If you can remember back to my last posting, September 2008, Sue had just given birth, nearly three months prematurely, to twins. This event happens on the heels of a car wreck involving the shape shifter/spy that Logan was chasing.

CHAPTER TWELVE

I wanna touch her. Reach out, pull her into my arms and hold her close. But I'm afraid. She looks so small and helpless lying in the hospital bed. Black and purple bruises cover the left side of her face. Stitches criss-cross the ridge of her cheek. Left shoulder separated by the force of the crash, her arm's bound close to her body, while an IV snakes out of her right arm.

Drugs from surgery, for pain, leech from her pores hanging over her in a toxic cloud. It stirs up an unsettling sense of de ja vu. Not from a couple weeks ago but farther back time, another lifetime ago.

Mariko giving birth to Tad. Goddamn doctor gave me hell. Couched so proper and soft-spoken; big gaijin never meant to make babies with small Japanese girls. Asshole didn't get the part where I spoke the language good as him. He was right, though. If Mariko weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet and stood five one in heels that was generous. Tad came into the world weighing almost ten pounds and it damn near killed Mariko.

Like it's useful to remember this now?

This has gotta be the Ritz Carleton of hospital rooms with lots of space, good quality fake wood flooring, soft lighting and it's quiet. Even the gizmo's Susie's hooked up too tuck into damn fine looking cabinets. Over my shoulder, slightly out of view a lounge is set up with a sleeper sofa, internet, TV, a fridge and a microwave. There's a visitors bathroom separate from the one a few steps from Susie's bed.

Still, expensive gussying up can't cover the stink of hospital; at least not to me.

I lightly finger a loose tendril of hair on her forehead, "Susie?"

A drowsy sigh is the only sound.

It's a shock seeing the sheet lay flat against her belly. I've grown used to the baby bump. God, this ain't the way it was s'posed to go.

Her eyelids flutter. Unfocused, watery eyes peer into mine. "Bright eyes!" she whispers.

"Hey."

She goes pale, whispering, "I feel sick."

Her nurse warned me this might happen.

Helping her sit up, I hold a basin and smooth her hair back, keeping it out of the mess.

"I'm sorry," she says, tears sliding down her cheeks.

Stashing the nasty on the bedside table I reply, "Forget it, darlin'."

It takes a minute or two before she's composed, "Have you seen them?"

She means the twins. I shake my head, "Lance said they're ok." Ain't exactly his words but no word's come from where ever they've taken 'em. I gotta believe no news is good news.

She nods and reaches out, tangling clammy, cold fingers in mine.

It's almost too much as the scent of her emotions seems to match my own crazy, mixed–up ones.

"I...," Suddenly overcome, my breath hitches. "I love you," My eye leaks. Embarrassed, I shudder and bow my head pressing my lips against her hand.

There's love seeping from every pore in her body, glistening in her eyes as she nods and traces the track of my tear with her finger.

Swallowing the clog of emotion in my throat, I know I'm inches from seriously losin' it. God darlin', don't do this. Don't make me do this.

Bzzzzt. It's the cell phone in my pocket. Caller ID reading Unavailable puts me on the defensive, "Yo!"

"Lemme talk to my mother."

Wonderful! It's Travis and he sounds like he's got a burr up his butt like our last encounter.

"She's right here, kid," I rasp and clear my throat. Slipping the phone into Sue's hand I move away to give her space. She snags my shirtsleeve, soundlessly mouthing, "Stay."

The kid's in full freak out mode arguing to come to the hospital right now. Fuzzy from anesthesia, Sue's getting bulldozed so she doesn't resist me commandeering the phone.

I'd like to kick the kids ass but I keep cool, "Hey Travis, I made your brother a promise and the same holds for you."

"What's that?"

"I'll get ya here first chance I can."

"You'd do that?"

"Yeah but ya understand first opportunity is not tonight."

"Why not?"

