Chapter Text
I.
"… You know that I can handle the neural load by myself," an unfamiliar voice with a posh English accent notes reasonably. "I don't need a co-pilot."
"The neural load isn't my concern, Xavier," Fury snaps, and on a scale of one to Fury, in Erik's experience, Fury's near critical right now. Telepaths are rare, and treated like they're cast of gold and porcelain, even in the tight ship that Fury runs in Anchorage, but a telepath that doesn't need to share the neural load? Whoever Xavier is, his ability has to be spectacular.
Still, either this 'Xavier' is wildly blind for his caliber or he's - rightfully - used to having everything his way in his own Shatterdome. "It should be," Xavier says, just as reasonably. "You've seen my records, I presume."
"And Logan and I both agree," Fury growls, "That you need a co-pilot."
There's silence on Xavier's end for a moment, then an exhalation. "May I ask why?"
"You're an excellent telepath, Xavier, probably the best, and you know that. But while I might agree to allow, say, Nate Summers the right to deploy without a co-pilot if he could handle the load, you lack the most essential aspect of a fighter. You don't have a killing instinct."
"On the contrary-"
"You've got two kills in three drops, both with backup from Wolverine Phoenix," Fury states curtly. "But your battle instincts need a hell of a lot of work, and you only seem motivated when your target's past the yellow zone. You're too easily distracted. Like I said, you have no killing instinct, and Logan agrees."
"Helping people evacuate out of the vicinity is-"
"Not your concern, Xavier. The coast guard have jobs for a fucking reason."
There's a longer silence now, and Xavier lets out a sigh. "Very well, Marshall. I suppose you might as well introduce me to the gentleman waiting outside your door."
Fury raises his voice, seemingly unsurprised. "Get in here, Lehnsherr."
Erik strides into the office, saluting Marshall Fury with a sharp jerk of his wrist - it's been nearly a year into the Jaeger Academy, and he still hasn't quite managed to assimilate into the militaristic customs of the Pan Pacific Defense Corps. "Sir."
Fury's standing before his HUD console, but Xavier remains seated, thighs neatly crossed, his soft hands startlingly pale against his charcoal trousers. He's a slight man, almost small, his back primly upright, brilliantly blue eyes watching Erik with a telepath's abstracted curiosity, his thick mop of walnut hair feathering over his brow. Then he smiles faintly, with his uncommonly lush mouth, and turns back to Fury.
"We're not going to be compatible."
Erik stiffens, but Fury arches an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"You don't seem surprised."
"I might be surprised that you could come to a conclusion without having tried the handshake."
"Telepaths are a required component of the neural handshake because of our ability to reach out and link our minds to another human being, Marshall. But a successful handshake doesn't simply depend on the telepath. The co-pilot needs to be receptive."
"And Lehnsherr here isn't?"
"It's not my intention to seem offensive," Xavier says mildly, "But I've never before met a non-telepath who is so… rigorously closed off. Personal trauma perhaps? He has a great deal of natural anger. It's poison to a successful neural handshake."
Erik clenches his hands, but when Fury snaps his gaze to him, he relaxes, very slowly, and folds his hands behind his back, pretending to step into parade rest. Fury turns back to Xavier, his jaw set. "And there's nothing you can do? You don't need a co-pilot, after all. Surely you can handle a neural handshake with an non-receptive co-pilot. All you need to do," Fury adds, when Xavier frowns very slightly, "Is to keep Lehnsherr here synced to the jaeger, and to handle as much of the neural load by yourself as you can in the process."
"Ah," Curiosity curls warm and slow into Xavier's face - he smiles slightly. "This is about the Onslaught project?"
"I thought that you knew," Fury grunts.
"I don't make it a habit of abusing my abilities, Marshall Fury. I respect your privacy, along with everyone else's." Xavier taps his knee lightly, pale fingers drumming an arrhythmic staccato. "I heard that the delay was technical in nature."
"You heard the story that we put out in order to keep our funding," Marshall Fury says sourly. "There's no one out there with Lehnsherr's abilities. To me, he's far more valuable than you, Xavier. Maybe you should let that sink in. He has to pilot Onslaught Exodus, regardless of his compatibility scores."
"So this wasn't about me after all," Xavier smiles then - he's amused, Lehnsherr notes, with a touch of irritation, as though the fate of the world is simply a mental puzzle. "That's interesting."
"There's a test run tomorrow," Fury states shortly. "Get comfortable in your new quarters, but you're here to work, Xavier."
