Henry McCoy was not one to complain but right now he was wedged between a woman with a screaming baby and a man with a curious three year old. The noise from both children was driving him insane. He had decided to take his image inducer with him to stop any unwanted attention. Right now, he was tempted to turn the thing off just to frighten the children into silence. But it really wasn't necessary, in an hour he would be out of the plane and onto land.

Soon he would be spending time with his yet-to-be-born child. The only problem was that the mother of the yet-to-be-born child did not know that he was coming. On reflection, Dr McCoy surmised, it had been a mistake not to tell Emma he was coming. Planning and scheduling had been key to their meeting and discussing their child. Hank shook his head. This was not going to work out.

Emma Frost, once White Queen of the Hellfire Club and now mother of the child of one of America's greatest scientific minds, with a fortune that she had built up from years of manipulating minds of men because of an accident of birth - her genetic flaw which made her superior to normal humans - was now busy choosing between a baby gown with a picture of Winnie-the-Pooh and one with a picture of Bambi. To people who knew her, this would seem like the oddest thing she could be doing but to the people of London she was just another person browsing through the sickly sweet clothes of The Disney Store.

"Winnie or Bambi? Winnie or Bambi?" She muttered to herself as she laid the two items side by side. They were a few shades off lemon yellow and actually were totally repulsive she decided, after regaining her sanity.

It was late and she was tired. Her entire day had been spent, as had her credit cards. She looked at her watch; it was just past five. Hopefully Paige had sorted out her problems. The girl had probably already eaten. That left Emma on her own for dinner, which was depressing. There should have been someone there to share her happiness with but she was as she had always been - on her own.

Hank had managed, with the greatest of luck, to book a room not only in the same hotel as Emma but one that was directly opposite hers. His bags had been taken up to his room while he wandered to the dining room. Sitting on a plane had tired him. Sitting on a plane with screaming children had totally exhausted him. He was seated at a table in a quiet spot of the restaurant. People chatted. Lovers looked into each other's eyes. Businessmen pointed their forks and knives at each other as they explained their latest plans to their clients. Hank sank back into his chair and watched as the world passed before him. Then he saw her.

Had Audrey Hepburn looked as graceful when Rex Harrison presented her to the embassy ball in "My Fair Lady"? Had Vivien Leigh been as bold in "Gone With The Wind"? Had Natalie Wood looked as innocent in "West Side Story"? Did any of these women measure up to Emma Grace Frost at this moment? Hank could only answer 'no'.

She looked like.... Hank couldn't think of anything to compare her to. The blonde had her hair softly curled, letting it hang down her back. Her outfit was a contrast to her hair. It was a straight black dress, a simple black dress with long tight sleeves. It was an elegant look. Not Emma's usual style and Hank liked it. A smile appeared on his face as he leaned back in his chair, placing the menu that he had been hiding behind down.

"Emma."

"Hank?" She turned to see who had called her. At first she hadn't recognised who it was but the voice was unmistakable. The image enducer showed a man in his mid-thirties. He had a square jaw line, short brown hair. The man was heavily built but not fat. Was this what Henry McCoy looked like before he'd developed the blue fur? He stood as she walked gracefully over to the table, helped her to her seat as any gentleman would.

"So, am I just dreaming or are you actually here?"

"I'm here, Emma. Scott pointed out to me that I had not been spending as much time with you as perhaps I should."

"I'm glad you listened to him."

"I am too."

Feeling a little uncomfortable, Emma looked at the menu. She made sure that her eyes never made contact with his. Her feelings were a little confused, she was tired and unsure of what she might say.

"I think I'll have the salad. The baby gets upset when I eat fish or poultry. He's probably a vegetarian."

"She."

"Sorry?"

"Our baby. I had a dream one night and it was a girl."

"It's a boy. I'm sure it's a boy."

"And I am telling you that our child will be a girl."

"Boy."

"Girl."

Emma laughed. He was being deliberately stubborn about the whole thing. She was being even more stubborn about it but she wasn't going to admit it. Emma leaned forward and looked at the Beast. Her elbows balanced her head on the table.

"What was the dream about? Tell me. I want to know."

"It was about you, our baby, us. I was there at the birth and I held our baby." The tears in his eyes were held back but only just. Emma felt the same. That feeling of anticipation - of what it would feel like to hold their child for the first time. She imagined it to be like total serenity. "The child - our child - looked just like her mother. I was naturally upset that she hadn't inherited any of my fine features. Though I doubt that a little girl would want fur or even blue fur."

"Hank. She'll be beautiful no matter what because she's our baby. Besides, I like blue fur."

Dinner was good, Emma decided after finishing her third coffee. The company was most welcome and the conversation was great. Being with Hank had helped her sort out in her mind some of the feelings that had been keeping her up many nights of late.

She and Hank had decided to take a midnight stroll around the nearby park. It was cold outside. Bitter. A memory of being out on the street in the cold, having nowhere to go crept to the back of her mind. The heavy coat she wore was pulled extra tight around her body as she tried to banish the feeling from her bones.

"Are you cold?"

"No. I'm fine. It's just that...." She hesitated. How could she tell him something so personal? He wouldn't understand what the bad days of her life were like. While she had cowed in some doorway, Hank McCoy had been warm in his college dorm. There was, she realised, a whole world of difference between them. No one could really understand the experience unless they had gone through it themselves. "I want to go back to my room. It's late and I'm tired."