More Than Meets the Eye

"Um... hello?"

Hank looked up at the soft voice to see the pretty brunette it belonged to standing just inside the doorway of his lab, her hands pressed against the wall, her body looking as if it were poised for escape.

"Faith," he greeted warmly, crossing the lab to her.

"The Professor said you wanted to move our meeting down here today?" she asked, the discomfort already evident in her voice.

"To my office, actually," he clarified. "But I am very impressed that you could bring yourself down here without my needing to find you." He took one hand, placing it on his arm so he could lead her to his office.

"Professor Xavier told me I was to report to you. He has a way of making it clear that it was not a suggestion," she said wryly.

He smiled. "Well, since it has been raining most of the day, and seeing as I do need to check your hands, I felt this would just be more convenient. Besides," he added, "you are progressing quite well in our sessions, so I felt it was time to move you out of your comfort zone a little."

"But I like my comfort zone," she said stubbornly.

Hank chuckled. "Of that I have no doubt," he quipped, pushing open the door to his office.

He was very proud of his office. Since his decision to return to the school as a full-time faculty member a year or so earlier, he had invested considerable time and money in redoing his office so that it was a more welcoming place for students. A large, rather cluttered executive desk sat on one side, while two armchairs sat across from it. Along one wall ran an older, worn faux-suede couch that Bobby was fond of sleeping on between classes. The walls were covered in art prints and lined with bookshelves and cabinets in warm wood finishes. He steered her toward the chairs.

He had already placed the materials needed for her hands on the desk, so he wouldn't need to rummage for them while she waited. He picked up a pair of heavy gauze scissors.

"Well, let's get your hands looked at first, then we can have some time to talk," he said cheerfully, reaching for one hand.

She allowed him to take her hand, turning it up so that he could easily cut away the layers of gauze wrapped around it. He carefully peeled it away, turning her hand to check the healing wounds.

"These look good," he declared. "I'll clean it out with antiseptic again, but I think we're okay to allow it to go uncovered." He soaked several gauze pads in peroxide, and began cleaning her hand gently but thoroughly. "Same as before, though. If it gets really painful, let me know."

He quickly repeated the procedure with the other hand, which had been less injured in the fall. "There. Much better," he said brightly, gathering up the used gauze and tossing it all in the garbage. "I did put a pot of coffee on. Would you like a cup?" he asked, rising to get cups from a cupboard in his desk.

"No, thank you," she replied, careful fingers feeling along her hands.

Hank looked over sharply at this. Although they had begun meeting only a week earlier, she never turned down coffee. He stopped and looked at her carefully.

She was tense, and unusually quiet. Although he had assumed that it was the result of his suddenly changing the location of their meetings to his office, and thus forcing her to come down to him, it was unlikely that the dark circles under her eyes and the pale palor of her skin were his fault as well.

Walking back to her, he placed the back of his fingers against her forehead. She was warm, although not really feverish. She looked up at the touch.

"Are you feeling all right?" he asked, concerned.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "I'm fine. It's just a headache."

He slid his fingers from her forehead to her cheek, which was slightly flushed and warm. "It seems to be bothering you," he noted. "A steady ache, or more of a throbbing pain?"

She sighed. "It's sort of throbbing, just behind my left eye. It's just a migraine, Hank. I get them a lot."

He walked over to a locked cabinet behind his desk, and punched in the necessary code to release the digital lock. Pulling the cabinet open, he rummaged until he came across a package of Imitrex, one of many samples he had been sent. Considering it briefly, he tossed it aside. Without knowing more about her medically, he didn't want to risk it. Instead, he reached for ketoralac, a strong NSAID. Snapping the lid open, he poured two into his hand before replacing the bottle and locking the door.

He took her hand and carefully put the pills in them, taking his own water bottle off the desk and putting it, uncapped, in her other hand. "I promise you, I don't have anything communicable," he assured her. "Take those. They'll make you feel better."

She frowned warily, her fingers tracing over the pills in her hand. "It's nothing dangerous, Faith," Hank finally said. "Just a couple of painkillers to take the edge off. Without a more thorough workup, I daren't give you anything else." He sat down opposite her. "You were using your telepathy with the Professor, weren't you?"

She tilted her head in surprise. "How did you know that?"

"Because he should hve warned you migraine is a pretty typical side effect," he said. Of course, by not telling her, and sending her straight to him, it gave him the opportunity to swoop in with the cure to her pain, thus reinforcing his attempts to make her feel at ease coming to him. "Until you get control, anyway. Then the headaches will lessen

She swallowed the pills with a mouthful of water. "You mean I get to look forward to this every day for the next god-only-knows how long?" she said with a grimace.

He raised his eyebrows. "If you'll let me run a blood test to make sure there's nothing anomalous about you physiologically, I can give you a supply of Imitrex instead. It's a bit more effective, and you won't have to keep coming to find me."

She looked at him reproachfully. "Blackmail, Dr. McCoy? Is this how you get patients to bend to your will?"

"More like accede to my wish for their own well-being, and I use whatever means are at hand," he joked. "So? I promise you, I'm very, very good at blood draws."

She sighed. "Fine. I guess." She winced, her hand going to her head. "Then I think we need to cut our session short."

