BLATANT SELF-PROMOTION: I've got a website now! It's listed in my profile! Check out the drawings I did for this story! (They're really good, honest!)
NOTE TO READERS: The Jean feature here is a combination of the comicverse Jean (obviously not Ultimate) and the movieverse Jean.
CHAPTER 22: A Thief in the Night
As the start of the third trimester was approaching, Hank was growing more and more worried about Tyger's health. The babies, at less than six months, were already active and were threatening to kick out mommy's spleen. Tyger complained - half in jest - that just like normal siblings, the two were already vying for space and fighting even now. Hank's only comment was that it must come from HER side of the family. The accompanying swat was expected.
Both Jean and Hank hovered over Tyger like a pair of paranoid nannies. Tyger slept with electronic monitors strapped to her belly to constantly monitor the babies' welfare and once, drugs had to be administered to prevent premature labour. Tyger's temper flare-ups were increasing in frequency and duration, and Hank's grocery shopping expeditions grew more and more exotic and bizarre:
"Sardines and pickles?! Are you sure you do not want ice cream with that?" Pause. "You do?! Fine..." (Then under his breath) "The next thing she will desire will probably be small, flightless birds..." SWAT!!! "Sigh." #I expected that.#
The rest of the X-members continued to deal with it in their individual ways. Bobby had applied for a job as a research assistant in Antarctica, although no one seriously expected him to be accepted. Jubilee talked incessantly about toys and little jammies, and was getting right in the mood to be a substitute big sister. Logan was collecting travel brochures, while Jean had her hands full quieting Scott's temper. Once Scott had finally come to his senses, he could think about nothing but what Hank's two little terrors would do to the mansion once they were able to move about on their own. As of yet, no one had told the professor, who was still at Muir Island. He was sure to be in for a surprise when he got back.
Everything was going wonderfully for Hank, if you ignored his incessant worrying about his mate in matters concerning her health and extreme mood swings, and his continual fretting over the well-being of his unborn babies, and the nagging doubts he had about his ability to be a good father that plagued him day after day. Other than that, everything was fine.
Truth be told, however, Hank was in fact experiencing the best time of his life thus far. The sheer exaltation that he had experienced the very first time he felt one of his babies move was something he would never, ever forget. He had spent hours looking over the ultrasound photos, trying to picture what they would look like when they were born. There were nights when he would lay awake beside Tyger, listening to the babies' heartbeats on the monitors and watching Tyger's belly move about while she slept. Hank was completely, utterly fascinated by the entire experience, and even if he was given the chance, he simply would not change a single thing.
* * *
#I'm as big as a whale,# Tyger thought with dismay as she examined herself in the bedroom mirror. At seven months and carrying twins, she looked just about ready to explode. The rest of her body had long before started showing the other, `more pleasant', signs of pregnancy: weight gain, water retention, swollen ankles, and so on. Luckily enough, however, the thin cover of fur on her abdomen was enough to conceal the stretchmarks that she knew she had. She wondered seriously about this 'pregnant glow' she was supposed to be experiencing. The constant fatigue, combined with the extra weight that she had to carry around and the bouts of nausea which still hit her occasionally made her wonder if she had missed it.
Placing her hands on her belly, she looked down and her expression softened. Despite all the discomfort, there were certain things that she was experiencing which made it all worth while. Just being able to feel her babies move around inside her was special enough, but her power let her experience all their emotions as well. Yes, babies still in the womb express emotions. Tyger knew when they were sleepy, or content. When something startled them, she felt that too. She was already getting a very good sense of their own individual personalities, and they hadn't even been born yet. She smiled as she reminded herself that in only two more months, she would be seeing her babies face to face. In fact, it might even be sooner than that, as Hank and Jean had pointed out that multiple pregnancies rarely lasted the full 40 weeks. There were two premature incubation units waiting in the infirmary, just in case. Either way, she could hardly wait!
The door opened and she jumped, startled. One of the babies jumped, too. She calmed quickly when she saw that it was only Hank, and unconsciously calmed the excited infant as well.
Hank hesitated for a moment - Tyger's moods had a habit of changing without warning - then smiled lovingly at her when he saw the serene expression on her face.
"I do not believe my eyes have ever beheld such a breathtaking sight as this beauty who stands before me," he said.
"Rreally? Wherre?" Tyger asked as she glanced around the room.
Hank chuckled softly as he came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her.
"Who else would I be speaking of, my love?" he murmured as he planted soft kisses along her shoulders and neck.
She let a soft sigh escape her lips before replying, "I'm sorry, Hank. I jusst don't feel too prretty."
"And why is that, praytell?"
She sighed heavily this time. "Look at me Hank!" she said, indicating her reflection the mirror. "I'm as big as a housse!"
Hank shook his head as he lowered his arms and gently clasped her belly. "My dear, your skin is practically glowing through your fur, which is, I might add, softer and glossier than I have ever seen it! In fact, I have never seen you so vibrant and full of life. And," he added, lowering his voice to almost a whisper as he spoke into her ear, "I must admit that I find your new form to be rather attractive indeed, arousing even."
She felt the heat well up in her cheeks...and other places. "Rreally?"
"Most assuredly."
She leaned back a little and let her head come to rest against his shoulder. #Maybe I do have a 'pregnant glow' after all,# she thought to herself. #But how come I'm the only one who can't see it?#
Her thoughts wandered off as Hank started nibbling her neck. Tyger was slowly melting into his arms when he tenderly bit into that one particular spot at the back of her neck. A light hiss escaped her lips as she arched her back into him. She then turned around to face him, her expression one of mild surprise.
"Hank, you KNOW what that does to me," she cautioned him.
"Indeed I do," he replied as an uncharacteristic wicked grin spread across his face.
She returned his grin with one of her own. "Oh, rreally?" she asked. "Then I guess you arre prrepared to face the cons'quences?"
"I fear that you are mistaken, as YOU will most likely be the one unable to walk away from THIS confrontation," he replied slyly.
She almost smacked him. Almost. "We'll ssee about that!"
Hank chuckled inwardly at her show of determination as she all but dragged him to the bed. He knew he would be extremely gentle with her, just like he'd always been since he found out she was pregnant. (And he was still gentle even when she didn't want him to be.)
* * *
The car that approached the mansion moved silently except for a faint whine that usually accompanied electrical powered vehicles. It was low slung and black, reflecting no light. The only sound notable from a distance was the crunch of the gravel under the tires. Like a shadow, it slipped under the trees and stopped. The entire front of the car lifted up when a large, hulking figure stepped out and pulled a small box from his pocket. He pressed the button on it and a faint chirping sound was heard like that used in an autolock for an automobile. Deep in the mansion, gadgets long unused activated their signals. Power was cut to the security system, phones were disconnected, and deep in the air conditioning units of the mansion, a faint 'pop' occurred, followed by the quiet hiss of escaping gas. The figure waited five minutes. Ten. He nodded to himself, then dexterously climbed the wall and entered the grounds.
