Snowblind
by
Zerelda X


X-men belong to Marvel. Charlotte and family belongs to me. No profit, no foul.

---

"Was this trip really necessary?" Charlotte asked for the third time. She peered out at the swirling snow with ill-concealed irritation. "We're never going to make it."

Hank had both hands on the wheel, concentrating on the road. "You enjoyed yourself at the conference," he reminded her, "but perhaps driving wasn't such a good idea, this blizzard has certainly unsettled our homecoming."

She did enjoy herself at the science convention, she conceded. When Hank asked if she wanted to come along the week before it seemed like the perfect excuse to get away. She needed a break from the team. It was a treat to spend the long weekend listening to the different lectures. Hank's own speech was fascinating even though she was familiar with his research. Charlotte was quite proud of him, he'd been well received by his colleagues. It was the one place his appearance didn't work against him.

Driving down had been fun, but the trip back was proving more than they'd bargained for.

"You're right. I'm sorry I'm so cranky." She patted his knee absently. "I had a wonderful time. This weather is going to get worse. Might as well start looking for a place to stop over."

"If memory serves, there is a small inn a few miles up the road."

"Do you remember the name?" She pulled her cell phone from her bag.

"The Oaks, or some such name." His jaw was set as visibility decreased dramatically.

Using the auto club book from the glove box, Charlotte located the name and telephone number of the inn and dialed through.

After speaking to the proprietor and arguing briefly, she hung up.

"There is one room left, the bridal suite," she told him with a sigh. "He'll let us have it for twice the price."

"I am sorry for the inconvenience," Hank's eyes never left the road. "Bridal suite?"

"Yep. You and me in honeymoon hell. Could be a movie. What are you sorry for? You didn't plan on a blizzard. So we share a room. We were adults last time I checked."

~*~*~*~*~

The innkeeper opened the double doors to the bridal suite on the top floor of the hotel with a flourish. "I do hope you'll have a good night."

Charlotte frowned at him. "Are you sure you don't have anything else?"

"I'm sure."

In a fit of whimsy, Hank scooped her up and carried her over the threshold, giving her a loud smack on the cheek before depositing her on the bed. She couldn't help but laugh.

After giving the innkeeper a large room service order, Hank shut the door and let out a sigh. "That went well, don't you think?" He switched off the image inducer, he'd thought it prudent to check in without attention.

Charlotte shook her head at him. "You are certainly in a odd mood today. Why don't you go take a bath until dinner comes." She glanced in the bathroom, then did a double take. "You're not going to believe this." She motioned him over.

The huge hot tub was set into the floor in the corner of the large bathroom, heart-shaped and lipstick red. "If you ever tell anyone I was in that I will exact a most horrible vengeance," Hank told her.

"Same goes for me," she answered with a shudder. "Double." The one time she was glad she didn't pack a camera.

He took his bag and shut the door. Soon she heard water running, and Hank humming. He had been in a strange mood the last few weeks. His moods swung from depression to almost maniacal glee. He wasn't behaving like himself at all. If he was a woman, she'd say he was either pregnant or menopausal. That was a scary thought.

She used her phone again, and called the mansion. Jean answered.

"We just heard the weather report," she said. "How is it going?"

She sat down and unlaced her boots, slipping them off and wiggling her toes. "Well, we had to stop at a hotel for the night. The roads were getting too bad. We were lucky to get this room. Apparently no one else could afford it." The knife she habitually carried in her boot she set on the coffee table within reach.

"Just as long as the two of you are safe. You are both okay?"

"Just fine. Is Logan around?"

"I think he's in the rec room. Hold on a moment."

"Darlin', Jeannie says you won' be back tonight."

"Nope, we're snowed in. Hopefully, we can tomorrow. Have you been behaving yourself?"

"Del an' Thomas are here."

"Oh, no. The two of you are going to spend the evening picking on Bishop, aren't you?"

"We got the right," his rough voice warmed her. "What good is gettin' a daughter an' a gran'daughter if we can't have some fun with it?"

"You just take it easy, wildboy," she threatened playfully. He was just too tickled with the idea of playing 'granddad.' She could see him and Thomas with a couple of six packs glaring at poor Bishop from across the room. Bishop was still adjusting to having a woman in his life. The two men didn't make it any easier on him. "She can make you both sorry if you go too far."

"But you'll kiss my aches an' pains better, won'cha sweetheart?" Now his voice turned to raw silk, running over her skin.

"Bet on it, if there's any left when I get home. I've missed you." And she had. A snowstorm would have made the perfect evening to spend in front of the fire with him.

