She doesn't quite understand it, and what she can't reason out or pick apart she has a tendency to not like. This was no exception.

At first it wasn't so bad. After her initial outburst the day Mogar came home from shopping with Ash, sporting his new look, she had been able to kind of shut off the part of her brain that seemed to think she didn't need oxygen whenever he walked into a room. This impressive example of her mental prowess was often overridden however by the way he seemed to make it his mission to come looking for her when he was supposed to be on patrol with the dweebs or acting as muscle on one of Ash or Rusty's info digs.

The routine changes. She stops joining the others for breakfast first, only coming down to grab the ready-made plate left behind for her and whipping up something for Rusty before scurrying back to the sanctuary of her rooms. Next is easier than she really would have expected. It's simply getting back to work. In the time since they had moved Mogar and his mother in almost a month and a half ago she had spent maybe two weeks actually taking care of her responsibilities as CEO of a multi-billion dollar company; and most of that had been done from her office at the house. It was time to get back to the job that was doing a majority of paying for their house before one of her board members decided to pull a coup a la Mad King style.

She tries to ignore the sad looks whenever she rushes through the kitchen and dining area, grabbing a couple pieces of toast and her travel mug full of coffee before pulling O.R.F off her charging dock and rushing out the door. But blocking out the confused hurt in Ray and Gavin's eyes is harder to block out when she has to spit out some asinine excuse to avoid spending time with the rest of them just to minimize her chances of running into him. She does her best to shake off the heavy melancholic blanket that would settle over her shoulders as she rushed out to the car and driver waiting at the end of the driveway only to drag her feet on her way into the office she was growing to hate more and more each day.

That doesn't stop her from doing paperwork, that by all rights she should probably have left for one of her subordinates actually, attached to whatever project she was scribbling away about. And no, it was not all because seeing Mogar made her brain stop working properly and her stomach melt into a mass of butterflies. Or because the others kept asking questions that she didn't quite have the answers to about things she didn't want to think about. She just needed to get her head sorted before she could face real life again.

She barely notices when Halloween and then Thanksgiving pass with her holed up in her lab, fiddling with the new system for her O.R.F suit.

"Madame CEO, you really don't need to-"

"I think I am perfectly capable of discerning what I should and shouldn't give my attention to." She tries not to feel too guilty when her tired looking secretary finches.

"But ma'am-"

"If you have time to try and argue with me then you have more than enough time to run these diagnostics down to engineering R&D, tell them I want that waste output reduced by at least fifty-percent before I'll consider preliminary prototypes."

The young man sighs but takes the manilla folder and handful of papers in Hilda's outstretched hand. "Yes ma'am," his voice is just a little too sharp to be resigned. "I'll bring you some tea at least on my way back up." He shuffles the papers about so they're in some semblance of order before striding out of the office.

When she realizes even Monarch Labs is no longer really safe from his presence or the nagging of the others she starts spending nights in her old labs like she used to when she was nothing more than a brilliant mind oblivious to the sinister machinations of an employer she blindly adored. It seems to come to a head when a certain bear man dressed like some wayward college student keeps trying to make his way up to her until she decides to just give in and see him. Her secretary turned personal assistant gives her a sort of smug grin when he tells the new secretary to call down to the front desk to have the man brought up to the CEO's office.

As Mogar walks (storms) in she notices the way her new secretary tries standing as close to him as possible, fluttering her stuck on lashes and giggling with the brightest smile she can muster. He doesn't even notice it and that makes the sharp unbidden need to do something to that little blonde twit soften to just a prick of annoyance. Then there's a bag being held in her face and she hesitantly takes it, eyeing the way he won't look at her, mumbling something she can't understand. Inside is a collection of shiny baubles and some spare parts she's been looking for with a handful of chocolate bars and what looks like a few treated animal skins. She pulls out one of the soft leathers that feels more like cloth than anything and raises a single brow at him. He still won't look at her but mutters something about tradition and gifts and hoping she likes it.

Oh. Wow. She was really dumb.

She gives him a soft smile, tentative even if she can't help but chuckle at him and the wide eyed expression he gives her.

