Title: Eavesdropping

Author: A. X. Zanier

Email: AXZanieryahoo.com

Fandom: Invisible Man

Pairing: None

Rating: PG

Summary: What you hear and what's being said is not necessarily the same thing.

Spoilers: None

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or basic story ideas to The Invisible Man. Any additional characters or story ideas are mine.

Notes: Peja Challenge Fic. ("He's cheaper than an electric blanket for warming the sheets and a tastier pillow dressing than chocolate mints")

A huge thanks to my ever loyal beta, Krys.


"... not inconvenient, being underfoot all the time?"

Hobbes paused, his hand freezing in place before connecting with the partially open door he'd been about to knock on, curiosity eating at him at Monroe's question.

"Oh, not at all," came the accented reply from the ever lovely Claire. "In fact, he's wonderful to come home to. It's always nice to have someone around who misses you."

The hand that had still been raised, lowered slowly to his side as the words sank in, leaving Bobby wondering who, exactly, it was that she was going home to.

"Enthusiastic is he?" Alex asked, sounding amused.

"Very," Claire responded with a chuckle. "A little snack and then we're off to the bedroom to relax for a bit."

Bobby swallowed with some difficulty at the thought of Claire doing.... that with anyone, considering she'd been making a regular appearance in his sleep-laden fantasies for quite some time now.

"A routine helps?" Alex was plainly intent on getting every bit of information for the Keeper on the subject, much to Bobby's dismay.

"Yes, especially with my, sometimes, irregular hours. Need to reassure him he's still loved as soon as I get home." Claire laughed, making it plain she didn't mind in the least the effort the reassurance took.

"Hmmm," Alex mused. "I'll have to keep that in mind. My schedule is even worse than yours most days, and with all the travel..." She paused for a few seconds - Hobbes counted to seven before she spoke again. "Where does he sleep at night? His own bed?"

"Goodness no. He's cheaper than an electric blanket for warming the sheets and a tastier pillow dressing than chocolate mints," Claire informed Alex in amusement.

Bobby whimpered softly, visions of a variety of men sprawling under the Keeper's sheets flashing through his mind. 'That's where I want to be,' he whined to himself.

"But what about all that hair? Doesn't it get annoying after a while?"

"Certainly not. It's long and silky and an absolute pleasure to run your fingers through," Claire responded with a sigh. "I can spend hours doing just that, and he loves it. Calms him right down if he's upset, in fact."

Long hair? Silky? Runs her hands through it? Suddenly all the mystery men vanished to be replaced with the slyly smirking image of his partner in a blatant state of in flagrante delicto on Claire's satin comforter.

How could he have not known? How could Fawkes, Bobby's partner, his best friend in the world, steal the girl that he knew - knew - he was in love with and had been since almost day one? "I'm going to kill him," Bobby growled under his breath.

"I can imagine," Alex agreed, as if she had known all about Claire and Fawkes. "Maybe I could take him home sometime? To get an idea if it's something I'd like to try?"

"I don't see why not. He's very friendly and well trained. I can't see you having any problems," Claire said placidly. "Let me know your schedule and we'll arrange it."

Bobby blinked. Claire sleeping with Fawkes was confusing enough, but sharing him? Lending him out as if he were no more than an inanimate object? What was next? A menage a trois? That image was not one he ever wanted in his head - least not if it didn't involve him - and he barged into the office, practically shouting, "Claire, how could you...?"

He stopped in his tracks when he saw Pavlov sitting on Monroe's black leather loveseat looking for all the world like he owned the place.

"Bobby? Is everything all right?" Claire asked in surprise.

Since there was no legitimate way he could answer, he just shook his head and fled the room, Pavlov's barked greeting chasing him on his way.