Matt & Wade | Tuesday Afternoon

[x-deadpool.livejournal.com]

Matt tracks Wade down and they talk about various things while playing checkers, getting a bit peeved with one another before the discussion turns serious.


It had been a few weeks since Matt had been in the medlab and met Wade. Okay, so it had been almost a month. Whatever, he’d had school and...stuff. With the book that Wade had given him for Easter though, he felt the need to thank him in person. Since classes were over for the day Matt had dragged himself back down to the medlab to go check on the dude. Except the dude wasn’t there.

Awkward.

He had however been given his suite number and directions on how to get there, so thusly armed, he headed back upstairs. Since he was going up to an area of the school that he had never been to, Matt decided it would be best if he had a reason beyond ‘finding Wade.’ It took him a minute, but he finally found a game of checkers to take with him. Perfect. He could play checkers even without braille help.

A few minutes later, he knocked on what was supposed to be Wade’s door, hearing a TV and a man on the other side. Hopefully, he had the right place.

Wade muted the television, though he hadn’t actually been watching it. He’d had his eyes closed and was mostly just listening to the sound. “C’min,” he said, wondering if it was Vanessa with food. She knew better than to bring him food on a Tuesday, though - and he’d seen her the day before, anyway. With the sound off, he didn’t see much reason to have the TV on at all anymore, so he just pushed the button to turn it off.

Maybe it was one of the minions. Only Minion Number One knew about his illness, though.

Opening the door slowly, Matt wasn’t sure what to expect when he entered. “Hi,” he said, standing in the doorway, cane in one hand and box of checkers in the other. “You don’t smell so good.”

“I was planning on showering tomorrow morning,” Wade answered, recognizing the voice even as he cracked an eye open to confirm said voice’s owner. “Glad to see you’re feeling better, at least.” The sickness that was pretty much an immediate result of his immunotherapy treatments was mostly gone now, but he hadn’t felt like taking a chance and making himself ill while trying to shower. Wednesdays were the days when he started feeling vaguely human again. “Light sensitivity’s the thing I’m dealing with at the moment.”

“Oh, well...” not really something he had a problem with. “You up for some company?” Matt asked, unsure. He didn’t want to be bothering Wade if he didn’t want it. “I wanted to say ‘thank you’ for the book, too.”

“You did that already, kid,” Wade said, pushing himself up the couch a bit so he could sit and folded his blanked across his legs. “But yeah, I can handle some company. Just no food. Food is definitely a negative at the moment. What’ve you got here?”

“No food,” Matt agreed, not moving from the doorway yet. “This is checkers, if you wanna play. I didn’t know if you were in the mood to play a game...or I got some playing cards in my pocket,” braille ones they could both use. “Can I come in?” He didn’t know where the furniture was.

“Yep,” Wade said, watching the kid stand in the doorway for a while. Then he remembered the whole ‘blind’ part and said, “Right - so. Uh... you’re good for getting into the room. Leave the door cracked a bit. To your left’s a table, but you won’t hit it if you walk straight. About eight feet in and a little to the right’s a chair. It’s fluffy, but watch your toes. There’s wooden pointy bits at the bottom for the feet. And I’m good with checkers or cards, whichever you like better.”

Leaving the door a little open, Matt headed into the room, following the directions he’d been given. His cane hit the table, then he stopped and traced the length of it before continuing, just so he would know for future reference. Reaching the chair, Matt kept his shoes on as he sat in it so that he wouldn’t hurt his toes, “Are you close enough for checkers then?” he offered. “I uh...I can’t tell the red and black so you’d have to not cheat,” there were braille checker games and other games, but not here. Fortunately, checkers were one of the few games that he could play even without much help assuming the other person was truthful.

“I won’t cheat,” Wade said, his tone solemn. “And yeah, I’m close enough. You’re sitting directly across from me.” He took the box from the young man and started setting the board up. It was dim in the room, especially without the television on, but he could see well enough to tell red from black. And it wasn’t like Matt minded the dimness. “So what’ve you been doing?”

