PART 3

Remy lays Rogue on the examining table, allowing Jean to replace his coat with a sheet. Henry (Hank) McCoy, resident philosopher and blue-furred doctor to the X-men, turns his attentions to his fallen companion. Remy reaches down to unfasten the collar. Hank stops him.

"It will be easier to examine her, my friend, if we do not have to concern ourselves with Rogue's absorption abilities."

Remy nods, and slips his hand from her neck. Hank wonders if the others notice the Cajun's brief caress of Rogue's cheek.

"Her color's bad. Breathin's worse. You wan' de ventilator?"

Hank listens briefly to Rogue's lungs, then nods. He lifts the sheet to begin his examination as Remy gets the necessary equipment. He vaguely realizes, with some satisfaction, that the others have also assumed basic medical procedures.

Storm grabs the rubber tubing and syringe to withdraw blood samples. Jean prepares the suture tray and runs instruments through the sterilization cycle in the autoclave. Scott establishes an i.v. In this room, even as in the Danger Room, they work as a team.

Hank glances quickly over Rogue's body. Mentally, he notes probably injuries, various abrasions, bruises, almost certainly cracked or broken ribs. Noticing several oval, finger-sized bruises on her hip, he lifts the sheet further.

"Oh my stars..."

She isn't alone. Rogue remembers that now. Someone else -- who was it? Wolverine. Wolvie's here, too. He'll help her get out of here, she knows he will. If only she can get away from these damn Genoshans. She feels hands pressing against her. Then bodies. No room to move. Not enough air to breathe. She gasps, then opens her mouth again to call Wolverine's name. Something thick and wet slips in. The guard groans as he kisses her. She fights back the only way she can.

Always in his medical training, Henry McCoy was taught to remain dispassionate, clinical. To observe the facts of an ailment and treat it accordingly. Over the years, he has found it increasingly difficult to remain detached as he realized his patients were his family. How could he cite cold diagnostics to a dear friend in need of a reassuring pat on the hand?

His gaze fastens on the dried blood on Rogue's inner thigh. He glances up, seeing the concern creasing the faces of everyone around him. He turns, pretending to organize his surgical instruments as he wipes the sudden dampness from his eyes.

Remy feels the slightest movement of Rogue's lips against his fingers as he eases the plastic ventilator tubing into her throat. Then the sudden clenching of teeth.

"OW!"

"Remy -- ?"

"She's bitin' me!"

As Scott and Storm carefully pry Rogue's teeth apart, Remy yanks his hand free. Storm chuckles at his discomfort.

"As I recall from your various exploits, you do not normally have an aversion to biting."

"Depends on where de bitin' take place."

He winks at Storm, enjoying the sudden flush of embarassment creeping across Scott's face.

" -- Wolvie -- ?"

Rogue's eyes flicker open, unfocused. She struggles against the pain, struggles to get up, get free. Hands again. Firm, but not rough. Not like the others. Still, she resists the gentle pressure.

>>Rogue.<<

She senses Jean's calming voice in her mind.

"AGHH!"

Sudden pain rips the scream from Rogue's throat as her body arches against the agony. Remy pales.

You really t' ink de worst was over, mon ami?

Rogue's flailing hand knocks against Scott's, and he grabs it without hesitation. Her grip tightens painfully. Remy notices that Scott doesn't flinch. He leans closer, letting his other hand rest soothingly on Rogue's brow. A wave of inadequacy surges through Remy LeBeau, as he catches the flash of gratitude in Rogue's eyes.

She feels it then. The quick, sharp prick of a needle into her skin. The medicine rushes through her blood even as a single thought blankets her mind.

>>You're safe, Rogue.<<

A flood of warmth that comforts her soul, stills her restlessness as she drifts back into the darkness.

Hank scratches information onto a pad of paper. As he hands the sheet to Scott, he feels Jean's steady gaze. Her thoughts catch his. For a moment, Jean reads the concern in his troubled eyes as easily as she senses it in his thoughts. Hank's eyes flick towards Remy, then back to Jean. She understands, and says nothing. Scott accepts the paper.

"Please contact Dr. Elliot regarding the items I've noted as soon as possible."

"No problem."

He leaves as Remy watches, suspicious.

"What dat all about?"

"Merely requesting additional supplies from a colleague. Now then, might I suggest that you and Ororo see if there is anything our resident southern spitfire might need from her room to be more comfortable?:

"You can suggest what you like, Henri. Gambit goin' nowhere."

Storm slips her arm easily into his, gently nudging him away from the examining table.

"Do you truly believe you are helping by keeping Henry from treating Rogue?"

"Dat true? You don' wan' examine her while I'm here?"

"The way you're glaring at me, no, not particularly."

Remy grunts in reluctant agreement, allowing Storm to guide him from the room. Jean brings the suture tray to Hank. As he reaches for a needle, her hand lightly covers his.

"Henry, how serious is it?"

Again, he struggles for detachment. State the facts. Treat accordingly.

"My preliminary exam indicates a high probability that a sexual assault occurred."

"Oh -- God."

She is a dear friend. Has been for many years. As her arm reaches around his waist in a reassuring hug, his clinical reserve dissolves.

Continued in Chapter 4

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