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(A)bort, (R)etry, (F)ail? Pt. 1: Reconfiguration	By : Gimp666 Category: +M through R > Mega Man Views: 3876 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own MegaMan, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
(A)BORT, (R)ETRY, (F)AIL?

PART ONE: RECONFIGURATION

A/N: Guh. .-. Sorry guys, I’m late again. I don’t really have an excuse, other than I added a few things to this chap. .-. In all honesty though, I’ve lost track of the day I was updating on. It’s especially deplorable since pretty much all of the first book to this is finished. >_>;;; *sigh* Anyway, hope you enjoy it anyway, stuck up a long chap since it took so long. I don’t think it matters much anyway, going by reviews between the two places I post this, there are four people who actively read this. .-.

*sigh* Trying to work on more ficcage to get up here since I have some ideas, but I’m just so damned tired all the time. Between my job (getting yelled at for nine hours a day by people who can’t use the TV they’ve had for 8 years and the computer they’ve had for 4. e.e;;;), and some medical stuff I’ve been going through for… too long now, I just can’t force myself to sit down and just write like I used to. Maybe when I’ve got some more energy.

Anyway, have fun with the chap, after this chapter things start to get heavy and more engaging. Please read and review, they motivate me and I really like hearing something.. anything. XD;; *sigh*

“To be trusted is a greater compliment than being loved.”

~ George MacDonald

Chapter Ten – Starting Over

Dr. Albert Wily stood, rubbing his back idly and frowning to himself. His joints ached something fierce, but he was finally starting to see some progress in his work. His face formed a twisted grin, as he peered down at his creation at hand. Tall, blonde, beautiful… and programmed to release a virus so horrible, it was almost unimaginable to a sane person. Luckily for Wily he was anything but sane. The only thing bothering him about his creation was that he wouldn’t live to see it in action. No, time had taken care of that, it seemed.

His eyes shifted down to his hands, making a slight grimace of disgust. They were withered, arthritic, but he still found use for them. He had to work fast, however. With every week, it seemed harder and harder to pick up a wrench now. When he’d gone down to punish Forte, he had still been able to put in a six hour day. Now, he was lucky to get away with two hours of solid work. In only four months. He could get help, lots of it, but he didn’t trust any of the robot masters, they were too basic for his tastes. Forte could have helped him, but the traitor had gone AWOL.

That had caught him off guard. In all honesty, he hadn’t planned on Forte going anywhere, not after the lesson he’d taught him. In his shocked state, he’d almost forgotten to be angry about it. Almost. After an hour or two of careful contemplation, however, he decided to find Forte and bring him down, for two main reasons. The first was rather obvious. Forte knew a lot about the ongoing events at the fortress, knew a lot of passwords –changed, all changed, the old man assured himself with. There was almost a limitless supply of information that could be turned over to the wrong hands now that he’d left. The other reason…

The other reason. He leaned back, face forming into something more like a snarl than a grin. He’d left. With Gospel, no less. Probably to try and get him fixed, and get as far away as possible. And no one… no one escaped him. If the robot masters decided to do the same… things could get ugly. He needed them now to provide a distraction for anyone who got too close. That was why he had to have the violet haired boy back. He felt the need to recapture him, and make an example of him for that sole reason, pretence or no pretence. Forte was his, would always be his, and he was going to remind him of that if it was the last thing he ever did.

He reached down, gripping the still arm of his final creation, using it both to support and center himself. He’d take care of things, he was sure of that. He’d worked too hard for things to come unravelled so close to the end. Forte couldn’t have gone too far, and eventually he was going to make a mistake.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Just ask already, stupid...” Forte muttered to himself, pacing in front of the lab quietly. He couldn't believe that this was the one thing he couldn't bring himself to do. After everything he had said and done in the past four months – had it really been that long? Time didn’t drag here – from the incident with Wily, to trying to wrap his mind around what happened to gospel, to the past months of crazy fun he'd been having with Rock. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

In the end, they'd gone to the arcade, even though Forte had no money, with Rock treating every time. Forte had been embarrassed at first, but Rock simply hadn't taken “no” for an answer. He'd dragged him down there on the pretence that they were going to a different park, Forte with a hat shoved down on his head, embarrassed of the indigo stripes down his face that now seemed more like an identifying scar than anything else. He wondered if this was how people branded with the “M” had once felt.

