Pennies From Heaven

Chapter Eight: On The Toss Of A Coin…

"Hello, Tom," Jean said softly, as she bent down to speak to the little blue-skinned boy sitting in front of her, his tousled blonde hair almost flopping down over his eyes as he played with his teddy bear in the centre of the rec. room floor, sitting on a soft rug that his parents had bought for him only a short while ago, which was decorated with large pictures of Sesame Street characters, including his favourite, Big Bird (when Jean had asked him why he liked Big Bird the best, he'd simply replied that just as Big Bird had big wings, so did his Daddy, and that meant that they were the same. Jean had simply shrugged her shoulders at that – if that was good enough for Tom, then it was good enough for her). He looked up at her with his bright blue eyes and smiled broadly.

"Hi, Auntie Jean," he replied, and then he held up his bear. "Want to play with me and Fuzzy Bear Hank? We're going to be astronauts!" Jean smiled, and shook her head.

"Maybe later, sweetie," she replied, ruffling the little boy's hair gently with one hand. "Can you maybe tell me where your mommy and daddy are? Uncle Scott and I would like to talk to them."

Tom screwed up his face for a second or two, looking both very disappointed and deep in thought at the same time. "Mummy said she and Daddy were going on a trip."

"Did she say they'd be gone long?" Scott asked, kneeling down alongside his wife. He wanted to stop this getting drawn out into a long conversation – he knew from experience that Tom loved to talk for hours, and would drag question-and-answer sessions out for as long as he could. "Where did your mommy say that she and your daddy were going?"

"They were just takin' a short trip to Westchester," said Rogue as she popped up from behind the bar. "Betsy asked me and Jen to keep an eye on your little friend there. Didn't she, hotshot?"

"Yeah, Auntie Lou," Tom said, clapping his hands excitedly. "Mummy said you'd look after me." He smiled. "Did Mummy say you could let me have some ice cream as well?"

"See what I've been puttin' up with all afternoon?" Rogue said, chuckling. "No, Tom, your momma didn't tell me you could have any ice cream. But I got you some anyway." She produced a bowl of strawberry, chocolate and vanilla ice-cream from below the lip of the bar, complete with a spoon and a glass of chocolate milk. Jean watched as Tom's eyes lit up and he jumped to his feet, almost tripping over his shoelaces to get to the bar. He struggled to clamber up on top of one of the stools lined up in front of it, until Jean gave him a short nudge with her telekinesis. It wasn't long before he was tucking enthusiastically into the ice cream and getting it smeared all over his cheeks. While he was eating, Rogue leaned over the bar and said "Why do you guys want to find Warren and Betsy? You guys need a loan or something?"

"No, we… needed some advice," Scott said, hesitantly. "You see, Jean and I… well, we found out a little while ago that we're having twins."

Rogue looked utterly shell-shocked for a moment, and then she raised an eyebrow. "You're havin' kids? Wow. You sure this is the best time for that? I mean, with Scott bein' sick an' all, seems like y'all got enough to worry about, don't you think?"

"That thought had crossed both of our minds, yeah," Scott replied, "but we talked about it, and we're going ahead with this. If I die before they're born, then I know that I'll have left something behind, and I know that you'll all pull together to help Jean raise them properly. And if I don't, then I'm still going to need all of you help Jean and me out – especially if my other kids are anything to go by."

"Well, I guess I'm kinda stuck then, ain't I?" Rogue said, grinning. "Congratulations, guys. Couldn't have happened to nicer folks." With that, she kissed the tips of the index and middle fingers of both hands and then touched Scott and Jean's cheeks with them. "Y'all better let me and Jen baby-sit 'em, okay?"

"Baby-sit who?" Jen said as she walked through the door to the rec. room. "Don't tell me I missed some big news." Jean explained what she had just told Rogue, and Jen's eyes lit up as she clapped her hands excitedly. "More kids around here? This place is becoming a regular nursery, isn't it?"

"It seems that way, doesn't it?" Jean said, smiling. "Maybe we should fence off the east wing as a playpen?"

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Jen chuckled. "Maybe I could phone up my uncle and get him to do it for a discount price?"

