Chapter 5:

                Hank tapped briefly on the door before opening it and poking his head in. "Amanda?"

                The room was empty.

He checked the gym. No Amanda there. Same with the lab, his room, the Danger room, and the Rec room. He finally stopped in the kitchen, where Ororo and Jean were talking, and politely interrupted them. "Jean…excuse me…have you seen Amanda? I have been looking for her for the last half hour, and she is not in the house."

"Did you look out the window?" Jean pointed out the window, and Hank squinted . "What are…oh." He could just vaguely make out the shape of his little butterfly sitting out on the grass on a blanket, one of the familiar boxes of her research notes open beside her and papers spread out on the grass, weighted down by pebbles. There wasn't a whole lot of wind, anyway. "She's been spending more time outside lately."

He went out the mansion's back door, down the gently sloping green lawn, and out to where she sat half-under the shade of the old oak tree. "Amanda. I am not disturbing you, I hope?"

"You? Never." Amanda looked up and gave him a kiss as he sat down. "You're never disturbing me."

He sat down on the blanket behind her, carefully moving the pile of paper aside from just beside her right knee so he could slide his long blue legs around her. He pressed his broad chest against her back, draped his head over her shoulder, and looked at the papers she was sorting.

She put down the sheaf of papers in her hand and leaned back against him, sighing. Hank rubbed the skin of her back between her wings, and she leaned into his touch, enjoying the sensation. They sat that way for a long time, listening to the birds chirp in the leaves above them. She finally broke the comfortable silence. "Hank?"

"Yes?"

She giggled. "I love the way your voice rumbles through your chest. It tickles, kind of, when I'm lying against you, but it feels good." She paused. When she spoke again, her voice was thoughtful. "Hank, I asked you once a while ago that if a technique became available for reversing or removing mutations would you take it, and you said yes. Do you still feel the same way?"

Hank avoided the question. "When Magneto injected you with the virus, you hated it. You started working really hard on the research because you said you wanted to reverse what was done to you. If you developed the technique, would you still reverse your transformation?"

Amanda frowned. "I don't know," she said quietly. "I'm kind of getting used to these wings, and the feeling of flying is exhilarating. I'm starting to think maybe I don't want to go back to the way I was. I like it like this." She twisted in his arms. "And you didn't answer my question."

Hank pursed his lips. "I don't know, Amanda. I have become accustomed to the way I look, and it does not seem to bother anyone but the ignorant, like that gentleman at the airport."

"Gentleman. Hah. That's not the word I'd use--" and Amanda spat out a pithy phrase that made Hank's eyes pop.

"Amanda!" he said, shocked. She giggled. "That is not a nice word," he said with mock sternness, giving her a playful, gentle smack on her bottom. Amanda squealed, giggled, and tried to worm out of his arms as he aimed another smack at her rear portion.

She ducked out from under his arm and sprang up. The papers rustled as she passed, but didn't fly away. Hank made a grab for her bare ankle (her shoes sat forgotten by the edge of the blanket) but she danced out of his reach, flying up to the branches of the tree above him. She balanced on a branch, hands on her hips, a mocking smile on her face. He growled in mock ferociousness and swung himself up on one of the lower limbs. "You can't get away from me!" he told her. Amanda just laughed and skipped off to the next tree.

Hank swung his powerful frame from tree to tree, Amanda always just ahead of him. They were laughing lightheartedly, like children, when Warren, having flown into town to his office to take care of some of his private business spotted them. He watched for a few moments, trying to figure out which side he was going to be on, then swooped down and caught Amanda. "I got her, Hank!" he exulted, scooping Amanda out of the tree and hovering with her in front of the low branch Hank was currently standing on. "I got her! What do you want me to do with her?"

Hank swung out of the tree, grabbed Amanda in a fireman's carry from Warren as he fell past his winged friend, and landed on the ground with Amanda draped over his knee. "I got her, my feathered friend," he said. He commenced to tickle Amanda all over, his hands gently poking at her ribs and sides until she was breathless with laughter.

"Okay, enough!" she said finally, panting and out of breath. Hank let her get up, and she pulled her shirt back down over her bare skin, then shook out her white hair to clear it of the leaves and twigs sitting in it. Then she turned and glared at Warren. "You are just like my sister," she scowled. "Won't take no for an answer. God, I hate bratty older siblings!" She turned and ran off, back toward the blanket and the papers which were stirring in the light breeze that had sprung up while they were playing.

