Neon Hearts Part 9. Okay, here I am back from the hospital, a little ouchy but 
okay. Thanks to all of you who very kindly sent good wishes! As always, the 
established characters in this ongoing story belong to Marvel and Marvel 
alone....


PART 9--FIRST IMPRESSIONS


Hank and Cassie entered the dining room, dropping hands but exchanging secret 
significant smiles, fondly imagining this exchange was lost on the others 
present. A woman Cassie had not yet met drifted over to be introduced. She was 
elegantly slender, with white hair in stunning contrast to her dark skin; Cassie 
felt decidedly commonplace next to this exotic being. "Cassie, this is Storm," 
Hank said, apparently not at all awed by her. "Storm, this is my friend Cassie, 
who I am SURE you have by now heard all about." His knowing smile took in the 
others, who had had means, motive and opportunity to spill the beans.

"Not all about, by any means," Storm replied in her cool, composed voice, which 
managed to hold the hint of an amused smile. "Welcome, Cassie. I look forward to 
getting to know you better."

Before Cassie could reply, another man entered the room, and the group instantly 
began spreading out to seats around the table. This was obviously Professor 
Xavier, Cassie thought, moving with the others. She would have known him even 
without the identifying aid of his hover-chair. He just looked like someone Hank 
would automatically call 'sir'.

Hank led her to a place at the table, and she didn't catch that she was being 
placed at the great man's left until it was too late to do anything but sit down 
in the chair Hank was holding. At least he went around to sit directly in front 
of her, on the opposite side of the table. On her left was Scott, who was across 
from his wife Jean. Cassie wondered at the lack of conversation, wondered if 
they ate this formally every meal, or only when the Professor was present.

After a reassuring smile at her, Hank said, "Professor, I'd like you to meet my 
friend Cassie Cantrell. Cassie, this is Charles Xavier, the founder of our 
little group."

She hesitated only a second, then reached out her hand, an awkward move over the 
table which she instantly regretted as clumsy and possibly overdone. "I'm very 
glad to meet you, sir," she said, unconsciously using Hank's term. "Thank you 
very much for having me here today."

"You're quite welcome." His baritone voice was commanding, full of unconscious 
power, and his grasp was firm, but brief. HE looked like he'd never had a doubt 
or a clumsy moment in his life, she thought. He didn't exactly seem forbidding, 
but Cassie nevertheless felt as though she was on probation, and tried to summon 
up her best behavior.

People began passing the food, family style, and chatting, which broke a little 
of the tension for her. Hank was all but using semaphores to communicate his 
approval and support, as though he knew she was finding this situation a little 
difficult. It did help. But then Professor Xavier said, "Hank tells me you are a 
writer, Ms. Cantrell."

Just when it had seemed that tidbit of information had been mercifully 
forgotten! Making the best of it, Cassie gritted mental teeth and said, "Yes. I 
write romance novels."

One eyebrow rose fractionally, and he glanced sideways at Hank. "I see," he 
replied. Minimalist, but deadly, response.

Hank was opening his mouth to, undoubtedly, defend her, when he was saved the 
trouble by Jean. "You're THAT Cassie Cantrell?" she cried in amazed delight. 
"Why, I have ALL your books!" She turned to glare mock-accusingly at Hank. "Why 
in the world didn't you SAY something?!" She turned back to Cassie. "Men always 
leave the important details out, don't they?" Cassie only had time to smile a 
weak agreement before Jean continued, "Oh, I wish Rogue were here! She's read 
them all too--she'll be SO disappointed she missed you!"

"Perhaps another time," Hank murmured, with a quick glance at the Professor, not 
trying to hide his delight at Cassie's sudden upsurge in status with at least 
SOME of the team.

"My favorite one," Jean confided, "was about the antiques. Scott, do you 
remember when I was reading that auction part out loud to you, and got to 
laughing so hard--"

"Yes, I do." He turned to Cassie and said with amiable accusation, "Thank you 
very much for trying to kill my wife! I had to pour ice water on her to snap her 
out of it."

"You didn't HAVE to," Jean said with no little trace of asperity, at her 
recollection of THAT part of the incident.

"I AM sorry," Cassie said, to both of them. "I'm glad you enjoy the books, 
though."

"*I* even read that one," Scott confided. "It WAS funny."

"Well, when you recommend a book, Scott, what more need be said?" Hank smiled 
wickedly.

While Scott was sorting out whether or not that was an insult, Wolverine spoke. 
"Jeannie says you're from Denver." All heads turned to that end of the table. 
Logan indulging in small talk with a stranger wasn't something that happened 
every day.

"Yes, I am." Cassie smiled encouragingly, thankful that someone was going to 
turn the conversation away from her semi-scandalous career.

"I was out there once. At that Stock Show thing. Nice town." He nodded and 
turned back to his food, with the air of a man who knows he has done his part, 
and maybe a little more, to keep the social circle turning.

"I used to love going to that every year," Cassie said. "I was horse-crazy, like 
most girls--I would have LIVED out there the whole ten days if my folks had let 
me." At Hank's inquiring look, she filled him in. "It's a livestock show, horse 
show, rodeo--"

"Is that where you got the idea for your book about the rodeo clown?" Jean 
asked, bringing the conversation right back around to romances.

Cassie nodded, resigned. "You know how they always advise you to write about 
what you know."

"Does that mean we can look forward to a romance novel about mutants?" Xavier's 
tone was bland, but the pointed edge to the words was sharp all the same. An 
abrupt silence fell.

"I don't know," Cassie finally said quietly. "I am sure I would have a great 
deal to learn first."

Now Hank did leap to her defense. "It might be interesting to see the effects of 
such a work," he suggested. "Perhaps it could even be a means to counteract some 
of the negative rhetoric being promulgated."

"Perhaps," the Professor allowed, but his expression said he would be difficult 
to convince.

Scott too came to the rescue, indirectly, by bringing up the subject of Gambit's 
new project. The rest of the meal's conversation was non-controversial, to 
Cassie's relief. At the end, the Professor reminded the team members of the 
practice scheduled an hour from now in the Danger Room, before excusing himself.

Jean firmly shooed Cassie away from helping clear the table, earning a smile of 
thanks from Hank. He ushered Cassie back to the central part of the house, and 
the elevators, but this time chose to go up. "That went well," he at last 
observed, when they were alone in the car.

"Yes," Cassie agreed faintly, wondering exactly what criteria Hank was using to 
define 'well'.

The doors opened and they headed down a broad hall of beautifully burnished 
panelling. Hank stopped at a door, opened it, and indicated Cassie should go in. 
Once the door was closed behind them, he embraced her, trying to gauge how much 
comforting explanation she required. "Professor Xavier is...not a demonstrative 
man, and...hard to get to know. But he is one of the truly great minds of our 
age, and cares very deeply about humanity. Both branches of humanity."

It was not difficult for Cassie to sense the plea hidden in this statement. She 
was already inclined to do a great deal more for Hank than be polite to someone 
who didn't seem to approve of her. It wasn't much of a task at that, as being 
agreeable was an ingrained part of her nature. So she merely nodded, and 
resolved to try to seem more worthy of Hank. Perhaps Professor Xavier would get 
used to her, in time. "It was just a little daunting, though. This is...kind of 
like meeting your family."

"At this point in time, it is EXACTLY like meeting my family," he assured her. 
Then Hank recalled the strong cultural connotations to that--bringing a girl 
home to meet the folks. Were those his intentions? It was possible--if he had 
only wanted to spend more time with Cassie, they could have stayed in the city. 
This warranted further thought. But for now, he turned to a less fraught topic. 
"And this," he spread an arm to encompass the room they stood in, "is exactly 
like seeing my room."

Cassie was deeply impressed by the huge Jacuzzi in the adjoining bathroom, 
although it only made sense for a man as big as Hank to have a really big tub. 
The rest of the furnishings in his room were solid but utilitarian, except for 
the king-sized waterbed that took up most of one wall. "A secret hedonist, eh?" 
she remarked, looking over the vast spread of white satin covering.

"Not so secret," he smiled.

Feeling daring, she turned and sat on the bed, face turned up to his. As he 
leaned down, she stretched her arms behind her, propping herself up at an angle. 
Hank set his arms outside hers, so they were only millimeters away from each 
other. "You know we have less than an hour," he reminded her.

"Oh, that's right." Cassie pretended to decide to get up. Always the gentleman, 
Hank swallowed his disappointment and began to back off, until she caught up 
with him and wrapped her arms around his neck, clearly signalling her true 
intentions.

Breaking away from the kiss, Hank gently urged her to lay back in the bed. "One 
thing first," Cassie suggested.

"Anything," Hank told her fervently.

"Help me get this blouse off. You wouldn't BELIEVE how fast silk wrinkles." Hank 
was more than happy to help with this procedure, and a few more besides....

*          *          *

<BEAST!> Hank's head snapped up guiltily in response to the psychic shout. 
<We're waiting for you.> Uh-oh. "It CAN'T have been an hour yet," he muttered to 
Cassie, who seemed to understand what was going on. But a glance at the readout 
of the clock at his bedside assured him he was quite wrong in his assessment of 
time passed. "Sometimes relativity is NOT our friend," he groaned, as he leapt 
off the bed, and Cassie.

Big-eyed with worry for him, she followed his lead, fumbling for discarded bits 
of clothing here and there. She had to abort putting on her panty hose--how HAD 
that big rip...oh, yes. Hmmm. Hank had grabbed some blue trunks out of a drawer 
and was jamming himself into them. "Nice outfit," Cassie remarked 
appreciatively, as she bolted past him to the bathroom, buttoning her blouse. 
With a few quick licks of Hank's brush, her hair looked at least presentable, 
and the only other outward sign of their recent activity was her high color.

Before exiting the room, Hank stole a quick kiss and winked unrepentantly at 
her, relieving Cassie immensely. Even if he got scolded, he wouldn't mind.

They used the apparently vital elevator yet again, getting off on a new floor 
this time. Almost at a run, Hank guided Cassie into a room with glass 
panels--and Professor Xavier! "Sorry I'm late, sir," he said breezily, and 
dashed out again. The man in the hover-chair didn't reply, and barely glanced at 
Cassie, so she assumed she was allowed to stay. Trying to be very quiet, so she 
would not disturb Xavier's typing, she moved closer to the glass panes and 
looked out at the scene below. All the people she had met at lunch were there, 
clad in the costumes she had seen on the news. They were standing in a group; 
Wolverine looking impatient, but the rest appearing to chat cheerfully.

Down on the floor, Hank bounded in to derisive comments. Wolverine sniffed at 
him quite audibly, then said to Scott, "You owe me a beer." Speaking to Hank, he 
asked, "Chuck read you the riot act?"

"Not yet, with emphasis on the 'yet', I am sure," Hank replied ruefully. "Sorry, 
everyone." There was no time for more--the dimming of the light signalled the 
start of the training sequence.


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

1) Open mouth. 2) Insert shoe store.


----------
Neon Hearts Part 10. I hope I haven't spoiled those of you reading this with the 
relative frequency with which I post chapters, because that's going to change 
for a bit. The short version of the excuse is this: I have a partially completed 
DS9 story, which was promised to a good friend for a certain zine, but in limbo 
while waiting for a. the mood to hit me to finish it, or b. the mood to hit the 
other person who had promised a particular story for this particular zine.... 
Well, guess what? B happened, and now I have to cough up this other story!

If it doesn't make my brain explode, I may be able to work on both at once. 
We'll see. In the meantime, at least you have Part 10 to read....

The Marvel characters herein are not mine; I know that. So do you. So does a 
first year law student, for cryin' out loud...what is the point of these things, 
anyhow?


PART 10--DANGEROUS DREAMS


<Here is your scenario> each X-man on the floor heard, as the bare room around 
them changed to a city street near dusk, cacophonous with rescue sirens on the 
roll, the squawking of radio conversations, and the unsteady rumble of far too 
many angry people calling out in unintelligible shouts. <There are hostages at 
risk in the building before you. Get them out safely, if you can.>

Upstairs, Cassie too heard the cryptic instructions, and drew as close as she 
could to the glass of the observation room. The sounds from the floor below were 
being piped in, but they sounded faint and far away. The insistent, pulsing 
flash of the emergency vehicles' lights made her think, most inappropriately, of 
the strobe lights at Silver's. That was a MOB roiling between the X-men and the 
building they were to gain access to--a seething mass of humanity at its 
ugliest, looking for a focus for its rage. Hank had told her these exercises 
were only realistic games, but this looked quite real, and quite dangerous....

The X-Men drew back half a dozen paces, assessing the scenario and forming a 
strategy with the speed of long practice. "What are we waiting for?" Wolverine 
demanded. "We can cut through those jokers like a hot knife through butter." His 
grin was evil as he popped his claws. "At least, *I* can."

"That'll look great on the Nightly News," Scott retorted, gesturing at the 
presence of a film crew, one minicam faithfully trained on them. "We do this 
with the least amount of damage possible to the crowd. Storm, see what you can 
do to discourage them." They fanned out, and Storm rose up, instantly surrounded 
by vapor swirls that became wind-lashed sheets of rain--until a staccato sound 
burst from the crowd, and she plummeted from the sky. Her headlong descent 
halted and changed to a slow drift just a meter above the mock pavement, but she 
lay very still when she landed.

