Eye of the Beholder

Author's Notes I: I'm so sorry about the wait. I have no excuses other than my muse is being stubborn. For those who who missed it some how, there are 2 extra chapters on this site for those inclined to read smut (why else would you be here if you weren't?) just prior to this one. Thank you to everyone who has left a review, it really makes my day when I find them sitting in my in-box.

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“Are you sure?” he asks for what feels like the hundredth time.

“Yes, Hank, I'm sure,” she answers as she puts the finishing touches on her makeup. “Mr. Jones has a meeting with a client this morning and another one this afternoon and since I'm the one who's done the research, I have to be there too.”

“So, not even a dire emergency will get you out of going to work,” he sighs while he picks up her necklace from it's spot on the dresser.

“A horny boyfriend does not count as a dire emergency,” she snickers as she puts the cap back on her lipstick.

“More lonely than horny,” he huffily responds, but she's not buying it.

“And these bags under my eyes are proof how lonely you were last night,” she retorts with a knowing smirk.

“At least they're well earned,” he purrs as he comes up behind her to put her necklace on her. “And if memory serves me correctly, you were the one showing me how lonely you were around two this morning and again around five on the couch.”

“Lonely my fat aunt Gracie,” she snorts while he fastens the clasp. “I was horny. And if you had stayed in bed where you belonged, I wouldn't have had to come find you hiding out on the couch.”

“So I surmised,” he chuckles just before leans over and kisses the back of her neck. “I'm still a bit on Australia time, so my sleeping pattern may be off for a day or two.”

“Stop that,” she orders with a moan as goosebumps form on her skin, a shiver runs down her spine and her nipples get hard all from that one little display of affection. “I'm late enough as it is.”

“I wouldn't mind driving you,” he tells her.

“And you're car is where?” she questions as she turns to look at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Back at my apartment building,” he sighs in defeat.

“It's just as well,” she replies as she slips past him so she can get out of her bedroom. “I doubt I'd be able to keep my hands off of you and I'd probably look like I just crawled out of bed by the time I got out of the car. That's provided we didn't crash first. Not really the best way to arrive at work right before a meeting with a client.”

Temporarily defeated, he follows her out of the room and takes up a position near the front door. He silently watches her as she gathers the last of her things, wishing he could do more with that lovely neck that's exposed with her hair up the way it is.

Mate? Beast whines.

Mate has to go to work, Hank replies patiently.

Want Mate, Beast demands.

We'll be with Mate tonight, Hank patiently points out.

“Damn!”

“Is something the matter, my dear?” he asks, moving towards her when he notices the look of panic on her face.

“It's later than I thought!” she cries out worriedly.

She dashes about, grabbing the last of her things and he wisely stays out of her way as she goes whizzing by. A few minutes later and they're standing in the hallway as she hastily locks her door. He patiently waits for her to finish, idly fingering the spare key in his pocket as he does. Just as they're heading towards the elevator, the apartment door next to Amanda's opens and a motherly looking woman with gray streaks marking her dark hair steps into the corridor.

“Uh-oh,” Amanda mutters under her breath and Hank looks at her questioningly.

“Good morning, Amanda,” the other woman cheerfully greets once she sees them.

“Morning, Rowan,” Amanda replies with a slightly forced smile on her face. “Hank, this is my neighbor Rowan Torres. Rowan, this is Hank McCoy.”

“A pleasure, Ms Torres,” Hank says as he reaches out to shake the woman's hand.

“The pleasure is all mine, Ambassador,” Rowan responds with a grin. “Though from the sounds of it, you two were getting plenty of pleasuring last night and this morning.”

“Excuse me?” he asks, eyebrows raising and never seeing the mortified look on Amanda's face, but he does hear the soft strangled whimper she makes.

“From the amount of screaming and roaring going on last night, I'm guessing there was lots and lots of pleasuring going on,” Rowan continues, her grin hitting the thousand watt setting.

“It was the TV?” Amanda meekly tries to explain.

