Neon Hearts Part 1OK, I wasn't going to do this. I have plenty enough stuff I 
ought to be doing as it is. But you can't fly in the face of karma, I guess. So 
here's this story...

Because of it's unabashedly fangirl nature, I am doing it as alternate universe 
story, and not trying to fit it in to any one Marvel universe. This part is 
pretty mild and silly, but there will be angst and explicitness to come, so 
BEWARE!




PART 1--THE TICKET


Cassie was just coming out of the huge building, still a little disoriented by 
the sudden noise of the street, when she first saw him, so it was no surprise 
she didn't at first believe her eyes. An intensely red sports car, tiny to the 
point of circus eligibility, had spotted the departure of a gleaming black Buick 
Pretensia and whipped into the parking spot it was vacating. But that wasn't the 
odd part. The thing that set this vehicle apart from the common throng was the 
driver.

She stood caught in delighted amazement as a man in a sports coat with leather 
elbow patches and a similarly jaunty leather driving cap, who was UNDENIABLY 
blue, leapt with inhuman grace from his spot behind the steering wheel. 'Oh, 
I've SEEN him,' she thought happily. 'In magazines. He's one of those X-people! 
Oh, WAIT 'til I tell the folks when I get home!' 

The blue man temporarily lost his carefree demeanor as he appeared to search his 
pockets and find no change for the parking meter. His indecision was plain, but 
he opted to bolt towards a nearby building, no doubt hoping to finish his 
business and get back before the last few minutes on the meter expired, and an 
official of the law happened by. 

Cassie hesitated only a moment, then drew back against the wall of the building 
she had just left. No one was expecting her anywhere for the rest of the day. 
She might as well be here as anywhere, waiting inconspicuously to catch another 
glimpse of a famous person before heading back to her hotel room. 

Then doom approached in the form of a meter maid. She was putt-putting ever 
closer on her little cart, and could not help but spy the 'EXPIRED' flag which 
had appeared on the meter. With barely a moment of hesitation, Cassie flung 
herself into action. By the time the meter reader arrived, she had breathlessly 
fed two quarters into the slot. 

"And just what do you think you're doing?" demanded the voice of civil 
authority.

"Oh, we were...uh...out of change...and I had to go into the...um... (WHAT kind 
of kiosk was that in the lobby?!)...cappachino place to get some. For the 
meter." 

"You didn't just see me coming and decide to feed the meter?" 

"Come, my dear woman, this is New York! When did you ever hear of someone 
abetting a stranger in need here?" The bass voice from behind her made Cassie 
jump. Oh, lord, it was HIM. But he was talking charmingly to the still 
unconvinced meter maid. "I was out of change, yet I needed to transact business 
at my bank posthaste. So..."

"Soooo...I got some change for my friend's meter here. While he was doing that." 
Cassie knew she was a terrible liar, and was halfway expecting the handcuffs to 
come out. Yet something about this strange man made her want to get a little 
crazy. "That's all that happened! Really!" 

"Wellll..." The woman eyed the blue man nervously. "I guess you're paid now, 
anyhow." 

"And we will be departing shortly," soothed the car's owner. "I am most heartily 
sorry if we caused you any difficulty." 

"Well, next time, Mister, carry a couple quarters!" With this sally, the meter 
reader was off in search of the next freeloading parker. 

Once she was safely gone, the errant driver said, "I can't thank you enough for 
coming to my rescue, Ms....?" The XMan had taken Cassie's hands in his, and his 
blue eyes beamed. 

"Ah...Cantrell. Cassie Cantrell." 

"Like the raiders?" 

Amazing! The man knew some history! "Actually, maybe. Part of my dad's family 
claims 'em--the other part denies the whole part denies the whole Civil War ever 
happened." Cassie's new acquaintance grinned, and her knees went wobbly, which 
was silly, as only the most novice of writers ever used that silly cliche. 

"I wonder if you would do me the favor of allowing me to buy you lunch, in 
gratitude for your assistance?" 

"Ahhh...." She had HEARD about the Wicked City of New York, and what could 
happen to an innocent visitor. She didn't know anything ABOUT this man.... 
"Sure!" she heard herself answer. 

Cassie didn't have the gymnastic skills to hop into his car the same way he did, 
but it wasn't necessary, as he gallantly opened the passenger door and showed 
her inside. The restaurant he chose was a small Chinese place where they seemed 
to know him and feel he was at least family, if not a demi-god gracing their 
establishment. The food was fabulous, the service discreet, and it didn't seem 
at all like four hours later when they returned to the street. 

By then, it seemed they had know each other forever, and so it seemed like the 
funniest joke in the world to see Hank had...a parking ticket.


Susan the Neon Nurse
(Susan Crites/CRITESS) Email to carosue@iguana.ruralnet.net

As easy as 3.1415926535897932384626433832795028841.


-------------
Neon Hearts Part 2. I forgot to say, in the first part, all that stuff about 
copyrights of known characters belonging to Marvel and you know the rest....

Still non-explicit. I'll let you know when to close your eyes....


PART 2--STORIES


After their laughter had subsided, the two new friends Cassie and Hank leaned 
companionably against Hank's sturdy little sportster, examining the parking 
ticket that was apparently Hank's unavoidable fate today. "It really doesn't 
matter in the slightest," he assured Cassie. "My chief pleasure in avoiding the 
first one this morning came from the refreshing experience of seeing someone 
performing a kindness to a stranger."

"Oh, well..." As usual, unexpected praise put Cassie temporarily at a loss for 
words, and she found the tops of her shoes of sudden interest. 

Hank peered at her, one eyebrow raised in comic exaggeration. "My stars, are you 
blushing, my dear? I didn't think there was a woman left in the 20th century who 
did that!" It made her laugh, and eased the awkward moment. He folded the ticket 
and tucked it into his inside jacket pocket. "I must confess I get these far 
oftener than is proper for someone who considers himself to be on the side of 
law, order and justice." He struck a thoughtful pose, one blue hand splayed so 
the fingertips touched his broad chest, a bright contrast over his white 
turtleneck. "I believe it is possibly my way of quietly rebelling against the 
strictures of modern society." 

"Oh, a quiet rebel," Cassie smiled. "Me, too." Amazing how comfortable it was to 
chat with this absolute stranger! "In college, some friends of mine and I used 
to have secret protest rallies." Hank obligingly looked properly intrigued, and 
she went on, "We would write our demands on 3x5 cards, tuck them in our books, 
and walk across the campus to the snack shop." 

This made him grin. "What sort of demands?" 

"Oh, recruiting cuter boys to the campus, outlawing tests on Monday mornings, 
that kind of thing." She shook her head, laughing at the memories. "I didn't 
realize at the time...that was such a good time in my life. Being a grown-up is 
harder, more...boring."

Hank noted a faint shadow cross her face--amazing how quickly he was coming to 
know her expressions, he thought--and guessed she had been going to say 
something else besides boring. But he elected not to pursue it, figuring he was 
doing much better by keeping her entertained. "Well, shall we get on with our 
plan of viewing the sights?" Cassie had explained over lunch she was from 
Denver, in town on business, which was now mostly completed. 

"Yes, that sounds good." As Hank opened the door to the low slung car, she 
added. "I'll try not to embarrass you." 

This was genuinely puzzling to him. Was it some sort of backwards reference to 
his unique appearance? "Why would you?" 

"Oh, after my...my friend picked me up at the airport Friday morning, we drove 
downtown and then walked around a little. I was feeling silly, so I kept staring 
and pointing and talking about how tall all the buildings are...." 

Hank relaxed, laughed and closed her door. "I'm afraid that is quite outside the 
line of proper behavior here. No wonder your friend was embarrassed." Friend, 
said with a hesitation. A male friend? he wondered silently. 

"I won't do it anymore," Cassie promised. "Or at least, I'll do it quietly to 
myself."

Hank reentered the vehicle on the drivers side, using the door this time instead 
of vaulting into the seat. He peeled smoothly away from the curb and into 
traffic, drawing a smothered gasp from his passenger, and settled instantly into 
the flow of the fastest lane. "Do you know, I've just realized we have missed 
one of the most common topics in the course of our most enjoyable conversation." 
He flicked a quick glance at Cassie; she merely looked normally interested, so 
he continued. "Your profession." Her expression went a little blank, and he 
continued, wondering if he was just putting his foot in ever more deeply, "Your 
means of supporting yourself, the purpose of your business trip to our fair 
city...?"

"I guess we have," she murmured, then had to repeat herself, as they had made it 
onto an expressway, and had quickly achieved a remarkable rate of speed. She 
guessed he got a lot of speeding tickets, too. 

"And it is?" 

"A...writer." The last word she spoke rather quickly. 

"What? A lawyer?" Hank asked loudly, cupping a hand to his ear. 

"NO, not a LAWYER, a WRITER!" The final word can out as a clear shout, because 
Hank had whipped onto an exit ramp and reduced speed to keep from running them 
under a large delivery truck also exiting. 

"Really?!" He looked absurdly pleased, and Cassie steeled herself make the next 
revelation. "Have I read anything of yours?" 

"I doubt it." She clasped her hands in her lap. "I write...romances." She 
risked a glance. He looked very dubious, and then she could see him concentrate 
on schooling his face into a more open expression. She sighed inwardly. This 
ALWAYS happened. "It's just that, they pay fairly well, if you write fast. And 
people get enjoyment out of them, and it's kind of fun...." 

The car swerved and came to an abrupt halt in a curbside diagonal slot beside 
open, treecovered grounds. For an instant, Cassie imagined he was stopping so he 
could toss her out of his car for revealing her plebeian background. But he 
turned to her, and looked most earnest as he asked softly, "Do people criticize 
you, Cassie, for writing romances?" 

"Ah...yes. It's as close as I come to having a secret vice." She smiled, hoping 
to slide off the topic without further damage done to her intellectual standing 
with him. 

"It's not illegal, or immoral," he pointed out gently. "If you are supporting 
yourself, and bringing pleasure to people, what's wrong with that?" 

Those were usually HER arguments, when she bothered to argue the subject at all, 
which was seldom. "Oh, well, you know, the genre still has a sleazy reputation. 
Neither the writers or the readers get much respect." 

"I see. I can see it causes you pain. And I find that very sad." 

Cassie had the wildest sudden urge to act like a character in a romance and 
plant a big lip lock on him, but she squelched it firmly. "You are the NICEST 
man," she said instead, and was a little surprised when she heard she had spoken 
the words as well as thought them. 

"I know," Hank replied with a show of false modesty. "It's one of my most widely 
recognized qualities. Along with my stunning good looks, of course." 

"Of course," Cassie agreed, in all seriousness, and now it was Hank's turn to 
look a little uncertain, then change the subject. 

