Chapter 4: Jealousy
Hank scanned the crowd of greeters at the gate. No Warren. He sighed.
He went to the baggage claim area, waited for his bags to be unloaded, and was just pulling them off the belt when he heard a voice call his name. "Hank!"
He turned, and stared with misty eyes at the wonderful sight of his beloved racing across the terminal toward him. He dropped his bags and opened his arms wide. Amanda was still running full speed when she jumped into them, and he staggered a bit as she barreled into him and plastered her lips all over his. "Amanda," he managed to get out around the pressure of her lips on his, "everyone is looking."
They were indeed. Although the sight of mutants was common now, the sight of someone as big and powerfully built as Hank still attracted stares. And next to his big, hefty bulk, Amanda's delicate frame and fragile-looking wings were a startling contrast. Hank's eyes flicked off to the side, and he saw Warren watching them both with some amusement.
"They can look all they want," Amanda murmured into his ear. "I'm just a woman welcoming her lover home after way too long."
"It has not been that long, Amanda," Hank said. "It has only been thirteen days and four hours since…"
"Hank?" Amanda looked him in the eye as she ran fingers through his hair. He almost groaned; it had been far too long since he'd felt her touch, much less one so intimate.
"…yes?…" and boy, had he missed that tone of voice in which she said his name.
"Shut up and kiss me." He blinked, then gave up and did what she asked of him.
Warren grinned at the sight of Hank and Amanda kissing in the middle of the airport. Thank God Hank was finally home. He had been getting just a little bit tired of Amanda saying 'I miss Hank' over and over the last few days.
He looked around the terminal. People were staring. Some people were shaking their heads, some were smiling, and one old lady was laughing. He focused for some reason on one man, standing toward the front of the crowd, and noticed the man was scowling. He was looking at Hank and Amanda with a look of disgust on his face. As Warren edged closer, he heard the man muttering, "Stupid freaks. They're stupid, ugly freaks. Go back to where you came from!" he suddenly hollered at the couple. As Amanda turned a startled face toward him, he hurled his half-empty glass beverage bottle at her and Hank.
Amanda was too stunned to duck in time, but Hank's reflexes, honed by years of training with the X-Men, saved her from the impact. His arm flashed out between Amanda and the flying bottle, and it smashed on his arm instead. Bits of glass flew all over the place.
The little giggling old lady turned on the big man angrily. "You stupid, ignorant boor!" she cried, hitting him with her handbag. "How dare you do that to a pretty young lady! Didn't your mother ever tell you not to hit the girls? I ought to throw something at you!" The man, embarrassed at her outburst and trying vainly to escape the blows from the capacious handbag, ducked between two other onlookers and fled. Warren chuckled for a moment before going to his friend.
The little old lady was already there, using a tissue to wipe the blood off Hank's arm. "That terrible man!" she said as she fussed over the cuts from the broken glass on Hank's arm. "I can't believe he did that. He's the stupid one. And to throw it at a lady, too!" She made a tsking sound as she patted Amanda's arm. "You two look so lovely together," she said, "Don't let a few bad apples spoil your happiness." She turned and melted into the crowd. Amanda stared after her for a moment, and then sighed. "Come on, Hank," she said, reaching for one of his bags. "Let's get you home."
Warren grabbed Hank's bag from Amanda. "Uh-uh. You go get in the van. I'll get the bags. Hank's stuff is heavy."
"Warren, I can get it," she protested, but Warren took the bag from her anyway. She sighed and settled for taking Hank's arm instead.
Hank walked out to the parking lot, Amanda on his arm and worries running through his head. She had been eager enough to greet him, yes, but there was something about the way she had looked at Warren that spoke of more than a friendly familiarity. He tried to push it away, telling himself that Warren would never move in on Amanda while he was away, but thinking about it was unavoidable as he sat in the back of the van and listened to the two of them argue about who would drive. When Amanda reached over and slapped the back of Warren's head, Hank got out of the back, slamming the door with more than the necessary force, and got into the driver's seat without a word.
Somewhat surprised, Amanda and Warren looked at each other. Amanda shrugged. So did Warren. They sat in an uncomfortable silence for most of the ride home; Amanda tried to start a conversation but Hank replied with brief, monosyllabic replies. Thinking he was maybe still upset about the incident at the airport, Amanda decided to leave him alone.
"Lunch is waiting," she said to him when they got home. "Are you going to come down and eat with us?"
