Eye of the Beholder

Author’s Notes: Thank you blue_lioness and onewing for your reviews, you’re the best. Fair warning, I wrote this for the humor so hopefully it amuses. A skort is a combination of shorts and a skirt commonly worn by women tennis players.

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“I’m sorry, that’s privileged information,” Amanda tells Hank as he starts to pull out of the garage, fighting the urge to smile.

“Then why are you trying so hard not to smile?” he asks, the corners of his own mouth twitching.

“It’s just the whole thing is so ridiculous that it reminds me of something out of a sitcom,” she answers while he maneuvers past the gates and onto the road.

“You know you are just piquing my curiosity,” he points out. “I’m a diplomat, so I will simply apply to your better nature.”

“I’m a lawyer, I don’t have a better nature,” she snickers.

“I beg to differ,” he chuckles. “I could just resort to begging and pleading.”

“You’re going to be hoarse before I crack,” she tells him smugly with a smirk.

“Need I remind you that I’m driving you home out of the kindness of my heart,” he points out.

“Well fine, if you’re going to blackmail me,” she pouts, but when he glances over at her she’s trying desperately not to smile.

“If that’s what it takes…,” he playfully warns.

“One question, how acute is Logan’s hearing?” she asks.

“Like a wolf’s,” he answers. “But if you are concerned that he can hear us from where he is back at the mansion, where, the last I knew, he was down in the basement, you can rest assured that he cannot hear our conversation.”

“Do I want to know why he’s down in the basement?” she questions.

“Probably not,” he replies.

“Just checking,” she says as she gets more comfortable in her seat. “This doesn’t leave this car, agreed?”

“Agreed,” he hastily agrees.

“It started a few weeks ago when Kitty decided to pull a little prank involving Kurt and Logan’s…underwear,” she starts.

“What did she want with their underwear?” he asks.

“She wanted to see if either one would notice if she switched them,” she answers.

“Oh my stars and garters, does that girl have no shame?” he groans.

“Apparently not,” she snickers. “Well, after…acquiring…Kurt’s underwear she went to switch them and discovered a rather disconcerting fact.”

“Which is…?” he prompts after several seconds of silence as she tries to keep a straight face.

“Logan…doesn’t own any underwear,” she finally manages to get out, watching him carefully.

“Oh my stars and garters,” he moans and he can hear her chuckling, but he refuses to look at her. “That was something I could have lived the rest of my life happily never knowing. But how did he find out about the joke? I’m sure once she discovered there was nothing there to switch, she returned Kurt’s underwear to where they belong.”

“Oh she did, but she told Serena about it and Serena emailed me a few weeks ago telling me,” she replies.

“But how did Logan find out?” he repeats.

“I’m afraid that was my fault,” she admits. “When I finally got hold of Serena a couple of weeks ago after her little walk I mentioned Kitty taking Kurt’s underwear while we were on the phone. I had no idea that Logan was standing right there or that his hearing was sharp enough to hear what I was saying.”

“So Logan took it as the perfect opportunity to torment Kitty,” he states. “I swear that man needs a hobby.”

“He has one,” she points out. “It’s tormenting the girls until they’re ready to drop kick him to the moon.”

“I suppose it’s a good thing he’s such a fast healer,” he muses.

“At any rate, Kitty thought Serena had told Logan about Kurt’s shorts taking a trip around the mansion and of course Serena was completely innocent,” she continues. “I thought I got Logan to leave Kitty alone by pointing out that she could tell everyone that Logan doesn’t own any underwear. However, I underestimated Logan’s intelligence and he found a loophole in the agreement.”

“He told Kurt and in turn Kurt is now bugging Kitty about her taking his underwear,” he sighs. “You’re right; it does sound like something out of a sitcom.”

“Now Kitty wants to try some other hair brained idea to get even with Logan,” she tells him.

“I certainly hope you weren’t helping her,” he states, glancing over at her.

“No, I kept shooting her ideas down,” she assures him. “I also told her to give him a good amount of time before she tried anything. Hopefully by the time he forgets, she will have too.”

“Now, what did set Kitty off?” he questions. “She came storming into the library about ready to throttle Logan.”

“Kurt showed up asking what she was doing with his underwear,” she answers. “Not only did this embarrass Kitty, it also gave a juicy bit of gossip to Rogue and Jubilee. Serena was hoping that this meant that they could tell people about Logan’s lack of underclothing but unfortunately the agreement was for Logan to stop tormenting Kitty with it, not that he couldn’t get someone else to do it for him. Who knew that there’s a brain behind those mutton chops.”

“Logan is not a Rhodes scholar by any stretch of the imagination,” he tells her. “But never underestimate him. There’s a cleaver, calculating brain in that head of his and he can be very dangerous when he puts it to use.”

“I’ll keep that in mind if I ever face him in court,” she smirks.

“You’re more likely to find him on a tennis court than a court of law,” he chuckles.

