TITLE: Mad Max Beyond Cloner-dome

FANDOM: Clone playing with a Mel Gibson character. Clones are just a joke, people, for fun of writing our favorite characters in new ways.

MAIN CHARACTERS: Author (Max) and Max Rockatansky (Mad Max trilogy, although my model looks like the third movie Max character with the long hair)

RATING: R

AUTHOR: Max (sometimes known as MaxG)

FEEDBACK: Very much appreciated. goss6@sover.net

DISCLAIMER: Nope, not mine. I just wish they were.

(Contains spoilers to his movies.)

SUMMARY: My first clone, MadMax, comes into my life. This story also shows the how, where, and why of my becoming an official licensed clone-maker for the Mel Gibson fan list I co-own.


Mad Max Beyond Cloner-dome
By Max

I guess the time has come to tell the story of how MadMax and I met. It's a story I'm not entirely sure I'm up to sharing, as it is by far the most personal to my heart. No matter that my lust wanders into other fandoms, and even that my heart has attached to another clone of mine by the name of Hando, Max Rockatansky is the man who gives me the most pleasure, joy, and reason to exist. I could not live without him. It's as simple as that.

The story starts due to that emotion many know, loneliness. I was a woman living in a large house all alone after all my family, with the exception of my sister, had died. Suddenly, Sissie and I only had each other, but following her heart, she settled in England, while I instead opted to remain in the home our parents had raised us in.

Money was not an issue, as we had been left substantial inheritances, and I had very carefully invested mine to make more than I would ever need. The only problem was, money didn't keep me warm at night, and it sure didn't give me someone to talk to. All the men in my area worth dating had been dated at least once if not more, and not one of them had made my heart flutter in the way I dreamed.

Only one person did that to me, an unattainable person, Mel Gibson. But staring at his pictures and watching his movies did little, naturally, to comfort me. I even began to feel that I was destined to be alone, as I knew full well that no man could possibly live up to the expectations that I had foolishly set in place because of that one actor.

As the months went on, long nights spent thinking that maybe it was time to move out, maybe live closer to my sister so that at least I would have someone's shoulder to cry on, my life finally took a turn one day, and it was in the most unexpected way.

I was pulling the mail out of the box on the roadside, already imagining the conversation I would have with Sissie when I told her I wanted to sell the old house and move to England, when one of the envelopes in my hand caught my eye. It had no return address, and there wasn't even a postage mark or stamp to show where it had come from. It was as though someone had slipped it into my mailbox, a plain white envelope that had my name and address perfectly typed upon it.

That was another strange thing with the envelope, not the address but the title by my name. It didn't say Ms., Miss or even Mrs. It said Mistress. Certainly no one had ever called me that before, had they? Mistress? How strange. A bit old-fashioned and respectful sounding, but not something I had ever thought of using for a title on my name .. Hmmmm ...

With a weird feeling tingling at the base of my spine at what could possibly be within the envelope, I brought it into the house and dropped it on the kitchen table with the rest of the mail. I was determined to wait a while before opening it; finish the house chores first before indulging in reading the day's mail, very much like a certain Colonial Mel character that I adored.

As the day went on, I often found myself thinking about the envelope, and all kinds of thoughts went through my head as to what it could possibly be. I even walked through the kitchen several times in my chores and lifted it up, once holding it under the light to sneak a peek, but nothing was revealed. I would have to open it to satisfy my curiosity, but not until I first satisfied my desire to bring my house into order. Oh, if only I had known that one day my orderly life would vanish by the wayside ... to make way for the invasion of the clones.

When I finally couldn't take it anymore, everything done but the making of my dinner, a task I hated the most of all as I despised cooking, I sat down at the kitchen table and finally sorted through the mail. Of course, the masochist, or maybe that was control freak, in me took over again, and waiting until I had read everything else and was good and ready, I then opened the mysterious one last.

The strangest scent came out of it, unlike anything I had ever smelled; definitely a manly musk of an odor, but not like any man I had ever been near. It was actually intoxicating, stimulating, and I inhaled deeply, wondering if I was smelling the scent of the man who had sent me the letter.

Hold on there, Max, I thought. Stop having lustful thoughts over a smell. Get a grip and read the damn thing now and fantasize about the man it may have come from later.

Dear Future Mistress Max,

Your presence is humbly requested at a seminar that we feel you would find of much value. It involves a life-changing experience for yourself and any friends you wish to share it with. There is no cost to attend this seminar, and it will be held at the Holiday Inn in your nearby city at noon tomorrow. We hope to see you there.

