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xp_logsGarrison picks up Marie-Ange at Snow Valley for their lunch date, and runs into Doug. It all goes downhill from there as Doug seeks company in obliterating his consciousness.
Kane was humming to himself as he got out of the elevator, vainly trying to juggle wrapping his earphones up with his iPod and the small bouquet of flowers at the same time. He'd taken the train into the city, after his parking odyssey last time, and was enjoying the crispness of the day.
He'd never expected to like New York City, but the more time he spent here, the more it reminded him of Toronto. The scale was vastly larger, of course, and the differences were extreme, but the similarities were there too; a sprawling multicultural cities that took almost fierce pride in their neighbourhoods.
Garrison sighed, seeing the front desk empty. Obviously their Church street castoff was off somewhere. He rapped on the top of the desk, hoping to attract someone from the back room. He'd never been to the Snow Valley Center before, and knowing Pete, it wasn't a good idea to just wander in.
"Hello?"
Doug barely avoided thumping his head on the bottom of Mark's desk as he crawled out from underneath it. Dusting his pants off, he stood, taking in the person standing on the other side. It took him a few moments to match a name to the face. Garrison Kane, RCMP. The new arrival at Xavier's. Who had been part of the extremely embarrassing journal thread, which was a mark against him.
Carefully schooling his features not to show anything, he glanced at the bouquet of flowers in the other man's hand. "Can I help you?" he asked politely.
"Oh, sorry about that. I didn't see you down there." Garrison said, his accent turning the word ever so slightly into 'aboot'. He shifted the flowers into his opposite hand. "It's Doug, right? I'm Garrison Kane." He held out his free hand.
Doug's shake was quick and perfunctory, as he still wasn't sure what he thought of Garrison. They'd definitely gotten off on the wrong foot. "Yeah, I'm Doug. The journal system definitely helps in matching names to faces, doesn't it?" he asked with a polite smile. He raised an eyebrow. "Can I help you with something?" he asked again.
"Yeah, I'm here to pick up Marie-Ange. She said she'd meet me in the waiting room but--" Garrison spread his arms. "How unlike a woman to be late, eh? By the way, sorry about that stuff in the journals. From the way Forge was going on, I thought it was normal banter for you lot."
He was here to pick Marie-Ange up? Doug slammed internal doors on a spike of jealousy, and kept his features blank in an attempt not to show the way his stomach had dropped to somewhere around his ankles.
He was even less inclined to be nice to the other man, but his manners asserted themselves. "Forge doesn't always know when to leave well enough alone," he replied with a diffident shrug. "I'll go let Marie-Ange know you're here," he said, turning and walking at a normal pace when he wanted to do anything but.
***
Doug took a deep breath out of sight of the door to Marie-Ange's office, and then rapped sharply at the doorjamb before stepping inside.
Marie-Ange looked up expectantly from the email she was typing, and pushed a lock of hair away from her face. Except the person at her door was -not- tall and dark-haired, but blond, and carrying a painfully neutral expression. "Doug?"
The neutral expression was to hide what he was feeling. If he wore the mask, if his voice didn't quaver, maybe he could get through this without showing what was happening inside. "Garrison's here to pick you up for your date," he said perfectly levelly.
To Marie-Ange's credit, she didn't flinch or shut her eyes, or even pinch the bridge of her nose. There was no sense in getting riled up or upset. Doug was being polite. He wasn't making a scene, and he hadn't tossed Garrison out on his ear. "Thank you... I'll just go.. meet him."
Fighting an urge to apologize, and she had no idea why, Marie-Ange stood up and pulled her coat off the back of her chair, picking up her shoulder bag as she moved towards the door.
Stepping past her, Doug stepped to Marie-Ange's desk. "I need to borrow this," he said in the same neutral tone of voice, picking up the globe that they used for figuring out what nation's takeout to order. Tucking it under his arm, he quietly turned and left the room.
***
The pile of research was steadily getting smaller. Which was good, because she was still tired from invading China. At least the familiar routines of work were soothing... Amanda finished making notes on the file she was reading, closed it and set it on the pile next to her. Before she could reach for another, though, she was interrupted by the sudden appearance of her jacket being dumped on her desk. Looking up, she encountered a rather wild-eyed looking Doug. "Doug...?" she began, confused.
On top of the jacket, Doug set the inexpensive globe of the world that the whole office tended to use when trying to decide what sort of takeout to call for. "Spin the globe, Amanda," he said tersely. "And we're not getting takeout this time."
"I'm not..." Getting you, is what she meant to say, but something in Doug's expression made the words die in her throat. Reaching over mutely, she span the globe with a quick flick of her fingers, watching as the greens and blues and browns melded together in a blur.
Doug's eyes narrowed until all he saw was the blur of continents and oceans spinning in front of him. Unfortunately, it didn't help him avoid thinking about things he really didn't want to think about right now. For that it would take...he reached out and pressed a finger sharply to the globe, stopping it over Greece. "Ouzo," he said firmly.
Amanda's eyes flickered to her computer screen, where the clock was informing her it was only just gone lunchtime. She looked back at Doug, another question forming on her lips and again going unspoken. Wordlessly, she stood, handing him the globe before picking up her jacket and slipping it on. Wallet and keys in place, she gave him a nod. "All right, then. But I think once we're there you might want to let me know what this is about?"
Doug tucked the globe carefully under one arm as he tapped his foot somewhat impatiently. He wanted to get rip-roaring drunk, and he didn't much feel like waiting. "Later," he replied woodenly.
Amanda nodded and followed him as he stalked out of the office, pausing only long enough to tell Mark that they'd be out of the office for the rest of the day.
Spiros, the owner of the bar, gave them a concerned look as he set down two tumblers of ouzo in front of them. "Are you sure you don't want any food with that?" he asked.
Amanda glanced at the menu, and then at Doug, seeing the tension screaming in the harsh lines of his neck and shoulders, the lack of expression in his face. "We're good for now," she told him with a brief, fake smile. "Maybe in a bit."
Spiro withdrew, and Amanda leaned forward a little. "Doug? Care to tell me what we're doing drinking ouzo at not much past one on a work day? Well, not so much me... Care to tell what you're doing drinking ouzo? At all? I thought you didn't touch the hard stuff."
"We're not going to a Mexican place," Doug noted with a slight shudder. "No tequila." He knocked back the small shot of ouzo and then turned to Amanda. He'd needed a drink before he could say "Garrison came by the office to pick up Angie for their date." He prided himself on the fact that his voice had stayed completely calm and level through the whole thing.
