Chapter Seventeen
"How's it going, Kid?"
Logan's voice startled Marie from a confused dream of friendship, fighting monsters, and sex. She straightened in the metal chair, finding all sorts of aches in the process. "Okay, I guess. What time is it?"
"Four," he said, stepping into the infirmary room. The blue light from the lower halls cast him in a metallic shell that only warmed when he approached Scott's bed. Someone had shut off all the lights in the room save a single gooseneck on the bedside tray that glowed gold next to Marie's shoulder. "Storm tells me you were Hell on wheels getting her to jet back to California."
His quick, tight smile told her he approved. He had his hands in his pockets, probably as a reminder not to smoke, as he prowled the room.
"What are you doing up at this hour, Logan?"
"Couldn't sleep. I need to talk to Scott."
She nodded. Scott slept on his back, one arm off the bed and in her lap. Marie flexed her fingers around his limp hand. She was glad she hadn't lost contact with him as she dozed. Her duty here was to keep him unfolded and the new Rogue was going to be diligent. "He's all right. I'm not on some sort of morbid death vigil or anything. It's just the doctor wants me to keep contact with him."
"Still tends to disappear, eh?" Logan pulled a hand from his pocket and mimed a magician's flourish. "Poof."
Marie laughed at the jesting sparkle in his eyes. "About twenty minutes after I let go of him. No one is really sure what will unfold him permanently."
That brought a frown to Logan's face. "So what, you going to be attached to him for the rest of your life? What are they doing about that problem?"
Marie hadn't thought that far into the future. She was glad her powers could do something good, and that she could save him. But forever? The question turned slowly in her mind, blending with the cobweb remnants of her disturbing dreams. People said dreams were your mind's way of sorting experience and knowledge. In hers, the demon shrieks of crazed mutants had jumbled with the feel of cuddling next to Scott in green grass. That Irene's apocalyptic prophecies would invade her sleep was no surprise. But, the vision with Scott was more troubling. Was that experience tangled with the end of the world by coincidence, or was her mind warning her that caring too much would be dangerous?
Looking at their joined hands, her mind began to spin new webs. Was this enforced closeness why they wound up skin to skin in that field? Did Scott in some burst of all to predictable efficiency decide that if she had to touch him every half hour they might as well make the relationship more than friends? If he did, she wondered if she would be able to refuse.
That was too confusing, and strangely painful, to share with Logan. She stroked Scott's hand. His face was turned toward her, eyes closed, and the doctor had removed his visor so she could see all of his face. In the dim light, the fire beneath his lids flickered orange and cast shadows from his lashes onto his cheeks.
"I'm sure it won't be for life," she said at last.
Logan grunted, clearly unconvinced. "Think he'll wake up soon?"
"He's been out since Dr. Kline gave him a sedative. But, before that he was full on commander. He'd practically bullied the staff into letting him go back to his room when the doctor showed up."
"Kline put him out, I take it."
"She said no body could be in such perfect shape after going without food and water for days. She was also concerned with the strange chemical traces she found in his blood work. So, she talked him into an IV. He didn't know she was going to drug him." Marie didn't know enough about medicine to question the doctor's ethics, she supposed. But, the whole thing felt devious. She studied the IV rig, now coiled up and out of the way to the side of the bed, with disgust. "I expect him to be angry when he wakes up."
Logan sat on the edge of the bed and tapped Scott's chest. "That'll teach you to be a dick to women with pharmaceuticals at their disposal." Then to Marie, he added, "You'd think he would have learned that over the years."
She dismissed the doctor's deception to chuckle at the joke. It was good to laugh. Marie realized she hadn't done enough of it recently. "You'd think, wouldn't you?"
Logan plucked Scott's visor from the tray table that served as nightstand, turned the sleeping man's head, and fit the unit onto his face. "He looks okay. Doesn't seem sick."
"That was his argument." She remembered Scott's indignant argument with the doctor earlier. "He said he used something to heal himself and didn't need to waste time in the hospital. He was just humoring the doctor about fluids, I think."
Logan prodded Scott, harder this time. "Come on, Cyke. Time to wake up."
"Should you be doing that?" Marie felt Scott's hand twitch.
"You just said he was fine before the doctor drugged him." He shook Scott's shoulder. "I need to talk to him about things in my head, and I need to do it soon."
"What's the rush?" Her mind leapt to the way Scott had trembled when he mentioned killing The Eater, and then back to the Irene's disturbing prophecies. "This has to do with the monster you killed together, doesn't it?"
"It's all related, I think." Logan's lips tensed as if trying to hold back something more.
"He told me the monster laughed at him as it died."
"Like it had already won."
That it wasn't a question made his words all the more ominous. In the bed, Scott groaned in protest to Logan's prodding. He stretched, then pushed himself up to a seated position.
