don't you quit this machismo bullshit and let me help you. We'll get out of here a lot faster."
"Why don't you bite me!?" Bitch's right. Which is why I'm gonna prove her wrong.
"If Erik returns you're on your own."
"Blah, blah, blah."
Her mocking laughter gets me up another flight. Comes at a high price.
Stairway starts to roll like a ship in a squall and smacks me upside the head. 'M I greying out or is it all the fucking concrete? And why does everything look so damn far away?
"You're an asshole, you know that?"
"Huh?" Mystique's looking down on me. How the hell did she get down here so fast?
"And you're a bitch on wheels," I croak. Shit, even my voice is betraying me.
"Fine, we've established our credentials, now give it up. We're losing valuable time."
Not so fast. Got the cottonmouth from hell and a raging thirst going on here. "Need water."
Without a word she shrugs the duffel from her shoulder and produces the goods. The water sloshes around as my trembling hand raises the bottle to my lips. Bruised and torn flesh stings as I pucker and chug greedily.
"Easy does it, Logan ." Her warning arrives a fraction too late. The water hits my stomach and surges upwards in a sour rush; splattering down the steps. The non-productive dry heaving's worse. All I can do is hold my head in my hands until the nausea and dizziness quit. A cool, moistened tissue wipes the sweat outta my eyes. This Florence Nightingale act of hers is really creeping me out.
"Just a sip this time," she says, pressing the bottle to my lips.
Good advice. The water stays down and I'm feeling a mite less puny.
"Thanks," I reply, wiping the foulness from lips with my sleeve before handing back the bottle. She stows it in the bag.
"Come on, soldier, throw your arm across my shoulder and I'll give you a hand."
Ain't got much choice so I accept the offer. To my surprise she feels warm, pliable and soft. Shedding the scales suits her. Her arm encircles my waist. Unable to help myself I give her shoulders an experimental squeeze and she laughs. It's a nice sound.
"Stryker might have ripped apart your life and your memories but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't erase the real you."
The real me? "You talk like we're buddies. Like we know each other." And there's that getting way too familiar in the tent thing. "What's with that?"
"We used to...work together."
What? "As in Brotherhood working together?"
"No. Before that. Before there was a Magneto or a Brotherhood."
Before? Magneto's an old guy. How fucking old am I? Scratch that. How old is she?
"Bullshit!"
Raven shrugs. "Believe it. We go back a long way, Romeo."
Romeo? What the fuck! "How far?" Hook up with the likes of you and I deserve another swift kick in the 'nads.
"Not now. You need to focus your strength on getting out of here. Move it."
I wanna know more but this ain't the right time. I need to warn McCoy, warn the X Men. Time to get my ass in the wind.
Sounds easy.
It ain't.
Every step is a battle I gotta win. Without her as a crutch I'd roll back down to the bottom. Fucking metal coated bones are as heavy as hell but Raven never lets go. We rest a coupla times, I sip water and then continue the ascent. Much of it passes in a blur of pain and wooziness. Every damn step is a trial, each one more gruelling than the last. Gotta keep moving coz to stop is unthinkable. She ain't behaving like Mystique but I can't trust her to warn Hank, warn the others. She's taken it on herself to keep me moving though. When I falter her harsh invective goads me into action. Is it anatomically possible to do that with a Harley?
"We made it," she announces, breathless.
Takes a few seconds for the message to sink into my fuzzy mind. "How 'bout that," I gasp as I sag.
"Oh no you don't," she warns, gripping me tighter. "You can pass out when we're safe and not before."
"Whatever ya say, darlin'."
"Then I say move your ass."
Don't have the breath for smartass cracks. She takes the hall to the left and I stumble along on rubbery legs trying not to burden her with my weight. The air's cooler; fresher. Ahead a wan light penetrates the gloom from somewhere overhead and at the end of hall is a metal door. Eager to get out of this hole I reach for the handle.
"Not so fast." Her hand whips out, pulling mine back.
Dammit, I know better than that.
"Kay."
"Try not to fall on your ass," she whispers as her grip falls away.
Propping my fatigued wreck of a body against the wall I gasp out, "Can I fall on my face?".
"There's a difference?"
Hinges creak as she cracks open the door and peers cautiously outside. More light floods in as she pulls the door wider and slips through the gap. Seconds creep by as she pads around checking out the surroundings.
"We're good to go," she announces as she steps inside.
With Raven's arm snug around my waist once more, I emerge into a heavily overcast day. Fresh air. Thank fuck for that. I suck deep to expel the funk of mildewed concrete. The sweet smell of damp earth and grass fills my nostrils; revives me like an elixir.
"Do you recognise this place?"
"Dunno."
I cast my gaze around the landscape. The base and its surrounding compound is an ugly malignancy squatting on a low rise at one end of a pocket valley that's about a mile and a half long and roughly half that wide. The land gently falls away, the terrain a mixture of outcrops, meadow and firs. Occupying a third of the valley is a lake, its steel grey waters rippled by the wind. The cloud ceiling is low, wreathing the surrounding peaks in thick grey mist, cloaking anything that might be a distinctive feature. Off in the distance the eerie cry of a lone raptor rends the tranquillity. Instinct tells me I'm still in Canada but Canada's a fucking big place.
"You saying I should?"
"You really don't remember?" She sounds and looks surprised.
Aching, hacked off and too tired to play games, I snap out a, "No."
"This is Mordant Base. You, me, Creed and a few others operated out of here for over five years."
I hear the words but they don't make sense. Her? Creed? And me? Working as a goddam team? Hacked off escalates to rage and disbelief. What sort of fucking head-game is she playing?
"The hell we did!"
A slight, humourless smile dimples her cheeks and she shrugs.
"Where the fuck are we?" I demand.
Jerking her thumb over her shoulder she says, " Banff is about two eighty clicks south east of here. As the eagle flies."
"Where's our ride out of here?"
"In a valley the other side of that ridge. That L-shaped notch is a small pass connecting it with this valley. There's a game trail that will get me up there quickly."
The narrow ridge she indicates is low but steep. Gonna take everything I have and then some to reach it.
Hold on.
What was that she said?