I don't blame the kid for sounding agitated. Would be in his place, but hell if I want to go a couple verbal rounds with him right now. "I think your mom explained it straight up. She's not feeling good and it's past visiting hours."

"Uh huh. Can I talk to Mom again?"

"She's sleepin'. How 'bout she calls ya when she wakes up?"

"I guess. Bye Logan."

"Aw shit," I mutter, snap the phone shut, stuff it back in my pocket and flop into the chair. I'd like to get this kid back on my side but if I can't, ain't losing sleep over it.

Susie sleeping is the right idea. Clasping her hand in mine, I lean back and surrender to numbing emotional fatigue. I manage to achieve a place somewhere just shy of sleep, that half-aware, head nodding but not quite slack jaw, drooling phase of slumber.

It doesn't last. My healing factor, temporarily restrained by the adrenalin high dealing with the shape shifter and Susie's wreck, kicks in full force. A dull ache spreads from deep inside my head. Intensifying, it clusters in my left eye - where my eye's supposed to be. I've been coping with intermittent pain since the bomb but right now I'm running on empty. Things could get real nasty.

Stifling a groan, I lean forward, elbows on knees, cradling my head in my hands. That's it; breathe deep. Relax.

Could get nasty? Nope . . . is nasty. Here comes the cold sweat. Stomach about to revolt, I make tracks for the can.

On my knees beside the jon, it's touch and go for a couple minutes but luck's mine this time. The pain levels off and my stomach settles leaving me feeling about as substantial as ice cream left out of the freezer on a summer day.

The sofa sleeper suddenly looks appealing, if not necessary. A stubborn constitution only goes so far cheating the healing factor from working its mojo. Be smart, grab a catnap now and I'll be good for whatever's next.

Susie, blissfully unaware, stirs only to the gentle kiss I plant on forehead, " Darlin' . . ."

"Hmm?"

"I'm on the couch, okay."

It's after I've stretched and popped my joints, on the fringe of sleep that I hear her mumble, "Hmm-ohh-kay."

xXx

There's a soft tapping sound. "Huh?" I mumble. Natural paranoia only takes only a second to kick in and I snap to full alert with that familiar itch between my knuckles. Just as quick, I re-orient and mentally beat back the urge to pop the hardware.

The tapping becomes insistent. Excuse me!

The nurse pokes her head into the room. B. Jackson, as her nametag reads, is one big woman. She's been my point of contact ever since Susie came out of surgery. A no-bullshit kind of dame, I liked her right off the bat. So, it's not a stretch to forgive the intrusion.

She surveys my wife and softly declares, "Tummy check time."

What the fuck? "She's sleeping," I grumble and seriously contemplate pushing her out the door.

Her tone is no nonsense but kind as she explains the facts to me; checking for signs of bleeding out. Well hell! Tummy check to your hearts' content.

"Darlin'," I finger Susie's cheek. "The nurse needs to check ya over."

"Oh my!" Nurse Jackson notices the sick basin. "Lemme fix this right up."

I watch her, somewhat fascinated, as she apparently notes the quantity of Susie's puke before disposing the mess into the toilet.

"This happens again, I expect you to buzz me right away." She's looking at me.

"Yes'm," slips out. She's the kind of woman to elicit that kind of response; even from a jerk like me.

"How you feeling, Doctor Harris?" the nurse quizzes my groggy wife.

Sue licks dry, cracked lips. "Thirsty," she whispers.

"I hear ya there. I'll see if that n.p.o. order can be lifted, at least for ice chips."

"Thank you," Sue replies as the nurse wraps a blood pressure cuff around her arm.

Simultaneously taking Susie's temperature and god knows what else, they engage in a round of Q and A, the nurse doing the asking and Sue doing the answering.

I'm paying close attention but, "And how about you, Mister Harris?" takes me by surprise.

I smirk at her gaff, "Logan . . . and I'm okay."

"I'm sorry. I keep telling intake they need to make sure they get daddy's names right."

