"Do you think there was ever actually a Love's Labors Won?" asked Hank.
Carly laughed next to him, nodding. Seated on a bench outside of the hospital on one of her breaks, Hank could almost forget everything that was going on. The sun was bright, and his students were on their way. Soon, they would arrive, and he'd take them up to Moira, where she could hold her firstborn in her arms.
But, between now and then, there was something else. In the days since he'd come to the hospital, he'd crossed paths with Carly almost every day. In her position as an administrator she often walked around the hospital. It was almost impossible not to run into her when he took his own walks to ensure his safety precautions were still up and running.
He'd been making a few extra checks lately, meaning he'd been running into her more and more often. It was necessary though, to make sure everything was working. Moira needed to be protected, and that was the only reason for him being at the hospital.
"Yes, of course I do," Carly said.
"Shakespeare didn't do sequels," said Hank.
"What about Henry IV?" he asked.
"That wasn't really a sequel," he said, "That was logical. He was doing so many of the other kings, and it was historical."
"History is one giant sequel, one big 'to be continued,'" said Carly, "When it ends, no one will be around to tell the story."
Hank laughed as his cell phone went off. He picked it up, hoping Charles hadn't just let Kevin play with his phone.
"Hank, we need you."
He winced, suddenly taking back his wish.
"One second, I need to get inside," he said.
Hank put the phone in the cradle of his neck and looked at Carly.
"Important call?" she asked.
"Pretty much," Hank said, "I..."
"I've got another forty five minutes on my break," Carly said, "Go take your call. I'll get your friends, and I'll tell you when they get here."
He smiled as he got up, even though he knew she couldn't see it. There was just something so infectiously open about her.
"Thank you so much," he said, "I'll be down soon."
She nodded, smiling at him. He headed indoors, making sure he was out of sight before making a mad dash for his room. Once inside, he shut the door quickly.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"They found Kayla and brought her to a hidden cabin in the mountains Erik found," Charles said, "But the collar's hurting her somehow. They need to know how badly she's hurt, and Peter's injured and on morphine. He can't take her anywhere."
"I don't want to diagnose someone over the phone," said Hank, "It's unreliable."
"You won't have to," Charles said, "Raven's agreed to turn into you and let you share her mind so you can diagnose her in person."
Hank gaped at the phone.
"It's that bad?" he asked.
"We don't know," said Charles, "And that's what we need to find out. I need to turn on Cerebro again, but I can link your minds. Just...don't be standing when I do it."
The phone clicked off, and Hank could feel his hands trembling. He swallowed hard before putting the phone on his nightstand and laying down. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep calm, waiting for what was going to happen.
Then, suddenly, he felt a rush. It was like the floor was being yanked from under his feet and he was being spun around. He wanted to be sick. He wanted to claw at his face. He wanted to hide, to stop the feeling of water rushing into his head.
When he opened his eyes, he looked down at hands that were and weren't his. A panicky breath filled his lungs. He closed his eyes to orient himself, feeling both the mattress beneath him and the hardwood floor beneath his feet.
When he opened his eyes again, he was ready. He stared at Kayla, laid on the table before him, her hair a pillow. Something had been binding her mouth at one point, but it was ripped off. Her hands and feet were bound with duct tape, no doubt Peter's work.
Logan was clutching her arm almost desperately, with Erik standing over his shoulder. From a chair, Peter gave him a silly, lost grin. They were all looking at him, he realized, waiting to see who would speak when the time came.
Whether he willed it or not, it was time to start.
"Erik, this is Hank. I need you to take that collar off her," said Hank, "Be careful: Essex's designs show it was made to be flush against the skin, and the last thing we need is a slit artery."
Erik nodded. He passed his hand over the different locks, and Hank watched them come undone. When the pieces began to come off, he heard a strange sucking noise. He had just enough time to register what it was, for his stomach to churn from the stench that filled the air, and then the collar came off.
It took skin with it. Erik swore under his breath, and he felt Raven gasp in her head. Logan's hands clutched Kayla even tighter, his feral senses no doubt picking up the full brunt of the smell and the disease.
Clotted blood and pus ringed her neck. Skin had come off with the collar, and Hank wasn't surprised. Whatever was in the serum, it had ringed itself around her throat, causing some sort decay overtime, a chemical reaction with the metal. Every time it got close to healing, he surmised it would be time to give her another dose.
And Essex, it appeared, had never checked under the collar.
"I'll kill him," Logan said.
His voice was quiet, but that didn't make his words any less forceful. He said it as though it was a prayer, a promise of pain and death. Hank felt Raven turn to him inside the head. She was taking note of this, wondering, calculating.
Hank pushed it aside. For the time being, it was pointless.
"Erik, I need warm water so we can clean this," he said, "Any bandages?"
"Yep!" Peter said cheerfully, "Need me to bring-?"
"Stay over there," ordered Erik.
He almost heard Peter shrug. Hank swallowed as Erik got up to fetch the necessary materials and peered closer. Yes, he could see the signs of infection setting in. A little cleaning might have saved her this, a little maintenance. He wouldn't be surprised if it was affecting the veins in her neck, making them swell and burst. How many times had she gasped for breath, only to find herself trapped.
Hank reached out a hand. He could feel the heat on her skin even through the weak connection.
"You need ice," said Hank.
"We can't find that out here," Erik said, putting the bowl near him, "We're lucky there's any heat in the water."
Hank dipped the towel into the water and began washing her neck. More blood and pus came off, as well as some stray flecks of skin.
"Then put her in the car and turn on the air conditioning as high as it'll go," Hank said, "Cool her down: she's burning up. She needs to live long enough to heal, and I don't know if her healing factor can deal with things like fevers."
