Title: In Sickness and in Health 6/?
Author: Khaki
Ship: L/R
Rating: PG13
Archive: Not until it's done.
Feedback: Yes, please. This is my first X-Men, written-all-by-
myself fic.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, except for Anna and Helen, and they're so
stubborn I'm not even sure I own them. See Stan Lee, Fox,
Brian Singer, etc. if you want the real deal.
Setting: This takes place about 9 years after the movie.

*****

After their first session, in which Helen taught Logan the finer
points of swearing, she left to find Jean.

"Why hasn't he been moved back to his normal room?"

"His right side is paralyzed," Jean explained, as if to a child. "He
can't walk; he can't manuever a wheelchair; he can barely sit up."

"I checked him. He can still feel sensation on the right side of his
body. He should've started physical therapy immediately to reprogram
his brain."

"He was resistant to even the idea of therapy. Besides, the stitches
aren't even out yet."

"When do they come out?"

"In two days."

"Ok, that's moving day. I'll let Rogue know."

Jean stood speechless in the hallway, watching Helen purposefully
stride away.

-----

Two days later, it was finally time for the stitches to come out.
Marie was nervous about what she would see. She didn't want to break
down crying in front of Logan and upset him. She didn't want him to
think that their relationship would be any different because of what
had happened. After meditating that morning to calm her nerves, as
Logan had taught her, she made her way down to the Med Lab.

As it turned out, she shouldn't have worried, at least about crying.
As Jean and Hank cut away the bandages, they revealed tender skin
dotted with numerous small wounds and larger surgical scars, where
repairs to the underlying tissues had to be made. As she saw the
wounds covering his legs, his arms, his chest, back, and head, she
understood the agony he must have endured, and she felt a white hot
rage begin to consume her.

Erik. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to tear him to pieces,
like he'd done to Logan. She wanted to touch him, to suck out his
personality and torture him in her head for eternity. She wanted to
make him pay, but she couldn't. He was already dead.

Her impotence and frustration only increased her anger. She tried to
keep a mask on her emotions, but it took over an hour to remove all
the stitches and by then, the mask had started to slip. She excused
herself, telling Logan she would see him later, and hoping that he
didn't see the emotions ripping through her.

She had to get away. She had to hurt someone. As soon as the Med
Lab door shut, she broke off in a run for the gym.

As soon as she entered, she attacked the punching bag, hitting and
kicking it until she could hardly catch her breath. She'd barely
noticed when Scott walked over from the weight machine to hold the
bag for her as she beat on it.

Stopping only when she couldn't keeping standing any longer, she
plopped to the floor, puffing. Scott sat down beside her, but she
just kept glaring at the bag, wishing it was Erik, wishing she could
tear it in two.

"You want to tell me what just happened?" Scott asked when she'd
caught her breath.

"No."

"Wait... Jean mentioned... the stitches came out today, didn't they?"

"I should've been there. I'm the only one that can deal with
Magneto. If I had been there, Logan wouldn't... wouldn't..."

"It's not your fault, Rogue. I've had the same feelings. If I had
acted sooner... If I had shot before Magneto could attack... I
didn't. We can't go back, Rogue. Ultimately, what happened to Logan
is Magneto's fault. He's dead, and now we have to live with the
consequences."

"Yeah, but you got to kill him. I just... after what... I want to
see him suffer."

"I only killed him because he didn't give me another option. I wish
I hadn't needed to... Listen, I'll discussed this with the professor,
and it really helped. Maybe you..."

"Yeah, great. Erik was the professor's best friend. How can I go
tell him I wish the bastard had suffered more? I mean. He went to
the freakin' funeral for heaven's sake. How can I talk to him?"

"He understands, Rogue. He doesn't agree with what Magneto did."

"I still have his memories, you know."

"What?"

"Erik's memories. The personalities go away in time, but the
memories stay. How can someone who went through what he did... live
through what they did to him... how could he do that to Logan? I
don't understand!"

"I don't either. I just know that we will get through this. Logan
needs you now."

"That's another thing. What if... What if Logan..."

She couldn't bring herself to say it. Over the past two weeks, she
hadn't even allowed herself to think it. What if Logan didn't
recover? What if he was never the same?

Scott seemed to understand. "I don't know, Rogue, but even if Logan
doesn't..." her hitched breath cut him off and he saw the tears on
her face. "You haven't lost him. No matter what happens in the
future, Logan is still Logan, and he still loves you and Anna."

Rogue could only nod as the tears fell.

-----

An hour after the stitches had come out and Marie had left, Helen
entered the Med Lab. Grasping the sheet and pulling it away to
reveal his pajama bottoms she said, "Rise and shine. It's moving
day."

She immediately got out the harness and started attaching it around
Logan's waist and legs.

"Whuuh?"

"No more Med Lab for you. You're going back to your room."

"Buh I caaahn..."

"No buts." Helen said, pulling on his right arm as he pushed against
the table with his left to get him into a sitting position. "Meet
your new set of wheels."