"Shall we stroll, my dear? This campus is a pleasant little place, and I believe 
some of the bulb beds are still blooming." 

"Let's." She started to open her door, then paused. "If we had some 3x5 cards, 
we could have a protest at the same time." 

"Just at this moment, Hank said, with a quiet sincerity that made something 
quiver inside her, "I am quite remarkably happy with the world at large. I 
wouldn't be able to think of a single complaint." And while Cassie sat stunned, 
trying desperately to think of a suitable reply to such excellent dialog, he 
exited the car, LEAPT over it with consumate grace, and opened the door to hand 
her out to the pavement. 


Susan the Neon Nurse
(Susan Crites/CRITESS) Email to carosue@iguana.ruralnet.net

Why do writers write? Because it isn't there....


------------
Neon Hearts Part 3. Marvel characters obviously copyright to Marvel...this is just 
for fun, blah, blah, blah....

Just out of curiousity, does anyknow know the maximum one can send in one 
mailing? I am trying to avoid getting pieces lost by working in very small 
fragments, in case you weren't sure....


PART 3--CHANGE-UP


The unusual couple strolled in the late May afternoon sun, oblivious to the 
occasional glances from passersby hurrying on collegiate business or ambling in 
personal enjoyment of the fair weather. "Oops, sorry again!" Cassie said. It was 
the third time she had lightly bumped Hank's arm or shoulder as they walked, and 
he was beginning to wonder at it, just a trifle. Did he make her THAT nervous?

"I discovered this campus," he continued, "when I was invited to guest lecture 
here. An unusual bequest devoted to groundskeeping makes it almost a private 
park. I come here to walk quite often."

"What were you lecturing on?" Cassie inquired idly, as she duly admired the 
shrubbery.

"Oh, various esoteric aspects of biochemistry." They passed under a flowering 
crabapple, and an errant breeze rained petals on them. Cassie laughed and shook 
her head, running her fingers through her blond hair to dislodge the stubborn 
ones. Hank barely restrained himself from reaching out to pluck one survivor 
from the depths where it hid, and tuck it away in his pocket.

"Tell me, do you believe it's the basis of all human behavior?"

"Biochemistry?" He had to mentally blink to put himself back on the 
conversational track. She was enchanting; all the more because her question was 
so artless, directed for information and not effect. "Yes and no. Important, 
without a doubt. But I also believe in...the human spirit. Free will. 
Individuality." She was nodding along, eyes alight. Their hands brushed again, 
and suddenly Hank was certain at least subconscious purpose was acting here. 
"Now you tell me something, Ms. Cantrell. Do you adhere to a traditionalist view 
of interactions between the sexes? Or are you merely a bit shy?"

Her startled look only lasted an instant. "I suppose I am...in some ways. Shy, I 
mean." He nodded, trying to maintain a serious demeanor over his glee at a 
correct deduction. "As for your other question...are we talking about MY work 
now?"

Hank crinkled his eyes. "We are talking about anything you like."

Cassie smiled back, and took him at his word. "My heroines are usually a little 
eccentric in some way, and certainly don't let tradition slow them down in their 
adventures." The smile became the least bit rueful. "I don't know if that means 
I'd secretly like to be that way or not."

"OUR outing today is a trifle unusual," Hank said, pretending to be pondering a 
weighty matter by his tone.

'You don't know how right you are,' thought Cassie. But aloud she said, I'm 
really enjoying it...being with you."

Thus encouraged, Hank took her hand, interlacing their fingers, and the pleased 
look she gave him told him it was indeed the right move. "Do you have plans for 
this evening, or have I already monopolized too much of your time here?"

"No, no plans, unless you count watching tv in my hotel a plan." Her hand was 
light in his, but he thought it had the slightest tremor.

A perverse desire to tempt fate made him continue, "Were you perhaps...hoping to 
hear from your friend?"

Cassie looked truly puzzled at first, then seemed to grasp his meaning--perhaps 
several levels of meaning. "She IS my friend, but also my agent. I'll see her at 
another official function, and she'll drive me from there to the airport 
tomorrow night.

How odd--to feel a sense of loss already. "Well, then, could I persuade you to 
join me for an evening of dinner and dancing?"

"It depends."

"On?"

"On if I brought the right clothes," she explained with great seriousness.

"Ah, but that is the beauty of being in a city like this, and having me as your 
guide!" he exclaimed. "No matter what your ensemble, I'll know a place where it 
will be appropriate!"

"Well, how can I say no to that?"

They repaired to her hotel without further delay. On the way, Cassie firmly 
controlled her thoughts, as she had learned to do, consciously putting fears 
aside 'for later', focusing instead on how much fun they were going to have. How 
many times had someone from the group told about just such a sudden opportunity, 
sometimes avoided and regretted, sometimes grapsed with happy results. And yes, 
sometimes with poor results, but there was always a sense of having accomplished 
something just by trying. Now she just had to proceed one step at a time....

Back in her room, Cassie rummaged into the closet to display her various outfits 
for Hank's discerning eye. She held out two solid colored blouses, one red and 
one green, and some beige slacks, then a plain grey skirt. "Not very fancy, I'm 
afraid." Hank silently agreed, and began to scale down his ideas for their 
evening on the town. "Although I do have this. It's for the party tomorrow, but 
I COULD wear it tonight, too."

It looked like a shapeless mass of black cloth on the hanger, but Hank knew just 
enough about the mysteries of female garments that he could hypothesize an 
entirely different effect when it surrounded an actual body. He scaled his ideas 
back up. "I think I know just the place. Dinner first, though. If you ARE ready 
to eat again?" He had eaten lightly at lunch, and was feeling the effects of 
overmoderation. Assuring him she was hungry too, and that she would hurry, 
Cassie gathered several cases and shut herself in the bathroom. Multiplying the 
number of cases by an average of 20 minutes each, Hank resigned himself to a 
wait, and decided to take the opportunity to check in at home.

The phone rang several times, and he when it was answered, he recognized the 
voice as Storm's. "Hank--I am glad you called. We had wondered what was taking 
such a long time at the bank."

"I'll tell you all about it tomorrow, Storm," he said, and smiled at the 
thought. "Just calling to say I may be late."

"As late as...tomorrow?" Her amusement and affection came clearly through the 
line. "Good for you--you have been working hard lately." An indistinct voice 
could be heard in the background. "Remy asks if he will see you out tonight?"

"Might be at Silver's later," he said, naming the site he considered their most 
likely destination, although part of him regretted doing so as he pictured 
Gambit's possible reaction to Cassie, and hers to him. Remy wouldn't intend to 
poach, but he could no more not flirt than not breathe. And he seemed to have 
equal success with both actions.

"I will tell him. Have a good time, Hank."

Well, that had used up two minutes. Regretfully pushing aside the idea of 
dashing down to the hotel's coffee shop for a quick snack, Hank resolutely 
sought other means of passing the time. He considered and rejected the 
television as too mundane. Pacing towards the window, he noted a manuscript on 
the desk open to the middle. Cassie's name was on the top of the page in the 
upper right corner, and he couldn't resist a peek.


  '"Okay, I SEE it," whispered Brigitte, her voice taut with
  excitement and panic. "Give me the fish!" Then an iron
  shriek pierced the dark silence of the ancient churchyard.
  "Oh, no, they must have followed us! Run!"

  "WAIT--I dropped the fish!"

  "Will you just FORGET the fish and RUN?!"'


He turned away, nonplused. Apparently he would want to begin at the beginning, 
should he ever decide to read that particular tale. Catching sight of himself in 
the mirror, he examined his own appearance. His favorite white turtleneck was 
still presentable, marred only by a few stray blue hairs. A damp washcloth would 
fix that easily enough. He slicked back his hair with one hand, suddenly feeling 
unaccountably nervous. The day had gone so well in a spontaneous mode--the more 
traditional venue of dining and dancing suddenly seemed like a large step.

He heard the bathroom door open, and he turned to see Cassie stepping hesitantly 
out. For an instant, he could not help but gape, and she bit her lower lip, 
looking like she would dash for her slacks and blouse the next instant. But then 
he grinned, openly admiring the magic she had acheived, and he could see her  
relax as she smiled in return.

Her hair was twisted up in a casually elegant knot, and he could tell she had 
done something in the makeup line, although he didn't know quite what. But it 
was the dress that was staggeringly perfect for her--a little black dress, bare 
at the shoulders, and cut in a style that suggested a clownish satire of 
glamour. The old-fashioned word 'madcap' crossed his mind. She indeed looked 
like the heroine of a romantic comedy who could easily find herself unexpectedly 
juggling fish in a midnight graveyard.

"It's not TOO silly, is it?" Cassie asked nervously. "I got it from a shop where 
they...all read my books. They insisted it's a suit for my alterego." Her 
faintly awkward bearing strove to assure him she knew she didn't really belong 
in such an elegantly comic gem of a dress.

"It's...wonderful! Words fail me, and that does not happen often, I assure you!"

Cassie blushed again, but now her eyes were sparkling. After his own quick brush 
up, they departed for the parking garage, Cassie nearly chattering as they went. 
Perhaps she was also a bit alarmed at the precipitousness of their growing 
interaction. But he played along with her bright dialogue games, content for the 
moment to have the role of hero to her heroine in whatever story they were 
acting out. He knew it was an unbroken rule for such tales to end happily, which 
was hope enough for him, for now. 


Susan the Neon Nurse
(Susan Crites/CRITESS) Email to carosue@iguana.ruralnet.net

"Laissez les bon temps roulez!" Gambit


-----------
Neon Hearts Part 4. Okay, I hope you people aren't in a big hurry, because it 
seems to me this thing is threatening to become LONG. So sit back, enjoy the 
ride, and keep in mind that the Marvel characters are all copyright and like 
that!


PART 4--FALLING IN SLOW MOTION


The supplementary lights had come on in the hotel's parking garage, now that 
dusk was gaining on the day. To Hank's relief, the roof of his little car slid 
obediently into place, almost as if it knew this was a special occassion 
warranting best behavior. "Do you like Italian fare?" he queried, as he pointed 
the car down the departure ramp.

"I like it fine," Cassie assured him. They compared favorite food items as he 
drove to a place he favored for serving authentically large-Italian-family sized 
portions of their specialties.

He couldn't seem to help sneaking little glances at his newly elegant passenger, 
wondering why her change of clothes and a few other minor adjustments should 
make him feel so uneasy. It was still his intriguing, companionable new friend 
underneath. Of course, the effect the pair of them gave to the onlooking world 
was now different, due to the change of time, locale and level of adornment.

As soon as that thought struck, Hank suspected he had hit on the answer. Various 
less than pleasant public scenes from his past recalled themselves to his 
attention. 'All I can do is hope my luck keeps running high,' he thought 
fatalistically, and redoubled his efforts at cheerful conversation.

