Neon Hearts Part 25. Thanks again to Chris Fisher, La Reina Pescadora, for some of 
the brilliant gift ideas contained within. (Where were you at Christmas, huh?) 
And thanks again to Marvel for most of the characters, upon whom they maintain 
copyright.


PART 25


Cassie unobtrusively scanned the crowd seated around the dining table, taking a 
quick head count. Twice as many people present as last time, not counting her 
and Hank, all happily chatting away to him and each other. More was probably 
better, though. Less chance of anyone thinking it odd she didn't join in the 
conversation much.

Luckily Hank was voluble enough for both of them. Also, he was doing quite a 
good job of drawing her into the friendly exchange by questioning her about 
details of their trip, making her seem to be participating far more than she 
actually was. 'Always thoughtful, that's Hank,' she thought, and smiled to 
herself, brushing her leg against his under the table. He turned his head in 
response, meeting her eyes with an unspoken question. When she only gave him a 
hint of an appreciative wink, he grinned broadly. No words needed here for 
communication!

"'F you two keep on makin' eyes at each other like dat, Gambit gon' be gettin' 
jealous," commented the man seated in front of Hank, and Cassie blushed as 
various diners chortled.

Rogue's response was a disgusted snort, which caused the cheerful light to die 
from Gambit's eyes. Hank noted that with some concern. It would seem Rogue's 
return had NOT resulted in a reconciliation between her and Gambit, which 
was...unfortunate. In his current state of relationship bliss, he pitied those 
not similarly blessed.

"Hank said you cooked the lunch today," Cassie said to Gambit, feeling a need to 
say SOMETHING back to the man. "It's...really good. I've never eating anything 
like it before." That part was true; the jury was still out on the first half of 
her sentence.

Gambit brightened, glad of the change of subject. "Gal, you neveh eat Cajun food 
befo'? What kin' of wilderness you COME from?"

"Oh, it's not the West, it's me," Cassie hastened to explain. "I...just haven't 
had the nerve to try it before. I guess I'm not too adventurous." Now it was 
Hank's turn to snort, though he managed to do it fondly. "Do you cook a lot?"

"Got to have real food aroun' here SOMEtime, chere," Gambit drawled.

"Hey, watch it, you," said Jean, pretending to take offense. 

"If yer talkin' real food," Logan said in the raspy voice that made his most 
benign comment sound like a battle challenge, "it ain't gumbo, Gumbo!"

"Dat's right, Wolverine only like raw meat," Gambit retorted, winking openly at 
Cassie.

"Rare steak AIN'T the same as raw meat, Cajun! I can SHOW you some raw meat, if 
you keep on!"

"Let us have no unseemly violence at my coming home party," Hank suggested, 
waving both supposed combatants down.

Cassie, momentary alarm shrinking at Hank's obvious lack of distress, returned 
her attention to the spicy shrimp in front of her. She was quite happy to eat 
unusual food if it came with Hank's having such a good time. He was fairly 
vibrating with his elation at being home again, and it was more than clear his 
warm affection was returned by his comrades. 'You see,' she scolded herself, 'if 
nothing else, you have THAT in common with all these people.'

The sole exception, she amended, seemed to be the silent, watchful black man 
named Bishop. Several times now she had noticed him eyeing her suspiciously when 
he thought Hank wasn't looking. 'Does he think I'm going to pinch the 
silverware, or what?' she wondered indignantly. Looks like more questions to 
Hank were in order, when they were alone together again. And that would be soon, 
she hoped. 

As the conversation turned naturally to X-men related topics, Cassie dropped 
fully into 'mental note' taking mode. The only person who said less than she 
during this phase was another blond youth, lankier and taller than Bobby, who'd 
been introduced to her as Sam, a fairly new addition to the ranks. It had rather 
tickled Cassie to hear him solemnly refer to Hank as 'Dr. McCoy', and to call 
her 'ma'am'. At least she wasn't the only one on the outside looking in on the 
result of years of camaraderie.

As the meal began to wind to a close, Hank drew everyone's attention by tapping 
a spoon against his water glass, creating a melodious chime which Cassie knew 
meant the glassware had NOT come from K-Mart. She hoped desperately that Hank 
was not planning to make a toast or say anything else to draw attention to her. 
But she affixed an attentive smile to her face and shifted slightly in her chair 
to better face him.

"After the meal, if I could impose on you all to suspend your scheduled 
activities for a few brief moments?" he said, looking around the assemblage. 
"I've brought back a few momentos which I would like to distribute. Shall we 
say, in the rec room in fifteen minutes?"

Hank's request was greeted with cheerful acceptance; even Bishop displayed a 
smile for a fraction of an instant as he nodded. Jean, Scott, Bobby and Sam 
began clearing the table, Jean scolding Bobby as he started stacking all the 
water glasses on a serving platter. "Bobby, you KNOW what happened last time."

"Yeah. Don't worry, I'm freezing 'em down this time, see?" In demonstration, he 
held the platter and its contents by one glass, letting the rest hang 
suspended...until the combined weight broke the thin ice seal he had created. 
"Ooops!"

Cassie gasped, anticipating disaster. But Bobby grabbed at the tray with his 
free hand, and within a microsecond, it and its contents were enveloped in a 
thick sheet of ice, so that nothing fell or spilled. She was deeply impressed.

Jean, however, was not. "Oh, Bobby, for heaven' sake! That's going to take HOURS 
to melt, and make a big mess!" He followed with clownishly slumped shoulders and 
drooping head, pretending to be stricken by remorse. "You'd better set it on the 
counter, on some newspapers...." Jean trailed off as they left the room.

"Should we...?" Cassie said to Hank, indicating the table. There was not much 
left to carry, but she felt awkward, not offering to help.

"Looks like they've got it," Hank replied, as Sam bustled out to gather up the 
rest of the meal's debris. Jean also appeared, nodded in satisfaction as Scott 
rolled up the tablecloth and popped open a handy door, tossing it in. 'Laundry 
chute, or closet?' Cassie wondered absurdly. No doubt a laundry chute--Jean was 
obviously not the type to tolerate the latter.

Hank headed for the rec room, Cassie following. "Who wants to help tote some 
boxes?" he asked those already present. "Rogue? Logan? You said they're in my 
lab, I think?" he added to Scott.

"I'll come help hold doors," Cassie blurted, and breezed out in Hank's wake.

After giving the group a moment to get well down the hall, Betsy, who was 
sitting on the arm of a couch next to Warren, spoke. "It's amazing--you can 
barely see the little string attaching her to him." Warren smirked and patted 
her knee.

Jean smiled too, but then added, "I think it's sweet." 

"Nothing wrong with liking to be around somebody," Scott echoed her. "Sit 
practically in their lap every second, stuff like that." Always having to wear 
shades made it difficult to give someone a reproving look, but somehow he'd 
learned to do it. Betsy sat up straight so that she was no longer leaning 
against Warren's shoulder.

"I'm sure if we continue to make her feel welcome she will soon be more at ease 
in our presence," Xavier said, hoping to subdue the normal gossip process just a 
little.

Logan entered, carrying the largest of the boxes that had so excited curiosity 
and comment when they arrived; Rogue was close behind with the remaining two. 
"Hank an' Cassie had to go get some things out of their suitcases up in Hank's 
room," she explained.

"They WILL be back within an hour or so, don't you think?" inquired Bobby, and 
Gambit laughed out loud, reaching over to clap him on the back.

"Ah DON' think ever'body should be teasin' 'em!" Rogue said with narrowed eyes, 
sharing her repressing look between the guilty pair, who were still snickering. 
"Hank's found him somebody willin' to put up with all the craziness 'round here, 
an' Ah don' think we oughta--"

"Shh, here they come," interrupted Jean. Handy being a telepath sometimes. When 
the pair walked in, the group was merely sitting in expectant, well-behaved 
silence. 

Hank bore the already infamous parrot stand and a largish parcel, and Cassie's 
arms were full of smaller ones. He took a spot at the head of the group, beaming 
indiscriminately at his assembled friends, Cassie firmly at his side. 

'They do seem a LITTLE joined at the hip,' Jean thought. Surely she was never 
that honeymoonish with Scott? Maybe it had something to do with Cassie being a 
romance writer...although so far she was quite different from how Jean had 
thought a writer would be.

"I knew I would need to return with souvenirs for you all to prove that I DID 
think of you at least now and then while I was away," Hank began.

"Leaving us to struggle on without you as best we might," Warren bantered.

"And I was continually racked with guilt, I can assure you," Hank replied 
solemnly. Cassie privately thought this was not entirely a joke. "Let's get down 
to it, then."

He selected an oblong box from the stack Cassie had arranged on a convenient 
chair, and placed it on the most centrally located coffee table. "Chocolates." 
Feigned groans immediately rose up from Betsy and Jean. "You might as well 
resign yourselves. There are plenty more where those came from, and I am NOT 
going to eat them all by myself. A man has to know his limits."

"I'LL help," Bobby said valiantly, and began to tear off the cellophane 
wrapping. "'Bravely, with no thought for his own safety, Bobby threw himself on 
the box of deadly candy!'" he intoned dramatically. Several pairs of eyes 
rolled.

"Well, let's see--the newest X-man first, I think." Hank handed the large parcel 
he had been carrying to Sam, who grinned self-consciously as he tore off the 
brown paper wrapping. The grin turned half into a dubious frown as he extracted 
a large stuffed rabbit-like creature, whose huge ears competed for space on the 
top of its head with a set of antlers. "It's called a jackalope," Hank explained 
in his best professorial mode. "I don't know if you have these in the Kentucky 
mountains, as I am told they are native to the West...."

"Gee, Dr. McCoy, I hope they didn't take ya for a tourist and fool ya!" Sam's 
wise eyes belied the drawled, exaggerated innocence. "I was just out there with 
Storm and Logan and Caliban, and we saw a lot of postcards of these things! They 
aren't real!" The group guffawed to see the tables turned on Hank's attempted 
hoax. "But I surely do thank you, all the same. I kinda wanted one, but couldn't 
afford it."

"You are quite welcome, Sam." Hank turned to take up the parrot stand. "Warren, 
as you may have been warned, this is for you, if you want it. Don't let anyone 
carrying it get behind you." As he passed over the stand, he explained, "I have 
already been bludgeoned with it numerous times."

"If it gave you so much trouble, I'll treasure it forever," Warren assured him. 
He looked it over with an assessing, not displeased eye. "You know, I think I 
can hang neckties on it."

"Or you could buy a parrot, aiding the theory that pets and owners look alike," 
Hank added helpfully, earning himself a weary sigh from his victim.

Cassie, thinking she should be finding some way to participate, handed Hank a 
box, almost as big as the jackalope, made of heavily shellacked old wood and 
covered with over a dozen locks of various kinds. "And then, Gambit--" Hank 
said, after thanking her. 

"Many t'anks, mon ami!" said Gambit, clearly pleased. He was already fingering 
them with a speculative look in his eye. 

"There are some little dexterity puzzles inside as well; probably too simple to 
afford you much challenge..." Gambit just nodded, rapt in his examination.

"I can see no one will be reading YOUR diary, Gambit," Betsy remarked.

"Like anyone wants to," muttered Rogue, mostly under her breath.

Cassie handed Hank the next object, wrapped in a plain paper shopping bag, which 
he gave over to Bishop. Discomfort warred with what could almost be called 
pleasure on the stern face. Several whistles of admiration were heard as he drew 
forth a black leather vest. As he examined it from all sides, Bishop discovered 
a brass star that said "Sheriff" pinned on the left front side, and gave Hank a 
puzzled look.

"I'll explain the reference later, if you like," Hank offered. "I think one of 
the cable channels is doing reruns of Gunsmoke...."

"Channel 42, at 11 o'clock every night," Scott spoke up, and Jean nodded 
ruefully, which brought forth a new round of teasing remarks.

'It's just a game they play with each other,' Cassie realized, feeling relieved 
to discover the group's tendency to make pointed jokes was not solely directed 
at her and Hank.

Rogue's gift was a dark green velvet box, which Hank handed over with a gallant 
half-bow. She opened it slowly, half-expecting something to jump out, but gasped 
with pleasure at what she found. A pair of antique silk gloves, faintly ivoried 
with age, gleamed within. She unfolded them reverently, displaying them to the 
group; they were elbow length, with mother of pearl wrist buttons, and three 
tiny satin roses at each outer wrist. "Hank, they're beautiful."

"Just something a little fancy to wear when you go out," he replied modestly, 
while avoiding looking over at Gambit, whose face had lost all expression. 
"Speaking of which, I wouldn't mind a bunch of us hitting Silver's one of these 
nights." There was a babble of approval at that idea.

Now it was time to get into the shipping containers. Hank slit the tape on the 
first carton with his sharp nail, and, with Cassie's help, scuffled around in 
it. He dug out handfuls of packing paper and passed it to his willing assistant, 
who was glad to at last have something to do besides imitate a game show 
spokesmodel. 

"Oh, it's this--" Hank looked a query at Cassie and she said, nodding with her 
chin, "There, on the chair arm." Professor Xavier noted their easy use of the 
kind of short, truncated phrases that were like a code within firm 
relationships, and tentatively dismissed one of his reservations. Communication 
between them was obviously not a problem.

"Take two, they're small," Hank grinned to Bobby, handing him a sweatshirt and a 
wrapped parcel. "I should point out to all of you that most of the rest of these 
items are breakable, so take care in your unwrapping." 

The sweatshirt, adorned with the heroically posed ice sculpture and the 'Poetry 
in Ice' slogan was good for a hearty laugh. "It looks just LIKE me!" Bobby 
crowed in pretend amazement.

"In your dreams, pal," mocked Logan.

The wrapped parcel was revealed as a small but elegant paperweight, smooth glass 
with numerous tiny crystal snowflakes embedded in it, swirling in an invisible 
wind. They caught the light and threw it back as Bobby turned it. "Gee thanks, 
Hank, this is great!" Hank nodded to Cassie, who had been the one to spot it and 
suggest it.

"I have an item of clothing for Betsy as well," Hank informed everyone. Instead 
of passing it over, he held it up so everyone could see the words, 'When someone 
says you kick like a girl, take it as a compliment!'. 

She trilled a laugh, clapping her hands. "I seldom wear t-shirts, but I fancy 
I'll make an exception with this one." 

Hank presented the shirt, and another small wrapped parcel. It proved to contain 
a 'snowstorm' globe, but with tiny ninja stars instead of regular flakes 
floating in the liquid inside. A diminutive black figure floated when shaken as 
well, then landed on one leg, the other one held out in a kick, as everything 
settled. After Betsy had exclaimed over it, Warren took it from her, rotating it 
to watch the miniature shuriken spin as the gift giving ceremony continued.

Ororo was sitting alone in a chair rather than on one of the couches, regal as a 
cat. Graciously, she thanked Hank as he handed her a package, then unwrapped it 
with great care, mindful of the warning.

All that showed at first, after the cardboard protector was lifted, was a set of 
silver wires lying atop a heap of glass pieces. Ororo picked up the chain, and a 
sighing sound of admiration echoed around the group. Her gift was a windchime, 
with semi-stylized clouds and rain and lighting of crystal and colored glass 
arranged to make a storm frozen in a moment of time. With a gesture, she created 
a puff of a breeze and it tinkled like rain against a window. The glow on 
Ororo's face proved her delight in her gift, and made her look even more 
stunning than usual. Cassie thought wistfully, 'I wish I could be HALF that 
beautiful. One third, even.'. 

"I feel selfish hanging it in my room, for my sole enjoyment. But I shall 
anyway," Ororo confessed with a smile.

The next item to come to hand was for Jean and Scott both. "I hope you can bear 
sharing a gift," Hank told them. They peeled back the paper together to reveal a 
suncatcher, inspired by Tiffany glass. It was heart-shaped, a light but clear 
red, edged by a border of stained glass columbines in a riot of colors. 

"Oh, I know the PERFECT window for this!" Jean said. As soon as Jean enthused 
over it, Scott joined in, exactly as Hank had assured Cassie he would.

