Skippy, Final Act: Return of the Jamie

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Jamie hiked down the old trail to the quarry, one hand white-knuckled on his quarterstaff, the other holding tightly to Kitty's. His face was pale and drawn as he glanced over to her. "I'm--doing the right thing, aren't I?"

Kitty nodded, biting her lip. "I think so, yes. He's... he's mad Jamie. I'm worried he'll hurt someone. I'm worried he'll hurt you."

"I'm worried he'll see you and hurt the kids," Jamie confessed. "But I can't just roll over and do what he wants . . . and I don't think I could do this without you."

She tightened her grip, nodding. "No matter what he says, you know I love you."

"I know." He smiled and squeezed her hand. "That's why I needed you to come. You keep me centered, remind me about all I have to live for. No matter what else happens, I'm not alone, and he is. I've won already, all the ways that matter."

Kitty nodded, then quickly stole a kiss, aware he might be watching as they drew closer but needing the contact anyway.

He smiled as she pulled away. "Now that's what I call motivation."

They reached the lip of the quarry and started down. A gaunt figure in green awaited them at the bottom, cowl pulled back to reveal his smirking face.

"I told you to come alone," he said as they drew closer."

"Yeah, well," Jamie replied, "I don't do so well with directions."

"I could kill the kids right now, just for that." He paused, smiling faintly. "But I won't. It's right that Kitty's here. She should see this, see that I'm the real one."

Kitty gasped at the threat, but quickly quieted.

"We're both real, you twisted little freak," Jamie snapped. "And you're not going to hurt anybody else."

The other snorted. "Going to stop me, are you? I don't think so. I'm going to prove to everybody that I'm the true Jamie Madrox." He smiled at Kitty. "And you'll be mine again."

Kitty shivered, stepping back.

"Kitty's hers," Jamie said coldly. "She decides for herself, and I don't think she wants anything to do with you."

"That'll change. When I'm the only one . . ." He grinned, then struck himself across the face, over and over. Two, then three . . . six, twelve, until finally two dozen of them stood spread over the quarry floor. Nothing human remained in their eyes at all. "Going to take you," they snarled in asynchronous near-unison. "Going to take you in, make you mine, make you me."

Fifteen on a good day, was how Jamie tended to describe the limits of his powers. Fifteen. Not twenty-four. And this was by no stretch of description a good day. He took a step back, hands flexing on the staff, and duped to his limits, then stretched for a few more. Eighteen, and the edges of his vision were decidedly blurry . . . but at least the odds were a little better. His doppelgangers surged forward, and he didn't have the luxury of thought.

The staff quickly became a mixed blessing. He couldn't get enough of the extra reach, especially when he noticed the claws . . . but every time he hit a dupe, another one appeared. The bastard didn't seem to have any limits.

Jamie nearly lost the fight, and the contents of his stomach, when a lucky swing took one of the rogues in the throat and it collapsed in a shower of goo. But it was a step forward, and maybe the only lucky break he'd get; he swallowed his gorge, took aim, and did it again. And again. Throats, stomachs, heads, block the hand, watch for kicks . . . it all blurred together after a while, dancing on the edge of blackout, trying not to think about how slippery the ground was getting, and why . . .

When one of his dupes went to help another, blocking a clawed swipe while the first landed a stunning blow to the renegade's head, he didn't notice at first. When both of those turned and found no readily available opponents, he felt the first surging of hope.

How many times, after all, had his double died, so far today? Nathan wouldn't have gone down easily. Shiro was at the warehouse, and Alex. He didn't seem to feel the deaths, not the way Jamie had . . . but he was still human. He had limits. He could get tired.

He wasn't duping anymore, no matter how hard Jamie hit.

Jamie took the first opportunity he had to reduce his own numbers to something manageable–his limits were set considerably further in, and he'd been tired since what felt very much like the dawn of time–and kept slogging. The odds slipped further in his favor; his double, desperate, became more and more unbalanced, easier and easier to block or dodge.

Finally, he had the doppelganger down to a single body, at staff's length on the ground. He reabsorbed the last of his own dupes and stood panting. Now what? Who knew how soon the other would recover and start gaining again? He had to end it. And maybe he could. Jamie threw the staff down and lunged for his twin, seizing him with bare hands, willing him to reabsorb.

Nothing happened.

