Growing Pains, part 1: Forge out by the stables. Also featuring Dr. Jean Grey.

[x-forge.livejournal.com]

Trying to cheer up Jay, Forge decides to try a learning experiment of sorts, with accidentally disastrous results.



Forge finished cinching down the saddle onto the small pinto with a smile. Ginger was the smallest horse in the stables, and had always seemed to take a shine to him when he came by with oats or apples. As part of Dr. McCoy's "Get Your Butt Outside" program, he'd found the stables to be quite interesting. He'd had an amusing "Yes I am from Texas, no I have never been on a horse" discussion with Jay, ending in his roommate offering to teach him to ride.

After Thursday, however, Forge wasn't putting any bets on Jay doing much anytime soon. So, he figured, it was time to take matters into his own hands. He'd taught himself hydraulics, he'd learned computer languages on his own, horses couldn't be that much more complicated. Besides, they were big dumb animals, and he was a genius. The order of things couldn't possibly be more certain.

Patting Ginger on the neck, he adjusted the bridle like the book had shown. Pull the left strap to turn left, right strap to turn right. Horse follows where its head points, simple enough. Pull back on both to slow down and stop, give the horse some slack to make it go. Forge didn't think he'd be cutting barrels in a rodeo this afternoon, but it should be simple enough to trot around the corral.

Stepping up on a feed crate, he slipped his right foot into the stirrup, kicking his left leg over the saddle and seating himself. Adjusting himself so as not to become uncomfortably friendly with the saddle horn, he set himself forward and gripped the reins.

"Hi ho Silver," he whispered, setting his heels gently into Ginger's sides to urge her forward. The pinto's first steps bounced him up and down, before he remembered to clutch the sides of the horse with his legs. Slow and jerking, but he was moving forward. "Success!" he crowed, cracking the reins in excitement. "This isn't hard at a--"

At the snap of the reins, the horse lowered her head and bolted out of the stables, forcing Forge to tuck his head to avoid having it taken off by the edge of the roof. Bouncing uncontrollably in the seat, he dropped the reins and clutched awkwardly at the saddle horn. "WHOA!" he cried out, "WHOA! Whoa means stop stupid horse! Whoa!"

Ginger cut right, then left again, darting out the open gate to the corral and trotting along the fenceline. Forge tried to simultaneously grab onto the edge of the saddle with his left hand and flail for the reins with his right when he felt the saddle shift under him. He shouldn't be rotating, he was sure he'd cinched the girth strap down properly, but-

One more slight buck from the horse, and the girth strap came completely free, tumbling Forge to the left. As the ground rushed up at him, he threw out his left arm to break the fall.

In the span of about half a second, he became acutely aware of the downsides of his invention that geve him tactile feeling in his prosthetic limbs. His metal fingers touched the grass, slipping on the morning dew. His palm slapped flat, skidding across the lawn as his body, all one hundred twenty-two pounds of him, came down hard on his forearm. And then the pain hit, a split second after a sound like wood being broken apart into kindling.

Fire. His arm was on fire, that was the only explanation. Crying out loudly in pain, Forge rolled onto his back, kicking his legs about on the lawn and holding his left arm to his chest. "Shit! SHIT!" he yelled through clenched teeth. "God, ow..." Through tear-filled eyes, he glanced down, seeing the irregular lump in his arm, with the beginnings of a blood-filled bruise spreading around it. Every page of the anatomy texts Moira had drilled into him flashed by at lightning speed in his brain, all leading to one conclusion.

Broken.

Analytical now. Broken meant damage. Damage meant repair. Repair to the body meant doctors. Brushing his right hand against his pocket, Forge removed his new cell phone and hit the speed dial for medical emergencies. "This is Forge," he grunted as he heard the phone on the other end pick up. "I fell and hurt my arm real bad out by the stables. Help?" He heard a voice he couldn't place clearly on the other end acknowledging, and he let the phone drop onto his chest as he painfully crab-walked back against the fence. Doctor. Doctor could fix this.

He couldn't feel his hand. Glaring down at his prosthetic, he tried to wiggle a finger. Barely any perceptible response, and the numbness from his wrist down frightened him.

"Hurry, doc..." he moaned. "Hurry..."




He grunted more as he sat up against the fencepost, cradling his arm to
his chest. He couldn't feel his prosthetic hand, and that immediately
twigged as a "bad thing". The lump, bruise, and insane amounts of pain
obviously meant a broken forearm, and he tried to blink back the tears
from his eyes. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he cursed mentally.
Trying to drown out the stabbing pain, he attempted to mentally review
the first diagrams he'd studied of his prosthetic interface, as a sort
of mnemonic diagnostic. He'd never tried recall with a broken arm
before, though, and couldn't focus through the pain.

Looking down at his arm, he wiggled his metal fingers gingerly,
feeling shocks of pain shoot through his forearm with each motion. He
couldn't make a fist, couldn't move with any kind of precision - that
meant either the interface was busted, or there was nerve damage. The
thought frightened him, and he could practically feel his heart
pounding in his chest. Please, doc, get here soon...