"Logan." No flowery sentiments on either side, with this one. Logan's gift was a 
larger window piece, an etching on a single piece of round glass that had been 
cast in a meld of stark black and white. A lone wolf in a snowy night field 
stood looking calmly out, its stance and expression communicating the sense that 
it was untameable, and glad of it. The shading that created the background and 
colored the central figure suggested the wave of the yin/yang symbol. Logan 
nodded his approval, said, "Thanks, Hank," and laid it gently on his knees.

That left only the professor, and the largest box was still unemptied. Hank took 
the item inside it out, and reverently passed it over. 

It was another window hanging piece, this one contrived to look like an actual 
miniature window from some old fashioned country house, with white enameled 
frames and sills, and tiny brass fittings. In one of the smaller, upper panes, a 
tromp d'oeil representation of a small blue bottle, with a dandelion in it, 
appeared to sit on the ledge of the sash. 

The large lower pane was faintly pink, and contained occasional bubbles, like 
old-style handblown glass. An inscription was etched lightly across the top, 
'Look out upon the world with hope...'. Near the bottom right corner was a 
deliberate flaw, a dab of vaguely heart shaped, deeper pink, and by it the 
phrase continued '...and love.'.

The professor only stared for a long moment, holding it in both hands. "Thank 
you, Hank, Cassie," he said at last. "I think I will hang this in the window in 
my office." There was a tremor of emotion in his voice even Cassie, a stranger 
to him, could hear. Hank put his arm around Cassie, and gave her a surreptitious 
hug. She could somehow sense his pleasure and relief that the gift he had 
deliberated over the longest had been so well received.

"You should go on vacation more often, if you're going to bring back great 
presents like this," suggested the irrepressible Bobby, popping another 
chocolate in his mouth.

"On the contrary," Hank responded cheerfully, "you'd better hope I get my 
MasterCard paid off before Christmas."


From Susan (the Neon Nurse) Crites and/or Caro Hedge, At The Sign of the Three 
White Cats aka House of Unruly Fish aka House of 1,000 Unfinished Projects. Yes, 
Susan DOES look just like the nurse on Animaniacs! Thanks so much for asking!

Email to carosue@iguana.ruralnet.net


INFO, ETC.


There is also a mailing list for people who want to get new chapters ASAP. Be 
warned--you sometimes get odd extra mailings as well, when the spirit moves 
me....

Disclaimer: Since I am a) inserting a new character and b) not privy to any of 
Marvel's editorial decisions, this story is forced to be an alternate universe. 
It is similar to the 'real' one when it works out, plotwise, okay? And I DO make 
mistakes sometimes, I know. Such is life.

...Friends are presents you give yourself.


--------
Neon Hearts Part 26A. Now don't anybody panic, but I'm going to be doing something 
a little different from here on out. 'Beast Romance' was originally intended to 
be a description, not a title. As happens with me sometimes, I've got some 
storyline ideas that are branching off from that original one. So now you will 
be seeing my X-fiction stories under the general heading 'Neon Hearts 
#(whatever)', with (eventually) a note as to who is mainly featured in any given 
segment. Individual chapters will still be numbered, but will include titles. 
Hope it is not TOO confusing!

One thing stays the same--Marvel copyright of their established characters!


PART 26A--GIRL TALK


As the group rose, preparing to disperse, Cassie and Hank began to gather the 
loose packing material and other assorted debris left over from the gift 
giveaway. Grabbing up loose wrappings and cramming them in the shipping boxes 
made Cassie feel at least momentarily useful. But then--"Here, ma'am, Ah'll take 
that," Sam said gallantly, removing the box from her reluctant hands. "Ah know 
where we dump the trash."

"Right behind you, Sam," Hank said cheerfully, both arms full with the rest of 
the litter. "Be right back, Cassie."

Cassie managed a smile as he bounded out the door and down the hall after his 
helpful young friend, leaving her alone in this group of strangers. She placed a 
hand on the back of the couch and tried to take a nonchalant pose. Jean caught 
her eye, and smiled, but to Cassie's abashed relief, none of the other X-men 
took any particular notice of her as they happily chatted and compared gifts.

Just as Hank returned, Rogue sauntered over to Cassie, wearing a friendly 
expression. "Us gals were goin' on a little shoppin' expedition this afternoon. 
Y'all wanna come along?"

"Oh," Cassie said, floundering. "Well...." She glanced at Hank, to see what he 
thought. Thus occupied, she missed Betsy noticing that reaction, and rolling her 
eyes at Storm and Warren.

"Unless you are too tired from our journey, feel free to go if you like," Hank 
urged. "I have no qualms about turning you over to the tender mercies of the 
distaff side of the X-men." He grinned at those present before adding, 
"Actually, I should meet with the professor and check my lab...."

'You can't slink along after Hank like a scared puppy forever,' Cassie scolded 
herself, trying to make her mental voice firm and sensible. "Then...sure. Why 
don't I...go shop?" She did her best to look enthusiastic. "When are we going?"

"Soon as ever'body's ready," Rogue said easily. "Ya know where we park th' 
cars--meet ya out there, sugah."

*          *          *

Not long after, Hank walked Cassie down to the garage. He made rather a 
production out of kissing her goodbye until Rogue, who was at the wheel of the 
minivan, honked the horn in mock-warning of imminent departure. Ignoring the 
blatant amusement visible in Jean and Storm's expressions, Hank assisted the 
fetchingly flustered Cassie aboard, and kissed her hand once more. "Enjoy 
yourself, my dear; I'll be counting the minutes until your return."

"F' cryin' out loud, Beast, we're goin' to th' mall, not th' moon!" Rogue 
informed him with only half-joking asperity. Despite the stance she had taken as 
the new couple's defender, she hoped this kissyface stage would be over soon. It 
was beginning to grate just a tad, due to her own situation with Gambit.

Cassie, after a brief hesitation, took a spot on the bench seat next to Jean. 
"Sorry to hold you all up."

"You haven't--Betsy's not here yet," Jean explained, stretching lazily as if 
preparing for a significant delay.

"AS usual," Rogue added, her faint annoyance showing in the way her gloved 
fingers tapped impatiently on the steering wheel.

"Betsy was once a model, and selecting just the proper outfit to wear for any 
given occasion is a matter of professional pride to her," Storm informed Cassie 
gravely, but with a twinkle in her cat-like blue eyes.

"Speaking of professions--Cassie, are you working on anything new?" Jean asked, 
sitting forward again as she changed the subject.

"Well, I just turned in final proofs of a novel, but it won't see print for 
about six months or so." Jean nodded sagely. "I'm tinkering around with some 
ideas for the next one...but I can't do anything about it until my computer and 
my stuff gets here. Which MIGHT be as soon as tomorrow, the air freight people 
said."

This statement brought both Storm and Rogue's heads around. Much speculation had 
been voiced over EXACTLY what an 'extended visit' meant in terms of Hank's, and 
the team's, future. This seemed like an ideal time for a little delicate 
questioning.

Naturally, Betsy chose that exact moment to arrive. To the group's mild 
surprise, she was wearing a simple but elegant pair of jeans and her new 
t-shirt. "Shall we?" she declared brightly, hopping into the next seat back in 
the van.

"You're sure you're ready?" Jean asked, with a wink at Cassie to let her know 
the teasing was not malicious.

"Do you like these shoes?" Betsy replied, with a hint of self-mockery. "Because 
I wasn't QUITE sure I didn't prefer the blue flats--I could go and change?"

In response, Rogue gunned the engine and pulled out down the drive as Jean 
laughed, "No way!" Cassie only gave a nervous smile and then turned to look out 
the window on her side.

'What an odd girl for Hank to fancy,' Betsy thought to herself, not for the 
first or even the tenth time. This situation bothered her somewhat--she had felt 
the same about that Trish person, and look how THAT had turned out!

Not that she had ever paid much attention, otherwise, to Hank's love life. 
Funny, that. Living in each others' pockets the way they all did, it would 
almost be ABnormal not to be curious about such things. But not only had she 
never given Hank's much thought, it actually took some mental effort for her to 
use the words 'Hank' and 'love life' in the same sentence.

It wasn't because he didn't seem masculine enough, although she had never caught 
him surreptitiously inspecting her costume as all the other X-men--excepting of 
course the professor--did from time to time. He just had the air, Betsy decided, 
of being too wrapped up in his research and team business to really notice how 
opposite the opposite sex truly was. Which MIGHT explain a lot about what went 
wrong between him and Trish....

'Well, perhaps when she puts more than two words together, she's clever,' Betsy 
thought with a mental sigh as she studied the back of Cassie's head. That would 
appeal to Hank more than looks, she was certain. Surely it was SOMETHING like 
intellectual attraction, and not the girl's apparent inclination to hang 
breathlessly on Hank's every word that was at work here. At least she HOPED Hank 
was not so shallow!

Dismissing this train of thought, Betsy joined into a discussion with her 
teammates about the relative merits of starting on the upper or lower level of 
the mall, and at which store. Not that it mattered-- they usually toured the 
entire complex no matter what. Shopping styles were sacred to some people!

Cassie, knowing she would follow along regardless, simply listened as she gazed 
out the window. Such a lot of trees and shrubs and underbrush here! Excessive 
greenery was the first thing that always struck her as alien when she travelled 
away from Colorado. During out-of-state family trips as a child, the presence of 
so many trees had often made her have nightmares about the scary forest in the 
Wizard of Oz. Now she rather liked seeing different environments, but it did 
take some getting used to each time. And it was easier to acclimate to trees 
than the HUMIDITY, but she supposed she would grow accustomed to that, too.

Once at the mall, the quartet of friends moved almost in concert as they secured 
the van and headed for the entrance. Cassie trailed at one side, with and yet 
not really a part of the happy, chattering group. Inside, the mall was in 
essence exactly like every other mall in the world. Cassie had often thought 
that if you were flown blindfolded to any given mall in the country, the only 
way to even guess what state you were in would be to seek out a sports wear shop 
and see which franchised teams had the most items for sale.

As they walked along, she could not help but notice how many male heads turned 
to mark their progress. Four gorgeous supermodels...and their publicist--that 
would be an apt description of their little group. Cassie had never considered 
herself to be insecure about her looks, but she had never run in this caliber of 
company, either. 'Number 23 on my list of things to learn to deal with,' she 
thought wryly.

The women moved purposefully down the mall, pausing before some shop displays, 
skipping others. Betsy in particular seemed to have firm ideas as to which 
stores were worth browsing in. When they walked past a Waldenbooks without a 
second glance, Cassie felt a faint pang, but she went on with the rest, content 
to listen to their conversation and learn about them in that way.

"So Warren says, 'Never annoy a ninja with PMS,' and Bishop says, 'What's 
that?'! I ask you!"

"Sometimes Ah think he's pullin' our leg, Ah really do...."

The trouble with coming shopping was that there wasn't really anything Cassie 
felt like she needed; following Hank's helpful suggestions, she had packed 
virtually every item of clothing she owned, and it was all either here or in 
transit. This being May, the front racks in all the stores were full of fall 
clothes, and wondering whether she would still be out here by then was too 
unsettling to dwell on.

"Don't let me forget to buy Scott some socks, if we see any good sales."

"He needs socks again? You just bought him some last month! What on earth does 
he do with them?"

"I don't know WHERE they go. I'm going to stage a raid on Gambit's sock drawer 
one of these days, just to check."

"Hey, Gambit might be a jerk, but he wouldn' steal Scott's socks!" Rogue said 
with unexpected heat, then added with a disdainful sniff, "Not those white jock 
thangs, anyways. Y'oughta try lookin' behind y'all's divan."

Before a verbal brushwar could break out over something so petty as missing 
socks, or how often Jean vacuumed behind her couch, Betsy hastily said, "Oh, 
look, we HAVE to stop in here--50% off on leather AND silk!" This effectively 
distracted the possible combatants.

Stuck in yet another nameless boutique, Cassie edged slightly away from the 
others, though she took care to stay within visual range. In this store, the 
men's clothing section was right next to the women's, and she had spotted a rack 
of sweaters she wanted to investigate.

They were mostly bulky fisherman's sweaters, with cabled designs in intricate 
patterns knitted into the cuffs and chest. A midnight blue one, with the stripe 
faintly picked out in yarn one shade lighter caught her eye; that color would 
look so good on Hank! She took the hanger off the rack and, lower lip thrust 
out, was mentally calculating size when she heard someone say, "That's a nice 
'un."

It was Rogue. Cassie couldn't see anything in her amiable expression that 
revealed whether she'd noticed how her sudden words had made Cassie jump. "I 
like the design," she managed to reply. "But I don't know..."

"Don' know?" Rogue prompted gently, once the pause threatened to lengthen 
uncomfortably.

Cassie hesitated a second more, then blurted out, "I don't even know if Hank 
WEARS sweaters."

Rogue looked taken aback for an instant. Then her brow furrowed in attempted 
recollection. "Yeah. Yeah, Ah've seen him wear sweaters."

Cassie put the garment in question back into place with its brothers. "I guess 
you think it's strange, me not knowing that," she murmured.

Now Rogue smiled again. "Ya've known Hank HOW long, sugah?"

"Two weeks, and a little," Cassie admitted.

"Gal, if ya could know everythin' there was ta know about the man in two weeks, 
he wouldn' be WORTH knowin', would he?"

Slowly, Cassie's face brightened. "I hadn't thought of it that way. You're 
right."

Just then a clerk presented herself. "May I help you with anything?"

"Um...do you have this sweater in a larger size?" Cassie asked, pulling her pick 
off the rack again.

The clerk inspected the tag, which said 'L'. "How much larger?"

"What have you got?" Cassie asked seriously, which made Rogue make a strange 
snorting noise. Cassie glanced at her quickly, but relaxed when she saw Rogue 
was only amused. To the clerk, she said, "Think...professional football player."

The clerk's expression didn't change, to her credit. "Linebacker," Rogue added 
helpfully.

"WITH shoulder pads," Cassie further stipulated, eyes sparkling now. The clerk, 
allowing herself only a faint, professional smile, departed, leaving Cassie and 
Rogue free to break into a fit of chortling.

"Y'all are gonna get along here jus' fine, ya know," Rogue told her when they 
had gotten themselves under control. "Ah know it's hard for ya right now--bin 
the new kid mahself."

"Everyone's been very nice," Cassie hastened to say.

"Y'all're ahead of where Ah was when Ah joined up, at least." At Cassie's 
dubious expression, she explained, "Ah'd been runnin' on the othah side of the 
fence, not knowin' any better. One of th' bad guys."

"Really?" Cassie asked, eyes wide. There were bad guys?

"Oh, yeah," Rogue assured her nonchalantly. "But we all worked it out. It'll be 
okay, sugah, really."

The clerk returned triumphant, bearing an XXXL, which Cassie and Rogue declared 
perfect. They rejoined the others, who had found no booty worth bearing off 
despite the sale, and headed down the mall's corridors again.

(End Part 26A)
PART 26B--GIRL TALK


Before very much longer they came to a cozy pub nestled between more pedestrian 
establishments. Somewhat to Cassie's surprise, they all trooped inside and took 
up seats at a large table. She followed the example of the others and ordered 
refreshment, a wine cooler. Small talk ensued, which Cassie listened to 
attentively, smile firmly in place.

"Shall we get down to business, ladies?" Jean asked, once the drinks had arrived 
and been passed around. Her 'society matron' tone was at least partly offset by 
a frivolous grin. "I call this meeting of the X-Women's Getting To Know You Club 
to order."

To Cassie's well-disguised horror, all eyes turned towards her. 'Just think of 
it as one of those 'Meet the author' deals', Cassie instructed herself firmly, 
as she felt her smile grow increasingly tense. Not that that would help 
much--she HATED those things.

"Seriously, I thought it would be nice to have a chance for all of us to kind of 
chat, without the guys along," Jean explained.

So they HAD noticed her pretty much hiding behind Hank since they'd arrived, 
Cassie thought guiltily. So much for not wanting them to think she was strange. 
"It was n-nice of you all to invite me."

"Tell me, dear, are you ALWAYS this nervous around strangers?" Betsy demanded in 
a drawl that took SOME of the edge off her words.

