Detention, object lessons, and poop!

[x-juggernaut.livejournal.com]

Cain fidgeted with the athletic tape, wrapping it around his chest. The metal felt oddly cold - which was bothersome. He hadn't felt anything this cold in years. Oh well, might as well get used to it. A few more strips anchored the chunk of metal to his chest, completely obscuring the ruby. "The things I do for that madwoman's experiments..." he muttered.

Doug walked slowly down the path to the boathouse. He'd dug up the oldest, grungiest set of clothes he could find, and layered them, tucking his pants into a pair of beaten-up combat boots and hands clad in kitchen gloves. Making his way to the door, he rapped briskly.

Pulling on a sweatshirt, Cain glanced over at the clock. "It's open!" he called, shoving his feet into an oversized pair of galoshes. With all the rumor that had been flying through the mansion about Doug and the "love potion", Cain figured it was better to keep the kid as far away from his angry peers as possible.

Doug pushed the door open and walked in. He smiled wryly, with an edge of self-mockery. "I'm here for my detention, Mr. Marko. Like you said in the email, I'm already in it up to my elbows figuratively, might as well be literally too, hm?"

Cain's mouth quirked in a grin. Kid was uncomfortable as hell, obviously. But he hid it well, which gave him some points. "Hell," he began, "better out here than in there, right?" Marko pointed a finger to an old paint can, filled to the brim with a foul-smelling black substance. "You can haul that around back, we'll start there."

Doug dutifully picked up the can and carefully carried it after Cain, staying silent.
Glancing back over his shoulder, Cain pointed out two lanterns he'd set along the muddy shore of the lake. "Those are the pump intakes. This place ain't been used for a few years, so they just circulated pond water through the pipes to keep 'em from rusting. Now we've gotta blast clean water through 'em, or it's gonna smell like pond scum every time I take a shower. But to do that," he pointed to the foul-smelling grease that Doug was hauling, "we gotta grease those pump housings up good."

"Just show me what you want," Doug said quietly. He was in a mood to be punished, and back-breaking physical labor in pond scum and grease appealed to that impulse in him.

Trudging through the sucking mud, Cain pulled a wrench out of his pocket as he knelt in the halo of light the lantern cast. Stagnant water pooled around his overshoes as he began disassembling the pump unit. "These pumps," he began, "bring clean water from the main line out to the boathouse. Think of it like you taking a drink of water." Dropping a bolt in his pocket, he continued, "Water goes into the house, gets used and goes into the outflow pipe-" he pointed to the other lantern "Over there. That pump sends it down into the septic tank. Basically like taking a shit. Unless something really goes wrong, these pumps and valves keep it from backflowing." He popped the cover off the pump, then handed Doug a slime-covered ring of metal about the size of a dinner plate. "Here, grease that up good and thick."

Doug stuck his gloved hand into the bucket of grease, grimacing at the slimy feeling but saying nothing. Holding the ring firmly in one hand, he applied grease with the other, rotating it and paying very close attention to make sure he didn't miss any spots.

Cain watched the young boy, frowning. Good worker, but man, this kid was tense. Finally, he broke the ice. "Okay, that's good." Taking the valve ring and slotting it back into place, he scooped a handful of grease and showed Doug how to coat the pipe fittings. "So," Cain ventured, "seems to be your week in the barrel, huh?"

"Seems like," Doug replied, his body language clearly stating even to someone without his gift that he felt it was no more than his due. He concentrated on the work Cain set for him, greasing the fittings.

*Kid's more tightly wound than a watch spring,* Cain thought to himself. "Way I hear tell, you went poaching in Madrox's patch, so to speak."

"Not just his," Doug answered in a neutral tone. "Half the female population of the mansion seemed to get it."

Cain's eyebrows raised expressively as he whistled. "Hot damn, boy," he chuckled, making a rather simple yet expresive hand gesture.

Doug grimaced and hunched his shoulders defensively. "I didn't...I wasn't..." He sighed. "It wouldn't be _right_."

Expression changing, Cain nodded his head slowly. "Well, ain't nothing wrong with that, I suppose. Tell you, you gotta have the patience of a saint with some of those gals." Craning his neck to observe Doug's work, he probed further. "So what turned our humble abode there into the scene of some bad stag flick?"

