I do not own X-Men anything.

You'd think I'd run out of words by now. You'd be wrong.

Reaching Out

Chapter 14: Meaningful Conversations

"Hank, was I your first kiss?"

He didn't answer right away. They were sitting on the floor of his room, having found it one of the only quiet places they could escape to.

He was sitting cross-legged, back against his bed. Hope was sitting in an armchair with her feet on his knees.

He was painting her toes bright orange. And trying to ignore the fact that her silky smooth legs in those blue shorts were touchably, kissably close.

It had been actually somewhat relaxing. No one could mistakenly call Hank an artist, but when Hope had announced she was going to repaint her toenails, he couldn't resist. Though he couldn't really explain why.

"Can I do it?"

She giggled, slightly baffled as to why he would be interested. But not a whole lot.

"Really?"

He nodded timidly, a small smile lighting up his eyes.

"Yeah. Call it an experiment."

Hope considered this.

Oh yeah? An experiment in what exactly, Hank? Finding yet another way to turn me on? As if I don't have enough challenge controlling that?

And so she had gathered her supplies and they had convened in his room. It was quiet and clean and smelled like him. She loved it. She studiously ignored his neatly made bed (wonder what it would look like all rumpled up) which seemed to whisper invitingly to her.

Well, hello.

Yeah, I see you.

I know what you're think-ing.

Of course, I am. You know, I am normal and all.

You don't have to tell anybody. Just lock the door and go for it.

Naw, I think I'll leave it unlocked. And you know, not do that.

Why not? Bet you could convince him pretty easy.

Nope, not the plan.

What do you need a plan for? Just feel, baby.

Not that it's any of your business, but I need a set plan to keep me on track.

What track? You don't need a track. Everybody else's doing it.

Like I care what everybody else is doing.

No, but you care about what he could be doing to you.

Well, yeah, but that doesn't change my decision.

Oh come on. I can tell you what he wants to do to you . . .

Okayyy, I am not going to continue arguing any longer with an inanimate object that is only an anthropomorphization of my own thoughts.

Big, pretty words. Now about him and you and me . . .

Nope. I'm all done here. Not looking at you. Go ahead. I can ignore you all day. Watch me.

"How do you want me to do it?" Hank asked, standing next to her.

Hope turned, staring at him, brown eyes suddenly wide.

"What?"

Her shocked expression confused him.

What'd I say?

"Paint your toes," he reiterated. "How do I do it? I don't want to make a mess."

She mentally shook herself as the bed giggled knowingly at her.

"Oh, uh, well, you gotta take the old polish off first. . ."

And now here they were.

And she had just dropped a bomb of a question on him. And he had accidently painted his own knuckle in surprise.

You, my first kiss? I wish.

"No," he admitted quietly, concentrating on her left pinky toe, holding it gently in the fingers of his left hand, polish poised in his right.

What? Have you hidden the fact that you're actually a rolling ladies' man from me for five years? I love you and the way you are but I really tend to doubt that, sweetie.

"Really?" Hope asked, trying not to sound surprised.

Hank shook his head, carefully removing a stray drop of polish from the side of her toe with his thumbnail.

"Was it her? Raven?"

Oh, okay, so we're going to continue talking about this. Great.

"No," he replied. "We never actually kissed."

First Erik showed up and then later she sat on my lap and I embarrassed myself and she shut me down. I really don't want to talk about it.

"So who?"

Why do you want to know so badly?

Hope didn't seem angry or petty, only curious and interested in his life experiences. Still, Hank hoped he wasn't about to dig himself into a hole of shame. Not again.

"Well?" she asked.

Can I have a drink before we do this? Or ten?

He took a deep breath.

"I went to college young and since everyone else was a lot older, they kind of left me alone and of course, I was quiet and shy."

Hope smiled fondly at him but he couldn't return it. He concentrated on her toes instead.

Left foot complete, Hank bent over and lightly blew on the nails to expedite the drying process. Focused as he was on her foot, he didn't notice Hope's intake of breath as his gentle breath wafted across her skin or the shiver she could not entirely contain.

He sighed at her orange-painted keratin. She was so beautiful. What they had was so fantastic. He didn't want to ruin it by telling this story and admitting his disgrace all over again.

Still, his Hope had asked and so now he must answer her.

"And this one night they were having a party and I was in my room trying to study and some guys ran in and they were drunk and picked me up, took me downstairs and, um, shoved me in this coat closet and locked the door."

He stopped, flushing with shame and embarrassment.

"There was a . . . freshman college girl in there and she was drunk too and she grabbed me by my shirt and, uh, we, uh . . ." he stammered, unable to go on.

"Kissed?" Hope suggested gently, already guessing the truth and not wishing to make him relive it.

Oh my sweet Hank. You poor thing.

But if she stopped him now, he would think it was because of embarrassment of him and not the pain of the story itself. So she let him continue.

