Chapter 7

“Have fun?” Bobby asked, looking up in relief from the chess board he sat at, across from Hank.

“Yeah.” Jamie grinned brightly, his cheeks glowing red with cold and wind pressure.

“What’d you do?” Bobby eyed Jamie’s muddy, and now icy, duster with laughing concern.

“Sam pushed me,” Jamie claimed.

Sam shoved past him through the door, shooting him a dirty look. “Second,” he said sharply.

“What’s the rush?” Bobby asked as Sam darted through the room.

“He forgot a training session. Scott’s ready to have his hide,” Jamie said, flopping into the green lounge chair. He yelped and sat up, shivering. “Holy Christ on a pogo stick, that’s cold!”

Bobby smiled.

“Your turn,” Hank said, settling back to read a hardbound tome on physics.

“I imagine sitting on an icy jacket would be cold,” Bobby laughed, shaking his head. “Why don’t you get changed into something warm? I think I even have some freshly dried clothes in the laundry room.”

“Thanks,” Jamie said, scurrying out as he rubbed his arms.

“I’ll be there as soon as I win this game,” Bobby shouted down the hall.

Jamie popped his head back in briefly. “That’s not funny,” he said, then laughed his way out, chased by Bobby s glare.

***

“Hey, Bets,” Jamie said, shuddering as he dropped his trenchcoat to the floor in a mushy heap. “Doing laundry?”

“Done,“ she said, smiling slightly. With long, graceful arms she gathered it up and tossed it in the hamper, then, bracing that on one hip, she left the room. Her foot snuck out at the last moment, snicking the door closed behind her.

Jamie hesitated, then shrugged and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his black shirt, pulling it off over his head. Even that was wet, and frozen from the wind chill on the flight back. Quickly, he reached into the drier and pulled out a soft gray fleece, pulling it right side out as his hands trembled harder. Jamie pulled it over his head, shaking his hair free. It was too big--Bobby was both taller and larger than he was--and it hung loosely, gaping around his neck. Jamie shimmied out of his slacks and pulled on sweatpants, checking the door first to be sure it was closed.

Relatively warm again, he scooped up his wet clothes, closing the machine on Bobby’s dry ones, and headed out of the room.

Once upstairs, he headed for his room and the half bathroom within, where he kept his giant-sized laundry hamper. He dropped the clothes in, glancing briefly in the mirror. He stopped, looking back up, and moved closer.

For a moment, he’d thought--but no, there was nothing there. Still . . .

He edged closer to the mirror, as though it might bite, and carefully surveyed his reflection. Through the open door, he could see a dupe hanging a poster on the wall. It was struggling as the black and white paper folded over, falling on top of him.

Jamie pulled at the corner of Bobby s sweater, where it hung loosely on his shoulders.

He stopped, growing colder as he looked. Softly, he touched the spot, sitting near the edge of his collarbone, normally tucked out of sight under his shirt. The skin was irritated and rough. He fingered it and it peeled up, leaving raw, red skin beneath, painful to the touch.

“Hi, Bobby!” the dupe chirped, as the poster crashed over him, entangling him in dangerous paper.

“Hi, Jamie,” Bobby answered back, and Jamie quickly shrugged the sweatshirt back on, covering the ugly lesion.

“In here, Bobby,” Jamie called, as Bobby reached the door and smiled.

“Primping, James?” Bobby teased lightly.

“Well,” Jamie sniffed, “I haven’t spent the day with a mirror image, so I had to make sure I really did look like me.”

Bobby laughed and circled Jamie with his arms.

“You beat Hank?” Jamie said, grinning and wiggling out of Bobby s arms. He walked across the floor, stepping up onto the bed to help the dupe with his poster.

“Nah. He beat me. Some day, though . . .” Bobby smiled and flopped over onto the desk chair which was, typically, as far from the desk as it could be.

Jamie smoothed up the poster, then held it while the dupe tacked it into place. Albert Einstein grinned at him, hair frizzed up and tongue stuck out. “Nice poster,” Jamie said.

The dupe grinned around his mouthful of tacks and nodded. “Phund it i die Wa-Art.”

“What’d he say?” Bobby asked.

