Hank finished washing his face in cold water. He'd hoped it would wake him up, because he couldn't afford to look like he'd spent the whole night awake. Truthfully, that might not cause suspicion for the close friend of a woman who had just been admitted with pre-eclampsia. But if someone had caught him planting his own small alarms in strategic points in the hospital, it might.
He looked down at his watch. On one side, it tracked any possible proximity alarms to the school. He'd left its twin with Charles. The other tracked the alarms around the hospital, made to detect any large scale entry. Again, its twin was with Charles.
Over the first few days, he figured he'd get several false alarms for paramedics rushing any trauma cases through. However, he'd be careful about that, make sure the situation was under control.
Nodding to himself, he lathered up and started shaving his face. He'd always been surprised that, despite all the problems his father had warned him about before he went into the medical profession, he had rarely ever nicked himself. He'd learned later while repairing ripped blood vessels that he had very steady hands.
He finished up and took stock. He'd packed aftershave and enough of his shaving kit to last for a while, and he had to keep things up. They probably wouldn't let him visit Moira until after she had her morning check-up, but he'd have to get a better lay of the land before then. There was a floor or two that he wasn't familiar with, since he'd had to turn back or risk suspicion.
So, running on an hour of sleep, he slipped his pockets full of necessary materials and headed out. He made sure to lock his guest room behind him. The hospital was already a beehive of activity, something he remembered early from his early days learning his trade.
It actually made him a little nostalgic for a time when life seemed brimming of optimism. Yes, things hadn't been perfect, but he'd had a pretty good idea of where things were going. The CIA had been scouting him for their science division. He could spend a year or two there, help his country, move on to become a doctor.
Now though, he was practically casing a hospital. He tried to remember what Alex had told him to look for when he was trying to figure out the angles on a building. Alex's talents as a burglar had come in handy as an X-men, pointing out weak points in offices and other facilities. He hadn't been perfect all the time, as several sudden alarms had told them, but some things had always worked for them.
For one thing, he'd taught Hank to look at the flow of people coming in and out of a building. Hank wasn't liking what he was noticing about the hospital. Most people didn't give him a second look, probably because there really were a lot of visitors to the hospital. That thought was rather worrying. With thousands of faces coming in and out, what were a few extra ones if Essex was stealthy about it?
It was one of the reasons he wanted to see if he could hack into the security cameras. He needed to try and get that surveillance technology, see if he could put some facial recognition software in there. It would be crude even if he had his entire lab, but he'd brought a few things he could use to work on. It was going to be difficult, and it would only be able to recognize people like Essex and Stryker, maybe some of Weapon X, but not any nameless cronies.
He shook his head. One thing at a time, and it was better than nothing. He walked around a corner and saw what he realized was a records station. The orderly on duty looked up, but Hank gave him a polite nod and, without slowing, headed in the direction of the cafeteria. The orderly looked down again, as they probably would for any visitor who got lost.
As he did, Hank saw one of the administration offices. He looked at it out of the corner of his eye, his heart pounding wildly. Some part of him wondered if it was the sleep deprivation or something else, but he was only now starting to get nervous.
Perhaps it was because, in his own way, he was just continuing his care of a patient. Yes, he'd always been very brave when it came to his patients. He'd pushed himself on serums, when his bones ached, his fingers clotted with blood. He'd carried Kurt back to Westchester. How had he done that? Yes, he'd been strong, but the wrong jolt could've made the injury worse. But he'd saved his life.
And now, in a different way, he needed to save Moira's. Hers and her baby's. If things went well, Essex would never know, no one would ever come. She would never become eclamptic, and the baby would be born early, but healthy. It would be fine.
He stopped by a nearby vending machine. He looked at the selection, moving so the camera wouldn't see what he was about to do next. Slowly and carefully, he put a small device on the back of the machine. Over the next three hours it would establish a link with the one in his room, and he'd be able to get to work that afternoon.
Just as he planted it, he saw several doctors pour out of a conference room from the corner of his eye. Panicking, he grabbed a few quarters from his pockets and punched in the first thing he could find. He needed to look casual, as though he had a purpose, and it was also helpful. The cafeteria was too far away and, really, when he thought about it, he did need something for breakfast.
Luckily, the package of Pop Tarts was slowly unwinding from the machine. He sighed, grateful that they were at least a decent flavor. It was tasty and quick, something that had quickly become one of his best breakfast foods when he was busy, which was always.
Just as it was about to fall, he saw it get caught between the glass and the vend compartment. He gaped at it, hitting the side of the machine once, then twice. It didn't budge. Frustration built inside. An almost sleepless night, coupled with the adrenaline of the past hour, built up. Despite himself, he swore.
"You won't get it out that way."
