Before you get started, since it's been such a long time between updates, let me catch you up. In the previous chapter Logan's attempt to extract information from the shape shifter is thwarted. Tensions among Logan, Wendy and her mother escalate. Finally, feeling a sense of urgency, Logan and the Team put plans in motion to enlist the help of SHIELD to deal with Replications and Weapon Plus.
In this chapter, Logan and Sue ride out more turbulence of the family-oriented variety. All is not roses in the Harris-Logan household.
Keep in mind that even though I started this story almost three years ago(!), not quite a month has gone by in 'story-time'. [Is that pathetic updating or what? Can't help it. Life seriously mucks up the Muse.]
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Wiped out from two hours of family bonding, I groan and stretch as much as I dare in my hospital bed. Logan and the boys have just left for the roof top heli-pad. I've got my fingers and toes crossed and singing high praise over how nicely Logan and Travis got along this time. After the Christmas holiday debacle, I wouldn't have bet a wooden nickel on them being together in the same room. Time smoothes over the rough edges, I guess, and maybe Trav's grown up a little. Whatever the reason, I'm grateful.
Sighing, I'm on the verge of tears recounting an ever increasing list of crap to cope with. "Cut it out," I say out loud to the four walls. "You're hormonal. You're not twenty four hours post surgery. You're hurting and pushing too quickly," is my self-justification for a sudden case of the weepy's. Contemplating the positives isn't working right now.
The bedside phone ringing shocks me out of my melancholy. "Doctor Harris," I answer out of habit, though my usual starch is lacking.
"Hi. This is Julie at the front desk. I'm really sorry to disturb you but there's a courier asking to deliver an envelope."
"That's fine. Have him leave it and my husband can get it on his way back."
I hear muffled conversation from the front desk before Julie reveals, "He says the letter must be signed for by you only."
Huh? I scour my brain for possibilities. I'm not expecting anything by courier. I sigh into the phone, "I'll be there in a few minutes."
With a vertical row of staples in my belly, my arm in a sling and every inch of my body aching, it takes forethought and time to haul myself out of bed. Non-narcotic pain killers can only do so much. Shuffling down the hall, it occurs to me I probably look like hell but I really don't give a damn. This jackass courier better be delivering notification of me winning the freaking gazillion dollar power ball lottery.
It's a struggle but I muster a watery version of my professional voice, "How may I help you?"
Why do couriers always look like they need a shower; two days ago? This guy scores a new low in skuzzy with a uniform that might have come from Goodwill© rejects and he really needs to pick the lint from the dreadlocks sticking out from beneath his greasy, frayed cap. Yuck! Leaning against the nurses' workstation, I swear he was picking his nose just a moment before I spoke.
Eww! Maybe I'll glove before receiving whatever he's got for me!
"Need t' see yo' ID," he demands sounding bored out of his tree.
Seriously! "Will my patient bracelet suffice?" I don't conceal the condescension in my voice.
Unfazed, he quickly glances between it and me, grunts and produces an electronic signature pad,"Sign 'dis."
"Who is it from?" Pausing, I'm not keen signing for something unexpected or unsolicited.
He shrugs, "Dunno lady. I jus' delivers what 'dey tell me to."
Like I expect any other reply? Sighing, I scratch my name on the screen.
Producing a standard yellow business envelope from a beat up nylon pouch, he hands it over, turns on his heel and skee-daddles without a thanks, go to hell or anything. Customer courtesy isn't what it used to be!
Whatever!
Damn! Damn! Damn!
The return address on the envelope is from my ex-husbands attorney. Suddenly, I feel as substantial as jelly and lean against the nurse stations counter.
Julie asks, "Are you okay, Doctor?" just as Logan steps out of the elevator.
No, I'm not and Logan apparently senses as much. Just as my knees buckle and the envelope flutters to the floor, he's got me scooped in his arms, "What the hell ya doin', darlin'?'"
"Put me down," I complain as he carries me back to my room.
"There ya go." He eases me onto the bed and examines the envelope, "What's this?"
I swipe it away, "I don't know. It just came by courier and I had to sign for it."
"Who's it from?"
Ripping it open, I say, "Allen's attorney."
Shaking his head, Logan mutters,"Shit!"
Reading verbatim to myself and paraphrasing out loud Byzantine legalese for Logan's benefit, I think I might vomit under-standing exactly what it is I'm seeing.
"Blah, blah, blah, County of Westchester . . . Matthew Allen Harris . . . . defendant[s] Susan Harris-Logan and James Logan present[s] a credible threat contrary to the safety and welfare of the child [ren] to remain in the home."
Rattling the papers, I screech, "Oh my god! That low-down, miserable, conniving, weasel!"
