Chapter 3: The Invitation
Xavier smiled, amused, as the sound of Jubilee's pounding footsteps receded up the stairs. "Ah, the energy of youth," he said dryly. "If we could bottle it and sell it, what a fortune we'd make…"
Hank smiled. It was an old joke between them. He adjusted his glasses as Xavier sobered. "You were out quite late last night, which is quite unusual for you," Xavier said. "I trust that nothing is wrong."
"Oh, no," Hank assured him. "I was simply renewing my acquaintance with Jubilee's friend Amanda Greene."
Xavier smiled. "I saw the two of you dancing together at the wedding," he said. "And I spoke to her briefly later. She is quite an intelligent young woman. I am pleased that you and she found some common ground."
"Oh, that we did," Hank said. "She is also a biogeneticist; though, for the moment, that seems to have been placed on hold due to a lack of an adequate facility in which to perform her research. Her research was the reason she stayed with her former fiancé Bruce Garrett for so long; but she eventually listened to her heart and broke up with him, even though it meant that she would have to halt her research." Hank adjusted his glasses and returned to his chair, Xavier following him into the lab. "She was conducting some quite promising research into the possible uses of this unusual reovirus discovered in the rainforest."
Xavier put on his reading glasses and peered at the paper Hank handed him, reading it as Hank returned to his perusal of the documents Amanda had given him.
'In order to carry my research to its next step, I must obtain a sample of mutant DNA, to observe the reaction of the virus on an already fully mutated sample. Then I need to obtain a sample of non-carrier DNA…that is to say, DNA from a subject that has no carrier gene, and therefore no possibility of developing mutations. Then I need a sample of carrier DNA, and observe the reaction.
I would then like to obtain a test sample, from an unknown, anonymous subject, and expose it to the reovirus. The way it reacts will then be compared to the documented reactions of the virus to normal, carrier, and mutated samples. I believe that this will then become a standard test to see if the individual from whom the DNA sample came from is indeed a mutant, carrier, or human.'
He picked up the next sheet. This wasn't as neatly written as the others; it looked like Amanda had just scribbled her thoughts down on a sheet of paper. 'There are ethical and moral considerations to think about before I release my research to the general public,' she wrote. 'Mutants are already feared and hated by most of the general population, but some mutants who have non-physical mutations (psionic or internal mutations, though they outwardly appear normal) have been able to escape public scrutiny by hiding who they are. I am not a mutant myself, so I don't understand, but I would guess that they would like to remain anonymous. If this test becomes standard, anonymity will go out the window. Politics being what they are, some damn bureaucrat somewhere will make this test mandatory for everyone, and I have no doubt that the human propensity for singling out those who are different will cause a lot of misery for those who would want to remain anonymous.
However, the corollary to this is that, if I can discover how this reovirus codes for the mutant gene, then those who don't want to be mutants will not be compelled to be. I could re-engineer this virus to code for the normal gene, and the mutant genes will then be the ones eradicated, leaving the person free of mutations and completely normal. Children who are tested carriers can have their mutated genes removed to prevent even the possibility of developing a mutation.
The problem is, however, that just because we can reverse a mutation, does that mean that we should? If Fate, or God, or whatever other force rules the universe has decreed that a child be born a carrier, and the number of carrier cells introduces the almost definite certainty that the child will become a mutant, then should we tamper with that? Do we have a right to say, "Fate, I don't like the gift you gave me, I'll change it thank you very much?" In other words, do we have the right to play God with the genetic code? I wouldn't have qualms if I knew for certain that the test would remain voluntary, but human nature being what it is, fear of the unknown will eventually ensure that the test will become mandatory.'
"She does have a point," Xavier said, sitting back into his hoverchair. Hank blinked, startled. He hadn't realized that Xavier was reading this sheet over his shoulder. "The test will not remain voluntary; you and I both know that, Hank. But it is odd that she would refer to mutant abilities as gifts. She obviously does not view the X-gene as a curse, as many others do."
"No. Amanda is singularly unprejudiced in that area," Hank said. "She informed me before we parted company last night that she preferred seeing me as I am now, and she could not imagine me looking normal."
Xavier smiled. "She is attracted to you," he said. "And I assume you had a good time last night, or you wouldn't have protested Jubilee's offhand designation of your time together as a date."
