Subject: [OTL]: [Beast]: Swear an Oath Date: Sat, 26 Jun 1999 19:30:37 -0700 (PDT) From: "Emily R. Snyder" Hm. I guess I'd give this PG to PG-13 for unhappiness. All characters mentioned herein are the sole intellectual property of Marvel Comics and are used only for entertainment. I am making no profit for my endeavors. Archive with permission. No pop-up or MST. Note: This is set soon after X-Men: Prime, I suppose. Scott and co. are still with the team. :) **=thought symbols. Swear an Oath Em-Spider June 25, 1999 "Moira," he said into the commlink, "I'd greatly appreciate it if you'd make a move to Westchester so that I might study your case of Legacy." "Hank, A'm nae some lab rat." "Then I would be honored to work with you. I believe that in this case it would be easier to work in the same room." "Yui're right, A s'pose." She sighed. "A guess A'd better pack." "I'll see you when you arrive." He pressed a button and disconnected the commlink, then started to make up a bed for Moira in the corner of the medlab. ------------------------------- Moira stormed out of the medlab with all the strength she could muster and went to her room. She started stuffing unitards into a duffel bag. "Rahne!" Rahne came to the door. "Yes, Mum?" "Pack yuir things. We're goin' tae Westchester." "Why?" "Because McCot thinks we should work together, and as much as A hate t' admit it, he's right." "Lady Moira, it's good that yui're admittin' it, an' A'm proud o' ye for swallowin' yuir pride." "Thank ye, Rahne, but f'r now, can A be alone?" "Sure." Rahne headed for her own quarters to pack. She didn't really want to go back to Westchester, but she decided her Mum needed her right now. --------------------------------- Scott opened the Blackbird's throttle slowly so as not to make Moira or Rahne feel ill. Moira looked positively green around the gills. He wondered whether it was his piloting or her disease. "Moira, are you all right?" "Nae. I hae a lethal virus. O' course A'm nae all right!" Scott tried to be lenient and not become annoyed. "I meant to ask if you were feeling all right. Even if you are sick, I don't want to cause any unnescessary discomfort. You look a bit green." "A've been feelin' ill all day, but thank ye f'r yuir concern." She sighed deeply. "A'm sorry A snapped." "It's all right, Moira. I understand." "Aye. The Retribution virus. Ye had that, didn't ye?" "Yes." "Thank ye f'r understandin'." "Of course, Moira. I consider you a friend." Scott smiled. Moira sighed again. "Thank ye again, Scott." ----------------------------------- Hank met Moira in the hangar. They greeted each other cheerfully, considering the circumstances, and Moira began to cough. She held up her hand for a moment and headed toward the nearest bathroom, where she hacked for three minutes on end and lost what she still had of her lunch. She strode out later, trying to look confident, but only succeeding in looking weak and washed out as she faltered every few seconds. Hank, ever the gentleman, offered his arm in support, only to be flatly refused. "A'm nae a bloody invalid!" she cried, stumbling off to the medlab. *Hm*, Hank mused. *It's quite possible she's grown more obstinate since becoming ill.* --------------------------------- Moira changed into a fresh unitard and flopped on the bed in the medlab. She WAS so awfully tired. She slipped into an uneasy sleep and dreamed of big green globs chasing her down and smothering her under their noxious bulk. Screaming herself awake, she found her clothes soaked in cold sweat. She changed again, looked at the bed, and decided against more sleep. Instead, Moira went down to the kitchen to get some coffee. ------------------------------- Dark brown, vanilla-flavored coffee fell into a white ceramic mug. Steam rose and fogged up two pairs of glasses as two heads bent solemnly over a notebook full of research notes. A blue hand gripped the handle of a coffee cup and sipped deeply. Scottish eyes pored over the page without looking up. "Moira, consider looking away for a second. You'll get eyestrain." Moira sighed, looked away, and gupled her coffee. "OUCH!" she cried as she burned her tongue and throat. Her eyes immediately flicked back to the page and she became completely absorbed in Hank's notes. So absorbed was she that she did not notice that it grew dark and that Hank