Author's note: Thank you to kmj1989 for the review! This is a short chapter, but it has some sweetness and a little bit of intrigue. The plot thickens! I hope you enjoy. The next chapter will be longer, I promise. Thank you to everyone who gives this a read, and special thanks to those who take the time to review!

An Official Thing

"It's nice in here."

Hank glances up from his notes and gives her an adorable smile. "I'm glad you think so," he says.

They're in his office, a well-proportioned room lined with gorgeous mahogany bookcases that are filled with various science and medical texts. The centerpiece of the space is the large executive desk Hank is sitting behind, which is absolutely covered with paperwork and various knickknacks.

Set along one wall are a pair of large picture windows looking out onto the grounds that Roxanne automatically gravitates towards. There's very little light pollution in this direction and almost no moon, meaning the stars are quite visible in the night sky. She spies Orion and Taurus with ease, along with Pictor and Dorado.

"I wish I had my telescope," Roxanne murmurs, with a pang of sadness. Her telescope was destroyed in the fire that consumed Gramps' cabin, along with pretty much everything else she owned. "The Pleiades are really bright tonight."

She senses Hank freeze behind her. "That's right," he says after a moment. "I remember you mentioning astronomy is a hobby of yours. Of course, your bedroom ceiling was also a big hint."

"Yeah," she agrees quietly. She misses her room, her books and the various material objects that brought her joy over her lifetime.

And now it's all gone.

Just like Gramps, just like Robert, and everything she's ever-

Hank must sense the depressing turn her thoughts have taken, because he rises to his feet and joins her at the window. "Roxanne, I'm so sorry," he tells her. "For everything. If it weren't for me none of this-"

"Don't," she says sharply. "I told you before- you were just trying to help Paul. What he did wasn't your fault, and neither were the actions of my redneck neighbors. I don't blame you, and you shouldn't blame yourself." She takes a deep breath, forcing back the threatening tears. "It's over now."

The scientist nods, though he still seems unconvinced of his own innocence. He probably realizes it's more harm than good to belabor the point. "I-I wanted to talk to you about Raven," he says tentatively, after a short silence. He hesitates and reaches out to take her hand.

Roxanne winces, but gives his hand a gentle squeeze. "Joy," she mutters.

"I just- I don't want you to think that I somehow have feelings for her," Hank sputters. "Or to be unclear about what exactly our relationship was. I was going to tell you about it, eventually, but..."

He trails off, clearly unsure of what to say.

Roxanne chuckles dryly. "It's not exactly something you talk about with someone you basically just met," she supplies.

"Exactly," he agrees, clearly relieved she understands. "But given the circumstances... I know what Raven said to you."

She nods, waiting.

And then Hank tells her about meeting Mystique- Raven- in 1962, and his instant infatuation with her. How he ruined things between them, and how the regret and pining for her ate away at him for over a decade. And then she came back to stay after Egypt, and he'd rejoiced because he thought he finally had a chance with her. He explained (blushing furiously) the events that finally made him realize that the woman he'd loved had never existed, and assured Roxanne that his feelings for Raven were long dead and buried.

And Roxanne believes him.

Every instinct in her says to trust Hank, to believe him when he says he no longer has any interest in the woman who attempted to use their prior relationship as a tool against the "new girl" tonight. She knows that he's telling her the truth, that there's no way Mystique could "snap her fingers," and have Hank come running back to her, as the shapeshifter had claimed. It's a reassuring thought.

"Raven admitted what she said to you," Hank says now. "But may I ask what your reply was? It certainly rattled her."

"I called her a spiteful old hag and told her that she was your past," Roxanne murmurs. She purposely chooses not to think of how savagely she reacted to the whole situation, how she could have cheerfully sliced Mystique into ribbons after her goading. The violence that welled up within her with so little prompting had frightened her, and she would prefer not to dwell on it. "But that I am your present."

"And my future, I hope," Hank adds quickly. And then he blanches, as if worried he made some sort of faux pas.

