This story features the X-Men and other related characters, which are copyrighted by Marvel Entertainment/Marvel Comics Group and are used without permission. The use of these characters in this story is not intended to infringe on that copyright. No profit is being made on this work, it's written solely for entertainment purposes. This work is copyright of me and may not be used for commercial purposes.
It's All In Your Head: Part Twenty
by sevenall
Hank upheld few traditional rules in the infirmary. One he did stick to, though, was the rule of no food or beverages inside the lab. It was completely out of character for him to open a can of soda while sitting in front of presumably irreplaceable Sh'iar equipment, and when he offered another to Elizabeth, she knew the news wasn't good.
"Well?" she prompted.
Hank took off his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose and put them on again. Stalling.
"Surgery is not an option. A treatment plan including both aggressive radiation therapy and equally aggressive chemotherapy might buy you more time, if we started it at once."
"What kind of time?"
She gulped the soft drink and waited for the sugar to hit her bloodstream. Hank had adjusted her implant with a few deft microsurgical procedures and given her some aspirin and she felt better. Some things seemed a little fuzzy around the edges if she stared at them too long, but as long as she could walk by herself and keep her food down, she was happy.
"Remission, possibly. With luck, an extended remission. Considering your present status, which has your immune system actively fighting the tumor, I think the odds may be in your favour. This time."
"Good." She stood up, feigned a stretch and a yawn. "When can we start?"
"Elizabeth." Softly, gently. "I won't lie to you. There is no cure."
"So I've been told." "I know," he said, even gentler, to let her know that her evasion didn't fool him. "As I understand, you refused treatment while at the hospice. As well as counselling."
"I don't need a shrink!"
He recoiled slightly and she softened her tone, embarrassed.
"I've had enough people in my head...please, Hank."
"The decision is yours," he answered her with just a hint of formality in his voice.
"Well," Elizabeth said, shifting to a less volatile subject. "How's your research going nowadays?"
She turned over a few papers that had been lying face-down and examined them with interest.
"Quite a lot on cryo-techniques, isn't it? I thought you ruled out that as a treatment long ago? Assuming that the viral nucleic acids do get inserted into the human DNA, the virus would be dormant for as long as the host was frozen, but it won't do the host any good to stay frozen forever, will it? Hank?"
His facial colour had become a weird purple.
"No," he choked out, looking almost suffused with shame "But they don't get any worse either. And meanwhile I can intensify my research, I can find the cure, I know I can. A few more months is all I need...."
"Hank," Elizabeth hissed. "Did the thought of putting _me_ in the freezer cross your mind?"
He mumbled something, Elizabeth could only make out the word "time."
"Apparently," she said. "Is Moira in on this too?"
He shook his head.
"I swear..."
"You did swear, once. The Hippocratic oath, I believe it's called. "Above all, do no harm." But I forget. You're not a doctor. You're just a scientist, running your experiments."
There were tears in his eyes now, the blue, blue eyes, but the infinite patience and compassion, was still there, encompassing her even now. The furry hand with the blunt, flat claws reached for hers and touched her palm with warmth fuelled by a metabolism faster than her own .
"I'm so very sorry," he said. "If only I had detected the tumor earlier you wouldn't have had to go through all this."
He had drugged her out of her head, restrained her to the bed and left her there, too schiz to defend herself. He had also, over the years, set bones and joints for her and prescribed everything from decongestants to heavy painkillers when she needed it. She had felt herself safe before minor or major fights, knowing that all she had to do was to make it back to the transport and Hank would work miracles in the infirmary. He had held her when her telepathy short-circuited in Genosha, his mind a steady buffer between her and the chaos as Genosha erupted into civil disaster.
"It's okay, Hank," she said, with a squeeze of his hand. "Not your fault. I know that a lot of what happened wasn't your decisions."
"That's the problem. Those decisions should have been mine. I chickened out."
So he had. Most everyone did, when the Professor went imperial on them. Beneath her own mock deference to him was a layer of wariness and beneath that fear. The Professor's skills were not due to sheer power or intelligently applied pressure; his actions activated hormonal glands to create a mixture of biological messengers that made you _want_ to do as he told you.
"Any word on Warren?" she asked, in a level tone. This was, after all, Warren's best friend.
He froze.
<Oh, Hank. Chickening out again. That really wouldn't do.>
She injected some more heat in her glare to force the answer out of him.
"I think," he said, at last, rubbing his eyes, "that you had better see for yourself."