“Right, the TV was rhythmically shaking your front door while screaming 'Oh my God, yes'. Repeatedly,” Rowan jovially counters, barely containing her laughter. “By the way, the Sweets were wondering when you got a pet lion and want to know why you're keeping it in your bathroom. The O'Donnell's hope that the next time you want to play cowboy, you won't do it at two-something AM. Jeri was sure the ceiling was going to cave in the way you two were making that bed buck Oh, and Willow would like to remind you that not everyone gets up at four-fucking-fifty-six in the morning.”

“Oh dear,” Hank manages mumble, pretty sure at this point someone could fry on egg on his face.

“Oh God,” Amanda quietly moans.

“Well, I must toddle along now,” Rowan happily states as she slips past them. “It was nice meeting you, Ambassador. Have a good day, kids.”

Rowan cheerfully waves to them and then disappears through another apartment door just past Amanda's.

“Please tell me my makeup is hiding the red,” she begs as soon as Rowan's door is shut.

“I'm afraid not,” he tells her, completely mortified himself. “At least mine is easily hidden.”

“Don't bet on it,” she retorts as she turns and makes her way to the elevator. “You're face is purple.”

“Oh dear,” he repeats as he follows her.

“I'm going to have to move,” she states as the elevator doors open for them.

“I have plenty of room at my place,” he suggests while they step into the small compartment and he pushes the button for the first floor.

“To another planet,” she continues as if he hadn't spoken.

“That's not possible,” he chuckles and gently pulls her into his arms.

“Says you,” she grumbles while she carefully rests her head on his shoulder and his arms encircle her waist. “I'm never going to be able to show my face here again.”

“It's not that bad,” he tries to assure her.

“Not that bad!?” she demands, looking up at him with wide green eyes. “I live next door to the building gossip. The only reason she didn't have a report from the people above me is because they're in California for their daughter's wedding! I wouldn't be surprised if it was on the evening news tonight complete with sound clips of what we were doing!”

“I love you,” he says as he holds her closer. “We'll just have to remember that we're no longer in the woods where the only ones who can hear us are not capable of human speech.”

“Now we just have to worry about the police pounding my door wondering where I'm hiding my pet lion,” she grumbles, feeling the elevator coming to a stop.

“Obviously you're keeping him in the bathroom,” he replies with a smile on lips, trying to hold back the laughter.

“This isn't funny,” she growls, her eyes narrowing at him as the door open.

Reluctantly, he releases her and she leads him over to the doorman, a much younger gentleman than the night before. Amanda leaves both written and verbal instructions to him that Hank is to be given free access to her apartment for the day. The man simply nods and while the man doesn't say anything, Hank can see the man doesn't approve of him by the set of his mouth and the slight narrowing of his eyes when he looks at the mutant.

“Oh, and one other thing,” she states in a deceptively pleasant tone that has Hank slightly worried.

“Yes?” the young man questions with the slightest touch of resentment in his voice.

“If the Ambassador encounters any problems from either you or the other doormen because you didn't pass my wishes onto them, you will be looking for another job,” she states with that same cheery note. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he snarls back.

“Good,” she cheerfully replies with a smile, but Hank can see the hard glint in her eyes.

Before he can say anything, she turns on her heel and stalks out the front door. Without bothering to spare the other man a glance, he quickly follows his lady out the door. He easily catches up with her as she storms the best she can down the overcrowded sidewalk.

“Was that really necessary?” he asks as he falls into step beside her.

“Trust me when I tell you that there's no love lost between that snot nosed brat and myself,” she nearly growls.

“'Snot nosed brat'?” he questions, a bit amused that she would use such a term.

“He's a college kid and more than once I've caught him sleeping on the job,” she tells him, still clearly upset. “Did you see the pin on his lapel?”

“The one of the FOH fist?” he asks.

“That's the one,” she replies. “Don't let him give you any guff. If he does give you any problems, call me and I'll give the building manager hell. He's a mutant hater too, but he doesn't dare tick off the US Ambassador to the UN.”

Or the president's pet mutant, Hank bitterly thinks to himself.

No one's pet, Beast hisses back and Hank barely manages to suppress a smile.

“Might I ask you why Rowan went out one apartment door and went in another?” he asks as they make their way down the street.

