Cable and Forge, in the medlab

[x-forge.livejournal.com]

After being referred to as 'frustrating', Nathan decided to go check on Forge to see how he's doing. An unusual offer of help is made and accepted.




Forge was indeed hard at work. Nathan lingered soundlessly by the
door, watching him. He was interesting to watch on the telepathic
level when he was deeply into something, Nathan observed idly. He
waited until Forge had paused for a moment, not wanting to startle
him. Too much, at least.

#So I'm frustrating, am I?# he sent, the thought edged in good humor.

"Holy crap!" Forge belted out, startled. He leaned back in his chair,
on the verge of tipping over and spilling onto the floor before a
slight telekinetic nudge eased him upwards. "Sweet Christmas, Mr. D!
Warn me before you do that next time? Yikes..." He shivered briskly,
stretching his muscles. "It's like waking up really fast to a fire
alarm, you talking into my brain like that. What time is..."

Glancing at the clock, Forge looked at the computer readouts.
"Tuesday? Well, I'm at forty percent completion, I'm probably due for
a half-hour of sleep or Dani's going to come sit on me. Frustrating?
Who told you that?" Forge's speech patterns were even more disjointed
than usual, giving away the stress and exhaustion beginning to start
setting in.

Nathan projected a light telepathic suggestion, along the lines of
'calming down would be good'. Amazing, how much easier it was getting
to do that. "You look like you could use a little sleep," he agreed,
hobbling forward into the lab. "And I'm sorry. Didn't think I'd scare
you quite that much." He glanced at what Forge was working on, then
back at the young man, assessing. "How are you doing?"

"Mildly irked," Forge admitted. "I've had Dr. Smythe - he's the doctor
who'll be working on me Friday - on videoconference for the past hour.
We've come up with a design, and he's got all the prep work done. I
never thought I'd be thankful for having that comprehensive physical
last month. But it gives me up to date information to work from."
Forge tapped some keys, bringing up the holographic image of his
prototype. "They're going to need to amputate just above the elbow,"
he explained, "the devascularization's progressed too far to try and
save the joint. Which means the prosthetic will have to not only
anchor to the humerus and shoulder, but the myomer fibers are going to
have to be... what's the word the doctor used, integrated into
existing muscle as support." Forge gestured with the stylus that he'd
taped to his plaster-covered left forearm, and the image changed to a
projection of himself, the new prosthesis overlaying his left side.

"The upside is that, if I understand Dr. Smythe's proposal for the
interface, and my design capabilities, it'll be as responsive as my
good arm. Tactile sensation, range of motion, it'll even cramp up if I
overwork it. The downside," Forge frowned, "is going to be the six to
ten weeks of my nerves healing around and through the interface, and
the six months of physical therapy after. Gym. Yuck." He made a face
at the thought.

"Well. I followed... some of that," Nathan said wryly, finding the
closest seat. "Sympathies on the therapy, though. But it sounds like
the new prosthesis is going to be worth the time and effort." He let
his breath out on a sigh, relaxing into the chair. "It's good to see
you up and making plans," he said, not breaking eye contact. "I know
that's what you do, but people can be thrown by accidents like this,
pretty badly... and speaking of," he went on a bit more humorously,
"what precisely did you tell your father about what happened to me?
Just so that I don't mess up and contradict details if we happen to
have another conversation. Apparently I had an accident?"

Embarassed, Forge coughed into his hand. "Yeah, I, uh... was
mentioning history class and how you've been pushing me on it all
semester and then weren't able to give the big test and he asked what
happened. So I told him you'd had a back injury, nothing detailed or
anything. Really. I know how it goes, mum's the word, right?"

"Mum is indeed the word. Maybe I'll have crashed my car," Nathan said
speculatively, then gave Forge a crooked grin. "Or maybe I won't
embellish. Just in case. It's the secret to a good lie, you know -
keep it simple. You might want to keep that in mind when you're back
to working with HeliX and have to deal with the other side's
propaganda."

Forge visibly stiffened at the "other side" mention, unable to keep
thoughts of Tommy out of his mind, instinctively associated with the
coffeehouse fire and Jay's beating. "Don't think I'll need to worry
there," he said guardedly. "The truth wins out in the end, right?
Besides, it's not like it's hard to outwit a bigot. They're limiting
their perceptions intentionally."

Nathan raised an eyebrow, but let what he was sensing go. Maybe
Charles was managing to teach him telepathic manners after all. "I
mean when dealing with their lies," he amended, smiling a little. "The
truth, which you have on your side, is necessarily more complex almost
all of the time. People, sadly, are more prone to reach for the simple
answers than delve into the complex ones. And now I'm babbling." He
tilted his head, looking at Forge thoughtfully. "Anything I can do for
you?"

Something pinged in the back of Forge's mind, that he'd been reminding
himself of. "Permission," he chirped suddenly, turning to call up the
diagram of his prosthesis. "Don't know how familiar you are with the
human nervous system, specifically the layout. But you know that the
human limbs have specific nerve trunks and pathways. If designing my
own, however, I see no reason to be limited to the stock design.
So..."

Tapping a few more keys, the 3-D image of the limb lit up with lines
of blue, familiar patterns to Nathan. "I adapted the design of your
psimitar, how it conducts thought for feedback. Using some of those
leftover crystal bits I'd attuned as capacitors here, and here," he
pointed, "it'll counteract the natural resistance of the myomer by
making the neural connection more efficient." He turned to look at
Nathan. "That is, if you... they don't mind me lifting from their
technology."

The Askani rippled in the back of his mind, giving him a very definite
answer to Forge's question. "For something like this?" Nathan asked
wryly. "You're welcome to it, they say. In fact..." He paused,
listening, then raised an eyebrow. "They're offering consultation, if
you want it."

"Consultation... hey, you said they talk to folks in dreams, yeah?"
Forge's eyes lit up. "People tend to be more psionically receptive
during those states because of alpha patterns. My brain goes into that
state when I'm working, coincidentally. If you think they might have
some ideas..."

Nathan chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully. "I could go have a nap,"
he said, then laughed a little at Forge's expression. "Well, unless
you want me hanging around here while you and whoever comes out to
play are talking shop, that's the most efficient way to do it from a
distance." His lips twitched. "I've been experimenting. Actually, the
nap is pretty much inevitable if I do it from a distance."

"Whichever works, they're your brain parasites," Forge said with a
grin of humor. "I've got a thirty-minute sleep scheduled in a bit, so
if they want to talk shop, hey, so long as they can keep up and they
don't stick around when I'm in the shower or anything."

"I'll go find somewhere to crash, then. Just remember - you don't get
to keep them," Nathan joked, hauling himself up out of the chair.
Maybe he should make it the couch in Moira's office? That was closer
than the bed. He laid a hand briefly on Forge's shoulder - not the one
attached to the injured arm - as he limped by. "I hope it'll be
helpful. I'll make sure I come look in on you again before you head
off to the hospital."

"Thanks, Mr. D. And for the record," he added, "when I said you were
frustrating, I meant it. But hey, I know I'm not exactly the ideal
quiet student either."

Nathan glanced back over his shoulder as he reached the door. "A good
portion of the time, I'm noticing," he said, "the good ones are a lot
of trouble. Their saving grace is that they're worth it."