|
  |
The radio came some point early, probably the first or second thing the girl found. A soldier needs a way to communicate, and picking up Radio Free Europe may not be the worst way to celebrate entering 1964. Not that she's picking up those frequencies. Instead the speakers resonate to something different:
"I'll tell you something
I think you'll understand,
And I say that something,
I wanna hold your hand.
I wanna hold your hand,
I wanna hold your hand.
Oh please, say to me:
You'll let me be your man,
And please say to me,
You'll let me hold your hand.
You'll let me hold your hand,
I wanna hold your hand."
No one over on this coast has a great idea of what this means, the change of society and culture for the better. She might, though, and the frantic, shaking paroxysms of excitement around The Lads from Liverpool is about to be unleashed. Clearly Hope doesn't look the type to quake at anything, much less cry over having her heart broken by a look from George or a grin from Paul. She knows better how their futures turn out. It's George and Paul who start political preceding that cause the Antarctic to melt and the global crash of 2010 due an ancient Chinese curse on the World Web. Honest.
She twists the dial back and forth, and if there's any consolation for Tommy, she also has a Beatles album on vinyl that would be worth absolute megabucks in his proper day and age, propped up against a record player. Yes, they have one of those. How she filched these isn't hard; they're not in perfect condition, but there's nothing a little spit and polish can't fix. Jury rigging is something of a skill of hers, and she hums to the chorus. "All is love is better."
*
When it comes to music, Tommy couldn't help but mourn the loss of the tunes of his era. The thought that he'd be /old/ by the time modern music came along… that he'd be a grumpy adult before he could ever hear any truly /new/ music? It was more than a little bit heartbreaking. The loss of new music and new films was one of the things that hurt the most about living in the past.
However, there certainly were classics that helped to ease the blow. Musicians that could stand the test of time and be enjoyable when others just never lived up to the initial hype. The Beatles were one such musical act and it's this that draws the platinum-haired one out of the bedroom and over to see what's going on.
What he sees? Well, what he sees is chief among reasons that staying isn't so bad. Which is precisely why he's walking up behind her — she'll be greeted with arms slipping around her waist, and lips pressing to her cheeks in a way that implies he's up on his toes, "Mornin', Spicecake — I love the new addition. Where'd you get it?" Curiosity; she'll find no judgement from him.
*
"Uptraded a guy who said it wouldn't work and the tubes were all wrong. It's ancient but I didn't need to do much to rewire it. Pretty simple to finagle a fix." Yes, Hope uses words like finagle. Because if you can, why not? Hoodwink and finagle are some of the finest English language examples there are. She pauses wen he wraps an arm around her and Tommy has her straightening, rather than forcing him to bend. Her cheeks go slightly pink to the kiss; it's not something she automatically just deals with. Her teeth sink into her lip and she stifles a little bit of a grin. Then turning her head, it's after his mouth she goes for a greeting. Hers tastes of mint, proof of being up for a bit. "I got it for rigging up his speakers. That was easy as pie." Mm. Pie.
The place is still fairly empty, though, and she puts her hands on her hips as the rest of the Beatles song plays out over the radio, accompanied by 'That's our number one hit!' enthusiastically. It sounds ridiculously cheery, and the announcer goes on to rattle off more arcane information about the Fab Four, as though it's not widely known even to those two. Tommy more than the redhead, but hey, can't win them all.
"We oughta secure some more supplies. Bowls, plates. I mean, we're kind of eating out of cardboard takeout containers, at this point. Or those orange ugly plastic things I haven't returned to Raven." Tupperware is not in stylish shades, thank you very much.
*
Tommy's not going to argue with Hope's decision to turn and kiss him in greeting — in fact, it's one of those things that he'll likely never argue with, even if every other fiber of his being wanted to fuss and rage. An effective way to diffuse any situation that might be boiling over, if she thinks of it!
"That's my girl; resourceful as they come. Between the two of us… we might just manage to make this work." Tommy replies, returning her kiss with one of his own before disengaging from her and moving over into the kitchen. Poking through the cupboards in an effort to see what they /do/ have… which, in fact, is not that much at all. Whoops. Then it's over to the counter he goes; his wallet's been left upon it — no fear, no mistrust that she might do something with it that he wouldn't approve of — and out come the bills inside. There's a moment to count and…
"..we've got twenty-six dollars left over from our down payment. Should be more than enough to take care of getting something to eat on — we'll just have to get those groceries soon and try to do take out a little less to balance it out." Tommy muses, looking over towards the redhead, "We can hop over to Macy's or something and get what we need, if you're ready."