He turned to the side and saw Carly. She was standing a few feet away and giving him a vaguely amused, mostly sympathetic look. She walked a little closer, the tap tapping of her cane filling the air as she did so.
"You must be new," she said, "Everyone knows not to get the Pop Tarts, not unless they want..."
She trailed off, and then cocked her head.
"Hank?" she asked.
"You remember me?" he blurted.
Immediately he felt a flood of awkwardness. First off, his voice was scratchy, probably from how little sleep he'd gotten. Second, it was, really, the wrong question. Most people would have other queries if a blind person was suddenly able to figure out. But it was the one that, for whatever reason, pushed itself to the front of his head. Now he might not get a chance to ask.
She smiled at that though.
"I have a pretty good memory for people, especially men who sweep me off my feet," she said, "Why are you here so early though? Did your friend need another check-up?"
He swallowed.
"She uh, she's pre-eclamptic," he said.
She pursed her lips, and he rubbed the back of his neck. He'd spent so much time the night before explaining the condition to so many people that he'd forgotten there were people who didn't know what it was. Just because Carly worked at the hospital didn't mean she knew every single one of the different ailments someone could get-
"I'm sorry," Carly said, "But she's under observation, so it was obviously caught before the seizures or the most severe symptoms. I'm guessing they want to wait a few weeks before they perform the cesarean."
"Um, yeah," said Hank, feeling a little disconnected, "She's only around thirty weeks."
"Then it's good she's here," said Carly, "And I'm guessing you're staying here with her then."
"Right again," Hank said.
He swallowed vaguely, and his eyes went back to the Pop Tarts. They were still stuck in the machine. He decided that, all things considered, maybe he should just leave them there. He could probably get some in the cafeteria if he really wanted them. He needed to leave before he made a bigger fool of himself after all.
But Carly was still facing his direction, and standing between him and the cafeteria. He couldn't say for certain that she was looking at him, or how that even registered for her, trying to wait for someone to say something. It wasn't technically his turn, but he hadn't been particularly forthcoming.
Eventually she walked a little closer and put her fingertips on the glass.
"Are they not feeding you?" she asked.
"Oh, it's fine," he said, "I just uh, didn't feel like doing a whole big thing at the cafeteria. Moira's getting her check-up, and, all things considered, I probably shouldn't be there right now."
"There's a place where you can just get coffee on the first floor you know," she said.
"I'll get some eventually," Hank said, "Just wanted some Pop Tarts first."
"Coffee first. 'Tis a cruelty to load a falling man.," she said.
He paused, and turned his head slightly.
"Henry the Eighth?" he asked.
She breathed in, and then her smile grew wider.
"Not many people know that I'm actually quoting something when I say that," she said.
"Not many people know that's a quote," Hank said, "That wasn't one of the more popular plays."
"For a reason," she said, "It wasn't very good. You have a play about one of the weirdest series of marriages in the British monarchy, which is saying something, and I feel like he said absolutely nothing when it was over."
"You have to think about his audience," said Hank.
"Yes, one of the man's daughters," said Carly, "But still. Why write something at all if you're not going to bother doing a good job?"
Despite himself, he chuckled slightly. She did too, and the sound was surprisingly soothing. Carly radiated a strange warmth, an elegance he hadn't seen before. He wasn't even sure how old she was. From the soft, fresh look of her skin, she could've been anywhere from twenty-five to thirty, both ages placing her years younger than him.
Something about that confidence seemed old though. It brought his mind back to an old question that, frankly, he probably should've asked sooner.
"Hey, if you don't mind me asking, how did you know it was me?" he asked.
Carly stiffened, and he saw her let out a low breath. He straightened his sleeves nervously, wondering if he'd somehow offended her.
"I'm just really hoping I don't smell that bad is all," he said.
She relaxed, laughing softly.
"I already told you," she said.
"I...um...I don't think you did," he said.
Carly pulled quarters out of her pocket and walked up to the vending machine.
"I knew it was you for the same reason I knew it was Pop Tarts you were getting, the same way how I know to get them out," she said.
She punched in "E7," and a packet of gum fell from one of the vending slots. It knocked the Pop Tarts down, and he gaped as it did. With a swift movement, Carly reached inside, handing him the Pop Tarts and keeping the gum.
He reached out tentatively, his fingers just brushing the packet.
"I remember things Hank," she said, "And I remember someone like you."
His ears grew hot as she let go of the Pop Tarts. Carly smiled at him once more before starting to leave.
"I have to get to work," she said, "I um, I hope...I...I suppose I'll see you around."
He watched her go, her brown hair swishing behind her. Despite everything that had happened over the last few hours, he wasn't sure when the last time his heart had beat this fast was.