Forge and Nathan: Fear
Oct. 1st, 2008 06:57 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsNathan runs into Forge and finds out just why the younger X-Man hasn't resumed his training. Something not unlike a motivational talk occurs.
As much as he would have preferred to bury himself in researching this latest wrinkle in this year's blast from the past, Nathan had known that skipping out on his physio was not something he wanted to do. After all, once research bore fruit - and he didn't really care whose research did, he was equal-opportunity that way - there would be a need for ass-kicking. And he was not going to be able to take part in that ass-kicking (something he dearly wanted to do) unless he was back in fighting trim. Which meant following Amelia's schedule down to the last detail.
So he was worn out when he finally trudged back upstairs, and limping a little more than was strictly good for his pride. His mind was all too active, however, just like it had been for days. It was probably a small miracle that the psi-imprint in the parlor actually registered. Pausing at the door, Nathan eyed Forge, remembering Jennie's post.
"Trade you," he said humorously.
Forge glanced up from the textbook he'd been perusing, one hand reflexively going to his temple to adjust glasses that he still had to remind himself that he no longer wore. "Hmm?" he replied, brain trying to shift gears out of "complex economic curves" and into "dealing with Nathan". Blinking to clear his mind, he perused the older man - sweat dampening the collar, that roll of the shoulders, the slight hesitation in the walk. "Ah. The Czarina's been working you over, I see."
"With her customary glee. All redheads are sadists." Nathan came in and sat down in one of the other chairs, not waiting for an invitation. He was old and still rather busted-ass, as Kyle might say. Sitting down was good. "Still, it's the fastest way back to being in the position to go out and impose my personal morality on the world again. Which I really want to do, after this weekend."
"Heard about the mess in the park-" -from the news, Forge refrained from saying out loud. He'd seen the initial team writeup of the incident, but hadn't given it his full attention. He'd noted the fatality - that alone sent a feeling of dread up and down his spine and set his stomach on edge. "Amelia may be a hard taskmaster, but she knows her stuff. She is to the medlab what I am to the garage, after all."
Nathan eyed him for a long moment. "Mm, you've just given me the idea to call her a glorified flesh mechanic the next time she verbally abuses me in Russia. That should be fun. Of course, the last time I snapped at her she insisted on telling me about some of the things I projected while I was in the coma." Nathan essayed a shudder, but then went on, rather more cannily. "Must be good to be fully mended and out from under her thumb?"
"Fully mended, heh," Forge repeated, punctuating the phrase with a chuckle. "She all but threw me out of the medlab. Hepatic blood tests come back normal, x-rays are fine, and the neurokinetics on Arm 3.0 are optimal. Of course, I did that last diagnostic myself, being pretty much the only one here qualified - but I digress. Yes, it's great to be cleared."
Despite his words, however, there was absolutely no joy in Forge's pronouncement of health.
Nathan pondered the situation for a moment longer, and then decided there was really no point in pussyfooting around the situation. Diplomacy lessons from Joel aside, it wasn't his style. Especially not for something like this. "I imagine it is. But you're not in any rush to get back into the Danger Room, I gather?" He shrugged. "I noticed Jennie's post."
Forge looked down at the floor, resting his elbows on his knees, textbook forgotten. "I tried," he admitted after a long moment of silence. "I made it as far as the lockers, and I opened mine up and looked at the leathers... and I couldn't do it. Every time I'd reach for them all I felt was that cold nothingness when Abyss grabbed me. I thought of going in for a training run with Jennie in the Danger Room, and all I could see was her hanging from the helicopter coming to rescue me, after Nimrod..." he gulped, suddenly choked up and silent.
Careful, Nathan thought, and didn't answer for a moment. When he finally spoke again, his tone had staked out some sort of indefinable middle ground between gentle and brisk; the last thing he wanted to do was talk down to the younger man. "It's not an uncommon reaction, to the sort of thing you went through. In fact, I'd think there was something deeply wrong with you if you didn't feel that way."
"What, crippling fear the moment I even get close to anything that reminds me of what I went through?" Forge snapped back. "It might be a common reaction but we're not supposed to be common people!"
Nathan pondered that briefly. "I remember when I finally got back on my feet again after Youra," he said slowly, "when I was able to get back to training, I couldn't spar. Literally. Being on the mat, having someone come at me - it pushed me right into a panic attack. I remember Haroun flat-out refused to work with me until I got my head on straight. Fighting, for me, is like breathing, I've been doing it so long. And yet... crippling fear."
Forge shook his head. "I have enough things crippling me, thank you. But I should be able to get over this. I know the X-Men, it's a good cause. I know what we do is the right thing. I should be able to overcome this, it's only logical."