Cassie, watching, managed not to scream only by jamming a hand in her mouth. "I 
thought these were just--" she gasped in shock to Xavier, who looked grim, but 
otherwise unmoved.

"Just games? That would be a pointless waste of time," Xavier said, without 
taking his intent eyes off the events unfolding below. Scott had dropped back to 
Storm's side; the rest of the team was advancing, in a V formation, towards the 
building, which could now be seen to be on fire. "But she's not really shot; it 
IS only a simulation."

"She...looks hurt," Cassie observed timidly.

"I am sure she does--force beams can bruise even at low settings. She should 
have expected someone in a crowd like that to have illegal firearms, and not 
made herself a target without arranging for Jean to shield her. Careless!"

Now much more alarmed for Hank's safety than before, Cassie returned to watching 
the fight. The lesson of Storm's mistake had not been lost on the remaining 
fighters; Jean stood in their midst, perfectly still, obviously concentrating 
fiercely on something. It must be only a partial shield, because the three 
active X-men, Hank, Remy and Logan, seemed able to connect physically with 
individuals in the crowd. Remy was at the front, swinging his staff with a 
vicious slicing that sang its own deadly warning--those that failed to fall back 
from it, or who could not because of the crush of bodies, cried out and fell 
before it. On both sides of him, Hank and Logan were methodically engaging with 
the enemy, punching some, merely shoving others back in great tangles of 
limbs--but they were outnumbered dozens to one! Any minute, Cassie feared, the 
crowd would see they could circle in and surround them. Her fingers began to 
ache from the intensity of her clutch on the handrail before her.

From the building before them, muted explosions and cries for help began to be 
heard, as smoke began seeping from the doors and windows. Cassie shuddered. What 
mad world view was this--could it really happen? "Why isn't anyone else DOING 
anything?" she demanded, whirling on Xavier, forgetting her wariness of him in 
her horrified despair. "Why aren't the ambulance people helping Storm? Or the 
police and firemen moving in?"

"Do you truly think the emergency workers workers would rush in to assist a 
fallen mutant? Mutants are the cause of the riot, in this scenario." He spoke as 
evenly as if he were discussing the laws of mathematics.

"Yes! Of course they would!" Their eyes locked, Cassie's frantic, Xavier's cool 
as he continued to manipulate the controls. "Medics aren't medics because of 
POLITICS! They just want to HELP people!" He seemed to not hear her, and merely 
returned his gaze to the imitation carnage below. Cassie drew in a deep, shaky 
breath. "Not everybody in the WHOLE WORLD hates you," she said in a low voice.

Xavier paused, reflecting on this. Whichever of them were more in tune with 
reality, what she was urging might make an interesting alteration in this 
engagement. They could always run the scenario another time, with other 
parameters. "Very well," he said, and keyed something in to his board. Cassie 
turned to the window, pressed close against it to watch as an ambulance at last 
came careening, bumping across curbs and rubble before parking at an angle that 
blocked the fallen Storm from the crowd. A team leapt out, and Scott, after a 
brief hesitation, left Storm with them, to join his compatriots.

As if the moving ambulance had dislodged the single floe impeding an ice-locked 
river, other emergency personnel began to mobilize in the convenient gap created 
by the X-men. Police in riot gear fell in to shore up the line, with the 
firefighters close behind, setting up hoses to begin pouring water on the 
building.

Perspective veered to follow the active fighters, a shift that made Cassie's 
head reel. She gripped the handrail hard to stay on her feet, and closed her 
eyes. She opened them again to a cutaway view of the building, where Hank and 
the other X-men continued to do desperate battle against the mob, and elapsing 
time, on the entrance steps.

A man holding a semi-automatic, possibly the one who had 'shot' Storm, stepped 
from a doorway. There was a red gleam of piercing light, and the weapon exploded 
in his hands, sending the assailant flying down the hall. The way now clear, the 
team dashed into the building, firefighters on their heels. Jean touched her 
hands to her head, then pointed out a direction, the second turn off the foyer 
they stood in. The firefighters were beginning to deploy hoses as the X-men 
headed to the hostages.

The wrap-up was almost anti-climactic. The one guard was easily overcome, and 
the coughing hostages were led to freedom through an escape hatch Scott blasted 
through the wall. Once this occurred, the whole scene melted away like a dream. 
Gambit sauntered over to assist Storm, who was getting to her feet. He rubbed 
her shoulders, and leaned close to whisper something that made her rueful 
expression break into a smile. Hank looked up, seeking his private audience, and 
bowed theatrically, giving Logan an irresistible chance to pick up one foot and 
bowl him over with a push on the seat of his trunks. Hank turned it into a 
graceful barrel roll and bounced back to his feet, grinning, ready for more.

Cassie slowly worked her cramped hands free from the rail, and weakly returned 
Hank's wave. "Are you going to be all right, Ms. Cantrell?" came a voice from 
behind her. She turned her face towards Professor Xavier, and was vaguely 
surprised to see him regarding her with what could only be called concern. Did 
she look like she was going to faint or something? Maybe....

"Yes, I believe so," she murmured politely. "This was just a little more...a 
little more than I was expecting." She looked back down at the now empty room. 
"It looks different, on the news."

Xavier considered this non-sequitur, and let it pass without comment. What an 
odd girl for Hank, who was eminently sensible beneath the clownish exterior he 
sometimes chose to display, to take a fancy to.

At that moment, the object of his thoughts came in the door. "Nice program, 
Professor," Hank said cheerfully. "Interesting--something a little different."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it, Beast," Xavier said dryly. Cassie searched Hank's 
face, and realized that he MEANT it, he HAD enjoyed it. She shook her head 
slightly, as if trying to shift things inside it, to create room for adjustments 
that needed to be made.

"Well, what did you think?" Hank asked, out in the corridor, as they walked 
towards the elevator.

"It was...scary," was all she could think of to say. Her brain seemed frozen, 
still clamped down the same way her hands had held onto that rail. They entered 
the elevator, and she took advantage of the privacy to clutch him in a tight 
hug.

"You were worried about me?" Hank asked, pleased but disbelieving. "I told you 
it was only a simulation." The elevator door opened to the hall leading to his 
room.

"I have too vivid an imagination," Cassie said in a small voice.

"But that's a good thing for a writer to have, isn't it?" he said, opening his 
door. Hank sensed something was wrong here, and he was half-afraid to continue 
the conversation in this vein, for fear of finding out what it was.

Cassie was slowly regaining her control, shutting the doors on unwanted images 
of disasters, pain and death. "Most of the time," she agreed.

"I am in serious need of a bath," Hank said, glad of a really good reason to 
change the subject for just a little while. "Room for two in the tub," he added 
hopefully.

Cassie was able to laugh jerkily at this. "There's room for twelve in that tub." 
A lot of hot water and Hank seemed like quite a good idea at the moment, 
actually. If she could just relax a bit, surely things would all shift back to 
normal in her worried brain.

Ever the gracious host, Hank consulted his guest on her preferences in bath 
salts (sage), water temperature (hot, but not hot-hot), and laid her out a towel 
she could have made a tent from. They entered together, while the water was 
still bubbling in. Hank lay back at length, with his head on a convenient 
cushioned ledge, and Cassie more or less floated above him, resting the back of 
her head on his chest.

"Mmmm," she finally said.

"I heartily concur."

After about ten minutes of silent soaking, Hank judged that Cassie was about as 
relaxed as she was likely to get. "Do you want to tell me what's wrong?" he said 
quietly.

She turned over so that she could look directly into his eyes, but spent a few 
moments runneling water through his hair with her fingers before she answered. 
"Reality. I wasn't expecting it." His brows furrowed, but he didn't interrupt. 
"You have to train like that so you're always ready, in real life, for something 
awful to happen. Something you have to go try to fix."

"A succinct and accurate assessment," he told her, trying to keep his mind on 
what she was saying, and off how delightful she felt pressed against him, the 
warm water caressing them both....

"I am going to have to decide," she told him with extreme calm, "if I am going 
to be able to deal with that." That brought his focus back, clear and sharp.

"It's what I do," he said involuntarily, and wondered for a crazy instant how 
Logan's favorite phrase had found its way into his mouth.

"I know. I know, and...I would never try to change you. But...." Suddenly Cassie 
was sure this was all too premature--he hadn't said anything to give her the 
idea this was more than a brief, pleasant encounter. "You should be with someone 
brave, not me." She thought of the simulation in the Danger Room again. "I wish 
I could be like Jean or Storm, but I'm not."

"What do they have to do with this?" Hank stroked a finger under her chin. "I 
haven't been trying to recruit you to the team, actually...." It wasn't much of 
a joke, but he was starting to feel a little desperate.

"Well, of course not," she responded, gamely trying to match his humor. "Besides 
the fact that I don't have any powers at all, I'm a natural born gibberer in a 
crisis. Not quite X-man material."

"What are you trying to tell me, then, Cassie?" He had to force the next words 
out. "Do you think this has all been...a mistake?"

"You should begin like you mean to go on," she said, and he half-recalled her 
using those same words earlier. "I would hate to...lead you on, and decide later 
I'm too chicken to...to be in love with a man who could get killed fighting off 
a flying saucer invasion." She tried to smile, but it quivered.

"Oh, but it's VERY unlikely I'll meet my doom fighting off flying saucers," Hank 
reassured her, not sure himself whether to laugh or cry. "Most of the alien 
races we've run across are reasonably friendly."

"Don't try to joke me out of this, Hank; I mean it." He saw she did, and 
swallowed involuntarily. "I don't want to brush this aside, and pretend it's no 
big deal, and then someday...let you down." She cradled his head between her 
hands, her palms smoothing the damp hair at his temples. "That would be so 
unfair to you...."

He considered reminding her how much better 'twas supposed to be to have loved 
and lost, and decided that would be a very bad idea. "I deeply appreciate your 
concern and your honesty," he told her solemnly. "But there are other factors 
you must consider."

"What's that?"

"One, I feel there is a chance you are underestimating your capacity for 
courage," he smiled, "and two, you are once again deciding FOR me what is too 
much to ask of me."

"Oh." A faint line came between her eyes as she considered this. "Do you... 
really think so?"

"I do." Now he cupped a handful of warm water and poured it over her back. "May 
we consider all these concerns duly noted, for the time being, and return to 
our...bathing?"

"They ARE duly noted?" she persisted, anxiety still creasing that lovely brow.

"Yes, ma'am, they are indeed. We can get it notarized later, if you like." He 
had found the soap, and began to slowly lather her back and shoulders, then her 
neck. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, Hank was very glad to see 
that the worry there had been replaced by a much warmer emotion.


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

"You must be the change you wish to see in the world." M. Ghandi


----------
Neon Hearts Part 11
<insert usual disclaimer about Marvel character copyright here>


PART 11--PICKING WINNERS


"Ah, OUR parking garage," Cassie commented, as Hank's little red sportster 
nipped to a halt millimeters from the concrete retaining wall. The cocktail 
party and awards ceremony being thrown by her publisher was, as could be 
expected, at the same hotel where they had put her up.

"ISN'T it romantic?" Hank said, playing along by batting his eyelashes and 
simpering as he clasped his clutched hands to his chest.

Cassie heaved a theatrical sigh, and hugged herself to his brawny upper arm, the 
body part a chaste star of an old movie musical would have had to content 
herself with. "It's HEAVENLY," she cooed. "The exhaust fumes, the old crumbling 
grey mortar--it hasn't changed a bit!" This caused Hank to splutter out of 
character into laughter. He gave her a hearty squeeze with his remaining free 
arm and a kiss on the top of her head before he began to extricate himself from 
the vehicle.

Strange as it might seem, Cassie considered as she also exited the car, Hank WAS 
the most romantic thing to happen to her in years. Maybe in her whole life. Bob 
had been...intense, but not really romantic, while they were courting. The fact 
that she and Hank could so easily make each other laugh had a great deal to do 
with it. Perhaps this was the reason her ideas of romance were considered 
eccentric among her writing peers.

As they made their way into the hotel proper, Hank inquired, "By the way, is it 
absolutely imperative that you return to Denver tonight?"

The way he so very casually brought the question more or less out of nowhere 
warmed Cassie's heart--it sounded highly rehearsed, as if he had had it on his 
mind for some time. As she had. This answered her question of whether he was 
planning to bring their time together to a natural, graceful end by merely 
driving her to the airport and bidding her adieu, with no other possibilities 
mentioned. "I'm afraid it is. I'm committed to teaching the afternoon half of a 
writing workshop there tomorrow."

"Oh, I see." Another hope dashed. Hank knew he couldn't honorably try to argue 
her out of a professional engagement--but could that be the reason she selected 
exactly that story? She had already expressed reservations about their future 
together....

"I wish I didn't have to," she murmured regretfully, taking his hand, and the 
future brightened again. "But a promise is a promise."

"I am glad to know you are the sort of person who takes promises seriously," 
Hank told her, and kissed the knuckles of her hand before they dropped into more 
decorous behavior, appropriate for the highly populated grand ballroom.