He had work to do.
* * *
Tyger fought to shake off the heavy shadows of unconsciousness which seemed determined to hold her down forever. Bright lights blinded her and forced her to shut the eyelids she had so painstakingly forced open. Blinking profusely, she managed to gather enough information with her blurred vision to let her know that she was in the infirmary. That gave her pause to think, and she started to panick when she simply could not recall how she had gotten there.
She tried to sit up, but a hot knife of pain stabbed through her belly and she lied back down. Instinctively, she reached out emotional feelers to her babies, and was stunned. No! This can't be, she thought to herself, and checked again. Icy fingers of dread crept over her and up to her throat, threatening to strangle the life out of her.
She couldn't feel one of the babies.
Tyger called out for help. Then she called again, and again. But no help came. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she forced herself to sit up once again. Ignoring the pain, she called out once more, wondering where everyone was and realizing that she would have to search for help herself if she was to ever get it.
She looked down to make sure her feet were set firmly on the floor before standing up, as she was feeling rather dizzy. It was then that she noticed her toes. In her current state of mind, such a seemingly insignificant little thought as that should never have entered her mind, but a little nagging voice told her quite firmly: you aren't supposed to be seeing your toes.
It had been two months since she had last been able to see her feet past her protruding belly; a new surge of panick hit her. Her belly looked smaller. Maybe it was her imagination, but it looked smaller. She rubbed her eyes and checked again; it was definitely smaller, but showed no trace of any marks or cuts. She sat there, stunned, until that same nagging voice told her to get her butt moving and to find help. A wave of nausea washed over her as she stood up, but she paused only long enough to gain her balance and grab a lab coat (as the voice instructed since she was quite naked) and staggered out of the infirmary.
Tyger rode in the elevator up to the main floor, and began to frantically search the rooms for somebody, ANYBODY.
What she found did nothing to calm her. When she discovered Rogue lying on the floor of her bedroom, Tyger at first thought that the woman was dead. But when she checked, it was apparent the Rogue was very much alive, but Tyger couldn't wake her no matter how much she poked, prodded, shook, and even slapped her. She found Remy, Bobby and Jubilee in the same state in their own rooms.
Tyger's mind by this point had all but shut down, and her body was moving as if on autopilot as she systematically searched the rest of the floor for the remaining X-Men. Jean and Scott were lying on the floor of the living room; Jean looked as if she had been trying to reach the door before she collapsed. Tyger couldn't find the others, so she took her search outside.
Logan was in the garage, unconscious like the rest. But unlike the others, numerous empty syringes lay scattered on the floor all around him. Tyger didn't even bother trying to wake him up as she hurried back outside toward the mansion.
Tyger stopped; her nose suddenly caught something that it hadn't the first time round when she had headed out to the garage: Hank's scent.
Following her nose, she was nearly overcome by a new surge of emotions. She would find Hank! If anyone could help her, it was him. At the same time, a renewed feeling of dread gripped her heart when as she wondered what kind of a state she would find him in. She didn't have to wonder for long.
Hank was hanging by his wrists from a tree, severely beaten and still unconscious. It took quite a while - even with the assistance of a friendly garden hose - for Tyger to wake him up, all the time suffering from her own incessant abdominal pains and fighting to keep herself from going into shock.
No one knew what had happened.
* * *
48 hours later:
Tyger was sedated after Jean's most recent examination, and was now sleeping soundly in her room. Despite his own severe injuries, Hank was determined to go and view the results first-hand. As he entered the infirmary, one wall had been set to glowing as it was covered in transparencies from the MRI.
"So what happened?" Hank began, his throat tight with the emotions that he was forcing himself to hold back.
Jean, not looking at him, simply said, "One of the babies is gone."
"Gone?" Hank choked. "She lossed one? But we were taking such good care..." his voice trailed off as he collapsed in a chair.
Jean turned to him and for the first time, Hank saw pure rage in her eyes, and the almost flickering flame-like corona surrounding her hair.
"Not lossed, Hank," she stated, every word filled with heated venom. "Taken."
"Huh?" Hank's mind could not grasp the notion that someone could steal one of his unborn babies. It didn't seem possible.
"Jean? How...?"
Jean explained, her voice sounding forcibly neutral. "Last night, someone infiltrated the mansion - undetected - and loaded a powerful sedative into the air conditioning system. Before we even knew what was happening, we were all affected. Then someone performed Cesarean surgery on Tyger, surgically removing one of the fetuses. Whoever it was did a near-perfect job. The fetus was removed flawlessly...almost. And I would have to add, with almost perfect ease. Whoever it was even healed the initial incision without a trace. However, they could not heal the inner abdominal muscle trauma as easily. These images," she said, waving toward the wall charts, "still show signs of that trauma."
Hank was dumbstruck.
"I don't know who," she said as Hank sat there gaping at her. "But I can tell you something about him. First, he was as good a surgeon as you or I. Everything that could have been done to prevent injury to Tyger was. The procedure was vicious, but impressively executed. The assailant was also very careful. I've examined the instruments used minutely, and there are no traces of usage by anyone other than you or I. Also, the perpetrator was a fairly large individual, as more of the instruments for someone your size were used. This individual also performed the surgery single-handedly, as there is no evidence of an orderly or assistant anywhere. One of the premature incubation units is also missing, so at least we know how one of them was taken. As for the drug used on everybody, I've never seen a chemical signature quite like it. It's fast-acting, water soluble, airborne and effective in diluted quantities, and has no detectable side effects.
Hank, trying desperately to absorb what was said, fidgeted in his chair.
"How are you feeling?" Jean asked.
He glared at her. "Really, Jean," he said, his voice sounding agitated. "I thoroughly ENJOY having my blue hide spotted with purple highlights, my muscles pulped and torn AND being left a bloody mess hanging from a tree in the morning. It makes my week complete - just me and Cheetah out for a morning swing."
"Seriously," Jean replied.
He inhaled deeply. "How am I supposed to feel?" he said angrily. "I was drugged, beaten, strung up and left to collect dew in the morning while one of my children was forcibly ripped from my love's womb, yet they can casually walk in without anyone noticing and not triggering ANY of the security systems?! I have checked, double-checked, and AND triple-checked," he added, his voice rising, "and there is a gap in the security tapes, yet the system was still up and functioning!!"
"Hank, calm down."
"I AM CALM!!!" he roared back. "If YOU want to see someone who is irritated, just go and find Logan! Whoever broke in stole his new Harley! He spent nine months rebuilding that thing. After all, how many 1964 Harley-Davidsons are out there anymore? One less, apparently!" He jumped to his feet, instantly regretted doing so, and plopped back down.
"Easy," Jean said.
"EASY?! When I get my child back, then I will take it easy!" he bellowed, wincing as his head began to throb menacingly.