"About time," Logan chided.
Scott squeezed Marie's hand once before pulling it away so he could brace himself better. "Hospitals never make you better. I felt great when I got here. Now I feel like road kill."
Logan shoved his hands back into his pockets as he stood. "At least you don't smell like it anymore."
"The nurse let me shower before the knock out."
Marie let herself relax into the chair. Watching the two men banter took her back to when she first came to the school. It would sound strange if she'd tried to explain it all to her old high school friends, but despite Magneto's plots and nearly dying, she'd felt safe in those first days. Only later had she lost that sense of belonging to confusion and insecurity. And only now, since returning from the clinic, did she recapture some of that security -- not in others this time, but in herself.
Scott sat here trading jibes with Logan because she hadn't given up or failed. She'd lived up to team expectations. Pride wasn't an emotion Marie had a lot of experience with, but she'd felt it on that cold rock, hugging Scott, and she'd liked it. The problem was that pride came bound to a lot of other feelings, emotions she had no assurance he would ever share or certainty she wanted.
Camaraderie was comfortable. Desire was still an unsettling secret fantasy reserved for when the door was locked and her own hands pressed against her skin. It was also, now, a vision that might be prophecy and a very real man sitting very near who she had to touch constantly, openly.
Scott adjusted his visor, then fumbled with the latch to lower the bar at the side of the bed. To Marie he still seemed drug-dazed. She wasn't certain whether to help him or not. It had been one thing to wrap her arms around him when they were alone on that rock, another to do so where Logan could see.
The nurses had gotten Scott fresh underwear to sleep in so he didn't have to put up with the indignity of a gown. Marie silently thanked them for that kindness. She wasn't ready to deal with more than the blue boxers and white T-shirt exposed when he tossed off the covers and shifted to sit on the edge of the bed. Marie tried not to focus on his legs next to hers, and failed.
He has bony knees. The imperfection offered a respite and she grabbed hold. See, not at all perfect. Nothing to get all distracted over.
"What do you need, Logan?" Scott glanced over his shoulder at the other man. "I assume it's something important. I don't believe you missed my sparkling wit."
"Missed you doing your job mostly."
"About that--"
"Doesn't matter now," Logan broke in. He stalked to the door, leaned out. "But, getting our facts straight on this thing you killed at Alcatraz does. Ororo's got a team meeting planned for ten this morning, and I want you to hear some things before the rest."
"Fair enough." Scott made no move to stand, however. Marie risked reaching out for his arm. Surprisingly, he caught hold of her. His palm was damp against her skin, a stronger indication that he was still drugged despite the quick retorts. She leaned in, offering support, and he looped his arm over her shoulder. This was the same comfortable camaraderie she'd felt when she rescued him, not that uncertain and sexually charged confusion of her dream. Remember commander, comrade, bony knees. Forget the fact that you shouldn't know what he tastes like, but do.
"We should get out of here," Logan said. "Before someone comes in and decides you need more medical attention."
Scott chuckled. "True. But, I think they burned my clothes and I'd rather not go running around the mansion in my underwear, even if it is the middle of the night. Think you can grab me some sweats from the locker room?"
"Be back in a minute." Logan was gone immediately.
"You okay?" Marie leaned in close to whisper once she thought Logan would be out of hearing range.
He held up his hand and wobbled it side to side. "I'd like to be on my feet when he gets back."
No weakness, that was Scott the commander. Funny how she didn't used to like him as much as she did now. Without asking, she slid an arm around his waist and let him lean on her as he found his balance.
His muscles tensed when he eased off the bed, as if he anticipated a fall. His jaw clenched. His mouth set in that stern Cyclops scowl. That frown was a stubborn façade, she was beginning to realize, reserved for when he felt unsure or afraid.
"It's okay, you know," she told. "I won't stop thinking you're a tough guy just because you stumble a bit. After everything, you're probably entitled."
For a moment, she thought he'd protest. He tilted his head toward her and relaxed his grip on her shoulder. She remembered the moment when he'd unfolded for the first time in her room and she found herself staring into his very blue eyes. Those eyes were shielded now by the narrow red lens of his visor, and they glowed in the darkness of the room.
I see you, she thought, better now than when you were unmasked. And seeing didn't frighten her as much as she'd expected it to. Her life had turned recently in a series of sharp moments -- realizing she wanted to be a hero, realizing she had only to act to become one. Now, she felt herself pivoting again, this time shifting from support to embracing him.
If the move surprised Scott, he didn't show it. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly and his hands slid down her back. The contours of her body fit his exactly as it had in the vision. Her nose nestled in just above his collarbone. Her arm circled him loosely just above his hip. He stood quite steady on his feet now, which was good. Her own balance wavered.
She tilted her head up.He kissed her.