He shrugged, “Classes mostly. I’ve got a lot of work to make up from when I wasn’t much going to class,” he was behind for his age and he knew it, plus things like being in juvie and rehab had just put him back more. He had been in school during his time in both, but they hadn’t really been equipped for him too well. “And reading since I got a bunch of books from the library. And yours too. I finished the one you gave me over the weekend. It was good, I liked it a lot.”

“Good,” Wade said, smiling. “I’m glad. Like I said, it’s one of the few books I liked when I was a kid.” Which was... actually a lot closer to its published date than most people would realize. The thought made him smile a little more broadly before he tapped the table. “And you’re up. It’s your turn.”

Carefully, Matt ran his hands over the entire board to see what Wade had done without moving the other pieces before carefully moving his little circle. “Your turn,” he said, “How are you feeling?”

“Yesterday was my last treatment, so hopefully I’ll be feeling a lot better by tomorrow. That’s how the cycle goes. But at least I don’t have to do it again.” Wade hoped he didn’t, anyway. He hadn’t actually talked to the doctors about what he’d do if the chemo and the immunotherapy didn’t work. He was supposed to be thinking positively, but that was sort of difficult when he was hungry but not eating because he was also nauseated. “What classes are you taking?”

“That’s good. Being sick isn’t fun at all,” he had never been sick like Wade had been, but he had had the normal array of childhood sicknesses and whatnot, plus his time in the hospital when he lost his sight, though he hadn’t really been sick then. His dad had been sick a lot too, mostly joint pain and other problems, plus drinking. Matt wasn’t stupid, he knew his father had been an alcoholic. “Um, I guess the normal ones? Algebra, Spanish, English, history, biology...” he shrugged, “I’m a freshman.”

“I... can help you with some Spanish, but probably not the kind your teacher wants you to know,” Wade said, grinning as he made his move. “Your turn.” He considered the checkers, then shrugged. “I’m better with German. And French. And Japanese. Take one of those.” History was interesting insofar as the World Wars were concerned - mostly the weaponry and the advances that were made. And then there was math. “Also, practical math - take statistics if you get the chance, not calculus.”

“That’s a lot of languages,” Matt was very much impressed. “And I already know the Spanish my teacher doesn’t want me to know. I live in New York City and am in foster care. What do you think I know?” he asked, amused. “Math sucks. I gotta learn nemeth and that blows,” Nemeth was the braille code for math.

“It’s basically applied language. I lived in Japan for three years, though. It was fun.” Which wasn’t strictly true. Contracts were rarely ‘fun.’ But it had been three years and... well. Then he’d walked away from the contract, anyway, so it was what it was. “It’s bastard French, though. Canadian French, I mean. So maybe that doesn’t count or something. I had to learn it for school. And I learned the other two for work.”

“Why’d you have to learn French for school? They didn’t offer Spanish?” that was weird. Everyone took Spanish it seemed like unless they wanted to be ‘cool’ or ‘different’ because Spanish was so widely spoken and used. “I bet living in Japan was cool. I’ve never been anywhere.”

“Right, kid, but it’s French Canadian. So. Y’know. Canada. Not everybody speaks Spanish up there. I mean, they do. But not as much as down here.” Wade tapped the table again. “Still your turn. And Japan... was gorgeous and grungy at the same time. I was there for long enough to see the downsides, but I wouldn’t mind going back.” If he could make sure he wouldn’t run into any of the people he’d screwed while he was there the first time.

“You’re Canadian?” that surprised him, “You don’t have an accent or anything,” was Wade supposed to? Matt wasn’t sure. It would make sense though, because even people who were native English speakers from England and stuff had accents. “And I forgot that people in Canada speak French. Or sorta do. Whatever. It’s just that country north of us,” he wasn’t trying to be dismissive, it was just that even though Canada wasn’t all that far away, it might as well have been China to him. And it wasn’t as if it were in the news or anything beyond the barest of mentions.

“Yeah, I live in Alberta, in this tiny little town. It’s nice. Most of the time, the rest of Canada forgets that Quebec speaks French, honestly. They’re kind of asshats. And really, you guys are just that country beneath us. Who gets into a lot of trouble. You’re kind of like a younger, really annoying sibling... though so far as accents go... what? You want me to say ‘eh’ and ‘aboot’ a bit? I mean, I could. That’s just... totally not the way I talk.”

