Welcome

[Pixie]

[The following occurs around the lawn chairs during the Sunday barbeque, during Ororo and Kurt's infamous tango performance]

Okay, so she understood that Nightcrawler’s mutation was part of how he was able to do those sorts of amazing things with his body. But Storm… how did she do that? And how did they get to be so fast, or move with such synchronicity, or generate that much electricity just by dancing? Outside among all of the other swimsuit-clad partygoers, Megan Gwynn watched the two amazing superheroes carry on with their tango… and she sighed.

Of course she hadn’t bothered with a swimsuit herself. For one thing, swimming and flying didn’t mix (except for ducks… and geese and other waterfowl). For another, the only swimsuit she owned was from before her transformation. It was burnt orange, which totally clashed with her hair. And it was a two-piece. There was just no way she’d strut around in a two-piece when most of the X-Women were baring their perfect bodies in tiny, expensive bikinis. Not yet, anyway. Maybe when she’d tanned and toned up a bit. Instead for now she wore a black tank top and a long wrap skirt with no shoes. Feminine, yet covered and modest, without looking like, well… Sooraya.

Nightcrawler dipped Storm so deeply that her hair actually swept the grass. Megan sighed again.

[Forge]

Earlier this morning, when Ororo told him about today’s gathering, her voice had been anything but suggestive. There was a barbeque. Everyone would be there. And he would be there, too. The ‘Or Else’ was unspoken, but Forge heard it nonetheless.

The party was already in swing before Forge arrived. He had toyed with the idea of showing up in the blue jeans and black shirt he’d been wearing in the lab but decided that would be a monumentally bad idea. It would probably give off the impression that he didn’t want to be there, and even though he really didn’t want to be there, he refused to make it obvious. No need, he reasoned, to put a damper on everyone else’s fun. So he’d changed into a pair of grey running shorts and a sleeveless yellow t-shirt and spent five minutes deliberating on footwear before deciding to go barefoot.

His plan was to park himself politely on the outskirts of the scrum, close enough to be considered accessible but not so close as to become a permanent fixture, and hang out until Ororo saw that he’d exhumed himself from the musty familiarity of his lab long to join in with the festivities, just as he had agreed to do. And then, after an appropriate passage of time, he would abscond back to the more important things demanding his attention back in the subbasement.

It was a good plan. Or, at least, it had been. Right up to the point where he saw Ororo and the plan melted into oblivion. To be fair, it was Ororo and Kurt, but right then Kurt didn’t matter. He was nothing more than background imagery, a fuzzy, blue blur gliding in step with the Goddess.

The dance was mesmerizing. Sensual. Alive. They moved like a dream, fluid and sublime, twisting and turning and dipping as though they had melded into one fantastically harmonious being.

Forge was vaguely aware his mouth was ajar. He found enough consciousness to creak it shut and couldn’t help but be reminded of all the reasons he could never be enough for Ororo. She deserved more. She deserved someone with the youth and vigor to match her own. Someone who could stimulate her. Someone who could give her…this.

Despite the fact that his mind was torn between awe and regret and his eyes were refusing to budge from the surreal vision of Ororo, Forge managed to locate an appropriately isolated lounge chair. He flopped down in the chair, content to play the part of enwrapped spectator.

As Forge continued his spellbound watching, Ororo dipped low in the fuzzy, blue blur’s arms. Her long, ivory hair mingled with the grass, and her back arched majestically, affording an intoxicating view of her lithe figure. Forge’s breath caught in his throat. He was sure he’d just been thinking something appropriately self-deprecating, but for the life of him, he couldn’t recall what it was.

A sigh heaved out beside him, jerking the Maker from his reverie with a befuddled, “Huh?” Then his mind kicked into gear enough to recognize the face. “Oh. Megan. Sorry. I didn’t…see you there.” There were probably a host of smarter things to say to a teenage girl, but that was the best Forge could muster at the moment.

[Pixie]

“Huh?” Megan was shaken out of her thoughts by the man sitting in the lawn chair next to hers. Oh, how long had Forge been sitting next to her? “Oh. Megan. Sorry. I didn’t…see you there.”

“S’okay,” she smiled, and turned back to the dancers. I didn’t see you either. “Can’t blame you, when you’ve got a thing like this to watch.” Storm spun around and fabric twirled and clung to her long, smooth legs. She looked like an African queen. Nightcrawler knew all of the perfect, most subtle muscle movements that would send his partner in any given direction. Never in any of Meg’s experiences with her old high school dance team had she seen something look so controlled, yet effortless.

“Quite sexy, isn’t it?” She didn’t mean to use the word sexy, but try as she might, there just was no better word to describe the X-Men’s afternoon tango in the sun. Instantly she cringed, then giggled, blushed, and apologized, “Sorry. That was a mental thing to say. I just meant, well…” she gestured toward them. Really, she’d meant what she’d said. The dance was sexy.

“Eh,” she shrugged, “I shouldn’t talk to people.”

[Forge]

“Huh?” asked incoherently, feeling as if he’d just been forcibly removed from a dream. “Oh. Megan. Sorry. I didn’t…see you there.”

“S’okay,” she smiled, and turned back to the dancers. “Can’t blame you, when you’ve got a thing like this to watch.”

