SquidgeWorld Archive

For Love
by Pirate Turner

        "Behave, Bobby," Hank whispered as they got out of the car, "please, at least until we know what her intentions are."

        Bobby murmured underneath his breath, but Hank let his lover's words go by. He felt much the same way. He could think of a million things he'd much rather be doing right now, and he'd rather face down any enemy than the woman he still had not made his feelings clear to. She thought he still had feelings for her, and one day he was going to have to tell her that he never had and that their romance, if indeed their brief courtship could even be called that, had always been only a charade as far as he was concerned. He hoped today would not prove to be that day.

        "Hank! I was beginning to think you were not going to accept my invitation," Trish called, completely ignoring the man who stood by his side as she ran up to the newcomers. She rushed to him and breathlessly exclaimed, in a voice much softer than her tone of brief seconds ago, "I'm so glad you could come! I know you can stop this!"

        "Stop what, Trish?" Hank asked with a raised brow. His blue eyes scanned their surroundings as Bobby glowered at the reporter. Hank saw nothing out of the usual. Several yards away stood Trish's crew, and he wondered if they were still rolling. He flashed a quick, charming smile to the camera, then let his eyes roam over the few dogs that loped about and the people whose personalities, as his beloved Bobby might say, seemed to be made of popsicle sticks as they huddled around the door to the facility. He knew those had to be the shelter workers, but as his piercing eyes examined them from the distance, they smiled at him. He turned his attention back to Trish, who had been babbling the whole time and making no sense.

        "I see nothing amiss here, Trish," Hank interjected, his voice firm and his eyes questioning. Why had she called him here? Why had she had to bother him today, when he and Bobby seemed to have finally gotten a beautiful day to themselves?

        Trish sighed and lifted her hands into the air. "That's what I said too, but then I heard this voice in my head."

        "A voice? In your head?" Bobby put in with a wicked grin. "And does this voice in your head speak to you often?"

        Trish shot him a look that could have melted ice, and Hank was glad his love was not in his superhero identity at the moment. "Come inside," she finally told them, "and you'll see what I mean."

        Hank quirked a brow at the brunette's back but followed at a discreet pace. Alarm lit his eyes as Bobby linked his arm with his. He looked down at the arm and then up at Bobby with silent questions in his eyes and concern etching his furry brow. "I told you," he whispered, "I'm not letting her take you back."

        "Did I not already reassure you, my love, that I have no interest in her?"

        "Yeah," Bobby answered with a nod, "but you haven't told her that, have you?" His blue eyes were piercing as he gazed up into Hank's face.

        Hank sighed wearily and could only shake his head as he followed behind the reporter who had always been too nosy for her own good. He'd never even really liked the woman, he could admit now, but he'd felt he needed a woman to hang on his arm for publicity and Trish's reputation in the media coupled with her obvious desire for him made her the perfect candidate. It wasn't his own reputation that he was concerned about, just as he'd tried unsuccessfully to convince Bobby, but rather the image a gay mutant would present to the world.

        The homo sapien population already feared mutants. They hated what they feared for no other reason save that unjust fear, and the majority of them already hated gays. He tried desperately to project an image that people would like, the image of, at heart, the man he was -- a vast and caring intellectual who only wanted to help the world -- save for one thing. If he allowed to the public that he was gay, anything else he represented would be lost in the flurry of hatred that would follow. And so, he had tried over the years to quell his true feelings and represent the kind of man that the public might actually allow to lead them to a day where humans and mutants could indeed live peacefully together.

        But that had all ended the last time he had found his beloved in tears. He'd almost lost him earlier that fateful day, and to find him crying and exclaiming that he wished he was dead had ripped his heart asunder. Hank had told him the truth then and, in that moment, he'd believed he'd never regret it. Since receiving Trish's phone call, he had began to wonder, but as he glanced over at Bobby and thought of how much he loved him and how he had been blessed in so many ways to have Bobby love him as well, Hank knew he would never truly regret it. He might regret humanity's reactions, but he would never, ever regret telling Bobby the truth. He loved him, and he was sick of hiding. Never again, he promised himself. Never again would he sacrifice his true feelings for the sake of public image.

        Sometimes he wondered if humans would ever understand. Let them understand or let them wage war, he thought. He'd done all he could over the years to make them like him, and still too many of them persisted in their hatred. Sometimes, too often in fact, he thought they always would. Regardless, he'd never give up what he loved the most, he swore, slipping his hand down Bobby's arm to take his hand in his and entwine their fingers with a gentle squeeze, simply to try to please a race that there was no pleasing.

