Chapter Seven: Cross the Line
I wanted you to know
That I love the way you laugh
I wanna hold you high
And steal your pain away
~Seether
“It’s been two and a half years since the tragic battle at Alcatraz Island, a human-mutant fight where the lines were not so clearly drawn. Mutants fought beside and against homo sapiens, muddying the waters of an already sensitive issue.”
Perched on the edge of his desk, suit jacket tossed negligently over his chair, Hank watched Patricia as she paced in front of the White House. Her throaty voice was clear, filled with truth and conviction in her words. Her long, dark hair danced on the breeze, her eyes seeming even bluer as they matched the sky behind her.
“The mutant terrorists known only as Magneto and Phoenix assembled an army and marched on the island, which then housed the mutant “cure”. Though Brotherhood of Mutants was violently opposed to the cure, another mutant faction known as the X-Men fought to give all mutants a choice.”
Hank ran a hand over his face. At times, he wished the girl had a little more discretion.
“In the wake of the terrible battle, in which thirty-seven Homo sapiens and mutants were killed, one thing remained clear. The X-Men had saved countless lives with heroism and bravery. In fact, one of the X-Men is responsible for putting an end to the powerful mutant known as Phoenix, sparing the lives of millions.”
The blue, furred ambassador groaned, covering his eyes with his hands. “Oh, God. Tell me Logan is in the garage…”
“The X-Men, though their role in protecting all human life is greater than many understand, refused any sort of commendations for their actions. So, it was with some confusion that this reporter learned of Secretary Bolivar Trask’s sudden and vicious campaign against these mutant heroes.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Hank shushed his assistant as the young man entered.
“Secretary Trask’s new crusade comes in the wake of a break in to his offices. His computer files were destroyed and mere hours later, he began condemning the X-Men as the culprits. Why? For now, that question remains unanswered. Trask has adamantly refused all attempts at interviews or even press releases. Perhaps he is trying to hide something.”
“Careful, Trish,” Hank muttered, worry clutching at his heart. She was stepping on toes now…but he feared she would soon begin tap-dancing on them.
She held up a thin, manila envelope. “I have here the official police report from the break in, which is public information. The report states, firmly, that the break in was illogical and somewhat unbelievable. No guards reported seeing anyone or anything out of order and no signs of external damage could be found on any doors or windows.”
“Trish…” Hank whispered, wishing she could hear him. “Back off, my dear.”
Of course, she climbed directly onto her soapbox and continued.
“Trask has fought these rumors, according to insiders within his organization, with the futile rebuttal that an X-Man is part of it. Not an X-Man exactly, but an X-Woman known only as Shadowcat. This mutant, with the ability to move through solid matter, would be an easy scapegoat…that is, until this reporter took a statement from NYU’s freshman dean, Carl Higgins.”
Hank promptly fell off his desk. He righted himself by falling back on his feline grace, ordering his assistant to turn the television up.
The news clip switched to a prerecording of Patricia interviewing in the Dean’s office at NYU. Higgins appeared to be a short, balding man in his mid-fifties with horn-rimmed spectacles and a nervous tick in his right eye.
“I was rather surprised to hear the rumors, actually. I know the mutant he refers to and I have it on good authority that she was here, on campus, attending a lecture on Social Effects of Mutation that evening. She did not leave the campus until well after midnight.”
“Trish!” Hank shouted into the room. “Damn you!”
She was playing with fire now, more than she ever had. How in the name of hell had she managed to subvert an NYU dean into lying? On camera, no less!
The screen flickered back to the waiting reporter outside of the White House.
“Here on Capitol Hill this afternoon, Secretary Trask has sequestered himself in a meeting with the President and Joint Chiefs of Staff. One can only hope their discussions put an end to this volatile witch-hunt that may have already damaged people’s lives. Patricia Tilby, NCBC News Reporting from Capitol Hill. John?”
“Michael,” Hank snapped. “Get that woman on my phone now.”
“Yes, Ambassador. Right away, sir.” Michael bolted from the room, leaving Hank’s schedule on his desk.
He looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head in dismay. “That foolish girl…one of these days, she is going to get herself killed.”
~**~
She had just finished writing her copy for the next morning when a very loud knock came upon her hotel room door. Trish looked up from her computer, her heart jumping a little in her chest.
A good reporter always found the story and exposed its gritty, bloody underbelly before the world like a prize. That, however, did not mean it wasn’t a little dangerous every now and then. No matter the danger, Trish found herself sinking her teeth into this latest X-Men story. She had already spoken to Ororo, ensuring that the woman was not put out with her for the report.
Storm said, on no uncertain terms, that she was grateful for the cover over Kitty. Trish felt she had done well, at least this time.
“Patricia Lynne Tilby, open this door this instant or so help me, I will break it down!”
“Blue.”
Pulling her wrap closed over her nightgown, Trish moved toward the hotel suite’s door, narrowly avoiding a collision with the room service cart. She had expected this, especially being in the same city with her furry blue friend. Her room was nice and neat, ready for company after she dodged his seventeenth message left on her cellular.
She didn’t need to be psychic to know Hank was going to blow a gasket at her report.
Flattening her body to the door, she peeked through the peephole, ensuring it was actually her mutated friend. When she caught sight of indigo fur and a face like a thundercloud, she quickly unlatched it, opening the door widely.
“Hi.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“I’m good, thanks. Rough day, but you know how it is swimming in shark-infested waters. How was your day, dear?” She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to fight that swooping sensation in her stomach that was her constant companion around Hank McCoy.
Hank took her shoulders in his hands, pushing her gently into the room and closing the door with his heel so that it slammed. She could see in his sharp blue eyes the concern and panic mingled with something too conflicted to name.
“This is no joking matter, Patricia,” Hank said softly, shaking his head. “You are taunting a caged tiger with raw meat. You have publicly lied and forced another to lie for you.”
Trish shrugged her shoulders from his hands, sighing as she moved to the glass and marble bar on one end of her spacious hotel suite. She had already opened a bottle of wine, anticipating Hank’s temper tantrum.
Without a word, she poured the deep red liquid into waiting glasses, feeling the hot, heavy gaze on her back.
Maybe she should put some clothes on, she thought, realizing how vulnerable she probably looked in a long cotton robe and short silk gown. Swallowing hard at mental images that would likely only get her into more trouble, she turned back toward Hank.
He took the offered glass, inhaling the rich bouquet before taking a small, measured sip.
“A delightfully earthy Cabernet Sauvignon,” he complimented her choice. “Expensive.”
“Robert Mondavi,” she confirmed, saluting him with her glass.
She gestured to the small table beside the bar, relieved when Hank sat. Trish lowered herself into the chair across from him, straightening her robe when it drifted apart to reveal one bare thigh. Sighing, she took another sip of the bitter, leathery wine, letting the flavor tantalize her tongue in that wonderfully sensual way.
“You are going to get burned, Trish,” Hank said softly a moment later.
“I know what I’m doing, Blue,” she countered, meeting his gaze almost defiantly.
“Do you?” He pressed, with a hint of bite in his tone. “You lied.”
“Yes, I did. And now, hopefully, your young friend won’t take the fall.” Trish eyed him over the wide rim of her glass.
“You know as well as I that she is likely guilty.” Hank shook his head. “This is a risk you should never have taken, you could lose everything you have worked so hard for.”
Trish stood, taking her glass with her and crossed to the expansive window facing the east.
“I know that, but I won’t.” She defended. “You’re doing what you have to do and I am doing what I must. This isn’t a fight mutants can win alone.”
“I know that,” Hank said. The rustle of his clothing said he was moving closer. Trish tensed, she could rarely think properly with him close to her.
“I’m just a normal human, Hank,” she continued, watching the colored lights of cars drift by on the streets below them. “Just a human with a chance to make a difference.”
“You are making a difference, but how much can you do if Trask decides to have you killed?” He turned her with a soft, gentle hand on her shoulder. She lifted her face to meet his eyes.
“And you, my dear, have never been just anything.”
