A series by November

Chapter 89: Freddy the Frog

First, he checked Charlotte. She was sleeping quietly on her back, tucked in under a pink blanket. Relief swept over his sleep-muddled mind.

He stood quietly and listened. Silence. The whistle of the wind in the trees. And then he heard it again. The cry was high and faint and insistent. Definately a baby's cry, but there was something wrong with it.

He pulled on a shirt and walked right into Maggie as he left the bedroom. "Do you hear that, Daddy?"

"Yeah," he whispered. "I'm gonna go check it out."

Logan went out the back door, walked around the side of the house and saw a huge lumbering form in the driveway. Hank. He turned when he heard Logan's footsteps.

"You hear it too?" Logan called.

"I do. And someone rang the bell." They walked briskly down the lane toward a small shape in front of the front gate.

Logan pressed a code into the keypad and the gates slid quietly open. They saw a car seat with a bundle inside. Hank bent over it, and Logan looked left and right, sniffing in both directions. It was a boy. Hank lifted the carrier. The cries of the child within it stopped momentarily but then started again.

"The mother went that way."

"Don't worry about that now. We need to get him inside immediately. The only reason he's okay is that they have the back of the seat to the wind."

"Jesus."

There was no note. None was needed. The baby had green skin and scaly fingers and toes.

They took him inside and down to the med lab. His cry was high and weak and strange and Logan knew it wasn’t right. Hank examined him, checked for broken ribs, shone a light in his eyes. He frowned.

“Perhaps someone shook him.”

Logan's eyes narrowed. “His cry is wrong.”

“I know. If I’m not mistaken that’s the distinct sound of a baby addicted to crack cocaine.”

“Jesus.”

Hank touched the baby's cheek, and ran the edge of his reflex hammer up the inside of his little scaled foot. His toes curled. He pressed his huge pinky fingers to the inside of the baby's palms, and nothing happened.

“I’m going to have to notify the police.”

“Why?”

“I’m required to, both by law and by ethics, Logan.”

“But what’ll happen to him?”

“Oh, I think we can make a convincing argument for keeping him here.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, we do have Marie. It might be best for her to nurse him for some time.”

“No way in hell. What if he has AIDS?”

“Logan, the baby doesn’t have AIDS. He might perhaps have HIV but we can test for that within minutes. A more important concern is hepatitis B and we can also test for that quickly. Furthermore, the risk of a child infecting the mother from breast feeding is practically non-existent.”

“I dunno about this.”

“Well, first things first, Logan. I will call the police and then take a blood sample. We’ll know if he has any communicable diseases within hours.”

“Okay.”

“Could you watch him while I call?”

Logan nodded.

Logan looked down at the baby. He was smaller than Charlotte, with green skin, no hair, and scales on his toes and fingers. He was screaming now. His face was a livid brown. If he were not screaming, it would be pale green. It was not a pretty sight.

Logan picked him up, wrapping him tightly as he did with Charlotte, cradling the tiny head in one palm. He was smaller than Charlotte had been even when she was born. He felt scales on his palm, terribly tiny, cool, and with a completely unique, not unpleasant texture. He was kicking and screaming and squalling.

Logan swaddled him more tightly and unconsciously began rocking back and forth. He started to hum tunelessly, which disintegrated unconsciously into a purring sound. The baby’s eyes opened, and he saw for the first time that they were blue, the same sweet baby blue as Charlotte’s.

Marie woke to find Logan gone. She got up and found Maggie holding Charlotte on the couch. She hadn't even heard her take Charlotte from her crib.

"Mags, where's Daddy?"

"There was a baby crying outside. He went out to check it out. Charlotte was starting to wake up so I picked her up."

"A baby crying?"

"Sounded more like a tortured sheep."

"Can you hold her for a few minutes?" Rogue asked.

Maggie nodded. Charlotte was nearly asleep.

"Thanks sweetie."

She walked down into the foyer, and saw no one. On a hunch she took an elevator down to the medlab. Logan was there, holding a screaming bundle in a fleecy blanket dotted with sheep. “Logan?”

“Hey darlin’. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t. Who’s that?”

“Someone left a baby at the gate.”

“Just left it there? It’s freezing out!”

“It’s a little boy.”

“Oh my god. Is he okay?” She peered down at the little guy. His cry was grating and piteous.

“Hank thinks he’s a crack baby, and he was shaken. I’m thinking he might have to go to the hospital.”

“Who’s he calling?”

“Police.”

“Oh.”

To keep the police out of the lower levels they met with them in one of the common rooms. There was one police officer and one rumpled-looking social worker from Child Protective Services.

The cop was the one who had questioned Marie in the hospital after she had lost the baby, who had been unnerved by her before she burst into tears. Their eyes met, things were communicated in a barely perceptible nod: recognition, acknowledgement, sympathy. His name was Officer Parker and he had a baby of his own at home. He'd considered himself a good judge of character, but realized how wrong he'd been about Marie.