"This court hereby declares an emergency order granting Sole legal custody of minor child [ren] named above to Allen Leonard Harris . . ."
I don't need to see any more. Heartsick and enraged, I hurl the papers away. "I'll have his nuts in a vice," I holler and fall back against the pillows, sobbing hard enough so that the staples in my belly tug and burn.
I only vaguely notice Logan snagging the fluttering stack before it litters the floor. The next thing I'm aware of is my husband plunking down beside me and pulling me into his arms.
"Sshh, sshh. It's okay."
"It is not okay," I blubber into his shirt, my rage still bubbling. "This is all calculated. He threatened to do this . . . it's his game . . . he waits 'til the moment is right . . . he knows he's got me at a disadvantage. It's his revenge . . . he's mucked up his life . . . again . . . so, he's trying to make me pay . . . and you know he's playing the mutant card . . . but it's Matthew who . . . who. . . gets jerked around . . . and that son of a bitch doesn't give a . . . a flying . . ."
Releasing a bass growl, Logan interrupts my rambling, "It's time me 'n dick cheese have a chat."
"No, no. You know that's exactly what he wants. If you go anywhere near him, have any words, he'll just use it against us."
Suddenly, I feel a gush in my underwear.
"Jesus Christ!" Logan reacts to the scent as quickly as I feel the sensation. Wide eyed, there's a rare look of utter panic on his face.
"I'm okay. This is normal." I motion for a hand getting off the bed and trudge to the bathroom. I hope the scent of postpartum masks my worry that this gusher feels a bit heavier than normal.
I hear Logan boots scuff across the floor as he paces. "You okay?" filters through the door.
"Yes," I console while tending to my ablutions. It's the truth. There are no ominous signs, though it won't stay that way if I keep going like I am. I don't want to take the stronger pain killers but Allen's bombshell is the topper. I'm physically and emotionally at the end of the line.
Logan knows it, too and I don't put up much resistance as he leads me back to bed. "I'll sit with the 'em," is his answer when I plead to stay by the twins' isolettes.
"I'll call Sandra," is his solution to the custody issue. Arms crossed, studying me, worry lines his face, "You're hurtin', aren't ya, darlin'?"
I nod as he presses the call button, summoning a nurse.
Not two minutes pass before there's a knock on the door. "Well, hello there." Betty's back on shift. She takes one look and me and scolds, "Just look at you. You're pale as those bed sheets. Why's it you doctors never, ever follow your own advice?"
"We don't sue ourselves," is my weak reply.
"Tchk, tchk, tchk. You hav'ta do better than that." Activating the laptop medical recorder, she notes my last dose of meds.
The twins on IV nutrition relegate me to pumping and dumping my breast milk and I desperately need deep rest, so it's a no brainer acquiescing, "I'll take hydrocodone this time."
"Yes ma'am," she says and commences taking my vitals. Clucking her tongue again, she mutters, "What have you been doing? Your temperature's elevated."
"What's that mean?" Logan's poised to jump down her throat.
I ask, "How much elevated, Betty?"
"One hundred point eight."
Logan wrapping his knuckles against the rolling tray table says more than words but lacking strength to engage more than one conversation at a time, I shush him with a look.
Running a mental checklist of all the diagnostic possibilities, I play doctor to myself. Logan looks at me like I'm demented asking him, "Please fill up my water pitcher"
"Betty, will you please check me in an hour?"
She knows what I'm up to and it's obvious she's debating following hospital protocol versus my orders. She nods, emphasizes, "One hour," and exits.
Arms crossed over his chest, Logan drills me with arched brows, "What the hell?"
Raising and wiggling my index finger says hang on a minute while I chug a tumbler of water. "I'm going to finish this pitcher, go potty and then take a nap. You're going to call Sandra and sit with the twins."
He sucks in his left cheek, probably chewing on it. "Right but ya wanna answer my question?"
"Which one?" I'm being deliberately obtuse.
"What's an elevated temperature mean?"
I fan my hand, "Probably nothing . . ."
He erupts,"Bullshit! Can't hardly cut the stink o'worry 'round here with my claws."
"I said probably nothing but I could have the start of an infection. That's why I need you to handle things and let me rest. If it's really an infection my temperature will continue to rise. If I've just overdone it, hydrating and rest will result in my temperature normalizing."
He sighs, "Ya sure?"
I snap, "Are you second guessing me?" no doubt a result of fatigue and pain.
He sinks into the chair beside the bed and bows his head. Taking my hand in his, he looks and sounds almost as rough as I feel. "No, darlin'. I just . . ." His voice wavers and he clears his throat. "I just don't need any more shit to deal with."
