The X-ray machine hunched in the corner like a sleeping hippo. Old tech that would take time to warm up.
But it would show what hid beneath skin and bone.
Xavier moved past me, checking the space. Wearing clothes that fit him properly for the first time since I’d cut away his tactical gear. Ready to disappear the moment we finished here.
“Sit.” Gestured toward the exam table. “Need to check your throat first.”
He crossed to it, lowered himself with controlled movements that couldn’t quite hide the remaining stiffness.
Washed my palms in the small sink. Cold water, industrial soap, trying to channel professional mode.
Turned back to find him watching me with that dark, intent focus.
Stop noticing. Work to do.
Crossed to stand between his knees. “This might be uncomfortable. Tell me if anything hurts. Well... gesture if anything hurts.”
An almost-smile crossed his face.
My fingertips made contact with his neck.
Palpated carefully. Checking larynx position, feeling for structural damage. Years of ER nursing guiding my touch. His skin was warm. Scars raised under my fingertips, surgical precision, deliberate cuts. Someone had opened the back of his neck.
His throat moved when he swallowed.
Xavier sat absolutely still. Letting me examine. Trusting. But he wasn’t watching what I was doing.
He studied my face.
Stay clinical. Check for abnormalities.
“Open your mouth. Need to check internally.”
Retrieved a penlight and tongue depressor. Stepped nearer, directly between his spread knees now.
“Wide,” I murmured.
Xavier obeyed. Tilted his head back.
Angled the penlight down his throat. Pharynx appeared normal. Pink, healthy tissue. No inflammation. The vocal cords themselves seemed intact. Mobile when he breathed. No visible paralysis or lesions.
“Swallow for me.”
The muscles worked. Coordination normal.
So why the hell can’t he speak?
Pulled back. Needed distance. “External exam shows nothing. Need images to see what’s hidden. Shoulder check first, make sure my field work held.”
Flipped the machine on. Ancient tech hummed to life.
“Shirt off.”
Xavier stood, shrugged out of the coat. Pulled the sweater over his head.
Color returned to his skin. Bruising shifted from angry purple to sickly yellow-green. Wounds closing faster than they should.
“Range of motion test.” Moved behind him. “Lift your arm slowly.”