"Hank, the important thing is that you're okay, and she's okay. What else is important?" Jean asked. She hadn't meant that to sound as churlish as it did; she was genuinely concerned for the two furry mutants and especially for the stolen infant. She was angry as well, but she and to keep herself calm if only to keep her own powers in check.
"Well," he replied, his voice seething with hatred, "stringing the bastard who did this up by his ankles, coating him in honey and inviting a fire ant colony to the banquet is a beginning."
"Hank, I know how you feel..."
"Really, Jean?" he asked, his expression a mixture of anger and pain. "Do you really? Somehow, I do not think so." He got to his feet and with an unsteady gait, headed toward the door.
"Wait, Hank!" Jean called after him. "Can you think of anybody who could hate you so much as to do such a thing?"
He paused for a moment, then without looking at her, quietly said, "No. No, I do not."
"What are we going to do about Tyger?" Jean asked, changing the subject.
He turned around. "Tyger?"
"We can't keep her sedated for the next two months, Hank," she said seriously. "And the shock is so severe, I fear for her sanity. And the extreme stress that she's under isn't doing the baby any good, either."
Hank sighed deeply once again. Then, rubbing his eyes tiredly, replied, "I am open to suggestions, Jean. I can work miracles with the body, but the mind is more your department, is it not?"
Jean nodded, but she was uncertain whether or not to voice what she had in mind.
"I think it would be in the best interest of the remaining child if I implant a mild suggestion in Tyger's mind that the loss was natural rather than a violation."
Hank stared at her for a moment, considering her words. "I do not like the idea of Tyger's mind being tampered with, Jean," he stated.
Perhaps it would have been better if I had just gone ahead with it, thought Jean. But she just didn't feel right doing this without Hank's consent.
"Tyger can't go on like this, Hank," Jean insisted. "Her hold on her sanity is becoming more tenuous with each passing day. There is just no way she can take care of a baby if she can't even take care of herself, and she has proven just that in the last two days. Yes, I understand how much you dislike the idea of toying with peoples' minds, but do you really think that keeping Tyger sedated and in bed until the baby is born is any good for either of them?"
Jean could tell just by the way Hank's jaw was clenched and his brows were furrowed that we was taking what she had said into deep consideration. "Alright, Jean," he finally replied with an exasperated sigh. "I trust your judgement in this matter."
"Thank you, Hank."
He turned and left without uttering another word. Come hell or high water, he was going to get to the very bottom of this mess and find out just the hell was going on or his name wasn't Henry P. McCoy, PhD.
* * *
Hank took his investigation to the main security room, going through the security logs of that night bit by bit, frame by frame. After hours of painstaking work, a pattern began to appear. Yet this pattern was one that Hank could not believe.
There was evidence and traces of the assailant: dark hair was found on a thorn bush outside the door that had to be picked to get in; and short video segments, though blurred and murky, showing the assailant.
DNA tests done on the hair samples gave clear results, but Hank disregarded them, believing the samples to have somehow been contaminated.
Judicious use of video enhancement finally made the image clear, and it was an image that Hank could not, would not and refused to believe.
So, embarking on the thought that, like Sherlock Holmes had said, when everything else is discarded, whatever remains must be the truth, he set out numbly to prove it.
Camera logs from the firebombing of the mansion some months back were added to the growing pile of evidence as well as the very nature of the drug used. Hank had located an aerosol unit large enough to contain several litres of the drug in compressed form, with a remote control trigger. The most damnable thing was that he even recognized the drug. It was one that he himself was working on, and the chemical formula for it closely matched his latest batch. He had also found fingerprints on the device, and found a match.
Feeling more and more condemned, he was forced to look again at the DNA evidence, and upon retesting, found the same result.
Hank was the one who did it.
The DNA perfectly matched his own. The image on the video had clearly shown himself disarming the security systems. And that, combined with finding HIS fingerprints all over the aerosol unit, only condemned him further.
It was impossible; unthinkable! But at the same time, it was the only plausible explanation. Jean routinely scanned the X-members for mental aberrations, and a Jekyl/Hyde syndrome was impossible to hide from her. Even more frustrating was the fact that some of the evidence ran counter to the rest of it, like showing Hank and the assailant apparently being in two places at the same time, yet showing that Hank WAS the assailant. That did not make any sense.
Argh! No, it made no sense. Hank had to bring his findings to Scott. He had no choice. If he WAS the assailant, if he DID do this, he was a threat to the entire team and, more importantly, to Tyger and their one remaining baby.
* * *
Scott was unconvinced. "Hank," he said firmly, "you are not the culprit. It was someone else, and they are simply trying to frame you. My guess would be Mystique."
Hank shook his head. "The DNA evidence proves otherwise, Scott."
"Mystique is a shapeshifter, Hank."
Hank sighed. "Yes, it is true that a shapeshifter such as Mystique can mimic a person right down to the retina so as to fool a scanner, but she simply, positively cannot alter her DNA to match my own. It is impossible."
Scott would not be dissuaded. "Then maybe it wasn't Mystique. Perhaps it was a new, more powerful shapeshifter that we've never dealt with before."
Hank was starting to feel very frustrated. "Scott, you are not being realistic," he stated.
"No Hank, YOU are the one who is not being realistic," Scott retorted. "You've suffered major emotional and physical trauma. You are overworked and overstressed. You are not thinking properly right now, coming up with these ludicrous ideas!"
Hank tried to protest, but Scott cut him off. "I'm ordering you to stop thinking like this, Hank. YOU ARE NOT the one responsible, do you understand? I'M handling the investigation, not you. We'll find the one who did this. Jean has been using Cerebro everyday to try and locate the person or persons involved. Logan has been out looking for traces and any possible leads." Scott's voice softened a bit. "AND we will get your child back, I promise. Now get some rest, you need it."
Hank opened his mouth to say something more, but thought better of it and left. He was upset and angry, but not with Scott.
The man's heart is in the right place, even if he is a stubborn son of a....Hank let the thought end there and decided to look for Jean. He hoped that she would have a more open mind about the matter.
* * *
Upon claiming that he was the one behind it all, Jean promptly laughed in Hank's face.
"Hank," Jean stammered after catching her breath, "I've known you for ten years now, and there is absolutely, positively no way you could have done this."
Hank showed her the evidence.
"Hank, it's all circumstantial and coincidental. Lawyers wouldn't even take it to court and you've already pronounced yourself guilty!"
"Jean, I am certain that it was me," he told her firmly.
"Hank, use logic. Where were you that night?"
"In bed...with Tyger," he replied.
"In bed with Tyger," Jean reiterated. "So you got up without waking her, deactivated the security system, drugged everyone, stole the baby, beat yourself up, tied yourself to a tree, then stole Logan's bike and left with the child. Not to mention that you did all this WHILE continuously injecting Logan to keep him sedated. Is this train of logic missing a few cars, or is it just my imagination?"