Affected by his atypical expression of vulnerability, I feel myself tear up. "I know, I know." I squeeze his hand, "All things hospital, medical freak you out."
His chuckle is humorless, "Yeah."
"Understand that infection is fairly common after cesarean birth, especially emergencies, like mine. Worst case scenario is I'll be stuck on IV antibiotics for a few days."
"Okay but . . ."
Big but, bub. Infection means I'm banned from the NICU, from our babies. "No buts," I fib. "I'll be fine."
"I get that part but there's something else. Talk to me . . . . please."
It's my turn to gawk at him like he's grown another head or something. "How about everything, Logan? I mean, what part of our entire lives isn't in total chaos right now?"
Studying my face, he sniffs then leans closer, burying his nose in my hair. Murmuring, "What can I do?" I feel despair and futility reflected in his voice.
I kiss his bearded cheek, "You're already doing it," and motion for him to crawl into bed beside me. "Hold me while I fall asleep."
xXx
"Yes. Come in," is my response to an expected knock on the door to my study.
Though physically appealing, there are certain individuals with whom, try as I might, I have difficulty abiding. Marla Jennings is one of those. Sighing, I steeple my fingers before my face in private supplication.
Gesturing to a chair opposite mine, "Please, have a seat," I needlessly offer as she assumes the initiative. "Coffee? Tea?"
"No thank you." Her tone is peremptory, just shy of rude. Crossing her legs, she rotates her ankle. Hands clasped too tightly in her lap, her fingers tips turn red.
"Very well. How may I assist you this morning?"
"I'm sure you already know."
"Aware of your preference for verbal communication, I shan't presume ."
"Oh! Well, I appreciate your indulgence."
Ignoring my expression of pained endurance, she commences, "Professor, I need to know exactly what it is you are doing for Wendy as well as what I can expect."
"With regards to?"
"Controlling her telepathic and empathic abilities."
"We've just begun the process I delineated a few days ago. Concerning prognoses, I'm confident Wendy shall achieve restraint of her abilities. With control, I'm optimistic she will come to accept, even delight in her abilities. However, I shan't proffer any guarantee."
"How long 'til she attains this control?"
"Marla. . . May I call you that? Please understand. Every telepath is unique. There is no standard methodology or timetable. Her emergent abilities impart unpredictable variables to the equation."
"My daughter is not an algebra problem."
"Of course, she isn't. Please forgive my insensitive analogy." . . . You supercilious gluteus canker. . . "I needn't tell you what an intelligent, lovely young lady Wendy is. But I will remind you that a young person with exceptional abilities presents complex challenges."
Tossing her head and smiling for the first time she says, "And how."
"Flexibility is key in facilitating her progress. What works today may not tomorrow or further along."
"Yes, yes. I understand. But, how long, Charles?"
"At this point, it's premature to predict."
"This is ridiculous! You call yourself an expert? Say you've helped other children like Wendy? Surely you must have some idea."
"In a few more weeks, yes, I may be more confident in offering some sort of timetable."
"Care to enlighten me as to the mitigating factors surrounding your reluctance in providing a timetable now?"
"The impact of her father's genetic contribution justifies my caution."
"Hmm. That covers a lot of territory. Please be more specific."
"Logan's feral nature, for one. Due to a dearth of research, ferals are not well understood. Surely, your involvement with Weapons Plus illuminated some of the difficulties conducting even the simplest controlled studies of ferals."
"Point taken."
"Combining that with Logan's healing factor, which Wendy seems to have inherited, though at a much lower level, complicates the process, perhaps even the outcome."
"What's a healing factor have to do with anything?"
"It's unproven but evidence indicates that there is an emotional-cognitive-psychic component to Logan's healing factor."
"Are you suggesting Wendy may be afforded a level of psychic protection?"
"It certainly should not be ruled out."
"Oh my god!" Marla cups both hands over her mouth, "Or psychic resistance. Logan used to make a game of thwarting brain washing techniques."
"Correct you are, and resultant of traumatic manipulation . . ."
"The adamantium bonding procedure?"
I nod, "Logan's resistance has grown exponentially."
Momentarily silent, her circumspect expression is a ruse. Confounded over Wendy and still enamored with the girl's father, the woman is a cauldron of fermenting discord.
"Ahem," I clear my throat in a polite effort to keep on topic. "Another significant unknown is the apparent psi-bonding that has taken place between Wendy and Logan. Though he has no telepathic abilities and she does not exhibit feral characteristics, I cannot say with any certainty whether they have or have not bonded on some level."
Animated, the woman gestures with her hands, "Yes, yes. That's the reason I asked to meet with you. Besides the nightmares, last night she apparently mirrored his mental state."
"Oh?"
