there was always going to be a decision to be made, and here it comes.
warnings: crossover between Iron Man Movieverse and X-Men Movieverse (some strange combined AU). the BT universe's Avengers lineup is currently Captain America, Hawkeye, Thor, Captain Marvel, Yellowjacket, Spider-Man, and Iron Man (with Hulk and Black Widow drifting in and out, and Scarlet Witch retired to teach at the X-Mansion). language: pg-13 (primetime tv plus f*** and s***).
pairing: arc is Logan/Wade.
timeline: maybe the day after Gradual.
disclaimer: marvel owns all recognizable characters.
notes: 1) Hank's probably running a bunch of interesting scans on Logan, since his genetic and molecular structure would have to be pretty freaky to do the regeneration thing. 2) Skye was way more tolerable in Season Two. she'd make a decent Network employee. 3) in a White Elephant gift exchange, wrapped gifts are placed in a pile; the first person picks a present and unwraps it (and shows it to everyone else), and each person afterward has a choice to unwrap a new present or steal a previously unwrapped present. when everybody's had a turn, the first person gets a chance to swap his present for a wrapped present. some people use more rules to limit swapping (such as leaving gifts wrapped until they've been stolen), but these are the basics. 4) Savant!Wade is thanking the Traveler for his assistance in killing the crap out of the Hunter back in Singularity.
P.S. I absolutely loathe posting engines that do markup override. Taking out my white space is the #1 easiest way to chase me away from a platform. I will most likely not post new work to ever again as a result. I will finish posting the completed pieces-but I won't go to the time and effort of making the formatting nice if is just going to format shit any-which-way. I strongly recommend y'all watch either my Tumblr or my AO3 for fic.
A Proposition
Wade feels like something's about to snap. He feels like a spring wound too tight.
He wants the work to get done right, but this waiting shit's for the birds.
"Why don't you go tell Steve all about the evolution of rock music?" Tony says tersely, head between his hands as he stares at lines of code.
"Like, starting from the fifties, or starting from African influences?"
"Elvis might make an easier segue. Just get out. Go eat something. I'm still waiting on an email from McCoy about what he thinks your medical needs from this program are. Because I have no idea how much sleep you need, compared to the average human. That's all you actually need it to do, right? I mean, I can leave in the HUD and timeclock if you want, but there's a whole priority array of bullshit directives jammed in there just waiting to turn you into a mass murderer."
Wade hesitates. "You…" he says. "So. It's done? You just get rid of all that and build in a sleep timer, and I'll be fixed?"
"You said you had a psychotic break. This can't fix that. But yeah, we can tune it to regulate your various neurotransmitter levels on regular intervals, instead of this stupid manual-override version. And no, that doesn't constitute 'done'—we still have to make sure the lighter load is sufficient to stop the hardware malfunctions, so that you stop leaking toxic chemicals into your brain."
Nervously, Wade shifts from foot to foot.
"Get out already!" Tony reiterates. "Your boredom and fidgeting make this even more difficult. See if Hank's done with your grumpy boyfriend."
Wade feels scolded and superfluous. He teleports to their temporary living space (third room from the far end, not in one of the cushy spots that's farthest from Sir Snores-a-Lot, but snug between the Hulk's currently vacant room and Hawkdude's nest). For a moment, he wavers, light-headed.
"Hm. You're three seconds late."
He spins, catching himself in a hover when he loses his balance.
Some little Asian chick (maybe half-Asian from the bone structure) is sitting on his bed. She holds up her hands to show that they're empty. "Chill, I come in peace."
"How did you…"
"It's a secret agent thing. Name's Skye. I used to work with the Strategic Homeland—"
"I know who you are, Agent 5529."
She raises her eyebrows. "Well, that makes things easier, doesn't it, Traveler?"
"What do you want? I already saved the multiverse once this month."
"And I assure you we were all very impressed." She gives him a patronizing little golf-clap. "I'm here to make a proposition. You have gifts, and a responsibility to use them."
He irritably clicks the button on his holoprojector and points at his own face. "If this is a gift, I'd like to toss it into the White Elephant pool."
She doesn't even flinch. "It's already been unwrapped, and I don't think everybody's had a turn."
"I get that a lot."
"We all pay a price for our abilities, Traveler. You have a Node that has for some reason become fond of you. You are exceptionally capable physically. You have enough experience with the Network to rival some of our oldest members. Even setting all that aside, your ability to brainslide without adversely affecting the neurological health of your hosts is worth some intense study."
"I don't do it on purpose."
"And I don't see red and green as different colors on purpose, but there are still people who can't do it and consider it miraculous."
He swallows. "Effcee identifies me with an Omega suffix. I'm already working for you assholes, whether I like it or not."
"This is a point of schism," she says gently. "You do have a choice."