Forge followed Megan’s eyes back to Ororo, who was spinning, her dress caressing her supple, dark legs in seductive fashion. He had intended to say something to indicate he agreed with Megan, that this was indeed worth watching. But his mind became all too easily enthralled with the Wind Rider’s curves, and the words simply vanished, replaced with…other thoughts.

“Quite sexy, isn’t it?”

"I...uh..." Forge’s eyes widened, and he couldn’t help but wonder at the chances Megan had manifested some sort of telepathy or empathy when Forge hadn’t been looking. If his face burned any redder someone was going to accuse him of stereotyping.

Turning his head to look at Megan, Forge found the fairy-girl’s face was matching his own exaggerated rouge complexion. However she saw fit to add a bit of giggling to her blushing, a move Forge never would have contemplated for himself.

“Sorry. That was a mental thing to say.” For some reason, the name Yogi Berra popped into the Maker’s mind. “I just meant, well…” she gestured toward them.

Forge waited for the forthcoming clarification.

“Eh,” she shrugged, “I shouldn’t talk to people.”

“According to most people, neither should I,” Forge said with a chuckle. “But that hasn’t stopped me yet.”

[Pixie]

“Quite sexy, isn’t it?”

"I...uh..." Forge’s eyes widened. His face turned beet red. She'd embarrassed both of them now. She was blushing too, while laughing nervously. She hoped it didn't sound like she was laughing at him. If he got angry, he'd probably get up and leave.

“Sorry. That was a mental thing to say. I just meant, well…” she gestured toward them. I just meant that it's sexy.

“Eh,” she shrugged, “I shouldn’t talk to people.” She informed him apologetically.

“According to most people, neither should I,” Forge said with a chuckle. “But that hasn’t stopped me yet.”

For that, she was grateful, so she offered him a smile. "It meant it was pretty. That's all." Megan cleared her throat, then turned back to watch for a little while longer. Of course, now that she was aware there was someone sitting within chatting distance of her, it was difficult to merely go back to sitting in silence.

"...I heard only a little bit about Africa. You were on that team, yeah? How'd it go?"

All she'd heard was that they'd had to fight a lot of tribal people or something. She didn't know why, or who'd called them there, or how it had all gone down, but she assumed the X-Men had won. She knew Jono had been hurt.

[Forge]

Forge chuckled in response to Megan’s assertion that she should avoid verbal interaction. “According to most people, neither should I. But that hasn’t stopped me yet.”

That earned him a smile. "It meant it was pretty. That's all." Megan cleared her throat, then turned back to watch for a little while longer.

“Yeah,” Forge agreed quietly as his attention rejoined the tango, “it certainly is that.”

"...I heard only a little bit about Africa. You were on that team, yeah? How'd it go?"

Africa. Exactly what he wanted to think about with visions of Ororo dancing before his eyes. Africa. Where shadowy monsters tried to corrupt or kill the entire team, and came eerily close to succeeding. Africa. Where Forge had instinctively opened fire on what could have been flesh and blood African civilians. Civilians whom Forge swore he’d not agonize over because they were already dead, their lives drained by the Shadow King. And the thing that bothered him most was: he wasn’t agonizing over them. He hadn’t known they were hollow zombies before his instincts led to a quickly emptied magazine of bullets. All he knew was that someone had opened fire on his friends, his family, and he responded as he was trained to respond. Not as a hero. Not as one of Xavier’s pupils. But as a soldier. Because that was all he was. All he’d ever be.

Forge was vaguely aware that a frown had overtaken his face. His eyes didn’t leave Ororo as he spoke. “It could have gone better. But we survived. Sometimes, I guess, that’s all you can ask for.”

[Pixie]

"It meant it was pretty. That's all." Megan cleared her throat, then turned back to watch for a little while longer.

“Yeah,” Forge agreed quietly as his attention rejoined the tango, “it certainly is that.”

Megan cleared her throat, then turned back to watch for a little while longer. Of course, now that she was aware there was someone sitting within chatting distance of her, it was difficult to merely go back to sitting in silence. "...I heard only a little bit about Africa. You were on that team, yeah? How'd it go?"

Forge’s face sort of glazed over as he searched for the words. Or maybe the images. She was terrible at reading people. A frown had overtaken his face. His eyes didn’t leave Ororo as he spoke. “It could have gone better. But we survived. Sometimes, I guess, that’s all you can ask for.”

“…okay?” She’d actually been looking for more of a fact-based answer. What had happened, who they’d fought, why, how it all ended. She didn’t even know what country they’d been in. She didn’t know much about Africa, but she was fairly sure it had a lot of countries in it. Like Egypt, and Chad, and… Madagascar, and… Egypt? But anyway, Forge’s answer sort of suggested that it hadn’t gone well, outside of everyone surviving. She took that to mean he just didn’t want to talk about it. At least, not with her. She could, if not understand, then at least respect that wish.

“Anyway, bet you’re glad you got to miss going to space, yeah? It’s not quite like the movies.” Or, if it was, then not any of the movies she liked.

[Forge]

“It could have gone better,” Forge said in response to Megan’s question. “But we survived. Sometimes, I guess, that’s all you can ask for.”

“…okay?”

Something in the girl’s voice told Forge she wanted more. A story. An explanation. Something beyond the simple non-answer he’d given. And quite possibly, she deserved more that what Forge gave her. She was, after all, a part of this. Plus it wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen a bit of action and danger in her short time with the X-Men.