"At one point, she swore he was in distress to the point of tears. I don't know if it was true but I had to physically restrain her from going to him."
"Go on."
"It seems to me that over the past few days, her connection to him has grown stronger. Aside from a level of inappropriate-ness, what is such unfettered access to Logan's mind doing to her? And with his ability to block intrusion, why isn't he? You must understand why I'm beside myself?"
"Are you able to ascertain whether she's accessing his thoughts or his emotions?"
"A bit of both though I believe it's primarily emotions."
"Hmm. Wendy's empathic abilities are extraordinary, beyond me, and I am uncertain of Logan's ability to block empathic intrusion. You do raise serious concerns that I'm not able to offer an immediate solution to."
"Perhaps Wendy and I should leave."
"In other circumstances, I might agree and may offer and excellent alternative. However, until the Ruchinsky, et al problem is resolved, I'm afraid leaving is not only unwise but dangerous."
"Well, something must be done, and very soon."
"Would you consent to joint sessions involving Logan and Wendy?"
"That's not my preference. Isn't it possible to consel on an individual basis?"
"I'll discuss it with Logan, however, please consider that success may be limited without it."
"If that becomes the only alternative then I insist on being included."
"Considering your rapport with Logan is noticeably fraught, might your inclusion this early in the process be somewhat disadvantageous?"
"What? I'm her mother. How dare you insinuate . . ."
"I insinuate nothing, madam. To be blunt, your unresolved issues with Logan are subverting your own prudence."
She springs from the chair, arms flung over her head, "That's garbage! I had the good sense to bring her here."
"Yes you did. Now have the good sense to restrain your sentiments toward Logan, at least in your daughters' presence."
She shakes her head, "Easier said than done, Charles," and sinks back into the chair. "What is the alternative you mentioned?"
"A colleague and former student of mine is headmistress of a school in northwestern Massachusetts. Her school serves both Mutant and Normal students and is gender segregated between separate campuses."
"Interesting. Odd sort of separation. Why only gender?"
"She models it after traditional preparatory schools. It's an approach I understand but choose not to mimic."
"I actually prefer that kind of arrangement. What else does she offer?"
"A faculty of very gifted men and women devoted exclusively to education."
She flashes a knowing smile. "That is a huge comfort."
"Richer extracurricular activities are another. Her arts program is well respected. A significant plus considering Wendy's interest and skill in dance." I pause allowing a moment for contemplation, "Once it is safe for you and Wendy, Snow Valley Prep may be the best place for her, as my ability to guide her in matters empathic are limited."
"She has someone like Wendy on staff?"
"Yes indeed. A wonderful woman who until about a year ago was on my staff, our cook, actually. But her credentials go far beyond the culinary arts."
"Interesting story, I'm sure. Charles, might it be possible to secretly transfer Wendy there now?"
"Yes, it is within our capability. However, Snow Valley is not fortified and Ms. Frost must be willing to assume the risk should something go awry. At the moment, I believe the risks to all involved far outweigh any benefit."
She sighs, "I think I understand," and sighs again. "This situation is maddening. I feel utterly powerless."
"Rest assured, the situation is being actively handled. Keep your wits and be patient."
xXx
Whispering, "Sorry darlin'," I slide my half-asleep arm from underneath Sue's shoulders. Doped with painkillers, she's dead weight and doesn't even twitch.
Muttering, "Ow," I flex my fingers and shake my arm. Healing factor kicks in and in a few seconds I'm good as new. Wish I could give some o'that magic to Sue.
Chuckling, I blot a trickle of drool from her chin with the edge of the bed sheet. Nurse Betty's coming back in what? I check my watch. Forty minutes to check her temperature. Good luck with that.
Laying in my arms, she felt warm, soft, good. Not feverish. Stinking of ammonia, rotting meat and raw sewage, to me infection's worse than death. Sue reeks of anesthesia, afterbirth and the painkiller she just swallowed but not infection. But, heap on layers of hospital funk and emotions run amok, even my senses might miss something.
All right, got me a list to tick off. Nuzzling cheek to cheek with the mother of my children - Wow! Get my head around that? I whisper, "Sleep tight," grab the custody summons and make tracks to hunt down a fax machine.
Hunt it is, too. My first obstacle is a double tiered cart just outside the door of Sue's room. It overflows with flowers. Nice. Checking out the greetings, I see Xavier, staff and student body is on the ball.
Damn! There are two more carts of posies standing sentry by the nurses' station. More for Sue! This batch is from her colleagues at her clinic and here at the hospital.
Aw man! This is just plain sick! I damn near snap out the claws and mow down a bunch of roses. Restraining myself, I growl, "Mother fuckin' bastard." I'll give Sue the pleasure disposing, wrecking or whatever she wants of this thing from Allen.