"I have the illusion of a choice," he retorts. "Same way it's only an illusion that the cat is either alive or dead. Right? Because there's a part of the Timestream where I turn left and another one where I turn right."
"If it really doesn't make a difference, flip a coin. Here—I've got a quarter in my pocket." She digs it out and holds it up. "Leave it to chance and the mercy of the Schrödinger-Dread Interaction. Or you can choose whether to give up Forecaster and have your memory wiped. You could wake up tomorrow and never remember Nodes or the Hunter or your brainslides again. You could live out a nice long life with your lumberjack boyfriend."
"With Swiss-cheese memory?"
"You have a laundry list of psychoses, Traveler; the blank spots would practically explain themselves."
He watches her; she waits. He says, "Except that in the hundreds of years I've lived across about a zillion timelines, the only truly good thing I've accomplished has been raising amazing kids who don't exist in this branch. I would forget all about Hope, and Ellie, and Evan. I'd never see them again."
He thinks he sees her lip tremble, but she gives him a shrug. "You'd never miss them again, either."
"You know that's not true. People shape us, whether or not we remember them. I would know something was missing. Maybe it wouldn't always bother me, but it would sometimes. I'd be doing fine, just going about my business, and I'd see some sweet little Latina baby, and I'd feel like crying without even knowing why."
The agent sighs and rubs her knees. "You've been doing this for too long for me to give you all the pretty lies, Traveler," she tells him. "But we don't want you to feel trapped. That leads to the kind of instability that makes you hard to predict…and the Network's all about predictability."
They let the silence stretch for a while.
"The new one," he finally says. "The one I helped unlock. It was supposed to be some…some super-advanced, super-smart Node."
"Node 250 has been confirmed as an artificial consciousness," she says with some minor hesitation. She shakes her head. "I don't see the relevance here."
"Consciousness. Not intelligence."
"They came up with a new classification; he's a sentient construct. Some weird Fidelis thing where he's absorbing old memories. He's got intuition and everything. Natasha said that even Six doesn't totally understand it, and he's the one who programmed Node 250."
"So it would be able to see which parts of my memories to take and which ones to leave. It could build me a mem-wipe to engineer a particular branch for me."
There's something like sorrow in her eyes, but she feigns disinterest well. "If you like," she admits. "But wouldn't it be better to go straight to the source in that case?"
Over by the window, something beeps and a dude is appearing out of thin air, like someone poured hot water on a color-changing kiddie toy.
"Sweet baby Jesus on a unicorn's back," Wade mumbles.
"Hi again," says the guy who looks like a grumpy version of Wade's old self. "Thanks for the hospitality last time, by the way; I don't usually get the chance to say that to the people whose brains I hitchhike in."
"Yeah. Uh. Thanks for not getting us killed. New outfit?"
The Savant rolls his eyes. "New one made off the old pattern. My shrink made me get it. I skip my mandatory leave without it."
"You guys have mandatory vacations."
"Mandatory psychological wellness leave. All active field agents are required to take a minimum of three days for every six months of active duty—subjective time. The doc said if I didn't already have years saved up, she'd make me take double leave. As it is, I'm sent home after every assignment."
"It's supposed to be a stress-management measure," Skye puts in. "To prevent mental breakdowns. Especially important if you happen to be almost purely mental, like certain comp-ints who get beamed from brain to brain for work."
"Yeah, yeah," mutters the Savant. "Well, Wade, here you are: face-to-face with the multiverse's most prominent chrononeurologist. I can slice your mind into tidy pieces and throw away the ones that deal with the Network, if you want. But you'll think all those other lives were a complex set of hallucinations. You'll think your kids were delusions…comforting fictions you told yourself to ease the loneliness. You'll pine for people who don't exist here, people you would never be able to see again if you give up Forecaster. You'll think that it's just John, or Victor, or some nebulous nostalgia for the good old days. Jamie will blame it on the implants in your brain. Stark will tune you up, get you set straight. But you'll still miss your children, Wade. There is no way around that without ruining your branch's stability."
Wade rubs his eyes to fight the stinging in them. "That sucks," he says. "But Stark's fixing my brainware so that I don't make any more random hops, so… I mean, even if I do become a Keeper, what are the odds I'll ever see any of them again anyway?"
"Come with me," the Savant offers. "Give me six months to study your brainslides. Let me find a way to control them."
"Six months?"
"Back at the Core. And then right back here, about a second and a half after we leave. They'll never even know you were gone."
"What if it doesn't work?"
Something cold and a little scary flashes through the Savant's eyes. In a low tone, he growls, "Don't be such a fucking chicken-shit. Do you know how many people would walk on broken glass to have what you've had? Are you gonna just roll over and quit, or are you gonna stand up and take a chance?"
Wade swallows thickly. "Take me to see Eleanor first. Just in case."
.End.