"Thanks – we'd appreciate that," Scott said. He was about to speak again when the booming scream of a tesseract opening behind him made his fists clench like tightly-wound springs. He supposed, bitterly, that he should have expected this from the moment that Jean had told him she was pregnant. Turning, he saw Mr Sinister standing in front of him, his gloved hands spread wide and a sickeningly presumptuous smile smeared across his chalk-white features. Arrayed behind him were his Marauders, all of them looking ready for battle with their weapons unhooked from their holsters. Scalphunter twirled a custom-built pistol around the index finger of his right hand and blew a sneering kiss at Jen as Rebecca's scarred, tattooed clone wound herself around him like a python and licked his cheek. Out of the corner of his eye, Scott could see Rogue's fists clench so hard that he thought she might split her gloves, and he worried that this situation might devolve into a fight before he could defuse it.

"Hello, Scott," Sinister said, his pointed tongue flickering out between his rows of razor teeth, like that of a snake tasting their air. "I thought I'd offer you my deepest… congratulations… on your happy news. You know how fond I am of you, my boy, so you must be able to imagine how pleased I am."

"Pleased, Sinister?" Scott spat angrily. "For who? Me – or yourself?"

"Oh, come, come, now – can't I be pleased for the both of us?" Sinister placed a hand in the centre of his chest, trying to appear as hurt and taken aback as he could. "This is a wonderful occasion! You may not believe it, but I always love to welcome new life into this world. The fact that the new life in question is growing in your wife's belly –" and he pointed at Jean's stomach "– is merely a bonus to me. At least at this point… perhaps later, they will provide me with some interesting research data."

"If you so much as scratch them, Sinister, I'll tear you to pieces," Jean hissed, her eyes beginning to crackle with rage. Sinister ignored her anger, maintaining his typically aloof demeanour as he did so, and simply steepled his fingers in front of his chest, tapping the points of his index fingers together in a staccato fashion.

"Madam, the last thing I want to do is incur your wrath," he said politely, as the oily, impenetrable crimson of his eyes glittered in the light. He bent at the waist in a genteel bow, and then spread his hands wide once again, in an almost casual gesture. "As I said, I am merely here to give you my good wishes. When next we meet it may well be a different story, but for now let me say this… I am truly happy for you, Scott – my favourite son. My greatest success." He nodded at Scott briefly then, and Jean thought that she could sense pride oozing off Sinister's mind at that moment. It was an unpleasant sensation, and she did her best to shrug it off as best she could. It didn't work, and she could feel the twisted parody of emotion winding itself around her mind like barbed wire. She shuddered visibly, making Sinister raise an eyebrow. "Am I… unnerving you, Miss Grey?" he chuckled. "Perhaps I should take my leave, then. No need to worry a woman with child, is there?" He clicked his fingers and a tesseract yawned open behind him, which he stepped through without another word, his Marauders following him in strict order. The tesseract snapped shut with a sucking sound of air rushing in to fill the void, leaving an eerie sort of silence in its wake.

It was a few moments before Tom piped up with "Is the scary clown-face man gone now, Auntie Lou?"

"Yeah, honey," Rogue breathed. "He's gone – for now, anyway…"

---

Jean watched Scott undergoing another radiotherapy treatment from behind thick shielding glass, and looked over at Hank anxiously. "How's he doing, Hank?" she asked.

Hank adjusted the glasses on the tip of his furry nose, and looked down at the clipboard he'd laid on the console in front of him. "Well, he seems to be – and I can't believe I'm saying this, given the type of cancer we were dealing with here – he seems to be in almost a full state of remission. The cancer is receding exponentially, with only a few small nodules left in certain key areas of his brain. A few more treatments and he should be able to simply start taking some preventative drugs, instead of having to submit himself to these regular radiotherapy sessions. Give him five years, and he should be well-poised to be given the all-clear." He smiled a sharp-edged smile, and then staggered backwards as Jean almost threw herself at him in an ecstatic hug, kissing him passionately on the lips before regaining her composure and tucking her hair behind her ears, looking a little sheepish.