"All right," Nathan said, more briskly again, although with anyone else he would have pointed out that the human mind didn't always work logically. "You should be, you're right. Any thoughts as to why you can't just yet?"
"Empathic influence. Unfortunately, the Professor's already done a scan. Damage to the amygdala could throw off the fight-or-flight reflex. Unfortunately, my CT scans come back as... close to normal as they get. Which is not at all, but that's not the point." Forge shrugged and held up a third finger, shaking his hand in front of his face. "Occam's Razor, pick the simplest solution. It's in my nature to be a coward. Which presents an odd paradox, doesn't it? My power is machines, the one thing that sets humanity apart from our animal nature. And here I am stuck to mine."
"'As an old soldier I admit the cowardice: it's as universal as sea sickness, and matters just as little'," Nathan quoted. "George Bernard Shaw, I think." He'd first heard that from MacInnis, he remembered with a pang. A lifetine ago. "You can't deny the fear, because it's always there. There are ways to learn to manage it. You can't jump right back into the Danger Room? Fine. Run tactical reviews. Spar. Do something that doesn't involve going right back to 100% and pretending none of this ever happened. Think of it as desensitization."
"I'm trying, I..." Forge stammered for words, stopping when he realized that his hands were shaking. "I nearly died out there, man! And I know you grew up in some camp eating grenades for breakfast so this might be just another day at the office for you, but not for me! I can't just desensitize that. I can't... I can't let everyone down."
Nathan leaned back in the chair, watching him. "That's what you're most afraid of, isn't it? It's not just what happened. It's what could happen, the next time you're out there."
Quietly, Forge stared at the floor and nodded. He pushed himself to his feet and paced back and forth, looking over the bookshelves and the old photographs. "If I can't beat this, I might not be the one paying for it next time."
"And things can go wrong through no fault of your own," Nathan pointed out. "You can have the perfect plan, stick to its every detail - be a tactical genius and have offensive powers out the wazoo, and still find yourself paying. Or watching your friends pay, in your place."
Forge pivoted slowly, arching an eyebrow in an expression of incredulity at Nathan. "Jesus Christ, you're the worst motivational speaker ever. 'It sucks, and it'll possibly suck worse no matter what'?" he intoned in a credible imitation of Nathan's speaking cadence. "Yeah, I know. I know, okay? I just... this is why I need to beat this. Because I know I can be an asset, I know I can do good. But I don't know how to do it when all I can think of is the worst case scenario."
"It's the curse of people who think too far ahead," Nathan said, unbothered by Forge's jibe. "I don't mean that flippantly. Seriously, in a way your level of intelligence, your... problem-solving ability, for lack of a better term, can work against you. When you come up with a mechanical solution for a problem, you need to take all the variables into account, right? You're used to being proactive, but careful about it. Only the situations you face with the X-Men have all kinds of new variables, ones that can't be solved in the same way. If at all."
"You're saying... treat it like a synthesis?" Forge asked, suddenly curious. "Apply the same advantage I have with intuitive principles... adapt my thinking to the immediate situation rather than trying to intuit the outcome. Still doesn't change the fact that I could put on those leathers and get ripped to shreds, does it? No, of course not. But... all right. I'll talk to Scott about easing my way back into things. I don't even know if I can do that, but I owe it to the team to try."
"If you want my opinion, I would start with tactical reviews, if you're going to do that," Nathan said. "Remember what you do bring to the team. You're not a brawler, so play to your strengths. Get back in touch with the sort of contribution you can make, and the rest should be... well, not easy, but hopefully somewhat easier."
Forge nodded, then cocked his head. "With Mistra, was anyone ever afraid? I mean, I know there was conditioning and stuff, but... is anyone ever not afraid?"
"I was always afraid. Always," Nathan said. "Of punishment, or getting my packmates killed - or not being able to protect them," he conceded. "When I think of how many people I've lost these last few years, how much that fear drives me... I can't imagine life without that constant undercurrent."
"Natural reaction, they keep saying," Forge agreed, suddenly seeming more confident. "I'm going to go talk to Scott. And, thanks, Daysp... thanks, Nathan. I'm going to beat this."
"Yes, you are," Nathan agreed. Because you're still here. If you'd really meant to quit, you'd have done it already. He pushed himself up out of the chair, not faking the groan. "Now, if you'll pardon me, I need to drag my decrepit old carcass back out to the boathouse. It's not too late to call my wife and whine at her."
