Scott and Forge, Monday

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

As requested, Forge meets Scott and they head downstairs - to the hangar.


"Well, that took slightly longer than I expected," Scott said as Forge approached the elevator down to the X-Men's sublevel. "What," he teased lightly as he stepped into the elevator, holding the door for Forge, "you're not dying with curiosity to know why I asked you to meet me down here?"

"Well," Forge ventured, "there's a number of reasons. Either you've heard about the uniform redesigns that Shiro and I are working on, and you had some ideas for me, but we could've done that in your office. Or you've got a mechanical problem with the Danger Room, but in that case you'd have said so. Or there's some kind of emergency situation that needs my expertise, but I didn't see anyone else from the team scrambling down here, and you wouldn't be smiling. So the question isn't why I'm not dying with curiosity, which I am, but rather: why is this man smiling?"

"You could say I need your opinion on something," Scott said as the door opened on the sublevel. He walked out first, moving briskly down the hall, letting Forge follow. "And I do, actually, although that's not my primary motivation for asking you down here..." He paused in front of the hangar, hitting the release for the doors.

Forge paused in front of the darkened doorway, silently staring as the lights ringing the room activated in sequence, illuminating the long black jet in the center of the hangar. Blinking in astonishment, he glanced quickly to Scott, then back to the jet. "Oh my..." he breathed.

"Stop drooling, Forge." Scott was grinning, though, as the lights finished coming on. "I'm going to have to apologize to Sam, you know - taking you up instead of him for the first test flight of the new afterburners." Part of him was a little surprised at just how tickled he was by all of this. He so rarely had the opportunity to give someone an experience that they were going to find as much fun as Forge was likely to going to find this.

Slowly, Forge walked over to the Blackbird, extending a hand to brush against the fuselage. He closed his eyes, tilting his head slightly. "You've overhauled the engines since the last time I was up in her. Solved the high-speed induction problem by... centrifugal separation of fuel solids and staggered injection, that's interesting." He opened his eyes and looked back at Scott, doing the world's slowest double-take. "I'm sorry, did you say test flight of the afterburners?

"Well, yes. My little fall project is nicely completed, now, so we need to see how she actually performs in the air. Just in case we need to make a mad headlong dash to the other side of the world anytime soon," Scott said amiably, although part of him was rather intrigued by how quickly Forge had just grasped the changes to the plane. Well, I knew it was his power, but it's still damned impressive to watch... "Since I can actually fly her by myself when I'm not being chased by MiGs, that left me with an open co-pilot's seat. And at some point, once, I'm almost positive that I promised you a flight."

"Yes, yes you did," Forge replied absently, walking around the jet, occasionally laying a hand on the surface. He stopped suddenly and turned to Scott. "When can we go up?"

"Right now. She's all fueled - I've just got to do the basic preflight," Scott said, inclining his head at the open hatch. "We'll head out to sea, of course - it's the best place for this sort of test flight."

"I, well, I have..." Forge stammered, then shook his head. "What am I saying? Anything I've got waiting can just keep waiting." He practically scrambled up the walkway into the jet, moving past the rows of crew seats as he went. "Where'd you learn how to fly a jet like this, anyway?"

"The Air Force," Scott said amiably, settling into the pilot's seat and starting his preflight checklist. "Charles has contacts. I had a great instructor, a former test pilot - he taught me everything I know about flying." Scott tilted his head, a slightly sad smile playing on his lips. "He died a few years ago, actually. Heart attack. Jean and I went to his funeral."

Forge nodded and took the co-pilot's seat, glancing at the readouts and switches, then just putting his hand against the console. "Fuel system checks out healthy, electronics are good - even the new GPS relays." He looked over at Scott with a sheepish grin. "But you probably want to confirm all that with your checklist, huh?"

"It's not that I don't trust you," Scott said, deadpan, "it's just that I'm anal." It didn't take too long to finish the list, though - he had it down to something of a science, after all these years. "Okay," he said, donning his headset. "Strap yourself in? She's got a bit of a kick on take-off."

Clicking his harness on, Forge glanced to the side, looking up through the cockpit glass as the sliding roof of the hangar pulled back, revealing the December sun shining through dark clouds. The small patter of the morning's rain was drowned out by the sudden roar of the Blackbird's VTOL engines as Forge checked his harness, secured the headset, and gave Scott a thumbs-up. "Is it normal to feel like I'm about to have a heart attack?" he questioned, the grin on his face evidence that he was enjoying every second of it.

"Please don't. I'd have a hell of a lot of explaining to do." A kick was maybe the wrong way to put it. Smooth force pressed them into their seats as the Blackbird rose out of the hangar. Once they were clear, Scott turned the plane eastward, putting on some altitude to stay above the low-lying clouds. "You know," he murmured, "I don't know how I went all those months without this when I lost my eye. I really don't."

"It's amazing," Forge agreed, watching the clouds below them zip by as the force of acceleration pressed him back to the co-pilot's seat like a firm but gentle hand. "I have to admit, I envy the hell out of the fliers, you know? Sam, Jay, Shiro, even Mr. D. Just having the ability to cut loose and just take off..." He trailed off, a nostalgic smile on his young face. "My dad, he works for Aerie, you know, the aeronautics corporation down in Dallas that makes the materials for the heavy passenger jets? He'd always bring home brochures on the new planes that were being made with their materials and I'd practically pounce on them."

The look of awe on his face as the Blackbird reached cruising altitude was like a child's on Christmas morning as Forge peered out into the distance, watching the small contrails form around the edges of the glass. "Never anything like this, though. First time I saw her, I was just... well, you know how she is."

"Oh, believe me. I know you're not much for the non-sciences, but have you ever heard a poem called 'High Flight'?" Scott paused, then picked a stanza. "'Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue / I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace / Where never lark nor even eagle flew— / And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod / The high untrespassed sanctity of space, / Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.' I was never much for poetry, but I remember Charles printed off a copy of that and gave it to me one afternoon. The next day, the Blackbird arrived."

"The face of God, huh?" Forge repeated, placing his fingertips against the glass, then sitting back and looking at Scott. "You're right, I'm not one for poetry, but I know what you mean. So... last time I was up in the 'Bird, Ororo got us hit by lightning. Never really got to open her up. What do you say?"

"Please keep all extremities inside the cabin," Scott muttered in amusement - and hit the afterburners. This time, it was a kick - but a beautiful kick, and he grinned in sheer delight as he listened to the scream of the engines. "Oh yeah," he said, more loudly so that Forge could hear him. "That sounds just right!"

Forge closed his eyes, the grin on his face saying everything for him. He could feel the engines practically explode with power, the afterburners injecting fuel directly into the exhaust, boosting the engine's thrust and leaving the speed of sound behind them almost as an afterthought. If he tried, he could almost feel the wind against the hull of the Blackbird, almost as if he was speeding through the air himself.

Opening his eyes, he looked at the console, feeling the acceleration blasting the ship forward. "Amazing..." he breathed, beginning to laugh out loud. "Absolutely amazing!"

Scott glanced down at the fuel gauges. "I think we'll keep this up for a while, just to get a good reading on the new levels of fuel efficiency," he said cheerfully. "Don't mind, do you?"

"Not at all," Forge said, getting himself comfortable. The clouds had cleared, and the Blackbird was screaming out over the Atlantic, banking slightly into a long turn over the waves. "It's like flying. I mean, it's flying, but it's like flying, you know?"

"I know exactly what you mean."