I do not own X-Men: Days of Future Past.

I do not own Beast, Hank, or Nicholas Hoult.

In Between

Chapter 1: Numbers and Pancakes

Henry Phillip "Hank" McCoy walked alone through the silent halls of the vast mansion.

It was quiet.

It almost always was now.

It hadn't always been so.

After she had left with Erik and Charles had recovered sufficiently from his crippling bullet wound, they and the others had begun "Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters".

Using Cerebro as before, they had carefully searched out mutant children to bring to the school. Children whose parents, though they loved them, needed help from people. People who understood their strange offspring and could help them control and understand their sometimes terrifying abilities.

They had also found a few select people to help them. To teach the children, cook the food, clean the mansion, provide guidance and support.

It was almost like what a permanent summer camp would be like if it was a year round thing. He supposed anyway. He'd never had gone to camp. They made you take off your shoes in front of people there.

Hank had been a scientist still. That was where he was most comfortable. In a lab. Surrounded by his friends. Bubbling beakers, technology, charts, schematics. Hypothesis and theories and scientific research.

Thoughts of her.

Every time he caught sight of his blue form, blue fur, orange eyes, whether in a mirror or just reaching out his hand, he was reminded of her.

Raven.

Her blue DNA, his adamant desperation, had made him permanently blue. And furry.

Raven.

Except now she wanted to be called Mystique.

He'd decided he'd call her anything she liked if she would only come back. If she would only quit her mission with Erik, her mission driven by fear and hate, and come back.

Of course, she never did.

She was very absolute. Once she believed in something, she followed it to the end.

It was something he admired and respected about her.

And was afraid would get her killed some day.

Of course, Charles had sent young scholars to him who showed aptitude and interest for the sciences. And would not scoff at his blue fur and simian-like appearance.

Hank, ever the accommodating, congenial, blue-furred creature he was, dutifully met with them. Talked with them. Showed them experiments and theories he thought they could work with. Nothing too intense or dangerous.

His own personal serum, for example. That particular project never saw the light of day or any other time that people might be around. Only in the dead of night would he hesitantly bring it out and toy with it hopefully.

Most students came and went pretty regularly.

One little girl, no more than eight, followed him everywhere like a little puppy. She had short brown hair and vibrant green eyes. Her name was Chloe and she was a telekinetic. Hank suspected she had a form of dyslexia because whenever she was given a number no matter how simple or complex, she would inevitably write or say it backward.

One day he turned to her as she was pretending she wasn't following him.

"Chloe, why are you following me?"

She shuffled around on her tiny sneakered feet as though trying to invent a suitable reason. Finally, she shrugged.

"I just wanted to touch your hair."

"It's fur," he corrected automatically but not unkindly.

"Fur," she amended.

He hesitated, then knelt down and held out his hand. She shuffled a moment more and moved toward him. Putting her tiny hand in his large claw, her face expressed a sense of childish wonder. Then broke into the largest, brightest smile Hank had ever seen.

"It's soft! And warm!" she whispered excitedly. "You're like a living teddy bear!"

On impulse, he bared his teeth for her consideration. She stared at them, riveted.

"Teddy bears don't have teeth like this though," he murmured with resignation.

She grinned even broader if that was possible.

"The ones that protect kids do! I'd never have another scary dream again!"

Hank broke his solemn countenance and chuckled before he realized he'd done so.

"126," he said without warning.

"621," she replied automatically.

She continued stroking his blue fur between the elbow and wrist. He wasn't used to being touched. But she reminded him of his little sister. Or would have if he'd had one. His parents had chosen not to have any more children after discovering his unique baby monkey feet. He wondered if a little sister would have been like this.

Then he had a thought.

"Do you like pancakes?" he asked suddenly.

She looked confused.

"Yeah, who doesn't?"

He smiled.

"Have you seen people make them?"

She shook her head.

"Come on," he said and turned back the way they had come.

They went to the kitchen which was vacant for the moment. Hank got out pancake mix and other various ingredients. Chloe helped organize everything, her curiosity peaked.

When the griddle was ready and everything was mixed and prepared, Hank stood with a black spatula in one hand. He gestured to Chloe and, with her mind, she carefully poured the pancake batter onto the hot surface. The pale, liquid circle bubbled within the minute.

"672," Hank said.

"276," Chloe replied.

Hank shook his head and Chloe's entire countenance fell.

"Picture the number in your head," he said patiently. "Got it?"

She stared at the pancake for a moment, then looked back at him expectantly.

"Flip the pancake."

She did and looked up at him again.

"Now flip the number in your head."

She looked down at the pancake in concentration.

"672," Hank said.

"672," Chloe repeated.

Hank grinned and nodded. She beamed and at the appropriate time, lifted the pancake with her mind and gentle deposited it onto a waiting plate.

Chloe shyly floated the pancaked plate in the air toward Hank and he took it in his large, blue furry hands.

Chloe and Hank flipped lots of pancakes and numbers that day. They even added different ingredients to different ones.

The next day, Chloe's parents, full of fear and confusion about rumors of mutant disappearances, came and took Chloe away from the school.

And she disappeared too. Hank never saw her again.

Why Chloe? Why dyscalculia, also called math dyslexia? Because I have it (can't be cured but neat little tricks like this help) and I like pancakes. My name's not Chloe though. Bummer.

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