WHO: Hope Van Dyne, Scott Lang WHEN: Tonight WHERE: Hope & Scott room. WHAT: Hope & Scott find out the other is there. It goes about as well as you'd think. WARNINGS: Not many.
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He just wanted to flop down on whatever nature of mattress they’d assigned him. It didn’t matter what state it was in, or where it was. Chalk it up to the sharing is caring way that prison worked, and… well, after prison and living with Luis. There wasn’t any privacy for the last 3 years, so who really cared if it started now? As long as the roommate wasn’t -- or roommates weren’t -- the kind that borrowed your toothbrush, then everything was about as fine as everything could be in the current state of the union.
Bed. Crash. Wake up possibly in a few hours, and if the world was still insane… well, he’d deal with it then.
Scott squinted at the scrap of paper upon which was scribbled his assigned housing number, then blinked at the door in front of him. This looked about right. The key reader clicked satisfactorily, too, so unless the security system was borked, then he was at least making some progress. A vague note of the central living area was made, but Scott passed right through. There was a bed waiting, and he sailed straight through the open door on the right, and then…
Then he stopped. For as weird as a day as he’d been having, it was only getting weirder. But at least he knew the woman who was already inside the inner room. What she was doing here? He didn’t know. But he silently laid his dufflebag of all his worldly possessions down, and stared. Not at her, no -- at what she looked to be staring at herself. He had to have missed something major, since the last time he’d seen Hope, she definitely did not own a super swanky tech suit. Hank Pym seemed really set on denying his daughter that one.
When she was focused, really focused, Hope could think and see and focus without coming across as daydreaming about something else. She could walk and talk and chew gum all at the same time, and yet, it slipped her mind that Scott Lang had just walked in. Chalk it up to being here only a few days, and in some ways, this dark, dank, antiquated place reminded her a lot of her parents' house. Maybe that would be her excuse for sparing him a glance over her shoulder before returning to the suit.
"Rough day at the office, honey?" If it sounded like sarcasm, that's because it was. Last time she saw Scott, he'd hightailed it out of the house after telling her father that she'd thrown herself at him. At least Hank was smart enough not to believe it. Her arms unconsciously folded across her chest, a stance that Scott would be all too familiar with. "Wanna tell me all about it?"
This was some Wonderland-level, drug-induced world. They were in the future, underground, Hope was here, with a suit, and then his daughter --
There were limits on how much a guy could rationally explain. Scott had just adopted the approach of letting everything further roll off like beads of rain on a duck’s feathers. He trained his sights on the suit, and then pointed at it as if she wouldn’t know what he was currently perplexed by. “That’s…” He searched his vocabulary, and selected the first thing that sounded about right. “New. Also, hi. Hey, you didn’t happen to notice that everything stopped making sense? Nothing’s making sense.”
"New. Also not functional. Not yet," came her remark before the whole nothing's making sense bit. That seemed to snap her out of her work-focus. The line of her shoulders loosened, just a little, as she turned to look at him. Her arms were still crossed.
A second later, a hand rose, followed by a finger pointing upward. "Oh, right. Universe jumping. It's a theory Hank —" My dad. "Had been working on. Never made the leap — in this case literally — but he worked on those theories. The Quantum Realm was just one of many he'd suspected. So. Yeah. Not so much a hypothetical here. They tell you it's 2150? 'Cause it's 2150."
“Uh huh,” Scott answered, more because he didn’t know what else to say. It was a good, solid reply when you had the sneaking suspicion that you should be a lot more worried about that bit of news, but it was miles above where you mentally climb. “Yeah -- yeah, they mentioned that.” Seriously, this had to be something that happened when your dad was half mad scientist. Hope was made of some unflappable stuff. Scott himself felt he was made of something a little more flappable, but with a positive and can-do attitude when the time called for it. Right now, he wasn’t sure where that particular methodology went to, but he also wasn’t sure which revelation was worth more of a double-take. Future universe jump. New suit. His and Hope’s paths colliding right here, right now.
