Disclaimer: see my profile
A/n Thanks to Ann Parker for allowing me to take a simple statement made in her story "Partners," and running with it. In her world, JJ and Reid are together and JJ makes the comment that someone should clone Reid so everyone can be happy. This intrigued the muse Adele. As you know she is a bit sick and twisted and this is the result. It was meant to be a humorous one shot on the cloning issue and how the men of the world might handle the idea, but it took a screaming left turn into Stepford-Esque creepiness. Hope you enjoy. Mucho thanks to my beta REIDFANATIC, who puts up with silliness such as this. You're the best, my friend. Thanks again to Ann Parker. Read her story when you have the chance. It rocks.
A/n 2 I promise to all my readers of "I'll be Home for Christmas," that this is a momentary detour of my attention and the next chapter will be out soon.
SEND IN THE CLONES
A small body landing a top Derek Morgan jolted him awake early on a Sunday morning in mid-October. "Wake up Daddy," Hank cried in his ear. "I'm hungry."
"Yeah, wake up," said Rebecca Penelope Morgan, Hank's younger sister.
He let his eyes blink open slowly. "It's too early," he teased.
Rebecca ducked in and began to tickle his side. He jerked away and laughed. "I surrender," he managed as he turned over and grabbed Hank to lift him into the air.
"Up and at em'," said a voice from the doorway.
He glanced over to see Clone Spencer #1 standing there dressed in faded jeans, a worn MIT tee shirt, and dirty white converse shoes. His short wavy hair fell into his eyes, and he was smirking at him. "Savannah's waiting for you to contribute to breakfast.
"We want waffles, daddy," said three-year-old Rebecca."
"Yeah," agreed four-year-old Hank.
"You know that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Also, bonding time with children between the ages of three and eight is essential."
"So you've said a hundred times."
"Hurry Daddy; we're hungry."
He smiled down at the kids as he stood up and straightened an old Chicago Bears tee shirt he wore with black, green and gold checked pajama bottoms. He fingered Rebecca's curly hair while stooping down to Hank.
"Why don't you two go help mommy set the table. I'll be down in a minute. I need to talk to Uncle Spencer."
Ten minutes later, Morgan descended the stairs to the living room. He held onto his temper only because the kids were in the kitchen, but when they were out of earshot, he intended to give Clone Spencer a piece of his mind, loudly.
"Hello, honey," Savannah greeted him with a kiss which made him forget his irritation for a moment.
He took his place in the kitchen to make his famous bacon bit waffles with butter and maple syrup. It was a family favorite that never failed to make the kids happy.
The meal progressed in the usual fashion, with everyone talking and laughing. Then, Rebecca shoved at her brother when he tugged at a lock of her hair. "Stop it," she cried.
Morgan opened his mouth, but Clone Spencer interrupted. "Hank, do you think it's nice to tease your sister?"
Hank folded his arms and put down his head. "No."
"Rebecca deserves your respect, little man. It's okay to play, but hitting or pulling her hair is not kind. What did you learn in school?"
"Reid, I mean, Spencer, I got this," Morgan tried to interrupt.
"Let him talk," Savannah said, watching Clone Spencer talk to their son. Her rapt attention made him grind his teeth.
"Spencer says respect equals happiness for everyone," Hank repeated morosely.
"That's right."
"I'm sorry I was bad."
"That's okay, Hank. I love you.
"I love you too, Uncle Spencer."
Morgan ate but only because he was hungry. Clone Spencer began cleaning off the table and loading the dishwasher.
"Thank you," Savannah cooed.
Morgan slammed out of his chair and went outside to find the morning paper. He was this close to slapping Clone Spencer upside the head. He'd give anything to talk to the real Spencer, but that wasn't possible.
He picked up the paper and grimaced. It seemed that Clone Spencers' #9734, #15648923, and #736 were tied for the Nobel Peace Prize this year.
"Fabulous," he said under his breath as he sat on the porch swing.
