xp_logs | [Paul: Amanda, Scott, Nathan] I thought you wouldn't mind, I lied when I said I was fine.

Medlab: Amanda comes in to do what the doctors can't, Paul's very grateful to see her. Scott comes to check in, Paul musters up the energy to be reassuring and optimistic for him. Nathan, after recovering from his spat with Haroun, comes by. Both men discover they're too sick to be silly. You can't leave them alone for a minute.

The Sisters of Mercy, they are not departed nor gone.

It was a sign of how bad things were that the medlab staff had asked Amanda to see what she could do for Paul. Moira had accepted the whole magic thing fairly well, but Hank and Madelyn were still a bit leery, preferring to stick with what they knew, at least initially. And all three were leery of the amount of effort it cost. So it was with a certain amount of trepidation that Amanda knocked gently on the door of Paul's cubicle, a bag containing various herbs and potions over one shoulder and her healing textbook tucked under her arm.

Paul lay in the dark, as still as he could. He wasn't dead, unfortunately. The clock on the wall clicked over. 13:08. Ten minutes had passed. More than time to throw up again. Paul reached for the ice chips just so he'd have something to make it worth his while other than blood and things he didn't want to think about. He'd been fine until about nine the night before, and then everything had gone to hell. So much for being nearly invulnerable. Someone knocked on the door.

...merde. "Wait." His voice was almost gone and the effort of speaking made him retch. When he was done that bout of vomiting, he reached for a damp washcloth. "Come in."

"Um, hi. The docs asked me t' come an' see if there was anythin' I could do..." Amanda took in the smooth skin, now an ugly brick-red, and the bowl he'd obviously been throwing up into - she'd heard the noises from outside. "'M Amanda. We haven't actually met yet."

Paul pushed his hair back from his face, it was stringy with sweat and clung to his fingers. "At last," he managed. God, he'd been missing Michael all night. The shaman would have been able to do something, he usually could. "Someone who can help."

The girl's face brightened. Another one she didn't have to explain to. "I'll try," she said, coming into the room and closing the door behind her. "I've got a potion that might help yer stomach settle down, an' a couple of healin' spells.." She shrugged. "I ain't treated anythin' like this before, tho'." As she spoke, she was putting the book and the bag on the table. "Radiation ain't exactly somethin' the ancient Wiccans had a lot t' do with."

"Few elders up north work with it," Paul said weakly, sinking back into the crumpled pillows. "Just stop the vomiting. Please. All night." He closed his eyes and breathed slowly to try and calm his muscles; they twitched with exhaustion and dehydration.

"Try this, first," Amanda said, pouring out a small amount of pinkish-coloured liquid from a jam jar into a plastic cup. When she realised he was to weak to hold the cup, she held it for him, raising his head slightly with her other hand. Her touch was surprisingly steady, not hesitant at all, despite her opening words. "Just little sips - needs t' get into you t' do any good," she cautioned.

Paul took a few sips obediently. It had a slight tingle but his tastebuds were long gone and the sensation could have just been the blisters forming in his mouth reacting to the fluid. He was starting to relax a little, and trembling with it; he hadn't realized how tense he'd been and how little he trusted the doctors with his health. "Wait. Enough." He didn't want to just throw it right back up.

She nodded, moving the cup away, but not moving the hand supporting his head. "You know, most people at least ask what I'm givin' 'em," she said, more to give him something other to concentrate on than how sick he was feeling. Sometimes you could think yourself sick.

"If you kill me," Paul said slowly, swallowing hard. "Thank you." He closed his eyes and concentrated on keeping things down. "Used to it. Potions. Not death. Much."

"I try not t' kill people - 's hard t' explain later, an' I get into enough trouble as is," Amanda replied with a brief smile. She was itching to ask him about these other potions, but now was definitely not the time. "Think you can try a bit more?"