They were soon seated in a cozy corner booth by the enthusiastic proprietor, who 
was at least as glad to see Hank as his colleague from the Chinese place had 
been, although any scores between the two would have come out close. "You 
certainly are popular with restaurant people," Cassie observed.

"Oh, yes," he replied, and sought to try to explain in a clowning way that would 
disguise his mild discomfiture at needing to. "But you can see why. I'm at least 
two, sometimes three customers in one. Very efficient and profitable." She 
tilted her head, uncertain of what he was trying to express, and he shifted to a 
more straightforward mode. "I have a somewhat rapid metabolism in conjunction 
with not a little muscle mass." After a pause, she nodded, but he could see she 
didn't quite catch his meaning. "I order a lot more food than most... individuals."

"Oh, I see what you mean," she said, relieved to understand at last. "Well, 
order away. I'll try to keep up!"

Hank took her at her word, selecting three entrees for himself when the jovial 
waiter came, though sticking to the more managable pasta forms out of 
consideration for the continued pristine condition of his white shirt. "The food 
here is excellent," he assured her, offering the basket of breadsticks, "but I 
am most enamored of the layout of the place. It's almost like a conglomeration 
of individual dining areas I sometimes wonder how the staff finds their way 
around."

"You can eat out and be private at the same time?" She supposed he must have a 
lot of opportunities to date, being famous and all.

"Just so, he said, crunching a breadstick as delicately as he could manage.

"I suppose it must be annoying sometimes, for people to be looking at you, and 
asking for autographs and things, while you're trying to have a nice quiet 
dinner."

Autographs? "On the whole, people just stare--and it CAN be annoying." Cassie 
nodded, but he couldn't tell at all, all of a sudden, what she was thinking. Her 
oblique expression nudged him into making what was his mild-mannered version of 
an exasperated reproof. "I HAVE been wondering--" He smiled to temper his words, 
"You've noticed my unusual physical features, have you not? You don't have some 
sort of rare neurological visual disturbance?"

Cassie blinked, then smiled gently. "I don't think I'm having any trouble seeing 
the real you." The full meaning of her reply sunk in, and all he could do was 
hope he didn't look as dumbfounded as he felt. "On top of that, I might as well 
tell you...," she confided, not quite meeting his eyes, "I think you're very 
good looking."

"You do?" Despite the instant assumption from his cynical side that she was of 
course just being nice, he felt a bubble of warmth begin to grow somewhere 
inside him.

"Oh, yes." She looked perfectly sincere, and futhermore, didn't make the common 
mistake of trying too hard to convince him of her sincerity.

"Perhaps sometime you'd like to see me using my image inducer, see--" What in 
the world was he going to say? 'What I used to look like? Should look like?'

"What's that?" The salads arrived, but the server discreetly whisked them onto 
the table without interrupting their talk.

"A device of my own invention," he explained, trying to work his way back to 
solid ground, familiar territory. "It creates a visual field surrounding me that 
presents my original phenotype."

Now she looked doubtful. He was almost ready to offer a simpler version of what 
he'd just said, when a corner of her mouth quirked up. "You mean like Stephen 
Wright?"

"Who?" He wondered crazily what she would say if he suggested they exit the 
restaurant and come in again, to see if they could regain that sense of being on 
the same wavelength that had disappeared somewhere.

"The comedian?" She appeared to be vaguely disappointed he didn'y know. Then a 
recollection showed itself in his mind; a tall, partially balding man with a 
long somber face and a bizarrely twisted mental outlook. She must have seen 
something in his face that showed he had caught on, because then she smiled. "He 
does this joke, 'I have a tattoo all over my entire body--it's me, but six 
inches taller.'"

Hank couldn't help it; he burst out laughing. "Yes, I suppose, now that you 
mention it, the image inducer is quite similar."

"But you have one for REAL? One you INVENTED?" Her awe, now that she realized he 
was serious, was almost as pleasant as her assertions about his general 
attractiveness.

"Still tinkering with it, really," he began to explain, trying for modesty now. 
"It's in numerous pieces on my workbench in the lab, which is why I didn't wear 
it today."

"Do you usually wear it to go out?"

"It depends on my mood." Hank half-wanted to change the subject, half-wanted to 
know her reaction. "Some days I simply prefer not to add the attitudes of the 
general populace about mutants to my current list of concerns."

She digested this for a moment. "I guess I must have led a comparatively 
sheltered life," she finally said quietly. "I didn't know it was such a 
problem."

'Oh, great,' Hank berated himself instantly. 'Now you've upset her! You get a 
lovely woman looking at you like you invented the compact disk, and what do you 
do? Start complaining about your life! Perfect!' "It isn't THAT bad, my 
dear--don't fret yourself," he managed to say cheerfully, thrusting the 
melancholy mood firmly away. "I actually prefer to keep busy, working in my lab, 
on my own. Sometimes I turn into quite the scientific hermit, only dragged out 
for meals by my friends when they've missed me for several days on end." This 
return to joviality made her smile again, and he leapt on the chance to change 
the subject.

"I don't know if you will have heard of Silver's?" Cassie shook her head. "It is 
quite fashionable right now, which means in a short time it will be very 
difficult to get into, because of the crowds." He was pontificating now, he 
knew, but the way she looked when he did it just encouraged him. "Soon after 
that, there will be a dozen imitations, and then the fad will move on, and those 
of us who like it for what it is can return."

"And then People magazine will do a retrospective of it, and start the whole 
process over again," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

"I see you have a firm grasp on the life cycles of the entertainment world."

"I'm part of it, or at least part of a part of it. Fads I know about," she said 
ruefully. "EVERYONE was writing the dumbest time travel stories last year, and 
my agent just had KITTENS because I kept saying I couldn't think of any good 
ideas. She said I didn't need a GOOD idea, just a time travel idea." Now it was 
Hank's turn to commiserate, and hers to shake her head and dismiss the 
non-cheerful subject. "So what's this place like?"

"Silver is the owner, and he named it for himself in a blaze of open 
selfaggrandizement." He was interrupted by the arrival of their food, and the 
brief puzzle to be solved of how to fit everything on the table in an efficient 
manner. Once these amenities were observed, he resumed, "Silver's an interesting 
fellow--a frustrated theater choreographer, I suspect. The decor is minimalist 
eclectic; groupings of tables and dance areas in a positively cavernous former 
warehouse." Cassie looked entranced, a forkful of linguini alfredo barely 
managing to cling unheeded to the utensil as she listened. "What kind of music?" 
she asked, then hastily recaptured the escaping pasta with a desperate twirl.

"That is the key to the charm of the place--you never know. Silver has a control 
booth up in the rafters, and he plays what he likes. You are as likely to hear 
Count Basie as Sophie B. Hawkins, and possibly even to hear them melded in some 
strange electronic fashion."

"How totally great!" Her enthusiasm was contagious, and Hank felt the last of 
his apprehension vanish.

"Plus he has controls for all sorts of lighting up there. He makes combinations 
as he sees fit." He shook his head. "Sadly, he sometimes uses his devices to 
express his idea of humor. I recall an instance when I was dancing with a 
friend, and he chose to play the theme from Disney's 'Beauty and the Beast'." 
Rogue had thought it was hilarious....

"Because 'Beast' is your...nom de guerre? N'est pas?"

"Exactement, ma cherie," he beamed at her, both for her knowing that about him 
and giving him the chance to show off his French accent, which he knew to be 
rather good.

"How annoying of him, then." She was halfway between amusement and indignance, 
much as he had been.

"Yes. But the club is so entertaining, I had to forgive him."

"Is that where we're going? It DOES sound like fun. I know we don't have 
anything like it in Denver."

"Oh, well, Denver..." He started to say something snide and New Yorkian, then 
thought better of it. He smiled instead. "The best thing about Denver is...." 
right here "...there are air routes between here and there."

Cassie ducked her head and fumbled with the napkin in her lap, looking at him 
out of the corner of her eye to see if he could tell how flustered even this 
mild a flirtation made her. Yes, from the broad grin on his face, he could tell. 
She managed to smile back, but busied herself in her food until she got her 
composure back. "You ought to know, I'm not much of a dancer."

"Oh? Would you prefer to do something else instead?" His instant solicitousness 
of her preferences was something she would have to be careful about, Cassie 
decided. She could get far too used to that sort of consideration, and take 
advantage of his kind nature.

"No, no--I just thought you deserved fair warning. If you have a good reputation 
to protect out on the dancefloor--you said you go there often...." His mouth 
full, Hank nevertheless managed to indicate his complete disregard for such 
matters with an eloquent shrug. "I always take three times as long as anyone 
else in our dance aerobics class to learn new moves--I can mess up a whole line 
in a heartbeat."

"But then, merely use the dance moves you already know, and I'll copy you, and 
people will think we're the reincarnation of Fred and Ginger."

"I'm not so sure," Cassie laughed, tickled by the mental image of Hank in a top 
hat with a cane. "If I tried some of those moves we do in aerobics, I'd be right 
OUT of this dress."

"That would surely be...precipitous," he murmured. Her reaction was to blush 
again, and bite her lower lip to try to hide her smile; an auspicious reaction, 
he thought.

They finished the meal down to the last breadstick, and then were subjected to a 
gooey Italian confection pressed on them by the proprietor. "I want your 
mirabella friend to want to come back to see us," Antony explained, winking at 
Hank and Cassie impartially. Cassie tasted hers and declared it wonderful, but 
was only able to eat half. She insisted Hank finish it off for her, so they 
wouldn't hurt Antony's feelings, and he acquiesced without much resistance. She 
leaned her chin on her hands and watched him eat with such fondness that he 
toyed with the idea for a moment of ordering another set. But no--time to move 
on to new adventures!



Susan the Neon Nurse
(Susan Crites/CRITESS) Email to carosue@iguana.ruralnet.net

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. If you ain't home by then, 
boy, yer in big trouble!" Baxter Black


---------
Neon Hearts Part 5. Errata: I am fairly sure I spelled the famous Russian dancer's 
name wrong in this. But heck, I even spelled an easy American name like Steven 
Wright wrong in Part 4! Sorry about that, all you perfectionists!

Another funny thing about Part 4, I forgot to give it a little identifying 
chapter title. But perhaps they are just getting confusing anyhow. Opinions?

The Marvel characters are copyright to Marvel, of course. Other celebrities are 
only mentioned in passage (quote "fair use" law here) to add versimlitude. 
Relax, folks, it's only a story....

There is at last a fight scene of sorts in this chapter--since this is a comics 
based story, I felt there should be at least one. Explicitness coming up in part 
6! Beware!!