Sincerely,
Dreams - R - Us


What? Tomorrow? Gee, thanks for giving me some time to think about it. And no description of the seminar type or anything? Just Dreams - R - Us? Sounds too strange for me. I don't even have trouble sleeping thanks to my lovely dreams of Mel. Although, it IS being held at noon at the Holiday Inn. So how strange can it really be? No reason why I can't check it out, not like I have anything better to do. Just another boring day ahead of me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I woke the next morning, I read the letter again, almost throwing it away then at deciding that it had to be something of complete foolishness. That scent hit me again, though, fainter but still there, and for some reason I didn't understand then but do now, I just couldn't dismiss it. I decided to at least go to the seminar in the hopes of meeting the man that came with that scent.

And once I thought that, an image hit me hard right between the eyes. I was walking down an aisle marrying the man! Now THAT was really strange. Even more so was that I didn't even see a face in my mind, just long brown hair and the bluest eyes that looked entirely too familiar. Where had I seen those eyes before? Who did I know with deep blue eyes and hair like that?

It was a question that would soon be answered.

At the seminar, however, I almost walked out five minutes after it started. There were only two of us there. The other attendee was a man who lived in the northern part of the state, and after chatting with him for a few minutes I discovered we had nothing more in common than both being single. Not only did he live in a very urban area, a condominium in a very ritzy section of that city, his main hobby was Playboy models. Naturally, he had no interest in talking about my hobby, Mel Gibson, any more than I had any interest in talking about his hobby, those scantily clad women.

This is bullshit, I was thinking as I headed to the door.

"Excuse me, Mistress Max," the Presenter called over to me then. "Wouldn't you care to see a demonstration first?"

"Oh yeah," I snapped in annoyance. "Like you can REALLY make a human out of that mix with that oven."

"Not human," he smiled indulgently. "Clone, as close to human as there will ever be."

- That's it! - I thought and began looking around for those hidden candid cameras. Or hey! Maybe that was Jamie Kennedy on the stage and I had been X'd! No, I guess not. This guy just didn't look like that practical joker whose show I had seen quite a bit of lately. This guy sure seemed to be completely serious.

"Fine, fine," I relented. "Show me a clone."

"Make Pam Anderson!" the other attendee shouted out, giggling with his own disbelief.

"Well," the Presenter answered. "We do prefer to make character clones rather than clones of REAL people so as not to chance the prospect of being sued some day by the real life person, but I suppose we can make an exception today ... on one condition."

"Sure," the man grinned, obviously just willing to go along with it, as, with me, he probably had nothing better to do too.

"You have to keep her after I make her."

My eyes rolled in exasperation, nearing the end of my patience again. I just couldn't believe how insane all this sounded. And what more, I couldn't believe it was happening right in the middle of a nice hotel like the Holiday Inn! Didn't they screen for scams like this before they rented out their very professional looking conference room space to just anyone off the street? I simply could not believe what I was hearing.

Twenty minutes later, I was a believer.

It took the man less than half that long to go over the basics as he showed us what he was doing. Then he insisted that we personally inspect the oven, as he called the large shiny metallic thing with a windowed door. And it was while watching through that window, only five minutes after he had thrown in a pan of that strange looking mix, that I heard the same kind of gasp I was making beside me from the other man. We were witnessing a full-sized body growing in front of our eyes! But when that thong bathing suit-covered body actually sat up and looked at us, I think it was our jaws that fell to the floor.

Risking a second to glance over to the man standing next to me, I wouldn't have been surprised if he had fallen to his knees and started praising god. I had never seen such comical-looking bliss come over a man's face before, and it made me want to laugh at the specter he was making out of himself.

I don't think he could have possibly opened that door any faster than he did. But when Pam came out and walked right into his arms and kissed him, I suddenly found myself hit with the same kind of revelation that he must have had. Turning to the Presenter, I immediately put it to words.

"Make me Mel Gibson," I said.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alas, it wasn't to be. As I sat in my kitchen late that afternoon, staring at my brand new oven and a supply of cloning mix I could start with, I was glad now that the Presenter had lightly laughed and declined to make Mel. He had insisted that I should make my own clone, and he had insisted that I should choose my favorite character and begin from there. The massive amount of money I spent on that oven and mix didn't bother me in the least. I would have paid every penny I had for a chance to touch a character of Mel's. Now the only thing I had to do was decide who I wanted most.