        Bobby was about to look up at Hank when another pair of eyes caught his. He gazed into the green orbs and found himself falling . . .

        Hank's nose lifted into the air as he sniffed. He had expected a foul odor, but this wretched smell was worse than any he'd ever come across before. He looked around at the pitiful faces that peered out from behind bars and then down at Trish. "Don't they clean their abodes?"

        "Abodes?" the brunette questioned, raising one of her own brows at the query, a habit she'd picked up from him. "Hank, look around you! They're cages, pure and simple!"

        "Affirmative," he admitted with a slight incline of his head. He wondered why Trish was suddenly so moved by the animals' plight when he'd never even known her to have a pet before.

        "They don't clean up after them! They hardly feed them! They don't keep them clean water!" she exclaimed, ticking the crimes off on her slender fingers. "Hank, they don't even give them a chance to live!"

        Surprise registered in Hank's eyes. His brows drew together, and his claws arched in the shadows. "But that's . . . "

        "Against the law, I know! That's why I called you!"

        "Why us?" he asked even as fury built quietly inside his chest. He had always felt a kindred relationship with animals. Perhaps because he was so close to being one himself. Perhaps because he recognized their intelligence as matching, and often even besting, those of his own race and humans. Perhaps because they were so cute and beautiful, he thought, his now-saddened, blue eyes roaming the cages and each forlorn, furry face within, or perhaps because they were so loyal, far more loyal than any human he'd ever known. Whatever the reason, they were living beings with hearts as bigger than they were, and every one of them deserved a chance at life. A growl started low in his throat but was cut abruptly short when Bobby exclaimed.

        "Hank, we have to help them!"

        It wasn't the words that demanded Hank's attention or the emotions with which they were spoken but rather the smell of salty tears. With a small sound akin to the beginning of an animal's whimper, his head jerked to look directly into Bobby's face. Tears were rolling down his partner's face, and Hank followed his shaking hand to where it gestured, palm up, to a caged cat. The cage was sat next to a white door, and Hank knew immediately what lay behind that door. What he was not prepared for, however, was the voice that sounded in his head. {Please help me,} it mewed even as the ground beneath Hank's massive, furry feet began to tremble. {Help us.}

        Hank stared unblinking into the tom's green eyes as image after image assaulted his mind. He felt the sting of humanity's cruel hands, suffered every strike and beating the cat had survived, saw his friends being slaughtered, felt needles and knives stab his skin, and heard every thundering yell. Tears sprang to his eyes, but his fury burned them away. A roar shook him back to the present, and it was only Trish's wide eyes staring at him in fear from where she had plastered herself against a cage door that made him realize it was his own roar.

        He did not bother with an apology but sprang forward, realizing, as he did, that ice was already quickly eating up the floor, walls, and, most especially, the bars of the cages. Dogs yipped all around him. Cats mewed and yowled. Braying came from one cage while a bloodhound's lonely howl sent shivers racing down all their spines and a hiss was lost in it all. Some animals cried in fear, others in encouragement and pleading, but behind all their voices, he felt their pain.

        Hank landed on all fours, grasped the door of the tom's cage with one hand, and yanked it off. The cat rushed into his muscular arms even as the animal shelter workers came running in.

        The humans clamored in a myriad of voices. Hank whirled to face them, gracefully returning to his feet as he did so, and the burning, fierce look in his eyes stopped them in their tracks. "What . . . What do you think you're doing?" stammered the blonde woman in the lead, and Hank conducted, from the way the others looked to her for leadership and the tag on her white shirt, that she must be the director.

        "You hate our race," he stated, his voice only slightly wavering with emotion. "You fear everything you do not understand, and you abuse what you fear. I have tried for years to make your kind see that there is no need for hatred or for fear, but it is the way of your people and it will never change. You hurt all you consider weaker than yourselves, gleaming pleasure and the charade of strength from their pain, and you fight to destroy all that is left. No more," he growled, his fangs glistening in what little light peeled in from the windows and open door.

        "I have spent my entire life seeking understanding and acceptance from your people, but it is you who should seek understanding, acceptance, and, far more, forgiveness for your crimes against the other races who must share this planet with the greediness and cruelty of your ilk. I may never be able to rid the world of hatred or greed -- indeed, it seems a most insurmountable task -- but yours, against these harmless, helpless animals, ends today."