Hank and Logan gave their statements while the baby screamed in Logan's arms. Finally Rogue pulled the baby from Logan and took him into the hall. She pressed his scaled mouth to her nipple. It felt cool and dry on her skin. It took a few minutes for him to learn. Marie patiently kept trying, putting his mouth to her nipple. Eventually he got it. His eyes opened and then he suckled.

"That's a good boy. You drink up, sugar," she cooed, stroking his scaly forehead.

Logan burst through the door. “What are you doing?” he hissed.

“Feeding him.”

“Jesus Christ Marie, he’s a crack baby! What if he’s got HIV or Hepatitis?”

“I’m not letting him starve.” She said it with the eyebrow up, and that told him how futile it would be to argue.

Their worries were in vain. The labs showed that the baby had no communicable diseases, but did show trace amounts of cocaine metabolites. Hank estimated that the baby was two weeks old, though he was small and obviously premature.

Hank took him to the hospital that night so the police would have more complete records of his medical conditions, should the parents come forward or be found and prosecuted.

“Bring ‘im back to me when he’s cleared,” Marie said. “I have all the diapers and clothes and milk and that.”

So, just after ten in the morning, when Maggie had gone down to class and Logan had gone to teach, Hank did bring the baby back. She was sitting in front of Charlotte, who was sitting in her swing. She talked to her and held up the fuzzy lamb Jubilee had given them. Marie would make the little lamb dance, and Charlotte would flail her arms in delight.

She heard the little boy's scream before Hank even knocked. "Come in!"

Hank came inside, wearing oversize scrubs and a jacket. He held the little boy.

"So what's the verdict?" she asked, yelling over the baby's screaming.

"Well, they confirmed that he has undergone some trauma, probably shaking, and his MRI showed some receding swelling and tissue damage. It is unclear if there will be permanent brain damage, though the fact that he has been exposed to cocaine practically guarantees some degree of impairment."

Marie took the little boy fron Hank. Charlotte began to cry. Her flailing made her swing bounce up and down, making her crying have a doppler effect that would have been amusing if it weren't for the boy's screaming.

"Any news on the mother?"

Hank nodded. "The police are searching for records of a child born prematurely about two weeks ago. It sounds easy, because he had to have been in a NICU for at least a week, however the fact that we're in New York City makes it much harder. I'm not sure what they'll find. It's even more complicated by jurisdictional issues. For example, the child could have come from New Jersey just as easily."

Marie started bouncing up and down to quiet the little boy. Charlotte's crying had morphed into a full-fledged scream.

"Marie, are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes, he needs a home, he might as well be breastfed, and we already have all the baby stuff."

"Call me if you need help."

"Believe me, I will."

"You're a good woman, Marie."

Maggie came home at noon for lunch and found Marie with two screaming babies. She had them both on a blanket on the living room floor and no amount of cooing, feeding, stuffed animals, or holding could get them to shut up. Marie was at the point of tears, rubbing her face.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Maggie said disdainfully.

"A, I don't appreciate your language. B, someone has to take care of him."

“What’s his name?” Maggie said, looking down at the screaming baby.

“I dunno.”

“Are we gonna keep him forever?”

“Just until we can find someone to adopt him.”

“We don’t need another baby.”

“No, but he needs us.”

Maggie made a disgusted noise and walked right back out the door with a slam. For a second Marie fought the urge to scream along with the two on the floor. Logan would be teaching until one. It was twelve thirty and she was still in her robe, the babies had fed but she hadn’t and she was hungry, and thirsty, and frustrated.

Knowing Hank would kill her for wet-nursing while not taking care of herself, she got a big glass of water and a sandwich. The grating cries of the little boy were horrible and Charlotte tended to mimic him. She rubbed her temples and picked up her sandwich.

Suddenly, the crying stopped, first the boy's high reedy cry, then Charlotte's. Alarmed, she carried her glass into the living room. Both babies were quiet, looking up at the ceiling. There was no obvious reason for the sudden quiet. Charlotte’s foot was touching the boy’s leg.

Rogue knelt and picked up Charlotte’s leg. Charlotte smiled and flailed with a jerky movement and was silent. The boy’s eyes opened up and he started to make the warble that preceded a scream.

Rogue picked Charlotte’s leg up and pressed it to the boy’s foot again. He quieted. She repeated this again, and again, with the same results.

She lay the infants head to head, so that each one’s head nestled in the shoulder of the other. They were quiet and both began to sleep. She picked up the phone and called Xavier.

“Charles, come over when you get a minute. I have something interesting to show you.”

He came an hour later. Rogue showed him what happened.

“I wonder whose mutation is working.”

“I think she’s healing him.”

“Or at least calming him. It wouldn’t surprise me if she inherited Logan’s healing factor, with a twist.”

“Yeah. Nursing her hasn’t done much to heal me though.”

“Well, you are much larger than him.”

“True. I just hope it’s not taking anything from her.”

“Good point. Well, she would move away from him if so, wouldn’t she?”

“I suppose. Even at this age they will move from painful stimuli. But could you make sure she’s okay, you know, telepathically?”

“You mean enter her mind?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve never done that with an infant before.”

“Please?”