Hank looked about to dispute Xavier's assessment, but Charles held up a hand. "No, Hank. I have known you too long for you to try to get anything by me. You did have a good time." Hank nodded reluctantly. "Why try to deny it? Hank, you spend far too much time alone. I rarely see you out and about with the others. Too much seclusion is not good for anyone, Hank. You may not like the way you look, but it does not, and should not, bother your friends. Amanda is the first girl you have taken out in a while; I believe maybe you should repeat the experience again. And soon." Hank looked at Xavier's twinkling eyes, and smiled reluctantly.
"I had planned on telephoning her this evening and discussing the results of her research thus far," Hank said. "Perhaps it might be easier to simply stop by and speak to her in person rather than trusting conversations to an impersonal telephone."
Xavier simply smiled.
* * *
Amanda sighed and put down her pen. She'd just finished grading her last student's paper, and her knuckles were cramped, and she was stiff. She decided to give herself a break, and wandered into her kitchen and grabbed a bottle of soda from the refrigerator.
She was in the process of taking a sip when the phone rang. Its shrillness startled her, and she spluttered on the soda rushing into her nose as she put the bottle down on the kitchen table. She very rarely had anyone call her, and never on a Saturday; so who could it be? She wondered, fleetingly, if it might be Hank…but she dismissed that notion. He probably had more important things to do besides call her in the middle of the day. She grabbed the phone. "Hello?"
"Hello Amanda," And there went her composure again as she heard Hank's measured, even tones. She spluttered again, and it took her a little time to regain her breath. On the other end, Hank listened to the noises with some surprise and concern. "Are you all right? Amanda? Do you require medical assistance?"
"No, no, I'm fine," Amanda said finally, waving a hand, though it was useless since he couldn't see her. "No, I'm fine. What's wrong?"
There was silence for a moment. ""There is nothing 'wrong', Amanda. I…wanted to say that I had a nice time last night, and I wondered if you enjoyed yourself." Poor man, he sounded so unsure about himself. Amanda shook her head, glad that he couldn't see her. Hank McCoy had brains, intelligence, gentleness, caring, and compassion…so why hadn't someone snapped him up already? He would have made some girl a wonderful husband; he was everything she'd wanted in a man, and she suspected that not a few other girls would feel the same way. It shouldn't matter to anyone what he looked like on the outside.
She realized that she'd been quiet a few seconds too long, and she said quickly, "Oh yes, I had a lovely time. It's been a long time since I went out with anyone, and it was definitely a …pleasurable experience…" And as soon as she said it, she wished she'd chosen another adjective. Maybe 'pleasurable' wasn't the right word. A blush colored her cheeks crimson.
Hank noticed the hesitation. "I am sorry, I did not realize this might not be a good time--"
Amanda sighed to herself. "It's not a problem, really," she said. "I just finished grading a bunch of my students' papers, and my mind was wandering a bit. It's all right, I wasn't busy."
Hank wasn't certain, but he plunged in. "I enjoyed your company last night immensely," he said. "I was wondering if you would care to repeat the experience with me tonight." There. He'd said it. Now for the rejection. He unconsciously held his breath.
Amanda blinked. Would she? Hell yeah. She tried not to sound overeager as she said, "I'd love to. Where are we going?"
Hank let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and said, "I was thinking perhaps 'Alexandra's'. It's an upscale place downtown; and perhaps we might catch a film or some form of recreational entertainment afterward. I have no particular preference; you may select the event."
Oh, she did love the way he talked. "Let's see. I believe there's a showing of 'Phantom of the Opera' at the theater just down the street from 'Alexandra's'. Do you like musicals?"
Hank smiled. It was funny how Amanda liked the same things he did. "Most Broadway plays tend to be uninteresting, but it so happens that 'Phantom' is one of the few musical productions that I do enjoy. Yes, I would like that. I will purchase the tickets and pick you up for the evening. Will seven o'clock allow you sufficient time to prepare?"
"Oh, more than sufficient," Amanda said.
"I shall look forward to seeing you, then." And the line went dead.
Amanda sat down to catch her breath, then began to bundle up the papers on the table with a fluttery feeling in her stomach. She didn't have a lot of formal clothing, and she was going to have to take a quick shopping trip to buy something suitable.