Cassie put her hand through the crook of Hank's elbow, which he now knew meant 
she was using him as a sort of towering security blanket to help her deal with 
the throngs of people present. He was still not sure that not wearing the image 
inducer was a good idea, but there had turned out to be NO time to attempt 
reassembly. 'And whose fault is THAT, my boy?' he asked himself, with a mental 
grin at the extremely satisfactory recollection of what had taken up most of 
their afternoon. Ah, well, so long as no one upset Cassie. He was quite used to 
putting up a shield in social situations by deciding to make all stares and 
whispers beneath his notice.

"CASSIE, there you are!" A stout, buxom woman in a bright red blazer had hailed 
them, and was now bearing determinedly through the crowd, cutting a swathe 
between the billows of business suits and evening dresses.

"Oh, hi, Wendy," Cassie replied, coming to a halt. "We just got here--I was 
looking for YOU!

Wendy patently examined the couple from head to toe, with most of her emphasis 
on Hank. "Nice dress, dear," she commented absently, referring to the little 
black number they had 'fluffed up', (as Cassie put it), that afternoon in the 
mansion's laundry room.

Hank patched an expression of amiable expectation on his face, and endured the 
whitehaired woman's study with equanimity. "Now I see why it's taken you so long 
to start dating again," Wendy finally said to Cassie, with a grin that could 
easily be described as salacious. "You were hunting one that was trophy size!"

"Wendy!" Cassie protested, aghast at her agent/friend's lack of diplomacy.

Hank only snorted in surprised amusement. He tentatively assumed he had passed 
muster of some sort. "I believe I spoke to you on the phone this morning? I'm 
Hank McCoy, Cassie's...ah..." oh, THIS could be a little tricky, "...escort".

Wendy stretched forth her hand. "You make a LOVELY couple," she said in her 
cigarette-husked voice. "Have you been taking good care of my girl?" Her tone 
was bantering, but those sharp eyes held reservations. Apparently Cassie aroused 
protective instincts in others besides him.

"VERY good care, Wendy," Cassie assured her firmly, closing the door on that 
subject.

"Aaaand that's why you don't have a corrected manuscript under your arm for me?" 
Wendy inquired further, provoking Cassie's blushing reflex. She looked the pair 
of them up and down again, and nodded to herself. "That's all right, dear. You 
know that almost nothing in the world is more important to me than your 
happiness...."

"Yes, Mother," Cassie retorted, but smilingly.

"Then you two dears have fun, but remember--I will not listen to even one-tenth 
of an excuse if that corrected manuscript is not on my desk by Friday!"

"I'll finish it on the plane and FedEx it to you tomorrow," Cassie promised 
hastily.

"That will be fine," Wendy said. "Better go check in and get your ID. I'm going 
to work the room, since you already have...an escort." She feasted her eyes on 
Hank, who WAS looking quite elegant in a semi-formal evening jacket, one more 
time, then excused herself to go mingle, trailing a "HmmmmmmmMMMM" of admiration 
at Cassie's taste and luck.

"Do you know, I believe she liked me," Hank said mildly.

"If she didn't, we'd both know it," Cassie assured him. Her eyes were aglow, and 
so he understood this had been an important encounter, and he had come through 
it to advantage. "Let's go sign in."

Hank was offered his choice between a stickyback lapel label and the kind with a 
plastic cover and an actual pin. He opted for the sticky one, as less 
potentially damaging to his best jacket, and in a fit of mischief wrote 'Dr. 
Henry McCoy' upon it with an austere calligraphic flair. Cassie, at least, was 
impressed.

As a guest writer, her label turned out to be swathed within a corsage of 
miniature white rosebuds, with her name written in gold ink and the whole thing 
covered in opalescent glitter. With aplomb, Hank took over the tricky task of 
securing the delicate thing to the bodice of her dress. Someone in the crowd 
took this as the perfect photo opportunity, but he only smiled reassuringly at 
Cassie's worried glance in that direction. "Not a problem, my dear, that's my 
good side, and you don't have a bad side!" She seemed to grasp his underlying 
meaning, that the publicity promoters didn't trouble him, and relaxed.

With Cassie on his arm again, they walked through the crowd, occasionally 
stopping so Cassie could introduce him to someone, or so SHE could be introduced 
to someone. She had explained there were about a dozen writers present, all up 
for various awards, and representatives of trade magazines and booksellers and 
executives from the publishing house, and even twenty-five women who had won a 
contest to get to be here tonight; the grand ballroom was fairly full. A string 
quartet played in one corner, and one wall was devoted to refreshments. Sadly, 
they were all delicate morsels of this and that--he hoped there would be time to 
stop for a real dinner somewhere before heading to the airport.

The people attending managed to surprise him. Although he and Cassie did reap 
some startled looks, the percentage of appalled ones was gratifyingly low. Each 
time Cassie stopped to talk, Hank was made to feel free to take part in the 
conversation. The only trouble was that he was in one of the few venues on earth 
where he had no clue on how to do so. The romance, writing and publishing shop 
talk was absolutely alien to his life experience thus far, forcing him to be 
content to listen and nod, and occasionally beam proudly at Cassie. At least he 
was good at that.

Cassie did get a chance to explain a semi-useful hierarchy to him, one Wendy had 
developed. "Regular--that's a plain paperback. Then there's foil-cover, where 
they turn the art department's imagination loose on your book cover design. Next 
is big books, the really fat ones, and top of the line is fat foilcovers. Well, 
top except for hardback...."

"And where do you fall in this spectrum?"

"Foil," Cassie smiled. "I haven't managed big because I run out of story too 
soon--I drive Wendy crazy, you know."

"Something must have," Hank mused, but kindly. He had rather liked Wendy.

"But...she thinks I could just jump right to hardback, one of these days. 
Especially if I get the Readers' Choice award tonight." She gave his arm a hard 
squeeze. "Thanks to you, I haven't had time to DWELL on it, but now that it's 
almost time, I'm nervous."

"I hope you get it, my dear," was all he could say. Ironic, that he felt such a 
strong urge to give her anything in the world she wanted, and that what she 
wanted was something he hadn't the slightest power to help her attain.

A small voice behind them interrupted their conversation. "Excuse me? Ms. 
Cantrell?" They turned to find a short, plump woman with glasses, nervously 
clutching a small object, which she first thrust out at Cassie, then pulled back 
in to her chest. "I wondered...if it's permitted tonight...do you...do 
autographs?" She seemed so pathologically self-effacing that, in contrast, 
Cassie would come across as brash as...Wendy, Hank thought. And wasn't it odd 
how the words 'brash' and 'Wendy' seemed to go together in a sentence?

"I'd be happy to," Cassie said, taking the again proffered autograph book. "It's 
to...?"

"OH!" Clearly the poor overcome woman hadn't even imagined the possibility of a 
personalized souvenir. Hank smiled benignly. She was certainly a living example 
of the popular stereotype of a romance reader. "To...Eleanor. Thank you so 
much." Cassie signed her name with a flourish.

The woman started to back away, then halted, looking at them both. "I just 
should say...although of course it's none of my business...." Hank's eyes 
narrowed ever so slightly as he felt Cassie's hand tense on his arm. "I think 
it's wonderful the two of you are here like this."

At this totally unexpected sentiment, Hank could not help doubting his hearing 
for a moment. Several other women had drifted up, emboldened by the first one's 
success at gaining an audience. The shy one stammered on, "Little things are the 
most important. That's what I tell my students when we cover the history of 
civil rights in social studies."

"What grade do you teach, Eleanor?" Cassie inquired, charmed by this totally 
unexpected ally.

"Fifth grade. It's a good age--they are just starting to question what their 
place will be in the world." Some of the women standing by nodded and smiled. "I 
try to encourage all of my children to first of all, be fair. If that's the main 
thing they remember me for, I'll happy." When talking about her students, it 
seemed she wasn't shy at all.

"It isn't fair, the way some people treat mutants," a younger woman interjected, 
cutting her eyes at Hank, but speaking to the group. There were more murmurs of 
agreement, and Cassie nodded briskly as well, beaming her appreciation at them 
all.

"A total stranger who we think was a mutant saved my sister's life," another one 
said, capturing Hank's undivided attention.

"How was that, madam?" he asked, and the group gathered closer to hear. There 
were now a dozen of them in their little clique.

"She was in a wreck; a drunk driver ran a red light. The doors were jammed--none 
of the people on the spot could get them open, and there was gasoline spilled 
all over. And something made it light--" The horror of what might have happened 
could still be heard in her stark retelling. "But then a man ran out of the 
crowd, and touched the car door--and she says it just turned into dust. And he 
touched the other things in the way, too, and just lifted her out of the fire. 
Then HE disappeared." The group murmured its awe and approval. "My brother says 
no, the steering wheel and seat belts burned up in the fire. But the DOOR 
couldn't have! Don't you think he must have been a mutant?" She might as well 
have been saying 'angel', from her reverent tone.

"It certainly sounds like it, from what you tell me," Hank answered gravely. 
Chicago? Interesting. The professor would like to hear about this. Come to think 
of it, he might benefit from hearing the whole of the current conversation....

The impromptu gathering rapidly turned into a combination of old home week and 
an autograph party, with Hank and Cassie cheerfully trading the signing of books 
as they chatted with their new friends. They only broke off, and then 
reluctantly, when the evening's master of ceremonies went to the podium and 
called for attention, so the festivities could commence.

*          *          *

Hank stared at his empty plate, struggling to maintain his equanimity. He had 
gotten his wish for dinner after the ceremony, although he was fairly certain he 
hadn't wished for Wendy to come along, too. "Well, I SWEAR I'll come up with a 
strategy for next year," the agent promised Cassie yet again.

"It really is all right, Wendy, honestly," Cassie tried to explain, casting a 
worried glance at Hank's impassive facade. "It not like I thought it was a sure 
thing, and was COUNTING on winning or something." Under the table she squeezed 
Hank's hand, and he returned the gesture.

"I guess you can't get that many more relatives by next year?" Wendy joked.

"If it's going to come down to people mobilizing relatives and...and buying 
votes by starting their own fan clubs--" Cassie leaned closer to Hank, who 
released her hand so he could put his arm around her shoulders. "I don't care if 
I get an award like that or not."

Wendy put her hand to her forehead and sighed dramatically. "Child, you are 
going to be the death of me!"

'Don't make it sound too tempting,' thought Hank, and at least a sliver of it 
was serious. The time he had left with Cassie could be reckoned in minutes and 
they were spending that time consoling Wendy, through the guise of supposedly 
consoling Cassie, in the hotel's dining lounge. At least they would soon HAVE to 
leave, to reach the airport in time....

"You know, Cassie, we'd better get going if we want to make the airport on 
time," Wendy said, to Hank's incredulous dismay.

"OH--but...Hank was planning on driving me," Cassie explained, with a haste that 
calmed his racing heart rate at least a little.

"Oh, he was? Why on earth didn't you say so, dear? I would have come in a cab, 
instead of my car!" Wendy started gathering her things. "Are you sure this isn't 
putting you out, Hank? I can drive her; it's no problem."

Hank managed to say, very calmly, that it was an honor and a privilege and no 
trouble at all to convey Cassie to the airport, all the while cursing the loss 
of private time together this misunderstanding had cost them. Wendy followed 
them all the way to his car, with her parting words being a reminder to send the 
manuscript TOMORROW! Hank popped the clutch a little quicker than was his normal 
habit, and they escaped with a small shriek from the tires.

Cassie slumped in the seat like an exhausted rag doll, almost hanging herself in 
the shoulder harness in the process. "Alone at last," she groaned. "I love 
Wendy, but sometimes--sometimes she makes me as crazy as I make her."

"I would rather have been alone with you," was all Hank would permit himself to 
say. The understatement of the millennium.

"Same here." She smiled at him, and sat up straighter in the seat.

"ARE you overly disappointed at the award going to someone else?"

"No, not if what Wendy found out about the demographics was true," Cassie 
assured him. "The publishing house will have the data about who and where the 
votes came from--if a lot of hers really were relatives...it doesn't matter, 
anyway. Not if Wendy's going to auction me off after my contract expires."

This was one of the many new things Hank had learned this evening--a threat to 
change publishers by opening up the field to better offers. "Can I bid on you 
too?" he inquired lightly. If only life could be so simple.

Cassie turned so she could see his profile in the light from the dash. "You want 
something written?" She was ready to laugh, if he was making a joke.

"How about my biography?" he suggested.

"Sounds like an interesting project. I might like a change of pace like that--if 
I thought I could do it justice." Hank glanced at her, because he couldn't quite 
read her reaction from her tone. Didn't help--she just looked lost in thought.

"We'll have to talk about it sometime." Sometime outside this last hour before 
your plane leaves. Some future time. And how do I ensure that? "We need to be 
sure to trade phone numbers."

"Yes." Cassie looked forward again, outlined by the glare of the sodium lights 
they were whipping past, reminding him strangely of the figurehead on an old 
time sailing ship. "The pacing is all wrong on this," she said abruptly. "I'm 
not ready to go home yet."