I ain't offended and shrug it off. Ain't the first time and won't be the last.

"Now I know you know every inch of your wife but most ladies like a little privacy for tummy checks." She's looking at me again and I take the hint. The chair on the other side of the room suddenly looks very inviting.

Realistically, it's symbolic; me moving out of the way. Ain't like I can't see what's going on from right here.

Shee-iitt!

That's more than I need to see. Ain't like I haven't seen my share of blood. Hell, I've gutted men for kicks but . . . seeing my wife bleedin' between her . . . that ain't right.

Ah shuddup ya dumb Canuck. It's what happens; part of the process.

"You're looking just perfect, Doctor Harris," B. Jackson declares as she tucks Susie in. "C'mon back, Mister Logan."

"Just Logan," I tell her returning to the bedside.

She smiles and taps buttons on some sort of electronic gizmo. "Doctor Weinberg's orders are to remove the catheter at seven tomorrow morning."

Catheter? Oh man! I'm dying to say something. Payback for last week but . . . I can't stoop that low. Not right now anyway.

The nurse continues, "Don't know who takes over in the morning but he or she'll be the one to get you up and moving."

"Up and moving?" After getting cut? She's kidding.

"Yessir. Believe it or not, getting mommy's mobile cuts down on complications and recovery time."

I shake my head. Guess I should've read the chapter on cesareans.

"Oh, and Mizz Carswell has you scheduled for eight thirty tomorrow mornin'".

Susie looks and smells weary, like she's hurting but she cracks a smile, "Thank you Betty."

Guess that's what B stands for on the nurses nametag.

Okay, I'll bite, "Who's Carswell?

Fading again, Sue mumbles, "Staff social worker."

"What's up with that?

"Standard procedure for our preemie families," Betty says.

I dry wash my face, feeling out of the loop and worn down, "Right." I ain't in the mood for details but if this is means touchy-feely crap I'll stick a knife in my gut first.

"Before I leave you two in peace, is there anything you need?" She zeros on Susie, "Extra blanket? Pillows?"

Eyeing me, she says, "Those fold out beds aren't the most comfortable, Mister Logan. Pillow or two for you?"

"Nah! Thanks, I'm good."

"All right, then," the nurse dims the lights. "You know where the buzzer is," she reminds us before exiting.

I nod.

Susie replies with a drowsy, "Thanks, Betty," and drifts away.

Not sure what to do with myself, I shuffle over to the window. Parting the draperies, I stare down onto a rooftop courtyard. Six inches of fresh snow turn shrubs and benches into blobs of marshmallow. Pillars of ice hang from a fountain dominating the center of the scene.

I need to get back to campus, take care of unfinished business. I need . . . want to be right here; at least 'til I know things are under control. Can't help replaying the past few days in my head.

That damn dog . . . shape shifter was good. Too good and I should've seen it. Never mind masking his scent. The way he bonded with me and Sue; hung around at just the right moments. How in the hell did Charles not get him either? Altered telepathic signature? Gotta be.

There's another knock at the door. Sprinting across the room, I crack it open. This better be good. "Yeah?" I growl.

She's petite, young and cute. Dressed in blue scrubs, dark hair pulled into a ponytail.

"I -I'm Chittra Dave', nurse practitioner."

I give her the stink eye.

"So sorry. It is very late." There's a hint of Indian accent in her speech. "Would you prefer to wait until tomorrow?"

"So what's a nurse . . . practitioner?"

"I care for your children in conjunction with the neonatologist."

Susie stirs, "Logan, who's there?" Sounds like she has cotton in her mouth.

"Chittra Dave'," she answers.

"Chittra! Oh rats." Susie gropes near her pillow, "Did the remote fall?"

"Right here," I fish the thing out from between the mattress and safety rail and hand it over.

The lights go up and Susie grunts raising the back of the bed.

"Easy does it, darlin'." I'm pretty worthless helping her adjust the pillows but she graces me with a grateful smile just the same.