"Get you up there?"
"I just dragged your sorry ass up twelve flights of stairs. You think I'm going to drag it all the way to the top of that ridge?"
Lady has a point. No telling if she plans on returning but I ain't gonna wuss out and show it bothers me. "Can ya gimme some more of that water?"
What she pulls out of her bag ain't no bottle, it's an aerosol. Curiosity gets the better of me when she begins to spray herself all over.
"What's that?"
"Biochemically enhanced Creed deterrent. Masks our scent and leaves a trail of grief for anyone with enhanced senses. One sniff of this will fry the bastard's nose and make his eyes water like Niagara Falls. Good for up to an hour. Works on Wolverines too."
"How about baselines?" Impossible to keep the bitterness outta that question.
"I don't see you blubbing."
"Right." Just what I need. Another confirmation my powers are completely fucked. She shoves the spray into my hand.
"Do my back will you?" I comply, spraying the fine mist over her hair and clothing. "Your turn," she announces, taking back the can.
The spray stings like hell when it settles on open wounds. I don't give her the satisfaction of seeing me flinch. Job done, she stows the can back in the bag.
"Come on, let's go." Raven's arm takes up station once more.
She's gotta be exhausted from hauling my carcass outta the depths. Terrain ain't too bad here so I figure I can manage for a while. "Thanks, but I got it."
"Ok," she replies, her expression guarded. "But time isn't on our side…"
"Yeah, I know. Enemy's at the gate and they've brung enough kick-ass to fuck us twice over. Lead on, darlin'."
We make good time on a narrow footpath but soon the terrain reminds me we're deep in the Canadian Rockies. Shit on it! Any other time I'd be in my element; loving every second, embracing the toughest mother nature can muster. Right now I'm wishing she wasn't such a mother.
We're traversing a steep, rocky ravine. Raven's scouting some way ahead and I'm shambling like a babe taking its first steps. Damp moss and loose stone make the footing treacherous. The ravine walls are also slick with moisture and don't save me from falling on all fours when my boots slip. Me cursing a blue streak halts Raven in her tracks. She turns, hands on her hips, her slim figure partially outlined by the cloud pale sky. Fuck! Is that pity I see on her face? Bitch's feeling sorry? For me? How much worse can this shit get? I manage to struggle to my feet but after a coupla steps I'm reduced to clambering, scrabbling for holds on any damn thing that looks attached to something solid.
She starts back down, picking her way carefully through loose rock and mud. "Macho hour's over, Logan. Time for Nurse Darkholme to give you a hand."
"Nurse this," I growl, flipping her a muddy finger.
"Love to," she replies, a lascivious grin parting her lips, "but we need to get the hell away from here first. Come on, not far now."
Bitch. "How far's the chopper now?"
She turns and points. "See the rock that looks like a crouching cat? Up there."
Ah geeze. The ravine's bad enough but that other incline's something else.
"Yer bird's up there?" Question comes out in a harsh rasp. 'I'm hurting, I'm fatigued and I'm pushing way beyond my endurance.
She shakes her head. "Beyond that is a steep descent. Not far but it's a rough haul."
I'm fucked. "Kay. Let's get 'er done," I groan.
"Hold on tight, soldier." Her arm enfolds me once more. The experience makes my ass hairs bristle. She's the enemy and it ain't natural.
"Thought ya said ya weren't gonna haul my butt up the mountain."
"I'm not."
"Ya sure got a funny way of showing it."
"I'm the joker in the pack. Now shut the fuck up and save your breath for the climb."
"Yes, ma'am."
With her help I make steady progress. Finally we emerge from the ravine and into an area of scrubby pine and frost shattered rock.
"At this rate it's going to be Christmas," she announces, steering me towards a flat boulder. I sit, grateful for the break.
"Fine. Just don't ask me to decorate a tree."
Raven chuckles, drops down next to me and grabs the water bottle from the bag. It's full, having been replenished from a stream we passed a ways back.
"Water?"
"Yeah." I take a chug and hand it back.
She does the same and waggles it at me. I shake my head and the bottle gets stowed.
A playful wind tugs at her hair and a few strands stick to her sweat beaded face. Brushing them away she mops her brow with her sleeve and gazes at the sky. She's a real looker, I'll give her that. Ain't fathomed what her game is yet but I will. And if she goes bad on me I'll kill her. Part of me hopes it won't come to that.
"Weather's closing in," she announces. Like I haven't got fucking eyes? "I need to get to the chopper before the rain starts. Can't fly it if I break my neck falling off some damn rock."
"If there's a rock with your name on it, darlin', it'll be gravel when I'm done with it."
This elicits a giggle. "I missed your screwy sense of honour, you know. When you dropped off the radar I tried to find you but it was like you'd ceased to exist."
I snort. Like hell she did. "Sure ya did."
Manicured fingers tug at the front of her sweat dampened sweater and jiggle the material, letting air circulate against her skin. "Nick Fury went ape-shit trying to track you down."
"Who the fuck's Nick Fury?"
"SHIELD big cheese. The big cheese. He takes it personal when one of his best agents vanishes without trace."
"So that's his place down there?" I enquire, cocking my head in the general direction.
"No. Team X was a CIA supreme black ops unit."
CIA? SHIELD? I was a fucking spook? "Yer shitting me."
"No shit, Logan. We solved problems for the Man. When the mutant witch hunts started up the Man turned on us despite Fury's protests. You disappeared and I quit. Not long after that I met Erik and he made me an offer I wasn't going to refuse."
"I was a fucking spook?"
"The best. Now, unless you want to be a ghost we need to pick this up later. C'mon, lover."
Where the hell's she get off calling me that? "Let's get something straight. I ain't yer lover, Raven."
The enigmatic smile is back, hinting at shit I have no hope of remembering. Shit I ain't gonna take on faith.
"Let's stash you somewhere safe and snug before I slog back up that trail."
None of this hangs right. What the fuck's going on? I'm a mess, a pale shadow of the Wolverine and right now I couldn't fight my way out of a wet paper bag. Why go to the trouble of rescuing the guy who turned her into shish kebab?
"This is bullshit!"
