October 21, 1962
There was a knock on Raven's door. She straightened her bathrobe before opening it. Hank stood in the doorway, nervously holding a box with one of his hands. She smiled at him, noting how he blushed and looked away when he saw what she was wearing.
He was too cute.
"Maybe I should come back later," he said.
"No, it's alright," Raven said, "What do you want to talk about?"
He swallowed and gestured to the room. If he were any other boy Raven would probably know exactly what was happening, but this was Hank. She nodded and he came in, placing the small box on the table she'd had moved from the lounge. There were two chairs, not that she'd ever really needed both before. There had been nights when she'd had long conversations with Charles, scared of the world around her, but that had been a long time ago.
Raven sat down across from him, her hands folded in her lap. Hank stared at the box before opening it. She saw a syringe inside it filled with green serum.
"You finished it?" she asked.
She couldn't keep the excitement out of her tone. All week she'd been working with her mutation, hoping that Hank was almost done. She hadn't told anyone what was happening, her own little secret. She might have told Charles, but he was too busy with the rest of them. Besides, he wouldn't understand.
Raven also might have told Lorna. She'd never had a friend who might have understood before. However, she knew that Lorna had enough on her plate with what had happened to Susanna. It was the same reason why she'd never said more than "Hello" to Lorna's father. Anya was in denial, she was too young to fully understand everything, and much more naïve, so she was much easier to talk to. Lorna was more withdrawn, and rightly so she supposed, and she'd always been used to hiding her feelings. It wasn't an environment that was very conducive to discussion.
Her eyes began to drink in the sight of the syringe, but something drew her up short.
"Hank, where's yours?" she asked.
Hank looked down.
"I was going to bring both of them here," he said, "So that we could do it together."
"So where's yours?" Raven asked.
Hank continued to look down. He didn't look ashamed, just deeply thoughtful.
"Anya came into my lab, looking for Erik and Lorna," he said, "And she was hanging out with me for a while, so I told her about the serum."
"She's pretty inquisitive," Raven said, "And she's been hanging out with you for a while. Should I be jealous?"
Even though she was teasing, Hank didn't smile.
"She asked me why I didn't like myself," he said.
"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Raven.
"What it sounds like I guess," Hank said, "You know Anya: she has no guile, no filter. She's too young to have learned it. She just..."
His eyes finally met hers.
"She asked me why I wanted to get rid of a part of myself," he said.
"Hank, we both know why," Raven said.
"Do we though?" asked Hank.
He gestured at his feet.
"It's because I'm strong and fast that I might be able to do something tomorrow," Hank said, "And because I'm smart, but if I didn't have my mutation then I wouldn't be able to fight for things that I believe in. Sure, I guess I could train and all, but this was a gift. A gift to help people."
Raven shifted, feeling uncomfortable. Hank was speaking so earnestly, and she wasn't sure what to make of it.
"You said that it would just change appearance," she said, "Not abilities."
"It should, yes," Hank said.
"Then I don't understand," said Raven, "Hank, you made this serum. It was your idea, and you developed it."
"I know," Hank said, "But Raven, what if I don't want to take the serum anymore?"
She stared at him.
"You're joking, right?" she asked.
"I'm not," Hank said, "For the first time...I'm wondering if I should want to change for people who think I'm a freak. I shouldn't want to be something other than what I am."
"Hank, are you serious?" Raven asked, "You spend ten minutes chatting with a child and you decide to ignore a promise you made to yourself? You ignore everything you know to be true?"
Hank gritted his teeth.
"I know that this might be hard to understand," he said, his voice almost a growl, "But for the first time, I'm starting to think that maybe there's nothing about me that I don't like. I think I like me now."
Raven pursed her lips. Her eyes flicked down to the green syringe. How could she make him see what he had once so easily understood?
"I like you too," Raven said, "But you know that the world won't accept you with feet like that."
"Maybe not," Hank said.
"Maybe?" asked Raven, "Hank, they won't. This is our only chance."
She took his hand. He looked down at it, as though seeing it for the first time.
"If other people can't see what's special about us, then I don't really see that as a big deal," he said.
"You'll see it when they bring out the torches and pitchforks," Raven said.
"Your brother doesn't see it that way," said Hank.
She sighed. Great. First a child, then her brother. Was there anyone that Hank didn't listen to more than her?
"He's overly optimistic," Raven said, "He doesn't understand Hank. You and I, we do. Just think about all those things people said. Think about the 'Manilla Gorilla.' That's what people are like Hank. That's what your feet are, that's what looking different is. It's ugly, and it's dangerous. We can finally be safe if we just take this."