"We've tangled someone's plot thread," Hank said, laughing because there was no 
other option for him. "You can't stay; I can't go along...." He somehow knew by 
the way she threw her head back, and turned away abruptly to stare out the side 
window, that he had touched the heart of the matter, and it pained her as deeply 
as it did him. Which was, in a perverse way, comforting. "Ah, don't worry, 
Cassie," he told her, putting a hand on her knee. "We'll work it out." She 
didn't turn to him, but gripped his hand and held it like a lifeline as they 
flew down the highway in the dark, towards an unknown future.


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

"Love is an exploding cigar we willingly smoke." Lynda Barry


---------
Neon Hearts Part 12. I'm getting a lot written on this for supposedly working on 
another story, huh? Looking for a good pausing place, actually...Marvel 
characters copyright to them, and all like that....


PART 12--HANK'S BAD DAY


Cool air drifting off the lake carried the scent of green things growing, the 
promise of lush summer just around the corner. But Hank McCoy was all but 
oblivious to it as he walked up the path from the garage towards the X-mansion. 
A whisper from the sky made him stop and look up at the blinking lights of a 
plane traversing the brilliant starfield above. He felt utterly silly staring at 
it, knowing it was full of strangers he would never meet, yet not being able to 
look away until it disappeared...in the west.

"She's gone home, eh?" The voice came from the deepest shadows behind the house, 
and Hank stopped, recognizing it and the telltale glow of the end of a cigar.

"Yes." He stood in place, head down, trying to summon up interest in engaging in 
social niceties, even the minimal ones that would suffice with Wolverine.

"She comin' back?"

Now, THERE was a question. "I...hope so, Logan."

"Seemed like a nice girl."

There was no force on earth that could induce Logan to use anyone's choice of 
words but his own, so Hank refrained from pointing out that in politically 
correct terms Cassie was a person. "Yes." And I'm a nice guy, so doesn't one of 
us have to finish last? "It's been a long day, Logan. Excuse me for not 
lingering to chat, but I think I'll go get some sleep."

'Doubt it,' Logan thought, 'from the look of ya'. But aloud all he said was, 
"'Night, then." And he was soon alone again in the green- scented darkness.

Upstairs in his room, Hank began divesting his coat and pants of loose items 
before putting them away. The piece of paper with Cassie's number, a bank 
deposit slip, he tucked firmly under the cut glass dish that held his loose 
change. Then he picked it up again. Knowing he was indulging in moody 
sentimentalism, and not caring, he took his phone in hand and punched in the 
number.

Four rings later, there was a click and then a recording of Cassie's voice said 
brightly, "Hi! Sorry I missed your call. Why don't you leave your name and 
number so I can return it, and you can not be home and miss mine?"

Hank smiled into the receiver, eyes tightly shut, picturing Cassie recording 
that message with an impish grin on her face. "Hello, Cassie, it's Hank," he 
found himself saying at the tone. "I hope you had a pleasant flight home. Sleep 
well, and I will try to reach you later." He hung up before he could get any 
sillier, wondering too late if Cassie would think he was pressuring her, or 
suspecting her of not really giving him her real address, or a dozen other 
ridiculously worrying possibilities. Growling in exasperation at himself, he 
yanked off his clothes and tumbled into bed.

*          *          *

Habit brought Hank awake at 6am, feeling unrested and out of sorts even before 
he remembered what else was wrong with his world today. He toyed with the idea 
of rolling over and trying to go back to sleep, but decided that would only 
result in him feeling depressed in a more comfortable position. Much better to 
try to distract himself by working.

He pulled on a pair of loose sweatpants and wandered down to the kitchen. 
Looking at the clock brought the stray thought that it was a little after 4am, 
in Colorado. Much, MUCH too early to be phoning anyone just to chat.

After brief consideration, he took a large bowl out of a cupboard and found an 
acceptable variety of breakfast cereal to fill it with. He leaned against the 
counter and ate it with morose steadiness, while he considered what to begin 
working on first down in the lab. Maybe that glitching secondary control panel 
on the Blackbird the professor had suddenly gotten antsy about yesterday....

When he went to put his bowl in the dishwasher, he was dourly amazed to find 
someone had actually turned the machine on the evening before. Now, however, he 
would have to unload it before he could put his own used dish and spoon inside. 
Sighing, he proceeded to do so, while making uncharitable calculations 
concerning the number of people in this household and the number of times per 
week HE seemed to be the one who either started the dishwasher, or unloaded it, 
or both.

Deciding that cereal was not quite enough to hold him until lunch, Hank 
investigated the huge refrigerator, and chose four pre-cooked pastries from the 
freezer. He inserted them in the toaster over, closed the door, and resumed his 
brooding as he waited for them to heat.

He had tentatively decided that someone with, say, a noon appointment could 
reasonably be expected to be up by about 9, or at least 10, when a whiff of 
smoke brought him sharply back to reality. He jumped towards the toaster oven, 
which now contained four merrily flaming blueberry turnovers oozing boiling 
filling. Opening the door turned out to be a mistake--the smoke alarm instantly 
began its piercing squeal. Hank snapped the door shut again. There was a sudden 
shower of sparks and a loud pop as something electrical gave up the ghost inside 
the oven. Gritting his teeth in hopes the cord wasn't frayed anywhere along its 
length, he yanked it out of the wall socket. After only a moment's more thought, 
he dashed to open the kitchen door, then grabbed the scorching side handles of 
the unfortunate appliance and threw its smoking body out onto the flagstone 
patio.

Logan was the first X-man to make it down to the kitchen, where he found Hank 
flapping a dishtowel, trying to blow the smoke away from the sensor and out the 
door. "No harm, Charlie," he said aloud, presumably in response to a mental 
query. "Just Beast, cookin'."

Storm stepped in a moment later, wrapped in a rich green brocade robe that 
brought an appreciative whistle from Logan. Without comment, she created a brisk 
breeze that silenced the infernal shriek of the alarm by removing the 
distressing smoke. "Is everything all right?"

"Everything but the toaster oven," Hank replied gloomily. Wolverine had walked 
out to the patio. He lifted it by the cord, and it hung from his hand like a 
dead animal. The door opened and four blackened objects fell out to bounce on 
the ground. "Maybe I SHOULD go back to bed, and start this day over."

*          *          *

About 11:30, Hank took a break from his work on the recalcitrant Blackbird 
module, returning to his room with the first hint of eagerness he had felt all 
day tentatively glowing inside him. He dialed the number on the paper on his 
dresser. But this time the phone just rang and rang, until he gave it up to dial 
again, with the same result. Troubled, he tried to think of an explanation. 
Perhaps she had unplugged the phone and turned off the machine so she could 
sleep in. Perhaps she had turned it off and forgotten to turn it back on. 
Perhaps she had turned it off because she didn't want any more stupid messages--

'Now you're being paranoid,' he castigated himself. Resolving to try again 
later, he relegated himself to the lab, for a change of pace. It had occurred to 
him while working on the Blackbird that his image inducer's static problem might 
be being caused by something so simple as a cracked chip, and he had a boxful of 
spares stored away somewhere. He might as well, he also supposed, just take his 
portable phone downstairs with him....

But calls every half hour failed to produce any other result than the unceasing 
ringing. A request to the operator to check the line for defects showed it as 
working properly. By 2, he admitted he was not going to reach Cassie before her 
afternoon engagement, and stalked upstairs in search of food, preferably 
something he was not at risk of setting on fire.

No one seemed to be around, which suited his mood very well. He made several 
thick ham and cheese sandwiches and commandeered the last of some fruit salad 
they'd had a few days ago. For convenience' sake, he sat down at the kitchen 
table, which was where Gambit found him.

"So," said the Cajun, reversing a chair and sitting on it, with his forearms 
crossed over the back. "Tell Gambit ev'ryt'ing."

"About?" Hank said neutrally, although he had a very good idea what about.

"Where is de petite fille today?" Gambit's dancing eyes invited Hank to expound 
at will on tales of romance and intrigue.

Well, the man was direct, you had to give him that. "Home. She flew back last 
night."

Remorse blanked the gleam in Gambit's eyes. "No!" Hank just nodded, chewing. 
"Did she tell you why?"

"She had something she was supposed to do there today." He didn't really want to 
discuss this with Gambit, or anyone, and yet...he did. "Otherwise, I think she 
would have extended her stay a few days." At least, he had thought that last 
night. Now he was not sure what to think.

"Why don't you fly out and see her, den?" Gambit slipped his deck of cards out 
of his pocket and began shuffling them, his version of talking with his hands.

Hank watched the cards snick in and out, generating random patterns with almost 
hypnotic speed. "Because that would be...." Silly? Too spontaneous? Frowned upon 
by the professor? All of the above? "Maybe that would be too...presumptuous?"

"You t'ink she wouldn' like dat? You be way wrong," Gambit smiled a knowing 
smile. "Ladies love de gran' gestures, take my word."

Fly out there? The seed Gambit had planted was taking root in his imagination, 
and producing some interesting fruit. "Welll...."

"You can take a beeper, if somet'ing happen we need you for," Gambit pointed 
out. "Blackbird get out dere in an hour."

"More or less," Hank agreed, a bit dazzled by the sudden possibilities opening 
up here.

"When your luck is in, stick wit' it," Gambit advised him seriously. "If Gambit 
was you, he'd be on a plane right now, sure." He considered his friend 
carefully. "You plannin' to eat all that fruit salad?"

*          *          *

Steady searching led Hank to find his quarry, at last, in the library. "Do you 
have a moment, Professor?"

"Certainly." Xavier closed the book in his lap and laid it aside. He moved away 
from the window, where the warm afternoon sun was pouring in, to position 
himself in front of a good solid armchair suitable for Hank, who took the hint 
and sat down. "What it is?"

"I was wondering if you thought you could spare me, for a day...or ten." He 
pulled a sheepish smile at the supposed exaggeration, which was actually a 
serious possibility.

"TEN?" Xavier asked sharply.

"I feel the need of a bit of vacation," Hank explained with faux innocence.

"In Colorado, I presume." The professor was now tapping his fingers on the arm 
of his hover-chair, and his expression was anything but tranquil.

"That's my first choice." Without further explaining--Xavier clearly didn't need 
telepathy to determine Hank's intentions--Hank sank back in his chair and 
awaited his mentor's next pronouncement.

The professor leaned back in his chair as well, frowning as he sought his next 
words. "I don't want you to take this wrong, Hank...but are you sure you know 
what you're doing?"

Hank bit back several sharp retorts. "Actually, I find I am riddled with 
doubts," he admitted. "Part of the reason for this trip is to find answers for 
some of them."

"I see."

"I am...very strongly attracted to Cassie, and I wonder about it. Is it 
propinquity alone? Have I just been a little bored, a little lonely? Or is there 
indeed some special chemistry between us?"

"At least you haven't lost the ability to be honest with yousef." The 
professor's expression changed, and through years of experience Hank knew the 
reserved man was lowering his customary emotional shields, a rare occurrence. "I 
know I sometimes express it gruffly, Hank, but I worry about all of you. This is 
a difficult life we lead. Lonely, as you say. It's not strange that you'd reach 
out to someone who seemed compatible."

Was that 'seemed' meant as a subtle criticism of Cassie, or was it merely 
Xavier's own lack of trust in non-mutants speaking? "I guess I want to find out, 
about that compatibility. Whether it's only my imagination or not." Taking a 
guess at what might be truly troubling the professor, Hand added, "But I'll come 
back."

Xavier could see this was a losing battle. Hank was here seeking understanding, 
not permission. "I know you will. And I know you'll call in, while you're away." 
Hank nodded, and a smile started to creep onto his face. Observing it, Xavier 
was reminded of a small worry he'd had. "I'm sure you're...taking the 
appropriate precautions in this situation, as well? In regards to your friend, I 
mean...." Another rare event, the professor flustered and speaking in vague 
generalities....

The shock of suddenly finding himself having The Talk with Xavier almost floored 
Hank, and he would have burst out laughing, if not for a slightly guilty 
conscience in the matter. He HADN'T followed up on the one brief statement 
Cassie had made which had indicated the possibility of pregnancy was not at 
issue, but instead had gone on as though it were an established fact, which was 
unlike him. "Not to worry; that's my standard operating procedure, sir." Every 
time but this time.... Not that it was really anyone's business but his own and 
Cassie's, he thought, trying to justify his evasion.

"And what about the control module on the Blackbird?" A more normal tone of 
asperity in the professor's voice signalled a return to business as usual.

"I started it this morning, sir, and I'll get it done before I go," Hank 
promised cheerfully. "In fact, I'll just get back to it right now!"

*          *          *

He succeeded before suppertime in finally getting an 'all clear' run on the test 
series. There was still no one answering at Cassie's, but he found a website 
from which to download departure schedules for Denver International Airport, and 
that minor progress buoyed him up through the meal.

On his 8 o' clock attempt, the phone was answered on the second ring. "Hello?" 
came a voice that sounded like it was trying NOT to sound overeager.

"Cassie!" Relief from the anxiety he had been denying washed over him in waves. 
"How are you?"

"Hank! Fine! I'm fine!" Perhaps he was exaggerating it to himself, but she 
sounded very glad to hear from him.