"Not to seem pessimistic," Xavier pushes up from the chair, "But perhaps you should rethink your trade, Marshall Fury." He tips his head to Lehnsherr politely, then he ambles out of the room, for all the world like a visiting scientist in his non-regulation tweed suit and vest.
When he's gone, Fury settles down tiredly into his chair, as though anger is all that's been keeping him animated, and he rubs a hand briefly over his face. "Xavier is your solution?" Erik asks politely.
"He is. Thoughts?"
"I don't like him."
Fury smiles thinly. "You're not exactly a sunny individual, Lehnsherr. That's part of the fucking problem. But we're gambling on you, and if I have to test every single telepath in the world with you to make this work, I will. Xavier happens to be our best and obvious choice."
"You traded Riptide Frost for him?" That explained the conspicuous gap in the jaeger berths.
Fury nods, rubbing at the bridge of his nose again. "You weren't compatible with Frost, remember? And according to Reed, the next projected emergence event is in two weeks."
"But if the handshake with Xavier isn't successful," Lehnsherr points out, "Then Summers and Wilson will be on their own."
"So make sure that it's successful, Lehnsherr." Fury says sourly. "Get some rest. And for the love of everything that's holy, don't fuck this up."
1.0.
There's a conspicuous absence where Riptide Frost used to be, judging from the scent of lingering machine lubricant and ozone, and he studies the empty berth briefly for a moment before turning to look at the filled one some distance away from it, teeming with maintenance crew. Domino Cable, a rather whimsically named Mark-3 Jaeger, sits quietly in its berth, painted in red, black and silver, a solid testament to Marshall Fury's tendency to gamble on unpredictable odds and win.
If it wasn't for telepathy, Charles would never have noticed Wade Wilson's approach. He absently tries to turn Wilson's mind away, as well, only to straighten up as he feels his mental suggestion slide off a barrier. Wilson's shielded up, and if Charles feels around the edges of it, he can see Summers' signature.
It's not unusual for jaeger teams to stay linked up for hours at a time even outside of a Conn-Pod, just to stay in practice and keep up a synchronous link, but Charles senses from the solid weight of Summers' work that - oddly enough - Summers is linked all the time to Wilson, or something close to it. It's unsettling, though he still manages to smile when Wilson ambles up to his side.
"Wade," Wilson sticks out a gloved palm. He's only slightly taller than Charles, all corded muscle and a dancer's grace under a tight black vest and combat trousers tucked into large boots. There's a pair of katanas strapped incongruously to his back, and he's a handsome young man, his grin lazy and infectious.
"Charles," Charles shakes his hand, feels the weight and strength of it.
"You're the new blood?"
"I suppose that I am." Charles tries not to look too curious.
Wade Wilson is the only human ever to have qualified for the Jaeger Program, proof of a strange sort of lateral thinking on Fury's part. Neurologically damaged after a battle with a Category III kaiju with a mutated neurospike capacity - prior to the introduction of statshield hulls to the Conn-Pods - Domino Cable's telepath, Nathan Summers, had been left unable to hold a stable neural handshake with his then-partner, Neena Thurman.
Fury had apparently tried every single Jaeger Academy cadet - and some who weren't even in the program - and then, for some reason, had decided to try a line up of random humans whom he had met during his days as a SHIELD operative, despite the overwhelming bulk of jaeger test statistics stating that humans were unable to forge successful neural links.
Despite the odds, a neural link with Wilson had somehow held stable. The Jaeger program's scientists were still trying to figure out why, but Wilson looked happy enough.
"Nate was going to talk to you," Wilson taps at his temple pointedly, "But he's being checked up."
"Is he all right?"
"Routine check." Wilson wiggles his fingers. "Was my turn yesterday, now it's his. Been a couple of months, but the screwballs over in Jaeger tech are still trying to figure out why we tick. I keep telling them that it's our shared love of chimichangas, but they don't want to take my word for it."
Charles smiles wryly. "Not even Doctor Reed will be able to deduce a compatibility algorithm from the two of you, I think."
"Isn't stopping him from trying," Wilson shrugs. "Tomorrow, huh?"
"Tomorrow?"
"You're gonna do the psychic tango with the German?"
Charles hesitates for a moment before he correlates the reference. "I'm going to try."
"What are the chances?"
"Low," Charles admits, with a sigh. "I don't know what Fury thinks will happen."
"Yeah," Wilson nods, which surprises him. "They tried Nate first. Didn't work. Even with Nate's… problem, Nate said that the German's too closed off." Wilson hops up onto a crate, perching on it like a weirdly coiled bird. "The scores don't lie. Apparently, if it was possible to score lower than zero on the test, Lehnsherr would be it."