"No. Sometimes I'm MUCH worse," Cassie explained with perfect sincerity.

The attempt at humor deflected some of Betsy's innate distaste for what she 
thought were silly girlish vapors. "How in the world did you strike up an 
acquaintance with Hank, then?"

Cassie's smile at the memory changed her whole face, erasing its tension in a 
glow which suddenly made Betsy see how Hank might very easily find this woman 
beautiful. "Oh, well, Hank...before I knew it, I felt like I'd known him 
forever."

"It must have been mutual, because it was most unusual for Hank to drop 
everything and fly out to Denver," Storm informed her.

"Heck, it was unusual for him to bring you over for lunch that day," Jean added. 
"Up to now, Hank has mostly kept his...personal life... separate from anything 
to do with the X-men."

"Oh. Well...." What was that supposed to be, a warning? "I know how important 
his work--your work--is," Cassie assured them, clenching her hands in her lap 
where no one could see. "I'll do my best not to disrupt things." She ducked her 
head, offering a faint smile. "I tend to be fairly unobtrusive."

"No kiddin'," Rogue said, playfully pretending to punch her on the arm. Cassie 
bore this without a visual flinch, knowing Rogue meant well.

"I think meeting you and going on a little vacation was VERY GOOD for Hank," 
Jean said firmly. "And it could well be that's partly what fast-forwarded your 
relationship--you can learn so much about a person when you travel with them."

"THAT'S for sure," Rogue said with feeling. "Did y'all know Bobby whistles? ALL 
th' blame time?" Groans and snickering greeted this statement. "Ah had to come 
home before Ah cracked and ripped his lips off."

"So...do you travel a lot, Cassie?" Betsy inquired. "Due to your profession, I 
mean?"

"Not REALLY a lot. Less than my agent would like me to," Cassie explained, 
taking a good gulp of her wine cooler. Everyone was clearly waiting for her to 
continue, so she did. "About a dozen times this last year, I guess. You have to 
do it, anymore; the fans expect to get to meet these people they're spending 
their money on--and I guess that's fair."

"So it's just business; you don't get to sightsee much?" Jean guessed.

"Not much. I had a day off between two events when I met Hank. That was just an 
amazingly lucky fluke." They all nodded with respect for the amount of luck a 
happenstance like that required. "Sometimes the tours are interesting, though. I 
met Fabio once."

"You've met FABIO!? In real LIFE!?" Jean was amazed and decidedly envious. Her 
heart belonged, without question, to Scott, but sometimes she did wonder what he 
would look like with longer hair...dyed blond....

"Oh, yeah," Cassie said, pleased to have found a subject that interested her 
companions. "He was on a book tour too. A bunch of us were scheduled together at 
a big grand opening of something or other...I think it was one of those ladies 
only health spas."

"What's he like up close?" Jean demanded hungrily.

"I believe Jean means, was he wearing a shirt?" Storm interjected, her dry tone 
underlining her amusement at her friend's rabid interest.

"Oh...let me think...."

"Y'all hafta THINK about whether or not he was showin' off his chest?" Rogue 
asked, plainly disbelieving.

"I remember he was...very nice and charming to everyone. Kissing people's hands 
and such. But I'm not sure about the shirt."

"He's jus' not much ta write home about, compared to ol' Hank?" Rogue teased.

"That's exactly it," Cassie agreed, grateful to Rogue for coming up with an 
understandable excuse for her inability to further describe the King of 
Romance's best qualities. But at these words, the four other women produced 
nearly identical dumbfounded stares. 'Oh, NOW what have I said?'

"You think HANK," Jean said after a moment, in a 'let me get this straight' 
tone, "is better looking than FABIO...."

Cassie grinned weakly and fiddled with her straw. "Well...yeah."

"Gal, you MUS' be in love!" hooted Rogue, and the rest burst out into gales of 
laughter.

Cassie looked around the table dubiously, but slowly smiled again as she 
realized they seemed to actually admire her personal madness. "To each their own 
goo, as the French don't say."

"Beast is a lovely fellow, and I for one am quite glad he has found someone who 
appreciates him so," Betsy said firmly, which garnered echoing nods. Then a 
contemplative look crossed her face. "Although that Fabio chap is not half-bad, 
actually."

"But you DO have to talk to them SOMETIMES, either before or after," Storm 
pointed out in her wickedly understated way. This caused another round of 
hilarity in which Cassie found herself participating. Funny how one little thing 
like laughing with a group could suddenly make you feel really a part of things.

"Okay," Jean said, leaning forward, which caused everyone else to do so as well, 
tightening the circle. "Even though Hank is like...like a brother to me, I HAVE 
to know--how is he?"

"How...IS he?" Cassie repeated apprehensively. Surely Jean wasn't REALLY hinting 
for intimate details here?

"JEAN!" Storm interjected, trying to cover her amusement with a stern frown.

"Oh, yes, like you aren't dying to know as well!" Betsy mocked. Storm gave the 
most delicate of shrugs, silently admitting the truth of this, and they both 
looked expectantly at Cassie. Rogue rolled her eyes, but didn't intervene.

Cassie blushed. She had always been one of the listeners, never the reporter, 
during college dorm chats; it was years too late to realize she'd missed 
learning a crucial skill. "Well, he's...fine. Very fine. More than fine." Cassie 
staggered to a halt, knowing her silly grin was telling everyone she was a total 
idiot. 'I'm sure they're all wondering now how I've managed to make my living 
with words....'

Jean would not be deterred. "Okay, I can understand you wanting to be discreet. 
But how about...on a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being outstanding? Where would 
you rate him, satisfaction-wise?"

Well, that wasn't so hard to talk about--just a number. Cassie gave the matter 
brief but serious deliberation. "About...a 12."

This revelation produced screams of appreciation and disbelief from Jean and 
Betsy, brought a broad grin to Rogue's face and even caused Storm to break into 
melodious laughter. "No WAY!" shrieked Jean, causing people from all over the 
bar to stare at their table.

"Really a *12*?" Betsy looked Cassie over in a whole new, and much more 
approving, light. "Would that be a high score sort of thing, or...."

"Consistently," Cassie asserted firmly, producing yet another chorus of 
delighted howls, and even a bit of table-pounding.

Betsy interrupted the hilarity by saying, "Ladies, I think we are about to be 
asked to depart...."

"It is that same guy?" Rogue demanded, looking around. "Because Ah'm kinda sick 
of his attitude--"

"AND I have thought of something we absolutely MUST buy," Betsy continued. Storm 
and Jean rose, and Cassie followed suit. Rogue, still muttering about the 
bartender, did the same.

They proceeded down the mall in Betsy's wake, until she stopped short and turned 
to face them all. "Hank brought us all such lovely gifts that I feel we should 
get HIM something in return." Cassie started to murmur a protest, uncertain what 
the exact etiquette was here. "And YOU get to help," Betsy continued to her, 
eyes agleam. She stepped aside and swept her arm out, indicating the doorway of 
Frederick's of Hollywood.

"Oh, no, I couldn't, really," Cassie gasped, but she was caught up by her 
giggling new friends and borne into the shop.

"Sugah, Hank'll love it," Rogue assured her. "Ya know he will."

"Well...." No doubt Rogue was right about that, Cassie thought as she gawked 
sheepishly at the sheer tons of lace, satin, sequins and froth surrounding them.

"Can I help you?" inquired a clerk.

"We'll let you know if we find anything suitable," Betsy said in her most 
imperious 'I'M the shopper here' tones, and the clerk left them to their own 
devices.

"Just look around," Jean urged. "The key is to find something YOU think is sexy. 
Hank will like it, whatever it is. But wearing something you feel silly in just 
doesn't cut it." She grimaced with half-amusement, half-exasperation at some 
memory. "Trust me on this one."

"Ooooh, sounds like we have a story-telling candidate for the next club 
meeting," Betsy said, arching her eyebrows suggestively.

"We. Do. Not," Jean retorted with a quelling frown.

"Ah, c'mon, Jean. Fair's fair," Rogue reminded her. "What'd Scott git for ya? 
Somethin' like this?" She held up a skimpy red and white parody of a 
cheerleader's outfit.

"I only wish." Jean shook her head, seeing her friends would not be backing off 
without at least a few further details. "Let's just say, I kept expecting him to 
slip any second and call me Emma."

"EEEeeewww!" chorused Betsy and Rogue, and Storm looked faintly disgusted. 
Cassie smiled politely, since the reference meant nothing whatsoever to her, and 
began to examine the various garments on display.

"This is cute," Jean said, firmly changing the subject as she held a white lace 
teddy set up for Cassie's inspection.

"Oh, sugah, no, not white. Cassie's a 'summer'."

"Cassie's a Summers?" Jean repeated sharply.

"A sumMER. Like th' season. You n'me are autumn, Betsy's...kind of a strange 
autumn...."

"NO one does color-matching by seasons anymore, Rogue," Betsy explained briskly 
but kindly. "Although you ARE right, Cassie should pick something red...or with 
that honey-colored hair...black."

"Black would be extremely striking," Storm concurred.

"What about this?" Cassie dared, holding up a simple black satin number. It 
looked form-fitting, with a plunging neckline and rhinestone spaghetti straps. 
She held it up in front of her, and estimated the hem length with her 
fingertips. About mid-thigh at best--of course, no one would be seeing her in it 
but Hank....

"Oh, I like it," Betsy said instantly, and the others murmured approval as well. 
"Sophisticated, elegant...and deadly hot. Need any help trying it on?"

Cassie colored instantly. "NO! Ah...no, thanks, I can manage."

"Not ever'body thinks it's a party to trot 'round in the altogether tryin' on 
skimpies with their friends, Betsy," Rogue scolded.

Betsy shrugged in response. "Well, you do that, dear, and we'll select the 
accessories. What size hose do you wear? Average?"

"Um. Yeah, but--"

"You MUST wear sheer black hose and a garter belt with that," Betsy told her 
firmly. "Trust ME on this one. Now run along...."

A short time later, Cassie emerged from the dressing rooms, pink cheeked but 
smiling. "It fits," she informed her waiting audience.

"And do you like how it looks on you?" Jean inquired. Cassie gave a silly, happy 
nod. "Then hand it over, girl, so we can get it rung up!"

"I...um...thank you all. Thanks," Cassie blurted as she gave the sleek black bit 
of dreams into Jean's hands.

"Don't be silly, dear. Whatever're friends for?" Betsy said with a genuinely 
warm smile as she placed the accessories she had selected on the counter next to 
Cassie's outfit. "We shan't even ask you if it has an improving effect on Hank's 
score."

"Although feel free to tell us, if you like, next meeting," Jean winked. Rogue 
unobtrusively nodded at Cassie, an unspoken 'Didn't I tell you?' hanging in the 
air between them. Then, transaction complete, the five friends walked out into 
the mall, together.


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


INFO, ETC.

There is also a mailing list for people who want to get new chapters ASAP. Be 
warned--you sometimes get odd extra mailings as well, when the spirit moves 
me....

Disclaimer: Since I am a) inserting a new character and b) not privy to any of 
Marvel's editorial decisions, this story is forced to be an alternate universe. 
It is similar to the 'real' one when it works out, plotwise, okay? And I DO make 
mistakes sometimes, I know. Such is life.

"Winter, spring, summer or fall,
All you gotta do is call,
And I'll be there, yes, I will,
You've got a friend." (Carole King)


------------
Neon Hearts Part 27. Here's the next chapter at last; sorry for the major delay. 
Sometimes I have a harder time than others squeezing the scenes out of my brain, 
through my fingers and into the computer! Plus we've all been infected with the 
Lethargy Virus around my house.... <coff>

As per usual, the established Marvel characters are their sole property. We're 
just having fun here! Fun, no profit! Which is fine by me! Fun's a tougher 
commodity to come by sometimes!


PART 27--COMFORTS OF HOME


With well-mixed emotions, Hank watched from a discreet vantage point inside the 
mansion as the shopping expedition departed. Cassie hadn't seemed TOO distressed 
at being thrust out in the company of her new housemates. He suspected, however, 
that she might have been feigning her interest in the activity. Just as HE had 
been pretending her going off with the others was the most natural thing in the 
world, to demonstrate his confidence in her ability to assimilate.

The truth of the matter was, her anxiety over whether she would fit in here was 
quite plain to him, evident in a dozen ways despite the brave front she was 
trying to project. Had it been wise, he wondered, to encourage her to confront 
her fears so soon?

Well, if his urging had been a mistake, it was too late to correct it now. 
Besides, what could possibly go wrong on a simple trip to the mall? 'Don't 
answer that,' Hank told himself, but smiled as he thought it, his optimistic 
nature on the upswing again. The euphoric mood he'd been in ever since Cassie 
had agreed to come back with him made it difficult for him to worry long.

Ever since she had said yes, Hank had caught himself looking at Cassie at random 
moments and thinking, in utter wonder, 'Coming home with me. Coming HOME. With 
ME!' He was aware there was almost certainly a subconscious component behind his 
fixation on the idea, and possibly the heady satisfaction as well; he might even 
be able to put a name to it, if pressed. It was not a PC thought for a man of 
the 90's, but there was something primitively gratifying about having gone out 
into the world and returned home with...a mate.

Humming happily, Hank turned away from the window. First, check in with the 
professor, he told himself, then down to the labs. Business before pleasure, he 
added with a semi-guilty pang.

Hank found Xavier in his study. With an odd twinge of jealousy, he noticed that 
the stained glass window hanging was already in place. Had the professor asked 
someone ELSE to mount it for him? Or had he simply felt no need to call in his 
newly returned handyman, and taken care of the task himself?

Yes, that was surely the answer. Hank shook his head, wryly amused at his 
irrational suspicion. How odd, the way people clung so ferociously to their 
perceived roles, even the ones they sometimes protested!

"I'm glad you're back, Hank," Xavier said with a brief but warm smile. "I don't 
realize how much I use you for a sounding board until you aren't around."

Pleased out of reason at the unexpected tribute, Hank plopped into the large 
armchair with an answering grin. "Something come up while I was gone?"

"Nothing new." The professor leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers, 
and Hank waited patiently, well used to Xavier's unique sense of conversational 
timing. Somewhat to his surprise, the ensuing debriefing was short, almost 
perfunctory. Of course, little had happened during his absence he had not 
already been apprised of during phone calls home. Perhaps the main purpose of 
the meeting was to help the professor reorder his 'mental map' of the team 
status. 'Beast-- present. Accompanied by visitor, status unknown', Hank imagined 
him thinking, and smiled to himself.

Oddly enough, Xavier ignored the subject of Cassie completely. Hank wondered at 
the lapse, but knew better than to push. The professor would broach the subject 
in his own way, in his own time.

With a light heart Hank left Xavier's office, his anticipation rising as the 
elevator descended to the lab levels. All the rooms were as orderly as he had 
left them, the familiar equipment seeming to be patiently awaiting his return to 
bring it back to life. 'What an anthropomorphic concept,' he told himself, 
amused by his imagination. But he did feel oddly welcomed, all the same.

The first thing he did was sit down at his main work station and place a call to 
Moira at Muir Island. If anything interesting had surfaced lately in the 
scientific community they both moved in, she would know about it.

"There y'are, ye great slacker," she berated him with cheerful mock- impatience, 
when she came to her lab's phone screen. "Through with yer rambles for the time 
bein', then?"

"For the time being, I'm quite happy to be back home and back to work," Hank 
smiled. He knew Moira would express herself entirely differently if she were 
truly upset at him for taking a break. "Did I miss anything exciting while I was 
out of the loop?"

"Grimes and Merrill at Stanford put out a monograph on inducin' selective stem 
cell differentiation, and they're taking a lot of flak from the auld boys, as ye 
can imagine."

Hank could instantly picture some useful possibilities. "You think there's 
anything to it?"

"Y'know me--'Wait and see' McTaggart. I'll be interested to know what ye think, 
but mainly I want t'see independent replication."

Hank knew well that, given her current state of health, Moira couldn't afford to 
put her hope into anything but sure things. "Sounds interesting anyway. What 
else?"

"Nae, it's your turn. What's this about ye bringin' a girl home like a vacation 
souvenir?"