Jamie turned to him, moving his hand just before the dupe missed the tack and drove the hammer into the wall where his fingers had been. “I found it at Wal-Mart.”

Bobby smiled and shook his head in amusment. “You did?“

Jamie just nodded, missing the point.

Bobby chuckled. “Ah.”

The dupe slapped a hand down on Jamie’s, glaring at him. “Thtop thaking.”

Jamie glanced at his trembling hands, consciously trying to still them. They didn’t still. He shoved them into his pockets, hopping down off the bed. “Go downstairs?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at Bobby.

“Sure,” Bobby said, and flopped to his feet. He put an arm around Jamie’s shoulders, escorting him from the room. He paused at the doorway and turned back, eyeing the now-tacked picture. “You know,” he said after a moment, “that reminds me of Hank.”

Jamie grinned. “Well,” he said solemnly, “I do have a crush on him.”

Bobby nodded. “It’s the blue fur. Chicks dig the blue fur.”

Jamie laughed.

“Maybe I should just dye his fur brown,“ Bobby mused, as they headed down the hall.

“Then he really would look like a teddy bear,“ Jamie cackled. He stopped, and looked consideringly at Bobby. “I wonder if we could get a discount on that much brown dye...?”

***

“It’s nothing big,” Scott was saying, snapping buckles together on his suit, “which is why we’re not bothering to call out an official team.”

Jamie glanced over the assembled X-Men, the make-shift team composed of whoever had been in the mansion when the call was made. Himselves, Bobby, Scott, Betsy, Hank and Wolverine--chewing on a cigar in the corner--huddled in the Blackbird, snapping together straps and wiggling into costumes. “Who calls?” Jamie asked, glancing up from trying to make the neck of his suit fit right. He stretched, twisting his head and flexing tendons.

“We have a contact in the police department,” Scott answered, forcing his gloves between his fingers. “She calls whenever there’s mutant activity we might be able to take care of.”

“Huh,” Jamie said, inserting the ear piece and fixing the comm unit against his vocal chords. The engines whined, and Jamie sat down quickly next to Bobby. A moment later they were in the air, slicing through clouds.

The flight was barely ten minutes long, and then they were hovering over a small crowd that surrounded a house, where a young man stood on the roof.

“Do we need to talk him down, or what?” Bobby asked, looking dubiously out the now-open doors at the scene below.

“First we have to convince them,” Logan nodded at the crowd, “not to lynch him.”

“Always helpful,” Jamie agreed.

“I vote for Logan to go lay down the law,” Bobby suggested.

“Betsy, put down some calming influence,” Scott said, looking over Jamie‘s shoulder. “Jamie, get down there and play crowd control.”

“Yessir,” Jamie said, and waited a moment more for a way down that didn’t involve jumping. Sure enough, Bobby produced an ice slide, and Jamie skid down on his rump--which was cold, but safe, by the time he reached the ground. He glanced up, saw Hank--had to suppress a snicker at Hank’s suspiciously brown toned fur--and Bobby drop to the roof, ready to play counselors.

“Hey, now, back up,” Jamie said, multiplying rapidly. The interference Betsy was causing kept everyone calm, even in the face of many of him appearing. “Now, what’s the problem?” he asked, doing his best Sheriff’s voice.

Slowly, people started backing up, some even starting to walk away as Jamie, and his dupes, continued talking calmly and pushing people gently back, assuring them repeatedly that nothing was going to happen here.

He was just realizing that things were way too easy, when he saw Logan drop from the jet off to one side, and a moment later the crowd--facing the building--started to roar. With a feeling of dread, Jamie turned in time to see Bobby fly off the roof of the house, twisting in mid-air and forming an ice slide that swooped him around and right back to the building. Jamie breathed a sigh of relief, and turned back to his job--now much more difficult.

The crowd was bunching in again as fireworks shot from above, and Jamie shoved his way into the crowd, forming a line of Jamies and pushing them back, whether or not they wanted to go.

Words assailed him--everything from curses to pleads for safety for the boy above. Jamie ignored them, pushing people back, talking constantly, calm repetitions of ‘get back.’ The fireworks above stopped, and Jamie’s heart was just settling down again when someone from the crowd started shoving through, knocking people over to get to the front.

