(we could be) bigger and brighter than space

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/19213888.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: F/F
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Ant-Man (Movies)
Relationship: Scott Lang/Hope Van Dyne, Hank Pym & Hope Van Dyne
Character: Scott Lang, Hope Van Dyne, Hank Pym, Cassie Lang, Luis (Ant-Man
movies), Maggie Lang, Jim Paxton (Marvel), Darren Cross
Additional Tags: girl!Scott
Stats: Published: 2019-06-14 Words: 8633

(we could be) bigger and brighter than space

by coalitiongirl

Summary

[In which Scott is a woman.]

Hope has long since resigned herself to the fact that Hank is always going to underestimate
her because she’s a woman. But this is– Hank has been holding her back, not because she’s
a woman, but because she’s inadequate.

It burns, and she clenches her jaw, watches Scott Lang with grim, narrowed eyes. She hates
her on sight, hates her for a thousand petty reasons that mix with a vague guilt that she
refuses to acknowledge. Scott had stolen the suit, and she absolutely should be in jail for it.
She looks afraid, trapped, and Hope’s hatred wavers–

Then Scott shouts, her voice shaky, “But I didn’t steal anything! I was returning something
I stole!” and Hope decides that this idiot deserves everything that’s coming to her.

The new Ant-Man, her ass.

Notes

There's something about the way that the romance is coded in Ant-Man, in the spaces
between words, that reads so strongly to me as a lesbian relationship. And I had to get these
two out of my system somehow. (I think I failed at that though WHOOPS.) So here we are,
with genderbent Scott!

This follows the plot of Ant-Man pretty closely, though it tends more toward missing
scenes, and I've borrowed bits of dialogue where relevant.

See the end of the work for more notes

Her name is Scott, which her mother had insisted had been a nickname for Scarlett that had made it
onto her birth certificate and not a concession to her disappointed father. Scott doesn’t think about
it much anymore. She’d had enough time in prison to think about her parents, and had come to the
conclusion that the less she dwells on them, the better.

They don’t talk to her anymore, anyway, not after she’d run off with her first girlfriend. Not after
prison, either, though she suspects that prison had been less of a factor than Maggie and then
Cassie.

And now Scott doesn’t have them, either. She can’t blame Maggie for moving on, though she kind
of hates Paxton. She can’t even blame Maggie for being wary of her. But it’s been three years
without Cassie, and it aches inside of Scott like a wound that never seems to close, a scar that’s
going to linger no matter how much time she has to make up for what she’s lost.

She’s never going to be able to make up for three years without Cassie. She’s had time to get over
Maggie, but Cassie is…

She picks up the job that Luis has set up for them. He’s a good friend, a guy she’d met through her
cellmate who had taken her under his wing. “The kid is everything,” he’d said, nodding sagely as
though he understands. “You know, sometimes we gotta do some shit for our kids. Doesn’t make
us the bad guys.”

“You don’t have a kid, Luis.”

Luis claps her on the back. “I have this cool-ass van,” he reminds her. “It’s like a child to me.” He
clasps his hand over his heart, and she laughs despite herself. As far as roommates go, she could do
worse than a guy she likes who doesn’t push his criminal schemes on her.

No, she agrees to them without extra prompting. A rich old guy with a promising safe? She hasn’t
met a rich old guy yet who deserves the money he has. And Maggie deserves the child support she
never got. Cassie deserves–

Cassie deserves to have two moms she’s proud of. And if Scott can get this done, she can use it to
launch herself into a better job, a better place. For Cassie.
There is little in Scott’s life that isn’t about Cassie, not since the moment she’d held that tiny little
girl in her arms for the first time in the hospital and sworn to be her hero.

You are her hero, Maggie had said to Scott at Cassie’s birthday party, her eyes pleading. Please
don’t let her down.

Just this final job. Just one more time, so she never has to do any of this again.

Okay, first of all, how the fuck was Hope supposed to know that the guy that Hank had hand-
picked to be the new Ant-Man hadn’t been a guy at all? Hank hadn’t breathed a word about it, had
taken care of Scott Lang’s first flight while Hope had been out at dinner with Cross, and Hope had
just furiously avoided of Hank’s Scott Lang Plans and assumed .

(“Never assume,” Hank had been fond of saying, back when she’d been an angry teen floating
around the house on summer breaks. “It makes you look like an ass.” They’d orbited each other in
the summers, careful to avoid each other like stars just out of another’s gravitational pull.)

It isn’t until she calls the cops on Scott Lang after dinner and waits, leaning casually against the
side of the gate around the house, that she sees her for the first time.

Her . God, she’d been foolishly sentimental enough to convince herself that Hank hadn’t wanted
her in the suit because he’d have to tailor it to fit a girl. It had been one of the few reasons that she
had clung to over he doesn’t trust me and he doesn’t think I’m good enough . She had hated it, but
it had been something .

Except Scott Lang, dressed in black with a ridiculous beanie on her head and backpack slung over
her shoulder, is anything but the image that Hope has had of her. Her .

Her her her. A woman, standing with her hands up and her eyes deer-in-headlights wide. She’s
pretty, hair short enough that it’s barely visible under the beanie, her eyes so light they’re almost
clear. Hope is astounded.

Then she’s furious, because how dare Hank do this. Hope is no stranger to navigating patriarchal
institutions as a woman, rising to every occasion and excelling so as to give no one any doubts
about her place there. Hope has long since resigned herself to the fact that Hank is always going to
underestimate her because she’s a woman. But this is– Hank has been holding her back, not
because she’s a woman, but because she’s inadequate .