Hank made a sympathetic sound, retrieving his black bag from a nearby shelf and fishing out a hypodermic and several vacuum vials. "If you could just slip your cardigan off, please? And just lean back against the back of the chair with your arm on the rest." She shrugged out of the light pink sweater as he pulled a stool up beside the chair to allow him to work easier.

He quickly tied a tourniquet around her arm, careful fingers locating a vein and sliding the hypodermic into place. Holding it with one hand, he released the tourniquet and slid the first vial into place.

Once he had collected three vials, he slid the needle out, covering the site with a piece of gauze. Putting the vials in a pocket in his bag, he capped the needle and tossed it in a sharps container. Finally he tore off a strip of tape and taped down the gauze. "All done!" he announced. "See, nothing to it."

Faith smiled. "You are good at that," she admitted, Her hand went to her head again. "I really think I should go lie down, try to get some rest, if I can drown out the children."

He frowned. "Listen, why don't you lie down here?" he suggested. "Not the infirmary," he hastened to add, "but there's a couch here in my office. It's comfortable, and much quieter."

She hesitated, biting her lip.

"And I promise, I won't sneak up on you and try to check your blood pressure or perform any other dastardly medical procedure," he joked, prompting a sheepish smile. "It'll do you much more good than trying to rest amidst the noise upstairs."

She winced again, and her pain seemed to win her internal battle. "You're probably right," she conceded, letting him help her up from the chair. He settled her on the couch with an extra pillow. As she made herself comfortable, he fetched a small washcloth and soaked it in cold water, wringing it out thoroughly. He took it to her and gently laid it over her forehead and eyes.

"Sorry," he murmured as she flinched from the cold. "But it will help." He smoothed back a few errant locks of hair. "I'm just going to be working at my computer, so if you need anything, call."

She nodded with another sigh. Hank took down a soft throw that decorated the back of the couch and covered her with it, then snapped off the overhead lights, leaving only a small lamp glowing beside his desk.

He had finished correcting all of that day's pop quizzes - with some rather disappointing results - planned the next day's lessons, and was engrossed in an online article about gene manipulation in embryos to eliminate Down's syndrome when he heard a noise from the corner.

Faith sat up groggily, pushing her cover off as the washcloth slid onto the floor. "Feeling better?" Hank asked as he stood and crossed around the desk to help.

She started at his voice. "Hank, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep," she said.

"That's all right," he reassured her, putting a hand under her elbow. "You looked like you needed it."

"I guess so," she replied. She took a step forward and stumbled slightly. Hank's arm shot out, catching her around the waist and pulling her back against his body.

"Are you okay?" he asked quickly.

Faith put her hands against his chest to steady herself. "Yeah, yeah, I think so. I think your painkillers just made my head a little fuzzy."

"They can do that," he said, looking down at her. "When was the last time you ate?"

She thought, then gave a nervous laugh. "I guess I had an apple around breakfast."

Hank sighed. "An apple? It is now four in the afternoon." He shifted her so that his arm still supported her if need be, but she could walk. "Your blood sugar has probably crashed. Let's get you something to eat."

"The rush around the kitchen at breakfast is a bit much for me to take. Logan is usually around a little later in the morning to help me find something, but he was busy with something today," she explained as he led her to the elevator.

"Logan?" he asked in surprise. The gruff Canadian didn't often warm up to anyone - though he did, admittedly have a soft spot for hard-luck cases, and Faith was easy to like.

"He's been helping me a lot, actually. It seems like during the quiet times of the day, he's the only one who's still around." She tilted her head. "He's a good sort. Though I don't think he wants anyone to know that."

Hank chuckled. "Likely not," he agreed as the elevator slowed to a stop. "But we will need to speak to Storm and Betsy about making sure that somethnig is ready for you in the morning. It isn't good practice to miss meals, especially not with your telepathy sapping your reserves."

They had just stepped out of the elevator when Faith stopped dead. "What is he doing here?" she asked suddenly, frowning deeply.

"Who?" Hank asked, confused. "Who's here."

She had taken a step back, prevented by going further by Hank's hand on her elbow. "I won't go back," she whispered, shaking her head. "I'll run first. I won't go."

Hank reached to grip both her shoulders. "Faith, go where? What are you talking about?"

"Hank!"

He looked up to see Storm approaching, her face knit in a frown. "Storm? What's wrong?"

"Professor Xavier wants to see both you and Faith in his office right now," she said seriously. Her eyes warned him against questions. "He said it was important."

"I won't go," he heard Faith whisper again. "I don't care who says I have to. I won't."

"Listen to me," Hank said, his voice firm but gentle. "You won't be going anywhere. This is your home now." He put one large hand on her back. "But we'd better go see what the Professor wants."

It was like trying to propel a reluctant child, and through his hand at her back, Hank could feel her trembling. He frowned. What had her so scared? She seemed to have a good rapport with the Professor. And beside, who was she talking about?

He knocked and pushed open the heavy oak doors to the headmaster's office, propelling Faith through before slipping in behind her.

A short, grey-haired man standing in the middle of the room turned as they entered. "Finally!" he snapped. "Faith, get your stuff. You're coming back to Bellwood."