"Love potion," Doug replied tightly, then chuckled dryly. "Which I suppose sounds even _more_ like a plot device for some stag flick."

"Love potion?" Cain crowed. "Shit, I could've sworn they were kidding." He laughed to himself, then hunched down conspiratorially. "Heard that green-haired one got into it pretty heavy, clothes flyin' around and whatnot."

Doug's hands balled into fists. "It's not funny. When I stopped her, she was so distraught, feeling like I'd rejected her when I was just too scared to do anything more. I don't know what she could have done to herself. And it would have been my fault," he whispered.

Cain shook his head. "Pair of tits like that throws herself at you, and you're worried about it being YOUR fault?" he cut back a laugh as he noticed Doug's serious discomfort. "Shit, you're serious, ain't you?"

"It wasn't _real_. And the worst part was, she didn't even know that. To her, it was as real as the nose on her face. And _I_ didn't even figure out that it wasn't real until later..." his voice trailed off.

"Sure it wasn't that weirdo Eurotrash kid with the cane?" Cain snapped his fingers, trying to associate a name with the aristocratic face. "You know, the one that had you doing the one-man vaudeville show few weeks back?"

"Manuel. No, it wasn't him. Matter of fact, he was the one who helped me get it all fixed. Because Amanda was one of the ones who got hit with the potion. So she had other things on her mind than reversing it." Doug blushed.

*I know what THAT'S like...* Cain thought, shaking his head. "So she just whipped up some potion for you... why?" Cain cocked his head, "And how'd it get to all of them, anyway?"

"I'm not sure why. She said she was tired of me moping after Marie. Maybe she thought it'd be funny to tempt me with it, I don' t know. And I definitely don't know how it got to all of them. I was the only one who knew where it was." Doug had a vague suspicion from the way Scott had reacted on the drive back to the mansion, but he didn't know for sure. Besides, even with the telepathic injunction against speaking about Ms. Braddock lessened, he was still loath to mention it.

Cain paused, slowly motioning Doug away from the pump as he replaced the cover in silence. "Marie, huh?" he asked. "Same stripe-haired flying mouthy broad that's got her nose in everyone's business? That one?"

"Yeah, her." Doug sighed and blushed slightly. "She made her choice, and it wasn't me, but...feelings don't go away that easily. At least not on my part. And...she was one of the people who got the potion," Doug whispered more softly.

Cain nodded. Boy had it BAD for the spitfire. "Wasn't you, then who's she shacking with?" he asked. "Way I hear it, anyone who touches her's a dead man in minutes. Must make things... complicated."

Doug chuckled dryly. "Let's just say she chose a man who can probably come back from the dead if he really wants to." The subject of Marie and Logan was especially sensitive after the previous day, and he wasn't looking forward to seeing either of them.

Cain's brow furrowed, then his eyes grew wide. "Oh no. Not that hairy little psychopath motherfucker. You have got to be kidding me." His mind boggled at the thought of Marie with... "Shit, I thought that was someone's idea of a bad joke, the whole older men thing." Cain shook his head back and forth violently, trying to erase the images coming to his mind unbidden. "Still," he responded, "there's worse you could pick. Hell, if I were your age-" he paused, not knowing how to continue. "Well, I can tell what you see in her. Ain't my type, though."

"And I'm obviously not hers," Doug added bitterly. "Without a little...outside help, anyway."

Cain shrugged, popping the top off of the other pump and motioning Doug to it. As the youth leaned elbows-deep in grease, Cain leaned against the metal pipe where it snaked up out of the muck. "So the way it sounds, you didn't really have anything to do with it. So why's everyone all up in your face?"

"Because I endagered everyone through my stupidity? I...poached in other peoples' patches, as you put it earlier. And I dunno...everyone may still think I did it on purpose. I...haven't really had to courage to go near the journal system yet. My email was bad enough." He shrugged.

Cain snorted, scowling at the mansion visible through the trees. "Fuck 'em. Between you and the big Russkie, ain't but maybe two or three in there that're anything more than judgemental pricks." He cracked a knuckle, surreptitiously giving the finger towards the mansion. "So you're blaming yourself for something you admitted wasn't your fault, and you did your damnedest to try and not make it worse?"