PART 5--AT SILVER'S


Silver's naturally had valet service, which Hank never took advantage of. He was 
just the slightest bit possessive about his sportscar; it caused his teammates 
to sometimes pretend they were going to ask to borrow it, just to see his 
reaction. When he attended Silver's, he used a secure parking garage, and walked 
the several blocks difference.

Tonight, he realized he might have been unintentionally remiss to his guest. The 
evening breeze had acquired a definite edge, and her dress left her shoulders 
bare. "I'll be fine once we start walking--Denver's still lots colder than this 
at night," Cassie said, with a brave smile, though she was already casually 
hugging her arms together across her chest.

"Take my jacket, then?" Hank suggested, doffing the garment and hanging it 
around her without waiting for confirmation.

She instantly clutched the lapels in a crosshanded grab, and pretended to 
violently shiver and chitter out, "My hero!"

"And it's my night off, too," Hank pointed out with smug false-modesty, as they 
started towards the street.

Cassie kept the coat pulled snugly around her, secretly appreciating the body 
warmth lingering in it, and the elusive scent of its wearer. She was not quite 
sure if she were smelling a trace of exotic mens' cologne, or Hank himself, or 
some combination thereof, but it was a GOOD smell, as warm and comforting as the 
jacket it clung to.

As they came out onto the sidewalk, she could see a difference in both the foot 
and vehicle traffic several blocks ahead. It was the only active-looking edifice 
in the area, which seemed to be mostly warehouses and storefront businesses. But 
there was a huge gaudy sign blaring enough excitement to make up for the dingy 
surroundings, which said "Silver's", and that's where the people were heading.

Once they had passed muster by the bored-looking door guard, they squeezed with 
the rest of the crowd down a short hallway, which held a secret metal detector 
according to Hank, and then emerged into the main room. Cavernous was just 
barely adequate to describe the vastness of the place, and it was already 
half-teeming with patrons. Cassie had expected the music to be loud and blaring, 
but it was instead at a level that easily permitted conversation between two 
people walking side by side. On the walls--or were they screens?--movie clips of 
famous dancers appeared and disappeared with little or no relation to what the 
music was doing. The only ones she recognized for sure were John 'Saturday Night 
Fever' Travolta, and Mikhal Baryshnikov. She had the feeling, though, that Hank 
would be able to name them all for her if she only cared to ask.

"What do you think?" he asked now, as proud as if he had invented the place for 
her amusement.

"It's fabulous!" she assured him, and he beamed.

They were approached by a woman wearing an old-fashioned movie usher's uniform. 
"This way, please, Dr. McCoy, she said with a professionally happy smile, and 
headed towards the center of the building.

"They do seating here?"

"This looks like Silver's doing," Hank muttered, though he was secretly not 
displeased at being given celebrity treatment on this rare occasion when he 
chanced to be trying to impress someone. They were shown to a small table for 
two just at the edge of the biggest dance floor. It had a black faux-marble top, 
as smooth as glass but with only a dull sheen. Cassie reached out to smooth her 
hand over it as Hank politely held her chair.

Suddenly, they seemed to be surrounded by glitter and light. She gave a faint 
gasp and looked to Hank. He was wearing a faintly exasperated expression, 
squinting up into the light source. He waved, and it quit as instantaneously as 
it had come. But a small blue exclamation point of light was now centered in the 
table.

Cassie touched it in wonder--it was IN the table! Part of the amazing special 
effects, she supposed. Hank was sitting down now, still looking up at the 
ceiling over the dance floor. "Is that where your friend runs things from?"

"Yes--you can't see it because of mirrors, but he can see us, and anything else 
he wants to, I would imagine, through cameras." Hank waved up again towards 
their invisible host.

The exclamation point vanished, to be replaced by a pink heart and a question 
mark. Hank snorted, but eyed Cassie with a touch of worry. When she covered her 
smile with one hand, and gave him a shy sideways look in return, he relaxed. 
Looking up again, he pantomimed a wide-armed shrug, intended to indicate his 
lack of knowledge about the future, adding a smile to indicate his willingness 
to accept whatever it might bring. The heart throbbed in response, making Cassie 
emit a choked giggle, and then a light-stencil of an approving upthrust thumb 
gleamed, before the table went dark again.

"This is a very interesting place," Cassie said gravely.

"I'm glad you think so." A server appeared to take their drink order, and was 
quickly dispatched in search of a bottle of Asti Spumante, one of the tastes 
they had found they had in common, solemnly agreeing it was far superior to 
champagne. "I don't know where he gets the energy to run it--many of the 
sequences are preprogrammed, of course, but still I think he spends most of the 
day getting ready for the night, and then the whole night running his show. And 
he's always wanting to add new technologies."

"He ought to consult you."

"He HAS! He wanted holographic dancers, as well as the flat ones on the walls." 
Hank shook his head at some memory. "I could do it, too-but he doesn't have a 
computer that would run the program."

"Well, BUILD him one," Cassie suggested, only half-kidding. Hank started to 
inform her she was now being silly, then stopped to pursue sudden inspiration. 
If they could acquire a used Cray.... "But, Hank--" Her mild tone abruptly 
snapped him back to the present moment. "Maybe you could start building it 
tomorrow?"

"Or better yet, the day after," Hank agreed. There was still a lot of tomorrow 
available for spending with Cassie, he suspected. "In the meantime, would you 
care to dance, my dear?"

The sound level and the ambient warmth gradually increased as the crowd grew, 
and the time spread out smoothly in a blur of dancing and music and talk and 
laughter. "I can't remember when I've had such a good time," Cassie gasped, as 
she regained her breath after laughing over a tale Hank had related about a 
prank his friends had attempted to play on him, which had backfired with 
hysterical consequences.

"Really? I'm glad," Hank told her casually, fighting down an urge to turn a few 
handsprings.

"Really," Cassie assured him. "I'm SO glad you didn't have any change for the 
parking meter this morning!"

"So am I," he replied, his normally deep voice going a shade husky. He took her 
hands, cupping them between his. His assessing gaze searched her face, and found 
no impediment to his leaning closer...her eyes closed and she leaned forward as 
well....

"Hey!" The harsh voice scarcely registered on either's consciousness, but the 
jarring sensation of a kick to the underside of their table did. "Whaddya think 
yer doin'?"

Cassie jerked away from the kiss with a gasp at the interruption, but did not 
move from Hank's side. A young man was staring malevolently at them, swaying a 
little, clenching and unclenching his hands. Slowly, Hank freed his own hands 
from their hold on Cassie's. "I cannot imagine that it's any business of yours," 
he told their verbal assailant firmly, but with an undertone that should have 
warned the offender to move along.

"You were gonna kiss that woman," snarled the youth. His eyes were mad with 
something stronger than alcohol, something fueling his antipathy while it 
obliterated his sense of self-preservation. A girl his age approached, and began 
trying to pull him away, whispering something. "I don' care!" he roared, and 
shoved her backwards to fall sprawling. The nearby crowd hushed and spread back, 
but no one moved to intervene. "He's a mutie--got no business kissin' a normal 
woman!"

Cassie gasped, and heard Hank growl, "That's it," as he stood up. The boy 
staggered back a step when he saw the size of the one he had chosen to harass, 
but then he came forward in a rush, drawing one arm back to throw a punch.

Hank sidestepped the table, and when his attacker's fist flailed forward, he 
caught it in one huge hand, with an almost bored fillip. His face was anything 
but bored, however. Feeling his hand caught, the drunken youth struggled to yank 
it free, then attempted a second ill-conceived assault, a straight-legged kick 
that lashed up into mid-air, not even close to a target. Hank caught that leg's 
ankle, and jerked the would-be marauder off his feet. With a distasteful 
grimace, he then threw him in the general direction of the silver-shirted 
security men at last pushing through the crowd.

The youth's girlfriend had gotten to her feet and was crying, standing alone. 
One security man dragged the youth up off the floor as well, while the second 
took a step towards Hank. Hank's chin snapped up and the man stopped, though he 
covered this prudent maneuver by holding a hand to the earpiece of his headset, 
as though he were listening to someone. Apparently it was no ruse, because in a 
moment, he related, "Boss says you don't have to go," in a flat tone. "Sorry for 
the inconvenience, sir." They disappeared the way they had come, dragging the 
cursing youth between them, trailed by the sobbing girl.

Hank adjusted his shirt, then slowly turned to Cassie. She looked pale, shocked, 
and he belatedly wished he had thrown the drunken fool a lot further and harder. 
"I'm sorry about that, Cassie," he said, not quite sure which part of the 
incident he meant. Perhaps all of it, starting from the very true charge of 
being a mutant who wanted to kiss a normal woman.

She shook her head, somewhat dazedly. "It isn't your fault." Her hands clutched 
the edge of the table with a white-knuckled grip. "Are you okay? Did he hurt 
you?"

Hank snorted. "He couldn't hurt me on the best day he ever imagined," he replied 
savagely. Not physically, he couldn't.... The crowd had returned to its 
activity, with the little spectacle over, but he sensed people were still 
watching with covert avidity. He took his seat again, and made a rapid 
examination of Cassie's set face and tense shoulders. "Do you want to leave, 
Cassie?"

"Would you mind very much?" she replied in a very small voice, giving him only 
an instant's glance.

"Not at all, actually." He put out a hand to assist her to her feet, gathered up 
his jacket, and began to make his way to the exit. Cassie tucked her arm up 
under his and followed very closely. Outside, he gave her his coat again, and 
they started up the street.

He was trying to think what he could POSSIBLY say, what words could open the 
path of communication back up, and was failing utterly. Then, as they passed 
beneath a streetlamp, he glanced aside and was chagrinned to see Cassie was 
trying to blink away tears. "Cassie!"

He stopped, stopped her, and turned her to face him. Her woeful face only met 
his for a moment before she had to look to the ground, dabbing at her eyes with 
his coatsleeve. Doubly distressed now, he fell back on his main defense to try 
to right the situation. "Are those for my sake," he inquired lightly, "or for 
the unregenerate state of humanity in general?"

She sniffed deeply, and looked up again. "I'm sorry--I really hate to cry in 
front of people." She wiped at her face again. "I'd...I'd rather be shot."

"Have you ever been shot?" he inquired seriously.

"Nooo...."

"If you ever have the choice, I recommend you select crying--you actually 
wouldn't like your other choice that much."

She choked out a small laugh. "How can you joke, when...when that man was so 
awful?" The scene seemed to play itself back in her mind. "How can people BE so 
awful to each other?"

"Easily, it would seem," he replied with a shrug. "You get used to it."

"Do you?" Now her eyes searched his face for the truth. "Do you really?"