"Oh." Amanda knocked back her own drink and waved at Spiro to bring another. Or just to leave the whole damn bottle - she had a feeling they both were going to need it. "So, um, what're you gunna do?" she asked, at a bit of a loss and dropping into her rougher South London accent as a result of that and the alcohol.
Spiro brought the second round, and Doug fished out a few bills as he knocked back the shot. "We're going to spin the globe to figure out where we go next, and I'm going to get fantastically drunk to the point where I even forget her name. That's my plan, at least."
"Doug..." Amanda wanted to tell him any number of things. That it was possibly a really bad idea. That it didn't matter how much he drank, it would still be there later. That Marie-Ange had seemed truly happy with the smarmy git after the last date, and shouldn't he be thankful for that?
Instead, she killed her own second shot, and set the globe in front of him. "Your turn to spin," she said simply. She might not know what to say to him, she mightn't be able to make the pain go away, but she could at least be there with him.
"Mutant powers or teenage hormones. Which one causes more drama?" Doug muttered to himself. "Spin the bloody wheel," he answered in an imitation of Amanda's accent as he suited action to words and gave the globe a sharp push to start it moving.
"Hormones do it, every time," Amanda said wryly, thinking of the drama her own had provided her with. Like breaking Jubilee's nose. She raised her finger and jabbed it down, almost pouting as she realised where it was. She hated raw fish. "Looks like we're turning Japanese," she said, making a face. "So, sake?"
"Sake bombs," Doug corrected Amanda as they bellied up to the bar at one of the ubiquitous sushi restaurants within walking distance of the office. He fished a pair of chopsticks out of a wooden cup on the bar and demonstrated for Amanda. He poured a glass approximately half full of a Japanese beer, set the chopsticks on top of it, then carefully balanced a small shot glass of sake on top of them. "Observe," he instructed, as if he were a master martial artist giving a young student instruction.
Smacking the bar with a balled fist, on top of being just a touch cathartic in its own right, caused the beer glass to rattle slightly, just enough to cause the chopsticks to widen the gap between them. The sake shot fell into the beer, and Doug quickly picked up the glass and drank down the beer and sake. He then looked over at Amanda, who was giving him a somewhat odd look. "What?" he asked self-consciously. "I've seen other people do it."
"I'm not an alcoholic, I only play one on TV," Amanda quipped, following suit. There was a breathless moment where the sake nearly fell in any way, but she managed to right the balance. "Bottoms up," she said, thumping the bar and dropping the glass in. She downed the beer, burping a little as she set it down. "Bloody fizzy Asian lager," she complained, covering her mouth with her hand. "'Scuse me."
"New rule," Doug declaimed with the carefulness of someone who was starting to get a slight buzz. "Next person who belches has to do something of the other person's choice. You know, forfeits." He chuckled. "The only reason you get off on this one is I'm not drunk enough to come up with anything good." He poured more beer into his glass and sake into his shot glass in preparation for another bomb.
"You sure you want to go that way, Brain Box?" Amanda taunted, preparing her own bomb. "Don't mess with witches, 'cause you're crunchy and taste good with HP sauce. Or something like that."
In reply, Doug merely tossed back his second bomb. As he wiped his mouth clear of fizzy foam, a short belch burst forth. "Shimatta!" he exclaimed, followed by a wry shake of his head. "Hoist by my own petard, I suppose," he said with a shrug.
"Avast, matey!" Amanda grinned and leaned back, almost belatedly realising she was on a stool and therefore there was nothing to lean back on. After righting herself, she pondered the situation. "Forfeit, forfeit..." she murmured, tapping her lips with her forefinger. The mischievous part of her wanted Doug to squirm, but not too much. This was definitely not the night for trying to break Doug. "I know. Sing the "I'm A Little Teapot" song. With gestures." She paused, grinned evilly and added. "In Japanese, so all these nice people can understand you."
"Well, I guess that answers the question once and for all of whether you're a good witch or bad witch," Doug muttered peevishly. Still, he was a good sport, and he'd enacted the rule himself, so he levered himself off his stool and began to sing. Thankfully, it was early afternoon, so there weren't many patrons, but there were still enough. When he finished, he bowed slightly to the smattering of confused applause, then sat back down.
Pouring one last bomb from the remains of his beer and sake, he pushed the globe towards Amanda. "Your turn to spin."
Clapping along with the other patrons, Amanda had to wait for the giggles to die down before she could manage to spin the globe. "Round and round and round she goes," she said, finishing what was left of her beer as the globe spun madly. "Where she stops..."
Doug's finger jabbed out, and she peered underneath it. "Korea? What the hell are we going to do for Korea?"
"Karaoke," Doug proclaimed with a chuckle as they entered the next location on what he had dubbed their World Alcohol Tour. "~Soju, please,~" he asked the bartender in fluent Korean, and a pair of shot glasses made their way quickly to the bar. He looked over at Amanda. "You're giving me that look again," he said. "You're wondering how I know so much about all these different sorts of ethnic alcohols, aren't you."
"Actually I'm wondering where the real Doug Ramsey is and if you're the start of an alien invasion," Amanda replied wryly. "Plus, I'm wondering if maybe we walked into a level of hell reserved for bad music lovers, but no-one deserves to be punished like that." She gestured to the stage where an inebriated Korean businessman, cheeks florid red, was singing REM's 'Losing My Religion'. Without apparently knowing the words, the tune or in fact how to read an autocue. She gulped at the drink that was handed to her and coughed a little. "And now I'm wondering what the hell that was."
If he kept talking about stuff other than Marie-Ange, maybe sooner or later the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach would go away. Either that or if he poured enough alcohol into it. "Soju is a Korean alcohol, sort of like vodka, only not quite as strong." He poured down his shot and grimaced. "And not as good either," he murmured loud enough for only Amanda to hear. It wouldn't do to insult one of the native drinks of the bartender's home country. "And I've been most of these places for food, you pick up a lot of things when you pay attention," he explained.
"'Observation's nine-tenths of information gathering,'" Amanda quoted from one of Pete's lessons with a grin. And distraction was nine-tenths of avoiding a really uncomfortable scene with Doug crying into his beer or something. Keep it light, wait until he'd gotten the immediate anger and hurt out of his system.Or at least, that was the plan. "But I noticed when we were bouncing around the world a couple of months ago... you're pretty good at slotting into other cultures. 'S more than just the language thing - you know how to make people trust you, like you. 'S a talent, mate."
"I'm getting better at it," Doug admitted. "When I first came to the mansion, I could speak languages, but I sounded book-taught. But now, the more I get exposed to accents and cultures, the easier it is to fit in."