Before Forge could make his mind up one way or the other, Megan did him the kindness of rerouting the conversation. “Anyway, bet you’re glad you got to miss going to space, yeah? It’s not quite like the movies.”

“I’m not sure how much use I would have been in space,” Forge admitted. “Besides, I’m pretty sure I was exactly where I was needed most. No one else on the team could have entered the Astral Plane to help Jono.” Forge left out the bit about his wanting to be there for Ororo as her home was attacked. Sure, he and Ororo had talked, but that didn’t mean he was going to run around sharing his private affairs with everyone. “I’m just glad you’re okay. All of you. At least I was told you were okay. You are, aren’t you?”

[Pixie]

From his brief answer to her questions about Africa, she assumed Forge just didn't want to talk about it. With that, she could oblige. “Anyway, bet you’re glad you got to miss going to space, yeah? It’s not quite like the movies.”

“I’m not sure how much use I would have been in space,” Forge admitted. “Besides, I’m pretty sure I was exactly where I was needed most. No one else on the team could have entered the Astral Plane to help Jono.”

"Astral Plane?" she repeated. Whaaat? She thought he just invented things! And since when was the Astral Plane involved with the Africa mission? Oh and also... what was an Astral Plane? Was that even real? Sounded like something from a scifi novel or a new age healing guru's latest overpriced workshop.

“I’m just glad you’re okay. All of you. At least I was told you were okay. You are, aren’t you?”

"Me? I'm okay," she shrugged, "Glad to be home. Or... here. On Earth. You know what I mean. And I didn't get hurt or anything. Not really. I'm certainly doing better than Jono. But then again, Jono's an X-Man proper and all. He was probably hurt while being a great deal more heroic than I ever was up there."

[Forge]

“I’m not sure how much use I would have been in space,” Forge admitted. “Besides, I’m pretty sure I was exactly where I was needed most. No one else on the team could have entered the Astral Plane to help Jono.”

"Astral Plane?" she repeated.

Forge wondered if he’d said too much. He had assumed one of the teachers had already explained the Astral Plane to the students. Judging from Megan’s expression, that was not the case, and Forge wasn’t quite sure he should be the one doing the telling. “Yeah. The, uh, Astral Plane. It’s…complicated.” Forge decided to try shoving the conversation away from that particular topic for now. “I’m just glad you’re okay. All of you. At least I was told you were okay. You are, aren’t you?”


"Me? I'm okay," she shrugged, "Glad to be home. Or... here. On Earth. You know what I mean. And I didn't get hurt or anything. Not really. I'm certainly doing better than Jono. But then again, Jono's an X-Man proper and all. He was probably hurt while being a great deal more heroic than I ever was up there."

“Well,” Forge started, leaning back in his chair, “Jono was pretty heroic. But you shouldn’t count yourself short. Especially under those circumstances. I mean, you were kidnapped and imprisoned with a bunch of aliens, all while having your powers inhibited, and you made it out with nothing more than a few bumps and bruises. Sounds pretty impressive to me.”

[Pixie]

Forge further hand-waved his explanation of the Astral Plain. No one was ever going to tell her anything about what happened in Africa! Lame. Maybe she’d hear about it a few years from now, when she was an X-Man and this was an old war story told among friends. And equals? Maybe. Probably not. But maybe.

"Glad to be home. Or... here. On Earth. You know what I mean. And I didn't get hurt or anything. Not really. I'm certainly doing better than Jono. But then again, Jono's an X-Man proper and all. He was probably hurt while being a great deal more heroic than I ever was up there."

“Well,” Forge started, leaning back in his chair, “Jono was pretty heroic. But you shouldn’t count yourself short. Especially under those circumstances. I mean, you were kidnapped and imprisoned with a bunch of aliens, all while having your powers inhibited, and you made it out with nothing more than a few bumps and bruises. Sounds pretty impressive to me.”

“Uh-huh,” she rolled her eyes, “I’m a super-expert at getting rescued. I should teach a seminar about it.” Megan mimicked Forge, then, and leaned back in her chair, careful to position her sunglasses so that she could still gawk at Nightcrawler and Storm, but with more subtlety.

“All I did was get pushed around, ran about among the aliens, being contrary and pissing everyone off, and whined and wondered how much longer it would be until the X-Men arrived. It never really crossed my mind that they wouldn’t come, and luckily, they haven’t let me down yet. But I’m sure that’s very impressive. Goodness knows the sorts of fights you’ve been in, or the sorts of things a seasoned hero like yourself has already accomplished.” She really didn’t want to bother comparing herself to someone as experienced as Forge. He could probably build a ten-inch Barbie doll in an afternoon that had a better mission success average than Megan did. And it would probably exercise more finesse in the process.

[Forge]

Forge tried to reassure Megan that she’d probably done just fine in space, but she was having none of it.

“Uh-huh,” she rolled her eyes, “I’m a super-expert at getting rescued. I should teach a seminar about it.”

A certain amount of self-doubt was to be expected, especially from a relative greenhorn, but Megan’s answer concerned him. It sounded to Forge as if the younger mutant was beginning to develop an unhealthy attitude that she was now, and always would be, a Victim, a helpless lump of damsel doomed to ever need saving, and Forge knew enough to understand that even the most fallacious of prophecies could become self-fulfilling if given enough fuel.

