X-Men: Civil War

Chapter 13: Disease

Tony Stark

Great, just great. I've got a, slowly, dying X-Man on my hands as well as a "war". she hasn't even broken her fever yet and it's been, what, two weeks? I haven't told her team yet and she hasn't gotten any better, if this goes on any longer my hand will be forced and she'll be whisked away into the clutches of the government, or possibly death. I stroll into her room and see that she's coughing relentlessly and the person on duty is nowhere to be found. I rush forward, my hand pats her back lightly and the racking coughs subside.

"How are you feeling?" I ask hopefully. Her immune system is probably at an all time low and none of the antibiotics that we've given to her, via I.V, have helped, so she's not even been strong enough to answer much less drink water without help.

"I..." She croaks out and I lean closer anticipating her answer.

"Some... one... came in... here... and hurt... Pietro... the bathroom..." She barely lifts an arm to point at the slightly ajar bathroom door, until coughs attack her lungs again.

I jump up and, through the crack of an opening, see blood. My hand pushes on the door and it opens to an unconscious Quicksilver next to a black dog. Freedom.

I found out about Freedom the day Maxine was found out to be sick and had almost lost my head, but I ended up letting her keep the telepathic dog after seeing how protective he was of her. My mind clears and I remember that I have a situation on my hands. Anger flowing through my legs, I walk back to Maxine.

"Who did this, did you see them?" She nods her head and tries to sit up.

"Whoa, hey, just lay down." Regret instantly bites at my heels.

"It was a man, with a hood over his head, a raspy breath, and a familiar scent, so I'm not exactly sure what he looked like." She doesn't have to take any breaths during the duration of that sentence.

"Are you feeling better?" She nods her head, sits up,  and flexes her wings, only to knock the lamp off the bedside table. I chuckle to myself, almost forgetting the seriousness of the situation, and realize that she's able to move.

"I'm feeling pretty good, actually. I thought what that guy had put in my I.V drip was poison, but I think it may actually be some sort of antidote." She jumps to her feet, still on the bed, and falls down again, still a little unsteady. I don't know what he put in her I.V, but we're still going to need to keep her here.

"Hold up, just rest a little longer, I'm going to need to bring Quicksilver to the infirmary to get him checked out, you just stay here until I get back."

Maxine Lehnsherr

As Stark leaves the room with my brother leaning on his shoulder, I realize how crazy it is that I recovered so quickly. What did that man drop into my drip? My strength is recovering and it's because of some "good Samaritan" I don't know about that. This has got to be some complex plan of someone who's holding all the face cards. Maybe a couple of big name villains like... Red Skull, Thanos(doubt it), even someone like Mr. Sinister or... a name. An impossible name comes to mind and sends shudders down my back and up my wings, but is pushed back again. He will no longer have that kind of power over me, his name isn't even that intimidating. Is it? It repeats in my mind, taking shape as an image until I can no longer stand. His grotesque features of red, white, and green.

"Joker." My tongue numbs as I say it aloud. His crazed laugh resounds over and over, echoing in the darkest recesses of my consciousness.

My eyelids become heavier as I try and calm myself down. Sleep is the only thing that can take my mind off of this monstrosity of a man.

A dream. Not one of fear, but not one that eases my mind either.

Stark, sits next to a dead Cap, begging for a second chance, redemption.

Cyclops, asks me to stay. But why? Am I really this important to them?

Nightwing. Dick Grayson. A formal friend and possible lover, still needs me? All this eats away at my heart.

Two families. The X-Men, and the Bat family. Who should I choose?  This is worse than Joker, this is worse than death, this is worse than love.

Drowning, in a sea of tears and sweat, in failure and revenge, in fury and grace. Please make it stop!

I scream, I shout, I pull my hair, I bite my nails, I scratch my arms. Squirming under the tension of strings pulled too tight and friendships worn too thin. I writhe, I convulse, I flail, I thrash, I twist into the surf of pain and relief.

I'm caught between myself and a hard place. Contradiction cuts off every route of escape. There's no way out, the way is shut, it was made by those who are dead and the dead keep it.

My eyes, can they really be seeing what is in front of them? A figure, that of a dog. It's pink, soft, wet, tongue gently caresses my shaking hand and I am awake.

"Freedom?" His large, amber, eyes answer the question I have.

"You are safe, little one." 

"Even from my own mind?"

"For now." A calm settles over my racing heart and a peace holds me in place.

A single tear rolls down my, already, tear-streaked face.

"Thank you." The whisper slides out of my quivering lips and his head rests on my leg, thawing my fear like frost on a sunlit lawn.

"You're my person, I will never stop protecting you." He says to me reassuringly.

"What if I need you to protect someone else?"  

"Then I'll do what you need."  He moves his head to the crook of my arm and sighs in a satisfied way.

I kiss his nose and rub the back of his ear when he nudges me back. The comfort of his soft fur contrast to the brisk truth of reality lulls me back to a dreamless, blissful sleep.