He'll need to get dressed to go out, but that won't take long at all.
*
They have bagels and cream cheese because this is New York. A carton of eggs, a variety of powdered soups and other non-perishable items to go along with that. It doesn't help that Hope isn't the best of cooks, at least in this particular era, and she has to rely upon a sauce pan rather than a microwave. Exponentially easier to eat badly when one has tools of the trade to impose fast timelines and ready availability of simple cookery. That she doesn't have to babysit a pot makes something like a casserole dish in a microwave magical, but unfortunately, that's out of the cards for another twenty years or something. Sigh.
Hope rummages around for a butter knife and goes to fetch the bagel. "I guess we need to think about a toaster. I'm thinking if they have a junk shop around, I might be able to work up a few credits to buy something if I fix a few things. It ought to be pretty easy if they aren't creeped out by a girl doing it, you know? Some people look pretty weird about that." Shrugging, she can't help that outcome, unfortunately. "Twenty-six isn't bad, but we'll have to do something better about that." Her nose gets a little wrinkle to it. "I hate to be the one to say this but maybe we hit up somewhere in Connecticut and lift it. You know whom I'd target? Friends of Humanity, just saying."
*
Hopping up on the counter — and being careful not to go sailing across it once again — Tommy's eyes rest on Hope. Thoughtful. Letting things stew for a few moments as he considers her. "Not much for the role of a 60's housewife, huh?" the speedster quips eventually, mischief briefly flashing in his eyes. Something to lighten the mood before he continues on. "We can be there in a blink, you know that as well as I do."
Then he's hopping off the countertop again. Walking with a purpose, intent on snagging some one of those bagels for himself as well. A little food to start the engine churning — especially if they're going for a run — is the best way to get the morning going. "…and I'm not above taking what we need." There's almost a remorseful look crossing his face, attention focused on the bagel. He'll take the knife once she's done with it and start cutting as well. "It might not be very, y'know, /heroic/ of me… but that's why I wasn't the one who made the decisions way back when. I'd put what you and I need above anyone else out there, and I can't even say I feel bad about it." …but he /does/ feel a little bad about /not/ feeling bad. Her influence.
The mention of the Friends makes his features harden a bit. "Got any leads? I mean, it's not like they exactly go around wearing armbands and marching through the streets. They look like normal joes. Y'know. Until they /aren't./" Which is why he hasn't been able to find any.
*
Hope scowls at the platinum-haired fool who went and got himself a volatile girlfriend. "Seriously, a housewife? You know I didn't even have a house or a roof over my head for most of my life. Tents, apartments sometimes, living rough. Whatever the mission called for, you know? Whatever it takes to survive. It's weird to come back to the same place two days in a row, and I think I can kinda get with it. But you know, there's something really awesome about being able to have chocolate pudding whenever we want it."
Their boxed food reserves include at least six of Jell-O. Vanilla and chocolate, unfortunately no fun like butterscotch with dinosaur feathers or anything. "You know, baby, heroics are…" Lips twist a bit. "I want to be good. I don't want to take, but I have nothing here, and it's not like I'm in any position to find myself a job or much of a network who can help me. I mean, I pretty much fell out of the sky, just like you. You got to come along in a more interesting way. We don't have to be total delinquents, just when we're making out in the park." Her eyes flash with laughter. "Thing is, my only options are either scratch by and put people at risk, or do a tiny bit better by risking a little more. Maybe Dad has better ideas. I mean, he'd probably set us up in a mercenary company and by that I mean, he makes me sit around not talking to the rude, nasty soldier people and I tell him I'm coming along, and we try to hope no one bombs Tripoli or a meeting on Cyprus. Speaking of, I should probably see if there are mercs running around. They'll know he's around faster than most." The strategy brightens her features slightly, short-lived but important.
"Well, I may have roughed up a few people who are definitely part of the FoH, and got a look at their cards. The one with the photos. Pretty simple, they put addresses on those."
*
Hope's erstwhile rejection of the status quo presented to women in the 60's draws a solid grin to Tommy's lips. The girl was a firecracker, and he couldn't help himself but light that fuse every now and then just to see the explosions. They were vibrant, lively in a way that so many people in the era just… lacked, otherwise. "I lo—se track of things sometimes. I /think/ we're still living in the times when a big bed for two people was uncommon… even married couples had two beds and if they pushed them together it would be /scandalous./" His parents were split, so he couldn't say from experience. Moreover, he's likely thinking of sitcoms set in similar eras that were watched in an era yet to come!