Hank caught his breath at the raging sorrow in her expression, and let it out 
slowly. "Well. Allow me to rephrase." He put his arm around her and they resumed 
their progress. "You become better able to deal with it. It becomes easier to 
dismiss his kind of hatred as the result of poor parenting and education, or 
other social ills. Bad manners, if nothing else. But, no, so far I am not yet 
used to it. It's always a shock, each time."

"Oh, Hank," she said, and that alone, but it seemed adequate for the moment. 
Slipping her arm around his waist so she could lean on him, they made their way 
back to the car in silence.

Before opening the passenger door, Hank took Cassie's chin in one hand, almost 
without volition. He leaned down to complete the aborted kiss, then halted when 
he felt her tense up. In the instant before he could draw decently away, 
however, she threw both arms around his neck and kissed him with an energy he 
welcomed and echoed. It wasn't sensual passion, but it was a good deal better 
than nothing at all, at the moment.

When they broke apart, he stroked her cheek with one finger. With his best warm 
smile, he told her, "Now I'm going to put you in the car, and we're going to go 
back to your hotel. If you like, I will let you off at the lobby entrance and 
thank you most graciously for a wonderful day. Or, alternatively, I will see you 
to your room, and then depart when you deem it appropriate." She blinked up at 
him, nodded solemnly, and opened her mouth to speak. With infinite gentleness, 
he touched a finger to her lips. "It would probably be best," he said, "for you 
to think it through first, don't you agree?" She hesitated, then nodded again.

After settling her in her seat, Hank McCoy stood for just an instant, looking in 
through the glass window at her profile. Then, tossing and catching his keys 
like divining coins, with his fate cast to unknown winds, he walked around his 
car and climbed in to begin the long, quiet drive back to the hotel.


Susan the Neon Nurse
(Susan Crites/CRITESS) Email to carosue@iguana.ruralnet.net

"Education is the ability to listen to almost anything without losing your 
temper or your self-confidence." Robert Frost


----------
Neon Hearts Part 6. WARNING: EXPLICIT!

Okay, consider this fair warning! This is explicit and anatomically correct. If 
it's gonna give you bad dreams or warp your moral fiber, DON'T READ IT!

Marvel characters are Marvel characters, and I can't figure how anything I write 
could ever change that....


PART 6--REVELATIONS


They hit a stoplight a few blocks before the hotel, and Cassie took advantage of 
the break in momentum to say, "Parking garage, please." She was distantly 
surprised at how calm she sounded.

"Very well," Hank replied, equally formal. If he was hiding any qualms, she 
couldn't tell. He continued to be as proper and attentive as he had been all 
evening, but the sense of lightheartedness was irretrievably gone for the night, 
Cassie feared.

Her senses seemed heightened, and she was acutely aware of Hank's most minute 
motion, aware of his bulk beside her in the elevator, the echo of his shoes on 
the plush carpet in the halls. 'One step at a time,' she thought, and knew from 
the way she had to fiercely choke back a hysterical giggle that she was far too 
much on edge. Should she call this off--or would that ruin their budding 
friendship irredeemably? She would rather risk almost anything else than that.

Once inside the room, she slung her purse on the desk and absently kicked off 
her shoes, then slowed to a halt in the middle of the floor, as though she was a 
windup toy with its mainspring at full expansion. She could see Hank studying 
her surreptitiously in the mirror. With an effort, she moved forward until she 
was standing at the foot of the bed, then turned to face Hank. "Here we are."

"Well, yes, we do indeed seem to be here," he temporized. There was something 
not right, not at all right, going on here. Either that, or he was just 
bizarrely overreacting to her perfectly understandable upset at the incident at 
Silver's. The question was, which?

Wordlessly, she held out a hand to him. He tossed his jacket over the chair, and 
went to her. Her hand was cold--was it THAT cold outside?--but she clung to him 
immediately when he took her in his arms, running her hands over his back. With 
one hand, he tilted up her face and kissed her, lingeringly this time, doing his 
best to say without words how he would cherish her if she would allow it.

She tipped her head into his other hand, and he found the clasp that held up her 
hair, and released it, tossing it in the general direction of the counter, where 
it clattered heedlessly away somewhere. Her smooth blonde hair spilled over his 
hands like strands of silk. He broke the kiss to rub his cheek against it, then 
nuzzled under its rich fall at the back of her neck, turning her to follow that 
sweet curve.

Cassie quivered in his arms and pressed back against him with her whole body, 
arching her neck under his mouth and making the faintest of moans. Her hands 
were at his sides now, but she still held him as best she could.

Carefully, Hank brushed a wrist over the bodice of her dress, pushing the softly 
clinging material downwards. He could see her nipples, like little smooth stones 
underneath the satin cups of her bra, and he let his hand stray there to toy 
with them a moment, enjoying the contrast of the soft material and the firm 
flesh beneath. Taking a deep breath, hoping his self-control was up to this 
challenge after an already challenging night, he took a half-step back and undid 
the clasp of the bra. Cassie still did not say anything, nor did she move, not 
even when he began to slowly draw her dress down over her waist and hips and 
thighs until it was a black puddle on the floor.

He let his hands move in a lingering caress back up her legs, to hook his thumbs 
under the waistband of her hose and panties. She shifted her weight to one foot, 
which he took for invitation, and he very carefully, delightedly, helped her 
step out of the last of her clothing.

Hank would not have minded if she had chosen to similarly assist him, but he 
decided he could manage it himself for now. As she stood passively waiting for 
him, he pulled off his garments, then moved to pull her close to him. She 
turned, at his light hint, and came without hesitation into his arms. But then 
he realized she was shivering, no, trembling. He stroked his hands down the 
sides of her arms and she went rigid, shaking so hard she at last had to sit 
down.

It was almost too much, after the outrage of the attack at the club, almost too 
much after she had led him to believe she wanted him. But as with every other 
emotional and mental and physical assault Hank had endured in his life, he 
controlled himself, and endured this one too, until the agonizing fury flared 
and died. When he could do so with some semblance of calm, he walked to the 
window and looked through the curtains at the city below, leaning on his hands, 
contemplating...nothing.

"Hank?" came a hoarse whisper from behind him. "Hank, listen--"

"PLEASE." He spoke louder than he intended to, and modulated his voice on the 
second try. "Please don't feel you need to explain. I have had this experience 
before. You aren't the first lady to find she is not quite so... adventuresome... 
as she imagined, and I doubt you'll be the last." In a moment, he would collect 
his things, and go back to his home; his lab and his friends, where things at 
least made sense.

"Hank, PLEASE...." There was true desperation in Cassie's voice and he wearily 
turned around to her, prepared to listen after all to the protestations of good 
intentions he so thoroughly despised. "Come here." He obeyed, steeling himself 
against the sight of tears on her face again. She was reaching out a hand for 
one of his, and he grudgingly gave it, and even allowed her to place it on her 
thigh before beginning to recoil. Did she think him completely unfeeling?

Then an anomaly attracted his attention, a fine ridge under the skin of her 
thigh which had no business there, anatomically. And there was another, an inch 
down, several more following that. He looked closely and saw them, multiple pale 
diagonal lines on both thighs. Scars.

Hank knelt so he could look up into Cassie's face. "What are these?" he 
whispered, almost afraid to find out.

"Hank, I'm so sorry, I should have told you before...." She was close to the 
edge of breaking down, he realized, and with no thought of his former anger, he 
rose to sit beside her, placing an arm around her slim back to draw her to him 
for comfort. That she did snuggle her head into his shoulder went a very long 
ways towards healing the pain of the preceding moments.

"When you're ready," he told her, stroking her hair "It's all right."

"It's NOT--I should have told you. I would have, if I had had any idea you 
thought...would think there was something about YOU...." Now she did start 
crying in earnest, silent, racking sobs. He pulled her yet closer, leaned his 
head over hers and murmured soothingly, his own eyes feeling suspiciously hot. 
At last she got herself under control, and he felt it permissible to leave her 
for a moment, to bring a damp washcloth from the bathroom.

"Thank you," she said, her voice muffled a little by the cloth. He took his 
place next to her again, waiting. After a few throat clearings, she said, 
"Remember how I told you at lunch I had been married once?"

"Yes. You said it didn't work out." He had been glad, at the time, she wasn't 
the type to want to rehash all her ex's sins to a stranger.

"It didn't work out because he...lost his mind. He's in an institution for the 
criminally insane. These," she waved a hand at her legs, "are from when 
he...tried to kill me."

Strangely enough, Hank couldn't think of an appropriate witty remark. "Why?" was 
all that came out.

"Voices that told him to," she said simply. "They tell me it was a pretty 
standard version of...whatever the label is. The voices told him I was cheating 
on him, and plotting to kill HIM, and he had to get me first." She shivered 
again. "What made it so bad is that...I had no warning. I mean, yeah, we'd had 
our...problems," she swallowed and he winced in empathy, imagining them, "but I 
had no idea there was anything seriously wrong. Until I walked in one day, 
bringing in a sack of groceries--" She had to stop again, and Hank patted her 
helplessly.

"He knocked me down, screaming things I couldn't make sense of. I was so scared, 
I just froze. He started tying me up, and I tried to fight then, but--" Hank 
held out a hand, and she took it like a lifeline, grabbing with both of hers. "I 
couldn't get away. I couldn't talk to him--he would just scream louder, to drown 
me out. He turned on some music real loud, but it was in the middle of the day, 
and there were no neighbors around to hear anyway."

"The scars?" Hank hated that the question slipped out before he could stop it, 
but Cassie didn't seem to mind now.

"He was going to torture me to death," she said, as matter of factly as 
something like that can be said. "Those are the only scars...that show." She 
brushed her hand over the fur of his forearm, but he didn't think she was seeing 
him. "I can't have kids, they tell me."

Hank was not sure how much more of this HE could take. "How long ago did this 
happen?"

"Not quite five years." She shook herself, seemed to regain a shadow of the 
animation she had displayed in the normal part of the day. "But...I haven't gone 
out with a man since then. Not until tonight. Haven't wanted to, not even in the 
slightest. It was like...I forgot all those feelings, or maybe I put them all in 
my books. That's what some of the people in my group think." She managed to turn 
her head to look at him. "That's partly why I didn't tell you. Not just that I 
don't like to talk about it. I...was attracted to you, and it was...like getting 
your memory back must feel, if you've had amnesia. I really thought I could 
just...go with it, and never have to...."

"I wish--" he said, and stopped himself, but not in time.

"What?"

Oh, well, too late for diplomacy. "I wish you had felt you could tell me."

"It's not...it's complicated." Her jaw worked as she sought the words. "When 
people know, they...treat you funny. Really carefully, like you're different. 
And they have a look in their eyes, like you're...."

"A freak," he finished for her, and she looked at him in amazement. "Like they 
suspect you of being privately bizarre, and they would like to see that 
sideshow, if they could do it safely," he finished, with savage heat.

