Soul Searching
by
Zerelda X
X-Men belong to Marvel. Charlotte belongs to me. No profit, don't sue. Entertainment only.
Charlotte had just stepped out of the shower when she heard the knock on the door. Practice with Betsy had run later than she'd anticipated, and she had little more than an hour until her appointment in the city.
Wrapping a bath sheet around herself and folding her hair in another towel she hollered, "Come in!"
Hank peeked his head around the door. "Oh, I do apologize. I will return at another time."
"No, no," she gestured at him, "come in."
"You are not clothed," he said as he averted his eyes as he entered her bedroom, closing the door behind him.
"Hank, this is one of those days that has no 'later' in it, so speak your peace now." She moved behind a shoji screen that shielded the closet in the corner. "Is this better?"
"When did you acquire that?" he asked, curious about the beautiful Japanese privacy screen. It was covered in white opaque silk, nearly sheer enough to see through. When she turned on the light in the dressing area/closet, he could see her body clearly silhouetted against the silk barrier. He watched her shadow figure move, using the towel to dry herself off.
"A couple of weeks ago. I made Logan get it for me. I can't tell you how many times I've run late because he's watched me dress," she opened a drawer and began selecting clothes. "What's on your mind."
Well, whatever he thought of Logan, the man was no fool.
A tense expression crossed his face, than vanished. He turned his eyes to the window. "My presence has been requested at a gathering tomorrow night. Trish is not able to accompany me and I was hoping you would do me the very great honor of allowing me to escort you as my date."
"What's the occasion?"
"A university Thanksgiving party. You are aware I am a guest lecturer in biochemistry there. It most likely will be long and dull, but I feel an obligation to attend."
She moved around the screen fully clothed in blue jeans and a blue Irish knit sweater, stopping to slip on half boots and tuck in her knife. She didn't feel dressed without it. "And you'd feel awkward without a companion?"
"It can be tiresome," he admitted.
"I would love to go with you. Is it black tie?" she moved to the mirror to comb out her hair and fasten it up with a clip out of her way.
"Yes it is, and thank you."
"Not a problem," she turned to face him, smiling. "You are excellent company and I expect we'll have a marvelous time. If the evening falls short of our expectations, I remember a little jazz club that used to be a lot of fun."
"Anything, dear lady. I have already purchased a new evening ensemble."
"I'm up for any experience that requires shopping."
She took his arm and steered him into the hall and closed her door. "I'm sorry to run off like this, but Jean and Scott are waiting for me. I'll see you at dinner."
Jean and Scott waited in the hanger by the runabout for her. "We almost left you behind," Jean teased. Scott ushered the ladies inside and took the pilot controls.
"Hank stopped me and asked if I would be his date at a school function," Charlotte told her.
"A date! Does Logan know?"
"Not yet, but if you don't mind waiting a few more minutes, I'll run and tell him now."
"NO!" Scott fixed both women with a look through the ruby quartz of his glasses, allowing a slight smile to show. Jean blew him a kiss.
~*~*~*~*~
Hank waited downstairs in the penthouse, feeling somewhat nervous, knowing he had no reason to feel this way. His new jacket looked good, he had to admit. Charlotte had admired it when she asked to see it, to make sure her gown would compliment his appearance. Now he would be prepared to escort her to the opera again, she'd teased him with a smile.
Logan waited with him, his ever present unlit cigar clenched between his teeth. Hank felt like he had to get past Charlotte's father. He almost expected Logan to start grilling him on his intentions. Remy didn't help matters, making jokes about first dates. Between the two of them, they were making the situation more tense than it had to be.
Rogue descended the stairs. "She's comin' now. She looks real good."
All masculine eyes turned up to the head of the stairs. Someone, Remy, whistled appreciatively.
Charlotte wore a long, strapless, black velvet gown that molded itself lovingly to her generous curves, then flared out slightly, a long slit up the back to ease walking. The black set off her creamy skin. Her hair was up in a French twist, a spray of tiny white flowers adorning the back of her head. She wore sheer black nylons and black strappy high heels.
She presented herself to Hank and turned in a slow circle. "Will I do? You won't be embarrassed to be seen with me?"
He swallowed hard, annoyed with himself for being nervous. This was his friend. "Not at all. You are quite lovely."
Logan and Remy stared hard, jaws agape. Rogue poked Remy irritably.
Hank took her wrap and placed it carefully around her shoulders.
"When ya be gettin' back?" Logan demanded, his eyes caressing the creamy skin on display. "Sure ya won't get cold wearin' that?"
Charlotte laughed and kissed him, her perfume swirling around him. "Don't wait up me. We'll be fine."
"Chere, you mebbe borrow dat dress som'time?" Remy asked Rogue, his eyes still glued to Charlotte.
Rogue rolled her eyes. "Y'all better git a move on."
With a wink at Logan, she and Hank were out the door and into the elevator.