It burns, and she clenches her jaw, watches Scott Lang with grim, narrowed eyes. She hates her on
sight, hates her for a thousand petty reasons that mix with a vague guilt that she refuses to
acknowledge. Scott had stolen the suit, and she absolutely should be in jail for it. She looks afraid,
trapped, and Hope’s hatred wavers–

Then Scott shouts, her voice shaky, “But I didn’t steal anything! I was returning something I
stole!” and Hope decides that this idiot deserves everything that’s coming to her.

The new Ant-Man, her ass .

Scott puts on the suit. It’s beginning to feel like this is going to be her entire life from now on,
reacting and reacting and never quite taking control of it. Her– her lawyer , whoever he really is–
offers her a single chance to get out of jail again, and she takes it. Then she’s dressed in a poorly
fitted shrinking suit and she’s losing control in a whole different kind of way.

She passes out.

When she wakes up, she’s in a bed, and the suit is gone. She stares down at unfamiliar pajamas–
women’s pajamas, and she’s struck with the sudden idea that she’s been abducted, that this is some
twisted kidnapping from the owners of VistaCorp or that she’s being held prisoner in some
terrifying predator’s dungeon or–

She sees the woman standing across the room an instant later. Well , an irrational part of her brain
thinks at once, It could be worse . Sure, she’s being held hostage in a strange bed, but she’s being
held hostage by the most attractive woman she’s ever seen in her life .

The woman is watching her, a cool smile on her lips, and Scott swallows and sits up. The woman
looks down, pressing buttons on something electronic in her hands. Reporting Scott’s awakening,
maybe. Or possibly playing Candy Crush. “Hello,” Scott says dumbly. “Who are you?” The
woman still doesn’t look up. “Have you been standing there watching me sleep this whole time?”

“Yes,” the woman says. Modulated voice, still grimly amused by Scott’s bewilderment.
Scott should run. Instead, she can only think to say, “Why?”

Now, the woman finally looks at her, folding her arms as the amusement fades from her
expression. All Scott can see in her face is hard loathing. “Because the last time you were here, you
stole something.”

And– oh, shit .

Scott is exactly the idiot that Hope had expected her to be, lost and bewildered and looking from
Hank to Hope as though all of this might start making sense eventually. She’s wearing Hope’s old
pajamas from when she’d been a teen living in Hank’s house, and there is something very
vulnerable about her because of that. Hope doesn’t care. She’s useless, and now she’s a fugitive.
Hank’s grand plans for her aren’t going to change either of those facts.

She leaves them behind in the house, and when she comes back with the horrifying news that Cross
has successfully used the Pym Particle to shrink a sheep, Scott is still there. They don’t have time
to train a neophyte, to drag Scott into this when Hope already has all of these skills, and Hope says
so, pressing Hank more aggressively than she has in months of planning.

“We don’t have time to screw around,” she bites out, and Scott slinks off to the side. Her sole
positive trait– she knows when she’s not wanted. “She is a criminal . I’m your daughter–!”

“ No !” Hank snarls, and Hope hates how easily Hank can send her back to childhood, to a lifetime
of being rejected and dismissed by him. She’s stronger now, too hardened to dissolve into tears, but
she stands frozen, incapable of responding, of escalating this until she breaks down in front of a
stranger.

Hank looks away, and Hope sees Scott glancing at her. The compassion in Scott’s eyes is enough
to make her furious again, to force a cold smile and walk to the other side of the basement door.

She stands there, because they don’t have the luxury of storming off and giving up, not with this
technology on the line. Hank begins to talk to Scott like an equal , like everything that Hope has
craved from him for years– (She doesn’t want it, she tells herself. She hates her father. She is so far
beyond him that it’d be a downgrade to be treated like they’re on the same level–)
She leans against the wall in the dark and listens.

And finally, she understands what it is that Hank sees in Scott, and it’s enough to threaten her tears
again.

Scott is a mom . Scott has a kid she’s been taken from for three years of prison, and she’s doing this
for her. Hope squeezes her eyes shut, remembers being a seven-year-old without a mother, and she
hates Scott Lang and her father and herself, just a little.

There is a vague guilt to training for all of this with Hope watching her. Did she say vague guilt ?
She’d meant big, endless, deep pockets of guilt that have Scott flinching back meekly whenever
Hope turns her dark stare on her.

Well, at least Hope’s mood seems to pick up whenever she’s around Scott, because Scott is an
abject failure at being the Ant-Man thus far. “Aunt-Man,” she’d suggested as Hank had taken her
measurements to tailor the suit for her. “You know, because I’m not a…” Her voice had trailed off
at Hank’s impassive expression.

She’d peeked across the room at Hope, who tends to spend most of her time looking away from
Scott, and she thinks she sees the slightest hint of a smile on her face. It fades when Hope sees
Scott watching. “Ant-Woman just doesn’t have the same ring to it,” Scott says boldly. There is
something addictive about that unconscious, reluctant smile on Hope’s face. Scott plunges on.
“Captain Ant is gender-neutral. And I’d be right after Captain America in the phone book, which–
bonus. Maybe I’d even get some of his emergency calls–” Hope is pressing her lips together,
watching Scott with a sidelong glance.

“Scott?” Hank says.

“Yep?”

“Shut up.”

“Yep.”
The only time Hope will actually look at Scott is when they’re sparring, which is an entirely new
kind of experience than prison fighting had been. She discovers that when Hope punches her in the
face with a smile.

To be fair, Scott might not suck as much at her martial arts training if her first reaction at Hope
sauntering into the room hadn’t been please punch me . Which is entirely another issue altogether.
Hope in a tank top and leggings is…distracting. It’s hypnotic, the way that she moves when they
fight, and Scott wavers when she’s up against her, lost in her movements.