"On the same track, to extend the metaphor, there is absolutely no evidence that it is anybody else! Granted, I do realize that I could not have completed the entire operation without assistance, even though we have yet to find evidence of the persons who provided the assistance."
Of course, Hank wasn't quite sure how he had managed to beat himself up either. But he had closely examined his bruises and markings, and they clearly showed that only someone of his size and strength could have produced them.
"But the video clearly shows myself tampering with the security system for this some months ago," he insisted.
"While you were out getting Twinkies," Jean reminded him. "It looks like your train's wobbling, Hank. But if you're certain, I can scan your mind. But I know I won't find anything."
"Please do."
Jean placed her fingertips lightly over Hank's temples, then closed her eyes and concentrated. After a few moments, she opened her eyes again.
"See," she said with an I-told-you-so look on her face, "nothing there to find."
"You mean to say that I am innocent?"
"Your mind's empty, does that count?"
"Very funny," he replied dryly.
Jean continued to tease him. "There were little voices crying out in the darkness for companionship, echoing through your skull shouting, 'We can see for miles out here!'"
Hank started to pout. "If you are not going to be serious, I am leaving."
Jean grabbed his shoulder before he could do so. "Hank, there's no trace of you doing anything wrong," she told him, her voice sincere. "Granted, there were some places I didn't want to look," she added.
He raised a furry eyebrow.
"Hank, what you do in the privacy of your bedroom, I DID NOT want to know. But now that I DO know..."
Hank felt himself blushing from the very tips of his ears right down to his toes.
"...I'm getting you both matching name collars for Christmas. AND if you're really nice to me, I'll throw in a dominatrix outfit for Tyger. After all," Jean added with a saucy grin, "your training at her hand isn't complete yet, is it?"
Now completely catatonic, Hank could only reply in a very small, squeaky voice. "Jean....!"
"Oh what, oh what would Bobby think?" she sang.
Hank's face darkened. "Is this blackmail time? What do you want?"
Jean shook her head, then stared at him sternly. "No, it's shock you back to your senses time! Now go, get out! You didn't do anything wrong; you couldn't have done anything wrong, AND you're driving me nuts, so scat!"
Jean proceeded to shoo him toward the door as she said this.
As Hank reluctantly trudged toward the door, she added, "And I really didn't know her tail was so agile!"
He left the room so quickly, he nearly left skid marks on the carpet.
* * *
Tyger was up and about now, but seemed to want to keep to herself and be left alone. Tyger now believed that she had lost the baby naturally, as a spontaneous abortion. She new that this sometimes happened with multiple pregnancies, and that the unfortunate fetus would be reabsorbed. What Tyger did not know, as Jean had made sure, was that reabsorption NEVER occurred past the first trimester. Even so, Tyger was understandably deeply depressed about it, and she would need some time to adjust, and to grieve. At least, that's what Hank told himself. He had tried to hug her and comfort her, but she merely stiffened and remained cold and aloof. She didn't even look up at him when she told him that she just wanted to be alone. He remembered muttering something along the lines of, "I understand", and let her be.
That is why Hank was sitting alone in his laboratory, his last refuge of peace and quiet. Yet even this room seemed alien to him right now. His emotions were in turmoil, and his mind was spinning in circles with thoughts that seemed to hit dead ends and turn back on themselves over and over again. Thoughts swirling about in his head like the scotch in his glass as he poured himself another drink. He did not believe what Jean had told him. He did not believe that he was innocent.
#There is a distinct possibility that Jean is trying to manipulate my mind as she did Tyger's. I KNOW I am the guilty one. I ask myself, why would she do such a thing? The obvious solution is that she is trying to protect me. She is a dear friend. But if I have in fact developed a Jekyl/Hyde syndrome, why would I kidnap my own unborn child? What is the fate of my child, and where are the accomplices hiding themselves? It is possible, however, that my actions were not under my own free will, that some outside influence made me do this and then made me forget. If that is the case, then I must ask yet another question: just who upon this entire wretched planet has MY child?! Yet again, if it was not a Hyde syndrome and was in fact mind control, but an influence that Jean could not detect, then she was in fact telling me the truth! And the question I am thus left with is just who in creation is powerful enough to control me in a way that Jean could not detect?!#
He wanted to rage. His free hand clenched and unclenched with a seething desire to strangle someone...anyone. Yet his own nature would never allow that...or would it? He didn't know anymore. And at the same time, he simply wanted to curl up into a little ball and cry like a baby. But his nature would not allow that, either. Big, strong, manly men don't cry. Everyone knows that.
If only it were that simple.
And why should he cry? The one thing that had made him happy beyond all measure had been taken from him. It had all been taken from him: the boundless joy he had experienced, the anticipation, the realization that despite all the odds against him, despite the seemingly fated life of lonely existence that his mutation had made for him, he had found someone whom he could love and who gave him love in return, loved him entirely for who he was and even offered to give him the one thing that he had never thought he would ever have. Children. He laughed to himself - an empty, emotionless laugh. Fate had dealt him a wild card, and Hank's hope had been lossed in the bet.
Yes, Tyger was safe. Yes, the remaining child was safe. He was immensely relieved for that. But what of the lossed one? In a sudden fit of anger, he grabbed the glass and flung it across the room. It shattered against the far wall, but unfortunately the action did not give him the release he so desperately desired. He slumped back heavily in his chair and buried his face in his hands. His eyes burned with unshed tears which promised to ease at least some of the burden on his tormented heart, but he refused to cry. He refused to allow himself such a comfort because there was only one thought burning in his mind right now, and that thought was racking him with guilt: mind control or none, willingly or unwillingly, he had taken part in this endeavour and if the infant was in fact dead, then he, Henry P. McCoy, had killed his own child.
He knew what he had to do. It was the only thing to do. As long as Tyger remained at the mansion, the remaining child was at risk. He had to protect them, to keep them safe. And there was only one way to do that.
Shuffling through a drawer in his desk, he pulled out an address book and looked up a certain number. Then, taking a few minutes to compose himself, he picked up the phone and dailed.
Seconds dragged by like hours as he waited for them to pick up...five rings....ten rings. He was about to hang up when a voice on the other end finally said, "Hello?"
Hank took a deep breath before replying. "Tigra?"
"Maybe, maybe not. Who is this?"
"Henry McCoy, X-Man and former Avenger."
"Hank? Is that really you? Long time no hear! How's everything going?"
He bit back a sob, and forced himself to remain calm.
"Not too well, Tigra. In fact, I need a favour."
* * *
NOTE TO READERS: I have put on my asbestos underwear, so go ahead and flame away! (But PLEASE be gentle! This is how we decided that the story would go when we started writing it way back in September! I feel as guilty as all hell for what we did to Hank, but it was Tal's idea!)