Warren grinned. "That's quite a woman you got there, Hank. Better take care of her."

Hank punched Warren, none too gently, on the arm. Warren yelped and rubbed his arm. "What did you do that for?"

"For throwing Amanda off your balcony when you were teaching her to fly," Hank said sternly. "It was not necessary that she learn at just that moment, Warren. Why did you not allow her to progress at her own pace?"

Warren said sharply, "First, because her pace was way too slow. Life's too short for wasting time like she was doing. Second, she needed a good kick in the pants. She was spending too much time wallowing in self-pity, and you were encouraging her." The two men paused while still some distance away from the blanket, watching Amanda flit about in the air trying to catch the few stray pages that had slipped out from under her makeshift paperweights. Hank was about to go and help her, but Warren held him back. "She's doing fine, Hank."

"But her notes…"

Warren grabbed his arm firmly. "Hank, there's something you need to learn. Loosen up. You keep hovering over her, doing things for her that she could do herself, she's going to get irritated with you eventually. Betsy's surprised she hasn't blown up at you yet. Being conscientious and courteous is one thing, Hank, but you tend to overdo it sometimes. That's part of the reason why you couldn't get her to come out of her shell faster. You're too gentle, Hank."

"She is so fragile, so delicate," Hank said, "emotionally and physically. I want to protect her and love her and care for her."

"Trust me, she's a lot tougher than she looks," Warren said with a long-suffering sigh.

"What do you mean by that?" Hank looked at him sidelong.

Warren spluttered. "I refuse to answer that," he said finally, "on the grounds that you're going to punch me a lot harder once you hear the story. Just trust me, you're not going to hurt her by letting her go her own way."

Hank digested that in silence as Amanda caught another paper and popped it in the box. She took to the air again, circling on the air currents, drifting on the breeze, and he could hear the sound of her laughter as she spiraled farther up into the air. "I shall ask Betsy, then," he said, and watched Warren's face turn a deeper shade of blue. Smiling to himself, he loped off across the lawn toward the mansion, leaving his blushing friend behind.

*                                                              *                                                              *

                Betsy was in the gym, polishing and cleaning her swords when Hank tapped politely on the door. "Come on in, Hank," Betsy said. "What can I do for you?"

                "Warren and I were talking about Amanda, and he mentioned that I was being too gentle  with her, that she is a lot tougher than she looks--" He stopped, because Betsy had put down her polishing stones and was looking at him with a mixture of amusement and frustration.

                "You really don't understand, do you?" she chuckled and sat back on her heels, brushing a stray lock of dusky purple hair off her forehead as she gestured to the gym mat in front of her. "Sit down. I thought we were going to have to talk sooner or later." She looked at the tray of stone in front of her, chose a lump of well-worn gray rock, and drew it along the edge of the blade in front of her in one smooth stroke. She began to talk as the stone moved in sure, deft strokes up and down the shining length. "Amanda has no thought in her head for anyone but you. The reason she and Warren have become such close friends is because, firstly, he's known you much longer than she has, and he can tell her all those little funny, tender, sad, and happy stories about you, including many that you'd never tell her yourself. She likes that, because she gets to see a side to you that she normally doesn't get to see. Secondly, Warren has a kind of big-brother/little-sister relationship with her, and I think she likes that. She misses it, I think. Did she ever tell you about her sister Katherine?"

                Hank nodded. "Yes."

                "Well, she told Warren too. And he realized she misses that. That's why he treats her the way he does; it kind of makes her feel a little more like she belongs, since she feels out of it enough already, not being able to join the X-Men and all."

                "Charles refused to allow her to join us?"

                Betsy laughed. 'Good heavens, no! Can you imagine Charles excluding anyone? No, he asked her, but she declined. She's worried that the fragility of her wings is going to be a liability to us when it comes down to a fight. And Charles had to agree with her on that." She put the stone down and picked up a stiff piece of leather, buffing the blade with it.

                 "Warren told me that I need to be a little rougher, or at least not so gentle, with Amanda," Hank said thoughtfully, watching Betsy put the leather down and picking up a soft cloth soaked in metal polishing fluid.

                Betsy dropped the sword as the words penetrated. "He did what?" She picked up the sword, examined the nick in the blade, and sighed, putting the cloth aside and picking up a lump of coarse brown stone and starting to work on the scratch. "Warren said what?"

                "He said I need to stop being so gentle with Amanda." Hank repeated.

