I do not own X-Men: First Class.
Duh.
In the Beginning
Hey, sick of Hank yet? Well, if not, let's do this thing! :D
Chapter 1: Man of Science
The director of but one of several covert CIA research facilities, Mr. John Oliver, looked like he could be a jolly, funny man. Dark haired, surprisingly tall with a rotund frame and a generous face. He might have been quite the character if he hadn't been so caught up and consumed by his life's mission. To investigate the application of paranormal powers for military defense. He needed fresh, open minds. People willing to think outside the box, entertain and engage radical new ideas and theories. To believe in the possibility of the universe and everything in it.
Among others, he found an exceptional young man, a genius with the potential for creative scientific thinking, development, and invention.
He had found him just a few short years ago. Tucked away at Harvard. A brilliant, shy boy with a truly amazing mind and pliable, agreeable personality to mold and develop. Mr. Oliver had told him to dream big, to think big, and that he would fund any project that thinking and dreaming conjured up.
And the boy had delivered. Hugely, to say the least. Mr. Oliver was certain they had barely scratched the surface of his potential. He was sure there was more yet to learn about the tall, thin, brilliant boy before them. That young man dressed regrettably in old man clothes of khaki slacks, grey plaid button up shirt, black tie, and maroon sweater under a white labcoat.
How much more he was soon to find out.
"It's supersonic," Hank McCoy informed them coolly. "The most advanced plane ever built."
He tried to sound casual and relaxed as he answered the dark haired woman's awed 'wow, what is that' query as she fearfully stared in wonder at the replica of one of his most prized inventions hanging fifteen feet above the floor. Just looking at it, thinking about it, gave him a sense of pride, of accomplishment.
It was beautiful, powerful, a masterpiece.
He had dreamed, engineered it, and flown it.
His Blackbird.
It was visually the most stunning piece of machinery in his lab at the Institute.
His lab.
It was huge, cavernous. Grey floor, grey walls, windows set high near the ceiling provided natural light and kept prying eyes away from secretive goings-on. A crane apparatus hung overhead at the ready. Two gigantic turbine fans set deep in the walls faced each other, capable of creating powerful air currents for simulation tests.
To his left near the main entrance was a vast workspace with large stainless steel tables, storage units, and neatly organized laboratory equipment. The tables held microscopes and other basic scientific equipment as well as equipment invented or modified personally by Hank for his own purposes. Several large pressurized tanks stood in one corner, holding within their smooth, cool frames various gases. The stainless steel stools were not very comfortable to his rather spare posterior but Hank found he was rarely able to remain still anyway in the excitement of discovery.
In case of emergency, several escape doors led away from the structure. Though Hank had never needed to use them. He was, by nature and practice, a very cautious man. There was even a small observation room with thick glass windows for observers to bear witness to some of his more dangerous breakthroughs.
And it was all his.
Here he was in complete control.
He could do anything, create anything. A single phone call would summon workers to assist him, aid him if he so wished. And they spoke, behaved congenially, respectfully to him. If someone behaved insolently or shirked a task, he could dismiss them. If need be, he could even summon Mr. Oliver and have the person dressed down. Even fired. It had happened. Once. And though Hank had felt bad about the surly man losing his job, it was an empowering feeling to know that he was no longer resigned to suffer bullies. He was a grown man now. A man to be respected.
The entire space was meticulously clean and neat. Neatness and order. Those were the things he clung to, practices he could embrace. Those were things he could control. Experiments didn't always go as planned. So when they failed or messes occurred, you just cleaned up and started over again.
It was a good thing Hank McCoy had a kind disposition and gentle spirit. A lesser man might have felt the power of a god in a space such as this.
But Hank only saw the next discovery.
He loved it here. He was more at home here than he had ever been in the house he grew up in. This was a space he understood. Here there were no bullies, no arguments, no shameful interactions.
People of the Institute simply knew him as Dr. Hank McCoy. Scientist, Inventor. A surprisingly young man, perhaps, but only a man. A man who could stun them with his intellect. Mr. Oliver often said, 'Hank, give it to me like a hotdog vendor.' And Hank would try. Though he rather enjoyed knowing that he understood concepts that crossed other people's eyes and gave them headaches.
Though many people worked in the Institute, Hank's life was a relatively solitary one. Him and his work. He didn't mind. He was actually more comfortable with his pursuits of discovery and inventions than with living, breathing people.
Living, breathing people tended to talk and ask questions and expect him to reply. And though he mostly managed to do so, it did not come naturally to him. Except in the realm of science.
Partially, it was due to his . . . unique cellular makeup and the psychological effect it had on him as he had learned what he really was.
An abnormal monkey-toed freak.
People did not, would not understand. And so it was easier to remain within himself. Safer.
The pay he earned was substantial, though he had little need for it. He lived onsite. He worked onsite. He ate onsite. Though his quarters did stay stocked with soda. And Twinkies.
From time to time, people would say to him, 'ready for that vacation, Hank?' and he'd inevitably mumble and shrug. Where was there to go? All his life, his experiments, his interests were here. What was out there?
The pay was useful for one thing, though. Shoes. Big, sturdy shoes. He didn't own many pairs but he knew the size and brand that fit his particular needs the best. And the best part was he could order them by catalogue. No need to step foot, so to speak, in a department store where well-meaning shoe salesman would insist on getting his exact measurements. He had never been in one of those. The very thought gave him heart palpitations and cold sweats.
Now, looking at his plane replica, his glasses, studiously cleaned only moments before, picked up the glare from the window momentarily.
That should be my next invention. Glare-free lenses.
And he had to refrain from reaching for one of his several pocket pens to scribble down the idea. He was, after all, speaking with guests and it would not due to be rude to them. He filed the thought away for later rumination.
Before him now were the new recruits Mr. Oliver had excitedly been regaling him about. Apparently they had unique abilities that Hank would be overjoyed as a scientist to investigate further.
He kept his focus on the plane as long as he could to avoid their gazes. A rather sophisticated looked man wearing a tweed jacket over a blue vest, white shirt, and blue pants. A blond woman his brain for some reason absolutely refused to process. The dark haired woman who had inquired about his plane. And a rather stern, predatorial looking man in a short leather jacket.
For the moment, everything seemed in control and fine.
But nervousness and excitement mixed heavily, thickly within him as he spoke to Mr. Oliver and the strangers he had brought with him. He nonchalantly put his left hand in his pants pocket, effectively displacing the fabric of the pants as a preventive safeguard. Sometimes, interacting with people made him so nervous he experienced embarrassing physiological reactions that, well, were not something he cared to share with complete strangers. Or anyone for that matter.
Hank kept talking, wrapping himself in his most comfortable subject matter.
Discovery and invention.
"You should see it in real life," he said, speaking fondly of the plane replica above them. "It's incredible."
Hello!
Okay, so yeah, by reader request, the Hank-centric retelling of X-Men: First Class is officially on! I will be sticking to the movie and its dialogue and of course adding in Hank introspection a lot. Maybe filling in scene transitions here and there.
Nervous body reactions? Yeah, I've got it on good authority that can sometimes be the case. Especially with guys Hank's age. But more on that later.
Coming up, we'll actually enjoy more of the infamous intro scene.
Everybody appreciates feedback. Leave a review if you like.