At a momentary loss for words, Forge found himself wondering what advice Naze would have offered here. The thought helped him come out with: “Look, Megan, everyone who’s hung around the X-Men long enough has had to be rescued. Multiple times. There’s no shame in needing someone help you out, especially when you’re still learning about your powers. And I guarantee you, if you hang around here any length of time, you’ll end up being a rescuer. Multiple times. That’s just part of the lifestyle. Besides, I’m sure you did more than just sit around and wait to get rescued.”

“All I did was get pushed around, ran about among the aliens, being contrary and pissing everyone off, and whined and wondered how much longer it would be until the X-Men arrived. It never really crossed my mind that they wouldn’t come, and luckily, they haven’t let me down yet. But I’m sure that’s very impressive. Goodness knows the sorts of fights you’ve been in, or the sorts of things a seasoned hero like yourself has already accomplished.”

Forge visibly stiffened at the mention of him being a hero. It was a record he needed to set straight before Megan got wrong thoughts in her head. “Megan, I’m, uh…” Forge paused and shook his head to emphasize his point. “I’m not a hero. Not even close. Scott. Ororo.” He nodded in the Wind Rider’s direction without looking at her, lest his train of thought got permanently rerouted. “Hank. Those are your heroes. I’d even go so far as to call them role models. Me? I’m afraid I don’t qualify.” And if Africa hadn’t reproved that point in the most blatant of manners, Forge didn’t know what would.

[Pixie]

Forge seemed to get all pep-talking when Meg belittled her accomplishments in space. Well, he hadn‘t been there. And he hadn‘t heard the same reports Cyclops had. Anyone who knew what had gone on was either angry with her or disappointed in her. “Look, Megan, everyone who’s hung around the X-Men long enough has had to be rescued. Multiple times. There’s no shame in needing someone help you out, especially when you’re still learning about your powers. And I guarantee you, if you hang around here any length of time, you’ll end up being a rescuer. Multiple times.”

Well, she’d never said she wouldn’t, someday. But her progress for the time being was still rather disheartening.

“That’s just part of the lifestyle. Besides, I’m sure you did more than just sit around and wait to get rescued.”

Oh yes, she did. Or at least, she tried to. She‘d tried to be the rescuer. She was just rubbish at it. For now, Meg would set the record straight: “All I did was get pushed around, ran about among the aliens, being contrary and pissing everyone off, and whined and wondered how much longer it would be until the X-Men arrived. It never really crossed my mind that they wouldn’t come, and luckily, they haven’t let me down yet. But I’m sure that’s very impressive. Goodness knows the sorts of fights you’ve been in, or the sorts of things a seasoned hero like yourself has already accomplished.” She really didn’t want to bother comparing herself to someone as experienced as Forge.

Forge visibly stiffened at the mention of him being a hero. “Megan, I’m, uh…” Forge paused and shook his head to emphasize his point. “I’m not a hero. Not even close. Scott. Ororo. Hank. Those are your heroes. I’d even go so far as to call them role models. Me? I’m afraid I don’t qualify.”

Was he doing that modesty thing? Oh, please.

“You’re an X-Men, aren’t you?” she turned her head to look at him curiously. How could someone be an X-Man and not be a hero? That was their job description. That’s what they did, with the costumes and the rescuing and the bad guy fighting. Why would Forge be allowed to live with the X-Men, or accompany them on missions, if he wasn’t considered a hero himself? He was nice. He had impressive powers (more impressive than Megan had originally realized, if that Astral Plain comment were any indication). He gave her pep talks. All the evidence was there.

[Forge]

“You’re an X-Men, aren’t you?” she turned her head to look at him curiously.

“No,” he said, meeting Megan’s eyes, “I’m not. Not really.” It was one thing to accept living here, to accept belonging here, but the title of X-Man was one Forge was certain he could never wear. He’d crossed a few too many lines in his day, and he knew that some lines, once crossed, could never be uncrossed. He used to wonder if things would have been different if he’d grown up under the tutelage of Charles Xavier like so many other X-Men. But he knew that line of thinking was nothing more than searching for excuses. Charles was a great man, of that Forge had no doubts. But Naze was, at the very least, Charles’ equal. The elder shaman had given Forge everything the boy needed to become a great man, possibly even a hero, yet Forge, possessed of youthful arrogance, threw it all away. For the most part, that was something Forge had learned to accept. He wasn’t a hero. That didn’t mean he didn’t have a part to play. The problem Forge had was how to convey all this to Megan without coming out about too much of his past. “Sure, they let me hang around here. And sometimes I’m even helpful on a mission. But it takes more than occasionally slumming in the subbasement and going on missions to be an X-Man.”

[Pixie]

“You’re an X-Men, aren’t you?” she turned her head to look at him curiously.

“No,” he said, meeting Megan’s eyes, “I’m not. Not really.”

Well, that wasn't an answer she'd be expecting. But he did all X-Man-y things! Missions! Powers! Pep-talks! All that stuff she'd said before. What was that saying? If it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, swims like a duck...

“Sure, they let me hang around here. And sometimes I’m even helpful on a mission. But it takes more than occasionally slumming in the subbasement and going on missions to be an X-Man.”

It had better not take much more than that! What was she supposed to do, then? She wasn't even allowed in the subbasement unattended, and thus far the only missions she'd been part of involved getting her out of some sort of trouble or another. If Forge didn't make the cut, what hope did she have?