“That’s my boy!” the man shouted, pointing upward toward the roof. “That’s my son!” A dupe moved quickly to intercept him, diving into the crowd as the Jamie-line reformed to block the hole the man had created.

“Take it easy, sir,” the dupe was saying, reaching out to touch the man briefly on one shoulder. “We’re--”

The man struck at the dupe, too, shoving him aside. Jamie watched, concerned, as the dupe fell beneath the crowd. He was up a moment later, holding his head and looked dazed, but none the worse for wear. The man was coming closer, out of his senses with fear and frustration, shock making his face white.

“Back off, guy,” Jamie said, bracing to have a fight on his hands. His heart sped up, blood pumping rapidly through his veins. “We’re taking care of it. Everything’s going to be fine.”

The man moved closer, not listening, eyes above to where Hank and Bobby and the boy still were, hopefully all safe.

“Get away from my son!” the man roared, and reached into his coat. Everything blurred; time stood still and sped up, while the crowd closed in as they backed off in terror. Logan was suddenly there, behind the man, disarming him with one swift move that left him howling on the ground. The crowd was pulsing with the beat of adrenaline through Jamie’s body, and he realized with suddenly clarity that something Was Not Right. He had enough time to look up, make eye contact with Logan, and he thought he said--”Trouble,” but he wasn’t sure.

Then the world spun sickeningly, twisting out from beneath him, and the roar of the crowd rose up to blend with the roar of his blood. And then everything was gone.

***

Jamie opened his eyes to look up into a furry brown face. He blinked, then realized it was Hank. He grinned slowly. “Hi,” he said, and his voice sounded surprisingly normal.

Hank didn’t look so happy. He pried Jamie’s eyes open wider, shining a light into each of them, then took Jamie’s chin in a leathery hand, and turned it one way and another. Finally, he sat back, arms folded over his chest and his eyes narrowed slightly.

“What happened?” Jamie asked, starting to sit up and then pausing, to be sure Hank would let him. Hank blinked more than nodded, but it was still an affirmative. Jamie sat up and put his back against the wall, eyeing the doctor carefully.

“Do you mean, what happened to cause you to faint, or what happened to the boy?” Hank asked.

Jamie managed a lopsided smile. “What happened to the boy?”

“How many times have you fainted?” Hank riposted. Jamie looked down, reaching unconsciously to touch the sore on his shoulder. It had grown in two days, from the size of a dime to the size of the big silver dollar he’d had as a kid.

“I haven’t, actually,” Jamie said, looking back up. “But I figure it’s Legacy.”

Hank nodded. “I’m pulling you off active duty.”

Jamie sighed. He’d been expecting that, as much as he didn’t want it to happen. “Yeah.”

“And I’m confining you to bedrest--”

“What?”

“For three days.” Hank looked at him sternly, though it slowly melted. Hank leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees and linking his hands together. “Just for a few days, Jamie. Just so I can be sure . . .” he stopped, looked down and then back up. “Just so I can be sure.”

Jamie felt suddenly chilled. “Is it that serious, Hank?”

“I don’t know.” Hank sighed and removed his spectacles, rubbing his eyes. “I’d like to watch you for a few days, and then decide.” He put his glasses back on, and smiled slightly. “And the boy was just mad at his father for grounding him for using his abilities in public. Everything ended fine.”

Jamie smiled slightly. “Oh. That’s good to know.”

Hank stood. “Bobby’ll be down shortly, I’m sure. He just went to get some cookies; you blood sugar is low.” He turned briefly. “I’d like you to start testing it three times daily. I’ll give you a diabetic test, and that’ll work well for now.”

Jamie cringed, but nodded. “Sure. Hank?”

Hank waited.

“This really sucks.”

Hank looked down, collecting himself, then up and smiled. “I know,” he said, and left the room.

***

“So, should we make the switch?” Bobby felt Jamie’s hand tremble in his own, then still. He didn’t know if it was the disease or fear that caused it, but he squeezed anyway. The trembling had grown worse in the last few days, and Jamie had lost weight. It had been happening, but somehow, Bobby hadn’t noticed. Then it had happened faster. There were hollows under Jamie’s collarbones, and dark, concave circles under his eyes. His hands kept up a constant tremble.

