(no subject)
<> Lab/Medbay - LvB2
Walls are sterile white and surfaces gleam in polished stainless steel, the large room a vision of cool science tinged with the faint medical smell of antiseptic and filled with the soft whirring of autoclaves, refrigeration units, and various medical scanners and devices. Four hospital beds are present near the entrance, curtains rigged to allow for privacy, but pulled back when not in use. In shielded alcoves off the back wall are the resident doctor's pride and joy: A full-body X-Ray machine, as well as an MRI unit and other heavy-duty imagery equipment. Between the alcoves, through a thick glass window, a small operating theatre can be glimpsed. In the lab section, an electron microscope and a pair of gene-sequencers take place of pride, glassware and smaller equipment kept securely locked away in the cabinets underneath and above the work surfaces.
Forge has not been doing well. If you can gauge that from heavy breathing. And coughs. And generally sounding physically put out. Forge has not been entirely in the Medbay. The minute Hank left to run interference, he was up in his room and trying to build so quickly -- but in forty five minutes he was down, again, hoping he wasn't missed. While the holographic facsimile he sacrificed the laptop for mimicked him sleeping. Thus, Forge is on the bed, curled up, and sounding, you know, general pain.
Muffled voices just outside the door suggest that Xavier has intercepted Hank on his way into the lab - and a moment or two later, Xavier enters on his own. Looking a little tired, he still manages a smile for Forge as he makes his way to the Indian's bedside - seating himself with a relieved sigh before actually venturing to greet him. "Hello, Forge. How are you holding up?"
Forge will have to fake the nose. And when he answers, he's too breathless and frightened to hold it. Frightened of ... of ... he doesn't know. Something to come. Something to ... something to come. Not frightened of anyone in particular. Just the anticipation. The uncertainty. "I'm ... k-kholding up okay," Forge says to the railing. Shivering.
Xavier's brows knit slightly at that, a subtle mixture of concern and pity winning over his expression as he sets his cane aside. "Forge, I'm sorry to say it, but...I'm afraid you actually appear to be getting worse, and I must admit that I'm a little concerned that your change in behavior could be attributed to some nervousness that you might be feeling about Storm, and the actions she may take."
"No, no, that's not it," Forge says, completely forgetting his accent and holding his arms tighter around his chest. His eyes are wide. Mirrors of terror. He could throw up. "I don ..." He remembers it again. "I don'd know b-by I'm feeling like this." Slipping in and out.
Xavier shifts uneasily in his seat, his features ruled by unguarded concern as he reaches a hand out for Forge's intact arm. "I'm not going to hurt you - but this might feel...Unusual. I'm simply going to see if there's something specific that you can't pinpoint, and calm you in the process." Even as he speaks, Xavier's presence can be felt - smooth, confident, caring...and undeniably concerned as he shares some of his own calm and warmth before seeking out the source of the problem.
Forge shies and a very old, very potent fear of telepaths. His eyes narrow to little more than dark slits. "I -I don't need any help. Or calm." His left arm is bunched up, and the tendons are standing out on the back of his hand. He doesn't even realize he's reacting so strongly. But the projected calm seems to ease his muscles at least. And his gaze isn't quite so wild.
"It's all right, Forge." << I'm only trying to help. >> Even in Forge's head Xavier is calm and controlled - the warmth that exudes from his words limited but inescapably comforting. And under it all, he finally begins to really move in - carefully searching through Forge's surface thoughts as one might paw through a very old, delicate pile of books.
"All right ..." And in his mind, flashes. Control has never been Forge's strong point. Guilt and fear related to the deception. Nose not broken. Scars gone. Flashes. A metal arm slipped under the bed, a spare, a new arsenal, Ororo in leather, redman, Injun Joe, the sensation of blood running down his back, and in all that senseless rapidity, a different sort of a fear. A nervous steeling for something ... something to come. Arsenal. Ororo. And a rising panic at being watched. Under the calm, Forge's arm has begun to come up. Even he doesn't recognize what he's doing.
Xavier's brows knit at the unpleasant images stewing about the surface, but his eyes remain closed - unaware of Forge's physical behavior as he brings his full focus gently to bear on the man's mind. Seeking out individual fears and worries in an attempt to assuage them one at a time, Xavier can't help but gravitate back to the vanishing scars and healed nose, his forehead wrinkling as he sifts more deliberately back through the tangle of Forge's psychological self.
Forge feels the first gradations of a shift. Shifts that wouldn't normally bother him in the eternal ebb and flow and scatter of his thoughts (trying to buckle them down, make them stop showing /everything/ but they dance beyond his reach). But now, with someone inside his mind (like Mimi, like Sabella, there to change, to take advantage of his fragility), something must be about to happen. A castration. Maybe temporary. To make it stop. Forge can't stop. There can't be peace yet. And this doubtless broadcasts to Xavier. A final shudder and the arm comes up hard (unintentional! Didn't mean to--).
"Sabella?" His attention disrupted, Xavier's eyes open just in time to catch the blur of Forge's arm coming at him far too quickly. Thunk. And with that, Xavier's presence in Forge's mind simply ceases to be as the most powerful mutant mind on the planet slumps back into the chair...defeated by simple reflex.
