CHAPTER ELEVEN

Smothered in a cocoon of humidity, rank and worn fatigues stick like cellophane tape. Sweat trickles down my brow, stings my eyes. Can't wipe it away, my hands are bound behind my back. Shackled to a crude post, splinters pierce my flesh.

"Ready." A half dozen soldiers shoulder their rifles.

"Aim." Six steel barrels train on my torso.

"Fire."

Enraged and defiant my roar dies as an explosion of lead riddle flesh, shred muscle, shatter sternum and ribs. My body jerks as macerated innards spew as hot crimson gout exiting through my back.

"Graahh!" Bolting upright I vent my terror. Instinctively, I scan my surroundings. Shelves instead of soldiers, gadgets instead of guns, flannel shirt instead of jungle fatigues.

What the fuck, the blanket from my quarters? I huff, "Just a dream," and make sure the claws are housed before raking my fingers through sweat matted hair. Still, the caustic funk of the med lab keeps me on edge.

Aw shit, I got company. "What the fuck you lookin' at?"

"Well, buenos dias to you too." Hands on her hips, Electra gives me the stink eye. "I heard you holler-"

"Uh yeah, nightmare. Sorry for bitchin' ya out."

Her tight lipped expression says I'm not quite forgiven. Stethoscope ready, she rubs in against her sleeve. "How are you feeling?"

"Good enough so I don't need that thing."

There go the hands on her hips again. She stares me down for a second or two before tossing her hands in the air and ripping me a new one in Spanish - something about my shitty attitude and running rough over folks who just want to help me. Then, she spins on her heels and leaves me in a wake of caustic indignation.

Does this mean Sunday dinner's off?

Damn! The digital clock on the monitor says it's quarter past ten which means I'm four hours overdue for taking over watch. A rumbling in my belly says it's going to be a little longer before I take over. Got to scrounge up a load of protein to recharge my healing factor.

I swing my legs off the bed and catch a whiff of myself. Yeah, worked up a sweat healing, so a shower and change of clothes is another priority.

I poke my head in the security-communications room. Nobody's there but that's not a shock, this being a Saturday. The kitchen's busier with my favorite triple trouble, Rogue, Jubilee and Kitty up to their elbows in soapy water, pots, pans and dishes.

I creep up on them, "'Morning, ladies," and bust a gut laughing as they cuss me out for scaring them.

"What with the k.p.?"

Whirling a towel over head, Jubes cracks her gum. "Mister Summers is such a freakin' control freak. I mean, we just mixed a little vodka in the punch."

Antics like this I expect from her. But Kitty and Marie- well maybe Marie.

Marie catches my raised eyebrow and defends, "Don't look at me. I told her it was a bad idea."

Kitty says, "Me too."

"You spiked all the punch?"

Jubes answers, "Hell no. We're not stupid."

My stink eye tells her different. Then I shrug. "Guess you're gettin' off lucky with a little kitchen duty, eh?"

"Oh sure." It's Kitty again. "We're stuck on this for all of next week. Anything that can't go in the dishwashers we get to scrub."

"Beats scrubbin' latrines."

Takes them a minute to decode then the ews and nods are animated and unanimous.

Marie changes the subject. "Hey, we heard you rescued a couple little kids from the district. Heard you got shot, too."

"Yep and yep."

And speaking of little kids, Storm and Kurt wander into the kitchen with Demarcus holding tight to both their hands.

"Just the man we want to see," Storm declares. She ruffs the kids' fuzzy hair. "He's been signing like crazy for you."

"Oh yeah," I say and sign. On bent knee I sign and say, "What's happening, little man?"

He grins, signs too fast for me to get it all, but it's good, then grabs me around the neck.

Seriously! I melt and wrap him in a hug. The kitchen patrol ladies don't say a word but the scent of their shock seeing me cuddle a kid is palpable.

In his thick accent Kurt says, "We have just been to see Deshaun. Doctor Reyes says he will be released from the med lab later today."

"You and Storm gonna take care of 'em?"

In German, Kurt explains, "Until the professor can locate next of kin."

Storm adds, "If," and leaves it at that.

Marie, Jubilation and Kitty take my scram gesture to heart and do just that.