The shutters some down, locking the smile from view. "What do you mean?"
"Why ya doing this?"
"You know why."
"Do I?" She makes to stand but I grab her wrist and drag her back. "I'm a liability and you're a ruthless bitch. The two are mutually exclusive so what's the fucking scam?"
"You know me so well, Logan." Sarcasm drips from her lips; bitter and self-deprecating.
"This ain't just about Magneto is it? Or Creed for that matter."
"You're the one having deep thoughts so you tell me." She tears herself from my grasp and stands. Even without enhanced senses I can feel the anger radiating off her. "The next bit is downhill," she snaps.
"Glad to hear it. Where we going?"
"There." A slender finger indicates a large outcrop about twelve hundred yards down the valley. "Beyond that is a meadow large enough to land the chopper."
Joints grind and burn as I lift my weary body from the boulder. "Leave me the water, will ya?"
"You won't make it on your own. I'm coming with you."
"No you ain't. Weather's closing in, remember? Clock's running. Get yer ass up that mountain."
"If you're not at the rendezvous I'm leaving." The expression on her face is unreadable. Wish I could smell the chemical signals she's giving off.
"Lemme worry about that. You just get that chopper down here."
"Logan…"
"Fer fuck's sake, woman! Git already!"
What she does next takes me completely by surprise. With a touch lighter than a feather she cups my face between her hands and before I can pull away she kisses me like she means it. Not a peck on the cheek or a pucker on the lips but a full on lover's kiss; raw and passionate. Too stunned to be angry I hold her to me, accepting this little slice of unexpected human warmth. Somehow this feels familiar and that scares the shit outta me. She put Rogue in harm's way and I should be kicking her ass, not swapping spit. After breaking away she thrusts the bottle into my hand. She's wearing that strange smile again; twisted fucking Mona Lisa.
"Chauffeur service, old man?"
Rub salt into the wounds why don'tcha?
"You still here?"
I can taste her in my mouth. Dunno whether to spit or savour it. Without another word she shoulders her bag, hits the trail and is quickly lost from view. All I can hear is the soft crunch of her boots on rock. Pretty soon that's gone too.
Damn! The bitch needs to be taught a lesson. Or something.
The terrain between me and the rock slopes gradually and is easy underfoot. The exertion is gruelling but I manage to reach it without falling flat on my face. Meadow's there for sure and the outcrop has some useful crevices and gullies. Not caves exactly but enough overhangs and protrusions to conceal from above and from approach on foot. Maybe offer limited shelter from the elements. Raven sure knows the area which gives some credence to her story. Course the details are probably bullshit. Me and her working together? Sleeping together? Yeah, right. And Mother Teresa played on the Maple Leafs forward line.
Dead on my feet and sweating like a pig, I slump onto a convenient rock at the base of a small cliff. I pull the bottle outta my shirt and take a swig of the lukewarm water.
A big fat raindrop splatters onto a rock a coupla feet away. More drops fall from the sky and quickly become a downpour as I huddle beneath my meager shelter.
It's a relief to park my carcass. The chilled stone makes me shiver but feels good against bruised and torn flesh.
Thunder echoes across the mountains but it seems distant. The patter of rain lulls me. Gonna lean back and rest my eyes…just….for a….minute.
oo0oo
Whup, whup, whup, whup.
The air throbs and my head with it. I turn my bleary eyes to the sky and watch as a white and blue chopper passes overhead and drops out of sight. Musta fallen asleep or passed out coz I don't remember when it stopped raining and it don't seem like Raven's been gone long enough.
I stretch, trying to flex the kinks out of my cold and cramped limbs. Joints feel like they've been wrenched apart and I got vile morning mouth; metallic and bitter. Not good. Chopper engine changes pitch as it's brought to land and the rotor slap reverberates off the rock causing my head to pound harder. Figure she ain't gonna come looking for me so I scramble to my feet and stagger towards the sound. Moving into the open I can see Raven jumping out of the chopper and ducking down instinctively to avoid the idling rotors. I stumble towards her and suddenly she's at my side, urging me to move faster. The vortex caused by the rotors pulls at our clothing and hair. Grass switches wildly around our knees, blown seeds and grit scouring exposed flesh. I shield my eyes with an arm but my hands and face feel like they're being sandblasted. We reach the chopper and she throws open the door, boosting me through it with a firm shove on my ass. I'm still fastening the harness as she takes off.
"Not a moment too soon," she mutters.
A thick cloud of mist is rolling down the flanks of the mountains and into the valley as the cloud ceiling descends. A few minutes later and flying would have been for shit.
"Where we headed?"
"Fuel's low. Need to head towards a population centre so I can boost a car. Can't go anywhere much with the storm moving in so we'll have to land and lie low for a while."
"Lie low yeah but forget the car. We need something faster. Lemme call in the lift." Gotta warn 'em. Gotta get back to Westchester.
"What?" She catches on fast. "Touch that radio and you are one dead Canuck!"
I'm dead anyway. I just ain't laid down yet. "You wanna catch Erik don'tcha?"
Her eyes are blazing blue fury. "Only if catch is a euphemism,"
Damn straight it is. "He's going after Hank McCoy and Hank's in Westchester."
The hands gripping the control column show white knuckles. "Are you crazy? No!"
Expected that. Hardest part of this is convincing her.
"Darlin' time's short," my time anyhow, "and we'll never get a better shot at this."
"You might be able to convince Xavier but Summers is a fucking dalek. He'll turn me in first chance he gets."
Dalek? Robot; narrow gauge mind. Yeah, that's One-eye. Heh. "Summers alerting the feds ain't the problem. Xavier will tug on One-eye's leash if he sees a chance of getting his old buddy put back under lock and key."
With an emphatic shake of her head she says, "Bringing in Xavier is a bad idea. He's not going to help us finesse Erik or Creed."
"He don't need to know that little detail."
"And how are you going to conceal a little detail like premeditated murder from the most powerful telepath on the planet?"
"Because my physical senses might be gone but the animal is still inside my head. Cue-ball ain't never been able to penetrate my feral mind shield." Not while I'm conscious anyhow.
"What mind shield? Your powers are screwed!"