"I must unpack," he said shortly, and hauled his bags off upstairs without a further word to anyone.
Amanda stared after him, worried, but Warren ran an arm across her shoulders. Hank suppressed a growl. "Come on, Amanda," Warren said. "I want your opinion of something…" and they walked off, Warren's arm still around her shoulders.
Hank's heart sank into the pit of his stomach as he sat down on his bed. Instead of unpacking, he lay there, staring at the ceiling and thinking. Warren and Amanda had gotten much closer, apparently, since he had left two weeks ago.
He sighed. It wasn't fair. Amanda was the first girl he had loved in a long time. Warren could have any girl he wanted out there, why did it have to be Amanda? Warren was a playboy; Hank might like his friend, but he wasn't blind to Warren's faults. True, he had settled down a bit since he and Betsy had started going out, but cheetahs didn't change their spots so quickly. Why, when Warren could have any girl he wanted, had he chosen to take the one girl Hank wanted?
Agitated, he got up and began to unpack, putting his dirty clothes in his laundry hamper and putting clean clothes away. Then he went into the bathroom he shared with Amanda for a shower.
He got out, toweled the excess water off (there was nothing he could do with all of the water; his fur had to dry naturally) and he opened the bathroom cabinet for a tube of antibiotic ointment for the cut on his arm, which had opened in the shower and was now bleeding sluggishly. Inside he saw a box of condoms.
He bit his lip as he took it down. It was open, and a couple of them were missing. He shook his head disbelievingly. Had Amanda been sleeping with Warren? He didn't think she was the type…but then what was this doing here, and why was it open?
He put it back in the cabinet, slammed the door shut, and left the bathroom. He was about to go back to his room when he caught sight of something sitting on her dresser top through the open door. A velvet box.
He wasn't usually the suspicious type, and he usually didn't intrude, but a spike of jealousy pricked him, and he walked into her room and picked up the box. His jealousy warred with his better judgment, but the jealousy won out, and he opened it.
Inside the box was a gold-plated pen and pencil set. They were beautiful, exquisitely made and obviously expensive. The kind of gift a lover would give.
He slammed the box shut, slapped it down on her dresser, and stalked out of her room. His tear-filled eyes barely saw the hallway he walked to get back to his own room; his feet made the journey automatically, out of habit. Amanda was sleeping with Warren. It was the only explanation. And it hurt.
His room door opened some time later, and Amanda poked her head in. "Hey Hank, she said, "How is…" she stopped as she saw him lying face-down on his bed.
She crossed the room quickly, and sat down on the bed, touching his shoulder gently. "You're getting the bed all wet," she chuckled, running her fingers through the short blue fur on his back. Little shivers ran up and down his spine at her touch, and heat rose in his body, but anger quickly put out the fire.
"Go away," he said.
"What?" Amanda frowned.
"Go away. Get out."
"Hank, what's wrong?" she cried, pulling away from him, hurt.
He refused to answer. She fell to her knees beside his bed, shaking his shoulder. "Hank, please talk to me. What happened? Was it the guy at the airport?"
"Get out!" he snapped at her, rising off the bed, his face a mask of fury. Amanda stumbled back onto her heels, tears springing to her eyes.
"Hank," she whimpered. "Please tell me what's wrong. What happened?"
"You." He clenched his fist. "Get out, Amanda."
Amanda stared at the fist. Fresh in her mind was the memory of Bruce's fists, his anger and rage and violent tendencies; but this was Hank, her gentle, wonderful, beloved Hank. He wouldn't hurt her.
Hank reached down, grabbed her arm, and pulled her to her feet. She protested. "Hank, please, you're hurting me!" he loosened his grip, but didn't let go until they were both in the hall. He released her arm, walked back into his room and slammed the door. Then the lock clicked.
Amanda flung herself at the door, pounding on it. "Hank, please, open the door!" she sobbed. "Tell me what's wrong! What did I do? Hank!"
The door remained stubbornly closed and silent. Amanda gave a convulsive scream of misery and anguish, then ran.
On the other side of the door, Hank sat on his bed, tears streaking the fur on his face.
* * *
A long time later, there came a knock on his door. Hank! Came a telepathic command. Open this damn door at once! It was Betsy.
Hank yanked the door open silently. Betsy took exactly three steps into the room, crossed her arms, and said coldly and evenly, "Get your blue furry butt downstairs and apologise to that poor girl before I kick you into next week."
Hank snarled, "No."