Hank nodded. Big toe, middle toe.

"She was very, uh, curvy, and she grabbed my hands and uh put them . . ." he was going to say 'all over', but his voice failed and he stopped again.

Hope waited patiently. Hank stared at his now grown hands curved around Hope's foot, painting the toes, thinking back.

The girl's curves had felt very good, he couldn't lie, but there was a sense of wrongness about the whole thing. He didn't even know her name, and she didn't seem particularly nice or kind. Just harsh and coarse.

At the time, he was kind of blindsided and she was, in fact, a girl.

Hank paused in his painting, adjusted his glasses anxiously, accidentally dabbing the side of his nose with a spot of orange. Hope casually caressed his face and wiped it off without alerting him to the fact that it was even there.

Then he continued painting, his gaze narrowed in on the toes of her right foot. Fourth toe, pinky toe. They were his anchors in this suddenly unsettled sea of emotional remembrance.

"They opened the door after about thirty seconds. They were laughing and pointing and they took a snapshot. Then she pushed me away, and she was laughing too and they all left together. It was a prank. I saw her on campus after that and she'd always snicker and then ignore me."

He refused to consider what might have happened had the prank had gone on any longer. He remained focused on Hope's toes.

Hope sighed, her face dark with compassion. She finally spoke in a low whisper.

"Oh Hank, that was very cruel. How old were you?"

"13," he replied factually. Factual was something he could deal with easier than emotional just now.

She grimaced, anger and compassion swirling around inside her.

Task complete, Hank closed up the polish container and meticulously put all her little supplies back in little bag, setting it aside.

They remained quiet for a few moments. Hank staring miles past her orange toes still reposed on his knees. Hope considering the crown of his neatly brushed hair and all he had so painfully revealed as his fingers absently stroked the sides of her feet.

Finally she spoke calmly, quietly.

"So I am your first real kiss, you know."

Hank raised his head and gazed into her lovely, open face. Her brown eyes were warmer than ever and he almost smiled then.

I really shouldn't be surprised, I suppose. I mean, this is Hope we're talking about here.

Then Hope, quite innocently, said, "You know, that's a closet over there."

Hank glanced at it without understanding her intent.

"Yes."

She smiled at him, teasingly.

"Come on. I'll show you how to play that game the right way."

She rose from the chair, tugging gently on his hand but he remained stubbornly where he was.

"Have you . . . played?" he asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

She sighed, knowing the bravery it took for him to venture such a question that he obviously did not want to know the answer to. Especially after such a painful retelling of his own miserable story.

But she knew he required and deserved the truth.

"Yes, once at a house party. It was a guy I liked from middle school."

Hank tried not to let his face reflect his instant roil of jealousy. Hope smiled and sat back down, this time beside him, her face turned to his. She did not run her fingers through his hair or caress his face. She did not want him to think she was trying to distract him from her words.

He needed honesty and trust after being hurt so much by women before. This awful college girl that Hope would very much enjoy punching in the face repeatedly. The woman Raven who apparently had her own set of difficult issues that Hank had struggled (and failed) to support her through.

Hope simply held one of his hands with her own and told him the truth.

"After one kiss, we got so nervous we ended up just sitting down on the floor and talking about 'I Love Lucy' until they opened the door."

Hank felt slightly better.

Then Hope said, "I also got kissed the regular way, at the end of dates."

And Hank was jealous all over again.

Ugh, I'm on an emotional rollercoaster.

And Hope continued, now smiling impishly.

"But there was this one guy, Hank, that was really special, I could tell."

She nudged him playfully.

"I kinda of always hoped that he'd kiss me."

Hank gazed at her, starting to feel better, a tentative smile playing on his face. She smiled back and then re-emphasized her last statement.

". . . kiss me," she repeated, grinning.

He nodded vacantly, continuing to stare into her beautiful eyes until she leaned forward.

"Hank."

"Huh?"

"Kiss me!"

"Oh!'

And so he did, quite happily. Several times. For quite a while. He even touched her a little too. And she, his Hope, she didn't push him away or laugh. Though she did remove his glasses and place them out of the way on the whispering bed.

Her pretty toes, unfortunately, got slightly smudged.

She didn't really mind.

Okay, okay. The bed/Hope conversation was weird I suppose but it was necessary to show her frame of mind and resiliency to, how we say, her inner desires?

'Later she sat on my lap and I embarrassed myself and she shut me down.' ~ This is a reference to a deleted part of the Hank/Raven microscope scene from FC. Hank tries to be a smooth operator and kiss Raven and she shuts him down. It is very painful and embarrassing to watch. *shudders

As always, thanks to the gentle reviewers brigid1318, ChiefPam, Aletta-Feather, Shanynde, MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, and I've Been a Labrat for your continued support.

You know, I think Alex may need our help here quite soon.