Logan looked down at the wheelchair before him, and tried to shake
his head, but Helen was already turning him so that his legs dangled
over the edge of the bed.

"Ok," she said, gripping the harness around his waist. "Hold on to
the bed with your left hand and try to land on your good leg when we
push off. Ready?"

"Nooo!"

Helen stopped. "What?"

Logan mumbled something that was too hurried and garbled to
understand.

"You'll have to repeat that."

"Geeet... Jeeee-an."

Helen backed away. "No."

Logan, bracing himself up by his weak left arm now that her support
was gone, looked at her dumbfounded. "Whuuuh?"

"No. Jean won't be using her telepathy to translate for you any
more. We had a nice discussion and decided it was best to let you
talk on your own."

Logan just stared at her. "Whuuh?"

"You heard me. Now are you ready to move?"

"Nnnoo." He tried to explain his reasons again, and this time she
caught a word that sounded like "chair" and another that was
unmistakably "weak."

"Oh, I see. You don't want everyone to see you in a wheelchair. You
think it makes you look weak in their eyes."

Logan nodded, relieved that she understood. He started to lean back
down to a prone position on the bed when Helen grabbed his harness
and eased him back up.

"Let me ask you one question. Do you think Professor Xavier is weak?"

Confusion filled his features as he answered, "Nnnoo."

"He uses a wheelchair, but it doesn't make you think any less of him,
does it? He uses it because he needs it. Right now, you need to use
this chair. You're not staying in here and a chair is a lot more
dignified than dragging yourself along the floor to your room, don't
you think?"

"Bit-chh."

Helen smiled. "Ah, you've been practicing. Gold star for you. Now
on three, you're leaving this bed."

She tightened her grip on the harness and made sure he was in the
proper position. When everything was ready she said, "One... two...
three!"

*****

Title: In Sickness and in Health 7/?
Author: Khaki
Ship: L/R
Rating: PG13
Archive: Not until it's done.
Feedback: Yes, please. This is my first X-Men, written-all-by-
myself fic.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, except for Anna and Helen, and they're so
stubborn I'm not even sure I own them. See Stan Lee, Fox,
Brian Singer, etc. if you want the real deal.
Setting: This takes place about 9 years after the movie.

*****

Together, they finally wrangled Logan into the wheelchair.

"There," Susan said. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Logan just glared up at her, still trying to catch his breath. He
hadn't tried to move that much on his own in two weeks, and the
effort required was much more than he'd expected. His body just
wasn't obeying his commands like it used to, and he was already
getting frustrated.

"Ok, ready to move out? Let's go."

Logan stuck his good foot out to stop their progression. "Nnno."

"What now?" Helen asked. Most people would be annoyed by now at
Logan's stubborness. Helen was used to this sort of thing, and just
calmly waited for the answer.

"Shhhit," Logan said.

"Yes, Logan, I'm very impressed with the dramatic progress in your
cursing ability. Now can we go?"

"Nnnoo," Logan said, then screwing up his face in concentration, he
said, "Shhhiirrt."

"Ah, don't want to go out there bare-chested, huh? I'll have you
know the senior girls are offering quite a bit of dough if I parade
you around shirtless. Oh, well, I guess my trip to Vegas will have
to wait."

-----

Marie made it back to their suite just in time. Helen'd said she'd be
bringing Logan home at around this time, and Marie wanted to speak
with Anna before she did. She wanted to prepare her for Logan's
appearance.

After washing her tear-streaked face, the last reminder of her break-
down in the gym, she went back into the main room, where Anna was
sitting on the floor.

"Anna, you know how we said that Daddy has a lot of owwies?"

"Yes," Anna answered, looking up from her Sesame Street puzzle.

"Well, the bandages came off today, and Daddy's going to look a
little different from what you're used to."

"How?"

"Well, you can see the owwies now. I just don't want you to be
surprised. They look like they hurt, but they don't much anymore, and
Daddy's going to be just fine."

"Ok," Anna said, shrugging and going back to her puzzle.

A few minutes later, the door opened and Logan was wheeled in. He
looked exhausted, the effort of sitting up on the trip from the Med
Lab to their room taking its toll. Anna looked up and froze, shocked.
She stared at Logan, speechless, as he was wheeled past her into
their bedroom and helped onto the bed.

This was exactly what Marie had been dreading. She knew Logan looked
terrible, but she'd hoped that Anna wouldn't comment on it and make
him uncomfortable. She watched in dread as Anna opened her mouth and
said, "Daddy. You're not fuzzy anymore."

Ok. That wasn't what she'd been expecting at all. Indeed Logan's
scalp and muttonchops had been shaved for the surgery, and even
though there was whisker-length growth, he was still a lot less hairy
than he used to be. Marie hadn't even thought to mention it.

"No, sugah," Marie said, through giggles. "They had to shave Daddy
to make him better."

Anna walked into their bedroom, and after looking Logan up and down,
proclaimed. "I like you better fuzzy, Daddy."

"So do I," Marie agreed, sitting down on the bed beside her
husband. "You're just going to have to grow it back."

