Author's note: Thank you so much to NicoleR85, DeadlyThorn1997, the mysterious Guest, NotMarge, and Guinessia for reviewing! Wow! I adore reviews, they are fuel to keep me going. Thank you also to those who have followed or favorited this story. NotMarge, I wouldn't have gotten the guts to publish without you!

I'm getting some questions about whether Zoey is a mutant, too. Yes, she is. Hank's nose knows! He just doesn't know what her abilities are, though her iridescent hair and what Hank compares it to is a tiny clue. We'll learn what she can do eventually. Just stick with me!

Trying

"Charles, I need to speak with you," I said, as soon as I arrived home and found my mentor.

I was home over an hour earlier than usual. I'd rushed back in my eagerness to tell Charles about Zoey's niece and see if he would possibly be able to help her learn to control her powers.

"What's wrong, Hank?" asked the surprised telepath, looking up from the papers he was grading in his study. "Did something happen?"

"No, not really," I sighed, taking a seat. "The girl I've been-"

Stalking? Romancing from afar? Ugh, there's no way to explain this.

Charles waited patiently for me to sort myself out.

"The girl from the cafe I've been visiting is named Zoey Dubois. She has a niece named Olivia Grey, who's only seven years old. I found out today the child is a tactile telepath. Zoey's worried about her-"

"Did Zoey tell you all of this?" Charles asked shrewdly.

I cursed inwardly- he'd caught me already.

"No," I replied sheepishly.

"Have you talked to her at all?"

"Once," I said defensively.

I'd come to him about helping a little girl, and he wanted to nitpick about my social awkwardness. This was not how I expected this conversation to go.

"Leave me out of this. Is there a way you can help Olivia?"

"Yes, of course, if her parents are willing. I'll find her using Cerebro straight away, if you'd like to come with me now," Charles offered, moving his motorized chair (which I designed) out from behind his desk. I stood hurriedly and followed. "Would you like to come with me and meet her parents? Perhaps her aunt could be present, as well?"

I shook my head quickly. My palms got sweaty just at the thought. "No, thank you."

He sighed. "Hank, I wish you would talk to that girl."

"To what purpose, Charles?" I argued. "I probably wouldn't even be able to kiss her without Beast taking over."

"You could be her friend, you know," he replied tartly.

"It's too late for friendship," I noted disconsolately as we got into the elevator to go down to the basement of the mansion.

My feelings had developed into something decidedly not platonic. Zoey Dubois had utterly bewitched me from the moment I first saw her, like I was a moth drawn to the flame of her firelight hair and the glowing light of her soul, which shone through her eyes. The spell had only gotten stronger every time I went to Marceline's Cafe to watch her study.

"I'm fine with things the way they are. Seeing her is enough for me, Charles."

"But is it enough for her?" he countered.

Unbidden, the memory of Zoey's wistful expression as she tried to pick out her secret admirer from among the patrons at the cafe flashed before my eyes. It sent a pang of longing through my gut.

I frowned at him. "Stay out of my head," I said, sharp enough to be a warning.

"I haven't been in your head for weeks, Hank," Charles replied. His eyebrows raised, and the ghost of a smile played across his face, like he was fighting off amusement.

So the vision had come from my own traitorous subconscious. Wonderful.

"I'm sorry," I told him, genuinely contrite. "Just... I'm trying, Charles."

"That you are, Hank," Charles agreed. "The fact that you're even asking me to do this tells me you've made progress. You're reaching out, in your own... particular way."

"Particular." That's one way to put it, I suppose.

Finding Olivia Grey was a piece of cake, considering how Charles easily plucked her visage from my memories to match within Cerebro. She was also only two estates over in the rambling suburbs of Westchester County, New York. Charles promised to take Sean with him to visit the very next afternoon.

The next day I was on tenterhooks, wondering how their visit would go. Would Zoey be there? Would she come visit her niece, if the Grey's allowed their child to attend the school? If she did, would I ever find the courage to speak to her?

I agonized over the questions, though I knew I was getting far ahead of myself. Olivia's parents needed to agree for her to attend Xavier's first, and her father sounded like a real piece of work.

Charles and Sean were back quicker than I expected that evening.

"No one was home," Sean explained with a shrug.

I was profoundly disappointed. I'd worried all day for nothing. And more importantly, Olivia's problems still weren't resolved.

I was feeling rather down as I walked to the village the next day. I'd left Marceline's on Tuesday hoping that the next time I saw Zoey she would look a little happier because her niece was going to be getting the help she needed to learn to control her powers.

But nothing had changed.

I wanted to apologize somehow, even though I was too afraid to speak to Zoey. To say I was sorry that her niece was having trouble, and I was sorry that my attempt to help Olivia had thus far yielded no fruit. Maybe I wanted to apologize for not being brave enough to talk to Zoey, too.

For that reason I picked some blue primroses growing wild on the side of the road on my way to Marceline's. I tied them with a stem of grass.

It seemed like a paltry offering, but at least they were something.

I placed them on Zoey's table when I walked in the door. Billy was behind the counter again.

"Graduating to giving her flowers, now?" the older man asked, amusement clear in his faded blue eyes.

I shrugged awkwardly. "They made me think of her," I replied, with my habitual lack of eloquence.

To my surprise, Billy rolled his eyes. "I'll have you know my wife won't stop pestering me now. 'Why can't you be more like that Hank boy? What a romantic!'" he quoted in an exaggerated French accent that I was sure his wife would kill him for if she heard. "Doesn't matter that we've been married twenty-three years, ha!"

"I'm... sorry?"

He's teasing me, right?

This was why it was so difficult to talk to people. Social cues were so easy to miss. Machines were much, much simpler.

"It's fine, kid. I was just joking... a little. Now, what can I get you? The usual?"

"Yes, please."

"And Zoey's?"

"Yes. And her book."

"You got it."

And then I settled down to wait.

I wondered how she would react to the flowers. Doing these things for her was like a human experiment that I was emotionally involved in. Being so caught up in the results made it both painful and wonderful when I got a positive reaction.

Since it was Thursday, Zoey went straight to her table to put her things down, rather than the counter to buy her mocha. She froze, her back to me, when she saw the little bouquet of primroses.

"He said they made him 'think of you,'" Billy offered, leaning on the part of the counter closest to her table.

She picked the primroses up delicately, as if she was afraid they'd break. "They're my favorite flower," she said quietly. "I wonder how he knew?"

Score one for dumb luck, I guess.

"I'm pretty sure it was a lucky guess," Billy replied, taking in my overjoyed expression. It was safe, because Zoey couldn't see who exactly he was looking at.

"Yeah," she murmured, holding the flowers to her nose. Then she set them down with infinite care. "Lucky."

She turned to Billy. "Tell him thank you, please?"

"Will do."

Zoey was soon at the counter with a new book- Jane Eyre.

"Paid for," Billy said smugly, pushing her money away. Yes, he was definitely enjoying this.

"Oh. Please-"

"Thank him? I will, Zoey. Now go study. Your final paper is nearly due, isn't it?"

"Three weeks."

"Knock 'em dead."

"Thanks, Billy," she replied with a laugh.

She sat down with her mocha and new book, which she ignored in favor of another genetics text. Every now and then she would glance at the flowers and flush prettily, a small smile playing across her lips.

Honestly, that was all I was looking for. I just wanted to see her smile, and know that I had done something to put that expression on her face.

I knew better than to ask for more.

But Zoey Dubois disagreed.