Coming up next, the final chapter (hopefully to be finished soon)!
NOTE TO READERS: The Jean feature here is a combination of the comicverse Jean (obviously not Ultimate) and the movieverse Jean.
CHAPTER 22: A Thief in the Night
As the start of the third trimester was approaching, Hank was growing more and more worried about Tyger's health. The babies, at less than six months, were already active and were threatening to kick out mommy's spleen. Tyger complained - half in jest - that just like normal siblings, the two were already vying for space and fighting even now. Hank's only comment was that it must come from HER side of the family. The accompanying swat was expected.
Both Jean and Hank hovered over Tyger like a pair of paranoid nannies. Tyger slept with electronic monitors strapped to her belly to constantly monitor the babies' welfare and once, drugs had to be administered to prevent premature labour. Tyger's temper flare-ups were increasing in frequency and duration, and Hank's grocery shopping expeditions grew more and more exotic and bizarre:
"Sardines and pickles?! Are you sure you do not want ice cream with that?" Pause. "You do?! Fine..." (Then under his breath) "The next thing she will desire will probably be small, flightless birds..." SWAT!!! "Sigh." #I expected that.#
The rest of the X-members continued to deal with it in their individual ways. Bobby had applied for a job as a research assistant in Antarctica, although no one seriously expected him to be accepted. Jubilee talked incessantly about toys and little jammies, and was getting right in the mood to be a substitute big sister. Logan was collecting travel brochures, while Jean had her hands full quieting Scott's temper. Once Scott had finally come to his senses, he could think about nothing but what Hank's two little terrors would do to the mansion once they were able to move about on their own. As of yet, no one had told the professor, who was still at Muir Island. He was sure to be in for a surprise when he got back.
Everything was going wonderfully for Hank, if you ignored his incessant worrying about his mate in matters concerning her health and extreme mood swings, and his continual fretting over the well-being of his unborn babies, and the nagging doubts he had about his ability to be a good father that plagued him day after day. Other than that, everything was fine.
Truth be told, however, Hank was in fact experiencing the best time of his life thus far. The sheer exaltation that he had experienced the very first time he felt one of his babies move was something he would never, ever forget. He had spent hours looking over the ultrasound photos, trying to picture what they would look like when they were born. There were nights when he would lay awake beside Tyger, listening to the babies' heartbeats on the monitors and watching Tyger's belly move about while she slept. Hank was completely, utterly fascinated by the entire experience, and even if he was given the chance, he simply would not change a single thing.
* * *
#I'm as big as a whale,# Tyger thought with dismay as she examined herself in the bedroom mirror. At seven months and carrying twins, she looked just about ready to explode. The rest of her body had long before started showing the other, `more pleasant', signs of pregnancy: weight gain, water retention, swollen ankles, and so on. Luckily enough, however, the thin cover of fur on her abdomen was enough to conceal the stretchmarks that she knew she had. She wondered seriously about this 'pregnant glow' she was supposed to be experiencing. The constant fatigue, combined with the extra weight that she had to carry around and the bouts of nausea which still hit her occasionally made her wonder if she had missed it.
Placing her hands on her belly, she looked down and her expression softened. Despite all the discomfort, there were certain things that she was experiencing which made it all worth while. Just being able to feel her babies move around inside her was special enough, but her power let her experience all their emotions as well. Yes, babies still in the womb express emotions. Tyger knew when they were sleepy, or content. When something startled them, she felt that too. She was already getting a very good sense of their own individual personalities, and they hadn't even been born yet. She smiled as she reminded herself that in only two more months, she would be seeing her babies face to face. In fact, it might even be sooner than that, as Hank and Jean had pointed out that multiple pregnancies rarely lasted the full 40 weeks. There were two premature incubation units waiting in the infirmary, just in case. Either way, she could hardly wait!
The door opened and she jumped, startled. One of the babies jumped, too. She calmed quickly when she saw that it was only Hank, and unconsciously calmed the excited infant as well.
Hank hesitated for a moment - Tyger's moods had a habit of changing without warning - then smiled lovingly at her when he saw the serene expression on her face.
"I do not believe my eyes have ever beheld such a breathtaking sight as this beauty who stands before me," he said.
"Rreally? Wherre?" Tyger asked as she glanced around the room.
Hank chuckled softly as he came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her.
"Who else would I be speaking of, my love?" he murmured as he planted soft kisses along her shoulders and neck.
She let a soft sigh escape her lips before replying, "I'm sorry, Hank. I jusst don't feel too prretty."
"And why is that, praytell?"
She sighed heavily this time. "Look at me Hank!" she said, indicating her reflection the mirror. "I'm as big as a housse!"
Hank shook his head as he lowered his arms and gently clasped her belly. "My dear, your skin is practically glowing through your fur, which is, I might add, softer and glossier than I have ever seen it! In fact, I have never seen you so vibrant and full of life. And," he added, lowering his voice to almost a whisper as he spoke into her ear, "I must admit that I find your new form to be rather attractive indeed, arousing even."
She felt the heat well up in her cheeks...and other places. "Rreally?"
"Most assuredly."
She leaned back a little and let her head come to rest against his shoulder. #Maybe I do have a 'pregnant glow' after all,# she thought to herself. #But how come I'm the only one who can't see it?#
Her thoughts wandered off as Hank started nibbling her neck. Tyger was slowly melting into his arms when he tenderly bit into that one particular spot at the back of her neck. A light hiss escaped her lips as she arched her back into him. She then turned around to face him, her expression one of mild surprise.
"Hank, you KNOW what that does to me," she cautioned him.
"Indeed I do," he replied as an uncharacteristic wicked grin spread across his face.
She returned his grin with one of her own. "Oh, rreally?" she asked. "Then I guess you arre prrepared to face the cons'quences?"
"I fear that you are mistaken, as YOU will most likely be the one unable to walk away from THIS confrontation," he replied slyly.
She almost smacked him. Almost. "We'll ssee about that!"
Hank chuckled inwardly at her show of determination as she all but dragged him to the bed. He knew he would be extremely gentle with her, just like he'd always been since he found out she was pregnant. (And he was still gentle even when she didn't want him to be.)
* * *
The car that approached the mansion moved silently except for a faint whine that usually accompanied electrical powered vehicles. It was low slung and black, reflecting no light. The only sound notable from a distance was the crunch of the gravel under the tires. Like a shadow, it slipped under the trees and stopped. The entire front of the car lifted up when a large, hulking figure stepped out and pulled a small box from his pocket. He pressed the button on it and a faint chirping sound was heard like that used in an autolock for an automobile. Deep in the mansion, gadgets long unused activated their signals. Power was cut to the security system, phones were disconnected, and deep in the air conditioning units of the mansion, a faint 'pop' occurred, followed by the quiet hiss of escaping gas. The figure waited five minutes. Ten. He nodded to himself, then dexterously climbed the wall and entered the grounds.
