1963-06-14 - Der Letster Khurbn
Summary: Moira, Warren and Jean visit Erik in the hospital after the failed protest.
Related: [http://marvel1963mush.wikidot.com/log:1963-06-12-mutant-massacre]
Theme Song: None
moira warren jean erik 

Mount Sinai Beth Israel Hospital
Emergency Room

The advent of an 'emergency room' is not even a decade old, and there isn't a single hospital prepared for the onslaught of patients that came in yesterday. Extra cots have been taken from other floors of the hospital, and they've been stacked close to each other. Many of the sheets are stained red with blood; the hospital workers just haven't had the time to launder them. A handful of cots bear bodies that have been fully covered. Even the dead haven't been properly dealt with yet.

Nurses run rampant, with clipboards in hand and satchels filled with medicine and syringes in the other. Many of them are stained with dirt, sweat and blood. The doctors seem tired and defeated, even frustrated.

"Damn it!" shouts Doctor Schubeler, who's needle just snapped on the tough skin of a wounded and comatose mutant. "How in the hell am I supposed to treat this patient when I can't even give him a fucking shot!!?"

The nurse he'd berated throws her hands into the air and walks to a nearby cot, upon which sits Erik Lensherr. His shirt was removed and is… somewhere. His entire left shoulder is bandaged up, but perhaps more striking than the man's thousand yard stare are the decades old scars that run the length of his back and torso. His right hand is clenched over his left wrist, concealing the numbers inked there when he was a boy, while his eyes stare off into the room with an empty stare.


While Moira's not full time at the institute yet, she still has her job at Columbia and the small apartment in the city. So, part of her would have liked to rush up to the school, check on those there, but she rather knew very well that if they'd made it back to the school, then the students and staff there were in a better position than anyone who ended up in hospital. So, here she is now. She's taking advantage of the chaos in the ward, her own labcoat from work, and the fact that she just knows how to Look Like She Belongs to get through without having to really give any names. She doesn't even necessarily know who is here, just fears that familiar faces are going to be in beds.

Erik is the first one she comes up, in a cot in the hall more than an actual room — there were no rooms left. Her throat tightens in worry and shocked concern as she limps quickly in his direction, mostly back on her feet as much as she can be these days, her crutch a quiet echoing rhythm on the floor. Worry floods her blue eyes as she looks him up and down, evaluating his physical health, the sallowness of his skin, and just how distant that look in his eyes is before she speaks gently, "…Mr. Lensherr…" She still didn't remember how close they'd once been.

She still cared.


The lower east side of Manhattan isn't a usual visit for Warren. 'The Avenging Angel' is another matter. Although he'd made sure that Erik made it safely to the hospital, today was still a business day. As such, Warren is dressed in his tailored charcoal black suit with a navy blue tie today as he's arranged a leave from the office to see Erik in the hospital. Customarily, he has a bouquet of dwarf daylillies of a calming yellow in color. With Jean already in the city and having left a message with his secretary, he's also managed to give her a lift to thee hospital as well.

After altering the card on the flowers so that the bouquet is from both of them, Warren walks side-by-side with Jean. "Hey, thanks for coming with me today," he tells her with a warm smile. "It'll mean a lot to him that you're here." Those blue eyes do linger on the stunning redhead for a moment before flirting away to watch where they're going. As concerned as he is for his friend? This is still Warren we're talking about.

As they arrive in the emergency corridor, he sobers a bit more. The carnage from yesterday is still fresh in his mind as well as the helplessness of failing at saving the majority of these people. He falls quiet, his eyes turning downward as he moves through the hall in order to avoid their gazes.

When they do finally reach the hospital room, there is something a bit more quiet and sad about Warren, but he peeks inside the room anyways. "Uh," this directed at the doctor who passes him. His attention then goes to the nurse as well as Moira. "Is he…?" he begins to ask, looking wide-eyed to them both.