For his part, Logan gave them both a weary, lop-sided grin.

-----

Helen spent the next few hours showing Marie how to use the harness
to help Logan into a sitting position on the bed or into the
wheelchair. Safety bars had been added to the bathroom walls during
the time Logan was gone. Helen instructed them on their use,
encouraging Marie to ensure Logan kept a grip on a bar with his good
hand at all times.

By the time they'd finally finished with him, Logan was more
exhausted than he'd ever been in his remembered life. There'd been
times when he'd had to stay awake 48 hours on the road, times when
he'd hiked all day through the forest, and he'd never felt so
completely worn out. It was only five at night and he was ready for
sleep.

"Now remember," Helen told Marie at the door, "my beeper's always on,
so call if you need any help, even at three in the morning. I know
this'll be a tough transition, but you can do it. Logan's probably
so tired he'll just sleep the rest of the night, anyway."

He couldn't argue with that.

"Logan." Helen called. "Get some rest while you can. Tomorrow, we
start in the gym."

The woman was a sadist, pure and simple. There was no other
explanation for why she loved to torture him so. Still, he had a
good sixteen hours or so before she'd be back, and he planned to use
every minute of it. Settling back in his familiar bed that smelled
of Marie, he tried to forget about his impending doom and relax.
Marie surprised him by coming back in and lying down beside him,
snuggling up close with her head on his chest.

"I've missed you so much, sugah."

"Luuuvv... yoooou... darrrllnn."

-----

The next few weeks passed in a blur. Practicing his speech for hours
in the mirror, slowly shaping his mouth until the sounds were right.
Helen introducing him to one new torture device after another down in
the gym, all in the name of physical therapy.

On the good side, the scars were almost completely gone, and his
hair, although still a little short, had grown back in nicely. Jean
had theorized that his healing factor was coming back.

That morning, they'd done new CT scans, and Jean and Hank were busy
analyzing the results. The initial findings weren't encouraging.
There was more activity in his right hemisphere, but no apparent
regeneration in the left. Jean had said to wait until they could
analyze all the data and that if they came back negative not to
worry. She'd said it would take a while before they could be
absolutely sure that he wouldn't heal, and that the brain injury
might take longer for his healing factor to deal with. Despite
Jean's reassurances, he could see his disappointment mirrored in
Marie's face. He couldn't bear to see her hope fading like that. He
had to get away and think.

Before all of this, he'd go out to the woods, but he couldn't get the
chair that far, so he'd settled for his second favorite thinking
spot: the roof. He'd taken the elevator to the top floor and then,
sitting on the steps and using his good leg, he'd scooted his way up
the stairs. Now, looking out over the green, manicured lawns towards
the forest, hearing the kids play far below him, he wondered what the
rest of his life would be like.

He'd always wondered what he'd done to deserve Marie, but now it was
worse. Now, he was a burden to her. He tried hard in therapy, Helen
pushing him all the way, but he wasn't making enough progress. Sure,
she always acted impressed, said he was recovering faster than anyone
she'd ever seen, but it was probably a line she used on all her
patients.

What if this was as good as it gets? What if he'd never be able to
get out a sentence without stuttering or slurring his words? What if
he was never able to walk again without a walker or crutches? What
possible good could he do here? He wasn't on the team anymore, and
he wasn't a teacher. When it came down to it, he was living off the
professor's charity, and that grated at him more than anything else.

He was so consumed by his thoughts that he didn't notice her until
she'd walked right up next to him. Sitting down as he was on the
sloped roof, Anna's face was just a little above eye level.

"Hi, Daddy."

He'd never considered the roof to be the slightest bit dangerous, but
now, with Anna standing beside him, balanced on the loose, sloping
tiles, he was suddenly terrified.

"Ann-na... Gget baak."

"Whatcha doin'?"

"Annn-na... Go nnsside."

He must've been too harsh in trying to spit that out because Anna's
face fell and the tears glistened at the corners of her eyes.

"I did bad, didn't I? I saw your chair and wanted ta see whatcha
were doing. I didn't want to do bad."

Dammit. There wasn't time to explain to her that he wasn't mad,
especially with how slow he was speaking. He just wanted her off
that roof and now.

"Juss... go," he forced out.

She turned and started to walk back to the stairs. He'd never be
sure why it happened. Maybe her tears made it hard to see, or maybe
those shingles were loose from the wind storm they'd had last week.
Whatever it was, something caused Anna to lose her footing.

He heard her startled sqeek as her small body slammed into the roof,
then he saw her, skidding past him towards the edge. He reached out
for her, but his reflexes were a half-second too slow.

He wouldn't give up that easily. Pushing off, he slid down the roof
towards her, kicking and grabbing at the shingles to gain on her. He
finally grabbed her hand with his good, left hand as they reached the
edge. Of course, he'd been trying so hard to catch up that even
after he'd reached her, he just kept sliding. He felt the roof's
surface fall away from him, and he reached back with his free hand to
grab for the gutter, but he was too slow. He realized even before it
happened that he would miss by inches.

*****