"I was...a trifle concerned. I tried to reach you earlier this morning, 
and...couldn't." He wasn't phrasing this well. "And your answering machine was 
turned off."

After a pause, she admitted sheepishly, "I broke it."

"Oh?" It had been working last night, he thought instantly.

"I...replayed the tape one time too many," she confessed. "It broke, and I 
didn't have any more."

"You were replaying the answering machine tape?" Why would... Then what she was 
implying began to dawn on him, and he started to grin.

"Yeah. There was...a message on it I...thought was kind of important." Hank 
could see her blushing, in his minds eye. "I'm sorry I worried you."

"Well, if I had even a small part in breaking your machine, perhaps I should 
come out there to put it right?"

"Oh, no, it wasn't your--" Cassie broke off as the meaning of his words hit, and 
when she spoke again her voice was small and tight with suppressed emotion. 
"Come out? Come out HERE?"

"Only if it would be convenient, of course," Hank began to demur, thinking he 
HAD overstepped the bounds of her level of interest in him.

"COULD you, Hank? Really?!" There was as much delighted awe in her voice as if 
he had proposed to make the flight sans plane, and the day's depression vanished 
without a trace. "When?"

"Tomorrow afternoon?" He began to share his findings about airline schedules 
with a heart made light with anticipation. And an hour later, he reluctantly 
ended his call, and immediately began to pack.


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

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a cash advance.


--------
Neon Hearts Part 13. Boy, there's nothing like having something ELSE you're 
supposed to be doing, to inspire you to do a different thing! Here, have another 
section! (Marvel invented their characters, of course. No question about it! The 
jury's still out on who's to blame for Denver International....)


PART 13--HAPPY LANDINGS


'Well, at least we're landing at the right airport, if an hour late,' thought 
Hank, as his plane at LAST began its final descent, dipping into painfully 
bright, rumpled white clouds. They emerged with a shudder into a sullen grey 
sky, where sheets of rain immediately fogged the windows. None of the passengers 
needed a reminder to fasten their seat belts; the ride had been growing steadily 
rougher since Chicago. The possibility of wind shear, their pilot had cheerfully 
informed them, was what had kept them circling all this time, and there had been 
a point where it seemed certain the flight would be diverted to the Colorado 
Springs airport some 70 miles to the south. But now it looked as though all 
would be well--IF they could just get on the ground without mishap....

The entire passenger and crew roster breathed a collective sigh of relief as the 
wheels touched down and the plane began to slow. Outside, the runway surface 
gleamed dully in the pauses between spatters of rain. Nervous laughter mixed 
with conversation, as people at last dared to stir and begin gathering 
belongings.

Hank didn't need to gather anything, as the only things he had carried aboard 
were his light overcoat and a couple of suits in a garment bag, all stowed in 
the forward compartment. The only things they KNEW he had carried aboard, 
rather. He had decided to wear his image inducer for the trip, at least partly 
because when it was ON, it could shield itself from the security scanners; off, 
and carried in his luggage, it might have induced tedious conversations with 
suspicious FAA people about mysterious bomb-like devices. The other part of his 
decision was an irresistible desire to see how Cassie would react to him in with 
a normal visage. But now that it was almost 'showtime', he felt more than a 
little nervous.

The flight attendant handed him his coat and bag with a neat, professional 
smile, already dismissing him by the time her farewell was spoken, attention 
turning to the next man behind him. Hank sighed mentally at the stolen pleasure 
of being a semi-non-entity, whose face aroused no emotion whatsoever in a 
stranger.

He followed his fellow passengers down the long tunnel of the connecting 
apparatus, and emerged into the loading area. Spotting Cassie instantly, he 
almost waved, but second thoughts stopped him. There were dozens of people 
around, meeting and being met. What if she were frightened by being approached 
by a stranger, and...reacted badly? Could be embarrassing for both of them. He 
decided to peel away from the group, and wait until the crowd thinned out, so he 
could approach her slowly, and not alarm her.

He took a position by the wall, where he could observe her, and leaned with one 
foot against it, like a tired business traveller who has been sitting too long. 
She was wearing jeans under a long white tube sweater, and looked just lovely, 
in his highly prejudiced opinion. Her eyes continued to scan the now thinning 
stream of debarkers, as well as the crowd. Their gaze met, but they both let it 
slide away, as polite strangers do when that happens. He refocused to look above 
and to the side of her head, so he could continue to watch her without seeming 
to stare.

Hank noticed it when she glanced at him a second time, and then a third, a trace 
of puzzlement growing on her face. Finally she gave up all pretense and frankly 
studied him. To his surprise, within a few seconds seconds her lips quirked up a 
fraction, and she then walked to him without hesitation. On a mad impulse, he 
kept silent as she approached, and tried to school his face into the look of an 
anonymous stranger someone is about to ask for the time of day. She stopped in 
front of him. "Got it fixed, did you?"

"You have an exceptionally good memory for faces, my dear," Hank said after a 
pause, recalling that she had seen his computer images, albeit briefly. He felt 
a little silly, now, with the joke done and no laughter forthcoming.

"No, actually I'm terrible at them," Cassie informed him soberly, still 
examining his features as though looking for design flaws. Then she smiled. "But 
I know YOUR face. This one's not really all that different."

"No?" he said softly, smiling in return. Perhaps, to her, it actually wasn't, he 
thought, and he put the fingers of his free hand under her chin, lifting it for 
a kiss. She leaned up into it, winding her arms around his neck with a little 
difficulty, due to his garment bag being in the way. Nevertheless they managed 
to make it work.

"I'm sorry you had to wait," Hank said, as they broke apart and headed down the 
concourse. "Bad weather."

"They almost sent you to the Springs, they said. I was a little worried." The 
newly reunited couple continued this small talk during the long trek to the 
baggage area, happily reconnecting. Hank duly admired the bold design of the new 
airport roof, which was basically a series of giant fiberglass tents, but had to 
agree with Cassie that it might not be the absolutely safest and most sensible 
design anyone had ever come up with. It also seemed to take a very long time to 
get from one point to another, and yet somehow the luggage was STILL not in the 
carrousels by the time they arrived....

They found seats and Cassie consulted her watch. "I need to ask you something," 
she said, sounding unaccountably nervous. "You can say no if you want."

"What's that?" He tried to smile reassuringly. It was plain from the way she 
blinked and made a tiny twitch every other time she looked at him that she was 
NOT getting used to the image inducer very rapidly, and he was beginning to be 
sorry he had brought it.

"Um...I told my parents about you? And then I told them you were coming out?" 
The statements voiced as questions were making HIM nervous. "And...they want to 
take us out to dinner?"

Now it was his turn to flinch. "Out to dinner?" he said weakly.

"You don't have to," she repeated in haste, but slowly added, "...tonight."

"You mean it is inevitable, sometime during my visit?" She gave a weak, 
regretful little nod. All of a sudden bringing the image inducer seemed like the 
best idea he'd had all decade. Unless--

"When you say you told your parents about me...."

"Yes." She glanced at the small, vocal family group standing nearby and didn't 
elaborate; they both knew what they meant, anyway. "ALL about you."

"And what did they say?" he asked with morbid curiosity.

Cassie smiled at some memory, and patted his knee. "They said 'How nice you met 
a nice young man', and when I said you were coming to visit, they said, 'Invite 
him to dinner'."

He regarded her suspiciously. "Why do I have this feeling there was a little 
more to it than that?"

"Well, details," she laughed, then sobered when she realized he was not laughing 
too. "Seriously, Hank. It doesn't matter to them any more than it does to me."

Try as he might, he could not quite believe that, though he was certain she did. 
"Then we may as well go to dinner," he said with as much good cheer as he could 
muster.

"Okay. I said we'd meet them at 5:30 if it was okay with you." She nibbled at 
her upper lip, considering something, then said, "The restaurant they like to 
take people to...is a little...different." NOW what? he thought. "The food is 
sort of generic Mexican, not great but not terrible either. But Casa Bonita is 
kind of a Denver attraction, and it's sort of a family tradition, too." She made 
a funny little wriggle of embarrassed pride. "When I was really young, I thought 
it was named after me--Cassie Bonita--and I always pestered to go there, 
and...it just turned into OUR restaurant. We always take visitors there at least 
once while they're out here."

Suddenly touched at the idea of a very young Cassie claiming a restaurant, Hank 
was able to summon up a much warmer smile. "I'm sure I'll enjoy myself, wherever 
we go."

The luggage eventually presented itself and they were able to make away with 
Hank's with not much more delay. He allowed Cassie to carry the garment bag only 
because she insisted, but HE insisted she drape his coat over her when they got 
out into the intermittent sprinkles of rain still coming down, even though she 
pointed out it was not at all cold.

Her car turned out to be a little green Toyota, which he eyed dubiously as she 
busied herself with opening the trunk. She caught him at it, and guessed the 
reason. "Is this going to be really uncomfortable for you?"

She opened the passenger door and he made some quick estimates. "I'll be fine," 
he assured her. "I'm very flexible."

"I remember," she replied, with a slow grin, which he instantly matched, 
probably due to the same memory. "Climb in, then."

When he did, the car immediately sagged heavily to the right. "It needs new 
shocks, I think," Cassie apologized.

"If it didn't before, it will soon," he joked, silently hoping he would not 
actually break her car. But if he crossed his ankles, his lower half fit 
tolerably well, though his broad shoulders seemed to have expanded to fill all 
the available space. Maybe, he thought, he could acquire a rental car for the 
duration of his stay without offending her sensibilities as a host.

They joined the outgoing traffic on the long stretch of highway that led to the 
city proper. It soon became clear that the weather was worsening again, and they 
commented on how fortunate it was there had been a break in the weather to allow 
Hank's plane to land. "It never does this here, except when it does," Cassie 
explained. "Rain like this, I mean." She increased her windshield wiper speed to 
its fastest setting. "Although May is one of our rainiest months."

Suddenly a sharp rattle interrupted her regional weather report, small hail 
striking like a handful of thrown gravel. "Uh-oh." She gently tapped the brake, 
reducing their speed to create more distance between them and the car ahead.

Another round of hail, louder and larger this time, bounced on the hood before 
them, and Cassie this time downshifted to third. "You drive very well, my dear," 
Hank had time to comment, before the clatter turned into a thundering roar and 
visibility dropped to nothing between one second and the next.

It was like being under an avalanche of hailstones; like being inside a tin drum 
being sprayed with bullets. Cassie gasped, but reacted with a controlled swerve 
to the roadside and another combination of braking and downshifting. The sound 
was deafening--the hailstones hitting the windshield looked to Hank's 
disbelieving eyes to be as big as tennis balls. The only other times he had 
witnessed such elemental fury was when Storm was exerting her powers to the 
fullest--and then he had not been IN the resulting tempest. It was rather too 
bad, he thought erratically, she couldn't be here to enjoy this.

Hank gathered Cassie to him, worried that the windshield might break under the 
might of the forces hammering it. She came to him willingly, but when he looked 
down to reassure her, he found her eyes glowing with excitement, not fear. 
"Wow!" she yelled at him. "Some welcome to Colorado!"

Her exhilaration was contagious, and he abruptly kissed her. After another of 
those little startled movements, she returned it with interest, and they pretty 
much missed the rest of the hailstorm.

When it passed on, they gradually, reluctantly parted. Hank was now even less 
inclined to go out to a meal with her parents. It would surely be awkward, 
sitting there counting the minutes until they could decently leave and go back 
to her apartment. "I hope you have good insurance," he said, looking out the 
windshield at the formerly unremarkable car hood, which now more closely 
resembled the skin of an orange, or the surface of the moon. She just nodded, 
and shrugged philosophically, much more so than he would have done had it been 
his beloved sports car.

"Hank, would you mind me asking a favor?" Cassie said, after she had brushed 
back her hair and smoothed her sweater a bit, prior to rejoining the traffic 
again proceeding to town.

"Ask away," he said grandly.

"Could you...take that image thingie off, or turn it off, or whatever?" She 
smiled apologetically. "It's just so weird--you sound right, and feel right, 
but...every time I look at you, I kind of...."

"Jump. Yes, I know." He felt for the switch and turned it off, not allowing 
himself to hesitate. There was no noticeable sensation, but he saw the change 
happen, reflected in the way Cassie's eyes warmed and she relaxed all over.

"There you are," she said, and took his face between her hands, then kissed him 
again, this time in gentle welcome.

"Are you SURE your parents wouldn't prefer a nice QUIET dinner?" Hank hinted, a 
little desperately.

"Well," Cassie said dubiously. "I guess we could EXPLAIN it to them, about the 
inducer and all. They might think it's a little...odd."

"But they won't think it's odd to go out to dinner with a blue, furry mutant?"

"No." Why would they? her quizzical expression said. "They're exPECTing that."

She said it as though it were obvious, the most natural thing in the world, and 
he couldn't help but laugh at the ludicrous contrast of her reality with his. 
"Very well, then, my dear, whatever you choose." She smiled her thanks and 
relief, and after cautiously allowing a line of cars to pass, pulled back onto 
the road. Hank placed his hands on his knees and, smiling at her running 
commentary on the scenes they passed, allowed himself to be driven to meet his 
fate.