"So far so good." Paul drank a little more as she held the cup for him. He'd have been ashamed of being so weak around a student but Amanda got special consideration for being a witch. "All?" He was hoping not, but thought the answer wasn't going to be good. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"A couple of mouthfuls more at least," she told him, taking in the obvious effort he was making to not throw up. There was no point making him drink the potion if it wasn't going to stay down. "I'll try the healin' spell after, try an' take some of the worst of it, at least." She thought of the Orb of Fortis sitting in her bag - Strange didn't know she had it yet, but hey, this was a good cause and all. Plenty of power for this.

Paul nodded and concentrated on getting as much of the odd pink liquid down as possible. "No more," he said at last. The effort of drinking and speaking had left him exhausted and he needed his focus to calm the muscles in his stomach that were starting to twist and rebel. Getting to be about that time again, periods of respite were short. He closed his eyes again and listening to his breath rattling back and forth in his throat. "Enough?"

"Yeah. You did well." Amanda lowered his head gently back onto the pillow, brushing back some of the sweat-soaked hair off his forehead as she did. She'd give him a moment or two to regroup before she tried the actual spell, she decided, putting the cup and the remainder of its contents down on the table. Shifting into aura sight, she inwardly winced - this was going to get a lot worse before it got any better. "Just rest for a bit. I ain't goin' anywhere."

"Just do it." He didn't mean to be sharp, tension made his tone brittle. "Please," he added, trying to soften it. She was trying to help, he didn't have any reason to be unkind.

Amanda bit her lip at the tone, but nodded. Laying her hands gently on his chest - there was no 'injury' for her to focus on, so the centre of his body was as good as any - and closed her eyes. The warm golden light erupted from her hands as she chanted, spreading across Paul's body before sinking into his flesh. It was difficult, healing something she couldn't 'see', and the amulet around her neck glowed brightly blue with the effort she was expending.

The warmth of the spell spread over him, an uncomfortable reminder of the radiation from the day before, and Paul shuddered. He could feel it soaking in, filling up the damaged places. For a moment, he swore he could feel every cell in his marrow glowing. It felt different from other magics he'd had worked on him but familiar in the mysteriousness of it all.

It was doing something, she could feel it - Amanda poured on more power, even though the tell-tale throb in her head was warning her she was skating the edge of overload. The radiation damage seemed to absorb as much power as she gave it. At last, just as the pressure in her head was building to nose-bleeding stage, she stopped, panting a little and flopping back into the chair by the bed, all her energy gone. For a moment she just sat there, eyes closed, trying to summon the strength to reach for her bag and the Orb that was sitting in it. "Did I... did it help?" she managed at last.

Burned out. Broken down. Half dead. Oh, yes, this was so much better than before. The clawing nausea from his body desperately trying eject the poison permeating his flesh had settled to a dull seasick sensation. "Yes." Paul said faintly, feeling more than a little giddy at the lightening of the misery that had gripped him for hours. "Thank you. Still not deceased. It's good."

"I can try again in a bit. Just need t' recharge." She gave another of those helpless shrugs. "Wish I could cure it, but it's too much." And speaking of recharging... She snagged her bag wearily, groping around inside for the Orb and sighing as her fingers touched the smooth, warm surface. Energy tingled through her fingertips, banishing that hollow, empty feeling. "The docs say you'll be all right," she ventured. "No dyin' in yer future, I mean."

"No dying, no. If I was going to do it, it'd be done already. Just wishing for it for a while there." Paul fumbled for the cup of ice chips. "Don't wear yourself out, Amanda." He was already feeling more stable, at least mentally. Being lost to the whims of his body reminded him oo much of a decade and more ago when he'd come so close to death. Now, instead of panicking, he was ready to curl up and shake for a while once the young witch was gone.

"I'm fine," she replied automatically, although her voice was tired. "I'll let you rest up for a bit, come down again later if you need me to." She hauled herself out of the chair and stood, swaying a little, before moving to put things away and collect her book. "Um, when yer feelin' better, I wouldn't mind talkin' t' you 'bout these elders of yers. If you don't mind, that is. Magic... a lot of people here have trouble believin' in it, let alone knowin' different types."