For one, fleeting moment, Trish read too much into that phrase. Her heart tripped and her stomach swooped. She shook it off, reminding herself that he carried a brightly lit torch for a snowy-haired beauty she could never match.
“You shouldn’t worry,” she deflected weakly. “I’ll be fine.”
He was quiet, then. Trish met those familiar blue eyes, a frown creasing her brow. Hank was staring at her, a puzzled, odd look on his handsome face. She reached up, lightly touching the line between his brow.
“Hey, what’s the matter?”
Hank slightly shook his head. “You don’t believe me.”
Confused now, Trish blinked several times. “Believe what?”
“That you have never been ‘just’ anything.”
“Hank…” She moved away, brushing past him and setting her wine glass on the table beside his.
He gave immediate chase, catching her hand in his. The warm comfort of his palm covering hers made her eyes close of their own accord. She refused to turn; afraid he would see the longing she carried in her heart naked in transparent eyes.
“Patricia.”
“Hmm?” She didn’t trust her voice, terrified that she was about to lose her best friend because she was without the means to protect herself.
“Look at me, damn you.” Hank demanded.
Unable to deny him anything, Trish turned to face him. He was standing dangerously close, that heavy gaze boring into hers until he took away all of her secrets. Ashamed, she dropped his gaze, feeling naked and vulnerable under his penetrating eyes.
“Perhaps the time has come, then,” Hank said quietly. “To discuss this.”
“Discuss what?” She avoided again.
“This,” he indicated to her and then himself.
“I don’t want to go there right now, Hank. I just…don’t.”
“Too bad,” he practically growled.
Angry that her heart hurt so terribly within her breast, Trish looked back up her dear friend, swallowing over the lump now lodged in her throat.
“I don’t want to!” She nearly shouted, yanking her hand from his. He made a desperate grab to reestablish contact, but she stepped back out of his reach. “I don’t want to talk about this, for the love of all that is good and holy.”
“We have to,” he insisted. “It is affecting our friendship.”
Trish knew his words were true, but she shook her head. She didn’t want to hear his kind, gentle rejection. She desperately wanted to avoid being compared to someone she would never hold a candle to. What she truly wanted was to carry her little torch, hidden deep inside of her where it was safe from being snuffed out.
Hank, however, seemed to have seen right through her. Giving in to his entreating gaze, Trish felt the sting of tears against her eyes, hating herself for the show of feminine weakness.
“What do you want me to say? That I’m in love with you?” She had the satisfaction of seeing him taken aback. “There. I said it. I’ve loved you since the moment you walked into my Ethics class at NYU. Now, are you fucking happy?”
Silence spilled into the room, sucking the air from it and leaving her suffocated. Hank looked at a loss for words at her speech, his eyes darting from hers to the hands she knew were trembling madly.
“You don’t love me,” he told her softly.
“The hell I don’t, you overgrown ape!” Trish fired back. “But don’t worry. I know it’s unrequited, which is why I haven’t said anything. I don’t expect you to love me back.”
“How can you?” Hank interrupted. “Look at me?”
“What?” Trish thundered. “You’re big, and blue, and covered with fur. Who gives a crap? You’re intelligent, kind, adoring, and you’ve got one hell of a sense of humor. What’s not to love?”
Hank snapped his mouth closed, the click of his teeth coming together sounding impossibly loud in her hotel room. He stared at her, obviously at a loss for words. That was something for the record books, she thought bitterly. She’d gone and shocked poor Blue speechless.
“I know I don’t compare to her, the love of your damn life, that beautiful goddess sitting high on her fricking pedestal.” She continued, hurt beyond measure for no good reason.
“Ororo?”
“Well, duh, you idiot,” Trish bellowed.
“You think…” He paused. “You really have lost your damn mind, Patricia.”
Trish turned her back on him. Tears slipped down her cheeks and she was not keen on letting him see her break. In a moment, her friend would leave and she knew he would likely not return. Hank, above all else, was sensitive. He would obviously understand that his presence would hurt her even more. She was losing her friend and that, more than anything, broke her heart.