"Me too. Tell Beast to take ya out for a good dinner."

"There is no going out here, everything's snowed in. We've got room service coming. We have to share a room." The damn bridal suite. At least the tub gave them a good laugh.

"Share? I don't like that." His instant possessiveness reared its head. It amused her to no end, though she was careful not to deliberately provoke his jealousy. Someone would end up getting hurt, and she didn't need to go to such lengths to reaffirm his love. She only had to touch him to feel wanted, desired, needed. He had only to look at her and she knew.

"It's all right. We've got a bed and a couch. I'm sure it will be comfortable enough."

"He'll make ya take the couch?"

"No, he'll probably insist I take the bed, but I don't see him getting comfortable on that couch. It'll be okay, don't worry. I'll call in the morning to let you know how things are. You and Raven take it easy on Bish."

"We don't mean nothin', darlin', it's just fun to watch the rookie sweat a little. I love ya."

"I love you. Bye."

She'd been inspecting the room while talking to him and found the gaslit fireplace with its ceramic logs. Could this get any cheesier? With a sigh, she flipped the switch, the flames leaped up. The power of suggestion worked, it did feel warmer in here. Cozier.

A look in the honor bar revealed the usual small bottles of liquor and cans of soda, small packets of nuts, cheeses, and crackers. Everything seemed to be Cupid's brand. Somewhere on a drunken cloud a demented St Valentine was laughing his ass off at her.

At least the bed wasn't heart shaped and there were no mirrors over it, but it did sport a red satin comforter with matching sheets and pillows.

A knock at the door brought their food. The manager himself rolled the cart in and set everything on the low table next to the fire.

"Is there anything else I can get for you?" He rubbed his hands briskly.

"No, thank you." She tipped him and ushered him out quickly. He was under the impression she and Hank were a couple, and the thoughts he had were downright pornographic. She gave a passing thought to brain frying him, but it wasn't worth the effort. She crossed to the bathroom door. "Food's here, Hank. Come get it while it's hot."

She'd arranged everything on the coffee table in front of the fire and was opening the domed lids when he reappeared, wearing his own robe and pajama bottoms from home. "The hotel thoughtfully provided robes for us," he told her with a grin, "white with red satin stitching. One reads 'Groom', which is much too small for me, and the other-"

"No, don't say it, please," she put up one hand to stop him. "This entire room is one big cliche." She served him from the assorted dishes. "How's the tub?"

"Very roomy, which is a must with my magnificent physique. You will revel in it. I did leave you a towel. It matches the robes."

"Oh, you are too cruel," she shook her fork at him.

"In truth," he looked around from his spot on the floor at the table, the fire several feet away, "I could see coming here with a loved one."

"You don't love me?" Charlotte gasped, a hand on her chest in mock dismay. Her face crumbled, then she winked at him.

He smiled at her theatrics. "If I was here with my wife or lady friend, I might find all this charming."

"Maybe I'm too old to appreciate it all," she told him. "I prefer things to be simple, basic." This from a woman who lived surrounded by objects collected over centuries. She settled down across from him, carefully cutting into her steak. "I called the mansion and told them the problem. They'd already heard the weather reports."

"I'm glad they won't worry."

"I never used to consider someone was worried about my whereabouts," she mused. "This communal living is really...annoying at times."

"Annoying?" His face showed his puzzlement over her choice of words.

"Maybe annoying isn't the word I'm looking for. Until last year, I came and went, no one to answer to, no one else to consider. Called Thomas every other week or so. Now I find myself checking in every day I'm gone, not just to reassure Logan, but because I feel an obligation to the team."

"I thought... I understood you liked being a part of the team." He set his fork down.

His concern warmed her. "I love the people I work with, each one of you. Sometimes, though, I feel a bit smothered. You've felt it too."

"Yes, I have." he resumed his meal. "At times the responsibility is overwhelming. Some things get sacrificed."

"Like a private, separate life."

"Yes." His voice escaped him in a low, savage tone. His hands tightened on his cutlery. Then he made a visible effort to relax. She watched his mood swings in an almost morbid fascination. He was a man at the breaking point, not adequately shielding his emotions. Very unlike Hank.

"When I'm at the mansion I'm not just Charlotte Ashcroft. I'm either Logan's wife, Remy's partner, Thomas's mother, or the shaman's woman. Every now and then I'd like to just be Charlie. Sometimes I wonder if I even know who she is anymore."

