2013.07.30 - A pound of flesh, no more no less

Muir Island

They came in the middle of the night, and despite the chaos, the folks at Muir Island were extremely helpful with what was turning into a very dire situation.

Rachel and Jean did a fine job to stop the bleeding and do some of the First Aid. Under normal circumstances a human who suffered a stab wound through the back and out the front was most likely dead. Luckily, the X-men aren't normal people.

After an analysis of the injuries was done, it was deemed that it would be easier, more effective, and less of a risk, if a call was put into someone who might be able to heal Scott rather than the hours of extensive surgery it would take to repair him. Even with such a surgery, the likelihood of recovery was not completely certain.

Jean made that call. It's a risk, to be sure, waiting the hours for Warren to arrive, but there is triage that can still be done to keep Scott breathing. To that end, she and Rachel have spelled one another off in keeping Death at bay for the First X-Man. The elder Phoenix sent the younger off to rest some while ago, taking the lion's share of the load on herself. She's the doctor, after all. If something does go wrong, Jean has a better chance of stopping it, or at least delaying it, than any of the others on the team. Between her and the in-house medical staff... Well, he should be holding on. But, really? Angel can't arrive soon enough.

Angel received the phone call and murmured something about 'being there as soon as he could'. Oddly enough, despite being rather horrifically hung over, he managed to weigh the options of flying to Scotland himself or chartering a plane. Deciding that flying for hours over the Atlantic Ocean in his current state is probably not the best idea, he chartered the jet -- it allows him to sleep during the 6 or so hours it will take for him to cross the Pond. That's exactly what he does.

Six hours later...

Feeling a little more rested yet still somewhat groggy and dehydrated, Angel deplanes and takes to the skies, a little less wobbly this time. It's easier than trying to figure out directions via the ground. It also helps that he takes out his phone and calls Jean for a hint as to where he's going.

Overall, the effectiveness of Jean's care has been outstanding. Scott continues to rest as best as can be expected, but his body is stabilized. For his own safety and comfort, he's being kept unconscious.

Jean gives Warren the directions he needs to make it to the northern Scottish island, tracking him telepathically as he flies. Fortunately, the northern summer night isn't too bad, so the flying should be nice. A little on the cool side, perhaps, but a mutant born to soar at the heights to which the Avenging Angel can climb must also have some sort of innate immunity to that, no?

As word reaches the telekinetic that her winged former teammate has arrived reaches her, and she feels him touch down, she breathes a sigh of relief. ~ This way... ~ she sends to him, for all that there are people able to show him the way. It's faster, on some level, to simply give him that knowledge telepathically.

Her thought, however, as she sends it, is at once wound tight and weary.


 * "Not so loud, Jean,"| Warren 'thinks' back as he's telepathically guided through the complex to where Scott is being kept. He makes sure to at least scrub his hands well before coming into the immediate area; he may have been on a charter flight, but it was still six hours of it. "So, what happened?" is asked as he walks in. "I know you said something on the phone, but...I'm kind of hung over." Still. But he's at least functioning a little better. He even managed to get dressed, which is a good thing -- otherwise he might have been quite cold flying about.

"He was stabbed," Jean says, turning from where she sits beside Scott, holding his hand. "Some sort of spear. We weren't able to catch the man that did it. He teleported away before any of us got close enough." Though God knows Rachel tried.

The telepath looks drawn, but her eyes are still bright -- fierce, even. She hasn't slept, but she's undiminished, nonetheless. "We've done what we can to stabilize him, but surgery is risky. If you can help..." She raises green eyes to blue. "We'd be grateful."

A muscle tics in Warren's jaw at the explanation and the request but he nods. He meets Jean's eyes only briefly before he looks about the room, "You'll probably need to tap into a vein." It's said almost mechanically, as if it was 'Just take a little off the top'. "I'll just need a chair so I don't pass out, if that's all right."

