Snippets of Time: November and December
November
Hank had hoped that their first night together would have gone better than this. He rubbed at his temples and Izabelle's hazel eyes watched him with sympathy.
They had gone to the new seafood restaurant in NYC. Things had gone well. Then Izabelle had suggested ice cream, her absolute favorite dessert.
Hank groaned and she took his head in her lap, brushing the hair gently out of his eyes and tracing his defined eyebrows with her fingertips.
The first sign of any problems had been swollen lips. Izabelle had always liked Hank's slightly fuller pout, but it was bordering on absurd. Then hives kicked in and even Hank could not ignore that something was seriously wrong.
Izabelle had rushed him to the mansion as fast as she was able, but it was risky. They couldn't take him to a hospital for obvious reasons. And she couldn't speed or stick out while driving. So it had still taken a while and a few stops for Hank to retch in a field.
Even Izabelle could rule out food poisoning; it was way too soon for that. She had managed to get him to bed and grabbed an epi-pen. It had to be some sort of freak allergy. Currently he was drifting in and out of sleep, an improvement.
Hank watched her from below heavy eyelids. This was truly embarrassing. It seemed as if for every five successful dates they had there had to be one calamitous one. She had nursed him through the night and now into the tiny hours of morning, still in her dress and heels, Googling possible causes of the sickness on his computer nearby.
Izabelle eased his head back down into the pillows. "I think I know what's wrong, Henry."
Hank could not help but smile at his given name. "Please do tell. Then we can ensure this embarrassment never reoccurs."
"It seems that there are rare occasions where people will have severe allergic reactions to the combination of seafood and dairy products."
Hank propped himself up to stare at her. "Surely you jest."
She suppressed a laugh. "It is unusual but it fits."
His strong hand slowly drifted up to gently stroke her face. "You should sleep. You've been up all night."
"I won't leave you here though."
Hank scooted as far to one side of his huge bed as he could get. Without a word it was clear the solution he was suggesting.
With a broad smile, Izabelle cuddled up next to him, letting him tuck covers around her. He was a furnace from the fever and she soon rolled away from him but for the first moments they drifted into sleep together.
Sharp aggressive knocks woke the couple. Hank still looked sickly but better than the night before. Izabelle's hair was a nest of silliness, flat on one side and standing up on the other.
They both lay still hoping it would go away, but the knocking resumed. Hank indicated for her to stay where she was and opened the door, filling it and blocking her from view.
It was Logan.
"Suit up. We have robot prototypes we need to take care of."
"Now?" Hank rarely if ever protested a mission when called to by Wolverine, but he was still sickish, hadn't slept more than a few hours, and hadn't eaten in quite a while.
"At the Blackbird in one hour."
"Could this be delayed? I –" He was cut off.
"According to Forge we need to get outta here as soon as possible. I gotta go wake the others." Logan left, not stopping to listen to arguments or notice the weary look Hank sent his retreating form. Logan was not intentionally ignoring it, but it was Hank. What problems could there possibly be?
When Hank turned around, Izabelle was wide awake and standing close behind him.
"You aren't going are you?"
"You heard him."
"But you're sick and you haven't really slept."
"I am sure our fearless leader would take that into account."
"I'm sure he wouldn't! It's Logan, not the Professor. He doesn't think about those things."
Beast sighed and sat on the edge of his bed taking her hands in his. "This is what I have been called upon to do. Would you ask me to not do it?"
Izabelle could not look him in the eyes. She knew what she would see there. She wanted very much to ask him not to go; he would stay if she asked him to. But controlling him like that…
"At least make him fly so you can sleep."
They had left hours ago and now the broadcasts were rolling in. She hadn't paid attention to what Logan had told Hank until after they had left. Robot prototypes. Four had apparently been assembled outside the city, on the same side as the school.
Her nails were nubs and she was now combing her fingers over and over through her hair. Tabbitha distractedly took Izabelle's hands in her own, not taking her eyes off of the screen. The X-Men fought the "Sentinel" as best as they could but Wolverine was really the only one who could do damage to them quickly.