Yeah, Scott has it bad.

Scott actually has two good traits, Hope discovers. (Neither one is her sense of humor, which is
appalling . Hope is positive that the only thing keeping her from gagging Scott when she makes
terrible jokes is the way she peeks at Hope immediately after each one, as though Hope might
laugh. Hope needs to stop smiling at them.) The second one is persistence in the face of failure.

Constant, constant failure, when it comes to controlling the ants. Scott does fine with the suit– she
does have a degree in electrical engineering, and the suit is adaptable enough to handle someone as
incompetent as Scott Lang. And with time, her sparring improves, too. She learns how to punch
and to kick, to move fluidly and match Hope’s moves.

Hope doesn’t hold back anymore. Scott swings and throws her back and she uses Scott’s weight
against her, flips and sends her crashing to the floor in a heap. Hope crouches, yanking Scott’s arms
behind her back, and Scott cries out.

“You got me down,” she says, breathless and a little indignant. “This is kind of excessive.”

Hope shoves her. “You think that the fight ends when you get knocked down? You think the fight
ends when you knock someone else down? You still–”

Scott propels herself at Hope, and she’s taken off-guard and slammed against the floor. Scott is on
top of her, her eyes bright with victory and that indefinable emotion she gets sometimes around
Hope. She’s breathing hard, her arms pinning Hope’s arms to the ground, a leg slipping between
Hope’s to keep her in place. “Like this?” she whispers.
Hope’s mouth is dry. Scott is pressed against her, the length of her toned body on Hope’s, and
Hope can’t think of a retort for a moment. They’re both hot and sweaty from their sparring, and
Scott’s hand shifts from Hope’s arm, her thumb brushing a stray lock of hair from where it’s
plastered to Hope’s face. Hope’s chest rises and falls too quickly, and she’s grateful suddenly that
Hank isn’t down here right now, that there are no distractions from Scott’s clear, clear eyes and her
parted lips–

What . The. Hell.

She twists her legs, clamps her knees on Scott’s leg out of trained rote, and she slams her off of
Hope and against the floor before she can lose herself again. Scott lies on the floor, shell-shocked
with her mouth still open, and Hope says shakily, “Like that .”

Hope is scary-hot and scary-powerful and scary-everything, and she still absolutely despises Scott.
Scott can’t blame her, not really– not when it’s so clear that she’s the best woman for the job, and
it’s only Hank’s fear of losing her that keeps her from being the woman on the ground. Scott is
here because she’s expendable, and she knows it.

Maybe it would make her angry if she hasn’t had a lifetime of being expendable to adapt to it.

Ugh, self-pity . She pokes at the teacup on the table. Hank is downstairs, working with the plans
for the facility, and Scott’s supposed to be practicing with the ants and the sugar cubes. “You ever
wonder why your dad picked ants?” Scott says, watching the ants ignore her completely. “Why
not, say, spiders?” She imagines a floor covered with tarantulas and shudders. “Maybe
cockroaches. Or bees.”

Hope gives her a look that says you’re an idiot without a single twitch of her lips. She’s really good
at that. “Ants are adaptable and powerful. They’re also hive creatures, which makes them easy to
work with.” She snatches the earpiece from Scott’s ear, her fingers grazing the shell of her ear as
she takes it. “At least, if you aren’t an incompetent.”

“Thanks. Always nice to have you on my team,” Scott says, quirking a grin at her.

Hope’s eyes narrow. “We’re not on the same team,” she says. “I still think we’re wasting our time
with you. I’m only doing this so Hank can see exactly how big a mistake it is to put anyone else in
that suit.”

“Sweet. So all your training is secretly about sabotaging me?” Hope scowls at her, and Scott goes
on. There is something about Hope’s anger that just makes Scott want to push harder. “Because I
hate to break it to you, but you’re a little too good at it for that.”

Hope scoffs, but it’s weak, devoid of most of the resentment she carries around with her. And it’s
that uncertainty that has Scott venture, “Have you ever gotten to wear the suit?”

Hope shakes her head, her eyes carefully empty. “Hank doesn’t trust me with it. I’m not a stranger
he picked out of a pile of prison mugshots.” She says it matter-of-factly, and Scott barks out a
laugh.

But there is longing in Hope’s expression, behind her empty eyes, and Scott murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

Their eyes meet, and something in Scott’s chest flares at Hope’s steady gaze. Hope is beautiful, of
course, is exquisitely competent and everything attractive in a woman. But it’s her anger that draws
Scott in most, whether or not it’s directed at her. Hope is so angry, is furious and hurt at the world
and her family and this life of being held back and caged from her potential, and Scott understands
it and respects it as much as she does her skill and her attractiveness.

Hope jerks the earpiece off, shoving it back at Scott and turning away from her. “My father is
coming,” she says. “Get to work.”

When Scott looks at the table, she sees that the sugar cubes have been lifted by the ants and set
down in a perfect, three-dimensional pyramid in front of her.

Hope is volatile around Hank. They’re both volatile. It’s what she gets from him, she guesses, a
temper and a stubbornness that she doesn’t remember from her mother. It takes all she can to stop
herself from exploding– to walk out when his temper gets out of hand instead of shouting back at
him– but finally, it’s too much, and she covers the lights with ants before Hank snaps her name and
she realizes what she’s doing.

She escapes to her car, determined to get out of there and do something , something that doesn’t
require an ex-con and her father to save the day, and Scott slips into the car a moment later.
And fuck , she hates Scott Lang, and she doesn’t know what it is about her and her steady gaze that
makes Hope open up to her. It’s just…Scott should know what she’s risking, and for whom.
Another little girl doesn’t deserve to lose her mother because of Hank Pym.