It was a decision that took me all of one second to make. Max Rockatansky, the Mel I had fallen for first and the Mel I dreamed about the most often. Sure, I lusted after a few others too, especially lovable Martin Riggs. But Max ... Max was the one for me. Hey, we even shared the same name! How cool was that? So, as far as I was concerned, we were destined to be together.

I started right in, working on that mix, reading the instructions over and over and over again, but when it came time to plop it into the gigantic oven, I completely chickened out. My house was a mess; *I* was a mess. There was no way I could bring the man that made me feel like a blubbering pile of drool into my home until I was better prepared.

Into a cleaning frenzy I went that night, every speck of the house cleaned from top to bottom, and exhausted and dirty, I fell asleep on top of my bed, ready to make the man of my dreams first thing in the morning after a long hot soothing bath.

Those dreams were even more wonderful that night. He would come out, he would embrace me and thank me for life, and then he would kiss me right there in the kitchen before sweeping me off my feet and carrying me to bed. Oh god I couldn't wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At the crack of dawn I woke, took a long bath, and made myself as presentable as I could, even carefully shaving my legs and arm pits to baby smoothness. Then I changed my bed linens, fluffed the pillows in anticipation, and ran downstairs to shove Poptarts into my mouth for breakfast, naturally assuming that it would be hours of lovemaking before I'd find the time to eat again. I was no virgin, and I was not shy. I wanted love and sex with this man .. a lot of it.

Soon it was time to put the mix in ... But wait! I hadn't brushed my teeth after breakfast! Oh no! It wouldn't do to have chocolate marshmallowy Poptart breath while he kissed me! I had to make sure I was smelling Colgate Minty fresh!

Five minutes later, after having scrubbed that sink again to make sure there were no unsightly toothpaste spit stains for him to see, I felt as ready as I would ever be.

The mix went it, I stood back, not wanting to see the process that time, and I began smoothing my clothing, fidgeting in place while wondering if I had dabbed enough perfume on or not. And deodorant! Oh my god, did I still smell OK? And up went each arm quickly to check.

Before I knew it, the ding went off, the first of many I would eventually hear, although it was certainly not something I was considering at the time. At that time, all I knew was that I wanted this one particular Mel character; the rest were still distant thoughts in my mind that would rear persistent little heads later.

Just as I moved to open the door for my "perfect lover", it shoved open, and I fell back, thunking hard against the side of the oven as a dark figure swept past me and went right to a window, ducking down to stare outside. In one hand he held a pair of binoculars, and in the other he held a sawed-off shotgun.

I was actually surprised I even noticed his hands, though, as my eyes didn't take long to lock onto the leather-clad ass only ten feet away from me. It was freaking beautiful, and I even forgot the bump forming on the back of my head in my desire to walk over and touch it. Hey, the Presenter had told me that the clone would love me and want me, so touching him seemed perfectly reasonable to me. Besides, I was planning on letting him touch me back. Fair was fair.

Unfortunately, the man in front of me turned then, fixed very dead-like eyes on me, and I froze in step, my smile melting right off my face. Those weren't the warm eyes of Mel Gibson; they were cold, scary, end-of-the-world eyes, and it reminded me all over again of whom I had made. In the middle of my kitchen, I was facing the "madman" who had survived the apocalypse to exist by scavenging in the Wasteland, alone with a man who did whatever it took to survive.

"Where am I?" he snarled and stood up, although I noted that not only did he stand with his back to a wall and not the window, that the shotgun was now aimed directly at me.

"I don't understand," I said, laughing nervously as I eyed the weapon. "Don't you know?"

The look he gave me said it all. I was asking a stupid question.

"OK, let me re-phrase that," I offered before he could open his mouth and insult my intelligence. I kept having to remind myself that this particular character of Mel's had lost all his manners and civility when he had lost his wife and child and then faced the end of the world. He obviously wasn't about to kiss my hand or sit down for tea with me before making love. As a matter of fact, I had the sinking feeling sex was the last thing on his mind. The man looked starved, and it probably wasn't for affection.

"Do you understand who I am?" I continued. I had been told that almost all newborn clones would know immediately that not only were they a clone, that I was the one responsible for giving them life. The Presenter had even gone so far as to assure me that if the occasional one came out and was confused in that way, that a simple reminder would trigger their mix. ... (Boy, I sure know better now how often that "occasional" really meant.)