It was a quiet outrage within the Institute that made Jean leave. The quiet outrage that spilled upon the streets and out into the open, though there were other things that she felt as she walked the streets of New York. Thankfullness. Greed. Schadenfraude, happy that some of those mutants went down dead and didn't get back up. Happy that their children made it out safe. Feeling of general calm and sociopathic peace as an image of a hand covered in blood draws close to her face..

'Warren!' - Good timing for the Angel. If only the real ones touched down from Heaven last night..

The ride was as quiet, even entering into the hospital. Pure and untapped sorrow that causes her to pale and draw into herself with arms that cross and bunch up the top of her tiny flower dress. Her eyes lifting to force a smile towards Warren as he speaks his thanks, her hand soon unclasping from herself to grasp ahold of his elbow to walk in tandem.. then quickly pulls away. He was full of it too. That budding sadness. That regret.


Jean shakes her head as she murmurs quietly. "I'm just his student of sorts. He won't be happy to see me." She quietly murmurs, finally pushing into the room, a grandois smile upon her features with the bouquet held just below her nose to only allow the green of her eyes to be seen. And they were harsh. All emotions assaulting her though she tries to let it ride. And his? Erik's vacantness.. it.. almost seemed like a happy hole to hide in. One that spirals too deep into something all too horrific..

"Erik?" She murmurs out, then glances towards Moira to issue a hello. "I wrote a song for you." No she didn't. "It comes with a dance and flowers just for you."


A full two seconds after Moira speaks his name, Erik's eyelids flutter, and he finds his focus. It comes with a sharp inhalation through the nose, and he finds himself sitting up straighter. His eyes dance around the room for a moment, and the skin around them tightens, forming the slightest hint of an angry scowl that doesn't quite creep away from that part of his face.

Finally, his eyes settle upon the woman. "Moira."

The nurse finishes reading over Erik's chart just as Warren and Jean enter. "Alive?" she asks, then smirks whimsically at the young couple. "Yes. Bullet went right through, missed any major arteries. He's lucky. Bed rest and three hots a day? He'll make as speedy a recovery as any." She turns to Erik and smiles warmly. "I'll let you be."

She's soon rushing off to the next patient, leaving Erik to turn his attention upon Jean and Warren. From one to the other he looks, then to the flowers held in Jean's hand. He opens his mouth, but whatever was about to come out, he seems to think better of it. Instead, he settles the tired eyes upon Jean, the words coming slowly and hesitantly. "Thank you."

Finally, his attention settles back upon Warren. He looks at the young man for a long time, eyes narrowing in that studying way. "What you did was quite brave, young man."


Labcoats apparently get you reports from charts, and probably the assumption by Warren that Moira is part of the staff here. She does listen, knowledgebly, her lips in a worried line but there is a touch of relief at the report from the woman. She nods gently, "That's good to hear. Thank you…" And then the nurse is bustling away, letting the little group be alone. Moira stands as some sort of guardian, almost, closer to Erik's shoulder than the lower half of his body. She recognizes Jean, pale eyes studying the girl to see how steady she might be in a place like this, but she doesn't press it either.

She's mainly here to support. To support and witness, as much as she can, especially if any legal matters arise. She gives Warren and Jean a small tilt of her head in greeting, but doesn't interrupt Erik's words with them. If their presence is getting him speaking, perhaps even relaxing him, she wouldn't do anything to disturb it. She just stands in quiet vigil near his side.


Despite the sorrow, Warren does draw some solace from Jean's presence. Even though she withdraws her hand after wrapping it about his elbow, he does smile warmly to her. When the hand leaves his elbow, he reaches out to capture it and curl his fingers around her own. A gentle squeeze is given before he relinquishes her hand once more and tries for a better smile and more levity. "I can't imagine he wouldn't be. I might go get myself banged up just so I can have beautiful women visit me in the hospital." He really does try for levity, noticing her unease around all of the wounded. Perhaps his words are inappropriate, but the look on her face just won't stand.

The word from the nurse has Warren sighing his relief and he inclines his head in a nod to the woman. "Thank God," he utters under his breath, glancing over to Jean in the process. "Is he alright for visitors?" Warren looks past, hesitant to enter the room fully until he's sure it's alright.