“Hope,” Scott murmurs, and she does hate her, except for this part of her that trusts Scott
implicitly. “Look at me.” There is something about the way that Scott says I’m expendable that
makes Hope want to reach out to her, that makes Hope’s heart ache again, ache for Scott and for
herself and for whatever game Hank is playing in shutting Hope out. “He’d rather lose this fight
than lose you,” Scott says quietly, and Hope clears her throat before Scott can leave the car.

“You know, I didn’t know you had a…a daughter when I called the cops on you,” she says. It’s a
quiet concession, a peace offering she hadn’t meant to give Scott. “What’s her name?”

“Cassie,” Scott says, and her eyes light up, warm and so flooded with adoration that Hope can’t
bear it.

She can’t lose you , Hope vows, and it sits in her like new determination. “She lives with her
father?”

Scott glances at her, bites her lip as though she’s debating answering the question. “With her other
mother,” she says at last. “My ex-wife.”

Her ex-wife . “Oh,” Hope whispers, and there’s another long pause between them, a moment in
which Scott watches Hope warily and Hope reels from this new information. She’d suspected it,
maybe, had kind of known it at the back of her mind, but now–

Now it registers, clicking into place. Click . Scott watches her, waiting for her reaction, and Hope
can feel warmth rising to her ears and to her neck, a heat she can’t let Scott recognize. “You have to
clear your mind, Scott,” she says instead. “You have to make your thoughts precise. That’s how it
works. Think about Cassie.”

She passes her the earpiece. Their fingers brush as Scott takes it, and they feel electrified by the
touch, sensitive to it in a way that has her suck in a silent breath. And Scott finally– finally – gets
the ants to do what she wants. “Think of what you want the ants to do,” Hope coaxes again as the
ants approach the penny she sets on the dashboard. “Think of something that clears your mind.”
The ants lift the penny, and Hope smiles. It feels like the first time she’s smiled since this ordeal
had begun. “Good,” she says, turning back to the penny.

Scott has managed to make the ants spin it like a top. It’s an impressive first success, and she turns
back to look at her.

Scott isn’t watching the ants. She’s watching Hope, her eyes intent on Hope’s face and a smile
curling up the edges of her lips, and Hope flushes.

“Your mother convinced me to let her join me on my missions,” Hank says when they get back
inside, and Scott hangs back, understanding exactly what it is that she’s walked into. Hope freezes,
her eyes glued on her father. “They called her the Wasp. She was born to it.”

Hope is crying before Hank finishes his quiet explanation, and Scott watches her, stricken. Hope
has a presence , has an inimitable way of changing the entire atmosphere of a room with just her
mood, and Scott hurts with her now. Hope doesn’t cry , doesn’t flinch or dare show any softness
without reluctance, and silent tears fall down her cheeks as Hank tells her what had happened to
her mother.

“It’s not your fault,” Hope whispers, and Hank seems to unwind, something in him at ease for the
very first time. Scott watches, astonished at a piece of Hope that she’s never seen before. Kindness
, for someone who’s hurt her so deeply. A bit of absolution for a father who had spent a lifetime
grappling with his own failure.

“I was trying to protect you,” Hank says as Hope cries silently, her face screwed up and her
vulnerability raw upon it. “I lost your mother. I didn’t mean to lose you, too.”

This is awesome , Scott thinks, and she realizes too late that she’s said it aloud. Oh, well. She’s
always had a penchant for ruining moments, and she might as well own it. Hank looks as though
he’s contemplating murder, and Hope just stares at Scott, caught between disbelief and tears.

“I’m gonna make some tea,” Scott says, but she sneaks a look back at Hank and Hope before she
leaves the room. Hope is smiling, eyebrows raised as she catches her father’s nonplussed
expression.
Scott doesn’t realize that Hope has followed her into the kitchen until she turns around and Hope is
right there , inches away from her and her hot tea. The liquid splashes on Scott’s fingers, and Scott
hisses in pain. “Fuck,” Hope says, twisting around to get one of the wet cloths they keep in the
freezer for sparring injuries. “Here.”

She takes the tea from Scott, setting it down before she presses the cloth to Scott’s fingers. Scott
sucks in a breath, but it’s not from the burn. Hope’s eyes are glued to her fingers, her touch firm but
gentle, and Scott thinks inanely that Hope, as hard and unfriendly as she likes to make herself
seem, would be excellent with Cassie.

No. Do not think that . She shakes her head at her ridiculous crush, and Hope misinterprets it as
criticism. “I’m doing the best I can,” she says, her voice sharp. Scott bites her lip, and Hope’s tone
softens. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “You’ve really been…more tolerant than I would have been, in
your situation.”

Scott peers at her. “Is that an overture? Are we friends now?”

Hope scoffs. “Of course not.”

“Sounds like an overture to me,” Scott says innocently, ducking when Hope throws the cloth at
her. “We’ve done it. I didn’t think it was possible, but we’ve moved past our differences and–”

“I will gag you,” Hope threatens, retrieving the cloth and lifting it threateningly, and Scott ducks
again, laughing until Hope is almost laughing, too. And maybe they haven’t stolen anything just
yet, but it feels a lot like victory.

It’s a strange new development, believing in Scott. Because Scott is good . Hope is better– she
knows it with the detached certainty of fact, not ego– but Scott has grown in leaps and bounds.
She’s good with the ants now, is skilled enough in combat to infiltrate an Avengers base and steal
the tech they need, and she goes up against an Avenger and comes out of it with barely a scratch.