"I'm just glad you /agreed/ to keep coming back. To letting me watch your back." Pause, cough, grin, "And other things." Ahem. Cream cheese is spread over bagel and popped into mouth, there's a couple words that are attempted to speak around it before he gives in and bites. Chewing happens at piranha-like levels and swallowing comes quickly after. Then his free hand moves to rest on her shoulder. Gripping gently. "You're a better person than me, Hope. Let's be honest about that." Tommy tells her, offering just the slightest of smiles. "If it weren't for you sitting on my shoulder and putting good thoughts in my brain… I'd probably just be cruising around the world to avoid all of this… /mess/ that's going on." Wildly motioning with the bitten bagel looks a bit ridiculous, but he's not ashamed. Of anything, really. "Either that or I'd be out there on the front lines of that war that's started, making anyone regret ever /looking/ at a mutant the wrong way." Granted, he'd still do that, but only as a recourse to punish a crime in motion. Or committed. "You…" he trails off, looking away for a moment. Eyes on the bagel. Delicious, delicious bagel. Delicious, distracting bagel. "…you make me wanna do better than that to be worth your time. So don't think you're /not/ good, 'kay? You are."
There's an awkward moment left there, filled with another bite from the bagel. Nomnomnom. "There's a war going on, I think. Vietnam. If there's mercenaries… that's probably where you'd find them. Fighting for one side or another. Maybe we should take a run over that way? Try getting word from him there?" Tommy suggests, offering a smile. Then when she mentions those addresses? That smile widens all the more. "We'll need gloves; we don't want fingerprints to be left behind. /We/ might not be able to be seen but /those/ can be. Let's clean 'em out."
*
The look of blank contrition follows. People sleep in separate beds? People push them together and it's scandalous? Her head tips. "But then how do they do it? Like, do they go into a hotel only for that, and it's all awkward wink wink nudge nudge? I can't believe that's true. I mean, why would they be so weird?" Her head is shaken as she spreads cream cheese over her bagel and goes about nibbling the edges, biting into it properly while he's lavishing compliments on her. Tommy should know better. Her eyes roll slightly.
"Like hell you'd be running away. I don't think so. You seem like you'd still be in the thick of it looking for ways to be awesome and a rock star, like those guys on the radio. Heck — you'd probably join their band and wear fancy spangled goggles because you could. Totally on the front lines, which is still okay. The thing is, Tommy, mutants and humans are still the same thing: human. These morons calling themselves humanity's friends fail to apparently note we're also a creature with a head, two legs, two arms, heart on the left side, language ability. It's outright dumb to think any other way, which is why I think the human supremacists and mutant supremacists and white supremacists, for that matter, are a load of shit."
No, really, she's shy about that opinion, totally.
Thumbing her bagel at him, she zooms forward to smudge the tip of his nose with the cheese whip, leaving a dab much to her amusement. "I'm not much but I'm no real heavy thief. I haven't got a desire to hurt people. Pain doesn't do it for me, and I don't like seeing people cry out in fear when I walk by. So yeah, I try to limit it. There's only so much bad stuff I can do. Dad taught me it's okay sometimes to do questionable stuff for the right reasons, but you have got to be sure they're right. I mean, we lived on the lam. He made sure we never hurt people if we could help, we avoided trouble, we didn't prey on anyone. He knew what made a man or woman broken inside, I think. Didn't want me to ever become like that. That's his whole damn problem, he'll make noble sacrifices and never let you know."
*
Grin. "Have you looked at some of the names the motels have in the bad parts of town?" Tommy replies, terribly amused by her line of questioning. Then shrugging. "Keep an ear open for something called 'Woodstock'. It's like, a giant concert, and after it happens… things really start getting /crazy/ on that end of things. If I didn't have a girl who's brain is already /past/ that, I'd be counting down the days."
Not that he keeps actual count because his memories have enough cloud in them to prevent knowing /when/ said concert would occur, but he doesn't need to, either.
Brows arch to her assessment of him, lips twisting juuust a bit at the thought. "It'd be less running away and more running to things that are more fun. Like… nude beaches and New Year's parties." He doesn't have a sense of responsibility — not to the world as a whole at least. Those close to him? Different story. Which is probably why she sees him the way she does! His thoughts on himself? Different story. He doesn't see his self-value because the people in his life for eighteen years did little but /de/value him. Which also makes it easy to compliment her, instead.