He looked me up and down before answering, probably trying to decide if I had a weapon or was a threat to him. "You're obviously the woman or daughter of some very successful warlord," he grunted, "by the looks of this place. No desert around that I can even see."

I laughed lightly. "There isn't any desert in Vermont. Just mountains, lots of mountains . Oh, and cows!"

"Vermont? What part of Oz is that in? And how the fook did I get here?"

It was hard not to sigh like a teenager at that Aussie accent I loved. Even the profanity from him sounded better than it did from the men I was used to being around.

"Ummmm ... you're not in Oz. You're in America, and you ...."

"Lady," he interrupted with a snort of disgust. "This is going no where. How many blokes ya got out there guarding the perimeter?"

"What? What blokes .. I mean men? I don't have any men."

"Do ya think I'm stupid?" he growled and stepped close to me. And that's when it hit me, his scent washed over me, the exact same one from the envelope, only now in the flesh. It was so full of male power, strength, and passion kept buried deep within, that my legs buckled, and the man I had lovingly created just stood watching silently as I collapsed to the floor.

If I was thinking that he would at least lend me a hand or even ask if I was alright, it wasn't going to happen. Instead, he snorted, muttering something about 'radiation sickness', and proceeded to step right over me to get to the refrigerator.

"Holy shit," he murmured, opening it to see more food and drink in one place than he had seen in years.

Before I could say something like, 'Why don't you sit down and I'll make you a sandwich,' the man went absolutely crazy. Arms went flying as packages were ripped open and food was stuffed into his mouth, all at the same time as he managed to guzzle down almost a whole gallon of milk right from the carton!

Totally disgusting to watch, but oh so riveting too. While he kept on eating and drinking, not even moving from the open fridge door, my gaze was finally torn from that celebrated Gibson ass to watch with fascination the little dribbles of milk that were running down his chin and neck. Oh how I wanted to lick them off.

The telephone rang then, breaking those wishful thoughts, and food went sputtering from his mouth and hands, milk crashing to the floor to spill what was left, as the startled man instantly shot my telephone, blasting it to pieces.

"This is so not going good," I muttered from the floor where I was still sitting, now watching that milk roll across my once clean kitchen floor to soak onto pieces of my expensive phone.

"OK," he grunted and knelt down in front of me to crouch on his haunches. It wasn't the least bit sexual; by now it was damn intimidating. "I'm only going to ask you one more time. How many blokes ya got out there?"

"I swear," I rushed, willing myself to look into those ice-blue cold eyes. "There's no one but me and you! I live alone!"

"Yeah, right," he snorted, narrowing his eyes as he stood back up. "Little thing like you all alone with those looks."

Make way for that foolish teenager again.

"You . you like my looks?" I asked hopefully.

His brow really furrowed at that, looking me over even closer and probably wondering why I would ask such an inane question under the circumstances. "You a whore?" he finally grunted. I didn't see even a hint of hopefulness on his face.

And all hope left my own face, as I sputtered indignantly to stand before him. It sure must have surprised him a bit, as the next thing I knew, ex-Main Force Patrol Officer Max Rockatansky was backing up from me in trying to avoid the poking of my finger into his chest and the womanly fury I was screeching right up at him. "I am NOT a whore! Do I LOOK like a whore? How DARE you!"

I was so angry I was shaking in my sneakers.

"No," he shrugged with wide eyes, as his backside bumped into the table. "But you're definitely cleaner than any woman I've seen in a long time. Smell better too."

Was that supposed to be a compliment? I could just imagine how grungy the women he was used to being around would have been, especially if he had been foolish enough to risk intimate matters in a time when antibiotics for venereal diseases would have been long gone by massive gang looting.

No matter, though. Whether simple observation or compliment, I still blushed, stammering out a, "Th .. thanks."

But if he noticed or cared, he made no comment as he quickly slid out from between me and the table, his mind on more important things he was convinced took priority where his survival was concerned. "Too damn bright out there. Your men are probably hiding all around in the bush. Gonna have to wait 'til dark to get outta here."

"Get out? Why?"

Ignoring my questions, he grabbed my hand and yanked me out of the kitchen. Sure, a part of me wanted to protest at being dragged like that, but when I saw that he was pulling me to the stairs, I began grinning with hope again.