"What's wrong, Mister Logan?" Nurse Julie's one of those eternally happy types. The fuckin' apocalypse land at her doorstep and she'd have a smile pasted on her freckled little face.
"Don't ask, sweet face."
"Oh. Sorry." Is it that little shimmy she does that resets that doofy smile? "Betty said to deliver all these later. Is Doctor Sue awake? Do you want them now? It's no problem."
Christ! Perky and a motor mouth. Surrendering, I raise my hands, "Just lookin' for a fax machine."
"That's easy."
She's so goddamn bubbly, I wonder if she'll spooge if I shake her?
"Down this hall," she points right. "Second door on the left is our complimentary patient work center. You'll find faxes, copiers, high speed internet hook ups, everything you need."
She sounds just like a frikin' commercial 'r somethin'. "Thanks."
The work center is probably a converted storage room with three cubicles, a dusty row of shelving stacked with copy paper, phone books and other rudimentary office junk. Damn! In one corner is one of those fax, copy, everything machines that takes an engineering degree to work or a crack secretary to work it for ya.
I'm in luck, though. Directions posted on the wall beside it ought to be titled faxing for dummies. I scroll for Sandra's phone number on my cell phone.
Figures, voice mail. "Hey . . . um, it's Logan . . . you know . . . Susan Harris' husband . . . Um . . . we got a situation and . . . um. . . need to talk to ya, ay-sap."
Clicking off, I realize I didn't leave a number. "It's Logan again. Forgot the number. Sorry." Mid-recitation, the phone beeps for an incoming call. Caller ID reads S. Chapman.
"Hey. Just leavin' ya the number."
"Yes, I just figured that out. No worries. I've got you two programmed in. So, you have a situation. How can I help?"
"Gimme your fax number and I'll send it."
"Okay. You're lucky. I just happen to be in my office. Fax away," she says after revealing the number.
She asks,"Where are you?" while I'm fiddling with the fax.
"The hospital."
"What?"
"Ya heard me. Sue delivered last night."
"Oh my goodness. She's not due for a while yet. Oh dear. Is everyone okay?"
"Yeah. They had to cut her."
"Oh no."
"Got it yet?" comes out unfairly rough but I'm not in a talkin' mood.
"Oh boy! Do I ever." The connection goes quiet except for a couple of tongue clicks. "Okay," She lets out a slow sigh. "What's Sue want me to do?"
"Make it go away."
"I'm sure. They've had an agreement in place for ages. What the heck precipitated this sudden change?"
"It's complicated."
"It always is. Okay. I think I need to meet with you two."
"Was hopin' you'd say that."
"Is Sue up for it?"
"Sorta has to be, ya know."
"When's a good time?"
"Couple hours. Three or Four?"
"I'll split the difference. See you at three-thirty."
"Thanks, lady."
"You're welcome. Oh, and congratulations."
"Uh . . . yeah. Thanks." Hope she caught it before we disconnected.
xxx
Beating a path to the NICU, it feels like I have lead weights attached to my legs. I wanna be with my kids but I don't wanna be with 'em there.
"Good afternoon, Mister Logan," snatches me from the pit of dread. It's the nurse at check-in. "It was nice to meet your older sons. You must be proud."
"Can't claim credit. They're Sue's from her first husband."
Her scent and flushed cheeks says she's embarrassed by her blunder. "Well, either way it's easy to see they're good boys."
For sure, one's all right. Jury's still out on the other. I flash an appreciative half-grin, "Thanks."
Double doors hiss open in response to her waving a scanner over my hospital issue ID wristband. "You've got about an hour 'til shift change," she warns.
I nod. That's okay by me. An hour's probably about what I can handle.
Busy tapping away at keyboards and chattering, Chelsey and LaDonna, the twins' day team nurses, greet me with practiced thousand watt smiles.
"Be right with you," says LaDonna, a willowy, knockout of a black woman.
All-righty then, time to scrub up. Shucking out of my flannel shirt, it's easier than rolling up the sleeves plus with the gown over top, it's too warm for my blood, I stash it, my watch and cell phone in the locker.
Nice. They did change out the soap. Potent antiseptic, the fumes still burns my eyes, makes me feel like there's sand in my throat.
"You can wear your street clothes under the gown," LaDonna says as she eases up behind me.
"Kinda warm in there," I say and rinse the caustic smelling foam off my arms.
"No lie there," she chuckles. "Just so you know, Peanut and Thumbelina . . ."
"Peanut? Thumbelina?"
"We always give our NICU babies nicknames."
"Right." Dunno why, but I take offense. "Well, their names are Collin and Colleen. If they're to get nicknames, how 'bout their mom and I figure 'em out?"