"Don't know too much," Paul said, watching her with a little concern. It was good that she didn't fall, he'd only have been able to watch her hit the floor. "I just let them do their stuff. What I know, though, I'll tell you." He reached for the crumpled blankets and tugged at them half-heartedly. "Thank you, Amanda."

She lay the book down again to pull the blankets up for him. Once she was back in her room, she'd get another hit off the Orb and then sleep for a few hours. "That'd be good," she said, with a slight smile. "An' yer welcome. Nice t' do me thing without the long explanation."

"If I'd known, I'd have asked for you hours ago," Paul said wearily, letting her tuck him. God, he was tired. "Damn doctors," he muttered. "Don' tell Nate I said that," he warned sleepily. Everything hurt but sleep was heavier than pain and it was pulling him down into the dark.

Four o'clock in the afternoon and I didn't feel like very much.

Whatever spell Amanda had cast on him, it was working. Now that he was done throwing up everything he'd ever eaten in his life, Paul was bored. Sleep had held him down for a while, but Paul had managed to wriggle back to consciousness after a few hours. He plucked idly at some skin starting to peel a little on the back of one hand even though he'd been told to leave it alone. It wasn't that bad, he told himself. He didn't want to look in a mirror for a week or so, that was all. And if his hair... he wasn't even going to go there. Hair falling out meant other things were wrong and he wasn't going to think that way. Denial was the way to go in this case.

Scott knocked at the door, lightly. "Paul?" he called out quietly, not really wanting to disturb the other man if he was sleeping. But he hadn't gotten the chance to check on him yet, and he was rather eager to do that.

Scott. Scott could come in. Paul shoved lank hair back from his forehead and sighed. "Come on in," he said reluctantly.

Scott did, closing the door again behind him. "How are you feeling?" he asked just as quietly, coming over to stand beside the bed. Paul did not look well, and it wasn't just the 'sunburn' from the radiation. Scott tried to turn the grimace into a smile, but didn't quite manage it. "I would have stopped in earlier but apparently you weren't feeling up to company."

Paul nodded and gestured to a chair. "Have a seat. And I thought I'd let having company wait until they figured out what meds to give me that would work. How's Shiro?"

Scott sat down, with some relief. "He'll be all right, I gather. The doctors look downright cheerful, which is always a good sign. In fact," he added wryly, "you may be in here longer than he is."

"It'll give him a head start," Paul said wryly, mustering up a smile. "Glad he's doing okay. How's Nate? I know he was wasted last night."

Remembering the scene in the hangar, Scott shook his head, unable to help a laugh. "I think it's safe to say he's, um, in high spirits. Overly high spirits, maybe..."

Paul smiled easily this time, relaxing back into the pillows and closing his eyes. "That's good to hear. And how's our fearless leader?"

"Rather glad, all in all, that we weren't any faster getting off the ground yesterday," Scott confessed. "Which may sound awful of me, but any closer to that blast..." He grimaced.

Paul nodded, hearing the tone of Scott's voice and knowing he was feeling the same bone-deep sensation of having dodged the bullet once again. "We were lucky. Timing really is everything. I think we're gifted like that, somehow." He was surprised to be pleased to have a little company. "Haroun would have killed us if we'd survived." He laughed a little. "The 'Bird would have had to be scrapped."

"The damage is pretty bad as is." Scott laughed helplessly, running his hand through his hair. "Haroun and Nate had words about that. I didn't know whether or not to step between them or let them go at it and just sit bac and watch."

"I'd have watched," Paul said, trying not to laugh because it made his stomach hurt. "Did you break it up?"

Scott nodded, smiling wryly. "They're both hotheads. It was getting a little out of hand." He leaned back in the chair, rubbing at his forehead. "Wish I could shake this headache, although I suppose I should be glad I got off this lightly."

"You too? I guess the brain objects to being irradiated like an imported tomato. Hank's got some good stuff for it, you should get some and then get yourself in bed for a while." Paul opened one eye enough to look at Scott. "Can't lead when you're flat on your face, you know."