Considering what she now knows about his romantic history, Roxanne can't fault him for his awkwardness. Her heart aches for him, knowing how much love he wanted to give over the years with no one willing to receive it. It's no wonder he's so unsure himself when it comes to flirting and relationships.

"Yes," she agrees, and then she chuckles softly at his obvious relief. The tender subject brings another thought to her mind, though. While still rather sensitive, she has a feeling this will be a much more welcome change of topic for them both. "You know, Logan asked if we were a thing."

"And what did you say?"

"I told him that we definitely liked each other, though we haven't had an official talk or anything," Roxanne replies. "I thought it was an accurate assessment."

"Well, we should remedy that," Hank observes- but then his confidence falters, and he begins to look a little nervous. "Do you want to be an official thing? With me? Together?" He winces. "That didn't come out right at all."

She giggles. "Yes, it did," she assures him, standing on tiptoe to kiss him lightly on the lips. "And yes, I would."

His eyes light up like Christmas, he's so obviously happy. Roxanne loves that she can make him feel that way, with no effort at all.

"So that's settled, then," Hank murmurs, slipping his hands around her waist.

She kisses him again, earning herself an adorable, fatuous smile when she pulls away. "Yes," she agrees. "Yes it is."

The feral woman enters the room silently, as ever was her way.

Though it's been almost a quarter of a century since he saw her last, she hasn't changed a bit. Tall and slender, with flowing red hair and red irises that stand out with rather startling brightness from the black mask tattooed around her eyes. Of course, he wouldn't expect her to look any different. Neither of them have aged since they engineered the fall of the Roman Empire they founded together.

"Sister," Romulus greets her, reclining comfortably in his armchair.

"Brother," his twin replies coolly. She stands, eyeing him warily.

"I'm glad you obeyed my summons."

Predictably, his sister's lips curl back in disgust. "'Summons?' Your message indicated that you wanted to offer me an apology," she retorts. "I only came to see you grovel." She turns towards the door. "If that's not what this is about, I have no interest being here. Goodbye, Brother-"

"I know, Remus."

His twin turns back to look at him with bemused disdain. "You know what, Romulus?"

Rather than answering her question, he poses another. "Have you spoken to Jimmy lately?" he asks, watching her closely.

The narrowing of her eyes is so slight it would be invisible to anyone else. But Romulus has had over two millennium's worth of practice in reading his sister's expressions.

"Jimmy who?"

"Oh, don't play that game with me, Sister Dearest. I erased his memories of everything, not the other way around, as I recall. Come on, now. Jimmy. James Howlett," he presses. "Remember him? Short burly guy? Claws that came out of his knuckles? Weirdly shaped hair? Father of your children?"

"What are you talking about, Romulus?" she demands- and there's no missing it, this time she pales slightly.

"I know, Remus," Romulus repeats, with a vicious grin. He's enjoying her discomfit immensely and making no effort to hide it. He tosses the photograph Essex had gotten for him at her.

Remus catches the picture with ease and studies it with an air of contrived neutrality that doesn't fool him at all.

"I wish you had told me I was an uncle, Remus," he says, feigning innocence. "I won't lie, I'm impressed you were able to keep this from me for so long. But it doesn't matter now. I know about the twins you managed to beget with the Wolverine and hide from me. Your son was eaten by a monster a month ago, but look at your daughter all grown up! She's the spitting image of you, you know. I could tell who she was at once. And look at that, father and daughter reunited. What do you say to finding them, hmm? One big happy family?"

There's a moment of heavy silence, which Romulus enjoys with relish.

And then-

Without further ado, Remus sprints across the room and jumps through the glass window. Clearly, she feared Romulus would try to stop her if she took a more conventional exit.

Essex appears from behind the secret door he had been listening to the conversation through. "Should I summon the guards?" he asks laconically.

Romulus settles back in his armchair, well pleased. "No, let her go," he replies. He smiles to himself. "For now."