Unfortunately, at the top of the stairs in the hallway, he once again saw that look, recognizing the hunger behind it. "You soft in the head or something?" he asked, puzzled as to why I would keep looking at him like that when he had shown me absolutely no warmth and I wasn't a whore looking to trade with him.

"Huh? No, no!" I protested. "Come on, my bedroom is right here." And I actually tried to tug him into it.

"Oh sure," he snapped, his feet not moving an inch towards that temptation his iron-clad will kept back. "Just where I wanna be when your man gets home. .. Up to the attic is where we're going."

"The attic?" I whined. "Come on, Max. It's all dusty and hot up there."

See the mistake I made there? I can't believe now that I wasn't more careful.

The expression that came over his face almost made me piss my pants in fear. "How did you know my name?" It was a question asked with such seeming calm, unemotional, but the look in his eyes completely belied that.

Squeaking like the mouse I felt like, I tried to back away from him, but his other hand whipped out and grabbed my upper arm in a vise-like grip that made me wince in pain. That first hand, still covering my own, tightened to the point where I couldn't hold back a gasp.

"I never told you my name." More of those false calm-like words, although he did lessen his grip on my arm and hand just enough to make me sigh with relief.

"I . I.. Would you believe a lucky guess? It's the same as mine."

A hesitation came over him then, probably wondering if he should force me to give him a real answer. But that wasn't the way with MadMax, a once tender man who had known true love as a husband and father, and instead he grunted as he threw me over his shoulder, "Luck is for fools."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Down I soon crashed onto the attic floor, and he looked down at me, questioning again. "Something's going on. You know my name. This place isn't like anything in the Wasteland I've ever seen, and I don't like fooking surprises."

"I told you," I cried, partly from the soreness in my ass from where I had hit the hard wood floor. "You're in Vermont. America."

"I also don't like it when people mess with me," he growled, hunkering down to move his face right up near to mine. "I usually have to kill them."

Gulping, I nodded, wondering if it was possible that he could really kill me. No, I thought. I mean yes, sure he could, but no, he wouldn't. His character was based on a good man inside, a man that didn't go around killing innocent people, especially a defenseless woman . right? I had to believe that.

"Clone," I blurted firmly just before he pulled away.

"Clone? What the fook you talking about, lady?"

"Name is Max," I stated, holding my chin high. "And you're supposed to call me Mistress Max because you're a clone. At least that's what the man told me would happen."

He blinked, more than once, then loud laughter erupted as he fell backwards on his ass. "Sure," he gasped. "I'll call you Mistress if you call me Master."

The sound of that honest amusement from a man I was so crazy about, even if it was at my own expense, made me relax and laugh too. "Masterblaster," I added with a chuckle.

Another mistake.

In an instant he was on his feet, glowering down at me with suspicion. "What do you know about that? You work for Entity? You work for that bitch who wanted me to kill a kid?!"

"No! I don't work for anyone, I swear. Please Max, you're supposed to understand this stuff. It's supposed to be in the mix I made you with."

Those hard blue eyes trailed over me again, assessing. "You're not soft in the head. You're fooking insane."

"I am not!" I shouted and stood too. "But ya know what I am? I'm tired! I'm tired of this! And I'm gonna go back to the Holiday Inn and find that idiot who sold me that oven and tell him to get your sorry ass outta my house!" And with that, I turned my back on him and walked towards the attic door.

Biiiiiiig mistake.

CLICK! I heard the telltale sound of a shotgun chamber being readied.

"Sit down," he ordered.

"You won't shoot me," I stated firmly, although I sure wasn't feeling completely firm about it.

"You don't know me. You don't know me at all. Now sit down before I blow your pretty little head off."

"No." And I stepped right up to the door, putting all my trust in the fact that I had seen all three of his movies so many times that there could be no way I was that wrong about his basic character, no matter how deeply he had buried it inside.

BAM! That fucker actually blew a hole in the wall right by my head! If I survived, I was gonna burn all three of those videos and dance on the ashes! I had reached the point where my own stubbornness just wasn't about to let anyone, let alone a man, let alone a CLONE, win!

With a deep breath and a trembling hand, I reached for the door knob and waited for my head to explode, only to feel my body whip through the air. I was over the fucker's shoulder again.

That time I didn't take it so well. "Put me down!" I shouted, beating my fists and kicking my legs uselessly against him. "Down! Down! Down!"

"Sure thing .. Mistress," he grunted and proceeded to tie me with rope he pulled from his jacket.

