X-Men Fan Fiction ❯ Blood is Thicker ❯ Chapter Two ( Chapter 2 )

Blood is Thicker

A X-Men Fanfiction

Written by RogueMoon and Nicole Wagner

Original Idea and collaboration by Nicole Wagner

Posted with Permission of Nicole Wagner

 

Chapter Two

::: :::

“Cerebro, the location of Gambit, please,” Storm's voice echoed gently in the hanger as she and the rest of Gold Team returned from their recognizance of the small town. They had found nothing to tell them what the Sentinels had been looking for. The inhabitants, a population of less than two hundred, said that nothing and no one was taken. The big robots just showed up, trashed the place and left.

“Gambit is currently in the Danger Room, Storm.”

“Thank you, Cerebro.”

“You're welcome, Storm.”

Ororo smiled at the pleasant female voice. Remy was right, if Charles hadn't meant for them to be polite to the machine, he wouldn't have programed it to be so polite back. She began removing her cape and ran her fingers through her hair, fluffing the white locks, relaxing.

The door to the Danger Room was shut, but she was surprised to see no program being run when she checked the monitor. Frowning at that, she thumbed open the door and looked for her friend. Her eyes fell upon his fallen form immediately, widening at the blood pooled around him.

She slammed her hand on the emergency alert, “Medical assistance! Danger Room! Now!”

Her cape dropped to the floor, forgotten, as she rushed to Remy's side, only a little relieved that he was facing the ceiling and hadn't drowned in his own blood as her fingers found his pulse. Weak, but there. She took in the sight of a knife next to his right hand, as if it had fallen free.

Hank and a stretcher and first aid kit rolled into the room and he let out a soft gasp. Storm pulled Gambit's coat off and began searching for the wound that could have caused this while Beast rushed to the other side of the man. The rest of the X-Men reaching the door as he did so.

They were quiet, in shock, at the sight of Gambit laying there, nearly dead.

Ororo's heart nearly gave out when she looked at his left wrist. At all the blood there and the sluggish flow as it emptied out of the straight, clean cut. The kind of cut the knife laying next to him would have made. She grabbed a bandage from the first aid kit and had to wipe tears from her eye just to see straight enough to wrap the wound.

Hank pulled her away long enough to lift the limp body to the stretcher and hook him up to oxygen. Storm didn't even notice the blood covering her as she followed the doctor and her friend to the Medical Bay.

Behind her, in the Danger Room, Rogue walked woodenly to the pool of blood. Her green eyes wide as she fell to her knees next to his ruined coat, fixed on the steel of the blade that winked back up at her as if in conspiracy. Like saying 'good job'. She could only feel horror and terror at herself as a sob choked its way out of her throat.

::: :::

Scott stopped the video, hand shaking as he turned it off. He couldn't watch anymore, couldn't let it repeat that scene again. Didn't want to face what he had seen. It was all so surreal. Gambit sitting there, in the middle of the room, flipping the blade open and shut. His face completely blank as he stared at the blade. The unbridled fury that flared across his features, the blissful joy that followed the cut of the steel into his skin.

It was disturbing.

Kurt had his rosary out was was quietly murmuring prayers for Remy in German. His eyes were shut and his fingers flicked over the beads, one by one with each prayer to God for his teammate's soul. Suicide was the ultimate sin to a Catholic. The one that guaranteed a person went to hell.

Both Kurt and Remy were Catholic, though the Cajun only seemed to ever practice his faith on Christmas. And the priest didn't think he'd been to a confessional since joining the team. Gambit knew what he had attempted meant and that's what hurt Kurt the most about it. That he had decided to try and kill himself instead of talking about it. Going to someone, anyone.

Logan stood and headed for the door.

“Wolverine-” Scott began automatically.

“Goin' out. I'll be back later.”

“Going where, Logan? We need you here. We need to discuss what to do about this.”

Logan growled and flexed a fist, claws snapping out, “There's nothing to discuss, Slim. Kid tried to kill himself. Cut his own wrist. I should have seen it, we all should have seen the signs. We didn't. We failed. He's in critical condition. End of discussion.”

Scott shook his head, “Logan...”

“No Scott. End. Of. Discussion.” Wolverine left, claws flexing in and out as he stalked down the hall and then out of the mansion.

“We should send him to a psychiatric hospital,” Warren said calmly.

Betsy nodded, “I agree. He's obviously mentally unstable and should not stay here.”

“Are ya'll insane?” Rogue burst out, face red from crying for hours over this. “He needs ta stay here. With us. With his family.”

“Family? We aren't his family, Rogue,” Warren shot back, voice like ice and wings flaring in anger. “He shouldn't have been allowed back in the first place. He's a charity case, at best.”

“You take that back!”

“Or you'll what? Dump me in Antarctica?”

Her face flushed with anger and Scott was standing between them, “That's enough. From both of you. If you aren't going to be civil and helpful, you can leave now.”

Rogue's fists uncurled as she forced herself to relax and sit back down. Her voice cold as she replied, “He should stay here. We have the facilities ta take care of him.”

Warren sat back down, glaring at the woman, then at Scott, “He should leave. We don't need to take care of him when there are plenty of better places trained to handle this kind of thing. None of us need the stress this cry for attention is causing.”

“Cry for attention?!”