Jean had heard the mental cry and focused, picking out Forge's
distressed thoughts from the noise of the mansion above her. Even as
the emergency page came in, she had located him in the stables and
could hear him worrying about his arm. Please, doc, get here
soon... Jean grabbed the medkit, pausing only half a second to
make sure it was stocked before rushing out the door.

I'm on my way, Forge, she thought, trying to send her voice to
him and mentally swearing at her inability to project. He was in pain
and frightened and he couldn't hear her. But she didn't have
time to think about that now, as she raced outside towards the
stables.

Forge's head perked up. "Professor?" he said out loud in answer to the
faint mental voice in his head. No, not the Professor... He managed to
raise himself up to a knee, holding his broken arm to his chest and
using his good arm to brace against the fence post. "Over here," he
called out. Craning his neck, he could see help running across the
back lawn, medical kit bag in hand.

The red hair gave him a bit of a surprise. Of course Dr. Grey would
have come. He'd thought the faint voice in his head sounded feminine.
Another shooting jolt of pain made him cry out and drop back down to a
sitting position, the jolt bringing more tears to his eyes. "So
stupid..." he breathed.

...faint voice in his head... Ok, there would be time to think
about that later, Jean decided. Right now, there was a boy in pain.
"Stop moving," she said as she knelt down next to him. "What happened,
Forge?" She pulled out the local anesthesia. There was no question in
her mind that he'd broken his arm, but she thanked God the bone hadn't
broken through the skin.

"Horse," Forge hissed through gritted teeth. "Went faster than I
expected. Bounced. Saddle slipped," he nodded to where the saddle lay
- not only slipped but fallen completely off the spotted pinto that
lazily grazed at the weeds near the treeline. "Tried to catch myself,
and then just -" He winced as Jean slid the needle into his arm, but
felt the numbing effect take effect quickly. "Ow."

Jean cast a brief look at the saddle - for it to have fallen off it
couldn't have been put on properly, but from what Jean knew of Forge's
history, riding wasn't a part of it. But now was not the time for such
things. "You didn't hit your head?" she asked, checking his eyes for
any abnormal dilation, although his thoughts sounded clear except for
the pain.

Forge tried to shake his head no, but sat still while Dr. Grey checked
him for more injuries. "No," he breathed quietly, "stuck out my arm,
felt the grass slip, and then a big shock. Like hitting my funny bone.
Too much tactile sensation in my hand does that. Landed on my
shoulder, but I can move it just fine. It's just my hand." He smirked,
the anaesthetic having made his arm almost completely numb. "Is that
lump where it's broken?" he asked in a curious tone. "That's bad."

"Probably, yes," Jean said. He was far too bright to coddle, and this
was a bit too obvious. "I assume there's some bruising as well, but
otherwise your legs are all right? If so, let's get you on your feet
and down to the lab."

He let Jean help him to his feet, feeling no shame at his need to lean
on her for support. "Leg," he said brusquely, flexing his prosthetic
foot. "Only one bruises, and I didn't land on it. I'm worried about
the break. If it's a double break of the radius and the ulna, I'm in a
lot of trouble." At Jean's curious look, he gave a one-armed shrug as
they walked. "Doctor MacTaggart put me through a pretty intensive
anatomy and physiology course last semester, prior to letting me start
researching the medical aspects of cybernetics. But one thing I know
better than anyone else is my hand. I know that the anchor screws for
the implant go six and a half inches into both bones in my forearm."
He looked down at the awkward bend of the break, close to his wrist.
"That's going to be one hell of a problem."

As they approached the mansion, Forge stopped, using his good hand and
the hem of his shirt to wipe his eyes once he realized he'd been
crying the entire time they'd been walking. "Can we... um... is there
a back door that isn't going to go by everybody?"

"Well, we won't know until the x-rays are done," she told him, "but
avoiding people we can do." She concentrated for a second, sorting
through the closest thoughts, listening for 'food' thoughts. "There's
no one in the kitchen, for once, and we can get to the back stairs
from there."

"Thank you," Forge let Jean lead him through the kitchen. "Once this
passes, I know I'm going to feel really stupid about this. I thought
riding a horse would be easy. I mean, they like me enough when I go
out to feed them." He rolled his eyes sarcastically. "And the books on
riding didn't have any specifications on tension for the girth strap
on the saddle, so I had to guesstimate. I seem to have guessed wrong."

There was something very absurd about the whole thing, but the pain in
his thoughts meant it was safely on the other side of 'laughable'.
"Once this all passes," she said, "we can give you some riding
lessons, if you want." She guided him down the stairs and through the
labs towards the medical bay.

"Jay was going to teach me," Forge explained. "But I thought with him
being... you know, that I'd figure it out on my own, and surprise him.
He needs something to distract him from what happened." Letting Dr.
Grey ease his t-shirt over his head and carefully over the injured
arm, he watched as she arranged the medical equipment. "There's about
seven pounds of titanium and aluminum in my left hand and forearm," he
rattled off, "if you need to adjust for that."

"That was kind of you," she said. "Deffinitely a nice thought, no
matter how unfortuante the end result. And we will, but first we'll
need to get some x-rays. Lie down."

Obediently, Forge lay back and let Dr. Grey move the x-ray machinery
around. Not even two years, and another stupid decision was going to
wind up costing him, he knew. Again.