He skipped the headlines below the fold and turned the page. On the editorial page, Clones #73, #3752849, and #9 had all written various letters extolling the virtues of love, acceptance, and kindness.
He grunted and turned more pages. When he came upon the entertainment section, an article confronted him about Clone #37. This Spencer clone had won the part of the latest Doctor. The reporter wrote that he was the first non-British actor to play the part. Apparently, public demand was such that Clone #37 had humbly accepted the role, pledging to do justice to the Time Lord. "I will take care of the Tardis as if it were my own," he was quoted as saying by the gushing reporter.
Morgan rolled his eyes and shook his head. He flipped irritably through more pages, nearly ripping them in his impatience, to find some news that didn't involve one of the millions of clones in the world.
He stared in curiosity when a white piece of folded paper fell out from between pages C12 and C13 and into his lap. He unfolded it, expecting and advert for laundry soap or the latest in shoes. Instead, he read:
ATTENTION MEN!
Are you tired of competing with a Spencer clone for the attention of your family? Are you sick of reading the news and it's all Spencer Reid clones all the time? Is your love life suffering because your significant others are infatuated with a Clone Spencer?
If you answered yes to any of the above, you need M.A.C.P or Men Against Clone Proliferation. Join us and take back your life and your self-respect.
The Flyer went on to give a meeting address and time. If he could leave the house without arousing suspicion for Clone Spencer, he'd attend that evening.
Luckily, Morgan found the perfect excuse to leave, a football game between the Redskins and the Bears. The Clones universally hated football, so he didn't worry about the Clone wanting to tag along with him.
He found the meeting place for M.A.C.P. at an abandoned warehouse. He'd been instructed to take public transportation or get a cab to maintain secrecy. Fortunately, he didn't have to worry about the possibility of crimes against his person because the collective IQs of the Spencer Clones had found a way to eradicate criminal behavior.
When he approached the door, a man fully 3 inches taller and a good 30 pounds heavier, stopped him with a hand to his chest. "Gotta scan ya, pal."
"What for?"
"Clone genes. Can't have one tryin' to infiltrate."
"Do I look like a skinny white nerd?"
"No exceptions."
Morgan sighed and held out his arms. The man activated a small device that looked like a smart phone. It beeped after he'd run it over Morgan. This response pleased the man because he gestured to the door. "Welcome to M.A.C.P."
Inside, Derek found a huge room filled with men milling around and chatting. The overlapping conversations reminded him of bees in a huge hive.
"Is this your first time?" A short, stocky man sporting a cap over wispy blond hair greeted him.
"Yes."
"Me too. Got the flyer with the morning paper. Couldn't believe the clone didn't see it first. Good thing for me. What's your name?" He spoke fast in a deep mellow voice that didn't match his stature.
"George." Morgan lied.
"Nathan," he stuck out his hand. "Pleased to know you, brother."
"Brother?"
Nathan's ears went red. "No offense intended. We call each other brother around here. It builds camaraderie. Gotta stick together against the damn clones, right." He elbowed Morgan in the stomach.
"Right."
"Come get some coffee before we get started."
Morgan followed Nathan to a long table against the far wall. He smelled the freshly brewed coffee and immediately thought of his friend, the real Reid. Guilt swamped his gut, but he clamped down on the urge to turn and walk out. After all, he'd come here for a reason.
He met several of Nathan's friends, and they all seemed like good men that were frustrated by the change in their world and their inability to do anything about it.
"Gentlemen," called an amplified voice over the din of the crowd. "Gentlemen, please take your seats. It's time to begin."
The men quieted as they took their seats on ugly, gray metal chairs. Morgan took one near the back of the room and began to observe the proceedings with interest.
The man at the front of the room reminded him a bit of Gideon in his bearing and age, more than his looks. Morgan couldn't tell the color of his eyes. His copper red hair curled around his ears and freckles covered his skin.
