xp_logs | Forge meets the newest Muir Island Doctor

Dr. Curt Connors stumbles upon Forge at Muir after they've arrived with Amber. The two get to talking--mad scientist to mad scientist, amputee to amputee.

Curt was slightly, ah, frazzled. Between the frantic call of "Plane crashed!" and then "Nope, they're okay!", plus setting everything up for Amber's arrival...he stopped in between running around for a second to run his hand through his hair, mussing it up beyond belief. If he allowed himself to admit it, he was a little overwhelmed by Amber's escort. Forewarned was forewarned but still. Maybe a second or two in one of the spare labs--the quiet, spare labs--would help get him back to where he needed to be.

Forge finished wiping his face with the alcohol wipe, frowning at the accumulated carbon and soot. Lightning made static electricity and static made stuff stick to him like mad. At least a few twitches of the arm's polarity fixed that problem.

Head still down, Forge let out a shout of surprise when he rounded the corner and collided with a white labcoat.

"Whoa there, son," Curt said, smiling a little bit as he reached out to steady the young man. This was--Forge? He hadn't had a chance to really meet this one, either at the wedding or after touch down. Amber had needed his attention fairly badly and he had been forced to neglect nearly everyone who had piled off the jet. One young woman had even yelled "GROUND!" and proceeded to cling to it desperately.

Forge steadied himself, face puzzled at how easily he was recognized. Then again, if this was one of Dr. MacTaggart's colleagues, he felt more than a little flattered. "I'm afraid you have me at a loss..." then he noticed the arm. Muir's new director, former chair of biochemistry at MIT... "Wait, you're Dr. Connors!"

"Yes I am." He held out his hand and his smile grew. "And you're Forge, I'm presuming. Both Moira and Hank have talked a great deal about you, especially Hank." A bemused look crossed his face. "In great gushing language that I've been forced to look up on occasion."

Forge shook Dr. Connor's hand, noticing the pinned-up sleeve to the labcoat, then self-consciously looking at his own prosthetic. "Dr. McCoy is occasionally rather effusive with his compliments, I've found. After spending last weekend with his parents, I see where he gets it. So," he said after a brief pause, "we're leaving the containment chamber here for Amber, Dr. McCoy said he forwarded the schematics over. I had to make some field repairs, the reactive shielding's routed through the ion cleanser, which makes it suck up a lot more juice, but with what I had to work with..." he shrugged expressively. "Looks like she'll be fine here."

"We can certainly hope so," Curt responded, tucking his hand into his jacket pocket. His wife constantly teased him about that, wondering what he would do if he suddenly have two hands to cope with trying to figure out what to do with. His response was normally not one to be repeated in polite company. "Thankfully, we've worked it out so that Moira can fly over here without endangering the baby and take a look at her. The poor girl's scared out of her mind and Moira has past history with her." Tilting his head, he smiled some more. "And you did one hell of a job with those repairs, Forge. I'm very impressed."

The boy just shrugged meekly. "It's what I do. I thought I was going to specialize in aeronautics at first, then robotics and cybernetics," he flexed his leg for emphasis, "but I'm thinking that more of a generalist approach is in my future. Dr. MacTaggart's actually giving me a lot of instruction in mutant genetics next semester."

"She's one of the best, you couldn't learn from a better Doctor," he said firmly. He glanced down at Forge's leg, looking interested. "Hank told me you were involved in an accident but that you managed to build yourself some prosthetics like, well, like no other."

Forge blinked. The praise, coming from someone like Dr. Connors, still floored him. "I didn't design the original interfaces, they were experimental medical technology. But I've been redesigning the leg ever since I got it. And I lost my left hand in the original accident, but a few months back, I broke my arm and got diagnosed with bone devascularization disorder." By the look of comprehension, Forge knew that Dr. Connors was familiar with the condition. "We, uh, had cause to have some top-class myomer fiber at the school, and I designed this."

He held his left arm out to the side, the fluorescent lights reflecting off the steel surface, small flecks of blue LEDs catching the light. "Complete nerve interface, zero latency - I actually have to dial it down so my own reflexes don't throw me off from time to time. Literally superior to the real thing."

"May I?" At Forge's nod, Curt gently took the arm in his hand and looked it over. "This is brilliant. Honestly, it looks like something I would expect in, say 10, 15 years, not present day science and technology. Have you considered designing a type of skin to cover the metal or does that not bother you as much as it would someone else?"

Forge's mouth quirked up in a smile. "Why hide what I am?" he asked rhetorically. "My mutation might not be visible like Dr. McCoy's or Mr. Wagner's, but this is the evidence of what I do. I don't think I should have to hide it, any more than Dr. McCoy should pretend to look normal in public." He looked cautiously at the lump under Dr. Connors' sleeve where the older man's arm ended just below the shoulder. "You've never thought of a prosthetic? As I understand it, you had an accident yourself..."

"Many years ago." Letting go, he reached up and rubbed at the end of his arm, giving Forge one of his small smiles. "It was a lab accident, actually, and not one of my experiments. I was helping out an old college friend test some new substance when I slipped and cut myself while in contact with it. By the time they decided the arm couldn't be saved it--well, let's just say I earned the nickname The Lizard for a reason. But, yes, I did try a prosthetic for a while. But I found them clumsy and you would not believe how many vials I broke before I finally became too fed up to even continue with them."

Forge nodded in understanding. "Nerve damage? I... I suppose you adapt, then. I know I'm lucky - without my mutation, I'd be in the same boat." He paused, realizing how arrogant that could sound. "I mean, uh... no offense."

A laugh escaped at that. "No offense taken. I adapted because I had to. Though I don't know if I would take what you have, especially now. I've lived with this for years and my entire life revolves around it. I'd probably be a different person without it." Curt suddenly looked impish. "And how can I complain? I hired an assistant to help me after I lost my arm and ended up marrying her a year later."

Forge gave a bark of laughter at that one. "I should look at getting myself one of those, then." He stopped, thinking of the school, and pausing mentally at the thought of getting his favorite lab partner back into action. "It never... I mean, with her, with everything? She never looked at you as... less?"

"You realize you're probably better off saying that when she's not around, yes?" Curt asked wryly. "No, she never thought of me as less. In fact, Alyson never even really took notice that it was missing except in the most practical of senses. To her, who I was, who I am, was never determined by how many limbs I have."

"Acceptance," Forge said quietly, letting it sink in. That was really it, he thought. It wasn't that his friends didn't care about his disability. It was because they cared that it didn't matter.

Seeing Hank walking from the Blackbird towards the Centre, Forge realized they were probably ready to begin takeoff procedures. Abruptly, he extended his hand again to Dr. Connors. "Thank you. I mean, it's been good to meet you - I'll give Dr. MacTaggart your regards?"

Shaking it warmly, he nodded, looking entirely pleased with the random meeting with Forge. "Yes, please. And do take care in her class, she's been known to throw small objects at students. Myself included."