Zero Hour I
Chapter 2
by
Nina
Disclaimer: All references to characters belonging to the X-Men Universe are © and TM the Marvel Comics Group, 20th Century Fox and all related entities.All rights reserved.
Author's Note: Bear with me, L/O lovers, the best is yet to come.
The girl was alive, but Ororo read the word "barely" into her deep, shuddering breaths. Dr. Henry McCoy was known to work miracles but this could be beyond even his extensive expertise.
She stroked the temples of the child's short, ebony hair. Her hair appeared stiff and unruly but it was surprisingly soft, and it curled in gentle wisps. Storm brushed a stiff lock behind the child's ear, but it sprung back into her face. Smiling sadly, Ororo wondered if the girl wore her hair short for practical reasons, or for aesthetic ones.
Hank announced earlier that he would throttle any X-Man who snuck into his intensive care room. He said "under no circumstances" should he be disturbed, until he verified the stranger's condition. But Ororo couldn't help herself. She inadvertently caused the girl's condition, and she felt somewhat responsible.
Who was she? Where had she come from? Ororo ran a finger down the girl's soft chestnut-colored cheek and wondered about the deep scratches crisscrossing her distressed face. She felt a strange bond with the poor woman, and the girl's arrival had awakened her own latent maternal instincts. The girl was barely Kitten's age. Her scars looked painful - had the fall done something to her?
"No, no. . . that can't be right. Impossible. . . ."
McCoy entered the room, intruding on Ororo's thoughts, but he had yet to notice her by the child's bedside. Instead, he was frowning at a ream of documents in his huge, fuzzy hands. He had unconsciously shredded his bottom lip with his two-inched fangs but Ororo imagined Hank had become so used to skimming his lips that he no longer noticed.
"How is she, Henry?"
Hank, startled to see Ororo in the room, blinked owlishly behind his spectacles. "I should have expected that your worry would have superceded my orders. She's stable, which is quite well, considering the alternative." He went to the other side of the bed and checked a few monitors. His clawed finger tapped at the IV tube and he nodded slowly, apparently satisfied with what he saw.
"The alternative?"
McCoy took his absurdly tiny glasses into a furry blue hand and rubbed his eyes. "Death. She should have died in the atmosphere on the way to the ground. And she should have died when Rogue caught her. The force snapped her neck."
Ororo's frown deepened. "So she is paralyzed."
McCoy shook his head. "Amazingly, she's not. In fact," he said, rifling through his papers, "I took some readings between the time Rogue brought her here and the last ten minutes. Our visitor possesses an excellent healing mechanism. Perhaps not as keen as our good friend Wolverine's, but remarkable nonetheless. Quite a nice feature, when you're falling six thousand feet from the sky."
"So, she is a mutant?"
"I would say so, yes. As to the whys and the wherefores of her existence, well, you will have to pose those questions to her, when she awakes."
Storm let out a heavy breath and stood. "So, she will be all right."
"I believe so," Hank nodded. He perched his glasses on the tip of his nose and studied his notes. "In fact, according to what I've been able to calculate in light of her rapid healing abilities, she should be waking up in the next fifteen hours or so. Quite sore, but alive."
"That is. . . good to hear."
"Yes." Hank watched Ororo leave and grinned somewhat malevolently. "Oh, and Storm. . . "
"Yes?"
"The next time you entire my patient's rooms without my permission, I shall call Dr. Reyes to escort you politely out."
Ororo grimaced. "I will remember to ask first."
"I knew you'd agree."
* * *
"So, what's the story?"
The X-Men had gathered in the front room, all wearing varied puzzled expressions. Most didn't care who the stranger was than what - a threat, a botched attack, an alien with a message, or something worse. They were hyper-alert, and Storm wanted to quell their fears.
"Our visitor is stable, according to Hank. She should have died, but apparently she has some sort of healing factor that helped her survive."
Wolverine grunted. "Great. Another Sabertooth."
Storm curled her legs up to her chest and sipped thoughtfully at her tea. "She does not possess the extent of your healing abilities, old friend. I would not worry about battling her. And by looking at her, I do not think she is up to fighting you, just yet."
"Maybe not," he said, crossing his arms. "Still doesn't explain why she's here, or what the flamin' pyrotechnics were. Can't be a coincidence that both happened at once."
Storm nodded. "We can ask her about that when she awakes. Jean, did you or the Professor catch any information before she became unconscious?"
"Not really. She kept repeating words I think anyone would have, if they were falling three miles without a parachute: Home, Dad, Mom, I'm sorry, please forgive me - the whole gamut of emotions. Charles is scanning for news on her background, but so far he hasn't found anything."
"Have you figured out how you were able to hear her thoughts so far away?"
Scott placed his hands on hers as she shifted uncomfortably. "I. . . don't know, Storm. She's either really good at contacting telepaths, or she knows something I don't. Either way, it's sort of spooky."
"Hank has run a few tests. I will ask him to run more before she awakes. Perhaps we will gather new information."
"I hope so," Bobby muttered. "I'm tired of opening the door to Avon ladies with tommy guns."
Ororo chuckled. "As am I, Bobby. But since we cannot ask anything more of her for the moment, I suggest we relax until we can. She does not appear to be going anywhere, any time soon."
"So you say," Warren muttered before going upstairs. "Forgive me if I sound skeptical."
I do not blame you, Storm thought, but she didn't say it. No one in that room felt safe with an unknown mystery in the house, and she doubted the mansion would sleep well because of it.
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