Chapter 5

Two weeks later found Jamie laying on an examining table, moaning. “I’m sooooo tired.”

Hank smiled, his eyes buried in a microscope. “This was your idea.”

“That’s beside the point,” Jamie snapped. “I’ve never made so many dupes in one day--”

“I’m sure you have,” Hank countered.

“No, I haven’t.” Jamie sat up far enough to throw a dirty look toward Hank’s back. “I should know. I am me.”

“Several yous, as a matter of fact,” Hank murmured. He sat back, rubbing his eyes. “Not that one,” he said loud enough for Jamie to hear. He turned, and smiled apologetically at the dupe. “Thank you for your help, though.”

The dupe smiled, shrugged, and was reabsorbed into Jamie. Jamie sighed, scrubbed a hand through his hair, and looked at Hank out of bleary eyes. “Another?”

“Why don’t we quit for today,” Hank suggested mildly, taking in Jamie’s pale face and the dark circles under his eyes. Somehow, even those eyes looked blurred; as if as he lost energy, his eyes lost the sharpness.

“Okay.” Jamie just sat there, though, staring at his legs stretched out before him.

Hank turned back to his papers, shuffling through them, looking for just the right one. “Have you talked to Bobby recently?” he asked, his breath hesitant in his lungs.

“’Course,” Jamie answered.

“About this?” Hank turned and looked at the young man, eyeing him critically.

Jamie squirmed. “No.”

“Are you just going to die and never bother telling him?” Hank asked sharply.

“I’m going to tell him!” Jamie turned, jumping off the table with angry energy.

“When?”

“I don’t know!” Jamie’s eyes flashed, even obscured as they were by his bangs. “Why do you care?” He glared up, accusingly.

Hank took a deep breath, calming himself and willing Jamie to calm down as well. “Because I’m your doctor,” he said at last, “and I know that his support will help, as I also know that hiding this will hinder your recovery. But also because he is my friend, and I know how this being kept from him would break his heart.” The words were harsh, and Hank knew it, but no amount of cajoling had gotten through Jamie’s skull, and his condition was worsening rapidly. As each day passed, Hank was less and less certain that they would find a dupe without the virus. It was such a long shot anyway . . .

Jamie stood, glaring at the floor, his coat whispering around his ankles, blown by the vent behind him. “It’s none of your concern,” Jamie muttered, sullenly.

“James Arthur Madrox!” Hank bellowed.

Jamie’s head snapped up, surprise flooding his face.

“How dare you tell me that the welfare of two of my best friends, is none of my concern! I am not just the medical practitioner here, but a friend, too. I am not just your friend, but Bobby’s friend, and I am frightened, James, that your selfishness in not wanting to be uncomfortable while you tell him that you have the Legacy virus will destroy both of you!”

In the dead silence that followed, the quietly indrawn breath was clearly audible.

Two heads turned as one, swiveling toward the door, and two sets of eyes widened for two different reasons.

“Sam, your head--” Hank said after a moment, taking in his torn uniform and the blood oozing sluggishly down the side of his dirty face.

“Bobby--” Jamie said then, stepping around the examining table, only to stop when Bobby, his face ghostly, turned and left the lab.

Hank and Sam both turned to look at Jamie who, ignoring their presence, bolted for the escaping Iceman. Sam stepped out of the way in time to keep from getting knocked over, then, slowly, walked toward Hank.

“Jamie’s got Legacy . . . ?” he asked hesitantly.

Hank turned to him, smiling painfully. “I’m afraid I can’t discuss that, Samuel.”

Sam nodded, averting his eyes.

“Now, how . . . ?”

“Danger Room session gone bad,” Sam said, looking up. “Remind me nevah to run over a floor that might be iced, when I could fly instead.”

***

Bobby stopped, rounding on Jamie as they reached the elevators. “Just when were you going to tell me, James?”

Jamie cringed, stumbling to a halt. “Bobby, I . . . I’m sorry--”

“Sorry for not telling me, or sorry I found out?” Bobby snapped.

Jamie looked away, then back up. “You’re soaked,” he said after a moment, reaching up to brush a chunk of slush off of Bobby’s bangs.

Bobby pulled back, his eyes blazing in direct counterpoint to his icy skin. “Don’t change the subject.” The slush fell, dropping onto the cold tile floor in silence.

“I was going to tell you,” Jamie said softly, hurt, “but I just . . . I mean, it never seemed the right time.” He backed away, turning to lean against the wall.

Bobby’s anger melted off, leaving him hollow, guilt starting to peck at his mind. “James, for something like this, any time is the right time.” He stepped forward, plucking absently at Jamie‘s sleeve.

Jamie snorted. “Sure. Over dinner’s a really good time to say, ‘Hey, by the way, I’m dying. Pass the potatoes?’”

Bobby grimaced. “Okay, maybe not like that . . .”