"I'm fine," she says and motions for us to sit. "Ice chips, please." The request's aimed at me.

Chittra declines the invite to park, "Thanks, but if I do, I'll never get up again."

"Ooh, ow!" Susie groans.

Oh shit! Like an idiot, I plunked down too hard on the edge of the bed. "Sorry babe!" I say easing off for the bedside chair.

She motions me to stay put, "'S okay. Just be still."

"Busy night?" Sue questions the chick between crunching ice chips.

"Very, which is why no one has been to see you sooner. My apologies."

Sue flashes a sad, knowing smile.

I suck in a breath looking for clues to how this conversation's going down. Chittra's body language and scent suggest nothing she ain't seen before.

Medical-talk flies fast and furious. I hear stuff like transfusions and ventilators, which I get. I hear RDS, SGA and lots of numbers, which I don't get.

Left out and pissed, I butt in, "So what're we looking at? Are they okay or not?"

"Uh . . . oh. . . Yes," Chittra sputters. "But you must understand it is day to day and this may be the case for several more weeks."

That ain't the answer I wanna hear. "Whyzzat?"

"It's simply the nature of very premature infants. For many it's steady progression. For others it's two steps forward, one step backward."

Another non-answer. "You're saying you don't know," There's rancor in my voice masking what I really feel; scared stiff and powerless.

Susie reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. Dunno know whether the shake of her head means to ease my worries or for me to shut up.

"No, I do not." Chittra's soft-spoken but candid,"Allow me to approach this from a different perspective." Her voice is calm but her scent says I've got her on the defensive, "Right now, they are both stable. While they both suffer common complications of premature infants . . ."

"What complications?"

There she goes with a litany of bullshit that takes a degree to understand, "Keep it simple, lady."

"They require mechanical assistance to breathe. They're being nourished with feeding tubes, medicated intravenously. I'm sure this sounds quite grim but I assure you it is all within the normal realm for their gestational age."

If it weren't for their calm vibes, it would be easy surrendering to the icy cold dread creeping into my gut. But, it's impossible curbing my frustration, "What's the fucking bottom line?"

"Logan, please don't be angry with Chittra." Tears well in Susie's eyes as her stress level rockets through the stratosphere.

Shit! Pacing, I rake my fingers through my hair. "Ain't pissed. I . . . I need to understand."

"Would seeing them help?" Chittra offers softly.

"I can do that?"

"Of course. Someone hasn't offered already?"

No more than ten minutes later, Chittra hooks me up with a nurse named Carole. She's tall, on the skinny side with a shock of frizzy brown hair tied back in a braid half way down her back. She gives off an aura of seen-it-all but she don't seem jaded.

Can't say I'm not torn up seeing the twins like this — without Susie the first time. Seems like we oughtta be together. But she's too doped from surgery so that ain't happening 'til tomorrow.

It's a hike down the a long, dimly lit corridor, lined on both sides with private rooms, just like the one Susie occupies, that ends at a massive center hub – the nurses' station Carole tells me. Oriented like a compass, three more corridors connect to the hub, each entry sealed by double pneumatic doors.

Like Susie's room, this area is decorated up the wahzoo; made to look like a cross between nursery school and a kiddie storybook. We don't just pass into the NICU; oh no, the doors are painted up in a mural with Peter Cottontail.

Gimme a break! Weirder yet, how the hell do I even know the frickin' little rabbit?

Through the doors to bunny land, we encounter another smaller hub. There are banks of computers and monitors equal to or maybe better than the med-lab back at Xaviers. Carole makes introductions but clarifies that she and another woman is assigned to the twins for the night shift.

I ask, "Who's days?"

"I don't know. That'll be assigned tomorrow; well, probably the director's already made the assignments. I won't know 'til shift change."

She points to the left, "There's a lounge over there with a mini-kitchen, bathroom and a playroom. For obvious reasons, the units are restricted to immediate family, usually no more than three at a time. So, the waiting room's for extra visitors."