"Um, oh. Sorry, Mister Logan." Her remorse is genuine. "It's just that, well, sometimes parents don't always name their little one's right away. We just think nicknames are, well, nicer than Baby two-thirteen or whatever."
It's my turn to feel sorry. "Makes sense. Didn't mean to jump down your throat."
Her lips curve into a thin smile but her eyes and scent tells me she's wary, "Thanks, but you know, Collin and Colleen are terrific names. We'll go with them and then everybody's happy."
I shrug, sort of sorry I made waves but not enough to completely back track.
"Anyway," she continues, "Collin and Colleen are a little jaundiced so they're are under the bili lights." She slides the key card and I track on her heels.
"What the hell's this?" Belligerence in my voice is camouflage for a cold slap of shock and fear. The wires and tubes are bad enough, now they've got blindfolds taped over their little faces.
Reacting to voices, the twins twitch. Over their new-baby scent, I catch a whiff of alarm.
"It's okay. Neither jaundice or the lights cause any pain."
Toning it down, I ask, "What's with their eyes?" but figure it out before she explains, "The lights can hurt their vision."
Makes sense. I nod
"And you know, some babies actually prefer the eye shields. Cuts down on too much stimulation to immature nervous systems."
I sigh and stop myself, just barely, from raking my hand through my hair. Repeat scrubbing is a task I'm keen to avoid. "Jaundice, that's when their skin turns yellow, right?"
"Yes."
"What causes it?"
"Their liver and intestines haven't matured enough for them to be able to get rid of a substance called bilirubin. The lights convert the bilirubin into something their little bodies can get rid of more easily."
"How long they gotta be like this?"
"Usually a few days. Maybe as long as a week?"
"Damn," I mutter. Why the hell didn't Susie mention this? "Can I touch 'em?"
"Oh, for sure. I can even turn off the lights for a bit and take off their eye covers."
Cooing and making baby-talk, she liberates my babies. My little girl breaks into a yawn ending in squeak that sounds something like a chipmunk. My little man, still tubed to breathe, wiggles and flexes his arms and legs as much as his restraints let him.
"Since your lil' girl's off the respirator, you can hold her."
"Uh . . ."
Yeah, print chicken shit across my forehead. Can do. Ain't gonna 'cuz one, I might break the kid, and two, Sue'll never forgive me if I get first dibs.
"Has Sue held her yet?"
"No. When she had your older son's in, she said she wanted to wait 'til you were there."
She did? Damn. I feel a lump form in my throat. "I'll, uh . . . ahem, wait for her."
"That's just fine, Mister Logan. I'll leave you to set for a while. You just buzz if you need anything."
Settling down in the chair between their beds gets me almost eye level with them. Pity, in this stupid scrub gown I probably look like a yellow blob through their plastic cribs.
"Hey, lil' darlin's. It's your ol'..." Man dies on my lips. Don't need to hear that from me. There'll be plenty o'times they'll be calling me ol'man . . . and worse. "It's your daa . . . dee."
Daddy. There, I said it. Wasn't so bad.
Stroking his cheek, Collin twitches and seems to pull away. Sensing uncertainty, I retreat and try to remember Carol's instructions from last night.
"Don't like that, Tiger? 'S okay. Daddy stop."
Gently massaging his arms and legs still doesn't seem soothing so I settle for offering my comparatively huge index fingers to his tiny hand.
God! Look at that. He's got fingernails! Perfect, miniature fingernails. Kinda long, too, if ya ask me. I little bit blue. That okay?
Conversely, my baby girl, turning her face toward my hand, thrusts her tiny pink tongue. Another touch and I swear she's trying to scoot towards my finger. Is that sucking motions she's making with her lips?
I laugh softly. "Sorry lil' darlin'. Daddy ain't got . . ."
Geeze! Bring it outta the basement, bub. Want her talking like a trucker when she's two or three?
"Daddy hasn't got the equipment you're lookin' for."
Gotta swear off swearing and kick the grammar up a notch or two.
"Yeah, lotsa changes coming," I explain as if they understand. "Your daddy's gotta get his sh . . . stuff together. Got some real nasty bad guys he's gonna . . . make go bye-bye."
Holy shit! What am I doing? Talking baby-talk? And they said getting married would change me. I'm hosed.
"After I fix the bad guys, I'm gonna build you and your momma a brand new house. I'll put in a dock by the lake so we can go swimming. How 'bout a great big swing set? Better yet, I'll build ya one o'those forts with swings and climbing ropes, a slide and everything."
"You gotta hurry up and grow. Ya know that?"
This is fantastic! They're looking right at me.