"Yeah, my powers are fucked but look at my hair. It ain't changed. Check out my fangs." I bare my teeth. "The animal ain't been muzzled. Not by a long shot."
By rights it should have been but it ain't and that's damn weird. Not a power then? Definitely a what the fuck thing that needs closer examination later.
Delicately arched eyebrows crease together. "Okay," she concedes, "but I don't have a feral mind shield."
"Ya don't need one. You're Mystique. They'll expect ya to do the nasty."
That prompts a snort. "And you're just stringing me along, is that it?"
"Ya catch on real quick. And there's the whole rescued my ass deal going on for ya." I flash her a grin and her frown deepens.
"It's a stupid idea."
"That's why it'll work." I lean across and snag the radio receiver. "Lemme call 'em. "She stares ahead, pursing her lips. Can see she ain't happy 'bout this but like I said, it's our best chance of flushing Magneto out.
"What if this goes south? I will kill you, you know."
Now there's the Mystique I know and love to hate. "Darlin', if this goes bad you'll hafta get in line."
A mirthless chuckle fills the cabin. "You've always had a talent for pissing people off."
"It's a gift."
From the sour look on her face, she's chewing it over. After a minute she relaxes, her lips twisting into a wicked smile.
"Do it."
oo0oo
Storm descends from the Blackbird's belly hatch ladder, her white hair and the silver edging of her cape gleaming in the bright hangar lights. She's pissed and she ain't bothering to hide it. She ain't happy about my idea to use Hank to sucker Magneto. The mere suggestion of adding Raven to the mix sparked outright opposition. Allies like Raven she ain't gonna tolerate, not when a buddy's life is on the line. Me? I figure if ya gotta dirty job to do ya need the right tools and Raven's as dirty as they come.
Raven pauses at the hatch, her narrowed eyes fixed on the retreating figure. "The weather witch isn't going to be a problem is she?"
"Who, 'Roro? Nah. She'll come good. They all will." Chuck wants his old buddy back under lock and key so bad he ain't gonna pass up a chance like this.
"Indubitably," the softly spoken Hank McCoy agrees.
"You'd better be right," she mutters.
Lithe as a cat Raven disappears through the hatch. I make to follow her but one of Hank's large blue hands clamps down on my shoulder.
"Logan, we need to talk. Privately."
Last guy who laid a hand on me like that took home in a bag. I twist my head and glare at him. Friend or not, no one takes fucking liberties with me.
"Believe me, you don't wanna go there, bub."
Tawny gold eyes regard me. I might not be able to smell Hank's apprehension and disappointment no more but reading body language ain't a power, it's training and experience. My message is received and the weight on my shoulder is suddenly gone. So am I; my adamantium heavy tread making the hatch ladder shake as I emerge into the hangar. Behind and above I can hear Hank exhale his frustration. I know what he's gonna say and I really, really do not wanna hear it.
Over by the exit 'Roro and Summers are in a heated and gesticulating conference huddle. Can't hear the whispered debate but her feathers are still ruffled which is a good sign Summers ain't saying what she wants to hear. Raven's standing a few feet away, arms folded across her nicely fleshed out chest, looking both bored and amused. The huddle breaks up.
"Come with me," 'Roro demands of Raven. She stalks out of the hangar without looking back.
Raven watches her go and then turns to me. "So who shit on the welcome mat?"
"That'd be you, darlin'. Right about the time ya fucked with Cerebro and turned Chuck into a vegetable."
"What? You people can't take a joke?"
"I'd say the joke's on you, Mystique," Summers butts in, his voice bitter. "Magneto dumped you and now you're here under protest so don't push your luck."
"I'm Raven now." She bares her teeth in a mocking grin and heads out after 'Roro
As the door cycles shut behind her Summers rounds on me. He's decked out to anal perfection. Precise creases in his pants and probably in his colon too. The guy really needs to relax and get a life. The ruby quartz visor divides his frown from his cramped ass expression.
"Bringing that bitch here compromises us, Logan. You must know she's on the federal Most Wanted list. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't hand her over to the authorities."
Coz, Chuck's got you on a leash, asshole, the only reason ya need.
"Because I gave her my word and because we need her."
One-eye's jaw muscles twitch as he grinds his teeth. "We don't need her, we don't want her and your word means fuck all to me."
"So how come ya ain't called Homeland Security?"
He scrubs his chin with a hand before announcing, "Because Xavier thinks she might have something to bring to the table."
Xavier thinks? Am I looking at the visored face of dissention here? How about that.
"He's right. We can use her."
"We can't trust her."
No shit! "Ain't asking ya to."
"Logan." He hesitates, searching for words. I know what's coming and he can stick it. "About what happened. The cure. I'm sorry..."
"Don't," I warn. His fucking pity I don't need.
The Fearless Leader mask crashes down. "Fine. There'll be a briefing in the war room in one hour. You look like shit so get cleaned up and go see Hank."
"That an order?"
"Hell no. You don't do orders so why waste my breath? Stay here and drip blood all over the hangar floor for all I care. I'll have housekeeping swing by and clean away your corpse when you're done."
Wonder who shoved jalapenos up his ass? Bout fucking time if ya ask me. I give him a wide, shit eating grin. "Yer beginning to sound just like me, One-eye. There's hope for ya yet."
He gives me his trademark stern look, turns on his heel, tosses, "One hour," over his shoulder. Then he's gone.
The dick's right. I do look like shit. Smell like it too. Time to dump the chainsaw massacre chic and hit the locker room shower. Thirst's back. Never experienced anything like it, not even on a beer binge. Mouth tastes like an iron foundry and no amount of water'll wash it away. Maybe popping a few Altoids'll help. Can hear Hank using the hatch ladder. No way am I gonna let him corner me for a private chat so I leave. I'm in time to see Summers stepping into the lift.
Jeezus! What's with the glare? Hallway's way too bright and sorta misty, like in a dream
Dammittofuckinghell! Not again!
