Categories > Movies > X-Men: The Movie > Days of the Phoenix


by Plutospawn 0 reviews

The golden haired playboy chuckled. "I gave up on being 'brilliant' a long time ago," he replied. "I much prefer the shape of a woman's hip to the shape of a DNA strand."

Category: X-Men: The Movie - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Action/Adventure - Characters: Cyclops - Published: 2005-09-01 - Updated: 2005-09-02 - 1487 words

"Stars and garters!" Henry McCoy jolted upright in his seat, a look of horror on his face.
"What's wrong?" Warren rushed to his side and tried to peer over the doctor's shoulder at his work.
Hank buried his face into an oversized hand. "I forgot to call Trish," he lamented. "I'm doomed."
Warren smirked. "You know, Dr. McCoy, you're a grown man. You're allowed to swear."
"Yes, I'm sure the lady will allow me to do many things: Grovel, plead, beg." Hank sighed. "As long as I'm thoroughly pathetic and humiliated in the process. Tell me, Warren, how does the most sought after bachelor on the East Coast keep the women pleased while also being a brilliant biochemist?"
The golden haired playboy chuckled. "I gave up on being 'brilliant' a long time ago," he replied. "I much prefer the shape of a woman's hip to the shape of a DNA strand."
"Point taken," Hank grumbled. "At any rate, I think it's rather safe to assume that Trish will kill me the next time I see her so we should try to decipher these MRIs."
"It's nothing that I haven't already seen before," Warren replied bitterly.
"As my assistant, I request that you never try to assist me in feeling warm and tingly." The left corner of Hanks mouth twitched up in a smirk. "However, I would like your assistance in hypothesizing as to what it is that let your appendages grow back even after you had them surgically removed."
"I don't know," Warren murmured. "Maybe because it's in my blood, a part of my DNA, they could continue to sprout no matter how many times I have them amputated. What do you think?"
"I think many things, most of which wouldn't interest you," Hank muttered. "But I think we should examine the area directly around your growths first then toy with your DNA if we get no results."
"I'm beginning to think it's useless." Warren sighed. "Besides, aren't you interested in Rachel's limbs now?"
"That I am." Hank stood. He flipped open a book on his desk, examined it, snapped it shut and placed it in a nearby box. "Unfortunately, all my data on Rachel is at Xavier's lab right now. Of course, we should be packing, not letting the marvels of science get the better of us."
"If you say so." Warren placed a folder into the box.
Hank's thick brows furrowed and he opened his mouth to reply. The knock on the door interrupted any comment that he may have had. He raised a finger to Warren to hold his thought. Hank walked to the door and opened it. He came face to face with a livid Trish.
Instantly, the witty biochemist transformed into milquetoast. Hank's feet shuffled on the linoleum floor and his lips trembled in an uncertain smile. Trish's eyes scorched holes into her lover.
"Trish, hi!" Hank had devolved to little more than a gibbering idiot. "I had been meaning to call you, really."
"Dr. McCoy, I was just about to take my lunch break," Warren said. "I'll see you in an hour."
Warren snagged his leather jacket from the coat hook and slipped out the door. Hank shot his assistant a look akin to a wounded man whose comrades just abandoned him to a pack of ravenous wolves.
"You're feeling well, I take it?" Henry McCoy's face was a mask of calm, save for the darting eyes and sweat beading at his brow.
"Four days, Hank?" Trish's hands were firmly propped on her hips. "I could understand not calling the night you abandoned me at the restaurant, but four days? You completely vanished for four entire days. You didn't call me, didn't answer my calls, nothing! I had to go to Senator Kelly's fundraising gala by myself! Where were you?"
"Trish, it was a medical emergency-"
"It was a medical emergency four days ago. All I needed was a phone call," Trish countered. "What happened?"
"A girl was involved in a car accident. That was the emergency." Hank sighed.
Trish's eyes widened. She opened her mouth, but Hank shushed her with a raised finger.
"No it's okay, the girl's fine. But when I ran some standard blood work, some interesting things came up." He gave her a sheepish grin. "I was completely enthralled."