        Never did he realize that Trish's cameramen had filed into the back of the room, nor would it have mattered had he known. Holding the large, orange cat close to his chest, Hank stood still and towering, waiting for the humans' next move, as Bobby's fists finally unclenched. Ice shattered throughout the room, and the moment the doors to their cages were gone, the animals sprang free. They stood in the midst of their cages, looking at each other and at the two men and single woman who stood with them, then circled around their rescuers' feet.

        Hank curled his large, blue hands into fists and unclenched several times as he waited, but the humans stayed where they were. He took a step forward, and Bobby, Trish, and the animals moved with him. "You -- You can't do this!" the director cried out. "Somebody call the police!"

        "Really?" Trish piped up. "They'll close you down in a second."

        "Hmph. Nobody's giving them a second." Bobby's eyes were the bluest Hank had ever seen them, and he could practically feel the power thrumming from him. He reached out and, with his free hand, the hand that was not wrapped around the cat cuddled close to his chest and glowering at the humans from the safety he provided him, grasped his once more.

        "In fact, please do call the police," Hank put in. "They'll shut you down far quicker than I could." He began to lead the way again.

        "You -- You won't get away with this!"

        A plaintive meow caused all heads to snap in a cat's direction. She was the only animal who had stayed in her cage. The orange cat meowed to her, but at her answering meow, he leapt from Hank's arms, padded across the floor, sat down beside her, looked back to his rescuers, and meowed loudly once more. "Hank, what . . . ?"

        "Go," Hank told Bobby, raising his empty hand and releasing Bobby from his other.

        Bobby walked to where the cats sat side by side with Trish following him at a slower pace. When Bobby reached the door, the cats circled backwards, leading him further and further into the cage until, at last, he spied the matter of their concern. His breath sucked quickly in at the tiny bundles of fur laying in the dark, mildewed corner. Again he ached to do even just a fragment of what these terrible humans had done to these poor, helpless animals, but he knew getting them clear and free had to be their greatest concern. He heard a soft gasp behind him and looked up. Surprise shot into his handsome face at the sight of Trish. He'd not expected her to follow him. In fact, he hadn't even thought she'd known he was alive for she'd certainly chosen to ignore him nearly every step of the way until now.

        But Trish wasn't a bad human, Bobby realized. She wasn't mean or prejudiced like the slime that ran this place, and although she'd ignored him more times than he could count, she'd never belittled him. If it wasn't for her, they would have never known this place existed in such horrendous conditions or that such cruelty was going on in the name of the A.S.P.C.A., which he planned to call the moment they were back home. Trish was a good human, he admitted begrudgingly. He just didn't like her, because she was after his man.

        "Bobby?" Hank's worried voice called. "What's going on?"

        Bobby's eyes returned to the kittens, and they shimmered with emotion as he watched them, barely breathing, in the darkness. "Life," he called back as he hurried on over to the litter and knelt down beside them. "Innocent life."

        He quickly checked the kittens over, testing their heartbeats as he'd learned to do from Hank and making certain they were breathing. They uncurled, mewed in tinny voices, and blinked sleepily up at him. Bobby gently picked up the first and turned, holding it up to Trish. Her eyes spoke of her dislike of him, but she said not a word as she hurried to lift the kitten. Together, with the grown cats entwining about their legs, Bobby and Trish carried the kittens from their stall.

        Hank looked to the kittens they carried and then back to the humans who barred their way. "Monsters," he hissed, his eyes glowing in the shadowy darkness. He ached to strike out but had finally become aware of the cameras that were still rolling. One cameraman in particular gestured vividly to the red light on his camera. Hank gave him a single, curt nod. He would make a statement this day, one that no human with half a heart could ignore.

        He looked directly into the camera and spoke in his best voice. Strong and cultured, he knew it would come across clearly. "You fear our kind, and yet it is yours who have caged these animals, beaten them, experimented on them, and done everything within your power to break them, body and soul, before finally killing them. One stood up to the hatred in this place, despite his fear." As though he knew was speaking of him, the orange cat raced across the floor and pounced onto Hank's shoulder. His loud meow echoed through the room. He dug his claws in just enough to keep his perch as Hank continued.

        "What of you? How long will each of you tolerate the cruelties of your own race, the hatred you see every day even amongst your own people?" With each question and with Bobby and Trish flanking him and staying slightly behind him and the animals circling about them all, Hank strode another determined step toward the cameras and, in so doing, the exit. "How long before you stand up and shout Enough? I refuse to believe that all humans are like this lot," he waved a dismissive hand at the shelter workers, "for if it was not for another of your own kind, one who sees pass all differences to the heart within the creature and who is brave enough to speak out and seek help for what she believes in, we would never have known of the conditions these poor animals have suffered in."