Jean's no barbarian. She's actually a trained professional. Okay, true, she's not a trained medical professional, per se, insofar as she's not an MD or RN. But, she's a biologist and geneticist. She knows how to handle a syringe. It's not like she's going to slice his arm open. And the Muir Island facility has just about everything a scientific vampire could need to ensure the safe transfer of vital fluids both in and out of a body.

The telepath glances to the Muir Island staff in the room. "Out," she says simply. "You don't need to be here for this." More importantly, she doesn't want them to be here for this -- both for Warren's comfort, and her own. Pouring one man's blood into the wound of another? Okay. That does actually seem barbaric.

As the med techs file out, the geneticist moves away from Scott and starts collecting the equipment she needs. Warren is sat close enough to Scott that she doesn't need to ask him to move, at least.

She brings a needle, a shunt, and a length of tubing over to him, arranging it between him and Scott. If she's uncomfortable with what she's going to do, (and, yes, on some level she is) she doesn't show any sign of it.

She glances at Warren for a moment. "There's food and juice available when we're done. How long ago did you have your last drink?" A beat. "And how much did you have to drink?" Spearing him while he's hungover isn't idea. Pouring alcohol-saturated blood into Scott's wound, less so. She doesn't know how that will affect the potency.

"I don't know...sometime between midnight and probaby 2am. What time is it now?" Warren isn't sure what time Jean called him or how long it took him to get here or what the time difference does. "Worse comes to worse, he'll wake up a little buzzed. I'm not dead yet despite drinking like a fish for the last few weeks so obviously something's keeping the alcohol from killing me outright." Because that will inspire confidence. "The important thing is that he get healed, right?"

He kind of can't help that the question came out rather flatly. "If you don't want to do this, just give me a scalpel and some bandages and I'll do it."

"Yes ma'am," says one of the attendants to Jean. "But whatever measures you both plan to implement, may I recommend that you do it quickly?" Without waiting for an answer, the nurse leaves the room.

Jean inhales a steadying breath -- not against what she now must do, but to keep her from smacking Warren. His hostility is getting old, now. She understands it. But she apologized and reached out. The rest is up to him.

She's not going to flog a dead horse, however. So, she doesn't reply.

Instead, she turns away and pulls back Scott's bandages. Then, she picks up an alcohol swab and wipes the inside of Warren's elbow, before she inserts the needle and shut, watching as the first of the life-giving crimson stains the tubing.

Angel hisses as the needle and shunt go in and he closes his eyes a moment before he lets out a slow breath. The blood may heal others, but it isn't a picnic when he has to let it. She may know how this particular power works, but even so, he reminds, while he's still attentive enough, "I don't know how much he'll need...I'd...rather not lose all my blood, if that's all right."

Jean glances to Warren, even as she manipulates the first spill of blood over Scott's back -- where the larger opening of the wound is. "I won't let either of you bleed out," she tells him. She even offers a small, if grim, smile. "I promise." That's why there's a trauma team standing by outside. Though, really, Jean has no intention of it getting so bad as to need them.

Angel just sort of grunts at Jean's promise. Not that he's disputing it but it's more that he doesn't want to admit that she probably won't let either of them bleed out. That wouldn't help his current grudge. It's no fun to hold a grudge when there's no real reason to do so, after all! As the blood starts flowing, he does his best to relax and settle into the seat, his wings draping behind him to rest after the trip and flight. "Who stabbed him?"

The flow of blood into Scott's body has almost immediate effect. Inside his body, tissue mends and blood begins to flow to spots of damage. Gradually things begin to repair.

"I don't know," Jean replies, grimacing faintly. "I can show you what he looked like." Gestalted with Rachel as she was, she has an absolutely perfect recollection of him. But, she still doesn't know who he is. "That's about all. He showed up just as we had quelled rioting in Pashtun, stuck a spear through Scott's back, and blinked out." She doesn't go into the chaos that followed.

The blood flows and Jean can see that it's working. But, until she's sure Scott's at least to a point where he can heal on his own -- without Warren bleeding out beside him -- she'll not truly relax.