Matt just shrugged, he spoke like what he was, a New Yorker, born and bred, “I dunno, I just thought that since you were from a different country, you’d have an accent or something. But you just sound like most people,” sort of disappointing actually. “Where’s Alberta?”

“Out West,” Wade said. “Closer to Seattle and San Francisco. Also, dude, are you stalling? Hoping to distract me from your strategy so I don’t notice when you cheat or something?” Cause the kid hadn’t moved a second checker piece yet.

“Oh, sorry!” Matt blushed, then moved a second piece forward. “Sorry. And that’s far. Like, the other side of the continent. Where else have you been?” The farthest Matt had been from Hell’s Kitchen was right here at Xavier’s.

“South America, all over. Colombia, Argentina, Brazil, Peru - I speak the kind of Spanish that’ll get me in trouble. South Korea, most of Eastern Europe. I can get into trouble in Russia, too. South Africa... I was in the military. I traveled a lot.” Wade studied the board again. He was all about the strategy, but he was also playing a kid, so... he just went with what he felt like doing and stopped over-thinking it. “If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?”

Moving his piece again, Matt thought about the question, “I dunno,” he replied after a long minute. “Maybe Ireland? ‘Cause I’m Irish,” with red hair and a name like Matt Murdock, how could he not be? “Never much thought about it I guess. Always lived in the city. Never left it until I came here. This is the farthest I’ve ever traveled,” and he was barely more than an hour from the city.

“I’ve passed through Ireland,” Wade said. Ireland had some of the best gun dealers out there. Or it had, once upon a time. And then he’d found Crazy Frank through Patch and hadn’t needed anybody else. “It’s gorgeous there, in the country. The cities can get kind of crowded, though.”

“I live in New York,” Matt pointed out dryly. It was possibly not the most crowded city ever, but it had a lot of people on what was a reasonably small island, not counting the boroughs. “Is it really that green? Supposedly it is.”

“It’s really green,” Wade said, nodding as he moved his own piece. “But in the countryside. I guess what I mean is that it’s not like what everyone always says - like, the whole country’s not all rolling pastureland and stone fences and quaint old women who knit sweaters out of the yarn they cleaned and wound into string from the wool of the goats and sheep living in their backyards. It’s not all... y’know. Idealistic.”

“Well...no,” Matt shook his head touching a piece on the board, “Mine or yours?” he asked. Now that they each had several pieces in play it was harder to keep track in his head. “My dad used to talk about the IRA sometimes, when he was drunk. Stuff from before I was born. I dunno if he was involved, maybe, but he’d never been to Ireland. But that didn’t sound like fun.”

“Yes, your piece. And from what I understand,” Wade said, “The IRA was nothing to trifle with. But it was more terrorist movement than organized resistance.” Not that he knew personally or anything. Of course not. “I’m not sure I’d really qualify things with the IRA as fun. There’s some interesting guerrilla techniques they used, historically speaking. But that’s about all I got.” Crazy Frank had to have something to do with the IRA - had to. But Wade had found it wise not to ask questions about where Crazy Frank got his guns.

Really, there was a lot Matt did not know about his dad. Stuff he wanted to know, but had no way of finding out. Moving the little marker, Matt made his move. “Dunno much about it. Just that the Irish don’t like the British which has something to do with religion and they blew stuff up? I dunno,” it wasn’t like Irish politics and the IRA were common topics in the Murdock house and it had never been mentioned in his classes.

“We gotta work on your history stuff. I mean, I’m not a genius when it comes to that or anything, but jeez, kid. I’m gonna give you some books. Some history kind of books. They’ll probably be a bit warped - none of that fancy ballgowns or kings and queens stuff. Just the tactical things. Because it’s the only thing that really interests me. I don’t care who Frederick the Great married, I want to know his battle strategies.” And Wade was entirely serious even as he moved his next piece.