Izabelle found herself hating Kurt; she could not tell if the blue movement she saw was Nightcrawler or Beast. This was an unusual fight. They were always in some danger or other but the scales were clearly against them this time.
Sam sat on her other side, tense and watching her almost as closely as she was watching the TV.
Blue flashed and she twitched. It was definitely Hank. The robot swung but he was faster, grabbing, rending, and throwing part of its massive hand. The Sentinel stared at its torn hand for a moment and then, with shocking speed, backhanded Hank into a shed. Beast had been busy trying to reorient himself; things swam in his vision when he moved too quickly. He went flying and there was a cracking sound as he burst through the shed wall. Seconds passed and she did not see him walk out of the rubble.
It was all too much for Izabelle. She knew she had "lame" powers. She knew she couldn't really fight. But to just sit here while he was destroyed before her eyes…that would not happen. It was the same fear driven instinct that had led her to the basement the night the school was invaded.
Sam caught her in the hall. She wrenched free from him and he caught her in his arms. She kicked him in the side, knocking him over, and threw open the front door. Nasty autumn rain pounded down but she did not stop. In a moment Sam tackled her, taking the fall with his shoulder and wrapping his arms around her.
"I have to go! I have to help!" Her shrieking was unintelligible for the most part but the dogged thought that she could save him was clear.
"If Beast can't do anything 'bout it then you surely can't, Bella!" He was bear hugging her, and talking into her ear. He wrapped a long leg around both of hers to stop her viciously swinging feet.
"But I have to help! He could…he could…" A shudder passed through her and the fight seemed to go out of her all at once. When she and Hank had begun, when all this had started, it had not even occurred to her to worry about death. Things had been safer, if only marginally. And now…
Sam helped her up. They were covered in mud from the flowerbeds they had rolled into and both were soaked through. Tears ran silently down her round cheeks, cleaning paths through the mud, and she buried her face in Sam's shoulder.
Beast had taken a beating worse than any of the others. They all were mangled and worse for wear, but Hank was brought out on a stretcher. Blood matted his blue fur, more red visible than any other color. A gash on his forehead made her stomach roll over, and she could see white of bone through a missing chunk on his shin. His face was drained of color and his sides were bruised.
As she and Iceman finished cleaning him up anger had replaced sorrow. This never should have happened. Beast never should have even gone; the Professor would not have asked him to go. Not weak and sick. Others were still in the med lab when she came down there, some just now being tended to or in Wolverine's case just hanging around.
The look she sent him was pure poison and Logan was in no mood for moody girls.
"What seems to be the problem, Amnesia?"
She gritted her teeth, smoothing out Hank's fur as she stood over him. He was drugged and sleeping. "You did this to him."
Logan pushed off the wall and squared his shoulders. All attention was on the two of them now.
"That is a mighty bold claim."
"He was sick. He could hardly move and you made him go." She still didn't look at anyone but Beast. Her voice shook with the emotion she was trying to control.
"And if he never told me? You confused about my powers? I don't read minds!"
"He tried to tell you but you wouldn't listen!" She spun on him, her face red.
"And how would you know?"
"I was with him all night! He was really sick, Logan!"
"Hank can take care of himself. You're outta line." Logan was angry now. He didn't hit girls but if he did…
"Clearly he can. Especially when he's left no other option," she bit back sarcastically. She pointed at him, stitched and lying prone.
"Hank's seen worse."
Izabelle's face glowed with anger. "That excuses nothing! He was weak and he had hardly slept. That fighting was some of the weakest I have ever seen from him. You should have protected him and kept him back. Just because he's seen worse does not mean it isn't bad NOW!"
There was total silence. Bobby stared. Few people could pull off talking to Logan like that.
"If you had been even a touch ill, Hank would have noticed and he would have helped," she finished, choking back tears.
"I didn't know," Logan growled.
"Maybe you need to learn to pay attention."
When Izabelle awoke the next day, she raced down the corridor toward the lab. Voices caught her attention. Hank's voice was one of them and she relaxed, stopping to listen.
"She does mean well."
