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CHAPTER 1: A Slight Misunderstanding

Two and half months ago, Dr. Henry (Hank) McCoy had been apprehended and arrested during a raid on the Mutant Control Agency. The persons running the agency had been collecting information on individual mutants, then abducting them for reasons unknown to the X-Men. They had destroyed the files, and Hank had ended up in jail with his bail denied. But now, thanks to a change of heart in once Senator, now President Kelly, Hank had been officially pardoned (probably having something to do with the X-Men saving Kelly's life).

But even though Hank was finally home, he wasn't in the best of spirits. He entered the mansion, hung up his hat and coat, shook himself to settle the fur back into place, and slowly made his way to the library.

Storm, Rogue and Gambit had picked him up and taken him out to lunch to celebrate. They had other activities planned, but Storm had sensed his gray mood and had informed Rogue and Gambit that perhaps it would be best if they postponed the celebrations and let Hank work out his feelings on his own. So they had dropped him off at the mansion and headed off to do some shopping.

Hank had not seen it this way, though. He felt that they were ashamed of him. Who wouldn't be? He had failed. It was bad enough that he had no special powers when compared with the rest of the X-Men. Big hands and feet, and blue fur. Big hairy deal. He had always felt inadequate, as if he wasn't doing his part for the team. He had only his brain to offer, which was a major reason why he spent so much time working in his lab.

He had a lot of time to mull things over in prison. He had berated himself over and over again for allowing himself to be caught, for failing the mission. None of the other X-Men would have let this happen to them. And the bad press he had generated. Xavier's dream was to see humans and mutants living together peacefully. They had to risk life and limb for each major accomplishment which merely placed them one small step further toward their ultimate goal. His ending up in prison had set them back quite a bit. How could they not be disappointed with him?

He continued to mentally berate himself as he wandered down the hallway. It seemed like the mansion was deserted. "They don't even want to face me," he said miserably. Then he forced a chuckle. "You know Blue, thinking like this is madness. They say, I'm down so low that if I cheered up right now, I'd still be depressed. Now I know what they mean." His comment did manage to cheer him up a little, though.

He paused in his wanderings. He had heard a shuffling noise coming from the rec room. His naturally high curiosity was piqued, and he went to investigate.

He set a large, furry hand on the doorknob, and steeled himself for the encounter with whomever was in the room. He resolved that if they truly were ashamed of him, he'd have to face their disappointment sooner or later, and opened the door.

His hands dropped to his sides and his eyes widened with wonder and astonishment.

"OH...my...!..."

The first thing he noticed was the orange fur. The second thing was the orange and black striped tail. Both were dancing and shimmying around the room, oblivious to his presence. The fur's owner spun around, and he saw that her eyes were closed and she was mouthing the words to whatever song was playing on the discman tucked into the waistband of her high-cut denim shorts. She had a feather duster in one hand and a broom in the other, the handle of which she was using as a microphone.

He tried to act, to think, but discovered that his mind had suddenly gone on an unauthorized vacation to somewhere a zillion miles away.

Long, dark orange hair surrounded her face, which was a mixture of human and tiger features (and was not at all unattractive). Her chest was ample and he felt his eyes being helplessly drawn down to the curvaceous hips that swung from side to side in time with the music.

Based on the way she was moving, Hank surmised that she had to be an exotic dancer of some kind. Or maybe it was just her feline influence coming through.

He couldn't stop himself as his eyes followed her every sensuous movement around the room. She was completely uninhibited, simply enjoying the movement of her body as she danced to the music.

A stern voice struggled through the fog in McCoy's brain. Say something, you fatuous oaf! Don't just stand there staring at her like some perverted, blue-furred cretin!

He was about to open his mouth and attempt to say something intelligent when she suddenly lunged to the floor and slid on her knees toward him, legs stretched wide apart and holding the 'microphone' to her mouth. He looked down at her and was unwittingly treated to a full view down the front of her tanktop, right to her navel.

Her eyelids lifted a crack. They widened immensely when she saw the pair of large blue feet in front of her. Slowly, she looked up...waaaaay up. By the time her eyes had reached his face, they were almost bursting their sockets.

Hank blinked. Then he blinked again. "Um....hi?" was all that he could manage to say. Yes, that was extreeeeeeemly intelligent, Hank.

A muted, embarrassed whimper escaped her lips which Hank unfortunately mistook for terror.

She swung her knees together with a resounding 'SLAP!'. Both broom and feather duster clattered to the floor as she jumped up onto her feet in a tremendous effort to right herself and bolt out the other door before she died of embarrassment.

* * *

Jubilee was on her way to the rec room to check on Tyger. She and Tyger had been assigned chores as punishment for rollerblading in the house. Jubilee was feeling guilty since it had been her idea in the first place. She had finished scrubbing down the kitchen as fast as she could so she could help Tyger as a way of apologizing for getting Cyclops mad at her.

She was just about to place a hand on the knob when the door suddenly flew open and Jubilee found herself staring dazedly at the ceiling after being slammed to the ground with the force of a bullet train. She blinked a couple of times, trying to regain her senses, and saw Tyger staring down at her in horror. A series of whimpers issued from Tyger as the flighty feline fought to untangle their legs. Upon succeeding, she bolted down the hallway and out of sight, tail straight out and puffed, and leaving Jubilee to wonder just what the heck had happened.

* * *

Hank's feet were still firmly rooted to the floor and he was unable to react when he heard "AAAAACK!!!" followed by a loud THUD! He ran his hand through his hair as he absentmindedly licked his dry lips, attempting to say something to someone who was no longer there.

* * *

Determined to find out what had so upset her friend, Jubilee picked herself up and walked into the rec room to investigate. She saw Hank. Hank was slack-jawed and starry-eyed. Hank was licking his lips.

Rage welled up inside her. How dare he?! She clenched her fists, squared her shoulders, and stormed up to him.

"WHAT...DID...YOU...DO?!" she growled through clenched teeth.

Bewilderment crossed Hank's face. "What...?"

"How could you? HOW DARE YOU?!" she was determined to obtain justice for her poor, mistreated friend.

"How dare I what?" he stammered. He became aware of the sparks appearing around Jubilee's clenched fists.

"Of all the people! I can't BELIEVE you, Hank!" The sparks were glowing brighter.

"Um...Jubilee...perhaps it would be best....mayhap you should calm yourself...!"

"Calm myself? Calm YOURself you...you big, blue PERVERT!!!" and with that, she turned on her heel and stomped out of the room.

Hank was left to wonder what exactly he had done to cause all this, and was considering going back to prison where it was much, much quieter with a lot less hassle and things actually made sense.

* * *

CHAPTER 2: It's Just One of Those Days

The next day found Hank mulling things over in the library. He was avoiding both the strange feline and Jubilee. He surmised that the strange woman would be avoiding him as well, so he wasn't worrying about another unfortunate encounter. And he was absolutely certain that Jubilee would never go to the library (at least, not on purpose). The room itself was in the shape of a long rectangle with a door at one end and windows lining the long wall on the right, and shelves of books lining the left.

A massive foot rested on the sill of the window closest to the door. He was leaning forward, an elbow on his knee, his chin resting on his fist. He was desperately trying to figure out what had happened the day before, but was failing miserably. He had managed to convince himself he was deeply at fault for something, and wanted desperately to rectify the situation, but he just could not understand what he had done.

He was also feeling very self conscious and depressed because he was absolutely sure he had terrified the poor girl so badly that she had been forced to flee from him. He was as used to this reaction as one could get when it came to humans. But a fellow mutant? Especially one who was as furry as he. This was not helping his fragile ego one little bit.

He was distracted from his thoughts by the sound of bare feet padding softly toward him.

* * *

Tyger had headed straight for her bedroom after the incident, and spent the remainder of the afternoon hiding under her bed.

She was not scared, not in the least. She was just embarrassed completely beyond measure. Jubilee had come looking for her later, but had never thought to look under the bed.

Hunger eventually drove Tyger from her hiding place, and there had been no end to Jubilee's interrogations once she had tracked Tyger down. The girl had seemed convinced that some utterly horrible thing had happened, and no matter how often Tyger tried to assure her that nothing was wrong, no matter how hard she tried to explain to her what had happened, Jubilee just could not be persuaded to forget about the situation.

At the same time, Tyger was feeling very, very guilty for making Jubilee so mad at Hank (as Jubilee had told her was the big blue guy's name). She finally forced herself to get over her embarrassment at what was actually a trivial thing, once she had time to consider it, and made herself look for Hank. She was sure that once she apologized to him, everything would be alright.

She found him in the library. She stood in the doorway, watching him. She did feel a little intimidated by him, as she had never seen anyone like him before. Having gotten her first glimpse of him from the rec room floor, she had painted a portrait of a giant, blue sasquatch in her mind. She had felt like a little child feels when looking up to an adult. But this was a big, blue, furry adult.

She took a deep breath to calm herself, then headed slowly toward him.

* * *

Hank looked up with some trepidation to see Tyger coming toward him. She was wearing a long, bulky t-shirt which was less revealing than the tanktop he had seen her wearing the other day. Unfortunately, it had the effect of accentuating her breasts and they drew his eyes right to them. He blinked, mentally chastised himself, and refocused on her face.

She paused in her steps, annoyed at Hank for staring at her chest. Hank believed that she was hesitating; fearful. She started walking again, came within a meter of him, parted her mouth and raised her hands as if about to say something. But no words came out. She started gesturing with her hands, and moving her mouth a little, but still no sound issued forth.

Hank was certain that she was faltering because she was afraid of him. "I beg your pardon..." he began, then stopped short when he realized that he didn't even know her name. He placed his palms forward in a gesture which he intended to indicate that she had nothing to fear.

A indignant look crossed her face as she began to realize this insensitive person wasn't going to meet her halfway after all. She had made the first move and come down here in order to apologize, and she was being mocked instead. She tried to convey her agitation through the movement of her hands.

What could possibly be the matter with this young woman? Hank thought as he watched her flail her hands. She is standing there glaring at me, not saying a word, not even telling me what she wants! Is she trying to make a fool of me? Trying to make a scene to gain attention? "For pity's sake," he stated, making no effort to disguise his agitation. "Just open your mouth and spew forth some words!"

She took a step back, feeling hurt. Is he so thick that he can't understand that I can't speak? Or is he an insensitive person who just doesn't care? Her agitation was gradually turning into anger. She patted her neck while silently opening and closing her mouth in an effort to make him understand her plight.

This only served to aggravate Hank further, whose overworked mind was incapable of registering such a simple concept at the moment. He felt that she was now poking fun at him by making ridiculous faces; that she had merely come here to start trouble rather than reconcile yesterday's events. "My dear, do you so lack the fortitude to verbalise your opinions that you cannot utter a single solitary syllable to aid me in my comprehension of the situation at hand?!"

Her brow furrowed as she attempted to make sense of what he had just said. Is he deliberately using big words to make me feel stupid? Her emerald green eyes narrowed and a low growl stemming from her frustration rumbled up from her throat.

The hairs on the back of Hank's neck rose in response to the threatening sound. He was nearly overcome by a sudden urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until her words came tumbling out of her mouth. He held back, but could not help clenching and unclenching his fists.

She watched him do this, and suddenly felt panicked. She waved her hand at him in a gesture which, to her, meant 'Stay away from me'. She didn't realize that she was unsheathing her claws in the process.

Hank watched in disbelief as nearly two inch, razor sharp claws erupted from the fingertips of the hand poised before him. Agitation swiftly turned to anger in the face of such an obvious threat. He instinctively raised his own clawed hands, ready to defend himself.

Tyger stepped back, suddenly feeling very frightened but still angry nonetheless. She turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door with such a force that the repercussions shattered the window next to Hank.

Sidestepping flying shards of glass, he firmly decided that the woman had completely lost her mind and he wanted nothing more to do with her...ever.

* * *

The click clack of Rogue's boots could be heard as she was walking along the hallway, whistling a southern tune and swaying her hips along with the music. She stopped short when she heard the library door slam shut. Turning, she saw Tyger coming down the hallway, teeth bared, ears flattened, and tail swishing angrily back and forth. Rogue would have been blind not to see the rage coursing through Tyger, and as the feline stormed past, her fiery southern temper was suddenly, inexplicably ignited. Who could have possibly made Tyger that angry? The swamprat who did this better darn well have a good explanation, she thought to herself as she squared her shoulders and marched up to the library door.

* * *

Hank heard the door open again. "Leave me alone!," he cried, not really caring about what he was saying. He was frustrated, confused, emotionally and mentally exhausted, and his body was still pumped with adrenalin and itching for action. "I'm not in the mood to deal with anyone right now!"

Tyger's fury, combined with the sight of both a shattered window and an angry Beast led Rogue to believe that something very serious had indeed happened.

"What the heck did you jus' do to her?!" she shouted.

Hank spun around and all his hostile feelings fled at the sight of Rogue, eyes blazing, muscles tensed and ready. Remembering Jubilee, all Hank wanted to do was curl up into a little ball as a tiny voice in the back of his head whimpered, Oh, no...not again...

* * *

CHAPTER 3: A Voice of Reason

Later that day, Scott was sitting in the rec room, watching the news. He was considering turning off the television (since there was nothing interesting on anyway) and going to the Danger Room for a workout when he heard the door open. He turned to see Hank poking his head in. He looked nervous, and scanned the room thoroughly before opening the door all the way and entering.

"Um.. Scott, if I could be obliged to borrow some of your time?" he asked quietly.

"Of course, Hank," Scott replied, puzzled by the nervous expression on the man's face and the way he kept looking over his shoulder as if making sure he wasn't being followed. He also wondered where Hank had gotten his black eye.

"After much contemplation which has yet to prove fruitful, I find myself compelled to seek others to aid me with my quandary, as I am forced to admit that I haven't the slightest clue about what has been going on here recently."

Scott didn't have a clue what Hank was talking about. "So...what's the problem, then?"

"Ah, yes. It all began yesterday during a rather calamitous introduction to one striped young lady, the name of which has eluded me thus far."

"You mean Tyger?"

"So that is her name. Hmmph. I should have thought of that. It so happened that this encounter led to an altercation between Jubilee and myself, and I have yet to discern just how that came about."

"Yes, go on," said Scott, unsure of what Hank was trying to say, or where they were going with this one-sided conversation.

"Tyger, as I now know her name to be, approached me earlier today in what I assume was an attempt to clarify yesterday's events which I believe now to have been merely a misunderstanding between the two of us. Yet, when she attempted to voice her opinions, I fear that she was so alarmed by my appearance that she was rendered speechless, and..."

"Speechless? Hank, don't start with the puns, alright?"

Hank blinked repeatedly. "I beg your pardon?"

"Puns, Hank. Tyger can't talk."

"Oh?"

"She can't speak, so of course she would be 'speechless', now wouldn't she?"

"Ah..." Hank put on a mask of calmness while anger boiled inside him. He desperately wanted to rant, rave, flail his arms about and scream because he could not decide which was more infuriating: the fact that he had been too stupid not to realize this on his own, or the fact that no one had possessed the decency or inclination to inform him of it.

"Thank you for that extremely important, albeit very belated, piece of information, Scott. Will you please excuse me? I have urgent business to attend to."

"Um...of course, Hank. Glad to be of help," Scott replied uncertainly as he watched Hank leave the room. He then went over and turned the TV off. Who needed audio-visual entertainment to mess up your brain with twisted subplots and strange happenings when he could always count on his fellow X-Men to provide all that for him?

* * *

Ororo spotted Hank heading down the hallway. She wondered if he had cheered up at all since their last meeting, and approached him from behind. Placing a hand gently on his shoulder to get his attention, she said, "Henry, I..."

"GAAAAAAAAA!!!" Hank cried, swinging around to face his latest tormentor. "In complete contrast to what you may believe, Ororo," be began, bordering on hysterics, "I HAVE NOT, to this date, done anything which could possibly incur your wrath! You MUST believe me!"

Ororo was stunned. "Er, Henry.." she began, hoping a calm voice would soothe her anxious friend. "Have you been forgetting to mix some water with the coffee before you drink it?"

Hank's muscles relaxed a little. She didn't sound like she was angry with him. "Um...no, Ororo. Why do you ask?" he said, trying to sound as if he was perfectly fine.

He failed miserably. "It would seem that something is bothering you, Henry. Would you like to talk about it?" she offered.

Ah, finally! A voice of reason! He almost burst into tears and had to restrain himself from picking her up and carrying her to the study to talk.

* * *

"Now, to begin, would you mind telling me why you believed I was intending to 'hurt' you?"

Hank sighed. "Jubilee, whatever the reason, has come to regard me as nothing short of a rapist, and will not speak to me. Rogue, even though I have no idea what I have done to incur her wrath, cannot be thinking the same thing as Jubilee, otherwise there would be nothing left of me but a squishy blue pulp in the middle of the library floor. Now, considering that every female I have come into contact with since yesterday afternoon has been hostile toward me, I could only come to the conclusion that you wished ill intentions upon me as well, Ororo. I apologize for thinking as such."

"Apology accepted, Henry. Perhaps if you start from the beginning, I may be able to help you with your problems."

"It all started with an unfortunate introduction to one striped young woman."

"Ah, you mean Tyger. I found her about three weeks ago, and brought her here. She looked badly in need of some good food and a soft bed. She had been living on the street prior to her arrival. But I simply cannot see why this woman, or Jubilee and Rogue for that matter, would want to harm you."

Hank related to her his first meeting with Tyger, and the series of events that had occurred since then.

Ororo leaned back into her chair, a smile of understanding appearing on her face. "First of all, Henry, from what you have just described, I can assure you that she is not terrified of you."

He raised his eyebrows.

"She was just terribly embarrassed."

"What about Jubilee? And Rogue? Embarrassed is definitely not how I would describe their reactions toward my person."

"As for Jubilee, I believe she got the wrong impression entirely. To be quite honest, Tyger's quiet, meek manner has nurtured within all the female members of this household a protective instinct toward her. Rogue was simply reacting to what looked like a physical confrontation between you and Tyger."

"Meek?" Hank repeated, still not entirely convinced. "The girl flashed her claws at me, Ororo. Forgive me if I sound incorrect, but was that not an obvious threat?"

"She has lead a very solitary life, Henry. And the fact that she can't speak only makes her more self-conscious and withdrawn. Her people skills are underdeveloped, to say the least. The only persons she has actually warmed up to so far are Jubilee and myself. She otherwise spends her time avoiding everyone else. She would be just as uneasy around you if were Scott, or even Remy."

He sat back, deeply contemplating her words. Now that he understood what had been going on, and all the implications, he could easily forgive Jubilee and Rogue for how they had reacted. He also felt like a complete fool for the way he had handled the situation in the library. Tyger had only been trying to communicate with him. Why had he gotten so angry?

Ororo watched as Hank began brooding. "I will go and talk with Tyger for you, Henry," she offered, and left the room.

He nodded absentmindedly, already lossed deep in his own thoughts. He knew all too well what it entailed to have a mutation such as hers - to be amidst so many people and still feel utterly alone. And in many cases, even hated and despised. If only there was a way he could make her feel more comfortable, and apologize to her at the same time....AH-HA!"

He flew out of the chair and rushed down to the lab.

* * *

Ororo knocked on Tyger's bedroom door. "Tyger, are you there?" she called out gently. "It's me, Ororo."

There was no answer. Ororo slowly opened the door and stepped inside. She could not see Tyger anywhere, but there was a peculiar lump under the comforter in the middle of the bed. She walked over and sat on the end of the bed.

"Tyger, I feel that we need to talk..."

The bundle shifted slightly.

"...about a certain blue-furred character."

The bundle shook vigourously as Tyger shook her head 'No!'.

"He is very sorry for the way he has been acting, Tyger."

A pair of ears popped out from under the blanket.

"It has all merely been one huge misunderstanding."

Tyger's head was now visible, but her body was still wrapped inside the comforter.

"But unfortunately, you yourself have played a major part in this misunderstanding, Tyger."

Her eyes widened in an expression which read, "Who, me?"

Ororo nodded.

Tyger shook her head again. She now freed her hands as she tried to communicate to Ororo her thoughts and feelings.

Ororo was patient. Tyger held her hands out wide, then pointed to the blue shirt that Ororo was wearing. She understood this was a reference to big, blue Hank. Then Tyger put her hand to her mouth and made a talking motion, with her fingers, then pointed to the floor, and finally pointed to herself. She repeated the gestures in the same sequence. It took Ororo a moment to comprehend what she meant. Then she chuckled.

"My dear, Henry talks down to everybody! That is just his manner of speaking. Half the time I find myself wishing for a dictionary when I talk with him. He certainly never meant to make you feel foolish."

The feline made a silent 'Oh!' with her lips.

"And, he did not know that you could not speak."

Tyger's ears drooped and she bit her lower lip when she realized that she had made a big oopsey.

Ororo patted Tyger's shoulder in a comforting gesture. "Perhaps you would do well to talk to Henry."

Tyger gave her an apprehensive look.

"Do not be intimidated by his size and appearance, for he has the kindest, gentlest heart I've ever known."

She stood up and headed toward the door. "Oh, and Tyger, just for your information, Henry can almost always be won over by Twinkies."

She left the room, leaving Tyger to mull over just how she was going to reconcile things with Hank.

* * *

"I'm goin' to the corner store to get some munchies!!" Jubilee called out while rushing to the door on her rollerblades before anybody could tell her otherwise. She skidded to a halt as someone grabbed her jacket from behind.

Expecting to see one the overbearing adults, she spun around and whined, "But there's nothing to ea....oh! Hi, Tyger. What do you want?"

Still hanging on to Jubilee's jacket, Tyger used her free hand to point at herself, then at Jubilee.

"You want to come with me?"

She nodded vigourously. Jubilee's face brightened.

"Cool! Get your blades. You can help me haul all the stuff back!"

* * *

A week had passed since Hank's enlightening conversation with Ororo. He was down in his lab, admiring his newest creation. He had been doing so for three days, because even though it was meant for Tyger, he had yet to build up the courage to give it to her.

He had spent most of his time in the lab - working hard, he told himself; avoiding Tyger, said the little voice in his head. He was suddenly distracted by a reflection off the rim of his glasses, and he turned around just in time to see a black and orange striped tail disappearing around the doorway.

A smile appeared on his face. A huge, gigantic, ear-to-ear, boyish grin as his eyes settled upon what his brief visitor had left in her wake.

A box of twinkies.

* * *

CHAPTER 4: The Gift

Now that the ice had been broken by Tyger's peace offering of Hank's most favourite sugary treat in the whole wide world, he finally emerged from the dark recesses of his lab, prized item in hand, to look for Tyger.

Hank's mind was working overtime as he walked slowly down the hallway to the rec room, rehearsing what he would say to Tyger when he found her. In one of his massive hands, he held a small box containing his gift for her: a collar.

Okay Hank, he thought. What is the worst that can happen....no, don't picture that. Don't visualize anything involving hospitalization. Let's try, yes Tyger, this is a gift for...no, put down the claws. Okay, next thought.

He sighed to himself and shook his head.

Yes self, I am giving a cat a collar and expecting her not to become enraged. Let's try this again. My dear, I thought you might like this little gift. It is a collar...he suddenly visualized a glinting set of fangs. No good. Maybe...since our last conversation...no, bad beginning. Since I talked to you...no, just as bad. How about meeting? Alright. Since our last meeting, I have been contemplating your...situation? No. Difficulty? Maybe. Problem? No, too negative. Your verbally challenged condition...yes! Perfect! And for the last week I have been working...no...RESOLUTELY working on helping you overcome this condition. To this effect, I have created a little device to aid you in your facilitation of functional speech. Yes Hank, little boy blue does it again!

He had finally arrived at the rec room door.

Okay Hank, just remember what you've just said. Alright, deep breath, back straight...we can do this.

He grabbed the doorknob.

One...two...oh, boy...three.

He pulled the door open.

Oh, dear...

Tyger wasn't alone: Ororo was sitting on the loungechair, reading a book; Rogue and Gambit were playing pool; and Tyger and Jubilee were sitting on the floor in front of the television, engaged in an bloody battle to the finish on the latest kill 'em all Sega Genesis game.

Tyger...there she is. How do I get her attention...Attention?! What am I thinking? There are too many spectators here! Maybe I should just casually stroll over and present it...no. That won't work. I could leave it on the table for her...what if someone else opens it? Hmmmm...

He moved a couple steps to the right and stared at the bookshelf as if looking for something to read. Even though the presence of so many others here uneases me, the last thing I want to do is confront her alone...that might give her the wrong idea. He considered that thought. Okay, humour me Hank. Just what is the 'right' idea? Think about it. You are presenting this girl with a hand-made collar. What is she supposed to think? She is modelled after a feline! Maybe I should have gone with the bracelet idea instead, but that would look more like giving a girlfriend a gift and she is NOT my girlfriend.

He sighed inwardly. Let's just back out of here and meet her when she is less public. Besides...(he just noticed what he was looking at)...I have no interest in reading historical romances today.

Hank turned to leave. Glancing at Tyger, he noticed that she was staring quizzically at him.

He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Oh, my stars and garters, he thought to himself. How wholly inadequate because just as I fundamentally feared, I have forgotten my whole damn speech!

"Uh...hi, Tyger..." he stammered.

Yes Hank, that was suave and debonair. You set out to sweep her off her feet and impress her with your verbal, witty dialogue and all you can come up with is 'hi Tyger'? What's next, 'nice kitty'?

It was at this point in time that Jubilee looked up from her game and, eyeing the box in Hank's hand, said, "Hi, Hank. Watcha got there?"

He looked down at his hands. You would think with hands as big as mine, I could hide a little box.

"Uh...."

Yes Hank, witticism indeed. One more of those and you'll be ready for the Pulitzer prize...NOT!

He was very quickly becoming uncomfortably aware of all the eyes that were directed upon him.

Okay Hank, try again. Open your mouth and spew forth your verbal triage to save this situation! Dr McCoy, some emergency verbal surgery is urgently required!

"Uh...."

Doctor, we've lost the patient.

Jubilee was staring at him, concern on her face. "Hank?"

Self, it appears dear fellow, that we have caught a syndrome. I think we shall call it 'deer caught in headlights'. Symptoms: paralysis, speechlessness, and a feeling of imminent doom.