They agree to talk after dinner, yes she'll come home for dinner, after all of the others have gone to bed and he hesitates before making his way to the door. She's shocked at the feeling of slightly chapped lips on her cheek then the feeling of being pulled close and his nose nuzzling her in the spot behind her jaw just below her ear, auburn curls tickling at her neck and cheek. Her secretary squeaks, her P.A chuckles and that smug grin is back nut she's so lost in the feel of hard muscle and soft touch and the warm green smell of him that she barely notices even after he pulls away, his ears and the back of his neck a bright lobster red.

The rest of her day is a bit of a blur. She knows there are meetings and inspections and she goes to them. But her mind keeps going back to the nervous glint in warm brown eyes and the happy disbelief when she accepted the bag of gifts.

When she gets home that evening it takes her less than a minute to realize something. There's no noise. No Ray and Gavin yelling at each other, no Ash chattering on about the latest scoop and no Rusty rambling on about Vietnam and questioning why the sake was always gone. There's just a pile of hastily written notes on the coffee table with some half-ass excuses about extra patrols, following a lead, last minute Christmas shopping or heading out to a new bar. Then music slowly fills the air and she drops her bags and rushes after it.

She's met by a smaller table than normal in the dining area. A small table set for two, with candles and an old record player off to the side playing a soft melody that reminds her of formal dance lessons and her mother's lectures about being a 'proper lady'. And there, standing by the table pulling uncomfortably at the bow tie and suit that fits just right but he can't seem to settle in, is Mogar. There has obviously been a valiant effort to tame his curls and there's not a trace of the dirt that usually stains some part of him no matter how much he tries to adhere to normal standards of cleanliness and his sword is nowhere to be seen. She's so shocked and surprised by all of it that she feels she's a little justified in her reaction when she starts laughing. He is shocked for a moment before he scowls at her.

"Do you find this funny?" He gestures angrily at the room.

"N-no, just," and she gestures at her own eyes. "Glasses." Then she's off again and Mogar fiddles with the latest addition to his wardrobe.

"Ash took Mo- me to the… optomterist."

He kind of falls into himself and Hilda finally gets a hold of herself, walking up to him and reaching up to fix the bow tie he had skewed. "Well I like them." She smiles up at him. "They're cute." He can't help blushing as she straightens up his jacket and hair that he had been pulling at. "Give me a minute." And she's running off.

He's resorted to pacing when 20 minutes later she shyly walks into the room. His wide eyes and unhinged jaw make her second guess herself. She tugs at the hem of the light blue dress Ash had convinced her to get a few months before. "Sorry it took me so long."

"You are…" he trails off and snaps up, back straight and face almost emotionless. His movements are stiff as he moves to the table and pulls out one of the chairs with a little more force than is necessary. "Please sit." She smiles weakly and her stomach is starting to twist itself up into little knots but she sits in the chair he had pulled out for her. "Beautiful," he's standing just left of her, his gaze resolutely set on the ornate centerpiece made of amethyst wisteria and spatterings of blue and pink forget-me-nots, "Mogar wanted to say that you are beautiful."

Her breath doesn't catch in her chest like it used to and her head doesn't go all staticky like her higher functions decided to take a vacation. Instead her chest fills with a warm fuzziness that isn't entirely uncomfortable and she couldn't fight the smile that lit up her face even if she tried. "Thank you."

She finds that he is quite easy to talk to, and that she thinks the way he has to make sure and speak in first person is endearing. They talk about life in the city and the forest, the differences and similarities in the lives of a warrior and a scientist. Nothing they haven't discussed at some point before but now there's a certain air of intent behind every question. A tension to it all that she's surprised she finds exciting for what it promises.

He hesitantly asks if she was enjoying herself and she can't help but smile at him. She can't remember having a better time.

As he places dessert on the table she has to ask: how did he do all this? Past the blushing and the mumbles she hears something about the coloured ones teaching him to make the meal and the excitable female helping with the setting of the table and choosing the flowers. Rusty insisted that Mogar pair the meal with only the finest wine that he had just so happened to have a bottle of.

Then it's out there, a stillness at the question that Mogar seems to have regretted asking as they sit on the back porch, the top of the greenhouse open to show the stars. If he can court her, it may not be quite the human way, but he promises he won't do too much of his 'bearman' stuff.

She just smiles and leans in a little. "After tonight, you'd better." And plants a light kiss onto his lips.

She leans on his shoulder contentedly and pretends to not hear the excited whispers coming from somewhere behind them as he slowly relaxes at the proximity and places an arm around her shoulders. Yeah, she'd say Christmas came a little early for her.