For an instant, the time it takes to sip from a drink that might scald, the touch of his lips lingered. Just an instant, but that was long enough for tingling anticipation to sluice across her skin. It was just enough time for memories of future kisses to open, like rain clouds, in her mind and wash away inhibition. She knew what his body would feel like, how his breath would catch if she drew her nail along the skin beneath his jaw. Marie tightened her arms around his ribs. She pressed herself up on her toes, into the kiss. Her lips parted.
And then a tide of questions washed in. Are you kissing me as a thank you? As obligation? Convenience? Do I want my life to twist from comrade to lover? What happens when you're fully unfolded and I can't touch anymore? Will I be able to go back to never feeling this again? Could I love you? Do I want to? Does it matter?
Marie pushed away from him. She was shaking and felt suddenly out of control. Where was her new found confidence? Pulled apart, it seemed, by uncertainty.
"Sorry." Scott stepped back. "I misread."
That quickly she lost him. He turned his head and in his profile she could see nothing but his commander's mask. The closeness she'd felt since hugging him on the barren rock was shattered, not by the kiss, but by her indecision and fear.
Damn it, she should have just kissed him back.
------
Bobby Drake clenched his teeth as Kitty pulled him through the hatch into the belly of the Blackbird. He hated the feel of the jet's skin moving through him and wondered how Kitty tolerated the sensation of sliding into objects every day. At least she was efficient about the process. They quickly found themselves in the aft compartment of the plane.
"Let's get it fast and get out of here," Kitty said. "I don't want to get caught."
"We won't," he assured her.
The interior of the jet was so dark he could hardly see her. He heard her though, scrambling up off her knees and slapping at her jeans to dust them. Such a boyish gesture.
Kitty could be beautiful if she dressed up. But, she seemed content to hide all her feminity. When Bobby imagined taking her on a date, he always wound up seeing two friends just hanging out. He didn't want to pass guys on the street and have them look twice to make sure he wasn't holding hands with a very short boy.
Bobby knew she liked him, and he frequently felt a stab of guilt for not telling her he couldn't return those feelings. Still, if she were that serious about him she'd want to dress up for him, right? She'd work at being sexy just a little, wouldn't she? Besides, she knew he had Rogue. Kitty must be content with friendship, he reasoned. As he had so often before, he put those concerns firmly out of his mind.
He listened to her footsteps on the decking. Her power worked soundlessly, however, so he had to wait for confirmation she'd retrieved his prize from the locked compartment where she'd hidden it. That silence in the dark plane was creepy. Bobby iced up his fist just so he could hear the comforting crackle of his own power.
"What's wrong?" Kitty's tennis shoes squeaked -- mouse sounds, high and nervous -- as she returned. "Why'd you freeze up?"
"Nothing." He didn't want to admit he hadn't liked the silence. He'd faced down Magneto, after all. He wasn't a coward.
She pushed something hard and round against his chest. Magneto's helmet, his war trophy. He cradled it in one arm. He'd found the helmet as he followed Peter up onto the bridge after the madman. He'd initially intended to give it to Wolverine or Storm when they regrouped. But, then things had gotten crazy.
Kitty showed up with the Cure Kid and Storm had focused her full attention on him, as had Dr. McCoy. When no one had noticed Bobby had the helmet even after they reached the jet, he nudged Kitty and she hid it in the locked compartment quietly. During the trip home he decided he'd rather show Rogue before turning it over to the team leaders.
Bobby knew Rogue would come back to the school. Even if she took the cure, she couldn't just leave without saying goodbye. Even if she'd planned to do that, she would have seen the Alcatraz footage on the news and that would draw her back. She'd have to return to congratulate her teammates, to make sure they were all safe. And he'd been right. She was back, apparently still a mutant. Granted, she'd gone off the save Cyclops almost as soon as she arrived, but he couldn't fault her for team loyalty.
They'd have time together later today. That's when he'd show her the helmet. It couldn't be completely their secret, since Kitty knew, but close enough. Rogue would understand he was sharing his secret with her as an apology for all the times he'd ignored her. She'd know he thought she was important and special and that he could wait for her to figure out how to control her powers. She would someday, he was sure. And then--
That particular line of thought made his body itch uncomfortably. He shouldn't be thinking about that while he and Kitty ducked out of the hanger together. Kitty was smart. She might notice. He didn't want to explain, not when there were more walls she'd need to pull him through.
"I still say you should give that thing to Storm right away," Kitty was saying. "We don't know how long Dr. McCoy is going to hang around, and he's brilliant. He needs to inspect that helmet."
"I will, Kitty. I promise. I just want to do something with it first."
"Like show it to Rogue." She sounded bitter, resigned. He'd known she was too smart to fool.
"Just to make her feel better," he whispered. "Then, I swear, I'm giving it to the leadership so they can learn all they can from it."