As we're talking, mostly in German, the kid contents himself climbing onto my back. "What's the plan-" I gasp as Demarcus' foot or knee digs into the middle of my back. What the hell?

Storm beams a maternal eye at me. "Are you okay?"

"Uh yeah." The pain was sharp for a second but it's gone now. "What's the plan for an if scenario?"

Their answer gets half my attention because Demarcus hits that sore spot again. Lowering him to the floor I lose the thread trying to figure out what my problem is. Kind of remembering a possibility, I don't like it.

Kurt stations himself and the kid at the breakfast bar while Storm and I jockey for position at the stove. She wins and I end up ferrying a carton of eggs and blueberry waffles from the fridge.

Storm levels, "Nope, not cooking that," when I slip a hunk of leftover steak onto the counter.

"Aw, c'mon. Injured man tryin' to recover here, ya know."

Being a vegetarian, she's not buying it.

"Okay, okay." I pull a separate fry pan from the rack above the stove. "Do me three eggs, easy over. I'll handle this."

I tease her by stabbing the meat and making the sound of a dying cow.

She shakes her head, pops a pair of waffles in the toaster while musing in her native tongue. "I'm just worried that the Morlocks might want the boys back regardless of kinship."

The kid's keeping Kurt busy teaching signs for everything in sight. Or is it the other way around? Doesn't matter as long as the kid doesn't feel left out.

I repeat in German what she said for Kurt's benefit and add, "Yeah, I don't see Charles wantin' to tangle with Callisto and her bunch o'goons," is my take, spoken in Arabic then in German, on Storms' concern.

Her words are passive but the glow in her eyes, the edge to her voice say different. "Should it come to that, I trust the professor to negotiate the best outcome."

When Storm's not looking Kurt shakes his head. His yellow eyes crease with the same worry I parse from his scent. Bottom line, Morlocks are clannish to extremes and nobody, Charles included, has had much success dealing with 'em. Storm risks a broken heart getting too attached to the boys.

Grub ready, conversation quits except for Storm warning the kid to slow down so he doesn't choke. Considering his circumstances I guess he's not seen a breakfast like this very often, if ever.

The pit in my belly filled, I dump the dishes in the sink. "Thanks for the eggs, darlin'."

"You're welcome."

I sign, see you later, to Demarcus.

Where are you going, he signs back?

I tell and sign, "To take a shower and go to work."

I say to Storm and Kurt, "Speakin' o'work, who got stuck with fillin' in the watch?"

Kurt flashes his yellow pointy teeth. "We did."

"Damn. Okay. Gimme fifteen and I'll take over."

"Nicht, mein freund. Do not worry. We will trade another time."

"Ya sure? Danke."

xXx

Standing under the shower, I forgot all about that sore spot Demarcus found with his knee. Scrubbing my back with the loofah brings back the memory.

"Ouch. Dammit." I really don't want to deal with this. When's the last time a bullet got stuck? Quite a while back and digging it out of my hip was just jolly.

I rinse and dry off. With my back to the steamed mirror, I can't see anything obvious so I'm not keen on digging blind even if I do heal fast. I think about leaving it but a couple stretches and twists nixes that idea. The third option is just a painful on an entirely different level.

I pop a single claw and chastise myself. "Fuckin' chicken shit." It's the truth. I'll take a stab in the back over a mauled ego any day.

Attacking from over the shoulder results in a bloody gash just millimeters from where I think it needs to be. The angle's all wrong stretching around my torso so I don't even try.

I growl, let loose with a string of curses and growl again. Time to suck it up and go with option three and the ego whopping that comes with it.

Back into the shower, I rinse away the blood then dry off and pull on some clean shorts and jeans. Shirt's coming off sooner or later so I just drape it over one shoulder. Lucky me, the halls are empty so nobody messes with me as I make my way to the twin doors.

And here I stand with my fist balled ready to knock. C'mon, you can do this. She proved herself. No reason not to trust her now. Wha'cha scared of? Think you're going to tarnish that hard ass reputation? Afraid she might refuse you? Pick one.

Screw it. My pounding rattles the door hinges.

