The prodigal daughter's turn...

[x-rogue.livejournal.com]

...in which Em makes it home, with some help from her friend Scott.

You know, she thought. Logan would laugh at you. She felt ahead with one foot and set it down gingerly. Please, don't let there be anything sharp... oh, good. One more step. One more step closer to safety. Look at you. It is kind of funny, you know. The wind whipped across the dark field and the grasses all bent with the cold touch. She shivered. Time for another step. It hurt, but she could think about that later. She cradled her broken arm against her and moved forward a little more, all of her attention invested in the next step, in getting home.

Scott drove the car fast, as usual. He was glad to be back behind the wheel of /his own/ car. He felt safer driving it at speed, and speed was what was needed.

"Charles," he spoke into the headset, "how much farther? She's not on the road, so which side?"

The reply came quickly. He was less than a mile away, so she'd likely be hearing the car. He wanted to shout out to her, wanted to have Emma or Betsy with him to let her know that they were coming. But they'd gone to the city before Charles had found her.

/Just hang in there, friend. I'm coming,/ he thought, sending it out to her though he knew she couldn't hear.

There was a stand of trees up ahead, a welcome sight. The ground was usually less certain, but she could stop for a little and rest. Sitting down wasn't an option, it was too hard to get back up, but she could lean on something for a bit and catch her breath. Just a few more steps into the safety of the shadows. She could do that. The sound of a lone car in the distance hurried her along. She bit her lip. A little further. They'd be looking for her. The road lit up with the milky glow of headlights. She lurched into the dark and fell against a tree. Wait. She put her back to the tree. Just wait and they'll pass on by.

As it neared the trees, Scott slammed on the brakes, tires squealing into the night, sound carrying through the fields. She was somewhere nearby, off to his left. Leaving the car running, he opened his door and got out, worry and anxiety making him jumpy.

"Marie?" he called out, his voice carrying. "It's Scott." Like she couldn't tell, but just in case... Charles had said it had been hard to find her because of ... he cut off that thought and walked into the field. "Where are you, Em?"

She held her breath, hugging herself, willing her knees not to give out. I told you, I told you they'd come, she said to herself. She forced herself to stand up. No snivelling, she told herself. He's probably feeling bad enough as it is. You know him. She took a step forward, and another, out of the shadows. "Scott?" Her voice was like a thin ghost on the wind and she wondered if he could hear. Chin up, she said sternly. Chin up and one step at a time. You're strong enough.

His relief was palpable as he heard her faint call. He moved quickly over to where he heard her voice, wanting to run but afraid to trip and fall in the dark, on the uneven ground. He stopped in front of her, smiling wide at first, then softened it a bit as he saw her condition. A hand reached out to push what was left of her hair out of her face. "Hey. Thought you could run out on us?"

"You don't have that kind of luck," she retorted, trying to keep the tears away. "Took you long enough." Now that it was over, she was starting to shake and she wondered when she had gotten so cold.

"Sorry about that. You can give the Professor a boot in the ass when we get you back." He took off his shirt, kicking himself mentally for not bringing a jacket. He had a blanket in the car, but they had to get there first. He wasn't leaving her again. Putting the shirt around her, he joked, "Don't think this counts as our date, either, just 'cause my shirt is off and you get to ride in my car."

"Marie, can you walk or do you want me to carry you?" He couldn't tell the extent of her injuries, but she'd been cleaned up. Any blood was new, from her escape.

"Better... better let me walk. Don't want you to touch me by accident. It's just a little further," she said, partly to reassure herself and steady her aching legs. The pain was coming back now, in waves, and she caught her breath. "I made it this far." She turned herself to where she had last heard the noise of the car and, putting one foot in front of the other, started to move.

"No, the last thing you need is /me/ in your head," he nodded, still keeping his arm around her, and her arms inside his shirt. "I'm surprised, and glad, you got as far as you did. Were they taking you somewhere?" He kept up a stream of chatter, asking her a question or two, as they walked the rest of the way to the car.

Scott talked but Marie couldn't hear him over the roaring in her head. The gravel on the shoulder of the road made her stumble a little but he kept her upright. The car hummed comfortingly, she fixed her eyes on the headlights. Almost there. She could feel asphalt under her feet now and she was in the light. Just a little further and she'd be able to stop.

/Damn!/ He couldn't stop the sharp intake of breath as she passed in front of the headlights. But he kept on walking. /I'll need to tell Hank to get ready for another patient on the way back./ "That's it, we're almost there, just think of how much fun you're going to have kicking Pyro's ass around the mansion when you're better..." He opened the door with one hand as he steadied her with the other.

Marie tried not to fall into the car but her legs weren't listening anymore. She couldn't help whimpering as her body hit the seat and everything started to hurt. Her skin was full of pain and she pushed it down. "He can go to hell," she said with a breathless little laugh. "He's not worth my goddamn time." She clung to the dashboard lights with her eyes to try and stay conscious. They blurred and smeared but she didn't want to let them go.

"That's the spirit," he said under his breath, making sure she was in before he closed the door. He dashed over to the driver's side and slid in, carefully reaching into the back seat for the blanket. Carefully wrapping it around Em, he then buckled her into the seat.

"Safety first," he half-laughed, then buckled himself in, before closing the door and shifting into gear and heading toward home.

