Chapter 5

Play it cool, play it cool…

"What the fuck are you talking about?!" Not playing it cool.

"My dear…"

"Listen Colonel Sanders, I'm not your dear. I don't know what you think I can do but I am seriously lost here. What do you mean stable? You know I'm not that kind of doctor, right? Damn it, I'm a psychologist, not an internist…Jim."

Note to self: Official bad guy name is Colonel Jim Sanders. Check

Seriously, at this point I can't really help myself. My sarcasm is the only thing keeping me grounded. Sanders looks pissed.

Whatever JIM.

Just as he is about to say something profound, I'm sure, Wade/Weapon XI opens his eyes.

Uh…preeeeeetty

My inner fangirl goes doe-eyed. It doesn't last long though because just as I begin to re-gather my thoughts, I see Wade's eyes go wide and I turn just in time to catch Sanders draw back for a punch.

When did he get that close?

"Sir, that might not help…"

But it's too late.

The punch lands solidly on my cheekbone, his knuckles catching the edge of my brow bone and pain explodes across my senses. Later I will realize that he hit me on the same side that AWAG nailed me with his AK. Not good. I crumple like my strings have been cut and my knees hit the ground hard. Just as the side of my head is about to collide with the unforgiving concrete, someone catches me.

Alarm races through my mind and it's not mine. Did my Empath feel that? Does he actually know I'm in pain? Does he care? Trying to keep track of so many thoughts and questions exhausts me and I allow my eyes to close.

"No, no, no kiddo. Stay awake. No sleeping on a concussion."

That must be 4 but his voice seems far away, like listening to the TV while under the covers. He cradles my head and I'm glad for it because I have no control over my neck and the weight of my head is painful.

My empath echoes 4's concern and the directive, though I hear no words. I'm sure now that he is at least somewhat aware of what's happening to me. My shields are still up though, so no clear projections or instructions are making it through.

Access denied.

"I think I'm gonna throw up; for real this time."

And I'm telling the truth. The nausea is back with a vengeance and there are black spots in my vision. Even my own voice seems distant and I belatedly realize that moving my jaw after taking a punch to the face was not a good plan. The vibration of my own voice makes my cheekbone ache and throb. My eye is tearing up and swelling shut so quickly that I can actually feel the skin tightening, like it's going to split open any second.

"Sir, she's already taken a blow to the head, now this. Might I suggest keeping her conscious and relatively unharmed so that she may complete the task you've given here? I doubt a concussion or a broken cheekbone will help her focus."

"Falling for the freak, soldier?"

Sanders voice was calm but the icy threat was clear.

"No sir, just attempting to maintain the mission objective. Reactivate Weapon XI and…"

"Shut the fuck up. They don't need to know everything.'

Interesting. There's more?

"Yes, sir."

"Shhhhhhh! Could you two shut up for a second or I am seriously going to lose my, well, I don't' remember when I ate last so…whatever. Just be quiet! And you, help me stand up, I think this position is making it worse."

The rant is painful but worth it as 4 follows my orders (Ha!) and slowly levers me back upright. With one of his arms around my waist and the other holding my shoulder to steady me, I can see the genuine concern in his eyes. He might want to get a grip on that before Sanders shoots him for it. Sanders is clearly not a fan of mine.

I turn my focus back to Wade and see a matching concern on his face. Well, isn't that nice.

"Okay Sanders, I get it, you're playing hard ball. You hit women like a big strong man. Good for you. But, I still can't do what you want if I don't know what the fuck you're talking about. So, let's try this again with less violence. What do you mean stable for now."

Clearly I've annoyed him again and he reaches back again, this time it looks like he's going to backhand me. I hate this guy.

Violence is not the answer! Make love not war…well not with Sanders though, maybe 4? Definitely Wade…and Mystique. Yum

Speaking of Wade…he makes a move to sit up and for some reason that bolsters my resolve.

"Hey!" I yell, and Sanders inexplicably freezes. I roll with it. "No, means no! Now, explain so you can maintain the mission objective and continue on doing…whatever the hell it is you're trying to do."

He seems to consider my (logical) demand and slowly lowers his hand. I release the breath I was holding in equal measure.

Progress.

"Mr. Wilson, why don't you explain your…condition to the good doctor."

I roll my eyes at the clichéd title and immediately regret the movement as fire lances up the side of my face, digging into my brain like a drill. I barely hold in the hiss of pain, not wanting to draw attention to myself now that we are finally going to talk about something useful.

I glance at Eric and Mystique, and suddenly realize that I have no idea why they've been brought along on this psycho-trip. Eric raises an eyebrow at me, Spock-style and I can't help but thing that Leonard Nimoy does it better. I'm about to make my observation known when Wade beings to speak and it's just rude to interrupt pretty men.

