Infectia: Prologue

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Hank's date has not gone well... and although he half expected it, and that's why he didn't tell many people about it, he's hit fairly hard. Maddie catches him trying to drown his sorrows, and finds out a lot more than she would have if he were sober.



Hank stared at the bottle of bourbon. He was still conscious. Something clearly had to be done about that.

He poured another drink, drinking it more slowly than he had the first... four, he thought. Maybe five. It took a lot of alcohol to knock out someone as big as he was, but it was a big bottle. He should slow down, though, give it time to work. He wanted oblivion, not alcohol poisoning. And he'd promised never to sedate himself when he was depressed. Who had he promised? Moira. That was it. After the fur. He'd promised her not to touch the sedatives, and he'd always kept his word. Anyway, the alcohol was... better. More fitting.

He didn't realize that his door had swung a little open until he saw the flash of red as Maddie paused in front of it, looking into an office that he'd told her would be empty tonight. "Good evening!" he said, lifting his glass to her, still only slurring a little. "All quiet on the medical front, I trust."

"Dani's out like a light for now, and otherwise there's nobody here but us chickens," Madelyn agreed, but she frowned as she saw the bottle in front of him, already a third gone. She wrinkled her nose at the smell - bourbon, why was it always bourbon when people wanted to knock themselves out? "I wasn't expecting you back yet?" She made it into a question, coming inside and closing the door behind her. Hank looked... well he looked like a man who had not only had had his heart ripped out but watched it being stomped on as well. A dramatic change from the high-spirited Hank who had practically danced out of the medlab earlier that evening. He was still wearing the dress shirt, but the jacket, tie and shoes had been discarded carelessly over the end of the inevitable couch all the doctors had in their offices.

Hank took another sip of his drink. Vile stuff, but he wasn't drinking it for the taste. "The evening did not, I fear, end as well as I had hoped. You'd think I'd be used to it by now, wouldn't you?" he said bitterly. "And yet every time, I let myself get my hopes up." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, I'm not very good company just now..."

"You don't have to be, Hank - that's the thing about friends, they don't hold it against you when you have a bad day." Coming over to the desk, she took a seat opposite him, face compassionate. "Want to talk about it? It might help a bit better than self-medicating with bourbon. At the very least I can threaten horrible vengeance in your name."

Hank smiled a twisted, unhappy smile. "The offer is appreciated," he said softly. "But.... well, I suppose I am getting used to it. I should have expected it." He looked down at his glass... almost empty again... turning it slowly in his fingers. "I think it's the teeth. I definitely think it's the teeth."

His tone was breaking her heart, it really was. "Hank... No-one deserves rejection. And if you get some bimbo who can't appreciate you - all of you - then that's her problem, not yours." She reached over to replace the glass with one of her hands. "What happened? Maybe I can help."

He took her hand gratefully, looking at her face and not seeing that flinch, that doubt... "Not a bimbo. A geneticist. A lovely, intelligent woman with whom I seemed to be getting along." He took a deep breath, looking down at the table. "We had dinner. It was... nice. She knew, about the fur and all, even though I wore the image inducer to go out. I... got my hopes up. And then she kissed me, and..." His fingers tightened a little on her hand, clinging to it. "She... flinched. Pulled away, looked at me as if... well. That's usually the point where a woman's nerve fails, when it comes to actual contact.... I suppose I can't blame them."

"Oh, Hank..." Her other hand joined the first, giving him something to cling to, if that was what he needed. "You might not be able to blame them, but I can. You're a sweet, brilliant, amusing, caring man. Who just happens to look different from the norm. It doesn't make you any less of a man."Madelyn itched to find this woman and cheerfully put her head through a wall for putting through all this pain. The defeat in his voice, the acceptance that this was his lot... She squeezed his hand with both of hers. "She was wrong, to do that to you."

"It's not just her." Hank was dimly aware that he'd regret telling her this when he was sober, but six shots of bourbon on top of the wine at dinner.... well. He wasn't sober right now. "It always happens. Ever since I... changed. Sooner or later, I see that look, the... doubt. Wondering, what teeth like mine could do to an unprotected throat, what my strength could do, wondering if they can trust me..." He couldn't look at her, if there was even the slightest hint of that look on her face... "It's almost easier when they flinch as soon as they see me, at least then I don't hope for anything else..."

"Hank, look at me," Madelyn told him, tone gentle but firm. When he reluctantly did, she looked directly into his eyes and went on: "I trust you, and I don't doubt you. When I look at you, I see my friend and colleague, and someone I'm proud to be able to call both." There was nothing but sincerity in her voice and face. "You haven't found someone yet, but that doesn't mean there isn't someone out there for you."

"I'm beginning to wonder," he said softly, reaching out touch her cheek lightly. "It's sweet of you to say it, my dear, and I thank you, but... well. I think perhaps that I may have to give up that part of my hopes for the future." Love. Marriage. Children. Maybe he should just accept that they weren't for him. "It's not so bad... I have work I love, the students at the school to care for, and friends who I treasure." He smiled sadly at her. "And who are far too good for me when I'm feeling sorry for myself." He straightened his shoulders, trying to at least seem more cheerful, for her sake. He shouldn't drag her down into unhappiness with him.