"Tell that to Logan," she said, wryly, remembering. His absence hit her then and she started to cry. "...he didn't come." The words came out aloud. "He didn't come." The emptiness hurt more than the pain and she closed her eyes, letting go of the lights.

/Another reason to hate Logan/ popped into his head before he could stop it. But now wasn't the time to poke at an absent man. "No, he didn't. But why do you think that is, Em? Hmmm? I have a feeling /he/ may need rescuing. It's the only reason I can think of as to why he's not here now. Because you know that's the only reason he wouldn't be here. If he was in trouble."

He tried to avoid the worst bumps and take the turns as easily as he could, speeding in the straightaways. Another reason a telepath would have been useful now, to keep the cops busy.

In trouble... it didn't soothe. "I'd rather he were okay. That he just didn't come." She tried to fight the tears but only managed to stop the sobs. "How far... how far from home?" she asked. I want to sleep. Please. Just sleep. But there was no way she was letting go until she was home. She wiped at her cheeks with her good hand, feeling surreal and ephemeral in the flash of passing streetlamps. I can make it home.

"Hey, I'd rather he were okay, too. He's not my favorite person." Scott realized he was just digging himself larger, deeper holes, and tried to stop talking about Logan. "We'll be there..." part of him wanted to say "soon," but that wasn't going to be good enough. She needed the honesty. "...in about 20 minutes. It'd have been quicker if I had taken the jet, but I wasn't sure I was going to be able to find a landing space. Can you hang on a bit more, Em?"

"I made it this far," she said quietly. Just twenty more minutes. "I can make it home."

Scott was quiet for a time, then hooked the communicator to his ear and called back to the base. "Hank? Get set up, I'll have you another patient in about fifteen. Meet me in the garage with a gurney and some clothes." He spoke quietly, but firmly.

Scott punched the garage button as the neared the doors, and drove right in. The lights in the garage itself were very bright compared to the darkness of the night. Dr. McCoy was there waiting, some of Marie's clothes folded on a gurney, but there was also a simple hospital gown.

He bustled the gurney over to the passenger side and opened the door as the car came to a halt.

"My my my, where ever did you find this charming young lady, Professor Summers?" Dr. McCoy wrapped the hospital gown around his arm as he reached in to pick her up.

"I can do it myself," she said automatically, but her legs weren't obeying her. They didn't even look like hers; black and blue, covered in dirt and scratches. "Don't touch me." It hurt, under the bandages. Don't touch me. He wasn't listening to her, though. She caught her breath as he touched her burned shoulder. "Don't touch me!" She started to panic. Don't touch me, don't make it hurt.

"You need help, Em," Scott said softly, from next to her in the car. "Dr. McCoy's covered up, you won't touch him, he won't touch you. Shhhh..." He didn't touch her, but spoke softly, trying to soothe her, to ease her panic.

"Like all good doctors say, this will only hurt a bit." Hank was strong, and more than that, he was careful. He was fully covered in his doctor's clothing, and even double-wrapped the arm that he was trying to put under her legs. The only way she would come in contact with him now was by flailing her arm into his face.

Stop being stupid, Marie snapped at herself. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said, trying to let him do what he had to do to help her. "It hurts," her voice shook like a child's. "It hurts." She held her broken wrist hard against her to keep it still, her fingernails digging into the cast, and bit her lip.

"I know it hurts, honey," Hank smiled, that annoyingly cheerful smile that always works to make someone feel better, even when they don't want to. "There we are," he placed her carefully on the gurney, the cloth top of it warmer than it had to be, than it should have been.

Scott was at her side, looking down at her. He was wearing a pair of leather gloves, and silently offered his hand to her.

She reached out and carefully took his hand in hers. "I'm sorry for making everyone worry," she whispered. Her teeth were chattering and she knew that she was being tucked in, knew that she was moving. "I didn't mean to. I fell, and there was fire everywhere." And then she realized that he had no idea, no clue what she'd done. "I killed Stanley." She stared up at his face, into the expressionless visor, waiting for the reaction.

Scott walked beside her, thankful that Hank was keeping silent except for a slight hum of some tune. He wasn't sure what to say, but knew that silence was the wrong answer, so he filled it in. "We're just glad you're okay." Then, "Are you sorry you killed him?"

Thinking distracted her from the pain. "No. No, I'm not." She set her jaw stubbornly. "It's part of the job. He took his chances. So did I." She remembered his face, his voice, felt the shadow of him inside her now. "We'll see which of us got lucky."

Scott smiled at her reply. "If you need any help with that, just say the word. I don't know what I can do, but I'll try." They were in the elevators, on the way down to the med lab. Scott never took his eyes off of hers, no matter that they were nearly shut with the swelling.

She was falling now and she clutched at his hand. "I'm so tired," she confessed. "Are we there yet?" The world was only blurs around her.

"Just about. You can rest now. Let go. I've got you." He squeezed her hand, gently, to emphasize the point. "I won't let you fall." The chill air of the med lab washed over the two of them as Hank rolled Em into the room.

The lights were bright, so she closed her eyes, and the room was cold but it wasn't too lonely and Scott's hand in hers reminded her that this was home and not that other place. "Scott?" For some reason it was important to say what she had to say before she fell asleep. "I knew I'd get home."

"So did I, Em. So did I." He stayed there until Hank shooed him away, so that the doctor could see what the military had done to HIS patient.