As the nurse describes his condition, he nods his head and then takes those steps inside.

"Hey, Erik," he speaks up, though pretty quietly. The flowers are held in one hand as he walks inside and sets the crystal vase down wherever there is a smooth surface not being used. The man's words certainly catch him off guard, though and Warren just blinks at him with eyes wide. "I…" It wasn't enough. I need to get better. There are a number of things he wants to say, but he stays conscientiuous of the current tone. "Thank you," he settles on, giving Erik a troubled, but genuine smile. Even if it is a little bit forced.

Warren looks over to Moira and inclines his head again to her. "Thank you, Doctor," he says, indeed mistaking her for Erik's treating physician.


Alive. And well. Just a flesh wound, but it looked like it hurt. Jean winces as she sees the bandage, lowering the gathering of flowers to allow the fullness of her features to be seen. It was a sad sight, the way she tries to smile, even as Warren's joke remains upon her ears that has her bottom lip forming into a half smirk-half grimace. Jean nods her head briefly as the nurse departs, catching Moira's gaze with another half smile and a slow gait to stand towards the womans side. This way, she could see them all, and reach out to touch Erik if there was a need be, but for the most part? She keeps to herself.

"You're welcome, Mr. Lensherr."

For the most part, Jean was held together by three parts will and five parts stubbornness. She wasn't going to leave the hospital without her 'half-Professor's' say so, especially if he wasn't coming with. She was prepared to hold a bedside vigil until they were put out or at least made to sit in the waiting room. But it looks like that wouldn't happen.

Hearing a small fraction of Warren's heroism, Jean nearly asks what happened, but the grim look on both of their faces makes her think twice. "Oh! No.. well.. yes. She is a doctor. But, she's Dr. Moira MacTaggart. She's.. visi.. uh.. she's.." How in the world can anyone explain this? "She's my.. she.. may work with the school.. as something.. or other.." Yeaaah.


Perhaps Erik shares in the sentiment that goes unspoken by Warren. It's a sentiment he knows quite well. He knows all too well the cost of not performing well enough, quickly enough.

Another time.

"They offered me morphine." Erik's eyes had moved toward Jean when she began, just quick enough to have noticed her empathetic wince. "But I declined it." He's well aware that his words serve as an interruption to Jean's rambling. It was bothersome to him, the manifestation of all their worries and grief in the form of a young woman's nervous chatter.

"I will not sit here and be soothed my pain when others of our kind have suffered in ways none of us can imagine."

His eyes turn toward Moira next. There is the genesis of an idea that sparks in his gaze, but is one that is left unspoken for now. "How bad is it out there?" he asks her, the tone of his voice seeking to compare the attitude of the city with the frantic desperation of this overstuffed hospital.

Notably, Erik still hasn't moved the hand that covers his tattoo.


The redhead's rambling attempts to explain Moira's presence gets a slightly softer smile and the intelligent looking woman cuts in gently, "I am a new associate of Professor Xavier's, though I work in the field of genetics and have a strong hope to be giving more support to the school in the future." For all of Jean's nerves, Moira's explanation flows smooth as silk, pride in her world clear, and a certain amount of fierce protectiveness, even if all of this seems ever so new to her. She offers her hand briefly in Warren's direction for a shake, "Please, call me Moira." But she doesn't waste too long on pleasantries. There are far more concerning matters.

Blue eyes find Erik's again, especially as he asks about how it is out there. Her jaw sets quietly, "Not… as bad as it could be. There aren't riots yet. There were some protests, at the school." She pauses, realizing how that might sound, "Not your school. I don't think people have found it yet. Columbia. Over our genetics program." There is a slight darkening to her features. The very program she's heading up, the study she's trying to promote. "People claiming we're supporting a dangerous… group. All we can do is continue to educate. It will pass in a few days." Hopefully.


Another glance is cast toi Jean and he tries to keep that smile up for levity. Not only for her, but also for Moira and Erik himself who has vocalized his decision to suffer without morphine. For a moment he keeps an eye on Jean to make sure she's alright. As she stumbles over her words explaining Moira, he does glance in her direction as well. Her reaction out in the corridor is still fresh in his memory. Still, there's no motion or words to fuss over her about it.

