It took them a good hour and a half to make their way through a damp, buggy jungle, with Alex and Sean running ahead of them and scouting the area - looking for any sign of a village or hospital. Hank carried a limp seeming Charles - the only sign of life from the man being his occasional sharp gasps or soft groans. They took a few breaks, when the heat of the jungle and the burning sun became too much for them to bare, but they pushed on, hurrying through the trees, trying to clear the path for Hank.
When they finally Santiago de Cuba, they were all drenched in sweat - especially Hank, whose blue fur seemed more like a slick, navy color. Sean and Alex took a breather, before continuing on their mission to find a hospital. "Hank," Heather stopped him, a thought coming to her, "Hank, Charles isn't strong enough to make an illusion over you."
Hank gave her a sharp look. "Are you embarrassed of me or something?"
Maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the lack of sleep or dehydration, or maybe the fact that her friends had gone off and left her - either way - Heather snapped at the man. "I was more worried of the fact that you'd be embarrassed. Or that the nurses wouldn't want to treat someone dropped off by a mutated ape." Hank's eyes widened and Heather's stomached dropped, weighed down by guilt, but she didn't apologize - instead she watched the shapes of the two boys running back towards them.
"Hospital," Sean gasped, "It's - that - way."
"There," Hank said, standing Charles up - who swayed and hissed at the sudden movement - as carefully as he could. Moira put one of Charles' arms around her shoulder, Heather with the other arm, before she glanced over at Hank. She opened her mouth to say something - an apology maybe - but Hank was gone, hiding back into the jungle.
Great. Just - great.
Heather felt like a proper asshole.
The hospital was small, with chips of paint coming off of the sides and old, dirty looking shutters covering the windows, but Heather couldn't be picky with her choice of hospital at the moment. As Sean and Alex pushed open the door, she repeated the words she needed to say in her head - the words she'd learned from her Spanish neighbor only a year ago.
The eyes of the nurses flew to the group, said eyes widening at the state of their appearances. Heather gulped, before begging, "Por favor. Necesita ayuda. Por favor."
The tw0 nurses sprung up like they'd been shocked, running over to Charles, while a third hurried and grabbed a stretcher from behind the desk, wheeling it towards them. They told Charles from her and Moira, laying him carefully on his side, before they began talking, asking what was wrong. But Heather couldn't understand, she knew only so many Spanish words, and the women were looking at her expectantly - so she quickly pointed to the small of her back.
One of the nurses, understanding, ran her hand gently along Charles' back and his face scrunched up. The nurse pulled her hand away, the skin covered in blood, and she looked up quickly to her co workers, before shouting for a doctor. They quickly pushed the stretcher carrying Charles through a set of double doors and a silence flew over the group.
They brought off and did their own things - a nurse brought them water from a well and they all drank greedily, with Alex going out and bringing Hank some. Sean curled up on the couch and napped, while Moira began calling people to try and find them a way home. Her voice raised a few times and each time she slammed the phone back onto the jack, her shoulders sagged a little bit more.
After about the twentieth time, Heather finally stood from her spot and made her way over. "Any success?"
Moira sighed deeply, rubbing her forehead. "No, none at all."
Maybe it was time to call Joey. "I - I have someone in Washington DC. I could try and see - " Moira sighed again, scooting loudly away from the desk, "Be my guest. Because nothing I have is working. You may as well try."
As Moira went over to where Sean was sleeping, Heather looked back at the phone, her eyes suddenly blurry. She felt like a little kid, telling her mother or father after she did something wrong, something bad, and she just knew that they'd be mad, disappointed, would say I told you so. She dialed the number carefully and held the phone to her ear, trying to keep the tears at bay.
But the minute she heard, "Moran." The pressures, the failures and the pain of that day just came rushing at her and she burst into tears. "Joey," she choked out. "Heather?" Joey's voice was panicked, "Jesus, Heather, what's wrong? Heather, are you okay? Are you hurt?"
"No, I'm not," Heather sobbed, trying so hard to keep it in, but she just couldn't, she had held too much in already, "I - I'm not the one that's hurt. I need your help, Joey. My friends - my friends and I are stuck in Cuba. One of us - he got shot." Heather stopped, her hands shaking so bad. "He's hurt really bad and w - we haven't met anyone that can speak English and we don't know if he's okay and - and we need your help."
"Heather, listen to me," Joey's voice was concerned, stern and protective all rolled up into one, "I have a friend - Cedro - who lives down there. Where are you?"
"Santiago de Cuba."
"Alright. I'll call him up and tell him to get his ass there."
Heather nodded, despite Joey not being able to see her. "Heather, everything's going to be okay. I wouldn't let anyone hurt you. But I want to know everything, and I meant everything, when you come home." Heather wiped her eyes, feeling slightly embarrassed from her break down, before saying, "Okay, I promise."