"Gave me one hell of a guilt trip."
"I cannot imagine that to be an easy task."
"No. She was right though, Hank. Glad yer okay. Tell me next time."
Izabelle was caught off guard when the door opened and Logan walked out. They looked at one another for a moment and some understanding seemed to pass between them. She darted past him and was greeted with the welcome sight of Hank awake and doing well.
"Miss me?" He teased. His stitched up face grinned at her and she hugged him tightly, relief flooding her emotion-wearied mind and heart.
WHAM!
Izabelle's shoulder dug a small trench in the field she had formerly been standing in. Logan stepped up to her as she brushed the dirt off of her sweaty face.
"Get up," he growled.
Though there was mutual understanding about what had happened with Hank, Logan did not see it as his obligation to be forgiving about her calling him out in front of the X-Men. She was his junior by many decades and in experience. A couple months ago she could have laid low and avoided him. Now he was her teacher in the Danger Room. Hence, she was getting face-fulls of dirt as he drilled her on kicks and blocking kicks.
"No," she coughed. She was winded and spitting out mud.
Logan crouched next to her. "You tellin' me no?"
"Yes, I am." She looked dead into his eyes. He was analyzing her and she could tell. "You can kill me if you like but you know I've hit my limit. I can't go anymore."
She did not look away and he was the first to break their gaze. He held a hand out to her as he stood and she took it. He left without speaking to her, pulling his hood off as he went.
"Class dismissed," he called over his shoulder. The other mutants there filed out, mostly girls. It would be a while before a shower opened up and she was covered in dirt.
Izabelle sighed and looked up at the Control Room.
"FooooOOOOOooooorrrrrgggggE!" she bellowed, letting a grin slide through. She adored harassing the somewhat awkward mechanically-minded mutant. And she knew he didn't mind; he had sisters and he teased right back.
A head of black hair popped over the panel, peering down at her. "My, my," his voice radiated around her. "Somebody's dirty."
She stuck her tongue out at him playfully. "Can I get a pond?"
"Sure thing. But I'm rerouting some things up here. What shows up will stay for the next couple hours. I've gotta put in a forest for the X-Men."
"Don't hit me with a tree!"
Forge mimed consideration and hit a few buttons. Izabelle found herself standing in a forest with a small cool pond in front of her. She silently blessed Forge and washed off in the water. Irritation crept back as she absently headed for the exit. She was exhausted and dirty and she still had classes to teach. Not to mention every part of her hurt, from being landed on multiple times.
Hank saw her approaching as he entered the Danger Room. His cheerful smile was enough to speed up her pace; she was not in the mood for cheeriness right now.
Hank noticed and caught her up in his arms. "Hello, my love! And how are you on this sublime, splendiferous, spectacular day?"
She moved back from him, glowering, "Let's see. Logan is making sure I eat dirt at every opportunity as punishment for yelling him. How do you think I'm doing?"
Hank nodded knowingly. "He'll cool off. We've all been there. What were you working on?"
"Kicks and blocking kicks."
"Show me." His eyes twinkled at her mischievously.
"Forget it."
Izabelle tried to step around him so me moved as well, blocking her. He knew he was bigger and faster, so there was no way she could get around him.
"I'm not in the mood, Hank. Let me go."
"Show me a kick. I have never been allowed the pleasure of seeing you spar." It was true. He and Izabelle's schedules had been worked out so one was busy when the other was training. The reason: distraction. The last time Izabelle had been at a training of Hank's he had been clocked in the head with a falling beam.
Izabelle sighed loudly, but he was in too good of a mood to back off yet. She just needed some provocation…
"Where are you in such a hurry to get to?"
"The shower," she pointed at herself as if that explained it all. She watched his white toothed grin spread even wider.
"I have fond memories regarding the Danger Room shower. I seem to recall finding a certain lady's garments because of –" He had been so caught up in his exaggerated musings that he had not noticed her leg. She caught him in the side throwing him off balance. He stumbled into a tree, catching it for balance. "That, Izabelle, is a powerful kick. Bravo."
