Author's note: Thank you so much to NotMarge, HintOfGrey, ChiefPam, NicoleR85, and meriland25 for reviewing! Your support is so encouraging, and deeply appreciated. Today Hank goes on a bit of a literary bent at the beginning, calling Zoey (though he has no idea what her name is yet) his Beatrice. This is a reference to Beatrice di Folco Portinari, the muse of Dante Alighieri- known best for the epic poem "The Divine Comedy." Laura played the same role for the poet Francesco Petrarca. I figured Hank would know these things, because he's such a huge nerd and has a lot of time on his hands! And apparently so do I...

Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Men. Only my OC's.

A Small Exchange

It was the next Thursday when I actually spoke to her for the first time.

Don't be getting ideas of envisioning me plucking up my courage and going over to ask if I could take a seat with her and talk, because that's definitely not how it happened. We're speaking of baby-steps here, people. I could never be so bold.

No, I was quite content to admire the girl with the iridescent hair from afar. If I had literary aspirations, I would liken myself to Dante or Petrarch. The nameless redheaded girl would be my Beatrice, my Laura. She would be my muse, an angel I wrote verses about to laud over her great beauty and numerous virtues.

But I wasn't a poet. I was a lonely mutant scientist with a staring problem and a furry blue feral alter-ego. Not exactly the stuff of romance.

So instead I just watched her.

I'd gathered that the girl with the firelight hair bought new books on Thursdays, always setting down her things and greeting Billy before heading straight for the bookcases to choose that week's purchase. I'd watched her get White Fang, by Jack London the week previously, and before that Brideshead Revisited, by Evelyn Waugh.

There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to her purchases, which made me think perhaps she was like me- willing to read essentially anything I could get my hands on, simply for the joy of vicariously getting new experiences through the characters. All without walking out the mansion's front door.

Was a deep love of literature something we had in common? I liked to think so.

Was I becoming some kind of creepy stalker by watching her so intently? Surely a real stalker doesn't know he's being creepy, right?

But anyway, I arrived at the cafe that Thursday and ordered my coffee and sponge cake as was becoming my usual- though I knew full well that the combination of caffeine and sugar would keep me up well past midnight. Once I set my purchases down at my table I wandered over to the bookstore section of the shop to take a look around.

The selection was fantastic, and the sight of so many books surrounding me filled my soul with the sort of peace I usually only found in my laboratory, or the Institute's prodigious library. I plucked one book after another off the shelves, weighing the merits of each and having a hard time choosing just one.

I was leafing through a copy of A Room with a View, by E.M. Forster, deciding on whether I should buy it or not, when the redheaded girl breezed into the cafe.

Cue instant panic. I knew what she was going to do next, after all. I almost dropped the book and ran for my chair, but apprehension locked my muscles in place.

Like she had for the past month, the girl set her things down and went straight for the bookcases, where I stood frozen like a mutant popsicle.

What could I do? There was no escape. She'd come five minutes early, so I wasn't in my "spot" yet.

For lack of anything else, I quickly looked down at the book like I was reading it intently. In reality my eyes were taking in nothing- I was too busy listening for her, the soft tap-tap of her boots on the vinyl flooring.

I almost bolted when she entered the same aisle as me, but some semblance of higher brain function kept me from moving. Otherwise I really would seem crazy. Now the girl was on one end of a bookcase, and I on the other. I watched her intently from the corner of my eye.

She was straining to see the titles on the top shelf, which was much too tall for her rather diminutive height. Now that I was standing near her I could tell that she was only 5'3 at the most. At 6'3, I towered over her by a solid foot.

"Aha!" she murmured, as if she'd found what she was looking for.

The girl reached, stretched out, and even hopped, but couldn't quite get her fingers on the book she'd picked out for this week's selection.

It was actually quite adorable. She was just so cute... and pretty... and short. Clearly, she was having an issue right now.

The fact that she was in need finally prodded me into action.

I can do this. I can speak to her. I can. I think.

"C-can I help you grab something?" I asked nervously.

Great. Since when do I stutter? Pull it together, McCoy.

She turned to me, looking relieved, and smiled up into my eyes. I almost fell over from shock, even as warmth spread through my body down to my fingers and toes. Her teeth were perfectly straight and white, and she had the cutest dimples. Like she could be a model in a toothpaste commercial.

I couldn't believe she was smiling at me. Me.

"Please?" she asked, blushing prettily.

The flushed color was beautiful on her skin. I had to blink a couple times to focus.

"Which one did you want?"

Thank God I'd been able to speak properly.

"Les Fleurs du mal, please," she replied, pointing.

It was a collection of poetry by Charles Baudelaire, a French poet. His work had been translated into English several times, but she wasn't asking for that version. She'd specifically asked for the French edition.

She must be able to speak French, then. Interesting.

I tentatively stepped closer, going slow because I was still used to being a huge blue behemoth whose sudden movements tended to frighten and intimidate people.

When I was right next to her I easily reached up and grabbed the book off the shelf for her. I handed it to her carefully.

I was close enough to her that her scent wafted into my nose. She smelled wonderful, like apple blossom, vanilla and raspberry rolled into one. What a heavenly aroma- could she get any more perfect?

And she was a mutant. I could smell that (mutants smell different than humans), though I didn't know what her abilities were. How utterly fascinating.

"Thank you," she said, smiling again. She giggled softly, gesturing with her empty right hand at the bookcase. "Short people problems, you know?"

Her chuckle made me smile, though years of deeply ingrained habit made it of the closed-mouth sort. I was still used to having unnerving fangs to hide.

"I wouldn't know, really," I replied. Then I gave myself a mental high-five for thinking of that.

Did I just make a joke?

"No, I should think not," the girl agreed, laughing outright. Her eyes sparkled like the gemstones they resembled as she looked at me.

Yes! I made her laugh.

Now I should say something else. Um...

I could see that her skin wasn't as flawless as I'd previously believed. Now that I was so close to her I could see a faint dusting of freckles across her nose and cheekbones, like constellations in the night sky. My stars and garters, could she get any cuter?

Oh, no. I'm staring again. Say something else! She's talking to you, McCoy, come on!

But my shyness had already gotten the better of me. I clammed up tight, having expended all of my courage for the day. Or the month.

How I wished for the earth to open up and swallow me.

The girl seemed to feel my withdrawal from the conversation, but thankfully didn't take offense to it. At least I hoped she didn't. Maybe she could tell I was shy?

"That's a good book," she said, gesturing to the novel from earlier still in my hand. She began to drift away towards the register, where her drink sat waiting. "Thanks again."

I waited for her to go back to her own seat- and for my breathing to calm down- before going and making my own purchase. I decided to buy A Room with a View simply because of her recommendation.

Then I sat there in my spot and mentally berated myself for acting like a deer in the headlights when she spoke to me. Why couldn't I be braver? I should've asked her name, at least, but now the opportunity was gone.

But as angry as I was with myself, in a way I still felt like I was floating on air. I made her laugh. And she'd smiled at me. I tried to give myself credit for that, at least.

It was another baby-step.

That little two minute conversation left me even more smitten with her than before. If only I knew her name...