Doug shrugged. "Pretty much. Can't shake the feeling I shoudl've known something was up sooner, or done something that would have meant it didn't happen at all."

Disgusted, Cain reached down, opening a valve lever. Fresh water flooded the pump, blowing a spray of pond scum, algae, and organic detritus into the air, splattering both Doug and Cain with filth. Before Doug could react, Cain stepped in front of him, slamming the lid on the pump and screwing it down in place.

"You know what THAT was?" he bellowed over the noise of the pump. "THAT is what being full of shit feels like!" He stomped a foot in the water, splashing foul-smelling liquid up into Doug's chest. "It stinks. It sticks to you. but you know what?" He reached up to wipe his hand across his face, revealing a flesh-toned swatch of skin split by a grimace. "It'll wash off."

Doug shook his arms in an attempt to get rid of some of the filth that had washed up on him. He sighed slightly. "Yeah. Besides, Mr. Summers sent me out here so I wouldn't have _time_ to pity myself, right?"

"Don't seem like it's working." Cain spat. "Look, kid," Cain dropped to a sitting position in the shallow water, sending a wave past Doug's knees. "Shit happens. You couldn't expect it any more than any of us could have expected to wake up to guys with guns in our house. Far as I can tell," Cain ticked off points on his grime-covered fingers, "A, you didn't use the shit. Two, you tried to fix the damage that wasn't even your fault, and C - near as I can tell, you didn't fight, steal from, or fuck anything or anyone in that house, and anyone that's got a problem with you doing the right thing is a goddamn hypocrite."

"I fixed the potion, but I get the feeling there's a whole lot of other shit going on that I can't fix." Doug was feeling a little drawn-out, and his normal iron control of his language was slipping.

"Ain't your problem to fix," Cain declared. "half those kids in there, they're damaged goods and the other half either have their head in the clouds or just walk around like zombies." Pulling himself to his feet, Cain reached out and took the can of grease from Doug. "Ain't your job to fix people, Ramsey. Shit, you just do your Tower of Babel thing, and try and get by. Let the folks like Chuck and Doc Mactaggart, and Alison, and that Samson fella try and fix folks."

Doug nodded. "Leave it to the professionals? I guess. I just...when I see my friends hurting or in trouble, I _want_ to help."

Cain reached over into the weeds growing along the shoreline, coming up with a massive length of iron pipe in his hand. He thrust it deep into the ground, until just a hand's breadth remained above the surface. "Pull it out," he ordered.

Doug obediently gave it a try, suspecting the object lesson he was supposed to learn. His greased-up gloves refused to even take purchase on the pipe, and he staggered backward a couple steps as they slipped free.

"Can't do it, can you?" Doug shook his head as Cain continued. "So, that make you some kind of failure, like it's your fault it's stuck there?"

"No. But that's a little different than the situation that's going on right now," Doug answered stubbornly.

Cain shook his head. "Ain't a goddamn thing different. You didn't cause their problems, and you ain't obligated to solve them. If you want to try," Cain shrugged, "that's your own damn choice."

"It just...it seems like the right thing to do. Helping others. Maybe that makes me an idealist, but I _want_ to help. I...just don't always do a very good job of it, I guess. Either that or I run up against things I _can't_ fix. It's like...it's like the Greek myth of Sisyphus. He was to be punished for eternity by pushing a large stone up a hill. And every time he reached the summit, it'd roll back down to the bottom and he'd have to begin again. Sometimes it's like that." He squared his shoulders. "But that doesn't mean it's not worth the trying."

Cain let out a sigh. *Just ain't reaching some people,* he thought. Hauling himself to the shore, he shook his arms, flinging crud and slime like a wet dog. "Your call, Ramsey. Looks like we're done here."

Doug nodded tiredly. Now that he stood still for a moment, his arms burned with all the effort he'd expended. "Okay. Glad I could help." He chuckled wryly at the unintentional joke he'd made. "And...thanks. For listening, and at least trying to talk some sense into this thick head of mine."

Cain just snorted in response, turning to head back to the boathouse. "There's a hose around back," he called, "at least wash yourself down before you go tracking that crap into the house."

Doug obediently hosed off his boots and stripped off the gloves before heading back toward the mansion, arms held carefully away from his body.