Vision's started to swim and the hall dissolves into fuzzy grey and begins to warp and spin around me. Disoriented I stagger to where I know solid wall should be and brace myself against it's reassuringly solid surface, resting my forehead against the cool metal. Gotta fight the dizziness. Sweat rolls off me but the chilly draft from the air conditioning is colder than a witch's tit in a brass bra and sends me into shivers. Stomach's rocking and rolling and it's evens whether I fall flat on my face or puke my guts up first. Probably both. Okay, close my eyes. Shut out the dancing infrastructure. Breathe evenly, as deep as my bruised ribs allow. Gotta get my shit together. Can't let Blue see me like this.
A bass voice fills my ears. "Do you require assistance?"
Crap! Too late.
"'M okay. Just give me a minute."
"Logan, I consider myself a friend as well as an upholder of the Hippocratic Oath. It would be remiss of me to not advise you of the consequences of your actions."
"I don't need this right now, Hank."
"I disagree. I strongly urge you to accompany me to the medical laboratory forthwith where I shall endeavour to ascertain the severity of your predicament."
The dizziness has abated enough to risk opening my eyes and looking at him. Blue hovers a coupla feet away. Don't need hyper-senses to tell me concern's oozing from every follicle.
"And if I don't?"
Keeping his movements casual he removes his pince-nez glasses and polishes them with a cloth he's pulled out of a pocket. After holding them up to the light for inspection he clips them back in place and stows the cloth. His golden eyes seem to magnify in size as his gaze bores into me.
"Analyse the situation, my friend."
Ain't rocket science but I'll be damned if I'll admit it.
"Only thing I wanna analyse is how to take down Magneto and survive long enough to brag about it."
"Logan, heaven forefend that I would place my hirsute integument between you and your desire to deliver Magneto to swift justice."
Deliver Magneto to justice? Ya got that the wrong way round, Blue Boy.
"Then get yer hairy butt the hell away from me."
"However, I may have discovered a technical hitch with your perspicacious stratagem. A deficiency of suitable bait would have a deleterious effect would it not?"
Can't help the bitter laugh bubbling up from my belly. Hank, for all his intellect, fifty dollar words and swanky education, ain't above a spot of down and dirty blackmail. But he did just agree to play decoy; I think. Guess I gotta listen to his advice whether I like it or not. Don't mean I gotta follow it though.
"All ya had to do was ask." I fire back.
Hank makes a sweeping gesture with his hand. "After you."
Question; will I fall on my ass if I let go the wall?
It's a close thing but…nope.
Hank pulls a smile and reveals his sharp teeth. "I really must find time to explore this novel mode of idiomatic communication. I believe I might even enjoy the merits of its application."
"Yeah, fuck you too, furball."
"Come, my friend. You can perform your ablutions in the medical laboratory's excellently appointed facility."
"Do you always talk like this? Like ya swallowed a frigging dictionary?"
Blue lowers his head and peers at me over his glasses. "I talk to many people. It is the accepted form of communication for…"
"Shut the fuck up, Hank." There's the grin again. Guess he yanked my chain there. Feeling weary I set off towards med-lab. "I only got an hour so let's get this over with, huh?"
oo0oo
Feels so good to lose the blood-caked clothes and let warm water sluice away the grime, blood and stink. The medicated wash Hank handed me stings like hell but it's a clean pain rather than a grit encrusted one. The difference is a relief. I try not to look at my reflection in the steamy glass door. The hollow-eyed, tortured creature staring back too closely resembles my fight cage leavings. I feel worse.
I dry off carefully but still disturb some water softened scabs. The stinging becomes dull pain and fresh blood trickles.
Fuck it.
A T-shirt and a pair of sweat pants have been provided so I slip into 'em and present myself for examination.
Hank's busy at a computer station, his too large fingers tapping at the keyboard. The leather uniform's been exchanged for a white coat and it looks like he's been busy gathering packages and equipment. He peers at me over his shoulder.
"I shall be with you presently. Please take a seat."
I sink my weary, aching body onto a chair and stretch out my legs. He doesn't keep me waiting long. After a final tap on the keyboard he swivels the chair around.
"Normally I placate my uncooperative patients with these." Hank produces a bag of Tootsie Pops from a drawer, selects a green one and pops it in his mouth. He offers me the bag. I let my fuck off and die snarl speak for me.
"No?" He withdraws the suckers but not before filching another one for himself. "In that case perhaps two fingers of thirty-five year old Glengoyne Spring vintage malt would be to your liking? Behave and I could be persuaded to make it a double."
Guy's got taste. Fucking tragedy the idea of alcohol turns my stomach right now.
"You help me put away Magneto and I'll help ya put away the malt. In fact I'm gonna get so shit-faced in celebration I won't be able to remember my name."
"It is not an action I would recommend but I suppose you'll have earned the right." Professional mask in place, Hank gets down to the nitty gritty. "Describe your symptoms, please."
"I feel like shit."
"Could you be a little more specific? What shade for example."
His expression remains serious but there's a gleam in those weird golden eyes.
"Well ya saw the BS in the hall. Dizzy spells. Greying out. Head feels like it wants to explode. My gut feels like it already has. Hell, every fucking inch of me hurts. The urge to barf is getting worse and I got this weird sensation in my arms and legs."
"Numbness?" He's out of his chair and examining my forearms.
"Nah. Sorta like the buzz ya feel when ya stick your finger on a low voltage battery lead. Kinda prickly and itchy, like I need to peel."
"Hmm," he rumbles. A thick blue finger depresses purplish spots on my arms causing them to fade and reappear. It smarts.
"Hey, this ain't Whack-a-mole!"
Ignoring my protest he says, "Kindly remove your shirt."
Freshly formed scabs break open as I lift my arms to shrug off the shirt. The oozing glory of Creed's incised X is revealed causing a frown to appear on Blue's forehead.
"Good heavens! How did this occur?" Hank reaches for a pack of swabs, latex gloves and a bottle of Betadine.
"Creed's idea of a tattoo, I guess."
"Indeed. The creature should be incarcerated."
Yeah right. When I'm done they won't be able to find enough of him to throw in jail. "He'll get what's coming, I promise yer that."
"These lacerations have become infected." After stuffing his huge hands into the gloves he liberally soaks a swab in Betadine and gets to work.
It burns and I flinch. "That fucking hurts!"
