I do not own X-Men: First Class.

Duh.

In the Beginning

Chapter 4: Labrats and Hair Follicles

Once upon a time, before Mr. Oliver had unleashed the power of Hank's mind onto it, it had been but a simple radar installation device. Outside on the green, fenced-in lawn of the Institute.

And then Hank McCoy and his genius had descended upon it.

Now it was an extraordinarily engineered transmitter, uniquely redesigned to amplify brain waves. A marriage between machine and man. Just the thing for a powerful mutant telepath like Charles Xavier.

Completely ignoring the fact that its outer shell resembled a giant golf ball, Hank absolutely loved it.

Carrying along with the theme of perfectly naming his most beloved creations, he had struck far and wide to settle on just the right moniker. It had finally come to him in the dead of night as he lay asleep in his bed. He had been dreaming of walking barefoot (normal, his feet looked normal) on a sandy beach in the warm sun hand in hand with a beautiful dark haired woman wearing a blue and orange bikini.

Then he had sat straight up with one word glowing like a beacon in his mind.

Cerebro.

And now, years later, it was finally going to be properly tested.

The day was sunny and bright, making the walls seem to glow and the space appear larger than it actually was. The slightly raised platform in the center was overhung with the main apparatus itself. An opaque helmet with a mass of wires and cables protruding from it.

Not very aesthetically pleasing perhaps, but then again, Hank McCoy was not concerned with aesthetics just yet.

He want to see if it would actually work.

And now he had that chance.

His mind and body were revving and charged with the excitement and anticipation that only a scientist, a discoverer, a seeker could understand.

The Blackbird needed no special mutant abilities to demonstrate its fantastic aerial capabilities. Hank, monkey feet or no, was enough.

But this machine required more. One who could control and manipulate the very functions of the brain itself.

That one being Charles Xavier. He of the tweed jacket and stunningly gorgeous sister.

They ascended up into the space now as Hank virtually flitted about the small structure, laying his hands on each of the five stations that powered the machine, involved in final preparations for what was to be a ground-breaking experiment.

Charles Xavier, a primly vested adult and professor to boot, was practically bouncing with elation. Erik dressed dark and grim, stood vulture thin and sphinxlike, as seemed to fit his chosen fharacter.

And her. Raven. Her countenance open yet again in wonder (and was that a little fear?), her perfect form adorned in a dark, long sleeved blouse and a black and white polka dotted skirt. Once again, teasingly short.

Aren't those long, shapely legs cold? But please, no, don't cover them up on account of me. I will manage.

To avoid any embarrassing awkwardness, Hank stuck to addressing the man he was willing to forgive for outing him on his monkey-toes. If only he would make this brilliant mechanism of Hank's work.

"I named it 'Cerebro'," he stated with a mixture of self-consciousness and pride. "As in Spanish for brain."

Charles, an endlessly jovial man, chuckled with apparent glee, nodding his humor toward him. Hank took it all in stride, feeling the telepath's energy and eagerness practically radiating out in waves.

Oh, come on. It's totally copasetic, he mentally countered, feeling uncharacteristically confident and jaunty.

The feeling in the air was electric. And not just because of the high voltage operating throughout the structure.

But also due to the anticipation of discovery, of science. Of possibility.

Besides, what would you prefer, Mr. Tweed? 'Cerveau'? French might be a little pretentious, don't you think?

They gathered around in awe, staring at the mechanical marvel that Hank McCoy had created. Charles seemed positively vibrating to get his hands on it, hopping up on the platform as Hank spoke and peering up into the inner shell of the helmet.

She was there too. And looking at him again, so he had concentrate on his words and focus on explaining the process they were about to engage in. He spoke rapidly, eager to get on with the long awaited experiment.

"Okay, so the electrodes connect Charles to the transmitter on the roof. When he picks up a mutant, his brain then sends a signal through a relay and then the coordinates for their location are printed out there."

He walked as he talked, gesturing with his pen, swimming in the warm, familiar waters of his expertise. Allowing the confident scientist in him to buoy up the insecure boy that so often clung to the shallow end of the adventure of life.

Charles advanced directly onto the helmet station itself while shrewd, observant Erik peered at the monitors and levels of the main control panel.

Hank felt rather than saw her approaching as he checked the settings for the dozenth time.

"You designed this?" she asked, sounding rather amazed.

Why, yes, I did, my angel. Are you impressed? It's quite the astounding, isn't it? Like you.

But the best he could manage was to glance into her eyes briefly and murmur a barely audible 'yeah . . .'

Ah well, a stunning response indeed, Casanova, the voice inside him jibed.

Oh shut up.

She stayed next to him, watching him making final preparations, asking a few intelligent questions which he managed to answer easily enough so long as didn't breathe in her light perfume too deeply.

Was it only yesterday that he'd met her? And already he loved every single thing about her. This beautiful blond woman at his side.

He quite enjoyed engaging his science with her, feeling renewed exhilaration that she was taking an interest in his work.

Though it was probably more because she was concerned that he would accidently fry her brother's synapses into strawberry preserves.

So confident and happy was he that he barely had to wrap himself at all in the security blanket of his craft to manage her steady gaze.

Turning, Hank advanced back toward the waiting Charles and doubting-Thomas Erik, the pair of them gently bickering like an old married couple.

". . . been a labrat. I know one when I see one."

Don't dissuade my specimen, Erik. Er, I mean, friend.

He checked the helmet atop Charles' head once more, mumbling to himself. The ever vigilant Erik peered fixedly at Charles who seemed to be reveling in the grandeur and possibility of the moment as much as Hank himself was.

Hank paused, calculating the possibility of an even greater boost to the transistor's successfulness. He had of course mentioned it before and the notion had been swiftly rejected. Now, as the moment drew ever nigh, maybe Charles could still be convinced.

Oh come on, you know he's going to say 'no'. I mean, look at that glossy mane.

But it would be so much more effective. And it's just hair anyway.

Easy words coming from a guy who looks the Scarecrow from Oz.

Hey, I resent that. I don't fall down near so much anymore.

Well, go ahead and ask him then, Eyebrows.

"Sure we can't shave your head?"

He received the answer he expected. Mild and mannerly as it was.

"Don't touch my hair."

Girl. Sorry, Raven.

Only slightly abashed, Hank turned away and positioned himself at the main console.

Hawk-eyed Erik and the beautiful Raven remained close to Charles, watchful of his safety and reaction to the electrical surges about to fire their way through his brain tissue.

Hank powered up the machine and, taking a breath and praying to all that was good and pure in science, activated Cerebro.

And it worked. Perfectly.

So Hank's not a total wet mop then. Well sorta.

In my re-re-re-rewatching of First Class and reading I've Been a Labrat's hysterical prose, I've made yet another Hank/Raven tribute video called 'All in My Head'. It's posted on Youtube if you care to watch. And no, it's totally not serious. :)

Thanks to brigid1318 and MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul for your enthusiasm and to ABewilderedBear (kinda describes Hank huh I'm totally using that, sweetie) for jumping on this little love train Hank's attempting to drive.

What happens next? Oh, I think you know. Especially a certain fangirl whom I'm sure has been waiting on pins and needles for a blond haired pretty boy to show up and torture the living daylights out of our Hank. *winks