He looked at her with comprehension. "I'm always Beast, or Dr. McCoy, or Hank the poor mad scientist in the lab. I'd like to be just Hank once in a while, the man who likes good music, good food, conversation."

"You see why I won't pick a codename? I don't know if I have room for another identity. I must tell you, though, I happen to like Hank the man. You remember him, the one I kidnap every now and then to go to the symphony with me."

"I must return the compliment, my dear. I do enjoy Charlie's company on our adventures to the jazz clubs."

They finished their meal in companionable silence. He stacked up the dishes and placed them outside the door while Charlotte took her turn in the bathroom, soaking in that awful tub. She had to admit being able to stretch out in the hot bubbling water was soothing. She might have one installed when she got back to the mansion, maybe something in blue.

An hour later she emerged, her hair wrapped in a towel and oversized flannel pajamas on her slim body, no robe in sight and nothing on earth would persuade her to put on the one provided. Hank was sitting on the couch, his briefcase opened, papers spread around him on the couch, his glasses perched on his face. He wasn't looking at them, but staring pensively into the flames.

"What's wrong, Hank? You've been bothered for the last few weeks." She moved a stack from the end of the couch and sat cross-legged next to him, rubbing her hair briskly with the towel.

He looked down at her over his glasses. "I don't know what you mean."

"You're insulting my intelligence and lying to your friend. If you don't want to talk about it, just say so."

He sighed. "Has everyone noticed?"

"Well, Jean has, Ororo has, I have. Isn't that enough?"

"I don't think I can talk about it." Not now, not while the pain was still fresh. At least not while he could see the kindness in her eyes.

She jumped up, giving him a flash of smooth back as her top rode up when she swiped a pillow off the bed. She sat back down, placing the pillow over her lap. "Lay down, close your eyes, and tell me all about it."

He knew he would feel better if he talked, and he trusted her. It was hard not to trust her. He gave in to the temptation she represented, turning to lay face up to the ceiling, his feet resting on the opposite arm of the sofa.

"Close your eyes," she instructed, slipping his glasses off and setting them aside. "It's easier to talk if you don't see anyone." She rested one arm across his chest, the other smoothed his hair back from his face. She worked at projecting comfort towards him.

"I broke up with Trish a few weeks ago."

"I'm sorry," Charlotte murmured, her hand stroking his hair.

"She found the temptations of furthering her career more important than our relationship," a bitter twist to his mouth matched his tone of voice. "She was willing to do a great deal to get information about my work. I just didn't see it."

His teammates saw it coming, but this wasn't the time to tell him that. An 'I told you so' wouldn't make things better. She continued to run her fingers through his hair.

"Things that I thought were private, between the two of us, she's been using to advance her career. I trusted her." He fell silent a moment. "I've simply been indulging in melodrama lately. I will eventually rid myself of the self-pity and become my normal, cheerful self."

Eventually, maybe, but his scars ran deep. This wasn't the first wound, she could feel it with her scan, but this betrayal cut the deepest. Trish betrayed him not just as a scientist, but as a man. She wanted to heal him, to give him his true sense of worth, but he wasn't in any condition to accept her platitudes.

"I believe she is correct," he continued. "What normal woman would want the freak I am as a permanent partner?"

Charlotte could almost hear his heart breaking.

"Hank, don't think those things about yourself," she said evenly. "You are an intelligent, caring, loving, attractive man. She didn't see it, didn't want to see it."

His eyes opened. "Now who is deceiving whom?"

"I'm not lying. Why wouldn't I consider you attractive? Because you're covered in blue fur? I'm a mutant, my taste should run only to mutants? Should your choice of a mate be only limited to mutant women? I consider you a man in the best sense of the word and I'm not the only one. You just aren't meeting the right women." She wasn't going to do this, but the words wouldn't stay back.

"And where would I find these nearsighted but charity-minded ladies?" Now he was laughing at her, an undertone of hurt in his voice.

"Do you remember Eileen Hascom?"

"Dr. Hascom? From the conference?" He vaguely remembered her from the lecture he gave on the Legacy virus. She was the tall attractive brunette who questioned him quite closely on his findings.

"She was projecting all over the place while she was talking to you. She hoped you'd ask her to dinner. She found you very intriguing, and she liked your fur."

He mulled this over in his head. "I suppose there could be one lady out there who would not mind my appearance."

"Dr. Hascom is just the tip of the iceberg." She could sense he wanted to believe her, but right now he was just hurting too much. He had to get through the pain first. "So, the next time you find a lady you might want to date, let us inspect her first." Her other hand stroked the soft fur of his cheek. "Don't force us to start setting you up on blind dates."