Scott grinned, raising a defensive hand. "I know, I know. Going to do just that, believe me - I've checked on Shiro, I'm checking on you, Haroun and I have a complete read on the jet's status... I'm due for a nap, I think."

"Have some cookies and apple juice first," Paul teased. "I would if I could, but I can't. You know, I bet most people don't know that X-Men need naps."

"Compensation for the regular sleep we don't generally manage to get," Scott said with a chuckle, heartened by Paul's good humor. "You'd think the need for naps would be self-evident."

"Indeed. Can you imagine if we were cranky all at the same time?" Paul opened his eyes again and smiled at Scott.

"The world would tremble," Scott said firmly. "Our collective bad mood would probably bring about Armageddon."

"I think so. So go have a nap." Paul pointed to the door. "Oh, and on your way out, a favour?"

"Sure thing. What do you need?"

"My green iPod," Paul said. "It's in on my desk, earphones should be there too. Could you get someone to run it down? I'm in need of some Baroque music. And a couple extra blankets. It's freezing down here."

Scott smiled. "Will do," he said, rising. "Rest up so you can get out of here soon, okay? Clarice and your cat are both fretting, and the cute are not supposed to be sad."

"I"m healing as fast as I can," Paul reassured him. "I won't look this bad for a moment longer than necessary."

In solemn moments such as this I have put my trust.

Nathan knocked tentatively at the closed door. "Paul?" he called, not reaching out to figure out whether the other man was awake. His headache was still bad enough that aggravating it would have him flat on his back whimpering at Moira to turn off the sun again. "Want some company?"

Paul was dozing, listening to Tomaso Albinoni's Adiago in G Minor. The earphones for his iPod lay on the bed near him; his hearing was sharp enough that he didn't have to have them in to catch the little bit of music he needed to break the silence and distract him. "Come on in," he said as loudly as he could, annoyed at the soreness of his throat.

Nathan opened the door, frowning a little at the sight of Paul. Moira had told him he was doing fairly well, but he didn't look well. "Hey," he said in a low voice, coming over to the bed. He managed a bit of a smile, hearing the music. "Albinoni?"

"I knew there was I reason I liked you." Paul opened his eyes and focussed; he was so tired and talking to Scott had taken up most of his optimism. Scott, however, needed it. He didn't want to go to sleep right now, as much as he had teased Scott about nap time. "And yes."

Nathan lowered himself into the chair with a sigh. "I won't tell you how you look," he said. "How do you feel?"

"They tell me I still have all my internal organs. I don't think I believe them," Paul said, managing a smile. "Moira's not telling you anything she's not telling me, is she?"

"She tells me you're doing well, and smiles when she says it," Nathan said with a brief smile of his own. "And thanks to the link, I know she's not just being optimistic."

"Good to know." Paul relaxed a little. "If my hair falls out, I'm shaving Shiro's head. Just a warning."

"Can I help?" Nathan asked, then chuckled wearily. "No, I think I'd get my ass kicked if I did. I don't have your good reasons to be pissed at him, apparently...."

"He's a child," Paul said, sounding equally tired. "And I don't mean that in a bad way. I don't think people here understand how serious all this is to him, this about his cousin and being disowned. I'm not angry with him, really. I'm just... I'm not good at paying attention to people and maybe I should have." He managed to shrug, even though he was curled up under the blankets. "I simply assumed that other people would realize how much he'd be hurt. Don't the children have a therapist?"

"They do," Nathan said, thinking of Leonard. "I don't know that Shiro's ever seen him, though." He sighed. "It just happened so fast."

"Has he talked to anyone?" Paul tried not to fiddle with his IV. Getting it in had been a hell of a task and it hurt. A lot of things hurt and he didn't like it at all. Being weak, tired, and confined to a hospital bed gnawed at him and dragged his bad dreams to the front of his mind. He decided to focus on Nathan for now, pushing other things away.

"I don't know," Nathan said with another sigh. "I haven't been up and around much since yesterday. I hope so." Paul's usually serene mental presence was troubled, darkened. Only to be expected, but it made him sad.

