xp_logs | Log: Stress Scars (Paige, Forge, Thursday early in the lab)

While not quite "leet naked computing", Forge takes the opportunity to, er, 'dress down' while working in the lab when he thinks no one is around. Silly, really, when you consider his partner's one of the mansion's notorious early risers.

"Test number seven," Forge's voice spoke into the recorder, "final
temperature, four hundred seventy degrees centigrade. Loss of
conductivity at three hundred five degrees, structural cohesion at
four hundred sixty three. Failure."

Pulling the heavy leather glove over his mechanical hand, Forge
reached into the now-cooling furnace, grabbing the chunk of warped
myomer fibers and throwing them into the waste cart. Swearing, he
wiped a heavy layer of sweat off his brow and dropped into a crouch on
a nearby crate. Stretching slightly, he leaned over to pick up a
pencil from the floor and begin scrawling notes for the next test.

Paige glanced up as the doors to the mechanical engineering lab slid
open quietly. The rush of hot air felt like a kitchen with the oven
left open. Looking over to the corner, the cause was easy enough to
identify. Forge had installed a blast furnace to test the structural
integrity of the experimental cybernetics. Smiling and finding a flat
surface to set breakfast on, she turned her attention to her lab
partner and froze in place.

The heat alone had driven Forge to discard his usual lab gear of baggy
shorts and t-shirt with lab coat for a pair of bicycle shorts and...
nothing else, actually. Then again, at five in the morning, he likely
wasn't expecting any visitors. Obviously forgetting his lab partner
was one of the earliest risers around, of those who actually needed to
sleep, anyway.

Muttering quietly, Forge reached his left arm out for another batch of
the metallic fibers. Rubbing them between his fingers, he could feel
the texture, different from before and much different than his own.
Increased number of striation links, double-ionic carbon attachments
on the molecular level. According to the numbers, it SHOULD withstand
the heat tolerances that Jetstream's power required. But it couldn't
be only heat-resistant, it had to retain electrical conductivity -
this was more than just a simple rocket thruster. This was going to be
part of his body, it had to feel human. And yet be so much
more.

Cocking her head, Paige gazed in curiosity at the like where Forge's
skin stopped and the metal of his arm began, just below the curve of
his shoulder. The regimen of physical therapy and exercise that Dr.
McCoy had impressed upon him was actually showing results, and not
simply cosmetic ones, Paige thought. While the boy was still best
described before as rail-thin, and would never be the type to be
considered muscular, he was edging into the middle ground of "wiry".

Without realizing she'd been staring, Paige's eyes dropped lower, to
where the thick streaks of scar tissue reached up Forge's left side,
from below the waistband of his shorts, curving around to the bottom
of his ribcage. Unlike the clean, neat surgical scars from the recent
work on his arm, these were ugly and uneven. Like the skin hadn't been
cut or punctured, but ripped, torn away -

The small gasp caught Forge's attention, distracting him from his
notes. "Hm?" he grunted, swiveling halfway around to see Paige
standing, one hand still on the tray of food, the other raised to her
mouth delicately. Confused, he looked around, then down at himself.
Realization set in, and he let out a squeak of self-conscious ire,
dropping behind a nearby table and fumbling around for his lab coat.
"Paige!" he managed to call out, trying to fumble his arms through the
sleeves. "I, uh, didn't expect anyone here this... I mean, I expected
you but not at this... what time is it?"

"Five past five, knucklehead," She replied with a smile, walking over
to where a pair of faded jeans were thrown over the back of a chair.
Flipping on the climate control system and cranking up the fans, she
casually held the pants over the side of the table, modestly looking
away. "You may not have to sleep all that often, but your super genius
brain needs food."

Grabbing the jeans and wriggling into them, Forge stood up, folding
his arms meekly across his chest. "Food, of course. Five o'clock?
Damn. These are taking longer than I thought." A cool breeze from the
vents ruffled his hair, and he blushed as Paige reached forward to
tuck a lock behind his ear. "Sorry if I, uh... wasn't really expecting
anyone."

"Psh," Paige waved a hand dismissively. "You've seen me in my pajamas
how many times? Besides, it's practical. Loose lab coat, open blast
furnace? You're not fireproof, hon." She pushed a plate of breakfast
burritos and a glass of orange juice across the table at him. "Eat,"
she commanded, walking past to look at his notes.

As Forge attacked his breakfast with gusto, Paige slipped her glasses
on and perused his notes. "Don't run test eight," she said flatly,
crossing out a series of numbers on the paper. "The bonds won't hold
up. You need the carbon and the silicates for the thermal aspects, but
the conductivity has to keep above the threshold..." Her analysis
trailed off as she tapped the end of the pencil to her temple, then
made more notes.

"What if we got the myomer to adapt under heat into a stable
configuration that retains conductivity?" Forge posed, drinking down
the last of the orange juice. "Like... okay, pull up file BB-32, it's
the skin I designed for the Blackbird. Lessens air resistance as it
adapts to friction and speed. An adaptive polymolecular structure -
could that keep the myomer feasible?"

Paige blinked, realizing that it made sense, of course, but where in
the world had he come up with such an idea? An incredible leap of
ingenuity and logic - that was what his brain did, she reminded
herself, envious of his ability. "It should..." she ventured, drawing
a quick molecular model on the back of the paper. Getting an idea, she
concentrated, then gripped her left arm at the elbow. A tug, a rip,
and the skin gave way to dull metal, flecked with small lines of
reflective black. Pulling away her shedded epidermis from under her
loose shirt, Paige smiled at Forge, a moving statue in solid metal.