"Yeah. At the core of things, it's what we do that makes us who we are." Tommy admits, going cross-eyed at the bit of cheese on his nose. Sticking his tongue out to try and get to it. He can practically reach, and if he keeps trying… but then words continue. "Well. What we do and what people tell us we are. People always told me I was a big pile of shit, and… well, if records for kids under eighteen weren't sealed, my rap sheet would probably back up the statement."
He's less proud about what he did growing up than he'll normally admit to. But does take some pride in striking back at his perceived injustice.Then she's talking about the way she grew up and he's left nodding along with her. "Your Dad sounds like he's good people. Like Steve and Wanda seem to be. Probably are." Pause. "Though I betcha the first time you bring me home, I'm going to end up with a gun pointed at me or something." There's a bit of amusement in his mind to that thought. It wouldn't be the first time, admittedly. Then, there's a playful poke directed towards her, "At least /you/ don't have to worry about that part."
*
Her eyes lift to him and she chews on the remainder of her bagel, thoughtfully negotiating whatever thoughts Tommy might be holding about almost anything. "Woodstock? Sounds like a place. What happens at Woodstock that gets so crazy?" Their thoughts are highly integrated and playing along that route is a foregone conclusion. Mirthful as they might be, she inclines her head towards him. "Have out with it. You gonna tell me what that future holds in my past? Manage to impress me, maybe I'll amuse you."
The rattling bus going by causes her to pause and peer out the windows, staring down at the ground floor with muted interest. "We do the best thing we can. What's a rap sheet? And you think it matters to me? I don't care. You did what you had to survive, and you're a good person. I mean, if I have to confirm that, I could probably figure out a way. It'd involve a rope and a fire, and a guy with a twirly mustache. Would you denounce him or be the guy with the mustache? I can condemn how awful that is."
With the touch of her tongue to the corner of her mouth, she leans forward to kiss him, softly at first, then more demanding if he lets her stand on her toes. "My dad's my dad. I love him. You kinda get what you got. Your comments about having a gun pointed at you are overrated. I don't point them at people unless I mean it, and sure as hell not for fun." Her shoulders teased into a shrug meet with a tilt of her head. "Anyways, not that important. You gonna throw yourself in the shower or we're going straight out for a run?"
*
"I'll try. I was born after it, and haven't lived through it yet. It's a place. And an event. It was like, one of the biggest musical festivals in history. Utterly overflowing with hippies." Tommy replies, leaning back on his heels, precariously balancing in the way that only speedsters and the exceptionally agile can for a couple moments while he thinks. "It was the Summer of Love," he's off by a couple years. "Just… like… three or four nights of /music/ and so much booze, drugs and sex that it'd make any adult's head spin."
Then he's disappearing for a moment. Coming back with proper going-out clothing on, which also means goggles. … and gloves. Because he meant that. "Rap sheet; a list of crimes that a person's committed. I've stolen, I've vandalized, I've beaten people up." … and then she's shutting him u. And he's happy to kiss her back and let her kiss him as much as she wants to. Again, not something that he's inclined to argue with. "…but no, I don't think it matters to you. You see… /something/ in me." Something that he doesn't even see himself sometimes.
"Yeah, well. You /say/ that now, but if it happens… let's just say you'll owe me one." Grin. "Let's go. You lead, I'll keep up." If she lets him.
*
"Hippies?" No, she doesn't really know what that means. "They're people who don't like war or something?" Mostly. Chances are good Dad has even less context than adoptive daughter and no comprehension whatsoever about the real impact they had culturally. Chances are they're diametrically opposed. "I remember what you said about Vietnam. That's a hell of a long time ago, that war. But… it's not going to be. And it was bad, I mean, no one gets out of that looking good. I think." Her brows scrunched up, she shakes her head about it. "The war of fire and spike pits, that's what I know about it. You're saying that didn't happen? Cool. I guess four days of booze, sex, and music sounds way better than four days for war or riots or aliens. But if there weren't aliens you remember, does that mean it's not going to happen? I know of at least four futures and they're all… better off, I guess, if they don't."
Aliens might not be a better choice, but positively is important. He goes scooting out with gloves and goggles, and she rolls her eyes playfully. "Okay, does this mean you expect me to pull on my stuff, because seriously that's going to look weird if I walk around in green leather. I mean, I can. But if we wanna be cool with Connecticut, and hitting up these houses? They're bankers in Hartford. Or people who do money stuff. Like risk and money. Whatever that is. Anyways, you actually need…"
Time to go raid his clothes and see what he has. "You need a less leather jacket, and more proper coat. You got anything like that? If not we'll skim it, but it's way easier if you do a look like a suit or something. Less a suit. Like.. uh, your dad's coat. That is one awesome coat, but his scarf is possessed. Seriously, I don't trust that thing." She frowns. "Is there something I should know about it? Just keep your eye out about it because I think it's screwed up somehow."