"Tell her I said hi," Forge added as he headed out of the parlor. "Me, I'm off to go try some of these tactical programs. I think I'll start with something easy. Scipio, maybe. He never tore anyone's arms off."
As much as he would have preferred to bury himself in researching this latest wrinkle in this year's blast from the past, Nathan had known that skipping out on his physio was not something he wanted to do. After all, once research bore fruit - and he didn't really care whose research did, he was equal-opportunity that way - there would be a need for ass-kicking. And he was not going to be able to take part in that ass-kicking (something he dearly wanted to do) unless he was back in fighting trim. Which meant following Amelia's schedule down to the last detail.
So he was worn out when he finally trudged back upstairs, and limping a little more than was strictly good for his pride. His mind was all too active, however, just like it had been for days. It was probably a small miracle that the psi-imprint in the parlor actually registered. Pausing at the door, Nathan eyed Forge, remembering Jennie's post.
"Trade you," he said humorously.
Forge glanced up from the textbook he'd been perusing, one hand reflexively going to his temple to adjust glasses that he still had to remind himself that he no longer wore. "Hmm?" he replied, brain trying to shift gears out of "complex economic curves" and into "dealing with Nathan". Blinking to clear his mind, he perused the older man - sweat dampening the collar, that roll of the shoulders, the slight hesitation in the walk. "Ah. The Czarina's been working you over, I see."
"With her customary glee. All redheads are sadists." Nathan came in and sat down in one of the other chairs, not waiting for an invitation. He was old and still rather busted-ass, as Kyle might say. Sitting down was good. "Still, it's the fastest way back to being in the position to go out and impose my personal morality on the world again. Which I really want to do, after this weekend."
"Heard about the mess in the park-" -from the news, Forge refrained from saying out loud. He'd seen the initial team writeup of the incident, but hadn't given it his full attention. He'd noted the fatality - that alone sent a feeling of dread up and down his spine and set his stomach on edge. "Amelia may be a hard taskmaster, but she knows her stuff. She is to the medlab what I am to the garage, after all."
Nathan eyed him for a long moment. "Mm, you've just given me the idea to call her a glorified flesh mechanic the next time she verbally abuses me in Russia. That should be fun. Of course, the last time I snapped at her she insisted on telling me about some of the things I projected while I was in the coma." Nathan essayed a shudder, but then went on, rather more cannily. "Must be good to be fully mended and out from under her thumb?"
"Fully mended, heh," Forge repeated, punctuating the phrase with a chuckle. "She all but threw me out of the medlab. Hepatic blood tests come back normal, x-rays are fine, and the neurokinetics on Arm 3.0 are optimal. Of course, I did that last diagnostic myself, being pretty much the only one here qualified - but I digress. Yes, it's great to be cleared."
Despite his words, however, there was absolutely no joy in Forge's pronouncement of health.
Nathan pondered the situation for a moment longer, and then decided there was really no point in pussyfooting around the situation. Diplomacy lessons from Joel aside, it wasn't his style. Especially not for something like this. "I imagine it is. But you're not in any rush to get back into the Danger Room, I gather?" He shrugged. "I noticed Jennie's post."
Forge looked down at the floor, resting his elbows on his knees, textbook forgotten. "I tried," he admitted after a long moment of silence. "I made it as far as the lockers, and I opened mine up and looked at the leathers... and I couldn't do it. Every time I'd reach for them all I felt was that cold nothingness when Abyss grabbed me. I thought of going in for a training run with Jennie in the Danger Room, and all I could see was her hanging from the helicopter coming to rescue me, after Nimrod..." he gulped, suddenly choked up and silent.
Careful, Nathan thought, and didn't answer for a moment. When he finally spoke again, his tone had staked out some sort of indefinable middle ground between gentle and brisk; the last thing he wanted to do was talk down to the younger man. "It's not an uncommon reaction, to the sort of thing you went through. In fact, I'd think there was something deeply wrong with you if you didn't feel that way."
"What, crippling fear the moment I even get close to anything that reminds me of what I went through?" Forge snapped back. "It might be a common reaction but we're not supposed to be common people!"
Nathan pondered that briefly. "I remember when I finally got back on my feet again after Youra," he said slowly, "when I was able to get back to training, I couldn't spar. Literally. Being on the mat, having someone come at me - it pushed me right into a panic attack. I remember Haroun flat-out refused to work with me until I got my head on straight. Fighting, for me, is like breathing, I've been doing it so long. And yet... crippling fear."
Forge shook his head. "I have enough things crippling me, thank you. But I should be able to get over this. I know the X-Men, it's a good cause. I know what we do is the right thing. I should be able to overcome this, it's only logical."