His face tilted into her hand reflexively. He had to stop himself from purring, it felt so good for someone to touch him. Unconditional love. His eyes opened and stared up into hers. "Thank you," he told her quietly. "I think we should get some sleep. If you will take the bed I will sleep here on the couch." He sat up and moved away from her, suddenly feeling awkward and confused, like he had been caught lusting after his mother's best friend. Or his best friend's wife.

"Oh, no. You'll never get any sleep on this couch. You take the bed," she told him. "You're a gentleman to your toes, Dr. McCoy, but let's be practical about this."

He didn't want to argue with her, just move away from what she represented. Love, acceptance, companionship. Everything her husband received on a daily basis. "All right," he conceded. He gathered up his papers and stuffed them back into his case, not looking at her.

Charlotte got an extra blanket and pillow from the closet, thankfully it wasn't red and made of satin. "I'm going to leave the fire on, will that be a problem?" she asked Hank.

"No."

"I'll read awhile. Will the light keep you awake?"

"I do not believe so."

"Okay." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Goodnight, then, my friend."

~*~*~*~*~

Something woke Charlotte. She opened her eyes and stared at the gas flames for a long minute. Her watch told her it was 1:30 in the morning. She was freezing, her pajamas wound around her body like she'd been tossing and turning for hours. There was more, but it wasn't anything specific she could put her finger on, more like a feeling. She opened her psi sense.

Hank. He was dreaming, trapped in a repeating nightmare, his emotions coming through to her, slamming against her mental shields. She got up, wrapping the blanket around herself against the cold, and made her way to his bedside to wake him up.

"Hank?" Touching his shoulder, she was startled when one large hand shot out and grasped her arm painfully, pulling her down next to him, folding her in a tight embrace, his head on her shoulder. He was overly warm and had already pulled off his pajamas. He shuddered around her, she could feel his tears through the flannel of her pajama shirt. Her heart ached with him, she wound her arms around his shoulders and held him tight.

He was still asleep. She stroked his shoulders, dropping light kisses on his forehead, murmuring wordlessly to him, absorbing his emotions effortlessly as he settled down, sending him into a deeper sleep. She dozed back to sleep herself, lulled by the warmth of his body and the softness of the blankets surrounding them.

~*~*~*~*~

The addition of a woman to his bed didn't wake him, but his body traitorously reacted. His lips found soft skin to savor, firm breasts pressed into his chest, long legs tangled with his. His arousal passed itself into her, her own needs finally pushing her awake.

Her eyes opened again, this time in alarm, and she tried to pull back. He clutched at her, the rejection echoing painfully through his dreams, the emotion hitting her like a tidal wave so hard it hurt, she nearly cried out with the force of it. She forced herself to relaxed and he calmed down, his hands roaming her back, lifting her shirt to stroke bare skin.

He immediately plundered her lips, plunging his tongue into her, roughly tasting her. His mouth wasn't gentle, not gentle at all, there was nothing of a tender lover in his manner or the way he touched her. She understood that a lifetime of pain and loneliness was asserting itself.

His hands shredded the shirt from her body, his nails cutting into her. She felt the pain he unknowingly inflicted on her and she hurt for him, cried for him, bled for him.

His face nuzzled her neck, moving to her breasts, sucking and biting hard enough to draw blood and bruise her. She gasped softly, gripping his shoulders, digging her nails into his fur. This only spurred him on, his body moving between her legs to position himself for the first thrust.

He rammed painfully into her, the second thrust gaining him only a little more. By the fourth, her body was ready for him, stretching to accommodate his size. He moved hard and fast, her body protesting the roughness, arching up to throw him off, lifting his bulk momentarily off the bed. He slammed her back down, forcing himself even deeper into her warmth. He craved her warmth. Hands clutched her hips painfully, nails digging into her skin, lifting her up to meet his strokes. His breath quickened audibly, moving faster, until he reached his release, his sobs muffled against her breast.

He lay against her, his heart beating wildly, his body flooded with heat. For a long disoriented minute he didn't have a clue to what had happened. Then his eyes opened, the enormity of what he'd just done overpowering his dream and awakening his mind. He leaped off her, hands pressed against his face, his entire being in shock.

~*~*~*~*~

Hank gasped and sat upright in bed, his heart pounding double-time, the nightmare fresh in his mind. How could he have dreamed something so vile, so degrading?