Indeed, that conversation will have to wait for another time. At the moment Warren just gives him a silent nod, his softened smile turning a bit quirky once more in an attempt to distract him from the pain a little bit more. "How's the food?" he asks, lifting his brows as if expecting an answer to the question. All of his attempts at brightening up the room are tainted with the worried furrow of his brows, though. He wishes he could ask Erik to take the morphine, certainly. That much is clear in the way his eyes belie the thought. Still, he doesn't press it after all and instead turns to Moira.

Extending a hand, he offers Moira a pleasant smile. It's muted in comparison to his normally rather charming one, but it's what he can muster for now. "Warren Worthington," he replies and takes her hand to give it a firm and professional shake. "Warren, if you please. It's a pleasure meeting you, Moira."


Jean was really ready to spill the biscuits. Just let it all out. She was getting hives at the thought of it but cuts it off clearly at the mention of morphine. "You should take it." Jean insists, leaning forward to carefully rest the bouquet of flowers onto the side of the bed that isn't occupied, her hand reaching out to touch upon his knee, a rather awkward gesture that makes Jean herself a little bit uncomfortable. But, she was given comfort where she could.

"The souls of the dead would want you to ease your pain if only for a little while."

She snatches her hand away quickly, her face crumpled into something unrecognizable, her gaze turning to look through the curtains of the milling doctors and nurses that tend to the beaten and the broken. Moira's explanation of herself was a godsend, her need to switch the subjects pressing but..

"He didn't eat." Jean blurts out, looking towards Erik, Moira, and Warren simultaneously, a sheepish smile upon her lips as the two introduce themselves. That smile fades, however, her lips curled into a faint hint of anger. "I wish it didn't have to be like this. All of this anger against us. And even more so the people who can't change how they look, all because they're different." She would love to tell the world, show them that there could be togetherness, but they even hate their own. "We need to do something."


Finding it difficult to find the words to answer Moira, Erik simply looks at her while she answers his query, a mixture of grief and anger resident in his deepening eyes. She holds his attention for a long while, until Jean supposes the answer to Warren's question.

Her answer was correct, of course.

"Der letster khurbn," he murmurs to himself, while peeling his eyes away to look at his left wrist. The right hand is peeled away, revealing a series of numbers stamped in black ink. At first, it's held so that he can see, but then he turns his wrist just so, letting the others see more clearly what is there.

His eyes lift upward and look from one to the other, at last falling upon Jean. "Yes." To Warren. "We do." And finally, they move to Moira.

"Doctor MacTaggert…" The heaviness is broken by the smallest touch of a conspiring smirk. "I believe my discharge papers are in order."


"Warren. It's… an honor, if under the worst of circumstances." Well, maybe not the worst. They've been lucky not to see that yet, not for some time at least. But Moira could feel it coming in the future. She shakes his hand once, respectfully, before her pale eyes turn back to the others.

Jean gets a softer look from the woman, protective and motherly at the same time. There is nothing but gentle agreement in her eyes as she murmurs to Jean, "Things are being done. It's… just not enough. Not fast enough. And I don't know if it's possible to… to be fast enough. People are scared, they resist change." Then she's levelling a look across her shoulder, towards a pair of uniforms down the hallway. Even in the chaos, there was paranoia in the ir here already. "And this isn't the place to discuss it."

Then Erik's wrist is exposed, and Moira's throat just tightens. The sight of cops, meant for him or any other mutant or not, has put the professor on edge. Erik's comment about the discharge papers gets a double take, but she's sharp enough to catch on within a heartbeat.

"Of course, of course. We shouldn't be dallying when it's time for you to be released. Let me get a wheelchair." She has a level of command in her voice that wasn't there before. This is *the Doctor* part of Moira, the part that is used to commanding labs and rooms full of students. The woman who argued a thesis in front of a dozen men who said she could never do it. She marches forward like she owns the place, stealing a wheelchair from a side hall and bringing it quickly back to the side of the bed. "If you both could help your colleague into the chair, we'll see him out presently. Clear a bed for another patient."