"Yes!" Stunned surmise glowed in her face. "Is that how you feel?"

"Frequently." Now he managed a twisted, bitter smile. "But I have no choice 
about telling people I'm a mutant."

"No, that's true." She gingerly stroked his thigh, and his smile became a little 
softer. "Well, you do understand then. But...I still realize I was wrong, to try 
to take advantage of you--"

This made him laugh in spite of himself. "My dear, I was absolutely ecstatic 
that you wanted to...take advantage of me."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes." He wondered how she could doubt it, then remembered she was at least 
as insecure as he, possibly more so. It explained a very great deal about her, 
and the events of the day.

"Well...could I still, then?"

"I beg your pardon?" Hank snapped back to reality so fast it almost hurt.

"Never mind--that's silly. I don't know what--" Cassie floundered to a halt. 
Hank's face was a study in contrasts; confusion and comprehension, worry and 
hope, fear and desire.... "I guess I thought...there might still be hope. That I 
could make love to you without turning into a screaming basketcase, I mean." She 
looked off into the distance. "But this time I WILL warn you. After it first 
happened, and I was in the hospital, they had to keep me sedated. I just lost it 
if anyone even tried to touch me. It was a couple of months before I could 
handle the nurses and the aides--the female ones. Now I don't even flinch if 
people brush up against me in crowds--much. But I HAVEN'T been intimate with 
anyone; I've barely been alone in a room with anyone...." Her voice trailed off. 
"No, it's too much to ask of you, I see that. I'm sorry."

"Why," he asked in a mock-growl, "don't you let ME decide if it's too much to 
ask of me?"

"O-okay," Cassie stammered, suddenly seeming to realize WHAT she was asking. 
"Well...is it?"

"No." With a smile, he gathered up the hank of her silken hair, enjoying once 
again the heft and spill of it in his hand. "And I can promise you quite 
faithfully that I will stop instantly, any activity, any time you say. But I 
would feel honored to...be allowed to try to help." Cassie nodded very quickly, 
as if she feared she would change her mind. "Let's get cozy, then." He rose and 
turned down the bed, then dimmed the lights. There was a radio beside the bed, 
and he quickly found the station that unashamedly advertised itself as 'the 
soundtrack of your life', mostly quiet instrumentals of old pop songs.

When he crawled into the bed, Cassie was laying on her side, head cradled on one 
arm, waiting for him. Her eyes were very wide in the dim light, and he could now 
sense the tremors lurking beneath the surface of her calm. But she came 
willingly to lay herself in the crook of his arm, showing her trust. Immensely 
moved, he began to stroke her face and hair. "You have such lovely hair," he 
murmured. His fingers parted it, cradled the back of her head as he moved in to 
suggest a kiss. She met him halfway, and they spent quite a long time exploring 
each other in this way. He found her reaction to his lips on her neck had not 
been a fluke; it was one of her most sensitive areas, and he made every use of 
that knowledge he could. When they broke apart, they were both panting.

"This is going really well," Cassie whispered, as if talking aloud might jinx 
it.

Hank grinned enigmatically. He was aroused nearly to the point of frenzy, which 
was just exactly the way he couldn't afford to be. "I am so very glad to hear 
it," he told her politely, and thought her giggle MUST be a sign she was 
relaxing again. With great care, he repositioned himself to be able to mouth her 
nipples, and with a groan, she fell back and let him.

What she could not have know, Cassie thought, was that it could BE like this. 
Maybe it was the added boost of emotional turmoil. But she had thought she was 
making most of that stuff in the books UP! The anticipation of a touch, and how 
every nerve end seemed to spark again and again, and how desire began to burn 
more insistently than hunger ever could...as a matter of fact, it seemed as 
though she had been shooting fairly shy of the mark!

Now Hank at last had decided she was ready for him to touch her between the 
legs, and she opened to him without letting herself hesitate, ready for the 
final test. She braced herself against panic that did not come, although she 
still felt as tense as a greyhound in the starting gate.

Emboldened at her failure to burst into hysteria, Hank propped himself up on one 
elbow, smiling down at her. "I am going to leave it to you to let me know...when 
to proceed further," he said, continuing to do things to her he had been led to 
believe were quite pleasant. "And please feel free to...satisfy any curiosity 
you may have about me."

"Oh," Cassie said, shyly, but took up the oblique invitation. She reached out to 
his groin and found him hard, and quite ready, but not especially unusual as far 
as touch could tell her. Perhaps he was built a little on the large side, but 
not impossibly so. His penis was as smooth skinned as any man's, like the palms 
of his hands. She couldn't tell in the dim light if it was blue, but she 
supposed so.

Hank bit back a groan at Cassie's touch, or at least, he thought he had. She 
glanced at him for some reason, and he smiled reassuringly. Her explorations 
made him bite his tongue and try to recall to mind complex chemical formulations 
as a distraction.

"Let's try, Hank," she whispered at last, recalling him from his heroic efforts 
at self-control.

He did his best to move into position slowly. She was moist, physically ready 
for him, but they both knew this could be too much for her to handle this first 
time. Before he went any further, Hank stopped to kiss her, then said, "If you 
want me to stop, you only have to say so. It's fine." The words sounded 
inadequate somehow. "I promise you I won't hurt you. I'll never hurt you, 
Cassie."

"I know," she whispered. "I trust you."

Shaking a little himself, Hank moved into proper alignment and began, very 
carefully and slowly, to press his way into Cassie's body. It was a long, 
drawn-out process, because he could not help freezing every time she made an 
unusual sound. By the time he was all the way in, he had a ringing in his ears 
from the tension, and was almost afraid to move, for fear the slightest 
additional stimulation would make him climax instantly. "All right so far?" he 
managed to ask.

She smiled in wonder. "Yes. Yes, I think so. It doesn't hurt, anyway, and...I'm 
not scared. Not of you, anyway--just a little of me."

Bearing this in mind, Hank began to move, fractionally at first, for both their 
sakes. He knew he could not hold out very long past this point, and he was soon 
proved right. The orgasm caught him off guard, and he almost pulled a calf 
muscle fighting to not finish with the usual series of spasming thrusts. Even 
such an awkward and unusual climax was heavenly, though, and he kissed Cassie 
with true thankfulness when he was done, before proffering his apologies for his 
unseemly haste.

"Hank, you have nothing to apologize for!" Cassie answered him, amazed he would 
think so. "You have been so patient and kind...." Words failed her, and she 
threw her arms around his torso, hugging him to her.

"Cassie," he whispered into her hair, savoring her fervent affection, "Cassie." 
It was all he could think of to say, at the moment. Soon, she was again snuggled 
against his shoulder, sleeping the sleep of emotional exhaustion. He was 
drowsing off too, trying to picture what surprises the next day might bring 
forth, trying not to think of her catching a plane and leaving him. But since 
the future was impenetrable to him, he gave it up in exchange for sleep himself, 
holding Cassie close.


Susan the Neon Nurse
(Susan Crites/CRITESS) Email to carosue@iguana.ruralnet.net

"Half the failures of this world arise from pulling in one's horse as he is 
leaping." - Augustus Hare


----------
Neon Hearts Part 7. WARNING: EXPLICIT

Explicit again (or still)--don't read if you are easily embarrassed, influenced, 
etc.!

Marvel characters are Marvel characters are Marvel characters. No argument 
there, right?

NOTE: There is a strong possibility this will turn out to be a sort of ongoing 
story, not unlike the comics it is based in. Right now it is not firmly set in 
any one x-version, but I am taking suggestions....


PART 7--THE MORNING AFTER


Hank woke up in the dark, disoriented, knowing only he was somewhere strange. 
Then memory awakened also. He was with Cassie, at her hotel...in her bed.

The sound that must have awakened him came again, and his satisfaction sharpened 
to concern. It was a tiny whimper, the wisp of sound which is all that escapes 
when one is fighting through a nightmare. "Cassie?" he said in a low murmur, 
raising up on one elbow to reach for her. "Cassie?"

He patted her on the shoulder, and the effect was galvanic, as though he had 
stabbed her. She came awake shrieking, tumbling back and away without conscious 
direction, scrabbling off over the side of the bed before he could grab her. 
There was a 'thunk' that made him cringe.

Hank fumbled for the tiny lamp switch in the dark, his usually nimble fingers 
made clumsy by dread. With light, he was free to leap out of bed and run to 
Cassie's side--until recollection made him halt. He might scare her even worse 
trying to help her.

She was wincing, holding a hand against the back of her head, but awake. "Ow," 
she said ruefully. At this sign she was wholly in the waking world, Hank knelt 
by her side and gently examined the back of her head. No blood, thank God. 
"Sorry," she said, although he could see no earthly reason why she should be 
apologizing to him.

"Bad dream?" was all he asked, as if he couldn't figure that one out. She merely 
nodded. "Do you want me to go to the ice machine?" There was not yet a bump, but 
he felt as though he ought to do SOMETHING.

"No." She felt her head again. "I don't think it's that bad. I'd rather just go 
back to bed." She gave him her hand, and he helped her rise, still eyeing her 
anxiously. She crawled in, and after a moment, Hank joined her. To his relief, 
she snuggled close to him, head pillowed on his shoulder, one hand on his chest. 
"Do you mind me doing this?"

"Not in the slightest," he assured her sincerely. She patted him by way of 
thanks, and he gradually felt her relax back into sleep. Once he was sure she 
was sleeping soundly once more, he followed her example.

A few hours later, he awakened again, but this time with full awareness of his 
surroundings and circumstances. He knew without looking that it was 6am--he 
invariably awakened at that time every day. Cassie was still sleeping, still 
close by his side, though in the dim morning light seeping in around the 
curtains, she looked insubstantial, almost like a figment of his imagination.

Her skin was pale against his fur, and her blonde hair gleamed silver. Her 
eyelashes fanned against her cheek, and he could just see little smudges of 
mascara left from the night before. She looked like a little girl who had been 
playing with her mommy's makeup. She just seemed...little, next to him.

Something caused her to stir, and he tensed, waiting for another panicky 
outburst, but she only smiled sleepily. "Hey."

"Hey," he said quietly, wondering if she could hear or feel how hard his heart 
was suddenly beating.

Cassie put out a hand to stroke Hank's face. How soft his skin was there--like 
velvet, or moleskin. Just lovely. He closed his eyes as she explored his 
features, his strong chin, the interesting point to his ears. She sat up a 
little, running her fingers through the hair on his scalp, noticing the residue 
of mousse or some other hair control substance. The hair immediately half stood 
up on the side. "Oooh, cowlicks!" she giggled.

"Yes, industrial strength ones," Hank replied. "I need another haircut--they're 
getting out of control again." But she had lost interest in his hair, and was 
staring down into his eyes with warm speculation. He needed no further 
invitation to lift up his head and kiss her.