Please, darling. Speak to me…

"Before the Weapon X project I was informally diagnosed as mentally unstable."

His voice is rich and he seems pleased at the descriptor assigned to him. I smile as he does and he winks at me. His grin is slightly manic and I have no doubt in my mind that he is nuttier than an Almond Joy.

Awesome!

"After playing on Stryker's merc team for a while, I was eventually convinced, tricked whatever into undergoing the Weapon XI modifications. They took the X genes from other badass mutants and implanted them into me with the idea that I would have their abilities. It worked…kinda."

Curious…

"What do you mean, kinda?"

I feel the urge to reach out and stroke his arm, anticipating a darker twist to his story.

… the hell? Am I that much of a sucker for a pretty face? Apparently so…

"Well, Stryker really didn't have a sense of humor, ya' know? I he called me the Merc with a Mouth cuz I talk so much, too much in some people's opinion. I disagree, of course. I just have a lot of really interesting and important things to say. Like all the time, and…"

"Jesus Christ!" I lunge at Sanders who's just jabbed a hand-held taser into Wade's side, pushing him far enough from the bed that the device mercifully breaks contact with Wade's vulnerable skin.

"You asshole!" I scream. "What the fuck is your problem? You said explain, he's explaining. And what the fuck is it with you people and tasers? Those things fucking hurt. Stop it!"

Wade's breathing is beginning to return to normal after he seized up from the pain of the electric current. Mine, however; is only getting shallower and more rapid. I belatedly realize that I'm well on the way to a panic attack. Too much has happened in too short a time. Too many changes, not enough information. I feel a wave of dizziness wash over me, my vision blurs and I sway hard on my feet.

I don't even realize I'd grabbed Wade's arm for support until I feel his strong hand grip my bicep in an attempt to support me.

"Easy now, firefly. You're okay. I'm okay, we're all okay. Okay?"

The sentence sinks in through the haze in my mind and I giggle weakly.

"Not okay, not okay, not okay." It suddenly becomes my mantra.

"Uh oh," I hear him whisper. "Uh guys, she's not okay."

I giggle uselessly, again. I've lost touch with my body and feel like I'm floating. What the hell is wrong with me? This is nothing like the panic attacks my patients have described.

"Um, baby doll?" I'm quickly growing fond of these pet names. "When was the last time you ate something?"

What a great question! I try to think but focus drips through my fingers like so much water.

"Don rember," I mutter, head lolling forward to rest on his collar bone. He smells like antiseptic and cotton. I barely resist the urge to cuddle into his warmth.

When did it get so cold in here?

"Seriously?! Okay, Sanders, what the fuck? You want her to do anything you're gonna have to feed and water her like every other houseplant. She's not a rapid healer, that's pretty fuckin' clear. She's starved, probably dehydrated, and concussed thanks to you and your team's anger management issues. And she's so right, ya' know. You should never hit a woman. That's fucked up. "

Somehow I end up on the bed Wade had been occupying. I don't remember him lifting me. As he moves to lay me down, I protest, the nausea like an insistent enemy at the gates of throat.

"No down," I whisper. "Yuckytummy."

Oh, cute. Baby-talk. I am at the top of my game. Soooo sexy.

"Okay, okay," he whispers back and I am so grateful for his gentle voice. "Stay up. Good girl. Lemme get you something to eat, and drink, and maybe something for your head."

What's wrong with my head? I like my head. It thinks of stuff most times…

My head hurts, my face hurts, and my stomach feels like a war zone. I silently beg for the black unconsciousness, headless of the consequences. I focus on the warmth of his body and the firm grip he has on me. His muscled arm is solid under my hand and I wish I had the presence of mind to appreciate the experience.

"No eat," I protest feebly. "Yuck."

"I know, honey, I know. But if you don't eat it's gonna get worse…uh, guys. She's got a fever…actually…she's burning up. What the fuck did you do to her?!"

There's some more commotion and talking, some yelling even but I barely register the flurry of activity at Wade's diagnosis. I feel the blackness creep up over my mind and I welcome it. Just before I slip away, I hear a gentle rumble in my mind…

"Sleep, cheri. Sleep."

"M'names not Cheri," I grumble back and I feel a rich, deep chuckle caress my mind.

"Ah, non? What is your name, amour?"

I'm starting to get confused with all the pet names so I figure it would be good to set it straight with all the voices inside and outside my head.

"Cayden," I whisper.

"Cayden," I hear in murmured surround sound.

As I register that both Wade and my Empath have echoed my name, a wave of calm washes over me and I sleep.

French Translations:

cheri = darling

non = no

amour = love, beloved

Author's Note: Physical descriptions of characters are going to come directly from the movies rather than the comic books, though some comic info will be used as background.

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Thanks for reading…

Arwen Thandiel