Layla

Chapter Thirty-Five: Afterlife

It killed him.

The waiting.

It was driving him insane.

Constantly, he asked Hank if her genes were still regenerating as they should and every time Hank answered with a firm yes, never hesitating. One would think that would be enough to soothe his worried mind, but when it came to Layla-the girl he loved-it never felt like enough. Not until he saw her awake and heard her speaking would his nerves be put back at ease.

It had been three days.

Three days, coming up on four and she still had not woken.

After what happened with Stryker, Peter never left her side. Day and night he remained downstairs in Hank's lab, sitting in a tiny cramped chair or on the hard flooring, sleeping; waiting. The others such as Xander, Storm, Kurt, Jean, Charles-all of them would come down at some point during the day to check on her. Even though they knew that she had come back from the dead, basically, they still worried that she might not wake. It was difficult for Hank to know how much damage her body could take before it just decided not to heal anymore. While she may have come back from the dead, how many more times could this happen before it stopped entirely? Would her genes always regenerate, bringing her back to life? It was difficult to say. As far as Hank and the others knew, her healing capabilities were strong enough to bring her back from the dead. And, not only that but it truly was a morbid process for all of them. For Peter, it hit the hardest and it brought back memories of when he and the others thought she had actually died. Knowing that his best friend who became the love of his life had died, killed him. It cut him in half, and he felt that there was a piece of himself missing. Before he met Layla, he never imagined being the guy to be in a relationship. I mean look at him, he was a cocky, speedster who enjoyed being the lone wolf, but something happened that day back in 1970 when he saw Layla. He still wasn't even quite sure how to describe, but something inside of him had sparked and he knew he couldn't let her go.

And he didn't want to lose her.

It pained him, knowing she would not die like he would.

He didn't want to be separated from her.

He was already in agony again as he waited for her to heal. He couldn't even begin to fathom what he would do without her. One thing he was sure about was that he couldn't see himself being the way he had been. There would be less cockiness, less music, and less of anything really. And no matter what people would tell him, he knew he could never move on entirely or recover.

Peter slid down against the wall, planting himself against the cold, hard flooring. He lightly slammed his head against the wall, huffing as silence surrounded the room. There hadn't even been a clock, but then again, that probably would have just driven him even more insane. Peter raked a hand through his messy, silver hair and when the door to the room opened his head lifted like a deer in the headlights. Hank walked through, hands in his pant pocket as he stepped closer to Layla.

"Still nothing?" He asked worriedly.

"No." Peter replied grimly.

Hank sighed, rubbing his hands down his face as he sat in the chair beside her bed, taking his glasses off. Peter eyed him, taking note of the dark circles that ran underneath his eyes. His face appeared worn and tired while his hair was a tousled mess. He wore a button-up long sleeve that had been unbuttoned at the sleeves and was tucked out rather than tucked in as he usually kept it. Instead of the slacks or khakis Peter usually saw him wear, Hank wore faded blue jeans. To be honest, Peter was a bit surprised. He had never seen Hank this way, and recalled the frustration he carried before they went to get Layla. He hadn't been himself and he still wasn't.