The tone deaf businessman had thankfully quit the stage, and the next singer was much better. He launched into "Laughable" by Cowboy Mouth. Doug listened with half his attention until a particular lyric hit him.
"I remember the last time we met
You held a stranger's hand
You introduced me and him and you said could we try and be friends
Well I could, but I don't
And I should, but I won't
It's laughable..."
Doug stiffened visibly and grimaced in a way that had nothing to do with the foul-tasting alcohol. Suddenly, a line from Lorna's girls night out notices stuck in his head. "Be an emo-muppet, do a shot," he muttered and motioned for the bartender to come back.
Amanda had only half-caught the words - years of listening to punk meant she focused on songs as a whole, not sections - but she caught the grimace. Way too early for this and there was no way she was doing the comforting friend thing in this place. Distraction was needed, and fast. Once more into the breach, dear friend, she thought, knocking back her own shot and then deliberately burping. "Oops," she said with a fake grimace. "Looks like it's my turn for a forfeit."
Doug knew what she was trying to do, and he managed a weak smile. Plus, he'd had this one on the back burner ever since they had come in to the bar. He pointed at the stage with a slightly more natural grin, then held up a finger. "Karaoke. But the following artists are off limits. The Ramones, The Clash, The Sex Pistols..." he rattled off. He smirked. "Bonus points for anything by Barry Manilow."
Amanda winced at the last. "Doug, you're my mate and I love you, but there's not enough soju in the world for that last one." Sighing heavily, affecting a martyred air, she approached the DJ and flipped quickly through the book, before selecting a song. The things I do... she thought wryly as the music started up. There was scattered applause as the older customers recognised the opening riffs, and Amanda hoped they weren't going to throw anything at her when she actually started to sing. As had been noted by Manuel on many an occasion, she couldn't carry a tune in a bucket.
With superglue keeping it in place, even.
"Got a good reason for taking the easy way out
Got a good reason for taking the easy way out now
She was a day tripper, a one way ticket yeah
It took me so long to find out, and I found out
She's a big teaser, she took me half the way there
She's a big teaser, she took me half the way there now
She was a day tripper, a one way ticket yeah
It took me so long to find out, and I found out..."
She'd never paid attention to the words before. Oh, I'm going to fucking kill Le Beau for giving me this as a bloody codename...
"Tried to please her, she only played one night stands
Tried to please her, she only played one night stands now
She was a day tripper, a Sunday driver yeah
It took me so long to find out, and I found out
Day tripper
Day tripper yeah
Day tripper
Day tripper yeah
Day tripper."
There was polite applause - she really had been truly awful - as she stumbled back to the bar, cheeks flaming. Reaching out she grabbed the globe from where it sat on the bar next to Doug's elbow. "Change of venue?" she asked, almost desperately as she gulped down another shot.
"As the lady wishes," Doug replied, saluting her with his shot and tossing it back. "And for throwing yourself on the emo grenade like that, you may create the next rule for our little adventure," he said before setting the globe spinning.
Amanda poked the globe, stopping it neatly on Australia. "So, pretty much any bar that serves that Fosters stuff," she said with a snort. "Which is most of the ones downtown." She gulped down the last shot as it appeared, barely restraining herself from making a face. "Tho' I'd drink fermented kangaroo piss to get the taste of this stuff out of my mouth."
The globe had gotten some odd looks at each of their stops, but Doug ignored them and carefully placed it on the bar yet again. "You haven't made another rule yet," he prompted Amanda as they placed their order.
They were in one of New York's many generic bars; nothing special, just a dimly lit space smelling of beer and cigarette smoke. Amanda had flopped onto the stool and lit up, thinking three places worth of restraint whilst drinking was more than enough. She made a face at Doug's reminder, trying to think through the fuzz of rather many shots of heavy spirits. To help her thought processes, she sipped at her beer. Not bad, for Australian lager. "Ugh, I dunno," she said, but tried to get into the spirit of things. "Whoever throws up or passes out first pays the tab at whatever place we're at?"
Doug wasn't nearly drunk enough. That probably had something to do with the fact that they'd been changing bars every couple of drinks, and walking off some of their buzzes in between. He was definitely buzzed, though, and he made a rude face at Amanda.
"Laaaaame," he dragged out for effect. "This is like, I dunno, a drinking game. Truth or dare, or something. For that, I say you have to do a shot before you come up with a better rule." He took a swig of his beer for emphasis, and as he set the pint glass down, the carbonation rebelled on him in the form of another belch. He snickered. "Whoops."
"All right, for that you get to do depth charges with me," Amanda declared. "And I didn't do drinking games when I was learning to drink. More, steal a bottle of booze, drink it really fast and then be sick for hours..." The bartender, having heard her mention depth charges, set two more beers and two vodka shots in front of them. Amanda sipped from her beer to make room, then dropped the shot in, glass and all. "Well, we're doing the dare thing already... let's go for truth. Every round, we both get to ask a question, any question. And the other has to answer it truthfully, yeah?" She grinned at him, sharp and wicked. "That not-lame enough for you, sport?"
Doug mirrored Amanda's preparations, and dropped his shot glass in. "Sounds fair to me," he agreed before drinking his round with Amanda. He paused for a moment afterwards, waiting for the bar to stop spinning. "You go first."
She nodded at the bartender to set up another round, tapped ash from her cigarette into the ashtray and considered. "You ever miss the leather brigade?" she asked at last, remembering their conversation after he'd taken on Pete's job offer.
"Not really," Doug admitted. "I've gotten settled in pretty well now, and I feel like I'm contributing more than I probably would have with the 'leather brigade'," he continued. "Not to put them down, but I know I'm not suited to the kinds of offensive stuff they usually do."
Amanda nodded. "Fair enough. I'm glad you're feeling that way - dunno what we'd do without you on some of these ops." She snorted. "Tho' considering some of the jobs we've had? I wouldn't blame you for wanting to run back to your nice safe computer room." As the new round arrived, she nudged him. "Your turn."
"Tell me about it," Doug said. "I had such a splitting headache when we got back from China." He paused to take a sip of his beer. Yes, he was drunk enough to ask "What's up with you and Angelo?" He turned slightly to face Amanda. "Sometimes it almost seems like there's something there, and then suddenly not."
There was some coughing as Amanda choked on her drink a bit. "Um," she said intelligently, but Doug wasn't going to take that for an answer. Colouring slightly, she said, perhaps a touch defensively. "There's nothing 'up' with us. He's my best mate, that's all. I..." She took another gulp of vodka-enhanced beer, wondering why this question was so difficult. "I made a pass at him, back when I started at the school, and he turned me down, 'cause of Paige. Was horribly nice about it too, and I put the idea out of my head. 'Sides, I'm sure he doesn't see me that way."