He'd kept his face down to ignore any stares he might get, and had walked right into Rock when the boy had stopped suddenly in front of the arcade. When he'd looked up he realized where he was, but before a frown could even reach his mouth, Rock was already dragging him over to the racing games. He'd given in eventually, and had accepted Rock's money with a slightly flushed face and a tight jaw.

The last time they had gone, three days ago, he had gone to get Rock a drink after he'd asked, and when he returned, he had caught Rock staring at a poster quietly. He handed the drink over to the shorter boy, and had read over his shoulder while he was depressed, curious as to what he was looking at.

The poster was for a theatrical play of some kind, playing in the local theatre, some kind of musical. But the ticket prices were really steep, and even though Rock never mentioned a single word to him, Forte knew the older boy didn't have the money to go because Rock had spent it all on him. He'd wanted to go, but he couldn't. And Forte felt horrible about it.

He'd gone home unsure of what to do, and feeling rather consumed by guilt. He'd thought about how to get quick cash for hours and he'd only really come up with one method, despite all the thinking he'd done. He could steal that much easily, probably just by a few quick pick-pocketing endeavours, but he knew that using stolen money to get the tickets would only upset Rock, and he hadn't dared. Back to the drawing board.

So here he as, in his current situation. There was only one way to legally get that kind of money, and he sighed audibly, thinking of how humbling a situation this was going to become. He really hoped Tom wasn't going to rub it in, that would make it almost unbearable. It was already so humiliating without that.

He cursed himself inwardly, then muttered aloud. “Just do it, damnit...!” God, he hated asking for help, it was just so-

“Do what?” Forte started so badly that his feet nearly left the ground, then turned sharply, almost upending the mug of coffee clasped in Dr. Light's hand, who moved his arm back just in time to avoid a collision and the inevitable mess. “Sorry, Forte, I didn't mean to startle you.” Whatever he was cursing himself on, it must have had him completely distracted for him to have not heard him at all. He was anything but light on his feet, after all.

He stepped past him into his lab, beckoning for Forte to join him. “Did you need something from here? I don't keep my door locked, you don't need to-”

Forte bit his lip, drew a deep breath, and bowed his head deeply, clasping his hands in front of his face. Oh great, now he was going from asking to grovelling. The day was starting to look a little bleak. “Please let me work for you for awhile!” He groaned, scolding himself internally, then looked up at Light, who gave him a slight pat on the head, a mixture of utter confusion and amusement on his face simultaneously. This just kept getting better. “Look, I'm flat broke, and there's this... thing, and-”

Dr. Light nodded a little, surprised Forte didn't just steal the money. “And you wanted to earn a little extra spending money. That should be fine, I could always use an extra hand. When is this “thing”?” He reached down, straightening Forte out, and handed him some paperwork to sort out. “Believe me, you'll never have to beg for a little work to do around here. It's something that's never in short supply these days.”

Forte stared at him gratefully and took the papers, not sure how exactly to express gratitude – both for helping him and for trusting him around any of his work again. He settled with a simple “Thank you, Tom.” He sighed heavily, relieved he didn't ask Forte what the money was for. The theatre wasn't exactly to his taste, and he didn't want the old man to know the effect Rock was having on him.

It was like admitting that Rock was right, had been right, and always would be right, and if there was one thing he hated, it was being wrong. “It's tomorrow night, and a lot of money, but I can earn it by then.” he insisted, wishing he hadn't taken so damned long to just ask the favour. “Even if I have to work all night.”

Light nodded slowly, thinking it over. “Alright. I think I can keep you busy until then. I want you to get some sleep, though. All you have to do is go through those and match this number, alright? After that, we'll find something else for you to do.” He smiled, pointing to some kind of a reference number, then set back to work quietly.