He cuffed her, gently for him, and sent her sprawling. As Izabelle watched him beam at her she finally caught on to what it was he wanted from her. Her professorial, uptight Henry McCoy PhD, was being playful. She dove at him, catching his stomach with her head. He tossed her as if she weighed nothing and took off through the trees.
She raced after him, feeling her cares lift off of her.
Hank was waiting silently in the trees as she ran below him. He dropped down on her, scooping her in his arms as he rolled. She was laughing now and a mock wrestling match began.
"I win," Hank declared at last, pinning her under him. Their eyes met and the mood began to shift. This was physically the closest they had ever been. He became intensely aware of the feeling of her body under his. She giggled and rolled over on top of him, smiling coyly. Her hair fluffed around her gorgeously and she was breathing heavily. Dirt smudged her nose and forehead, making her all the more adorable.
"I win," she breathed. Her hands subconsciously worked over his bare chest, feeling the muscles that rippled beneath the skin. She felt his hand wander to her thigh and the other to her waist. She felt suddenly conscious of the fact she was straddling him.
Their lips met with a ferocity unparalleled. Hank clutched her to him, feeling her legs and caressing her back and hips. Her lips wandered down over his neck and shoulder, combining kisses with soft nibbling and causing him to inhale sharply. Cautiously, he found the zipper at the throat of her uniform and when met with no resistance from her gently led it down toward her chest.
"Beast! Get over here, furball! We've got training"
Izabelle groaned loudly, falling limply against his chest. Hank tried to control his frustration and stood, lifting Izabelle to her feet.
"Beast!"
"Izabelle…I…."
"S'not your fault." She wouldn't make eye contact with him and mumbled. Her ears looked red enough to stop traffic.
"Are you…Would you…"
"I have classes until tonight and then…other things."
"I see." His heart fell. The moment was missed. She was sensitive about these things, a constant reminder of the need to move slowly in their relationship.
"You need to get out of here," she finally smiled at him, the humor of the situation taking over. "They might suspect."
"If only they had cause to." Her familiar blush at the comment made him smile as well. She bit her lip, hardly suppressing a secretive smile.
"Bye Hank."
He watched her retreat through the woods.
December
Snow had begun to fall in early November, bringing in Thanksgiving with a heavy white blanket. Christmas was no different.
Izabelle had hoped to sleep in. Her bed was cozy as opposed to the chill air in her room. Hank, however, had other plans.
"Wake up, sleepy!"
Izabelle's bleary first words to him were not exactly what he had hoped: "How did you get in here?"
"These fine claws are good for many things. Lockpicking for one."
Only her face poked out of the mountainous pile of covers that was her bed, as she rolled over. She scowled at him, shrieking as he turned on the lights and burrowing into the bed.
"Well, I suppose this fine breakfast will have to be eaten by someone else. Oh me. Oh my. But who would be willing to eat it?"
Izabelle took the bait and poked her face back out, squinting at him. Indeed, he had brought in two breakfast trays, one for each of them.
"I suppose I shall have to endure and consume the bounty myself." His voice was dripping with tease and temptation. He would eat them both too; he was a big man.
She pulled the covers down around her waist, still refusing to leave the bed, and held her arms out to him. He handed her the tray, stooping to kiss her forehead.
"You have the most terribly endearing bedhead I have ever seen. Against all logic and modern beauty conventions, I find this to be your most winning appearance."
Izabelle gave a short laugh and began to eat. All those words to say he thought she looked good in the morning. Only Hank, her Hank.
"You will need to see to your toilette faster than usual. I assumed you would have woken before," he looked over at the clock, "eleven."
"What's the rush? We're staying in for Christmas."
"Maybe." He grinned at her astonished look.
"You said-"
"And I lied. I wanted to surprise you."
Carefully setting the tray aside, she leaned over and socked him in the arm.
"What in the stars is that for?" He repressed his smile and looked over his glasses at her.
She rolled her eyes at him but did not try to hide her pleasure. If her biggest complaint was that her significant other surprised her with special plans and presents too often then she was a hugely spoiled woman.
Hank had totally outdone himself.