~*~*~*~*~
The party was pretty much as he expected. The same people, the same caterer, the same conversations. He'd caused a stir arriving with Charlotte, but she didn't back away from the whispered speculation. They both heard the word 'mutant' on more than one mouth, but Charlotte ignored it. Hank could hear her laughter in his mind as she gave every indication she was his lady, from touching him frequently to bragging about his published research. He'd never realized how familiar she was with his work. He found he enjoyed the attention from her, even the envious looks from the other men. She treated him just like she treated Logan.
"Hank, buddy, where did you find her? And what happened to Trish?" Norman Smith, a tenured professor in the physics department, asked while he and Hank watched Charlotte's progress around the room. "Tell me she's not one of the students."
"No, she is not a student. You just have to know where to look, my friend." Like a death battle with an evil mutant horde. Norm was one of the few staff members Hank called friend. "Where is your female companion?"
"Didn't bring one. I thought you and I could bach it together, but I can see you have other plans for the evening. Maybe it's the fur? I'm going to have to get me some." He was half in love with her himself. "Does she have a sister? A cousin maybe? I'd settle for her mother."
Hank snorted. "There are no more where she comes from." True enough. "And she is my friend, so rid yourself of all lewd thoughts." He was both pleased and bothered by her success in charming his colleagues. "Trish had other commitments this evening. Charlotte very kindly consented to accompany me."
"You mean you and she aren't dating? She's free?" Things were looking up for him. Maybe he could get her phone number. Maybe he could give her the pink slip to his car and the deed to his house while he was at it.
"We are not dating, and no, she is not free. She is doing me a favor." He saw the speculative look in his friend's eyes and didn't like it one bit. "Her gentleman companion is of the over protective sort."
At that moment, Charlotte looked up from across the room and flashed him an intimate smile and the merest suggestion of a wink that hinted at a private joke. She had been cornered by the university president who was using the reception as a fundraising opportunity.
"With a smile like that, I'd rethink that dating part, if I were you. If a woman like that would smile at me..." Norm nudged his arm and turned away to get another drink.
Politely, Charlotte extricated herself from the president and made her way back to Hank. She picked up a glass of wine on the way, then stood with him, one hand tucked under his arm.
"Everything okay?" she asked him.
"Yes. You have made my reputation, my dear. I hope this isn't too tedious for you." Hank smiled down at her. "I have received many compliments on my choice of escort this evening." He felt rather protective of her.
"Probably in direct proportion to the indecent proposals I've been subject to." She sipped her wine. "I'd forgotten what these functions are like."
A curious anger bloomed in him on her behalf at the mention of indecent proposals. "Who?" he demanded.
"Doesn't matter, they won't remember it in the morning," she grinned unrepentantly.
~*~*~*~*~
It was long past midnight and Logan was getting edgy. He stood outside on the balcony in the cold smoking, Charlotte having banned smoking inside in deference to the antiques. He'd expected Charlotte and Hank to be back long before this. Remy and Rogue had invited him to see a movie and go club hopping with them, but he declined. He didn't like dancing and they wouldn't have been seeing a 'shoot 'em up' flick. He was lonely, if he bothered to admit it to himself. Lonely for the first time since he'd found her again.
He kept seeing Charlotte in his mind, Charlotte in that dress, or almost in that dress. He wanted to lock her in his room, completely at his mercy, and use his claws to slice the velvet off her, inch by slow inch.
He realized in his head she loved him. She hadn't uttered the words since that night in her library, but she'd made no secret of the fact she cared, sharing it with the same generous nature she shared her body with him. And he loved her, though he hadn't bothered to tell her since that night, either. Loved everything about her, her odd sense of humor, the passion she showed in bed, even the unpredictable mood changes that could turn her from a quiet thoughtful woman to a raging, deadly fighter in the space between heartbeats. The woman who, in turn, could play the shy virgin one moment, the aggressive dominating lover the next.
She had to know, didn't she? They had the chance to spend years together, more than one lifetime loving, fighting, caring. Something in him felt complete, as though he'd found what his soul had been missing.
But deep down, he knew he was outclassed. Class was not something he gave much thought to, except when it came to Charlotte. She was beautiful, smart, and lethal. Hell, all the women on the team were smart and beautiful, not to mention deadly. It was the female of the species, after all, that you had to watch out for.
He didn't like the way Hank looked at her; hated it, and hated feeling the jealousy. Gambit wasn't competition. He knew her well enough to know a man like Remy held no interest for her as a lover. She treated him like she did Thomas or Matthew. He flirted with her shamelessly, compulsively, and she still welcomed Logan to her bed. Age and maturity winning out over youth and beauty. Or was it ageless beauty and maturity choosing the rough, uncivilized man/animal?