Jubilee slowly approached her near-catatonic friend. Stepping on her tip-toes to bring her face as close to Hank's as possible, she asked, "You okay, Hank?"

He looked down at her. "Er...um...no, now that you ask. I think I hear my notebook calling. Hip, hop, must dash!"

"Hank, are ya SURE you're feelin' okay? You don't seem to be your normal witty self."

Thank you, Jubilee. Shall we next broadcast that on worldwide news so everyone will know?

"Uh...."

Dammit, Hank! One more 'uh' and I'm going to bite off your own tongue!

"Jubilee, these last few days have been extremely emotionally stressful, and I...er...have been trying to cope with it solitarily rather than bringing my emotional difficulties out into the open..."

"Hank, just what the heck are you trying to say?"

Hank, turning slightly lavender, replied, "You know, Jube, my notebook is reeeeaaally becoming quite insistent."

"Hank, are you avoiding the issue?"

Avoiding, yes! Dodging, yes! Obstacle course quality! Must practice! Get in shape! Shape? Danger Room!!!

"Issues... yes. Issues in the Danger Room. Must go there RIGHT now..."

"Hank, you're making less sense than usual."

"Sense, yes...really...feeling a bit peckish. Excuse me..."

With whatever dignity he had left to muster, he quickly turned to leave the room, and bumped nose to nose with Tyger. She had snuck up behind him. Blinking coyly at him from a distance of six inches, she pointed to the box, a questioning look on her face.

"Uh...." YEEEOOOOWWTCH!!! he thought as he bit his tongue. Damn it Hank, I didn't mean for you to do it!

"Tyger...hi...how are you?"

Tyger blinked again. She had a sweet, innocent expression on her face that was completely unnerving whatever nerves Hank had left.

"Nice weather we're having...."

What am I saying?! Hank, honestly...

"Hey!" he suddenly exclaimed. "Give that back!"

Tyger had plucked the box out of his hand.

"That's not for you! Well, it IS for you...but NOT for you now!... I mean..."

Damn!

He looked up, realizing that he now had everyone's complete attention.

Gosh, it's hot, he thought to himself as all visible areas of his skin proceeded to turn a bright shade of lavender.

He looked back at Tyger, who was now opening the box.

Oh, double damn! Yes Hank, quite eloquent. Shall we add a few more four-letter words to make it more poetic? Mental note: why is it that my vocabulary decreases in direct proportion to the proximity of this young lady? Begin study now.

Tyger was now dangling the collar off the tip of her finger, a look of indignance mixed with some confusion plastered on her face.

"Uh...."

Point in study proven.

>From behind him, Jubilee spoke up, outraged.

"A COLLAR?! Are you out of your blue-furred mind?! What were you thinking? What's next? A leash and a rubber mouse?"

Hank was now frantically looking around for any miraculous means of escape.

Oh, yes. Why is there never a convenient rock when you need one?

"Uh...Jubilee...it's not like that..."

"Oh, sugah," commented Rogue, itching to get her digs in. "I think its kinda cute. She's so quiet, just add a little bell and we'll always hear her comin'."

She looked at Tyger, smiling. "You know, dear, ah've got this ball of string in my room that's lookin' for a home."

Still no rocks, thought Hank. And tables aren't big enough. I wonder if they would notice a big blue dust ball hiding under the rug?

It was Gambit's turn next. "And for my gift, chere, Remy get you monogrammed feeding bowls."

Jubilee's face had turned a striking shade of fuchsia.

"What are you guys saying?! She's a person, not a pet!"

Storm, who had all this time been watching with much amusement, stepped in.

"Jubilee, calm yourself. They are just having a little fun at Henry's obvious faux pas. Perhaps Henry will be willing to explain the meaning of his little gift before what is left of his dignity deserts him completely."

Hank looked at Storm gratefully. "Thank you, Ororo. My self esteem had already been planning a prolonged vacation and has even been so polite as to send me an itinerary. But perhaps this moment would not be the best time to explain my... gift?" he added that last part hopefully, desperate to get away from the prying eyes and find a quiet spot to wrench his foot out of his mouth. It had been rammed in so far that he could feel his toes touching his stomach. They tickled.

"Please Henry," Ororo implored. "After this little experience, could it really get any worse?"

The look he gave her spoke volumes - multiple series, actually - that even seemed to promise movie rights.

"I still feel that this would not be the best time," he said shyly.

Rogue piped up. "But the cat's outta the bag..."

Tyger glared at her.

"...so to speak," she added hastily.

"Very well," replied Hank as his shoulders slumped. He proceeded to talk to his toes, which he now coincidently noticed needed trimming.

"It is a voice modulation device with an integral subvocal microphone. Its intention was to permit Tyger more freedom of speech by programming it with her own linguafranca of sounds, equivalenting them to our own english speech."

Jubilee looked at Storm blankly. "What'd he say?"

Smiling brightly, Storm answered, "Henry has created a device that should - with practice - allow Tyger to speak."

"Sugah! How sweet of ya!" Rogue squealed as she rushed over to Hank and gave him a tremendous bear hug.

"GAH!" said Hank with a sharp exhalation of breath. I do believe that was one of my left ribs, he thought as the room began to darken. Rogue had squeezed him too hard.

His final thought as he blacked out was, unconsciousness... what bliss!!!

* * *

Jubilee tentatively knocked on Tyger's door.

"Hey, Tyg! It's Jube. Can I come in?"

She heard a half-growl, half-yowl reply and entered the room. Tyger was curled up in a chair staring at the collar which sat on the desk. Jubilee watched as Tyger prodded it with a single finger, rotated it a little, then stared at it some more.

"Er..Tyger, are you okay?" Jubilee asked, her voice full of concern.

Tyger spun the chair around to face her friend. With a sick grin on her face, she held up a rubber mouse by the tail and tossed it at her.

Jubilee caught it, then shrugged her shoulders. "Well...the guys can go too far sometimes," she said. "I just thought I'd let ya know how Hank is."

Tyger gave her a worried look.

"No, he's not hurt. He's fine. Jean said it was just exhaustion - working too hard. And...er...the rib should heal fine," Jubilee added that last part with barely a mumble.

Tyger's sensitive ears heard her anyway, and she dropped her face in her hands.

"C'mon, Tyg!" Jubilee said, trying to sound cheerful. "He's been through worse and he'll be jus' fine!"

Tyger looked up at her, her eyes dampening, then returned her face to her hands.

"Okay...so maybe the other times weren't your fault. But it's not like you did it on purpose," Jubilee added reproachfully.

Tyger growled softly. Jubilee got the distinct impression that she wasn't helping matters any.

"Okay, okay, I know. But accident or not, he'll be fine! Like they're always telling me, one day he'll look back at this and laugh....eventually. It's not like he can hold it against you."

Tyger refused to look up at her.

Jubilee sighed and decided to give up. "Okay, Tyg. If you wanna talk, you know I'm just across the hall," she said, and left.

As soon as the door closed, Tyger leapt from her chair onto the bed, and buried her face in her pillow. Ignoring the clattering sound of the chair hitting the floor, she let her tears flow freely.

Why do bad things always happen to him when I'm around? It's not like I mean to be such a disruptive influence, she wailed silently to herself. Things just happen. I wish I hadn't been so curious about that box. My curiosity always gets the better of me. But to be honest, a collar? I mean, I'm a cat...sorta. What did he expect people to think?

She propped herself up on one elbow and gazed across the room at the collar.

At least it's a nice collar - hand oiled leather, and the metal grillwork on the front is rather pretty. But...it's a collar! All that it's missing is a nametag!

She sighed.

It was a really nice gesture, though. Nobody's ever given me a gift before. Nobody's ever even tried to help me until Ororo found me and brought me here. I'm twenty three years old and I've never had any friends whatsoever until now.

She flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling.

I really should go down and see him. She paused in her thoughts. But I'm still a little frightened of him. When I'm near him, I feel strange...uneasy. I don't know if I like this feeling.

She growled at herself in frustration.

Besides...he's blue! Not even a natural colour for fur. He'd look sooo much better in bronze; and if he'd let his hair grow long so that it draped around his neck, he'd look quite striking!

She grinned mischievously at that thought, then frowned.

But it wouldn't matter now after all I've done to him. Still...the collar was a nice touch. But I AM going to rip the face off the first person who tries to give me a bell!

* * *

CHAPTER 5: I Did WHAT?!

A sort of hazy glow filled Hank's mind as he lay there: the quintessential relaxation that he had come to enjoy following extended hard labour. He felt weak, drained. His thoughts seemed cluttered as he fought to organize them.

I must have pushed myself to the end of my resources this time, he dimly thought. Even opening his eyes seemed a chore. Valiantly stretching muscles he'd forgotten how to use, he opened one eye a crack and looked around.

Oh....the infirmary. But I don't usually see it from this angle...

"You're awake," he heard Jean say as she came toward him. "How do you feel?"

"Like I'm suffering a massive sugar hangover and I'm all out of twinkies."

"Well Hank, you seem to be okay. Your body is just suffering from a massive adrenalin crash - not surprising after what happened." She paused. "Oh, and your rib is responding well to treatment."

Rib? Hank looked at her blankly. "Did I fall?" he asked.

"Not exactly," she replied, turning her head so he wouldn't see her smirk. "Rogue hugged you."

"Oh...." he said, still staring at her blankly. "What did I do to deserve such an uncharacteristic display of affection?"

"You gave Tyger a collar."

He chewed on that thought for a moment. "Oh....right. Tyger....collar...WHAT?!!" he cried, automatically jerking upright. The room began to spin.

Place your bets! thought Hank as he began to turn green and clamped his jaws.

Jean was there instantly with a bedpan which he promptly filled.

"Yuk," he said, pushing the try to one side. "That's it, no more twinkies." What am I saying?!

Jean handed him a damp cloth. "Maybe you're not ready to sit up just yet, Hank."

"Thank you Jean," he replied, lying back down. "But I do believe that my gastronomic convulsions clued me into that little detail." He looked at her sincerely, asking, "As a dear friend, would you kindly tell me what happened when I gave Tyger that collar? It is all a blur right now."

"Well," Jean replied, still trying to hide her smirk. "You didn't quite give her the collar."

"Huh?"

"Let me explain. You sort of had the collar to give her and Tyger swiped it before you could actually give it to her. This only made matters worse since she opened the box and, sensing it was just a normal collar and considering who she is, the - shall we say, juicy comments? - flew quite thickly."

Hank grimaced.

"And I really do hope that Tyger likes her rubber mouse. Gambit went to such lengths to find one for her..."

"Grrrooooaaaaannnn...."

"Hank, do you need another bed pan?" she asked.

"No, thank you Jean. Please, continue," he bravely added.

"It was rather sweet of you all told, just not really smart of you. I mean, in full public, Hank? You really have been a glutton for punishment these last few days, haven't you?"

"Somehow, stars and garters doesn't even begin to express this...and I suppose Tyger is busy considering sharpening her claws on my eyeballs?"

Jean smiled. "Well, initially your eyeballs weren't the pair she had in mind."

Hank winced.

"But she got over it. Now she just thinks it was a sweet thought - not a well thought out one, mind you - but a sweet one."

"Grrroooaaaannnn." Can it get any worse? He stared at Jean, noticing something. "Jean, I know that smile..."

"Well," she said, "Bobby's not feeling too chipper right now, either."

"And how is this depressing?"

"Weeelllll, for you it's not, but Tyger dislocated his shoulder when she made him EAT the bell."

Hank grinned so wide that his face began to hurt as he pictured it. Oh, my. I hope I won't require stitches everytime Bobby goes to the bathroom for a 'tinkle'.

"And before you ask, we're keeping him in the bungalow in case Tyger considers ripping off something that can't be put back in place."

Hank just lay there, a serene contented glow surrounding him. "Pop, pop, twist, twist, guess who's next on her hit list!" he sang happily.

"You know, Hank, you can be quite petty at times," Jean commented. She shook her head and left Hank to his meditations.

* * *

Bobby was in the bungalow, quietly raging and asking himself just what the big deal was.

It was only a bell after all...ow! he thought, looking down at his arm resting in its sling. I mean, it wasn't that big a deal! Maybe it's her time of the month...

* * *

CHAPTER 6: Cat Got Your Tongue?

Hank was released from the infirmary the next day. Except for mealtimes, he spent most of his time in the lab. Hyperspacial widgets and turbo-powered framozams poured from his fertile imagination. Basically, it was just busy work, trying to keep his mind off matching feeding bowls, rubber mice and balls of string. Yet, he was curious as to whether she had actually acquired any of them.

Tyger spent much of her time alone. What SHE was doing was anybody's guess. She was even avoiding Jubilee, and when they did run into each other, Jube noticed that Tyger seemed tried, irritated and frustrated, and refused to talk about it.

As the days stretched to a week and one week into two, the stress around the mansion became palpable. Even Logan, who had returned from his camping trip, could feel the tension. And there wasn't even a despotic supercriminal around to help relieve the strain.

Rogue had taken to pounding Danger Room mechanations to relieve it. Jubilee continuously attempted near-reckless blading endeavours. Scott and Jean began to argue nearly continuously over trivial things. Ororo, however, seemed strangely unaffected. She still continued to be her calm and collected self, although she did seem to be spending a lot more time in her greenhouses than was usual. As for Logan, during that week ALL the hedges in the property got trimmed, even the ones that didn't need it. And in the bars around town, bikers kept a low profile.

But by the 15th day after the 'collaring', things began to liven up. Less repairs were needed around the mansion. Jube's skinned knees were finally given a chance to start healing, and Scott no longer spent his nights on the sofa. And one by one, the bikers returned to the bars, though with furtive glances over their shoulders.

Hank, buried in the lab, noticed little of this. Being so immersed in his trivial studies of useless trivia, he was oblivious to the world around him. But finally, the seemingly neverending quest for twinkies forced him to leave his refuge and venture forth once more into the world.

Unfortunately, peace was not to be his as the first person he met was Tyger. "Good day, my dear," he said, nodding curtly as he walked past her.

"hi...haank."

It wasn't for a full ten seconds that the fact that she had spoken to him clicked in. His head snapped around, but he kept going forward. Unfortunately, the doorframe didn't seem to care.

Staring at the ceiling he thought, that is certainly an unusual place to put a wall. Then he suddenly found himself looking into Tyger's eyes.

"aaarrr...yuuuuu...ooohkayee?"

Blink. Blink.

"haank?"

Blink. Blink. Blink.

"speek...tooo...mee...haank"

"Dear Tyger...I...I'm...speechless...!"

She grinned. "Catt...gott...yourrr...tonnggue...nowww?" Her voice sounded strained and mechanical. And she didn't need to move her lips since she was talking directly from her throat via the collar.

"I....aaammm...lerrnninng...itt...nott...eeezzy," she added, an expression of pride on her face.

"I'm impressed," commented Hank. "Although I would be more impressed if I wasn't conversing with you from such a ludicrous position."

"oh...soorrreee...haank," she said as she stepped back and helped Hank onto his feet.

Oh, yes. That subcutaneous cranial swelling will be quite impressive later. For once, being blue has its advantages- no one will notice my bruises.

"Why...youu..alllwaaazz...hert...self?" Tyger asked him, looking genuinely concerned.

Hank sighed. "My dear lady, fate has my address and Murphy, my number. And the way I'm going, that number will be up quite soon."

She looked at him blankly. "I..dooaann...unnderstaaand"

Hank gently caressed her cheek. "Don't worry, be happy...the way you are. As for myself, I believe that at this time, I require an icepack. If you will excuse me," he said, and she watched him head down the corrider, muttering something about icepacks and Bobby.

* * *

Tyger, almost in a daze, slowly walked back toward her room, trying very hard to make sense of what just happened. She had thought that Hank would be pleased with what she had accomplished. She felt that he was, though it was hard to tell through his pain and confusion. She didn't understand why she wanted so badly to please him. Maybe it was because she still had yet to thank him for the collar. She hadn't visited him in the infirmary. She tried, but she couldn't build up enough courage to face him. She was glad that she had finally bumped into him in the hallway, but the encounter had not gone as she had hoped.

She entered her room and flopped down onto her bed, feeling utterly frustrated and somewhat confused. When he touched her, it was like someone had applied a low electrical current to her skin. It felt tingly, and she flushed as she remembered the feeling. What does it mean? It didn't seem like fear. Rather than retreating or running away from his touch, she had found herself craving more.

And it made no sense!!!

Granted, no one had ever touched her with any gentleness like that before. Prior to her arrival at the school, she had believed that punching, kicking, and other forms of brutality were normal ways for people to treat her. The friendly shoulder pats and hugs that Ororo and Jubilee gave her had felt alien to her at first, but she had very quickly grown to enjoy the physical contact. But with Hank...it had felt different. Very different. And she liked that, too.

She growled in frustration.

What am I if the first person who pets me reduces me to purring? Is that all I really am? Just a big, overgrown housecat? Just stroke me and I purr? Darnit.

She got up, locked the door, and grabbed the discman off her desk. She had to forget about all this, and dancing until she dropped was the best way she knew how.

* * *

As Hank made himself a sandwich, he tried to pull his thoughts together. That woman made him crazy in every way possible. Give me ten squads of sentinels rather than ten minutes with that inFURiating feline female!

He munched his sandwich savagely.

Stars and garters! Hmmm...mental note: coined expression completely inadequate to express current levels of emotional aggravation. Find more profound expression for times such as this.

His sandwich reeled under the physical torture it was enduring.

Yes, indeed. It seems that my earlier premise is coming true: my supply of common sense and self control seems to dwindle down to nothing whenever she is around, while at the same time, the occurrence of injuries upon my person increases.

He sighed deeply, momentarily diverting his thoughts to the glass of milk that sat nearly quaking next to the plate that once contained a sandwich.

But her fur was so soft...I can still feel it beneath my fingers....its silkiness seemed to beg to be stroked and its lustrous...

He blinked and shook his head.

What am I thinking?! What kind of perverted blue buffoon am I to be considering this? She is a houseguest, not a scantily clad housekeeper!

He gulped down the milk and set the glass down roughly.

Hank, my boy, whatever relief you need, you had better get it soon, he silently growled to himself.

He placed the dishes in the sink and headed back to the lab, forcing himself to focus on the projects he had yet to finish. But his mind kept being drawn back to the glow in Tyger's eyes when he had touched her, and the almost subliminal feeling of joy he had felt when he did so. No matter how hard he tried, the thought just WOULD NOT go away.

* * *

CHAPTER 7: Pool Party

Having had enough of tension and gloom and an overall lack of fun, Jubilee decided that they were going to have a pool party. A party with balloons and swimming and a barbecue and everyone in the mansion was going to join in on it whether they liked it or not.

Jean, Storm and Rogue all agreed right away. They felt that everybody was in need of a little relaxation. Remy agreed, of course (Rogue in bathing suit - why the hell wouldn't he show up?). Bobby needed even less convincing (all the X-women in bathing suits - not even Juggernaut could prevent him from attending). Jubilee let Jean deal with Scott, and as for Logan, the promise of a barbecued steak was a good enough reason for joining them. That just left Hank and Tyger.

Naturally, Hank was relunctant to join in. Not only was he leery of the fact that he tended to make a fool of himself whenever he was in Tyger's presence, but he also feared the inevitable injuries he would sustain. But after three straight hours of nagging from both Jubilee and Bobby - Will you come to the party? No. Will you come to the party? NO. Will you come to the party? ARRRGGHH! - he relunctantly gave in as his nerves nearly reached their breaking point. He resolved to stay as far away from Tyger as was possible during the party.

Tyger was now the last one on the list, and Jubilee was very quickly finding her to be the most difficult to recruit. Bobby had abandoned her on the quest (he was still sensitive about the bell incident), so she had to do it alone.

"Doo I havve too wearrr a suuit?"

"Of course you do," replied Jubilee, exasperated. "It's a POOL party! You can't go swimmin' without a suit!"

"I doant knoow how tooo swim."

"I'll teach you! C'mon Tyg, you gotta come! Everyone else is!"

Tyger shuddered. That was the problem. Well, that and the swimsuit. She still wasn't entirely comfortable around the others, and she avoided crowds in general. And even though she typically wore fairly revealing clothes like shorts and tank-tops, that was only because clothing felt irritating when worn over her fur. The bathing suit that Jubilee had picked out for her to wear (with a lot of input from Rogue), was just too revealing.

"Can I jusst wearr a sherrt annd shorrts?"

"Tyger!" cried Jubilee, throwing her arms up in the air. "Just wear the suit, pllleeeaaasse!!!"

Tyger sighed inwardly. She didn't want to disappoint her friend.

"Oh kaay," she said, nodding relunctantly.

Jubilee brightened visibly. "Alright! The party is about to start, so get ready, 'kay!" and she turned and left Tyger's bedroom.

Tyger sighed audibly this time and turned to stare at the bathing suit lying on her bed. It was a two-piece suit, but it wasn't a string bikini (she would have died from embarassement just thinking about wearing it). Even so, she still didn't like it.

She lightly fingered the slippery, emerald green material and cringed. She had never worn a bathing suit in her life. But I promised, she told herself, and sighed. She stripped off her t-shirt and shorts and tentatively picked up the suit. Then, before she lost her nerve, she put it on quickly. Taking a deep breath, she turned and looked at herself in the mirror. Too much fur, she thought, and the back feels uncomfortable. Turning around so she could view her back, she quickly realized the problem. With a single extended claw, she tore a modest hole in the seat of the suit and strung her tail through.

Much better, she thought, then turned to face the mirror once again. She still wasn't happy with all the cleavage that the top piece revealed. She went to her bed and put her t-shirt back on. Well, at least I AM wearing the suit - Jubilee can't complain about that can she? She held no belief in that last thought as she grabbed her beach towel and headed out the door.

* * *

Hank's relunctance to go to the pool party was quite evident as Rogue had to come into his lab and drag him out by the scruff of his neck.

"But rogue!" Hank protested, trying not to whine, "I really must finish that computation! It's critical for my research!"

Rogue would hear not of it. "Sugah, your research ain't goin' anywhere, an' the party's here now. The only thing missin' is you, and ah'm here to see you get there!"

"Rogue, please just let me finish this page! Just...just...okay! OKAY! I'm coming!" Hank exclaimed as Rogue proceeded to frog march him out of the lab.

* * *

By the time Hank got there, the party appeared to be in full swing. The barbeque was going strong with Logan in charge. He was wearing an apron that had been altered to read: "Kiss the cook and die!"

Jean and Scott were lounging in chairs next to the pool, and quietly, very quietly, deep down in his mind, Hank had to admit that she was a fine looking woman.

Jubilee was in the shallow end, tossing a big multi-coloured beach ball between Bobby and Ororo. Gambit, not surprisingly dressed in speedos, was just exiting the pool after a rather impressive dive. Behind him, Hank could hear Rogue closing and locking the door.

Damn, he thought. There goes my escape route and hope of making a token appearance and sneaking off. With heavy steps, he slowly made his way over to one of the chairs and sat down. As long as I don't get wet, everything should be fine.

Looking around intently, several minutes passed before Hank knew Tyger was even there. She was sitting in a chair on the other side of the pool, shielded by plants. He had only noticed her when he saw a glass of lemonade appearing and disappearing from a nearby table.

Yes, he thought, tigers can hide when they want to. It's for the best anyway. I won't be injured over here...I hope.

It was at about this time that Tyger noticed Hank. After all, the blue, furry giant couldn't really hide behind the flower pots, could he? He looked as uncomfortable as she felt. It appeared this pool party wasn't his idea of a fun time, either. Should I go over there? Tyger mused. After all, misery loves company. Then again, maybe I'd better leave him be. He looks like he wants to be alone.

Bobby, with an evil, unrepentant grin, noticed the pair so obviously ignoring each other. What can I do? he thought to himself sadistically. Correction - what can I do to them that won't get me injured again? I don't want to eat something I can't pass. The bell was bad enough. Hmmmm. What if...hmmmm...

He turned to Jubilee. "Jube, what's with those two? Our kitty looks like she got up on the wrong side of the basket this morning!" Jubilee gave him a pitying look.

"Bobby, it's obvious that whatever common sense you've got left just packed up an' left. Keep your mouth shut before she makes you eat that beach ball you're holding."

"Oh," he said in a small voice. "But what is it between those two? Is she still sore over the collar?"

"Bobby," said Jubilee, "sometimes you're so dense...arrggh!...even I can see what's goin' on. Why don't you go soak your head!" she added as she splashed him.

"C'mon, Jube! We have to do something about those two. Whatever's eating them, we have to work it for the good of the team!" Jubilee blinked at him. "I mean, for the good of the group they have to come together: compadres, buddies, and that sort of thing."

Jubilee gave him a strange look. "Bobby, are you feeling okay?"

"Me?" he said, trying to sound hurt. "You KNOW I have the best interest of the group at heart, now and ever and always! So, we HAVE to do something!"

Jubilee just rolled her eyes and dived under the water.

"Well, I'M going to do something. I can't let this go on," he said as he moved and climbed out of the pool. Trying to elicit help, he casually went over to Remy who was now lounging by the pool.

"Remy, have you noticed what are furred comrades have been up to?" Bobby asked him.

Remy opened one eye a crack and looked at him, a completely non-commital look on his face. "Bobby, what you up to?"

"Me?" Bobby said, once again working on innocence. "I'm simply worried about the unity of our merry little band."

"Vraiment?"

"Yes, Remy! I mean those two can't even be in the same room together without a disaster happening, and have you noticed they've never even shaken hands as far as I can tell? I mean, just WHAT is it between them?"

Remy closed his eye. "Bobby, when you grow up, you'll know."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he said indignantly.

"Bobby, Remy need say no more since you obviously don' understand."

"Oh? And I suppose you, with your superior intellect, know exactly what's happening between those two?" he angrily retorted.

Remy simply ignored him. And after a few more unresponsive minutes, Bobby stamped off in a huff.

Jean shook her head as she watched this encounter, wondering idly what the devil he was up to now. Bobby obviously thought those two hated each other, not understanding in the slightest what was actually happening. As if either of that pair was likely to admit it.