        "She called us, seeking help from a friend, and it was granted. Friendship, like love, knows no boundaries, and so my partner and I came, not knowing what was wrong but determined to help if, and where, it was needed. Do you have the courage to do the same? If some one reaches out to you for help, for understanding, for friendship, will you be courageous enough to grant it, or will you crush them, like these people have done to these animals here today and for so many days before now that it sickens me just to think of it? Will you save them or allow one word, derived from fear, to condemn them?"

        "Every day we make choices. Iceman and I made the choice to come here today, to stand for those who could not stand for themselves, and to save innocent lives. Trish Tilby made the choice to call out for help for those who could not call for themselves. When you are faced with your next choice, what will you answer with: love, fear, or hatred? The choice is always yours, but remember that lives may well be counting upon you."

        One more step meant freedom, and that's when the blonde stepped into their way again. "You monsters won't get away with this!"

        "Madam, I may look like a monster," Hank replied coolly, "and I assure I can act like one should the occasion demand it, but I am not a monster nor are my beloved or my friend. There are monsters here, however," his blue eyes narrowed into dangerous slits as he looked down at her, "and I am presently looking at their leader, the biggest monster of them all for she was the one who led them in their evil quests."

        "I spoke a moment ago of choices. Now is your turn. You have a choice to make," he said, flexing his hands and curling them back into fists, "and I advise you to make it with the utmost care. That choice, madam, is to move . . . or be moved." His words ended in a growl.

        The blonde gulped, but though she looked at her employees through nervous eyes, she spoke with a stern voice. "Jerry, Jimmy! Come on! We can take them! Billy, Bob! Help me stop them or you're fired!"

        "We're already fired," the newest of them spoke even as the other workers rushed forward to help their boss. He waved a hand at the cameras. "The Society's probably watching this right now!"

        "Screw the society," the blonde growled. "I won't have them, or these beasts, standing in the way of my enterprise!" Bobby wondered fleetingly if her "enterprise" was fur or medicinal, then quickly remembered that it was both for the images he had seen, and the pain he had felt, through the orange cat.

        Hank raised a hand in the direction of the open door as sirens sounded. "Perhaps you would like to tell them that yourselves?" The criminals scattered at the sound of the swiftly approaching sirens.

        Bobby started to go after them, but Hank reached out and placed a stilling hand on his shoulder. "Some battles, my dear, are best fought neither with pen nor sword but with gentility. This, beloved, is one of those rare circumstances. Let the authorities deal with them; we have far more important matters," he glanced at Bobby's kitten-filled hands with a half-smile, "and lives, to attend to."

        Hank McCoy stood tall as he led the odd procession out the door. The kittens held with the utmost gentleness and care in Bobby's and Trish's hands mewed at the bright sunlight; a brighter light, they'd never seen. Cats, dogs, older kittens, and pups of all colors and sizes walked, loped, and hobbled behind them, but none possessed the strength to run though their hearts now soared as they embraced the sight and smell of freedom. An old goat hobbled along on three legs, his two front hooves nearly stepping on his long, scraggly beard. A snake slithered off into the grass and a squirrel hopped after the procession, stopping to gather the first nuts he'd seen in the longest months he'd ever lived, as the rest of the animals raised their voices in joy.

        Hank looked up as the sirens grew louder. He knew that, just in case the authorities felt they should take the animals from them, they should hurry. Although they would think they were doing the best they could for the animals, he disagreed, knowing that they would deem the weakest too weak to live. These animals were free and happy at long last, and he would see they would stay that way. When they reached his convertible, the orange cat started meowing again, and Hank watched in delighted surprise bordering on true amazement, as the animals began to board his car the moment he opened the door.

        Knowing they had scant moments before the authorities arrived, Hank had already decided to let his talk with Trish wait, but she grabbed his hand before he could slide behind the driver's wheel. He looked up at her with alarm, knowing he didn't have time for a debate. Bobby glowered at her from the passenger side, and Hank realized he still expected him to have the talk with her even as the cops closed in.

        "Trish, I . . . "

        She cut him off. "You can explain later, Hank. For now, I just want to tell you thank you, and then I've got something to say to Bobby." She released his hand with a gentle squeeze, then looked over at his partner whose lap was filled with the kittens she'd helped him to carry to freedom. "Thank you, too, Bobby, for your help, but I want you to know you have a wonderful man here. You should realize that already."

        Bobby eyed her suspiciously and spoke slowly, "I do . . . "

        "Good. You take good care of him. Don't ever let him be sad again, if you can help it. Now get out of here." She raced away from the car as the last of the animals, minus the snake, clamored aboard.