Doug raised an eyebrow. "So how do -you- feel about him?" he asked probingly, following up on the cough and nervous body language. "And you two were dancing awfully close for 'best mates' that one time at the prom at Xavier's..."
"That was only because you and Angie pushed us together," Amanda retorted, blush intensifying. Nervous fingers picked up a beer mat and started shredding it. Suddenly this game wasn't quite the silly lark she'd thought it would be. "I won't deny there were... feelings there, but the last time I said anything, I ended up making Manuel hate me, Angelo stopped talking to me for my own good and I started using again. Oh, and I broke Jubilee's face and half the front hall. So... mates. That's it." Desperate for a distraction, she looked around and her eyes fell on the globe. "Here, how about this? Spin for the next drink - this place has a pretty good range of international booze and it's getting too bloody cold out there to move on."
Doug's hand settled gently over Amanda's, stilling her frantic movements and squeezing comfortingly. He remembered her telling him once that shredding beer mats was supposed to be a sign of sexual frustration. She'd said it jokingly, but it didn't seem quite so silly now. He could see other signs, too: the way she squirmed on her bar stool, the way she leaned unconsciously toward him... Doug suddenly leaned forward and spun the globe, glad for having something to do with his own hands.
"I hope I don't get bloody Russia - we've already been hitting the vodka heavy tonight," she remarked with forced cheer, glad the line of questioning had been derailed. When her finger landed on Italy, she snorted. "Red wine or sambucca. You choose."
Recalling Marie-Ange's taste for red wine, not to mention his fervent desire to get ragingly drunk so he wouldn't have to think, Doug quickly said "Sambucca." with a slightly wry twist to his mouth. A pair of shots of the licorice-flavored liqueur found their way to the pair, and they quickly pounded them back.
"Bleargh." Amanda shuddered a bit - sambucca on top of beer was always a bad idea, but she couldn't fault Doug's choice, not when she remembered that red wine usually meant Angie. "Question time again," she said, knowing she was probably opening herself up for more awkward, but hey, with the alcohol in her system she just didn't care. "What's your beef with Remy, exactly? I know he's not your most favourite person in the world, but what exactly did he he do?"
"I...hold grudges for a long time," Doug admitted as he stared owlishly at his shot glass. Now that they'd stopped wandering around after every few rounds, he was definitely starting to feel the effects of all the drinking.
"When he first came to Xavier's...he always had to push people to see how far he could take things. Like that stupid fake German ID and the mustache." Doug frowned in remembrance. "But I'm over it now. Especially after what he did so that I wouldn't have to go to jail for the stuff we did in Vegas."
He motioned for another round, which they both drank. "I think I am...inebriated," he said assessingly. He reached for the globe to spin it for their next international flavor, but accidentally pushed it off the back of the bar. The bartender adroitly caught it and set it back in front of Doug.
He spun the globe and stared at it intently. "How long has it been?" he asked quietly. "Since...y'know," he said, making shredding motions with his hands.
"Still haven't gotten to full story from him about that. No time." Amanda was drunk enough that she was dropping what she considered extraneous words. She reached over and stopped the globe again, peering at it to see what the result was. "Cuba? What the fuck do they drink in Cuba?"
"Mojitos," said the bartender unexpectedly, and Amanda blinked at him.
"Sounds good," she said, her grin feeling somewhat loose as she was gradually losing feeling in her face. "Do us a couple of those."
As the bartender set about making two mojitos, Amanda turned her mind to Doug's question. She didn't have to ask what he meant - the more she drank, the more she was feeling the lack. "More 'n a year," she said at last, almost as quietly. "Since... before Remy went after Lorna, and got... broken." She bit her lip, remembering that time - it had seemed like she was losing everything. "I... cheated on Manuel." She kept her eyes on the bartop, and the small pile of shredded cardboard from the beer mat. "You?"
"Half a year," Doug replied after a moment's calculation. "Sometimes it feels longer, sometimes it feels like yesterday." Especially when the journal thread with Forge had reminded him painfully of the final argument he'd had with Marie-Ange before their breakup, about having his myriad shortcomings dissected in public. The mojitos arrived, and Doug took a long drink from his. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, and then shut it as absolutely nothing came to mind.
"Long enough." Amanda snorted, amused. "Who'd have thought the Human Mattress would have gone this long without? Not Manuel, that's for sure." The drink was good, not unlike a gin and tonic, and she gulped down a few mouthfuls, feeling her head swim. "Gah, we keep this up, we'll be doing shots until we pass out, if we're sticking to the emo equals a shot rule." She nudged Doug with her shoulder again. "Your turn for a question. Nothing depressing." She snickered a little to herself. "In this mood, I'd even tell you what colour underwear I'm wearing."
They -were- getting a little too emo, Amanda was right. To make up for it, he took another long drink of his mojito before setting it down. He chuckled. "Fair enough, I'll bite," he answered. "Color and style."
The Brit made a show of peeking down the shirt she was wearing. "Black," she announced. "The ones with the lacy bits." She grinned. "It's laundry day this week, so I'm down to wearing the good stuff."
Doug swallowed his sip of mojito suddenly, leading to a short coughing jag. He didn't need to be imagining what Amanda would look like wearing only said black lacy bits. She was his friend. ~Down boy,~ he told his libido.
She smiled at the choking fit. It was nice to know she still was able to get that sort of reaction - working in the same office with Betsy and Sofia and Marie-Ange and Wanda made her feel something of a plain Jane. She finished her drink and gave the globe a considering look. "Time for another spin?" she asked, fingers paused above it. She could go a couple more drinks, although things were starting to hit hard.
"Sure, why not," Doug replied, tossing back the last of his mojito as Amanda gave the globe a push. Spinning, spinning, spinning... Doug aimed his finger very carefully and jabbed at the globe. When it stopped moving, Doug's finger lay squarely on the border between Spain and France. "Fuck."
"'Fuck' sums it up." Amanda stared at the globe, the two countries lying either side of Doug's finger. Spain and France. Manuel, lying in a coma on Muir, the last ties between them well and truly gone. Marie-Ange, out making a new life for herself, one she seemed happy with, which just made it all the harder for Doug. "Bugger this for a lark," she said at last. "Oi, barman. Tequila." He poured two shots, set them down, but as he made to move away, she added: "Leave the bottle." She took hold of her glass, held it up. "If we're gunna do this, might as well do it right, mate," she said. "Bottoms up."