Smiling a secret smile, she relaxed on her chair and let the thought pass from her mind. Bobby was Bobby. And one day he would grow up - likely to the shock of everyone who knew him.

Bobby, after leaving Remy's presence, was at a loss as to what to do next. A single glance in Jean's direction was enought to inform him that no help in his schemes would come from her. And Logan, well, he'd been the brunt of too many of his jokes to be of any help.

But he had to do something. The urge, the need burned inside him. And, well, Tyger was so...innocent...prime meat for his exploits. Still, what to do? Knowing how much Hank disliked getting wet, he could guess how much Tyger would love it. The problem was, how to get her dunked without him being implicated. The thought of what Tyger would do to him if she found out gave him shivers. But the practical joke he was planning left him tingling with anticipation.

It was worth the risk.

If there was one thing bobby had, it was patience, especially patience for a good joke. So he was in no hurry to trigger his little scheme until his timing was perfect. So he waited, and watched. And eventually, Tyger extracted herself from her seat, and headed toward the barbecue, having to pass next to the pool doing so. Bobby was ready.

As soon as tyger stepped onto the damp tiles, Bobby reduced the thin film of water to black ice. Predictably, Tyger, not expecting it, slipped along it straight into the water.

Tyger's yowl of surprise and horror drew everyone's attention to the pool. Tyger went under, and Jubilee's eyes widened with panic as she remembered what Tyger had said. "SHE CAN'T SWIM!!!" she shrieked.

Without a thought toward the matter, Hank leaped from his chair and dived into the pool (which was ten feet away).

* * *

Her mind was reeling. One moment she was breathing air; the next, water. All her senses were suddenly rendered useless as she floundered around in the watery prison, trying to find a way out. Panic wrenched her stomach and her muscles writhed with pain as she flailed her arms and legs, but to no avail.

Suddenly, a large, muscular arm wrap itself around her waist and she felt herself being pulled upward.

She gagged and choked as her head broke the surface. Her lungs were screaming for air, but the water was preventing the much needed oxygen from getting in.

"Don't worry, I've got you!" she heard a voice say into her ear, but she couldn't quite place just who it belonged to. She was too busy trying to breath. She felt her body being lifted, and her elbows and chest came to rest against the side of the pool.

* * *

"Don't worry, I've got you!" Hank said as they broke the surface. She didn't reply, but her flailing limbs informed him she was conscious. The gurgling sounds she made as he pulled her to the side of the pool worried him greatly. There was water in her lungs, and she had to get it out. His arm still wrapped around her, he placed his fist against her abdomen and attempted a one-handed Heimlich. He felt her thorax forcefully contract and water spurted from her mouth. He breathed a sigh of relief as spasmodic coughing and sputtering ensued.

Now that she was getting air, Tyger was able to focus her senses on the other things that were happening around her. Her eyes were closed tight, stinging from the chlorine, but she was aware of people milling around her, various voices asking what happened? Are you alright? She began to feel panicked again, claustrophobic - too many people around her. She had to get out of there. She tried to move, but the arm around her held fast and drew her closer.

As she was drawn into this strange embrace, a feeling of calmness suddenly flowed over her. She felt...safe. Her body relaxed and her nose picked up the mixed scent of chlorine and wet fur.

It was him. She flushed as rivulets of heat trickled over her skin where their bodies connected. Eyes still shut, she leaned her head back against his neck, drinking in his musky scent and marvelling at the strength of his body, and the aura of safety and protection that encompassed her.

* * *

Jean panicked briefly as Tyger's head seemed to flop back. She feared that the woman was unconscious, but a quick scan of her mind told Jean otherwise. Forcing back a smile, she announced that she wanted to take Tyger to the infirmary and used her telekinesis to lift her out of the pool.

* * *

Hank sensed that she was scared; panicked, and instinctively drew her closer to him. He felt her muscles as they tensed, then relax. He felt the warmth of her body against him, his skin prickling with heat where they touched. She laid her head back against his shoulder and he revelled in the sensation, her scent like sweet perfume filling his nostrils.

Then, without any warning, he felt her being pulled away from him. He tried to hang on, not wanting to let her go. But it was futile. He was transfixed, as if watching a movie. Rogue draped a towel around Tyger and Jean led her off to the infirmary. He was in too much of a daze to noticed that her steps were reluctant ones. He was broken from his trance only when Logan crouched down by him and said, "Don't worry Hank, I'll take care of it," then stood up and headed back to the barbecue.

Hank blinked, unable to make any sense about what Logan had just said. He let his body drift in the water for a moment longer, then swam to the other side and hauled himself out of the pool. Jean had unlocked the door, so he went inside.

All he wanted was to be alone right now.

* * *

Logan's sharp eyes noticed the telltale glimmer of ice on the tiles. He said nothing, but he shot Bobby a look that would make a seasoned murderer freeze in his tracks.

Their eyes locked. Bobby gulped. The look on Logan's face told him loud and clear that one simply does not do this type of thing. Period. Logan turned away, but Robert's body remained frozen in place. Even so, his mind was racing. That wasn't supposed to happen! I didn't mean for this to happen! Honest to God, I didn't know she couldn't swim!

As Tyger was being led to the infirmary, Logan informed Hank that he would take care of the problem. I won't deal with Bobby right now, he thought to himself as he headed toward the barbecue. There's plenty o' time for that. 'Sides, there's a big, juicy steak with my name on it.

* * *

Jean led Tyger to the infirmary. After making her lie down on the examination table, she checked to see that she was okay then asked her if she wanted to talk about anything.

"No," she quickly replied (with a little too much force).

Jean just smiled. "Tyger, I saw the way you were cuddling into him, like he was a big, blue teddy bear. One doesn't have to be a telepath to read the contentment on your face."

"Welllll..." Tyger replied, feeling very uneasy.

"You were so adorable!"

Tyger winced and valiantly fought off the urge to slink off the table and out of the room.

"Besides, I think Hank has already expressed how he feels about you."

She looked up hopefully. "He has?"

"Of course. Don't you know that in some cultures, giving a lady a collar or necklace is a sign of commitment?"

"But Hank woouuldn't...that waasn't..." Tyger protested.

Jean looked at her sternly. "Are you sure?" she replied. "Do you really know what goes on in the levels of his mind? After all, I am a telepath." The last part was true, but she hadn't really delved that deep into Hank's thoughts. She was just hoping that her bluff worked.

"But he neverr said anything...he alwaays seems agitated when I'mm arround."

"He probably doesn't know how to express himself. He can be rather crude at times. It's not as if you've told him how YOU feel."

"But I don't..."

Jean smiled at her. "Really? Not even just a little?"

Tyger smiled back shyly. "Maaybee just a little."

"Only a little?" Jean pressed.

"What doo yoou want me to saay?"

"Tyger, I know that you're shy about this kind of thing. But Hank really is quite sweet and...gentle once you get to know him."

Tyger looked startled. "You meean you and...?"

Jean laughed. "Goodness, no!" she exclaimed.

"I jusst don't knnow what to dooo," said Tyger, looking rather dismayed.

"Trust your instincts, Tyger," Jean implored. "Trust him."

They talked for a while longer before Jean let Tyger out of the infirmary.

* * *

CHAPTER 8: Denial

Ororo had awakened quite early the following morning, and embarked on her daily pilgrimage to the greenhouse. She didn't notice Hank at first, sitting in a far corner among some ferns and roses. She had just picked up a tray of orchid seedlings when...

"Hello, Ororo."

"My orchids!" she exclaimed as they hit the floor. She turned to Hank. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

He sighed. "Ororo, I have reached a quandary to which no level of intellectual analysis has proven sufficient to..."

Ororo raised a hand to halt him. Smiling, she said, "Henry, quit babbling. You are confused."

"Yes, if laconically put," Hank reluctantly agreed.

"Talk to me," she said, and sat down next to him.

Hank took a deep breath, and his shoulders settled as if they were carrying a great burden. Ororo could see that the strain of whatever was bothering him was affecting him severely. Given the recent gossip, she had little doubt as to what it was about.

"It's HER," he said, his tone almost repugnant.

"Oh? And what 'her' are you talking about?" Ororo replied slyly. "Have you and Jubilee been at it again?"

"No!"

"Rogue? She hasn't been beating on you again, has she?"

"No, she hasn't," he replied, now sounding indignant.

"Well, Jean has been in a teasing mood as of late. Has SHE been bothering you?"

"No, she hasn't!" he declared loudly, squirming visibly.

Ororo put a thoughtful finger to her lips, and continued. "Let's see, who is left? Hmmm...it's not Jubilee, Rogue hasn't touched you, and Jean has been behaving herself. Now who am I missing?" she mused.

Hank pushed himself up onto his feet and started pacing. "You know perfectly well who is missing!" he said crossly. "That striped, whiskered, tailed..."

Ororo piped up. "You forgot 'attractively furred'."

"Yes. Attractively fur...NO! Wait a minute!"

She successfully feigned a look of innocence. "So Henry, what has your poor Tyger done to you now?"

"It's not what she's done...hey!...she is not MY anything!"

"Oh!" said Ororo, suddenly enlightened. "So you're upset about what she DIDN'T do."

"That's not what I meant!!" he exclaimed, turning lavender.

"Then what are you so upset about that she didn't do to you?" Ororo asked, grinning inwardly.

"She didn't do anything to me!" he cried.

"And this bothers you? Were you expecting her to...?"

"NO!!! I do not want her to do anything to me!"

"Then why are you so upset that she didn't?"

Hank stopped and took a deep breath. Then another. "You are NOT helping," he stated, trying to sound calm.

"I AM helping," Storm retorted. "I am trying to help you face what you yourself are denying."

"I am NOT denying ANYTHING!!!" Hank roared back.

"Ah," said Ororo, undaunted, "the first sign of denial."

"AAAARRRGGH!" he cried, completely exasperated. "You are as infuriating as SHE is!"

Ororo remained as calm as ever. "Henry, you must get over this obsession of yours."

"I am NOT obsessed!"

"You seem to be obsessed. You cannot seem to get her out of your mind. After all, you did collar her. And Henry, do you not realize that in some cultures, that is as good as an engagement?"

He suddenly turned a paler shade of blue. "WHAT?!"

"Of course. A woman is usually given a silver or gold necklace to show that she has been claimed. I thought that this was your intention."

Hank just stood there, jaw wide open.

"Henry, please close your mouth. You are liable to swallow one of the bees, and I need them for my flowers."

He closed his mouth.

"So," she pressed. "You're having second thoughts?"

"Second thoughts!" cried Hank. "What happened to the first thoughts?"

"Henry, it is as obvious as the blue in your fur what your first thoughts were."

Hank's mouth opened and closed, trying to force out some coherent sentences. "Thoughts?...No...not going to... What?!"

Ororo shook her head. "Henry, calm yourself! Think clearly. Close your eyes, relax. Until you can re-engage your brain, you're not going to be able to work through this."

He complied, and calmed visibly.

"After all," she continued, "until you can rationalize this, you are not going to be able to consummate...er...culminate the relationship."

"But I haven't touched her!!" he began, then caught himself. Taking another deep breath, he said, "Ororo, you are most certainly not helping me in ANY sense of that word."

"There, you see? That was MUCH calmer. So..ahem..Henry, what brought you out to lurk among the rose bushes?"

"SHE did."

"Oh, and what 'she' might that be?"

"You bloody well know what SHE it is! TYGER! That's who!!!"

"And what has your poor Tyger done to leave you in this kind of a state?"

"I AM NOT in a STATE!"

"You are aggravated, short-tempered, prone to pacing, and incoherent. Does that not qualify as a state?" she asked matter-of-factly. "I saw what happened at the party. It was quite a dive, in fact. Although, it would have been quite painful if you had missed."

"You mean there was no reason for me to take a long dive?" he asked tentatively, cautious of where this new direction in the conversation was taking him.

"Jean could have plucked her from the water as easily as you did."

"I just reacted," he replied, squirming again.

"Oh, the brave blue knight rescuing his damsel in distress!"

"It wasn't like that!" Hank protested. "She was in trouble! I just reacted to save her, just like any other team-mate!"

"Really?" Ororo replied, raising an eyebrow. "I don't recall her ever being inducted into the X-men. Nor do I remember ever seeing her in the training room. How is she a team-mate? A houseguest, maybe. So you jumped in to rescue a houseguest? Yes, jumped as if someone had pulled your chain. Hmmmm...are you collared as she is? Linked by a chain stronger than steel?"

"Ororo..." he said slowly, a warning tone in his voice.

"Come on Henry, admit it! If Bobby was in the water, you wouldn't have dived in like that, nor for Jubilee. You would have reacted instinctively, of course, but you would have called for Jean, or grabbed a life preserver. But no. It was Tyger, so you dived in to save her. Think rationally, Henry! What does that action say to you?"

"Well, when you put it like that, it does sound rather incriminating," he said rather sheepishly.

"So why did you do it?"

"I feared for her."

"It was a pool party with the X-men, Henry. At no point was anybody in any danger. What if Bobby had saved her instead?"

"Bobby?...That...!" he couldn't finish the sentence.

"Jealously now? Has a green monster bitten the blue beast?"

"Ororo," he said angrily, "are you trying to get my goat?"

"Not as much as you're avoiding trying to get a cat," she retorted.

"I am NOT avoiding anything!"

"Oh? Then your behaviour of barricading yourself in your lab is normal?"

"Of course it is!"

"Henry, you've missed eight scheduled training sessions. You've ignored our polite reminders. I do not believe I've seen you in the west wing at all since you returned, and you haven't slept in your own bed the whole time you've been here!"

"But I have work to do," he replied, nearly whining.

"Is that really true, Henry? Or have you simply been avoiding Tyger?"

"Ororo, there is NOTHING between us!"

"Henry," said Ororo, finally sounding exasperated. "Just go talk to her."

"We have NOTHING to talk about!" he replied adamantly.

"Then just hold her instead. Actions speak louder than words...Oh ho! THAT got a reaction! So you HAVE held her, haven't you?" she accused him, grinning wickedly. "And how did it affect you, Henry? Did it leave you breathless and tingly? Wanting to run away, yet refusing to?"

"Ororo, you are NOT helping me ANY!" he exclaimed once again.

She replied with a gentler voice. "Accept how you feel and work past it, Henry."

"Ororo, you DO NOT know what you are talking about," he growled as he stormed off.

Ororo just smiled.

* * *

Several hours later, Ororo and Jean met on the terrace.

"Well?" said Ororo.

"She's a sweet kid," Jean replied. "She's just scared, uncertain and...completely inexperienced. You?"

"He is pig-headed, stuck-up, arrogant and about as thick as Juggernaut's skull. I swear by the four winds that your two-footed feline has more self confidence than Henry does."

"And?" Jean said hopefully.

"I think I finally goaded him into actually doing something about it. This sulking around is getting difficult for everyone, whether they choose to be involved or not."

"Time will tell," Jean said slyly. "Ready for our match?"

"Of course," Ororo replied, grabbing her tennis racket. "And this time, no using your powers."

* * *

CHAPTER 9: Acceptance

Despite Jean and Ororo's best intentions, Hank and Tyger did not rush into each other's arms. Tyger, in fact, spent her time in the gym with the stereo blasting, trying to dance her way to a solution (her bedroom was too confining). The more she thought about what Jean had said, the more truth it seemed to make. But she couldn't help being bothered by the fact that Jean was trying to force them together. Not that she didn't have feelings for Hank - whenever they touched, she knew there were feelings. It was just a matter of doing what she wanted on her own terms.

The more she danced, the angrier she became as she dwelled on the interference - lingering on the fact that once again someone else was trying to dictate her life, to tell her what to do and how to live. To any outside observer, she was getting furious over nothing. Instead of dancing herself into relaxation, she was dancing herself into a fury: the more she danced the more she thought and consequently the angrier she became.

Hank was just the opposite. He was currently perched on the highest point of the mansion, watching the clouds stroll lazily across the horizon and wondering why the universe hated him. It wasn't really his fault that he had been in prison. One would think that coming home would be a pleasurable experience after having been gone so long.

Hank sighed. He couldn't help dwelling on the chaos of the last few weeks and wondering idly whether Ororo really was telling the truth. He asked himself quietly in the deep part of his mind whether he truly was engaged and if he was, why he hadn't yet had time to enjoy it? He had considered looking up that fact to see if it held merit, but decided that it really didn't matter. The fact that he had given Tyger the collar was incontrovertible, and he knew the affect it had was all out of proportion to the gift itself. There really was no point worrying about it anymore. Ororo's other comments, however, were more troublesome. Dwell on them as he might, he couldn't help but deduce that she had goaded him deliberately. Her behaviour was so un-Ororo-like that it was suspicious.

The whole incident revolved around HER. But he could not, despite his best efforts, be mad at her for 'screwing up' his life. Not that, when push came to shove, he would admit to having that good a life to begin with. He sighed deeply. In truth, it was a rather lonely existence. Yes, he had friends - dear friends. But none whom he could share any degree of intimacy with. He found himself reflecting on his past relationship with Trish. Yes, it had been rocky in some places, having become an on-and-off situation near the end but...to have someone who was there for you, someone who cared for you, someone to hold you. He missed that. He missed it more than he cared to admit. Immersing himself in his work kept his emotions in check. Distraction was what had always allowed him to make it through each day. But sometimes, it just wasn't enough.

He sighed again, and recalled what he had felt when he had held her for that one brief moment. Then he shook his head and focused his thoughts on the stars, recalling the names of constellations in his head.

* * *

Jean was just drying off after having taken a shower. She had won the tennis match with Ororo without using her powers, and was feeling rather smug about it. She idly sent out a feeler of thought to her two favourite furballs: Hank, she found sitting on top of the mansion; Tyger, fuming in the gymnasium. Ho boy, she thought. Knowing the mood that Tyger was in, anyone else confronting her was hazardous. So she sent a 'mild' compulsion into Hank's mind that he just HAD to talk to Tyger right away.

* * *

Hank rationalized that Ororo's meddling had been unjustified and he had best talk to Tyger before any of the conversation got back to her. So he climbed down from his lofty perch (twice stopping to pull splinters from his palms from the trellis) and went looking for her.

As he neared the gymnasium, he heard music blasting from within. He barged right in without thinking, and once again found himself watching Tyger dance.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, but didn't stop dancing. He noticed that her movements were quite different from the last time - wide, sharp, vigourous - it was almost as if she were throwing herself around the room. She completely lacked the finesse and sensuality he had previously witnessed. It was almost as if she were...angry.

She didn't stop until the song ended, whereupon she turned sharply to face him. She was breathing heavily - from her exertions, was his first thought - then he saw the fire in her eyes and realized that she was raging.

He was taken aback. "Oh, my," he said, then stopped himself. You are not going to mishandle this situation such as you did the first time, he told himself firmly. He moved toward her, and felt her anger pass over him like a wave of heat.

Tyger stepped back, and raised a hand to halt him. She knew what she was like when she was angry; she was afraid she would hurt him if he came too close.

He continued, undaunted, and cupped her hand in one massive palm. She stiffened - that wasn't the action she was expecting.

Hank was acting entirely on impulse as he wrapped his other arm around her waist and drew her close to him. All her anger dissipated the moment their bodies touched. She melted into his arms and laid her head on his shoulder.

A mere moment passed before Hank slid his hands up her back in a gentle, teasing caress which sent waves of fire washing over her body.

Encouraged, Tyger slid her hands slowly, tentatively up and down his arms, marvelling at the softness of his fur and fingering the solid bulges of muscle that lay beneath.

She lifted her head and allowed her hands to continue their journey over his massive shoulders and then along his chest. She saw that his eyes were closed - apparently he was enjoying this as much as she was.

Then his eyes opened, and he freed a reluctant hand to caress her cheek. She was about to purr when he gently cupped her chin and drew her face to his.

She stiffened slightly with nervousness - this would be her first kiss. She offered no resistance as his hot breath played lightly over her lips, then felt their lips touch...

The alarm sounded.

Hank abruptly pulled his face away and looked down at her. She looked back at him expectantly. Hank held up one finger, tapped her nose and said, "Hold that thought," before he turned and bolted out of the room.

The gym door closed upon an echoing roar of frustration.

"WHAT?! Yoou bluue-furrred teease!!! I'll show you whachyou cann hold!" she shrieked and then bolted after him.

* * *

Tyger followed his trail to the Ready Room, and entered just in time to see Hank leaving through the opposite doorway. Moving silently, she cat-footed behind Hank and followed him onto the Blackbird.

We're going to finish this once and for all, she thought to herself. Yet she was still unsure if she should be afraid or if she would enjoy what was to come.

The hatch closed and the Blackbird took off, carrying with it one extra passenger.

* * *

CHAPTER 10: The Cat Who Roars

The warehouse had, in its long life, gone by many names. Its history dated back to the early twentieth century and if its old, decaying walls could talk many a historian would be interested in what it had to say. It had held furs, cotton, machinery and other goods in its long career, but even that building must have be suffering considering the belly full of hate it had within it at that moment.

The men who sat around the battered old table in the building's once pristine office were typical of their kind throughout history: opinionated, biased, and convinced of the righteousness of their cause. They wore no uniforms and had no common appearance; only their hate united them.

This specific group called themselves by the harmless sounding name of the 'Friends of Humanity', and their particular brand of hatred was reserved for the now publicly recognized minority known as Mutants. Publicly, the FOH claimed to have over a thousand recognized members in their state alone. Though in truth, membership varied so wildly that they would be lucky if a tenth of that number would come if called.

Historically, for any group to survive, it must be either self-funding or sponsored. The FOH could not go door to door asking for contributions, nor could the membership support the group from their own wealth. So they were forced to seek out wealthy sponsors to support their cause. In recent times, this had gotten harder and harder to do.

On this particular day, the twelve self-appointed leaders of their city's chapter were gathered together to listen and accept orders from their sponsor, Mr. Haimrich. Of late, Mr. Haimrich had been frugal in funding the group ever since President Kelly had thrown his backing behind the Mutant Rights bills. But thankfully, like all things, the clamour over mutant rights had passed and once again, Mr. Haimrich felt that it was time to show their local muties that their 'friends' had not forgotten them. His representative went by the name of Bill, and from his polished patent leather shoes to his immaculately styled hair cut, he oozed wealth and prestige. Bill's presentation that night was both comprehensive and exacting. It specified that their targets had to come from a well-known mutant sanctuary: Xavier's School for Gifted Children, and even included slides of several of the younger generation at the mansion.

None of the twelve could guess exactly why Xavier's pets were being singled out this time. Many of them personally thought that this particular nest of muties was far too public a target given Kelly's recent endorsements, but Bill was adamant that they were his employer's target of choice. Thus, the X-Mansion was staked out by the FOH and when Jubilee made her way down to the local corner store for her thrice-weekly sugar binge, she was followed, grabbed and drugged as she left the store.

The kidnappers were well pleased by the operation. It went off smoothly with not even a cry to alert anyone. If it wasn't for the store's manager seeing her being carried and driven off in a strange, dark car it might have been doubtful anyone would have known what had happened to her. But as things happened, the mansion learned of the kidnapping within minutes of its happening. Logan was tracking less than five minutes after that.

When he finally tracked down the vehicle and the warehouse where Jubilee was being held, Wolverine - showing a rare display of restraint - relayed the location to the other X-Men before storming the place himself.

Within minutes, the Blackbird was dropping down into a construction site a couple of blocks away. Cyclops, Iceman and Beast exited the aircraft and headed toward the warehouse, an unsuspected shadow following closely at their heels.

The first thing they saw when they arrived at the building was the smashed-in front door. Cyclops cursed at Wolverine under his breath before giving instructions to Iceman and Beast. Tyger, by this time, had left them and snuck around to the other side of the building looking for an alternate entrance. She knew she couldn't stay with the others; Wolverine would catch hold of her scent the moment the others caught up with him.

She soon found an open window. Like Hank, Tyger had put her personal desires on hold and was now concerned only about Jubilee. Jubes was her friend, one of the first friends she'd ever had. If the girl was in trouble, she had to help her. That's what friends did. She wasn't a total fool. She just planned to sneak in, grab Jubes while the others distracted the kidnappers and sneak out. Simple.

Not that she would say that she wasn't nervous. The heavy scent of many men made her even more edgey as she entered the darkened room. She also picked up Jubilee's scent, faint but definite. She had been in this room some time ago.

Perhaps it was her nervousness, or maybe it was her single-minded desire to locate Jubes which accounted for her carelessness. Whatever the cause, Tyger never listened at the second door to see if there was anyone inside. She very quickly found herself surrounded by Friends of Humanity thugs.

They were just as surprised to see her as she was to see them, but they recovered more quickly. So even as she tried to retreat, she was grabbed, one man to each arm, and shoved toward the single card table in the middle of the room. Beer cans and playing cards were sent flying as they slammed her body against the table, knocking the wind out of her.

The cigarette smoke seared her nostrils and made her eyes sting. And she was scared; too scared to do much more than weakly struggle as they wrenched her wrists and pinned her down.

"Well, lookie what the cat dragged in, boys! Herself!"

"You tryin' ta make a joke, Mike?"

Mike merely growled in reply.

A hand siezed her by the hair and yanked her head up to face her tormentor. She looked fearfully into his face, unshaven with eyes hidden by dark glasses but she could still feel the hatred in his gaze. She nearly gagging from the smell of alcohol as he spoke.

"We don't like mutie scum pokin' their noses 'round our headquarters, now do we, boys?"

The others laughed loudly, forcibly.

"I think this here little pussy needs to be taught a lesson, eh boys?"

More hearty agreements.

Sharp needles of pain shot up from her chin as her face was shoved back into the table. By now her fear was starting to ebb; anger brought on by indignation had planted itself firmly and was starting to grow.

Her ears twitched as she followed the direction his footsteps took. He was behind her now, his self-confidence radiating off him in waves. Her eyes widened as she caught the scent of his arousal. She heard him unzip his pants. Her head shot up and she bucked wildly, nearly wrenching free of their hold on her.

A hard object slammed into her shoulders, knocking her back down onto the table.

"No! Don't!" she said, punctuating her words with a half yelp, half growl of anger.

"Shut the hell up, mutie bitch!" he shouted, and hit her again.

She winced from the pain, but only briefly. Her anger had spiked dangerously; her mind was dancing on the very edge of her self-control.

