Page 36 of Hero Worship

"Yes, yes," the first agent cut him off. "But what were you born as? We need to know for security purposes."

I started to object, but Xander's hand found mine under the desk, squeezing in warning. This wasn't my battle to fight, not yet.

"Do you have any medications you need to declare?" the first agent asked. "Syringes? Hormones? Not everything legal in America is welcome here."

Xander’s answering smile was tight, but predatory. “No, but you’re welcome to search my luggage a third time, just in case.”

"Have you had surgeries?" the second agent pressed. "We need to know if we should expect... anatomical differences during screening."

My stomach turned. These questions had nothing to do with security and everything to do with satisfying their morbid curiosity. "Perhaps," I cut in, my voice arctic, "you could explain how these questions relate to entry requirements? I'm particularly interested in citing them accurately in my complaint to the ICAO."

The agents exchanged glances. But instead of backing off entirely, they shifted tactics. "A full body search will be required," the first agent announced with cold satisfaction. "Strip search and cavity examination."

The blood drained from Xander's face, though his smile never wavered. This wasn't just harassment anymore. This was a threat of state-sanctioned sexual assault, thinly veiled as security protocol.

"Absolutely not." My voice came out lethally quiet. "You will not subject my husband to a degrading and unnecessary search designed solely to humiliate."

"It is standard procedure for cases of suspected identity fraud-"

"Identity fraud?" I leaned forward, letting every ounce of barely contained violence show in my posture. "My husband's documentation is legal and valid. You're suggesting an invasive cavity search because his gender marker makes you uncomfortable. I wonder how the international press would view France's treatment of gender-diverse travelers?"

The room went silent except for the quiet hum of fluorescent lights. I felt Xander trembling slightly beside me, though his expression remained perfectly composed. The kind of composure that came from facing this threat before, from knowing exactly how wrong these "searches" could go.

"Are you threatening a customs official?" the second agent asked, but there was uncertainty in his tone now.

"I'm promising consequences," I corrected coldly. "Process our entry properly or explain to your superiors why you're violating human rights law. Your choice."

"Very well," the first agent finally said, stamping our passports with obvious reluctance. "Welcome to France. Conduct yourself accordingly,gentlemen."

The casual cruelty of the comment, delivered with bureaucratic indifference, made my blood boil. But Xander stood with fluid grace, every movement elegant, a final middle finger to their small-minded prejudice.

"Merci," he said sweetly. "I do hope your worldview expands beyond the limitations of your paperwork someday."

Only when we were well clear of customs did he let his perfect posture slip, just slightly. I pulled him into an alcove. "Has that happened before?" I asked quietly.

"Only every time I travel." His laugh was bitter but not broken. "Usually without someone in my corner. The questions are always the same. What's in my pants, what's on my birth certificate? Am I trying to trick people? Am I mentally ill? Have I mutilated my body..." He shrugged, aiming for casual but missing by miles. "You get used to it."

"You shouldn't have toget used to it." The protective fury in my voice surprised even me. I'd seen plenty of prejudice in law enforcement, but this was different. More personal. "No one should."

His smile turned genuine, if tired. "Welcome to my world, darling." The endearment was for our cover, but the gentle mockery was all Xander. "Though I have to admit, having a big strong man defend my honor was a nice change of pace."

Something dark and protective rose in my chest at his attempt at lightness. "This isn't funny, baby. What they tried to do-"

"I know exactly what they tried to do." Xander's voice went sharp before he caught himself, pitching it back to the honeymoon sweetness our cover required. "But getting upset about it won't help. Neither will your righteous fury, however... appreciated it might be."

The way he said 'appreciated' made me want him all over again, despite the situation. Or maybe because of it. The need to possess, to protect, to make him feel safe warred with my rage at what he'd just endured.

"Next time-" I started, but he cut me off.

"Next time will be exactly the same," he said quietly. "Different country, different officials, same threats. Same questions about what's in my pants, same implications that I'm trying to trick people, same 'security concerns' that always end with someone wanting to violate me just because they can." His voice cracked slightly on the last words.

I pulled him closer. "Look at me," I ordered softly. When those incredible eyes met mine, I saw the cracks in his mask, the fear and exhaustion he'd been hiding. "You're not alone anymore. I meant what I said in there. You're mine now. Mine to protect."

"You can't always be there," he whispered, but his hands clutched at my jacket. "You can't fight every customs agent, every TSA officer, every-"

"Watch me."

The raw conviction in my voice made him shiver. I caught his chin, tilting his face up to mine. "I know you're used to handling this alone. To smiling through their bullshit because fighting back only makes it worse. But that stops now. Because anyone who threatens what's mine?" I let my voice drop to that register that always made him melt. "They answer to me."

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