Mirror, Mirror

Mirror Mirror Chapter Fifty Five
Disclaimers Apply

A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta… *glomp * InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink, Dracena and Greywolf are loverly and wondermous for archiving/hosting. J ProPhile: I think we’re one step away from going back to Morse code. Morgan: *stalk * Readers/Reviewers: Thank you so much for reading and reviewing as you can! *happy pagan dance *



Paige blinked, expecting pain and cold concrete but finding herself swaddled in comfortable blankets and only mildly sore. It was like she was existing in a bubble of no sensation for all of five seconds, and then her senses seemed to explode with awareness. The smell of antiseptic and adhesive assaulted her nose while the steady beeping, shrill and persistent, wormed it’s way into her skull, filling her hearing and making her want to claw at her ears. The sheets were itchy and rough on her skin, almost to the point of pain but not quite. It felt like she was alive for the first time in a long time, and she was not sure whether to hate it or not. Something thick and rigid filled her throat and she panicked, her arms riddled with punctures and flailing as her body began to convulse, her airway working against the breathing tube.
“Stay still,” Beast ordered calmly, his broad face looming above her. “I’m going to remove the tube. When I say so, exhale forcefully.”
Paige’s heart raced and she wanted to scream, but could not. Her face hurt as she tried to inhale through her nose and found she could not. Beast was fiddling with some sort of equipment, peeling bandages away from her face. She felt a gentle tug in her throat and she wanted to throw up.
“Now,” he said sharply, and pulled.
Paige breathed out as hard as she could and wished she could shut off part of her brain, the part that registered sensation, as the tube began its slide from her throat. It lasted only seconds but it may as well have been years before Beast whisked the tube away. For a moment, she did not allow herself to breathe and then, suddenly, her body systems kicked in, overtaking her brain’s resistance and she inhaled deeply, her lungs burning and aching and her throat feeling raw. She felt tears leak hot and thick from the corners of her eyes as she coughed once, then twice, then was racked with a spasmodic fit of it as her lungs moved of their own volition.
“You were left here two hours ago,” Beast said as calmly as ever, his tone perfectly neutral but not disinterested. He was checking her vitals, petting her hand comfortingly. “You weren’t breathing on your own and I was able to intubate you until your body seemed to remember what to do. I believe it was due to a malfunction in your husking ability as your body began to fight the tube when you…expelled a large portion of desiccated skin from your nasal passages.” Even the unflappable Beast looked disgusted for a brief second at that image.
“Sorry,” she croaked, her Southern politeness forcing the words to her lips almost reflexively.
“Don’t be,” he smiled. “Can you tell me what happened to you?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but sighed instead. Her throat felt like hamburger and she was loathe to speak again. Instead, she gestured for something to write with and a piece of paper or some other surface. Beast produced both handily, sitting on the bed opposite her with a distracted but concerned air. _This, _ she wrote, _is going to take a while… _

Logan recoiled as his claws skidded off Mark’s attacker, not even scoring the surface of his red body armor. “Son of a…”
“Steady on,” Mark said sharply, rolling to his feet as the massive weight shifted off of him. He had managed to work his sword free during his assault and now swung it handily at the dark shape between him and Logan. With a growl, the huge man turned his back on Logan and swung at Mark, who danced easily out of reach. “Now, now… not on the first date. I don’t know you that well,” he sniped, ducking under the swinging arms and trying to aim for the bare skin of the attacker’s face.
“Mark, get out of here,” Logan bit out. “You don’t know what you’re dealin’ with!” He sliced at the man again, his claws shrieking against the metal and only raising the barest scratch there. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Hey! Bullet head!” He stood his ground as the massive fist swung at him, knowing that the pain would be momentarily blinding but maybe, he thought, Mark would take the hint and get his ass out of there…
Mark winced as Logan flew into the wall, literally. A cloud of rotten sheetrock billowed out and a stray piece of broken beam skittered across the floor as their assailant returned his attention to the librarian. “Well,” Mark said steadily, licking his plaster-dusted lips with a grimace. “This is not going to end well for one of us and frankly, I hope it’s you.” He leapt forward, his sword scalloping around his hand as he swung. The man did not move and Mark knew, the second before his blade made contact with flesh, that it was a trap. _Too late for fixing it now, _ he chided himself. The blade did not even scratch the man’s skin. It just seemed to bounce off, like he was made of some thick leather. Massive arms grabbed Mark before he could move away and the librarian found himself flat on his back again. Quickly, he rolled to his feet, his muscles tensed for another attack, but the man was lumbering out, his steps shaking the entire Boardinghouse.
“Oi!” Mark called. “What the Hell was that about?” Logan stirred and was gaining his feet, muttering imprecations against Mark’s parentage but the Englishman ignored him easily.
“Tell my brother,” he shouted, “I’m back.”