xp_logs | Hank and Quentin

xp_beast posting in

Q and Hank run into each other in the woods. Hank learns what 'shade' is and they arrange a biochemistry tutoring session. There was always a stretch during his runs now where Hank would drop to all fours and sprint through the woods using both his hands and feet. He knew it was wrong, made him look like some sort of lesser ape, but when it felt so right it was hard to fight it. Like it or not, his mutation had changed more than just the size of his appendages and he was slowly learning just how futile it was to try and fight it.

He only chose to do it when there was no one else in sight, however - no matter how hard he tried to work on accepting the new way of things it was doubly difficult with another pair of eyes on him. It made for a lot of quick dashes behind trees when he heard other people approaching, and on this particularly sunny day he did just that when the crack of a twig alerted him that he was no longer alone on the path that wound its way through the mansion's wooded exterior.

Some day, Quentin would have actual visible abs. His uncontrollable drinking and weed habits were but speed bumps in the way, and the only way to overcome them was to exercise even in the oppressive summer heat. (The mere thought of modifying those habits were easily dismissible.) And though he would never find this as easy as Kyle or Clint did, much less Gabriel, he observed his own improvement over time. He was up to a full mile and a half now before needing to slow down. A familiar presence pinged in his dead as he rounded the bend, and Hank came into view after a few more yards.

"Let me guess, you're doing field work?" Quentin asked, plucking out an earbud as he approached. "Don't see any test tubes, though."

"I, er..." Hank brushed a hand down his front, where a few stray pieces of grass and leaves still clung. "That's a very amusing pun. But no, I'm just out exercising, like you seem to be. I admit I'm somewhat surprised - I didn't take you for a runner."

"Why does everyone say that?" Quentin asked rhetorically, wiping sweat from his brow with the hem of his tank top. But he was grinning. "I was beginning to think you're the vampire. How long's it been since you last saw sunlight?"

"I make sure to take a full suite of supplements to ensure I get the necessary dosage of vitamin D," Hank replied somewhat defensively, "and besides, I go outside every day I have classes, which is most of them. Sue doesn't let me stay in the labs for for than a few days at a time - she's very strict."

"Look at that, we have something in common," Quentin mused delightedly. He spun the cord of the earbud around a finger and leaned against the tree behind him. "Not Storm telling us what to do. I mean, being more than just cerebral."

"Er yes, well, even if I did desire to be nothing but an intellectual I don't think my mutation would allow me to spend my entire life cloistered inside."

Quentin examined Hank, partly a curious assessment of how his mutation affected his body (much clearer now that he wasn't wrapped up in a white lab coat), and of course partly to appreciate him in his workout outfit. "Do you actually enjoy running? Lot of people do it because, you know, it's something to do, but they don't actually like it."

"'Enjoy' is perhaps not quite the word for it," Hank said slowly. "It feels... right to do it, and yet giving in to such a bestial urge is also very discomfiting." He had never admitted this aloud to anyone and briefly wondered why he was doing so to Quentin of all people, but he reasoned that the other man was a telepath and could've just plucked this all out of his head if he wanted to. "So while I absolutely feel the need the emotions surrounding the act are far more complicated than simple enjoyment."

"You sound like Gibney. You know him? Claws, well-groomed body hair, kinda animalistic . . . especially in bed." That last bit Quentin added softly, but made sure he was still loud enough for Hank to hear. "His mutation is all physical, too. Gets him out doing stuff. Feels like he's got to."

"I..." It took Hank a moment to gather his thoughts. "I suppose it's not uncommon. Not that I assumed it was. Does your mutation have any, ah, requirements?"

The telepath shook his head. "Not as such. But sometimes when the voices in my head get too loud and I just wanna be left alone, I get myself fucked up. Quiets things down. I mean, I don't make a habit of intruding" — always a disclaimer people wanted to hear, as tired as he was to repeat it all the time — "but some people think so fucking loud and can't shut the hell up."

"I suppose running is useful for that purpose as well. Getting out of your head - and other people's."

"'Til you somehow find the only other person on the trail. But at least some minds are more pleasant than others." Quentin lifted himself off the tree and sauntered forward a couple of steps, still twirling his earbud cord. "How's your flow cytometry going? Titrated your antibodies yet?"

Hank couldn't help but look surprised; he hoped Quentin wasn't too offended. "Yes, the project is coming along well, thank you. I've had to set it aside in favour of completing some coursework but hopefully I'll be able to return to it shortly, as the results were quite promising. If you ever wanted to know more I'd be happy to take you through it, it's really quite fascinating..."

It only made Quentin laugh. "Don't be so shocked, McCoy. I listened to every word you said. I may have had to Google what 'titration' means after I left, but I still heard you. You should tell me more."

"I'd like that. And my apologies for the scientific jargon; I will attempt to use more accessible terminology in the future. Sharing a lab with Reed has spoiled me in that regard."

"Maybe over some drinks?" Quentin suggested with a mischievous grin. "You know, part of being an effective scientist is being able to actually explain it to the plebs so we get what you're doing and why it's not a complete waste of time. Why else would those dreadful TED Talks be so popular?"

"I assumed because people like boiled-down soundbytes presented in an eye-catching and non-threatening way so as to minimise the actual thinking they have to do."

"McCoy!" Quentin gasped, putting his hand over his heart, as if his heart were palpitating. "Did you just throw shade?"

Hank glanced around himself in a confused fashion, brows furrowed. "I... pardon?"

"Oh, honey." Quentin shook his head and clucked his tongue as he stepped forward so he was close enough to pitifully pat Hank's broad shoulder. He let his hand linger for a couple moments. "You still have so much to learn."

"I suppose I ought to, if I'm to be communicating with the layperson. You'll have to tutor me."

"Think of it this way. The stuff Tesla said about Edison after Edison died? That subtle, almost-in-your-face-but-not-quite criticism accompanied by a couple backhanded compliments? That's shade."

"Ah, I see," Hank said, nodding knowingly. "I have to admit, though, that wasn't my intention."

"Which makes it even better, almost. By the end of this relationship, I'll have a PhD myself and you'll be reading people to filth left and right. You still got more on your run or're you going in?"

"Going in, I think. I've had enough cardiovascular activity for today."

So tempting to make a bawdy reply, but Quentin wouldn't push it. Instead, he lifted his shirt to wipe his sweaty face again, and seemed to have forgotten to let it drop back down again. "Well, you let me know when my first class is, professor. I'll be there."

Hank nodded somewhat distractedly, nearly tripping over a tree root as he maneuvered back onto the path. "Yes, of course. I believe I have your email. I'll send you an appointment."