First there was ice-skating on a frozen pond she had never even noticed in the school's wood. He was much more graceful than she thought was fair, considering he was much bigger than her and she was not at all steady on the skates. He caught her over and over again, never letting her fall once and she smiled at him from under her mohawk snow hat.
When they returned Forge had set up a snowy hot spring in the Danger Room, and they joined the others who had stayed at the school for Christmas for a soak. When she left the dressing room, Izabelle found herself swept up in strong blue arms and hoisted onto Hank's back.
"To the banya!" He cried, tromping through the snow toward the others.
"Banya?"
"Ruso-Scandinavian tradition of sauna. Russified, it includes rolling in the snow to cool down."
He jokingly moved as if he would dump her in the snow and she squealed, hugging him tighter. He laughed and righted himself.
A handful of students and most of the X-Men greeted them as Hank gently let her down.
Jean playfully pinched Scott. "You made me walk all the way out here."
"I thought I would just engage in another Finnish tradition: wife carrying."
"You married now?" Logan smiled, seeing Izabelle blush.
"Indeed we are not but Finish relationships rarely include marriage, so the term is fairly loose."
"So they just…carry their wives?" Scott had a befuddled look on his face.
"Competitively. You see-" and Hank began to explain the sport of wife carrying, including a time he himself was able to attend such an event.
Izabelle could not stop watching him. He was engaging and soon everyone was in stitches.
Hank was preoccupied with her as well. Now that they were together he allowed himself to admit that she had a deliciously curvy body.
They radiated affection and closeness. The others had no hard time seeing that they could not keep their eyes off of each other. Even though they had deliberately chosen places apart from each other, they drew each other close with secretive gazes.
Soon enough it was time for Christmas dinner. The group had agreed to all help by each preparing something for the meal. Izabelle had banned Hank from helping her since she was baking pie. This had not stopped him from showing up and starting a mini-flour-war though. Izabelle smiled to herself and squeezed his hand under the table. He returned the affection with a gentle kiss on the head.
Everyone was left to their own devices for the rest of the evening and Hank managed to persuade Izabelle to take a walk with him. The snow flakes were so absurdly big that it was some time before a full sentence other than girlish squealing and cooing came from Izabelle. Producing a thermos of hot mulled wine, Hank brought them to the balcony overlooking the cliffs and the woods.
"I've been waiting for the right moment." He produced a small box from the pocket of his sweater.
"As have I." Grinning Izabelle pulled a box from her coat.
Hank laughed. "I told you not to get me anything!"
"And I knew you were lying." She stuck her tongue out at him and handed him the box.
He shook his head but she could tell he was touched. It hadn't been easy to figure out what to get him and it had been even harder to get her hands on it.
Hank's mouth worked but words did not come out. He fingered the bound manuscript in the box, awed.
"How did you get this?"
"I remembered you said your early work was stolen in raids. They didn't destroy it. There may or may not be some people with memory problems in that particular office, but I thought you deserved it."
He hugged her tightly to him. "I feel my present is hardly worthy now."
She unwrapped the box to find another box, and another, and another. And within the fourth box there was a silver ring in the shape of yarn tied in a bow.
"Before the age when every gadget you owned served as an alarm, people would tie string around their finger to remind them of something. Or so people like to believe anyway."
She nodded brusquely and he began to worry. When he noticed a tear roll down her cheek he took her in his arms.
"I am sorry, Izabelle. I thought –"
"It's not that," she managed. She slid the ring easily onto her middle finger. "I…I haven't been with anyone for Christmas in a very long time."
Hank began to answer thinking he understood but she shook her head quickly.
"Not like that. I have…I've spent the last…many Christmases alone. Without any other person."
Hank's eyebrows shot up. "Why did you not say so? We could have-"
"No! It was perfect. Everything you've done. All perfect."
And with a soft smile she drew him to her in a kiss.
The dairy and seafood thing is for real by the way. My dad and grandfather both had to go to the hospital on different occasions because of it. Weird indeed!
And the wife carrying is real too. :-)
Thanks to my reviewers!
