Hank shone a light into Madeline's eyes, took her pulse, listened to her breathing. At least she was dressed now – he had found it hard to concentrate when she was not quite wearing what was left of her bloodstained hospital gown.
She was sitting on Xavier's desk – they'd had to leave the sick bay, where the smell of the spilt blood had been driving her to distraction. He had thought this would be futile – after all, they were all full of blood as well – but as soon as they had left that wing of the house, she had been able to calm down a lot. Apparently mutant blood didn't have the same allure for her as humans' did in her new altered state. Interesting. He made a note of it, took a step back.
"Well, I don't really know what else to test. She's in the most fantastic health of anyone I've ever seen. If people were robots, she'd be factory fresh – her lungs are working like they've never been used, her skin's got the elasticity of a newborn baby. The reason her eyes have gone red is because the irises are filled with blood. I would have said hyphema, but it isn't that; her vision's not impaired at all, in fact it's better than 20/20 – don't ask me how, I'm not an optometrist. Reflexes are off the chart, and her speed and strength is-" Madeline grabbed the torch out of his hand, threw it hard against the wall where it wedged in the wooden paneling.
"I am here, Hank. Talk to me, not to them!"
The anger in her voice took him aback. Madeline had never raised her voice to him, not once in all the time they'd known each other. Hank stepped back smartly, stood on Erik's foot, leapt away from him and almost fell over Charles's chair. Madeline's anger disappeared as quickly as it had come, and she laughed – a wild, joyous laugh. Then, just as suddenly, she clapped her hand over her mouth in shock, whispered: "how can I laugh, with poor little Wilson dead, and-" her bloody eyes misted over with tears.
Hank took a deep breath, put a hand on her shoulder. Her emotional volatility was the most alarming aspect of the change she'd undergone since the transfusion.
"It's all right. You just need to calm down." She stared at him dolefully, pink streaks marring her face as the tears spilled over.
"I can feel him, Hank. I can feel Wilson's memories, his dreams, his life. It's obscene. Do you have a test that can explain why?" Hank shook his head.
"The whole thing is beyond anything I've ever heard of. It can only be attributed to the infusion of his blood that's still in you. We've never left a patient's blood in you for this long – the transfused blood has always been returned to the original host as soon as your blood fused with it. It's the only variable. But obviously, this isn't normal. I can only assume it is related in some way to your mutation, your ability to heal – the blood seems to have unlocked some latent abilities, some – traits. That's why your scars have vanished, and why you're acting so – differently."
Maddy and Erik caught one another's eye, then quickly looked away. Madeline blushed. Hank's eyes narrowed as he looked from one to the other.
"Is there anything else I ought to know?"
Maddy shook her head violently, went scarlet. Hank thought to pursue the question, but then Charles interrupted.
"These changes – are they permanent?"
The colour bleached from Maddy's face. Hank shook his head vigorously.
"Absolutely not. The blood test demonstrates that. Your body seems to be burning the human blood off somehow, using it to fuel the abnormalities. Once it's run out, you should be right back to the way that you're meant to be – your eyes are already less red, see?" He held up a magnifying mirror to her face. She peered in, and exhaled with relief when she saw that the solid red-brown was interspersed with flecks of her familiar green. Then she put out a hand – too fast – and grabbed Hank's wrist, too hard. He tried not to flinch.
"And what about the – the way blood smells to me? And the blood memories? Will they wear off too?" Her voice was urgent, low. Hank shrugged helplessly.
"I don't know. They don't make any scientific sense. We can only hope that they will go when the rest of the symptoms subside."
"Symptoms? You're making it sound like she's sick."
Hank had almost forgotten about Erik, in his eagerness to reassure Maddy. Now he spun round. The metal bender was looking at Maddy with a sort of gleeful awe. Ignoring Hank, he stepped toward the girl, stood over her.
"How do you feel, Madeline? Never mind the fear; put that aside. How do you really feel?"
She seemed to be considering the question. When she looked up at him, there was a wondering look in her eyes.
"I feel – good, actually. Really good. Strong." Erik smiled, lifted her chin.
"Then why would you want it to wear off?"
Hank's mouth dropped open. The man was unbelievable.
"What are you talking about? This is a freak incident, an awful mistake. It will be over soon, and then everything will be back to normal." Erik's face clouded over with anger.
"Normal for whom? Perhaps this is normal for her. Perhaps she's just never had a chance to explore her true nature before. What are you so afraid of, Hank?"
Hank felt irritation fill his chest, making it hard for him to breathe.
"I'm not afraid, Erik. I am concerned. Madeline isn't herself, you can see that. I don't pretend to understand what the blood in her body's done to her, but it obviously isn't natural."
By way of answer, Erik raised a hand, and the metal torch Maddy had embedded in the wall flew into his grasp. He quirked an eyebrow infuriatingly, held the torch out to Hank. He snatched it from the metal bender, glowering.
"Beast, look at yourself. Look at me. We're mutants. What's natural? Just look at her. Does she look sick to you?"
Hank looked at Maddy. She looked… radiant, truth be told. Her variegated eyes were filled with life, with light. Her skin had a pearlescent sheen to it. And when she slid down off the desk, her movements had a grace reminiscent of something feline.
"I don't feel wrong, Hank. But Erik-" she choked on a sob – "it doesn't feel right either. I can't seem to control myself at all – my feelings, my reactions. And I can't stand having that poor little boy's memories in my head, I can't!" She dropped on her knees in front of Charles, who had been watching the argument unfold with a troubled look on his face. Maddy put a hand on his arm.
"Charles, please – take his memories away from me. They're not mine, and it feel's wrong to carry them." Charles sighed, covered her hand with his.