“Then maybe all those God awful tennis lessons my mother used to make me take every summer would finally pay off,” she snickers. “Could you imagine him in tennis shorts?”

“He wouldn’t use a racket to hit the ball,” he chortles. “He would just growl at the ball until it ran for fear of its life.”

“I could just see it bouncing off going, ‘YIPE, YIPE, YIPE’ like some little dog running for its green fuzzy life,” she chortles, starting to really laugh a moment later while holding her side and it takes a few gasping breaths a minute later for her to regain something that closely resembles composure.

“I didn’t think it was that funny,” he quietly muses, glancing a bit worriedly at her.

“Sorry, my over active imagination just put Logan into a tennis skort,” she snickers just before breaking into uncontrollable giggles again for several seconds.

“Oh my stars and garters,” he groans as she finally calms down a bit. “I’m not sure I like your imagination right now. I’m going to be having nightmares of Logan running around in a skort now, I’m sure of it.”

“You say that quite frequently, don’t you?” she asks.

“Say what?” he counter questions.

“‘Oh my stars and garters’,” she says.

“Yes, well I find the usual exclamations that a lot of people use lacks any real finesse and some are quite vulgar,” he replies. “I did find what you yelled this morning a bit interesting.”

“What I yelled?” she inquires, trying to remember any yelling she might have done.

“When the girls woke you up rather rudely,” he clarifies.

“Oh, the thing about Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” she recalls. “Yeah, well my parents are very much into the church thing so I needed to come up with something to yell that wouldn’t get my mouth washed out with soap when I was a kid.”

“Are you very devout?” he asks.

“Not nearly as much as Mom and Dad,” she answers. “I’m sort of like those armchair warriors. I watch from the sidelines for the most part these days. Though when I’m home, I do go to church with my parents. What about you? Any particular religion you follow?”

“I’m afraid your parents would be disappointed in me,” he answers. “I have no belief one way or another. I’ve seen too much to put my trust in blind faith.”

“I tend to look at it as a moral guide line than blind faith, but that’s me,” she states with a shrug. “Not that Mom’s been happy about that, but at least I haven’t completely joined the ‘other side’.”

“The ‘other side’?” he questions.

“Paganism,” she replies. “One of my cousins announced that she was a practicing witch a couple of Thanksgivings ago. She did it right in the middle of dinner too. I thought my grandparents were going to have heart attacks and my mother looked like she was going to explode. Then last year she brought her husband and her boyfriend with her and all three of them slept in the same bed. Luckily I was sleeping downstairs on the other side of the house so I was not privy to the sexual Olympics going on in that room. I wonder what she’s going to do to top that this year.”

“I want to go to your parent’s house for Thanksgiving,” he laughs.

“Not a chance,” she replies with a look of horror on her face.

“Ah, I see,” he says suddenly becoming serious. “I guess bringing me home to meet your family would be a bit of a shock.”

“No, you don’t see,” she responds. “It’s not because you’re a mutant or because you’re covered in blue fur or even the fact that you’re the US Ambassador to the UN. It’s because I don’t hate you that much. My family is certifiably insane and I wouldn’t inflict them on my worst enemy.”

“Come now, they can’t be that bad,” he chuckles, a feeling of relief washing over him at her words.

“I wouldn’t take bets on that if I were you,” she snorts. “I’ve got one grandfather who enjoys the sound of his own voice so much that he’ll tell his life story to anyone who’ll sit still long enough, even if they’re unconscious. If you let him go long enough he’ll try and convince you that Jacques Cousteau stole the basic of concept of scuba from him and that he brought a merchant marine ship into port without any of the crew. You know that filter in your brain that keeps you from making inappropriate comments?”

“Yes.”

“My other grandfather doesn’t have it,” she continues. “No mater how rude or inappropriate the comment, he’ll make it and to top it off, he’d give Oscar the Grouch grouch lessons. One of my grandmother’s is so fond of boys that she fawns all over her grandsons, but barely acknowledges the existence of her granddaughters. I’ve got an uncle who gets drunk every year and ends up doing something totally crazy. Last year he danced on the dinning room table in nothing but his boxer shorts. One of my aunt’s is widowed and since my uncle died she has dedicated her life to spoiling her three miniature poodles and takes them everywhere with her, even to church. Never mind that they are yappy little monsters that terrorize the little kids and bite anyone who comes near them. Oh, and to add to the special joy, they’re not house broken. Then there’s one cousin who is of the opinion that any woman who doesn’t have as many babies as physically possible is being selfish. She just had baby number six and every year my sister, my female cousins and the wives of my male cousins spend the holiday having her badger them to have more babies. I get special treatment since I’m not married yet and get told how I’m not doing God’s work by not going forth and multiplying. Oh and then there’s another cousin’s only son who’s the most spoiled rotten brat on the face of the planet. My cousin is positive that I’m the Devil incarnate because I refuse to give into his every whim and has gone to great lengths to turn everyone in the family against me.”