Forte began sorting quietly without complaint, even when Thomas occasionally dropped a new stack off by him. It became rather obvious as the hours ran on and the sun left the sky that Dr. Light had a hell of a lot of paper. He wasn't sure what it was for, but he imagined the old man must have some kind of a personal vendetta against trees. He decided to ask the old man after he was done helping out, in case the question irritated him. He skipped dinner when the offer was made both times, and only gave Rock a small wink when he tried to find out what the taller boy was up to, sending him back out.

He looked up finally, with a slight wince. His eyes burned something fierce, and the one that had been damaged was sending a rather insistent stabbing pain up the side of his face. He rubbed at it gently, wincing more, then sighed and looked over at the clock on the wall. It was almost three in the morning. He decided to get some rest for a little while, getting up, and then something caught his eye.

He stared at the mass under a sheet, sitting on a lab table on the other side of the room near Tom's workbench. Suddenly, he was filled with a pain so deep that even his exhaustion couldn't ease it, and he certainly hadn't been prepared for it. Gospel. He felt a terrible ache, and his chest suddenly contracted, feeling tight. He hadn't thought about Gospel in two days. He had been so busy having fun with Rock that the wolf hadn't even crossed his mind. He threw his chair aside suddenly, and got up quickly, going over to the sheet and resting his cheek on the material, closing his eyes. “I'm sorry, boy.” he murmured.

He slid his slippers off, and climbed up onto the table with the sheeted mass. He really was selfish. He'd been out having fun with Rock, and sleeping all cozy and safe, after eating all those meals, while poor Gospel couldn't do any of that. He sighed idly. No... it wasn't healthy to think like that, he knew that much now. It was Wily. Wily killed Gospel, not him. Wily impaled him, tore out his innards, and mutilated the wolf, not him. Still, he could stay down here and sleep with his companion. He owed Gospel at least that much, and his mind told him that at least that much as still okay, still healthy.

Still right.

He curled up tighter on the lab table, a position that had once been a second nature to him, and now felt foreign, alien. What was happening to him? He felt different, milder, somehow. Tame. He wondered vaguely if he was losing himself, then decided that he wasn't, not exactly. Not losing himself, per se. He was adapting, and changing to fit his new life. He thought he could accept that answer, what choice did he really have? Still... He wouldn't lose this piece of himself, of that much he was determined. Gospel was as much a part of him as his arm, or his leg.