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

"Be bold. If you're going to make an error, make a doozy, and don't be afraid to 
hit the ball." Billie Jean King


----------
Neon Hearts Part 14. FYI, Casa Bonita is an actual place, and my description falls 
far short of doing justice to its magnificent kitschiness. And I do actually 
have a niece and a couple of nephews, the youngest of which is an X-fan, but any 
resemblance to characters in this story is also merely an approximation. Real 
Marvel charcters are copyrighted to Marvel, natch. As we all know.


PART 14--MEETING THE FOLKS


The airport was located quite some distance from the city, it seemed, but the 
time went fast, almost too fast, considering what the immediate prospects for 
their evening were. Hank wondered belatedly if Cassie had been THIS nervous when 
she came to the X-mansion--only two days ago? My, how time flew when one was 
having...fun.

"Colfax, which we're driving on now, is supposed to be the longest continuously 
named street in the country," Cassie was telling him. "It starts quite a ways 
back east of where we are right now, and continues up towards Golden, up there 
where those...well, it's clouds, right now, but tomorrow you can see foothills, 
at the base of the mountains." Hank nodded. "Golden is where the Coors brewery 
is." She had been spouting tidbits of information like this more and more, the 
closer they came to town, and Hank suspected she was not quite as sure of his 
welcome with her parents as she had stated.

The appointed hour was approaching by the time Cassie pointed out a huge PINK 
stucco building in the midst of a small, old-fashioned shopping center. Damp 
banners hung in the moist air of the departed storm, failing utterly to give the 
place a festive appearance. There were a number of family groups moving from the 
parking lot to the entrance, all trailing children of various ages, and Hank had 
to assert all his considerable self-control not to PLEAD with Cassie to 
reconsider about the image inducer. A night full of innocent children shrieking 
when they saw him was not his idea of a good time.

He exited the car without extreme effort solely on account of his acrobatic 
skills, then followed her towards the restaurant door. "Oh, there they are!" 
Cassie said happily as they drew near it, and took his hand to lead him forward.

The couple she was heading towards looked like they could pose as 
representatives of Mr. and Mrs. Golden-Age American; they were older than Hank 
had expected. The man was balding, with a few age freckles already starting 
across the top of his head. He wore gold-rimmed glasses that didn't disguise 
sharp, knowing eyes. The woman had sensible short grey hair, plump cheeks, and a 
stout figure that suggested she knew a lot of really good cookie recipes. Both 
of them were beaming, and Hank did his best to approximate a cheerful look. What 
was that phrase the fellow on the TV show used to say? Ah, yes, 'OHHH boy....' 
That said it all....

Cassie broke away to hug both her parents, slightly to Hank's surprise, then 
returned to his side, putting one arm around his waist. "Mom, Dad, this is my 
friend Hank McCoy. Hank, these are my parents."

Hank took Mr. Cantrell's outstretched hand, which told him with its firmness 
that the man had done his share of physical labor in his time, and probably 
still did, for fun. "Sir, pleased to meet you," he murmured. Mrs. Cantrell 
extended her hand as well, and then patted her free hand on top of his before 
releasing him. "Ma'am."

"Oh, don't call me ma'am like I'm an old biddy," she remarked merrily. "Everyone 
just calls me JoEtta."

"And I'm Carl," inserted her husband. "Nice to meet a young fella with some 
manners for a change, though."

'That's one for me, anyway,' Hank thought, mentally thanking his own parents for 
a solidly traditional upbringing. "Right, JoEtta and Carl, then," he agreed. 
Cassie was positively glowing with delight that the meeting was going so well 
thus far.

"Well, we better go get in line," Carl said, and they headed towards huge wooden 
doors that were propped open with barrels of petunias.

'Line?' thought Hank. They entered a foyer with a tile floor and wrought iron 
gates. It was decorated with brightly painted planters, though these held 
artificial trees and flowers, Hank noted. The foyer led to a hallway, down which 
family groups were hastening. The walls were covered with posters for bullfights 
and advertisements in Spanish, intermixed with serapes and large gilded hats. A 
few people turned to look twice at their group, but that was all. So far, 
anyway.

Eventually their forward progress was impeded by the end of the line Carl must 
have been referring to. By Hank's estimate, there were almost 100 people in 
front of them, and he wondered how long they would be standing here. It was well 
past time to eat, according to the clock his body was still set on. But up ahead 
he could see people getting trays. If the service was cafeteria style, that 
ought to speed things along.

"So, Cassie tells me yer a science fella," Carl remarked, looking at Hank 
thoughtfully.

'Yup, Dr. Henry McCoy,PhD,SF,' he thought. 'Science fella?' "I suppose that's 
one way to describe what I do," he acknowledged.

"Whatdaya think about these genetically engineered crops they're coming out 
with?" Hank's eyebrows rose in a question and Carl explained, "Tomatoes that 
don't rot? Potatoes with vaccines in 'em? Extra-sweet sweet corn, come to that."

"Well...it's not my precise field," Hank demurred, wishing Cassie would give him 
a clue somehow. "Some of the possibilities look promising...."

"Well, that's what I think, too," Carl said comfortably. "Find the innovations 
and let the marketplace sort 'em out, that's what I say."

"Before I was born, Mom and Dad and my grandparents raised sugar beets," Cassie 
explained.

"Arkansas Valley's all changed now. Market's changed too. Farmers have to move 
with the times," Carl said, and Hank found himself nodding agreement. A farmer, 
eh? Cassie had not struck him as a farmer's daughter, but then, he knew fairly 
little about quite a lot of things, including social demographics outside his 
own experience.

They reached the cashier, and had to give their order before entering the 
serving line. "They really run the crowds through here," JoEtta said, gazing 
with den-motherly approval at the hordes of earnest looking teenagers rushing 
back and forth in the kitchen area. "Hundreds of people a night. It's lucky you 
didn't come in on a weekend, Hank. The line is awfully long then."

They each took trays, and were served their selections as they moved down the 
line. Hank decided Cassie was right in declaring this non- gourmet fare, but it 
looked and smelled at least as good as the tv dinners he often ate when he was 
too intent on a project to leave it for regularly scheduled meals with the rest 
of the team. He followed her, carrying his tray...and stopped dead when they 
walked out into the dining area.

Cassie laughed at his expression. "C'mon, Hank," she urged and he quickly 
stepped forward, looking around as he followed her up a ramp. The interior was 
HUGE, possibly twice as big as Silver's, but it seemed crowded because it was 
packed with gaudy faux-Mexican ornamentation around hundreds of tables. The 
ceiling had to be at LEAST three stories up, as there were several levels of 
dining area. "We can look at it all later, if you want," Cassie said as they 
moved, looking for an open spot. They finally stopped under a huge fake tree, 
with a table overlooking the floor below. A server showed up to take their trays 
almost instantly, and they settled into place just in time to let the strolling 
mariachi band pass by.

"What do you think?" Cassie asked, with a mischievous smile.

"It's...like nothing I've seen before," Hank said, with a somewhat stunned smile 
in return. Carl and JoEtta looked pleased at this assessment. "Can there be any 
fiberglass left in the world, after they built this?" Off across the room, there 
stood a two story molded cliff, the channel for a waterfall cascading into a 
pool. As he watched, a man clad in bathing trunks and carrying two flaming 
torches walked out of a hidden nook. Without preamble, he dove off the platform, 
trailing fire and smoke amid the droplets of spray from the waterfall. The 
dining crowd roared its approval, then went back to eating and talking. He would 
certainly have to suggest cliffdivers to Silver, when he got back home.

The conversation slowed as they began to eat; slowed really too much for 
comfort, in Hank's opinion. He held his own for awhile, continuing to notice new 
decoration achievements to remark on, but then began to feel as though he were 
overdoing it. Carl, who was sitting directly across from him, seemed to be doing 
much more looking at Hank, and thinking, than paying proper attention to what 
was being said. JoEtta was happily filling Hank in on data from Cassie's early 
years, which he DID find fascinating, but there was not much to do but listen, 
in that case. Cassie seemed content just to sit and savor their presence all 
together, her expression revealing her happiness that things were going so 
smoothly. She really was a bit of an optimist....

"You know, if you would excuse me just a bit, I'd like to visit the ladies' 
room," JoEtta said, at the end of her tale about Cassie in the sixth grade 
school play.

"Oh, I think I'll go with you," Cassie replied, to Hank's horror. He rose 
automatically as the ladies stood up, and had to MAKE himself sit back down, 
instead of bolting as well. But he did, alone at the table with Cassie's 
father....

"I wish you'd relax, son," Carl said, at length, after the silence between the 
two of them had stretched almost to the snapping point. "We aren't going to bite 
you."

"No, of course not," Hank answered, smiling faintly. When he thought of all the 
dangerous individuals he had faced down in his lifetime, to feel this desperate 
at being left alone with one old man was silly. And yet, the prospect of leaving 
to go do battle with, say, Magneto or the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants had a 
certain appeal at the moment.

Carl was giving him that look again, like he was adding something up. "I think I 
should tell you--it don't matter to JoEtta and me, y'know. About you bein' a 
mutant." Hank felt his lips compress, before he could try to create a natural 
looking smile, and Carl caught the motion. "Heard that one before, have ya?"

Cards on the table, perhaps that WAS best. "A time or two."

"Well, let me see if I can explain it so you understand." Carl put down his 
fork, carefully laying his weathered hand flat on the tabletop. "Cassie tell you 
about...being married before?"

"Yes, sir, she did." 'I suppose he's going to tell me a mutant is an improvement 
over an insane would-be murderer. Quite the compliment.'

"Okay." Carl looked into nothingness for a moment, choosing his words. "Cassie 
was our only baby, and you can probably tell she came to us after we'd given up 
any hope of ever having one." Hank nodded slowly. "Even if that hadn'a been the 
case, I think we still woulda doted on her, because there's never been a sweeter 
little girl." Now his voice dropped to a savage growl that would have sounded 
natural coming from Wolverine. "And that damned sorry son-of-a-bitch we made the 
mistake of letting her get hooked up with almost took her from us." Now Hank's 
eyes narrowed too. At least they were in agreement about the general character 
of Cassie's former husband.

"But that wasn't the worst of it, although it was plenty bad enough. She was in 
the hospital a mighty long time, went through a lot...and in spite of all that, 
there'll never be no grandkids for me and JoEtta to spoil." The hint of a shine 
came to those hard old eyes, but no more than that. "The worst was that Cassie's 
never been the same since. She jumps at shadows, when she useta love the whole 
wide world like its baby sister." Hank felt his hands clenching; yes, he had 
suspected something like this. She had that feel, of something broken and almost 
mended, but not quite.

Carl was winding down, again giving Hank that minute examination. "But when she 
came back from this trip, she was closer than she's been since to how she used 
to be. She was...happy again." The hairs rose up on Hank's neck and arms in 
wordless response to the combination of joy and worry those words evoked in him. 
"That's due to you, boy, and I'm damn grateful." Carl gave a brisk nod, as 
though he were through, but then added, "So ya see, I don't care if you're a 
mutant, or...a robot, or a shapeless pile of goo when yer at home. What matters 
to me is Cassie. I know it's way too soon to say one way or the other about any 
future, don't get me wrong, and I won't fault ya if the two of you go your 
separate ways one of these times. Just as long as ya play straight with her, 
she'll be okay, and you'll leave her a lot better off than you found her."

This was so different from what Hank had been expecting to hear that he was at a 
total loss for words. "Mr. Can--Carl, I don't...know what to say."

"That's 'cause yer an honest man, son," Carl answered with a smile. "There isn't 
much FOR you to say, best as I can see. Not yet." Just then the ladies came 
back, much to a shaken Hank's relief. They brushed past a little blond boy with 
huge blue eyes, who Hank belatedly realized had been standing nearby, sneaking 
peeks from behind the fake tree, for some time now. At this disturbance, he beat 
a hasty retreat.

"Have they brought the sopapillas yet?" Cassie asked brightly. "I know you'll 
love those, Hank." A server was flagged down--literally, the signal for required 
service being raising a small flag at the table--and she quickly returned with 
two baskets of pillow shaped pastries. The Cantrells cheerfully demonstrated the 
method of biting off one corner, and squeezing honey into the hollow interior of 
the piping hot confection. After one bite, Hank decided they made up for the 
mediocrity of the rest of the fare, and then some.

The festivities, which had actually begun to grow somewhat festive, were 
interrupted by the re-approach of the small blond boy, now urgently towing an 
older brown haired one. They stopped at a prudent distance, but Hank and the 
others were easily able to hear the little one say, "SEE?! I told you."

The older boy flushed when the objects of their regard all looked towards him 
and his little brother. "Sorry," he said. "Sorry to bother you. My little 
brother watches too much tv. He thinks--"

"I DID TOO see him on tv!" cried the little one, stamping his foot in 
frustration.

"Of course you did, honey," JoEtta said, extending her hand. Without hesitation, 
the little blond came to her, instinctively drawn in by the grandmotherly aura. 
The older boy followed, after a second's thought, grimacing his embarrassment at 
the spectacle his sibling was creating. "I've seen him on tv, too, I'm pretty 
sure." Hank's brow furrowed with a dubious look. "On CNN. Giving a speech...I 
think when they had that thing in South America?"