Opening her eyes, she stared directly into the eyes of another man standing in front of her.

"Don't do thisss...." she warned, barely able to speak now as her throat was tight with rage.

The man in front of her must have sensed this, for his look of smug confidence was quickly being replaced by one of panic.

Rough hands grabbed at the hem of her shorts, attempting to pull them down.

She felt the red veil as it started to descend, to wrap itself around her mind. "I warned yoouuu..." she said, a deep growl rumbling in her throat.

The man directly in front of her froze, watching her eyes cloud over with rage. Then, summoning all his remaining willpower, he turned and fled as fast as his legs could go. He slammed the door behind him, letting his body slide to the floor as his strength left him.

He had seen that look once before: berserker rage, battle lust. And he had witnessed the aftermath. He covered his ears, trying to block out the blood-curdling roar which was quickly followed by the screams of his dying comrades. Gathering whatever wits he had left, he started to crawl, slithering away from the slaughter and into the shadows.

* * *

They heard the roar, and the screams. Cyclops turned to Beast. "Where did that come from?"

"I believe its source is located in the vicinity of that corridor," Beast replied, pointing down the hallway.

"And you couldn't have just pointed in the first place?"

"Quiet, Iceman. Let's check it out."

"Lead the way, oh fearless one."

The screaming had died down considerably by the time they arrived. Cyclops raised a hand to his visor, about to blast the door open when the wood suddenly shattered as a body flew through it. It landed on the floor with a sickening, wet thud and slid to rest at their feet.

"Dammit, Wolverine!" yelled Cyclops. "What the hell do you think you're....?"

He stopped short when he saw Tyger, not Wolverine, through the doorway. She roared again and slashed through a man's neck with one clawed hand.

"What the hell d'you want, Cyke?" Wolverine demanded, coming up behind them. He was towing a bruised and battered, albeit safe Jubilee with him.

Jubilee paled as she stared at the body, now resting in the corridor in a pool of blood with a portion of the intestines protruding from the gash in the abdomen. She felt her stomach lurch and she dropped to her knees, clutching her sides in grim determination not to throw up.

The first thought in Hank's mind, upon observing the carnage before him, was fascinating. The second was, I've got to end this!' And he bounded into the room.

The bodies of five men lay strewn about the room, disfigured by various slash marks and in some cases, disembowelled. Massive amounts of blood had been splattered over every surface within the room, and in the centre of it all stood Tyger.

She turned to face him, muscles bunched, claws extended, fur nearly coated entirely by dripping blood. Her face was a contorted mix of hatred and fury. Her nostrils flared as she raked huge amounts of air into her aching lungs. The tip of her tail twitched back in forth menacingly, and he could no longer see her ears as they were pressed back hard against her head.

She stared right through him, eyes nearly red with fury, and lunged. Hank grabbed her wrists in mid-air and directed the force of her attack away from him. Then he grappled her, pinning her arms to her sides. She roared and struggled violently in his hold.

His scent filtered through the nearly overpowering stench of blood and death, and her struggling slowly ceased. She felt the veil lifting and her common-sense returning. Then she began to feel the fatigue in her muscles; her body was exhausted. Aches and pains brought her completely back to reality. "Hank..." she managed to say before unconsciousness overtook her and she collapsed in his arms.

Cyclops, who had been in a state of shock, finally recovered enough to walk into the room. He saw Hank holding Tyger's limp form.

"Beast," he said, not taking his eyes off her.

Hank made no reply.

"Beast!" he snapped.

Hank jerked his head up and looked at him. "What?!"

"She's YOUR responsibility," Cyclops stated, his voice strained. "Get her under control. Contain her if you must, but I want her back in the Blackbird NOW! We'll deal with this later."

Cyclops turned to Wolverine, who had a sick smirk on his face which told Scott loud and clear that Logan was highly amused about their leader's lack of dominion over the situation. Cyclops gritted his teeth to hold back the words that he wanted to say. Instead, he smiled evilly back at the man and stated, "Since you're enjoying yourself so much, Wolverine, YOU can clean up this mess."

Wolverine's smile disappeared. Logan resented being ordered around, but said nothing. He was having too much fun watching the arteries throb in Cyclops' neck.

Cyclops headed back out of the room, followed by Beast. Iceman had taken charge of Jubilee and was leading her away from the carnage. Wolverine went to work, grumbling, "Ain't half as much fun cleanin' the mess as it is makin' it."

* * *

CHAPTER 11: Aftermath

The Blackbird was on its way home before Tyger regained consciousness, although the sounds that met her ears made her regret coming to at all. Peering from beneath semi-closed eyelids, she found herself laying on a seat in the back of the cockpit. The subdued, angry voice of Cyclops reached her clearly. Cyclops was in fact raging; as close to an uncontrollable rage as any had ever seen him. His face was an interesting shade of purple and the veins in his temples throbbed ominously. Everyone else was silent. Tyger desperately wished that Jean were there to calm him down, but she knew well enough that this was one mess she'd have to get out of on her own. However, said a quiet, mouse-like voice at the back of her head, I have no idea how.

Cyclops was now yelling at Hank, demanding to know how she had gotten on the Blackbird in the first place. Hank was trying to say that he didn't know - Tyger was sure of it. But Scott wouldn't let him get three words in edgewise. Tyger just lay there in a miserable lump listening to Scott yelling, wishing she was anywhere but where she was right now. Unfortunately, the voice reminded her, you got into trouble by yourself, and you'll have to get out of it by yourself. But it still had no suggestions as to how. Tyger, after listening to Hank take the blame for several minutes, officially woke up and looked around. Scott, seeing her awake, immediately turned and began raging at her. At least, the little voice said, he's not yelling at Hank anymore. At this point, she would give just about anything to take away the discomfort she saw Hank in. Not that she felt she could do much, but perhaps she could do something. The immediate something that Scott was trying to get out of her was! what she thought she was doing.

"You are NOT an X-Man!" he shouted. "And letting you get into a fight like that makes you MY responsibility! A responsibility that I DON'T want since I had no choice in the matter!"

She tried to explain that she had followed Hank to try to help, but things had just gotten out of hand. She hadn't meant to cause trouble.

"Trouble," raged Scott, "doesn't even BEGIN to describe what you've caused! You DO realize that your actions today reflect upon the X-Men as a whole and that now the X-men will be blamed for those deaths, don't you? I don't know WHAT you were thinking! What would've happened if you had been killed? Do you believe that your death would have no repercussions? Or would it be more accurate to say that you just didn't care? Do you care so little for the people who've sheltered you and given you a place to stay that you would knowingly put us all in danger like this?"

Tyger had shrunk back in her seat as far as she could possibly go, wishing with all her might that she could just disappear.

"Argh!!! I can't deal with this now! When we get back to the mansion, I want you to go straight to your room and stay there! I'll deal with you later!"

The rest of the trip home was noticeably subdued.

* * *

Hank scrubbed vigourously at his arms and chest, washing off the blood using a special solution he had devised specifically for that purpose - to remove blood from fur. He had been forced to create it as a result of the various times he had found himself within the splatterzone of one of Wolverine's attacks. Wolverine. Not Tyger. As he cleaned, he also thought about the royally bad mood Cyclops was in and how we was determined to share it with all his teammates.

Hank finished washing up, and headed down to the infirmary. Jean sensed him coming. *You wait right there, Hank* she ordered as he approached the door to the infirmary.

"I am compelled to remind you that I am the doctor, Jean," he said out loud as he tried to open the door. It was locked from the inside.

*Tyger is in the process of washing herself off right now. But I guess, since YOU'RE the doctor, you would like to do that for her?*

Hank felt himself blush. Dammit, Hank! he chastised. You have seen practically every female member of the team without clothing while treating various injuries and never once have you reacted like this.

*Giggle*

"Jean, would you kindly remove yourself from my personal thoughts?" he muttered.

*How is Jubilee?*

"She is not seriously injured, just a little battered. I gave her a mild sedative to calm her nerves, as she was rather stressed about the incident with Tyger."

*I can certainly understand that. I tried to read Scott's mind when you guys got back, and the rage he's in nearly gave me a migraine!*

"Yes. It did not go well at all. While I understand his rage, I still feel he should not have tried to take it out so forcefully on Tyger. How she managed to follow me onto the Blackbird without my noticing, I will never know. As to the rest, this new turn of events was certainly unexpected. It hints at a dangerous new trend in their thinking. I just wish that the FOH hadn't attempted such an act as this kidnapping, in the first place!"

*Do you know why they did it?*

"No, I do not. And that frightens me a little."

*Frightens you? How?*

"The fact that it was a well-thought out plan of attack frightens me. The FOH are known for their brawn, not their brains."

*I see your point, Hank. If they're finally being led by someone with some actual intelligence, they could possibly become a dangerous force to deal with.*

"Indeed."

* * *

Jean had said very little to Tyger, and directed her to a shower stall within the infirmary. With a calmness that surprised Jean, Tyger washed the blood from her fur and bits of flesh from her claws.

Tyger's mind was foggy, and she had to strain to remember what happened. The coagulated blood and gore matted into her hair and fur helped to jog her memory a little.

It was all a blur: one moment she had been surrounded by six living men: the next, by six shredded corpses. Why hadn't they listened? she moaned in her head. Why did they have to push me?

It had happened before. The last time had been in an alleyway, a few years back. There had been three of them, all mutant haters like the FOH people. All wanting to hurt her, wanting to kill her simply because of what she was. They had trapped her, and she had felt the rage building inside her and then...she had woken up in a pool of blood.

Jean handed her a towel as she stepped out of the stall. "Hank is waiting outside. He wants to talk to you."

Tyger gulped.

Tyger sat down on the examination table as Jean opened the door. She had the towel wrapped around her midsection, and legs drawn up so that she was hugging her knees. Her tail was entwined around her legs. She glanced up at him furtively before returning her gaze to the floor.

"Could I please speak to her alone?" Hank quietly asked Jean. Jean hesitated for a moment, then nodded and left.

Hank turned his attention to Tyger. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He ran a hand through his hair and paced a bit before stopping to once again attempt speech. Still, nothing would come. He paced once more, becoming exasperated, until finally he simply said "Just tell me one thing, Tyger. Why?" His voice sounded calm, but strained.

"I....I losst control," she replied, still keeping her eyes directed to the floor.

"That much I gathered, Tyger. I repeat the question: why?"

She licked her lips nervously. "They wanted to hurrt me."

"They wanted to hurt you?"

She nodded.

"How?"

She paused, reluctant to continue. "They held me down."

"And?" he prodded.

"They hit me."

"So you hit them back?"

She shook her head. This whole process was going painfully slow, but Hank forced himself not to lose patience with her.

"What did they do, then, to provoke you into doing what you did?"

"They hit me again."

"Is that all?"

She shook her head again. Hank suddenly got a feeling in his gut that told him he was not going to like where this conversation was going.

"Tyger, what did they do?" he asked quietly, but firmly.

Still staring at the floor, she replied, "They werre going to rrape me."

His stomach dropped. This was one time when he wished he hadn't hypothesized correctly.

"But you're a mutant," he remarked incredulously, more to himself than to her.

Her ears drooped. "You don't believe me," she said, still staring at the floor.

"No, no! I didn't mean that!" he said quickly.

She lifted her head suddenly. "I don't go looking for fights," she said, her eyes imploring.

"I never accused you of such a thing!"

She looked away from him again. "But when I'm trrapped, I get angrry."

"Angry? Then what happens?"

"I get angrrier.....then I blank out."

"Blank out?"

She nodded solemnly. "I don't rremember anything."

"Are you certain? Do you think you could try and remember what happened?"

She furrowed her brows. She was starting to feel a little frustrated. "They grrabbed me and I got angrry," she said simply.

"And?" Hank asked, wishing he could pull her words out with his own hands.

"They got angrry ssuddenly."

"Because of something you said or did?"

She shook her head. "They jusst got angrry because I got angrry."

"So you did nothing to provoke their anger?" She nodded her head. "Hmmm...interesting. What happened next, Tyger?"

She was silent for a few moments, then replied, "They trried to pull my shortss down, and I got rreally angrry."

"And?" he goaded.

"I warrned them to sstop, but they didn't. Then I blanked out."

His mind was working furiously to piece together the entire story. He couldn't help feeling that there was a piece missing somewhere, but he just could not place his finger on it. He could see that Tyger was getting frustrated by his questioning, but he had to do it. He had to find that missing piece.

"Please try to remember, Tyger. It is very important," he said encouragingly.

She closed her eyes and her brows furrowed even more. After a few moments she shook her head. "I rremember sscreaming, and rred. Lotss of rred. They werre mad. I was mad." She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. "That'ss all, Hank! I don't know what elsse to tell you!"

Then they both fell silent. Tyger resumed contemplating the floor tiles as Hank's mind slowly put the pieces of the puzzle together. Now, what is missing? he thought to himself. They had become angry, for no reason. There was no provocation. That seemed familiar to him. Then realization dawned on him and he smacked himself in the forehead. "Of course!" he exclaimed.

Tyger's head snapped up. "Hank?"

He was pacing the floor again. "How could I have been so dense not to have come to this conclusion beforehand?"

"What arre you talking about?" she asked, feeling very confused.

He stopped pacing and came up to her. Taking her hands into his, he proclaimed, "You, my dear, are an empath!"

Her skin tingled as their hands connected. She blinked again. "A what?"

"It is not uncommon amongst normals. Empathy - the ability to sense emotions in others without visual cues - many humans have it to a lesser degree. You appear to have it to a much greater degree and are also, apparently, projective. You can influence the emotions that others feel. Untrained, all you're doing is feeding your emotions to them. They feel them, then you feel their emotions and amplify them and send them back. It all makes sense!"

He had that excited look on his face that always followed a huge discovery. Tyger simply looked confused.

"Maybe to you," she replied, and indignant expression on her face. "But what does it mean to me?"

"It means," he said, gently cupping her chin in his hand, "that you are not entirely responsible for what happened! The very mutation that makes you a projective empath is also responsible for your losing control. Now," his voice then lowered in volume as he muttered to himself, "if there was only a way to harness that power to benefit the X-Men, then we might even succeed in getting Scott off your back. Though, to be honest, that will be a feat in itself."

"Get Cyclopss off my back?" she asked, still somewhat confused.

"It is not fair for you to be held responsible for what happened when it was not your fault! The question is HOW to make him see that. Hmmm....the best thing we can do is persuade Jean to talk to Scott when he is in a more reasonable mood...don't give me that look! He CAN be reasonable occasionally! Then we can very likely turn the entire situation to our advantage."

"Hank," she said nervously. "Why arre you willing to go thrrough all this jusst for me? Espesh'ly with all the trrouble it will cause between you and Cyclopss?"

He smiled warmly at her. "I am willing to do it because it is the right thing to do. You are not responsible for powers that you have not yet learned to control," he said, then added, "Ask me someday about all the repairs that had to be done to the orphanage before Scott learned how to control his powers."

"Rrepairs?"

"But that's another story. When he is being honest with himself, he will have to admit the truth in what I am saying. So you can stop worrying your pretty head over it."

Her ears perked up at that comment.

"It will all work out once we convince Scott somehow of what we are trying to say, though to be honest, he can be so pig-headed that it's near impossible a task."

It was then that Tyger remembered what Scott had told her about her actions reflecting upon the team, and how the X-Men would be blamed for what she had done. She began to cry.

"What is wrong?" Hank asked, alarmed.

"Whether you say it'ss my fault or not, I sstill killed them."

"But it is not your fault!"

"I sstill killed them!"

"Yes, you still killed them. But is that fact as important as what THEY tried to do? They tried to rape you, Tyger. In a very real sense, they got what they deserved. And trying to feel guilty over that simply isn't worth it, though it does speak well of you. As much as we may wish otherwise, the golden rule has a very unfortunate corollary which reads thou shalt do unto others before they get a chance to do unto you. And we both know full well what they wanted to do unto you, my dear."

"But I sstill killed them," she repeated, tears streaming down her face.

"Yes you killed them!" he repeated, sounding exasperated. "And they are dead now and they won't be able to hurt you anymore! Tyger, please listen to me. They are dead and now their suffering is over. If they had in fact accomplished what they had set out to do to you, you would be suffering for the rest of your life."

Hank took her into his arms. "We are here to protect you! I am here to protect you, and I will not let anything else happen to you." Then he added, in almost a whisper, "I promise."

An overwhelming feeling of trust seemed to envelope Tyger as she nestled in his arms. It seemed right somehow, and she wished she could stay like that forever: calm, comforted and safe.

He ran his fingers through her long, silky hair, and smiled absentmindedly as she nearly purred in response to his touch. A small part of his mind marvelled at how Tyger fostered in him such a strong desire to protect her.

She wallowed in the feeling of contentment, not wanting it to end. But there was something else, something that was missing, just one little thing that would make the emotional symphony complete. Tyger lifted her head. Hank looked down at her questioningly. With a nervous hand, she reached up and gently drew his face to hers. Their lips met, and the symphony was complete.

* * *

CHAPTER 12: The Morning After

Tyger was in the kitchen early the following morning, preparing and happily devouring a rather hearty breakfast. She hadn't eaten anything since lunch the day before. She had woken up beside Hank, but her stomach had growled so fiercely that she had been forced to leave him and find something to quiet it with, lest she wake Hank. He REEEAAALLLY needs some rest, she thought to herself, grinning from ear to ear.

She stepped lightly around the kitchen - nearly dancing - with her tail swishing back and forth in response to her jovial mood. She heard the toaster pop, and was just starting on another slice of buttered toast when Rogue walked in.

Tyger did a double take. Rogue looked...haggard. Her hair was an utter disaster, her eyes were rimmed with black semi-circles, and she was nearly stumbling as she walked. She looked like she hadn't slept a wink all night.

The woman was muttering something about Cajuns not being around when you needed them, and shoved Tyger out of her way as she reached for the coffee pot. She didn't pour herself a cup - she claimed the entire thing. Clutching the container possessively, Rogue plopped herself down onto a chair, whereupon she dumped a load of sugar into the black liquid and started slugging it back - straight from the pot.

What a bitch, Tyger thought to herself. She had never seen Rogue in the morning, so she just assumed that the woman was naturally this crabby. Tyger watched Rogue gulp down more coffee, then shook her head and resumed munching her toast.

The next to stagger into the kitchen was Jubilee. Tyger cocked her ears, an inquisitive look on her face. Jubilee's not a morning person, she thought to herself. And it's eight o'clock. What's she doing up this early? She normally doesn't wake up till sometime after eleven. Tyger continued to watch in disbelief as the girl nearly dragged her body over to the table, sat down heavily, and swiped a slice of Tyger's toast.

"Er...arre you okay, Jube?"

Jubilee replied between mouthfuls of toast. "Couldn't sleep...munch...munch...big burst of energy...munch...munch...spent entire night working out in gym...munch...goin' to bed after this..." she finished the toast and grabbed another piece.

The next two people to arrive were Jean and Scott. Tyger tensed; she didn't know what to expect from Scott. Jean looked to be in good spirits, throwing a bright smile at Tyger, then Jubilee, and even to Rogue. Rogue glared back at the woman and gulped down more coffee.

Scott, on the other hand, looked like he was competing with Rogue in the haggard looks department. His white bathrobe was askew, his slippers were on the wrong feet, his socks were odd colours, his hair was a mess and he desperately needed a shave. He took no notice of Tyger whatsoever. He shuffled toward the coffee maker in zombie-like fashion and reached for the coffee pot. He stood there for a few moments, opening and closing his hand around thin air before realizing that the container was no longer there. He slowly surveyed the room, and focused his gaze on the coffee pot that Rogue was holding. Rogue noticed this and growled at him, hugging the pot closer to her. Scott sighed and began searching the cupboard for the instant.

Tyger was staring so intently with disbelief at Scott that she didn't notice Jean taking a seat beside her. She jumped when she 'heard' Jean's voice in her head.

*Did you have a nice night, dear?*

Tyger's eyes widened, then she tried to look innocent. She failed.

"I don't..."

*Just think your responses, Tyger. It's easier that way.*

*Er....Okay. I don't know what you're talking about,* she thought, wondering just how she was supposed to make herself sound innocent in her head.

*Sure you do,* Jean replied, nudging her. *After all, you look like the cat who got the cream...*

Tyger felt her cheeks redden.

*...and who's we don't have to mention, do we?* Jean added with a saucy wink.

Tyger turned her head quickly to stare at her plate, suddenly feeling extremely uncomfortable and desparately trying to think of a way to change the subject.

*Scott didn't sleep?* she asked.

A contented smile appeared on Jean's face. *Not a wink. Tyger, did you know that you are a projective empath? That you can project emotions?*

*Yes....how did you know?* Tyger asked, since she was one hundred and ten per cent certain that Hank hadn't had an opportunity to tell anybody yet.

*I sort of realized it last night. Most projective empaths are capable of influencing just those people in their immediate vicinity. You, however, have range.*

*Rrange?*

*Yes, Tyger. Range. Scott's suffering the after-effects.*

Tyger thought about this for a brief moment, then started sinking down into her chair as the weight of what Jean had just said started to sink in.

Jean's contented smile turned into a nasty grin. *All night...no sleep...but I enjoyed myself.*

Tyger felt herself flush right down to the tip of her tail. "Y..you mean...?"

*Yes, dear. Everyone in the mansion felt it. Imagine the worst case of hormones you can believe for six hours straight.*

Tyger looked around wildly at the occupants of the room: Scott staggering, trying to stay upright; Rogue refilling the coffee pot, cracking the floor tiles where her foot was tapping with impatience; Jubilee worn out and exhausted from that 'mysterious' burst of energy; and Jean, who was too satisfied to care about anything right now.

Complete understanding suddenly dawned on her, and a surge of embarrassment forced her to leave her seat and run out of the kitchen - just as Storm was walking in.

Ororo caught her before they collided. "What is your hurry, Tyger?" she asked.

"Musst go...out...away..." Tyger stammered, eyes wide with panick.

Ororo shook her head. Not another incoherent furball, she thought to herself. She thought Tyger was still upset about last night's FOH incident, and tried to comfort her.

"I understand what happened last night, Tyger," she said, then whispered, "Just be careful next time, as it affects all of us."

Experiencing another surge of embarassment, Tyger pulled herself free of Ororo's grasp and bolted down the hall and right out of the mansion.

* * *

Hank's mind was slowly climbing through the fog brought on by the sleep of the exhausted. As he returned to the realm of reality, remembrances of last night's activities drifted into his head. His first thoughts were 'wow!', 'WOW!', and 'double WOW!', followed by an extra 'WOW!' and one 'absolutely incredible!' for good measure.

Hank slowly opened his eyes, stretched strained and aching muscles, and then reached an arm out and grasped...thin air. He looked over, and frowned in dismay when he saw that the emerald eyes that had welcomed him so often during the night were gone.

Why did she leave? he asked himself. Instead of considering obvious things such as, maybe she had gone to take a shower, or get some breakfast, his thought train took a more pessimistic route. He laid his head back on the pillow and absentmindedly ran a hand through his hair as a sense of worry crept over him.

All his past relationships had been with non-mutant women, and none of them had ever lasted. The last one had been with Trish. He had been deeply hurt, angered even, by the fact that she had never once visited him in prison, never once bothered to contact him the entire time he was there. Just having a boyfriend who was a mutant had put a strain on her career. Him being charged and placed in prison hadn't helped matters any, and he had learned a painful lesson about just where Trish had placed him on her list of priorities. He had therefore called it off...for the last time. Hank had hoped that a relationship with Tyger would turn out differently, as she was a mutant herself. Now he began to doubt that.

Was this a mistake? Never in his life had he made love to a woman he knew so little about. He could count the number of past loves on one hand without using up all the fingers, but that was beside the point. She was Tyger. Was that her real name, or was she once called something else? Where was she from? She had been living on the street prior to her arrival at the school, but everyone has a place of origin. And beyond that? Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero. He knew nothing else about her history, and he had first made her aquaintence how many weeks ago?

Then he realized that their talk last night in the infirmary constituted their very first actual conversation together. This was too soon...far, far too soon, he thought, the worried feeling rapidly being replaced by one of dread as he thought that maybe she had consorted with him as a crutch for the FOH incident. What if it hadn't meant anything to her?

His mind starting racing as questions bombarded him. What if this was nothing but a proverbial 'one-night-stand'? How will it affect us both in the future? Was this all a mistake? Will the scratch marks show? Will I be able to walk today?

He shook his head to clear his mind of the last two thoughts and hauled himself out of bed. He again wondered about being able to walk as he marvelled at how last night's activities had managed to pull muscles he didn't even know he had. They had started out in the infirmary, and ended up in his bedroom. He fished around in his dresser for a pair of shorts and a shirt, put them on, and went to look for Tyger.

Hank heard Ororo's voice as he neared the kitchen, and he turned the corner just in time to see Tyger bolting toward the living room. Wondering what was going on, he gave Ororo ample time to settle herself in the kitchen, and cautiously peeked around the doorway.

He took note of the condition that everybody was in, and quietly backed away and left before anybody noticed him. He had to find Tyger NOW. He ran his hands through his hair repeatedly as he went over in his mind what he had just seen. He was convinced that Scott, given the state the man was in, had been agonizing over Tyger. What was the man planning to do about the incident? The implications actually frightened him a little. After an hour of fruitless searching, he concluded that she was no longer inside the mansion. So he took his search outside.

Logan was in the garage, working on his harley. Hank walked up to him to ask if he had seen Tyger. Logan grinned as the man approached. Hank was practically drenched in Tyger's scent. "Have a good night, Hank?" he asked.

Hank paused. "Uh...ahem."

Logan tapped a finger to his nose and winked. Hank nodded resignedly. Logan then examined the blue-furred man a little more closely. "Christ, Hank! What the hell happened to your neck?"

Hank felt his neck. Oh, dear, he thought to himself as his cheeks started to burn. "Er...would you believe that this mangulation was the result of a rather bizarre shaving accident?"

Logan raised an eyebrow.

"Er...it would...uh...appear that Tyger likes to...um...bite," Hank replied sheepishly.

Logan burst out laughing.