“I don’t think so,” Hank said, softly. “I’m still hoping we’ll find a better suited duplicate.”

“But any dupe’ll work, right?” Bobby asked, concern panging in his chest.

The long silence from both Hank and Jamie made him pale.

“Tell me any dupe will work.”

“It’s complicated, Bobby,” Hank said after a moment.

Bobby turned, looking at Jamie, but the younger man was studying his knees.

“It should, in theory, work. But then, this duplicate is different than the others. He doesn’t have the virus, that’s true, but he also has a different personality. Even if Jamie makes the jump successfully, there’s no telling how it’ll affect him.”

“And we don’t know that I’ll make the jump successfully,” Jamie murmured.

“What?” Bobby looked up in alarm, and dimly felt Jamie squeeze his hand. “Then you have to find another dupe!” He turned to Hank, blood racing to his head. “Hank, you have to--”

“Robert, I know that,” Hank interrupted, with a pointed look at Jamie. Bobby turned, and realized that Jamie was breathing harder, his face almost blue it was so white. Bobby took Jamie’s hand in both of his and held it for a moment, the slender fingers limp.

“Sorry,” he said quietly. Jamie smiled weakly.

“Rather than switch now,” Hank said, once it was clear that order had been restored, “we’re trying to find another duplicate. They’re appearing with more and more differences, now, and it may be possible that one will appear without the Legacy virus.”

Bobby nodded wordlessly.

“And if we wait too long and--” Hank hesitated for only an instant, “--this body dies, then Jamie will, of course, have the other duplicate to jump to. That’s a worst case scenario.”

Bobby swallowed hard and nodded again, turning to watch Jamie. The younger man seemed to be taking it all fairly well; Bobby supposed he and Hank had already discussed this.

A moment of silence passed, then Hank stood. “I’ll leave you two alone,” he said, and left the room. After a few minutes Jamie stood as well, his hand sliding from Bobby’s grip.

“Why did it work before?” Bobby asked softly, standing and watching Jamie stretch.

“The dupes were like me. They split and then stayed around long before I really realized I had Legacy. Jumping into them was like . . .” he sighed, and shrugged, ruffling his hair backwards. “Going home. This dupe, he’s not like me. We just don’t know if I will go home.” He smiled, then started for the door. “I’m really sick of this room,” he said in explanation, as Bobby fell into step beside him.

They reached the elevators side by side, walked in, waited for the doors to close. Bobby punched the button for the first floor, and Jamie reached out and poked the one for the second. The hum of the elevator surrounded them, and the doors slid open. Both men stood there for a moment, then Bobby pressed the second floor again, and the doors closed.

“Ah, Hell,” Bobby said, releasing the tension in his body with a heavy breath. “Hope you still don’t embarrass easily.”

Jamie looked confused, and Bobby reached across and pulled the emergency lever.

***

The alarm went off all through the mansion, bringing those within--Logan, Gambit, Rogue, Hank and Sam--running. Each problem had a slightly different alarm, and so it didn’t take them very long to realize there was an elevator problem and converge on it. Then the elevator started moving again, and they all waited, ready, as it neared the second floor.

The doors opened, revealing Jamie and Bobby, slightly too mussed to be innocent, though they were trying their best.

Jamie cleared his throat, his skin turning a deep red as he glared at his feet.

Bobby smiled brightly, but as he stood there a dull flush spread up from his neck, slowly suffusing his face.

Remy chuckled. Rogue closed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose, and headed back down the hall.

“Okay, okay,” Bobby said at last, waving at everyone. “Show over! Go away!”

The little crowd dispersed, mostly laughing.

“You’re right,” Jamie murmured. “That was embarrassing.”

“But fun,” Bobby countered, grinning and buttoning the last buttons on his shirt.

Jamie chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped out of the elevator and headed down the hall. Bobby followed, closing the door once they reached Jamie’s room. A dupe was laying on the bed, reading Time magazine, and it smiled at them as they entered.

“Fun at the doc’s?” the dupe asked brightly.

Jamie snorted and reabsorbed the dupe, flopping down on the bed where it had been a moment before. He picked the magazine up and flipped through it for a moment, then put it back down and examined a hangnail instead.

