At Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, Lalia Azali hides more than most. She's not just a surgeon-she's this universe's Scarlet Witch, a title whispered with fear and awe, tied to a power she never wanted and a fate she can't outrun.
Logan sees t...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
- Lalia
The sun had barely risen over the horizon, casting a gentle glow through the windows of the lab. The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic beeping of the monitors and the soft hum of the ventilation system.
I stood by the Professor's bedside, my heart pounding with a mixture of relief and anxiety. His eyelids fluttered open, and for a moment, I saw confusion in his eyes. Then recognition dawned, and he smiled weakly at me.
"I knew you'd find your way," I whispered, my voice trembling with emotion.
The Professor's smile widened, a reassuring warmth in his eyes. "I had you to guide me," he replied softly.
He took a deep breath, as if gathering his strength, and then asked, "How did we do?"
I hesitated, my gaze drifting to the other side of the room where Logan lay unconscious. His chest rose and fell steadily, but the sight of him so still and vulnerable was a stark reminder of the cost of our victory. I pointed my head towards Logan, my throat tightening with unspoken worry.
The Professor's eyes followed my gaze, and his brow furrowed with concern. "Will he be okay?" he asked, his voice gentle but insistent.
"I hope so," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. But the sadness seeped through, a crack in my façade that I couldn't quite hide.
The Professor's eyes began to droop, exhaustion overtaking him once more. I could see the struggle in his gaze, the fight to stay awake and alert. But I knew he needed rest just as much as anyone else.
"It's okay, Professor," I whispered, squeezing his hand gently. "You need to sleep. We'll talk more when you're stronger."
He nodded, his eyelids fluttering shut as he drifted back into a deep, healing sleep. I watched him for a moment longer, ensuring he was comfortable, before turning my attention to Logan.
Walking over to Logan's bedside, I felt a pang of worry tighten in my chest. As I carefully lifted the pads off Logan's chest, my breath caught in my throat. One of his wounds had completely healed. Shocked, I couldn't help but lift the bigger pad right in the middle of his chest.
My fingers brushed over the newly healed skin, tracing around his happy trail. Suddenly, his hand shot up, grabbing mine. He groaned, "Hmm, oh that tickles."
Startled, I pulled my hand back slightly, but then I saw the playful glint in his eyes. A grin spread across my face as I realized he was okay. "Hey," I said softly.
"Hey," he replied, his voice gruff and his breathing a little slower. His eyes were barely open, but they were focused on me.
"How're you feeling?" I asked, still looking at him, searching for any signs of pain.
"Fantastic," he replied, a hint of his usual bravado in his tone.
My smile grew as I looked down, feeling a wave of relief wash over me. "That was a brave thing you did," I said, my voice filled with admiration.
He finally turned his head to look at me, his eyes filled with curiosity. "Did it work?" he asked.
"Yeah. She's fine," I replied softly, not wanting to break the moment. "She took on a few of your more charming personality traits for a while."
We both began to laugh, but then he started to cough slightly. Concerned, I placed my hand back on his chest, telling him to take it easy with a giggle. He opened his eyes a bit more, a small smile playing on his lips.
"I think she's a little taken with you," I continued, trying to keep the mood light.
Logan looked away from me, his expression turning serious. "Well, you can tell her my heart belongs to someone else."
My smile began to falter as I realized how serious the situation was becoming. I whispered, "You know, you and I—" But before I could finish, he cut me off.
"How's the Professor?" he asked, trying to change the conversation for my sake.
I took a deep breath, pushing my own feelings aside. "He's resting. He needs it. But he's going to be okay," I assured him, squeezing his hand gently.
A visible wave of relief washed over his rugged features. "Good," he murmured, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it. Slowly, he reached out and took my hand in his, lifting it with a surprising gentleness. His lips brushed against my knuckles, sending a shiver up my spine.
"Friends then?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper.
I smiled at his offer, "Yeah, we can do that."
I watched him, my heart swelling with an unexpected warmth. There was something so tender, so genuine in his gesture that it caught me off guard. A smile crept onto my face, unbidden but welcome. I felt a flush rise to my cheeks.
