Forge and Kyle, the gym.

[x-wildchild.livejournal.com]

After his Physio, Forge finds Kyle in the gym, trying his very best to put an end to one of the heavy bags. Kyle insists that he's okay, Forge tells him he's a terrible liar (and ugly, but that's just Forge's crazy talk.) and there's some chit-chat, and manly stuff like excercise and bag-kicking.



Forge could hear the rhythmic pounding even over his headphones, solid and slightly uneven. Opening his eyes, he released his grip on the weight machine slowly, easing the weights down with a quiet clank. Slipping off his headphones, he wondered idly who was intent on treating the punching bag like it had personally offended them.

Getting up and throwing a towel over his neck, he looked around the corner. Kyle looked like he'd ... well, he looked angrier than Forge had ever seen him. And he was unloading on the heavy bag with wild kicks and punches, making it bounce and swing on the chains that suspended it from the ceiling.

Carefully, Forge eased himself down onto one of the benches, his back pressing against the cold wall. "So," he finally said during a break in Kyle's staccato punches, "Who's winning?"

Kyle shook himself, as if startled, and blinked a few times before answering. "Uh..." He started, intent on saying that he was winning, when he recognized the burning feeling in his hands. Raw, slightly swollen knuckles and purple-blue of bruises along his fingers. "Shit. I think the bag is.." He answered reluctantly.

"That's because the bag's not all pissed off," Forge said with a small smile. Chuckling quietly, he held up his right hand. "I came down here to beat the crap out of it after ... you know, back in November. Turns out I got about five punches in before I realized I can't punch worth a damn."

Standing up, he wandered over to Kyle, placing his hand on the bag to stop its swinging. "How you holding up?" he asked softly.

"I'm -fine-" Kyle grunted. "Man, why does everyone keep asking me that? I didn't get hurt, the guy's in jail or the hospital or whereever they put him, everybody's safe, why does everyone keeping wanting to know if I'm okay? I'm OKAY, okay?" By the time Kyle was done, he was practically yelling, though he didn't realize it until he closed his mouth.

"Don't ever go into politics," Forge said firmly, "not just because you're ugly as hell, but because you're an awful liar. Don't bullshit me, Kyle, I've been through this." Extending his hand, Forge shoved the heavy bag to thump his roommate on the hip. "We've roomed together for what, more than a year now? I know when you're working off steam about something. And this is more than just working off steam."

"I need to tape my hands the next time I go to kill the bag..." Kyle muttered. "And you just said you wanted to hit things in November, so I'm, you know, justified. A guy's gotta right to be a little pissed off about being kidnapped, you know." And hauled off like a sack of potatoes, and squished on the ground so he couldn't move. "And then Kurt wouldn't let me watch Nate kick the guy's ass. I mean, it's not like I wanted to help... okay, help -much-."

Forge shrugged, pushing the bag back towards Kyle for emphasis. "Not saying you don't have a right to be angry. I'm just concerned as to what you're really angry about. Doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that if Mr. Dayspring was involved, it's got something to do with those folks who took you out of Juvi and did that crap to you. Same crap they did to Mr. D. and his friends. Was that guy one of them?"

The second time around, Kyle got the hint, and shoved against the bag with the hell of one hand, sending it back towards Forge. "Yeah, apparantly he was all pissed off because he couldn't undo the brainwashing or .. something. I dunno. He was pretty whiney about the whole "Nobody helped me!" thing, and wanted a piece of Nate. Pretty far into the whole 'I had to do awful things because they told me to...' thing too. Which, I mean, hello, I didn't sleep through all of history last semester. That didn't work for the Nazi's -either-."

"Lot of them didn't have a choice back then, I guess," Forge said, ducking subtly to the side to avoid the swinging bag. "Doesn't make any excuses for now, though. None at all."

Walking over to the equipment rack, Forge took a jump rope from its hook and began to start leaping in place, feeling the muscle in his right leg strain to keep up with the machinery of his left. "So," he said through quick breaths, "you're emailing that blonde friend of Mr. D's? The one who's feral, like you?" Before Kyle could object, Forge just smiled. "You left your email open when you went to the bathroom."

"Ani?" Kyle said, trying not to grin like an idiot, and failing utterly. "Yeah. I figure, she's got some idea of how this whole feral thing works, and I haven't talked to her in a while. No squirrels this time though. Well, unless Marius calls me dogboy again. Then all bets are off." He made a mental reminder to figure out how to get the computer screen to turn -off- when he wasn't there. "And, I dunno about the choices thing. Nate did it, Ani did it. And whatshisbutt said that they, I dunno, had some kind of awful tragedy or something to make them break it, but that doesn't excuse being an ass -now-."