Even if Warren is telepathically shown who did it, he shakes his head. "I have no idea If you guys don't know who it is, then I certainly won't." He looks at the stream of blood going to Scott from him for a long, quiet moment. "Glad it's helping," is finally offered as if he felt like he needed to fill the silence.

After some tense moments, Scott begins coughing uncontrollably as he bounds back into consciousness. He reaches up to attempt to pull the tubes from his nose and reflexively checks to ensure that his visor is on. "Water...can I have some water please..." he whispers.

As Scott regains consciousness, Jean automatically moves to soothe him, both physically and telepathically. "Easy!" she says, pushing him back against the pillow. "I'll get you some water. Just, give me a moment and lay still..." She glances to Warren and offers a rueful shrug in response to his words. But, she smiles, too. "Thank you," she tells him softly, moving, now, to remove the needle and shunt before she does anything else. Yes. Scott needs water. But, Warren needs to not bleed out.

Once that's taken care of, then, and only then, does she attend to fetching the water and bringing it to Scott's lips.

"Sure," is offered in response to the quiet thanks even as Warren looks about the room for some gauze and tape He knows enough to be placing pressure on where the needle was. Finding it, he patches himself up, letting Jean and Scott have their own private moment.

Scott takes a hearty drink, and some of his voice comes back to him as his mouth and throat get the much needed liquid, "Thank you, Jean." His head lolls to the side. "Warren too? I guess I must have gotten pretty messed up. Either he's here for my last rights or he helped repair me. Where are we?"

It's just a pinprick in Warren's arm, in any case. Nothing a ball of cotton and a little medical tape won't handle.

Jean smiles to Scott, and chuckles softly at his assessment, again glancing to Warren and back. "Muir Island," she tells him. "It was closer than New York." She smlies more fully at Warren. "But, it would have been a lot dicier if Warren hadn't been willing to come help."

Angel glances up from affixing the tape to his arm, "Yeah, well. Next time we'll figure out a way for you to just keep my blood on hand for those pesky emergencies." He then inclines his head, "Good to see you up, Scott. I don't like seeing people gored through. Not a pretty sight. Now, if you don't mind, the meter is running on my plane." He starts to head towards the doorway but pauses a moment to steady himself against the wall. He's not used to having to give up more than a few drops.

"You don't have to leave, Warren," Scott says, his voice gathering more strength. "And for the record I appreciate your help. The last thing I remember was being fairly certain that was the last thing I would ever remember."

"You shouldn't leave, yet, Warren," Jean says, reinforcing Scott's words. "You've given a good pint, here." A beat. She smiles. "Even the Red Cross makes you wait for at least fifteen minutes before flying. Stay. Get a meal into you..."

They really do care, after all. Regardless what he may think.

She glances back to Scott, her expression going serious. "You gave us quite a scare." A beat. "You should see the crater Rachel left behind."

"I wouldn't know. I've never given blood to the Red Cross," there's a reason why Warren isn't letting scientific types at him. He turns some so that he can lean against the wall better yet also look to Jean and Scott, "I despise being a third wheel. I can sit outside or something...I'm not sure a meal is a good idea right now...I had a power bar when I left New York."

Scott turns to Jean and chuckles, "Well, I had to keep it exciting." He adds, "Was Rachel upset because I was hurt, or because I would pull through?"

"Six hours ago," Jean replies to Warren, with regard to his power bar. "And you've since given blood. Trust me. Eat something. At least some juice. Maybe some fruit, if you don't want to wait for anything more substantial."

And, further, it's not like these two are officially dating -- though, yes, they've been mending their relationship.

She winces a little at Scott's comment to Warren, however, fearing the tirade that may elicit.

But, as for Rachel? "She sees us as very strong reminders of her parents," she tells him. "She thought she was watching you die again." Jean ought to know. She absorbed an awful lot of Rachel's being when they melded. She wrinkles her nose some. "It was... kinda freaky, actually. Terrifying. You're lucky I was able to shield you, or she'd have killed you by accident in her effort to kill the man that stabbed you."