"Ahhh!" He'd been trying to guess which destructive battle had been filmed and 
aired when. "Of course, the biodiversity conference!" He tilted his head, 
suddenly curious. "Do you watch CNN much, JoEtta?"

"Like to do my crocheting to it," she replied with a serene smile. "I got tired 
of them silly people on the soaps years ago. Real life is more interesting."

Just then a young girl with brunette braids and lavender-rimmed glasses joined 
the boys. "Mom says come back to the table RIGHT NOW!" she informed them in a 
bossy voice, not sparing a glance at the people at the table until she was 
finished with her pronouncement of doom.

The littlest boy, emboldened by JoEtta's support, now spoke directly to Hank. 
"You're one of the X-Men."

"Correct, young man," Hank told him seriously. At least the child wasn't 
screaming, though he was still keeping a safe distance.

The boy nodded, almost to himself, ignoring his brother's warning hand on his 
shoulder. "You guys are cool," he informed Hank, imparting this information with 
a suitably solemn mein. "Everybody at my school thinks so."

"Thank you. I shall pass that along," Hank managed to say without laughing 
aloud. The professor would be very glad to hear that, he was sure.

Now a woman with curly, sandy-brown hair stalked down, and put a hand on both 
boys' shoulders. Hank braced himself for a scene. "I'm sorry," she said to all 
of them impartially, with a 'you know kids' kind of smile. "Kids, come on." She 
whirled her group around, and began to herd them away. Over her shoulder trailed 
the words, "Did Jenny tell you I said to come back? When I say for you to do 
something, I expect for you to...."

Carl now allowed himself to chuckle, and the ladies joined in, with Hank finally 
smiling, although it was a little strained. "People are sure funny." Carl 
remarked.

"Hysterical," Hank agreed wryly, meaning it in both senses of the word.

This made Carl give him That Look again. Hank suspected it was going to become 
familiar to him. "That was a pretty good example of a classic two-headed present 
from Mother Nature."

"Do go on," Hank murmured, rather sure his host would anyway. But he WAS 
intrigued in spite of his better judgement....

"That young'un, he was curious about you. That's how all young'uns are; bein' 
curious and findin' out about the world is their job." Carl sat back, slowly 
preparing another sopapilla. "All yer smarter animals are that way. Heck, even 
horses, and they aren't the smartest animals on the face of the earth, that's 
fer sure. But nothin's much more curious than a colt."

"Curiosity is indispensable as a tool for developing the intellect, I agree," 
Hank said. Cassie and JoEtta nodded, and Cassie reached for the honey, now that 
her father was done with it.

"Trouble with curiosity is that sooner or later, you run your nose inta 
somethin' better left alone. So ya learn to get a little spooky about things 
that are strange...at least, ya do if you live long enough. Young'uns haven't 
yet. That's why they need big folks watching over 'em, like that boy and his 
brother."

"Until development of the pre-cortical frontal lobes becomes optimized," Hank 
inserted helpfully, out of habit.

"If that's whatcha call it," Carl nodded, unperturbed, trusting Hank knew what 
he was talking about. "Horses, now--well, like I said, they aren't that smart. 
Don't have the brains to puzzle out what's safe and what's not. So Nature's 
wired 'em up to react to anything that sets 'em off by running away, if they 
can, or stompin' it to death if they can't." Hank nodded. He had suspected as 
much about horses. "But luckily, people are a bit better off. Given time, they 
can learn not to bust out in a panic at something...new." He stopped there, and 
began to eat his dessert, confident that Hank understood what he was being told.

"It's a long, slow process, though--one person at a time." In silent support, 
Cassie handed Hank a sopapilla she had prepared, and he munched it gratefully. 
These things really were very good--he wondered if they were difficult to make.

"Life's a long, slow process," Carl drawled. "You in a hurry, boy?"

"I don't suppose it would help if I were." Hank found he could not help smiling 
at this man, this family, particularly Cassie, and found himself gratified all 
over again that he had had the luck to be out of change in the city a few days 
before. If he gained nothing else, he had been brought into contact with a 
segment of the population he had not known before; children with an enlightened 
opinion of what was 'cool', shy schoolteachers with a passionate devotion to 
fairness, people who believed a capacity for human kindness superseded any other 
consideration. It was a most generous gift from Fate, and he hoped he would 
prove worthy of it.


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

Children are curly, dimpled lunatics.


-----------
Neon Hearts Part 15. Forsure.Marvel.copyright.definite.owners


PART 15--BEWARE OF THE CAT


Cassie's home was a pleasantly unremarkable apartment complex; a series of 
nearly identical buildings placed in a random pattern and surrounded by trees 
and shrubbery to give the appearance of peaceful isolation. The entrance was 
secured by a touch pad Cassie punched a code into; Hank suspected the security 
aspects had drawn her here more than the landscaping. "Up we go," she said, 
heading for the stairs, Hank's garment bag slung over one shoulder. "It's the 
top floor, I'm afraid." She turned half around to smile apologetically. "Good 
exercise, though."

"At least you don't need a Stairmaster," Hank observed, grinning to himself. He 
was in a position to know; he had an excellent view of exactly how well her 
jeans fit as she led the way up. It was most unfortunate that true gentlemen 
were constrained not to grope ladies in public stairwells.

"I like not having any neighbors tromping around overhead. It's worth having to 
lug groceries and--" She broke off and turned around so suddenly Hank almost got 
smacked in the face with his own garment bag. She had her hand over her mouth, 
and her eyes were round with consternation. "Hank, I forgot to ask. You 
aren't...allergic to cats or anything, are you?"

"I am happy to say Providence showed unaccustomed forethought and afflicted me 
with no allergies to fur of any kind," he told her, the twinkle in his eye 
mocking his solemn demeanor.

"Oh." Cassie seemed struck by the implications. "THAT would have been 
inconvenient, wouldn't it?"

"In the extreme," Hank agreed wholeheartedly. "I presume you ask because you 
have a cat?"

"I'm a single female," she replied, with a self-mocking smile. "It's required by 
law." They resumed their upward progress. "In fact, technically, since I'm a 
writer, I should have several. But I got a waiver for the extras because mine's 
a Siamese."

"Ah. I HAVE heard they are temperamental, with delicate sensibilities." They 
were coming around the last landing now. "Fortunately, I like cats." Impossible 
to say whether it would like HIM, though, Hank knew. Animals were far from 
uniform in their reactions to him; he was sure he must seriously confuse their 
world views.

"Good. But if she's a pest, she can go stay at my folks--they watch her for me a 
lot, and spoil her rotten." She had unlocked the door, and was slowly pushing it 
open, looking for the cat, he assumed. "THERE you are." She stepped in and Hank 
followed, ready to drop his luggage as a cat barrier if need be.

A slinky, cream-colored feline with an elegantly sculpted triangular head and 
rust-colored points was standing in the middle of the floor, swishing her 
slender tail. "Aoow," she said, sounding disapproving. Cassie lay Hank's garment 
bag over the back of a lounger, and scooped her up.

"Her name's Cornflower. Because of her blue eyes," Cassie said, bringing the cat 
into Hank's general vicinity. He stretched out a hand to let the animal get his 
scent. It took instant advantage of the offer, and after a few dainty 
inhalations, began to struggle forward. "I THINK she wants to go to you," Cassie 
said, dubiously. "This never happens."

"Really?" He debated the possibilities. "Does she bite or anything?"

"No, she never has, but she never goes to people, either."

"Well, let's see." Curiosity WAS a driving force, Carl was certainly right, Hank 
thought. He gingerly took the enthusiastic creature from Cassie's grasp, holding 
it straight out from him for prudence' sake. Then he felt it purring madly. 
Shrugging his surprise at Cassie, who looked equally amazed at her pet's 
behavior, he cradled it into a more normal holding position. It instantly 
reached out its long, skinny legs and wrapped them around his neck, then began 
to groom him.

"Oh, CORNflower, NO!" Cassie disentangled the protesting cat from Hank's neck 
and dumped her gently on the floor, much to the cat's evident displeasure. She 
turned her back on them both and started washing her paws, tailtip twitching out 
her annoyance. "I think she likes you."

"Obviously a creature of exquisite taste," Hank smiled. "And a fine example of 
the reputed resemblance between pets and their owners," he added, not quite 
suggestively.

Cassie bounced his smile back at him, doubled in intensity. "Oh, I'm glad you're 
here," she said, and stepped into his arms.

Heart leaping with joyous satisfaction, Hank met Cassie's upturned mouth and 
gently but thoroughly renewed their acquaintance. At length he broke away. 
Looking down into her eyes, he said, "Cassie?"

"Yes."

"Could you remove your cat from my ankle?" His voice was apologetic, but amused. 
"If I try to move, I fear I'll step on her."

"Oh!" Cassie looked down to see her uninhibited pet entwined around Hank's leg, 
trying to nuzzle her head into the cuff of his pants.

Cornie! Stop that!" She grabbed the protesting animal up. "I wonder if it would 
help to try to feed her?"

Hank followed Cassie to the kitchen. He put the cat down in order to get into 
the cupboard. Cornflower promptly ran to Hank, and began stropping herself 
around his ankles in a figure eight. "You're a shameless hussy," Cassie informed 
her. Cat-like, she paid no attention. Cassie noticed that the answering machine 
on the table was blinking, and pressed the button in passing, taking up a 
listening posture as she opened the cat food can.

"Hello?" a voice strange to her spoke; a voice that made Hank look, though. 
"This is a call inquiring about Hank McCoy." He frowned slightly, and moved 
closer. "It is Thursday, 10:15 pm Eastern time. We heard that bad weather had 
caused planes to be turned away from the Denver airport, and were concerned. 
Please call us if there has been any difficulty." The voice then gave a number 
and the machine clicked off.

"That was Storm," Hank told Cassie, shaking his head, "but I know who told her 
to call...may I?" He asked, pointing at the phone.

"Be my guest," Cassie said instantly, spooning ripe-smelling pink cat food into 
a dish. This did serve to distract Cornflower from her victim.

While Cassie puttered with rinsing the spoon and disposing of the can, Hank 
punched in his home number, plus the code that would ring to the professor, 
wherever he happened to be in the mansion. It was picked up on the fourth ring, 
and Hank half-feared and half-hoped he had gotten him out of bed. "Hello, sir, 
Hank here. Just got the message Storm left."

"Hank." The X-man switched ears, and sat down in a kitchen chair. "DID you have 
flight problems?"

"Nothing to speak of. We were delayed a bit and had some hail after we landed, 
but I'm here safe and sound." Really, it WAS a little over-protective of the 
professor. But perhaps he thought Cassie would not know how to contact the team 
if an emergency had occurred.

"We were concerned," Xavier told him. "The NCAR reports said some areas out 
there had quite severe weather."

"The hailstorm WAS on the spectacular side," Hank admitted, as he and Cassie 
exchanged smiles. "The reason I didn't call is that we went immediately out to 
dinner. With Cassie's parents."

Oh?" The professor managed to get a world of meaning into the simple syllable.

"Very nice people. It was...a most interesting experience." Recollection of the 
message he was to pass on sprang to mind. "I met a young man who desired me to 
inform you that his elementary school class thinks the X-men are cool."

"Are we?" Hank could hear detached amusement in the dry tone. "I am not current 
on usage among the young--is that still considered a good thing?"

"I believe so, sir." Cassie was leaning against the sink, trying to stifle 
unseemly giggles. "At least, I--yow!"

"What?" demanded Xavier instantly.

Hank couldn't answer for a moment, as he was helping Cassie disentangle 
Cornflower from his ankle again. "Nothing, sir, sorry--" he eventually said. 
"The cat bit me." Mouthing an apology, Cassie carried her away, and the sound of 
a bitterly protesting Siamese echoed down the hall.

"The cat?"

"Cassie's pet. It appears to believe I am a giant toy brought here for its 
amusement."

Hank didn't dare speculate on what was going through the professor's mind; his 
voice sounded odd. "Well, I hope you have a good vacation, Hank. Don't bring any 
feline souvenirs home with you, though, if you don't mind."

"This one may well be capable of plotting to conceal herself in my luggage," 
Hank said, "but I will take all due precautions." After pointedly assuring 
Xavier he would check back in at some indefinite future date, Hank hung up the 
phone and went in search of Cassie.

He found her coming out of a room furnished as an office. An occasional muffled, 
querulous meow was coming from a box with a quilt draped loosely over it. She 
was carrying a large violently chartreuse squirt gun. "I'm sorry, Hank. I've 
never seen her act this way before," she immediately began to apologize.

"Are we going to have a squirt gun duel over it? Where's mine?" he asked her, 
trying to divert her dismay with silliness.

"Oh, this is for when I let her out of her carrier. If she keeps on acting up. 
It's a painless but effective discipline method for cats."

"I repeat, where's mine?" he joked. "Not that I mind having you defend me."

"We can share," Cassie suggested, relaxing as she saw Hank wasn't angry over the 
assault on his person by her uncivilized pet. Another louder feline demand came 
from under the quilt. "Let's go into the other room for now, though."