"Sorry, Hank," she said, clearing her throat and glancing down at the floor of the lab for a moment. "I just…"

Hank closed his hand on her shoulder. "I know, Jean. I feel the same way." He winked at her. "Just give me some warning before you try that again, all right? I'd like to be able to enjoy it more the next time."

"Oh, shut up, fuzzy," Jean retorted, and slapped him playfully on the arm. "You'll take what I give you and like it."

"Now you're just being a tease," Hank chuckled, and gathered up some notes in his paws before sketching some random doodles onto them with his ball-point pen and giving her an earnest look. "It's good to see you smile again, Jean. That's been all-too-absent over the past few months, and I for one have missed that radiant glow. Don't make us wait any longer."

"I'll try not to, Hank. I –" Jean stopped in mid-sentence and clutched at her stomach, her face creasing in pain. Recognising instantly that something was deeply wrong, Hank dropped the files onto a nearby work-surface and rushed forwards to grasp Jean's hand. He helped her to her feet, easing one of her arms over his bulky shoulder in order to give her a steady base, and then took her over to one of the beds in the upper levels of the infirmary. Taking hold of one of her hands, Hank tried to look as reassuring as he could, even though he knew that Jean would be feeling the panic that gnawed at him just as acutely as she felt her own.

"It's all right, Jean," he began. "Just lie here, and I'll go and find Scott."

"Hank?" Jean whispered. "Is it the babies?"

"No, Jean," Hank lied, uselessly. "No, it's not the babies."

The bloody stain slowly spreading on Jean's trousers told a different story.

---

Scott dragged himself up off the floor as the psychic backlash he'd just felt began to fade, not for the first time cursing his weakened and imbalanced body. He grabbed his cane and started moving towards the door as fast as he could. He'd felt Jean's pain slash across the rapport like a knife dipped in rattlesnake venom, searing a lasting memory of it into his brain. He was almost at the door when it hissed open and a worried-looking Hank appeared. "Scott, Jean has –" Hank began, but Scott cut him off.

"I know," he said curtly. "How is she?"

"I don't know yet," Hank said. "What I do know, Scott, is that she needs you, and she needs you right this instant." Scott nodded, and followed Hank to Jean's bed as fast as he could. His head ached, both from the therapy and from the after-effects of the psychic feedback he'd just experienced, but he boxed that pain off as he seated himself by the bed where his wife was lying clutching her stomach. He grasped her right hand and felt her squeeze back tightly, her knuckles whitening even further under her pale skin.

"I'm here, sweetheart," he murmured. "Everything's going to be fine."

"I'm scared, Scott," Jean said in a hoarse voice, looking at him with tear-moistened eyes. "I don't know what's happening to me, or to the babies. I don't know. I don't know."

"Well, that's what I'm here to find out, isn't it? If you wouldn't mind getting out of the way, Scott, we can get this over and done with," Hank said, with a sense of cheerfulness that was so obviously false that Scott could have almost sworn he could literally see right through it. Hank tapped a few buttons on a handheld unit and the scanner device on his medical computer flipped out and started humming as its familiar red light swept over Jean's tensed belly. Almost immediately it spat out a small piece of paper, which Hank removed from its spool apprehensively. He took one look at it and then covered his face with his hands. Drawing them down so that they were over his mouth, he took a deep breath and said "I – I'm so sorry, Jean, but –"

"They're dead," Jean said in a flat, emotionless voice. "Aren't they?"

"I…" Hank began, before he took a deep breath and said "Yes, Jean, both of your babies are dead. Their heartbeats have been absent for some time now, if my scanner is correct. All the signs seem to point to their umbilical cords not having attached properly to the interior of your womb. They wouldn't have survived for much longer. I'm sorry."

"That's the thing, isn't it?" Jean muttered, more to herself than anybody else. "All this technology is always correct, no matter what. Why couldn't it have been wrong, just this once?"

Scott reached out a tentative hand and tried to touch her on the shoulder. "Jean, maybe you should –"

"Don't. Touch. Me," Jean hissed, not looking at him until she rounded on him like a viper, her green eyes aflame. "You did this, Scott. You took them away from me."