"You got a great big family itching to see ya. Did ya like Travis and Matt? Pretty cool big brothers, huh? Guess what? Ya got a big sister, too. Her name's Wendy. Then, you got a grandma and Aunt Julia. They're kinda grumpy, to your daddy, at least. But, I'll bet they're gonna spoil you two rotten."
"There's a bunch more who ain' . . . aren't blood relatives but I guarantee they'll be like family. Prob'ly closer."
I suddenly notice their grips on my fingers is gone. Eyes closed, they're sound asleep. I suck in a deep breath. My reward is the purest peace and calm I've ever encountered. It's the definition of sleep like a baby.
Drawing from their calm, I'm under no illusions I'll ever sleep that sound. Instead, I settle back in the easy-chair and meditate on this sliver of relative tranquility; probably the last to be had for a while.
Motion and the overhead lights coming up jolt me out of a snooze.
"Shift change, Mister Logan." It's LaDonna with an entourage. Carol's part of it, so afternoon shift, I guess.
Easing out of the chair, I stretch and groan. "Hope I didn't snore."
"Is that what the noise was? I thought somebody was running a power saw," Carol winks.
"Only a power saw? Damn, I'm usually better 'n that."
They answer with eye rolls and restrained laughter.
"Give it about an hour," LaDonna offers, "Then you and doctor Sue can come on back."
"Right. What's with this shift change? They didn't toss me outta Sue's room last time so how come yer tossin' me outta here?"
"It's not a rule that's etched in stone, like it is when the doctor's do rounds, but some parents find it upsetting to be around when we assess the babies conditions, perform tasks, administer treatments. Plus, there's a lot of information exchanged from one team to the next. So, it's just better for everyone, makes the transition smoother and safer this way."
I nod, satisfied with LaDonna's answer. Shuffling out, I pause at the door, "Does it mean anything if Collin's fingernails look blue?"
The answer's a longer time in coming than I like. Tinged with a mild whiff of alarm, LaDonna's answer, "In little one's like him, not necessarily but I'll page the doctor and have him checked," doesn't instill the reassurance she's probably aiming for.
xxx
Susie asking, "Did the boys get off okay?" pulls my attention from the TV I just stretch out on the couch to watch.
Just out of the shower, hair done up in a ponytail and easing herself into the recliner, she looks like she feels better. Don't think her head's completely in the game yet.
Teasing, I whistle a few notes of the Twilight Zone theme song, "Couple hours ago, remember?"
"Oh, right. Good grief. I'm so out of it."
"Eh, ya got an excuse. For now."
"Pfft," she sticks out her tongue. "What time is it?"
"Almost three."
"Mmm. Time went fast. Where've you been?"
"With the twins for a while then I mushed over to the diner for lunch."
"Mushed? Oh right. The snow. It's not plowed yet?"
"Oh yeah, it's plowed. Plowed and piled up on the curbs. Felt like a rat in a maze tryin' to get there."
"Fun."
"Ain't it, though."
"You could've eaten in the cafeteria."
"Mystery meat or rabbit food? No thanks."
"It's not that bad."
"The diner's better."
"True."
She fidgets and shifts in the chair, doing a lousy job of masking her pain.
"You okay?"
"Just stiff." She tugs on the strap draped over her shoulder. "And this damn sling is really bugging me."
Exhaling, I shake my head, wishing I could fix it for her.
She seems to get comfortable and goes quiet. With thirty minutes to kill 'til we meet with Sue's attorney, I vegetate with the TV once more.
A couple minutes later, "I broke the news to Aunt Colleen and George," interrupts nothing much.
I grunt.
Another minute passes, "Have you called your mother yet?"
I shake my head.
"Want me to?"
I shrug. Last thing I feel like handling is Queen Elizabeth's dramatics.
"It's not a problem if Aunt Colleen comes for a few weeks to help out, is it?"
"Huh? What for?"
"Helping with housekeeping, cooking. Free us up to be with the twins."
"Not much for her t'do."
"Oh, I know but she's a comfort and an extra pair of hands 'til I can hire full-time help."
Something in her voice says I'm being boxed into a corner. "Whadaya need that for. There's a whole school full o'volunteers."
There's a snarky edge to her voice, "That's not going to cut it. At some point we'll be needing a live-in nanny and I know I'm going to need the housekeeper on a weekly basis."
"Are you serious?"
"Completely"
"Well, I guess Charles'll prob'ly know somebody."
"I plan on asking him."
Is that pissed off I sense from her?
I suggest, "No rush, at least for a couple weeks. We'll make do just fine and it shouldn't be too tough getting your Aunt cleared."
"Whoa Logan."
Yep, pissed off.
"We're not going back to Xavier's to live."
And determined. Damn! Should have seen this coming
"Yeah, we are. At least 'til I settle things."