It was with some surprise that she felt Hank’s hand on her shoulder. He nudged her, prodding her to turn toward him. She gave in, weak against his urgings. When she was facing him, one enormous blue hand reached up to shift a lock of her hair back from her face.
“I am not in love with her,” he whispered in the quiet. “There might have been a chance, yes, but no longer. It seems my heart has taken residence somewhere else.”
“Oh, God,” Trish tried to deflect again. “Don’t tell me you’re hot and bothered over Wolverine or something.”
Without even the slightest hint of warning, Beast drew her into his arms, wrapping his massive form around hers in a gesture that at once made her feel safe and aflame.
“Trish…you talk entirely too much.”
His lips found hers without hesitation or apology. Trish leaned up on her tiptoes, her hands moving to grope Hank’s impossibly broad shoulders with greedy hands. His kiss was gentle, exploring, but simmered with heat he had not unleashed. She whimpered, the sound lost in his mouth.
She parted her lips, a silent invitation for him to delve inside. He needed no further prompting. His rough tongue slipped into her mouth, exploring her thoroughly as though she were water and he lost in the Sahara.
One of his clawed hands reached down to cup her backside, drawing her closer until she was flush against him. Trish’s head was fuzzy all of the sudden, her mind lost in the feel of his hard body against hers, the careful seduction of his mouth.
When breathing became an absolute necessity, he relinquished his treat reluctantly.
“Wow.” She breathed, unable to put a coherent sentence together.
Hank’s eyes were on fire, something like tender lust reflecting in those beautiful cobalt pools.
“Yes,” he answered, leaning down to nip at her lips. “Now, I am going to make love to you. Do you have a problem with that?”
Desire already pounding through her body became almost unbearable. She shook her head with a lazy smile.
“Nuh-uh.”
“Amazing,” Hank chuckled as he backed her up. “I found a way to shut you up.”
Trish’s mouth fell open in amused shock, which he took as an invitation. He lifted her into his arms as though she weighed nothing, forcing her to wrap her legs about his waist. This time, his kiss was not so much gentle as demanding. He wanted to take from her, to rob her of speech and breath until she was left with nothing but him.
Her back smacked into the corner of the bathroom door, making her hiss an “Ow” as they broke apart. They laughed softly against one another’s lips, nipping at one another playfully.
“Wrong way, Cookie Monster.” She whispered breathily, licking his kiss-swollen bottom lip.
“Oh, yes, thank you, dear.”
Hank turned them both around, moving until he could drop them both onto the bed. They fell together, his arms cradling her as though she were made of something precious. His achingly tender embrace nearly brought more tears to her eyes.
He would not allow his hands to leave her flesh. Her cotton wrap and silk gown were removed carefully, his lips dancing kisses over the flesh he exposed. Trish arched against the pillows in a desperate plea for more. His azure hand against her impossibly white flesh was the most erotic thing she had ever seen.
Fighting to sit up, she pushed him back, leaning into their kiss. Her hands moved to his suit jacket, shoving it from his shoulders until it fell in a heap on the floor. Delicate and teasing fingers worked the buttons of his shirt loose before she buried her hands in his soft blue fur.
“You’re beautiful,” Trish whispered as she continued undressing him.
She saw the denial and hint of shame in his eyes, so she kissed his cheeks innocently. He shuddered against her, his eyes closing as she rained more sweet kisses on his face.
“Absolutely beautiful, Blue.”
“Trish…” Her name was a wish, a prayer, drowning out all doubt or shame.
She dropped a final kiss onto his lips, infusing it with everything she felt. Hank took her back into his arms, bare flesh against downy fur. He lay them both gently back on the bed while Trish opened herself to him.
When she reached up to touch his face, Hank smiled softly. “This will change everything.”
His whisper sent a shiver down her spine, but she hoped her eyes betrayed more bravery than she felt.
“I know.”
~**~
“Ororo? Logan?”
Hank stepped into the mansion, composing himself in the foyer. What he really meant by “composing” himself was wiping the sated, wicked grin that seemed permanently affixed to his face since the previous evening.
“Hey.” Logan greeted as he entered the hall. “How’s it goin’ Furball?”
