Much to her relief, the DocProf agreed. Shane had risen from the bed, now treated and freed from his cast, and Gina rose along with him, smiling like a fool. The Doc hadn’t only agreed, he’d insisted that Shane come along to make sure there weren’t further complications in lieu of his arm, which the DocProf hadn’t seen or something of the sort. Or, maybe it was to appease Gina, who was currently grinning like an idiot.

Shane slid into his coat, and Gina gathered her bag up, which had been cast onto the bed when she had made the call. Now clothed, Shane joined her, and observed that, “I believe you still owe me a stitch.”

“But, of course,” Gina agreed. She fished into her bag, grabbed a Sharpie from within its depths, and then retrieved an intact shred of plaster off of the bed. As the trio left the room, with the DocProf taking the lead and the duo of visibly mutated bringing up the rear, Gina jotted down her room number and a brief set of instructions on how to get there from the guest rooms that were often utilized for the express purpose of sheltering wayward mutants. When she finished, she passed it to Shane.

“That’s my dorm room and how to get there,” Gina informed him, “Keep it in your pocket and drop by… eh, maybe tomorrow, after we both get some much needed rest, and I’ll do the best patching job you can get in the city.” Okay, maybe not the best, but it’d be a pretty darn good patching job. She tilted a smile at Shane, elbowed him gently, and the three of them left.

Continued in New Ground