*
"Bingo. They don't like war, and they have like, really long hair, like, longer than ours…" Which, Tommy's a pretty shaggy fellow as it is. Which doesn't exactly /help/ his prospects of finding proper employment. This doesn't seem to bother him too much by comparison, though — Tommy's a rebel. He's a rebel and he'll never-ever be, any good.
"I /think/ it's going on now. I've tried to avoid the area just in case. It was pretty awful from what the history books said about it." the speedster offers, making a face. Then having realization strike. "…Shit. They still use a /draft/ back in these days, I think." Cue a bit of uncomfortable pacing. Not exactly his cup of tea. Seriously; what would something like the army ask of someone who moves faster than sight? It's a reminder of how his life /almost/ worked out. "Maybe it'd be easier to get you papers in Canada. Canada is nice this time of year." Pause. "But Bermuda's better. And has beaches. That could work, too."
Then he's distracted by the fact that she's assailing his wardrobe — and a bit of creative imagineering of Hope in green leather — and he's a bit more stable. When she looks through his clothes? Well. He has a little of everything, really. Eclectic tastes are the name of the game for the hummingbird-brained. There's even a suit in there that he wore to his attempted 'interview' with Pepper. There are no Strange-esque coats, alas.
"What, you want me to start dressing like my da—-Steve, now?" comes the amused response from Tommy, still not willing to use the 'd' word himself, but coming ever closer. There's a few words like that which he's careful about. "What if I dyed some of my hair black and grew a goatee? And made fancy gestures like," …and he waves his hands around like an utter goofball. If Billy's attempt at magic fingers was bad, Tommy's…
Let's hope Strange never has to witness that. Then she's talking about the scarf. "So I'm… /not/ the only one who's seen it moving in ways it shouldn't? I thought I was just bored and my brain was trying to occupy time…"
*
Long hair? He realizes the tail end of her red hair actually reaches her tailbone, right? Granted, that's with a bit of brushing and some extra work, but it does. At least the longest parts. Her hair isn't short by any means, and she's not the kind of girl to surrender that up because let's face it, she's vain. At least about her hair. Brushes are a blessed newfangled thing.
"You seriously think it's that bad? Okay, no need for us to go there. I'm totally cool with that. But whatever, let's go speed to where Hartford is. That's supposed to be close?" How fast can he run up anyways? "Bermuda is also, like, not a country. So you can't get me papers for Bermuda. You gotta get them for wherever owns it. Maybe a pirate!" Serious she apparently is not, even as she flexes her fingers in front of her and gives a smirky grin to Tommy. "Uh. Yeah, by the way, they do draft. I mean, it's not a good thing but there were supposed to be all these unhappy guys in wars from my time who wanted to reinstate it. They were mercs and totally crackpot anyways, but they said we should have a military regime to protect ourselves and stuff. It's not like there's a law against being in the military now, but honestly, I'd rather not have to fight the US Army for you. They'd lose." Confident words, aren't they?
Clothes come up and down, but she'll use a sweater if she has to. He might look a bit horrified by her suggestion. "Have you seen that coat? It's a classic. Some English thing I bet. They're always making the best coats. But if we're going in a moneyed area we gotta act like it and it's so much easier for you than me. Like… I have to wear a skirt." Her head is strictly shaken. "I won't but they expect me to. And your dad's scarf is messed up. He might be a telekinetic but he doesn't read like that to me. That thing is… I dunno. Maybe he uses it to secretly strangle people or it's an enchanted snake and you don't know and he doesn't know. Which would be awesome and totally terrible at once. Now get this on so we can go."
Her eyes roll, and she grins. "Cause seriously, steak dinner?"
*
Oh, he realizes it. But the pictures /he's/ seen have people with hair down to the ground. Of course, those may have been the rarity as opposed to the norm, but…
"It's nothing we can't handle, Hope." Tommy points out, shaking his head a little. "It's just… I told you about what happened to me. People trying to make me into a weapon that they could point and shoot. Do you /really/ think the Army wouldn't do that? I bet it'd happen after the first time I had to dodge bullets." Clearly, the prospect of being used for something he doesn't believe in? Is a bitter subject for Tommy. Being weaponized in /general/ is a different story. Otherwise he wouldn't have done heroics. Or asked Hope about the Brotherhood. Both causes are things he believed in — at least of what he knew.
