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Jean told herself that she didn't need to visit the hospital in person. With the new awakening of her powers, she was aware of Peter from halfway across the city. She had seen him enter the hospital, seen him enter the operating theatre, she had been there when they had cut through his suit and transfused him with blood. She had watched every stitch carefully through the eyes of the steady-handed surgeon, ready to interfere if anything went awry.
She had been there when he had stopped breathing, and so she had taken over and started breathing for him. All while being miles away, alone in the wreckage of the Damage Control facility. Helicopters circled the scene, closing in slowly like they were vultures and she was prey.
In the chaos Bill Metzger, the man behind her sisters torture, had escaped. She regretted not having more time with him before Peter’s arrival. Violent urges aside, she would have liked to probe around in his mind to figure out where her sister's body was. Peter seemed to hold a fondness in his mind for the moments spent at his aunt's grave, and she craved a little of the peace it seemed to bring him.
Jean made her way down the stairs of the building and out onto the street where emergency services were gathering. Any head that turned her way quickly found themselves looking elsewhere, and they paid her little mind as they hurried to evacuate the rest of the building.
As she let her feet carry her through the busy streets of New York City and in the direction of the hospital, she kept her breathing slow and steady. She could feel it in his chest and hers at the same time. She could hear the beeping of the cardiac monitor in the room he was in. She could feel Frank's watchful eye on her body - on Peter's body.
She hoped that Frank would not be a problem. She considered that being present at the hospital in person might be risky. She didn't have to be there. She could walk into the room as a nurse, a doctor, or be there as Frank himself. But she didn't want to. Peter had seen the real her. She didn't want to hide from him anymore.
She was at the hospital reception before she realised it.
“Can I help you dear?” a kind looking nurse smiled at her.
“Are you hurt?” the woman prompted. Jean noticed very belatedly that she was covered in blood.
“I-I’m okay.” she said, and it came out in a whisper.
“Are you sure? Did someone do this to you? Can we check you out just to be safe? You're safe here.” the woman assured her. A part of her wanted to say yes. Yes I’m hurt and Yes somebody did this to me. But she couldn’t. She didn’t want any sort of record of her having been here. Jean slipped into the woman's mind and learned which room was Peter's. She had the nurse escort her upstairs, past other staff who gave smiles and nods to her, until they reached the secluded corridor where two members of hospital security stood. Jean took a moment to grasp control of their minds too, and they let her pass.
Jean walked through the door of Peter's hospital room. Lying in bed with various tubes and wires attached to him, Peter seemed at peace despite the dark blue and purple bruises visible across his face and chest. A drain was collecting blood into a translucent bag hanging from the end of the bed. The bedside monitor showed the rhythmic and steady beating of his heart.
Satisfied for now with Peter’s condition, Jean’s eyes turned to Frank, who had an expression like someone had just pulled the pin out of a grenade in front of him.
"Well, shit. Here to get your revenge?” Frank asked, two hands raised in a quick surrender.
“I came to visit Peter.” she said quietly.
Frank's shoulders relaxed, and he dropped his hands slowly.
And, she thought, I don't have anywhere else to go.
“He's uh, he's resting.” Frank said curtly. “Just came out of surgery. They think he's gonna be okay.” Jean of course knew all of that already, but it felt nice to hear it again.
Sensing that Peter's strength was returning, Jean carefully retracted the part of her that was breathing for him. He gave a weak groan and stirred in bed, and Frank hurried to reach for the nurse call bell, but Peter settled back to sleep without opening his eyes.
Jean took a seat by the bedside. Frank sat next to her. They were silent for a while as Jean closed her eyes to mentally scan through the staff in the hospital, looking for anyone who might be a threat. In recent weeks this had become second nature to her, and how with her powers working better than before she could clear the hundreds of hospital staff in a few seconds.
“Sorry, uh, for trying to kill you. By the way.” Frank said somewhat sheepishly. Jean looked at him and remembered being in his mind. She remembered his wife's beautiful smile and the faces of his two children. Right now she couldn't find it in her to be angry at him.
If only the bullet had hit her and not Peter, then she would be with Sara right now, she found herself thinking numbly.
“They said it would probably be a few hours before he wakes up properly. They pumped him fulla some good drugs.” Frank said, to fill the silence.
“I got nowhere else to be.” Jean said flatly.
“Yeah, me neither.” he muttered.
It was quiet again. Jean scanned the minds of the hospital staff again, and then the minds of the crowds gathering outside, flicking through them like she was skimming through the pages of a book. She waited for something to jump out of her. She waited to find there was another team that had been sent to track her down, to stick another device in her neck and harvest her power. There was nothing.
“You hurt? You got blood on you.” Frank said. Jean realised she was rubbing the back of her neck, and dropped her hand.
“It's not mine.” was all she said, and Frank left it at that.
Thinking back on the moment later, Jean was unsure of what had compelled her to speak, but before she knew it her mouth was open and she was talking to Frank.
“You know, finding my sister… that’s what’s been keeping me going for the last few weeks. Now that she’s dead it’s like… what’s even the point?” she spoke. She thought that Frank might be taken aback by her statement, that his expression might fill with gentle pity like the nurse downstairs had, but it didn't. His face remained even, flat, as he took in her words.
“I know how you feel. I lost everything.” he said after a moment.
“I want to hunt down the man that did this and make him suffer. Does that make me evil?” she asked.
“Kid, hunting people down and making them suffer is kind of my thing. You ask him that question and he’ll start yappin’ about the power of forgiveness and shit.” Frank laughed.
“Did you kill the people who killed your family?” she asked him, and watched him carefully.
“Yeah.”
“And… did that make you feel better?” she asked. He was quiet for a while, and then suddenly stood up.
“You hungry?” he asked her abruptly, reaching up to pick at a scab on his face.
“Not really.”
“I can get us something to eat. Feel like it's the least I can do.” he was looking out of the window, looking at Peter, looking anywhere to avoid looking at her.
“If you want to.” she said.
“Well I know a good pizza place round here. You like pizza?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Alright, I'll place an order.” he said. He made his way to the doorway.
“Kid?” he said, and turned briefly to face her again.
“Yeah?”
“It doesn’t get better. Sorry.”
“Oh.”
“But… it gets different.” Frank said, and left the room.
---
When Peter blinked hazily awake an hour later, it was to the sound of Frank's snores. The man had fallen asleep in his chair, dirty boots rested on the edge of Peter's bed. Next to him, the quiet pale form of Jean was watching him silently. An empty pizza box was between the pair of them.
“You… you didn't save any for me?” Peter asked. He saw a small smile flicker on Jean's face, and it was enough to temporarily reprieve him from the pain he felt emanating from his new injury.
“You okay?” he asked Jean. He realised this was the first time he was seeing her face in proper lighting. She looked young, younger than before.
“You’re the one who got shot.” she said with another ghost of a smirk.
“Yeah. Yeah, it’s fine. Nice to see Frank’s concerned about me.” he laughed at the other man’s snoring. There was IV running into his arm, and he assumed it was some sort of strong pain relief because it was making him sleepy, and the world was soft around the edges.
“You know, I was a little worried you two wouldn’t get along.” Peter said, and yawned.
“Frank’s like us.” was all Jean said in response, and leaned back in her chair. He saw her eyes fixed on him intently as he fell back asleep.
And when he next woke up, she was gone.