Jamie gave him a pointed look from under his eyebrows.

“But just because there isn’t a good time to say something, doesn’t mean you don’t say it,” Bobby added.

Jamie glared back at his feet.

The elevator opened, and they both ignored it. After a moment it slid quietly closed again.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bobby asked.

Jamie didn’t look up. “I don’t know.” The words were muttered. “If I told you, then . . . I thought you’d start looking at me funny.” He slid a sideways look up at Bobby. “Like you’re looking now.”

Bobby cringed and turned away, leaning next to the wall beside Jamie. “Oh.”

There was a long moment of silence, then Bobby finally said, “So, I’m not allowed to look at you funny. I’m probably not allowed to treat you differently then, either, am I?” He looked at Jamie out of the corner of his eye, smiling slightly.

Jamie looked up, relief written across his face. “No. Not at all.”

Bobby nodded, attempted to look nonchalant. If he hadn’t chosen that moment to swallow, hard, he might have succeeded. “You and Hank . . . ?”

“Hank has a theory,” Jamie said, decided not to mention Essex, “that as the disease progresses I’ll start making dupes that are slightly different than me. That might not have it.”

Bobby looked up, hope lighting his face. “But, how--?”

Jamie took a deep breath, and started to explain everything.

***

It was nearly ten at night when Bobby and Jamie exited Hank’s lab, both utterly exhausted, but smiling for the first time in days.

Knowing what was going on--what was making Jamie act so oddly--was a huge relief to Bobby. And Jamie, able to suddenly share the information, felt a weight lifted from his shoulders he hadn’t even been aware of. So it was that, smiling, they walked out of the elevator, down the hall, into the living room--and stopped all conversation.

Both young men halted in the doorway, glancing around uncertainly. “Do I have something in my teeth?” Bobby asked Jamie quietly. Jamie laughed abortively. His eyes flickered around the room, finally coming to rest on Sam, whose butterfly stitches on his forehead--nearly hidden by his hairline--suddenly stood out. The white against the red of his face was telling.

“Sam!” Jamie shouted, suddenly comprehending. “You told!”

“I--”

“You blabbermouth!” Jamie continued.

“It’s not like we wouldn’t have found out sooner or later,” Jean pointed out rationally.

“It wasn’t his place to tell anyway!”

“I already knew,” Scott said quietly.

Jamie whipped around, eyes wide. “What?!”

“There are security cameras in Hank’s lab, and when you two started testing the dupes weeks ago, I . . .” Scott blushed. “I read your lips.”

“I knew, too,” Betsy said, having the grace to look sheepish. “You were dreaming really loudly--”

“And I knew, because she was broadcasting--” Warren interrupted.

“Did everyone know?!” Jamie yelped.

“I didn’t,” Bobby said, glaring at Jamie.

“It really is nearly impossible to keep something like this hidden,” Ororo pointed out softly.

“And yet you all kept it hidden from me!” Bobby protested.

“I didn’t know you didn’t know,” Betsy apologized.

“And even if you did--or didn’t--or whatever,” Jamie snapped, interrupting, “it wouldn’t’ve been your place to tell anyway!”

Betsy only looked at him.

“I don’t believe this! Of all the--”

“It’s not that big a deal,” Bobby started, speaking quietly to Jamie and successfully hiding his own frustration.

“Yes it is!” Jamie yelled back. “It’s a really big deal! Huge! Giant!” He whipped back around, glaring at the gathered X-Men. “And you guys--you--I--” He stopped, turned to Sam. “And you--” But he was no better at lecturing Sam, and after a wordless moment he turned and stormed up the stairs. “I’m going to go take a shower and go to bed,” he shouted over his shoulder. Then he reached the top of the stairs and turned back, glaring down. “And you people can just--can--” he snapped his jaw closed and glared, then started again, “You people are worse than X-Factor!” and marched down the hall.

Bobby looked after him, eyebrows raised. Then he turned and eyed Sam levelly.

“He’s really mad,” Sam said, cringing.

“With good reason,” Bobby pointed out, then turned and headed up the stairs after Jamie.

The young man was already in the bathroom at the end of the wing, steam rolling out from under one of the compartment doors.

Bobby knocked tentatively. “Jamie?”

“Go away.”

“James--”

He opened the door, sticking out a sopping wet head, and looked at Bobby. “I’m showering.”

Bobby smiled. “I know.”

“I’m tired, and frustrated, and drained, and sore. I’d just like to shower and go to sleep.”

Bobby hesitated, then nodded. “They didn’t mean to hurt you, you know,” he said softly.

Jamie frowned. “Yeah. I--can we talk later?”

Bobby nodded, and smiled. “Okay. Have a nice shower.”

Jamie looked at him steadily for a moment, then closed the door.

**

Back to the living room
Back to Water Lines

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