"The alternative is to be avoided."
The swabbing is fast but thorough. When he's done he tapes a large dressing over my chest. I just know the tape's gonna leave bald patches when it comes off.
The used swabs are disposed of, as are the gloves. Making his way to an under counter refrigerator, he pulls out several small, glass vials. From a drawer he produces and equal number of syringes.
I've had it up to my eyeballs with fucking needles. "What's that?"
"Tetanus toxoid and a prophylactic antibiotic are mandatory."
Blue breaks open a syringe.
"Don'tcha mean voluntary?"
"Not for a man whose immune system is at the point of extinction. Your wounds are already infected. Need I paint a larger picture?"
Peachy. I get to be a fucking pin cushion.
"Creed wasn't foaming at the mouth, was he?"
Huh? "Salivating like a jackal over road kill."
"Hmm. Perhaps Hydrophobia Immune Globulin is indicated as well."
"Whazzat?"
"Rabies vaccine."
There's a glint in his eye. Bastard's messing with me.
"Fuck you, Blue!"
Snagging a new pair of gloves Hank squeezes them on and picks up the hypodermic and a vial. Five minutes later my arm and butt have been stabbed and band-aided. Next he produces a thin, flat wooden stick.
"Would you be so kind as to open your mouth please?"
I grimace and then open wide. Using the tongue depressor and a pen-sized flashlight he probes the inside of my mouth.
"Have you experienced unusual thirst or odd sense of taste?"
Unable to speak I just nod. Thirstier than the Atacama Desert with a taste like I've been sucking pig iron.
"Say ah."
"Ahh…..urrrk."
My gag reflex kicks in and Hank pulls away fast.
"Breathe through your nose," he counsels as he pulls a gadget from his pocket. Dry heaving abated he slides something across my forehead and reads the tiny LED display. "Harrumph," he mutters as he turns away and begins tapping something into his computer.
Harrumph? What kinda medical jargon is that?
"What?" I demand, my temper fraying. I hate shit like this. Med-labs, potions and doctors. All they add up to is a world of grief.
There's no response as he resumes the exam, his fingers pressing into my neck. "Raise your arms," he says and does the same thing to my pits. It hurts.
"Ahh—oww! What the hell are ya doing, Blue? I thought ya was gonna make me feel better not finish me off."
"You have swollen lymph nodes."
"No shit!"
More tapping on the computer. "Please go over to the examination table and assume a supine position."
"Huh?"
"Lie on your back. It would help if you roll your waistband down to your hips."
There's no fucking way I'm gonna let him poke around my tenderised tackle.
"Forget it."
A heavy sigh issues from him. "Logan, the groin region contains lymph nodes as well. I need to determine the extent of…..."
"Then assume the worst and let's move on."
"As you wish," he says with a shrug. "Are you experiencing any difficulty urinating? Is there any pain or blood?"
"Dunno, ain't pissed in a while."
"What defines a while?" he asks.
When did I last take a piss? Last one I remember was pulling into that diner. "What day is it?"
The yellow eyes widen in alarm. "Thursday," he replies.
"Then yer answer's around noon yesterday."
"Good grief. Are you not experiencing acute discomfort in your lower abdomen?"
"I got Creed's size fifteen boot mashed into my 'nads so that's a fucking yes!"
"I see." The furry digit is brought into play once more.
"Arrgh!" I gasp as he pokes just below the left side of my ribcage.
"Painful?"
"Do that again and yer'll find out."
Asshole ain't listening. This time it's my right side. Pain rips through my gut.
"You got a fucking death wish?"
"Forgive me, Logan but you have significant swelling in the areas of your spleen and liver. Indulge me once more…"
"Just be done, will ya?"
"Tell me which hurts more. When I press?"
Can't help tensing up when the finger digs in.
"Or release?"
"One's white agony and the other's blue agony so you tell me, doc."
He repeats the procedure on the other side with the same results.
"I'd like to do a scan." The words sound strained, a sure sign Blue ain't happy.
"No." No more of this examination shit.
"I need to determine the cause of the swelling."
"What the hell's that gonna do?" What the hell's the point?
Hank removes his specs and massages the bridge of his nose. "Your propensity to harbour extreme reservations regarding the most basic medical protocols is extraordinarily vexatious."
And he accuses me of idiomatic speech?
"In fucking English!"
The expression on Hanks face is dead level. "Do you have any idea what you're facing?"
"Yeah, I do so stow the lecture. Just tell me how I can keep going long enough to take Magneto down."
"For that I require your cooperation. I will not prescribe anything until I know precisely what I'm dealing with."
He's got me over a barrel. I wanna tell him to go fuck himself and walk outta this torture chamber. Instead I nod once.
"Good man. First off is a urine sample. You'll find sterile cups on the shelf above the toilet."
"Right."
"If you experience difficulty it helps to imagine running water," he advises.
"You think I don't know how to piss?"
Shoving his hands into his lab-coat pocket he perches on the edge of his desk. "Logan, when it comes to you I don't know what to think."
Several minutes later I'm holding my dick and staring at the wall tiles. I've finally got to realising my back molars are in danger of floating but the relief valve's jammed shut. Imagine running water. That's what furball said. There's a nice Canadian Rockies stream bubbling through my head but it ain't doing the business.
"You might try turning on the faucet."
Fuck! Is he listening at the damn door? I turn on both faucets and concentrate hard.
Nothing. Not a drip. Not a drop.
Okay. Think river.
Zilch..
Think Niagara Falls.
Zip.
Think Niagara falls in spring flood.
Ah, stuff Niagara falls.
Think beer fountain. All those tasty suds just raining down…
C'mon ya dumb Canuck. Ya can do this.
There's a familiar heaviness. And a sharp twinge.
Inside my head the beer shoots into the sky and rains down in a shower of liquid gold.
And…
"Ahhhh…"
What the…?
"Aw damn."
That's it? After all that hard work? A few mud coloured drops that barely cover the bottom of the specimen cup?
"How's this?" I ask, emerging from the lavatory.
Thick blue lips into a grim line. "That won't do, my friend." He strides to a cabinet and produces a flimsy cotton gown and a plastic packet of transparent tubing. "Kindly remove your clothing and put this on."