“Are you certain that you haven’t been watching soap operas?” he asks, trying not to laugh.

“I wish my family was as normal as a soap opera family,” she grumbles. “I honestly wonder why people even watch those shows. When you have family, you’ve got a soap opera built right into your life.”

“I never thought of it like that, but you’re right,” he muses with a smile. “But I am wondering about something now.”

“What’s that?” she asks.

“If you don’t enjoy spending time with your family, why go?” he questions.

“It’s not that I don’t enjoy spending time with them,” she answers. “I love my family, but it does remind me of a three ring circus when I’m there. For all the nutsoes in my family, there are the ones who make it all worth my while. For instance, my other grandmother is the sweetest woman on Earth and she taught me how to play the piano and to draw and the rest of my family is perfectly nice, normal people. Plus I get the joy of spending the day spoiling my nieces and nephew and getting them totally hyped up on sugar before they head home.”

“That’s not very nice,” he gently admonishes.

“It’s my duty as their aunt and I take it seriously,” she snickers. “Besides, it drives my sister buggy.”

“Do you delight in tormenting your sister?” he asks.

“Hey, everyone has to have a hobby,” she tells him with a huge grin. “Mine is driving my sister insane.”

“That’s cruel,” he replies, trying very hard not to laugh and failing.

“Annie prefers the term ‘evil’,” she chuckles evilly.

“Now you’re just being mean,” he points out, blue eyes narrowing as he looks at her from the corner of his eye.

“I love my sister, but due to some circumstances beyond her control, she’s been the center of our parent’s attention for most of our lives,” she quietly tells him, staring out the side window. “Before it was just my way at getting back at her for it, but now, I just do it to remind her that she’s not as perfect as she thinks she is.”

“What happened?” he softly inquires.

“When we were six, she got very sick,” she answers barely above a whisper. “She almost died.”

“What was she sick with?” he asks as she leans her head against the window.

“It was a virulent bacterial infection that normal antibiotics just couldn’t seem to get rid of,” she explains, her arms wrapping around herself as if she’s cold. “If it hadn’t been for one of the doctors suggesting an experimental treatment, I would have probably been an only child.”

“What was the treatment?” he questions.

“I don’t know, all I do know is that it involved a lot of needles,” she replies with a shiver.

“Are you cold?” he inquires. “I have a blanket in the backseat if you want it.”

“I’m ok,” she assures him. “Just remember seeing Annie there with all of those needles sticking in her always gives me the willies.”

“Because of her almost dying or because of the needles?” he asks.

“The needles,” she admits. “I was six when it happened, I didn’t truly grasp the concept of death yet. But those needles were real enough and so were Annie’s screams. I’ve never been able to handle needles since then.”

“I take it a trip to the doctor’s isn’t one of your favorite past times,” he says and she gives a sarcastic snort.

“Show me a person who does like going to the doctor and I’ll show you a hypochondriac who’s looking for attention,” she retorts.

“True,” he admits with a nod. “But something tells me it’s even less pleasant for you than for others.”

“If I even so much as see a needle, I freak,” she quietly admits. “Not exactly something I’m proud of.”

“We all have our fears, my dear,” he tries to comfort.

“Do you need to be held down by two orderlies and a nurse just so the doctor can give you a shot?” she asks a bit testily.

“No, they don’t,” he replies. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to bring up something so painful.”

“It’s alright,” she sighs as she leans against the door. “It’s not your fault I get all wigged out by needles. Sorry I snapped.”

“Perfectly understandable,” he assures her. “Are you alright?”

“Just tired,” she admits. “Those girls wore me out.”

“Go ahead and get some rest,” he tells her. “We still have a ways to go before we’re back in Manhattan.”

“No, I couldn’t,” she yawns. “Oh, excuse me.”

“It’s perfectly alright,” he chuckles quietly. “You’re body needs rest and you’re not doing yourself any favors by forcing yourself to stay awake. Now just lie down and get some sleep.”

“I feel horrible; I keep falling asleep on you,” she says as she lies down next to him on the bench seat. “I can’t imagine what you think of me for doing that.”

“Actually, I find it rather heart warming,” he replies as he reaches into the backseat with one long arm and grabs the neatly folded blanket there.

“How so?” she asks, taking the blanket from him and covering herself with it.

“It means you’re comfortable enough in my presence that you can relax to the point where you fall asleep,” he answers as he helps tuck her in with one hand. “Not many people are willing to do that.”

“I don’t know why,” she starts as she squirms around until the belt buckle of her seatbelt is no longer jabbing her in the side. “But with you I don’t feel like I have to pretend I’m someone I’m not. I’ve never felt that way before with a man I’m dating.”

She lets out another yawn and her eyes drift close as he glances down at her, her head a mere inch from his hip. Within moments her breathing becomes slow and steady as her body completely relaxes. He cautiously starts to stroke her soft hair and she lets out a quiet sigh as she slips into a deeper sleep.

“Thank you,” he whispers as they drive on through the overcast afternoon.