"Oh god," Doug whimpered. "I hate tequila." But he hated thinking even more, so he grabbed the salt shaker.
Kane was humming to himself as he got out of the elevator, vainly trying to juggle wrapping his earphones up with his iPod and the small bouquet of flowers at the same time. He'd taken the train into the city, after his parking odyssey last time, and was enjoying the crispness of the day.
He'd never expected to like New York City, but the more time he spent here, the more it reminded him of Toronto. The scale was vastly larger, of course, and the differences were extreme, but the similarities were there too; a sprawling multicultural cities that took almost fierce pride in their neighbourhoods.
Garrison sighed, seeing the front desk empty. Obviously their Church street castoff was off somewhere. He rapped on the top of the desk, hoping to attract someone from the back room. He'd never been to the Snow Valley Center before, and knowing Pete, it wasn't a good idea to just wander in.
"Hello?"
Doug barely avoided thumping his head on the bottom of Mark's desk as he crawled out from underneath it. Dusting his pants off, he stood, taking in the person standing on the other side. It took him a few moments to match a name to the face. Garrison Kane, RCMP. The new arrival at Xavier's. Who had been part of the extremely embarrassing journal thread, which was a mark against him.
Carefully schooling his features not to show anything, he glanced at the bouquet of flowers in the other man's hand. "Can I help you?" he asked politely.
"Oh, sorry about that. I didn't see you down there." Garrison said, his accent turning the word ever so slightly into 'aboot'. He shifted the flowers into his opposite hand. "It's Doug, right? I'm Garrison Kane." He held out his free hand.
Doug's shake was quick and perfunctory, as he still wasn't sure what he thought of Garrison. They'd definitely gotten off on the wrong foot. "Yeah, I'm Doug. The journal system definitely helps in matching names to faces, doesn't it?" he asked with a polite smile. He raised an eyebrow. "Can I help you with something?" he asked again.
"Yeah, I'm here to pick up Marie-Ange. She said she'd meet me in the waiting room but--" Garrison spread his arms. "How unlike a woman to be late, eh? By the way, sorry about that stuff in the journals. From the way Forge was going on, I thought it was normal banter for you lot."
He was here to pick Marie-Ange up? Doug slammed internal doors on a spike of jealousy, and kept his features blank in an attempt not to show the way his stomach had dropped to somewhere around his ankles.
He was even less inclined to be nice to the other man, but his manners asserted themselves. "Forge doesn't always know when to leave well enough alone," he replied with a diffident shrug. "I'll go let Marie-Ange know you're here," he said, turning and walking at a normal pace when he wanted to do anything but.
***
Doug took a deep breath out of sight of the door to Marie-Ange's office, and then rapped sharply at the doorjamb before stepping inside.
Marie-Ange looked up expectantly from the email she was typing, and pushed a lock of hair away from her face. Except the person at her door was -not- tall and dark-haired, but blond, and carrying a painfully neutral expression. "Doug?"
The neutral expression was to hide what he was feeling. If he wore the mask, if his voice didn't quaver, maybe he could get through this without showing what was happening inside. "Garrison's here to pick you up for your date," he said perfectly levelly.
To Marie-Ange's credit, she didn't flinch or shut her eyes, or even pinch the bridge of her nose. There was no sense in getting riled up or upset. Doug was being polite. He wasn't making a scene, and he hadn't tossed Garrison out on his ear. "Thank you... I'll just go.. meet him."
Fighting an urge to apologize, and she had no idea why, Marie-Ange stood up and pulled her coat off the back of her chair, picking up her shoulder bag as she moved towards the door.
Stepping past her, Doug stepped to Marie-Ange's desk. "I need to borrow this," he said in the same neutral tone of voice, picking up the globe that they used for figuring out what nation's takeout to order. Tucking it under his arm, he quietly turned and left the room.
***
The pile of research was steadily getting smaller. Which was good, because she was still tired from invading China. At least the familiar routines of work were soothing... Amanda finished making notes on the file she was reading, closed it and set it on the pile next to her. Before she could reach for another, though, she was interrupted by the sudden appearance of her jacket being dumped on her desk. Looking up, she encountered a rather wild-eyed looking Doug. "Doug...?" she began, confused.
On top of the jacket, Doug set the inexpensive globe of the world that the whole office tended to use when trying to decide what sort of takeout to call for. "Spin the globe, Amanda," he said tersely. "And we're not getting takeout this time."
"I'm not..." Getting you, is what she meant to say, but something in Doug's expression made the words die in her throat. Reaching over mutely, she span the globe with a quick flick of her fingers, watching as the greens and blues and browns melded together in a blur.
Doug's eyes narrowed until all he saw was the blur of continents and oceans spinning in front of him. Unfortunately, it didn't help him avoid thinking about things he really didn't want to think about right now. For that it would take...he reached out and pressed a finger sharply to the globe, stopping it over Greece. "Ouzo," he said firmly.
Amanda's eyes flickered to her computer screen, where the clock was informing her it was only just gone lunchtime. She looked back at Doug, another question forming on her lips and again going unspoken. Wordlessly, she stood, handing him the globe before picking up her jacket and slipping it on. Wallet and keys in place, she gave him a nod. "All right, then. But I think once we're there you might want to let me know what this is about?"
Doug tucked the globe carefully under one arm as he tapped his foot somewhat impatiently. He wanted to get rip-roaring drunk, and he didn't much feel like waiting. "Later," he replied woodenly.
Amanda nodded and followed him as he stalked out of the office, pausing only long enough to tell Mark that they'd be out of the office for the rest of the day.
Spiros, the owner of the bar, gave them a concerned look as he set down two tumblers of ouzo in front of them. "Are you sure you don't want any food with that?" he asked.
Amanda glanced at the menu, and then at Doug, seeing the tension screaming in the harsh lines of his neck and shoulders, the lack of expression in his face. "We're good for now," she told him with a brief, fake smile. "Maybe in a bit."
Spiro withdrew, and Amanda leaned forward a little. "Doug? Care to tell me what we're doing drinking ouzo at not much past one on a work day? Well, not so much me... Care to tell what you're doing drinking ouzo? At all? I thought you didn't touch the hard stuff."
"We're not going to a Mexican place," Doug noted with a slight shudder. "No tequila." He knocked back the small shot of ouzo and then turned to Amanda. He'd needed a drink before he could say "Garrison came by the office to pick up Angie for their date." He prided himself on the fact that his voice had stayed completely calm and level through the whole thing.
"Oh." Amanda knocked back her own drink and waved at Spiro to bring another. Or just to leave the whole damn bottle - she had a feeling they both were going to need it. "So, um, what're you gunna do?" she asked, at a bit of a loss and dropping into her rougher South London accent as a result of that and the alcohol.