                Betsy put the sword down and pushed a stray piece of hair back again, this time leaving a smear of grayish dust on her cheekbone. "Listen to me, Hank," she said. "You go right on being your own furry, lovable self. You're Amanda's lover; you're supposed to be gentle, kind, caring, and loving. That's your job. Warren's job as her surrogate big brother is to needle, annoy, frustrate, and piss her off. It's the balance between the two that will help her overcome her uncertainty right now. Warren's just being a butthead." She gave a soft chuckle as she returned to working the scratch out of the blade. "Though I understand why he said it to you. He just doesn't want her to get mad at him again."

                "Yes, Warren mentioned that 'Amanda's tougher than she looks' but he would not tell me why he said that, on the grounds that I would 'punch him harder' if I knew." Hank said. "I wanted to know what happened."

                Betsy put the stone, sword, and polishing cloth down, carefully, and started to laugh in that pecuiliar way she had. She sat silently, shoulders shaking, for so long Hank began to get a bit concerned that she might pass out from lack of oxygen. Finally she took a deep breath, wiped her eyes, and said, "Well. I'll tell you, but you must promise not to tell him I told you. And that you won't hit him."

                "I promise." He would have promised anything to hear this story.

                Betsy settled back on her heels. "It started one morning when we were at breakfast. Amanda was looking for gift wrap for her present for you, and she asked Warren. He looked her up and down and told her she already was wrapped; she just needed to get you to unwrap her. She smacked him. He smacked her back. She tried to smack him again, but he evaded her and ran from the table.

                "Quite some time later we all heard him yell. Warren came running out of the bathroom with a red mark across his back. Amanda had rigged some kind of device inside the bathroom while he was in the shower. When he climbed out he got smacked by something; I never did find out what it was.

                "Well, of course he knew who did it, even if Amanda hadn't written 'Danger Room' on the bathroom mirror with her lipstick and signed her name. He went rushing off to the Danger Room after he stopped in and grabbed his pants. He didn't bother putting on a shirt.

                "She was hiding in the Danger room, in a simulation of a dark warehouse. I have to give her points for creativity there. She could hear Warren coming; the sound of his wings is unmistakable. But Amanda's wings don't make a sound. She took advantage of that, and she was carrying a bucket of paint and a paintbrush. She'd make asses while he was looking in the wrong direction, and paint one of his feathers pink. He'd turn, trying to catch her, but he never did.

                "She finally got tired and shut the simulation down. As soon as he saw her he tackled her. She went down under him, they tussled for a minute, and he thought he had her pinned. Then she burst out from under him, clouted him over the head with her wings(and they do seem to pack a punch!) and kept buffeting him over the head until he gave up." She giggled. "It took three showers before most of the pink paint washed off, but some of it just wouldn't come out. Warren's going to have slightly pink feathers until his next molt."

                Hank laughed aloud at the mental image. "Poor Warren," he sighed finally. "I can see why he doesn't want her to get upset with him again."

                "Well, it's not entirely one-sided," Betsy admitted. "Amanda was sorry she didn't check the paint to make sure it was washable before she used it, so she gave Warren a chance to get her one. He found an old wing feather of his that I saved from his last molt so I could improvise a feather when he breaks them in battle, and tickled her with it until she was out of breath." Betsy gave him a naughty grin. "Has she used it yet?"

                "Hank didn't understand. "Used it?"

                Betsy grinned, a wicked, merry smile. "I showed her some…interesting…things that could be done with feathers. And I told her to try them on you, that you'd enjoy it. Has she?"

                "…no…" Hank was dying to know what those 'interesting things' were!…

                "Well, if you're nice, maybe she will…" Betsy stood. "I'm done. Think Warren and Amanda will be up to lunch?"

*                                                              *                                                              *

                Hank was looking at the large white feather leaning against the back of the closet when Amanda came in. She smiled as she saw the direction of his gaze. "I'm going to take a shower," she said, slipping into the bathroom.

                There was luckily no one in the hall when she emerged a short time later. She reached into the bottom bathroom cabinet and brought out a smaller, softer feather, and twirled it in her fingers as she tiptoed into Hank's room and closed the door. Hank's jaw dropped as he took in the sight of the lacy white teddy she was wearing. She gave him a wicked smile, crossed the room to the bed, and tapped the feather against his nose before trailing it lower.

                Betsy was right, Hank thought before drifting off into sleep much later. There were definitely some very interesting things that could be done with feathers.