Her wings were getting uncomfortably cramped against the lawn chair, so Megan turned on her side so she could face Forge and her wings could stretch out in the sun behind her. Without knowing what else to do, she smiled at him. "So you don't think you belong here either? That's weird. I wonder if anybody truly believes they belong anywhere."

What was with all the philosphy all of a sudden? Meh.

"Do you reckon even the first X-Men going to school here were just counting the days, figuring it was only a matter of time before they were asked to shove off toward somewhere they'd be better suited? Why, then we'd have no X-Men at all, and you and I wouldn't be having this coversation."

Another conversation sprang to her mind... one that seemed to have taken place lifetimes ago, but it could only have been a few weeks. She hadn't been a mutant for very long.

"...somebody told me once everything that it takes to be an X-Man. Seems like you fit most of the criteria. I know it takes more than just being born a mutant and looking good in black, y'know? Because if that was it, I'd be in. Dunno about you. I'd have to see your best Charlie's Angel pose before I just handed you a uniform." She was joking now, but there was something serious behind her meaning. After all, while having the X-gene was outside of their control, there were certain things that they could control. And the first step to being an X-Man, really, was wanting to be an X-Man. She wanted it. Really bad. That didn't mean that Forge did.

"Do you want to be an X-Man, or are you just here as a favor or something?"

She should probably start working on not vocalizing everything that popped into her head. Tomorrow, she'd definatley start working on that. Tomorrow.

[Forge]

"So you don't think you belong here either? That's weird. I wonder if anybody truly believes they belong anywhere."

The word ‘either’ caught his interest, causing a dark eyebrow to rise. He would have expected Kevin or Wicked to feel as though they didn’t belong, but from what he knew of Megan, the girl genuinely wanted to be an X-Man. “Are you saying you don’t think you belong?” he asked.

"Do you reckon even the first X-Men going to school here were just counting the days, figuring it was only a matter of time before they were asked to shove off toward somewhere they'd be better suited? Why, then we'd have no X-Men at all, and you and I wouldn't be having this coversation."

“I don’t know,” he answered with a thoughtful frown. “I’m not sure I see the Professor asking anyone to ‘shove off’. I imagine he brought the original five here because he saw something in them. And then they chose to stay here. Together. Where they could continue learning and helping others.”

"...somebody told me once everything that it takes to be an X-Man. Seems like you fit most of the criteria.” Forge allowed himself a small grin at that. Maybe he wasn’t hero material, but it was nice to know he was well thought of. Even if the thinker in question wasn’t in possession of all the facts. “I know it takes more than just being born a mutant and looking good in black, y'know? Because if that was it, I'd be in. Dunno about you. I'd have to see your best Charlie's Angel pose before I just handed you a uniform."

Forge had to laugh at that. Him. Pulling a Charlie’s Angels pose. In the X-Men’s black and leather skin-tights. “Uh…if those were the requirements…I think I’d just stay in Dallas and maybe call to check in on you guys once in a while.”

"Do you want to be an X-Man, or are you just here as a favor or something?"

Now there was a question. As he tried to piece together an answer, Forge mindlessly began chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I, uh…” Forge elected to start out with why he wasn’t here. “I’m not here as a favor or anything like that. I mean, the Professor asked me to come here as a favor a long time ago, but that’s not why I’m here now. I’m here because. Well.” Forge shrugged, figuring there was nothing to do but say it. Otherwise Lorna was likely to pop out from wherever it was she’d been hiding and thwap him across the head. “This is as close to a home as I have. I don’t really belong anywhere else.” The grin from earlier relit on the Maker’s face. “So the X-Men are kind enough to let an old man sleep in their basement, and in return I fix all the appliances after Logan breaks them. It’s a win-win situation.”

Shifting back to a more sober tone, Forge answered Megan’s original question. “As for wanting to be an X-Man?” The old inventor shook his head. “I don’t think ‘want’ comes into it. Not for me.”

[Pixie]

“Are you saying you don’t think you belong?” he asked.

"Maybe. I mean... I'd like to, one day," she shrugged, "Do you reckon even the first X-Men going to school here were just counting the days, figuring it was only a matter of time before they were asked to shove off toward somewhere they'd be better suited? Why, then we'd have no X-Men at all, and you and I wouldn't be having this coversation."

“I don’t know,” he answered with a thoughtful frown. “I’m not sure I see the Professor asking anyone to ‘shove off’. I imagine he brought the original five here because he saw something in them. And then they chose to stay here. Together. Where they could continue learning and helping others.”

He specifically chose those five? How curious. She wondered if there were other mutants in the world that the Professor had overlooked in favor of those who had made the cut. Either way, she was fairly sure no one had 'chosen' her. The X-Man had seen her on the news and rushed to separate her from the general public, and then she'd chosen to stay with them. She needed them, but she'd be very surprised to learn if the X-Men actually needed her, the way they needed Jean Grey, or Beast, or Cyclops.

Time to focus back on Forge, the X-Man-Who-Wasn't-An-X-Man-At-All.

"...somebody told me once everything that it takes to be an X-Man. Seems like you fit most of the criteria. I know it takes more than just being born a mutant and looking good in black, y'know? Because if that was it, I'd be in. Dunno about you. I'd have to see your best Charlie's Angel pose before I just handed you a uniform."