He lay next to the still form of Gospel, and tried to sleep, but all he felt was a bitter emptiness. He felt more like he was lying near a heap of scrap metal, than his support unit. He almost cried again, but forced it back. He was done crying for now. He hardly slept that night, something he found particularly irritating, after resting so well next to Rock for so long.

~~~~~~~~~~

He awoke early, despite how late he had fallen asleep, cursing himself for being unable to sleep better. Another nightmare. His body was slick with sweat, and he feared he may have been making a lot of noise, his throat felt strained and tight. He let his legs swing out and over the edge, glancing around the room.

“Good morning, Forte.” It was Thomas, he was working on something at his workbench, but his head was turned toward the robot, and there was a notable look of concern on his face. Forte had been whimpering lowly in his sleep since he had slipped down to work more on Gospel. He sounded a lot like a beaten puppy he had come across once when he had been walking through a bad area of town in his younger years.

The nightmare he had been having must have been bad, Forte had even yelled out incoherently in his sleep a few times, startling him rather badly. He had a pretty good idea what the boy had been dreaming about, too. Wily really was a sick man.

Forte had made a remarkably fast recovery once Light had talked to him, surprisingly fast, all things considered. The only area where Forte seemed to have not made any improvement – he'd actually gotten worse – was in this sudden wave of nightmares. Tom had heard him sometimes, awhile back, when Forte had still been sleeping on the couch.

When his arthritis bothered him late at night, he sometimes came down for his pills. With the seasons changing, he'd been down there quite a bit, unfortunately, and had heard Forte on several occasions. In the beginning, he would peek his head in to make sure it wasn't anything more pressing than just a bad dream, but Forte had been just lying there, face a calm mask, fast asleep. It was wrong.

After awhile, he'd begun to avoid doing so as much as possible. It wasn't polite to walk in and just stare at the boy as he slept, and Forte wouldn't be very happy if he awoke to find the old man there anywhere near him. Too many bad memories. He had been surprised when Forte had started sleeping upstairs with Rock. Still, as much as it had shocked him, he'd never questioned it, because as much as it shamed him to say it, he was freaked out by the boy.

Forte never moved an inch, never knotted his eyebrows, nothing, no matter how violent the nightmare was, and it disturbed him. When the bogeyman caught up with him in his dreams, he was thrown somewhere else, somewhere unreachable. He'd tried once or twice to wake him up, but it was to no avail, he had to play his dream out in his head.

He felt foolish for letting something so small unnerve him that much, but there was something so wrong about Forte's waking self that it made his hair stand on end. He wasn't sure if it was just something left out while Wily programmed his robot, or if it was a learned behaviour, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Forte still hadn't responded, he was instead turned, staring at Gospel, with apparent confusion on his face. It cleared up finally, and he gave the older man a slight nod, avoiding his gaze. He felt a burning shame, realizing that Tom had probably been sitting there listening to him for who knew how long. He cursed himself inwardly for being such a coward, and straightened himself out quickly. “You're up early.” The clock on the wall stated it was just past six-forty in the morning. He couldn't have slept more than a few hours, and he was feeling it.

Light turned back to his work, sensing he was making Forte uncomfortable. “Early to bed, early to rise. You should get something to eat if you're planning to come back here. Your energy conversion system has been over-utilized for awhile now, you're going to damage yourself if you keep pushing yourself like this.” Especially without Gospel to balance your main system out, he'd wanted to add, but despite the progress Forte had been making, he wasn't ready to jump that hurdle yet. Forte nodded agreeably enough, and slipped off into the kitchen to find himself something to eat.

Setting his pencil down and rolling the blueprint up, he cast a worried glance in the direction of the door. Gospel's current body had proven to be completely destroyed, no matter how many angles the old man had tried. At first he had been ready to just let it alone, and chalk up his losses. In fact, he had been preparing himself to deliver the news to Forte, when another idea had begun to work its way around in his head. Rock had given it to him, albeit unintentionally.

He’d originally wanted to make an entirely new support unit for Forte, but Rock had insisted that it had to be Gospel, that if he tried to use a replacement that Forte would forcibly reject it. It had to be Gospel.. but maybe it didn’t have to be the same Gospel, per se. Maybe it didn't have to end there at all. Now, as he sat playing with the idea idly, he found himself facing a lot of the same questions he had asked himself as he stood making Rock, and had even voiced to Albert Wily without avail before his colleague had broken off their partnership and gone off on his first tirade.

Was he going too far? Did he really understand what he was getting into? Was he going to do more damage than good? Oh, he had an idea alright. But maybe it would be better for all parties involved, especially Gospel, if he just un-had it, and really did chalk up his losses. Still... He thought back to that night, to his conversation with Forte, not the one he saw now, mending his traumatized state, but the broken Forte and realized he couldn't not do it. Because, if things would have worked out and he didn't do it, he would never forgive himself for it.

Not to mention- oh, but it was so arrogant, such a prime example of human nature, so completely self loving – forte needed his help. He needed what the old man wanted to give him, nothing else was ever going to truly replace in Wily's boy's mind. He frowned, thinking on that idly. No, that wasn't right either, was it? Maybe... Or maybe he just wanted to play god one more time. It was at times like this that he agreed with the radicals that maybe the world really was better off without scientists.

Forte returned with a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth, and Thomas fought his inner battle all morning and well into the afternoon, his mind on both sides of the ring, until he finally couldn't stand it anymore. Needing time to reflect on this by himself, he sent Forte off with the money he needed, along with a small bonus. He'd earned it after all. After finishing with the paperwork, Forte had done a surprisingly thorough job of cleaning, and the lab was almost unrecognizable, compared to what it had once been. Even Roll didn't dare clean up in here.

He thought about it for another hour, cursing himself with every new point in favour of what he felt he had to do. Finally, he reached into his desk drawer, and pulled the blueprint back out, then started preparing a list of equipment he would need. Back to playing god...
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(A)bort, (R)etry, (F)ail? Pt. 1: Reconfiguration