Takes a few seconds before I hear, "Just a minute." There's a rustling and she clears her throat. "Be right there."

"Oh, it's you." Her voice and her scent are thick with sleepy. Mussed hair and puffy, red eyes match her fatigue but she looks good to me.

Tired turns to surprise as her brows arch under a tangle of bangs and her eyes trail a lingering path from my face to the waistband of my jeans.

Her interest isn't lost on me but I can't muster a retort, lame or otherwise. I just want to get this over with.

Lips quirked in a saucy smirk she mutters, "Good grief," but titillation quickly shifts to apprehension. "Gosh, is something wrong? Are you okay?" She ushers me in.

"I'm okay." I take a few tentative steps into the waiting room. "Just got this thing I need ya to look at."

That wasn't too hard.

She scratches her scalp and stifles a yawn. "Okay. What's going on?"

"The bullet's stuck."

Slack jawed at first; her mouth forms a stiff frown. Guess that woke her up. "Stuck? How do you know?"

Turning my back to her, I stretch my arm behind to pin point the spot. "Can't see it but I sure do feel it."

She sighs. Her emotions are a stew of disbelief and confusion with a touch of irritation topped off with apprehension.

She moves a step closer. "I don't see anything, either."

"Kinda figured."

It's an impasse. For what's got to be a full minute, she stands there with her arms crossed and a crooked smirk on her lips.

"Aw fuck this." Deserved or not, I ain't about to beg for her help so I turn on my heel and make for the exit.

"Are you feeling any pain?" There's a tinge of desperation in her voice as she trails behind me.

Why ya think I'm here? I don't say it because her concern is genuine in both tone and scent and because she answers for me.

"Logan, never mind. Stupid question. I'm sorry. Of course you're hurting." She moves closer, lays a soft hand on my shoulder. "Can you give me five minutes to brush my teeth and so forth?"

I angle to look over my shoulder. "Take all the time ya need."

"Thanks." She shuffles toward the compact restroom just off the clinic's waiting area. "Make yourself at home in exam three. I won't be long."

Make myself at home. In a doctor's office? Sure thing. Nix the chair, it's hard plastic back hits just the wrong spot. A couple turns on her rotating stool amuses me for about a minute. Finally, I give in and prop up on the cushioned exam table. I'd thumb through a magazine but between the teen celebrity rag sheets and an outdated video game mag – just no.

All three examining rooms share a wall with the bathroom so I hear everything from the clunk of the toilet seat to the high pitched buzz of a sonic toothbrush. From location of the noise I guess the door to the over-the-sink cabinet squeaks. There's a shuffling, a few clunks and the squeak again.

Takes six minutes but she emerges in clean wha'cha'call'em? - scrubs with her hair brushed and tied back. No make-up but she doesn't need it. She smells of mint toothpaste and soap - light on the fragrance.

"Okay, show me again where it hurts."

I do the contortionist thing once more. This time I feel her soft, warm hands press into the middle of my back.

"Are you sure it's stuck? Honestly, I can't feel anything but ribs and muscle."

"Trust me, it is. Dig your fingers in-" I reach for the spot. "-here."

"Haa-ow!" She found it.

She apologizes.

I say, "No problem."

"How do you feel about another scan?"

"Kinda figured ya'd say that. Don't suppose the one's ya did last night would work, eh?"

"Only as comparison to what's going on now."

"Right. Lead on darlin'."

xXx

Couple minutes and a cup o'coffee later, we're staring at the new scans. "This couldn't be easy, could it?" She chuckles but there's not much humor behind it. "You said you've had this happen before, right?"

I nod.

"And didn't you say you treated yourself?"

"Uh huh."

"Dare I ask?"

Ejecting a single claw, I mime gouging my hip, complete with sound effects.

Scrunching up her face, she doesn't say it but I bet she's thinking yuck.

I explain, "Problem this time is I can't get at it without makin' a helluva mess."

Fiddling with a loose strand of hair, her tone is mildly scolding. "A bullet stuck in a juncture between a rib and a vertebra and you're worried about a mess? Can you say paralysis?"

"Tough to do with an adamantium backbone."

She smacks her forehead. "True! It's not second nature for me to think about that but there's cartilage between. What if you severed through that?"