"Oh, you've heard?" he murmured, unable to keep a broad grin from spreading 
across his face.

"Storm mentioned it t' Kitty, that the X-men were expectin' a visitor," Moira 
acknowledged, a little too casually. "Soo...is she nice then, Hank?"

"She's very nice," Hank assured his friend and colleague. "We'll fire up the 
Blackbird and take a jaunt over there soon, so you can meet her."

"Verra well. In the meantime, keep in mind you aren't t'be neglectin your 
work--but neither are you t'be neglectin' the puir lass by sittin' in your lab 
night and day!"

"No, Dr. McTaggart, ma'am, I certainly won't!" Hank assured her with false 
humility. Moira snorted, though her eyes were twinkling, and resumed the 
conversation on research news.

After finishing his conversation with Moira, Hank rose to move through the labs, 
powering up the stations he'd put off-line before his departure. The few 
long-term experiments he had left running showed no red-lines or alerts, and he 
placed updating them at the top of tomorrow's 'to do' list. The comfort of 
resuming his routine only added to his general sense of well being, and he 
sighed happily as he looked around his domain, fists on hips. It WAS good to be 
home!

Upon activating the computer terminal he used for communication with the outside 
world, Hank noted with mixed pleasure and dismay that he had HUNDREDS of 
messages waiting. Few appeared to be personal; the vast majority of them were 
from various science based lists to which he subscribed. Those he would, on the 
whole, be able to quickly scan and delete. But there were also several dozen new 
abstracts--no doubt including the Grimes and Merrill study results--from 
virologists and others which he would have to peruse more carefully. The fear 
that he might someday impatiently delete a message that appeared pointless which 
secretly held ONE important clue to solving the Legacy virus puzzle haunted him. 
He KNEW it was neurotic, and PROBABLY counter- productive...but he knew he would 
read them all thoroughly anyway.

Hank had been immersed in the 'net download for some time when something COLD 
slid through the fur on the back of his neck. He spun his chair, only to 
encounter a most familiar laughing face. "Bobby!" he said with affectionate 
exasperation. "A simple 'hello' will suffice to get my attention." With one hand 
he began to brush frost out of his fur, taking care to direct it AWAY from the 
keyboard.

"Not when you're way deep into that stuff, and you know it," Bobby retorted. "I 
feel sorry for your quiet little friend."

"Trust me, Cassie knows how to get my attention," Hank said, with a grin that 
hinted strongly at unspoken secrets. "She's only shy around strangers."

"And we're stranger than most." Bobby considered his friend's lighthearted 
countenance, and a teasing expression crossed his own face. "You kinda like her, 
huh?"

"Kinda," Hank admitted, in the same vein.

"And she kinda likes you, I guess?"

"She gives every indication of doing so," Hank replied, trying not to look TOO 
smug.

"Well, you went on a road trip with her. You REALLY get to know a person that 
way!" Bobby spoke like a man who knew much too much about the truth of this 
statement.

"Like Rogue?" Hank suggested, leaning forward.

He had been hoping to get a chance to grill Bobby for details, and Bobby did not 
disappoint. "I didn't find out ANYTHING helpful," the younger man admitted, 
running his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Her story is she was upset 
by something she got from Gambit's mind, but she doesn't remember what it was."

"Mmmm. Well, just as the physiological systems can shut down lesser functions in 
a life-threatening situation, so can the mind draw a curtain over things too 
threatening to cope with." Troubling, though, to think of Rogue having to deal 
with something so dire, especially if it came from Gambit's mind.

"She was DEFINITELY upset," Bobby asserted. "Bit my head off at the least little 
HINT I was trying to dig for info."

"Since your mastery of the subtle inquiry is well nigh legendary--"

"Gimme a break," Bobby interrupted, laughing again.

"Other than being upset, did she display any uncharacteristic behavior?" Hank 
asked, turning his mind to this new aspect of an old puzzle.

"Besides coming on to every guy in sight?"

"Really?" Hank frowned, and would have been surprised to be told how much his 
expression resembled one of Xavier's more common ones at that moment. "Not QUITE 
in character, given her normal concern about accidentally touching someone."

Bobby shook his head, remembering individual incidents. "Yeah. And for most of 
the trip, she insisted we not use our powers at all. THAT was...strange."

"Maybe she merely wanted time off from being a mutant," Hank suggested.

"Then why make ME follow the same rule, even when we were alone?

"Odd. Decidedly odd. I'll have to give the matter some thought." Not only was 
resolving the problem important for Rogue and Gambit, the effective functioning 
of the team was at stake.

"Your sweetie won't be jealous, you thinking about another woman?" Bobby baited 
his friend.

"Cassie's not like that," Hank informed Bobby, his self-satisfied smile 
returning.

Bobby chose to let that one drop in favor of taking another tack. "Lot of rumors 
around here, you know, about you bringing her back with you."

"Now why does THAT not surprise me?" Hank pretended to sigh.

"She's not really secretly a mutant we're easing onto the team this way?"

This statement evoked an unfeigned double-take from Hank. "Not at all. Who 
thought THAT?"

"Who does it sound like?" Bobby half-evaded.

"Paranoid enough for Bishop, but too silly. Ahh...no, I have no clue."

"That's what I'VE always thought," Bobby murmured. At Hank's mock glare, he 
relented. "No, that idea came from Jubilee."

"First Excalibur, then the youngsters--did you people send out a bulletin or 
what?"

"It wasn't a SECRET or anything--and people are interested," Bobby defended the 
gossiping. "Jubilee ALWAYS thinks we're getting the X-roster too full, you know 
that."

"I suppose the idea that I brought Cassie home because we both want to continue 
to be together is far too simple to be satisfying to the child?"

"No, it's that you're WAY too old for her to picture you having a romantic 
fling. I can just BARELY manage it, you old geezer."

"I had to come back, you know. Where else could I get this quality of abuse all 
day long?" The odd thing was the way he positively enjoyed it....

"So...this extended visit thing. Is it likely to be the kind of extended visit 
where we end up breaking out tuxes again?"

"Very, very possible," Hank answered gravely, but with a broad smile, which his 
friend returned. He sighed happily, and stretched back in his chair to a point 
where most mere humans would have been risking a major spill. "Do you know the 
feeling, Bobby, where something is going so stunningly well you are almost 
afraid to move or breathe, for fear of disrupting it?"

"Something in the romantic line going well....hmmm. Hmmm. Nope." Bobby hitched 
his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and regarded Hank fondly. "But if 
anyone can handle something like that, it's you, buddy."

"Thank you, Bobby," Hank replied, unable for a moment to find anything more than 
those simple words to express his true response.

It seemed Bobby too was overcome by the emotional content of the situation. 
"Doop, doop, warm moment alert!" he laughed. "What I actually came down for was 
to see if you had any little oxygen tanks."

"I may, somewhere. Why?"

"I'm on duty for dinner, and I thought we'd grill burgers and such."

Hank knew exactly where this was headed. "Don't we see exploding fireballs often 
ENOUGH in our line of work? Plus when we did that before, we slagged the BBQ 
grill."

"That was a cheap one."

"I postulate we can as effectively slag the expensive replacement--are you 
willing to spring for another one?"

Bobby put on a really credible pout. "You're no fun, Hank."

"I know. It's very sad," Hank commiserated, rising. "Come on to the lab; I think 
we can find some chemical starters that might be equally entertaining, but much 
less hazardous."

*          *          *

Hank was conscientiously flipping hamburgers on the patio's grill when the 
minivan beeped as it rolled past on its way to the garage. Bobby had artfully 
begged his assistance, but to his credit he was keeping busy and doing his share 
by carrying out plates, condiments and all the miscellanea needed for a 'simple' 
outdoor meal.

Hank noted with no little satisfaction that the women were grouped companionably 
together as they exited the garage, Cassie in the middle. As they drew nearer, 
though, she seemed unable to resist breaking away by moving gradually faster. 
Her last few steps before she threw herself into Hank's waiting arms were very 
nearly skips.

"I've got something for you!" she informed him breathlessly, eyes shining.

Hank heard a choked sort of sound and looked over to Remy, who was observing 
their reunion with a strange gleam in his eye. "Don't even THINK about saying 
what you just thought," he advised the Cajun.

"Gambit not such a cad as all DAT," Remy protested, laughing. "Besides, dat 
'un's way too easy!" Cassie favored him with a grateful grin before returning 
her gaze to Hank.

'Dat gal look at him like he's her hope of heaven,' Gambit thought, turning away 
unnoticed by the pair, who were entwined as closely as public propriety would 
allow. Exactly the same way he would NEVER see Rogue look at him....

"How did you get the barbecue briquettes to burn blue and yellow?" Cassie asked, 
once her attention returned to her more mundane surroundings.

"Magic," Hank informed her solemnly, and she nodded solemnly back, as though she 
expected no less from him. "Food's almost ready--you ladies' timing was 
perfect."

"I'll just run put these packages in...in our room, and be right back," she 
suggested. Her face had a glow that set his heart racing, so that all he could 
do was nod, and sigh happily as he watched her scurry away.

*          *          *

The close of day weather could not have been more perfect, a slight breeze off 
the lake breaking up the afternoon's slightly muggy heat without imparting any 
sense of chill. Those members of the team dining at the mansion this evening 
gathered at the serving table to avail themselves of burgers, grilled 
veg-ka-bobs and sweet corn, and all the appropriate condiments before spreading 
out to seat themselves at one of the three picnic tables nearby on the lawn.

Cassie noted, without remarking on, the unusual style of these furnishings. They 
were obviously hand-crafted; built of traditional picnic redwood, with a bright 
striped canvas awning roofing an oval table with a horseshoe-shaped seating 
bench surrounding it.

Hank slid in at the open end, and Cassie sat next to him. As best as he could 
sense, this was out of a desire to be cozy rather than any lingering 
nervousness. Obviously the trip to the mall had done everything he hoped to help 
her begin to feel at home with the group.

Storm joined them almost immediately, and Bishop followed her, his face 
unreadable as always. Out of the corner of his eye, Hank noted Gambit hesitate, 
then shrug and follow Storm's lead. What Remy did not see was Rogue's very overt 
wait to watch his steps so she could go to the table furthest away from the one 
he chose.

"Might's well make it easy for you to watch me, mon ami," Gambit said in a 
friendly tone as he took up a place between Cassie and Storm, at the apex of the 
horseshoe bench.

"I can watch you any time," Bishop replied repressively. Cassie wondered what 
THAT was all about, but pretended to ignore it, as Hank was doing. Yet another 
question to ask him later tonight. She smiled secretively. Much later....

"Is this evening's flawless atmosphere your doing, Storm? Do we owe you our 
thanks once again?" Hank asked.

Storm only laughed. "One of the advantages of being able to control the 
elements. I get all the credit for lovely weather."

"How about bad weather?" Cassie inquired, half seriously.

"Oh, yes, that too, if I've been perceived to be in a bad mood," Ororo told her 
with a self-mocking smile.

"Are you affected by this...PMS?" Bishop enquired, his solemn expression almost 
too perfect to be real.

Storm's eyebrows arched in astonishment and Hank came perilously close to 
inhaling his iced tea. Gambit managed not to crudely laugh out loud, but he 
favored Bishop with a squelchingly superior look. "Who told you about that?" 
Hank managed to say after he'd gotten the mouthful of tea where it belonged.

Bishop was plainly mystified at the reaction he was creating. "Warren told me it 
was a syndrome that caused severe mood swings in females."

"Ah." That sounded like Warren's dry idea of a good joke. "Well, yes, that's 
somewhat true, as far as it goes...." Cassie glanced at him and somehow managed 
to indicate her approval of his tact, without letting her face drop out of a 
carefully pleasant look.

"How much further does it go?" Bishop demanded suspiciously.

"Um. Well, PMS is usually associated with the, ah, female reproductive 
cycle...."

"Oh." Bishop thought this through, his face a study in wary confusion. "So why 
would that be funny?"

To everyone's surprise, Storm's composed face became warmly appreciative. 
"There's no sensible reason, Bishop," she told him. "It is an anomaly of the 
society of this time and place."

Bishop seemed easily able to interpret the expression in her eyes, and he 
allowed a faint smile to touch his lips. Charmed and professionally interested, 
Cassie tilted her head, taking mental snapshots of the potential couple.

"Are you LOOKING at me?" he demanded, and she snapped back to reality.

"A bit...I'm sorry," she stammered.

Hank grasped her knee comfortingly under the table. "A cat may look at a queen, 
Bishop," he said. "Or vice versa, I suppose."

Gathering all her courage, plus the not inconsiderable amount Hank was loaning, 
Cassie attempted to explain. "Are you...intrigued by details?"

It was obvious even to a stranger like her that Bishop was fighting down extreme 
annoyance. "Details exist. I see them. What else is there to say?"

"I mean I...meant no disrespect. I see things and...get interested and...." 
Bishop's expression was NOT getting any more friendly. 'And I think I'll just 
shut up now,' Cassie finished to herself, with a tight grimace of an apologetic 
smile.

Hank and Storm interrupted each other in their attempt to say something to 
lighten the atmosphere. While they were mutually apologizing, Bishop rose and 
stalked away, allowing Gambit to at last let his pent up chuckles escape. "Don' 
worry, petite," he said reassuringly. "Bishop WAY too easy to upset, in Gambit's 
book."

Storm started to reply to this, but cut herself off as Professor Xavier pulled 
up to their table. Cassie suddenly saw the reason for the unusual design; his 
hoverchair fit neatly into the opening without disturbing any of the other 
diners seated there. How very subtle and clever!

After quick greetings, Xavier came directly to his point. "Hank, Cassie, I 
wonder if you would care to join me for a glass of sherry after dinner? I 
thought we could answer any of Cassie's questions, and generally get better 
acquainted."

Hank and Cassie's eyes met, as they both looked to check the other's reaction. 
Hank squeezed her knee again, and she placed her hand on his before turning back 
to Xavier. "Thank you, I'd like that very much," Cassie said with perfect 
aplomb, to Hank's astonishment. Xavier nodded and moved silently away, task 
accomplished.

Neither Storm nor Gambit seemed to have any idea what a breakthrough this was 
for Cassie, so Hank didn't comment until they rose from the table and walked 
away with their empty plates. "You aren't nervous about meeting with the 
professor?"

"Oh, I'm plenty nervous," Cassie assured him. "But he's not nearly so scary as 
Bishop."

"Bishop's scariness is mostly an act, put on out of habit," Hank assured her. 
"He's actually a decent fellow."

"I figure he must be, or he wouldn't be here," she replied, looking adorably 
serious. "But the important thing is, YOU'RE here, and I'M here. That's what 
really matters."

"Precisely," he said, feeling a rush of relief so profound he felt momentarily 
giddy. They paused outside the kitchen door.

"The main thing I worry about," Cassie told him, eyes candid and wide, "is that 
your friends might be thinking, 'Poor Hank, how'd he get tied up with such a nut 
case?'."

"The only possible reason for such a description would be because you've 
willingly gotten yourself tied up with me," he informed her with a look of such 
extreme earnestness that she giggled out loud. And they grinned quite foolishly 
at each other until Bobby, hands full of dinner dishes, ordered them to vacate 
the doorway so model citizens like himself could complete his assigned chores. 


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


INFO, ETC.

There is also a mailing list for people who want to get new chapters ASAP. Be 
warned--you sometimes get odd extra mailings as well, when the spirit moves 
me....

Disclaimer: Since I am a) inserting a new character and b) not privy to any of 
Marvel's editorial decisions, this story is forced to be an alternate universe. 
It is similar to the 'real' one when it works out, plotwise, okay? And I DO make 
mistakes sometimes, I know. Such is life.


----------
Neon Hearts Part 28
PART 28--INITIATION


As soon as they had placed their used dinnerware on the counter beside the sink, 
Hank pretended to examine his wrist, which bore no watch. "No time like the 
present?" If Xavier had invited them for after supper, he would have meant 
IMMEDIATELY after supper, but he didn't want Cassie to feel rushed.