Hank would be the rival, despite the fact he thought he was in love with Trish Tilby. That wasn't going to last much longer. He would take Charlotte to the symphony and opera she loved, would talk intelligently on many different subjects, take an interest in all her personal projects, things Logan didn't do. Hank would do all that and the less 'highbrow' things she liked, movies, rock concerts, clubs and bars on the nights she felt adventurous, evenings at home when she didn't.
Even their own private search and destroy game on the mansion grounds, where they took turns hunting each other through the forest, then making love wherever the 'prey' was found. He still had fond memories of that tree limb twenty feet up in the old oak way back on the estate. Some of the places she picked to hide in....
Even worse, Hank would enjoy the lush body that Logan enjoyed, would revel in the all the different women she could be and was for him. What could he offer her to compete with that and still be the main focus of her attention?
Of all the X-Men, Big Blue would be the threat. Hell, of all the men he knew, Hank was the most competition.
And it wasn't like he didn't realize she'd had other men in her life, just like he'd had other women. It would be stupid to believe she'd been wrapped in plastic sitting on a shelf for 300 years, just waiting for him to take her down and wake her up with a kiss. The fact Thomas existed blew that one out of the water. He was grateful she didn't want to talk about her past relationships, he surely didn't want to talk about his. Not the way some pieces of his past kept popping up armed and dangerous.
She didn't need him. It ran against everything he always held true, but sometimes he wished she needed him, just a little. That thought startled him. The other women in his life never needed him, not till they went crazy and tried to kill him, and he'd liked it fine that way. It was one of things that always attracted him, besides strength, skill, beauty, character. The attitude, the air of independence that said if he was gone tomorrow it wouldn't make a difference to the way they lived their lives. He liked 'em smart, sassy, and self-sufficient. Then he had a way out if things got too difficult. Like if one started to arm herself before bed.
The ones he'd needed never seemed to be able to accept his passions, his emotions.
Charlotte had something extra, something he couldn't quite put a name to. Maybe it was the maturity, the experiences of many lifetimes. Maybe she was just more grown up. She didn't play head games like he'd watch Rogue do with Remy, or Betsy with Warren. She knew what she wanted and was not at all shy about taking it.
He'd had his memories of her now a little over eight months, had been physically involved with her nearly two. In that short space of time he'd seen her happy, passionate, indulgent, angry, playful, serious. He'd seen her eyes glow golden with fire in the heat of battle in the Danger Room, on a mission, or a friendly debate around the table. He'd seen the killer that lurked behind those eyes.
He wondered if her telepathy was asserting itself on him, creating a bond between them. The idea didn't displease him. He'd been envious of the link Scott and Jean shared, more so when he'd thought himself in love with Jean. The feelings he had then paled to what he felt for Charlotte, and he didn't have the courage to say it out loud, afraid to jinx himself.
She'd kept their relationship on a fairly light level, never once intimating she wanted more from him. She welcomed him into her room, her bed, her body wholeheartedly, giving every indication it was enough. Was he disappointed she didn't ask for more of him?
He would get it worked out, he decided, grinding his teeth on the cigar. If he didn't, he'd lose her. That much he knew.
His ears picked up the elevator stopping at their floor. He turned to get a look at the front door. It was Hank and Charlotte, he could hear her humming happily.
The door opened and they waltzed in, both humming the same tune, Hank's massive hand on the small of her back. The couple twirled around a few times, then he dipped her deep, her head thrown back, leaving her neck exposed and vulnerable. For a heart-stopping moment, Logan thought she'd come right out of that dress.
After a long minute, Beast brought her back up and they dissolved in laughter, Charlotte leaning against him for support. He took her cloak from his shoulder and handed it to her with a small bow. She tossed it over the back of a wing chair.
"I hate to end the evening," she told Hank. "I've had so much fun."
"I, too, dear lady," he took her hand and gallantly kissed it. "And you were right about that club. I haven't heard jazz like that in years."
"I know a place just like it in New Orleans, too, if you're ever game."
"Any time, as long as it is not tonight. I do believe I am greatly fatigued."
"You are a wonderful dancer. I've been looking for an excuse to go back. Thank you for going with me." She reached up and kissed him lightly on the mouth, hugging him impulsively. "I'm going to call it a night and roll Logan off my side of the bed." She slipped off her shoes and climbed up the steps. "See you in the morning."
"Good night," he echoed up after her. He removed his jacket, loosening his tie, unbuttoning his collar.
"Ya have a good time?" Logan entered from the library, cigar stubbed out.
"Logan, have you been waiting up? Yes, we had an wonderful time." Hank smiled in a wistful manner. "I envy you, my friend. She is very good company."
Logan watched him disappear up the stairs to his own room.
~Logan, where are you?~ Charlotte called. ~I'm about to climb in the shower and I need someone to wash my back.~
Satisfaction filled him. She went out with Hank and had a good time, but she came home to him. ~Comin', darlin'.~
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