He set himself the task of following her lead, on the theory this was the best 
way to avoid startling her in any way. She seemed much readier to initiate 
things this morning, more interested in exploring his physique. Her obvious 
delight in her findings went a long ways towards decreasing his 
self-consciousness about his differences. And as she found HIS more sensitive 
sites, he forgot about anything at all but Cassie, and what they were doing 
right now, together.

He began to reciprocate with experiments. Kissing her stomach made her giggle 
uncontrollably--she was highly ticklish there. Her breasts, which were a nice 
size that fit perfectly under his large hands, were another good site, 
especially the nipples. To his delight, she sought his out in return and tweaked 
them lightly, with a much more powerful effect than he would have suspected 
possible. Okay, things were getting serious now--time to go for that neck! She 
seemed to agree, because she eagerly turned over when he kissed the side of it, 
presenting her nape for him to nibble at will. He complied, and sighed with 
pleasure as she wriggled and pressed back against his body.

While still drawing reactions from her through his attentions to her neck, Hank 
branched out to bring her vulva into the field of action. She readily gave him 
room to maneuver, and soon was softly moaning his name. Inspired to make his 
move now, Hank guided the tip of his penis into position. When Cassie's reaction 
was to tilt her hips back to provide a better angle, he gave a purr of 
appreciation, and thrust just a little way in. She pressed back under the 
influence of a really good neck nibble, and then kept going, beginning a rhythm 
he immediately picked up.

Moving, gliding with her, mouthing her neck and fondling her body, Hank turned 
his focus to her responses; creating the appropriate reaction within his partner 
was goal number one this morning. As she began to strain harder, simultaneously 
with and against him, he sensed his efforts were working. Soon, she stiffened, 
made those odd little movements so similar to a seizure, then relaxed in his 
arms. Taking that as his own cue, Hank resumed pumping, just a little faster, a 
little more strongly, until he achieved his own very satisfactory climax.

Temporarily drained of the will to move, he let his arms drop away. Cassie sat 
up, close by his body, arms around her knees. She was staring off into the 
distance with a look on her face he could not quite identify. "Oh...my," she 
said at last. She met his eyes at his wordless hum of inquiry, and smiled. "I 
feel so...SILLY."

That was not QUITE what he thought she was going to say. "Why?"

"Hank," her tone was wondering now, "I had NO IDEA. I've been writing romances 
for years. I've been married, been a modern college girl...and I would have bet 
money I knew what having an orgasm felt like." She shook her head, and looked at 
him like he was a brand new idea. "I guess I just THOUGHT I knew, before."

What she was trying to say sank in, and it was extremely flattering to his male 
ego, especially because he tended to believe she meant it. "Happy to be of 
service," he said, grinning, and traced one clawed fingertip up her thigh. "It 
does seem we are quite...compatible." It felt strange to be saying such things 
to someone he had met less than 24 hours ago. But she just smiled, and nodded 
agreement.

"So...what are your plans for today?" ONLY today, a part of him mourned, and he 
successfully squelched it.

"Let's see...I'm supposed to check out by noon, and then go over to my agents 
until this cocktail party thing. And then after that she drives me to the 
airport." She didn't look very excited about that itinerary.

"I don't suppose...would you like to come to my place? For lunch? I can drive 
you wherever you need to be, later."

The smile she wore looked like it would never come off. "I would like that."

Hank looked over his shoulder and hooked the phone to him by its cord. "Let me 
double check." Cassie wondered if she should leave, let him make his call in 
private, but she felt quite comfortable, slightly leaning on him, and he didn't 
seem at all disturbed by her presence. "Hello, sir," he abruptly said. 'Sir?' 
she wondered. "It's Hank." As he listened, a faint frown formed on his forehead. 
"I'll be home this morning, actually. In about an hour or so." The frown 
deepened, but he tried to smile it away. "Technically, that IS still 
morning...." Now Cassie did feel she should leave, but he put his free hand on 
her leg; she wasn't sure if it was to restrain her or reassure himself. "What 
was it you were needing me for?" Now he rolled his eyes, but said calmly, "I 
didn't realize you were in a hurry for that. I thought we said by the end of the 
week?"

Guilt and curiosity mixed in Cassie's mind. She again entertained the passing 
thought that she knew almost NOTHING about this man. Well, amend that--she knew 
nothing about his LIFE. "Fine," he was saying. "By the way...I want to bring 
someone for lunch. Is that a problem?" Cassie bit her lip at the thought of 
problems she might be causing Hank. "Someone I met. A writer." Agggh, he was 
telling someone she was a writer! "Good. See you at lunch, Professor."

He hung up the phone, and set it next to him, precariously balanced on the edge 
of the bed. "Have I gotten you in trouble?" Cassie asked hesitantly.

"Oh, no, nothing like that," Hank hastened to reassure her. How to explain the 
professor's occasional moods in a brief and simple way? "Professor Xavier is our 
leader, our mentor, you might even say. In some ways, he and I are very alike in 
mental outlook. I THINK that's why it...disturbs him a little when I do 
something unexpected."

"Like stay out all night?"

"Yes, like that." His smile was a little twisted. "Or it could be that it is 
because he has known me since I was a teenager, and sometimes forgets that 
TECHNICALLY I am well over 21, and entitled to...engage in adult activities." He 
took in Cassie's slightly dubious look, and said, more heartily, "Never mind. 
Something else is likely on his mind. He'll be fine."

They exchanged another kiss, then reluctantly broke away to dress. Hank had to 
turn down her offer to share her shower, as it was simply too small for him, 
plus he wouldn't have come close to being able to get dry before noon, with only 
two hotel towels and her travel blow-dryer on hand.

After she dressed, Cassie called her agent to relay the news she would be coming 
to the party by an alternate route. Since Hank was the native, she put him on 
with Wendy to get directions. He didn't ask for a pen, just nodded, closed his 
eyes, and repeated them. "I will see she gets there on time," he promised, and 
gave the phone back to Cassie.

"Oooh, babe, he sounds cute; bring him!"

Cassie thought this was an excellent idea, and turned to Hank, clutching the 
phone against her chest. "Do you want to come WITH me to the party? Wendy says I 
should bring you."

Hank hesitated a moment. Could he make the time to reassemble his image inducer? 
He THOUGHT he could, so he gave in to temptation and nodded agreement.

Arrangements made, she was soon checked out and heading out of the city beside 
Hank in his little red car, her hair whipping in the wind like a bright flag as 
he wove in and out of traffic, exuberant with the sun and the day and more time 
with Cassie. She leaned close as they drove, with Hank half-shouting 
descriptions of his friends in her ear. There seemed to be quite a number of 
people who lived there off and on, and she hoped she would be able to keep them 
all straight.

*          *          *

"This looks bad," Scott commented, pointing down at some indeterminate 
oil-encrusted object. Gambit and Wolverine craned their necks to see. Wolverine 
nodded sagely.

"Dat de fuel pump?" If you couldn't tell by looking, it was indeed a bad sign, 
Gambit knew, and he sighed to himself. It had seemed a great joke, winning a 
'classic piece of iron' in last night's card game. But perhaps the joke was on 
him....

"OUGHT to be," Logan said. "No telling what it REALLY is. This engine's been 
mangled by a moron."

"Yeah, but I think it's fixable," Scott argued. "The body's sound. A few new 
parts...."

"Like a new engine," Logan suggested, with a wicked gleam in his eye. Then he 
straightened and cocked his head. "Someone's driving in the gate." The other two 
merely nodded, acknowledging his superior senses. They watched and in a moment 
saw the little red sportster come around the corner. "Well, well, WELL! Looks 
like Little Boy Blue picked himself up a blonde!"

"Boun' to happen sooner or later, him drivin' dat car," Gambit said wryly. "Car 
like dat, blondes pick YOU up!"

"Maybe he'll trade you," Scott jibed. "He'll like this Jeep."

As they watched, the passenger door opened, and the blonde stepped out, her grey 
skirt riding up a bit as she scooted around in the low slung seats. "Nice legs," 
remarked Gambit.

"Yup," Scott agreed amiably.

"Hey, bub, you're a married man," Logan objected with a mild scowl, possibly out 
of deference to the absent Jean's sensibilities.

"I'm only stating an objective fact...and agreeing with Gambit," Scott replied 
loftily.

As they continued to watch, Hank for some reason chose to exit the car by doing 
an arm press up out of his seat which became a one-handed handstand on the top 
of the windshield bar. He finished by hand-walking over to the far right side, 
and doing a flashy gymnastic style dismount. The blonde responded by laughing 
and clapping with enthusiasm, then kissing him with even more. "I think I'm 
gonna be sick," Logan remarked to no one in particular.

Hank spotted them, waved, and said something to his companion as he pointed. 
While they approached, Gambit took the opportunity to wipe the grease off his 
hands. "Cassie," Hank said as he drew into speaking range, "These desperate 
looking characters are some of my closest friends--Scott, Remy and Logan. 
Gentlemen, this is Cassie Cantrell."

"How do you do?" she said, smiling from her spot very close by Hank's side. 
"It's nice to meet you." Now, Scott was the one with the red glasses, she knew. 
So the middle one was Remy and the shorter man with the unlit cigar was Logan. 
Okay, so far, so good.

They all greeted her in return, and then there was a moment of awkward silence. 
"Hank's told me all about you," Cassie offered, trying to fan up a conversation.

"ALL about us?" Scott's tone made a joke of it, but eyed Hank with a hint of 
warning.

"Just the basics," Hank said lightly, trying to be casual about putting Scott's 
mind at ease.

It seemed good enough for now. "Are you joining us for lunch?" Scott asked 
pleasantly. "I'm cooking today."

"What fare of Jean's are you warming up?" Hank inquired blandly.

"I'm COOKING noodles," Scott informed him with a grand air of a king squelching 
a rowdy commoner.

"He's thawin' some of Jeannie's stroganoff to put over it," added Logan, ruining 
the effect.

"Excellent," Hank said, and meant it. "We'll see you at lunch then."

The trio watched them depart, heads together in private nversation, laughter 
trailing behind them. Gambit broke the silence. "Mus' be serious, amis. He 
didn't even LOOK at my car!"


Susan the Neon Nurse
(Susan Crites/CRITESS) Email to carosue@iguana.ruralnet.net

If it ain't broke yet, let me have a shot at it.


----------
Neon Hearts Part 8. Be prepared for a possible delay in the next few chapters. I 
have to have a bit of surgery, and am not sure how soon I can prop myself back 
up at the keyboard!

Marvel characters copyright to good ol' Marvel, which is as it should be!