He had work to do.
* * *
Tyger fought to shake off the heavy shadows of unconsciousness which seemed determined to hold her down forever. Bright lights blinded her and forced her to shut the eyelids she had so painstakingly forced open. Blinking profusely, she managed to gather enough information with her blurred vision to let her know that she was in the infirmary. That gave her pause to think, and she started to panick when she simply could not recall how she had gotten there.
She tried to sit up, but a hot knife of pain stabbed through her belly and she lied back down. Instinctively, she reached out emotional feelers to her babies, and was stunned. No! This can't be, she thought to herself, and checked again. Icy fingers of dread crept over her and up to her throat, threatening to strangle the life out of her.
She couldn't feel one of the babies.
Tyger called out for help. Then she called again, and again. But no help came. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she forced herself to sit up once again. Ignoring the pain, she called out once more, wondering where everyone was and realizing that she would have to search for help herself if she was to ever get it.
She looked down to make sure her feet were set firmly on the floor before standing up, as she was feeling rather dizzy. It was then that she noticed her toes. In her current state of mind, such a seemingly insignificant little thought as that should never have entered her mind, but a little nagging voice told her quite firmly: you aren't supposed to be seeing your toes.
It had been two months since she had last been able to see her feet past her protruding belly; a new surge of panick hit her. Her belly looked smaller. Maybe it was her imagination, but it looked smaller. She rubbed her eyes and checked again; it was definitely smaller, but showed no trace of any marks or cuts. She sat there, stunned, until that same nagging voice told her to get her butt moving and to find help. A wave of nausea washed over her as she stood up, but she paused only long enough to gain her balance and grab a lab coat (as the voice instructed since she was quite naked) and staggered out of the infirmary.
Tyger rode in the elevator up to the main floor, and began to frantically search the rooms for somebody, ANYBODY.
What she found did nothing to calm her. When she discovered Rogue lying on the floor of her bedroom, Tyger at first thought that the woman was dead. But when she checked, it was apparent the Rogue was very much alive, but Tyger couldn't wake her no matter how much she poked, prodded, shook, and even slapped her. She found Remy, Bobby and Jubilee in the same state in their own rooms.
Tyger's mind by this point had all but shut down, and her body was moving as if on autopilot as she systematically searched the rest of the floor for the remaining X-Men. Jean and Scott were lying on the floor of the living room; Jean looked as if she had been trying to reach the door before she collapsed. Tyger couldn't find the others, so she took her search outside.
Logan was in the garage, unconscious like the rest. But unlike the others, numerous empty syringes lay scattered on the floor all around him. Tyger didn't even bother trying to wake him up as she hurried back outside toward the mansion.
Tyger stopped; her nose suddenly caught something that it hadn't the first time round when she had headed out to the garage: Hank's scent.
Following her nose, she was nearly overcome by a new surge of emotions. She would find Hank! If anyone could help her, it was him. At the same time, a renewed feeling of dread gripped her heart when as she wondered what kind of a state she would find him in. She didn't have to wonder for long.
Hank was hanging by his wrists from a tree, severely beaten and still unconscious. It took quite a while - even with the assistance of a friendly garden hose - for Tyger to wake him up, all the time suffering from her own incessant abdominal pains and fighting to keep herself from going into shock.
No one knew what had happened.
* * *
48 hours later:
Tyger was sedated after Jean's most recent examination, and was now sleeping soundly in her room. Despite his own severe injuries, Hank was determined to go and view the results first-hand. As he entered the infirmary, one wall had been set to glowing as it was covered in transparencies from the MRI.
"So what happened?" Hank began, his throat tight with the emotions that he was forcing himself to hold back.
Jean, not looking at him, simply said, "One of the babies is gone."
"Gone?" Hank choked. "She lossed one? But we were taking such good care..." his voice trailed off as he collapsed in a chair.
Jean turned to him and for the first time, Hank saw pure rage in her eyes, and the almost flickering flame-like corona surrounding her hair.
"Not lossed, Hank," she stated, every word filled with heated venom. "Taken."
"Huh?" Hank's mind could not grasp the notion that someone could steal one of his unborn babies. It didn't seem possible.
"Jean? How...?"
Jean explained, her voice sounding forcibly neutral. "Last night, someone infiltrated the mansion - undetected - and loaded a powerful sedative into the air conditioning system. Before we even knew what was happening, we were all affected. Then someone performed Cesarean surgery on Tyger, surgically removing one of the fetuses. Whoever it was did a near-perfect job. The fetus was removed flawlessly...almost. And I would have to add, with almost perfect ease. Whoever it was even healed the initial incision without a trace. However, they could not heal the inner abdominal muscle trauma as easily. These images," she said, waving toward the wall charts, "still show signs of that trauma."
Hank was dumbstruck.
"I don't know who," she said as Hank sat there gaping at her. "But I can tell you something about him. First, he was as good a surgeon as you or I. Everything that could have been done to prevent injury to Tyger was. The procedure was vicious, but impressively executed. The assailant was also very careful. I've examined the instruments used minutely, and there are no traces of usage by anyone other than you or I. Also, the perpetrator was a fairly large individual, as more of the instruments for someone your size were used. This individual also performed the surgery single-handedly, as there is no evidence of an orderly or assistant anywhere. One of the premature incubation units is also missing, so at least we know how one of them was taken. As for the drug used on everybody, I've never seen a chemical signature quite like it. It's fast-acting, water soluble, airborne and effective in diluted quantities, and has no detectable side effects.
Hank, trying desperately to absorb what was said, fidgeted in his chair.
"How are you feeling?" Jean asked.
He glared at her. "Really, Jean," he said, his voice sounding agitated. "I thoroughly ENJOY having my blue hide spotted with purple highlights, my muscles pulped and torn AND being left a bloody mess hanging from a tree in the morning. It makes my week complete - just me and Cheetah out for a morning swing."
"Seriously," Jean replied.
He inhaled deeply. "How am I supposed to feel?" he said angrily. "I was drugged, beaten, strung up and left to collect dew in the morning while one of my children was forcibly ripped from my love's womb, yet they can casually walk in without anyone noticing and not triggering ANY of the security systems?! I have checked, double-checked, and AND triple-checked," he added, his voice rising, "and there is a gap in the security tapes, yet the system was still up and functioning!!"
"Hank, calm down."
"I AM CALM!!!" he roared back. "If YOU want to see someone who is irritated, just go and find Logan! Whoever broke in stole his new Harley! He spent nine months rebuilding that thing. After all, how many 1964 Harley-Davidsons are out there anymore? One less, apparently!" He jumped to his feet, instantly regretted doing so, and plopped back down.
"Easy," Jean said.
"EASY?! When I get my child back, then I will take it easy!" he bellowed, wincing as his head began to throb menacingly.