“What’s on your mind?” Bobby asked softly, sitting at the end of the bed and grabbing Jamie’s foot. He untied the boot laces under Jamie’s watchful gaze, and pulled first one and then the other off. Socks followed shortly.

“No tickling,” Jamie warned.

Bobby smiled. “I won’t.” He put Jamie’s feet on his lap, then turned and leaned against the bedpost, putting his own legs across the bottom of the bed. “What’s wrong?”

Jamie hesitated, then sighed. “If . . .” he stopped, then took a deep breath and started again. “When I jump bodies, there’s some stuff you should know.”

Bobby felt the lump of ice in his stomach melt a bit, and he nodded. “Okay.”

“Well,” Jamie sat up farther, pulling his feet away and folding them under his body. “The dupe may stay in a coma for a few days.”

“Does Hank know all this?” Bobby interrupted, looking toward the little intercom on the wall by the bed.

“Yeah.” Jamie picked the magazine back up, let it fall open, then closed and set it aside again. “After a few days, the dupe--I mean, I’ll come out of it. Bobby--” Jamie stopped, scratched at the back of his head, and dropped his hands into his lap. “The last time, I had amnesia for several months. Now, granted, I had no reminders of who I was or anything, so that might change, but . . .”

Bobby stretched up the bed, laying on his stomach, and grabbed Jamie’s knee--the closest thing he could grab. “Hey,” he said, and waited until Jamie looked at him. “We’ll get through that.”

Jamie smiled, relief spreading across his face, and nodded. Then the smile fell away, bit by bit, and he looked back down at his hands. Bobby felt the ice reform, and swallowed hard. “What else?”

Jamie was quiet for a long time, then finally he looked up, brown eyes searching out Bobby’s blue ones. “If it doesn’t work--”

“It’ll work,” Bobby stated, turning to glare at the bathroom door.

“But if it doesn’t--”

“It will.”

“Bobby--”

Bobby stood up, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Jamie, it’ll work. You’ve got one of the best doctors in the world--”

“And even he admits it might not work!” Jamie snapped, rising to his knees on the bed.

“I’m not going to be pessimistic about this--”

“It’s not pessimism, Bobby!” Jamie shouted. “It’s realism! I could die! It is a possibility!”

“Well it’s not one that I’ll accept!” Bobby roared back. “I’m not going to stand here and listen to you talk about dying, because that’s not going to happen! I won’t let it!”

In the silence that followed, the words echoed through the room.

Bobby looked down, at the carpet, then back up toward the door. “I’m going to go get something to eat,” he said at last, quietly. “Do you want something?”

Jamie tucked his hands, trembling, under his arms. “No,” he clipped out.

Bobby nodded wordlessly without looking at Jamie and marched out of the room, closing the door behind him. He stood in the hall for a moment before realizing Remy stood there as well, gazing at him speculatively.

“What the hell do you want?” Bobby snapped.

Remy looked innocent, and stood a step back, one hand to his chest.

“Don’t give me that,” Bobby snarled. “Aren’t you going to tell me I should be a bit more pessimistic? Maybe that I should listen to poor Jamie, because he needs to make sure that everyone’s as ready for him to die as he is? Well, I’m not. He’s not going to die, and I refuse to believe he will. So fuck off.”

Remy just looked at him quietly, one corner of his mouth twitching upward. “I always t’ought y’ were an ass, Drake,” he said softly, “but I never really t’ought you were dat much of one.”

“Fuck you, LeBeau!” Bobby shouted, clenching his hand at his sides rather than encasing Remy in ice like he wanted. “You’re the guy who can’t even manage to keep his girlfriend half sane! You’re the one who lies and consorts with--with--Sinister! You’re the fucker who broke Rogue’s heart and made her leave you to die! You got Warren’s wings chopped off! All I’m doing is believing that my boyfriend might actually survive this!” He stalked forward, hoping that Remy would say something--anything--to make punching him a viable option.

But Remy just nodded once and stepped back, allowing Bobby to pass unhindered down the hall.

Bobby stood for a moment, considering punching Remy just for that, but at last he stormed down the hall, the stairs, and out the front door.

**

Back to the living room
Back to Water Lines

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