Forge drops his arm. And gapes. He carefully unfolds his fist into its component palm, fingers. Did I do that? To the man in the chair. I must have. "Oh /damn/," Forge says and grabs the front fringes of his hair. Couldn't have done better if he was under control, a second Jubilee, or /trying/ to ... well. He couldn't stay here now. Oh, sure, sure, he could call someone and explain that he'd just, uh, accidentally knocked Xavier out with the flat of his knuckles. But they'd have him confined, then. And this was awful, but it was also an opportunity. "Damn," Forge repeats and lowers his hand. He stands up -- checks the Xavier's position to make sure he's not liable to fall off the chair -- and peels toward the medbay doors. A few slips of a finger and they open. Soundlessly. Forge escapes. Hopefully it'll be a sufficient escape.
<> Lab/Medbay - LvB2
Walls are sterile white and surfaces gleam in polished stainless steel, the large room a vision of cool science tinged with the faint medical smell of antiseptic and filled with the soft whirring of autoclaves, refrigeration units, and various medical scanners and devices. Four hospital beds are present near the entrance, curtains rigged to allow for privacy, but pulled back when not in use. In shielded alcoves off the back wall are the resident doctor's pride and joy: A full-body X-Ray machine, as well as an MRI unit and other heavy-duty imagery equipment. Between the alcoves, through a thick glass window, a small operating theatre can be glimpsed. In the lab section, an electron microscope and a pair of gene-sequencers take place of pride, glassware and smaller equipment kept securely locked away in the cabinets underneath and above the work surfaces.
From the rear, nothing really looks all that out of the ordinary aside from the fact that Forge's sheets are empty and hastily turned over the side of the hospital bed he previously occupied. The top of Xavier's head is just visible over the back of his chair and his left hand is limp over its respective armrest...And there's not a whole lot going on upstairs.
It's that lack of mental activity, or, rather, the sudden start of that lack, that's brought Jean back to a school she wasn't planning to see the inside of again 'til early the next morning. There was a quality to the doctor's expression as she strode hurriedly down to the elevators that would make even the most curious of students back off, and not ask why she's wearing a large plaid flannel shirt with her jeans, and that quality has only intensified by the time the medbay doors slide open to let her in. A vague wave of her hand towards the lock pad beside the door seals it behind her, and she breaks her forcedly calm stride to nearly scurry over to Xavier's chair, the false serenity of the scene not fooling someone who's been trying to pick up on Xavier's mind, and failing, for most of a country drive. "Where are the damn orderlies...?" she murmurs, quickly checking for a pulse and breathing. "Sir?" << Sir? >> "Can you hear me?"
Xavier looks oddly peaceful - simply slumped back into the chair with his eyes closed as if he simply managed to drift off in the empty infirmary. With some bruising already beginning to show around his left temple, he continues to be unresponsive until his pulse is checked, at which point his brows knit gently - the faint lines across his forehead briefly becoming more defined as he swallows and allows his eyes to squint open. Appearing vaguely confused, his mind starts up rather like a computer that's been shut down improperly...Flickering briefly before grinding back to life with an increasing amount of speed. "Jean?"
Hopefully, the Professor isn't running Windows up there. But Jean relaxes at the returning signs of life, the dangerous look leaving her eyes to be replaced by a more conventional medical and filial fussiness as she clucks over the bruising, prodding at it because it's not enough for a doctor to simply assume something hurts, they've got to find it out for themselves. "It's me. I heard you, but then you got cut off... what happened, sir?" A hand is held out, and a small penlight flashlight zips over to land in her palm.
Xavier winces at her prodding, his hand lifting in a distracted effort to stay the light that's about to be shined into his eyes (No blue screens of Death so far) as his eyes flick back to the bed - the intensity of his gaze returning almost immediately once he realizes what must have happened. "Forge is gone...He's not in the school." Already trying to stand, Xavier reaches for his cane propped up against the bed, wincing again at joints gone stiff from sitting still for so long. "He must have panicked."
"Sit." Jean interrupts that attempt to rise, placing her free hand on Xavier's shoulder and applying an encouraging downward force. "Sir, I'll get started on a sweep for him, or whatever else might be needed, but I need to make sure you're all right, first. You were hit hard enough to be knocked out." she points out needlessly, shining the penlight as expected, and compressing her lips as she waits for pupilary response. "What would he panic about?"
Xavier can't help but look a little surprised as he's guided firmly back into his seat, but no further effort to resist is made just yet. Simply falling silent to gather his thoughts, his pupils seem to be expanding and contracting as they should be...but his tracking is a little slow, and it's taking him longer than he'd like to put a suitable explanation together for her. "I believe Ororo is going to act out against Creed and Toad...It might already be too late. I had planned on contacting you immediately after speaking to Forge - but I arrived to find him suffering from a seemingly inexplicable anxiety..."