"Gentlemen," he said. "Welcome. I see some new faces among us tonight. It warms my heart to see we're growing in numbers. Only with numbers can we overcome the onslaught of clones taking over everything we hold dear. Yes, we have world peace, we're free of disease and crime. We control the weather, no more hurricanes, or tornados to destroy neighborhoods and families. We have perfect spring days, warm summer nights, crisp fall afternoons and every year we have a white Christmas. Does all of that make up for the distraction of a clone in our homes, disciplining our children, distracting our women, or men which ever you prefer, and even taking jobs? Some of you have lost your families to these abominations. We must do whatever is necessary to wipe out this menace."
"What can we do?" A man shouted from the back. "They're more intelligent than us.
"Yeah, how can we fight against them when they have the support of every woman and child on the planet. I tried to talk to my wife about the damn clone in my house, and she patted me on the cheek and suggested I go hunting with Peter."
The others began to grumble, and the man in front of the microphone had to shout over them. "Brothers, remember that we're in this together. We can overcome."
"By sitting here and doing nothing," shouted another man in the middle of the room. "I say we get out there and do something. Talking gets us nowhere."
The men were on their feet, shouting and chanting, "Down with the clones," when something shattered the window to Morgan's left.
Smoke began to billow into the room as another window shattered around them. "They found us, my brothers, take cover," shouted the leader of the M.A.C.P.
"We can't," Morgan shouted. "This is Submission Gas. It paralyzes all motor functions in ten seconds."
Indeed, his legs were freezing, and he felt the world rise to meet him as he crashed to the concrete floor. After a minute, he saw feet moving toward him through the smoke. He heard voices, but they were muffled and seemed to come from a long distance away. He looked up and realized a man stood over him dressed in black and wearing a gas mask over his face. He squatted down, and Morgan saw familiar eyes. "Derek Morgan, I am surprised at you."
Morgan wanted to punch the clone for his condescending tone, but he couldn't move his arms or legs or even speak.
"I'm afraid you're all going to the Hole for six months."
"No!"
He only screamed in his head as more clones that looked exactly like his onetime best friend hefted him into the air as if he weighed nothing.
"No," he screamed, and his eyes popped open to sunlight and his room.
"What's wrong?"
He turned over to see Savannah next to him in bed. She had a questioning look on her beautiful face, but she was watching him as if he were about to scream again. "Oh baby," he took her into his arms and held her tight.
"That must've been quite a nightmare," she said into his shoulder. "You're shaking."
"It was," he said, but when he opened his mouth to tell her about it, the kids interrupted them.
"Daddy, waffles."
"Yeah, Daddy, we're hungry."
Morgan grinned at them as the nightmare faded to the back of his head. "Hey, munchkins. You're supposed to say please."
"Please!"
Savannah stood and pulled on her robe. "I think that's your cue to cook breakfast. Hurry up because we've got Hotch's barbecue this afternoon and I still need some fruit for my salad."
"Yes, ma'am."
Thirty minutes later, he went outside to fetch the newspaper. It lay in the middle of the driveway, and he noticed something out of the corner of his eye went he bent over to grab it. He turned his head, and his mouth went dry.
"Hi, Derek," said his neighbor, only it wasn't his neighbor it was Reid.
"Reid, what are you doing over there," he asked stupidly, as the other man bent for the paper lying in the same spot in the driveway.
"Why I live here, Derek. You know that."
Morgan stood and as he looked up and down the street, he realized that on every driveway stood a Spencer Reid, all of them waving at him with their left hand and the newspaper held in their right. "No," he whispered. "No, no, no, no…"
"Hey, Derek, what's wrong?"
He spun around to see Spencer standing there, but it wasn't his friend. It was a clone! "You okay," said the copy of his former teammate.
"What's going on?"
"Nothing," said thirty voices at once as they surrounded him. "We're right where we're supposed to be."
They closed in around him with their arms reaching out. "Don't worry," said Clone Spencer #1. "We're only here to help."