"My mother is always telling me that things always turn up when you least expect it," she said, smiling a little at the touch. "Which means my One True Love is apparently lurking around the corner of next week, since I've well and truly stopped looking." She squeezed his hand again. "And you're not feeling sorry for yourself. Well, you are, but with good reason. You don't have to put the brave face on for me, Hank. I'd like to think we were good enough friends that you didn't need to pretend for me. It's allowed to hurt - just don't let it beat you."

"You should not stop looking," he said very firmly. "Because you are beautiful, and couragous, and intelligent, and charmingly grouchy, and interesting, and you appreciate junk-food. Any man would be lucky to have you." He took a deep breath, giving her a small, unhappy smile. "And... it does hurt. It hurts every time. I... think perhap I should stick to meaningless flirting with friends. It's less painful than actually risking being serious. Can't get rejected if it's all a game." He looked at the bottle. It wasn't nearly as full as it had been. "I think I'm drunk," he added honestly.

"Drinking will do that," Madelyn agreed, smiling a little at him and not letting go of his hand. "I wish I could stop it hurting, Hank, I really do. But shutting yourself off isn't the answer. It'll just make you bitter and resentful, and you're too nice a person for that."

"You helped," he said softly. "You always do. You treat me like... just a person. It helps." He tried to stand up, and had a little trouble with it, having to lean on his free hand as well as his feet. "And I am definitely drunk." He looked at the couch littered with miscellaneous junk, and then at her. "Might I impose on you terribly and borrow your couch?" he asked gravely. "Mine is occupied, and my room is such a long way away. And you can't carry me like I can carry you." He smiled suddenly at her. "You are absolutely adorable when you're asleep, did you know that? And every now and then you snore a tiny little kittenish snore. It seemed quite a shame to wake you up and send you to bed the other night."

"You are just a person. A brilliant, inventive and occasionally terrifying with the practical jokes sort of person, but still a person. My kind of person." Chuckling a little at him, glad that he was apparently beginning to drag himself out of the well of despair she'd found him in (but still aware of the whole fake cheer front), she got up and came around the desk to help him up. "My couch is yours for the night - you're right, there's no way on earth I'll get you to your room tonight. Besides, my couch is very comfy. We've bonded." Taking his free arm, she helped haul him to his feet, before pulling his arm over her shoulders and wrapping her free one around his waist. Not that she could actually stop him falling over, but at least he wouldn't sway as much with her stablising him. "And I don't snore. I might snort sometimes, but I don't snore. Not even cute little kitten snores."

"You do. But only when you sleep with your head on your desk." They moved slowly but not too shakily towards her office, Hank steadying himself against the wall with his free hand. "I haven't seen you drool, though. That's something." He did not think about how nice it felt to have her tucked under his arm. Some protective part of his mind sheltered him from noticing, for now, while saving the memory for a time when it would hurt a little less. He did notice that she didn't flinch, didn't seem to find the touch of his fur or the massive size of his arm at all disconcerting. That helped, a little. At least it wasn't entirely universal.

"You're lucky you've missed the drooling - have you ever done that thing where you've fallen asleep pulling an all-nighter and you wake up to find you've drowned your copy of Gray's Anatomy? Not attractive, especially when you have soggy type all over your face and you go to class that way..." Madelyn kept up the banter, not deliberately thinking of the effect on his battered ego having her handling him so easily might have, but the thought occurred to her. Not that it made a difference. Stumbling into her darkened office, she managed to steer them past the coffee table, and let Hank drop onto the couch, which creaked a little, but didn't collapse. Good sturdy comfy couch. They didn't make them like that any more. Flopping down next to him, she gave his knee a companionable pat. "Made it."

"We did. We rock," he said solemnly, his arm still around her shoulders. They were close to the same height, standing, but he was definitely taller than she was sitting - her legs were a lot longer than his. Very nice legs they were, too. "Thank you, Maddie. For everything." Impulsively he hugged her with the arm around her shoulders, just a bit. It was comforting. And nice, but his brain kindly protected him from that awareness as well. "She sort of jumped back," he said vaguely, starting to feel a bit drowsy. The alcohol was definitely hitting him now. "And the look on her face... It made me feel physically ill, for a moment, I recall. My stomach lurched and my vision went tunnel-like... that's never happened before, I admit. I'd already had a little to drink, though, so maybe that made it worse."

"It's possible," Madelyn said, patting his knee again since she couldn't return the hug without losing an arm, and glad the bourbon bottle hadn't made the trip. "Don't keep hashing it over, Hank - time to give your brain a rest. The comfy couch of sleep calls." She resolved to leave a bucket close by for him if he did end up being sick - this talk of stomach lurching wasn't good.

"It does. Nice couch." He released her the tiniest bit reluctantly, and lay down, yawning rather cavernously. "Was trying to knock myself out. Glad it worked. An' the hangover will help distract me, too, so it all works out." He smiled up at her a little as she pulled the blanket over him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Hank," she told him, tucking the blanket around his shoulders with a fond smile. "Any time you need a friend, you know who to call on. And I'll leave some water and aspirin handy for you, in case that hangover's a nasty one." She doubted it, despite his words - she knew Hank didn't drink to excess when with new people, and his attempt at the bourbon bottle had been timely interrupted. She waited until he drifted off to sleep before brushing his cheek lightly with the back of her fingers. "Sleep well, hon. Dream happy."