He had to force himself to not widen the already telling smirk on his face. Memories kept creeping into his sleep-deprived mind. His darling Trish had…stamina. She refused to let him sleep, taking him several times while he attempted to drift off. And this morning, as they rushed about to get to work on time…Good Lord, who knew she could do that with her legs?
When consuming lust did not drive them, it was with slow, exploring tenderness that they lay in one another’s arms. She discovered all the secret places on his body and he returned the favor. Trish’s throaty, seductive laughter echoed in his mind, her desperate moans threatening to override his conscious mind.
The single image he had carried like a torch in his heart was that of her upon waking. Her face so innocent and unassuming, raven hair spread all over the pillow…
“Earth to Beast, come in Beast.”
Logan was attempting to get his attention. Hank blushed slightly under his dark fur, wondering how long he had been lost to memories.
“Oh, yes. Sorry about that. I have a good deal on my mind.” Hank cleared his throat, adjusting his tie. “Where is Ororo?”
Wolverine was watching him a little too closely for Hank’s comfort, but there was nothing he could do about that. Instead, he drew on a businesslike face and hoped he could continue paying attention to his friend without becoming lost in erotic fantasy again.
“Rec Room, she’ll be along in a minute.” Logan’s eyes narrowed. “There somethin’ wrong, Beast?”
“Nothing.” Hank answered just a little too quickly.
To his dismay, Logan’s canine nostrils decided to test the air quickly. The feral mutant frowned, stepping closer and sniffing loudly.
“What’s that…” he murmured.
“Honestly, Logan. I have been in meetings all day here in New York and I must see Ororo before I head back to Washington.”
Unfortunately for Hank, Logan had just figured out what the scent clinging to him happened to be. The shorter man pulled back, his eyes widening with humor and discovery. Hank wanted to say something, to stop him, but Wolverine chuckled.
“You got laid.”
At that exact moment, as if by some cosmic cue, Ororo entered the foyer.
“Who got laid?”
Hank felt his blush brighten and no amount of throat clearing was stopping it or his gossip mongering friends.
“Furball.” Logan grinned around his cigar, socking Hank in the shoulder playfully.
Ororo, whom was flipping through what looked to be her mail, glanced up. “Really? So, how is Trish, Blue Man?”
“If I did…it is none of your business.” Hank defended somewhat lamely.
That made Ororo look up, humor sparkling in her eyes as she raised a brow. “Oh, it must have been extremely good. I know that smile.”
“HA! Wait…” Logan paused mid-knee slap. “You what?”
Hank, glad the focus was now off of him, smirked at Ororo when she began to back pedal. He watched his friends closely, sadly noticing that there was still distance and cold space between them. Obviously not even his leaving had healed the rift between them. Beast still felt that they had potential to be…something more.
“How’d ya know about that smile, darlin’? I’m all curious now.” Logan questioned, moving a little closer to her.
“Hank,” she sidestepped her lover quickly. “What brings you back so soon?”
Logan gave the weather goddess a look that, clearly, said there was going to be a talk later. Hank almost felt sorry for her. He decided to give her a reprieve, if only so he could finish here and get back to Washington. Trish had left him a message, the contents of which left his face flaming and his pants too tight.
“I wanted you both to come to be aware that Trish’s story has already caused a stir in Washington. They are branding her a heretic, in some circles, and a genius in others.”
“You want a place to stash her.” Logan said, crossing his arms while his eyes reflected understanding.
“I truly hope the need will never arise, but yes.” Hank told Ororo, whom met his eyes, everything she would need to know with a single look.
“We have a room,” she smiled fondly. “Your old one, if memory serves.”
Logan grinned at his lover. “That’s one for her side.”
Hank sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Yes, yes. I slept with Patricia Tilby! Shall I order a press conference?”
“Oooh,” came the accented voice of Betsy as she meandered into the room. “Have yourself a good shag, did ya?”
The blue mutant threw his hands up in dismay, turning back to the door. “I will know no peace!”
But he was smiling as he left the mansion. Some things he could always count on.
