xp_logs | Forge and Haller - Perspective (Reply)

Forge goes to talk to Haller, proving that at least some people in the mansion can deal with stress in mature ways. Surprisingly, it works.

Forge found it slightly ironic, in a way. Haller's office was only a few seconds' walk from his own, and yet he always seemed to find a reason to walk in any number of routes that would take him in any direction but towards the counselor's workplace. It wasn't that he was averse to the thought of someone getting into his head - after all his time talking to Samson and Xavier, he was used to that, and he treated telepathy as a curiosity more than the invasion response that seemed to be common among his peers.

No, he realized. In a way, it was the simple fact that Haller represented an inevitability: that this life, no matter how much you thought you could cope, would break you.

Thus the morning's email, and now Forge finding himself rapping his knuckles on the edge of the doorframe cautiously.

"Come in." Jim closed his laptop, 95% sure of who was behind the door, and equally sure the meeting was going to require his full attention. He tried, but he just wasn't the type of person for whom the phrase "can we talk?" was likely to mean an afternoon of friendly discourse about fantasy football leagues.

Besides, he'd seen the preliminary mission report.

Forge opened the door and shuffled into the office, quietly closing the door behind him. "So, hey..." he began awkwardly, looking around the room at everything but the other occupant, "um, I was just wondering if you had a few moments to talk about stuff. I mean, team-type stuff but not exactly... that is, I've been thinking about the last few days and..." He stopped, finally managing to look at Haller with a guarded expression. "Have you ever watched anyone die?"

"Yes." The reply came without a trace of hesitation. Jim looked directly into Forge's eyes. "When I was ten, my guardian stepped in front of me during an armed robbery. They shot him."

The revelation seemed to stun Forge momentarily, then his entire body language changed from guarded and defensive to suddenly... tired. He seemed to sleepwalk over to a chair and sat down bonelessly, resting his forehead on his hand. "We were in a three-car procession with the Prime Minister. Me, Ororo, Scott, Barath, his bodyguard, and then the driver and another guard up front. We were the middle car when they hit us, about five minutes in. Rocket or something hit the car behind us, and a sniper..." he took a deep breath and paused for a long moment. "I was sitting right behind the driver when he got shot. Right through the windshield, like it was nothing. He and the guy sitting next to him, not two feet from me, just... dead, like that."

"And for you, that was the first time you'd ever seen something like that." Jim sat back in his chair, hands in his lap. He kept his posture quiet and receptive, not interested in injecting anything into the conversation just yet. "Then what happened?"

"Cyclops pretty much sprang into action," Forge recalled, "He ran for the lead car, telling me to get behind the wheel and drive. I mean, of course, someone had to get us out of there, and he knows that behind the wheel I'm... I mean, yeah. It's what I can do. But the driver, he was belted in there, and there was... his chest was just ripped open, like someone had punched right through him."

He swallowed loudly, looking down at the floor the entire time. "I had to push him aside to get behind the wheel, and then... I just remember that the seat belt was slippery. Soaked through. But there wasn't any blood on the steering wheel. But Cyclops told me what to do, and there were people depending on me, and I had to... I had to just not care that two people had died right there. Not ten seconds before, just... I had to shove that aside and do what I was asked to do."

"You did what you needed to do, to make sure what happened to the driver didn't happen to anyone else," Jim said, his tone quiet. "When things like that happen you have to put it aside for a little while so you can function. There's no disrespect to the dead in doing what you have to to protect the living."

Forge shook his head. "It's not natural. Being able to just... shut that off and pretend to be brave. I was laughing. Laughing while they were shooting at us. Because if I could convince myself that it wasn't... if we weren't all about to die, then it was no different than a run in the Danger Room. That those two bodies to my right were just drones that Storm was going to mark my score down for, or that if I crashed and burned, everything would just fade away and I'd get an evaluation afterwards."

He tried to look up, but just sighed and glanced down at his shaking hands. "It wasn't like that. Not like training. And I mean, that's what we were there to talk to them about, how to train a group like we do. But you can't. No matter how high-tech or realistic or intensive we can make things when we're pretending to go up against the Brotherhood or the Preservers or some FoH radicals... it's different when you can't stop feeling someone else's blood sticking to you. It's not the same," he repeated.