“What else would you call it? He's been trying to get back on the team, act like nothing happened, like he can be trusted. We've been too smart for that, so now he's pulling stunts to get our attention. To make him feel like the center of the universe. You saw the same tape as the rest of us. You saw his face. He looked happy when he cut himself. Because he knew it would get him pity.”

::: :::

Wolverine ran through the woods, the ice and snow burning his skin as it whipped into him, carried by the ravaging wind. Ororo wasn't taking this very well. He could understand that, though he doubted the weather channel would be all that happy about a blizzard hitting upstate New York in the middle of August.

Any scent he might have tried to follow was lost in the swirling chill. Visual tracking was impossible, the snow a curtain keeping him from seeing no more than a few feet in front of him. He didn't actually need a scent or his eyes to find the weather witch. He knew she'd be in the middle of the mess, the eye of the raging storm.

Top of the boat house, of course. Remy's current home. She was on the roof, arms hugged around her knees. He had to plunge his claws into the frame of the house to keep from being blown away as he approached her, sat down next to her, holding on for dear life.

“'Ro!” He had to shout to hear himself, the wind was deafening.

She looked over at him with red eyes and a face better found at a funeral. Logan pushed himself closer and he felt the wind die down some. She was letting him near her. He sheathed his claws and wrapped his arms around her, “It'll be okay, darlin'”

She sobbed into his shoulder, the pain and confusion and self-doubt pouring out in a senseless stream of words and tears born away by the wind before he could actually understand anything. He didn't need to hear her words to know what she was saying. The weather said it all. Her hands clutching him said it all.

He held her close and rocked her in comfort, both hers and his own. They had both failed to see the signs, had failed Remy. He had seen the cut on Gumbo's leg. The top of it had looked irregular and that's why he hadn't said anything. But the bottom half was straight, nothing natural about it. He thought the kid had just got caught by something in one of his private sessions. Cajun had been sloppy lately, nothing to worry about besides that.

Logan should have known better. Should have seen it. He gripped Ororo tighter and let his own tears get carried away by the burning wind.

::: :::

Jean brushed non-existent flyaway hair from Remy's forehead, cooing softly to the man, hoping he could hear her. Know he was cared about. Even with so much blood lost, even so weak, his mind was covered with that damnable static that would bring only pain to the both of them if she tried to force her way in, in an attempt to help him. To see what caused this choice, to help him know he had other options.

Doctor McCoy fretted over the monitors and all the wires he had hooked Remy up to. Jean smiled at him, his thoughts an open book to her. He didn't want to leave Gambit's side. Didn't want leave his patient when he so obviously suffered.

“He'll need a blood transfusion,” Hank murmured to himself. It was the third time he had said that. He kept repeating all the things he had to do to help the man, too flustered and worried about his charge to do much more.

Jean reached out and put her hand on the blue, furry arm, smiling softly as the man met her eyes, “It'll be okay, Hank. His vitals are strong and his breathing fine. He cut across the wrist, not down it. He'll survive just fine. We got to him in time.”

Beast sighed and took his glasses off, cleaning them in a pointless, nervous gesture, “We shouldn't have had to get to him in time, Jean. That is what concerns me so. How could we have not seen this? How could we have ignored him so completely?”

The redhead closed her eyes and went back to stroking Remy's forehead in a slow, gentle brush of fingers over skin, “We let the pain of the others cloud our thoughts. Warren felt so righteously betrayed by his part in the massacre. Rogue for him not telling her the truth when she asked him to... Both her and Betsy having glimpsed his mind and felt his own guilt in the matter. We just accepted their words, their pain, as the the truth. Three against one. It was easy to take it at face value and not look at his side. What it was doing, had already done, to him. It was human nature, Hank. And it was easy.”

“I was there Jean. During the trial. And when Rogue left him, I said nothing,” he bowed his head and put his glasses back on, hands idly thumbing through the medical chart. “I am as much at fault as they for not listening to his words. For letting that farce of a trail happen as it did.”

She couldn't argue with that. It was the simple truth of the matter. Instead she nodded, still smiling down at the too pale face, “But we have a chance to help him now, Hank. What blood type is he?”

“O Negative.”

“Is there anyone in the mansion...?” She didn't need to finish the question. He was already shaking his head.

“No. It is one of the rarest blood types, Jean. It can be transferred to anyone safely, but the reverse is not true.”

“What about his father? Jean-luc, anyone in the guild?”

“I will contact them immediately, see if they are willing and able. Failing that, we will have to approach a blood bank and that, legally, will be quite difficult.”

Jean was quiet for a while, thinking, “The Avengers? Excalibur? SHIELD even?”

“SHIELD is probably not the best organization to approach. They are not particularly happy with our vigilante efforts and the Professor's continued incarceration is enough evidence in my mind to keep them as a last resort. As for the Avengers, as part of their team for several years, I can assure you that none of them are type O Negative. Less than 6% of the United States population have a matching blood type. Less than 9% of the world's population. We will be lucky if we can find someone in Excalibur or the Thieve's Guild who is compatible.”

Jean bit her lip before speaking so quietly that the Doctor thought he might have misheard her, “Pardon? I don't believe I heard you correctly.”

She looked up at him, tears at the edges of her eyes, “I asked about Sinister.”

Beast shut his eyes and nodded, “He would most likely have the blood on hand to use. But I am loathe to attempt contact with him.”

“Last resort, Hank.”

“Agreed.” He smiled at her and wrapped his arms around her in a quick hug before heading to his office, “I'll start the calls now.”

::: :::

End Chapter