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Hank manages to find an alleyway and duck in after a couple of blocks. It takes everything in him to calm enough to force his body back under control, the blue fur fading back down until he looks normal once more. There's a sort of sad irony to it, he thinks, that he still depends on some of the mental tricks and guidance that the Professor taught him, what seems like a million years ago now.
After that he can lose himself in the crowds, blend in while making his way through the pockets of excited, jabbering people. Hank doesn't speak French - he never bothered learning any language besides Latin, and that only for scientific purposes - but it's not hard to guess what they're saying. He and Erik and Mystiue just gave the whole world a show, between the three of them.
Earlier they'd set up a rendezvous point at the hangar, in case they got separated, or in case it went badly. Hank doesn't think any of them really expected it to go badly as it has. Hank is the first one there. He's waiting over an hour, sitting and pondering the possibility that the others might have gotten detained or caught in the rush and panic, before they finally appear. Logan is grimacing and Charles looks tight-lipped and furious.
Hank scrambles to his feet. "What now?"
"I hope you're ready to fly, Hank," Charles says, spitting out the words like they taste bitter. "We're going home."
"What?" Hank says, blinking. "Don't we - shouldn't we do something?"
"Like what?" Charles retorts, and Hank doesn't have any answer. Charles snorts and turns his back, walking quickly towards the plane, shoulders stiff and curled in.
Logan pats Hank's shoulder. "Retreat, regroup, and replan. Come on."
Hank follows, like he always does.
They've been in the air about a half hour when Logan makes his way up to the cockpit, settling himself into the seat next to Hank like he belongs there. There's another cigar sticking out of his mouth, though it's not lit yet. Hank still isn't sure where he gets them from.
"Well," Logan says, "that could have gone better."
Hank's chuckle sounds weak to his own ears. "We did stop her, though," he points out. "She didn't manage to kill Trask."
"It's not enough," Logan says, shaking his head. "The plan was that those two were supposed to convince her somehow, together."
"Yeah, I had problems with that part of the plan with the beginning," Hank says.
Logan shoots him a look. "I wasn't the one who came up with it, bub. They were." He grunts. "Trask's alive, but Mystique's still out there and she's going to try to finish the job."
"That's if Erik doesn't find her and kill her first," Hank says gloomily. "Or kill Trask himself, even. At least we know what Mystique's goals are. Erik's a total wild card, and we just broke him out of prison just to let him run free. Who knows what he's going to do now?"
"Forget about Erik!" Charles yells from the cabin, loud enough that Hank startles, only barely managing to keep his hands steady on the controls. Charles had grabbed a bottle and slid into his chair as soon as they had boarded. Hank had pretty much figured he was off in his own world by now, too far gone to pay any sort of attention to their conversation.
"I told you he was a monster," Charles continues, his voice softer and harder to hear over the noise of the airplane. What it lacks in volume it makes up for in venom. "We should never have gotten him out. And what he does - what he does next is no business of mine. We need to concentrate on Raven. She's the only thing that matters now."
Logan is twisted in his seat, looking back at him. "Charles-"
"Don't argue with me, Logan," Charles says. "I don't want to hear his name again."
There's a catch in his voice on the last few words. Hank wonders if Logan feels as awkward hearing it as he does. Hank's seen Charles through a lot of things, but it still feels too personal.
At least Logan got to sleep through the worst part of the last flight. Hank isn't sure if Charles knows Hank heard him and Erik having sex, or if he just doesn't care. They weren't loud enough for Hank to know all the details, which he's thankful for, but the plane's not so big that the gist of it wasn't obvious, the low sounds that followed the murmured hum of their voices fading away.
It answered a question that's been in the back of Hank's mind for a long time. He wishes he could un-know the answer.
All the times Hank has seen Charles sloppy, miserable, falling-down drunk... Charles always talks about Raven. How much he loves her, how much he misses her, all his memories, all his wishes. Hank's heard it all a hundred times.
He's never talked about Erik, though, not where Hank has heard him. Not one time. Not one word.
Hank has never been able to figure out which loss was the greater. Maybe you can't rank them like that.
Charles's face this morning, when they were getting ready - he had looked a lot closer to the Professor than he had in a long, long time. It makes it even worse to see him like this again, now.
Charles has returned his attention back to the bottle, making rapid inroads on its contents and apparently ignoring Hank and Logan once more.
Logan looks pained, or maybe angry, and far away. Hank wonders if he's stuck thinking about his future, worrying about his friends there. Hank can't help with that, any more than he can help with what's wrong with Charles.
So he concentrates, instead, on doing what he can. Right now, that's flying the plane and getting them back to the house. It's not enough - nothing he's done has been enough, all this time - but at least it's something.