"I'm not exactly going to stick my arm in the blast furnace," she
explained, "But fire up the electron microscope. Cross-code the
readings through the simulator, then match up the structure with the
next myomer batch." While her voice was flat and professional, the
beaming grin on her face made it clear that she so loved her job.

Wiping his hands, Forge turned the dials to activate the lab's
scanning microscope. An articulated arm extended from the ceiling,
rotating around Paige with occasional bursts of blue light. "I am
always astounded when you do that," Forge admitted, glancing up from
the computer screen. "You are a marvel in every sense of the word."

"Hush, you," Paige responded, trying to keep her smile manageable.
"You're going to make me all flustered and I'm not sure if I can blush
right now." Blinking as the electron scanner rotated in front of her
face, she idly wondered about the miracles of physics that allowed her
to see, despite her eyes currently being composed of a metallic alloy
that would hopefully be the answer to today's puzzle.

"Either way, it's cute when you do. Blush, I mean," Forge's eyes were
riveted back on the computer screen, apparently all business. "I'll
set this up to share data with the fabricator, we'll make the next
test sample off this structure. It should work."

Slouching against the counter, Forge reluctantly looked away as Paige
stepped away from the scanning device and behind a folding screen in
the corner of the lab. The faint sounds of metal chips flaking away
onto the lab floor signaled Paige's return to a form of flesh and
blood. In the reflection of the stainless steel blast furnace, he
could see her silhouette though the screen, bringing to mind thoughts
that admittedly had little to do with any kind of science.

"So if you, uh, want to stick around, the next test should be ready in
about twenty minutes, and..." He turned and suddenly lost all track of
thought, seeing Paige emerge from behind the screen in an
almost-indecently short tank top and running shorts. Noticing his
reaction, she blushed briefly, then struck a glamour pose.

"Blast furnace, remember? Practical," she reminded him. And herself,
realizing that she was oddly flattered by his reaction. Despite their
relationship remaining completely platonic and professional, Paige had
to come to terms with the fact that it was nice to be appreciated once
in a while for more than professional reasons.

"Practical," Forge repeated, making no moves away from his stance
against the counter. "Of course, I mean, yeah. That's why I was, er, I
mean, it made sense to..." He stammered out an attempt at an
explanation, then threw his hands up in the air, face growing warm for
reasons having nothing to do with the furnace. "Now I'm going to have
a complex for days, I just know it."

Slowly, the grin faded from Paige's face. She walked briskly next to
Forge, placing her hands on his shoulders. "Forge? It's okay. If you
must know, it's nothing I haven't seen before." Taking one of his
hands in her own, she placed it over his left hip where she knew the
scars lay under his clothing. "These too."

Forge shook his head, looking away but not pulling his hand out of
hers. "I'm not okay with it," he admitted. "I'm not lucky enough to be
like Kyle or Jay, to have scars just... go away. And it's not enough
that this," he raised his metal arm, "makes me hard enough to look at.
It's, well... who wants to see that, you know?" His tone could have
been taken as accusatory, if his voice hadn't been so unsteady. "I'm
not... look, it's just a thing, okay?"

Firmly, Paige grabbed Forge's chin in her hand, turning his face so
she could look directly at him. "You never met Jono, did you?" she
said rhetorically. "His mutant power blew a hole in his chest when it
emerged, took most of his neck and his lower jaw with it, too. So if
you think I'm going to look away from scars, you don't know me. I see
you, all of you. Not deformed or broken or scarred, just you,
okay? And for the record, I don't mind looking at you one bit."

Stunned at her words, Forge swallowed hard. Her hands on his hip, his
face, the softness so incongruous with the hard metal form he'd seen
her in only scant minutes before. Turning his head slightly into her
hand, he sighed lightly, leaning forward. "Paige, I..."

She silenced him with a finger over his mouth, shaking her head almost
imperceptibly. "I'm going to go take these plates upstairs, and then
we'll run the rest of these tests, okay? I won't be but five minutes,
promise."

Easing away from her partner slowly, Paige gathered up the dishes,
placing them back on the tray and smiling brightly over her shoulder
on her way out of the lab. As soon as she was in the hallway, she
leaned against the wall, shivering slightly. The drop in temperature,
of course. That's what it was. That's all it was.

Standing dumbstruck in the lab, Forge finally stepped over to the
computer, inputting the proper instructions and listening to the
fabricator churn to life, assembling what would hopefully be a working
sample of the heat-resistant myomer tissue.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a flickering red and orange
light at the edge of his vision. Turning to look at it, he saw it
crawl across the wall of the lab, like a strange cross between ball
lightning and St. Elmo's fire, yet somehow alive. Jono.

Scowling, Forge picked up a crumpled piece of paper, throwing it at
Jono's psionic form, watching as the paper passed through harmlessly
to bounce off the wall. The amorphous mass of crackling light seemed
to shift colors, red to yellow to orange, rapidly switching hues and
intensity.

Was he... laughing at him?

Forge would get no answer, as the energy being flickered brightly,
then faded through the wall, leaving him alone in the lab with only
the sounds of the machines as his company.