        It was late that following night when Hank received the call he'd known he would get from Trish. Many questions twirled throughout his mind, but the easiest to ask was what had happened after they'd left. Trish assured them that the criminals had indeed been caught and locked up and that she'd do everything she could to assure that they'd get the maximum sentences possible.

        She paused a moment before adding quietly, "That was quite the performance you made today, Hank. The whole nation's talking about it!"

        "Perhaps it will do some good," he mused with a sigh, "but sometimes I wonder . . . "

        "Sometimes we all wonder, with the way today's society is, but there are still good people out here."

        "I know. You made me remember that today, Trish, . . . but . . . " A long moment stretched between them before he finally asked, "Did you know?"

        "Yes . . . and no. I suspected you had stronger feelings about Bobby ages ago, Hank, from the way you talked about him and the way you worried over him, but I . . . I'd began to wonder if you'd ever be truthful with yourself. I'm glad you did." She wanted to ask what had happened to bring him to that point but knew it was none of her business and for once, out of respect for him and longing to continue their friendship, she held her tongue.

        She cleared her throat, then spoke again, wanting him to know how she felt. "In my wildest dreams, you always play the hero. In my darkest hour of night, you rescue me, you save my life. Meeting you was fate, becoming your friend was a choice but falling in love with you I had no control over. I love you, Hank, but it's because I love you that all I want for you is for you to be happy, whether that's with me or not. If Bobby makes you happy, and I know he does, then I wish you all the best."

        He was quiet on the other end of the line, and she wondered for a moment if she'd scared him off by being too open, but then rushed ahead, eager to change the subject and keep from losing the man who had won not only her love but her deepest respect. "What are you doing about the animals?"

        "We . . . " He cleared his throat, then spoke again. "We are in the process of finding them homes." He rattled off the animals they'd already placed in loving homes, many with fellow mutants and superheroes whose home lives were truly too lonely.

        When he had come to a stop and was trying to remember if he'd named them all, Trish commented with a smile he could not see but heard nonetheless in her tone, "You forgot the purple squirrels."

        "There was only one," he corrected her gently, "and Wolverine seems to be taking a liking to him."

        "Wolverine? Really?"

        "Yes."

        "It just proves to show," she mused with a wide smile, "what I've always known: There's a heart in every beast. Be happy, Hank, and if I can help, let me know. I'm always only a phone call away for you."

        The phone went dead in his hand, and Hank stared into the distance for a while, completely shocked by Trish's revelation. Gradually, he came to and found himself watching Bobby sitting on the floor in nothing but his shorts, playing with the orange cat, mother cat, and her kittens. He was glowing with happiness, and Hank smiled, his eyes sparkling. He'd never seen him happier, and he knew, despite his earlier doubts, he'd never regret admitting his feelings to him or coming out of the closet. Indeed it was far past time he had done so.

        He mulled silently over all the things that had happened recently, that he had seen done and done himself for love. He had been willing to shatter his reputation for Bobby, and Bobby had made him the happiest man in the galaxy when he'd told him on that night only a few weeks ago that he loved him. Trish had stepped elegantly out of the picture, freeing him of any and all obligations as easily as she could, and wanting only that he be happy. And, of course, they had saved almost fifty animals this day, animals who he had seen embraced by friends and acquaintances with the love they deserved and were finally receiving.

        Maybe he couldn't save the world, he mused as he slipped off the bed and crawled across the floor on all fours to join in the playing, but he could save one part of it at a time for love, by love, and with love. His eyes met Bobby's as he reached out with both hands and feet to gently stroke the felines he was quickly becoming sure they would adopt themselves. "I love you," he said, thinking again of Trish's words and how he felt every inch of what she'd spoken about him about Bobby. "I have for years, perhaps even since the first moment you sparkled into my life."

        "Sparkled?" Bobby asked with a surprised grin.

        "Yes, indeed, sparkled," Hank affirmed with a nod. "You surely didn't walk or just slide in. You blew me away as you continue to do each and every day. Your light sparkled into my darkness, and I've been chasing after it, and longing for you, for years. In my wildest dreams, you always play the hero. In my darkest hour of night, you rescue me, you save my life." Bobby would never guess where that particular quote came from, and Hank knew it was best that way. "In short, I love you, Bobby Drake." He leaned across the cats and kissed him long and deep, knowing, at last, that tomorrow, and every day that followed with this wonderful man, would be ever brighter and filled with love.

The End