Forge had to laugh at that. “Uh…if those were the requirements…I think I’d just stay in Dallas and maybe call to check in on you guys once in a while.”

"Fair enough," she grinned. At least she'd been able to make him laugh. "Do you want to be an X-Man, or are you just here as a favor or something?"

“I, uh… I’m not here as a favor or anything like that. I mean, the Professor asked me to come here as a favor a long time ago, but that’s not why I’m here now. I’m here because. Well.” Forge shrugged, “This is as close to a home as I have. I don’t really belong anywhere else.”

"Not Dallas, huh?" Hadn't he just been talking about going back to Dallas?

The grin from earlier relit on the Maker’s face. “So the X-Men are kind enough to let an old man sleep in their basement, and in return I fix all the appliances after Logan breaks them. It’s a win-win situation.”

"Yay," she giggled a little, "Although if the X-Man thing doesn't work out, with your talents, you'd have a pretty promising job working for Father Christmas at the North Pole. How do you feel about snow?" Megan could only assume that Santa Claus was also real, because well... everything else so far was real. All the bad stuff, at any rate. So why not the good stuff?

Shifting back to a more sober tone, Forge answered Megan’s original question. “As for wanting to be an X-Man?” The old inventor shook his head. “I don’t think ‘want’ comes into it. Not for me.”

"It doesn't?" she asked, sitting up again, "Well, I suppose the same could be said for even some of the X-Men, yeah? After all, for people like Dr. McCoy, or our Lord of the Dance there," she nodded toward Nightcrawler, where he twirled Ms. Monroe among the grass again and again, "What else is there to do?"

And what else can I do, if I can't be a superhero? It was a supposed curse of physical mutants that they needed to live in some mutant-related environment and do mutant-friendly activities, rather than chose the life of a superhero over that of a normal human being just for the hell of it. Normal life just wasn't in the cards for people who looked like she did. And what was strange: she didn't regret it. She just hoped she lived up to what was expected of her.

[Forge]

Megan asked whether Forge wanted to be an X-Man or was just here as a favor. He explained that favors had nothing to do with it. “I’m here because. Well.” Forge shrugged, “This is as close to a home as I have. I don’t really belong anywhere else.”

"Not Dallas, huh?"

“Dallas isn’t so much a home as a…burden. A job. And sometimes it gets really old really fast.” The grin from earlier relit on the Maker’s face. “So the X-Men are kind enough to let an old man sleep in their basement, and in return I fix all the appliances after Logan breaks them. It’s a win-win situation.”

"Yay," she giggled a little, "Although if the X-Man thing doesn't work out, with your talents, you'd have a pretty promising job working for Father Christmas at the North Pole. How do you feel about snow?"

The older mutant grasped his chin with his cybernetic hand, as though he were thinking. “Well, seeing as how I was born in Oklahoma and lived in Texas for so long, I don’t know. It might be a nice change of scenery. Or maybe I’d freeze to death. One of the two.”

Shifting back to a more sober tone, Forge answered Megan’s original question. “As for wanting to be an X-Man?” The old inventor shook his head. “I don’t think ‘want’ comes into it. Not for me.”

"It doesn't?" she asked, sitting up again, "Well, I suppose the same could be said for even some of the X-Men, yeah? After all, for people like Dr. McCoy, or our Lord of the Dance there," she nodded toward Nightcrawler, where he twirled Ms. Monroe among the grass again and again, "What else is there to do?"

It took Forge a second to follow her logic. He had been thinking in terms of pasts and qualifications. Things that Hank and Kurt didn’t have to worry about. Megan, on the other hand, seemed to be thinking a bit more pragmatically. As in physical mutants. And she had a point. Mutant-human relations might have improved somewhat over the years, but there were still limited opportunities for physical mutants to pursue in the world-at-large. Come to think of it, Megan was a physical mutant. Which begged an uncomfortable question. One Forge wasn’t sure he should voice. “Megan, um…if you don’t mind my asking—and if you do, please just say so, and we’ll drop it—but is that the reason you want to be an X-Man? Because you don’t know what else you could do?”

[Pixie]

They started talking about why people become X-Men, and reached an odd crossroads. Megan thought that becoming a superhero had to do with wanting it badly enough, whereas Forge seemed to think it had to do with deserving it. She supposed he had a point, there. After all, no one just handed you a uniform for saying 'please' over and over again. You had to earn it. But if you wanted it badly enough, wouldn't that make you earn it? Or was Forge thinking of something else?

Then of course, there was another factor, for people like her. She almost felt guilty saying it out loud, because not long ago she'd been trying to talk Cessily out of this exact frame of mind. Cess had lamented her physical mutation so badly, and thanks to her stupid parents, she was convinced she had absolutely nowhere else to go where people would accept her. And Megan had thought she was being dramatic and ridiculous, and told her as much. But now... well, she'd been off of the mansion grounds a few times, and it had never really gone well. So maybe Cessily had a point, after all.

"I suppose the same could be said for even some of the X-Men, yeah? After all, for people like Dr. McCoy, or our Lord of the Dance there," she nodded toward Nightcrawler, where he twirled Ms. Monroe among the grass again and again, "What else is there to do?"

There was a moment of silence, before Forge asked the obvious question. Still, it had been the first time anyone had actually bothered to ask, so Meg was still surprised to hear it out there at all. “Megan, um…if you don’t mind my asking—and if you do, please just say so, and we’ll drop it—but is that the reason you want to be an X-Man? Because you don’t know what else you could do?”