Finally, he dropped his dufflebag down by the bed that looked as-yet-untouched. He perched on the mattress edge, looking at Hope for a long second. “Looks sleek,” he offered, by way of a compliment and something passable as conversation; he gestured towards the suit. A moment after that, he dropped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.
"Scott." Hope forgot about the suit, for just an instant, while she stared at him on the other bed. His bag was there, too. It was the one that Hope was familiar with, though there were times she wanted to kick that damn thing out of whatever room it happened to be in. Hope squinted one side of her face. "Scott, why is your bag here? And who let you in?"
He narrowed his eyes slightly, then fished around his pocket for the key, which he held up triumphantly. This was the one thing that had made sense. Get a key, open a door, go inside. No one could rob that success from him. “The key did, and that bag is everything that someone thought I could use in the future. Considering I don’t remember packing it. At all.”
There was a pause. He closed his eyes. “This is your room, isn’t it?” Of course it was. Her suit was hanging on the wall.
Her arms unceremoniously slumped from their spot against her chest to smack the sides of her legs. They'd dumped Scott Lang in a room with her. Were they running low on entertainment around here? Well, yes, that much was clear given the lack of televisions, computers, and windows.
"Yeah, it's my room, but by all means…" She held out her hands, indicating the entire room. Hope dropped her gaze to his bag. "That your suit?"
“Thanks,” Scott returned, even knowing she was only speaking sarcastically. He’d gotten comfortable, anyway, so if she meant to throw him out, she’d have more luck doing that in an hour or two. Once he felt like facing the future all over, and he got on his own feet of his own volition. Besides, the room key said this was the right place, so maybe there wasn’t actually anywhere else to go. He gave the ceiling a humored grin the moment his brain reached the same conclusion Hope had reached a second earlier. They had thrown them together as roommates.
“What? The bag?” he asked, having the vague sense she was referring to that. “Yeah. It’s in there with a few other things.” An elbow was thrust underneath him, and Scott hoisted himself up to look at Hope. “Why? Is that important?”
She leaned against the three-quarter wall between the beds and once again folded her arms across her chest. Hope's entire demeanor clearly stated that she thought he was an idiot for asking that question. She didn't say it, but there was no mistaking it. May as well have stamped it on her forehead (if her bangs weren't in the way).
"This is a hostile environment, in a universe we've never been, with natives who aren't interested in co-existing — for the most part — so ask me again, Scott. Is it important that you have the suit here?"
Scott dipped his chin into his chest, and the words absorbed enough for the answer to pretty self-apparent. “Fair enough,” he replied. In another movement, he swung his legs out again and righted himself to sit upright once more. From there, he let his hands dig into his face, palms rubbing at his eyes. Slowly, slowly things were dawning on him that hadn’t before.
“How long have you been here? Listen, I -- it’s not adding up. We talked yesterday. You were definitely on the other end of that phone call because I could feel you roll your eyes a few times.” His hands dropped away, and Scott furrowed his brows. “...and it felt a little like right now, actually,” he added.
"I remember the phone call. But I've been here for a few days now. Staring at this damn suit, trying to figure out how I'm supposed to piece it together from whatever scrap and tech they've got around here." Hope moved to sit next to him on the bed. It was bad enough having him living in the same house, now they had them living in the same room.
She tucked her fists under her chin and tilted her face so that she could look at him as she spoke. "I wouldn't even try to make sense of it. Apparently people can show up anytime, from any point in their timeline." She paused. "Captain America, Thor, Iron Man, and the Hulk are here. So's your favorite Avenger, Falcon."
A few days. Scott blew out a sigh, since it didn’t feel like a slow release would make any difference. His life had been turned upside-down the day Hank Pym took an interest, and he’d made his peace with that one. But this was a whole new level of what-the-hell, and it came with Avengers. “Okay -- okay, no. This is easy. I’ll just play it casual, and maybe he won’t even know me without the helmet on. There are plenty of Scotts in the world. ...Worlds?” Scott shrugged.