Hope doesn’t want to examine the way her heart had stopped when she’d realized that Scott had
been caught. But still, she leans forward in her seat and lets herself smile at Scott when she gets
back, loose and unburdened as she rarely is. Hank needles Scott, and Scott winks at Hope like
they’re on the same side and maybe they are , maybe this is exactly where Hope wants to be right
now.
Scott can do this. “Don’t mind him,” she murmurs, and it feels good to grin at Scott, to see that
puppy-eyed uncertainty directed at her. “You did good.” She can sense the way that her eyes linger
on Scott a little too long, and the way that Scott stares back with unabashed wonder. Something is
simmering between them, something that makes Hope afraid again, and she blinks and swallows–

And then, abruptly Darren Cross is in the house.

Hope freezes up, her blood running cold, and all she can think about is the plans for the facility
that they have on the table, about the father she’s only just beginning to know again standing in the
next room with Cross, about–

Scott has the ants roll up the plans and then steps back while Hope rages silently at her own
inability to do anything, and she takes a step forward, determined to take action– to stop Cross
from whatever he might start with Hank, to save her father–

In an instant, there are hands on her arms. Loose, but firm. “Give him time,” Scott breathes into her
ear. “Let him handle Cross.” Hope leans back, into Scott’s almost-embrace, and she finds her
center with some effort. Scott can calm her like no one else, and she takes a shuddering breath and
waits. “Cross won’t do anything now. Hank is going to be fine,” Scott whispers, her fingers
moving up and down Hope’s arms. “You’re both going to be…” She hesitates, but Hope hears
what it is that she isn’t saying.

“You don’t know that,” Hope whispers, and she hasn’t felt this helpless since she’d first found out
about Cross’s discoveries. She’d been afraid and alone then, on her own and the only person in the
world who’d known exactly what Cross could do with the Pym Particle.

(When she’d gone to Hank’s house, he’d stared at her as though she’d been a ghost. She’d said
brusquely, “Cross has the footage and the tech. It had been enough for Hank to step aside and let
her walk into the house. For an instant, she’d been a little girl, eager for her father’s comforting
confidence. Then he’d begun to grill her instead, and she’d remembered that she hasn’t had that
since age seven.)

Tonight, she isn’t alone, and she twists around in Scott’s embrace and stares at her with wet, pained
eyes. Scott opens her mouth and Hope doesn’t want comfort anymore or platitudes or even her
awful jokes.

She launches herself forward, kissing Scott with furious, desperate need. She wants to forget , to
push aside this feeling of uselessness, and Scott is exactly who she wants to lose herself in. Scott
catches her, kissing her back with equal force, and Hope presses her against the wall, attacks her
lips and her neck and her skin and thinks about nothing else.

She’s wanted this for a long time, has pushed it down deep into her darkest impulses, and she can’t
seem to stop now. Scott gasps her name into her mouth and Hope kisses her harder, slips a hand up
Scott’s shirt to press her palm against skin and dig her fingers into Scott’s toned abdomen. Scott’s
hands fall to grip Hope’s ass, staggering back and turning to lift Hope against the wall and hold her
in place, and Hope has to stifle a groan against Scott’s shoulder.

Scott kisses her temple, strokes a hand through Hope’s severe bob, and it’s so tender that Hope
loses focus. She wriggles against Scott, burns with need and with despair that almost erases the
need, and Scott murmurs her name again and kisses her forehead.

The front door clicks closed. Scott releases Hope so suddenly that Hope nearly falls to the floor,
catching herself at the very last moment. They stare at each other, wide-eyed and panting, and
Hope wants to memorize Scott Lang in this moment– short hair mussed, face flushed, chest rising
and falling as though she’s just run a marathon.

Then Hank putters in, grumbling about Cross as he gets himself some tea and sits down, and Hope
takes a step away from Scott. Scott’s eyes are still on Hope, and Hope feels as though her heart
might beat right out of her chest.

Scott is absolutely, one hundred percent, completely fine . Sure, they’re about to launch a heist
that’ll put her directly in the sights of an unstable megalomaniac with a killer suit. And sure, Luis
and friends are maybe a gamble that she’s only about fifty percent sure will pay off. And yeah, she
kind of made out with Hope Van Dyne, who is scary-hot and also secretly so soft that she makes
Scott want to scale mountains just to see her smile. But this is fine .

Her impending danger is only beginning to register now, walking through the house with Hope and
determinedly not talking about what sinful things they’d nearly done against the wall of the dining
room. It’s probably better off that way, because Hope definitely regrets it. Hope is so far out of
Scott’s league that she’d need binoculars just to find said league, and that fact is probably
registering now.

Still, Hope isn’t cruel, and she doesn’t say anything stinging about it. Instead, she talks to Scott like
an equal, like a partner in this mission, and Scott clears her throat and remembers Hope’s grudging
support throughout. This should have been Hope’s mission, and Scott can never quite forget that.
“Hey, look,” she says, and Hope turns, eyes dark as though she thinks Scott is going to bring up the
kissing. Scott clears her throat. “I want to thank you for–”

“No, please don’t,” Hope says, tugging on her jacket. “We’re all doing this for reasons much
bigger than any one of us.” It’s still said with a twinge of bitterness, but for the first time, it doesn’t
feel as though that twinge is directed at Scott. “I’m just glad that you have a slight chance of maybe
pulling this off.”

Scott grins despite herself. There is something about Hope at her prickliest that makes her happy,
kind of like watching nature documentaries of lionesses pouncing on their prey. It’s her natural
element, and Scott enjoys her as much in it as she does in her unguarded, vulnerable moments.
“Hey,” she says, her sarcasm lacking any bite. “Thank you, you know, for that pep talk.”