The handiest room turned out, somehow, to be the bedroom. Cassie set the squirt 
gun down on a mirrored dresser, then turned to Hank. "Maybe the chaos will 
settle down for a while now, and I can finally welcome you properly." She 
reached up to loosen his tie.

If it had been possible, Hank would have begun to purr as enthusiastically as 
his feline admirer. "It's very pleasant, to feel so welcomed," he replied, 
allowing her free access to the tie, and his shirt buttons. "And perhaps 
afterwards, I can express my appreciation for your gracious hospitality...." 
Cassie grinned assent without pausing in her task. At another, more insistent 
yowl from the office, he asked, "But should we set Cornflower free?"

"Later. MUCH later," Cassie said. But by the time this occurred, Cornflower was 
so deeply offended even Hank could not coax her out from under the bed.


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

Humans are hard to train, but they are the only servants cats have.


--------
Neon Hearts Part 16. Yet another chapter in this saga which contains characters 
copyright to Marvel, not to me....


PART 16--PLANS AND POSSIBILITIES


Hank awoke, as usual, promptly at 6am. Unfortunately, it was 6am Eastern 
time...and he was in Colorado, he realized as he came more fully awake. In 
Denver, in an unfamiliar bed just a bit small for him, with a still fully asleep 
companion beside him. He smiled in the dark, and battled off the temptation to 
wake her. Best not to push one's luck sometimes, and very early morning was 
often one of the times.

Instead he began to shift his body carefully, trying to turn on his side. 
"Rrrr?" came a sound from near his head, and something padded touched his cheek. 
He very nearly exploded into defensive action, remembering only at the last 
micro-second that a third being shared this apartment. And apparently this bed.

With great care, Hank plucked the thin limb, with its almost bird-like bones, 
from his face and gently budged its owner off his pillow. He just had time to 
complete his position change before Cornflower regained her lost ground by 
insinuating herself under the covers and curling up against his back. Hank 
decided he could ignore her as long as she wasn't actually biting him.

It was Cassie who had his attention. She too was on her side, and had been 
laying close enough so that they nearly touched. Well, it WAS a small bed. They 
were almost spooned together now, mere millimeters apart; her head would tuck 
very nicely under his chin with minimal positioning. Slowly he leaned towards 
her, then dropped his free arm lightly over her torso.

Cassie stirred at this, but thankfully didn't awake in a screaming panic. Making 
a sound very similar to what he had just heard from the cat, she took hold of 
his hand, and cradled his arm to her, nestling it between her breasts. Taking 
this as a good sign, Hank snuggled closer, maximizing the areas of contact 
between them, and sighed in deep contentment as he felt her relax back into her 
dreams.

He, however, was not sleepy now. Rather than give in to the suggestions his body 
was making, Hank chose instead to contemplate his situation. Cassie asleep was 
SOMEWHAT less distracting to the higher thought processes than Cassie awake, 
smiling at him, listening to him talk, demonstrating her growing confidence by 
touching him--

Hank yanked his thoughts back into order. Now that he was here, now that he had 
flown some two thousand miles to find out what exactly he wanted and what was 
possible for him to obtain from this serendipitous meeting, it behooved him to 
consider how he would know when he had found it out.

Was he...falling in love? Possibly more to the point, was she? There was no 
question he had felt miserable when she left, although that could be partly 
attributed to a lack of closure--her commitments back home had required an 
abrupt departure that was to neither's liking. Also no question they suited each 
other very well physically, but it was axiomatic that pure sexual attraction was 
the most fleeting of all ties between two people.

Hank knew quite well he had a strong propensity rescue damsels in distress; it 
had been the unsuccessful basis of several past attempts at relationships which 
had eventually gone nowhere. Cassie and her horrific past definitely struck that 
chord in him. 'Just look at yourself right now,' he chided. 'Wrapped around her 
like armor, protectiveness personified. AND you're enjoying it.'

But on the other hand...they made each other laugh. In his experience, that 
required a similarity of outlook which would bode well for compatibility. He had 
the greatest respect for the courage she didn't realize she had, and admired a 
hundred other things he had come to know about her since they'd met. It was this 
perceived affinity, he tentatively theorized, that was the basis of his pursuit 
of the possibility of a relationship.

Did she feel the same, though? Almost, almost, Hank thought. And yet she had 
already very clearly expressed severe doubts about--how had she put it?--being 
brave enough to love a man in such a dangerous line of work. If true, that could 
be a daunting obstacle.

Cassie stirred a little, and tightened her grip on his hand. 'And then again, 
maybe you think too much, McCoy,' he told himself sternly. 'Is it possible to 
think yourself into love, out of love? Perhaps you should just let things happen 
for a change, without analyzing them into minuscule fragments.' Without meaning 
to, he sighed.

"You awake, Hank?" Cassie murmured sleepily, half turning her head, although it 
was far too dark in the room to see. "Jet lag?"

"Yes, a touch," he answered, with a smile in his voice. "Don't worry. I'm quite 
content just to rest here. I might even go back to sleep in a bit."

In response, Cassie kissed the palm of the hand she was holding, and leaned back 
against him, as though she would pillow her whole body against his while she 
slept again. But then, after a slow stretch which delightfully set off several 
of his autonomic responses, she pressed his hand against her cheek and rubbed 
her face over it, seeming to seek his caress.

Was she? Should he? Hank hesitated, torn between desire and his plan to lay 
quiet and consider-- 'You think ENTIRELY too much, McCoy,' he said silently to 
himself, and bent his head to nuzzle Cassie's waiting neck.

*          *          *

"Well," he said later, a good deal later, as Cassie lay resting in his embrace 
in the faint pre-dawn, "good morning to you, too!" She chortled and squeezed 
him, ruffling her face through his chest fur. "What ELSE are we going to do 
today?" Not that this wouldn't be just fine....

"Whatever you want," she answered comfortably. "You're the company." 
Cornflower's head appeared over the edge of the bed. Seeing things were quiet 
now, she leapt nimbly up, then began to companionably bathe.

"You'll have to tell me, then, what sights are required viewing for tourists. 
Besides of course your unique family restaurant."

"It IS unique, isn't it?" She raised her head a little, to have a better view of 
his face. "I'm glad you got along so well with my parents. They really liked 
you."

"I really liked them," he assured her. "Not surprising, as I wholeheartedly 
approve of the job they did in producing and raising you." This made her wriggle 
with pleased embarrassment, as he'd expected. He rather liked her wriggling, 
when she was close to him like this. Then recollection of what Carl had said to 
him reminded him of a more serious topic. He reached up to stroke straying 
blonde hair back from her face. "Cassie, I wonder if I might ask you something?"

"Sure," she replied instantly, though her expression had sobered, to match his, 
he suspected.

He wasn't sure he ought to mention Carl's conversation with him. "Speaking, as 
we obliquely were, of offspring...." Now she looked very serious indeed. "I hope 
this is not too painful a subject, but...would you mind me knowing exactly 
why...you aren't expected to be able to have any?" In the ensuing silence he 
apologetically added, "It's just that I'd like to know for certain if we can 
safely eschew the customary precautions." The way we've been doing....

"I understand--it's fine." She visibly gathered her strength and her thoughts, 
and Hank tightened his arm around her back in a reassuring hug. "Well. When the 
rescue team got me to the hospital, after...well, after, I was unconscious. In 
shock, they told me later, from bleeding and all. My parents had to sign the 
waiver for the doctors to treat me. Not that I blame them," she added hastily. 
"They were just trying to save my life." He nodded encouragement, swallowing 
hard.

"Basically," she continued doggedly, "I had massive internal injuries. The 
doctor who had headed up the surgical team told me later that they'd had an 
argument at the time, right there in the operating room, over whether to even 
TRY to salvage my...the uterus. They did, just because of my age, and thinking 
it MIGHT heal up okay after all. But I guess actually it's pretty much of a 
mess." She tried to smile, which was more than Hank was able to do at the 
moment. "He said MAYBE if I wanted to TRY to have children, I could go in for 
reconstructive surgery and get all the scar tissue stripped out and...a general 
retrofit, I guess." She did get the smile out this time, but it failed to reach 
her eyes. "I don't think he really thought it was much of a hope, because in the 
next breath he was talking to me about the advances they're making in 
transplanting eggs to surrogate mothers and all that sort of thing."

Habit, a lifelong desire to get the facts straight, was the only thing that let 
Hank speak. "There is, then, a physical impediment to fertilization that would 
have to be surgically corrected before you could get pregnant?"

"Yes." She tried gamely to lighten the mood. "I take it you aren't into kids?"

"I don't dare." He tried to match her easy tone, but something she saw or sensed 
made her cup a consoling hand to his cheek, sympathy in her eyes. "Out of 
curiosity, I have...tested myself. My fertilization capacity is more than 
adequate, and I can't find any reason for a chromosomal mismatch--what causes 
hybrids to so often be sterile. But...it appears that the change I induced in 
myself extends to the DNA level of my cellular structure. Any offspring I 
produced would most likely exhibit their heritage from birth."

"I see." Her dark blue eyes were clouded with sorrows old and new. "And you 
wouldn't want that?"

"It is difficult enough, as a reasonably well balanced adult, to deal with 
prejudice against mutants," he explained quietly. "I feel it would be cruel 
beyond imagination to inflict that on a helpless child."

"That could be--I hadn't thought of that." She sighed and toyed with his hair, 
brushing up the unruly side tuft. "Too bad, though. Be a pretty cute baby."

"I know you would think so," he replied, pushing the mental image of her with a 
fuzzy blue bundle of joy in her arms firmly from him. "But how many others would 
not?"

"Kind of a moot point anyway." Her wistful tone stirred in him a fierce desire 
to do something extremely violent to the one who had been the cause of the 
tragedy, despite the fact it would do no good for anyone.

"As your physician informed you, there ARE other options," he reminded her. Was 
this a good sign, to be discussing theoretical children? "I have given the 
matter much thought, and concluded I would be able to feel adequately paternal 
to offspring I had no genetic part in creating," he informed her hopefully.

"Adoption?"

"Or surrogacy. It's quite true there are amazing advances all the time--you'd be 
surprised." Now he felt emboldened enough for a hint. "Are we discussing mutual 
possibilities here?"

"Looks like maybe," she allowed, with a shy smile. "I guess since you never know 
what's going to happen, it can't hurt to at least TALK about...possibilities."

Feeling he had won a small victory, Hank decided to quit this topic while he was 
ahead. "And possibilities are by their nature nearly infinite. One of the 
splendid things about life, wouldn't you agree?" He began to gently massage the 
muscles of her shoulders, and her head fell forward to his chest as though 
magnetically compelled. She made an inarticulate cooing sound he interpreted as 
enthusiastic encouragement. Backrubs--one of the most under-utilized 
aphrodisiacs in the universe. Eventually he said, "But we have left unanswered 
the question of today's activities."

Cassie tipped her head up, resting it on her forearm on his chest, favoring him 
with a look of quite intense fondness. "Okay. Let me think." She pondered as she 
ran her fingers through his hair. "Museums. Natural History, Art, Historical? 
The Natural History one has some good dioramas and fossils." Hank hummed 
non-committal vague interest, rapt in the pleasure of her scalp massage. 
"There's an IMAX and planetarium at the Natural History Museum. And the zoo."

"I don't think so, about the zoo," he responded, eyes closed. "Other patrons 
tend to wonder whether I've escaped from somewhere."

"Really?" Cassie gasped, horrified.

He opened his eyes, then winked. "No. Merely a jest, my dear."

"Funny man," she retorted, and began to tickle him. Although he could have 
rather easily prevented it, Hank cooperated with her attack, making no genuine 
effort to defend himself until the playing field had been somewhat leveled by 
the success of her efforts. Cornflower again deserted them, muttering Siamese 
imprecations.

Eventually they returned to their discussion, Cassie now sitting atop her supine 
guest. Hank contemplated scenic natural wonders. "I guess what everyone comes 
out here for is the mountains," she mused. "It's too late in the season to ski, 
though. But if we took extra sleeping bags, we could go camping."

"Camping?" Hank found himself intrigued. "I haven't done that in quite some 
time." Not on purpose, at any rate. "We would need to procure suitable 
equipment, would we not?"

"Borrow it from my folks, no problem there. We have EVERYTHING," she assured 
him. "And since it's early in the year, none of the campsites will be 
overcrowded. But it IS still cold at night," she warned him.

"I have the feeling," Hank purred, his hand making a slow trip from her ankle to 
her thigh, "we can compensate for that."

"Yes," Cassie replied with a wickedly innocent gleam. "My parents have a 
ventable tent heater." She tried to silence any retort by putting her foot over 
his mouth, and he pretended to snap at it, making her squeal and giggle as she 
yanked it away.

This tipped her backwards, and Hank took advantage of her changing center of 
gravity to sit up abruptly, swirl her into his arms, then reverse their former 
positions, pinning her to the mattress. "I reiterate, we won't need it," he 
smiled down at her.

"You're the genius," Cassie conceded, and pulled his head down to hers for a 
kiss that indicated auxiliary heating equipment would indeed be superfluous.


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

"In a world fraught with danger and despair, comedy is a survival tactic, and 
laughter is an act of faith" Ron Jenkins