* * *
The doorbell rang at exactly seven, and Amanda hastily dropped her lipstick and ran to answer it. Standing in the doorway was a massively built, handsome man, dressed with impeccable taste in a black suit. "Can I help you?" she said, eyeing him.
"I am here to pick you up, as I promised," said Hank's cultured, gentle voice. From behind his back, he produced a bouquet of flowers and held them out.
Amanda took them, staring blankly. "But…but…you're…" She stopped, flustered.
Hank reached down to his wrist and did something to a watch strapped innocuously to it, and the mask over his features dropped, to reveal his familiar furry blue visage. She stared, then found her voice. "What is that?"
"It is called an image inducer," he said. "It is in essence a miniaturized holographic projector that projects a desired image, in this case regular features onto my face to simulate--"
"I understand," Amanda said. "It just took me by surprise. You don't need to wear that, do you?"
Hank raised an eyebrow in surprise. "I have not offended you, have I?" he said in surprise.
Amanda sighed, stepped aside, and waved him in before shutting the door. "Hank," she said, and stopped. She was silent as she put the flowers in a vase and ran water into it, and didn't say anything until the vase was set neatly in the center of her coffee table. Then she sighed as she ran a hand through her already neatly-done hair, disarranging her auburn curls as she tried to find the words to say what she wanted to say. "Hank, I like you. If I didn't, I wouldn't have agreed to go out with you last night." She leaned forward, placed her hand over his in his lap, and said, "I liked you when I met you at Jubilee's wedding. That hasn't changed. And it's not just the outside, I like who you are inside. I don't want you to feel as though you have to hide who you are to me or in front of me. I like the way you look."
Hank sat stunned. "You do?" was all he could think of to say. Amanda sat beside him on the couch, raised a hand, and gently ran it through the blue hair at his temples. The touch was intensely personal, and intimate, and Hank felt acutely the nearness of the woman beside him.
"I do." Amanda sensed she was making him uncomfortable, and sat back a bit, twisting a curl around her finger. "Hank, I don't care what you look like. I love the way you look, I prefer seeing the real you. I don't care that your skin is blue." She turned to him. "Did you know my father was full-blooded Cherokee? Does the fact that I have 'red' skin bother you?"
Hank drew his eyebrows together. "No, it doesn't."
"It's the way I am. That's all there is to it. I am who I am, and I don't care what anyone else may think about what I look like. I also don't care what anyone might say about my choice of company. Words can't hurt me." She looked at Hank. "Does this make any sense?"
"Yes." And it did. Hank was flabbergasted. No one had ever said that to him; a few of the girls he had dated when he had first been transformed into the blue furry Beast he was named for had actually been glad to find he had an image inducer.
"Good." Amanda got up from the couch. "Hank, if you want to wear that thing tonight, it's all right by me. I just don't want you to wear it because you think I don't want to be seen with someone who has blue skin and hair." She kissed his cheek quickly, then said, "And if I don't hurry and get myself together, then we're never going to be getting out of here." She disappeared into the bathroom.
Hank sat there, looking at the image inducer strapped around his massive wrist. Amanda had a point. His own appearance in the mirror didn't bother him much anymore; he had worn the image inducer solely on her account. He thought for a moment, then took it off and slipped it into his jacket pocket.
Ten minutes later, Amanda came out of the bathroom, and it had been sufficient time for Hank to tranquilize his mind enough to take stock of what she was wearing. A black strapless dress clung to her upper body to the waist before flaring to a calf-length skirt made of some iridescent gossamer material, and a scarf of the same material was draped over her shoulders. She had made some attempt at pulling her hair back up to where it was when she'd opened the door, but apparently had given up and just let it hang loose and free down her back. Hank smiled. "You look lovely, Amanda," he said, and meant it.
She smiled. "Thank you." She picked up a little black purse and took a black dress jacket from the closet by the door. Hank took the jacket from her before she had gotten the closet door closed and held it open for her to slip into. She smiled at him, a smile that made his heart rise into his throat, and slipped her arms into the jacket, then opened the door. He offered her his arm. "Shall we go?"
She slipped her arm into his and stepped out, locking the door behind her. The man in the apartment beside hers opened his door and stared very hard indeed at Amanda and Hank as they went down the steps, but Amanda ignored him.