Cassie gulped minutely, but nodded. For all she knew, the little tête-à-tête 
would turn out to be pleasant. If not, might as well get it over with as soon as 
possible.

Xavier was indeed waiting for them in his study, and he smiled a pleasant 
greeting as the couple entered. No trace of his concern about the problem Cassie 
presented showed in his calm features. But he augmented his mental shields as 
she came closer; the waves of anxiety she was unconsciously emitting had the 
same effect on him as nails on a chalkboard.

So it had turned out to be Hank who would change the old days into the new by 
bringing home a stranger. Xavier had known a time like this would eventually 
have to come, as his X-men were no different than most of the rest of humanity 
in their desire to find one special person to love; no different than himself, 
come to that. He also knew it was not his place to presume to pass judgement on 
potential partners. But as he again considered the hesitant woman who had been 
like Hank's shadow every time he'd seen her, he doubted, in spite of his best 
efforts at optimism. Would she be able to deal with the stress of their lives 
here? And if--when?--she could not, what harmful effects would it have on Hank?

Tonight, in this private, theoretically social meeting, he hoped to get some 
idea of which impression he'd had of Cassie was right. Was she the high-strung, 
helpless waif before him, or the sensible eccentric he could so easily picture 
winking at her readers from beyond her books' pages?

Xavier had prepared for them by making the place seem as cosy as possible; 
sherry in a decanter on a small table between his spot and the chair he knew 
Hank would use, lights lowered, only a holographic fire in the fireplace since 
the day's weather had been so fair. Hank handed Cassie to her seat, where she 
demurely crossed her ankles and folded her hands one over the other, like a 
little girl in church. On a calendar photo from the Fifties. Few people Xavier 
had met in this day and age were truly that genteel.

The professor busied himself and Hank with pouring and passing the sherry, until 
he judged a sufficiently cordial mood had been created. "Well, Cassie," he 
finally said in hearty tones, "How did you find your first day here with us?"

"I...it was very nice," she murmured, her voice almost too quiet for him to 
hear, at first. "You have a beautiful home."

"Thank you. It's been in my family for many years." It had also been rebuilt, 
here and there, over a dozen times in recent memory, but no need to go into all 
that right now. "Well." They had used that subject up a little quicker than he 
had anticipated. "I suppose Hank has already filled you in on the basic routine 
of our household, and answered some of your questions." She nodded as if nervous 
about being caught without answers to questions on a test, clutching the stem of 
her glass so tightly he began to idly wonder when it would snap. 

"It was quite a few years ago when Hank came here for the first time...." Xavier 
mused. As he expected, making Hank the subject of conversation made her lean 
forward with interest, forgetting her nervousness for the moment. "If I'm not 
mistaken, YOU were a little uncertain about coming here, weren't you, Hank?"

"Very much so," Hank admitted easily. He gave Xavier a minute nod of 
appreciation for the tactic. 

"I know it must seem very silly of me, sir--" Cassie began.

"You needn't call me 'sir'--I think Hank does it to make me feel old," Xavier 
joked, which made Hank blink briefly. "Most of the others call me Professor, or 
Charles." 

"Logan being the exception that proves the rule," Hank observed, his demon of 
humor putting a sparkle in his eye as he took a sip of sherry. Cassie 
automatically copied the action.

"I am NOT fond of Charlie, or Chuck," Xavier acknowledged, with dry 
understatement. 

"Doesn't save any time anyway," Cassie murmured, with a jerky little nod of 
agreement.

This non-sequitur threw Xavier for a moment, and even Hank, who he presumed was 
gaining SOME understanding of the woman, looked faintly puzzled. "I...beg your 
pardon?"

"Charles and Chuck are both one syllable," she explained, looking earnest enough 
for him to temporarily discount the possibility she was deliberately teasing. 
"And Charlie's two."

"Ah!" Xavier smiled to show he now understood the word game she was playing. 
"Whereas Cassie is one syllable SHORTER than Cassandra." 

But this made Cassie squirm with embarrassment, before she managed to 
half-stammer a correction, "It's...ah...actually...Cassiopeia."

"I didn't know that!" Hank beamed, and Cassie instantly reflected a shy version 
of that expression back at him.

"My dad was an amateur astronomer as a boy," she said, speaking with more 
confidence when directing her remarks to Hank. "You remember how clear the stars 
are out there."

"Oh, I remember those prairie nights VERY well," Hank said in dulcet tones that 
brought a flush to Cassie's cheek, which burned even brighter when Xavier 
cleared his throat.

"But you go by Cassie, am I right?"

"Oh, yes, please call me Cassie, thank you." If she were only a LITTLE less 
eager to please, Xavier thought with a mental grimace. It just didn't feel 
right, somehow. Kitty had been SLIGHTLY that way, at first--but she had also had 
the very good excuse of being barely out of childhood, not a supposedly grown 
woman. Perhaps this was part of what troubled him about the matter--it seemed 
out of character for Hank to take an interest in someone so...submissive....

Well, on to the next subject in his mental outline. "So tell me, Cassie, how did 
you come to enter the writing field?" 

Cassie looked extremely reluctant to head into this conversational area, and 
Xavier supposed, with just a trace of guilt, that she still recalled his lack of 
enthusiasm at their first meeting. Hank had introduced her as a writer, but had 
neglected to mention that what she wrote was romance novels.

Hank dealt with the awkward pause by saying, "The professor told me he read one 
of your books."

"Ah...two now, actually," Xavier corrected him. "And I am in the middle of a 
third." His memory of the look on Jean's face when he has asked for the loan of 
another from her collection still faintly perturbed him. The only reason he was 
admitting to it was to take that glassy, imminent roadkill look from Cassie's 
eyes.

"Really?" Cassie murmured. Focusing on the way the tilt of her head accented her 
dubious expression let him ignore the silly smile Hank was trying to keep under 
control.

"You have a definite skill for creating an entertaining scenario," Xavier told 
her with a most professorial nod, then relaxed a little when he saw she wasn't 
going to giggle or preen. "I should tell you that until I read, ah, 'Purloined 
Roses', I had never done more than leaf through a romance novel, trying to guess 
at the appeal." He remembered something he had wondered about. "Did you intend 
that to be reminiscent of Poe's 'Purloined Letter'?"

Cassie's face lit up. "Yes! Hardly anyone ever notices that!"

"Having an American Literature major as a secondary character was rather a broad 
hint." 

"That was MY college major," Cassie admitted. There was a world of difference in 
her smile suddenly; it conveyed actual humor, rather than looking like the 
remnant of a nervous tic.

"Where did you attend?" 

"University of Denver." Hmm. Not an unknown backwater college by any means. 
Xavier revised his estimate of her intellect upwards a notch. "I was more or 
less planning to be a teacher. Then, in my senior year, a friend of mine showed 
me a flyer for a writing contest. We both entered, and I placed high enough that 
my agent, who was one of the judges, signed me on and started me writing 
seriously." She shrugged self-effacingly, but with a hint of amusement 
remaining. "As seriously as I ever DO, anyway. And...that's the short version of 
how I got started."

"Was that Wendy?" Hank wanted to know. Xavier wondered who Wendy was, to bring 
that expression of half-delight, half-trepidation to his expressive face.

"Oh, yes." Cassie actually laughed out loud. "She can be a one-woman writer's 
course when she wants to be. She knocked a lot of rough edges off that first 
manuscript." 

During this exchange between Cassie and Hank, Xavier got his first glimpse of 
the person who had written those books, the person Hank must see, and he nodded 
to himself, pleased at the possibility the situation might be better than it 
appeared. "I'm glad to hear you have friends out here already," was all he said. 

Cassie ducked her head, then explained, with halting words. "Well, only Wendy, 
really." She looked alarmed again, and Xavier sighed internally. It was tedious 
conversing with someone when every subject, no matter how trivial, seemed to be 
a potential minefield.

"I doubt ANYONE says 'only' Wendy about anything," Hank commented, which brought 
Cassie's smile back.

"I know her secretary a bit," she offered. "We talk about our cats sometimes."

Lord, he didn't want to get started on the subject of the cat! He'd been fairly 
firm with Hank on the matter, then left it to him to sort out, and he hoped 
there would be no future attempts to add cats to their household. Instead, 
Xavier fell back on a standard remark he often used with the younger applicants 
to their various programs. "It must have been hard to leave your family and 
friends to come here." 

Hank's right eyebrow dipped just a fraction. It would have been a genuine frown 
of annoyance on anyone else, and Xavier reflected that what he just said could 
be interpreted as none too complimentary to Hank. 

However, Cassie seemed quite willing to follow that subject. "My family, yes, a 
little. We're very close, my parents and I. But...." Then something caused her 
to look vaguely apprehensive again. "Actually, I was something of a hermit. 
Didn't really get out much."

"You said you did dance aerobics," Hank reminded her helpfully.

"Oh, yes. That was something several of us--" after a perceptible pause, she 
carried on firmly "--several of us from my therapy group got into together."

This was the type of revelation Xavier had been more or less anticipating. 
Somehow it came as more of a shock, just when the conversation had been starting 
to flow naturally. He struggled to come up with a non-judgmental, encouraging 
remark, but instead the pause lengthened uncomfortably. 

With a few almost imperceptible movements--a tiny shift forward, the faint 
bunching of his shoulders--Hank sent a very clear warning that his protective 
button had just been pushed. 'Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, 
then,' Xavier thought. "Was this a...physical therapy group?"

"Well, no." Cassie glanced towards Hank. She seemed able to read Hank's body 
language as adeptly as Xavier, but her reaction surprised him. She put a hand on 
Hank's knee, and gave him a brief smile that was clearly meant to soothe him. 
When she continued, her voice was a trifle tight, but steady. "I had a rather 
traumatic experience a few years back, and the group was one of the ways 
I...came to terms with it."

"I beg your pardon, if I seemed to be prying," X said instantly, and Hank leaned 
back in his chair again, though his expression was still far from sanguine.

"It's okay, really. Naturally you would want to know something about my 
background...." Cassie told him, looking very serious.

"That's seldom been a requirement for our guests," Hank remarked. His lingering 
annoyance was plain. It felt quite...odd, to have Hank even slightly angry at 
him over something.

"Not because I'm a guest," Cassie said to Hank gently. Xavier was again amazed 
at the change in her aspect when Hank was the focus of her attention. She was 
far more concerned about his distress for her than her own reaction to the 
subject. "Because he...." She checked Xavier's still expression, and assayed a 
hesitant smile, as if in apology for whatever she was going to say. "For the 
same reason my parents wanted to meet you. Because people worry about 
people...." 'People they care about', was the part she must have felt didn't 
need verbalizing.

Again Xavier was left with nothing to say for a moment. "That's... quite 
perceptive of you, Cassie."

"It doesn't take that much perception to see you all are very close here. It 
just makes sense you'd worry about what effect a newcomer would have." Hank 
nodded his acceptance of this, and the face he turned to Xavier was a slightly 
abashed one. "One thing about a therapy group--you learn a LOT about group 
dynamics," she finished with a diffident smile.

"I can see how you might," Xavier said, for want of any better response to make. 
Deliberately not looking at Hank, he went on, "Were your group friends 
distressed when you told them you were coming out here?"

This specific area didn't seem to be a fraught topic, and Cassie accepted the 
question with a serious, thoughtful frown. "Some were. Change is kind of 
threatening to some people." Xavier nodded, choosing to ignore the irony of 
Cassie saying so to him. "I'd been feeling for some time like I had grown out 
of...of NEEDING the group, if you know what I mean. But it was a comfortable 
habit, I guess. And Patricia--my therapist, who led it--said it was good for the 
newer members to have the old timers there to say, 'Been there, felt that'...." 
She faded out, making that tiny embarrassed shrug again, but at least still 
smiling.

Although he was more than a little curious to have more details on the nature of 
her traumatic experience, Xavier knew digging any further would be an 
excessively bad idea. "No doubt it was time for you to move on." 

Her smile widened gratefully. "I think so. And Hank is good about...listening to 
me worry out loud, if I need that."

"He is indeed." Now it was Hank's turn to look embarrassed at being the focus of 
attention, and Cassie again patted his knee.

The three of them slid by mutual, unspoken agreement into more general topics 
while they finished their sherries. By the time Hank and Cassie took their 
leave, Xavier was feeling almost optimistic about her ability to find a place 
for herself within the group. How she would cope in other areas still remained 
to be seen, but...there WAS hope.

*          *          *

Safe in their room, Hank swept Cassie into an ardent embrace. "That wasn't so 
bad, I hope?" he asked, after they came up for air.

"No, it wasn't!" Cassie answered, sounding almost surprised. "He really IS 
nice!"

'When he wants to be,' Hank thought, and felt immediately guilty for the 
unkindness of it. "Yes. He just doesn't always show it. And sometimes...he has 
less affable moods." And sometimes the sun is hot, sometimes water is wet....

"Sometimes he's a little more like...Bishop?" She was trying to hold onto a 
serious look, but her lips were twitching.

"Oh, seldom THAT bad!" Hank smiled back. Xavier could certainly be as suspicious 
as their time-displaced friend, but his control of his emotions was much better. 
"I was going to explain about Bishop. His attitude is not directed at you, per 
se. He is here because he is hoping to prevent some unknown party from...from 
killing off all the X-men."

Cassie's jaw dropped and she stared at Hank in real alarm. "Who would want to do 
that?"

"That's the trouble; he doesn't know." Hank studied her face, trying to decide 
how much to tell her without making her any more upset than necessary. "He tells 
us he intercepted a message...in the future... that makes him believe a traitor 
betrays the X-men, causing all our deaths."

Her brows creased as she tried to ferret out the real meaning behind his slowly 
and carefully chosen words. Bishop thought he saw this in the future? How could 
that be true? So he was delusional? "I... guess I can see why you have him 
around, then." She could sort of see it anyway. Her writers' imagination had 
already generated several plausible reasons for someone to have such a 'memory', 
which might even contain some truth. Best to be on the safe side and keep him 
here they could watch him, maybe even help him. "He's not dangerous himself, is 
he?"

"Oh, no, don't concern yourself about that. One of the upsides of having a few 
telepaths about the place; hard to conceal hidden agendas!" He smiled 
reassuringly. "I just thought you'd like to know why he's likely to act as 
though he's suspicious of your every move for awhile."

"Is that why he's watching Gambit?" Cassie guessed.

"That's why. Gambit deals with it rather well, I think."

"Well, yes, but...poor Gambit! He's too nice; he couldn't be a secret traitor!"

"Well, if you were going to pose as a traitor, you'd act friendly, wouldn't 
you?" Hank queried quite seriously, though his twinkling eyes gave away his true 
attitude.

"I...guess." 

Suddenly Hank remembered that the idea of someone not being what they seemed was 
probably more troubling to Cassie than the average person, and he mentally 
kicked himself for even bringing the subject up, much less going on to make it a 
joke. "But enough of that. Seems like I recall being promised a...gift?"

"Oh yeah!" Disengaging herself from his arms, Cassie trotted over to the small 
table by the window, then returned to place a pleasantly full shopping bag in 
his hands. "Sorry it's not wrapped--I didn't want to hold the others up."

"Wrapping is more for birthdays and Christmas," he assured her, as he pulled a 
thick knitted garment from the sack. She took the sack from his hands so he 
could hold up the sweater and marvel at it. "Cassie, this is wonderful! I think 
it will even fit!"

"Try it on," she urged, and he complied.

"I can NEVER find an item I'm interested in in my size--they always have to 
special order it, if it's available at all!" He happily ran both hands over the 
thickly cabled knitting, admiring the design that decorated the chest. "How does 
it look?" He moved to the mirror, Cassie trailing him happily.

"You look great," she said, snuggling in under his arm so she could see both of 
them reflected in the large dressing mirror. "I KNEW midnight blue would be a 
good color for you!"

Hank rather admired the way her blond hair contrasted with it, as she leaned 
against his chest. "May I...show you my appreciation, dear Cassie?" he said 
suggestively.

A new look took hold in her eyes. "I...have to show you your other present 
first. Wait a second, okay?" To his mild puzzlement, she dashed into the 
bathroom. Had she hidden it in there?

