(no subject)

[x-mactaggart.livejournal.com]

Forge decides that it's been long enough in the MedLab and asks Moira if he can get out. After doing one last check, they talk about it, where he stands as her being his mentor and she gives him some advice, Moira style.



Moira was nearly craddling the cup of coffee against her chest. It had been a very long...well, period of time since she had lost count of when the badness had started happening. Coffee was needed because she was needed to go over all those reports again. And she hated looking at Forge's test results.

Hated it.

Three steps , Forge thought, bracing himself against the wall. Only three more steps. This was just like getting used to the prosthesis all over again. No feeling other than the jolt in his hip when he took a step. Fantastic machinery, and it was as useful as a peg leg right now.

Looking up at Doctor MacTaggart's office, he took another lurching step forward. Two steps . One more stumbling step forward, then another and his hand fell on the doorknob, his shoulder slamming forward into the door as he fell off balance. Brushing his hair away from his eyes, he tried to compose himself and knocked.

The odd noises had been...very reminscient of something and Moira knew why the second she opened the door. Forge was looking _exactly_ like Rory had after getting his leg shorn off and then getting the prosthesis.

"Wha' th' hell are ye doin'?" she demanded, opening the door wider and gesturing for him to sit the hell down before she helped him over there. The offer of help was there but only if he wanted to take it.

Pride was still there, after all.


Forge nodded his thanks, swiveling on his good leg and easing past Moira into a chair. He absently reached down to make an adjustment to his leg and frowned. After a while, he gave a small laugh. "I don't even know what to do to it," he admitted quietly.

"Is there anythin' I can do ta 'elp?" Moira asked, bringing a chair up to him instead of sitting behind her desk to talk. Damn Rory and his stupid behavior, he could have been a help in this situation.


With a nod, Forge pulled his leg back, sitting up straight. "I was noticing we're close to booked in here. Marius over there, Lorna still in iso, Mr. LeBeau in the critical unit, and I'm assuming "Thomas Jones" is our former-FOH guest?" He stuck a thumb towards the recovery room he'd limped out of. "I don't think I'm running a fever or leaking out of anything that's not supposed to be leaking, and as much as I don't really relish going back up there..."

"Well, I can check th' fever thin'." Reaching over, she grabbed a medical kit and fished out a thermator. Sliding it into the wrapping, she pushed it in Forge's mouth before he could protest and she snickered at that. "Ye know, yer right. We do 'ave a full 'ouse down 'ere. Ye also only live a few stories above us an' yer nay anywhere near critical. All th' crucial tests 'ave been run an' th rest, well, we can schedule an appointment for."

The thermator beeped at her and she took it out. "Normal."


Forge winced at the word ever so slightly. "The Professor said he called my parents. They know I'm okay. I... I'm not sure if they're going to ask me to come home."

The wince wasn't missed but it wasn't commented on, either. If she knew anything it was when to press and when not to. "Why nay ask them ta come 'ere?" Moira asked, gently. "Ta talk ta ye, talk ta us some more. Besides, if ye go 'ome I'll 'ave ta find someone ta bloody finish up all those projects ye'll be doin' in th' months ta come."


"I don't know," Forge said, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the cool metal of Moira's filing cabinet. "I looked at the test results. Lorna's got a better chance of recovery than I do, and she got hit flat-on with the beam. Energy-manipulators have more resilient DNA than us rare folks with mental mutations." He smiled. "Just because I can't use my power doesn't mean I forgot everything you've been teaching me, Doc. Things could kick in tomorrow. It could be never. Realistically, I have to have a plan in place for that 'never'."

"Forge." Sighing, she starting to close up the medical kit. "I understand 'bout needin' a plan in place jus' in case yer powers never return." Closing the bag, Moira turned and gave him a look that was both understanding but firm. "But dinnae close out th' possibility tha' ye could get them back. Have those safety nets in place but remember tha' this place is 'ere for ye as well. Yer pretty bloody smart without yer powers an' I'd like ta keep mentorin' ye. If ye'd like."


"I'd..." Forge turned his head to the door, looking through at the metal doors that led out of the medlab area. "There's some folks out there who aren't likely going to want me walking around them now that they know. But if you ask me?" He grunted, pulling himself up to a standing position, distributing his weight on both feet until he was standing tall and upright. "They don't get to judge me. All they can do is hold an opinion. It's up to me to decide what to make of myself."

Calmly, he extended his hand to Moira. "Thanks for everything, Doctor. But I think my time here's done. In the medlab, I mean." he added hastily. "The rest... I'll talk to my parents, and then we'll see."

Taking his in both of hers, she smiled, squeezing. "Ye may think 'tis done, but I've got a feelin' ye'll be back. 'Tis always an openin' for ye down 'ere, even if its jus' ta talk. Whatever yer past--I dinnae condon it but I think ye've changed from tha' person who walked through our doors. An' this? Ye'll recover from it."

Moira stood as well and walked him to the door. "'Tis always open for ye, jus' keep tha' in mind."


That got a genuine smile from the boy. Pausing by a locker, he opened it up and rummaged through, finding a simple cane. "This ought to help some," he said, testing his weight. "Walking's a little hard, but I'll do it on my own two feet no matter what." He remembered telling the doctor that the day he'd gone into physical therapy, and it had become a mantra he'd repeated every day since then. "Even if I'm not sure where I'm going. Upstairs seems like a good start."

The smile Moira gave him was bright if a little misty eyed. "Up is always a good start."