"Er..ahem," Hank said, clearing his throat and desparately wanting to change the subject. "It would also appear that Scott is rather upset about last night," he commented, referring to the FOH incident.

"I'll say," Logan replied. "I didn't come back till the worst of it was over. I took a long ride to calm down."

Hank's heart sank. Logan's normal reaction to one of Scott's angry moods was to just ignore it. If Scott had been so angry that Logan had felt compelled to leave the mansion...he shuddered at the implications.

"Scott's still out of it," Logan continued. "I wouldn't talk to him till he's a bit more himself." He grinned lecherously as he said, "After the way he shafted Jean last night, I can understand the state he's in."

Hank was REALLY worried now. "Tell me, Logan, what is your opinion of last night's fight and Tyger's incident?"

"Don't sweat it, Hank. It'll blow over. All she needs is a little trainin' an' she'll be as gentle as a kitten. But I guess you know somethin' about that already, don't ya?" he asked with another lewd grin.

"Er...ahem. Speaking of Tyger, have you seen her at all this morning?"

"Sure did. She was boltin' that way into the woods like her tail was on fire."

Hank thanked him and headed off in the direction the man had indicated.

* * *

Having witnessed how well Tyger blended into foliage at the pool party, a part of Hank's mind was arguing with him about how futile it would be to search for her among the trees. He was about to agree with that comment when something brushed his ear. He looked up to see a black and orange tail dangling from a branch. Since trees didn't usually have tails, he reasoned that Tyger was probably in this one.

He climbed the tree and found Tyger sitting on a wide branch, curled up so that she was hugging her legs to her chest. Her forehead rested on her knees so that her face was hidden from him.

Hank placed a gentle hand on her shoulder while clinging to the massive trunk with his free hand and feet. "Tyger?" he said softly.

Her voice was a little muffled, but he could still hear her distinctly. "All I ever sseem to do arround herre is cause trrouble," she said.

He wished she would look up at him so that he could see how she was feeling. The collar allowed her to speak, but it did not convey any emotion. "But it is as I stated before, that can be corrected," he said, trying to reassure her.

"How?"

"You can be instructed on how to control your power."

"That still does not help lasst night," she replied, still not looking up.

"But I understand your plight, Tyger!" he implored.

"Tell that to Scott."

Oh, dear, thought Hank. What had Cyclops said to her over the breakfast table? He silently cursed both Scott and himself: Scott, for being so hard on her; himself, for not being there to defend her. "Do not worry yourself about Scott, Tyger," he said imploringly. "He does tend to over-react about such matters. I will ask Jean to talk to him."

She almost laughed. "Jean is the one who told me about it."

This is worse than I thought! He had believed that Jean would be on his side; his entire plan depended upon her persuading Scott to see things his way. But now she was against Tyger, too?

"What exactly did she say, Tyger?" he asked relunctantly, not really wanting to know the answer.

Tyger still didn't look up. "That the whole mansion knows about it! Ev'rryone is in a bad mood!"

Hank suddenly felt physically ill. His mind was racing once again. The situation is not good, not good at all! He wished with all his might that he had been there in the kitchen to defend her. What had they all said? He could already see her being asked to leave. They couldn't vote her out of the mansion without his say, could they?

"I will talk to Scott! I promise you, I will find some way to convince him, help him deal with his anger..."

It was at this point Tyger looked up at him, a puzzled look on her face. "Angrry?" she asked. "Who ssaid anything about him being angrry?"

"Do you mean to tell me that he actually exhibited some measure of self-restraint while chewing you out this morning? Will wonders never cease!"

Tyger looked even more confused. "He is not angrry, jusst tirred."

"Yes, the man hardly got a wink of sleep last night worrying about the Friend of Humanity incident," he stated, recalling the haggard state he had seen Scott in.

"The FOH?" Tyger repeated. "Did you talk to Cyclopss? What did he ssay?"

"Nothing, actually. I haven't spoken to him at all since exiting the Blackbird yesterday."

She contemplated his statement for a moment. "Then how do you know if he is angrry or not?" she asked.

Excellent question. Now, if I only had an excellent answer to accompany it.

Tyger waited for him to reply, but he didn't. "Hank, what arre you talking about?"

"At this point in time, I am not entirely sure," was his reply. "What topic, praytell, have you been discussing all this time?"

"I thought you werre talking about lasst night...you know...uss," she said, blushing a little.

Blink. Blink. "Er...no, I was referring to...hmmmm. It has suddenly become apparent that we are conversing about entirely different subjects. Perhaps we should start this conversation over before we become even more confused," he suggested.

"Er..okay."

"Now, what were you saying about Scott? I had feared that the man was enraged to the point of considering having you sent away from the mansion, an act that I would have found to be devastating to say the least. But you are saying that is not the case?"

"Of coursse not. He is jusst tirred. Jean kept him up all night."

He felt his heart sink again. "Arguing?" he asked. This entire situation was looking bleaker by the minute.

"No," said Tyger, shaking her head. "Jean is happy."

Now Hank was thoroughly confused. He sighed and said, "Forgive my incompetence, but I still do not understand. Could you please try to explain it once more?"

Tyger suddenly realized that Hank hadn't a clue about the true extent of her power. Oh, boy. How am I gonna tell him this? she asked herself.

"Er...Hank," she began, "we werren't the only ones...having fun lasst night."

"Oh?" Hank replied, intrigued. He could see the sparse covering of white fur on her cheeks turning pink as she blushed furiously.

"Hank...you ssaid I was prrojective."

Hank blinked. "Yes, I recall having said that."

"I can prroject what I am feeling, and brroadcasst." She turned her head away from him. "I have rrange."

Hank blinked furiously for a couple of seconds while he made the connection. His face turned a lighter shade of blue. "Oh my stars and garters!" he said, burying his face in his hands. Unfortunately, without a third grappling point to hold him to the tree, he began to tip backward.

Tyger heard the loud THUD! and peered down. "Hank?" she called out, alarmed.

He was lying flat on his back, his hands still covering his face. But he looked like he was convulsing. Tyger suddenly felt panicked and leapt to the ground beside him.

"Hank! Hank? Are you alright?" she asked, pulling his hands off his face. He was....laughing. He rolled over, clutching his sides as he lost himself to roaring peals of laughter.

How can he laugh at a situation like this? she wondered, feeling annoyed. But as his jovial mood drifted over her, she soon found herself laughing alongside him.

They finally stopped after a while, trying to catch their breath and wiping the tears from their eyes. Tyger had collapsed on top of Hank, exhausted from the fit. He turned over so he could take her into his arms. Tyger snuggled in close and looked at him with her unfathomable emerald eyes. "Sso...y..yourr not mad at me?" she asked, still a little winded.

"My dear, do I look mad?" he replied, his eyes damp from all the laughing.

She looked a little ashamed. "No, you don't. But I thought you would be."

"Is that why you left me to awaken alone in a cold bed this morning?" he asked, his tone suddenly serious.

Tyger was taken aback. "Of coursse not. I didn't know about my...brroadcasting until Jean told me in the kitchen." She blushed again as she remembered THAT little conversation. "I was hungrry, sso I went to get brreakfasst. I let you ssleep because I thought you...er...needed it."

He grinned, relieved that the pessimistic thoughts he had earlier were unfounded. "Yes," he agreed. "You were quite, shall we say, enthusiastic?"

She buried her face in his chest. He could feel the heat radiating off her cheeks as she nuzzled into him.

"Oh, my. I sincerely hope I haven't embarassed you," he said teasingly. She shook her head.

"And do you realize that your amplifying and projective abilities made last night a very unique experience for me?" he added. Her cheeks were now burning furiously, but he felt her smile against him, nonetheless.

He hugged her possessively and fell silent. It felt good to have her so near, to hold her like this. They hadn't had much of a chance at all to cuddle last night - the hormones had been raging far too much for that. Now he felt calm, peaceful. There was a warm, fuzzy feeling inside that he had not felt for a very long time.

* * *

Rogue was angrily flipping through the TV channels in the rec room. Ororo was sitting quietly in the armchair, reading. Hank and Tyger entered through one doorway at the same instant Scott came in the other. Scott had finally changed out of his bedclothes, but he was still unshaven and wearing odd socks.

"And just where have you two been?" he snapped.

Hank and Tyger both looked at him, then at each other. The laughing fit that they had shared earlier was sparked once more by the subtle reminders, and they started to giggle. Storm looked up in curiosity.

"What? What's so funny?" Scott asked, perplexed.

The strain of holding back was evident on their faces, and their self-control quickly gave in and they once again lost themselves to peals of laughter.

Rogue looked over to the pair next, and was about to tell the two of them to shut the hell up. She was still in a bad mood.

"What?! I demand to know what you're both laughing about!" Scott demanded, starting to sound angry.

Hank and Tyger both dropped to their knees, laughing. They couldn't help it. Scott heard more sniggering and looked over at Storm, who was trying but failing to suppress her own giggles.

"Not you too, Storm! What's the big joke?" Scott cried.

Storm couldn't hold back any longer, and burst out laughing. By now, Rogue, despite her foul mood, was giggling as well. She couldn't understand why, but she could feel her bad mood lifting. She looked at Scott, and his somewhat goofy expression made up of conflicting anger and bafflement made her lose it as well.

Scott stood watching in disbelief as Storm and Rogue followed Tyger and Hank to the floor, all clutching their sides and laughing hysterically at only God knew what. Jean hadn't told him about Tyger's ability to project. He didn't know that laughter - contagious under normal circumstances - became a plague with Tyger's influence. Inside, he could feel his own growing urge to join them, but he fought it back with his anger and confusion. Finally he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, believing that they had all gone insane.

"I wonder if the Avengers have an opening," he grumbled to himself.

* * *

CHAPTER 13: The Danger Room

"Arre you surre about thiss, Hank?" Tyger asked, a worried look on her face.

"Of course I am, my dear," Hank replied as he placed thick, padded gloves on her hands and strapped them securely to her wrists. "I can think of no place better to begin your first lesson in 'self-control' other than our beloved Danger Room."

It was evening now. They were alone in the observation deck of said Danger Room.

"I jusst don't like that name," she said, examining her now padded hands. "And arre these things rreally ness'ary? They feel weird."

Hank moved over to the computer and began tapping at the keyboard. "They are indeed necessary as a precautionary measure. Even though the opponents you will be facing are not real, they can still be dismembered by your claws." A small part of his mind absently reflected on the marks on his shoulders. "We are trying to correct that rather antisocial behavior."

She flexed her hands to release her claws, and discovered they could not penetrate whatever material the gloves were made of. "But I don't underrsstand how I can fight ssomeone who is not there."

Hank smiled knowingly. Newbies always said the same thing before their first foray in the Danger Room. "You will understand soon enough, Tyger. Now, if you please?" he asked, indicating the doorway to the left.

Earlier in the day, Tyger had spent a good portion of the afternoon in the gym with Jean, learning the very basics of trying to shield her power (with little success). What Hank had planned for her was quite different from Jean's methods, and her tail twitched nervously as she slowly made her way over and stepped inside the room. She jumped as she heard the door slide close behind her. A chill ran up her spine as she examined her new surroundings. It was a room. A big room. A really, REALLY BIG room. And it was empty. It was solely her trust in Hank which prevented her from running back to the door and pounding on it to let her out.

Hank was observing her through the window, and smiled reassuringly when she looked over at him. Then he punched a few more keys. Words flashed across the screen: BEGINNER TRAINING SEQUENCE INITIATED - SUBJECT TYGER.

Tyger was watching Hank. Then she heard movement and turned to find six burly, menacing punks encircling her. Where did they come from?! she thought as a surge of panick swept over her. As she instinctively crouched into a defensive stance, confusion set in as swiftly as the panick. Not all her senses were registering information. She could SEE them, but she couldn't smell them, couldn't sense any emotions, couldn't hear their hearts beating.

It wasn't until one of them slammed her in the back with with a steel baseball bat that her mind screamed at her that PAIN is REAL and she'd better do something about it fast before she got seriously hurt.

Hank winced as he watched the bat connect with her flesh. That had to have hurt, he thought. Maybe this was not the brilliant idea you had meant for it to be, Blue.

With a deafening roar, Tyger swung around and slammed a sheathed hand into the side of her assailant's head, sending him sprawling.

Then again, Hank mused. The gloves worked. The victim still had a face attached to his head.

She heard the knife rather than saw it, and dodged its keen edge without even turning to look. She twisted round, grabbed the man's arm and wrenched it, dislocating it and making him howl in pain.

Without missing a beat, she swung the man into the next two attackers who were coming at her, knocking them to the ground.

Someone grabbed her arms from behind, attempting to pin them back. She flipped her head back and was rewarding with a loud 'CRACK' as she connected with his jaw.

With one swift movement, she broke his hold on her. Then she reached up and behind, grabbed the sides of his skull, pulled him forward over her head and slammed him into the floor. The crunching sound relayed to her that he was down and out for the count.

The two men she had knocked to the ground previously each grabbed hold of an arm. She grabbed hold of them and slammed their bodies together. They crumpled to the floor.

She heard a gun fire, felt a bullet fly by mere centimeters from her head. She leapt into the air, summersaulted while arching and twisting her body in mid-air to land facing her assailant. She had heard the gun fire again while she was vaulting, but hadn't been hit. She was only three feet away from him, but either he had lossed his nerve or his gun had jammed. She swung her body, and aimed a flying kick at him. Blood splattered the man's face as the retractable claws on her toes literally ripped the weapon out of his hand. (Hank made a mental note to get a pair of boots for her as well.) The victim's face registered shock and horror as his eyes moved toward his hand. Tyger completed the arc and swung at his head with her fist. He went down on impact.

Tyger was raging, but her anger had not quite peaked. She was still coherant, and was not filled with an overwhelming desire to tear their guts out. She did not have their anger to feed off of since they weren't real people. Not being able to smell the blood probably helped, too.

* * *

Hank watched with his trademark fascination as Tyger dealt with her adversaries. Even though her actions resulted from violent intentions, they still maintained the gracefulness of the dancer that she was. Another part of his mind was also making note of the medical condition of the fallen foes. They were all sustaining survivable wounds, although he wasn't too sure about the one who'd gotten his head smashed into the floor. Even so, they still weren't being ripped to pieces. He compared the results to Wolverine's escapades. As an X-man, Wolverine didn't kill. But there was never any mention of the conditions the poor fools were in afterwards, either. He didn't notice Scott walk in.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?"

Hank jumped, startled. His elbow knocked some keys on the control panel as he whirled around to face Scott. 'INITIATING REGULAR TRAINING SEQUENCE LEVEL ONE' flashed onto the screen, unbeknownst to either of the control room's occupants.

"Oh!...uh...hello, Scott!" Hank stammered. "Just a little...er...late-night rendez-vous in the DR. Nothing to concern yourself with, I'm sure."

Cyclops looked through the window. "Ah, the cat wants to play, does she?" he asked cynically. "I don't remember authorizing her to use the Danger Room, Hank."

* * *

Tyger felt a new surge of panick as her surroundings shimmered and wavered for a moment, and were replaced by an entirely new setting. "Um...Hank?" she called out. "Are you sure about this?" She looked at the window, and saw that he was talking with Scott. She turned back to face her new adversaries. Ho, boy.

* * *

"I apologize, but I was not aware that your authorization was required for a basic training session," Hank replied smoothly.

"You know perfectly well that she shouldn't be in there unsupervised."

"I do not recall becoming transparent, Scott. I am supervising her, or has your faith in my abilities degraded to the point that you no longer consider me qualified for this task?"

"As long as I am the leader of the X-men, I must be informed about such matters. That means notifying me when your cat wants to romp."

"That, fearless leader, was an unnecessary comment made solely out of ignorance. I have set up some beginner scenarios to help Tyger learn to deal with self-control..."

"I don't want to hear it, Hank," Scott snapped. "She is NOT - and the way it's going - NEVER will be an X-man."

* * *

INITIATING REGULAR TRAINING SEQUENCE LEVEL TWO.

* * *

"Hank? I think...I've had...enough...now!" Tyger managed to say while dodging lasers and other nasty obstacles. "HANK!" What in the world are those two doing?! She could sense their anger, trickling over her, making the fur on the back of her neck stand up.

* * *

"She has proven herself to be uncontrollable and unwilling to let herself BE controlled."

Hank folded his arms. "I am suddenly reminded, Scott, of a certain young hooligan who once followed that description as well."

"At least I never dismembered MY opponents," Scott snidely remarked.

Hank bit his tongue to hold back his original response to that, then replied, "Relay THAT little gem to Wolverine and the countless numbers of bodies that the authorities are still unable to identify."

"Wolverine, for all of his faults, can control himself," Scott commented, somewhat relunctantly.

"You only tolerate his faults because our adamantium-endowned Canuck is always the first to leap into battle, thereby clearing a safe path for the leader who always brings up the rear in every attack."

"What are you getting at, Hank?" Scott asked warily. The corners of the man's lips were twitching, indicating to Hank that he had struck a nerve.

* * *

INITIATING REGULAR TRAINING SEQUENCE LEVEL THREE

* * *

"Oooomph!!!" Tyger exclaimed as she hit the floor. She could feel the rage building inside her. She drew herself instantly back onto her feet and lunged, fangs bared.

* * *

"The professor understands that it is much safer for everyone involved to keep Logan here. We can help him maintain a semblance of control at the mansion."

"He is a valuable member of the X-men. He is not here to be contained," Scott interjected.

Hank found the fact that Cyclops was defending Wolverine almost laughable. "Yet you are still so eager to give him dirty jobs without any qualms about it."

"Because he doesn't mind getting his hands dirty."

"Yes Scott, he is not afraid of getting his hands dirty, nor is he afraid of bloodshed or mayhem. Admit it Scott! He loves the savage simplicity of battle!"

Scott fell silent.

* * *

INITIATING REGULAR TRAINING SESSION LEVEL FOUR.

* * *

Tyger was frantically trying to get the gloves off her hands. She bit savagely at the material and managed to wrench one of them off. She needed her claws NOW! She chanced another glance at the window again. They were still at it!

* * *

Hank continued. "We both know how easy it is for him to get lossed in blood lust, yet you trust him. How is Tyger any different?"

"It's not like that!" Scott retorted, suddenly on the defensive.

"Why have you condemned Tyger? Is it because she is not intimidated by you? Do you dislike her solely because all your blustering has no effect on her, or is there a REAL reason?"

Scott nearly shouted his response. "She needs to learn control!"

"Yet you are refusing to allow me to train her!" Hank shot back.

"She isn't qualified!"

"She is a mutant!"

"So are Morlocks, but we don't sign THEM up," Scott blurted before he could stop himself.

Hank paused momentarily. Maybe there was more to this issue than Tyger alone.

"Perhaps we should," he replied. "All that some of those poor people need is a break, a fresh start."

"They're criminals and thieves!"

"Of course they are! They are survivors! What normal person would raise a finger to help them? Most of their mutations are such that they cannot possibly lead a normal life. At least YOU can walk down the street without being stared at, but Tyger and myself, what about us? People look at us like we're side-show refugees and Morlocks are in the same position. Have you ever considered that aspect of it?"

* * *

INITIATING REGULAR TRAINING SEQUENCE LEVEL FIVE.

* * *

Hack...slash...OUCH!...hack...OOF!...crunch. Are they trying to get me killed?!!!

* * *

"I don't think I like what you're implying," Scott said icily.

Hank glared at him accusingly. "The X-men has been turned into a refuge for normal looking mutants while rejecting the ones that don't 'fit in'. Be honest with yourself, man! Do you trust me or even Kurt as much as you trust Gambit? And Gambit, DAMN it all, ADMITS that he is a thief! Aren't we being a bit prejudiced here, Scott my boy?"

"This is not about prejudice!"

"Then what IS it about?"

"It's about suitability, NOT prejudice."

"So what is so unsuitable about her? The fact that she hasn't yet learned control, or the fact that she has a tail?" Hank was getting very, very weary of Scott's intolerant attitude.

"Stop putting words into my mouth! This has nothing to do with her physically! It's her emotional instability that's the problem!"

"By following that criteria alone, fearless leader, you just labelled half the team as being unsuitable for the X-men! How much in property damage has Rogue alone caused during her outbursts?"

"But she hasn't seriously hurt anybody..."

"Oh really? Then I suggest that you inform Gambit that his aches and bruises are all in his head and see how HE reacts to your little piece of medical advice."

* * *

INITIATING REGULAR TRAINING SEQUENCE LEVEL SIX

* * *

Screw them both, then!!! She thought. Living opponents or not, battlelust or none, her hackels were raised and her fangs were bared. She braced herself against her newest adversaries: human-sized sentinels. Her nose told her that THESE were REAL, and her claws were ready.

* * *

"I don't like being cut-off in mid-sentence, Hank."

"Then allow me to extend my sincerest apologies," he retorted in a not-so-sincere manner. "And what about the tension surrounding yourself, Logan and Jean? That is a rather volatile situation as well!"

"Don't even go there, Hank!" Scott growled.

"And why not? You seem to be taking this issue with Tyger quite personally."

"You are too emotionally involved to be objective, Hank. You're only defending her because she spread her heart AND her legs out for you!"

Hank couldn't believe his ears. Now it had gotten far too personal. Hank's jaw muscles tightened as he spoke. "Are you saying I only want her for her body?" his baritone voice was strained with held-back rage.

"I'M not the one who's incapable of having any sort of lasting relationship with a normal woman!"

Hank was about to lunge for Scott's throat when a sentinal's head flew through the window. They both reflexively ducked and covered their heads to protect themselves from flying glass shards.

"GET ME OUTTA HERE!!!"

Hank leapt for the control panel while Scott blasted open the glass case containing the emergency override lever and pulled it.

Hank blanched when he read the words, 'regular training sequence level six'. He looked at Tyger, blinked, looked at the control panel again in disbelief, then back at Tyger. She was still standing! Of course, her clothes were torn, her fur was ruffled, and she was even bleeding in some spots, not to mention that she was also staring at him with a searing gaze which made him shudder, but she was still standing!

"Er...Scott?" Hank said disbondantly, their recent argument momentarily forgotten.

Scott was not so absentminded. "This was entirely YOUR doing, Hank!" he snarled, referring to the feral state Tyger was in. "So you're just going to have to deal with it yourself!" and he turned sharply on his heel and stormed out of the room, leaving Hank to deal with Tyger alone.

The doorway had opened automatically when the override had been triggered. Tyger stalked through it, ears flattened, claws bared, muscles tensed and tail swinging back and forth menacingly. "WHAT the HELL was THAT?!"

"Er...malfunction?" Hank squeaked.

* * *

Tyger slowly lowered her tired, aching body into the hot, bubble-filled water of the bathtub. She let out a sigh of contentment as she slid down until her head was just above the water-line.

Hank had managed to calm her down (and had proven himself to be quite speedy and agile while dodging her claws). He had explained what had happened as he checked her injuries - all of which were minor - and she forgave him.

Hmph. Forgave him for nearly getting me killed! And they go into that room willingly? These people are crazy!

She sighed again as the heat soaked into her muscles, relaxing them. I really shouldn't have gotten mad at Hank. It wasn't completely his fault, and it wasn't as if he meant for it to happen. But yeah, the 'computer just malfunctioned'...SUUUURRRE it did. Hmmm...I wonder if Cyclops planned all this? I mean, just to get back at me for the FOH thing, I don't know. It COULD be something he could do, but it doesn't FEEL like he would. I just don't know. She resolved to make it up to Hank somehow for the way she had treated him. Even so, if he ever wants me to go into that room a second time, it's gonna take the entire team to drag me in, and I'll be fighting all the way.

* * *

Dr. Henry McCoy was cackling to himself as he scanned over his report. He was beyond fury, had gone past angry all the way to thougtful, contemplative, cunniving. He had put up with Scott's pettiness because of the man's planning and strategic abilities. But the man had crossed the line with that night's encounter.

He excels as a combat leader, but he harbours a huge mouth when there was nobody shooting at him. Hank knew as well as everyone else (except for maybe Logan) that Scott's capacity for training in the Danger Room left the group best able to deal with combat. Since Scott had taken over the Danger Room sessions, the team had suffered far fewer injuries and gotten in and out of dangerous situations with minimal fuss - far less than before. Therefore, Hank concluded, everyone trusts his opinions. He chuckled to himself. And of course, Scott's opinion at the moment is that Tyger is useless and that in combat, she is uncontrolled, uncontrollable, and requires constant looking after. He cackled again as he viewed a taped section of Tyger's scenario.

Oh yes, our self-appointed dictator will soon be dining upon his own words...hmmm...mental note: make sure to have salt shaker handy, he thought and he began to hum softly to himself as he added the last finishing touches to the report.

* * *

CHAPTER 14: Just A Matter of Opinion

Things had been calm around the mansion with no supervillians to trounce. Consequently, the group spent more and more time relaxing in the eye of the storm. But everyone knew things would not stay that way since despite all that President Kelly had tried to do, the antimutant activists were once again daring to voice their opinions publicly. But they couldn't let public opinion of that nature bother them as they could not in any way affect it. They watched the protestors' propoganda and Kelly's counter-propoganda and mused to themselves about how a war of words could be even more vicious than a war involving nuclear weapons.

Hank at this time was calmly sitting in a lounge chair in a corner of the rec room, leafing through a rather thick folder and making copious notes. He occassionally shook his head and muttered various things about Scott being an idiot. Nobody present thought that this was strange, but the fact that Hank was not voicing his opinions loudly made him the focus of everyone's attention. So when he set the folder down on the coffee table and picked up a stack of Popular Science magazines, everyone's eyes strayed to the folder, wondering what was in it. As time passed and various members wandered in and out, there was not a one who didn't notice that folder sitting on the table alone...unattended. So when Hank left, coincidently forgetting about the folder, it wasn't quite pounced upon - quite - but close enough.

Hank of course, was in the hallway with his eye to the keyhole waiting to see who got to it first. It was Rogue, predictably, as no one dared get in her way.

"Outta my way, swamprat!"

"Oooofff!"

Well, almost no one. Remy had always been a glutton for punishment. Chuckling evilly, Hank went to get himself a cappuccinno, making sure to give them plenty of time to peruse the writings.

"This," he said, "will be good."