“That was the Sweet's apartment she came out of and the one she went in was her own,” she answers, using her longer legs to get past a group of shorter women. “She was probably in there getting the latest gossip.”

“Who's Willow?” he questions, easily keeping up with her.

“Willow is Rowan's partner...wife...significant other...,” she replies, trying to come up a good term.

“Ah, I see,” he replies as they cross 2nd Ave., barely making the light.

He diligently follows along as she continues her headlong flight down the street. She weaves her way around people, almost as if it's a dance and he gets the distinct impression that she probably does this every day. A while later they're turning onto Lexington and almost come to a complete standstill.

“What's going on?” she asks, sounding a bit distressed and he stands on his tiptoes to see over the crowd.

“It appears that there's some construction going on ahead and it's partially blocking the sidewalk,” he tells her, coming back down onto his heels.

“I'm never going to make my train at this rate,” she moans, clearly upset.

“Fear not, my lady,” he says as he takes her hand in his. “You're knight in shining blue fur is here to save the day...or at least the commute.”

Before she can ask him what he has planned, he heads off into the crowd. He slips between the closely packed people, like a giant blue river otter navigating a strong current. With many 'excuse me's and 'pardon's uttered along the way, he pulls her along in his wake, making amazingly good time.

“You're amazing,” she laughs as soon as they're past the traffic jam of people.

“I do try,” he replies with a grin.

With a chuckle, she shakes her head and continues on her journey. He gladly walks with her, refusing to relinquish her hand, not that she's tried to pull away. With a sigh of contentment, he happily walks beside her, knowing that there's no one else he would want to walk through rush hour with.

All too soon they're at the entrance to the subway station that she needs. Before he can think of a proper way to say goodbye, she gives him a quick kiss on the lips, a whispered 'I love you' and then she's gone. He's a bit disappointed by the brevity of their parting, but a quick glance at his watch and he realizes that she's barely going to get to the platform on time.

With a sad sigh, he turns his steps towards his own apartment building to retrieve the tools he'll need to fix her rather abused bathroom.

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She comes trudging up the subway steps with the rest of the commuters so tired she barely notices the people jostling past her. She gives a sigh of relief when she finally reaches street level and she starts the last leg of her journey home. She's damn tired and a good chunk of her exhaustion can be blamed on a certain blue Beast. A crooked smile stretches her lips as she thinks about their activities the night before and she starts getting a tingling feeling between her legs.

“Now I have got to wonder why you are smiling,” a sexy voice purrs just behind her ear and she practically groans as that magical spot gets even warmer.

“As if you didn't know,” she moans while she feels her briefcase being gently removed from her person.

“So how was your day at work?” he asks congenially as he walks beside her, offering her his arm which she gladly takes

“If you consider being subjected to abject humiliation all day good, than I had a great day,” she huffs as she leans her head on his shoulder.

“Oh?” he queries, barely contained amusement in his voice.

“As if the little meeting with Rowen this morning wasn't bad enough, I swear everyone on the train knew what we were doing last night since they wouldn't stop giving me funny looks,” she starts while they continue to make their way down the street. “Then I walked into the office this morning and I didn't even get a word out before Betty takes one look at me and goes running back towards the offices screaming 'Hank's home!' over and over again. This was then followed by cheering, whistling and a really bad rendition of the Hallelujah chorus. Even Mr. Steele had to add his two cents in with an 'it's about damn time'. Oh, and did I mention that Mr. Jones had to tell both clients we had meetings with today that you came home last night. While he never actually came out and said that we were bopping like bunnies, the clients sure got that impression. Of course, no day would be complete without a call from dear Dougie demanding explicit details of our activities last night.”

He can't help but chuckle and she stops dead in her tracks which causes him to turn and face the glare she's giving him.

“It's not funny,” she pouts. “As if this morning's run in with Rowan wasn't bad enough, now this! I have to work with these people.”

“I am sorry,” he replies, a grin still firmly plastered to his face as he reaches up and caresses her face. “I'm sure if our roles had been reversed, I would be subjected to the same humiliation that you are.”

