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REPOST FIC: The Weapon 7/12

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  • rimmette@earthlink.net
    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
    Message 1 of 1 , May 2, 2001
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      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
      real name."

      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
      or permanent?

      "What's the last thing you remember?" Jean asked, trying to assess
      the damage.

      "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
      years ago."

      "Two years? No... How old am I?"

      "Nineteen."

      "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
      to me?"

      "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?"

      "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
      haired/furred something.

      "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
      couldn't remember.

      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
      mask.

      "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.
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