"Alright, I'm going to call him. Just stay where you are."
"Okay."
The call went dead and Heather clutched the phone like it was her life line.
An hour later, a short but chubby man arrived in the hospital, pushing his sweaty hair back with a rather large hand, as his eyes gazed over the group. "Which one of you is Heather?" The man asked in a heavily accented voice. Heather's eyes widened, as everyone else whipped around to look at her. She stood then, answering loudly, "I am."
The man gave a small smile. "I am Cedro. Joey sent me."
Heather breathed out a sigh of relief, before a nurse - noticing the newcomer - came over to greet him. The two spoke for a minute, before Cedro's face became grim and nodded, the woman leaving them to her place at the desk. "So?" Alex prompted, looking ready to jump out of his chair. "Your friends needs a complicated surgery." Cedro explained slowly, "They performed one to stop the bleeding, but they can't repair the nerves or tissue here. They don't have enough resources. We need to get him to America so that he can have the surgery."
"What about walking?" Moira questioned anxiously, "He - He said he couldn't feel his legs. Is he - "
"They will not know until the other surgery is performed." Before any of them could say anything - or even react - the nurse stood suddenly, motioning them towards the double doors Charles had gone through only hours before. "Come, we need to get him to my plane. And quickly."
Charles slept through the entire plane ride, the drugs that the doctor had given him working like a charm. The others stayed silent the entire time, as if a single word would cause all hell to break loose.
The doctors told them 10 hours.
10 hours.
A surgery lasting 10 hours was never good.
But Cedro had told them that it was delicate, complicated. So they couldn't really have expected less. It was around 4 pm when they had arrived and the emergency surgery began an hour later. They were all camped out in the waiting room with only a few other people were seated around them - a couple with so much pain in their eyes as they took turns holding a stuffed rabbit and a man with no emotion on his face, as he seat in a corner, his two teenage daughters holding tightly onto each other.
Heather tried not to focus on the families or their suffering for the time being, instead wished with all her might that she didn't meet a toddler or a mother ghost that night. Instead, she used the waiting room phone to call Joey and told him that he should come to the hospital that next morning, as she was too drained to even think about what she had to tell him. So that was decided then.
An hour into the surgery, the group - tired of their disgusting uniforms - decided to send Hank and Heather back to the mansion for the night to grab some of their clothing and get some rest in their own beds. This was mainly decided by the fact that not Sean, Alex or Moira wanted to leave the waiting room even a second, terrified that something would happen and they wouldn't be there.
Not that Heather was complaining. She desperately needed a shower. And to get out of this sticky uniform.
She just wasn't excited about the ride with Hank. Hank - who had been silent since she made the snappy comment to him and had stayed hidden for the entirety of the afternoon and evening.
The first hour or two were awkward. Just plain awkward. Heather tried to find a good song or station to listen to, but she couldn't find anything - and even if she did, she didn't even know if she'd have enough energy to sing along.
Halfway through, Heather finally sighed and told herself screw it. "Look. Hank, I'm sorry. For what I said in Cuba. I was just - god, today just isn't any of our days." Her voice cracked at the end, and she blinked multiple times to try and not cry for once. Hank was silent, his eyes trained on the road ahead, before he mumbled, "It's - it's okay. I'm not - I mean, I was hurt. But I tried not to take it personal."
It was silent for a moment, before Heather blurted out, "If it's any help, I don't really think you're a mutated ape."
Hank laughed at that. Afterwards, the ride wasn't as awkward.
When they arrived at the mansion, Heather made a B line for the bathroom, making sure to grab a nightgown beforehand. In the warm shower, she scrubbed the day's filth off of her sore body and ran her fingers through her tangled hair. Leaning her head against the cold, tile wall, her thoughts wondered off to Erik and Raven. Were they okay? Did they even miss them?
Heather only stayed in the shower for a short time after that, and tried desperately to turn off any thoughts of the two. They had left. They had chosen their path. There wasn't anything Heather could do. But that didn't stop her from wanting them to just come home.
It wasn't that simple though.
Heather tucked herself in under her fluffy covers, her wet hair tickling her face and soaking her pillow, as she tried to fall asleep. But just as she was finally dozing off, she heard one of her windows squeak continuously as if -
- As if it was being opened.
She heard the something land rather softly on the ground in front of her bed and Heather's heart was beating so fast, but she didn't dare open her eyes. Great. She had survived the whole mess in Cuba, only to be killed by a burglar. Just great. Now Hank was going to find her body and everyone was going to be sad and Erik and Raven wouldn't even know -
"Heather."
That little shit.
