Part Sixteen

The breeze that filtered into the small, steam-filled bathroom stilled, the navy blue curtains fluttering one last time like a dying man unwilling to give up his ghost just yet, then rested against the splotched wall, which was wet with condensation. The only sound that interrupted the stark silence was the soft fizz of the bubbles and the small slosh of the water as Jubilee sank lower into the tub.

Her eyes were wide and dark, blue circles beneath them imprinted on her pale flesh complimenting the purpling gash across her cheek. The tall woman who sat beside her on the shut toilet seat jerked suddenly, as if snatched from a deep reverie, then turned her face toward the wall, unable to believe the revelations that the girl had just shown her, words weaving a horrible, cold, violent childhood, with scars to illustrate. Jean's breath caught in her throat, and she couldn't quite inhale properly. She knew this was when she was supposed to speak reassuring words to make everything better, but her mouth opened and closed wordlessly, like a fish out of water. Closing her large green eyes, she sat back and scrubbed one slender hand over them, smearing the mascara that had been so meticulously painted across her long eyelashes just an hour before.

It was finally Jubilee who broke the silence, saying softly, "I wanna get out," her words setting the word back into motion. The wind picked up again, tearing at the curtains and dissipating the thick, smoky curls of steam that lingered, though the water had long grown too tepid to create the mist. Someone in the next room turned on the water, and the pipes made a noise like air leaking from a tire. Standing, Jean wordlessly picked up a towel and held it up as the girl, no longer bashful now that all secrets had been revealed, stood and let her wrap it around her slight body. The psi took a step back, letting Jubilee dry herself, hands trembling in the sudden coolness as she consciously avoided mopping her ribs and back. Once she was done, she donned her underwear, the older woman helping her fasten her bra in the back, carefully maneuvering around the painful-looking wounds between her shoulder blades, then had Jean help her pull a white Green Day shirt with long black sleeves over her head. Baggy jeans completed the outfit, and it wasn't until the girl was fully dressed and Jean was helping her comb out her ratted hair that the fiery woman finally found her voice.

"Jubilee, I-"

"S'okay, Red," the young Asian-American girl interrupted quietly, using Logan's nickname for her. "I know. Nothin' ever comes easy." She twisted her head to look up at the older woman, her blue eyes sad, but containing a fervor they had not possessed just moments before. Jean merely nodded, finding it odd that the child should find strength in her weakness.

* * * *

Logan and Hank were waiting anxiously as Jubilee stepped carefully from the bathroom, not sure if her small legs would carry her the entire width of the room to where the wheelchair waited, knowing that she should soon eat something to restore her strength. Logan was instantly by her side, not picking her up and carrying her as most would in that situation, but rather just lending one burly arm for support as she made her feeble way to where Hank stood.

Henry McCoy grinned toothily as he watched his patient's progress. "I take it your shirt is an allusion to the environmentally conscience Earth Day that our political mentors have given us to celebrate our flora friends every April?"

She gave him a quizzical look as she stumbled, nearly falling, but tenaciously righted herself, brushing off her guardian's assistance. "Huh?"

"He's asking if your shirt's referring to Earth Day," Jean responded quietly, still standing in the bathroom doorway, feeling utterly useless for the first time in her life.

She hid a grin at her doctor's ignorance, waiting until she could speak without laughing before informing him simply, "It's a band."

"Oh." He pondered this a moment. "Well, perhaps the band had the idea to honor Earth Day."

This time, she couldn't hide her smile. "Actually, Green Day is a day where ya can jus' sit back an' smoke pot all day." All eyes turned to her in shock. "What? It ain't like *I* go toke reefers. I jus' like the band. They got some killer tunes." Grasping Logan's arm tightly, she lowered herself down into the waiting wheel chair, taking the pillow out from behind her and hugging it on her lap. "Now, are we gonna get this show on the road, or wait till it starts rainin' first?"

* * * *

"Y'okay, girl?"

Jubilation looked over at the man who sat on the garden bench beside her and smiled slightly, feeling better now that the fresh, late-morning wind was on her face instead of drifting through a musty screen and pouring limply over her prone body. It felt good to be moving around, to return to society, even if she only saw the same gardens she'd seen a million times before. "Yeah," she replied. "Yeah. I'm okay, Wolvie. What about you? You okay?"

At this, he grinned and took her slender hand, squeezing it gently. "Yeah. I'm all right."

"Good." They lapsed into silence once more, the girl's face turning upward to witness the black clouds rushing in over the horizon, a brisk wind at their heels, pushing them along like a shepherd dog to a herd of dark sheep. After a while, she reached up and pulled the shimmery green scrunchie from her damp hair, letting the raven locks tumble to her shoulders, wetting the shirt and making the pale fabric nearly transparent.

"What's on yer mind, darlin'?"

She shrugged lightly, staring at her hands. "Are ya gonna go have coffee with Kitty after this?" she inquired, her voice sounding younger than her years. She looked up into her mentor's lined face, and he nodded, his blue eyes locking with hers. "Why didn't ya go while I was in the tub?"

"I was talkin' t' Hank."

"'Bout what?"

"You."

"Oh." She paused, then reached one hand up to bite at her thumb nail, wishing absently for a good manicure. A week in bed is hell on your nails. "What'd Beasty Boy say?"

"That you're startin' t' heal, an' he'd like t' take ya offa sedatives an' start pumpin' some food inta yer gut." He looked at the small girl, thinking how strange it was. Just a week before, they had sat on this same bench, only then, she had been a normal, healthy, vital young woman. Or at least, she had appeared to be. If she actually had been, she wouldn't be in the wheelchair now. "What'd y' talk t' Jeannie 'bout?"

The light shrug returned, and she looked up at him again, her eyes serious. "I told her everythin'. She didn' ask, I jus' told. She jus' sat there, lookin' at me like she was gonna suffocate, an' didn' say nothin'. An' ... An' I realized it's not her who should be pityin' me, but rather the other way around. I mean, she couldn' even handle hearin' 'bout my life, an' I've survived it. It was weird, knowin' I'm stronger 'n one of the most powerful telepaths -- someone who's supposed ta understand people, right down ta the core."

Logan nodded, knowing her sentiments. "Does this mean you'll be survivin' a little bit longer, darlin'?"

A small smile touched her lips. "Yeah, I guess it does. Fer now." A large raindrop splattered across her cheek, and she looked up, surprised. The clouds must have been coming quicker than anyone had expected, for they were now directly overhead, and were beginning to unleash their mighty torrents upon Westchester County. Without a word, Logan stood and made his way to the back of the chair, and together, they went inside.

(Written by Dana Night)