"So what are you doing now?" Trish had long ago perfected her pout and it worked murderously on Hank. "I don't see your car accident girl anywhere, unless she's hiding in a closet."
"Moving," Hank said. He proceeded to pack a notebook into a box.
"What?" Trish demanded.
"I'm moving," Hank repeated. "I got an offer to continue my work in Westchester. The lab is far superior to this one, so I accepted."
"You just decide to up and leave without even discussing it with me?" Trish took hold of Hank's arm.
"Westchester is still very close to the city. I didn't think it would matter to you." Hank nervously toyed with Trish's hair. "It doesn't change anything between us."
"I take it your mind's made up then," she sighed.
"I'm very excited." He had a child-like glint in his eyes.
"I have a few hours before I have to get back," Trish said. "I'll help you pack."
"You are wonderful, Trish Tilby," Hank replied.
Trish rolled her eyes and began to stuff files into a box. The couple packed in silence. They started to pick through Hank's dusty medical books and slides. Hank skimmed through stacks of scribbled over notebooks, saved some and threw others out. Even as the boxes were becoming filled, the lab still looked a cluttered mess.
Hank pulled a rag out of a drawer and began to wipe the countertops down. Trish continued packing. She picked up one particular file that was covered with Hank's near illegible doctor's hand. Trish eyed it curiously and flipped through the contents, her lips in a troubled frown.
"Hank, what's this?" she asked quietly.
"Doctor nonsense, I assume." He set the rag down. "Why?"
"The problematic X-gene is pinpointed as the cause of mutants." Trish turned the page of the report with an angry jerk of her arm. "So far the sample DNA has proved resilient to any experimentation."
"Trish, I was hoping that you wouldn't find out about this..." Hank swallowed hard as he stared at the floor.
He tried frantically to form the right words, to make her understand. Trish could very well hate him afterwards, Hank was willing to accept that, it was as much as he deserved. But she needed to at least understand. Henry McCoy was no monster, at least, he didn't want to be, one couldn't control the way they were born. He looked into Trish's eyes for what he figured would be the last time, tried to take notice of every shape, color and curve that made her, her. Beautiful and soon to be gone forever.
"Hoping that I wouldn't find out what?" Trish said coldly. "That while I thought you were a kind, compassionate human being behind my back you were a prejudiced, black-hearted creep that was planning genocide?"
"A what?" Hank's glasses slid down his nose.
"What made you decide to hate mutants?" she demanded. "It's a born condition. Why did you decide that mutants were problematic and not kids with Down Syndrome?"
"You think I hate mutants?" Hank stammered.
"I don't see why else you'd be toying with DNA trying to cure the mutant problem," Trish retorted.
Hank took a deep breath. "Trish, I-"
"Save it," she interrupted him. "We're through."
"You don't understand," Hank protested.
"I understand enough." Trish turned away from him and opened the door.
"I'm a mutant," Hank whispered softly.
Trish laughed and shook her head. Hank desperately wished that she would turn around so he could see the expression on her face.
"You honestly expect me to believe that?" she asked.
"It's true," he admitted. "I've been trying to figure out how to tell you, but it was always easier to put it off."
Trish turned to face him, her eyebrow was raised skeptically. "What do you do?"
"I have big hands," Hank said. "Big feet. But I don't really do anything. I'm just different. Most of the information in that file is based off of my own blood samples."
"You're not lying, are you?" she murmured.
Hank shook his head sadly. The way the large, muscular man looked so helpless, scared her.
"So you won't irradiate me or set me on fire if I get too close?" Trish asked.
Hank shrugged. "There's only one way to find out," he said.
Trish came towards him and her face softened. She reached for his face and pushed his glasses back up his nose. Hank felt her small arms circle around his neck and he leaned forward into the embrace. He nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck and inhaled her warmth.
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