Hope gives as good as she gets. “You know, the honest truth is that I went from despising you to
almost liking you.” The smile she offers is so cute that Scott wants to kiss her right there, all over
again.

Instead, she says, “You really should write poetry,” and Hope laughs softly, smiling at her with
eyes that don’t leave Scott’s until she shuts the front door behind her.

Luis, from behind Scott, says drowsily, “Tell me you hit that.”

“I don’t talk about other women like that,” Scott says reprovingly. “It’s not respectful.”

“Right, yeah, of course, of course,” Luis agrees, looking not at all sheepish. “But the chemistry
between you– it’s electric. Magical. You can’t let that slide .”

Scott ignores him. Her fingers are still tingling from where they’d dug into Hope’s skin earlier, raw
nerve endings still crying out for that touch. “I might die tomorrow, man,” she says finally. “I’m
not really thinking about chemistry .”

But somehow, during that sleepless night in between thoughts of Cassie and what Scott is willing
to do for her (the answer: everything), the image of Hope’s last smile is burned into Scott’s mind.
Everything goes wrong. Of course it does. There are too many elements, too many pieces of the
plan for it all to roll out smoothly, and Hope barely has time to think before Scott is in a cage,
locked in by a cocky Darren Cross.

She can’t panic for her, even though her stomach falls and her heart pounds. She can’t afford to do
anything but watch, right up until there’s a gun trained on Hank and Hope loses all semblance of
calm. Hank gets shot , and Hope wants to sob right there at the blotch of blood on Hank’s suit.

(At seven, she had spent a macabre few weeks thinking about her mother’s corpse, about a limp
body with broken limbs sticking out in all the wrong ways. She’d had nightmares back then, had
awakened screaming and been inconsolate by everyone except for Aunt Peggy. Now, she knows
that none of that is true, but there is something nearly as horrific about seeing a bloodstain on her
dad’s suit as an adult as there had been to the broken corpse she’d imagined as a child.)

Cross puts a gun to Scott’s head, and Hope will not , can not see Darren Cross take away everyone
she cares about in one fell swoop. She jams the earpiece on and she focuses so hard that she thinks
she might have popped some blood vessels, that she can’t think of anything but the calm blankness
that is the ant’s mind, and Darren is abruptly fumbling over a team of nasty ants on his hands.

Scott tries to stay, but Hope remembers the mission. It’s what she’s been trained to do– born to do,
really, the daughter of heroes and scientists. Hank had trained her before she’d even known what
she’d been doing, and she’s spent years determined to surpass his expectations, to be better ,
stronger , everything that might have made him respect her. She hadn’t admitted then that she’d
wanted him to love her, too.

She remembers the mission because she has a greater duty than even her father, and it’s the most
natural thing in the world to look up at Scott and trust her with it instead. “Go get that suit,” she
says through gritted teeth, tears spilling down her cheeks, and Scott looks at her as though she
might protest.

But she doesn’t. Scott understands the mission with the same tenacity as Hope, and Hope thinks
that it might be why they’re so in sync, why they’ve bonded from worlds apart. They don’t give
up. And Scott goes to fight so Hope can sit over her father, blinking back more tears as she
squeezes his hand and listens to the chaos outside their lab.

Hank looks up at Hope, and he reaches up with their joined hands, his knuckles brushing away
tears on Hope’s cheek. “I chose right, didn’t I?” he says, his eyes drifting toward the exit to the lab.
There are gunshots, wild as though security can’t quite get a lock on a very tiny target, and Hope
breathes in an unsteady breath.
“You made Scott the right choice,” she corrects him, smiling through her tears. “You always do
get your way.”

“Not always,” Hank whispers, and it’s grim, lonely like I never meant to lose you, too . Hope
blinks her tears away, cradling Hank in her arms.

Scott had been the right choice. Scott is the only person she trusts enough to pull this off or die
trying. No . She can’t think about that, or about how it sends a sharp wave of agony through her
when she thinks about it. “We’ve got to find a way out of here, fast,” she says instead.

Naturally, Dad has a tank.

There are worlds beyond human comprehension. Scott knows that, same as everyone who’d lived
through whatever had happened in New York with the aliens that one time. There are places that no
one will ever understand, that no human will ever touch.

There’s the quantum realm, and there’s coming back from the impossible at the sound of her
daughter’s voice.

She doesn’t go back to the Pym house right away. First, she flies through the streets on an ant she
hasn’t even named yet and finds Hank in the hospital, already out of surgery and with little more
than a sling to show for it. Hope is sitting in a chair beside his bed, dozing with her head hanging
against the side of Hank’s bed.

When Scott gets close, she notices that Hope has a police scanner app running on her phone,
blaring out updates from Maggie’s house. She wants to think about that, but her brain is still fuzzy
from whatever the quantum realm had been. Instead, she manages to comprehend they’re safe and
flies back out the window.

It takes days of blurry, half-remembered moments before Scott is ready to go back to her regular
size. She curls up in an anthill, surrounded by curious ants, and she sleeps for a long time. She
walks through grass that rises like spears around her, and she flies to watch Cassie in the guest
room while her roof is repaired.

She flies once to watch Hope, curled up in the center of a big bed that must have once been her
parents’, and there is a dim recognition like the one that comes with seeing Cassie– a memory that
grounds her, takes her out of the quantum realm haze for a moment to remember who she is.