That made Matt angry, “Look,” he started, “I’m so glad you’ve got books and you read and all that, but me? My dad dropped out of high school. He wasn’t some braintrust, but he made sure I wasn’t like him, you know? And he died a few years ago. So I read what I can get my hands on, which ain’t much. I don’t control what teachers talk about, I just listen and take their tests so I can try to go to college in a few years assuming my arrest record and drug habit don’t stop them from letting me in. So back off if I don’t know something, okay?” That was more about his history than he’d told anyone else here. Standing abruptly, he grabbed his cane and headed for the door, one leg whacking the coffee table, making him pause and howl in pain.

Wade crossed his arms and sat back against the couch cushions. Once Matt had stopped his yowling, the mercenary asked, “I take it your dad didn’t hit you, then? You mentioned he got drunk, but then you said he made sure you weren’t like him. You had a good relationship with him?”

Sitting on the floor, Matt rubbed at his leg, pulling his jeans up to make sure he wasn’t bleeding or something. He shook his head, “Just once,” he replied, surprising himself with that answer. He hadn’t told anyone that, not even the social workers, not that it would have mattered since his dad had died, “He didn’t like me fighting and I got in a fight and won and he was drunk and got pissed. Whacked me one and I ran out of the apartment...that’s when I lost my sight. Not from my dad hitting me, I got hit by a drunk while I was roaming the streets upset from him hitting me. I woke up a couple days later with him by my bed in the hospital.” He sniffed, not from the pain in his leg, though he wasn’t bleeding, but from telling the story.

“Well, consider yourself lucky for that, at least,” Wade said. “My dad? He was a real piece of work. Liked hitting me and my mom. And then he died. But not before he got me for a couple years after my mom died. So, y’know. I didn’t have a lot of time for reading, myself. And I’m not trying to give you a hard time - if you paid attention, you’d notice I said I was gonna give you some books on that stuff. It’s taken me years to get to where I know anything about anything. So don’t get mad at me.” He paused, frowned a little, then said, “And I’m sorry about your dad.”

“Yeah, but...” Matt trailed off, “I ain’t gonna blow you or nothing. So you can keep your books if that’s what you want. I ain’t someones butt-boy,” he paused, “Thanks though, about my dad. He pissed someone off he shouldn’t’ve pissed off...I dunno what all he was involved in, but...keeping a roof over our heads and food on the table in New York without a high school education as a middle aged boxer? It wasn’t all legal, you know.”

“I will tell you this right now, kid,” Wade said, his voice very serious. “So listen close. I? Will never take advantage of a kid. Period. I’m not giving you shit and expecting you to blow me in return for the books I may or may not give you. It’s my prerogative, how I spend my money. And I’ve got enough of it to be able to afford some books for you or a bottle of wine for the chick I want to date or a pimp hat for my number one minion. That’s it. That’s all there is to it. I didn’t get stuff when I was a kid. I haven’t really had a chance to give stuff to people before. So when I find something that I think you or Laura or Klara might like, I’m going to buy it. I’m going to give it to you or them or whoever. And if anybody ever tries to get you to give them a blowjob in exchange for something, you tell me and I’ll take care of it, you got it?”

Numbly, Matt nodded. He got it. “Yes, Sir,” he replied, using a voice he had henceforth reserved for his father or police officers and priests. “You need a shower. C’mon, I’ll help you get cleaned up,” he had helped his father plenty of times. Getting up, he carefully moved back to where Wade was, careful of the offending coffee table.

“Just... finish the game of checkers, kid,” Wade said, exhaustion hitting him all at once. “I can take my own showers.”

Taking a seat again, Matt had forgotten where his pieces were on the game board. At least he hadn’t knocked it over or anything. “I think it’s your turn.”

“And don’t call me ‘sir,’” Wade said, half-muttering. His dad had always insisted he be addressed as ‘sir’ and it’d driven Wade up the freaking wall. “Just call me Wade.”

“Okay, Wade,” Matt agreed, a small smile on his face. For the first time in a long time, since his dad had died, he felt like there was someone who cared about him not because they were being paid to, but because they wanted to. And not for sex or anything either.