quietly headed off to get some sleep to replenish his mind. ------------------------------ Several hours later, Hank padded down to the kitchen to have his breakfast. Moira was still there, drinking what appeared to be her fifteenth cup of coffee and poring over his notes. There were black circles under her eyes and her hands shook. "Moira, did you get any sleep last night?" "Oh, aye, several hours," she lied. "A'm ready tae work! Are ye?" "Yes, just let me grab a bagel." He toasted the bagel and spread cream cheese on it, and they walked to the medlab together. Hank noticed that Moira carried a thermos of coffee and a bottle of Irish Creme and recalled that Rahne had told him to watch for alcohol around Moira. He worried, and decided to watch how much of the liquor she put in the coffee. -------------------------- Moira poured half a cup of coffee and filled the other half with liquor while Hank wasn't looking. She took a sip as if nothing were wrong and went on working. ------------------------- Two days later, Moira was drooping over a petri dish and still drinking coffee. Hank went to bed at indecent hours, but Moira never slept. Hank worried. Moira worked. Hank worried. Moira drank more coffee. Hank worried. Moira added more irish creme to her coffee. Hank slept. Moira worked and drank. Hank ate. Moira didn't; she worked. ------------------------ Four days after Moira arrived, Hank came back to the lab to find her slumped in a petri dish. Her eyes were closed and had black bags under them. Her cheek was in the sample, and a shattered coffee cup was on the floor. Cold coffee puddled at her feet. He took a pulse. Nothing. Moira was cold. She was dead. "Rahne!" ---------------------------- Hank's eyes burned into Rahne's. "I promise you, young lady, that I will not rest until I find a cure for this disease." "Hank, ye dinnae really need t' do tha'..." "Oh, I assure you, I do." Rahne looked back at him. "All right, then. Can A help ye with it?" "I would greatly appreciate your help." --------------------------- She drank a cup of coffee. He had one too. They looked at a computer screen. "What d' those little lines mean?" He explained. She understood. They looked again. He scratched on a piece of paper. She read it. "Int'restin' idea, Dr. McCoy. Hae should A set up the experiment?" "Don't bother, Rahne. I'll do it myself. You go get something to eat." "A'right." She left and came back a few minutes later, carrying two turkey sandwiches. She put one down near the monitor, but Hank didn't notice. He was placing a slide underneath a strange green beam. ---------------------- Rahne looked slightly askance at the untouched turkey sandwich and yawned. "Rahne, I think you'd better get some sleep." "A think yui're right. G'night, Hank." -------------------- For four days, it went on like this. Rahne noticed Hank seemed driven, almost fanatical. He obviously intended to keep his word, and the more Rahne saw, the more she was convinced he was taking himself literally. He wasn't sleeping, as far as she could tell, and wasnt' eating either. Whatever she brought him was still there when she returned in the morning, and he was ignoring her more and more. He was close to his destination, she knew that. She knew that he had to sleep, but he never budged, despite all her wheedling. Henry McCoy was a man of his word. ------------------- It'd been a week since Hank had promised Rahne to cure the virus. She sat in the lab, reading an old notebook of Moira's, when Hank tapped her on the shoulder. "Rahne, I do believe I've done it!" he cried, as jubilantly as he could. Rahne was about to hug him and laugh, but as she reached out, he fell forward, knocking her to the ground. She moved his unconscious form and freed herself. She stared at him for a long time, shocked. Suddenly coming to her senses, she took a pulse, but there was none. She held a mirror before his face. No fog. Stepping back, she looked down at him, and then back at the computer screen. She looked back and forth a few times, then cried out. "Oh, me dear Laird!" [fin] Well, there. I think this is the longest thing I have ever written, so feedback is very good. please? :) === God gave us our memories so that we might have roses in December. -James M. Barrie Em-Spider, Lady of the Flies, Writer of the Short, and Janitor of the Kosmos