"I don't mind questions," she smiled at him appreciatively, "I ask too many of them, so it'd make me a right hypocrite." Which was a nice way to evade the question so that she could think about her answer some more. Why did she want to be an X-Man? It was rather amusing that he hadn’t bothered to ask first whether or not she wanted that to begin with. It was probably obvious enough from the way she spoke about Cyclops, Nightcrawler, Rogue, Storm, Emma Frost, Colossus, Shadowcat... She wanted to be their friend. She wanted to be their teammate. She wanted to be them. Even with Jubilee, she would gladly trade places, if just for a day.

“I don’t know?” It was the most honest answer she could give.

“I think that, if I looked normal, I would still want to be an X-Men. I like them. I like it here. I want to stay, and, you know…” be amazing. She waved her arm across the yard at all of the superheroes who were having a great time, some of them using their powers playfully against each other while performing cannonballs or having chicken fights in the pool. “But even if I still would have chosen this… yeah, I don’t look normal, so it’s kind of like the decision was, I don’t know, made for me. I don’t like image inducers, tucking my wings under big jackets, or wearing special contacts so my eyes look like they have whites to them. I like looking different, so why should I put so much effort into looking like everybody else? Especially when I could live here and fly around like a big pink spaz. Not even a contest.” She laughed.

[Forge]

“Megan, um…if you don’t mind my asking—and if you do, please just say so, and we’ll drop it—but is that the reason you want to be an X-Man? Because you don’t know what else you could do?” Of all the people at the mansion, Forge figured himself the least qualified to pose that question, if for no other reason than: What was Forge going to do when Megan responded negatively to that question? He wasn’t exactly known for cunning insight or keen advice.

"I don't mind questions," she smiled at him appreciatively, "I ask too many of them, so it'd make me a right hypocrite."

Forge mirrored the younger mutant’s smile, glad that, if nothing else, she wasn’t offended or upset by the inquiry.

After a short while, Megan answered with a simple, “I don’t know?”

Not really knowing what to say, Forge nodded, reasoning that it was as good an answer as he could have hoped for.

“I think that, if I looked normal, I would still want to be an X-Men. I like them. I like it here. I want to stay, and, you know…” She waved her arm across the yard. Forge followed the gesture with his eyes, watching as friends and acquaintances, most in possession of awe-inspiring powers, enjoyed themselves around the pool, just like ‘normal’ people would do on a 'normal' day off.

“Yeah,” he said, as much to show he was listening as to indicate that he did know. Regardless of his un-X-Man-ness, Forge did like it here, liked the people he was around and genuinely wanted to stay. It was something of a relief to be able to admit that, even if he could only admit it to himself.

“But even if I still would have chosen this… yeah, I don’t look normal, so it’s kind of like the decision was, I don’t know, made for me. I don’t like image inducers, tucking my wings under big jackets, or wearing special contacts so my eyes look like they have whites to them. I like looking different, so why should I put so much effort into looking like everybody else? Especially when I could live here and fly around like a big pink spaz. Not even a contest.” She laughed.

“Well, when you put it like that,” Forge said with a chuckle. It was nice that Megan seemed to revel in her uniqueness. It was a trait Forge feared was lacking in many a mutant…hell, in many a person. “But I think I should warn you, if you live here too much longer, I’m afraid you’ll stop being a ‘spaz’.”

[Pixie]

“I like looking different, so why should I put so much effort into looking like everybody else? Especially when I could live here and fly around like a big pink spaz. Not even a contest.” She laughed.

“Well, when you put it like that,” Forge said with a chuckle. “But I think I should warn you, if you live here too much longer, I’m afraid you’ll stop being a ‘spaz’.”

“If that should happen, I’ll deal with it,” she replied, adjusting her sunglasses, “As long as I get to stay pink and fly around. But anyway, I don‘t see it happening, unless you want to invent some sort of de-spazzing device for me. Not that I‘m recommending that, either, because if you‘re going to go to all that trouble you might as well invent a GPS chip for my brain. That way I‘d have the built in transportation and navigation, which might make me considerably less spastic in the flying department. I’d never be lost, but then again, I‘d always have that obnoxious American woman in my subconscious going, ‘Take next left, then immediate right. Arriving at destination…’ Right?”

Forge had that peculiar look on his face again. She watched him for a moment, then repeated, “…right?”

[Forge]

“If that should happen, I’ll deal with it,” she replied, adjusting her sunglasses, “As long as I get to stay pink and fly around. But anyway, I don‘t see it happening, unless you want to invent some sort of de-spazzing device for me. Not that I‘m recommending that, either, because if you‘re going to go to all that trouble you might as well invent a GPS chip for my brain…”

Megan kept talking, but she’d lost Forge to the ether of his subconscious.

GPS satellite uplink/receiver. Trilateration capabilities. Nano-microchip design with neuro-interface. Nano-chip injected into cerebral cortex, hardwired specifically into parietal lobe via cybernetic biomechanical nerve receptors.

Potential danger: hardening of brain around cybernetic nerve receptors. Eighty-three percent chance of occurrence. Probable result: fatality.