Hope shifts in the bed, and she looks up and says, “Scott?” Her voice is quiet, ringing out in the
silence of the room. Scott struggles to respond, but she still can’t find the words. “Scott, are you
here?” Hope’s tone is tentative, and Scott wonders as though from a distance if it’s yearning she
hears in it.

But she can’t respond. The words don’t emerge, and she only sits on the window sill and watches
over Hope, a thread between them that tethers Scott here. Hope sags, curling back into the bed, and
she whispers, “Please, Scott,” with such aching agony that it jolts Scott.

She tumbles backward, out the window and to the ground. When she stands, the world doesn’t
teeter off its axis, and she thinks it might be time to come home.

Scott disappears . Disappears, just like Mom, and Hope is terrified and furious and terrified. The
Yellow Jacket suit had been destroyed, she knows that much. Cross is no longer a threat. He had
gotten to a house across the city, had terrorized a family that Hope suspects is–

But Cross is gone, and Scott still isn’t back.

She is so tired of losing people to the Ant-Man mission, she thinks as she sits by her father’s bed in
the hospital. He’s healing, just about ready for discharge with nothing more but a sling to show for
his bullet wound, and it’s one relief in a world of worries. Scott is missing, and Hope has no idea
where she’s gone.

The thing is, Scott has gotten under her skin. She’d resisted it, had pushed Scott away and refused
to even like her for a long time, but there had been something between them that she hadn’t been
able to resist. Something like partners , something like quiet admissions in the car, something like
the moment she’d been in her arms against the wall of the kitchen and had never wanted to leave.

And now Scott is missing, and there’s no one she can ask for help. She goes to Luis once, but he’s
as lost as Hope is. “Scottie will come back,” he says with certainty. “She’s a scrappy dude, you
know?”
Hope knows.

Hank gets out of the hospital, and Hope drives him toward the house when he lays a hand on her
shoulder. “Wait,” he says gruffly. He’s been cranky in the hospital, snapping at doctors and aides
that he’s been fine for days and wants out . But there is still a quiet, amazed gentleness to the two
of them together. “I’ve been cooped up in that room for days. I want some air.”

They’re right near a park, a big grassy area with a playground in front of it, and Hope parks the car
and helps him to a bench. Hank sits in silence on the bench, his free arm resting on the back of the
bench behind Hope. Hope leans into him and remembers what matters– her father, sitting with her
at the park for the first time since she’d been seven.

She scoffs at her own sentimentality and sneaks a glance at him. Hank is watching a little girl as
she tries cartwheels on the lawn, her father taking video and her mother laughing and cheering her
on. At first, she thinks he’s lost in recriminations.

Then she hears, “Nice going, Cassie!” and she registers exactly why Hank has insisted on coming
here.

The couple– she’s seen them in the footage of the house and family that Cross had attacked. That’s
Maggie. Scott’s ex. And that little girl is–

She looks at Hank, who shrugs irritably. “Well, I don’t give a damn about Scott,” he says. “But
you’ve been pacing and sulking about her for days, so I did a little digging.”

But he’s gazing at the girl, his brow knitting, and Hope says teasingly, “Sure you don’t give a
damn about Scott.” Six months ago, she’d have never pegged her father as soft . Six months ago,
she hadn’t known him at all.

“I give a damn about you ,” Hank retorts, and Hope shuts her eyes for a moment, leaning her head
to his shoulder and watching Cassie fall to the ground again as Maggie claps for her.

Scott and Hope and Hank had been so ensconced in their mission for so long, in their enclosed
space that had barely allowed for anyone else to enter. Hope feels like an intruder now, watching
Scott’s life outside of their house. Still, though, she stands up and walks toward the grass where
Cassie is trying to cartwheel.
She isn’t good with kids, she thinks. She’s never had much exposure to them, and she hasn’t
thought much about them at all after her father’s magnificent failure with her. And there is
something about Cassie Lang’s perceptive eyes that terrifies her even more.

Cassie blinks at her when she comes near, her eyes furrowing. The guy– not a dad, but Hope
remembers Scott telling her that he’s a cop– tenses, watching her with wary eyes, and Hope clears
her throat and says, “You’ve got to keep your back leg straight.”

Cassie watches her silently, head tilted, and then she arches her body and tries again. “Like this?”

She falls again, then again, and Hope can see Scott’s persistence in her. On her third try, she
manages a perfect cartwheel, and Maggie and the guy whoop and run to hug her. Hope hangs back,
a lump in her throat. “Thank you!” Cassie calls to her. “Thank you, thank you!” She bounces.
“Mama, did you get it on video for Mom?”

Maggie grins at her. “We sure did,” she says, and Hope freezes, stricken. Maggie’s eyes flicker to
her, and the smile fades from her face. It’s as though she recognizes the expression on Hope’s face,
as if she sees something in it and can read Hope in an instant.

She steps away from Cassie, walking to Hope to study her, and Hope meets her gaze, bare and
unvarnished in front of Scott’s ex-wife. Maggie says, gesturing vaguely to Hank’s bench, “My– my
fiance says that the man you’re sitting with is Hank Pym. Who bailed Scott out of…” Her voice
trails off.

Hope’s throat closes up. “I have to…excuse me,” she says hurriedly, twisting away to return to
Hank’s bench. In the face of Maggie’s thoughtful gaze, she can’t find the words to respond. She
sits heavily on the bench beside Hank, and she shuts her eyes, silently cursing Scott for vanishing
and leaving her so– lost .

When she opens her eyes, Cassie Lang is standing in front of her. “Hi,” she says, inquisitive eyes
on Hope. Hope presses her lips together, afraid of what she might say to this little girl. Cassie
examines her, mirroring that same expression of Maggie’s.