“I’ll try. I won’t go very deep though. I’ll begin by lessening my shields. Try to quiet your own thoughts.”

“Okay.”

Rogue closed her eyes and so did Charles. He focused on Charlotte and began, ignoring the thoughts Rogue was trying not to think. The boy was asleep so there was little interference from him.

Charles opened his eyes. They were unfocused and hazy. He stayed that way for a moment, blinking, before he stopped and blinked away the haze.

“She’s fine. She’s... warm and content. Happy. She loves you. It’s hard to articulate, as her thoughts are not yet conceptual, but she’s okay.”

“Thanks.”

“Jeannie and Hank ought to find this interesting.”

"Indeed."

Logan came home that afternoon, saw what they were doing, and hit the roof. “How can you be sure he’s not hurting her?”

“I just am.”

“Dammnit, Marie, what if you’re wrong?”

“Enough, Logan! After the day I’ve had I’m not in the mood for this shit!” She went into the bedroom and slammed the door. Maggie looked up from her homework and glared.

“What’s wrong with you?” Logan said. She just glared at him.

Later, Marie finally got a chance to sleep. She slept for two whole hours until Logan climbed into bed next to her. He was quiet, but he rubbed her neck until she relaxed and loosened and made soft contented sounds in the back of her throat.

She leaned back into his warmth, half asleep.

“Love you,” he whispered.

“Me too.”

That night Maggie refused to talk at dinner. No amount of cajoling, compliments, or reason could get her to stop scowling. “Hey. You’ll always be our Bluebell. So snap out of it,” Logan said.

Marie tried a different tactic. “Mags, would you like to name him?”

She was quiet.

“Hey Maggie, I think your mother asked you a question,” Logan said in a voice that would scare anyone but them.

“Name him Freddy. Because he looks like a frog. He’s scaly. Call him Freddy the Frog!”

“Mags, frogs aren’t scaly, they’re slimy.” Marie said calmly.

Maggie just glared.

“Okay. Freddy it is,” Marie shurgged. And since she couldn’t appeal to Maggie with compassion or reason, she just ignored her snitty behavior.

Unfortunately, the name stuck. But Freddy thrived, as did Charlotte, and they grew up together. Rogue laid them head to head in the crib at night and fed them together.

Hank tested Freddy every few days, testing his reflexes, talking quietly to him. Freddy was not as alert as Charlotte, but he was making some progress in terms of meeting milestones. Being with Marie and Charlotte during the day did a lot to help.

Weeks passed and still, despite the best efforts of Jean, Hank, Scott and Xavier, no adoptive parents were found. The two-bedroom apartment was far too crowded for a family of five, but their place in the new building wouldn’t be ready until late fall. Maggie made a habit of going to Xavier’s suite to do her homework right after school. Charles sensed that sibling rivalry was only a part of her discontent, that Freddy's abandonment brought up her own memories of being deserted, but he kept quiet about it. They spent a lot of time together. He and Mariah happily gave her the attention she refused from Logan and Marie.

As the holidays approached Rogue focused on Maggie, since the others would be too young to remember anything. Logan watched the babies one Saturday while she took her out to the movies and lunch. Maggie had softened a bit, but she’d become very quiet.

“What’s on your mind, Blue?” Rogue asked her that day at lunch.

For a few minutes Rogue thought she wouldn’t talk, but then she said “I’m sad.”

“Aww, Mags, why?”

“Just...people hate us. And it’s not fair.”

Rogue was quiet for a minute. “I know, Boo. Did something happen to upset you?”

“No Just everything!”

Rogue nodded. “I get sad too sometimes. So does dad. So do Grandpa and Grandma.”

“It’s not fair.”

“I know.”

“And Freddy, what’s gonna happen to him? Who’s gonna want a scaly baby?”

“I’m hoping someone will.”

“What’s wrong with people? Why did my parents abandon me?”

Rogue put down her fork. Now it made sense, Maggie's funk, the fact that Charlotte elicited little sibling rivalry but Freddy did in spades.

“Same reason mine did, honey. Fear, or stupidity, or hate. I’ll tell you something though. They say that nothing in the world prepares you for being a parent, for the love you feel when you look at your baby for the first time. But when I first saw Charlotte I wasn’t surprised, because I loved you all along, just as much.”

Maggie aimlessly twisted her spaghetti around her fork.

“My point, honey, is that yes, there’s a lot of unfairness and hate and pain and prejudice in the world. But there’s also love. And goodness. All we can do is remind ourselves about the goodness when we’re sad.”

“But they’re my parents. They’re supposed to want me.”

“They are. And that's true. But think about all the people who do want you?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m serious, list them.”

“You and Daddy.”

“Yeah, and that’s not all. Who else?”

“Gramma and the professor.”

“Yeah? Who else?”

“I dunno.”

“How about Jeannie and Storm and Hank? How about Leah and you know, I know Charlotte and Freddie love you too. And Carter. And Essie.”

“Yeah.”

“So, the way I deal with feeling sad is knowing that there are people who love me. That’s all any of us can do, Boo. To hell with the rest of them.”