CATACLYSM || X-Men

15| she's got you

Washington DC, 1962

They were airlifted out once Rose managed to drain some of the remaining power in the plane to repair the radio. It took too long, and too much effort, but by that point, Rose would have swum to one of the fleet to get Charles help.

    Her dedication scared her.

    Her leg was patched up, but she knew she'd heal by time night fell, and waving off the nurses, she stayed in Charles's room. Hank was a frequent visitor, as was Moira. Alex and Sean often slept in the waiting room. They claimed the house was too quiet.

    She couldn't disagree.

    "Would you happen to know who I have to ask for some water?"

    The croaky voice belonged to Charles, Rose immediately lifting her head from her book to smile at him. Dropping his father's copy of 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea, Rose jumped out of her chair and rushed to his side, her footsteps waking up Hank who was sleeping in one of the chairs in the corner.

    "Hey," she settled on, clutching his hand as he forced a small smile. "Water?" she finally realised, reaching to a cup on the side, just out of his reach, and offered it to him, helping to pull up the top of the bed.

    "Thank you," he whispered, taking the cup.

    "How are you feeling?" Hank asked, pulling Rose's chair up behind her, his gentle touch on her shoulder letting her know about it. He moved to the other side of the bed, pulling the other chair nearer for himself.

    "Like I've been shot in the back, to be quite honest with you," Charles replied, before he let out a chuckle. "What's my recovery time?"

    "I convinced the hospital to release you early, to my care. So after tomorrow, significantly less than they think," Hank smiled, before looking to Rose.

    "Are you sure?" Charles asked her. "About staying?"

    "You're my family. Of course."

Westchester, New York, 1962

"I'm coming, holy shit, calm down," Rose managed to put the paperback copy of Frankenstein into her back pocket, before she reached a glove covered hand to the door to open it. Spotting Moira, her smile widened. "Hey!"

    "Hi, Rose. Charles said he wanted to see me?" the agent hesitated, having seen him in the hospital, but now unsure about his request.

    "Yeah, come on in. I'm sure he's on his way," Rosie stood to the side to let her into the entryway. She could hear the wheelchair coming towards them as she closed the door, and turned to hug the agent. "How are you doing?"

    "I'm fine. Really. How's your leg?" she asked.

    "Ah," Rose waved a hand, letting out a chuckle. "I've had worse. Middle Age torture techniques sure are imaginative," she offered as an explanation, Moira giving her an odd look as she tried to apologise, "Shit, I'm sorry— I just forget you're not Charles and Hank, and—"

    "I think she understands, Rose," Charles spoke with a fond smile on his face, arriving in front of them both. "Thank you for coming, Agent MacTaggert. Shall we take a walk?"

    Rose left them to it, making her way back to the kitchen where the three boys were gathered. On her arrival, she ad a bread roll conk her in the head, her hand flying up to rub the sore spot on her forehead. "Is that really necessary, Alex?" she asked, sitting back down at the table.

    "You look like your puppy died," Sean replied.

    "Moira's here," Hank spoke up, Rose quietly taking their taunting, until all three of them let out a hum of immature sounds. Tugging out her personal, wrecked copy of Shelley's work, she hit Hank on the head with it, making the other two laugh.