Spiro brought the second round, and Doug fished out a few bills as he knocked back the shot. "We're going to spin the globe to figure out where we go next, and I'm going to get fantastically drunk to the point where I even forget her name. That's my plan, at least."
"Doug..." Amanda wanted to tell him any number of things. That it was possibly a really bad idea. That it didn't matter how much he drank, it would still be there later. That Marie-Ange had seemed truly happy with the smarmy git after the last date, and shouldn't he be thankful for that?
Instead, she killed her own second shot, and set the globe in front of him. "Your turn to spin," she said simply. She might not know what to say to him, she mightn't be able to make the pain go away, but she could at least be there with him.
"Mutant powers or teenage hormones. Which one causes more drama?" Doug muttered to himself. "Spin the bloody wheel," he answered in an imitation of Amanda's accent as he suited action to words and gave the globe a sharp push to start it moving.
"Hormones do it, every time," Amanda said wryly, thinking of the drama her own had provided her with. Like breaking Jubilee's nose. She raised her finger and jabbed it down, almost pouting as she realised where it was. She hated raw fish. "Looks like we're turning Japanese," she said, making a face. "So, sake?"
"Sake bombs," Doug corrected Amanda as they bellied up to the bar at one of the ubiquitous sushi restaurants within walking distance of the office. He fished a pair of chopsticks out of a wooden cup on the bar and demonstrated for Amanda. He poured a glass approximately half full of a Japanese beer, set the chopsticks on top of it, then carefully balanced a small shot glass of sake on top of them. "Observe," he instructed, as if he were a master martial artist giving a young student instruction.
Smacking the bar with a balled fist, on top of being just a touch cathartic in its own right, caused the beer glass to rattle slightly, just enough to cause the chopsticks to widen the gap between them. The sake shot fell into the beer, and Doug quickly picked up the glass and drank down the beer and sake. He then looked over at Amanda, who was giving him a somewhat odd look. "What?" he asked self-consciously. "I've seen other people do it."
"I'm not an alcoholic, I only play one on TV," Amanda quipped, following suit. There was a breathless moment where the sake nearly fell in any way, but she managed to right the balance. "Bottoms up," she said, thumping the bar and dropping the glass in. She downed the beer, burping a little as she set it down. "Bloody fizzy Asian lager," she complained, covering her mouth with her hand. "'Scuse me."
"New rule," Doug declaimed with the carefulness of someone who was starting to get a slight buzz. "Next person who belches has to do something of the other person's choice. You know, forfeits." He chuckled. "The only reason you get off on this one is I'm not drunk enough to come up with anything good." He poured more beer into his glass and sake into his shot glass in preparation for another bomb.
"You sure you want to go that way, Brain Box?" Amanda taunted, preparing her own bomb. "Don't mess with witches, 'cause you're crunchy and taste good with HP sauce. Or something like that."
In reply, Doug merely tossed back his second bomb. As he wiped his mouth clear of fizzy foam, a short belch burst forth. "Shimatta!" he exclaimed, followed by a wry shake of his head. "Hoist by my own petard, I suppose," he said with a shrug.
"Avast, matey!" Amanda grinned and leaned back, almost belatedly realising she was on a stool and therefore there was nothing to lean back on. After righting herself, she pondered the situation. "Forfeit, forfeit..." she murmured, tapping her lips with her forefinger. The mischievous part of her wanted Doug to squirm, but not too much. This was definitely not the night for trying to break Doug. "I know. Sing the "I'm A Little Teapot" song. With gestures." She paused, grinned evilly and added. "In Japanese, so all these nice people can understand you."
"Well, I guess that answers the question once and for all of whether you're a good witch or bad witch," Doug muttered peevishly. Still, he was a good sport, and he'd enacted the rule himself, so he levered himself off his stool and began to sing. Thankfully, it was early afternoon, so there weren't many patrons, but there were still enough. When he finished, he bowed slightly to the smattering of confused applause, then sat back down.
Pouring one last bomb from the remains of his beer and sake, he pushed the globe towards Amanda. "Your turn to spin."
Clapping along with the other patrons, Amanda had to wait for the giggles to die down before she could manage to spin the globe. "Round and round and round she goes," she said, finishing what was left of her beer as the globe spun madly. "Where she stops..."
Doug's finger jabbed out, and she peered underneath it. "Korea? What the hell are we going to do for Korea?"
"Karaoke," Doug proclaimed with a chuckle as they entered the next location on what he had dubbed their World Alcohol Tour. "~Soju, please,~" he asked the bartender in fluent Korean, and a pair of shot glasses made their way quickly to the bar. He looked over at Amanda. "You're giving me that look again," he said. "You're wondering how I know so much about all these different sorts of ethnic alcohols, aren't you."
"Actually I'm wondering where the real Doug Ramsey is and if you're the start of an alien invasion," Amanda replied wryly. "Plus, I'm wondering if maybe we walked into a level of hell reserved for bad music lovers, but no-one deserves to be punished like that." She gestured to the stage where an inebriated Korean businessman, cheeks florid red, was singing REM's 'Losing My Religion'. Without apparently knowing the words, the tune or in fact how to read an autocue. She gulped at the drink that was handed to her and coughed a little. "And now I'm wondering what the hell that was."
If he kept talking about stuff other than Marie-Ange, maybe sooner or later the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach would go away. Either that or if he poured enough alcohol into it. "Soju is a Korean alcohol, sort of like vodka, only not quite as strong." He poured down his shot and grimaced. "And not as good either," he murmured loud enough for only Amanda to hear. It wouldn't do to insult one of the native drinks of the bartender's home country. "And I've been most of these places for food, you pick up a lot of things when you pay attention," he explained.
"'Observation's nine-tenths of information gathering,'" Amanda quoted from one of Pete's lessons with a grin. And distraction was nine-tenths of avoiding a really uncomfortable scene with Doug crying into his beer or something. Keep it light, wait until he'd gotten the immediate anger and hurt out of his system.Or at least, that was the plan. "But I noticed when we were bouncing around the world a couple of months ago... you're pretty good at slotting into other cultures. 'S more than just the language thing - you know how to make people trust you, like you. 'S a talent, mate."
"I'm getting better at it," Doug admitted. "When I first came to the mansion, I could speak languages, but I sounded book-taught. But now, the more I get exposed to accents and cultures, the easier it is to fit in."
The tone deaf businessman had thankfully quit the stage, and the next singer was much better. He launched into "Laughable" by Cowboy Mouth. Doug listened with half his attention until a particular lyric hit him.