"What?" Scott looked confused then, utterly clueless as to what Jean meant. "I don't understand –"

"Oh, didn't Hank tell you yet?" Jean said, her voice dripping with scorn. "You're virtually cured. You get to live, so my babies have to die. That's the way life works around here, isn't it?" She pushed herself up off the bed and staggered towards the doorway of the med-lab, bloody trickles running down her leg as she did so. When Hank tried to stop her, she shoved him aside with the merest thought. "Leave me alone," she spat, contemptuously. "I don't need you – either of you." With that, she stumbled out of the med-lab and down the hall towards the elevator that would take her back up to the mansion's ground level, hitting the walls of the corridor as she moved unsteadily away from Hank and Scott. Scott hobbled after her as fast as he could, but when he got close to her, she bounced him away with a telekinetic shove. He slammed into the wall and felt the air driven from his lungs, a sharp spike of pain in his chest making him pray that he hadn't cracked a rib. He looked up, coughing, and through blurry, unfocused vision he saw the elevator's door hiss closed on Jean, the light in her eyes that he loved replaced by a deadened, featureless darkness. He reached out uselessly with his right hand, wheezing his wife's name through empty lungs, and then pushed himself into a more upright position as Hank came to help him up.

"We have to find her," Hank said, redundantly, as he checked Scott's bruised chest to make sure that there were no serious injuries. "I still need to stem that bleeding. Left unchecked it could turn into a haemorrhage, and that could definitely be life-threatening. Can you tell where she is, Scott?"

Scott put a hand to his head, and frowned. "No. She's blocking off her end of our rapport, somehow. I can't feel her anymore."

"Damn it," Hank muttered, clenching one of his clawed hands into a fist before he stabbed the button on the nearest intercom panel and asked that any X-Men on the estate keep a lookout for Jean. The panel crackled for a moment, and then Bobby's voice came back over the link.

"Hank? I just saw Jean going down to the boathouse – she looked pretty upset. You want me to go talk to her?"

"No, Bobby, I'll do it," Scott said, in a low tone. "It's me she's angry at, not you."

---

Scott pushed open the door of the boathouse and immediately heard the sound of running water coming from upstairs. He moved up to the second floor of the house as quickly as he could, and pushed open the door of the bathroom, expecting the worst. However, what he saw still shocked him.

Jean was sat in the bath, fully clothed, with the overhead shower running at full blast. The water was freezing – Scott could feel the cold even from where he was standing – and Jean's face was streaked with black trails of ruined mascara. "Jean?" Scott said, tentatively, not wishing to spur Jean into any more fits of anger. "Do you want to talk?"

"What is there to say?" Jean said in the same flat, featureless voice she'd used in the med-lab, not even bothering to look at him as she spoke. Her hair lay in damp, straggly strands around her face, overlaying her desolate expression like thunderclouds. "They're gone, Scott. My babies are gone. Like I said: I get you back, but I have to give them up to do it. Where's the justice in that? Why can't I have both?" She looked up at him, her wet face gone pale and wan, almost as if she'd had all the life leeched out of her. "What did I do for the universe to be that cruel?"

"You didn't do anything, Jean," Scott said gently, trying to be as delicate as he could. Jean was clearly very fragile right now, and the last thing she needed was for him to say something stupid. "It's not your fault."

"Yes it is," Jean insisted. "Yes it is. I wanted this too badly. I pushed this too fast. Everything I ever wanted I had right there in the palm of my hand, and I screwed it all up. Somehow, I screwed it all up."

Scott shook his head, feeling his own tears getting ready to spill down his cheeks. "If anybody's the screw-up, Jean, it's me. You were the one who told me that we were in this together, remember? That they were my babies as well? I was ready to push you away completely, but you knocked some sense into me." He reached out and put his hand on Jean's soaking-wet shoulder. "You've held me together these past few months. Now let me do the same for you. Can you do that for me?" Jean sniffed back a trickle from her nose and nodded. Scott smiled a painful smile, and then knelt down next to the bathtub. Drawing his wife close to him, he held her, silently rocking her as she let go of the sobs that had been building in her chest, and crying along with her. "It'll be okay," he whispered. "I promise."

Fin.