"Been a year since what?" Warren asks, his brows creased as he asks that question. "It's been less than that and I'm not allowed to be upset that up until now I've been completely ignored by people I spent a good deal of my adolescence and latter teen years with? People I thought were my friends? How am I supposed to feel, Scott? Jubilation that finally I'm able to do something for the great and mighty Scott Summers and Jean Grey?" At least the wall is doing a good job of keeping him upright.

His eyes then shift to Jean, "Yeah, see. I don't really need to sit in on this while the two of you talk about things I know nothing about...nor am I being told anything about. Nor does anyone really want me to know. They probably have juice on the plane. They must...to mix with some vodka."

Scott sighs, "Warren, it's not like that and never has. We've always opened our arms to you. It was you who left. Jean? It wasn't even /Jean/ who rejected you." Scott rubs his brow and grimaces, not knowing if he's up for this again.

Jean sighs in reponse to Warren's inevitable reaction. "Warren, I told you the last time we spoke I'm not going to fight with you, any more." And she meant it. She glances back to Scott. "He knows. I explained it to him." Or, at least, she tried. She thought things were better. Ah well. "Let it lie. He needs to make his own decision about whether or not he wants to be involved."

He could, after all, ask clarifying questions like: What happened? Or even: Do you need my help? Instead of making assumptions. Particularly since there hasn't been time to tell him what's been going on. But, that kinda takes away from his grudge, too. So, Jean knows that won't happen. Thus, she doesn't even rise to the 'great and mighty' slur.

"It's your choice Warren. Go on back to your plane, if you want; fly back to New York. Have juice. Vodka. Whatever makes you happy. If you want to stick around and help, we'd be glad to fill you in. But, if not... well, then I'm sorry for dragging you over here. My bad. Won't happen again."

Next time, she'll call Kurt and see if his girlfriend has any more of those healing potions she used on Jocelyn.

"Why do I have to beg to be involved?" Warren counters, "Why do I have to only be involved when I need to bleed on someone? I realize that I don't have the best skills for most situations. I get that. But I'd rather people just flat out tell me 'We didn't call you because you really couldn't do anything to help' than to be pretty much ignored and forgotten." He looks between Jean and Scott, "Is there anything that I -could- help with or would I be left here, waiting, for when people get hurt?"

Scott leans his head back on his pillow. "We haven't called because you wanted to be left alone."

Jean snirks now. She's a red head. She has a temper. She controls it well, but, still... "Warren, we just put down mutant rioting in Pashtun. Could you have helped there? Yes. Yes, you could have. You could have rescued people. You could taken weapons away. There are many things you could have done. But, when, in the half hour since you got here, have we really had time to actually tell you what's happened? Not really at any point. Not until now."

She fixes him with a hard gaze, arms over her chest and in danger of usurping Scott's leadership role. "Do you want back in Warren? 'Cause, I'd love that. But, from here on out, you're either all in or you're not. The past is water under the bridge, and we start again." She glances to Scott to see if he agrees. "Deal?"

"Says who?" Angel demands. "Who told you that? Since -when- have I ever wanted to be left alone?" Even he admits that he demanded attention all through school. Some things never seem to change. He turns to look at Jean, "I didn't realize that I was 'out' before."

Scott chuckles as his eyebrows go up. "There's no talking to her when she digs in," he says with a smile.

"You walked out. You left the mansion. That's what it seemed like to everyone. Seemed like you needed your space."

"Oh, for crying out loud. You're the one that's been saying you feel like you're out." Jean says, tossing her hands up. "Whatever. The point stands. Take the deal, or leave it." She snirks now and gestures between the two. "Or work something new out between you and fill the rest of us in later."

She's tired. She's spent the last several hours fighting to keep Scott alive and is burdened with the residual emotions of her AU daughter. Consequently, she's not thinking straight. Nor does she have the energy to try and sort it out, now that it's clear Scott will live.

"I'm going to get the nurse and let her team clean up in here." Then, she's going to bed. She'll deal with the fallout -- and she knows there's going to be fallout -- later. After she's slept.

With that, she turns on her heel and stalks out.