"Hank, the important thing is that you're okay, and she's okay. What else is important?" Jean asked. She hadn't meant that to sound as churlish as it did; she was genuinely concerned for the two furry mutants and especially for the stolen infant. She was angry as well, but she and to keep herself calm if only to keep her own powers in check.
"Well," he replied, his voice seething with hatred, "stringing the bastard who did this up by his ankles, coating him in honey and inviting a fire ant colony to the banquet is a beginning."
"Hank, I know how you feel..."
"Really, Jean?" he asked, his expression a mixture of anger and pain. "Do you really? Somehow, I do not think so." He got to his feet and with an unsteady gait, headed toward the door.
"Wait, Hank!" Jean called after him. "Can you think of anybody who could hate you so much as to do such a thing?"
He paused for a moment, then without looking at her, quietly said, "No. No, I do not."
"What are we going to do about Tyger?" Jean asked, changing the subject.
He turned around. "Tyger?"
"We can't keep her sedated for the next two months, Hank," she said seriously. "And the shock is so severe, I fear for her sanity. And the extreme stress that she's under isn't doing the baby any good, either."
Hank sighed deeply once again. Then, rubbing his eyes tiredly, replied, "I am open to suggestions, Jean. I can work miracles with the body, but the mind is more your department, is it not?"
Jean nodded, but she was uncertain whether or not to voice what she had in mind.
"I think it would be in the best interest of the remaining child if I implant a mild suggestion in Tyger's mind that the loss was natural rather than a violation."
Hank stared at her for a moment, considering her words. "I do not like the idea of Tyger's mind being tampered with, Jean," he stated.
Perhaps it would have been better if I had just gone ahead with it, thought Jean. But she just didn't feel right doing this without Hank's consent.
"Tyger can't go on like this, Hank," Jean insisted. "Her hold on her sanity is becoming more tenuous with each passing day. There is just no way she can take care of a baby if she can't even take care of herself, and she has proven just that in the last two days. Yes, I understand how much you dislike the idea of toying with peoples' minds, but do you really think that keeping Tyger sedated and in bed until the baby is born is any good for either of them?"
Jean could tell just by the way Hank's jaw was clenched and his brows were furrowed that we was taking what she had said into deep consideration. "Alright, Jean," he finally replied with an exasperated sigh. "I trust your judgement in this matter."
"Thank you, Hank."
He turned and left without uttering another word. Come hell or high water, he was going to get to the very bottom of this mess and find out just the hell was going on or his name wasn't Henry P. McCoy, PhD.
* * *
Hank took his investigation to the main security room, going through the security logs of that night bit by bit, frame by frame. After hours of painstaking work, a pattern began to appear. Yet this pattern was one that Hank could not believe.
There was evidence and traces of the assailant: dark hair was found on a thorn bush outside the door that had to be picked to get in; and short video segments, though blurred and murky, showing the assailant.
DNA tests done on the hair samples gave clear results, but Hank disregarded them, believing the samples to have somehow been contaminated.
Judicious use of video enhancement finally made the image clear, and it was an image that Hank could not, would not and refused to believe.
So, embarking on the thought that, like Sherlock Holmes had said, when everything else is discarded, whatever remains must be the truth, he set out numbly to prove it.
Camera logs from the firebombing of the mansion some months back were added to the growing pile of evidence as well as the very nature of the drug used. Hank had located an aerosol unit large enough to contain several litres of the drug in compressed form, with a remote control trigger. The most damnable thing was that he even recognized the drug. It was one that he himself was working on, and the chemical formula for it closely matched his latest batch. He had also found fingerprints on the device, and found a match.
Feeling more and more condemned, he was forced to look again at the DNA evidence, and upon retesting, found the same result.
Hank was the one who did it.
The DNA perfectly matched his own. The image on the video had clearly shown himself disarming the security systems. And that, combined with finding HIS fingerprints all over the aerosol unit, only condemned him further.
It was impossible; unthinkable! But at the same time, it was the only plausible explanation. Jean routinely scanned the X-members for mental aberrations, and a Jekyl/Hyde syndrome was impossible to hide from her. Even more frustrating was the fact that some of the evidence ran counter to the rest of it, like showing Hank and the assailant apparently being in two places at the same time, yet showing that Hank WAS the assailant. That did not make any sense.
Argh! No, it made no sense. Hank had to bring his findings to Scott. He had no choice. If he WAS the assailant, if he DID do this, he was a threat to the entire team and, more importantly, to Tyger and their one remaining baby.
* * *
Scott was unconvinced. "Hank," he said firmly, "you are not the culprit. It was someone else, and they are simply trying to frame you. My guess would be Mystique."
Hank shook his head. "The DNA evidence proves otherwise, Scott."
"Mystique is a shapeshifter, Hank."
Hank sighed. "Yes, it is true that a shapeshifter such as Mystique can mimic a person right down to the retina so as to fool a scanner, but she simply, positively cannot alter her DNA to match my own. It is impossible."
Scott would not be dissuaded. "Then maybe it wasn't Mystique. Perhaps it was a new, more powerful shapeshifter that we've never dealt with before."
Hank was starting to feel very frustrated. "Scott, you are not being realistic," he stated.
"No Hank, YOU are the one who is not being realistic," Scott retorted. "You've suffered major emotional and physical trauma. You are overworked and overstressed. You are not thinking properly right now, coming up with these ludicrous ideas!"
Hank tried to protest, but Scott cut him off. "I'm ordering you to stop thinking like this, Hank. YOU ARE NOT the one responsible, do you understand? I'M handling the investigation, not you. We'll find the one who did this. Jean has been using Cerebro everyday to try and locate the person or persons involved. Logan has been out looking for traces and any possible leads." Scott's voice softened a bit. "AND we will get your child back, I promise. Now get some rest, you need it."
Hank opened his mouth to say something more, but thought better of it and left. He was upset and angry, but not with Scott.
The man's heart is in the right place, even if he is a stubborn son of a....Hank let the thought end there and decided to look for Jean. He hoped that she would have a more open mind about the matter.
* * *
Upon claiming that he was the one behind it all, Jean promptly laughed in Hank's face.
"Hank," Jean stammered after catching her breath, "I've known you for ten years now, and there is absolutely, positively no way you could have done this."
Hank showed her the evidence.
"Hank, it's all circumstantial and coincidental. Lawyers wouldn't even take it to court and you've already pronounced yourself guilty!"
"Jean, I am certain that it was me," he told her firmly.
"Hank, use logic. Where were you that night?"
"In bed...with Tyger," he replied.
"In bed with Tyger," Jean reiterated. "So you got up without waking her, deactivated the security system, drugged everyone, stole the baby, beat yourself up, tied yourself to a tree, then stole Logan's bike and left with the child. Not to mention that you did all this WHILE continuously injecting Logan to keep him sedated. Is this train of logic missing a few cars, or is it just my imagination?"