Peeved and determination escalates to full-blown bitch out, "Well, you better settle things fast because I'm going back to my house."
"What the hell's that mean?"
"I'm. Going. Home."
Is it spouse abuse if I turn her butt up and spank her?
"Darlin', I thought we had this settled."
"Not quite and with the twins coming early, well, they change everything"
I feel where she's coming from but damn if I can snap my fingers and change the situation.
"Sue, ya gotta believe me, the lockdown's more critical than you know."
"Screw the lockdown. That a major reason why I want to go home. I've got to be free to come and go while the twins are here."
"I know and I'll work it out. I promise. How many days 'til ya come home?"
"Four more days. Maybe five."
"Okay. I'll get it settled by then."
"How?"
"I'm working on it. I just need you to sit tight and not go ballistic on me if I'm not around as much as you want for the next couple days."
Tilting her head sideways, she beams a cool stare at me, "What details?"
"Trust me. It's safer if ya don't know."
"Oh right. If you tell me you hafta kill me." Slapping her palms against the chairs' armrests, she shouts, "That's bullshit, Logan."
I slam one fist into another, "Allright. Fine," then lacing my fingers together, I crack my knuckles." Nothing's set in stone right now but I'll tell ya what I can soon as I can."
"And when might that be?"
"Maybe t'morrow."
"Maybe tomorrow?"
"Yeah. I got a meeting set up with somebody."
"Who is somebody?"
The bedside phone rings. Sue grabs it, "Yes . . . Oh, thank you. Can someone bring her here?"
Sue nods in reply to me asking, "Sandra?"
"I'll get her," I volunteer for a long list of reasons.
xxx
"Darlin', I'm sorry . . . "
"Don't," she slaps my outstretched hands away.
Retreating like I've been doused in flame, I explain, "There's no other way."
Hands pressed together, head bowed, her voice quivers, "Maybe. Maybe not. All I know right now is that I'm beyond furious. I think you should go."
Rubbing the back of my neck, I sigh, "Yeah . . . okay."
I'm in the dog house and I deserve it. Tough as it is, Matt's safer with his father. But, it's killing me having her feel like I've sold her down the river.
She's crying again, soft, almost soundless sobs that tear into my heart. Murmuring, "Sorry," for the hundredth time, I smooth my hand over her hair.
She flinches, turns her back on me and whimpers, "So am I. Now just give me some space."
"I'll fix this, Susie. By the time you're ready to come home, I'll fix it all. I promise." Slinging my jacket over my shoulder, I shuffle towards the door.
"Logan," her voice quakes. "You didn't tell me who you're meeting with tonight."
Leaning against the doorframe, I stare at the floor, acutely aware that she's not going to like my answer. Reluctantly, my eyes, meet hers, "Nick Fury."
"Oh. My. God. Nick Fury, as in SHIELD Nick Fury?"
"Uh huh"
"Are you crazy? Why him?"
"Cuz he knows how to find Ruchinsky and maybe Luc Diebel."
Closing her eyes, she rocks her head from side to side, "I still hold that bastard partially responsible for you being hurt New Years Eve. Please, please be careful."
I nod. "I love ya. Be back soon as I can, okay."
"O - okay. Promise me one more thing?"
"Anything, darlin'."
"Before you do whatever it is, come back so we can hold Colleen and Collin."
Answering, "Okay," I'm anything but confident I can live up to it. My gut says whatever Fury's got on Ruchinsky and Dieble ain't gonna keep.
Latching the door closed and leaving it, leaving her like this, I feel split in two. Wolverine, protective of all that is his, lusts for bloody revenge. Logan, sick of looking over his shoulder and yearning for normal, wishes it'd all go away.
Crunching over packed down snow on my way to the station, I shiver as the wind bites to the bone. Fuckin' train better be running. Stomping their feet and complaining, a huddle of thickly wrapped and padded travelers crowd into the glassed enclosed platform next to the tracks. Preoccupied, I keep my distance.
Time to get into the game. Do what I do best.
XXX
A/N: Disclosure time: I don't own, Marvel does. I'm just playing. Getting rich? Not hardly.
I'm not begging now, but reviews are always welcome and taken to heart.
C'mon Comic-Cake and Wolverette, Moviemom lay some comments on me, please. Cap McK I always love your feedback. QueenOfOld, I haven't heard anything from you. What ya think? There's a few of you who have favorited me but haven't said specifically why. Please do.
Okay, okay...I guess I'm begging. Everybody likes a little attention sometime.
Oh, guess what? For all you Hugh fans, he's fixin' to start filming Wolverine-the Japan story right after the first of this coming year. Yay, yippee-skippee. Can't wait for 2012 release.