“But that can be dealt with later. Because right now --” He looked around the room. Right now what? Silence filled the room for a few seconds. “I didn’t think ahead that far.”
"You look like you got hit by a Mack truck." Blunt as ever, she wasn't completely unsympathetic. She hadn't taken the universe hopping inasmuch stride as she was pretending to now. She studied his face as he talked, hoping it would give away something other than quips. "Look, I've been talking with people, and they say that no one's found a way to get back, so we have two choices. We can freak out and worry until we've worried ourselves into a hole, or we can work together and make the best of things."
If they were lucky, Hank Pym would show up, and then it would be a matter of days before they were back home. Hope leaned to the side until she bumped her arm and shoulder against his. "You've got your suit. I've got — half a suit and my ant communicator. Worse comes to worse, we blow this popsicle stand and take our chances on our own."
“Probably because getting hit by stuff is one of my talents, and they always go for the face. Side note that didn’t seem to bother you before,” Scott pointed out, giving Hope a wide smile. Whatever she wanted to act like, there was no taking that kiss back. It happened, and it was concrete in their history now, no matter what followed.
But he sobered up enough to focus on what she was saying. “You know, I get that it’s 2150, but this is all really, really progressive. Move in together, run away together -- I’m not even joking right now, but you’re sure we need to be talking about that? There’s… I think there’s some people here worth getting to know at least. Worth being around for…” Cassie. Or at least a Cassie. That particular realization softened his expression. “I’ve had all of about three hours of lucid thought, Hope.”
Hope froze. He was referring to them, that kiss. The one he pawned off as her responsibility to her father. Hank had seen right through it (he was smart), but like Scott, she thought it was something that happened. It sort of hung there between them. She could feel that on the phone call as well. It was history though, too. One kiss did not a relationship make either.
A small piece of history that they could just forget happened, as far as she was concerned. She rolled her eyes and pushed herself to her feet. "I'm not talking about whatever —" she gestured wildly between them. "— that was. I'm talking about you know I'm not evil, I know you're not evil. We don't know if these people are evil. Just because they've taken us in and given us a place to stay doesn't mean they have good intentions."
Her expression slowly grew more and more sour as she talked. "But if you want, I'll be more than happy to go back to kicking your ass."
Scott’s eyes drifted to the side of Hope’s face. It wouldn’t be the first or last time his mouth had gotten him on her bad side, but it must’ve really been a lousy few days alone here if she wasn’t even cracking the smallest smile to see him. He thought he’d earned at least that much. A hand reached up to scratch at his cheek, though he flipped it palm up to indicate surrender. “No, no. I’m good. Points taken,” he told her, bringing his focus back to the really unforgiving look she was shooting him.
He followed Hope’s example, shoving himself up to standing. A few steps brought him face to helmet with the mounted suit. A glance was sent over his shoulder towards her. “You’ll need help,” he ventured, knowing she couldn’t get mad over that. Truth was truth.
"Hank. He was supposed to help me with it. We were going to work on it together." It had been a very awesome moment for her, when her father realized that she was more than capable, that she wanted to do this. That there were bad guys out there that needed to be dealt with.She could think of one HYDRA goon who ran off with Cross's particle that would need to be picked up. Hope could do none of that here.
The truth was, she could have used the sight of a familiar face. She wasn't eager to talk relationship shop, but a hug or some kind of comfort might have been nice. She'd been on edge since she'd gotten here, and she'd grow accustomed to some level of intimacy with the men in her life, especially since she and Hank had that breakthrough. But she just shrugged. "I don't have any of the parts we'd need. No welders tools, none of it."
Brows raised, Scott half-turned. He’d just assumed she’d banged out some of this on her own, or with some help, but that sounded an awful lot like… maybe this was a suit that had existed. Her mother’s suit. God, no wonder she was on edge. And he was an idiot for not catching that as a possibility.