When she didn't come out right away, he shrugged and pulled the sweater off over 
his head, then hung it on a hanger, awaiting cooler weather. When, after he had 
walked around the room a few times, Cassie still did not emerge, he decided to 
go ahead and undress for bed. It was doubtful they'd be reemerging for any 
social activity tonight. Cassie had done extremely well in that area, for her 
first day, but he suspected she was about socialled out.

Hank was stepping out of his pants when he heard the bathroom door open, and 
what he saw when he turned his head that way made him freeze the motion. Only 
his superior sense of balance kept him from falling flat. "My stars. 
Garters...." 

Cassie was a vision in a form-fitting black silk negligee, her hair swept up off 
her neck in that casually elegant way he liked so much because of the way it 
exposed the extremely nuzzleable nape of her neck. Grinning, he remembered how 
to move, and finished kicking off his pants. She returned a seductive version of 
his smile, and slowly pivoted so he could take in the full effect of her outfit. 
Her back was entirely bare--some interesting engineering had gone into that 
dress design--and the brief skirt flared out just enough to give her some 
freedom of movement. The garters he had first noted were black lace, holding up 
sheer black stockings while showing an attractive expanse of creamy thigh. The 
finishing touch was a pair of little black high heels with rhinestone trim that 
matched the silk shift's glittering shoulder straps. 

"Now that's what I call wrapping a gift," he said in reverent tones as he 
crossed the room. 

"The dress and all is a present for you, from Jean and Storm and Betsy and 
Rogue," Cassie explained somewhat breathlessly.

"Remind me to thank them most effusively...later," he said, running both hands 
down her sides until one rested on each hip, circling her waist. It didn't occur 
to him, just at the moment, to wonder what had prompted such a present, and 
Cassie didn't say, being too busy encouraging his attention to the matter at 
hand.

"Cassiopeia was a queen, but she couldn't have been more beautiful than you," 
Hank murmured in Cassie's ear. "Even the stars of that constellation dim in 
comparison."

"This MUST be a great dress," Cassie sighed, then giggled at Hank's snort. "I AM 
glad you like it."

"Oh, I like it, no doubt about that." A sudden whim, the desire to see Cassie in 
her ebony splendor spread out on his white satin bedcovers, made him scoop her 
up and carry her there. When he stepped back to admire the effect, she seemed to 
understand what was on his mind, and tried out an artful pose or two. "Never a 
camera around when you need one," he commented.

"Well," she said, looking dubious and yet apologetic, "actually I'm not that 
into cameras."

She had that remembering look again, and Hank hastened to retract the idea. "Not 
a problem." He came to sit on the edge of the bed, and stroked his hand up her 
leg, letting it come to rest on her thigh. "I anticipate us having many 
memorable nights together--but I am quite sure I'll always remember this one 
particularly well...." Her languorous smile returned, and she delicately tickled 
him in the ribs with the toe of her shoe, but didn't resist when he removed the 
item from her foot. "Too bad we don't have any champagne I could sip from your 
slipper."

She tilted her head in that considering mode. "I guess you COULD," she said 
doubtfully. "It's a NEW shoe--but wouldn't it still taste pretty funny?"

Hank burst into laughter, and kissed her to quiet himself. "I love your 
bizarrely practical streak, my dear," he told her. Then, gazing down at her face 
framed between his hands, he added with quiet sincerity, "I love everything 
about you. I love you, Cassie Cantrell."

A sheen came into her eyes, which she hastily blinked away. "I love you too, 
Hank." She laced her fingers through his hair and urged him closer, murmuring, 
"I've never loved anyone as much as I love you!" 

Mere words could say no more, so everything else they shared with each other 
that night was generated in body heat, then whispered soul to soul.


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


INFO, ETC.

There is also a mailing list for people who want to get new chapters ASAP. Be 
warned--you sometimes get odd extra mailings as well, when the spirit moves 
me....

Disclaimer: Since I am a) inserting a new character and b) not privy to any of 
Marvel's editorial decisions, this story is forced to be an alternate universe. 
It is similar to the 'real' one when it works out, plotwise, okay? And I DO make 
mistakes sometimes, I know. Such is life. 


---------
Neon Hearts Part 29. Taking this opportunity to thank Marvel for letting us fanfic 
writers play in their yard, by not prosecuting us for using their copyrighted 
characters!


PART 29--OPEN SECRETS


Lying back on her elbows, eyes closed and face to the mid-morning sun, Cassie 
listened to the near silence. Out here alone on the front steps, there was 
little to hear except leaves occasionally stirring in the faint breeze, and 
distant, languid bird calls. But soon she sat up again, sighing minutely.

True to her private vow, she had cheerfully kissed Hank and shooed him off to 
his lab after breakfast. He had suggested she might like to spend some time 
wandering about the mansion and grounds, to familiarize herself with her 
surroundings, and she had agreed it was a very good idea. However, she hadn't 
been able to make herself poke into any rooms with closed doors, so her indoor 
tour had been short. It had also failed to reveal anything she hadn't seen when 
Hank had shown her around the day before. Well, lunch was not much more than an 
hour away, and Hank had promised he would resurface by then.

Crossing her arms on her knees, and resting her chin on them, Cassie again 
considered the vast expanse of green before her, broken only by the asphalt of 
the circle drive. 'Who mows all that, I wonder?'

Maybe another little robot, she thought, recalling the small boxy device she'd 
seen trundling patiently down the hall near their room. When Hank had identified 
it as a mobile vacuum cleaner, she'd laughed, thinking he was joking. "You could 
make a bazillion dollars marketing something like that," she'd half-teased him 
back.

Hank's reply had been ever so faintly hesitant, something about its power source 
not being readily mass-producible, and Cassie had let it go because of the 
irresolute look in his eye. If and when he wanted to explain further, she 
believed he would. If she had figured ANYTHING out about this place so far, it 
was that there was much more going on than met the eye, or made the evening 
news....

The granite steps were starting to make her rear go to sleep. Cassie stood up, 
looked to be sure no one was in sight, then briskly pummeled the affected area. 
Time to walk a bit. She could still watch for the air freight truck, which had 
been promised via a phone message for sometime this morning, while she strolled 
around.

During the process of somehow or other entering her identifying data into their 
security system, Hank had made casual reference as to how thoroughly secure 
their home here was. His way of making sure she knew she was safe anywhere on 
the grounds, without seeming to harp on the fears that embarrassed her so. 
Warmed by the recollection of his thoughtfulness, Cassie began to follow the 
neat pebbled walkway that circled the mansion.

As she rounded the corner of the east wing, sunlight glinting off the waters of 
the lake caught her eye. It looked pastorally serene, the gray-green surface 
ruffled only slightly by intermittent breezes. No doubt the boathouse where Jean 
and Scott lived would be pleasantly cool right now, with those air currents 
wafting through it. Although more than likely the little house was 
air-conditioned, like the mansion.

Cassie laughed silently at herself. She had climate control on the brain at the 
moment, probably because of the long sleeved shirt she was wearing. It had been 
exactly right inside, but out here in the sun it was rapidly becoming too much 
of a good thing. Maybe she should go change it, she thought. But what if the 
truck bearing her stuff came while she wasn't around?

Cassie pondered this dilemma as she continued to stroll along the path, which 
paralleled the back driveway to the garage. Gazing in that direction, she 
spotted Remy and Bobby emerging from it, and she froze in mid-step. Maybe if she 
VERY casually turned back the other way, she could escape yet another awkward 
conversation.

But no--Bobby had seen her as well. He waved cheerfully, and, to her resigned 
dismay, he and Gambit changed course. Nothing to do now but wait as they 
approached.

"Not lost, are you?" Bobby inquired as they came into conversational range, as 
eagerly helpful as any Boy Scout.

"Oh, no. The air freight people called, and I'm waiting for them," Cassie 
explained. She showed them the handful of shipping tags she'd had in her jeans' 
pocket, as though they had requested proof of her peaceable intentions.

"Good timing if they get here right around lunch. Plenty of people available to 
help carry stuff," Bobby said agreeably.

"Get it all in one trip," Gambit added in most amiable tones, pleased, as 
always, to put himself forth as an aider of fair damsels. Even other people's 
fair damsels, when the damsel pickings were slim.

Cassie tried and failed utterly to think of an appropriate remark, so she just 
forced her smile a little wider and nodded, faintly crumpling her shipping tags 
in nervous hands before she thought of shoving them back in her pocket again.

'Dis a spooky un,' Gambit thought, not for the first time. Not his type--he 
liked women with some fire in them--but *chacun et son gout*. To try to charm 
her fears away, he pulled half a dozen quarters out of his pocket and 
nonchalantly began to finger-juggle them.

The flashing coins tumbling in and out between his half-gloved fingers in a 
complex dance worked their usual magic. Intrigued, Cassie took a step forward, 
and Gambit silently crowed his satisfaction. Bobby, he noted, was trying to look 
blase, but not succeeding very well.

With a fillip Gambit let the quarters pour into a stack in his palm. They made a 
musical run of clicks as they landed. Cassie clapped, her smile now genuinely 
pleased, and he bowed, then pretended to see something amiss. "Hol' on! Gambit 
start wit' six, and now dey only five!" He made a show of searching both sides 
of his hands, the ground around them, and looked up both sleeves for a finale. 
Bobby just grinned, anticipating a punchline. "Can't be a better t'ief dan 
Gambit aroun', can dere?"

Cassie was still smiling, but a wary look lurked in the back of her eyes. Gambit 
knew that when the pretty little pigeons started to flutter, it was time to 
bring the trick to a rapid conclusion. "Oh, no, dere t'is--jus' hidin'--"

He reached out, intending to conclude with the well-worn ruse of pretending to 
pull the missing coin from behind her ear. To his consternation, Cassie flinched 
away violently, not quite stifling a whimper.

Remy's hand, with the quarter between his thumb and forefinger, hung there 
forlorn for a moment. Moving very slowly, he retracted it and put both hands, 
and all his coins, back in his pockets.

"Sorry," Cassie said almost immediately, making futile placating gestures before 
deliberately changing the subject. "That's a good trick. You're very talented."

"T'anks," Gambit replied automatically, not knowing what else to say. What in 
the world had caused her to react like that? Had someone-- Bishop?--turned her 
against him? No, surely now HE was being unreasonably paranoid! And yet.... "Got 
a few matters t'see to 'fore lunch," he explained, and left rapidly, 
acknowledging their goodbyes over his shoulder.

Bobby was searching around in his mind for a good conversational subject that 
would cover the awkwardness of the moment when one semi- miraculously appeared 
from the heavens. "Oh, hey, here comes Rogue."

Cassie turned to face that way, expecting to see her new friend walking up the 
drive. Instead, all the troubled thoughts of a moment before were pushed out of 
her mind by total astonishment. As she stared, Rogue glided down out of the sky. 
She landed without a sound and walked towards them, as composed as if she'd 
merely stepped off an escalator.

"Whatsamatta, gal, nevah see anybody fly before?" Rogue demanded, unreasonably 
irritated by the awestruck expression on Cassie's face. She was in no mood to be 
cordial to anyone, after seeing Remy turn and stalk away as soon as she'd come 
into view. How dare he use her own tactics against her!

But Cassie was too captivated to notice the icy undercurrents in Rogue's tone. 
"No!" Her distress over her silly reaction to Gambit's well-intentioned trick 
was wholly forgotten. "That's AMAZING! How do you DO that?"

Rogue frowned at Bobby, who was shaking his head and looking superior; safely, 
since he stood at Cassie's back. Hey, the gal might be overdoing it a mite, but 
there was no call to laugh at her. Besides, it wasn't HER fault, about Remy.... 
"Can't rightly say, sugah. It's just like walkin', ta me. Ya don't THINK about 
how ya walk, ya jus' do it."

"That must be so neat," Cassie sighed. "If I could pick some...some power to 
have, it would be flying."

On a whim, Rogue said, "Wanna try it?".

"Really?" Cassie looked delighted but dubious. "How?"

Rogue had regretted the offer before it was completely out of her mouth, but 
pride wouldn't let her take it back, especially not in front of Bobby. Instead, 
she considered how best to follow through. She'd feel silly picking Cassie up 
and carrying her like a little kid. But just grabbing her by the arm and taking 
off didn't seem too smart, either, considering Cassie was only an ordinary 
human. They bruised pretty easy. She was wearing long sleeves, at least....

"Evah in a three-legged race when y'all were a kid?"

"Sure."

"We'll try it that way, then. Just remember NOT ta touch me skin ta skin, 'kay, 
sugah?"

Hank had mentioned the problems this could cause before, Cassie recalled, and 
she nodded briskly. "Got it!" A mixture of apprehension and anticipation flooded 
her mind. But surely Rogue would not have proposed the adventure if it was at 
all dangerous. And suddenly she just HAD to know if flying felt the same in real 
life as it did in her dreams.

'If something goes wrong, somehow I just KNOW it's going to turn out to be my 
fault,' Bobby thought with doleful certainty. But he also knew that stopping 
Rogue in the middle of something she'd decided to do was pretty much an 
impossible task. 'Got your classic no-win situation here--the story of MY life,' 
he said to himself as he settled back to watch potential disaster unfold.

Gingerly, Cassie put one arm around Rogue, in the small of her back. As Rogue 
was the taller of the two, she was easily able to cross her arm over Cassie's 
shoulder blades, then take a firm hold at her waist. "No wigglin' 'round, now."

"Okay," Cassie said, a little breathlessly. It was good to know Rogue was 
determined not to drop her, but the tightness of her grasp made it difficult to 
inhale properly. It was an uncanny feeling, like being in a padded vise; Cassie 
could easily imagine steel bones beneath the flesh and blood of Rogue's arm. 
Without any warning, they began to float upwards.

Cassie would have braced herself, but there was nothing to brace against. She 
had expected more speed, more...g-force. But this was like floating in an inner 
tube on a meandering river current. She let out a breath she hadn't known she 
was holding, and grinned at Rogue, who grinned back.

After just a few seconds aloft, Cassie could see the entire mansion and all its 
outbuildings beneath them. "It looks smaller from up here," she observed.

"Ever'thin' does," Rogue agreed. 'Except the troubles ya bring with ya,' she 
added silently. "Doin' okay, sugah?"

"Fine!" Cassie exclaimed. "This is FUN!"

"Let's cruise, then." Rogue changed her body angle until she was nearly parallel 
to the ground, and Cassie spent a few moments flailing with her legs, trying to 
copy Rogue's posture. She finally cheated by hooking one foot over Rogue's 
ankle, using that as an anchor to help her hold her body level. Rogue didn't 
comment.

"Hank tell y'all how far the groun's go back?" They were over trees now, still 
gaining altitude, angling away from the lake and the river that marked the 
eastern border of Xavier's holdings.

"Not exactly. Just that it's a really big estate." Now there was enough noise 
from the windslip that Cassie felt she had to raise her voice to be heard.

"Ah gen'rally start out this direction--until Ah get plenty high enough that 
people won' notice somebody flyin' overhead." Cassie turned her head to check 
Rogue's expression. It was serious. "We try not to attract any more attention 
than need be, 'round here. Helps keep thangs private."

Cassie suspected she was being politely warned about the matter. "Good policy." 
More secret stuff she was being carefully introduced to....

Rogue began to circle in a lazy arc, which soon brought them into a pocket of 
cool, moist air rising from the lake. Now that they were moving faster, Cassie 
was glad of her long sleeved shirt. She supposed the wind chill factor worked 
just the same when the air was pretty much standing still and YOU were moving 
quickly.

The few clouds above loomed closer as Rogue climbed even higher. Cassie, 
suddenly feeling a twinge of nausea, looked to the ground instead. She could 
trace the roads as easily as on a map--there was the estate's drive, next 
Greysomething Lane heading on to the local highway and then, in the distance, 
the bigger expressway. Vehicles strung themselves along the thin ribbons of 
roadway like bright beads. If she squinted, she could just see the outskirts of 
Salem Center, the nearby town.

"Say, there's a truck turnin' onta our road!" Rogue dropped altitude hastily, to 
get a better look, and Cassie managed to stifle a gasp of alarm.

