xp_logs | LOG: Wednesday night, Amanda and Forge

Backdated to Wednesday night, Forge and Amanda meet on the back porch and attempt to make sense of things. Doesn't happen.

Forge stood out on the back patio, arms folded, looking at the night
sky. The crickets were chirping like mad in the summer heat, enough of
a hot night to still make standing around in the humidity
uncomfortable. He closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of the
mansion around him, sounds he'd become accustomed to at this hour. But
everything seemed dulled and silent, the everpresent voice in the back
of his brain constantly repeating.

You should have done something.

The back door opened and closed quietly behind him,
the only indication that Amanda had finally joined
him. Her hands automatically went for the pack of
cigarettes in her pocket, but it was too hot to smoke,
even for her. So she leaned against the railing a
little away from Forge, turning the pack over in her
hands, staring sightlessly down onto the back yard.
Her voice, when she finally spoke, was soft and
rough-sounding from crying.

"I'm sorry."

Forge opened his eyes, looking blankly out over the back lawn, staring
at the large fountain like it would suddenly open up with some
answers. "For what?" he finally said, voice devoid of any emotion. "If
you're apologizing for Charlie, then I'm just as guilty, so you don't
need to be apologizing to me."

She glanced over at him, and then back down at her
hands, still fiddling with the cigarette pack. "I
don't even know what I'm apologisin' for any more,"
she said at last. "I'm sorry I let him down. I'm sorry
you had t' go through this. I'm sorry for fuckin' well
introducin' you to him in the first place?" Her hands
clenched, crushing the pack and she cursed softly.
"That stupid bastard. Why didn't he say somethin'?"

"Don't know," Forge said, not moving from his resolute stance. "But he
didn't, and whether that's our fault or not, I can't say. Short of
doing what you did for Jay, we're not going to." His head turned at
that one, staring daggers at Amanda. "And for the record, don't you
even consider trying it." His voice finally cracked at that
pronouncement, a lightning-quick expression of grief crossing his face
that he quickly tried to hide.

She couldn't deny she'd thought of it, risk be damned,
but she could see it would be just as self-destructive
as what Charlie had done. And she wouldn't do that to
the people who loved her. The thought brought fresh
pain. Hadn't Charlie considered that, how his friends
would react, his family? She even felt a certain
sympathy for Carolyn. "I won't," she whispered over
the lump in her throat. "Got too much t' lose."

"Good." The mask was back up, Forge refusing to show any expression or
emotion. "I won't be continuing the work we started," he said with
finality. "Made it abundantly clear that I don't have enough of a
grasp on the theory by myself, not really a lot of use continuing to
just spin my wheels in futility, then."

Slowly, he paced the length of the railing, arms still tightly folded.
"He had a much better understanding of it all, that much was obvious.
No ability of his own, which I suppose would be ironic if it didn't
all end up this way."

She opened her mouth to protest that it hadn't been futile, that they'd all learned from
the work, but she could see the way he was controlling his posture, locking everything in.
The crumpled pack of cigarettes was still in her hand, and she tossed it into the sand bucket
by her feet. "I understand," she said at last. "Strange has some of Ch... his notes, we
should be able t' keep on from those for a bit." The words were stiff, almost formal, matching
his, but she itched to be able to reach out somehow. To do what Charlie hadn't. But she didn't
know how. "Forge... is there anythin' I can do? T' help?" she asked at last.

Forge gazed up at the sky, out into the dark. And finally settled on
the only honest answer he could give.

"No."