The warmth of Charlotte's body next to him in the frigid air brought him back to his senses, sort of. She was curled up in the blanket she'd been using on the couch under the satin comforter and sheets with him. She was, for want of a better word in his agitated state, unviolated, still sleeping peacefully.

From the chill in the air he surmised that she'd grown cold and come to sleep with him. That didn't bother him, she was more than welcome to his bed, but that he could dream of her, of any woman, in such a way scared him.

"Lay back down," she said sleepily, "you're making the bed shake."

"I am sorry," he told her quietly and obeyed, even grateful for the suggestion. He leaned back against the pillows like a corpse, stiff and unmoving.

"Nightmare over?" she asked.

"Nightmare?" No, please do not tell me you know what I was dreaming of, he thought to himself.

"Uh huh. Woke me up." She scooted closer to him, resting her head against his arm, rubbing her cheek against his fur. "The heat's off, hope you don't mind sharing your space."

"Not at all." He relaxed a little, letting himself curve around her blanket wrapped form. "It is unusual, though."

She chuckled. "Oh, yeah. Logan and I still have problems trying to sleep in each other's space. When one of us has a nightmare, the other's awake, too." The joys of sharing a bed. She'd held Logan through more than few bad dreams; he'd done the same for her.

She knew how to help someone through one. Shifting herself around, she slipped an arm around his neck, encouraging him to lay his head on her shoulder. "You want to talk about it?"

"No." Absolutely, positively, never as long as he lived.

"'Kay." In moments she was back to sleep, while he lay listening to her heartbeat, noting how hypnotic, even lyrical it was. A part of him was afraid to fall asleep, afraid the nightmare would replay itself. The other part of him, the rational, scientific voice, told him to stop being silly. He wouldn't hurt her, not his friend. Not when she made him feel better.

He slept.

~*~*~*~*~

The next morning Hank awoke refreshed and feeling oddly peaceful. He looked around puzzled. His pajamas lay on the floor beside the bed. He must have gotten overheated in the night and pulled them off. Occasionally that happened, his metabolism was a funny thing.

Charlotte sat over on the couch, already dressed and ready to leave. She was reading her book, the early morning sun streaming in the window near her. She seemed remote, almost too still to be real. He never felt her leave the bed, though the blanket she'd been wrapped in was still next to him under the comforter. It wasn't bad sharing a bed with someone else. Quite cozy, in fact.

He casually slid a leg out and snagged his pajamas bottoms with his toes, quickly putting them on under the blankets.

"Morning, Hank," she called over to him, not taking her attention from her book.

"Good morning," he responded cheerfully, bounding out of bed. He felt energized this morning. Getting away from the mansion for the conference was just what he needed to take his mind off his romantic problems.

"The highway patrol reports the roads are clear," she smiled over at him. "There's a restaurant twenty miles up the road, all-you-can-eat buffet." She looked tired, with dark smudges under her eyes.

He took a moment to peer in her eyes that met his openly. "Didn't you sleep well?" he asked solicitously, lifting her face to his with a gentle hand. The early morning light was harsh, allowing him to see the effects of the night on her. Funny, the smudges on her face appeared almost like bruises. Her skin was always the first thing to show any sign of physical or emotional stress. Perhaps he needed to schedule a physical for her, or at the very least prescribe an extra strength vitamin supplement. He should have a talk with Logan about her health. He still didn't know nearly enough about her physiology.

She smiled fondly at him, patting his hand. "The couch was a bit lumpy and the bed was a little soft, but a good night's sleep in my own bed will put me to rights again." She gazed up at him. "And how did you sleep?"

"Surprisingly well. That bed is more comfortable that I first imagined." After the nightmare was over, he had slept rather well. He didn't even remember what the dream had been about, just that he hadn't like it. He frowned. "I really should not have let you persuade me to use the bed. What will Logan think of me?"

"Don't worry about it, I'll probably sleep in the car and leave you to sing alone with the radio. You've taken excellent care of me this weekend, Hank, I have no complaints. Now, go get dressed so we can get out of this den of iniquity."

He chuckled at her words. "Actually, I don't think this suite is all that bad. Sort of grows on you." He swiped up his clothes and whistled into the lair of the big red tub.

The door closed and Charlotte's head sagged against the back of the couch. It worked. He remembered nothing. She'd managed to take the nightmare away from him as she did for Logan.

Now she pushed the night's memories, into the back of her mind behind her strongest shields where she kept the others, the fears Logan dreamed of, her own terrors, those of the past. To these she added one man's nightmare of her own rape at the hands of her friend. May the gods help them both.



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