"She's strong," Logan said, his voice still quiet, but void of its earlier hatred, "She'll live."
He swallowed as he rinsed out the cloth. His hands felt filthy, but he'd barely touched the wound.
"I'm sure that, mentally, she's strong," Hank said, "But she's been beaten down for months. Her body is weak, and I can't imagine Essex gave her any breaks. Strong as she may be, she is likely reaching the end of her tether."
Logan's hands were twisted so tightly into the fabric of her shirt that Hank thought it would rip. He thought for another minute.
"Is there a river, or a stream nearby?" Hank asked.
"Yes," Erik said, "It's not far."
"Dip her in that, but not for more than a few minutes at a time, maybe ten," said Hank, "Then bring her back out and let her rest. Then back in, again and again until her temperature cools."
Sighing, he turned her head to the side.
"She needs antibiotics," he said.
"We don't have any," Erik said.
"What the hell do we have?" demanded Logan.
Erik looked at him, his face frustrated, but not entirely unsympathetic.
"We have morphine and tylenol, and that's it," he said.
Logan let out a noise in between his teeth.
"We need a hospital," he said.
"Yes, you do," said Hank, "But what you have is me, and some very rudimentary drugs. We all know the hospital isn't an option, even if Peter was well enough to take her to one far enough to be safe."
"I can do it," Peter said, trying to get up.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Erik stride up and push him back. Peter pawed weakly at the hand holding it down.
"You are weak from blood loss, and you've got morphine in your system," Hank said, "A cross-country trek is not an option."
He resisted the urge to rub his eyes. He'd only get blood and pus on them.
"I'm willing to bet her neck was bathing in that serum, so you may have some time before it wears off and she wakes up," he said. "Keep her restrained, but dip her in the river. Get the Tylenol."
Hank got up and walked into the kitchen, washing his hands. He took the moment he needed to come back to the room, his head suddenly pounding at the strange balance. Swallowing hard, he poured a glass of water and returned to the room.
Raven began shifting back into herself, and that made it worse.
"Call me in half an hour," said Hank, "Let me know how she's doing. But short of taking Raven and I out, I can't stay here much longer."
"Understood," Erik said, handing him a bottle of Tylenol.
Kneeling down, Hank took tablets from the bottle.
"Hold her down and get ready to knock her out again," he said.
Logan's hands came down on Kayla's shoulders like vices. Hank gave him a short nod before he shoved the tablets between her lips. With the other hand, he poured water down her throat, hoping her body would remember what to do, would override the drug.
Her eyes flew open and Hank tossed aside the glass and pills. He pressed his hands over her mouth as she started to struggle. Her eyes were blank, but she was fighting, and Hank could feel the water coming back up between his fingers.
"Kayla, please, you're stronger, you're goddamn stronger," Logan said.
The words were twisted, broken, and so very lost. Not for the first time, Hank wondered what it must have been like for Logan, meeting Kayla. In Emma's words she was a saint, but picture perfect saints were never the whole story. Had it been like a light in the darkness, or had it been something deeper, felt in Logan's veins? What had happened between the two to make Logan follow Kayla to the ends of the earth, to keep him fighting for her when all hope was lost? What kind of love was that?
He'd seen that before, in Charles and Moira. It was something binding and true, something he knew he hadn't experienced. No wonder, when Logan thought her dead, their child had meant everything to him.
Hank stared down at the woman beneath him, and the blankness continued to stare back. From somewhere else he thought he felt a jolt, but he kept his grip. He couldn't let go, but he could feel her throat moving, her body desperate to breath. It wanted air, and trying to get it after a point became an involuntary action.
She swallowed, and Hank let go, his hands flying away. Logan slammed her head into the table, and she went limp again. Then, in a surprisingly swift motion, he gathered her into his arms. Logan looked at her for a moment, shifting her so her head rested against his chest.
"I'll take her to the river," he said.
Without another word, Logan turned and walked out of the cabin. Hank felt his hands trembling, but he also felt woozy.
Hank, you can come back now, Charles said.
He sighed in relief, letting go. When he opened his eyes, he was staring at the white wall of his visitor's room in the hospital. Hands were on his shoulders, shaking him, a warm touch, increasing in desperation. Hank turned and saw Carly, her face worried.
As soon as he turned, she pulled her hand to her chest.
"Carly?" he asked, "What...what are you doing here?"
"I...your friends came," she said, "I came to get you and the door was open but you...you wouldn't wake up, and you just...I..."
"I'm sorry," he said, pushing himself up, "I'm a really heavy sleeper. I didn't mean to worry you."
She got up, suddenly brushing something off of her dress. The floor had just been cleaned though and, for a moment, Hank thought her hands were trembling. He might have been the one trembling though: too much of Kayla's injuries and Logan's deep agony were etched in his head.
"You...you should go downstairs," she murmured, "They're waiting for you, and they need you to buzz them in."
Carly turned and, impulsively, Hank took her hand. She stilled, and Hank could feel heat rushing into his dazed cheeks.
"I...I really am sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to worry you. I just...sometimes...I was just so tired after the phone call, and I thought I had more time."
She turned back, and he thought he felt her fingers move in his. They seemed so small and delicate, but so very, very warm. She smiled once, that strange sense of serenity returning to her features. Despite himself, he sighed in relief.
"It's alright," she said.
"Alright," he said, feeling like a fool.
She took her hand back, and Hank felt the warmth leave with something like regret. Still feeling disoriented, Hank got to his feet. Carly reached the door frame, looking over her shoulder at him, biting her lip slightly.
"Just set an alarm next time, alright?" Carly said.
He found himself laughing, the images of blood and pain momentarily eased.
"Of course," he said.