The One Who Knocks

Posted on Sat Aug 10th, 2024 @ 6:51pm by Scott Summers & Hank McCoy

Mission: Episode 5: Days of Fortune Past
Location: X-Mansion | Danger Room
Timeline: October 13th, 1990

Hank McCoy stalked down the corridors of the X-Mansion's subbasement, his thoughts a chaotic storm of anger, frustration, and helplessness. His usually composed demeanor had shattered, now replaced by a raw, unfiltered rage that gnawed at him like a persistent, unrelenting beast. His short-sighted myopia had been laid bare in front of virtually everyone he knew and he was far from appreciative. Damn that Scott! How dare he?! And Professor Xavier who had just sat there, face-palming his way out of any obligation to intervene. In his heart of hearts, Hank knew it was more complicated than that, but at the moment he just didn't care. He had spent weeks upon weeks suppressing his feelings. Trying to suppress the ones he felt now was just not a working proposition. The world outside was a blur as he made his way to the only place where he felt he could let loose without consequences or judgment—the Danger Room.

He barely registered the whoosh of the door as it slid open. Once inside, he didn’t bother with the control panel. He didn’t need an elaborate simulation to channel his anger; the reinforced walls and training drones would suffice. With a snarl, he launched himself at the nearest target, his claws slicing through the thin sheet metal as though it were paper. Each blow, each strike, was a release, a way to vent the emotions that threatened to consume him.

But the catharsis was fleeting, and with each passing moment, Hank felt the weight of his failure pressing down on him. Mara was gone. Bobby was on the brink. Warren was completely compromised. And he, the brilliant mind, the compassionate heart, was utterly powerless. It made his blood boil.

So what if he had been obsessing over Mara? She was so good, almost too good for this world, like an angel incarnate, beset by winsome spectacles over a befreckled nose. Smart and funny and humble and charming... Hank could go on, but his heart filled near to bursting just enumerating that short list. And she was gone! Taken by villainous powers who would do what only Fate itself could conspire against a love that might never be.

Before he could fully immerse himself in the physical exertion, the door behind him slid open again, a sharp hiss that cut through the rhythmic pounding of his fists against metal. Hank froze, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he turned to see Scott standing in the doorway, his expression set in that infuriatingly calm mask he always wore.

“What do you want, Scott?” Hank’s voice was a low growl, the words dripping with barely restrained fury. “You of all people should know it's uncouth to interrupt a Danger Room session.”

Scott didn’t flinch. Instead, he stepped further into the room, letting the door close behind him with a finality that sent a clear message: there would be no easy exit from this confrontation. “We need to talk, Hank,” Scott said, his tone firm but not unkind. “You can’t keep avoiding this, so you might as well spill it.”

Hank clenched his fists, feeling the sharp sting of his claws digging into his palms. “Avoiding what, exactly? The fact that our friends are in danger? The fact that I failed them?”

“The fact that you’re letting your emotions cloud your judgment,” Scott shot back, his voice rising to match Hank's energy. “And that you’re not the only one who’s hurting.”

Hank’s eyes flashed with anger, but he held back the retort that was bubbling up inside him. He didn’t want to have this conversation—not now, not with Scott. But he knew, deep down, that there was no avoiding it. Not anymore.

"Very well, Scott..." Hank's eyes flared in anger. "... but if you want a heart-to-heart, then I must warn you at the forefront with the words of Nicholas Nickleby who said, 'Have a care, for if you do raise the devil in me, the consequences shall fall most heavily upon your own head.'"

"Speak for yourself for a change, Hank," Scott said. "Charles Dickens is dead and buried. Tell me how you really feel."

Hank let out a roar and lunged at Scott with a primal ferocity that caught Scott off guard. All he could do was duck, which failed to dodge and put them both into a roll. They tumbled together with Scott fully at Hank's mercy until they rolled to a stop with Hank's heavy bulk pinning Scott to the floor at the shoulders.

"What I think is that you can't possibly understand what I am going through!" Hank snarled through his bared fangs.

"You think so?" Scott's breathing was ragged as he fought for a deep breath and leverage with his pinned arms. "You were in the Blackbird when I found Jean. You saw what they did to her. You know what I did to get her back."

"That's just it!" Hank seethed. For a second, Scott slipped an arm free, but Hank's powerful arm slammed it down the floor and pinned it at the wrist before continuing. "You got Jean back. I never had Mara in the first place! Don't you tell me you understand! You don't because you can't!"

Scott nodded. "Maybe..."

While he had Hank focused on his arms, Scott had wriggled one leg free enough to slip it to one side. He pitched it sideways, bent the knee, and then put his heel into Hank's ribs to force him aside. Hank's bulk shifted, allowing Scott to get his knee up and use it as a pivot point beneath Hank's chest to force Hank up even more. And then Scott took full control. His outside leg came up and wrapped around Hank's massive shoulder until it slid down to pin his arm against his side at the bicep. Hank spun around on the ground to avoid the trap which Scott used to ride him to the top mounting position.