“I have a few things we could use.” In a quick movement, he stooped to hook his bag and dump it on the bed. Out came a few of his burgling tools, the Ant-Man helmet, a few other tools. “Look, I might not be on your dad’s level, but I know my way around stuff like this.” He pulled out a granola bar, and gave it a perplexed look. Where it came from, he had no idea. He wasn’t a fan of the kind with almonds in it. It was tossed to the side. “You want help? Let’s do this,” he told her, holding out his voltage tester.
His suit. They could probably reverse engineer the missing parts of hers. Figure out suitable — pun intended — upgrades even by tinkering with Hank's original plans. Hope knew this was a prototype, and knowing both of her parents, it was bigger and better than the previous suit. Hope's eyes lit up as she reached out for the Ant-Man suit. She was more than familiar with this tech, but she'd never worked on it. She'd watched Darren struggle with the particles and only oversaw the Yellowjacket prototype.
"I don't even know what all this can do. If Hank was here, he could tell me, so I think we're just going to have to figure it out on our own." She glanced at Scott, wondering if he was up for this kind of testing. The complications from it could be disasterous. Hope was more than determined to keep going though. "You up for it?"
Maybe something like this was better medicine than crashing for a few hours. His element was breaking into stuff that wasn’t meant to be broken into, so why not? Scott gave Hope a nod. “What? You’re doubting my committment now? You’d think I proved I’m good for just about anything after the last team outing.”
He wriggled his shoulders out of his jacket, then threw it onto the bed beside the discarded granola bar. “C’mon. We’ll dig in, and you can fill in the blanks about who and what’s really going on in this place.”
Hope laid the suit down with care before returning her attention to Scott Lang. The thief Scott Lang, who broke into her father's house, then returned what he'd stolen the next day. The same one who struggled with moral quandaries of how to pay to see his daughter? "Before Ant-Man, when was the last time you were committed — and stayed committed — to something?"
“I told myself everyday after I was arrested that I’d get out and see my daughter again,” Scott answered, stepping towards the suit on the wall and turning on the voltage meter. “Wouldn’t you know, I’m kind of back in that same boat again,” he added, more as an afterthought, before finishing (with a pause to look over at Hope), “You’d be surprised what people’ll do when they find something they care about.”
It wasn't exactly shame that saw Hope's face tilt downward, to glance at something else on the suit so that she wouldn't have to meet Scott's eye. But it wasn't not shame either. How long had she spent being angry at first father for what happened to her mother? How much time could have been spent with each other, instead of fueling Hope's anger and resentment. She saw that now, as she heard Scott talking about his daughter. Time was the only thing that you couldn't fight against, and nothing could sway how she'd frozen her own father out. Or taken back her deciding vote to boot her father from the company. All of these things were immutable. Not like the future, though, but now she was here in this world. She'd never get to repair the relationship with her father if he wasn't here, and time moved ever onward.
"She's not here?" she ventured with a somewhat softer tone and expression when she looked back to him. "I mean, she didn't come with you?"
“It was just me,” Scott answered, although he was busying his focus on figuring out where to start prodding at Hope’s suit. He stopped, though, dropping his arms to his side and pivoting around to lean against the wall. “I met a teenager, though. Her name is Cassie Lang… works in the medical area. Yeah, it’s been a day full of surprises since that moment. ‘Cause either I missed a lot of birthdays, or this other world thing is legit.” Hope had asked, and the words were more or less cascading out now. Nothing opened that tap like Cassie did. “And if that’s the case, there’s a Scott Lang out there trying to figure out how to get his baby girl back, safe and sound. So, how about we get rolling on this, and maybe something will point a way home?”
"I'll help you get back to her. I promise." Hope felt like someone had just stuck a pin in her, and she was slowly deflating. Whenever Scott talked about his daughter, Hope always found herself liking him more and more, despite herself. She'd really misjudged him so badly. She thought he was one of those crusaders who cared about nothing but the cause, and while causes were all well and good, it lacked the personal touch. Which is what Hope felt she always lacked these last almost-thirty years.
Instinctively, she reached out and rubbed Scott's shoulder before nodding and turning her attention back to the task at hand. "The fabric material is going to be the hardest thing to come by, I think."