And then she says, “Something weird happened in my room when the bad guy came.” Hope jerks,
staring at her and then at the guy and Maggie. They’re keeping a watchful eye on Cassie, but they
don’t come any closer. “There was this light, and then Mom came back out of nowhere. Like…
pop !” She claps her hands together. “And then she was big again, but only for a little bit.” Hope
watches her, still bewildered. “She waved goodbye,” Cassie says thoughtfully. “She’s okay. Just
away again.” She beams up at Hope. “Thanks for showing me how to cartwheel. You’re cool.”
She bounds back to her mother, and Hank says, “It can’t be.”

“What can’t?” She turns to look at him.

He’s staring after Cassie, his eyes wondering, and he says, “What she described…it sounds like a
quantum event. Like Scott might have been in…”

Hope swallows. The quantum realm , she knows, the new truth that has been haunting her since
she’d learned the truth of her mother’s disappearance. Scott had gone there ?

Scott had come back?

“No wonder she’s gone missing,” Hank murmurs. “We can’t even conceive what it is that she’s
processing–”

Hope takes a breath, then another. “Let’s go home,” she says abruptly.

When they get back to the house, Scott Lang is sitting on the stoop, her head resting against the
front door.

Hope looks at her as though she’s impossible. Then she looks pissed. “Where the hell have you
been ?” she grits out, stalking past her.

“Everything was kind of woozy when I got back,” Scott admits. “I’m still trying to…” She shakes
her head for a moment, dazed again. Angry-Hope is an easy tether, a way to remind herself where
she is, and she blinks and straightens. “I think I went to the quantum realm.”

She’d expected some shock, or maybe even a hug. Instead, Hope scoffs. “Big deal,” she snaps, and
she storms into the kitchen to make tea.
Scott has never had much a self-preservation instinct. She follows Hope into the kitchen, trailing
behind her as though she’s a lost puppy, and Hope refuses to talk to her as she prepares the tea.
“Hey,” Scott murmurs, and Hope twists around to glare at her, angry tears glittering in her eyes. “I
missed you, too.”

Then, finally, Hope launches herself forward and into Scott’s arms. Scott holds her tightly, wraps
her arms around Hope and exhales in her embrace. The world becomes a little more real with
Hope’s touch, a little brighter and more colorful, and Scott feels as though she might be okay in it
again now. “You asshole ,” Hope says in her ear, and she pulls away as abruptly as she’d come.

The anger subsides, just like that. “Dad wants to debrief you,” Hope says, businesslike, and she
leads Scott back into the dining room. Scott sinks into a chair, and Hope stands in the corner and
listens in silence to Scott’s halting explanations of what she doesn’t remember.

When Hank seems like he’s gotten his fill, Hope walks to Scott, loose-limbed and gentle again.
“Scott,” she murmurs. “I’ll walk you out.”

Where Hope goes, Scott follows. They move to the foyer, and Scott hesitates, standing uncertainly
in the doorway. It feels wrong to leave, just like this. There are… “If you need me again,” she says
finally. “The suit is all tailored to fit me now and everything–”

Hope smiles at her, warm and bright and small. “I don’t think we’re close to done yet,” she says,
and there’s a hint of something in her voice. Maybe Scott is reading too much into it. But Hope is
smiling, and Scott is helpless around it. “Dad will have more experimenting to do. Maybe more
tech to keep an eye on. And you can’t get out of practice.” She gives Scott a once-over, assessing
her with unabashed appreciation. “We’ve spent enough time training you. Hank will want you to
stick around.”

“Right,” Scott says. “Hank wants me to stick around.”

Hope jerks her head up and down. “I don’t see why that’s so hard to–”

Scott pulls her to her and kisses her, and Hope falls silent at once. This is different than the time in
the kitchen, which had been about panic and fear and a need that neither one of them had been able
to resist. This is quiet, tender, and Scott feels it like a warmth that suffuses her whole body. Hope’s
kisses are light, their foreheads pressed together as they catch their breath and kiss again, and Scott
holds onto Hope and never wants to let go.
 The door beside them opens. Hank stares at them from behind it, ruining the moment with a few
gruff words that can’t quite disguise his fondness, and Scott makes a quick retreat.

When she turns around at the bottom of the steps, she sees that the door is still open. Hope is
watching her from the house, her head resting against the doorpost. Scott lifts a hand in farewell
and Hope smiles, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“Your dad isn’t going to come after me with a shotgun if I come back here, is he?” Scott says, only
half joking.

Hope rolls her eyes. “He might if you don’t ,” she says. “He’s a soft touch.”

Scott winks at her. “Guess we know where you get it from.” Hope narrows her eyes at her. Scott
laughs, and she ventures, “Listen…I guess we didn’t talk about this before, but I kind of have a
girl.” Hope blinks at her. Scott plunges on. “She’s cute. Smart. About this tall.” She holds a hand
out at Cassie’s height. “And I’m not saying this because of…” She waves vaguely at the door
where they’d been kissing before. “But I think she’d really like you. If you wanted to hang out
sometime. Outside of the house or…I don’t know, maybe?”

She’s babbling, more anxious about this than she’d been about the mission or the quantum realm
or prison , and she looks up at Hope and begs silently for her to put Scott out of her misery. Hope
looks as uncertain as Scott feels, as though they’re both kind of stumbling blind through this.
Maybe Scott has moved too quickly, has gotten so overcome by what they’ve been through that
she’s overplayed her hand.

But then Hope smiles, tilting her head against the doorpost. “I’d love to,” she says, and Scott wants
nothing more than to climb back up the stairs to kiss her again.

So she does.

End Notes

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!