FIC: 'Til Death Do Us Part 3/7
- Disclaimers, etc. in part one.
"Logan?!" Jean cried from the back of the van as it sped down the
street. Looking out the window, she saw that they were now heading
away from the mansion. Even without actively scanning his mind, she
could sense the panic and terror emanating from him in waves. Still,
Shelley needed medical attention, and it was her responsibility to
ensure she got it.
"Logan. Stop the van," she ordered as she made her way to the front,
grasping the seat backs as he made a dangerously sharp turn onto a
side street. He ignored her command so she used her telekinesis to
push down on the brake, slowing their speed considerably.
Logan roared and with a wet *SCHUKK* she heard and saw his bone claws
emerge inches from her face. She could feel his powerful rage and
knew that if she hadn't been one of his long-time friends, she'd
already be dead. Immediately releasing the pressure on the brake, she
backed away, allowing him to resume his attempt to break all land-
~Professor,~ Jean mentally called. ~Something's happened. Logan's
emotions are out of control. Shelley needs help, and he's driving us
in the wrong direction. I don't know what I should do. Should I scan
After a pause, Professor Xavier responded, ~He's heading back to
Mercy Hospital, and he needs you to stay with him. I'll send Hank to
pick up Shelley. She's stable now?~
~For the moment, but what's going on?~
~His emotions are very strong. I can't get a clear reading, but
something has happened to Anna and Rogue. Stay with him, Jean.~
Logan barely registered the cars that shared the road with him. They
were only obstacles to avoid as he made his way toward his goal.
The smell of death still lingered with him, but he couldn't accept
it. There were all sorts of new medical advances. People died and
were brought back all the time. Marie and Anna would be fine. If he
could just get to them, he'd see they were ok.
What were they doing out here anyway? Marie taught late on Fridays
and Anna... Anna had soccer practice. He'd forgotten. He always
picked her up. Marie must've gone and... Guilt filled his soul as he
realized, it was all his fault. He should've been the one to drive
Anna home. If he had been there, maybe the accident wouldn't have
happened. Marie would definitely be safe now, and maybe Anna would be
all right as well.
No. He wouldn't let himself get distracted. He just had to get this
insanely slow van another few blocks, and he'd see everything was all
right. They were probably just bruised and scratched up a bit. The
smells in the Jeep had probably been from the person they'd hit.
Everything was gonna be ok.
Logan screeched to a stop in front of the Emergency Room doors and
ran into the hospital. Jean left Shelley with a few reassuring words
and a promise that someone would be with her shortly, then ran after
him. By the time she arrived at the check-in counter, she saw Logan
holding a doctor up to the wall by his scrub front.
"You smell like Anna. Where is she? Where's Marie? What happened to
them?" he demanded.
Jean could hear a nurse call for security, and she ran up to Logan,
trying to calm him at least a little, so they wouldn't be thrown out
before they got any information.
If Logan heard her, he gave no indication. His steady gaze was
focused solely on the man in front of him.
Jean turned to the terrified man in his grasp, sending out feelings
of soothing peace in an effort to calm him down enough to get some
answers, then she said, "Anna is eight years old with dark brown hair
and hazel eyes. She was probably brought here within the last hour
after a car accident."
The man nodded. "Yes, I treated her. Bad case. She was bleeding
internally. I sent her up to surgery about fifteen minutes ago."
Logan loosened his grip on the man slightly, anger being somewhat
replaced by grief.
"Marie?" he snarled.
"The mother," Jean interpreted. "Brown hair with white streaks. Early-
From the look on the doctor's face, Jean knew what he was going to
say, but before she could stop him, he said, "I'm sorry. There was
nothing we could do. She was dead on arrival."
Jean expected Logan to slay the doctor where he stood, to howl in
anger and pain, to destroy the emergency room in his grief, but he
didn't do any of that.
Instead, he fell limply to his knees, like a marionette whose strings
had been cut. Holding his head in his hands, he slowly rocked back
and forth, and Jean could hear him whispering, "No no no " over and
over again, almost as if he said it enough times, it would change
what had happened.
The doctor backed away from him, and waved the security guards away
as well, leaving him to his grief.
Jean stayed by his side, in shock at what had happened. Rogue, so
young and full of life, was dead? No. Not like this. Not in some
meaningless car accident. If anyone was going to die, Jean had been
sure it would be in battle.
How could someone be alive one minute and dead the next? Even after
all her years of medical training and work as a doctor, she had never
been good at understanding or accepting death. It was an enemy to be
fought and defeated, not a part of life to be accepted. She had
considered them truly lucky that they had never lost one of their
team in all their years of battle. Now death had come to claim one of
Jean felt a tug on her pants leg as Logan reached out and grabbed
her. Hugging himself to her legs like a child and still looking down
at the floor, he whispered, "I I have to to see her, Jeanie.
"I'll take care of it, Logan. Don't worry."
Jean pulled herself away from his grasp, and went to the check-in
desk as Logan wrapped his arms around himself and resuming his
Logan shuffled down the hall like an old man, one hand dragging along
the wall for support. He could smell the formaldehyde and other
chemicals mixed with the scent of death from the moment he stepped
off the elevator. There were no windows down here in the basement and
the walls where a stark, cold off-white. Finally reaching the double
doors with the sign "Morgue" above them, he froze.
"Logan?" Jean asked, still by his side and ready to help where she
"Could you do me a favor, Red?"
"Check on Anna for me. See if they'll let ya into the operation. I
don't trust these doctors." It was more words than he'd uttered since
he'd heard the news. He didn't have the energy for speaking anymore,
no energy for anything, in fact.
"Are you sure? I mean... I could go with you if..."
"Go on, Jeanie. Watch after my little girl."
Jean nodded and turned back down the hallway for the elevators. Logan
remained standing before the imposing doors, finally pushing them
A bookish woman looked up from her dinner behind the desk, and after
taking in his appearance, said, "Um, you're not supposed to be down
He didn't hear her, looking around the room in shock. They were
obviously backed up, as there were several covered bodies on gurneys
waiting to be processed. Marie's scent drifted from one of them.
With shaking hands, he reached up and pulled back the sheet to reveal
his wife's pale face. Her hair was matted with dried blood, the white
streaks partially tinted with red. Her head was bent at an odd angle,
and her eyes remained half-opened in a perpetual stare. Her
expression surprised him, though, in that she looked almost peaceful.
He reached out and gently turned her head into a more natural
position, feeling the broken bones shifting in her neck. The skin
under his bare hands was cold and lifeless. How many times over the
years had he wished that he could safely touch her, skin-to-skin? Now
that dream had been twisted into a nightmare.
She was still wearing the outfit he'd seen her in this morning. It
was dirty, grease-stained, and ripped in a few, little places, but
the green material was still remarkably undamaged. How could her
clothes have remained so untouched when the occupant was so badly
Odd stains started appearing on her shirt, blossoming in little dots,
and he realized he was crying. He hated showing weakness and had
rarely cried in all his remembered life. Now, he sobbed openly for
Marie pulling her body up into his arms and cradling her.
"I love you," he whispered.
See part four.