"I remember the last time we met
You held a stranger's hand
You introduced me and him and you said could we try and be friends
Well I could, but I don't
And I should, but I won't
It's laughable..."
Doug stiffened visibly and grimaced in a way that had nothing to do with the foul-tasting alcohol. Suddenly, a line from Lorna's girls night out notices stuck in his head. "Be an emo-muppet, do a shot," he muttered and motioned for the bartender to come back.
Amanda had only half-caught the words - years of listening to punk meant she focused on songs as a whole, not sections - but she caught the grimace. Way too early for this and there was no way she was doing the comforting friend thing in this place. Distraction was needed, and fast. Once more into the breach, dear friend, she thought, knocking back her own shot and then deliberately burping. "Oops," she said with a fake grimace. "Looks like it's my turn for a forfeit."
Doug knew what she was trying to do, and he managed a weak smile. Plus, he'd had this one on the back burner ever since they had come in to the bar. He pointed at the stage with a slightly more natural grin, then held up a finger. "Karaoke. But the following artists are off limits. The Ramones, The Clash, The Sex Pistols..." he rattled off. He smirked. "Bonus points for anything by Barry Manilow."
Amanda winced at the last. "Doug, you're my mate and I love you, but there's not enough soju in the world for that last one." Sighing heavily, affecting a martyred air, she approached the DJ and flipped quickly through the book, before selecting a song. The things I do... she thought wryly as the music started up. There was scattered applause as the older customers recognised the opening riffs, and Amanda hoped they weren't going to throw anything at her when she actually started to sing. As had been noted by Manuel on many an occasion, she couldn't carry a tune in a bucket.
With superglue keeping it in place, even.
"Got a good reason for taking the easy way out
Got a good reason for taking the easy way out now
She was a day tripper, a one way ticket yeah
It took me so long to find out, and I found out
She's a big teaser, she took me half the way there
She's a big teaser, she took me half the way there now
She was a day tripper, a one way ticket yeah
It took me so long to find out, and I found out..."
She'd never paid attention to the words before. Oh, I'm going to fucking kill Le Beau for giving me this as a bloody codename...
"Tried to please her, she only played one night stands
Tried to please her, she only played one night stands now
She was a day tripper, a Sunday driver yeah
It took me so long to find out, and I found out
Day tripper
Day tripper yeah
Day tripper
Day tripper yeah
Day tripper."
There was polite applause - she really had been truly awful - as she stumbled back to the bar, cheeks flaming. Reaching out she grabbed the globe from where it sat on the bar next to Doug's elbow. "Change of venue?" she asked, almost desperately as she gulped down another shot.
"As the lady wishes," Doug replied, saluting her with his shot and tossing it back. "And for throwing yourself on the emo grenade like that, you may create the next rule for our little adventure," he said before setting the globe spinning.
Amanda poked the globe, stopping it neatly on Australia. "So, pretty much any bar that serves that Fosters stuff," she said with a snort. "Which is most of the ones downtown." She gulped down the last shot as it appeared, barely restraining herself from making a face. "Tho' I'd drink fermented kangaroo piss to get the taste of this stuff out of my mouth."
The globe had gotten some odd looks at each of their stops, but Doug ignored them and carefully placed it on the bar yet again. "You haven't made another rule yet," he prompted Amanda as they placed their order.
They were in one of New York's many generic bars; nothing special, just a dimly lit space smelling of beer and cigarette smoke. Amanda had flopped onto the stool and lit up, thinking three places worth of restraint whilst drinking was more than enough. She made a face at Doug's reminder, trying to think through the fuzz of rather many shots of heavy spirits. To help her thought processes, she sipped at her beer. Not bad, for Australian lager. "Ugh, I dunno," she said, but tried to get into the spirit of things. "Whoever throws up or passes out first pays the tab at whatever place we're at?"
Doug wasn't nearly drunk enough. That probably had something to do with the fact that they'd been changing bars every couple of drinks, and walking off some of their buzzes in between. He was definitely buzzed, though, and he made a rude face at Amanda.
"Laaaaame," he dragged out for effect. "This is like, I dunno, a drinking game. Truth or dare, or something. For that, I say you have to do a shot before you come up with a better rule." He took a swig of his beer for emphasis, and as he set the pint glass down, the carbonation rebelled on him in the form of another belch. He snickered. "Whoops."
"All right, for that you get to do depth charges with me," Amanda declared. "And I didn't do drinking games when I was learning to drink. More, steal a bottle of booze, drink it really fast and then be sick for hours..." The bartender, having heard her mention depth charges, set two more beers and two vodka shots in front of them. Amanda sipped from her beer to make room, then dropped the shot in, glass and all. "Well, we're doing the dare thing already... let's go for truth. Every round, we both get to ask a question, any question. And the other has to answer it truthfully, yeah?" She grinned at him, sharp and wicked. "That not-lame enough for you, sport?"
Doug mirrored Amanda's preparations, and dropped his shot glass in. "Sounds fair to me," he agreed before drinking his round with Amanda. He paused for a moment afterwards, waiting for the bar to stop spinning. "You go first."
She nodded at the bartender to set up another round, tapped ash from her cigarette into the ashtray and considered. "You ever miss the leather brigade?" she asked at last, remembering their conversation after he'd taken on Pete's job offer.
"Not really," Doug admitted. "I've gotten settled in pretty well now, and I feel like I'm contributing more than I probably would have with the 'leather brigade'," he continued. "Not to put them down, but I know I'm not suited to the kinds of offensive stuff they usually do."
Amanda nodded. "Fair enough. I'm glad you're feeling that way - dunno what we'd do without you on some of these ops." She snorted. "Tho' considering some of the jobs we've had? I wouldn't blame you for wanting to run back to your nice safe computer room." As the new round arrived, she nudged him. "Your turn."
"Tell me about it," Doug said. "I had such a splitting headache when we got back from China." He paused to take a sip of his beer. Yes, he was drunk enough to ask "What's up with you and Angelo?" He turned slightly to face Amanda. "Sometimes it almost seems like there's something there, and then suddenly not."
There was some coughing as Amanda choked on her drink a bit. "Um," she said intelligently, but Doug wasn't going to take that for an answer. Colouring slightly, she said, perhaps a touch defensively. "There's nothing 'up' with us. He's my best mate, that's all. I..." She took another gulp of vodka-enhanced beer, wondering why this question was so difficult. "I made a pass at him, back when I started at the school, and he turned me down, 'cause of Paige. Was horribly nice about it too, and I put the idea out of my head. 'Sides, I'm sure he doesn't see me that way."