There is a certain gladness and relief that comes to Warren when it's Jean who insists that he take the morphine. While he is currently facing Moira, he looks sidelong to Jean to try to convey a thankful look in her direction where Erik can't see. Although he seems to be willing to leave it at that, the news that he hasn't eaten has him looking over to Erik worriedly again and shaking his head.

But German? German he speaks a little of. "The last…" And he stops there. Warren's lips go tight, but he doesn't let the words free just yet. Half-Jewish himself, the last syllable of the statement still cuts deep enough. For a long moment, he just stares wordlessly at Erik before finally turning his attention to Moira once more.

"He's good to get out of here? Good. Let's stop for a burger, then." Warren gives a nod to Moira and then look towards Erik once more.

With his attention split between Jean and Moira, the tall blond man considers the subject matter and takes a deep breath. "It isn't right," is all he has to say about it for a moment. He does press his tongue out with a hint of frustration in the motion to wet his lips. "Why do people always have to find someone to blame their problems on? Or a group of people? This is…a nightmare." He hangs his head then, giving it a slow shake still.



Jean frowns a little as Erik speaks, unable to understands the words, but with a quick glance to Warren, she figures that it has to be bad. His half translation does the trick for her to not ask, so she leaves it be. For now, at least. Now Moira gets her attention, her pale faced gaze growing slack as she takes in a breath, a little sigh forced out as her head begins to shake. "It isn't enough. Yes." She agrees, her words but a low murmur. "I can make it faster.."

She stands still for a moment, her head shaking yet again as she snaps out her gaze, turning towards the bed to gather up the flowers as the image of the barcode flashes through her mind. It causes her to look with a slight lean, then pull away swiftly, grasping the vase with her other hand as it seems that they were moving into action. "Oh! Help!"

The flowers were set aside for now as Jean lightly grasps his wounded arm, aligning herself so that she could assist him with as little pain as possible. "Lean on us for a little bit.." Warren's wise suggestion for a burger gets a little smile from Jean, ready to hoist when the time is right. "We just have to fight, Warren. No more dallying. We're going to go out into the world and give them a good what for and make them think twice about messing with us. We'll show them."


With Moira catching his suggestion, Erik forms a broader grin. "A burger does sound good," he admits, before they are helping him to his feet. He gives a soft grunt but swallows the pain down deep.

It was the least he could do, to share in the pain of his mutant brothers and sisters.

Once he's safely in the chair, Erik breathes a sigh of relief. "I don't know what they've done with my shirt. I'm not sure they know, either. Bit of a mess in here."

Whether a solution to his naked upper half can be found or not, he does have words for his friends. "It doesn't have to be a nightmare, Warren."

To Jean, however, he levels a strong expression. She could make it faster…? He will ruminate upon that for some time. "Us or them, Jean Grey?" he asks her. "Dangerous line of thought."

He knows what it is he says; but deep inside, Erik is not sure whether he trusts his own words this time.


A long look is given between Jean and Erik at the comment of making it faster. Moira wasn't entirely certain what that implied, and she didn't know if she WANTED to know. Forced change didn't help fix anything, she knew that. Moira takes a deep breath as Erik is settled into the chair and she nods, "A gown, it'll be cold out of there, if nothing else…" Gown. Or scrubs. Whatever she can find to steal first.

She turns on the ball of her foot and heads for a storage closet. It doesn't take long before she returns with a blue scrubs top. "This is going to… hurt like hell going on." SHe mutters to Erik. At least she got something oversized so, really, he could just keep his bandaged arm in the sleeve and not shift it through the arm hole. It'd also hide those bandages when they got back out to the street.