* * *

When he returned to the rec room, the folder was just where he had left it, apparently untouched. And when he made a big but subtle scene of fairly disguised relief at finding it nice and safe, everyone noted it.

Hank, the trap now baited, simply sat down and waited. It wasn't long before Scott stormed into the room, clutching a computer printout in his hand. Seeing Hank, he stormed over to him and beligerantly shook the paper beneath Hank's nose, stating quite loudly that he was out of his blue-furred mind if he thought he would permit this.

Hank just looked up at him thoughtfully as he removed the offending paper from Scott's hand, tearing it in the process. He scanned it, looked back, and replied softly, "I had presumed that my memo explained my request quite thoroughly."

Scott began to snarl something, thought better of it as they were in mixed company, then said, "Just because you've gone soft on her Hank, it does not mean that you can extend her the privelege of using the Danger Room. It is not a romping room! It's dangerous and not for amateurs!" he paused for a moment, and when Hank remained silent, added, "I wonder if you're not too personally involved in this to think clearly."

Hank looked at him with an almost shocked expression, then said calmly and with exaggerated care, "Scott, what makes you think that she is not qualified to fight by our side? She dealt with those FOH people quite handily."

"Yes, but look at the consequence! Look at the mess that had to be cleaned!"

"Be that as it may, her subsequent behavior has shown that she does indeed possess the ability to handle herself adequately."

"What behavior?" Scott asked, sounding incredulous. "Your cat's proven that she can't swim, panicks when exposed to water and has proven to be a disruption the entire time she's been here!"

"I wouldn't say she is a disruptive influence," Hank interjected calmly. "She is simply new, and requires some time to come to grips with the way we are and, despite your comments, I believe that she handled herself quite well in her first big confrontation, everything considered."

"Thankfully Hank, your opinion in this situation is not one that matters because until you can prove inconclusively that she can handle herself without endangering herself or others, there is no way I will let her fight with us," Scott said firmly.

"But without allowing her Danger Room experience, how will you judge her ability to fight? AND is that, Scott, the only measure you have of someone's worth? How well they can fight?"

"Unfortunately, she shows a remarkable lack of useful abilities for her mutation. So fighting is the only ruler we have to measure her with, don't we?"

"So you are saying that if she could prove herself capable of fighting effectively, then her qualifications, her eligibilty as a probationary X-person would not be challenged?"

"I hardly think this discussion is in any way relevent since she hasn't proven herself capable."

Hank smiled to himself quietly, amost gloating, then pulled out a sheaf of paper and tossed it on the table between them.

"I take it then, Scott, that you never actually read the post-evaluation of Tyger's Danger Room session which you interrupted."

"Why should I have? Her panicking told me everything I needed to know."

"Dear, before you go on," Jean interrupted.

Scott simply shook his head. "Not now, dear."

*Scott* she repeated, which he chose to ignore.

"Scott," Hank offered, his cheek muscle now twitching. "Perhaps you should actually read her post-evaluation before you go any further."

Scott picked it up, glanced at it, and threw it back down. "I don't have to read any reports to know what I know."

"Then perhaps some of what you know is wrong. After all, she scored 612 on her DR rating."

Scott laughed bitterly. "You expect me to believe that?"

"Actually Scott, I don't really give a damn what you think. The object that smashed the DR window was a sentinal's head. The sentinal, according to the DR computers, was a class three, which you are well aware the qualities of and I need not elaborate."

"Class three? Bull. You actually expect us to believe this story?"

"Scott, if you are too thick headed to believe what I say, read the report yourself and check with the computer." He picked up the report, almost rammed it into Scott's chest, and left the room.

Scott looked at the report and was almost ready to throw it into the waste basket when Jean stopped him.

"Scott, perhaps you SHOULD read it."

"I don't have to read it to realize how foolish it all sounds. She's no more qualified to be an X-Man than the cashier at the 7-11!"

Jean simply shook her head. "Read the paper. And until you're thinking clearly," she said as she grabbed a cushion off the sofa and threw it at him, "you're sleeping on the couch."

He just stood there, holding the cushion. Whatever I did, it's Hank's fault! he thought angrily.

* * *

Scott was curiously absent for the next couple of days as Hank puttered around the mansion. Personally, he was certain that Scott was suffering from acute verbal indigestion, and it was about time, too. After all, he thought to himself, grinning, he's had a lot of time on the couch to think about it. In stark contrast, Hank was warm, comfy and quite cuddly with his own partner. Oh, yes, life is finally getting its act together. To say he was gloating would be going a bit far. To say he was glorying in the proper serving of desserts might be more accurate. But after all, he'd been the brunt of fate's bad jokes too often, and he felt it was about time that someone else suffered.

Hank was still quietly delighting in the situation when he stumbled across Scott sitting alone, on one of the back patios. The man was quietly sipping tea and looking thoughtful. Hank watched him sitting there for a few moments before deciding to leave him in peace. Scott spoke up, not having looked at him, and asked him to sit. Not knowing what to expect, and with much trepidation, Hank did so.

"You know of course," Scott began calmly, almost as if he were talking to himself, "that normally that type of thing would be grounds for open war. After all, a commander is supposed to lead his troops, as in lead by example. A good commander doesn't instigate his troops to the point where they allow him to blow his foot off to the hip just to teach him a lesson. I'm assuming that was your intention. I'm assuming that was the reason. After all, it would be too much to assume you had gone to all the effort and preparation to stage that little escapade out of pure vindictiveness."

Hank, not saying a word, watched quietly as Scott sipped his tea.

"Hank, do you know what it's like to try to be the leader of this group? This merry band of hyper, individualistic misfits? Have you ever once considered how hard it must be?"

"Er, not really, Scott," Hank replied uncertainly.

"People rarely do. They expect us, leaders I mean, to have all the answers all the time, to be ready to jump at a crisis, to know what to do and what to say. But they don't consider what we go through. It's the fear of failure that drives us, Hank. The knowledge that if we fail, fail in even what might seem the most inconsequential thing, people can die..."

Scott sipped his tea again, then almost whispered, "...like Morph."

Hank said nothing.

"It's failure," Scott continued as he turned and looked at him. Hank assumed he was looking directly in his eyes - it was hard to tell with the visor in the way - but he was feeling very uneasy nonetheless. "Only Jean and Ororo have ever understood the pressures leadership brings."

Scott then stood, sat the now empty cup on the table and leaned over, placing his forearms on the balcony railing and stared out at the forest. "Hank," he said, "I don't hate your kitten. I can't. Primarily because I can't allow myself the luxury of caring about somebody enough to truly hate them."

"But you love Jean, do you not?" Hank asked, his voice very soft.

"Of course I do, Hank! I've lost her as well, over and over again. And every time I lost her, the fear is there that she won't come back the next time. But yes, I love her. Do you know what I'm saying, Hank?"

"Er...it is rather unfortunate but I do not."

Scott continued to stare out at the horizon. "Hank, Tyger is untrained and her power is too tenous to be truly trainable. Yes, she's agile and fast. Yes, she has sharp teeth and sharp claws. But consider the people we go up against."

Scott straightened, glanced once at Hank, and began to pace. "Across the world, mutants and extroardinarily physically gifted individuals have bonded together, grouped themselves like swarms of bees for mutual protection as well as emotional and physical support. It doesn't matter whether we're talking about us, or the Avengers, or any other of the super groups. What matters is that we work together and support each other. Every group that gets together attracts forces that oppose it. There seems to be some cosmic balancing act that keeps these groups fighting. Rarely does a group encounter a menace they can't handle. There's a reason for this. This cosmic balancing act seems to attract opponents of approximately equal power to these groups."

Hank interrupted him. "Scott, what does this have to do with anything?"

Scott paused in his pacing. "Hank, you were an Avenger for some time before rejoining us. How would you compare the two groups?"

"I do not think that we can properly compare them..."

"No, you can't. And that's exactly what I'm trying to say." He resumed his pacing. "In the Avengers, most of the members are not mutants. They gained their powers or tricks from technology. Wonderwoman was an experiment. Vision is an android. The Scarlet Witch has spent years just learning the rudiments of her magic. The Wasp and Giant Man use technology for theirs. Trying to compare the Avengers and the X-men is futile because we do our work on two very different levels of existence. That's the problem with your Tyger. I know you hate to hear it as much as I dislike saying it, but she cannot cope with the level of threat that we are forced to deal with. As an Avenger, she could manage just as easily as Tigra would..." He paused. "By the way," he said, turning back to Hank, "I've been meaning to ask you...there isn't any relationship between those two is there? I mean, those two look enough alike to be sisters."

Hank sighed. "Scott, Tyger was born as she is. She did not gain her appearance from some voodoo potion given to her by cat people in the bowels of some jungle like Tigra was. Tyger really is a mutant."

"It doesn't matter anyway," Scott replied. "Hank, it's not that I don't like the girl. I do, I really do. But throwing her up against someone like Juggernaut, or Magneto, or Dr. Sinister, or any of our other major headaches would be tantamount to murder. I simply refuse to do that."

"Scott, aren't you being just a tad drastic?"

"Am I? We've know each other for a lot of years, Hank, ever since Xavier first brought us together. We've fought everything from human madment to alien armadas. We've saved lives and seen planets die. After a while, the burden of it all takes its tole. Inside, if you truly care and truly hold everything you've done as important, you end up just feeling old. It's the constant battle, Hank. The constant effort and not being certain you'll actually accomplish anything. That's what hurt from your little report, and I've already assumed that from the way the others reacted, they had seen it before you brought it to my attention. I'm also certain that wasn't an accident. I read it, compared it, and I accept the fact that in a simulation, she can fight. But you missed a very criticle fact, one that undermines your entire premise. In the simulation, she was fighting alone. There was no living mind against her. There were no living minds fighting beside her, so she couldn't let her ins! tincts loose. She could fight without fear of consequences."

He stopped, leaned on the railing and stared at the forest again. "Logan said it best: X-Men don't kill if it can possibly be avoided. We may do gratuitious physical damage, but we don't kill. Your little Tyger doesn't have any problem with killing. Her empathy WILL slip during the heat of battle. It's a powerful defense and her body knows that. Her mind will try to use it to protect her no matter what she may want to do otherwise. And when the feedback loop happens, she WILL kill, and I won't be able to stop it, which will make me an accessory to every murder she commits."

Hank was about to say something, but Scott cut him off. "Kindly don't bring Logan's past indescretions into this argument. Yes, he's killed, but never while he's worn the X-Men uniform." He turned again and sat back in his chair. Staring at the empty cup, he said, "Xavier would tell you the same thing were he here. To be an X-man is a tremendous responsibility. To be a leader of the X-Men is an almost crushing one. I can't allow Tyger to fight by our side. The risks are too great. I have no objection to her staying here, nor would I voice one if I did. But she must understand that when we must fight, we fight without her. Now do you understand, Hank?" he asked. Then, still talking to his teacup, he added quietly, "Why don't you go on and think about what I've said."

Hank mumbled a reply and dutifully left. He did indeed have much thinking to do.

* * *

CHAPTER 15: To Be or Not To Be, An X-Man

"I hate him," Hank said to himself. He was sitting in his favourite tree on the mansion's grounds, a half-decapitated daisy in his large, furry hands. "I hate him not," he continued, removing another petal. Yes indeed, at times I hate him. And times like this make me hate him even more because I cannot justifiably do so. "I hate him," he repeated. Now there was only one petal left. "I hate him not." He tossed the stem away and sighed deeply.

It is said that when you understand someone, you cannot help but love them a little, because that very knowledge robs you of the innocence to hate blindly. I did not know what they meant until now. This seems to serve as just another example among many of how ignorance often IS bliss. I am now faced with yet another quandary, and that is how do I explain to Tyger that we are too rough and tough for her to play with? And that our fearless leader, albeit not without some just cause, is afraid she will become injured if she plays with us? Argh, what a tangle!

He paused in his thoughts to readjust his position on the branch.

The worst of it is, it would be infinitely easier to be bothered by his opinion of the situation IF I did not feel it was in some real sense true! As well as she fought in the Danger Room, I shudder to think what a pretty mess we would leave behind if someone like Juggernaut had gotten hold of her. In an unfortunately real sense, she is physically incapable of fighting with us. But how the hell do I tell her that? Think, Hank! Think...think...think...

"YIPES!!!"

A gentle hand had touched his shoulder and he jumped in surprise, nearly falling off his branch. He turned to see Tyger clinging to the tree trunk.

"Did I sstarrtle you? I'm ssorry," she said with an expression on her face that looked so very innocent it was suspicious.

"No, you did not," he lied, a wry smile on his face. "I merely acted startled so as to lull you in the false sense of accomplishment at having frightened me out of my wits when you, in fact, had not."

She nodded at him with an expression that said, "Yeah, riiiiight." Then she climbed up higher until her face was level with his and planted a warm kiss on his lips. He happily returned it.

After a few moments, Tyger pulled away. "I've been looking forr you," she commented.

"You have? And for what purpose?" Hank mused, putting a thoughtful finger to his chin. "Wait! I have the answer!" he exclaimed with an air of having just made a major discovery. "You have grown so accustomed to my irresistible charm that you simply cannot bear my absence for more than a few moments! I am deeply humbled!"

Tyger scrunched up her nose and stuck her tongue out at him. He chuckled.

"All inanity aside, my dear, what is it that you want of me?" he inquired.

Her expression turned serious. "Jean has been teaching me how to ssense other people's emotionss, how to ssingle them out."

"Ah, excellent! And how are you faring in that endeavour?"

She furrowed her brows. "Well, I'm not that good at it. I can only pick up on the rreally strong ones."

He smiled encouragingly. "As with any new skill, it will take much practice before you will become adept at it."

She nodded sagely. "I know. Jean ssaid it's like being in a big crrowd. Therre is sso much backgrround noise that it's hard to pick out a ssingle voice to have a converssation. I have to learrn how to ssingle out emotions frrom the backgrround noise. But that isn't what I wanted to assk you about."

Hank could tell from the look on her face that whatever it was she wanted to talk about had her very concerned. He made himself comfortable once more on the branch and indicated for her to come up and sit with him.

She looked at the free spot on the branch beside him, snorted softly, then crawled into his lap instead. Hank grinned and voiced not a word of protest as he wrapped his arms around her.

"Now then, what is it exactly that you wished to ask me?"

Tyger nuzzled into him, and tried to explain. She told him how she had been picking up traces of emotions from Jean and Scott. From Jean, she had been sensing embarrassment, and Tyger couldn't explain why. As for Scott, all she could get was a sense of resignation, of weariness and that was enough unlike Scott to give her pause since he normally seemed to be a source of boundless energy. Tyger couldn't understand how any of this could possibly involve her, but since she always seemed to be the cause of trouble, she just naturally assumed that it was her fault. Somehow. Right now she was hoping that Hank could explain that specific 'somehow'.

Hank smiled a sympathetic smile when she told him it JUST HAD to be her fault, and reassured her that she hadn't done anything wrong.

"The blame lies with me, I fear," he said.

She looked up at him, a look of disbelief on her face. "How?" she asked.

Hank sighed deeply. 'How' is the correct word, my dear. 'How' do I tell you? I haven't had time to piece together the proper words, let alone compose my speech...hmmmm....maybe it is better that way. That last time I rehearsed a speech for you, it ended in utter disaster.

"Hank?"

He snapped out of his thoughts and noticed Tyger was staring at him intently, having been waiting for an answer.

"Ah, yes. Why is it MY fault? Well, you see, my love, it is like this. There was an altercation...altercation? No. A brief dispute? NO. A brief discussion? Yes, a brief discussion between myself and Scott. No, nothing to worry your pretty head over!" he added when he saw her ears droop.

"Disscussion?"

"Yes, a discussion. A minor debate whose subject was, and I mean this as being entirely coincidental, one certain orange and blacked-striped feline..."

Her ears drooped even more. "Sso it IS my fault they arre upsset."

"No, no! Tyger, I have already indicated that you are most certainly not the cause of the emotional turbulence!"

She cocked her head. "Sso...what you arre ssaying then is that the arrgument was about me, but not about me?"

"Yes! Er...no...not quite. You see, it is like this..." his mouth continued to move, but no explanation spewed forth.

Tyger was starting to feel just a little exasperated. "Sspit it out!" she told him. "You never had problems talking beforre."

"Hey!" he protested.

She smiled innocently again. "Jusst an obserrva'shun."

"Indeed," he replied, sounding indignant.

"Ssorry."

He took a deep breath and started over. "As I was saying, There was a minor disagreement between myself and Scott concerning your foray in the Danger Room."

Her eyes narrowed at the mention of that room. They narrowed even more when she recalled that Scott's interruption had nearly gotten her killed.

"Er...Tyger?...my Love? Why are you staring at me like that?" asked a nervous Hank. That narrow-eyed stare was pretty much the same look that he recalled her having when she had exited the Danger Room. Tyger snapped out of her reverie and refocused her attention on him.

"Ssorry. Keep going."

"Alright," Hank replied a little uncertainly. "As I was saying..."

"As you werre ssaying, you were arrguing with Cyclopss about me," she stated, trying to jump start his stalling explanation.

"No, not about you! Welllll...perhaps it did involve you, but only just a little."

She nodded. "Yessss, go on."

"It involved your presence...yes, your presence AND your performance in the Danger Room. You see, you did rather well for your very first scenario."

"I did?" she asked, incredulous. "I thought I sscrewed up rroyally."

"Certainly not! You did extremely well! And therein lies the problem."

She winced, feeling as if she had just been mentally slapped across the forebrain. "Huh?"

"The nature of the disagreement revolved around your physical capabilities and combat skills, which you displayed and proved to be quite efficient and effective."

"So I did okay?"

"Putting it simply, yes. The fact of the matter is, Tyger, that we have no records of previous new recruits who did as well in their first skirmish in the Danger Room as you did."

"Then jusst what is the prroblem?"

"The problem originally involved convincing Scott of your potential, and I accomplished that feat. A new problem arose, however, when he brought up a very important point which I had overlooked, and caused me to rethink all of my previous plans."

Tyger emitted a low growl of frustration. "Hank, what arre you trrying to tell me?!"

I sincerely wish I knew. He tried again.

"Scott explained that your powers are such that it would actually be unsafe for you to fight with us due to physical extremes."

"Fight with you?"

"Yes, as a member of the X-Men! I have been trying to convince Scott that you are perfectly qualified, but he brought up the argument that dealing with others...no, fighting alongside others is very different from fighting on your own within the Danger Room..."

"Fight with you?"

"Yes, you said that already," he pointed out matter-of-factly. "As I was saying, I..."

"Hank, have you been trrying to get Cyclopss to make me one of you guys? One of the X-Men?"

"Of course! You see, Tyger..."

"Is that what thiss whole thing is all about?" she asked as realization dawned on her.

"Yes, it is. Scott was..."

"Hank, don't take this the wrong way, but..."

"But what, my Love?"

She shot him a peevish look at having been interrupted.

Hypocrite.

"I don't mean any offence," she stated, her expression changing to a softer one. "But what went on in yourr blue-furrred mind that made you think I wanted to be an X-Man?"

He blinked. And blinked again. Then he blinked some more. "But...I...but...I...thought...?"

She put a finger to his lips. "Thiss is one ssituation where you DIDN'T think, Hank. Did I ever once assk if I could fight by yourr sside?"

He thought about it for a moment. Then, as her finger was still on his lips, shook his head.

"Jubess showed me ssome tapess of what you guys do. I have ssome idea of what you go up againsst. I would end up with my hide sspread acrross the floor if I went up againsst someone you guys normally fight with. Am I rright?"

He nodded.

"Is that what Cyclopss was trrying to tell you?"

He nodded again. He was at a loss for words, regardless of whether she was covering his mouth or not.

"Sso, in shorrt, the two of you have sspent the lasst couple of days arrguing about whetherr or not I should be an X-Man, when neither of you even botherred to assk me in the firsst place?"

He started to feel sheepish. "Er...perhaps that statement is correct," he offered.

She sensed his growing feeling of embarrassment. "Hank," she said, moving her hand to his cheek. "I apprre'shate what you trried to do forr me. I rreally do. But I'm jusst not cut out to be an X-Man."

Her hand strayed to gently scratch at the thick tuft of fur under his right ear.

"Cyclopss is a good leaderr, but I think maybe his commin'cation sskills are poorr. That is why everyone is upsset."

"I fear, my dear, that it would be rather hypocritical for me to comment on Scott's lack of proper communication skills considering that you and I have yet to engage in one solitary conversation that actually makes complete sense."

Tyger stuck her tongue out at him again.

"So, then," he said. "You...are not upset about what Scott said?"

She looked at him incredulously. "Why the heck would I be upsset?! Hank, I expeer'enced yourr 'beloved' Danger Room and I sstill think you'rre all nuts!"

A small voice in the back of Hank's brain goaded him to ask, 'macadamia or cashew?' but he silenced it.

"Anybody who goes in therre willingly deserves to have theirr head checked for missing pieces! Sso no, I am not botherred that he would rrefuse me X-Men sstatus 'cause Hank, I DON'T want it!"

A long moment of silence ensued. Then Hank finally spoke up. "Oh...okay, dear. Um....er...movie tonight?"

Blink. Blink. "What?"

* * *

CHAPTER 16: Surprises

Like all things, Hank's bliss was not to last (though he was not yet aware of it). And as his days of quiet rapture grew to weeks with only the occasional supervillian to ruin the peace, and those weeks grew steadily into months, he slowly came to the conclusion that the inclement chaos that Tyger had brought into his life must be over. Yet part of him - that nagging little voice in the back of his mind - seemed to be waiting, cautiously, expectantly, for that other long-awaited, long-overdue, massively oversized shoe to drop.

Tyger, Hank had noted to himself, had been suffering from a particularly stubborn case of stomach flu. Hank didn't think much of it: it was the fall, and the weather was turning colder. So sniffles were to be expected. He had no reason to have any suspicions, not even when she started going to Jean for checkups instead of him. Not that he didn't know every inch of her body quite intimately by this time. Thus Hank, at his densest, suspected nothing other than the common flu bug when Jean asked him to come to the infirmary to look at the results of Tyger's latest test.

Jean, Hank noticed, was doing her best not to grin at him, making Hank wonder what particular joke he'd missed this time round. The tests at first showed very little until he got to the bloodwork, which caused him to stop and stare blankly at the page for a few moments as his wits shattered and their fragments scrambled off into the dark recesses of his mind. When enough of his wits had reassembled to form a cognitive thought, he looked up from the page and stared numbly at Jean. Hank asked in a voice devoid of emotion (shock had that effect), "Is this what I think it is?"

Jean looked over at Tyger sitting on the examination table. Tyger simply said, "Hank...you'rre going to be a daddy."

Hank's wits fled back to the recesses to hide, taking his consciousness with them as he fell to the floor in a dead faint. His fainting spell didn't last long enough to qualify for a good snooze until, upon coming to, Tyger informed him of more good news: it was twins.

(THUD)

* * *

The reactions of Hank's fellow teammates were quite mixed, to say the least. Bobby's reaction when told was all that Hank could have hoped for. The word, shock, might have in some passing way been used. So might the word, horror. All in all, the total, utter dumbfounded shock that resulted once he realized that not only were there BABIES coming to the house, not only were HANK'S babies coming to the house, but that Hank's babies and overprotective, zealous MOTHER were becoming ensconced in the house made him severely consider an early extended vacation. Though, deep down, he knew it wouldn't matter. They would all be waiting for him when he got back.

Ororo's reaction, when told, was one of beatific expectation. Ororo had always been a mother figure ever since her time in Africa. She loved children and had missed them in all their rambunctiousness, and the thought of having them around again - even furry children - filled her with joy. She would be auntie 'Ro.

Logan didn't quite smirk as much as shudder. He knew what kids were like: smelly, obnoxious, loud bundles of terror. He'd made plans as well, which included a long tour of the Rockies on his bike. Maybe even a little hunting on the side. After all, he mused, even tackling a fully grown grizzly would be more fun than dealing with two cubs and their mommy.

Rogue's comment was, in her nature, short and to the point: "Are you outta your cotton-pickin' mind?!!!" to which Hank had no response.

And Remy's comment, like Rogue's, was equally short and sweet: "Bonne chance, homme!" Of the two of them, Hank preferred Rogue's.

Jubilee had nothing to say, being torn between the mentally ungraspable notion that her young friend Tyger was pregnant, the fact that HANK was the father, and the concept that she was no longer going to be the youngest one in the mansion.

And finally, Scott. Scott, upon hearing the news, laughed so hard he nearly passed out. And for days afterward, he would break into massive fits of laughter for no apparent reason to the point where it was rather useless to attempt to get anything sensible out of him.

And thus the air of chaos settled about the mansion as everyone prepared, in their own special way, for the inevitable arrival of sleepless nights and double daiper duty.

* * *

The warehouse still stood as it had months before. The blood stains had been cleaned up, leaving only brown stains that had soaked deeply into the wood. That room was no longer used as the walls seemed to echo the horrific screams of the dead. The window and door had been nailed shut, so it was in another room where the meeting was held, another meeting at which the ubiquitous spokesperson, Bill, spoke. His speech to the new FOH members was full of flowery phrases and auritorial fervour, but it was the fat envelopes sitting before each member that truly moved the mob. It had taken months to rebuild the FOH up to its present population of fourteen; months of careful wording and thinly veiled threats to get them even to think of harming mutants again. But finally, the efforts had paid off, and Bill knew it was time.

The present target as was outlined was again Xavier's mansion. The timing, Bill explained, had to be precise. They were well equipped for a change. They were supplied with incinerary mortars and high explosive LAW rockets - all equipment designed for chaos and mayhem at a distance. Nothing that Bill could possibly suggest could coax them to get within arms reach of anyone at the mansion. Thus, things were planned and watches were kept so that when certain X-individuals had been sighted leaving the mansion, the plan went into effect.

The gates were the first to go; high explosive rockets are good for that. Alarms instantly went off all over the mansion. Logan burst out of his bedroom, clad only in boxers and shouting, "What in the flamin' hell is going on?!"

Various other X-Men stumbled out of their rooms as Wolverine headed to the War Room. Tyger peeked cautiously out of her bedroom door. "You stay right where you are, Tyger!" Storm ordered as she ran by. "We will handle this."