"No. No one takes the piss outta me. Not figuratively and sure as hell not with any damn tube."
"Would you like me to spell out all the potential complications of anuresis?"
This time he ain't taking no for an answer. He'd better learn life's full of disappointments or suffer the consequences.
"Would you like to experience the complications of having that tube shoved up your ass?"
Hank discards the packet. "Very well. In order to preserve our mutual dignities let us proceed to option two. The sitz bath."
That don't sound so bad. "What's a sitz bath?"
This time Blue's smile is wicked. "It's the medicalised version of a rather shameful prank I once played in my youth. Imagine your victim lost in the lands of inebriated slumber. You immerse his hands into tepid water…"
I burst out laughing and am instantly reminded why that ain't a good idea right now. "You sly old dog! Who was yer victim? Tell me it was Summers and I'll buy ya a crate of that fancy malt whisky."
"Not Scott. I would never be so dishonourable to a friend. The gentleman was an infamous, insufferable prig in college. Unfortunately he is now a famous, insufferable congressman. I can't help smiling whenever we shake hands."
"Good on ya, Blue. So, what do I do? Put my hands in warm water?"
"Not your hands." Hank heads across med-lab and pulls what looks like a white plastic sombrero from a cupboard. From another cupboard he selects a plastic bag. Snapping the bag against the countertop, he presents me with a contraption that looks like a cross between an ice pack and a jock strap. "Here you go. Twenty minutes of this applied to your genitalia…"
The damn thing's freezing cold!
"You wanna turn my dick into a popsicle? Do I look like a fucking penguin to you? Scratch that…"
"Followed by twenty minutes of soaking in tepid water…" Blue continues, ignoring my protest.
That's a fucking potty in his hands. "I did my potty training a long time ago, Hank. I ain't about to relive the experience."
Hank dumps the potty on the desk and I chuck the jockstrap inside it. "There is one other option."
"Glad to hear it. What's option three?"
"Option three?" He studies his feet for a moment and when he raises his gaze his yellow eyes are ablaze with an emotion I can't readily identify. "That's the one where I sit back, wait for your bladder to rupture and then irrigate your abdominal cavity. You may not survive of course but at least it will alleviate the original problem."
"Jeezus Christ, Blue. This ain't no laughing matter."
"No, it isn't." Suddenly he's in my face, eye's glaring and this time there's no mistaking the antagonism. Hot breath mists my cheeks. It smells of coffee and Tootsie Pops. "Do you see me laughing?"
He's big, he's fuming and he's just too damn close. My hackles go up as the berserker inside me stirs to life.
"Yer face. If ya wanna keep it get it outta mine," I growl, baring my fangs.
Furball ain't backing off so I give him a long, loud, I'm gonna tear yer fucking arm off and stuff it up yer ass growl.
Challenge accepted, Hank's upper lip curls into a deeply wrinkled snarl and a bass, high decibel rumbling erupts from his throat. The air around my head vibrates and I'm wondering if the growl 'ud register on the Richter scale.
Stripped of anything approaching civil bedside manner, furball's every bit as feral as I am. So are his fangs which are impressive. Ordinarily, pissing contests don't faze me. I'm a world class player and can spray it around with the best. However, my current lack of ammunition is a serious handicap. Not that it's gonna stop me.
"I ain't warning ya again, Hank. Back the fuck off now!"
I make a ball of my fist, flexing my knuckles, ready to pop the claws and hesitate, just for an instant. Claws plus no healing factor equals major bleed out. Okay, plan B. My bones are metal reinforced. I can still hit like a steel bar.
The movement catches Hank's eye and he blinks.
"Oh my stars and garters."
Shock replaces the feral mask and he steps away, putting a more comfortable distance between us.
"It's yer fucking guts for garters if ya do that again."
"Forgive me but there will be no again." He looks and sounds mortified. I guess he don't lose control too often.
"Damn right.," I snarl. "I'm outta here." I brace myself on the arms of the chair and make to stand.
"Logan, walk out of that door and your Magneto hunt ends right here."
"Why, because you're not gonna play Judas goat?"
Ya pulled that trick once, furball. Ya don't get me with it twice.
For several heartbeats he stands there, his stare calculating. "I'm willing to play my part because Magneto simply cannot remain at large to build another army of malcontents. However, by dinner you will be suffering so much pain you'll be doubled over and unable to walk let alone fight. So what's it going to be, tough guy? Popsicle, piss-take or acute peritonitis…?"
Shit! Some fucking options. Dick tube; dicksicle or major surgery. Two are invasive and I ain't having 'em. No choice but to give it up for the line of least resistance.
"Why the ice?"
Exhaling his relief Blue launches into an explanation. "To alleviate the swelling and inflammation. Followed by twenty minutes in nice warm water." He retrieves the jockstrap and hands it over. "I have a magazine you can read to take your mind off things."
Gonna hafta be a good one to take my mind off a frostbitten crotch. Depends how ya define interesting and something tells me that Hank ain't exactly an under the counter kinda guy.
"Thanks."
"While you disrobe I shall set up the bath."
"Whatever."
Potty in hand he disappears into the bathroom. After a short while I can hear the faucet running. Meanwhile I strip and take a good look at the damage. My dick and 'nads are black! They are fucking black and swollen and look like they're about to burst outta my skin. To my surprise the icepack don't feel too bad. I'm shaking like a leaf so I pull my drawers up and drop my carcass back into the chair.
Hank returns, wiping his hands on a paper towel. After chucking it into a bin he rummages in a cupboard. Next thing I know a blanket's being draped around my shoulders.
"You're shivering," he explains. "I'll get the magazine."
He fumbles in the Tootsie Pop drawer and pulls out a copy of Cosmopolitan. "Ororo won't mind you borrowing it."
"I ain't reading that!"
"It's very educational. The insights into the female psyche are very interesting The article on page twenty seven is particularly informative." He holds it in my direction.
I don't reach for it. "But it's fucking Cosmo, bub."
His cocks his head. "Your point being?"