"On the same track, to extend the metaphor, there is absolutely no evidence that it is anybody else! Granted, I do realize that I could not have completed the entire operation without assistance, even though we have yet to find evidence of the persons who provided the assistance."
Of course, Hank wasn't quite sure how he had managed to beat himself up either. But he had closely examined his bruises and markings, and they clearly showed that only someone of his size and strength could have produced them.
"But the video clearly shows myself tampering with the security system for this some months ago," he insisted.
"While you were out getting Twinkies," Jean reminded him. "It looks like your train's wobbling, Hank. But if you're certain, I can scan your mind. But I know I won't find anything."
"Please do."
Jean placed her fingertips lightly over Hank's temples, then closed her eyes and concentrated. After a few moments, she opened her eyes again.
"See," she said with an I-told-you-so look on her face, "nothing there to find."
"You mean to say that I am innocent?"
"Your mind's empty, does that count?"
"Very funny," he replied dryly.
Jean continued to tease him. "There were little voices crying out in the darkness for companionship, echoing through your skull shouting, 'We can see for miles out here!'"
Hank started to pout. "If you are not going to be serious, I am leaving."
Jean grabbed his shoulder before he could do so. "Hank, there's no trace of you doing anything wrong," she told him, her voice sincere. "Granted, there were some places I didn't want to look," she added.
He raised a furry eyebrow.
"Hank, what you do in the privacy of your bedroom, I DID NOT want to know. But now that I DO know..."
Hank felt himself blushing from the very tips of his ears right down to his toes.
"...I'm getting you both matching name collars for Christmas. AND if you're really nice to me, I'll throw in a dominatrix outfit for Tyger. After all," Jean added with a saucy grin, "your training at her hand isn't complete yet, is it?"
Now completely catatonic, Hank could only reply in a very small, squeaky voice. "Jean....!"
"Oh what, oh what would Bobby think?" she sang.
Hank's face darkened. "Is this blackmail time? What do you want?"
Jean shook her head, then stared at him sternly. "No, it's shock you back to your senses time! Now go, get out! You didn't do anything wrong; you couldn't have done anything wrong, AND you're driving me nuts, so scat!"
Jean proceeded to shoo him toward the door as she said this.
As Hank reluctantly trudged toward the door, she added, "And I really didn't know her tail was so agile!"
He left the room so quickly, he nearly left skid marks on the carpet.
* * *
Tyger was up and about now, but seemed to want to keep to herself and be left alone. Tyger now believed that she had lost the baby naturally, as a spontaneous abortion. She new that this sometimes happened with multiple pregnancies, and that the unfortunate fetus would be reabsorbed. What Tyger did not know, as Jean had made sure, was that reabsorption NEVER occurred past the first trimester. Even so, Tyger was understandably deeply depressed about it, and she would need some time to adjust, and to grieve. At least, that's what Hank told himself. He had tried to hug her and comfort her, but she merely stiffened and remained cold and aloof. She didn't even look up at him when she told him that she just wanted to be alone. He remembered muttering something along the lines of, "I understand", and let her be.
That is why Hank was sitting alone in his laboratory, his last refuge of peace and quiet. Yet even this room seemed alien to him right now. His emotions were in turmoil, and his mind was spinning in circles with thoughts that seemed to hit dead ends and turn back on themselves over and over again. Thoughts swirling about in his head like the scotch in his glass as he poured himself another drink. He did not believe what Jean had told him. He did not believe that he was innocent.
#There is a distinct possibility that Jean is trying to manipulate my mind as she did Tyger's. I KNOW I am the guilty one. I ask myself, why would she do such a thing? The obvious solution is that she is trying to protect me. She is a dear friend. But if I have in fact developed a Jekyl/Hyde syndrome, why would I kidnap my own unborn child? What is the fate of my child, and where are the accomplices hiding themselves? It is possible, however, that my actions were not under my own free will, that some outside influence made me do this and then made me forget. If that is the case, then I must ask yet another question: just who upon this entire wretched planet has MY child?! Yet again, if it was not a Hyde syndrome and was in fact mind control, but an influence that Jean could not detect, then she was in fact telling me the truth! And the question I am thus left with is just who in creation is powerful enough to control me in a way that Jean could not detect?!#
He wanted to rage. His free hand clenched and unclenched with a seething desire to strangle someone...anyone. Yet his own nature would never allow that...or would it? He didn't know anymore. And at the same time, he simply wanted to curl up into a little ball and cry like a baby. But his nature would not allow that, either. Big, strong, manly men don't cry. Everyone knows that.
If only it were that simple.
And why should he cry? The one thing that had made him happy beyond all measure had been taken from him. It had all been taken from him: the boundless joy he had experienced, the anticipation, the realization that despite all the odds against him, despite the seemingly fated life of lonely existence that his mutation had made for him, he had found someone whom he could love and who gave him love in return, loved him entirely for who he was and even offered to give him the one thing that he had never thought he would ever have. Children. He laughed to himself - an empty, emotionless laugh. Fate had dealt him a wild card, and Hank's hope had been lossed in the bet.
Yes, Tyger was safe. Yes, the remaining child was safe. He was immensely relieved for that. But what of the lossed one? In a sudden fit of anger, he grabbed the glass and flung it across the room. It shattered against the far wall, but unfortunately the action did not give him the release he so desperately desired. He slumped back heavily in his chair and buried his face in his hands. His eyes burned with unshed tears which promised to ease at least some of the burden on his tormented heart, but he refused to cry. He refused to allow himself such a comfort because there was only one thought burning in his mind right now, and that thought was racking him with guilt: mind control or none, willingly or unwillingly, he had taken part in this endeavour and if the infant was in fact dead, then he, Henry P. McCoy, had killed his own child.
He knew what he had to do. It was the only thing to do. As long as Tyger remained at the mansion, the remaining child was at risk. He had to protect them, to keep them safe. And there was only one way to do that.
Shuffling through a drawer in his desk, he pulled out an address book and looked up a certain number. Then, taking a few minutes to compose himself, he picked up the phone and dailed.
Seconds dragged by like hours as he waited for them to pick up...five rings....ten rings. He was about to hang up when a voice on the other end finally said, "Hello?"
Hank took a deep breath before replying. "Tigra?"
"Maybe, maybe not. Who is this?"
"Henry McCoy, X-Man and former Avenger."
"Hank? Is that really you? Long time no hear! How's everything going?"
He bit back a sob, and forced himself to remain calm.
"Not too well, Tigra. In fact, I need a favour."
* * *
NOTE TO READERS: I have put on my asbestos underwear, so go ahead and flame away! (But PLEASE be gentle! This is how we decided that the story would go when we started writing it way back in September! I feel as guilty as all hell for what we did to Hank, but it was Tal's idea!)
Coming up next, the final chapter (hopefully to be finished soon)!