"Or maybe you're too busy feeling sorry for yourself to see that you have a family here who feels exactly the same way you do."

Hank tried to push Scott off, but Scott deflected the shove and countered with a grapple. He slid both legs around the shoulder of Hank's dominant arm, fell to one side, and set Hank's arm into a Key Lock. It took both of Scott's arms to pry Hank's one arm into hyperextension.

"Let go of me!!!" Hank shouted through the fiery pain of his elbow being pushed to the point of breaking.

"You attacked me, Hank," Scott replied as calmly as his grunting allowed. "Why should I let go?"

"Because! Because..." But there was no reason that came to mind. Scott's simple question posed an undefeatable argument. He had subdued Hank and rightly so. Hank had behaved as the animal many saw him to be, both aggressively now and passively in his earlier stupor. "I don't know."

Once the admission passed his lips, Hank closed his eyes and fought back the tears that he'd held for so long. "I don't know! I don't know anything anymore, Scott!"

With Hank's arm gone slack, Scott relaxed the hold but did not release it. He waited to see what more Hank would say first. "Keep going."

"I am empty inside!" Hank bellowed a loud and low cry from the depths of his soul. And yet he felt nothing besides the sensation itself. "Who I was before the abduction? My dreams, my passions, even my fears and terrors... they're adrift from me, a distant cluster of knowledge rather than the personal feelings I once held in clutch. Mara was all I had. She helped me remember who I used to be. I've only ever felt alive when she was near. And she never knew! I have wasted myself away along with my one chance at happiness." He pulled against Scott's Key Lock. "Break it! I don't care! Finish me if you can!"

Scott was grateful he had relented, otherwise Hank may have hurt himself. He released the arm lock and scampered away, for now Hank was more of a danger to himself than to Scott. "Stow that kind of talk," Scott said. "We both know I'm doing no such thing."

"Why was I ever born?!" Hank roared from a fetal position.

"That's for you to decide," Scott said, not sure what else to say. "I'm sure it wasn't for you to lay here and cry like a baby."

Now that he'd had a second wind, Hank's anger flared again. He jumped up and lunged at Scott, throwing one blow after another in a flurry of slashes. "What should I do, Scott? Jump into bed with a younger student to take my mind off Mara?"

That was a low blow. Scott grit his teeth, jumped sideways, and stuck him with a lateral kick below the ribs straight to the liver. "I did what I did and I can't take it back," he said. "But if someone had given me the hard talk beforehand, maybe things would've different."

"Such hubris!" Hank limped for a moment, clutching his side as he tried to remain standing. Liver shots were as debilitating as shots to the groin. "Perhaps you would have remained faithful to Jean if only someone had kicked you around the Danger Room! Spare me your self-righteous elegies, Scott."

Scott dropped his fighting stance and dared to approach Hank in a vulnerable position. "I'm not trying to fight or lecture you, Hank. I'm trying to help you."

"You aren't the leader anymore, Scott. You forfeited that, as I recall." Hank was just being cruel now, but the anger in his heart wouldn't stop flowing.

"No, I'm not," Scott agreed. "I'm your friend."

"Then as my friend, leave me be!" Hank turned away and gave Scott his back.

"I'll go if you want," Scott said, "but first answer one question. You tell me why you're here, Hank. What are you going to make of yourself? Because this isn't cutting it for anyone."

Hank snarled, dropped weight, and spun around, preparing ffor another lunge. Instead of dodging, Scott stepped forward and planted an open hand to Hank's throat. It was enough to stun his larynx and send the Beast to his knees ina coughing fit.

"Oh, Hank. What if we do find Mara? What if we rescue her and she decides to come back here? Are you the kind of man she'll stick around for?" Scott stood there, heaving deep breaths, shaking his head that it had come to this. "Be that man, Hank. Ignore the voices that say you aren't because I know different. You're the smartest person I know."

Hank just lowered his head, at least as far has his hands clutched around his neck would allow, and hid his face.

"You can beat whatever this is," Scott said. "But you can't do it alone. I found that out the hard way. If you want help from your friends, you know where to find us."

With nothing more to be said between them, Scott left Hank to his battered ruminations on the cold Danger Room floor. There was a twitch to his otherwise stoic face. This was a problem that probably wasn't going away soon.

For his part, Hank's wheezing turned to normal breathing, but that didn't calm him any. What had they become? Even with most of them accounted for, they had not been recovered. Not even remotely. Rather than rise to his feet, Hank let his face sink to the floor where he wept openly.