Tyger closed the door and sat down on the bed, and hugged her swollen belly protectively. She was only four months pregnant, but since they were twins, she was already starting to show. She hoped everything would be alright.

"Hustle that furry butt o' yours, Hank!" Rogue snapped as she flew past him in the hallway. "Yes, ma'am!" Hank replied as he saluted, then grabbed a couple of tools from his belt and headed in the opposite direction.

It was at this point that a full dozen rockets bombarded the mansion, shaking the massive structure as if it had been hit by an earthquake. Several X-Men were knocked to the ground, but quickly got to their feet and assembled in the War Room.

The video screens were alive with shots of the various sections of the mansion. As soon as Wolverine saw that the front gates had been blasted apart, he took off to deal out some of his own damage.

Storm ordered Jubilee and Iceman to stay inside the mansion in case any of their attackers got in, while she, Rogue and Gambit went out to track them down.

"Argh! How come I never get to have any fun?" Jubilee complained as she and Bobby broke off to head to their chosen sectors of the mansion.

"Storm wants us in here so Tyger'll be protected!" Iceman called over his shoulder as he left her.

"Tyg! I forgot about her!" Jubilee exclaimed, and decided to check up on her. The idea of being in charge of someone else's safety made Jubilee feel very important. As she was passing the living room, she noticed that Beast was hunched over one of the endtables.

"Hey, Blue-boy!" she called to him. "There's a battle goin' on, or didn't ya notice?"

Hank looked up at her with a hostile expression on his face. "Dammit, Jubilation! I'm TRYING to get the phone working!"

"Don't call me that!" Jubes shot back, then continued on her way.

A dozen mortar rounds bombarded the mansion next. Storm summoned rain to douse the flames, while Iceman took care of whatever fires could be found within the mansion.

Wolverine spotted the vehicles from which the attacks were coming from. But the drivers hit the gas as he started running towards them, and Wolverine was soon outdistanced. Muttering obscenities and resheathing his claws - which were still itching for action - he turned and started trudging back toward the mansion.

Storm stopped the rain now that all the fires had been put out. As she flew back to the mansion, her eyes caught a movement in the far distance. The figure was shadowed, but its large size and gate were unmistakably that of one Henry P. McCoy. She couldn't understand why Henry would be leaving the mansion at this point in time, but she trusted him to know what he was doing. She made her way back to the War Room instead.

* * *

A little while later, one overtired, weary Hank hit the breaks as the smouldering remnants of the front gate came into view.

"My stars and garters! What has happened here?!" he exclaimed, then hit the gas and sped up the driveway toward the mansion.

* * *

The X-Men had debriefed and disbanded by the time Hank got to the War Room, arms curiously laden with Twinkies and Ben & Jerry's Ice-cream. Storm was the only one left.

"Ororo, please, tell me what happened!" Hank implored.

Storm turned to face him. But when she spotted Hank's bounty, an expression of shock hovered over her face which was quickly replaced by one of anger.

"Henry, I am surprised at you! How could you possibly think about your stomach at a time such as this?"

Hank was taken aback by the disgust in Ororo's voice.

"Ororo, I...I did not know that..."

"Did not know what, Henry?" Storm interrupted. "That I would be upset by such a selfish display of gluttony?"

"It's not like that at all, Ororo!" Hank pleaded. "Specific parts of my anatomy had been threatened if I did not procure some ice-cream to satisfy the craving of a certain surly feline!"

Ororo raised an eyebrow. "Tyger asked you to do this? Even despite what has just happened? I will speak to her later."

"But what..."

"I am tired, Henry. I have already contacted Scott and Jean about the incident. It seems unlikely that a second attack will occur this evening, so I would like to get some rest before we regroup and decide what must be done about it. Good night."

Hank clamped his jaw shut as he watched as Storm turn and left the room. The words that he truly wanted to say would certainly not help matters any right now.

"By trying to please everyone, I have ended up pleasing no one," he muttered to himself, then left the room as well.

* * *

Tyger was just drifting back to sleep when she heard the bedroom door open. His scent told her who it was. The room was dark, except for the faint moonlight that trickled in through the window. Even so, her feline eyes could see him clearly as she watched him trudge over to her side of the bed. Waves of discontent washed over her as he sat a tub of ice-cream and a spoon down on the nightstand beside her without saying a word.

Tyger sat up as he began to undress. "I...I'm not hungrry anymorre." she said.

He paused for a moment, then grumbled, ""I do not know WHY I even bother."

The anger in his voice made her tremble slightly. It was then that she realized that she had done it again. She had had such a dire craving for ice-cream, she had been almost willing to do bodily harm if that would have resulted in her getting some. She had known Hank was tired, but the craving just would not go away and she had nagged and nagged at him until he left at one in the morning to get her some. But right now, the recent events had dulled her appetite and replaced it with mild nausea.

Tyger's ears drooped as she lowered her head. She knew Hank would do just about anything for her, anything to please her and make her happy. That was one of the reasons why she loved him as much as she did. She also knew that he was a very patient man, but even so, her mood swings were sorely trying his patience. They were driving her crazy as well. She would be happy one minute, then suddenly burst into tears or snap at Hank for no reason she could possibly think of. And the fact that she hadn't yet learned to completely shield extreme emotions did not help matters any. She felt horrible about what she was doing, but at the same time, she did not have any idea what she could do about it, either. She didn't understand why her body was putting her through this; putting Hank through this. Tears started to trickle down her cheeks.

Hank threw his shirt and pants over the chair, then lifted the sheets and sat down heavily on the bed.

"I...I'm ssorry, Hank."

He paused for another moment, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly, willing himself to calm down. Some of his anger dissipated.

"No, Tyger," he muttered. "I should be the one to apologize for taking my frustration out on you."

Tyger didn't look up. "I...I don't mean to act this way. I rreally don't."

"I understand, Tyger," said Hank, swallowing back the feeling of guilt that was welling up along with all the other emotions he was feeling right now. "I should have more patience."

Tyger looked at him, her eyes wide with amazement. "Morre? Hank, I don't even underrsstand how you have managed to put up with me sso farr!"

Feeling the last of his anger ebb away, Hank spread out his arms. "Come here," he ordered softly.

Tyger snuggled into Hank as his large, furry arms wrapped around her and drew her close.

"Tyger, your body is going through many changes right now. I understand that! Believe me, I do! But even so, there are times when I am forced to remind myself of that. And no, it is not your fault."

There were both silent for a few moments, enjoying each other's closeness. Then Hank continued.

"Tyger, I could never truly be angry with you, as you have not yet done anything which could possibly make me so. And I was not angry with you, just now. I suppose that I am just simply tired and frustrated, nothing more."

Hank gently cupped her chin and lifted her face. "You are carrying my babies, OUR babies," he told her, his voice barely a whisper. "How could I possibly be angry with you for that?"

He kissed her gently, then motioned for her to lie down. As their heads graced the oversized pillow, he draped an arm over her as she lay with her back up against his chest.

Tyger knew she wasn't supposed to use her power except during training session or to shield her own emotions from everyone else. But it shouldn't matter just this once, she thought to herself. Tyger closed her eyes and concentrated. Sifting through the emotions, she delved deep until she found the one that she wanted: calm. She focused on it, willing it to increase, willing it to grow until it overpowered all the other emotions currently hovering around the two of them.

Tyger felt the muscles in Hank's body loosen and relax. His breathing gradually became slow and rhythmic. "I love you," she said softly. "And I, you," Hank murmured into her neck. Tyger closed her eyes and snuggled closer into him, then felt herself drift slowly off to sleep. Hank, however, remained determinantly awake, mulling over in his mind what had happened at the mansion and trying vainly to make sense of it.

* * *

CHAPTER 17: A Thief in the Night

As the start of the third trimester was approaching, Hank was growing more and more worried about Tyger's health. The babies, at less than six months, were already active and were threatening to kick out mommy's spleen. Tyger complained - half in jest - that just like normal siblings, the two were already vying for space and fighting even now. Hank's only comment was that it must come from HER side of the family. The accompanying swat was expected.

Both Jean and Hank hovered over Tyger like a pair of paranoid nannies. Tyger slept with electronic monitors strapped to her belly to constantly monitor the babies' welfare and once, drugs had to be administered to prevent premature labour. Tyger's temper flare-ups were increasing in frequency and duration, and Hank's grocery shopping expeditions grew more and more exotic and bizarre:

"Sardines and pickles?! Are you sure you do not want ice cream with that?" Pause. "You do?! Fine..." (Then under his breath) "The next thing she will desire will probably be small, flightless birds..." SWAT!!! "Sigh." I expected that.

The rest of the X-members continued to deal with it in their individual ways. Bobby had applied for a job as a research assistant in Antarctica, although no one seriously expected him to be accepted. Jubilee talked incessantly about toys and little jammies, and was getting right in the mood to be a substitute big sister. Logan was collecting travel brochures, while Jean had her hands full quieting Scott's temper. Once Scott had finally come to his senses, he could think about nothing but what Hank's two little terrors would do to the mansion once they were able to move about on their own. As of yet, no one had told the professor, who was still at Muir Island. He was sure to be in for a surprise when he got back.

Everything was going wonderfully for Hank, if you ignored his incessant worrying about his mate in matters concerning her health and extreme mood swings, and his continual fretting over the well-being of his unborn babies, and the nagging doubts he had about his ability to be a good father that plagued him day after day. Other than that, everything was fine.

Truth be told, however, Hank was in fact experiencing the best time of his life thus far. The sheer exaltation that he had experienced the very first time he felt one of his babies move was something he would never, ever forget. He had spent hours looking over the ultrasound photos, trying to picture what they would look like when they were born. There were nights when he would lay awake beside Tyger, listening to the babies' heartbeats on the monitors and watching Tyger's belly move about while she slept. Hank was completely, utterly fascinated by the entire experience, and even if he was given the chance, he simply would not change a single thing.

* * *

I'm as big as a whale, Tyger thought with dismay as she examined herself in the bedroom mirror. At seven months and carrying twins, she looked just about ready to explode. The rest of her body had long before started showing the other, `more pleasant', signs of pregnancy: weight gain, water retention, swollen ankles, and so on. Luckily enough, however, the thin cover of fur on her abdomen was enough to conceal the stretchmarks that she knew she had. She wondered seriously about this 'pregnant glow' she was supposed to be experiencing. The constant fatigue, combined with the extra weight that she had to carry around and the bouts of nausea which still hit her occasionally made her wonder if she had missed it.

Placing her hands on her belly, she looked down and her expression softened. Despite all the discomfort, there were certain things that she was experiencing which made it all worth while. Just being able to feel her babies move around inside her was special enough, but her power let her experience all their emotions as well. Yes, babies still in the womb express emotions. Tyger knew when they were sleepy, or content. When something startled them, she felt that too. She was already getting a very good sense of their own individual personalities, and they hadn't even been born yet. She smiled as she reminded herself that in only two more months, she would be seeing her babies face to face. In fact, it might even be sooner than that, as Hank and Jean had pointed out that multiple pregnancies rarely lasted the full 40 weeks. There were two premature incubation units waiting in the infirmary, just in case. Either way, she could hardly wait!

The door opened and she jumped, startled. One of the babies jumped, too. She calmed quickly when she saw that it was only Hank, and unconsciously calmed the excited infant as well.

Hank hesitated for a moment - Tyger's moods had a habit of changing without warning - then smiled lovingly at her when he saw the serene expression on her face.

"I do not believe my eyes have ever beheld such a breathtaking sight as this beauty who stands before me," he said.

"Rreally? Wherre?" Tyger asked as she glanced around the room.

Hank chuckled softly as he came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her.

"Who else would I be speaking of, my love?" he murmured as he planted soft kisses along her shoulders and neck.

She let a soft sigh escape her lips before replying, "I'm sorry, Hank. I jusst don't feel too prretty."

"And why is that, praytell?"

She sighed heavily this time. "Look at me Hank!" she said, indicating her reflection the mirror. "I'm as big as a housse!"

Hank shook his head as he lowered his arms and gently clasped her belly. "My dear, your skin is practically glowing through your fur, which is, I might add, softer and glossier than I have ever seen it! In fact, I have never seen you so vibrant and full of life. And," he added, lowering his voice to almost a whisper as he spoke into her ear, "I must admit that I find your new form to be rather attractive indeed, arousing even."

She felt the heat well up in her cheeks...and other places. "Rreally?"

"Most assuredly."

She leaned back a little and let her head come to rest against his shoulder. Maybe I do have a 'pregnant glow' after all, she thought to herself. But how come I'm the only one who can't see it?

Her thoughts wandered off as Hank started nibbling her neck. Tyger was slowly melting into his arms when he tenderly bit into that one particular spot at the back of her neck. A light hiss escaped her lips as she arched her back into him. She then turned around to face him, her expression one of mild surprise.

"Hank, you KNOW what that does to me," she cautioned him.

"Indeed I do," he replied as an uncharacteristic wicked grin spread across his face.

She returned his grin with one of her own. "Oh, rreally?" she asked. "Then I guess you arre prrepared to face the cons'quences?"

"I fear that you are mistaken, as YOU will most likely be the one unable to walk away from THIS confrontation," he replied slyly.

She almost smacked him. Almost. "We'll ssee about that!"

Hank chuckled inwardly at her show of determination as she all but dragged him to the bed. He knew he would be extremely gentle with her, just like he'd always been since he found out she was pregnant. (And he was still gentle even when she didn't want him to be.)

* * *

The car that approached the mansion moved silently except for a faint whine that usually accompanied electrical powered vehicles. It was low slung and black, reflecting no light. The only sound notable from a distance was the crunch of the gravel under the tires. Like a shadow, it slipped under the trees and stopped. The entire front of the car lifted up when a large, hulking figure stepped out and pulled a small box from his pocket. He pressed the button on it and a faint chirping sound was heard like that used in an autolock for an automobile. Deep in the mansion, gadgets long unused activated their signals. Power was cut to the security system, phones were disconnected, and deep in the air conditioning units of the mansion, a faint 'pop' occurred, followed by the quiet hiss of escaping gas. The figure waited five minutes. Ten. He nodded to himself, then dexterously climbed the wall and entered the grounds.

He had work to do.

* * *

Tyger fought to shake off the heavy shadows of unconsciousness which seemed determined to hold her down forever. Bright lights blinded her and forced her to shut the eyelids she had so painstakingly forced open. Blinking profusely, she managed to gather enough information with her blurred vision to let her know that she was in the infirmary. That gave her pause to think, and she started to panick when she simply could not recall how she had gotten there.

She tried to sit up, but a hot knife of pain stabbed through her belly and she lied back down. Instinctively, she reached out emotional feelers to her babies, and was stunned. No! This can't be, she thought to herself, and checked again. Icy fingers of dread crept over her and up to her throat, threatening to strangle the life out of her.

She couldn't feel one of the babies.

Tyger called out for help. Then she called again, and again. But no help came. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she forced herself to sit up once again. Ignoring the pain, she called out once more, wondering where everyone was and realizing that she would have to search for help herself if she was to ever get it.

She looked down to make sure her feet were set firmly on the floor before standing up, as she was feeling rather dizzy. It was then that she noticed her toes. In her current state of mind, such a seemingly insignificant little thought as that should never have entered her mind, but a little nagging voice told her quite firmly: you aren't supposed to be seeing your toes.

It had been two months since she had last been able to see her feet past her protruding belly; a new surge of panick hit her. Her belly looked smaller. Maybe it was her imagination, but it looked smaller. She rubbed her eyes and checked again; it was definitely smaller, but showed no trace of any marks or cuts. She sat there, stunned, until that same nagging voice told her to get her butt moving and to find help. A wave of nausea washed over her as she stood up, but she paused only long enough to gain her balance and grab a lab coat (as the voice instructed since she was quite naked) and staggered out of the infirmary.

Tyger rode in the elevator up to the main floor, and began to frantically search the rooms for somebody, ANYBODY.

What she found did nothing to calm her. When she discovered Rogue lying on the floor of her bedroom, Tyger at first thought that the woman was dead. But when she checked, it was apparent the Rogue was very much alive, but Tyger couldn't wake her no matter how much she poked, prodded, shook, and even slapped her. She found Remy, Bobby and Jubilee in the same state in their own rooms.

Tyger's mind by this point had all but shut down, and her body was moving as if on autopilot as she systematically searched the rest of the floor for the remaining X-Men. Jean and Scott were lying on the floor of the living room; Jean looked as if she had been trying to reach the door before she collapsed. Tyger couldn't find the others, so she took her search outside.

Logan was in the garage, unconscious like the rest. But unlike the others, numerous empty syringes lay scattered on the floor all around him. Tyger didn't even bother trying to wake him up as she hurried back outside toward the mansion.

Tyger stopped; her nose suddenly caught something that it hadn't the first time round when she had headed out to the garage: Hank's scent.

Following her nose, she was nearly overcome by a new surge of emotions. She would find Hank! If anyone could help her, it was him. At the same time, a renewed feeling of dread gripped her heart when as she wondered what kind of a state she would find him in. She didn't have to wonder for long.

Hank was hanging by his wrists from a tree, severely beaten and still unconscious. It took quite a while - even with the assistance of a friendly garden hose - for Tyger to wake him up, all the time suffering from her own incessant abdominal pains and fighting to keep herself from going into shock.

No one knew what had happened.

* * *

48 hours later:

Tyger was sedated after Jean's most recent examination, and was now sleeping soundly in her room. Despite his own severe injuries, Hank was determined to go and view the results first-hand. As he entered the infirmary, one wall had been set to glowing as it was covered in transparencies from the MRI.

"So what happened?" Hank began, his throat tight with the emotions that he was forcing himself to hold back.

Jean, not looking at him, simply said, "One of the babies is gone."

"Gone?" Hank choked. "She lossed one? But we were taking such good care..." his voice trailed off as he collapsed in a chair.

Jean turned to him and for the first time, Hank saw pure rage in her eyes, and the almost flickering flame-like corona surrounding her hair.

"Not lossed, Hank," she stated, every word filled with heated venom. "Taken."

"Huh?" Hank's mind could not grasp the notion that someone could steal one of his unborn babies. It didn't seem possible.

"Jean? How...?"

Jean explained, her voice sounding forcibly neutral. "Last night, someone infiltrated the mansion - undetected - and loaded a powerful sedative into the air conditioning system. Before we even knew what was happening, we were all affected. Then someone performed Cesarean surgery on Tyger, surgically removing one of the fetuses. Whoever it was did a near-perfect job. The fetus was removed flawlessly...almost. And I would have to add, with almost perfect ease. Whoever it was even healed the initial incision without a trace. However, they could not heal the inner abdominal muscle trauma as easily. These images," she said, waving toward the wall charts, "still show signs of that trauma."

Hank was dumbstruck.

"I don't know who," she said as Hank sat there gaping at her. "But I can tell you something about him. First, he was as good a surgeon as you or I. Everything that could have been done to prevent injury to Tyger was. The procedure was vicious, but impressively executed. The assailant was also very careful. I've examined the instruments used minutely, and there are no traces of usage by anyone other than you or I. Also, the perpetrator was a fairly large individual, as more of the instruments for someone your size were used. This individual also performed the surgery single-handedly, as there is no evidence of an orderly or assistant anywhere. One of the premature incubation units is also missing, so at least we know how one of them was taken. As for the drug used on everybody, I've never seen a chemical signature quite like it. It's fast-acting, water soluble, airborne and effective in diluted quantities, and has no detectable side effects.

Hank, trying desperately to absorb what was said, fidgeted in his chair.

"How are you feeling?" Jean asked.

He glared at her. "Really, Jean," he said, his voice sounding agitated. "I thoroughly ENJOY having my blue hide spotted with purple highlights, my muscles pulped and torn AND being left a bloody mess hanging from a tree in the morning. It makes my week complete - just me and Cheetah out for a morning swing."

"Seriously," Jean replied.

He inhaled deeply. "How am I supposed to feel?" he said angrily. "I was drugged, beaten, strung up and left to collect dew in the morning while one of my children was forcibly ripped from my love's womb, yet they can casually walk in without anyone noticing and not triggering ANY of the security systems?! I have checked, double-checked, and AND triple-checked," he added, his voice rising, "and there is a gap in the security tapes, yet the system was still up and functioning!!"

"Hank, calm down."

"I AM CALM!!!" he roared back. "If YOU want to see someone who is irritated, just go and find Logan! Whoever broke in stole his new Harley! He spent nine months rebuilding that thing. After all, how many 1964 Harley-Davidsons are out there anymore? One less, apparently!" He jumped to his feet, instantly regretted doing so, and plopped back down.

"Easy," Jean said.

"EASY?! When I get my child back, then I will take it easy!" he bellowed, wincing as his head began to throb menacingly.

"Hank, the important thing is that you're okay, and she's okay. What else is important?" Jean asked. She hadn't meant that to sound as churlish as it did; she was genuinely concerned for the two furry mutants and especially for the stolen infant. She was angry as well, but she and to keep herself calm if only to keep her own powers in check.

"Well," he replied, his voice seething with hatred, "stringing the bastard who did this up by his ankles, coating him in honey and inviting a fire ant colony to the banquet is a beginning."

"Hank, I know how you feel..."

"Really, Jean?" he asked, his expression a mixture of anger and pain. "Do you really? Somehow, I do not think so." He got to his feet and with an unsteady gait, headed toward the door.

"Wait, Hank!" Jean called after him. "Can you think of anybody who could hate you so much as to do such a thing?"

He paused for a moment, then without looking at her, quietly said, "No. No, I do not."

"What are we going to do about Tyger?" Jean asked, changing the subject.

He turned around. "Tyger?"

"We can't keep her sedated for the next two months, Hank," she said seriously. "And the shock is so severe, I fear for her sanity. And the extreme stress that she's under isn't doing the baby any good, either."

Hank sighed deeply once again. Then, rubbing his eyes tiredly, replied, "I am open to suggestions, Jean. I can work miracles with the body, but the mind is more your department, is it not?"

Jean nodded, but she was uncertain whether or not to voice what she had in mind.

"I think it would be in the best interest of the remaining child if I implant a mild suggestion in Tyger's mind that the loss was natural rather than a violation."

Hank stared at her for a moment, considering her words. "I do not like the idea of Tyger's mind being tampered with, Jean," he stated.

Perhaps it would have been better if I had just gone ahead with it, thought Jean. But she just didn't feel right doing this without Hank's consent.

"Tyger can't go on like this, Hank," Jean insisted. "Her hold on her sanity is becoming more tenuous with each passing day. There is just no way she can take care of a baby if she can't even take care of herself, and she has proven just that in the last two days. Yes, I understand how much you dislike the idea of toying with peoples' minds, but do you really think that keeping Tyger sedated and in bed until the baby is born is any good for either of them?"

Jean could tell just by the way Hank's jaw was clenched and his brows were furrowed that we was taking what she had said into deep consideration. "Alright, Jean," he finally replied with an exasperated sigh. "I trust your judgement in this matter."

"Thank you, Hank."

He turned and left without uttering another word. Come hell or high water, he was going to get to the very bottom of this mess and find out just the hell was going on or his name wasn't Henry P. McCoy, PhD.

* * *

Hank took his investigation to the main security room, going through the security logs of that night bit by bit, frame by frame. After hours of painstaking work, a pattern began to appear. Yet this pattern was one that Hank could not believe.

There was evidence and traces of the assailant: dark hair was found on a thorn bush outside the door that had to be picked to get in; and short video segments, though blurred and murky, showing the assailant.

DNA tests done on the hair samples gave clear results, but Hank disregarded them, believing the samples to have somehow been contaminated.

Judicious use of video enhancement finally made the image clear, and it was an image that Hank could not, would not and refused to believe.

So, embarking on the thought that, like Sherlock Holmes had said, when everything else is discarded, whatever remains must be the truth, he set out numbly to prove it.

Camera logs from the firebombing of the mansion some months back were added to the growing pile of evidence as well as the very nature of the drug used. Hank had located an aerosol unit large enough to contain several litres of the drug in compressed form, with a remote control trigger. The most damnable thing was that he even recognized the drug. It was one that he himself was working on, and the chemical formula for it closely matched his latest batch. He had also found fingerprints on the device, and found a match.

Feeling more and more condemned, he was forced to look again at the DNA evidence, and upon retesting, found the same result.

Hank was the one who did it.

The DNA perfectly matched his own. The image on the video had clearly shown himself disarming the security systems. And that, combined with finding HIS fingerprints all over the aerosol unit, only condemned him further.

It was impossible; unthinkable! But at the same time, it was the only plausible explanation. Jean routinely scanned the X-members for mental aberrations, and a Jekyl/Hyde syndrome was impossible to hide from her. Even more frustrating was the fact that some of the evidence ran counter to the rest of it, like showing Hank and the assailant apparently being in two places at the same time, yet showing that Hank WAS the assailant. That did not make any sense.

Argh! No, it made no sense. Hank had to bring his findings to Scott. He had no choice. If he WAS the assailant, if he DID do this, he was a threat to the entire team and, more importantly, to Tyger and their one remaining baby.

* * *

Scott was unconvinced. "Hank," he said firmly, "you are not the culprit. It was someone else, and they are simply trying to frame you. My guess would be Mystique."

Hank shook his head. "The DNA evidence proves otherwise, Scott."

"Mystique is a shapeshifter, Hank."

Hank sighed. "Yes, it is true that a shapeshifter such as Mystique can mimic a person right down to the retina so as to fool a scanner, but she simply, positively cannot alter her DNA to match my own. It is impossible."

Scott would not be dissuaded. "Then maybe it wasn't Mystique. Perhaps it was a new, more powerful shapeshifter that we've never dealt with before."

Hank was starting to feel very frustrated. "Scott, you are not being realistic," he stated.

"No Hank, YOU are the one who is not being realistic," Scott retorted. "You've suffered major emotional and physical trauma. You are overworked and overstressed. You are not thinking properly right now, coming up with these ludicrous ideas!"

Hank tried to protest, but Scott cut him off. "I'm ordering you to stop thinking like this, Hank. YOU ARE NOT the one responsible, do you understand? I'M handling the investigation, not you. We'll find the one who did this. Jean has been using Cerebro everyday to try and locate the person or persons involved. Logan has been out looking for traces and any possible leads." Scott's voice softened a bit. "AND we will get your child back, I promise. Now get some rest, you need it."

