REPOST FIC: The Weapon 7/12
- Well, that seemed to work. Let's try another one.
Disclaimers, etc. in part one.
Jean was floored by Rogue's question.
"It's Jean, Rogue."
Rogue's face twisted in confusion. "Your name's Jean Rogue?"
"No, your name's Rogue. Don't you remember?"
That answer caused even more confusion. "What kind of name is Rogue?"
"It's... well, the only one you ever gave us. You never told us your
Rogue had forgotten who and where she was, Jean realized. Near-
electrocution could cause brain damage. Most commonly the damage was
caused by a lack of oxygen, but she'd started CPR immediately. In
Rogue's case, this memory loss was probably not due to cell death,
but rather modifications in the electrical properties of the affected
neurons. Still, the question remained, was the memory loss temporary
"What's the last thing you remember?" Jean asked, trying to assess
"I was... driving to school. I was running late for first period and
worrying about how I didn't have all my homework done for
Trigonometry. Was I... did a car hit me? Is that why I'm hurt?
This isn't a hospital. Why am I here?"
"Rogue, calm down. This is a private school. You came here two
"Two years? No... How old am I?"
"No, I'm only sixteen! I haven't... I mean... none of this makes
sense. Wait..." Rogue's eyes narrowed in suspicion, "if I graduated,
why am I still in school? Who are you people? What am I doing here?"
"Rogue, you're still very weak," Jean said gently. "Maybe we should
wait on some of these questions and let you rest."
"I want to see my parents," Rogue demanded.
"That's not possible, Rogue," Jean said, desperately trying to think
of some other excuse for their absence besides the fact that they'd
kicked her out. She didn't think Rogue could handle the added
knowledge that she was a mutant just now. "They live in Mississippi
and this school is in New York."
"Well, call them. I want to talk to them."
"I don't have their number," Jean answered, truthfully.
"How can I go to this school and you not have my parents' number?
Look them up! Their names are..." Rogue's face set in
concentration. "My name is... Why can't I remember? What happened
"Rogue, everything is going to be ok. You're safe. You were hurt
when you tried to help Logan. He was..."
A glint of recognition lighted her features. "I know that name."
"You do?" Jean felt the first flicker of hope after days of
worry. "What else do you remember?"
Rogue closed her eyes as if searching her mind for more information.
She opened them and shook her head. "Nothing, just a name. Who is
"He was..." Jean paused. How could she define Rogue and Logan's
attachment? They'd known each other little more than a week, but
even after two years, everyone knew Rogue still thought about him.
As for Logan, even when he'd been completely controlled by whoever
had sent him here to kill her, he could have easily killed or
seriously hurt Rogue and he hadn't.
"He was important to you," Jean finally decided on saying.
"Why do you keep saying 'he was?' What happened to him?"
Jean looked across the room and Rogue followed her gaze. Logan lay
in a coma not more than a few feet away from them. He had stopped
breathing all together yesterday and now, a ventilator mechanically
pumped air into his burned and ravaged lungs.
Rogue's terrified gaze met Jean's as she looked back down at
her. "He's... Is he going to be all right?"
Jean sadly shook her head. "He's going into sepsis. I've put in
shunts to try and drain away the infection, but... I'm sorry, Rogue."
Rogue's eyes glistened with tears that she was too weak to wipe
away. Jean saw her trying and failing to lift her arms, and reached
out to wipe the moisture with a latex-gloved hand.
"I... I don't even... really know him," Rogue hiccuped through her
tears. "Why am I crying?"
"It's ok," Jean soothed, stroking Rogue's hair. "It's ok."
Rogue pulled her head away from Jean's hand, anger burning in her
eyes. "How is it ok?"
Jean thought about the absurdity of her previous statement. The girl
was seriously hurt and had painful physical therapy before her, she'd
lost her memory, forgotten family and friends alike, and the one
person she'd even slightly remembered was dying.
Jean just shook her head. "I don't know."
She was saved by the entrance of Professor Xavier and a large, blue
"Jean," the professor said, "Here is your requested microbiologist,
geneticist, physician, physical therapist, and a handful of other -
ists. Dr. Henry McCoy."
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Dr. Summers," Henry said, holding
out a large hand.
Rogue's eyes grew until the whites were entirely showing and she
stuttered, "He's a... a.... Mutant!"
"Of course, my dear," Henry answered. "It was my understanding that
we are all mutants."
Rogue started hyperventilating. "You... I'm... How... What?... My
dad'll... kill me."
Jean pulled off the oxygen mask and encouraged Rogue to slow her
breathing, but it wasn't working. Jean could tell from the emotions
Rogue was broadcasting that her surroundings and everything that
they'd discussed finally made sense to the young woman. She was a
mutant; her parents had disowned her; she was alone in a world she
The young woman struggled to push herself up on the bed, and Jean
worried she'd fall off and hurt herself, so she tried to keep Rogue
lying prone. That was a mistake. Now, not only was Rogue
hyperventilating and struggling even more, but her bare hands flew up
in defense dangerously close to Jean's face. Jean grabbed the deadly
hands, pulling them down to Rogue's side as she summoned a bottle of
ativan and a syringe from the meds cabinet. Her hands weren't free,
so she brought them in front of the new doctor.
He reacted like floating drugs appeared before him every day,
plucking the needle and bottle casually out of the air. After
measuring a dosage, he administered it as gently as possible to
Rogue's struggling form. The girl's fighting immediately slowed and
soon she was asleep, breathing regularly through the returned oxygen
"Thanks for your help, Doctor." Jean said, centering Rogue's limp
body again in the bed.
"Please," the blue-harried man said, holding his hands up in
protest. "It's Hank."
"Ok, Hank. I'm Jean."
"Professor Xavier tells me you have an interesting case."
"Yes, Logan." Jean said, walking over to her other patient's bed and
picking up a thick volume. "I'm afraid sepsis is already setting in
so you're probably too late, but here's his chart."
Hank's face turned up in surprise at the size of the medical
chart. "It was my understanding that he's only been here a few days."
Jean nodded. "Yes, but his mutation and *improvements* that have
been made to his body make treatment complex."
"Indeed? Well, I will examine this documentation and present a
treatment plan shortly."
See part eight.