“Yeah, right,” she huffs as she crosses her arms over her chest. “You're Mr. Calm, Cool and Collected. And even if you did get a bit cranky, no one would dare make fun of you to your face. Hell, they probably wouldn't even do it behind your back since they'd be afraid that you'd hear them.”

“You're right,” he remorsefully responds as he pulls her into his arms, completely ignoring the stares and occasional grumbles from the other people walking by. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make light of your day.”

She lets out a puff of frustration and then buries her face in his neck, letting his warm body and comforting scent relax her.

“Perhaps we should finish this discussion after we get home,” he suggests as he resists the urge to nuzzle her hair.

“Discussion? What discussion?” she mumbles while she leans against him. “I'm taking a nap.”

“It would be such a shame if you were to fall asleep and miss the lovely roast chicken I've made for dinner,” he muses, rubbing a hand up and down her back.

“Roast chicken?” she queries, raising her head enough to look at his face.

“Yes, with baby carrots and roasted fingerling potatoes,” he tells her and she drops her head back down on his shoulder with a groan.

“You fight dirty,” she grumbles.

“I hardly call making dinner for my lady fighting dirty,” he replies, teeth starting to show as his grin widens.

“Except that you know I love roasted chicken and I'd sell my sister for one,” she huffs as she reluctantly steps out of his embrace. “I just hope I can stay awake long enough to actually eat it. I'll probably fall face first into the veggies.”

“Then perhaps we should get moving,” he softly assures her just before gently kissing her cheek. “Come, let's go home.”

She nods her head and lets him steer her towards home, gladly letting him take control. They walk on in companionable silence with their arms around each other, studiously ignoring the stares, and in some cases out right glares, that more than a few people are giving them. She sighs contentedly and rests her head on his shoulder, never seeing the smile of pure delight on his face.

She's barely aware when he leads her inside of her apartment building and it's not until the smell of roasting potatoes and chicken reaches her that she rouses. She takes a deep breath and moans with pleasure, barely aware of him leaving her side. He helps her out of her coat and hangs it and her bags on the pegs next to the door.

“It smells wonderful,” she tells him, turning to look at him.

“Hopefully, it will taste as good as it smells,” he replies as he steps up to her.

“I've had your cooking, Hank,” she reminds him. “The only way for something you cook to turn out bad is if you let me help.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he chuckles.

“Yet, you haven't put that theory to the test, have you?” she asks with a smile tugging at her lips. “You didn't let me help when we were at the cabin.”

“That's because you were hurt,” he points out as he slips his arms around her waist. “I was determined to pamper you as best I could so that you could heal.”

“Yea, right,” she snorts while her arms slide around his neck. “I've been pampered before and it didn't include you, me, a box of condoms, a tube of lube and various piece of furniture that your friend would probably burn if he knew what we were doing on them.”

“He wouldn't burn them,” he laughs. “Probably give them to some donation place as quickly as possible, perhaps have them professionally cleaned, but he probably wouldn't burn them.”

“Ha! You said 'probably', so you don't know for certain,” she gleefully retorts.

“I'd love to stand here and debate with you, but I had best go check on dinner,” he chortles, reluctantly letting her go.

“Sure, run away when you know I'm right,” she teases as he heads for the kitchen.

“Why don't you go get freshened up while I take care of dinner,” he suggests, amusement still evident in his voice.

“Ah, now you're changing the subject,” she counters, a grin firmly planted on her lips. “Just proves you know you can't win.”

“Do you really wish to get into a debate with a politician?” he questions, looking back over his shoulder at her.

“Do you want to get into it with a lawyer?” she counter questions, her chin raised in defiance.

“Life with you will never be dull, my love,” he snickers as he turns back towards the kitchen. “However, even politicians and lawyers need to eat. Why don't you go get freshened up or at least into something a bit more comfortable. I have it on the best authority that brassieres and pantyhose were created for the sole purpose of torturing women.”

“You got that right,” she grumbles as she reaches behind her to unfasten her bra through her blouse while she heads for the bathroom.

After turning on the burner under the carrots so they can cook and pulling the chicken out of the oven, he goes to check on her where he finds her standing in the doorway of the bathroom, staring into it.

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A/N II: A strange place to leave it, I know, but the chapter was getting waaaay too long.