"You son of a bitch!" I screamed at him, struggling as hard as I could as he ignored me. "You're supposed to love me! You're supposed to want me! You're supposed to ... mmmphhh!"

Fucker had stuffed a gag in my mouth and was tying it around my neck.

"Just gotta wait 'til dark and I'm outta this mad house," he muttered and stood back up.

Good, I thought. Leave! Leave and I'm gonna make a Martin Riggs clone instead! At least HE won't come out and tear my freaking refrigerator apart!

MadMax didn't appear to be paying any attention to my grunting and groaning of frustration behind the gag, though. He had moved to the small vented window and was peering out it with his binoculars. "Can't believe this place you have," he muttered. "Amazing. Never thought I'd see grass again, and right in the middle of a desert. Kinda reminds me of that place those kids were holing up."

That's when I finally saw a real crack in his armor. At the mention of the kids, his shoulders slumped a little, and he lowered the binoculars to look at the floor for a moment of remembrance. MadMax must have really missed them. Or maybe it was Savannah he missed, I thought with a touch of snide next. Probably was hoping to ball her eventually but never got a chance when she left on that plane. Well good, cuz he sure as hell wasn't getting me either! At that point I didn't care if he started begging me for it; I wasn't letting him touch me for anything! Gonna save it for the Lethal Weapon now, assuming I made it out of the attic alive.

It was hot in there, and it wasn't long before I tired of struggling against the rope. As the hours went by in silence, I watched from my sitting position on the floor as he alternated between looking out the window, looking at the attic door and looking at me. My limbs continued to grow heavier, and I eventually fell onto my side, my face resting on the dirty floor, thirsty, hungry, and physically and emotionally exhausted.

MadMax, if he cared, sure didn't show it. He watched me off and on, but he made no move to untie or ungag me. His damn survival instincts were at full force, and my comfort obviously mattered little to him.

As tired as I was, though, I couldn't sleep. I guess I was terrified that if I did, he would leave and I'd then be trapped alone in my attic, alone in my
house; a dead body for some stranger to find when someone eventually realized I was missing. Oh god, my poor Sissie would be devastated! She would never get over it any more than I would be able to get over losing her in such a horrid way. It would be crushingly painful for her! Oh Sissie! I'm so sorry!

Real tears started then, long and anguished that I was unable to stop, although the humiliation I felt for losing control made me turn my head away from my tormentor as much as I could when I realized he was staring. He didn't even move to help me, not even tears affecting him, although I did note out of the corner of my blubbering eyes that he began shifting minutely, as though uncomfortable in his chair, while he continued to silently watch the distress I was in.

Another hour went by, and it was finally beginning to get dark. "Max?" I heard him say very quietly.

It was the first time he had said my name, but I didn't acknowledge him. All I could do was cry, my arms and legs so cramped, in so much pain, that I wanted nothing more than for him to leave, even if he left without untying me first. I just wanted it to end.

"Max?" he said again, and that time I felt his breath on my cheek, as he gently turned me over to face him. "Look." And he glanced down at the floor with a sigh of regret. "I'm sorry, but I don't know you. I can't trust anyone. I just gotta get outta here, so I'm gonna untie you now."

Still, I didn't acknowledge him, even refusing to meet his gaze when he looked back up at me, and he sighed again, quickly untying the rope from my body. "Whatever you are," I heard him murmur softly, "some bloke is real lucky to have you and this place."

It was way too late to make me feel any better. I was so angry and hurt from how he had treated me; my celluloid hero had turned out to be nothing but a savage brute in reality, that I snapped back at him, dripping with sarcasm, "Luck is for fools."

For the first time, he actually smiled, and for a few seconds I wavered at seeing real warmth flicker in his eyes at hearing the same words he had said earlier thrown back at him. They were now the eyes from my dream! The dream where I was getting married! Those incredible eyes and that amazing smile! Could this work out after all?

Apparently not, as Fucker returned and ruined it again.

"Bye," he grunted and stood after giving me a very long and perplexed look deep in my eye.

"Yeah, bye," I snorted, full of contempt. "Go on and get out. Sorry I'm not Savannah or Jessie to do it for ya."

So, what do you think happened then?

Yup, that flicker of warmth extinguished as if I had turned a fire hydrant on it, and the lifeless mask came down once again. "What did you say?"

I completely and totally lost it.