The other smiled, horribly, and brought his own hands up to fasten around Jamie's throat. "I'm the real one," he grated, and pulled--

And Jamie vanished. Kitty screamed.

The dupe stood, arms raised high in triumph, laughing exultantly.

Then he froze, gasping. "No--no, I beat you, you're over! You can't--" His flesh bubbled and split, sloughing off . . . to reveal Jamie, stark naked and covered in gore. "Yeah, I can, you little bastard. There can be only one, and it's not you."

He stumbled, falling to one knee. " . . . Kitty?"

Kitty gasped, hands flying to her mouth, and then she was running forward, dropping to her knees beside Jamie. "Jamie? Oh, Jamie?" she asked, tears sliding unheeded down her cheeks

"Yeah." He managed a strained smile. "I beat him. And that was the weirdest damn feeling . . ." He doubled over, clutching at his head. "Aghk."

She reached out, hesitating only a second before her hands were soothing over his back.

"Kit-Kitty, I need--" He swallowed convulsively. "Memories, his memories--trying to shuffle in, and I don't--I need the Professor. I need the Professor now. And I can't--you'll have to lead me, I can't . . . it's taking everything I have to fight it."

Kitty swallowed, then nodded. "Of course," she said. Her hands moved to help pull him to his feet. "Come on," she said. "Lean on me."

He stood, leaning heavily on Kitty's shoulder. "Don't let me fall," he said, the terror edging his voice making it clear he didn't mean stumbling on the path.

"I won't," she swore, her arm sliding around him to hold him tight. "I promise I won't." Moving as quickly as she could, Kitty began to lead him away from the quarry.

As they drew closer to the mansion, the Professor's voice sounded in Kitty's mind. Go to the sitting room, Kitty; I'll meet you there. It will be all right.

Kitty paused, then nodded. "Come on," she said softly. Wrapping her arm tightly around him, Kitty phased them both out, cutting through the wall directly into the building.

Professor Xavier was waiting for them when they arrived, and wheeled his chair over to meet them, strain and worry on his face. "Let go, Jamie, I have you. Well done, both of you."

Jamie collapsed into a chair, the tension draining from his face; he didn't let go of Kitty's hand. "I need them gone, Professor. Everything he knew--take it, please."

"It will be dangerous, Jamie. There may be another way."

Jamie laughed brokenly. "I can't--it's pushing at me, sir, even with you helping hold it back. What happened when he did well, when Mystique would--" He shuddered. "Take it out, take it all, please, before I start remembering what it felt like."

Kitty gripped his hand, unsure what he was talking about, only sure that he was still alive, still here. And that she loved him.

"Very well, Jamie. Brace yourself."

Charles closed his eyes, slipping quietly into Jamie's mind. The boy's psyche was usually a chaotic, confusing place–but one with its own beauty and order. Thoughts spiralled off each other in ways that a normal human mind couldn't fathom, a fractal maze that took skill and patience to thread, on any day but today. Today, Jamie's mind was a thing of straight lines, broken corners, and dark hues that spoke of desperate focus and fraying will, all leading toward a focal point that glowed sullenly, swollen, a mental blood blister that threatened to burst at any moment.

Charles studied it for a moment, tracing its outline, following the links it was trying to forge with the rest of Jamie's mind. It was his own brain he was fighting, Charles understood; whatever natural mechanism that allowed Jamie to make sense of so many different sets of simultaneous memories trying to put these in their proper places. The young man had no training for this kind of fight, but he would, Charles knew, hold until the strain broke him, until his own mutation sucked him under.

That, Charles vowed, would not happen. He hovered "above" the throbbing boil, considering. Sometimes the metaphor suggested its own solution; he brought a needle of white light to bear and lanced the cyst, drawing out the tainted memories, feeding them through his own tightly controlled will, and crushing them to nothing and less than nothing.

It took almost less time to accomplish than it had to envision; Charles took a few moments to soothe the worst of the strain away, then pulled out, opening his eyes.

"I could . . . feel you in there," Jamie said. "Feel the pain going away, anyway." Exhausted hope edged his voice. "Is it over?"

"For now," Charles murmured. "Your double is gone, at any rate, and you should have no more direct trouble from him." He sighed. "Healing, however, as you know, carries its own difficulties."

"Nightmares again, huh?" Jamie's lips quirked in a bitter smile. "Bet Doc Samson thought he was done with me." He patted Kitty's arm. "Least I know better than to handle it on my own this time."