While the debate of what to do is one of the most pressing things on her mind over all, getting Erik out before those cops come around asking any sort of question is more important in this moment. So, she nods towards Warren, "Young man, if you could wheel your cousin out of here. He can be on his way to those burgers." SHe's got the doctor's authority in her voice again. SHe'd wheel Erik herself, but operating the wheelchair with the weight of a body in it an her crutch won't work well. So, she limps along after them, looking stern and stiff, telling any worried nurses that she's handled it and all the paperwork is signed. The cover seems to be working.


For all that Warren's eyes are certainly drifty over the lovely redheaded Jean, he gives her a briefly perplexed look at her suggestion about speeding things up. While there doesn't seem to be a cause for worry, there are something about her words that just doesn't settle quite right with him. Thoughtfully he looks at her as if trying to place a finger on something. "I…don't know what you're suggesting, Jean," he says, his voice laced with a tentative and uncertain quality. "Fighting is one thing. That was…no one deserves to die like that." Tears start to form in his eyes, but he does his best to maintain his composure for the time being.

To help distract him from the unpleasantness of the topic, he does his best to focus on Erik for just a moment. "I..no. I know." Still, he doesn't look completely assured or better for it, but it does give him something to think about. While he didn't see the tattoo on Erik's arm, there is a certain wisdom to the man that speaks to him. "It won't ever have to come to that, you don't think. Will it?" Warren's question is for the 'us or them' comment. This seems to bring a particularly ashen quality to his features.

Moira's words do distract him and invoke a nod of his head, though. "The sooner I can stretch," he says with a mock-wince. Still, he could probably use a more comfortable harness when it comes to making public appearances. "I take it you're not joining us, Doct…Moira?" he asks, his brows lifting to her expectantly. Nonetheless, he waves a hand dismissively at Erik. "I always bring spare shirts." Pause. "Obvious reasons. Come on, big guy. You wouldn't deprive the nurses the privilege, would you?" Again, he tries for levity. There is enough darkness going around so Warren does his part in the fight against it. Prepared to drive a wheelchair, Warren is taking his fellow mutants out for a burger despite everything else.


A burger really did sound good. Nicely cooked, melted cheese with a bit of sauteed onions. Ketchup and mustard, freshly cut pickles on a homemade bun. And freshly cut fries? Yum! Jean's mind was a torrent of ideas when it comes to burgers, she's yet to try her hand at cooking herself and now was the perfect excuse for her to try. Now, she was -really- itching to get back to the institute. There was a little frown that was given towards Warren, and yet the look she gives Erik was a little bit vacant.

"These aren't my thoughts."

She glances out towards the waiting room, leaving Erik's side once he was properly settled, the bundles of flowers gathered up again as she holds them close to her chest. Warren gets a little frown, her head shaking solemnly. "I'm sorry.. I just feel.. I.. I'm sorry for what you both went through. It shouldn't have happened that way. I just wish that everyone could get along and not.. be so sad all the time." It was a simple way of thinking, one that carried weight. An eerie weight, for if wishes were given out like pennies..

But she leave the conversation alone for now, giving the trio a reassuring smile. "I'll catch up. Okay?" And there really was no stopping her. If they were going to get away without obstruction, Jean was going to be their distraction.

"Excuse me!" Jean calls out towards the room, one hand lifting as a few of the flower stems fall to the ground, forgotten. "Excuse me! I have an announcement.. I hope everyones okay!" She bounds in, beaming bright, attempting to block the view of the cops as she holds the flowers up. "And I haveeeee…" She breaks out into song.. though there was a little nudge in the back of their minds to look. Only a little.

"..A flower for you.. a flower or two.. a flower for Betty Sue..!" A flower goes to a young girl who looks shocked, but she continues on.

"A flower for me, a flower for you three.. and a flower for Willie Bean!" A young mutant gets a flower, who beams brightly… honestly, the display is so sweet its damn near sick.

"But what do we want most of allll…."

Please wheel Erik out quick, its going to get messy..


Warren's levity does the trick. Despite all of the weighty conversation, that remark draws a rueful smirk. "You know, Warren? I'm not sure they'd know where to…"

Erik falters, craning his neck while they're wheeling him to freedom, so he might watch as Jean… does that.

"…where to begin."

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