PART 8--PUBLIC APPEARANCES


"The garage, of course, was a stable a hundred years ago," Hank said, waving his 
arm in the direction from which they had come. He had been pointing out the 
outdoor sights since they drove in, and had almost completed the lot.

"This place is amazing," Cassie commented. "Beautiful. Also huge."

They crossed a flagstone patio and entered a kitchen that seemed, at first 
glance, to be nearly as large and open as the grounds outside. A meal was 
obviously under preparation; large pots steamed on the stove, and the microwave 
was humming. A redheaded woman whose generous mouth turned up in a wide smile at 
the sight of Hank greeted them. "Hello, stranger."

"Jean," Hank responded, grinning back. He seemed to be grinning a lot, he 
thought in passing, and grinned wider, if possible, as he thought it. "Jean, 
this is my friend Cassie Cantrell. Cassie, Jean."

Jean indicated her involvement with lettuce being rinsed, to excuse not shaking 
hands. "Nice to meet you, Cassie."

"You, too. I think I just met your husband Scott outside?" 'I need some notes to 
remember all these characters,' Cassie thought in a small panic.

"Sure, he's out there with the boys, hanging over Gambit's new toy. What did you 
think, Hank?"

"Think?" Hank looked blank, and he looked to Cassie, who gave the most minute of 
eyebrow shrugs in response.

"Didn't they show you that hunk of junk Gambit won in a card game last night? 
Someone towed it over this morning, and they've been out there ever since. You 
men and cars!" She shook her head and gave Cassie a friendly squint, inviting 
her to join in with her despair over the opposite sex.

Hank stopped to concentrate, rebuilding in his mind the image of the group at 
the garage. "Oh, is THAT what they were doing?"

"I would have thought they'd get you neck-deep in it right away. They want you 
to build a catalytic converter for it."

Hank lifted an eyebrow. "Just BUILD one? From scratch? Don't they realize that's 
why God gave us auto parts stores?"

"Don't look at me, I've got nothing to do with it," Jean said with good humor.

"Except you seem to be cooking lunch when it's Scott's turn," Hank observed. 
"You're going to spoil that boy."

"Oh, well, he's worth spoiling a little bit," was Jean's abashed reply, and 
Cassie warmed up to her instantly. "So, Cassie, you live in the city?"

"Ah, well, not THIS city," she replied. "I'm from Denver."

"Denver?!" Jean stopped for a moment to look Cassie over more closely, and give 
Hank a quick check as well. "You're a long ways from home. On vacation?"

"Kind of a working vacation." Jean was dumping bags of noodles into the pots as 
she listened. "Can I help with anything?"

"Oh, no, got it under control, but thanks." She checked the dish in the 
over-sized microwave, then turned back to the sink. Behind her, the microwave 
started itself. Cassie looked a question at Hank, who merely smiled blandly 
back. "So, are you having fun on the vacation part?"

Cassie could not help thinking of her most recent activities, and felt herself 
begin to blush. "Ahhh, yeah." She had to look away from the twinkle in Hank's 
eye, or she was afraid she'd burst into giggles, which was even more juvenile 
than blushing. "Lots."

Jean stopped again to eye them both, and slowly smiled. <Good for you, dear. 
Hank needs a little fun.> Cassie blinked in startlement; Hank had given her a 
quick rundown of the various talents she might notice here, but it wasn't the 
same as experiencing one.

Hank knew quite well the signs of someone hearing a private telepathic message. 
"Gee, Jeannie, talk about a guy in front of his back, why don't you?"

"Who, me?" she answered airily. "Why, Hank McCoy, what gives you the idea I'd do 
a thing like that?" She winked quite openly at Cassie. "If you want to give a 
little more of the tour before lunch, you have about 20 minutes."

"'Kay," Hank said agreeably, and steered Cassie out of the kitchen.

"I don't know what you're going to find to show me that's more interesting than 
the people," Cassie said as they crossed a wide hall, stopping in front 
of...elevators?

"How about my lab?" They were soon downstairs. It was even more vast than the 
kitchen, and looked to Cassie like a Star Trek set with an infinite budget. Hank 
pointed to a series of neatly stacked components. "The famous disassembled image 
inducer."

"Uh-huh." Cassie was not sure what else to say.

"I...think I can get it put back together before we have to leave for your 
party," he said with studied casualness.

Cassie frowned slightly. "You want to wear it?"

He frowned uncertainly, too. "Don't you want me to?"

"Oh, well, if you really WANT to--" she said quickly. He tilted his head, 
clearly trying to read her intentions, and she gathered the nerve to continue. 
"I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. But...it depends if this is the only 
function you're planning to ever attend...with me."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, if you go to this one in...that, but some other thing like your normal 
self--"

"'Normal' isn't a word I use much in self-description," he tried to joke, and 
she gave him a half-annoyed, half-reproachful look.

"I think a person should always begin as they mean to go on," she started again, 
mildly. "Maybe I'm...making assumptions. But if we might be seen together more 
than one time, and some of the time you're you, and other times you're...someone 
else...." She ran her fingers through her hair, frustrated at not being able to 
find the right words. "People will think THAT'S odd, too."

Hank studied her, thinking hard. She was implying she hoped for their 
relationship to continue after today, and that was very, VERY good news. But she 
also seemed bent on making an aggressive display of her association with him, 
and that might not be. "You should take a look, before you decide."

Cassie nodded her willingness to compromise, and he turned to boot up his 
workstation screen. "I can show you...my specs. Come to think of it, where are 
my other specs?"

After a brief search, he turned around, wearing a pair of gold-framed half 
glasses, and Cassie was charmed. "I didn't know you wore glasses!"

"Only for close work, and reading," he admitted. He also admitted, privately, 
that Cassie looked even better close up in good focus.

"They suit you," she told him gravely, after turning his head with her hands to 
study it from several angles. "Very intellectual looking. And sexy."

"Glasses are sexy?" He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Since when?

"Ten million John Lennon fans can't be wrong," she retorted with a toss of her 
head, then gave him a hug to be sure he knew she was only kidding. "I've always 
liked cute little glasses like that. On cute guys."

"I am beginning to think you have very peculiar taste," was all he said, but he 
smiled as he said it. Turning back to his computer screen, he did some 
rapid-fire tapping, and then presented the screen with a wave of his hand.

Cassie stepped closer. A grid, shaped like Hank's head, appeared first, slowly 
revolving. Then on the second turn, it filled in with color, becoming the face 
of a man with a strong chin, dark eyes behind dark framed glasses, and dark 
hair, combed severely back to subdue its natural waves. It was expressionless, 
like a marble bust, and she looked uncertainly at Hank and back at it. Yes, the 
bone structure of the face was plainly the same, even to her untutored eye. 
But....

"Can you...smile, and all?"

"Oh, of course. That just wasn't necessary in this display," he assured her. 
"But it...well, it's a little tricky to explain how. It copies, it COVERS, the 
movements of all my muscles, even the small facial ones."

"Well, that would look a LITTLE better, I guess." Suddenly she was afraid she 
was insulting his invention. "I'm sure it works like a charm. But I can't 
quite...make the leap, imagining you looking like that." He did look 
disappointed. "It just doesn't look like YOU, to me," she said lamely.

"Hang on," he said, and called up something new. "Look at these." A copy of a 
photograph appeared on the screen, of a tousled-headed youth with huge shoulders 
and a shy, head-ducking grin. "That's me at sixteen," he said, but Cassie had 
already guessed that. She had leaned in, entranced, to better see the image.

"Hank, you were ADORABLE!" She looked back at him in delight, and saw it was 
perhaps not the best thing to have said, although he was almost hiding his 
reaction. "I hate all the pictures of me at sixteen," she tried to explain. "I 
was...goofy looking."

"No, surely not." He was doing better now, covering for himself. He stepped up 
beside Cassie and put an arm around her waist as the picture changed. Here he 
was doing handstands, grinning at the camera with more confidence. He rarely 
looked at these reminders of his past; it was doubly poignant to be doing so 
with someone else.

"I meant that you looked so sweet and innocent," Cassie told him, hoping to undo 
whatever damage she had caused.

"Well, I am certainly no longer innocent," he joked, and she gave him a squeeze. 
"I did a very foolish thing, you see. I thought I could single-handedly reverse 
the mutant gene which has been released so widely in nature...and I used myself 
as the experimental material. I was already...different...at birth, but like 
Scott, or Jean, or many of the others, my appearance was normal. The serum I 
developed changed me to what you see today."

Cassie thought about that, and Hank waited to see what she would say. "It's 
harder than I realized for you, then," she said simply. "I'm glad you showed 
me."

"So...what would you have me do, for tonight?" He cancelled the display and shut 
down the monitor.

"What ever YOU choose, is okay with me," she told him, trying to make him 
understand she meant it by the urgency of her tone. "Just so long as you know 
that in no way am I embarrassed to be seen with you, just like you are right 
this second. But if it's easier for you, wear the image thingie."

"My intention was to make it easier for you," he explained. "This party has 
something to do with your career?"

"Actually, the sad truth is that, if I turn up with you--the blue you," she 
smiled at the phrase, "a lot of people are going to think it's a ruse for 
publicity, or something like that." She looked him over assessingly, tapping a 
finger on his chin, trying to see a grownup version of that boy on this face. 
"And they may think the same thing with the image-you. I THINK you are probably 
pretty good looking that way too."

'Too?' Hank thought. He was THAT close to starting to believe she really meant 
it....

"No matter which, it's going to cause a stir, me turning up with a guy," she 
explained. "This is a tight-knit business, and everyone knows all about everyone 
else's real life romances, or lack of them." She smiled crookedly. "Actually, I 
wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to go at all. Everybody will be nosing 
around, trying to find out who you are and how we met and what's going on...." 
She sighed. "I wish *I* could get out of it."

"You can't just not go?" He tried very hard not to sound hopeful.

"Wendy would kill me very dead. It's...an award ceremony, and I'm probably 
getting one."

"You didn't tell me that!"

"How impressed would you have been?" she teased him. "It's not the Nobel prize, 
which I wouldn't be a bit surprised to learn YOU have a shot at."

A tone sounded from somewhere in the room. "Hank, lunch!" sang Jean's voice. 
"Knock it off, you two, and come eat!"

"Have I ruined your reputation TOTALLY, or just a little bit?" Cassie asked, 
mock-sorrowfully, once she recovered from the shock, and her giggles at Hank's 
shock.

"You may be giving me one," he told her, grin firmly back in place, as the 
headed up in the elevator. "Be sure to remind me to thank you properly later." 
The image inducer question was not yet officially settled, but it had receded 
far from either's mind.


Susan the Neon Nurse
(Susan Crites/CRITESS) Email to carosue@iguana.ruralnet.net

Spare time? What a fascinating concept!