"Air freight's coming with my stuff this morning," she managed to say. The 
unexpected drop had startled her, and now she definitely felt queasy.

"Better cut th' sightseein' short, then." Rogue reversed directions as nimbly as 
a cowpony and began an abrupt and rapid glide down to their starting point. 
Cassie gulped, and held her breath. When it seemed they would HAVE to crash 
headfirst into the smooth lawn, which would make a terrible mess, Rogue made a 
hairpin turn that flipped them both upright, then floated smoothly down.

As soon as Rogue let go of her, Cassie let herself drop to her knees, eyes 
closed and one hand over her mouth. Her eyes watered as she struggled to freeze 
the spasms that rippled from her stomach to her throat.

Alarmed, Rogue knelt before Cassie. "Ya okay, gal?" she asked anxiously.

Bobby, who had been waiting and watching, came rushing up. "Uh-oh, looks like 
somebody gets airsick!"

Cassie's face was already losing its momentary chalkiness, and she sat back on 
her heels. "I don't, usually," she insisted, in an almost normal voice. "At 
least, not on a plane. Guess this kind of flying just takes getting used to, or 
something!" She managed a smile for Rogue, who still looked upset. "It was 
great, really. Thanks SO much!"

"Anytime ya feel a need ta throw up, let me know," Rogue joked as she stood up, 
relieved that Cassie wasn't going to make a fuss.

"Didn't lose your claim slips, did you?" Bobby asked, grinning.

Cassie's eyes widened in alarm. She rose and pulled the now somewhat crumpled 
receipts out of her pocket, counting as she went. "Nope, all present and 
accounted for, thank goodness."

"Then let's get ya moved in," Rogue said, following her words with action as she 
headed towards the truck which had come to a halt near the front entrance. 
Cassie and Bobby filed dutifully along behind.

'Moved in', Cassie thought as they walked. 'I think I like the sound of 
that....'

*          *          *

Down in his lab, Hank's concentration levels had been slowly slipping, in direct 
proportion to the advancement of the time display on his computer screen. 
Wondering how Cassie was faring without him at her side kept displacing the more 
mundane subjects in the email posts he was sorting through. After careful 
deliberation, he had decided he could go up half an hour early without raising 
eyebrows or producing knowing smiles from his friends. So at 11:29 he rose, 
stretched, then bounded lazily towards the door, lighthearted with anticipation.

He tapped the button that summoned the elevator, and bounced on his heels as he 
waited. But no car came. Frowning, he looked at the button. It was lit. It would 
serve no useful purpose to push it again. After another 10 seconds, he did 
anyway.

Hank was just getting ready to pursue an alternate route when the door opened. 
Telling himself he could not POSSIBLY get stuck in the elevator, he entered it 
and, after a moment's thought about where Cassie was most likely to be, pressed 
the button for the second floor. The ensuing ride was as smooth as always, 
letting him rule out a defect in the lifting mechanism as the cause of the slow 
response....

The car stopped and opened its door on the main floor. Half a dozen people 
carrying boxes, led by Bobby, almost trampled over him. "Geez, Hank, hog the 
elevator, why don't you?" his friend complained. "Some of us are trying to work 
here!"

Hank backed up into a corner, trying to avoid a collision with any of his 
box-toting teammates. Despite the crowded conditions, Cassie managed to squeeze 
over to his side. He gallantly relieved her of the single, smallish box their 
friends had allowed her to carry, tucking it under one arm and Cassie under the 
other. "If I had been informed, I would have been only too happy to assist."

"Your work's important," said Scott, in a tone that brooked no disagreement. "No 
need to waste your time with something WE can handle."

"It seems I am officially back in harness, my dear," Hank remarked Cassie. He 
smiled as he said it, and Cassie smiled back, but she filed the vaguely 
worrisome exchange away for further thought.

*          *          *

After lunch, Hank again disappeared into the depths. Cassie didn't need to be 
told he was trying to make up for the time he had lost vacationing with her. At 
least now, she thought as she looked around the room at all her boxes, SHE had 
something to do as well.

Where to start, that was the question. And music was the answer. It only took a 
minute or two to find the carton that held her CD player, and a minute more to 
choose a place to put it for now. Rather than make a special hunt for the 
package containing her modest CD collection, Cassie just turned the machine on, 
willing to accept whatever had been in it when she hastily packed it.

"Oh, good, the Bobs," she remarked to no one, as their a cappella version of 
'White Room' came pumping out of the speakers. Cassie mimed a little air guitar, 
then settled herself to work.

Hank had left the door slightly ajar when he departed, and Cassie had not closed 
it, supposing he had some good reason for leaving it that way. So when out of 
the corner of her eye she saw it swing open, she turned that direction with a 
happy smile, expecting to see Hank coming through.

But the head that poked in did NOT belong to him, and Cassie could not help 
taking several startled steps back and away. Unfortunately, there was a box 
directly behind her, and she fell over it, which further alarmed her, making her 
scrabble backwards.

"Oops," said the intruder in an disconcerted voice. It was Bobby. A variety of 
conflicting emotions played over his face, and then, moving with great care, he 
sat down in the doorway. "Sorry."

"Um...that's okay," Cassie murmured, bewildered by his actions. Should she get 
up if HE was sitting down? Bobby's odd behavior lent a surreal quality to the 
situation, and left Cassie even more at a loss than usual.

"I heard you playing the Bobs," he said, by way of explanation.

"Too loud?" Cassie asked instantly. Probably she SHOULD have shut the door.

"Oh, no," he reassured her. "I just don't have that album, and I wondered which 
one it was."

"Oh." Her heart rate was slowly returning to normal. "It's them doing other 
groups' hit songs," she informed him, still wondering if she should get up. "You 
can borrow it, if you want to."

"Thanks," Bobby replied, his serious tone contrasting strangely with his 
position and the subject at hand. "You might want to look at my collection 
sometime, too; we could borrow off each other."

"Sure," Cassie said, after too long a pause. This was really just too peculiar.

Bobby sat in silence a few moments longer, considering her. "How long ago was 
it?" he finally asked.

Cassie was certain she could not POSSIBLY have heard him right, yet she was 
equally certain she had. He continued to sit there, cross- legged, waiting 
patiently for her reply. He HAD to be guessing, just digging for information, 
hoping to hit paydirt with random questions. But she couldn't be sure without 
playing along a LITTLE bit. "Almost five years."

"I had a friend in college," Bobby explained. He let his gaze wander to the 
window, where afternoon sunlight was beginning to stream in. "She went out with 
a guy she thought she knew...you know how that happens."

"Yeah," Cassie said very quietly. She knew exactly how it was...when you thought 
you knew someone, but it turned out you didn't.

"Today when Gambit scared you--it made me think of her." Bobby rubbed his hands 
over his knees. "That's how she was afterwards...until she quit school and went 
home."

Cassie let this soak in. "You know, I hate it when I do things like that," she 
confided.

"Then you'll probably manage to quit, someday." His glance flicked towards hers 
again. "Talking about it helps some people, I hear."

"I'm much better with words on paper," she murmured. "I've actually considered 
passing out a memo to everyone." Bobby snorted a laugh, picturing various 
reactions. "It's not that I mind people KNOWING. I'm just...." She trailed off 
helplessly.

"Kind of a tricky subject to work into casual conversation," Bobby agreed. 
"If--"

A startled half-exclamation from the hall interrupted whatever he had been going 
to say. Sam Guthrie had come up behind Bobby, and was now goggling at the pair 
of them sitting on the floor, looking from one to the other, utterly mystified. 
"Whut's wrong? Are ya hurt, ma'am?"

"Oh, no, we were just talking...about music," Cassie said, too brightly. Now she 
felt REALLY silly. She wondered whether she should finally clamber to her feet, 
or if that would look even more suspect.

"On th' floor?" Sam said suspiciously. That was strange--as strange as the weird 
voices pretending to be music that were playing in the background.

"It's called being casual, Sam--latest thing, you should try it." Bobby was 
doing a good job at sounding exasperated, Cassie thought, appreciating his 
attempt to cover up her foolish overreaction.

"Ya didn' freeze 'er t'the floor, did ya?" Sam demanded, with such a distrustful 
look that Cassie knew instantly he was recalling some specific event. She turned 
her inadvertent half-laugh into a grunt as she pushed herself to her feet. 
Standing up would clear Bobby's name, at least in this case.

"Yeah, like I WANT Hank to yank my arms off!" Bobby retorted as he rose as well.

"Oh, I'm sure he wouldn't do THAT," Cassie said instantly, in defense of Hank's 
good nature.

"Huh," Bobby said darkly, and Sam vehemently nodded his agreement that such 
retaliation would be more than likely.

Now that the situation had regained some semblance of normality, Sam remembered 
what he was doing here. "Ah came ta ask, ma'am, if y'all had anythin' else 
needed totin'."

"No, everything's in here. As you can see." The room DID look a bit cluttered, 
with so many boxes scattered around in it. "Right now I'm mainly trying to think 
where to put things."

Both men took a few steps into the room, in response to Cassie's vague gesture. 
Cassie looked around with them. Most of the boxes were labelled with the word 
'Clothes'. The ones with Hank's distinctive handwriting were more creative: 
'More Clothes', 'Additional Clothes', 'Extra Clothes Just In Case' and similar 
variations on the theme. She smiled, remembering how they had both gotten a 
little giddy with anticipation during the packing.

"Looks like you need another chest of drawers," Bobby observed. "That Hank is 
such a space hogger."

"He's not--this IS his room," Cassie reminded him, then smiled when she realized 
he was teasing again. "A separate one WOULD probably be best." There was plenty 
of room for it, after all. "You know, I thought about bringing a couple of 
pieces of MY furniture. But that seemed so...." Presumptuous, she finished to 
herself.

'Final', Bobby added in HIS head. "What did you do with all your other stuff?" 
he inquired, figuring by now she'd not be offended by a direct query.

Cassie knew for sure this time he was seeking details that would make him a 
sought-after source of info; today's leader in the gossip game. Of course, that 
WOULD be the most efficient way to spread the information throughout the 
household, short of calling a meeting, or writing that memo. "I had a couple 
months to go on my apartment lease, so I just left the big stuff there. Until I 
think of what's the best thing to do about it."

"Guess that's th' sensible route," Sam said diplomatically. Although if HIS 
girlfriend ever moved in with him, yet kept such an obvious escape route open, 
he'd be inclined to think she didn't take their relationship very seriously.

"Yes. And my folks have my cat, and my car--or they will, when it gets back from 
the body shop. Hailstorm," she added, when they both looked apprehensive.

Returning to the problem at hand, Bobby suggested, "You know, the easiest thing 
to do for now would be to just borrow a dresser from an empty room. We've got 
plenty."

"Well...."

"It would be a nice surprise for Hank," Bobby coaxed.

Cassie needed no further persuasion. With Sam and Bob leading the way, they went 
on a hunting expedition for a dresser, and soon returned with their booty. She 
picked a spot where she didn't think it would be in the way, and her helpers set 
it carefully in place. After she had given them her fervent and sincere thanks, 
they departed, leaving her alone with a lot of boxes and the Bobs.

And yet, she didn't feel alone. Her apartment in Denver had been a solitary 
sanctuary. That was what she had needed then, to feel she could be safe from the 
world in that cozy, personal...prison. Flying with Rogue today had shown her the 
vastly expanded physical borders of her new refuge. But that revelation paled in 
comparison to her growing realization that she could TRUST these people who were 
allowing her to share this haven. Their kind words and deeds were gently eroding 
walls she had not even noticed she had built.

'Hank said it would be okay, and he was right,' Cassie thought, shaking her head 
at how silly her old fears seemed right at the moment. 'One of these days I'll 
be looking back and laughing at myself for being so worried.' She carried the 
nearest box over to the dresser and began to put its contents away, devising 
plans for future communication that had nothing at all to do with meetings or 
memos. Everything WAS going to work out. Just like Hank said.


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


INFO, ETC.

There is also a mailing list for people who want to get new chapters ASAP. Be 
warned--you sometimes get odd extra mailings as well, when the spirit moves 
me....

Disclaimer: Since I am a) inserting a new character and b) not privy to any of 
Marvel's editorial decisions, this story is forced to be an alternate universe. 
It is similar to the 'real' one when it works out, plotwise, okay? And I DO make 
mistakes sometimes, I know. Such is life.


---------
Neon Hearts Part 30. Okay, transition period is now officially over. From here on 
out, the subject lines for these chapters will say Neon Hearts #whatever, plus 
include a coded roster, in order of appearance, of who's got a role in this 
particular segment. Marvel characters, as always, copyrighted by and courtesy of 
the great and wondrous Marvel company!


PART 30--GOOD INTENTIONS


Bobby and Sam didn't try to force a conversation as they walked together down 
the hall of the west wing; each was tentatively pleased with the rare feeling of 
being in complete accord, and neither wanted to chance spoiling it. Sam turned 
into his room with a casual, "See ya at supper."

"Yeah, see you," Bobby replied absently. His mind was on Cassie's revelation, 
and what he ought to do about it. He suspected his best bet was probably to hand 
off this hot potato to someone more qualified to juggle it, and his candidate 
for that position was either Jean or Storm. Both of them had acted as unofficial 
den mothers to the team a time or two, and this would be right up their alley.

It seemed like Fate agreed. As Bobby entered the kitchen on his way out to the 
boathouse, he found both women chatting--Storm draped so elegantly over a 
kitchen chair that it might have been a throne, and Jean removing a gallon of 
milk from the refrigerator.

"Hey, are YOU cooking tonight?" Bobby exclaimed happily. "I thought it was 
Gambit's turn."

"It is, and I'm not," Jean explained. "Scott and I are going out. I'm just 
getting some milk for breakfast tomorrow." She indicated the serving pitcher she 
had brought from her kitchen by holding it up and waggling it at him.

Bobby, and everyone else, knew Scott's opinion of Gambit's Cajun cooking. As the 
original all-American meat and potatoes man, Scott disdained overly fancy 
dishes; his only exceptions were Jean's frequent excursions into Julia Child 
Land.

There was also the problem, shared by the team at large, of clashing cultures. 
About half the time, Gambit came up with great food, but the other half he was 
presenting them all with blackened squidcakes or something equally revolting.

This predicament was compounded by the alphabetical nature of the roster. Hank's 
turn for meal preparation came only two meals after Remy's, and for some reason 
he felt compelled to use up leftovers when at all possible. Some of the 
resulting culinary atrocities were still remembered with fond horror, much the 
way survivors brag about the enormity of disasters to which they have been 
subjected.

"You've already dibsed going out, huh?" Gambit tended to sulk if there wasn't a 
decent turnout for his meals--plus there was that leftovers threat--so the team 
had a private understanding which limited the number of people eating elsewhere 
on Cajun cooking nights.

"We're going to the movies," Jean explained, trying to give the impression this 
was their sole motivation for not dining at home.

"Fine, be that way." Bobby smiled to take any possible sting out of the retort, 
then leaned back with his butt against the edge of the counter, facing both 
women. "Listen, I was wondering...have either of you had a chance to talk to 
Cassie yet?"

"Yesterday we all did," Storm informed him. "We had a... very pleasant 
conversation." She and Jean exchanged secretive smiles.

"No, I meant alone."

The smiles changed to puzzled frowns, then both women shook their heads. "Why, 
Bobby?" Jean asked.

"I kind of found out why she's so jumpy around everyone but Hank. Sort of."

Jean looked ready to hear more, but Storm spoke first, in a cool tone calculated 
to squelch any impending impropriety. "Is it something she would probably prefer 
to share--or not--herself?"

Bobby felt this semi-accusation was quite unfair, considering he was only trying 
to help. "Hey, I'm not the type to gossip for no good reason!"

'Then I don't know who is,' Jean thought. Aloud, she merely said, wryly, "So 
what's your good reason?"

"She pretty much said she wished everyone knew what her problem was, without her 
having to talk about it," Bobby said with a virtuous air. Not my idea at all, 
his innocent expression insisted.

"'Pretty much?'" Storm observed, homing in on the vagueness. "So you have 
decided on your own to do her a favor by telling her secrets for her?"

