POV: Rogue

"Marie?"

I was falling, falling in an oily, numbing darkness, falling away from the pain and torment of my body until his voice caught me.

"Marie? Darlin', come back."

"Logan?" I could feel him, his presence, all around me. Protecting me. Buoying me up. I reached for him.

"That's it. That's right, baby."

His voice infused me with power. Where weakness had resided, strength now dwelled. Where there had been emptiness, there was now love.

"Marie, follow me," his voice pleaded.

I obeyed.

As I rose out of the numbing blackness sensations flooded me, overwhelming me. The lights in the room glared down, piercingly bright even through my closed eyelids. A loud, high-pitched beeping repeated over and over, pounding into me until I thought I would scream from the pain. Distant voices joined the beeping to ground my already tender nerves to powder. Worst of all was the coarse gown covering my body, rubbing my skin raw.

"Logan, it hurts," I whimpered weakly.

"I know, Marie, but I'm here with you. It'll fade."

His voice was so close, yet so gentle. It didn't hurt like all the other sounds overpowering my senses. It was like a cooling balm in a world of flame.

"Open your eyes for me, Marie."

"I can't. It's too bright."

"You can, baby. I'll help you." He paused and a warmth spread through my veins, dulling the light and muffling the sound a little. "Better?"

"Yes."

"Wake up, Marie."

Focusing all my energy on my eyes, I managed to open my eyelids just a crack, squinting through the metallic glare of the room. I expected Logan's face to bend over me and block out the light at any moment, but it didn't happen.

"Logan?" I whispered, my own voice loud and grating to my ears.

~Welcome back, baby,~ I heard him say.

His voice was so close that his lips had to be right up against my ear, but I could see that there was no one there. Then I realized why his voice didn't hurt when everything else did. It was coming from inside of me.

"You touched me," I accused in a raspy gasp.

~I had to, darlin'.~

"I told you. No touching, no matter what," I said, my voice rising in volume despite the pain it was causing me.

~You were dyin'. I didn't have a choice.~

Dying? If I was that badly hurt, then... I quickly shut my eyes, concentrating, looking for Logan. He was everywhere, his presence filling me.

Too much.

My eyes snapped open, and I tried to get them to focus despite the lights. I gazed over at the bed Jean had prepared for him, but it was empty. The sheets were twisted askew and the floor around it was strewn with carelessly abandoned medical supplies and equipment, but Logan was gone.

Too much. I'd taken too much, and I'd killed him. He was dead and it was all my fault.

A hint of a personality rose in my mind, echoing my words. ~Killed him. My fault. Thirty-three.~

The voice faded as quickly as it'd risen, but the overwhelming guilt and remorse remained.

"LO-GAN!!!" I wailed in my grief.

He was the only person who truly loved me, who cared more about me than anything else, and who had given his life for mine. It wasn't a fair trade. I wanted him back.

~I'm here, darlin'.~

"You're dead!" I yelled.

"Rogue?" a gentle voice asked. Jeanie. I didn't want her. I wanted Logan.

"Logan," I whimpered, my tears burning trails down my cheeks. I didn't care about the pain anymore. No physical pain could compare to the grief consuming my soul.

"Logan can't be here right now," Jean offered in a soothing voice.

"Dead. Killed. Too much. Too much." I answered between sobs.

"No," Jean said, reaching out to stroke my hair. I know she meant well, but every movement of every strand yanked on my beleaguered senses. "Logan's not dead."

That got my attention. I raised my eyes to hers and then turned my gaze to the empty bed saying, "Gone. Dead."

She seemed to catch my meaning.

"No, Rogue. He's just hurt. I had to move him to a private room."

"Have to see him," I begged.

"I'm sorry, Rogue. You can't. He's too critical."

She's lying. She had to be. If he were alive, he'd be here.

"I'm not lying," Jean insisted.

Did I say that out loud? I didn't know. Couldn't tell.

"Rogue, trust us," a deeper voice added. "He's right in the other room."

Scott? Where'd he come from? I didn't care. I wanted Logan.

I pulled my hands up to waist-level on the bed and pushed, trying to sit up. My muscles felt so stiff, almost like I'd never bent over in my life. I gasped at the pain, but I wouldn't let it stop me. If Logan was alive, I had to see him. If he was dead, I had to know.

"Rogue, don't." Jean commanded, pressing down on my shoulders and easily settling me back on the bed.

I wouldn't be deterred. I jerkily tried to sit up again.

"Rogue," Scott speaking now, from the other side of my bed. "you have to rest, now. Get your strength back. Logan wouldn't want you to overexert yourself. He's alive. Just trust us."

~He's right, darlin'. Rest now. Trust 'em,~ Logan's voice spoke to me, but I could tell that he didn't quite believe them either.

"I want to see Logan. Now," I insisted, successfully pushing myself up to a seated position, "Even if I have to go through both of you to do it."

Seeing my determination and probably figuring that I wouldn't calm down until they conceded, Jean said, "Scott, bring over a wheelchair."

Scott looked like he wanted to protest, but then he gave in with a short nod a retrieved a chair.

It was only about forty feet from my bed to Logan's quarantine room and I didn't do anything more than sit, but I felt like I'd run a marathon by the time we arrived. Logan lay prone on the bed before us in almost total darkness, visible through an observation window. His chest rose and fell mechanically as air was forced into his lungs. He was unnaturally pale, his body coated in a sweaty sheen, but he was alive. I could tell from the trembling of his left hand. There was something left of him in there. He wasn't just a dead husk kept alive by machines.

I didn't realize I was crying until I felt wet drops hit my folded hands. Logan was alive. He was hurt, but he was alive.

"Ok?" Jean asked with a gentle voice. "Can we take you back?"

I just nodded, drained from my journey and the worry that had consumed me.

~I'm still here, baby. I won't leave ya,~ Logan reassured me.

"How much, Jean?" I mumbled. "How much did I take?"

"We won't know until he wakes up. Just rest for now."

I settled back into my chair as Scott turned it around and pushed me back towards the main room and my bed. Right next to Logan's, was another quarantine room, and I caught sight of a familiar figure crouched in the back corner.

"Stop," I said. It was hardly a forceful command, but Scott complied anyway.

The woman who'd attacked me was banging the back of her head into the wall, mouthing words to herself.

"What's she saying?" I asked Jean.

"The rooms are sound-proofed," Jean said as she fingered the controls of a speaker attached to the wall.

As the speaker was turned on, I heard her voice repeating over and over, "Thirty-four... thirty-four."

That was the same voice as in my head. The number was different, but the guilt was the same. As she hit her head against the wall once again, she caught sight of the three of us at the observation window. Her eyes fixed on me, and her face twisted up into a clumsy smile which looked out of place on her bruised visage.

"Thirty-three," she said.

"Thirty-two," I corrected.