Chapter 47: Chapter 46
Hank Pym now found himself at a crossroads.
On one side, his daughter's expectant gaze, and on the other, a steaming pot of fiery red 'magma' bubbling menacingly before him.
A choice had to be made.
Suppressing a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, Hank forced a calm smile and nodded. "You're right, a real man should enjoy spicy food," he declared with forced bravado.
And so, he reached into the pot with his chopsticks, picked up a piece of food glowing with what looked like liquid fire, and put it in his mouth.
Though alarm bells rang in his head and his mouth felt ablaze, Hank maintained a composed expression, refusing to let his agony show.
"Hank, I'm impressed," Hope said, tilting her head with admiration in her eyes.
For a moment, Hank felt a warm wave wash over him, a feeling even more refreshing than cool water would be to his burning mouth. It had been years since his daughter had looked at him like this. Not since her mother vanished into the quantum realm while disarming that missile.
Beneath his forced nonchalance, Hank felt a pang of nostalgia. With a quick smile, he played it off, shrugging as if it was nothing. "Ah, it's no big deal," he said, trying to ignore the inferno raging in his mouth.
Undeterred, he picked up another bite, determined to persevere. Even if the food before him were actual magma, he would force it down without a flinch. For the sake of his relationship with Hope, he'd endure it all.
"Delicious!" he lied through gritted teeth.
Mike observed Hank with a knowing glint in his eye, barely hiding a grin. If he hadn't noticed the subtle, involuntary twitches on Hank's face, Mike might have actually believed him.
But since Hank seemed intent on putting on a brave face, Mike decided to indulge him a little longer. He filled his wine glass, sat back, and chuckled to himself at Hank's performance.
After taking a sip, Mike set his glass down and said, "I didn't realize you liked spicy food so much, Hank. Wait a second—I think you'll love this next part."
Standing up, Mike walked over to the sideboard. Under Hank's puzzled gaze, he brought back a small, clear bottle and set it on the table.
"What's that?" Hank asked, subtly using the opportunity to take a quick, inconspicuous gulp of cold air.
Mike grinned and poured two glasses of the crystal-clear liquid. "This," he said, "is a Korean drink that pairs exceptionally well with hot pot."
Hank nodded, still reeling inside. "It must be delicious," he managed, eyeing the bottle. Maybe a few glasses of this would help numb the searing heat in his mouth.
Mike handed him a glass. "Here you go," he said warmly. "Cheers!"
Hank raised his glass, glanced at his daughter, and downed the drink in one gulp.
But instead of relief, he felt a new kind of fire light up in his stomach. His eyes widened, and he nearly choked as the burn traveled down his throat, setting every nerve alight.
What was this?!
Hope watched him expectantly. "Dad?"
The single word hit him harder than anything he'd eaten that night. Hope hadn't called him 'Dad' in ages. He swallowed, the taste of the drink lingering like molten iron, and forced a smile.
"It's... not bad," he lied through a grimace, feeling like his insides were smouldering.
"Then have another," Mike said with a smile, topping up his glass.
Hank plastered on a strained smile, but in his mind, he was ready to strangle Mike. Yet, looking at Mike's sincere expression, Hank couldn't bring himself to blame him. This was the price of his pride.
"Thank you," he said with forced politeness, raising his glass once more.
An hour later, Hank's cheeks were flushed, his collar loosened, and beads of sweat clung to his forehead. His eyes, slightly glazed, told the story of a man who had endured one too many fiery bites and potent drinks.
"Mike!" he said, voice slurred and heart full of camaraderie. "You're a good friend...a true friend. I can't believe we didn't meet sooner!"
Mike, holding Hank up, chuckled and said, "You're one of the most genuine people I've ever met, Hank. Really."
"Haha!" Hank laughed, tears in his eyes. He glanced over at Hope and Clark, who were deep in conversation. He leaned toward Mike, his voice a barely contained whisper, "Let me tell you something… I feel like I'm about to…burst."
Mike fought back a laugh and nodded sympathetically. "Oh, don't worry. You'll come to appreciate that feeling."
"Y-yes!" Hank laughed, his words slurred. "Spicy food and strong drinks... no one does it better!"
Though Hank's tongue felt numb, Mike couldn't help but think he might be in need of a good digestive doctor tomorrow. He held in his laughter and continued their banter.
Across the table, Hope watched her father, an amused smile tugging at her lips. She folded her arms and shook her head slightly in mock disapproval.
It was embarrassing, really, to see her father—a man who had always prided himself on his intellect and sophistication—reduced to this state. And yet, there was something oddly endearing about it too.
Tomorrow, she'd recount the night's events with a perfectly straight face, just to watch him cringe in horror.
And how amusing it had been to see him play along, stuffing food into his mouth as if he were unaffected. Clearly, he thought he was fooling everyone with his 'nothing's wrong' act. But she hadn't forgotten her frustrations with him—the anger and betrayal that had festered since her mother's disappearance. Tonight was a rare opportunity for her to let him squirm a bit.
But looking at him now, red-faced and smiling, she felt a strange pang of worry for him, though she quickly brushed it aside.
"No, he deserves it," she muttered under her breath, twisting her fingers anxiously.
Clark, seated beside her, overheard. His brow furrowed as he considered her words. They'd bonded since she'd arrived, both drawn to the unspoken kinship of children raised without mothers.
"What are you looking at?" Hope asked, raising an eyebrow at Clark.
Clark shrugged. "Just... thinking. I guess we're both lucky to have good fathers."
"Good father? Ha!" Hope laughed bitterly. "Mike is a good father. But Hank... Well, let's just say he's complicated."
Clark sighed. "Hope, he's still your dad. Maybe you could talk things out."
"Talk things out?" she snapped, suddenly defensive. "What do you know?"
Abruptly, she stood up, glancing at her watch. "It's getting late. Our driver's here; I should go."
"Dad!" Hope called, already striding to the door.
Hank, swaying slightly, turned around with a dazed smile. "Y-Yes, dear, time to go!"
Mike escorted Hank, who staggered with each step, to the door. "Come by anytime, Hank," he said with a friendly wave.
Hank gave him an unsteady thumbs-up as he climbed into the car, which sped away into the night.
As Mike turned back to close the door, he noticed Clark looking thoughtful.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
Clark hesitated. "It's just... it seemed like Hope knew her dad couldn't handle spicy food, but she let him eat it anyway. She—"
He proceeded to recount snippets of the conversation he'd overheard between them.
Mike chuckled softly, tousling Clark's hair. "Before you try to help someone, it's good to understand where they're coming from. You were right to speak up, but remember that Hope has her own reasons too."
Clark nodded, absorbing the advice. "I understand, Dad."
Mike ruffled his son's hair again, grinning. "That's my boy. And tomorrow, apologize to Hope...oh, and ask her how Hank's feeling."
He laughed, imagining Hank's reaction to their evening once he sobered up.
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