"Nice," I mutter but I really don't give a shit . . . about the lounge anyway. "What stands for security around here?"

She smells as surprised by the question as she looks, "That's not a question I've gotten before but glad you asked. First, everybody checks in at the desk. If someone isn't on a list you and your wife specify, they are referred back to the main waiting area." She detaches a magnetic key card clipped to her tunic pocket. "You and Doctor Sue should be getting a set of these soon, probably by tomorrow morning when the social worker comes to call. Nobody gets into your babies' room without these."

I nod, sort of satisfied. Won't keep a determined Mutant with the right skills out. For the moment, that's not a problem and it's up to me to make sure it stays that way. Starting with a certain shape shifter who's gonna resemble regurgitated dog food when I'm done with him.

She inserts the key card into a door with a narrow, vertical glass pane. We enter a comfortably lit cubby. Beyond that, it's dim. Mechanical humming, muted beeps and whooshes emanating from the darkness make the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention.

"Lesson number one," Carole continues. "You hafta scrub." She pushes me right, toward a sink. "And I don't mean a rub and rinse. Roll up your sleeves, please."

She scolds, "Nope. Above the elbows." Pointing to a shelf above the sink, "Now grab one of those. Probably one marked XL."

"Whassat?"

"Sterile gown and oh, it ties in the back. Okay?"

I shrug and slip into a banana yellow paper sack. It smells as funny as everything else.

"The instructions for scrubbing in are right here," she points to a poster mounted next to the sink.

I nod and lather myself from elbows to finger tips. The antiseptic soaps fumes are like inhaling lye and I feel my eye watering.

Carole notices, "Are you allergic?"

"Sorta." It's a lie we both can live with.

"Hmm. I'll make certain we get a different soap. "

"Appreciate it."

It's not the first time she looks me over but it's obvious this time. Curiosity is about the make her break out, "Can I ask you a personal question?"

I shrug, "Sure."

"What happened to your eye?"

"I'm the poster child for what happens when ya play with firecrackers."

Her expression's priceless and for a second, just to be an obnoxious SOB, I leave her hanging. "Nah. I got debris in it and . . . my doc said keep it covered for a while."

She winces and chuckles nervously before moving on with the scrub out lesson, "The NICU can be a pretty intimidating place."

I grunt. You got no clue, sister.

"C'mon." She toggles a switch on the wall, lighting the space beyond.

I freeze dead in place. Holy shit! I've seen a lot in my life but nothing, nada, zip prepared me for this.

A radiant heater casts an eerie orange glow over a shallow, plastic tank fed by an ugly tangle of tubes, wires and hoses. Machines twitter, muted green and red lights blink like holiday decorations on speed. Somewhere under this junk is my kids.

Fuckin'A! The blood pounds inside my skull as a potent flashback surges like wildfire through my head; my nightmares come to life - in miniature.

Keep a lid on it, bub!

Carole's voice penetrates my shock while she nudges me forward, "Even when you know what's going on with your babies most parents are terrified their children are very sick. Thankfully, that's not usually the case. Most preemies are basically healthy though just immature . . ."

So tiny, so fragile. Their skin is like blue veined tissue, almost transparent. If I touch them will they break?

"Believe it or not, it won't be long before you become familiar with the gadgetry and it won't seem so threatening . . ."

Hell it won't! Tension's brewing, threatening to erupt like warm beer foam, "Why're they tied down?"

"So they don't accidently dislodge their breathing tube or monitors."

"How long they gotta be like this?"

"Mmm, all things considered probably not very long but the doctor is going to be the one to give you a better estimate."

Another run around answer! I make to dry wash my face but think better of it. Don't wanna scrub out again.

"By the way, have you chosen names yet?"

"Uh . . . Collin and Colleen."

"Nice names."