Blue likes sticking sharp spikes in people and he's looking at me like a lab specimen. I bite back the comment I really wanna make. "I don't do chickzines, okay. Ain't you got anything else?"
"As a matter of fact, I do," he replies, discarding the Cosmo. "I have a copy of The Lancet."
A damn geekzine! "Does it have pictures of hot women riding bikes in it?"
"No, but there's an excellent discussion on plasma cholinase deficiency."
"Blue, do yerself a favour and get a fucking life."
oo0oo
Never really understood what relief was until the ice and the sitz bath worked their magic. The pain in my gut's still there but it's subsided to a more tolerable level. While I suffered the penguin treatment Hank did a whole lot of tapping on his keyboard. Ten minutes of steeping my tackle brought on a major piss. Never again will I underrate the satisfaction of emptying a full bladder.
So now we've reached stage two; the scan.
"Make yourself comfortable," Hank invites, gesturing to a stainless steel platform.
"Right."
I comply but how the hell d'ya make yerself comfortable on something harder and colder than a fucking mortuary slab? Too much trouble to warm it up first?
"I'll just be a moment," Hank says as he operates the machine controlling the half-ring scanner that's now hovering over my midsection. "Lie very still please." The machine hums, clicks and performs its function while my body soaks up the chill. Finally, the scanner returns to its idle position. "Thank you. You may get up now."
Grateful to be off that rack I slump back in my chair feeling exhausted. The thirst is back and I'm gonna need to slake it soon. Hope that don't mean another session with the cold white south.
"So now what?" I ask. Dumb I know but I might as well know precisely what I'm up against.
Still fiddling with the scanner's buttons Blue replies, "There is a distressing paucity of research into adamantium toxicity so I shall initiate the standard treatment for metal poisoning. That is to say, a multiple therapeutic approach including blood transfusion, bowel irrigation, chelation, hemoperfusion and hemodyalasis."
My heart slides into my gut. Can't he just gimme some pills or something? Anger burns inside me as I grind out my frustration.
"Wanna put that in plain English, bub?"
"I believe you know what a transfusion is…"
"I think I read about it once."
The look he levels at me is critical. He gets it right back with extreme prejudice.
"Bowel irrigation is accomplished by the administration of a large volume of non absorbable fluid to remove hazardous contents from the gastrointestinal tract."
Does that mean ya intend to shove a tube up the Wolverine's ass? Ya sure like living dangerously, bub.
"Administration of what?"
"You ingest Colyte solution which evacuates your bowels."
So I get to swallow it. That don't sound much better than a goddam tube. "Meaning a major case of the shits, right?"
"Crudely expressed but correct."
"If the aim is to get me shitting through the eye of a needle then I figure a bowl of red hot chilli would have the same effect," I observe. And taste a damn sight better too.
Deep laughter rings out. "The result of the Colyte solution is, shall we say, less explosive than your suggestion. It will also work faster."
Well hell, I like living dangerously. "So, what's kee-lating?"
Encouraged by my apparent interest Blue gets into his stride. "Chelation is an intravenous infusion of ethyl-enediaminetetra-acetic acid to remove toxic substances from the body."
See? I knew there were fucking tubes involved somewhere down the line. "Sorry I asked."
"In layman's terms, the acid binds to the metal ions in your blood thus allowing your liver and kidneys to excrete the toxins with greater ease."
Sounds promising. "The hemo-guff. What's that about? Keep it simple, Hank."
"Of course," he responds, as he strokes his chin. "Hemodyalisis and hemoperfusion are somewhat similar in the way they cleanse the blood of toxins. The principal difference is the filtering."
Let's hear it for the tubes. I'm gonna get spaghettified if furball has his way.
"And ya want me to do all this shit now?"
"No, no. However, you're presenting symptoms of acute anaemia. When you lost your healing factor you lost the ability to manufacture blood cells. It's a critical side effect of having metal coated bones. To counteract this I recommend an immediate transfusion. Depending on your labs, chelation might be indicated. Those should keep symptoms manageable and keep you functioning longer."
"And if I don't?"
Blue steeples his fingers, puts them to his lips and closes his eyes. I just know he's thinking – not this again.
Finally he says, "There are medications that may minimise some of the symptoms and control pain for a while. But once enough toxin builds up in your tissues the therapies I've just described are the only defense; albeit a temporary one."
Pretty much what Magneto said. Shit! "You're just a fucking ray of sunshine, Blue. How long ya think I got?"
Shaking his head regretfully he replies, "Your situation is unique and therefore difficult to predict but I guarantee you will know when more advanced treatment is required."
"Yeah, how's that?"
"I believe the expression sick as a dog will apply."
Wonderful. Just fucking perfect. Not! "Any chance of this thing working like...umm...hell, I dunno whatchacallit. Could it keep me alive long term?"
"Logan, I'm not going to give you any false hope. The truth is you and I are currently writing the book on A-toxicity. The simple answer to your question is, I don't know."
"What yer really saying is, I'm a goner."
Hank's averted eyes say it all. "With your permission I'd like to draw your blood and check the adamantium levels."
"What's the point?"
"Perhaps we can keep ahead of critical levels..."
"Don't ya mean conduct a little research?"
The yellow eyes blaze briefly. Guess I got a knack of getting under the guys skin.
"Trust your senses, Logan," he counsels, tone heavy with reproach. "You know I'm the last person who'd exploit you but if I wait until your symptoms become severe the window of opportunity may be lost."
Dry washing my face and trying to get a handle on limited and very grim options, I'm not liking what I see. And I got zilch decision time.
"How long does a transfusion and this kee-lating thing take?"
His reply is cautious. "A few hours, depending on how many units of blood are required. Chelation, less time."
No frigging way! "I need to be down the hall in ten minutes time. So do you. The briefing…"
"Can wait. You can't." There's an intensity in Blue's posture that tells me he ain't giving way on this.
"Will the blood and ethyl-acid shit keep me on my feet?"
Relaxing his posture a little he nods. "In my professional opinion, yes. You will almost certainly experience an alleviation of various symptoms including the dizziness."
Can't argue with that. "Then what the fuck are ya waiting for, Hank. Let's do this!"
"I'll retrieve the blood from storage and warm it."
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