"It should never be the same. If you couldn't feel the difference between human casualty and points off, then we'd be talking about bigger issues than shock." Jim leaned forward, clasping his hands over the desk. "What bothers you so much? That you're feeling it now, or that you didn't at the time?"

"The detachment," Forge said quickly, recalling his conversation with Laurie weeks earlier. "It seemed... easy. And it shouldn't be. I know it's necessary and that to be a professional you have to put the immediate needs ahead of your instinctive responses sometimes, but... it shouldn't be that easy. It frightens me," he admitted. "Because I've seen what happens when someone keeps that kind of detachment, when people - real people - become just statistics or tools or obstacles. When you get too used to thinking of people in terms of numbers or 'acceptable losses'. That way... that thinking turns people into him." The inflection in Forge's voice left no doubt as to who he meant, even if he wasn't speaking Erik Lehnsherr's name out loud.

Jim didn't need the name said. He remembered the content of one of his few non-social meetings with Forge, though it was strange to remember it had been longer ago for the younger man than it was for Jim.

"But you don't feel those deaths were acceptable," Jim pointed out. "While you weren't thinking about it at the time, you didn't just dismiss it. You're here, so that much is incontravertible. There's a difference between putting things aside and just turning your back on them. I can't speak for what went through Magneto's head when he started, but that doesn't matter here. You're the one under discussion, and you care enough to worry."

Forge thought about that. "Does it get easier?" he wondered. "I mean... Cyclops... Scott. I know he's seen things like this before. People like Logan and Cable, they've lived that kind of life, where it's like breathing to them. I haven't. But still... he knew that, and he told me what to do, and I did it. And part of me wonders if it'll get easier, and part of me never wants it to."

Jim gave the younger man a faint smile. "How much does having previous experience help when you stub your toe? You know what to expect. That's not really the same as making the experience easier."

Forge finally looked up from under heavy brows, almost glaring at Haller. "I know you're not trying to compare this with stubbing your toe. But... I suppose you're right. The moment it stops bothering me, the moment that I can just shove it aside and never think about it... I used to think I'd have to be able to do that if I was going to be able to put on the uniform like the rest of you do. It... it helps a lot to know that you don't ever really get accustomed to it, do you?"

"If you mean to the point where death becomes nothing -- in my opinion, not unless there's something severely wrong with you." Jim met Forge's eyes. "What's hardest is finding a balance. You never want to stop feeling, but you also can't let yourself become incapacitated by it -- especially stuff that you couldn't have helped. It matters, and it should never not matter, but you still have to maintain the ability to function. I don't think anyone here shrugs off casualties, even if that's how it looks from the outside -- they just don't wear the feelings on their sleeves. Sometimes that can be mistaken for indifference."

Forge pondered that for a while, then leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. "I think I know what you mean," he said absently. "Like... acknowledge the fear, but don't let it take control, right?"

"That's the general idea. The problem with denial is that it only works right up until the time it doesn't. At that point, pretty much all you can hope for is that the only person you take down is yourself, not everyone around you."

Forge nodded, then looked at Haller, cocking his head curiously. "When you were ten, you said. That must have been about the time that, well, your..." he tapped the side of his head in a circular motion for emphasis. "I guess over time you just become more adept at coping with it?"

"Or creative, anyway," Jim replied, a little drily. "But yeah, that was when I fragmented. I was already predisposed for unrelated issues, but my manifestation made it irrevocable. I've gotten better over time -- I need those compartmentalized aspects of my personality less, been able to integrate the stress without worrying that it's all going to end up in a single specialized corner of my brain." He gave Forge a half-smile. "I guess you could say I technically started from the other end of the spectrum from where you're coming from."

"Makes an interesting balance, then," Forge said, standing up and extending his hand. "Thanks. It... the perspective helps."

Jim accepted the hand. "Don't worry about it. Trust me, I know how unpleasant it can be to have no perspective on this sort of thing but your own." It was just that much more of a relief that Forge hadn't had to wait the three years David had.

"Oh, trust me, the uphill battle towards accepting other people's opinion? Totally another subject," Forge said with a smile. "Genius has a way of isolating the mind, not too dissimilar from being crazy, I'm told. But hey, like minds, right?"

The taller man laughed. "No offense, but for the sake of the professor's sanity I hope not too much."