"JESSIE!" I screamed and climbed to my feet. "YOUR FUCKING WIFE THAT WAS SO STUPID SHE RAN DOWN THE MIDDLE OF A ROAD AND GOT RUN OVER!"

Oh yeah, the warmth was gone. A lip curled over teeth, eyes went completely mad, and a large hand lifted, but fell on nothing as I put everything I had to dive into him, knocking us both to the ground. All I cared about was hurting him like he had hurt me by not being what I had expected; all I cared about was causing him pain.

"YOU FOOKING BITCH!" he roared and rolled me over to pin my striking arms down on the floor. "How do you know my wife? Who the hell are you? ANSWER ME!"

"I'm your god damn Mistress!" I screamed back into his rage-filled face only inches from mine. "You're just a fucking clone! There is no Wasteland! There is no Aunty Entity! There is no fucking wife! NONE OF IT WAS REAL!"

"Then neither is this!" he bellowed ... and kissed me.

It happened so fast that for a moment I wasn't sure it was really happening. The sweetest set of lips I had ever imagined possible pressed firmly onto mine, and then they were gone; the man running down the stairs.

"MAX!" I shrieked and ran after him.

But it was too late. The kitchen door was wide open and he was no where in the yard. Gone.

Sinking to my knees in the grass, I began sobbing. My first clone and I had totally fucked it up. I may as well just turn in my stupid little clone-making license I had received at that seminar and give up. Forget trying to make a Martin Riggs clone next. Why bother? I was a total failure. What man, clone or otherwise, would possibly want to love me and stay with me? I obviously wasn't good enough. I had just lost the man I had loved for almost two decades.

And thinking those kinds of pity-filled thoughts, I cried so hard and for so long that I fell asleep on that soft grass, curled up under the moon in my back yard, sure that I was alone, as usual.

I wasn't, though.

MadMax had doubled back the moment he realized there really weren't any men surrounding the house, that I had told him the truth and I was alone. He wasn't sure why he was going back; more food, water, another kiss? Whatever it was, it pulled at him, and he quietly approached my yard from the woods he had escaped into.

He still wasn't willing to trust that a man wouldn't eventually be coming home, though, and so he waited then, ever cautious as he watched me cry, until it was so late into the night that he felt finally sure that I belonged to none.

Stepping out of the woods, knowing I was asleep, he muttered to himself, "Food, water, gas, weapons," as he silently told himself to ignore my still form and take what he wanted before leaving again.

But the closer he got, the harder it was to concentrate on just those things he needed for basic survival. What he needed now was much more than that. He needed to live.

Carefully kneeling beside my sleeping body, he gently touched my hair, murmuring with shame, "Oh god I'm so sorry."

I started at the touch, gasping as my eyes widened at seeing a darkened face looming over me, and I squealed in terror, trying to crawl away at thinking that an intruder had entered my property. I may live in small town Vermont, but that doesn't mean that women are never attacked.

"I won't hurt you," he said and moved back a little at recognizing my fear, something he had seen too much of in recent years. "I'm not like that."

Hearing a voice I thought I never would again except on screen, I stopped moving, but I was still on guard. "I . I thought I knew you, but I don't," I said quietly. "I don't know you at all."

A large smile spread across his face, and his head leaned forward to gaze intently into my eyes. Those blues I faced were no longer cold, angry or even perplexed; the warmth was back! Even more than before! "Yes you do. You know me better than anyone," he stated with such a tender-like tone. "You do because you made me."

"Oh .. my .. god. You understand now?"

"Yes." And he smiled again, nodding his head. "Hit me all of a sudden, when I just touched your hair. Please forgive me ... Mistress."

There was that word again. "You can call me Max," I chuckled softly.

"Good," he laughed back. "Not sure I could've gotten used to it."

"Me either. I'm not really the Mistress type."

"And you're not the whorish type either. I can't believe I asked you that."

"What type am I?" I breathed, as his face inched even closer to mine. All I could really make out were those eyes shining at me in the moonlight, and they paralyzed me completely, but not with fear or anger, with expectation.

"My type." And his lips ever so gently touched mine in our second kiss. "I know I've hurt you," he purred into my mouth. "Please let me make it up to you."

"Oh yes," I sighed, as those full masculine lips trailed around mine so perfectly. "Make it up to me now."

"Gladly," he answered, lifted me into his arms, and turned to face my house .. Our house. "But just as soon as I grab a sandwich."



END. (If you enjoyed, I hope you'll let me know :) )