Squeezing my eyes shut against visions of the same old shit, her yammering's lost to the chaos in my mind. From the hold Styker's still got on me to what I am . . . a fucking weapon. I'm just fucking sick of it. And this clusterfuck with the shape shifter hammers in the truth. I can't protect them. I'd die trying but I'm just one man.

Carole's got my elbow again,"Doing alright, Mister Logan?"

Fuck no. Everything about this place reminds me of pain, terror, helplessness . . . reminds me of hell on earth. "Yeah."

"Don't beat yourself up. Lots of dads have a tough time in the beginning."

She's pegging me to pansy out. She's right but not for the reasons she's thinking.

She nudges me closer, "Would you like to touch them?"

What? No . . . yeah. Christ! I might break 'em. I shake my head but she's not taking no for an answer.

Explaining, "They need touch," her fingers trace a feather soft path across my palms and between my fingers. "It's calming to them. They're healthier and develop faster if they're touched and cuddled."

With same soft touch, she persuades me forward, "Go ahead, just like I showed you. I promise you won't hurt them."

My god! I could cradle one of them in my palm. They feel warm and velvet soft and yeah, crushable with the pressure I could muster in one finger.

There's a scent I've never encountered before and I suck it in. A purity so subtle and deep it cuts through the hospital funk.

It's their scent!

It taps into the animal; awakens my protective instincts. They're mine! And it scares the hell outta me.

Jesus H. Christ! I AM a dad!

I don't know whether to howl at the moon or bust out laughing or crying.

I suddenly want - need to know everything about them, "Who's who?"

"Pink cap for girls, blue for boys."

"Uh, I knew that."

Can't see much of their faces for the damn breathing tubes but sticking out beneath their tiny caps I can see that my little girl's got dark hair, like mine; my boys is dark and flecked with honey-gold, more like his mom.

Carole flashes a smile and good-natured giggle, "They've got your ears!"

Lacking earlobes, damn if they don't! I close my eyes, offering a quick and silent plea they don't share another trait of mine — claws.

"Ya say they're really okay?"

"I'm not their doctor but I don't see anything out of the ordinary for babies their size." It's a scripted answer but it's honest. She gestures over her shoulder, "I'm close by if you need anything."

I mutter, "Thanks," sensing more than witnessing her departure.

At the sound of my voice, I guess, my baby girl turns her little face toward me. A pair of the biggest grey-blue eyes I've ever seen peek from under a lush fringe of deep brown lashes.

I ain't a sentimental sop but yeah, I think my heart just skipped a beat, "Hey little darlin'."

Soft as a feather, I stroke her little arms, "You're . . . so . . . pretty . . . just like your mom."

My little man joins the party, vigorously squirming against his bonds. "Hey, hey tiger," I soothe with my voice and soft touch.

What're they feeling? Does this shit they're hooked to hurt? I breathe them in. No pain. No fear. Call it an equal mix of confusion and curiosity.

"I'm gonna take care of ya's."

Collin locks his eyes with mine. Damn! Is that a smile curving around the breathing tube? I feel myself smile back.

Something warm curls around my index finger. I glance down and see Collin, my little son, his tiny fingers clinging to me like the gesture is the most natural thing in the world.

"Helluva grip for a little guy!" I chuckle.

Emotion grabs me, constricting my throat and making my eyes burn.

Whasis?

I swallow hard but the lump in my throat won't go. A big fat tear slides down my cheek and I turn my head away so that no one sees it soak into the sterile gown.

Shit!

I slide my finger out of Collin's grasp, "See ya lil' darlins'."

Mumbling, "Gotta go," to the nurse, I rabbit, too afraid of the emotions threatening to drag me down the hole.

xXx

A/N- It's been forever and I know I said in my profile I'd be setting up a website of my own but it hasn't happened. So, here's another update. I won't bore you with the details why it's taken so long and I won't try estimating how long until another update happens. Thanks go to the usual suspects, particularly my best beta; she knows who she is. Enjoy the chapter and please review.