Jean becomes remarkably dictatorial when she's got a patient to tend to. Professor Xavier has just managed to avoid being one of her patients bar for that one little time with Cerebro, and he was entirely too unconscious to argue with her. The sort of patient doctors delight in, at times. She does flash a trace of sheepishness at the surprised look, but continues her quick examination, lips still thinned. "Oh Storm..." she murmurs, as the story is told, as aware of the seemingly-controlled weather witch's mercurial side as he is. "I knew she was upset over Forge, but..." And right on time, the guilt. "I should've been there. What was Forge anxious about?"
"A combination of related flashbacks and more recent occurrences...I believe he might have known exactly what Ororo planned on doing...I had barely begun to sift through the clutter when he overreacted. I should have explained the process more clearly, but I was afraid he might hurt himself if I didn't try to calm him down quickly. I notified no-one of my intentions...The fault is mine, Jean. I did not realize how far out of hand things had gotten." Xavier's guilt kicks in around the same time, although his is accompanied by a measure of pity at Forge's situation - and concern for Storm's. "I asked the staff to leave us alone so that he might feel more inclined to be honest about Ororo's intentions."
"So, what is she planning on doing?" Jean wonders, clicking off the penlight and stepping away to return it to its' tray as she makes for the lab fridge, returning with one of the cloyingly high-sugar restorative drinks she keeps on hand in it. This one is purported to be orange flavoured. "Here, sir, drink this," she interjects, before settling in a chair and settling her eyes on Xavier like the attentive student she used to be. "And what do you want done?"
Xavier sighs, taking the drink in one hand while reaching up to gingerly feel at his temple with the other. "I didn't get far enough in to find out, but I strongly suspect that Sabella was involved. I do know that Forge went to her to have his broken nose and the marks that were made on him healed, but...That's as far as I was able to see before he reacted." Closing his eyes, Xavier takes advantage of the drink - using it to stall for a moment or two so that he can piece together a plan B. "Forge and Storm need to be found. I fear it is already too late to prevent Ororo from acting on her desire for revenge, but...I need her here. She could very well be hurt, and unless Forge went with her, I'm not sure where he might be hiding."
Jean winces at the name given, sighing and pinching the bridge of her nose as she opines that "We really need to see her in police custody, sir. I want to work with the NYPD so that they'll be able to -hold- her in custody, but there's just so much to do, and with the political situation... but I'll see what our informants can turn up." she pulls herself back on track, idly rubbing a bit of one sleeve between her fingertips. "I'll take Logan for backup, or possibly Kurt if you think Logan might be a threatening presence, if you can get a fix on them with Cerebro. But you need to give yourself a couple hours to recover, first, sir."
"Take Logan." Xavier replies firmly, his attention finally lifting off of Forge's empty bed to settle on Jean. "Forge was keeping a spare arm under his bed, and if he continues to behave irrationally, he could prove to be dangerous regardless of your subtlety in suggesting that he return to the school. As for Storm..." Xavier looks grim as he replays some of the images gained from Forge in the back of his mind, "I'm willing to assume that she's already made a decision that might have been prevented with a certain amount of tact. I want her back, Jean." Despite looking a little sick as he says it, Xavier manages the switch back onto Sabella relatively flawlessly. "As for Sabella...Keep me informed of anything that you turn up. I'm willing to give the NYPD my full cooperation if they do make an effort to contain her."
"Then I'll get her back for you," Jean promises, reaching over to cover Xavier's hand with her own, expression gone solemn. "And Forge too. We're not going to lose anyone else, I promise." And if an appeal to friendship and reason fails, well, there's always dragging them back home to deliver to Xavier like a cat bringing her owner field mice. "They aren't like Magneto, they've just been hurt, and Storm has grown tired of waiting. I can understand that," she admits, looking wry and distant for a moment. "And I'll let you know how things go with the NYPD. I have a few contacts there now, and I'm giving a member of the FBI's counterintelligence division some help with developing the little bit of telepathy she's got. And some discreet dossiers."
"Good. I'm counting on you, Jean." No pressure or anything, but it's briefly evident in his expression that Xavier can't help but be a little shaken at the potential loss of one of his X-men to corruption with Scott already gone and Logan out on his own as well. Working a little to get a faint smile (and some subtle mental shielding) up, Xavier makes a concentrated effort to relax - settling his shoulders back against the chair and relaxing his tense brows. "I'm afraid that she might have found too much satisfaction in her efforts to be dissuaded from trying something similar in the future, but you are correct - she isn't Magneto. As for your work with the NYPD...Excellent."
Jean musters up a smile and some mental shielding herself, suggesting that "Perhaps we should head up to the kitchen and get some tea. There's nothing to be done until you've had a couple hours to recover, because I can't use Cerebro and then go out and try to talk to Storm and be fully on my feet while doing it. And I don't want to fail you." And so she rises, collects Xavier's cane and hands it to him, determined to get him out of the clinical, but somewhat depressing, air of the medical bay, and up into warmer surroundings.
Xavier nods, pushing himself up out of the chair with the help of his cane - still a little stiff in the legs, but certainly much more balanced than he was upon waking. "Good idea." Poor Xavier is going to be hobbling to the restroom every ten minutes for the rest of the day with the way she keeps trying to get liquids into him. "Lead the way."