"NOOooo." Bobby rolled his eyes as dramatically as Jubilee used to. For one 
thing, I don't KNOW the details, because I was a gentleman and didn't pry." This 
self-righteous pronouncement was ruined by Jean's choked snort of derision.

"Why don't you start from the beginning?" Jean suggested, after regaining some 
semblance of composure. "It sounds like we need to hear the whole story."

As best as he could, Bobby recounted the events of the morning, highlighting 
Cassie's extreme reaction to Gambit's intended joke. Storm interrupted him to 
say, "That cannot have set well with Remy."

"No, it didn't," Bobby agreed. "Even though she apologized right away, I do 
think he was upset." Storm frowned, unhappy for Remy's sake. "She told me later 
it really bothers her when she freaks out like that."

"For whatever good that does the other party," Storm said disapprovingly.

"So what else happened?" Jean said, trying to bring them both back to the 
primary topic.

"When *I* went upstairs, I poked my head in her door--which was open," Bobby 
hastened to add, "--and she reacted by literally falling all over herself trying 
to get away. And so *I* apologized and we kind of talked, a little bit. But not 
in a detailed way. And that's when she said she wished she didn't have to 
explain, and all that."

"What do you THINK she was talking about?" Jean asked patiently. It would be 
nice to know, she thought. For a person trying to reveal secrets, Bobby was 
doing a remarkably poor job.

"I think she was...you know...assaulted, at some point in time." Storm's eyes 
widened, and Jean's mouth dropped open a bit. Sensing he had just said the magic 
word to gain their sympathy and cooperation, Bobby continued, "That's why I 
thought it might be good if one of you could try to get her to open up and talk 
about it."

"Why didn't you ask her when you had the chance?"

"Hey, I'm not a psychiatrist. I don't even play one on TV!" he protested. "I 
figured it was more of a woman to woman thing, you know?"

"You're probably right," Jean admitted, after sharing another look with Storm, 
who now wore a pensive, troubled expression.

Bobby nodded, as if to say he'd THOUGHT he was. "So...now you know. Enjoy your 
night out, and spare a few kind thoughts to those you're leaving behind." He 
bounced out the door, carefree now that he had shifted his burden to more 
responsible shoulders.

"So which of us should it be?" Storm asked, when they were alone again.

"I don't know--I'm not even quite sure what, if anything, we're supposed to be 
trying to do."

"Can we presume Hank knows?"

"Wouldn't you think he'd almost have to, considering how she was bragging on him 
the other day?" Jean reflected. "I'd say she's worked her problem out at least 
as far as HE'S concerned."

"If HANK has not made it his business to...explain his friend's potential for 
panic attacks to the group...." Storm worried aloud.

"Then maybe we'd be interfering?"

"Would we not?"

"I can see how it might be difficult for either of them to...address this. I 
know I wouldn't want to go around to a group of strangers I suddenly found 
myself living with, telling them about a traumatic experience that still 
bothered me. And I wouldn't want to do it on behalf of someone else, either." 
Storm nodded, in full agreement. "But it's not something we can just add to the 
agenda of a team meeting, even as an FYI."

"I do not believe the professor would find it appropriate."

"So...maybe taking the casual route isn't that bad an idea, after all. I'm not 
against just...letting people know there's a good reason Cassie's so...edgy, and 
that she'll be talking about it when she's ready."

"Bishop will NOT like that."

"No, he won't, will he?" Jean sighed at the lack of simple answers to this 
problem. "I'd better go put this milk up before I have a pitcher full of cottage 
cheese. Let's just think about it for now, okay?"

*          *          *

Up in her room, unaware she was the subject of so much discussion, Cassie was 
happily putting away all her clothes in the truly lovely antique dresser the 
guys had found for her. To her satisfaction, there was plenty of room for 
everything that ought to go in drawers, and enough closet space as well, though 
she had to leave a few things laying out due to a lack of hangers. Which was 
something she felt confident could be easily remedied later.

Her moderate assortment of make-up and toiletries were easy to find space for in 
the huge bathroom. Hank had already suggested she set up her computer on the 
desk nearest the westward-facing window, and she was quite happy and relieved to 
discover everything worked after she plugged in the various connections between 
keyboard, CPU, printer and all. Her reference books she left in their box, 
hoping a small bookcase could be procured as simply as the dresser had been.

The last box to be unpacked contained various knickknacks and odds and ends 
she'd simply wanted to keep with her. Cassie looked around, and decided with a 
faint pang of guilt that she'd reordered Hank's room quite enough in his 
absence. They could go through this last box together, later. For now, she felt 
like rewarding her diligence with a nice glass of iced tea.

Hank had assured her it was quite permissible to wander into the kitchen at will 
and partake of nearly anything available; the main no-no was sampling items that 
were still packaged and obviously intended to be a part of a main course. Cassie 
was feeling quite intrepid, going on this quest unaided just as though she 
really belonged here. But this satisfying state of being evaporated like a burst 
bubble when she stepped through the door and saw Gambit working away on dinner 
preparations.

She almost backed up and left, preferring thirst to another unleasant encounter. 
But then she recalled her talk with Bobby, and his unspoken but clear belief 
that she ought to find ways to explain herself, one on one, to the people she 
was now living with. Gambit had been quite nice about her faux pas this 
morning....

Firming her resolve, Cassie drifted silently into the room. Gambit, who was 
dexterously mincing an onion, did not seem to notice. "Hi...." she said 
hesitantly. He looked around, nodded noncommittally, and went back to his task. 
Well, so maybe this wasn't a good time to approach him, while he was trying to 
do something. It might be better, too, to make more thorough plans about what to 
say before embarking on her explanations.

Trying not to feel like she was really just chickening out, Cassie forced 
herself to move to one of the cupboards and open it in search of a drinking 
glass. She thought that when she found one she might just fill it with tap water 
and make her escape. But the door she opened only revealed packaged goods. The 
next one was casserole dishes and bowls, and the third, more cooking 
ingredients.

"What you need, gal?" Gambit half-growled, unable to continue ignoring her. He 
noted with masochistic satisfaction that his sudden words made her twitch in a 
not-quite controlled reaction.

"Um...a glass?" she answered anxiously. "I didn't want to bother you, since you 
were busy."

' 'f I make de leas' li'l move, she faint dead away,' he thought, half tempted 
to try it, just for the devilment of it. "Gambit git you one, if you tell him 
one t'ing."

"Okay." She clasped her hands in front of her, like she was getting ready to 
recite before an audience, or a board of inquiry, but met his gaze squarely.

"What you t'ink de big bad Cajun gon' do t'you, petite?" His voice sounded harsh 
in his own ears, much more so than he had intended. He HAD actually hoped to get 
an answer, and he knew that hostility would not aid him in that attempt.

To his surprised remorse, Cassie reacted by looking as though she was going to 
cry, but from contrition rather than fear. Female tears, the universal solvent 
for all but the hardest of masculine hearts. With any other lady, Gambit would 
have been tempted to encourage her to weep on his shoulder, but he knew that 
probably wasn't such a good idea in this case.

"Nothing," Cassie managed to reply in a lowered voice. "It's not you...not your 
fault. You've been nothing but kind to me."

Before Gambit could come up with the proper response, a more serious situation 
demanded his attention. "Merde!" he exclaimed, and swung back to the stove. The 
butter that had been melting in a skillet was sputtering and smoking; he'd let 
their conversation distract him. With a silent snarl at his carelessness, he 
thrust the pan under hot running water. Steam roiled from it, hissing, and he 
added several more choice curses to the tumult.

After quickly swabbing out the last of the charred butter, Gambit meticulously 
dried the pan with a fistful of paper towels and put a new stick of butter on to 
melt. He'd temporarily forgotten about Cassie during the mini-crisis, but when 
she nervously shifted her weight to her other foot, it caught his attention. On 
impulse, he said, "You wan' c'mere an' stir dis fo' Gambit?"

Okay," she said quickly, and took the wooden spoon from his hand without 
hesitation. It appeared that distracting her attention helped to calm her. 'Le 
bon Dieu alone know how Hank ever manage to lay a finger on de gal--mebbe he 
jus' keep talkin' de whole time....'

"So if it not be Gambit scarin' you, what is it?" he said, picking up the 
conversation where he had dropped it.

"Everybody I don't know scares me," Cassie said simply, still stirring 
carefully, not taking her eyes away from her task for even a second. 
"Ridiculous, huh?"

Whatever Remy had been expecting, that wasn't it. "Why dat be, chere?"

"I..." Trying not to stammer, Cassie fell back on the vague answer she usually 
gave when backed into a corner "...had a bad experience a few years ago. I'm 
still working on getting over it."

Gambit scraped his finely chopped onion into her butter. "Keep stirrin' smooth 
as can be," he instructed gently. From the way she'd reacted this morning, it 
had to be something physical, and it had probably been a man who'd done whatever 
it was. Which gave him a likely answer, which he'd stake heavy on being the 
right one. "Well, at leas' you TRYIN' t'get over yo' troubles."

Cassie wondered briefly why he sounded so bitter. "I DO want to. And I want to 
apologize again for jumping like a scalded cat today, when you were only trying 
to make me laugh."

"Dat's ok, chere. Gambit take your word you din' mean it personal." He noted 
that she had quite a sweet smile when she wasn't forcing it out. After opening 
the right cupboard, he traded her a glass for the spoon handle. "Here y'are--de 
icebox be full of juice, tea, milk, col' water...."

"Do you...need any help?" she asked, and he could not say whether her hesitation 
was from fear he'd say no, or fear he'd accept.

"Not dis time--but if you want t'learn REAL cookin', CAJUN cookin', Gambit be 
willin' t'teach you one of dese days."

"Okay." Her eyes sparkled as she realized she'd come through her ordeal 
unscathed. "But right now there's a phone call I have to make."

"Go 'long den, gal. But don' you be spoilin' yo' supper!"

*          *          *

Supposing it must be permissible to carry glasses out into the rest of the 
house, or Gambit would surely have warned her, Cassie returned to Hank's 
room--no, THEIR room. She closed the door this time; if it automatically locked 
or something, Hank certainly had to be able to open it.

There was a cordless phone in a holder on Hank's dresser. Cassie picked it up 
and punched in a number she knew by heart, getting a very small thrill at not 
having to dial the area code. "Hello, this is Cassie. Is Wendy in?"

"Oh, yes," said Melinda the secretary, with a somewhat surprising amount of 
relief. "She's been trying to reach you. Please hold."

In only a few seconds the familiar husky voice boomed happily at her. "Cassie! 
Finally back to your phone, babe?"

"Well...sort of." Cassie had been looking forward to telling Wendy her grand 
news, and now that the moment was at hand, she wanted to make it last. "I have 
to give you my new address and phone number. I'm in New York!"

"You're still in New York?" Wendy demanded. "Is that why I could never reach 
you?"

"No, I went home," Cassie hastened to say. "But right after I got home my 
answering machine broke."

"Oh," Wendy said, without inflection, as if she was thinking surely Cassie could 
make up a better one than that, considering her profession.

"Do you remember Hank?"

This warmed Wendy's voice back up. "He's completely unforgettable, sweetie."

"Well, he came out to visit me, and we went touring around the state and...I 
decided to come back with him."

Cassie had to jerk the phone away from her ear so as not to be deafened by 
Wendy's squeal of delight. "Didn't I tell you one of these days you were going 
to find a guy you'd go bonkers for? Didn't I?"

"You did," Cassie admitted. "And I did. I have. I am." She was babbling now, and 
grinning like a goof, and enjoying it immensely.

"We're going to have to do lunch, dear, so you can tell me all the gory 
details," Wendy said. "For now, we'd better keep to business, because I have an 
appointment in five minutes."

Cassie dutifully supplied both the mailing address and the slightly complex 
phone number that would ring at the extension nearest to her if she were inside 
the mansion. Wendy seemed to assume it was just some version of voice mail, and 
Cassie didn't dwell on the matter.

"Well, I'm glad I finally got ahold of you, and it's FANTASTIC you're in the 
area," Wendy said. But this did not turn out to be the pre-conversation wind-up 
Cassie was anticipating. Instead, Wendy was off on an entirely new subject. 
"Because I have the most FABULOUS interview lined up for you with--" the agent 
added a dramatic pause, "--Graehme Winter!"

Cassie was suddenly glad they were having this conversation over the phone, 
because she was considerably less than thrilled, and she knew her face would 
show it. "Why is he interested in me?"

"He's going to do a series of columns on different genres, and you're one of the 
people he wants to interview about romances." Wendy must have anticipated her 
reaction, because she continued persuasively, "Cassie, between us, you know I 
think the man is as pleasant as contracting cancer. But this is space in a 
nationally syndicated column we're talking about. Surely you can stand to be in 
a room with him for half an hour or so, talking about your writing."

"What if he hates my writing and just wants to make fun of me?" Cassie said, 
addressing her professional fear rather than her personal one.

"Oh, sweetie, nobody takes his opinion seriously except maybe a few wild-eyed 
right-wingers who never read anything entertaining anyway. If he does jump on 
you in print, half of America will go out and buy one of your books in sympathy 
for you."

"So you think I should do it?"

"Yes, I do. It can't do anything but raise the bids in the contract auction I've 
been setting up for you." Wendy's voice became soothing, trying to make the 
unpleasant prospect more palatable. "I'll come with you, if you want. For moral 
support."

Cassie, feeling as though she had no real choice, determined to make the best of 
a bad situation. "No, he'd just make fun of me for that too. Okay, sure, set it 
up and let me know."

Just then, the bedroom door swung inward, and this time it WAS Hank. Still 
holding the phone to her ear and murmuring monosyllables in response to Wendy, 
she met Hank in the middle of the room, and beamed at him as he kissed her hand 
by way of greeting. 'Almost done' she mouthed, and he nodded his understanding.

"Okay, I will...that too...just let me know...thanks. Bye!" She cut the 
connection and in the same instant flung her arms around Hank to greet him 
properly.

"That was Wendy," she explained when they came up for air. "I had to tell her my 
new address and all."

What did she say?"

"About me moving out here? That it was great. And she thinks it's even greater 
that I've moved in with you."

Hank clowned a show of modest embarrassment at this implied compliment, then 
looked around the room. "I see you've been very busy." He waved a hand in the 
general direction of the new piece of furniture. "How did you manage that?"

"Sam and Bobby helped me," Cassie explained, then wriggled with satisfaction as 
he smiled his approval of her successful interaction with two of his teammates. 
"What all did you do today?"

"Wished I was with you," he said softly, lacing his fingers behind her back and 
holding her in a light embrace as he basked in the glow from her eyes. "What I 
did that was PRODUCTIVE was mainly read and make notes on a dozen or so papers 
that were published lately on various topics."

"Virus stuff," Cassie said, nodding wisely, to show she remembered what he'd 
told her, off and on, about his current work.

"Much of it. Other subjects as well. At least I now feel that I am caught up 
with my peers in the science community. Enough so that I was thinking...perhaps 
we might go out tonight? In a group, if anyone else is interested?"

"That would be fun," Cassie said, leaning against his chest and smiling up. 
"That Silver's place again?"

"It's a date," Hank agreed. With a slight note of hesitation he asked, "You 
don't MIND going out with some of the others?"

"No, not at all. I think...things will go along better and better, the more I 
get to know them; you know what I mean?"

"Yes, and I think you are quite right," he replied gravely, hiding his elation. 
This was what he'd been thinking, and hoping, and trying to help her see. 
Hearing it from her, couched as her own idea, made it almost a certainty her 
integration with their small society was going to be a success. A cause, he 
thought with rising optimism, for celebration all in itself.


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


INFO, ETC.

There is also a mailing list for people who want to get new chapters ASAP. Be 
warned--you sometimes get odd extra mailings as well, when the spirit moves 
me....

Disclaimer: Since I am a) inserting a new character and b) not privy to any of 
Marvel's editorial decisions, this story is forced to be an alternate universe. 
It is similar to the 'real' one when it works out, plotwise, okay? And I DO make 
mistakes sometimes, I know. Such is life.