Laughing out loud, Forge began to spin the rope twice under his feet as he jumped, feeling his shoulders tense with the extra speed. "So you get kidnapped, used as bait, and you come out of the whole thing without a scratch and getting back in touch with hot feral babe? I fail to see what's got you still all pissed off, buddy."

Kyle shot his leg out at the bag, pushing it away with the ball of his foot, and then twisting his hips and catching it again with his heel as the bag came back towards him. "The part where I got kidnapped and used as bait? Dude, I couldn't -do- anything about it either. I couldn't move, and because of the gravity thing, my phone got crushed. I couldn't even call anybody." He'd been picking shards of his cellphone out of his hip for an hour with his claws before Dr. Voight threatened to tape his hands together if he didn't let her get them out neatly.

Taking one last jump, Forge balled up the jump rope, throwing it at Kyle weakly. "Remember who you're talking to, ass. Not like I'm a stranger to that feeling. Try it for three weeks on end instead of an hour and a half. But seriously," he panted, dropping to the floor to stretch his muscles, "that kind of stuff? Isn't going to stop. I realized that after I woke up in the infirmary after they pulled me out of that basement in Florida. We're not normal. We're never going to be normal. So we might as well quit expecting our lives to be normal."

Leaning forward to grasp the balls of his feet, Forge grunted and looked up at Kyle. "As long as we're who we are, this stuff will keep happening, and we either need to learn how to deal with it, or we change the world. That's what Mr. Dayspring and the rest do when they put on those uniforms and take off in the jet. Changing the world a bit at a time. Stuff like Mr. D's friends are doing, making sure no more kids go through what you did. That's what matters."

Rocking forward onto his knees, Forge stretched his arms out, then rose to his feet. "It sucks, no doubt about it. But it'll change."

"Yeah, that only helps enough that maybe like, someday my kids'll not have to be picking pieces of their phone out of their ass." Not that he wanted kids. Ew. Poopsmell and vomit machines. "I didn't ask to be a mutant, I didn't volunteer to be some kind of political posterchild, and I don't like having my life shat on just because some jackoff has a grudge against Nate, and wanted to dig the knife in a little deeper and try to mess me up in the process."

Forge shrugged disdainfully. "I didn't volunteer to be shorter than everyone else in my class. I never asked to play fun little Stockholm Syndrome games with Magneto for the better part of a month. Sometimes shit's out of our control." Stepping forward, Forge lashed out with his left arm, punching the bag to start it swinging again. "So you find a way to take that control back. Find something you can do to get your mind off of it that doesn't involve breaking your knuckles on the bag down here, huh?"

Kyle stopped the bag with the flat of his hand, and scowled. "Killing my knuckles -was- how I was taking my mind off it. Dude, it's not like they won't heal." He raised a fist, knuckles outward towards Forge to show him that the bruises and raw skin were already fading. "See? By dinner, the only way anyone'd know I was trying to kill the bag is if you ratted me out, or if I forget to clean up any mess I make, and that's not likely." He'd forgotten once, and gotten a short but very memorable lecture from Mr. Marko on how there was a rule about leaving skin, bones or other parts lying around where folks could find them.

Carefully, Forge walked up and put a hand on his roommate's shoulder. "Yeah, but you can do more than just hit stuff. Know how you get on my ass when I spend days on end in the lab because it's what I'm good at? I have you guys to remind me that's not all I'm good at. And besides, you stink." He wrinkled his nose and pushed his taller friend playfully. "So if you're done with venting your big teen emo rage down here, I think there's a used CD place on the other side of Salem Center that hasn't recently been trashed by a crazed gravity manipulator."

"I am not emo. I don't wear my sister's pants, and I don't cry at chick movies." Kyle snorted. He did check to see if he stunk though, and sure enough, he did. "Least I don't smell like crispy fried apple studel." He shook his head, intending to beg off of going out, and then stopped. 'Yeah, you know, I should get the heck out of here for the evening. If I stay inside, I'm just gonna go kill my knuckles or eat a rabbit or something. Besides, I never did get my CD. Dammit."

"Shower and grab some frybread and let's go." Forge said, heading for the door, then stopping to look over his shoulder. "Does it count if we catch you wearing Jay's pants?" he asked, before bolting up the stair.



Also, I get bonus points for translating "Ball of the foot round kick/ reverse hook kick combo" into descrtptive prose.