She /does/ get a smile from Tommy at the prospect of fighting the Army for him. "You really /do/ care, don't you?" It's perhaps this reason above any other that he goes along with her suggestion without complaint. There's no need for privacy, either, he gets right to it. At speed. Done! "Alright, alright. I'll ask Steve about his coat. If you /really/ like it that much." he relents, laughing softly…. and growing in volume as she theorizes about the scarf. "Well, maybe since he's magical you can't read him like you can read me? Or maybe it's just because we're…" he trails off and flashes a grin. Then a flash of movement and he's by the door.
"You will /never/ hear me argue against a steak dinner. I haven't had steak in… man, forever."
*
"Babe. I promise they won't. If I have any say over it, and that means a lot because I'll use whatever I can find to stop it." She halts then, cupping his face with her hands if Tommy lets her. Her thumbs catch under his chin and her fingers slide over the slopes of his cheekbones, gently dusting. "They locked you up. Imprisoned you. How many years of your life did they take away doing that? I…" There are points of memory, points of truth that need to be addressed. Open book and all that. "My dad got imprisoned on a ship for two years. Like, trapped down there and I didn't even know he was under my feet. They kind of kept me hostage there too, except it was a ship the size of a city, bigger than that. When I talked to the guy with the cheeseburger fetish? Um, that's kind of when that happened. But it gave me a really healthy appreciation for letting people live their lives without shackles. Let's say I tend to look at things like government and military and organized anything with a skeptical eye. 'Cause I don' t know what's going to happen and whether someone really has my best interests at mind. But it's hard, especially when someone believes in you. A group attached to you believing you're the coolest weapon ever is really, really discomfiting."
Shrugging her shoulders a little bit, again, she gives him a bit of a hug. "No one deserves to be used like a tool or a weapon. Shiny laser guns, they think I am a weapon and see how that got me? No family. No home. No time that's my own. It sucks. I wouldn't wish it on anyone, no matter how much I love my dad. I wish we'd had a bit more normal life growing up, that's all." Hard not to be wistful for something that doesn't exist, and she clicks her tongue when he's in the coat and chiding her about magic.
"Yeah, do I look like I'm a freaking hocus pocus witch? Do I have a pointy hat? Totally not. Wizard people don't exist in my time, bone head."
*
She does say that affectionately, for what it's worth. "I mean… we maybe had games about them, but there isn't any magic. I mean, even high tech looks like magic I guess, but there wasn't anything like that. There was us or augmentation?"
*
Tommy's not about to stop her. He likes to be touched almost as much as he likes touching. Even if it's the kinds of touch that make it hard to look away. Plus, admittedly… given the subject matter? Comfort helps. He listens to her words. Frowns at them — not because he didn't want to hear them — no, communication's important. Understanding even moreso. Reflexively, his hands move to her waist; they're there for one another. "About two years before Billy and them broke me out. Blew up my school before my sixteenth birthday, kinda got the fast track to Juvie after that." There's a little shrug, "I mean, at least I came out of it knowing what I could do better. And they never got to the point where they got to pull the trigger, so that's good. But…" he trails off, leaning into her touch. Just quietly enjoying it for a moment. "We've gotta find your dad." he tells her, letting one hand rub slightly at her side. "Make sure that he's not in that kinda trouble again, and, I mean, I know you know /I/ have your best interests in mind, but… having someone else around who you know falls in that category would be good, too, right?"
Her hug is returned with one of his own, arms encircling her and hands rubbing her back. Embrace and massage, all in one. "Well, you and me, Spicecake. We're in this together - whatever happens we look out for one another. You have a home, now. Just not a couch." he quips, then presses a kiss to her cheek, "And I know it's not the same, but, uh. If you want to kinda experience the whole family stuff, you're welcome to join me when I hang out with mine. They're nice. I think they like you." They'd better.
Then he's laughing — if he realizes that this implies that people like the Doctor and Billy might not be around in Hope's time, he's not showing it. Odds are, it sailed over his head — he's pretty heart-on-his-sleeve in these candid moments with her, despite the bravado outside of them. "Yeah. We had games about them too. I'm pretty sure I saw Billy playing them before. Dungeons and… something." Pause. "It was not the game that I thought it was at first." Thankfully.