Solution: …………

Forge slowly began to re-emerge from his creative-state, a ghost of a frown pulled at his lips. For all the times he’d come across ‘brain-wired’ technological possibilities and all the research he’d done, Forge could never find a way around the problem of the brain rejecting the implants and hardening. And it annoyed him.

“…right?”

Something about the word—the tone of it perhaps—suggested that it wasn’t the first time it had been asked. Unfortunately Forge had no clue what was supposed to be ‘right’, so he responded in the only way he could be expected to.

“Huh?” He rubbed his prosthetic hand across the back of his neck in a somewhat apologetic fashion. “Sorry, Megan. I, uh, blanked out on you there for a second.” Or a minute. Or twelve. Forge’s subconscious did a horrible job of keeping up with time. “I wouldn’t get my hopes up for that In Brain GPS. Trust me, you’d be better off just getting an iPhone and downloading the app for that.”

Of course toting around an iPhone whilst zipping through the sky would be burdensome. Maybe if there was another way…

Flight helmet. Outfitted with GPS satellite uplink/receiver with trilateration capabilities. Receiver feeds into HUD projection unit wired into clear face visor. Visuals accompanied by audio direction routed through headset built into helmet interior.

Forge came out of trance number two with a blink and a shake of his head. “So,” he began, “how do you feel about helmets?”

[Pixie]

“Huh?” He rubbed his prosthetic hand across the back of his neck in a somewhat apologetic fashion. “Sorry, Megan. I, uh, blanked out on you there for a second.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Meg nodded her dismissive understanding, “S’okay. That happens to you a lot, huh?”

“I wouldn’t get my hopes up for that In Brain GPS. Trust me, you’d be better off just getting an iPhone and downloading the app for that.”

“I wouldn’t want to use an iPhone while flying. Picture someone texting while driving, and multiply that by the entire sky and the fact that I’m already, as we’ve established, a spaz, and…” this time she didn’t even bother to finish her sentence. Forge was gone again. She figured she might as well wait for him to rejoin the conversation, rather than hold it alone.

Forge came out of trance number two with a blink and a shake of his head. “So,” he began, “how do you feel about helmets?”

“Helmets?” She laughed. That had seemed to come out of nowhere, “Um… I’m… pro-helmet? I mean, I actually already wear a bicycle helmet someone when I practice flying, especially if I’m in the woods or somewhere else where I’m likely to bonk my head. I think when we start in the Danger Room I’m going to bring the helmet with me, too. It’ll look silly, but at a certain point, if you’re going to have pink hair and big ol’ wings, you can’t really afford to be self-conscious all the time, yeah? Do you think there‘s something going on between Storm and Nightcrawler?” she changed the subject without pausing for breath, and nodded back toward her dancing, prancing instructors, “I’d never thought of it, but they do look like the move really well together, all of a sudden.”

[Forge]

Forge emerged from his invention induced stupor with an eloquent: “Huh?” which he then followed with a, “Sorry, Megan. I, uh, blanked out on you there for a second.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Meg nodded her dismissive understanding, “S’okay. That happens to you a lot, huh?”

“Yeah,” Forge admitted. “That’s the downside, I guess. Well, one of the downsides.” Being forced to create suicide booths in your head when someone brought them up as a joke was the other downside, but Forge wasn’t about to say that aloud. Instead he addressed Megan’s latest idea. “I wouldn’t get my hopes up for that In Brain GPS. Trust me, you’d be better off just getting an iPhone and downloading the app for that.”

“I wouldn’t want to use an iPhone while flying,” Megan started. Forge was pretty sure there was more to come from the cicada-winged girl, but her initial statement had set Forge to thinking, and that, in turn, set Forge to inventing.

When Forge rejoined the land of the not-daydreaming there was silence. The sort of silence that suggested someone had stopped talking and was waiting for her audience to return from whatever mental bathroom break he’d just taken. “So,” Forge said with a blink and a shake of his head, “how do you feel about helmets?”

“Helmets?” She laughed.

Forge looked at her, not at all sure how helmets were funny. And then it dawned on him that perhaps he hadn’t so much segued into that transition as blindly swerved toward it.

Before he could explain that he did, for once, have a rational reason (well, rational insomuch as subconscious mutant abilities could be defined as such) for talking about helmets, Megan was off again. “Um… I’m… pro-helmet? I mean, I actually already wear a bicycle helmet someone when I practice flying, especially if I’m in the woods or somewhere else where I’m likely to bonk my head. I think when we start in the Danger Room I’m going to bring the helmet with me, too. It’ll look silly, but at a certain point, if you’re going to have pink hair and big ol’ wings, you can’t really afford to be self-conscious all the time, yeah?” Up to this point Forge had managed to follow the narrative. He’d even been working out a reply to explain that he’d had an idea involving the marriage of helmets and GPS technology. But her next sentence destroyed any hope of that. “Do you think there‘s something going on between Storm and Nightcrawler?” she changed the subject without pausing for breath, and nodded back toward her dancing, prancing instructors, “I’d never thought of it, but they do look like the move really well together, all of a sudden.”

“No!” It wasn’t yelled. Forge wasn’t one much for yelling, or any other form of voice raising. It was more like a surprised yelp—as if someone had stepped on his toe. He quickly recovered by tacking on a verbal train wreck of, “I mean, yes. They do. But they’re not. Not that there would be anything wrong with—Ororo can see Kurt if she wants to. But she doesn’t… I don’t think...”