LOG: Betsy and Forge -- backdated.

[x-psylocke.livejournal.com]

This log takes place before Maverick. As you can see, thursday started off with the best of intentions.



Still dizzy and holding his head from the night's horrible emotional ride, Forge leaned against the door to his lab, holding his coffee cup in both hands and sipping carefully. Glancing up at the flash of purple - the wrong color for Catseye, which meant an unusual visitor for this level - he tried to smile at Miss Braddock, but the effect was more of a wince. "Morning, Miss Braddock," he ventured weakly, nodding politely.

"Morning," Betsy said, trying to keep a tight leash on her smirk. She didn't know John and the idea of alienating someone else......

She cleared her throat, looking around for Hank. Could've sworn he was down here. "Oh, I was looking for Dr. McCoy."

Forge thought for a moment, then nodded to himself. "Saw him heading upstairs with Dr. Bartlet. I think Dr. Grey's on shift now, did you need something from the medlab? I was just there for some aspirin - I think Professor Xavier refused to fix this headache for an object lesson..."

"Serves you right, you know." Betsy said with certain conviction. "The both of you." Her shoulders unconsciously slump at the mentioning of Jean, as if verifying Forge's statement. "Damn, I had hoped I'd caught him before....."

She looked upward and then shook her head. "And I can't trouble him now..."

Sipping at his coffee, letting the burn of the hot liquid take his attention off the throbbing headache, Forge looked over the rim at Betsy. "Medical or technical problem?" he asked. "I can't be much help with the first, but..."

Betsy hesitated. "Technical."

Draining the last of his coffee, Forge placed his mug on a nearby table and clapped his hands together, headache momentarily pushed aside by the rush of brain matter in motion. "I was hoping you'd say that. What seems to be the issue?"

"You see," Betsy faltered, realizing exactly where this would lead. "No, John. it's quite all right." She started working out of medlab, back first. "It's nothing that can't wait.

Forge looked momentarily crestfallen. "Ah. Well, if it's nothing important," he said quietly, "then I suppose it can wait until Dr. McCoy's free. I don't think Dr. Bartlet should keep him too long - then again, he never really hits the labs anymore like he used to. Does having a girlfriend distract everyone like that?"

Betsy laughed despite herself. "It most certainly does. Much to the chagrin of said friends and family." She shrugged. "But if they're happy..."

She gave him an assessing look and making her obviously hard decision. "My DVD player is on the blink. Can't seem to get it to ruddy work and I thought Hank might be able to give it a look over."

Forge arched an eyebrow in curiosity. "On the blink? Well, that's certainly a mission-critical piece of equipment. I can't imagine why we haven't scrambled the full X-Men team on this. I'll page Cyclops and have him raise the alert." Smiling at his attempt at wry humor, Forge shrugged good-naturedly. "If you want, I can take a look at it."

"No need to be snarky about it." Betsy lips upturned at that. "I'll have to go retrieve it from my quarters, could be back in fifteen?"

"Certainly, I'll be in lab seven," Forge replied politely, inclining his head in a subtle bow, ending in another migraine-induced wince. "Good morning then, Miss Braddock."

A chime from her back pocket, Alison's voice came through the comm. Betsy. Get downstairs asap, I've got something for you and we're in a rush. I'll brief you when you get here.

"Raincheck?" Betsy hadn't waited for Forge to respond. She excused herself from medlab, as she spoke into her communicator. Whatever you say, O Great One. Be down momentairily.