"No one tells me anything," Paul said, sounding about seven all of a sudden. He scratched at his nose, which he'd been forbidden to do because it was starting to blister and he was supposed to leave it alone to heal, and winced. Sore and itchy. What a combination. "I hate being in here."

"I never liked it much myself," Nathan murmured. "Although the kids would probably tell you that I must, given how often I've been in here since I arrived." He smiled a bit. "I took Bella over to keep Delphine company before I came back down," he said.

"She's okay? Hank said that he'd make sure she was, though I don't think he knows much about cats." I hate being sick. I want to get up. Paul took a slow breath to quiet himself. "Though she'll probably like him. She liked Walter."

"She's just fine," Nathan said reassuringly. "Clarice has been helping look after her, too. And she was thrilled to see Bella. You should have seen the two of them purring at each other."

Paul laughed a little. "A bird that purrs. Well, it's better than what Dom teaches her."

"You'll be out of here before you know it," Nathan said and then blinked, shaking his head and giving Paul a quick apologetic look. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice subdued. "Shields are still not quite there, and yesterday didn't help."

Paul took a moment to process what Nathan was saying and then he nodded. "I should be the one apologizing, maybe." He mustered up a smile. "Inside of my head's a little cluttered right now. If I'd known I was going to have company, I'd have cleaned."

Nathan shook his head again, then winced, having done so a little more enthusiastically than was wise. "I need to keep my mind inside my own head anyway," he said. "Freaked Cecilia out the other day answering a question she didn't ask... she was good about it, but my manners clearly need some work."

"It happens," Paul said quietly. He waited for it to bother him and it didn't come. Maybe he'd just been exposed enough times that he was shameless now, he thought. Or maybe he was just too tired. Part of him really wanted to get angry or upset, because then he'd have some energy, but it wasn't happening.

Change of subject, Nathan thought. "Don't be surprised if Haroun asks you to help out with the Blackbird once you're on your feet and feeling up to it," he said, then snorted. "On the other hand, maybe just the former..."

"Oh? Did we break it that much?" Paul perked up a little.

"Well, Shiro and I did. You and Scott are pretty much innocent, but I think Haroun's going on the assumption that all four of us are jointly responsible for hurting his baby." Nathan grumbled under his breath. "I suppose I should be glad I didn't warp the airframe or anything."

"Tell him he's over-associating," Paul said dryly.

Nathan sighed, telling himself that Paul didn't need to hear about how aggravated he was by Haroun's comments about his sloppiness. "The jet is a mess," he said frankly. "Between the blast and what I did to it when I grabbed it..."

"Fuck that." Paul pushed himself up a little. "If he's Bochs or Jeffries, he can whine about someone hurting 'his' hunk of metal. It's a thing. You saved our lives." Something in his mouth was bleeding; Paul grabbed a tissue and spat into it. Upside, his mouth wasn't so dry anymore. "He can shut up. If Scott and Charles don't have something say, no one else should."

Nathan didn't know whether to be gratified, or concerned, watching Paul. "I got a little defensive," he murmured. "Mostly because my head is still fucking killing me." He smiled a little, deliberately changing the subject. "I see you've got something to listen to - did you want anything to read? Or anything else? I hate the idea of you lying down here bored out of your skull."

"I hate it too." Paul reached for another tissue and sagged back into bed. "I can't focus enough to read, the letters move around and I get nauseous. More. Nauseous. And I don't need that at all. My head hurts too, I can't imagine how bad yours is."

Nathan laughed quietly. "Shocked the hell out of Moira this morning by voluntarily asking for painkillers, actually." He leaned back in the chair with a sigh, trying to think. "So, no reading, nothing that's going to aggravate the headache, either.... crap, this is showing me just how limited my idea of recreation is..."

Paul started to laugh and then made himself stop. "I can't think of anything good that's not going to hurt," he said petulantly.

"Board games?" Nathan suggested idly. "The rec room has a scarily huge selection...."

Paul threw a spare pillow at Nathan without further comment.