Doug raised an eyebrow. "So how do -you- feel about him?" he asked probingly, following up on the cough and nervous body language. "And you two were dancing awfully close for 'best mates' that one time at the prom at Xavier's..."
"That was only because you and Angie pushed us together," Amanda retorted, blush intensifying. Nervous fingers picked up a beer mat and started shredding it. Suddenly this game wasn't quite the silly lark she'd thought it would be. "I won't deny there were... feelings there, but the last time I said anything, I ended up making Manuel hate me, Angelo stopped talking to me for my own good and I started using again. Oh, and I broke Jubilee's face and half the front hall. So... mates. That's it." Desperate for a distraction, she looked around and her eyes fell on the globe. "Here, how about this? Spin for the next drink - this place has a pretty good range of international booze and it's getting too bloody cold out there to move on."
Doug's hand settled gently over Amanda's, stilling her frantic movements and squeezing comfortingly. He remembered her telling him once that shredding beer mats was supposed to be a sign of sexual frustration. She'd said it jokingly, but it didn't seem quite so silly now. He could see other signs, too: the way she squirmed on her bar stool, the way she leaned unconsciously toward him... Doug suddenly leaned forward and spun the globe, glad for having something to do with his own hands.
"I hope I don't get bloody Russia - we've already been hitting the vodka heavy tonight," she remarked with forced cheer, glad the line of questioning had been derailed. When her finger landed on Italy, she snorted. "Red wine or sambucca. You choose."
Recalling Marie-Ange's taste for red wine, not to mention his fervent desire to get ragingly drunk so he wouldn't have to think, Doug quickly said "Sambucca." with a slightly wry twist to his mouth. A pair of shots of the licorice-flavored liqueur found their way to the pair, and they quickly pounded them back.
"Bleargh." Amanda shuddered a bit - sambucca on top of beer was always a bad idea, but she couldn't fault Doug's choice, not when she remembered that red wine usually meant Angie. "Question time again," she said, knowing she was probably opening herself up for more awkward, but hey, with the alcohol in her system she just didn't care. "What's your beef with Remy, exactly? I know he's not your most favourite person in the world, but what exactly did he he do?"
"I...hold grudges for a long time," Doug admitted as he stared owlishly at his shot glass. Now that they'd stopped wandering around after every few rounds, he was definitely starting to feel the effects of all the drinking.
"When he first came to Xavier's...he always had to push people to see how far he could take things. Like that stupid fake German ID and the mustache." Doug frowned in remembrance. "But I'm over it now. Especially after what he did so that I wouldn't have to go to jail for the stuff we did in Vegas."
He motioned for another round, which they both drank. "I think I am...inebriated," he said assessingly. He reached for the globe to spin it for their next international flavor, but accidentally pushed it off the back of the bar. The bartender adroitly caught it and set it back in front of Doug.
He spun the globe and stared at it intently. "How long has it been?" he asked quietly. "Since...y'know," he said, making shredding motions with his hands.
"Still haven't gotten to full story from him about that. No time." Amanda was drunk enough that she was dropping what she considered extraneous words. She reached over and stopped the globe again, peering at it to see what the result was. "Cuba? What the fuck do they drink in Cuba?"
"Mojitos," said the bartender unexpectedly, and Amanda blinked at him.
"Sounds good," she said, her grin feeling somewhat loose as she was gradually losing feeling in her face. "Do us a couple of those."
As the bartender set about making two mojitos, Amanda turned her mind to Doug's question. She didn't have to ask what he meant - the more she drank, the more she was feeling the lack. "More 'n a year," she said at last, almost as quietly. "Since... before Remy went after Lorna, and got... broken." She bit her lip, remembering that time - it had seemed like she was losing everything. "I... cheated on Manuel." She kept her eyes on the bartop, and the small pile of shredded cardboard from the beer mat. "You?"
"Half a year," Doug replied after a moment's calculation. "Sometimes it feels longer, sometimes it feels like yesterday." Especially when the journal thread with Forge had reminded him painfully of the final argument he'd had with Marie-Ange before their breakup, about having his myriad shortcomings dissected in public. The mojitos arrived, and Doug took a long drink from his. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, and then shut it as absolutely nothing came to mind.
"Long enough." Amanda snorted, amused. "Who'd have thought the Human Mattress would have gone this long without? Not Manuel, that's for sure." The drink was good, not unlike a gin and tonic, and she gulped down a few mouthfuls, feeling her head swim. "Gah, we keep this up, we'll be doing shots until we pass out, if we're sticking to the emo equals a shot rule." She nudged Doug with her shoulder again. "Your turn for a question. Nothing depressing." She snickered a little to herself. "In this mood, I'd even tell you what colour underwear I'm wearing."
They -were- getting a little too emo, Amanda was right. To make up for it, he took another long drink of his mojito before setting it down. He chuckled. "Fair enough, I'll bite," he answered. "Color and style."
The Brit made a show of peeking down the shirt she was wearing. "Black," she announced. "The ones with the lacy bits." She grinned. "It's laundry day this week, so I'm down to wearing the good stuff."
Doug swallowed his sip of mojito suddenly, leading to a short coughing jag. He didn't need to be imagining what Amanda would look like wearing only said black lacy bits. She was his friend. ~Down boy,~ he told his libido.
She smiled at the choking fit. It was nice to know she still was able to get that sort of reaction - working in the same office with Betsy and Sofia and Marie-Ange and Wanda made her feel something of a plain Jane. She finished her drink and gave the globe a considering look. "Time for another spin?" she asked, fingers paused above it. She could go a couple more drinks, although things were starting to hit hard.
"Sure, why not," Doug replied, tossing back the last of his mojito as Amanda gave the globe a push. Spinning, spinning, spinning... Doug aimed his finger very carefully and jabbed at the globe. When it stopped moving, Doug's finger lay squarely on the border between Spain and France. "Fuck."
"'Fuck' sums it up." Amanda stared at the globe, the two countries lying either side of Doug's finger. Spain and France. Manuel, lying in a coma on Muir, the last ties between them well and truly gone. Marie-Ange, out making a new life for herself, one she seemed happy with, which just made it all the harder for Doug. "Bugger this for a lark," she said at last. "Oi, barman. Tequila." He poured two shots, set them down, but as he made to move away, she added: "Leave the bottle." She took hold of her glass, held it up. "If we're gunna do this, might as well do it right, mate," she said. "Bottoms up."
"Oh god," Doug whimpered. "I hate tequila." But he hated thinking even more, so he grabbed the salt shaker.