Charles internalises another sigh. He had thought as much: though he hadn't quite thought it this bad. Scoring an absolute zero on the compatibility persotests had to be a new record for the books. "Do you know what happened? To him?"
Wilson shrugs. "What happened to all of us, of course. World got fucked. Kaiju took away our nice things." There's a hungry gleam in Wilson's eyes, like the edge of a storm of mayhem - it doesn't look quite sane, and Charles fights the urge to tense up. "That'll be my guess."
"You don't know?"
"Man keeps to himself," Wilson jerks his thumb at the far end of the hangar, where heavy construction is still taking place in a berth swarming over with Jaeger techs. "Call me cynical, but d'you think that's going to save the world? One jaeger?"
"I heard that they found a metallurgist pilot whose affinity with metal allows him to exceed and enhance existing jaeger sync tech, at least in the simulations," Charles recalls. "Which will theoretically allow him to bridge the final barrier between man and jaeger. What I wasn't told," Charles noted dryly, "Was that I was meant to be his telepath."
"Didn't realize that when they didn't ship over your shiny giant robot?" Wilson notes, looking amused.
"I thought perhaps that I was meant to get interviewed by Marshall Fury first," Charles admits, because he's never been too interested in the horse trading that tends to take place between Shatterdomes.
Wilson smirks. "For a telepath, you don't know shit."
"I'm a polite telepath," Charles counters.
"And a damn good one, I hear." Wilson tilts his head. "When did you realize that you didn't need a co-pilot? Logan just stash you in the Conn-Pod alone for fun? Not that I would put that against Logan."
"My sister was meant to be my co-pilot," Charles admits. "During our first neural handshake, she… chased the rabbit. LOCCENT never noticed until I told them - all systems remained stable."
"If you could keep your sister under," Wilson muses, "Enough for nothing to trigger, maybe you could do the same for Lehnsherr."
Charles shudders. The very thought's abhorrent: even the memory of the failed handshake is not one that he likes to revisit. "No, I - my sister was in a mental panic. She was lost in her - in our memories. I had to shut her down, take over completely, keep her stable. I could only do that because she trusted me absolutely: we've been sharing thoughts since we were children. I could never do that to another person without hurting them. And besides," he adds, awkwardly, "What would be the point, then? I might as well pilot my own jaeger."
"Funny how that turned out," Wilson notes thoughtfully. "Failing the handshake."
"Some people seem compatible until the actual dress rehearsal," Charles points out wryly. At least Marshall Logan was kind enough to retain Raven on staff.
"And some people never seem compatible until the dress rehearsal," Wilson adds, his grin suddenly sharp. "So I wouldn't really dismiss the German outright. Maybe."
"You're friends?" Charles arches an eyebrow. He hadn't exactly gotten that impression.
"He doesn't have friends." Wilson hops off the crate. "But call it a vested interest." He taps Charles on the shoulder, and winks. "I'm not sure that I want to be in the last jaeger standing on this charming bit of the Pacific in two weeks, just saying."
II.
They're not yet linked, not even yet dropped into Onslaught Exodus, of course: this is only the rigged up Conn-Pod, but when the drivesuit techs finally step away and they step heavily into the chamber, it still feels as though he's a stage closer to what he wants. What he needs.
Xavier is staring at him oddly, his red lips thinned in a flat line, and Erik grits his teeth, breathing out, trying to let go of the morass of temper-anticipation-hate-violence that has curled tight within him the moment he had first put on the circuitry suit. But then they're locking into place, control panels and HUDs coming online, and he breathes in, grinning sharply, breathes out.
Maybe this will work.
"Lehnsherr," Xavier begins, as the final sync lines dip and curl into place, a lover's embrace of metal and chrome, "In the Drift, you can share whatever you like. I won't chase the rabbit. But you will need to share."
"I know," Erik says curtly, and jerks in the grasp of the piloting sync as the Conn-Pod drops; Charles merely shifts his weight absently, on automatic, and for a moment, Erik is so envious of his obvious real experience that he grits his teeth.
"Yes, you know," Xavier notes patiently, "But you're still trying to keep me out. I won't hurt you, Lehnsherr. But you can't keep yourself isolated."
"Just do what you're here for," Erik retorts, and this time he finds his footing and braces just before impact, listening to the whispers and clicks and whirrs of his beautiful machine pulling them into place, becoming dormant rather than fully asleep. "Keep me synced."