Without thinking, Nathan reached out to catch the pillow telekinetically. He did managed to deflect it, but as it hit the ground, he was already doubling over in the chair, his vision going briefly white with pain. "Ow," he wheezed. "Dumb of me... very dumb..." The white flash faded and he reached out feebly for a tissue of his own as blood started to trickle from his nose. "The things you do without thinking," he said, or tried to say - the last couple of words vanished in a cough and he froze, concentrating on evening out his breathing. "Moira would hit me," he said after a moment, a little unsteadily, as he held the tissue to his nose.

Paul managed to sit up, startling himself in the process. "Should I call her?" He was horribly dizzy and moving did not make his stomach happy, but he pushed past it and slid toward Nathan. Could be the overload of his telekinesis, or maybe Nathan and Scott had gotten more of a dose of radiation than anyone was letting on..

"Don't worry," Nathan said, trying to smile. "And lay back down before you fall over, okay? Just pushed too hard, yesterday." His chest did ache. Moira had warned him that the virus count was a little elevated; she really would hit him if she caught him not giving the TK a rest. "I'm not used to manhandling jets, sloppily or otherwise. Occasionally knocking them out of the sky, yes. Funny how it's actually harder to keep them in the air..."

"Merde." Paul collapsed backward into the bed, not out of obedience but because it was that or pitch forward onto the floor. His heart slammed against his ribs. It'll pass, he told himself, referring to his weakness. It's temporary. "Falling's easy. Not a surprise."

The pain in his head was easing back a little, and Nathan straightened again, breathing as deeply as he dared. The smile was easier to manage this time. "We make a heck of a pair," he said as wryly as he could. "So, no board games... I could probably convince Moira to get a TV in here. The library's got a good selection of decent films..."

The idea of moving pictures made Paul's stomach lurch. "I think I'll stick to staring at the nice, stable walls," he said, his voice a little wobbly. "...this is pathetic. Remind me not to do this again."

"Well, next time one of our students decides to blow himself up..." Nathan paused, disturbed. "I said that and it didn't sound ridiculous. That's very distressing."

Paul laughed and then stopped, quickly. "It is," he managed to say, once he'd calmed his insides down a little. His own heartbeat was making him feel ill. "I'm never sick. Never." Once. But. "I don't get sick. This is stupid. And I'm ugly now, too. This is my official welcome to Xavier's, isn't it? All that before was just to lull me into a false sense of optimism."

He really didn't like how edgy Paul was sounding. Still holding the tissue to his nose with one hand - the bleeding hadn't stopped yet - Nathan reached out with his other hand rather tentatively, laying it on Paul's arm. "Probably," he said as lightly as he could. "This place can be perverse that way."

The contact was a surprise but it was steadying. Nathan's hand was large and rough and heavy, comforting. Paul gave him a smile, pulling himself back together. "I can forgive anything except for the ruin of my good looks," he said, trying to be blithe. "If I'm not pretty anymore, I'll have to, I don't know, be deep or start caring or something horrible like that."

"Hurray for mutant metabolisms," Nathan said with an answering smile. "You'll have that whole healthy glow thing going again in no time." The tissue was soaking through with blood and he grimaced, removing his hand from Paul's arm reluctantly to grab another.

"As opposed to the charming radioactive one I have right now," Paul said dryly, reaching out in turn to pat Nathan's shoulder lightly. "For the love of... go lie down, Nate." He didn't want to be alone but Nathan was looking exhausted.

"I should, probably, before Moira comes looking at me. There could be screeching, if I make her do that." Nathan smiled a bit wearily. "If you're not out of here by tomorrow, I'll be back down with something you can do to keep yourself from going crazy. Even if I have to take a poll on the journals for suggestions."

"Ask Dom," Paul said. He reached for the blankets; he was cold again. "She knows what I like. Only, not on the public journals," he warned. "Go nap. Juice and cookies and all."

"Juice and..." Nathan blinked, then decided he really didn't need to know. "Nap, right. You, too," he suggested, smiling once more before he left, closing the door quietly behind him.