Jean and Hank: How My Heart Behaves (Backdated)

[x-jeangrey.livejournal.com]

Jean comes in to check on Hank's injuries right after the team gets back from Madripoor.



His eyes fluttered open in the dim light of one of the fifth bed-rest room attached to the medlab. He had opted to stay down here since his wounds were, according to the other medical professionals working in the facility, more serious than some of his compatriots. Hank shut his eyes tight again, blinking hard to spread a much needed layer of moisture to the blue orbs. Trying to sit up, he winced, the pain lancing up from his core into his brain like embers being blown on. "Oh, that's not...ugh."

Jean walked into the room right about then, a cart trailing in behind her filled with all sorts of classic medical torture devices like gauze and antibiotics.

"Glad to see you've rejoined us in the land of the living," she said with a soft smile.

"Also, as your stomach, and your doctor are telling you, sitting up is probably a bad idea. So perhaps you should listen to one of us, hmm? I really don't want to have to redo your stitches."

They all lived, worse for wear. She masked the treacherously long flight marred by trying to stop bleeding and patching up wounds with a needle and thread from 10,000 feet with a smile and good humor, but inside she knew how close they had come.

"W-water?" he groaned, coming to the realization he was parched. As the cup floated in front of him, he tilted his head and choked down the first sip before draining the liquid relief into his system. With a sigh, Hank shut his eyes and winced again for moving. "The last thing I recall," Hank opened his eyes and turned his head to look at Jean, "we were an hour into our flight. Did the others...?" he couldn't finish the question, his mind was churning with a hundred different requests for knowledge, buy the thought of Yvette or Angel not having pulled through because he'd been unconscious was too important.

Jean gently put her hand on his shoulder. "They're okay. Yvette had some problem with some swelling but she'll fully recover. I've got a close eye on her. And Angel's on bed rest for a day or two but she'll be okay too," she said. She knew he'd thought it instead of said it but figured he'd forgive her for pulling those two names out this once.

"Right now it's you I'm worried about."

With the assurance that the team was stable, Hank turned his attention toward himself, "What's the prognosis Doctor Grey-Summers?" Before she could answer, "Feels like my epidermal layer was torn off in four places, with some muscular tissue beneath it having been removed as well."

Jean laughed quietly. "That's the good thing and the bad thing about having a doctor as a patient: you always know what's wrong with you," she said. Her smile faded.

"I had to give you stitches. She really did a number on you, and everyone else," she said. A hint of the closeness of how everything almost went to hell bled into Jean's voice as she looked away for a moment.

"I need to look at your stitches, see how they're doing, so I'm going to pull the covers back," she said, finally looking back with a soft smile.

"Okay?"

Hank's face soured a bit, he did not like being unable to care for himself, but if there was someone else he would trust with the task- in the absence of Madelyn- it was Jean...though he had no intention of making it easy on her. "As long as you'll call Madelyn to let her know I will not be home this weekend as was originally planned, then do as you must, Doctor Grey-Summers, and it was actually a he that did this...at least I think so. Did we learn anything since our daring escape?"

Jean shook her head. "Of course, I'll give her a call. And you're right, I'm sorry. I was speaking generally, since Deathstrike seemed to be the leader of it all," she said as she gently slid the covers down and started to peel back the bandages. She'd had to remove a lot of the fur around the area as it'd been matted with blood and made it hard to tend to the wound.

"I haven't heard anything else but the other teams have been notified of Deathstrike's miraculous resurrection and our sound trouncing. I need to talk to Dugan, see if he'd put eyes out for us in case Deathstrike makes another move. Not sure what he'll say to that after what happened with Corrigan, though. But since this thing doesn't seem to localized to Madripoor, Deathstrike could very well be anywhere," she said.

Hank chortled, suppressing a wince of pain as he forced a smile, "I feel as though I've just fallen out of a bad comic book. Are you quite certain these aren't paper-cuts you're tending, Jean?"

Jean laughed quietly, appreciating the humor.

"That's some really big paper."

"In any event," Hank sighed as she started to replace the dressings. "It does make one wonder. If an foe-woman we thought was off the board for good can suddenly reappear, what does that mean about our other adversaries?" If he could have done so, Hank was sure he'd have shuddered at the thought, "I'm not terribly keen on having this sort of thing happen again."

Jean kept her gaze focused on her work, checking the wounds for any redness or swelling.