Hank opened his mouth to say something more, but thought better of it and left. He was upset and angry, but not with Scott.

The man's heart is in the right place, even if he is a stubborn son of a....Hank let the thought end there and decided to look for Jean. He hoped that she would have a more open mind about the matter.

* * *

Upon claiming that he was the one behind it all, Jean promptly laughed in Hank's face.

"Hank," Jean stammered after catching her breath, "I've known you for ten years now, and there is absolutely, positively no way you could have done this."

Hank showed her the evidence.

"Hank, it's all circumstantial and coincidental. Lawyers wouldn't even take it to court and you've already pronounced yourself guilty!"

"Jean, I am certain that it was me," he told her firmly.

"Hank, use logic. Where were you that night?"

"In bed...with Tyger," he replied.

"In bed with Tyger," Jean reiterated. "So you got up without waking her, deactivated the security system, drugged everyone, stole the baby, beat yourself up, tied yourself to a tree, then stole Logan's bike and left with the child. Not to mention that you did all this WHILE continuously injecting Logan to keep him sedated. Is this train of logic missing a few cars, or is it just my imagination?"

"On the same track, to extend the metaphor, there is absolutely no evidence that it is anybody else! Granted, I do realize that I could not have completed the entire operation without assistance, even though we have yet to find evidence of the persons who provided the assistance."

Of course, Hank wasn't quite sure how he had managed to beat himself up either. But he had closely examined his bruises and markings, and they clearly showed that only someone of his size and strength could have produced them.

"But the video clearly shows myself tampering with the security system for this some months ago," he insisted.

"While you were out getting Twinkies," Jean reminded him. "It looks like your train's wobbling, Hank. But if you're certain, I can scan your mind. But I know I won't find anything."

"Please do."

Jean placed her fingertips lightly over Hank's temples, then closed her eyes and concentrated. After a few moments, she opened her eyes again.

"See," she said with an I-told-you-so look on her face, "nothing there to find."

"You mean to say that I am innocent?"

"Your mind's empty, does that count?"

"Very funny," he replied dryly.

Jean continued to tease him. "There were little voices crying out in the darkness for companionship, echoing through your skull shouting, 'We can see for miles out here!'"

Hank started to pout. "If you are not going to be serious, I am leaving."

Jean grabbed his shoulder before he could do so. "Hank, there's no trace of you doing anything wrong," she told him, her voice sincere. "Granted, there were some places I didn't want to look," she added.

He raised a furry eyebrow.

"Hank, what you do in the privacy of your bedroom, I DID NOT want to know. But now that I DO know..."

Hank felt himself blushing from the very tips of his ears right down to his toes.

"...I'm getting you both matching name collars for Christmas. AND if you're really nice to me, I'll throw in a dominatrix outfit for Tyger. After all," Jean added with a saucy grin, "your training at her hand isn't complete yet, is it?"

Now completely catatonic, Hank could only reply in a very small, squeaky voice. "Jean....!"

"Oh what, oh what would Bobby think?" she sang.

Hank's face darkened. "Is this blackmail time? What do you want?"

Jean shook her head, then stared at him sternly. "No, it's shock you back to your senses time! Now go, get out! You didn't do anything wrong; you couldn't have done anything wrong, AND you're driving me nuts, so scat!"

Jean proceeded to shoo him toward the door as she said this.

As Hank reluctantly trudged toward the door, she added, "And I really didn't know her tail was so agile!"

He left the room so quickly, he nearly left skid marks on the carpet.

* * *

Tyger was up and about now, but seemed to want to keep to herself and be left alone. Tyger now believed that she had lost the baby naturally, as a spontaneous abortion. She new that this sometimes happened with multiple pregnancies, and that the unfortunate fetus would be reabsorbed. What Tyger did not know, as Jean had made sure, was that reabsorption NEVER occurred past the first trimester. Even so, Tyger was understandably deeply depressed about it, and she would need some time to adjust, and to grieve. At least, that's what Hank told himself. He had tried to hug her and comfort her, but she merely stiffened and remained cold and aloof. She didn't even look up at him when she told him that she just wanted to be alone. He remembered muttering something along the lines of, "I understand", and let her be.

That is why Hank was sitting alone in his laboratory, his last refuge of peace and quiet. Yet even this room seemed alien to him right now. His emotions were in turmoil, and his mind was spinning in circles with thoughts that seemed to hit dead ends and turn back on themselves over and over again. Thoughts swirling about in his head like the scotch in his glass as he poured himself another drink. He did not believe what Jean had told him. He did not believe that he was innocent.

There is a distinct possibility that Jean is trying to manipulate my mind as she did Tyger's. I KNOW I am the guilty one. I ask myself, why would she do such a thing? The obvious solution is that she is trying to protect me. She is a dear friend. But if I have in fact developed a Jekyl/Hyde syndrome, why would I kidnap my own unborn child? What is the fate of my child, and where are the accomplices hiding themselves? It is possible, however, that my actions were not under my own free will, that some outside influence made me do this and then made me forget. If that is the case, then I must ask yet another question: just who upon this entire wretched planet has MY child?! Yet again, if it was not a Hyde syndrome and was in fact mind control, but an influence that Jean could not detect, then she was in fact telling me the truth! And the question I am thus left with is just who in creation is powerful enough to control me in a way that Jean could not detect?!

He wanted to rage. His free hand clenched and unclenched with a seething desire to strangle someone...anyone. Yet his own nature would never allow that...or would it? He didn't know anymore. And at the same time, he simply wanted to curl up into a little ball and cry like a baby. But his nature would not allow that, either. Big, strong, manly men don't cry. Everyone knows that.

If only it were that simple.

And why should he cry? The one thing that had made him happy beyond all measure had been taken from him. It had all been taken from him: the boundless joy he had experienced, the anticipation, the realization that despite all the odds against him, despite the seemingly fated life of lonely existence that his mutation had made for him, he had found someone whom he could love and who gave him love in return, loved him entirely for who he was and even offered to give him the one thing that he had never thought he would ever have. Children. He laughed to himself - an empty, emotionless laugh. Fate had dealt him a wild card, and Hank's hope had been lossed in the bet.

Yes, Tyger was safe. Yes, the remaining child was safe. He was immensely relieved for that. But what of the lossed one? In a sudden fit of anger, he grabbed the glass and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the far wall, but unfortunately the action did not give him the release he so desperately desired. He slumped back heavily in his chair and buried his face in his hands. His eyes burned with unshed tears which promised to ease at least some of the burden on his tormented heart, but he refused to cry. He refused to allow himself such a comfort because there was only one thought burning in his mind right now, and that thought was racking him with guilt: mind control or none, willingly or unwillingly, he had taken part in this endeavour and if the infant was in fact dead, then he, Henry P. McCoy, had killed his own child.

He knew what he had to do. It was the only thing to do. As long as Tyger remained at the mansion, the remaining child was at risk. He had to protect them, to keep them safe. And there was only one way to do that.

Shuffling through a drawer in his desk, he pulled out an address book and looked up a certain number. Then, taking a few minutes to compose himself, he picked up the phone and dailed.

Seconds dragged by like hours as he waited for them to pick up...five rings....ten rings. He was about to hang up when a voice on the other end finally said, "Hello?"

Hank took a deep breath before replying. "Tigra?"

"Maybe, maybe not. Who is this?"

"Henry McCoy, X-Man and former Avenger."

"Hank? Is that really you? Long time no hear! How's everything going?"

He bit back a sob, and forced himself to remain calm.

"Not too well, Tigra. In fact, I need a favour."

* * *

CHAPTER 18: The Road to Hell is Paved With Good Intentions

* * *

I'm all out of faith, this is how I feel. I'm cold and I'm ashamed, lying naked on the floor. Illusion never changed into something real. I'm wide awake and I can see the perfect sky is torn. You're a little late; I'm already torn

Natalie Imbruglia

* * *

It was early in the afternoon on the following day. Tyger wrenched another shirt off a coat hanger and threw it at the open suitcase on the bed. Her tail twitched angrily back and forth as she stalked over to the suitcase and tried to close it. It would not obey. Tears stinging her eyes, she flung it open again and tried to stuff the clothing further into it. When it refused to close a second time, she grabbed it up and in a fit of rage hurled it across the room where it smacked into the far wall with a loud thud. As various items of clothing fell to the floor, Tyger sank down heavily onto the bed, buried her face in her hands and started to bawl.

How could he do this to her? How could he?! He had to hate her. He just had to! She had lossed his baby. He was mad at her for that. She didn't want to be intimate with him; so he couldn't stand to have her around anymore.

Tyger could fathom no other explanation as to why Hank would make her leave. And she had to make up her own explanations; Hank refused to give her any satisfactory reasons. He had told her that morning that he was sending her away. He had tried to explain it, of course. THAT conversation had not gone well in the least. And curse her empathy, but she knew he was hiding something from her, something important. But what, she didn't know.

Having exhausted that particular round of tears, Tyger took a deep breath, then another. Then she hauled herself up off the bed and began to pick up the clothes in the hopes of completing the task of packing before the next wave of sobs hit her.

* * *

Jean set the Cerebro helm back in its resting spot, then sighed heavily as she rubbed her aching temples. Why can't I find anything? she wondered, feeling very tired and extremely frustrated. All this time spent looking, searching for any trace of the missing infant and the ones that had stolen it, had brought up nothing. Nothing at all. Not even Logan had been successful.

Her mind briefly entertained the notion that Hank was correct, that he had done it, but she shook it off. It was impossible. She had scanned his mind and it had shown nothing that could prove that he had done what he claimed he did.

Jean reached her mind out to Tyger, just to check up on her. The woman's deep depression was to be expected, but it was still disconcerting. Jean winced in pain. Tyger was raging...no...crying...no - it was all a muddle. She dug and sifted through the thoughts, looking for the reason for the emotional turmoil.

Hank is sending her away?!!

Jean had to talk to him. Now.

* * *

Jean found Hank in his lab, attacking a bottle of aspirin.

"What do you think you're doing?!"

He jumped then turned to face her, a little miffed at having been startled by the intrusion. "Well Jean, I THOUGHT I was merely taking some aspirin for my aching head, but humour me: what DO I think I am doing?"

"You're sending Tyger away! Why?!"

Jean had unfortunately caught him in a bad mood, and he let it show. "I was under the pretence that telepaths residing at the mansion are prohibited from reading other's thoughts without authorization. You know, ethics and all," he snapped.

"That doesn't count in matters like this! How can you do this to her? She NEEDS you!"

Hank winced as if he'd just been slapped across the face. "And I suppose that is why she does not want me anywhere near her? Why she cringes when I touch her? She does not even want to be in the same room as me, Jean." His voice sounded angry; pained.

"That's the depression! She's been traumatized by the loss, AND she's afraid of losing the other baby! But she needs you to be there for her when she starts getting over it! She needs to know that you WILL be there for her!" Jean insisted.

His voice softened a bit. "What she NEEDS, Jean, is safety." He lowered his gaze to the floor. "And that is something that I have failed to provide for her."

"Don't be an idiot!" she snapped. "It wasn't your fault! IF you DID have a schizophrenic episode, I'D have seen it!"

Hank's jaw tightened. "If it WAS a pure psychotic schizophrenic split, Jean, the two personalities could in fact be perfectly hidden from each other. Or," he mused, "at least Jekyl cannot find Hyde."

"That's stupid, ridiculous, impossible, and YOU know it, Hank!" she retorted. "I am amongst the top telepaths on the planet, and if I can't find your 'Mr. Hyde', he ISN'T there!" she stated, unable to mask her pride.

Hank responded with a quiet, serious voice, "Are you willing to bet Tyger's life on that?"

Jean hesitated for a mere moment, then said with confidence, "Yes, I am."

Hank shook his head. "You hesitated, Jean. You thought about it. That is more than enough to make me unwilling to take the chance."

"But you haven't even told her WHY you're sending her away! She's hurt, confused, angry, and thinks you don't care for her!"

Hank turned his back to her. "And WHAT exactly am I supposed to say to her? Am I supposed to look her in the eye and simply say yes dear, I love you so much that it would appear I drugged you, ripped our child from your womb, hid it somewhere, then beat myself up for the sheer pleasure of it. Have a nice day."

He sighed long and deeply.

"No, Jean. I have thought about this over and over again. If she hates me for this, for sending her away, I'd rather she hated me for the all wrong reasons than all the right ones."

Jean grabbed his shoulder and turned him around. Hank tried to resist, but found that it was futile.

Damn telekinesis.

She then place her free hand on his other shoulder and shook him so violently that his teeth clacked together with the force.

"I'm going to tell you this ONE more time, Hank," she growled. "You...[SHAKE]...did...[SHAKE]...not...[SHAKE]...do this!!!"

She then released him, and he promptly fell on his butt.

I do believe the woman is quite perturbed, he thought to himself, then patiently waited for his stomach to settle and for the furniture to stop spinning around the room.

Hank, still slightly green, looked up at Jean and stated simply but firmly, "She's going. And wherever she is going, it will be safer than here."

At this point, Jean was ready to strangle him. Hank cringed slightly at the cold brush of phantom fingers against his throat.

"But you've already admitted that you don't know where she's going!" Jean exclaimed, utterly exasperated. "How do you know it's safe?"

Hank got back onto his feet, and looked at her wearily. "It is safe BECAUSE I don't know," he replied. "If you are wrong, then not knowing means that I cannot find any way to harm her. If you are right, then not knowing means that I cannot reveal her location to anyone, either accidently or deliberately."

Jean had heard enough. She promptly spun on her heel and stomped toward the doorway. As she left, Hank heard her voice, loudly and clearly, in his head. "You're doing the wrong thing." It was punctuated by the slamming of the door.

Hank stood there staring at the closed door for several minutes before finally saying to himself, "The road to hell is paved with good intentions; but these intentions are necessary."

* * *

Jean went to the kitchen, and made herself a BIG cup of cocoa. She had just taken her first sip when Jubilee walked in. The look on the girl's face alone was enough to make Jean want to groan. She wasn't sure she had the patience to deal with Jubilee right now.

"Jean?" she asked, her voice pleading. "Ever since the break-in and Tyger losing her baby, everyone's been acting really wierded out and now Tyger's packing and I know she had an argument with Hank but that's not enough to make her wanna move out, is it? AND when I tried to ask her about it, she just curled up on the bed and cried and didn't say a thing so I left and I asked Ro and Rogue and anyone else I could find but they didn't know anything about it either so PLEASE can't you tell me what the heck is going on?!!"

Jean absentmindedly marvelled at Jubilee's lung capacity as she tried to work out what would be the best explanation for her. The only ones at the mansion who knew that Tyger's child had actually been stolen were herself, Hank, Logan and Scott. The rest had been told that she had lossed the baby naturally.

"Jubilee, the break-in has shown that the mansion is insecure and thus unsafe for Tyger and her baby."

Jubilee gave her a strange look. "But Jean, of COURSE it's not safe here! The mansion's already been rebuilt, like, FIVE times?! If you wanted it to survive, you shoulda built another Fort Knox or something instead of a Victorian mansion!"

"Maybe you're right, but would you really want to live in a 'Fort Knox'?"

Jubilee paused a moment. "No, I guess not. It'd be rather dreary without any windows...wait a minute! What's this got to do with Tyger leaving?"

Jean sighed. "It's been decided that it's in the best interest of Tyger and her baby if she's moved someplace safer."

Jubilee blanched at Jean's confirmation that Tyger was in fact leaving.

"But where's she going? And she'll be comin' back, right?"

"I don't know."

Jubilee shot her an indignant look. "Whaddya mean you don't know?"

"I just don't," Jean replied, her voice calm but firm.

"You don't know, or you just don't wanna tell me?" Jubilee retorted, anger flashing in her eyes.

"Jubilee..."

"I've got a right to know! I'm her best friend!"

"I understand that, but this is a special situation."

They continued to banter for a while until Jubilee gave up and stormed out of the kitchen, complaining loudly about how adults never trusted to tell teenagers ANYthing important.

Jean had managed to get halfway through her mug of cocoa when Logan wandered in. He went over to the fridge and grabbed a beer.

"Our little pussycat's wanderin' off?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Yes," Jean replied with a monotone voice.

"The resident blue fathead's idea?"

"Yes."

"An' the reason is...?"

"He doesn't think she's safe, here."

"So? She could be on the Muir Space Station an' still wouldn't be safe. What's got his fur quiverin' this time?"

"He doesn't think we can protect her."

Logan snorted. "How much safer can she be than in a mansion full of X-Men? After all, WE'RE the good guys...at least, that's what my union's been tellin' me."

Jean made no reply.

"Let me guess," said Logan, a smug smile appearing on his face. "The big guy thinks HE did it."

Jean looked up in astonishment. She automatically reached out to pluck the answers from Logan's mind. He felt her probing, smiled wider, then strengthened his mental sheilds.

"No fair peekin', Jeannie," he said playfully.

Defeated, Jean retracted the probe.

Logan tapped his nose. "They might have kept me out of it during the entire thing, but they forgot ta do one very important thing - hide their scent. I could smell where they were and what they were doin'...almost."

"Then it was...?" Jean prodded. Logan knew she couldn't handle the suspense for very long.

"Yes and no," he replied. "It smelled like him, but it didn't. I can't explain it. So, if it wasn't Hank," he continued with a sarcastic smirk, "it musta been his evil twin brother. Seriously though, biologically it WAS Hank. But his scent was tainted with somethin' else. His sweat smelled differently."

Jean fell into deep thought, staring off at nothing. "Oh dear...a person's emotional state CAN affect their scent..."

"Yep, it can," Logan said matter-of-factly.

"So, if it WAS Hank, yet smelled differently..."

Logan nodded gravely. "Right. The blue guy's flipped his lid."

Jean sank back in her chair, giving out under the weight of what Logan had just said.

"Do you actually believe that?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

Logan's serious expression melted away as he gave a harsh bark of laughter. "Not fer a second! There were TWO of 'em ta begin with, Jeannie. So if Hank WAS involved, and that's pretty much a given considerin' his scent was everywhere, then he must of been so full of drugs he didn't know WHAT he was doing. Hell, there are cocktails out there that could turn ME into a zombie - for a little while at least," he added with a smirk.

She looked up at him. "And the other?"

"Not a clue. Whoever it was left very few scent traces. They wore an environmental suit of some sort. It wasn't perfect, though." He tapped his nose. "I'd know 'em if I ever smelled 'em again."

Jean shook her head and asked solemnly, "You've told Hank this?" "Fuck no!" he replied, looking incredulous. "He's feelin' so low right now he's practically waitin' fer someone ta start blamin' him! I sure as hell ain't gonna do it! Besides, he'll probably feel better once those drugs clear from his system."

Logan finished his beer in one gulp, crushed the can and tossed it into the trash, then left.

Jean stayed where she was, thinking furiously. It's all impossible! Completely impossible! she thought to herself. She had found no drugs in Hank's system following the assault, but Logan had just confirmed them. And if THAT'S true, she thought, her heart filling with dread, just what ELSE did I miss?

* * *

It was a cool night. The stars twinkled through the sparse covering of clouds as the Avenger's Quinjet made its way to Salem Centre. It was a short-winged, wide-bodied, bullet-shaped aircraft with a big 'A' on the tail. It was brought to rest in the hanger of the X-mansion where Jean, Scott, and most of the X-Men were assembled.

*Where is Hank?* Scott asked Jean.

*In his lab,* she replied.

*Well, tell him to come here right now, or he's going to miss saying goodbye.*

She paused. *He doesn't want to come.*

*What?!*

*He doesn't want to come,* she repeated.

*Then tell him I'm ordering him to do so!*

Jean shook her head, alerting some of the more attentive X-Men that a telepathic conversation was occurring. Gambit stared at them curiously, wishing he could hear what they were saying.

*He won't come, or you won't tell him?* Scott asked, his temper starting to rise.

*This is Hank's decision, not ours. There's nothing we can do.*

*But how can he not want to say goodbye to her?*

*He's ashamed.*

Scott could not accept that. *He's more than old enough to face up to his own...*

The hiss of an airlock cut their conversation short as the door on the Quinjet opened up.

Tigra emerged from the craft. Some of the X-Men did double-takes. With her red-orange hair, black stripes and long tail, she was similar enough to Tyger in appearance that they could be mistaken for sisters!

Tigra's eyes scanned the group, and settled on Cyclops. She sauntered over to him.

"Hello!" she greeted him politely as she extended her hand.

Scott shook it. "Hi, Tigra. I'm Scott, and this is my wife, Jean."

Tigra nodded curtly to her. "I know," she replied pleasantly. Even though they had never met in person before, each new the other team's roster. "Hank sent me here to pick someone up," she briefly scanned the area again. "Where is he, anyway? I haven't seen him in ages."

Scott hesitated for a moment, then replied, "He's not here. There was important business he had to attend to."

She looked at him strangely. "More important than this? As far as I know, it's his girlfriend I'm supposed to be picking up."

Scott nodded reluctantly.

"He's also given me instructions that I'm not supposed to repeat to anybody else. Mind telling me what this is all about?"

*Where IS she, Jean?* Tigra's questioning was making him very uncomfortable. Not being in complete control of a situation always made him nervous; and this was Hank's situation, not his.

*Tyger is heading down the corridor right now, Scott.*

"He's been very secretive about it all, Tigra," Scott replied. "There are indeed heavy security issues involved."

Being part of a separate superhero group, Tigra couldn't help but grin smugly. "Security issues? Here? At the infamous X-Men mansion? You've got to be..."

A flicker of black and orange had caught Tigra's eye and she turned her head to see Tyger enter the hangar.

Her eyes locked on Tyger's face. "Mirror, mirror on the wall..." she murmured, almost under her breath. Then she hurried over and relieved Tyger of her suitcase.

Tyger had freshened up earlier, having scrubbed away all evidence of that day's numerous crying sessions. But she seemed to have a never-ending supply of tears as even more welled up in her eyes and threatened to break loose as she hastily said her goodbyes to the only friends she had ever had.

Then, with one last look over her shoulder, she boarded the Quinjet with heavy steps and a heavy heart burdened with the most overwhelming grief she had ever known.

* * *

Tyger fumbled with the seat straps as rogue tears continued to trickle down her cheeks. She looked out the window at her friends down below, wondering miserably if she'd ever see them again. Her stomach churned as she worried about what was going to happen to her now; about what was to come.

She continued to look long and hard, scanning the area for the one person who had not shown up to say goodbye. Hoping that at the very least he would appear to watch the jet leave as she was whisked away to parts unknown. The engine fired up and a knot solidified in her stomach as she felt the jet taxying toward the exit.

Hank hadn't shown.

Her eyes burned as a new set of tears welled up in them. It was true. Hank hated her. She had lossed his baby and now he never wanted to see her again.

He didn't love her anymore.

Tyger felt someone pet her hand and she looked up to see Tigra smiling comfortingly at her.

"Don't worry. I'll take care of you," Tigra told her.

Tyger clasped Tigra's hand, and smiled weakly at her striped counterpart as the Quinjet lifted off the ground and flew off toward the horizon.

* * *

I'm too proud for crying; I didn't come here to break down. It's just a dream of mine is coming to an end. And how can I blame you, when I built my world around the hope that one day we'd be so much more than friends. I don't wanna know the price I'm gonna pay for dreaming. Even now it's more than I can take.

Tell me how am I supposed to live without you, now that I've been loving you so long. How am I supposed to live without you, and how am I supposed to carry on when all that I've been living for is gone.

Michael Bolten

* * *

In his lab, as the Quinjet faded in the distance, Hank leaned forward and turned off the monitor.

"It is a far better thing I do now, than I've ever done before. And it is a far better place you go than you've ever known," he whispered softly, then slowly leaned over, laid his head in his arms and let the tears fall. The final thought that entered his head as he slipped into an exhausted sleep were, Goodbye, my love.

* * *

Jean found him there, with the tell-tail trails of damp fur down his cheeks. Her emotions were a jumble of contradictory questions. She didn't know what to believe. But she did know that Hank was going to destroy himself if something wasn't done. Sure, she knew he had had relationships in the past, but a child - especially one he cared so much about - made this one extra-special. And when that specialness is tainted by soul-destroying guilt such as this, the outcome was predictable.

Jean would not let it happen.

She leaned down and whispered in his ear. "I don't know what happened in the past, but you have a future that you have to live. We have to go beyond this. If not, we'll lose you too, and I refuse to let that happen. She is gone in body and until we know more, let her be gone in mind."

She took a deep breath, kissed him on the top of his head, and whispered, "Forgive me."

Then, reaching out with her power, she whispered her final word:

"Forget."

* * *

EPILOGUE

A Few Days Later...

A broad smile spread across Professor Xavier's face as he steered his hoverchair toward the mansion's front doors. He'd been gone for such a very long time, and now he was finally home once again. As he entered, he found that a few of his X-men had gathered to greet him.

"Welcome back, Professor," said Scott. "It's good to have you home."

"Yes, I'm very happy to be home, and to see you once again!" the professor replied jovially. "How have things been while I've been gone?"

Scott stiffened a little, and turned to look at Jean. Brief, quiet thoughts passed between the two.

"Nothing much," Scott replied, returning his attention to the Professor. "It's all been rather dull around here, actually."

* * *

"Yes, rather dull indeed," a sinister voice commented in the dimly lit confines of an underground laboratory. That voice belonged to a hulking figure, whose dark blue fur was already returning to its normal grey-black colouring as the effects of whatever he had used to alter his appearance slowly wore off. He was watching Xavier and the other X-Men on a wide-screen monitor with sadistic amusement.

"It doesn't matter. I got what I wanted, didn't I?" he stated smugly, then turned toward the incubator resting in a corner of the room. Inside lay a tiny infant, covered in the sheerest layer of soft, blue fur, and clenching its tiny fists.

"Ye-e-es, you're going to make your 'daddy' proud, aren't you?" he crooned, then laughed long and harshly.

Little blue lips pursed together, then opened to release a shrill cry, calling out for a mother it would never know.

* * *

THE END (or is it?)