"All right," Nathan said, more briskly again, although with anyone else he would have pointed out that the human mind didn't always work logically. "You should be, you're right. Any thoughts as to why you can't just yet?"
"Empathic influence. Unfortunately, the Professor's already done a scan. Damage to the amygdala could throw off the fight-or-flight reflex. Unfortunately, my CT scans come back as... close to normal as they get. Which is not at all, but that's not the point." Forge shrugged and held up a third finger, shaking his hand in front of his face. "Occam's Razor, pick the simplest solution. It's in my nature to be a coward. Which presents an odd paradox, doesn't it? My power is machines, the one thing that sets humanity apart from our animal nature. And here I am stuck to mine."
"'As an old soldier I admit the cowardice: it's as universal as sea sickness, and matters just as little'," Nathan quoted. "George Bernard Shaw, I think." He'd first heard that from MacInnis, he remembered with a pang. A lifetine ago. "You can't deny the fear, because it's always there. There are ways to learn to manage it. You can't jump right back into the Danger Room? Fine. Run tactical reviews. Spar. Do something that doesn't involve going right back to 100% and pretending none of this ever happened. Think of it as desensitization."
"I'm trying, I..." Forge stammered for words, stopping when he realized that his hands were shaking. "I nearly died out there, man! And I know you grew up in some camp eating grenades for breakfast so this might be just another day at the office for you, but not for me! I can't just desensitize that. I can't... I can't let everyone down."
Nathan leaned back in the chair, watching him. "That's what you're most afraid of, isn't it? It's not just what happened. It's what could happen, the next time you're out there."
Quietly, Forge stared at the floor and nodded. He pushed himself to his feet and paced back and forth, looking over the bookshelves and the old photographs. "If I can't beat this, I might not be the one paying for it next time."
"And things can go wrong through no fault of your own," Nathan pointed out. "You can have the perfect plan, stick to its every detail - be a tactical genius and have offensive powers out the wazoo, and still find yourself paying. Or watching your friends pay, in your place."
Forge pivoted slowly, arching an eyebrow in an expression of incredulity at Nathan. "Jesus Christ, you're the worst motivational speaker ever. 'It sucks, and it'll possibly suck worse no matter what'?" he intoned in a credible imitation of Nathan's speaking cadence. "Yeah, I know. I know, okay? I just... this is why I need to beat this. Because I know I can be an asset, I know I can do good. But I don't know how to do it when all I can think of is the worst case scenario."
"It's the curse of people who think too far ahead," Nathan said, unbothered by Forge's jibe. "I don't mean that flippantly. Seriously, in a way your level of intelligence, your... problem-solving ability, for lack of a better term, can work against you. When you come up with a mechanical solution for a problem, you need to take all the variables into account, right? You're used to being proactive, but careful about it. Only the situations you face with the X-Men have all kinds of new variables, ones that can't be solved in the same way. If at all."
"You're saying... treat it like a synthesis?" Forge asked, suddenly curious. "Apply the same advantage I have with intuitive principles... adapt my thinking to the immediate situation rather than trying to intuit the outcome. Still doesn't change the fact that I could put on those leathers and get ripped to shreds, does it? No, of course not. But... all right. I'll talk to Scott about easing my way back into things. I don't even know if I can do that, but I owe it to the team to try."
"If you want my opinion, I would start with tactical reviews, if you're going to do that," Nathan said. "Remember what you do bring to the team. You're not a brawler, so play to your strengths. Get back in touch with the sort of contribution you can make, and the rest should be... well, not easy, but hopefully somewhat easier."
Forge nodded, then cocked his head. "With Mistra, was anyone ever afraid? I mean, I know there was conditioning and stuff, but... is anyone ever not afraid?"
"I was always afraid. Always," Nathan said. "Of punishment, or getting my packmates killed - or not being able to protect them," he conceded. "When I think of how many people I've lost these last few years, how much that fear drives me... I can't imagine life without that constant undercurrent."
"Natural reaction, they keep saying," Forge agreed, suddenly seeming more confident. "I'm going to go talk to Scott. And, thanks, Daysp... thanks, Nathan. I'm going to beat this."
"Yes, you are," Nathan agreed. Because you're still here. If you'd really meant to quit, you'd have done it already. He pushed himself up out of the chair, not faking the groan. "Now, if you'll pardon me, I need to drag my decrepit old carcass back out to the boathouse. It's not too late to call my wife and whine at her."
"Tell her I said hi," Forge added as he headed out of the parlor. "Me, I'm off to go try some of these tactical programs. I think I'll start with something easy. Scipio, maybe. He never tore anyone's arms off."
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