"I came back. I guess it makes sense that, unfortunately, the other side can do it too," she said.

Both sides got lucky breaks. It wasn't a good thing, wasn't right or fair, but not surprising. A philosopher might argue that without evil there wouldn't be good or without good there wouldn't be evil. They would keep doing the same song and dance.

"It never stops," she said. It was cyclical.

"Yes, but you were never really dead," Hank shut his eyes, "not that anyone could have confirmed Deathstrike's death at Alkali Lake before the damn burst." His eyes opened as she grazed a sensitive spot, "Perhaps the problem we face is that we make assumptions."

"Like her really being dead? From Logan's account, that much adamantium flooding her system sounded like it should've killed her. But with her healing factor...it's really hard to say," Jean admitted, then shook her head as she applied some topical antibiotics on the wounds and started to cover them with a bandage.

"But does that mean we should keep the possibility open that every adversary we've faced that's dead is not really dead? Should we start digging up graves? It's one thing to be prepared, but its another to constantly be in fear of looking over our shoulders. It's a fine line."

Hank noticed the graveness in her voice, a change from the last time they had spoken. The blue doctor let out a short sigh and placed his large blue hand over Jean's small one, "It's not your fault, Jean."

Jean's eyes took on a distant look as she dropped the discarded, bloody bandages into the biohazard bin. She stood up straight, closing her eyes.

"I was your leader, Hank. You....the others...they took my orders. Even if we know what we get into, I should've known there was a problem when my telepathy was compromised. Everyone had a bad feeling about the situation. I should've taken more caution and yet I willingly led everyone in. We're lucky no one died," she said. She lowered her eyes.

"I should've found a different way. This has always been Scott's area. I patch people up, I don't want to put them in situations where I'm the one who got them that way. When I got back...I thought...if I keep myself distant from people...if I do my job...maybe I can help if something happens...maybe I can stop people from dying..."

She looked up at him.

"Tell me the truth, Hank. If Angel or Yvette died back there would you still be telling me it wasn't my fault?"

Hank held her gaze for a moment, "Yes, Jean. Both of them know the risks of this work- with a bit more of a realistic bite to that knowledge now than they had prior to our," he shifted in discomfort, "mission to Madripoor."

The blue doctor's hand came up from covering his friend's and cupped her cheek. "You know the risks too, more than most of them. You know what self-sacrifice is, Jean and it's because of that you were the field leader. We took every precaution that could be taken given the situation- psi-dampeners are everywhere now-days and it could have just as easily been nothing. The plan, no...my plan," he cocked his head slightly, "was sound. We could not have foreseen them being ready for us and counting on us to divide for them."

He patted her cheek fondly and gave her a weak smile before letting his arm fall back to his side, "Your guilt is not welcome here, Doctor Grey-Summers, but since you have not yet redressed this wound of mine, I think you will need to throw that too into the bin, else it will eat you alive." A thought occurred to him, "What did Scott have to say about all this?"

Save for the moment he made her meet his eyes Jean'd been looking everywhere else.

"I haven't gotten a chance to tell him," she said quietly.

"The moment I got off the plane I was in the medlab. I've been helping Amelia with everyone for the better part of a half a day. I'm sure...he'll say the same thing you did but...I...I...it's hard to shake. I know. I know I shouldn't think this way..."

She withdrew a breath. "I guess the ride back on the Blackbird just got to me."

"I honestly don't remember much beyond getting on board," Hank nodded, "but I can imagine that it was quite ghastly. However, you should remember that things would have been far worse if you had not been there. I was down and out, you held the team together and saved lives."

Falling silent for a few long moments, Jean finally glanced up, then nodded. "You're right, thank you. I'm sorry. I don't....know what it was about now that had me so rattled. I've done this for years. Maybe I just need some rest," she said. She reached over to squeeze Hank's hand.

"And so do you. Everything looks fine. I think you're about due for another dose of pain medication, actually, if you want it," she said.

It was a rhetorical statement for some, the question of alleviating pain, but she thought she'd ask. Some people felt different ways about being under the influence of medication.

Hank smiled, genuinely hoping he'd helped, not being able to tell given that- unlike Jean- he lacked telepathy to be sure. "If my doctor thinks its best- and yours does agree that you should rest."

Jean smiled softly, gently putting her hand on his shoulder.

"Not yet, work still needs to be done. We've got a full house. But I will soon, promise," she said as she grabbed a couple of pills from the cart.

"Here you go."