"Are you sure, Madeline? I don't like to interfere with people's minds any more than is strictly necessary." She nodded emphatically.
"Please." With a sad expression, Charles raised his fingers to his temple, shut his eyes. Then they flew open, widened with surprise.
"I can't." Maddy looked at him pleadingly.
"Why?"
"The memories – they're not in your mind; they're in the blood. They'll stay with you as long as the blood does. I can see them there, like a – like a ghost of a mind. But my power can't touch it."
Her face fell. Hank patted her back consolingly.
"You see? It's better this way. As soon as the rest of the blood burns off, the memories will go. You wouldn't want to drag this out, would you?" She shook her head, looking defeated. Erik made a sound of protest, cut it off when Charles shot him a warning look, some silent message. Hank smiled at Charles, grateful for this support.
"Would you like to come back to the sick bay? We can store the blood somewhere else, don't worry – you could rest there, until-" but Madeline was shaking her head.
"I can't rest. I feel too – alive. I think I might go for a run, clear my head – blow off some steam." This last with another nervous glance at Erik that Hank couldn't decipher. The metal bender had started forward at her mention of a run.
"I'll come with you-" he began, but she cut him off with a desperate smile.
"No, please – I think I had better be on my own." And with that, she was gone, out of the room and the mansion so fast she left a light breeze in her wake.
Hank had left, looking despondent – disappointed, Erik supposed, that he hadn't been able to get Maddy on lockdown until her power was safe and tame again. Erik was about to leave too, to follow Madeline, to try and talk to her before Hank had a chance to get his claws into her-
Erik. No.
Erik shook his head violently, trying to dislodge Charles's restraining voice from his head.
"Leave Madeline alone, Erik. You heard what she said. And you might as well know I've told Hank exactly the same thing. The last thing the poor girl needs now is the two of you scrapping over her like two dogs with a bone."
Erik exhaled heavily, began pacing. He was surprised to feel himself getting angry. He so rarely got angry with Charles. But he didn't have time for a lecture, not now.
"I only want to help her, Charles. You know that."
"So does Hank." Erik snorted.
"Like he wanted to help Raven?"
"Yes, Erik. Just because you disagree with him about how, that doesn't mean his heart's not in the right place."
Erik groaned, whirled round.
"He was wrong then and he's wrong now. She doesn't need to be cured, to be fixed. She needs to accept what she is, like Raven has. But she's afraid; if someone doesn't talk to her, help her to get her head around all this, she'll run away from it."
Charles frowned.
"Erik, calm down. I know you care about her; I know how strongly you feel about this. But she needs to make her own decisions. Her mutation is unlike any that I've ever seen before; and the implications of it are – concerning. No wonder she's afraid! If she wants to take a step back from it-"
Erik slammed his fist into Charles's desk.
"She is a step forward, Charles! That's the 'implication' you're doing your best to ignore."
Charles's eyes went dark as he took Erik's meaning. He pursed his lips.
"No. No. No. I'm not having you turn what's happened to Madeline into part of your ridiculous ideology."
Erik gasped.
"My ridiculous ideology? It's your thesis, Charles! We're outstripping the humans, evolving to replace them. She's the proof; her powers are stimulated by human blood, Charles."
"And her blood heals humans, Erik! How does that fit into your worldview?"
Erik shrugged negligently. Charles threw up his hands.
"You see? You always do this. You pick and choose the science that supports your prejudice, but you never follow any of it through. Madeline may be many things. But what she is not is any kind of justification for your vendetta against humanity! If you want to be a eugenicist, Erik, at least have the courage of your own conviction; don't try and excuse yourself by bowdlerizing theories you don't understand – least of all mine!"
The furious contempt in Charles's voice gave Erik pause. This was an ancient argument between the two, but it had never been this bitter. But then, until now it had always been theoretical. Now they had been confronted with the living, breathing evidence of what Erik had always suspected – that mutants and humans were not made for peaceful coexistence.
The metal bender was bewildered by Charles's intransigence in the face of this proof, and hurt by his accusations – if anyone ought to be above the petty prejudices of eugenics, it was Erik. But he was worried about Charles too. The younger man had had such a hellish time of late – it grieved Erik to fight with him when he ought to be trying to comfort him. He forced himself to swallow the angry retort that leapt into his throat, sank down onto his knees next to Charles.
"You don't mean that, liebling. You're tired. You've had an awful day. If it bothers you so much, I won't talk to Madeline now. It will wait."
Charles stared at him in helpless frustration, obviously wanting to argue; then he shut his eyes, defeated by his own exhaustion.
"I am tired. That didn't come out the way I meant it. I'm sorry." He put a conciliatory hand on Erik's arm. "I just… don't want you to get carried away. This… fixation of yours, it frightens me sometimes. It came so close in Cuba to costing so many lives, costing your life. I fear that one day it may lead you to do something that you – that all of us – will profoundly regret." Charles leant in to Erik, pushed his forehead against the German's cheek. "Why can't you let it go, Erik? Put all that hate and fear into the past? For – for the school?"
For me. Erik heard the silent appeal loud and clear, although Charles hadn't said it, either out loud or in Erik's head. And it tore into his heart. But he couldn't give Charles what he wanted. The hatred and the fear weren't his – it was humanity's, and he couldn't ignore the inevitability of their extinction any more than they would when they realized their fate. He had tried, all this time since Cuba he had been trying, but Madeline's condition had changed everything. It proved that he had been right all along.
He pressed his forehead to Charles's, kissed him sadly, and for a moment, skin to skin with his lover, he felt so lonely he wanted to cry. No-one understood him, no-one. Not even Charles.