"I can't just-" Xavier begins, but Fury interrupts.
"Attempting neural handshake in five."
"Marshall," Xavier objects, "I really don't think-"
"Stay focused, Xavier. Four. Three. Two…"
Erik feels the word one rather than senses it, and for a moment, he drowns, abruptly submerged, his vision's gone in a whirlwind of images, a lifetime of sensation; he sees a massive, stately old house on a huge set of estates, a blue-skinned girl laughing, white-teeth, and then he's in a lecture hall, talking gibberish in front of ranks of students and this is not his life, not his life, Magda, Anya-
Very far away, on the edge of his hearing, a harsh voice is snapping, "Lehnsherr's chasing the rabbit! Xavier, stabilize him! Maria-"
"Erik," There's a voice in his head, stern and unfamiliar and familiar all at once, "Erik, concentrate, help me, I'm trying to hold- don't you want this? I can feel how much you want to be a full Ranger… Erik. Calm your mind. Calm your mind."
Jaegers. Charles Xavier. He struggles to surface, to reach the voice, but then he's blindsided by another memory, and this one's his own: he's standing in the market square of Vinnitsa, surrounded by fires and ruin, and all he wants to do is-
He finds that he's still screaming as the cords and cables disengage from his back, and something metallic presses briefly over his arm before he flinches and lashes out blindly with his ability. Xavier lets out a yelp of pain some distance away, thrown, and this jerks Erik out of his panic and rage and fear like a dousing shock of cold water. He pulls blindly out of the cradle of metal, whirling, but Xavier is already ruefully picking himself up from the hull of the Conn-Pod.
"I would say," he notes calmly as ever to the Conn-Pod, "That the neural handshake was a spectacular failure even in my experience. Quick thinking with the failsafe, Marshall."
Fury grunts, and Erik registers the low thrum around them: Onslaught Exodus has been powered down externally. He feels bile wedge in his throat and swallows hard, breathing deep until he feels his stomach settle. "Marshall-"
"The world has fifteen known telepaths," Fury says sourly. "And I've tried three, one of which is supposed to be the best of the fucking lot."
"Could try Jean Grey," Erik hears Maria Hill suggest, if without much enthusiasm.
"Assuming that Logan's willing to let go of his precious co-pilot," Fury snorts. "Get Martha Franklin on the line first."
"Actually," Xavier pipes up, to Erik's surprise, "I'll like to try again."
"That's very charitable of you, Xavier," Fury growls, "But that neural handshake was even worse than the results with Frost and Summers. If that failsafe hadn't been there, Lehnsherr here would have put one of Onslaught Exodus' fists through Mission Control, which would have been so fucking fun for everyone and sundry."
"I'm still your best chance," Xavier disagrees. "Fly in the other telepaths if you like, but in the meantime, I'll like to try a few alternatives."
"What alternatives?" Erik demands, narrowing his eyes, but Xavier isn't even looking at him.
"… Fine," Fury mutters. "Do what you like, you're on permanent loan, anyway. Maria, get in contact with Franklin. Someone get me a line to Logan: I suppose we had better fucking ship Xavier's Mystique Cerebro over, just in case. The two of you, get out of kit. Dismissed."
The HUD displays go quiet, even as a tremor under their feet indicates that the Conn-Pod is being disengaged. Erik exhales tightly, glaring at Xavier, but the telepath's seemingly absorbed in studying the fitout of the Conn-Pod.
"What alternatives?" Erik repeats flatly.
"A neural handshake is often a… confronting experience, even for the most compatible of pilots," Xavier notes absently, as though reading off a script. "The key is to try to bring nothing to the drift, and yet everything. No ego, no pain or memories, but a willingness to trust. To connect."
"You seemed certain in Fury's office that we weren't compatible."
"I think," Xavier glances briefly at him, "That even if Fury flies in all the telepaths in the world, nothing is going to work, not conventionally. So we'll have to try another way." Erik staggers when the Conn-Pod locks back at base, but Xavier doesn't even shift, ambling out as the blast lock disengages and lets them out into the drivesuit room.
"What makes you so helpful all of a sudden?"
"I understand why you want this." Xavier lifts a shoulder, his impossibly blue eyes warm and annoyingly sympathetic. "I felt that much."
"I don't need your pity," Erik spits, and strides out, forcing the drivesuit techs to trail after him in an effort to help him out of the battlesuit. He takes another breath to steady himself, and clenches his hands. Some time in the Kwoon room would settle down the violence humming under his skin.