She guided his hand over to the syringe. Raven picked it up, clasping it with Hank's hand between hers and the syringe.
"We can do this," she said, "Together."
Hank stared at her for a minute, his eyes flicking down to the syringe.
"Raven," he said, "I used to wonder why someone like you was interested in someone like me."
She made a face, but Hank shook his head. He pulled away from her hands and put the syringe onto the table. He bit his lip before taking her hands.
"I'm geeky and awkward," he said, "But you still seemed interested. You're nice, and pretty, and I thought we had a lot in common. I just kept wondering what it was you saw in me. But...maybe the only thing we shared was our own self-loathing."
Raven narrowed her eyes. She didn't hate herself. She just didn't want to look like a circus freak anymore. What was so wrong about that?
"I don't hate myself anymore Raven," he said.
"I don't hate myself," snapped Raven.
Hank let go of her hands.
"Maybe," he said, "But you don't love yourself either."
He got up.
"Raven, I wanted to tell you that I finished," he said, "I promised to develop a serum, and I did. I promised to give it to you, and I did. I just don't want it anymore. You can administer it to yourself, just put it in the biggest vein in your arm."
Sadness entered his eyes.
"And, about you and me, if there ever was..."
His voice became weaker and, despite herself, Raven felt her eyes tearing up.
"Hank," she said.
"Maybe we just didn't really know each other. I don't think we do now either," Hank said, "But the decision is still yours. I've made mine, and I think it's the right one for me. I hope you make the right one for you."
He bit his lip before leaving her room. Raven watched him go, her heart in her throat. Her eyes slowly drifted downwards. The syringe was still lying on the table. She picked it up and stared at it, watching the green liquid bead on the end of the needle.
"Charles?"
Charles looked up. He was sitting in front of a chess set. Moira figured that the other player had been Erik. Charles's king had been knocked down, and she doubted that there was anyone else in the house who was good enough at chess to beat him.
His eyes were a little bloodshot, and he looked tired.
"You should get some rest," she said, "We've got a pretty busy day ahead of us."
Charles nodded, but he didn't move. Moira frowned and touched his shoulder. His eyes trailed up her arm slowly before resting on her face.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing," he said.
"Mmmhm," Moira said, "I don't think that that's true."
He sighed and looked back at the board. Moira didn't move though. She wasn't about to back down, not when one of her fellow agents, even an honorary one, could be going through an emotional crisis on the night before a major operation. Especially if that agent was Charles.
"Charles," she repeated.
"I'm afraid that my friend is going to become a murderer tomorrow," he said.
She blinked. Charles turned to her, his expression sad and exhausted.
"I think that Erik's going to try and kill Shaw," he said.
"That's not exactly a surprise," said Moira.
Charles sighed.
"I was hoping he would, I don't know, see that it wasn't the right thing to do," he said.
Moira shook her head.
"Right, wrong, Shaw needs to be stopped somehow Charles," she said.
The words were half-hearted. She knew it was something that McCone would say, or something he would want her to say. Charles gave her a look and she saw understanding there, as though he somehow knew what was going on in her head.
He probably did.
"But murder?" asked Charles.
"I'm sure he's killed people before."
"Not like this," Charles said, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Not like this. He blames Shaw for everything that's wrong in his life. Killing him won't make things any better though. It will only push him further away from the man he was trying to be. He has the seeds of greatness in him, everyone here does. But...he doesn't think it matters."
He stared back down at the chess pieces. Moira could feel his worry rolling off him in waves.
"If he kills Shaw tomorrow, then I think he'll start down a path that he can't return from," Charles said.
He turned to her.
"I don't know how I can make him understand," he said.
"I think that there was only one person who could make him understand," Moira said, "And I don't think she's going to wake up in time."
Charles nodded slowly.
"Maybe," he said.
Moira folded her hands. She wondered if Charles wanted to talk more, but there was something in that word that told her he needed to be left alone. It was what she would want in his place, just some time to speak to her own thoughts.
"Try to get some sleep tonight Charles," she said.
"Hmm," Charles said.
She hesitated, but they could very well all die tomorrow. It was something that had flitted across her head several times and she'd just shaken her head at it, but she'd been raised by her aunt to be strong. After Charles's botched first attempt, she had the feeling that the next move was up to her.
Moira knelt next to him and kissed his cheek. Charles stared at her, surprised.
"I'm serious," she said, "Erik isn't the only one with people who care about him."
He looked at her for another moment. One of his hands reached out and gently touched her cheek. She breathed in before exhaling softly.
"Goodnight," she said.
She pulled away and left the room, feeling his eyes on her the entire way.