"Why the bloody hell not?" He knew she was really angry now. She only backslid into her British accent when she was pissed.
"Why should I?" he countered.
"Because you hurt her feelings, Hank! What do you mean, 'why'?"
"She should have predicted that happening. Her feelings should not be hurt."
"What?" Betsy stared at him, anger gone. "Why should she have counted on this happening?"
"Because she cannot expect me to stand by and watch while she sleeps with my best friend, that's why!" Hank roared at Betsy.
Betsy blinked. Amanda, sleeping with…Hank's best friend was…Warren? "She's what?"
"I found a package of male procreative protective devices in the bathroom! And there is an expensive gift on her dresser that I am positive I did not give her!"
Betsy started laughing, helplessly. Hank stared at her. She kept laughing, so hard she finally had to sit on the floor and hold her sides. He sat on his bed and glowered at her until she finally stopped laughing and wiped her eyes. "Oh my," she chuckled. "Amanda's going to howl when I tell her about this."
Hank glowered harder.
Betsy sat up, and her eyes went unfocused for a moment. Hank knew she was communicating telepathically with someone, and wasn't surprised when a few minutes later Amanda walked in timidly.
Betsy said, "Amanda, Hank thinks you're sleeping with Warren."
"What?!" Amanda yelped. "Hank, whatever gave you that impression?"
Hank got up, stalked out of the room, and returned moments later with the pen set and the box of condoms. He threw them on the floor in front of her and returned to his seat on his bed without a word.
Amanda's face went pink as she picked up the condoms. "Hank…"
"There's two missing. I counted them," he said shortly.
Amanda looked at Betsy. Betsy looked back at her. "Do you want to tell him, or should I?"
Betsy started laughing. "How about a demonstration?"
"Mmm…I don't think he's ready for that yet." Amanda looked at Hank. "Hank, I found out why I wasn't really feeling like myself. The birth control pills I usually take were making me feel sick, because of the changes in my metabolism. I told Betsy…or rather, she had to pry it out of me…and she told me to get condoms and put it on you before we…well…" she blushed pink. "So I got some, but I didn't know how to put it on. Betsy showed me how…on a model of the, uh…um…you know…"
Hank could feel his cheeks heating up. Not only because he just realized he'd been an ass, but the thought of Amanda bent over the little object he knew she had, practicing…he shook his head and forced his thoughts to return to the conversation. "And the pen and pencil set was supposed to be for you. Or didn't you realize that your birthday's coming up?" she said. She tossed the box at him. "Look at the pocket clip." Her voice sharpened considerably. "And by the way, happy birthday and welcome home." She got to her feet. "Thanks for ruining my surprise." She slammed his room door hard enough to make the wall shake. Minutes later there was another slam as he walked into her room and slammed that door too.
Hank put on his glasses and peered at the pocket clip of the pen. On it, engraved in tiny script just barely big enough to see, was the name, "Henry McCoy." He put the pen carefully back in its box, took off the glasses, and sat quiet for a moment before he looked at Betsy. "I deserve to be kicked," he said ruefully.
"Yes, you do," Betsy said cheerfully. "She quite carefully restrained herself from yelling everything she wanted to say at you. Perhaps you had better go and apologise, before she reconsiders, because if she does, she's going to say a great many things you really don't want everyone else to hear."
* * *
Amanda repositioned herself on her bed, facing away from the adjoining door as she heard Hank come in. She wasn't really mad at him…but he had hurt her feelings, and her arm felt tender where he'd grabbed her earlier. "Amanda?" she heard him say, softly and…meekly, for him. "Amanda, I am…" He broke off, and her bed settled deeper onto its springs as he sat down. He reached out to absently stroke the skin of her back between her wings, which she'd found out quite to both their delight one night that touching her there felt quite good indeed. She wanted to shiver at the touch, but forced herself to remain still.
"I am not good at making apologies," he muttered to himself, and she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. "Amanda, I am sorry for what I said, and for what I did. I should have asked you about the…devices…and the gift, before I made untrue assumptions. Will you accept my apologies?" he paused for a moment, then added softly, "Please?"
She turned over and mashed her lips against his. He was startled for a moment, then returned the kiss with interest. She finally broke it off when breathing became a necessary option, and they parted for breath. After a moment, she chuckled wryly and lay back on her bed facing him.
He looked at her. "Does this mean you will not yell at me?"
She grinned and picked up the box of condoms. "I'll still yell," she said, "But with the right incentive…maybe not at you. I'll just yell."