A Bird in the Hand
A Bird in the Hand
by Mara
Summary: What happens when Scott and Madelyne meet? (Story #3 in the roundrobin)
NOTES/DEDICATION: This is a sequel to Minisinoo’s “The Goose Who Laid the
Golden Egg.” It happens before Dyce’s “What’s Good for the Goose is Good for
the Gander” because Dyce writes faster than I do and I had to spend the evening
at the in-law’s 🙂 I hope you enjoy this, because I missed my stop on the train
this evening because I was writing it.
**Telepathy**
****************************
I didn’t know where the guards were taking me, and I was pretty damn scared. For
all I knew I was going to come back blue like Hank (Jesus, poor Hank) or half-
dead like Wolverine. ‘Course, I was playing it cool, trying to look unworried. I
doubt I was fooling anyone, but it made me feel a little better. I guess we do
whatever we need to do to survive.
Anyway, I was expecting all kinds of things, torture devices, a mad scientist’s
laboratory, the seventh circle of hell. I was *not* expecting to see Jean.
Goon number one slammed me up against the blue-tiled wall as number two opened
the door and then tossed me in.
“Hello, Scott,” she said as I stood up.
I leaned up against the other side of the door and stared at her. “Jean, what
the hell is going on? You were in your cell with Nightcrawler a minute ago. When
did you have time to change clothing?”
“I’m not Jean.”
I’d been prepared for torture, but this crap was just too much. “What the hell?
Either you’re a shapeshifter or that’s the fastest brainwashing I’ve ever seen,
of course you’re Jean. Now snap out of it and tell me what the hell we’re doing
in…”
Okay, I’ll admit it. I hadn’t looked around the room yet. Obviously a few weeks
with these bozos and a knock on the head had caused all my training to seep out
my ears. But even the horrible things we’d done and seen in those weeks were
*no* excuse for my not noticing I was in a bedroom. With a bed. With fucking
flowered sheets. Great, now I was sounding like Logan.
She looked amused in a sad and strained sort of way. “What we’re doing in my
bedroom? I’m really not Jean, Scott. The faster you understand this, the easier
things will be.”
I slid down slowly to the floor, keeping my eyes carefully on Jean, who’d
obviously gone insane in the minutes since I’d left her. She sat down in an
armchair and ran her fingers through her short red hair. A few pieces drifted
down, as if it had been recently cut.
“You know, maybe he was right. Maybe I could have fooled you into thinking I was
Jean long enough. Maybe not.”
It had taken awhile, but my brain was back in gear. I caught the important
words. “Long enough for what?”
She paused, and my brain ran through the torture options again.
“Long enough for us to have sex and get me pregnant.”
That was really the straw that broke the camel’s back. I sputtered. I hadn’t
actually understood that word until then. “Sex…preg…wha…you…”
“I am *not* Jean. My name is Madelyne Pryor. I think I’m her clone. Don’t ask me
how that happened since Dr. Essex hasn’t told me.” Her tone sharpened on the
last few words, and she winced. That told me this doctor was likely to be
listening in. Or watching. Hell.
It also told me she wasn’t Jean. I’d never seen Jean look like that, so
resigned, even in the worst circumstances. And we’d *been* in the worst
circumstances, and this wasn’t it. Yet.
Then the content of what she’d said sank in. “Her clone? Why the hell am I
supposed to get Jean’s clone pregnant?”
She looked relieved that I finally seemed to believe her. “Dr Essex…well,
let’s just say our baby will be an extraordinarily talented mutant. Maybe more
so than my others. I don’t really know.”
The blows just kept coming. “Others?” I asked, trying to not imagine what the
Weapon X bastards might do with mutant babies.
“Yes.” She looked like she wanted to say more, but was afraid to. Hmm, if she
was really Jean’s clone…
I reached out with my mind, the way the Professor taught me. **Tell me.**
“No!” She yelled, jumping out of the chair and throwing up her hands as if to
ward off my thoughts. I stayed very still, trying not to alarm her further.
“No,” she said again, quieter this time, “I’m not allowed. I get in trouble if
I do that. Please.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
She was shaking, just a little. I tried to look as non-threatening as I could.
She wrapped her arms around her stomach and slowly moved back to the chair.
“Can we just get on with this?” she asked, as if requesting a routine physical
exam.
“Just like that?” I hadn’t even had time to process everything. Jesus H. Christ,
I’d certainly lusted after Jean’s body, I just thought it would come attached to
her brain.
“If we don’t, Dr. Essex will do it for us,” she said, looking even more unhappy
at that prospect. “That’s uncomfortable. I am most fertile today and tomorrow.”
Damn, it was all so tempting. To have a Jean of my own. Ready and willing to
sleep with me instead of the Wolverine. I wondered if this Essex knew that or if
he’d just gotten lucky.
“Look, Madelyne, it’s not that I don’t find you attractive, because I do, but I
don’t quite know what to do here.” Shit, now I was babbling.
Her look was pitying. “Haven’t you learned? You don’t have much of a choice.
Either we have sex or the samples are taken from us the hard way. That’s it.”
Damn it, there’s always a choice, even if she’d been stuck in this lab so long
she didn’t see it. Oh my god, was she *born* here? Stop thinking about that and
find a way out. Why couldn’t I think of anything? All the plans I’d been
confidently planning and not *one* dealt with the possibility of Jean’s clone
telling me to have sex with her. I hadn’t planned for Armageddon or Ragnarok
either.
Madelyne moved over to the bed. She looked so much like Jean, I couldn’t stand
it.
Slowly, I stood up and walked towards her. I wanted to cry at the hint of fear
in her eyes. I wanted to shout. I wanted to destroy things.
I wanted to wring Dr. Essex’s neck.
I vowed that when we left this place, if we couldn’t take her with us, we would
come back for her as well as her baby. My baby.
I sat carefully on the bed next to her. Her face was blank now. I felt like I
was about to rape her, but what else could I do? If we had to do this, at least
I could try and make it pleasant.
She’s not Jean. I wish to hell I knew who she really was. I wish I had time to
find out.
–end–