I mimic a string-less puppet.

She glances over her shoulder, "Not funny," then switches off the monitor and swings around on her chair to face me. "I guess I'll pose the obvious question. What would you like me to do?"

"Cut it out."

Cue the squinty eye joyless smirk as she stands. "This from the guy who threatened physical harm upon said physician only a few hours ago?"

I'm on my feet now. "Said I was sorry."

Her hands lock together behind her back. "And I accepted your apology. But, if I recall," she waggles a finger at me, "I did release you from my care."

I give her the same finger scolding. "If that's so, what was with the oxygen thing?"

"A momentary lapse." She raises her arms and chuckles. "You're right. I guess I'm back on the case."

"All right. Let's do this."

"Whoa! Not so fast. Before this doctor attempts any sort of surgery, foreign body removal or otherwise, I'm having more than a cup of coffee."

I shrug. "Sounds reasonable. I already ate but what say we raid the kitchen?"

"No sir. I'm going to prep you, administer anesthetic and while it takes effect," she points a thumb at herself, "I'm going to raid the kitchen."

My turn for the squint eye stare. "Prep?"

"Yes, prep. As in position, drape, sterilize." Her grin's as bright as her eyes. "You know, the stuff they pay me big bucks for."

I mutter, "Jesus Christ," pace and gesture. "Let's not turn this into a major production and by the way, ain't no point using anesthetic."

"It's standard and why not?"

"Why not what?"

"No anesthetic."

"Won't work."

She goes wide eyed. "You're serious? Why?"

"Healing factor. Makes me immune, resistant or whatever ya call it. It doesn't work on me. As far as sterlizin', no point. Can't get infected with anything."

"I can get my head around no sterilization but…but… removing a bullet from your back will be excruciatingly painful-"

"I can handle it."

In a fog of apprehension, she dips her head a walks away. Standing motionless in the middle of the room, she bites her bottom lip and hugs her arms to herself. "I'm not sure I can."

I close the space between us and put my hands on her shoulders. "Listen to me. Compared to the pain I've gone through… many times before, this ain't any worse than, than taking out a splinter-"

She scoffs and shakes her head. With a gentle touch to her cheek, I guide her eyes back to mine. "Trust me. Trust me as much as I trust you."

"You trust me to do what? Cause you pain? Logan, I…I… there's got to be something. Give me a few minutes. I need to think."

xXx

"I think I have a workable solution."

It took her half an hour. My guess is she squirreled off to her office. A glass bottle of red stuff - cranberry juice? – says she detoured to the kitchen, too.

Dropping a Sudoku puzzle on the sofa cushion, I twist around to face her. "Okay."

She bounds across the room and leans her elbows on the sofa back. "I need to clarify something first."

"What's that?"

"There are notes in your record that confirm your insensitivity to anesthetic. But there are also notes warning that certain substances actually work against your healing factor-"

"Right on both."

"An anesthetic, such as lidocaine, is unlikely to have any negative effect on your healing factor."

I nod. "R'member how the imaging stuff worked or didn't?"

"Exactly."

"Where's this going?"

"Make me feel better by allowing me to inject a bit where I need to cut. Please."

She's freaked out but trying keep a handle on it. Same with me. Intrinsic paranoia of all things medical has me locked in a freak city of my own.

Staring at the ceiling, I exhale then tilt my head to the side to crack away tension. "'Zat all ya gotta do?"

"I sure hope so."

Hope so? I cop a what the fuck scowl then throw my head back against the sofa cushion. "Fine. Might as well be water but go 'head. Shoot me up with whatever that shit yer talkin' 'bout is."

There is a radical shift in her scent and posture as tension ebbs. A guarded smile lights her face as she gestures me to follow her back into what's called a procedure room. Doesn't matter that it's done up to look like the innards of a sailboat-complete with a kitschy mural of kids playing water sports, it's still a surgical suite. What the fuck have I talked myself into?

She spreads a plastic lined sheet over a padded table top. "On your stomach, please. Oh, stretch out your arms… over your head….Hmmm."

She hands over a flat pillow. "Stick this under your chin so you don't get your face all squooshed ….Perfect."

I force a chuckle. "All squooshed, izzat a technical term?"

"Absolutely."

I hear the snap and smell the stink of latex gloves. They feel cool against my skin as she presses and pokes. Some-thing tickles and I feel my flesh pucker.

"Whatcha doin'?"

"X marks the spot, or in this case a few dots and dashes where I want to inject the anesthetic and make the incision."

"Right. Spell anything in Morse code?"

"What?" Her laughter is real. "Don't know Morse code but I could draw a target."

I twist my neck, "Let's not and say we did, eh?" and wink.

She lays a gentle squeeze on my shoulder. "Mmm, sounds fair to me."

"How long this gonna take?"

"Half an hour or less, I hope."

Just as I nod approval I hear the whoosh of an elevator door as it opens adjacent the clinic waiting area. Fast as the current she generates, Electra crosses the distance from the waiting area to the torture room. "Sorry. Took longer than expected downstairs."

My question, "Aw, what's she doin' here?" is lost over Sue's asking about the downstairs delay.

Electra explains, "I wanted to make sure Ororo and Kurt were completely comfortable with Deshaun's care-"

"Good plan," Sue interjects.

Electra adds, "Oh, and Logan, I'm here to do my job," at the same time Sue says, "She's assisting me."

Propped on my elbows, I shoot them a stink eye. "Assisting you doin' what?"

Hands on their hips, both women crouch to look me in the eyes. "What do you think?" snarks Electra and I can't miss the piss and vinegar in Sue's voice. "Remove the bullet stuck in your back."

Pushing off the table, I roll to sit up. "Then we're done."

A chain of emotions flicker across Sue's face; shock, confusion, disbelief, irritation, all there for me to see and smell. Sucking in a breath, a veil of neutrality settles on her face. Locking hands behind her back, her tone might just be responsible for the sudden chill in the air. "Is there a problem?"

My guts twist in knots thinking back on the last time I suffered the ministrations from a panel of medical minds. Disinclined to discussion and itching to get the hell out of dodge, I grab my shirt and stalk out of the room. Making it as far as the door something compels me to toss a hint. "I came to you," I emphasize you in word and pointed finger, "to fix this thing."

Electra, who faded silently into the background, clasps Sue's shoulder and murmurs, "I'm going below. Buzz me if you need me." Passing between us going for the elevator, she shakes her head at me and sighs.

What the hell'm I doing? I trust Electra. She's been a steady friend for about as long as I've had friends. Social retard that I am, I let her pass without so much as a sideways glance.

Parking herself on the stool, Sue props her elbows on her thighs. Chin resting on her palms, her eyes seem to peel back the layers of my soul. "Electra's a problem? Really?"

"Yeah. No. Aw fuck."

Disgusted with myself, I pace and dry wash my face. Here I go pushing people away because I'm too fucking weak to rein in knee-jerk mistrust and the rage that goes with it. Closing my eyes, I release a breath-anything to curb the vitriol I'm primed to spew. "Just wasn't plannin' on turnin' this thing into a party."

We're doing the standoff thing again. She's chewing on her bottom lip and glancing between me and the floor. I seem to be putting down roots in the doorway.

Finally, she stands and rolls her shoulders. "You know it's kind of standard to have an assistant for minor surgery."

"Yeah, I guess. Just didn't think about it. Sorry."

"It's not me you need to say sorry to."

"Right. So, ya ain't gonna do this without her?"

"I'd prefer to have her help."

"That ain't what I asked ya."

"I understand that but I'm not about to let you back me into a corner."

"Just gimme a fuckin' answer. Are you-" I point straight at her. "-Gonna do it? Yes or no?"

Her game face is good but she can't fool me. A racing heart and her scent says she's intimidated yet she lays down the terms in a velvety but uncompromising tone. "Yes Logan, I am. And Electra is going to assist me. So, I think the question is, are you going to consent to your physicians' plan of care?"

Nicely done. Whose back's to the corner now? I could escalate, go unreasonable, make a total dick of myself- well more than I already have. A quick mental tally of win versus loss says it's time to suck it up.

I chuckle and shake my head. "The patient consents."

XXX

A/N Reviews, comments and criticism always welcome.