Kyle and Wade: Alcohol and, uh... fatherhood?

[x-wildchild.livejournal.com]

Wade attempts to educate Kyle on alcohol, and in the process they discover an alarming coincidence.



Wade had dumped his bag in his room and gone to the shooting range, but even getting intimately reacquainted with Bea hadn't been able to take the edge off his pent-up energy. He hated trans-Atlantic flights. So he walked back into the mansion, figuring he'd go to the gym or maybe run a couple of the trails in the woods, but then he caught sight of blond hair and pointy ears and got a better idea. "Anakyle Spicewalker!"

Kyle was filling out forms. Lots and lots of forms, mostly all the annoying background check stuff for his student teaching in the spring. It was endless forms, and he was sick of them, and his hand was cramping from holding the claws in, and he couldn't even really slack off and eat nachos or listen to a game while doing it because making his handwriting look not like a chicken had attacked the page required actual concentration. "Wade! Sweet, save me from paperwork!"

"You, me, car, bar," Wade said, tipping his head toward the door. "I'm paying. I think we should see if I can get you drunk. Because I just flew for eight hours across the Atlantic and they wouldn't let me do anything interesting. Anakyle, I was trapped. Trapped in a tin can over the ocean with flight attendants who were hairy men and not at all attractive. I think this calls for bourbon."

Kyle blinked a few times, then shoved the papers into a folder and shoved the folder into a bookbag. "Wait, the ugly flight attendants, or the gay ones, because the gay ones aren't so bad." He took a pair of tevas from the bookbag, and slipped them on his feet. "I've never had bourbon. Wanda gave me scotch once but it made my face hurt, even if it did have this cool supertaster like vanilla caramel notes thing going on."

"The flight attendants were two hairy men who were not gay and one old lady who kept glaring at me every time I fidgeted like she thought I was going to try and bust through the cockpit door, which I wasn't. There were no gay flight attendants or attractive ladies, not that I would have been looking because my girlfriend is a precog and can make swords appear out of thin air and that's just asking for trouble, plus I am just totally not that guy, but that is not the point. I was bored. Bourbon is delicious. To the bar we go!" Wade just kept up the steady stream of nonsense talk, because if he kept talking then he might be able to keep himself from flicking the knives out of his wrist shealths and then then flicking them back in.

The funny thing was, Kyle actually made sense of all that. It was like having a conversation with Angel or Dori when they'd had way too much sugar. Way -way- too much. "You know, they make airlines that have the internet now. Doug told me. And these things called books?" Kyle said, following Wade out to the car. "Also dude, now I'm picturing Doc Hank and Logan as your flight attendants and that's just not really working for me."

"What, you don't like the image of Osmosis Joe in a little flight attendant's suit or something? Their ties are very fetching..." Wade slid into the car and cranked the engine, waiting just long enough to buckle his seat belt before they were off. "Have you ever tried reading in a cramped little seat while people around you listen to music too loud on their headphones, snore, and kids cry but you can't do anything to help them because their fathers are draconian asshats who think glaring and threatening are the best modes of getting what you want from a three year old? Seriously? If I'd had a book, I would have chucked it at that guy's head and then the lady flight attendant would've called the air marshal and I'd've gotten arrested and then I'd be having a fight with some dude in a holding cell because I've got all this energy and shooting Bea didn't really help to get rid of it. How are you doing?"

"Hello, enhanced senses." Kyle said, stretching out in the seat. "Plus I get the bonus of at least one person being like ewwww mutie feet in the security line. I hate flying, dude." That much he could get out before having to really think about everything Wade had said. "And not bad. Gearing up to actually be a goddamn adult, spent two weeks in New Orleans eating crawdads, went on a date with Dori, oh, the mansion got attacked by some dude with a madon for Doc Jean, but his ass got kicked. So you know, normal stuff."

"It's like entering the airport automatically ups everyone's dickhead factor by the nth degree or something," Wade muttered. Then he paused and glanced at Kyle. "Some dude with a madon for Hot Doc Jean? Is he dead? Is everyone else alright?" Then he let the car slow down just a little. "Is Molly okay? And my minions? Shit."

"It... well, it sucked, but almost everyone is fine. Um. One of those blonde identical girls died, and I feel like a shit but I don't remember which one, because they're kind of... you know, identical." Kyle explained. "Molly's okay, I think most of the rest of your minions are okay. Klara actually went home to her brother, she's got a niece or nephew or whatever I forget now, and I guess her sister-in-law was having trouble or something. She left a phone number though."

"Okay," Wade said, accelerating again. "Right. So that's good, then." He didn't say anything for a moment, then reached over and turned on the radio, setting it to search while he turned the volume down. Once he found a station playing AC/DC, he stopped the search and left it there. "Good to know." He'd just have to not leave again, since apparently people tried to kill the mansionites when he wasn't there.

"Dude, you listen to the same music my dad does." Kyle said, laughing and very purposefully changing the hell out of the subject. He so did not want to talk about the nightmares. "I mean not that AC/DC's bad, but dude, ollllld." He pointed with a thumb at the car radio. "You know they make these cool like, things you plug in where you can like tune your radio into your iPod or something and not have to radio surf."

"Your dad obviously has impeccable taste in music," Wade said, making sure Kyle's pointing fingers didn't get anywhere near the dial that would change the station. "And I don't own an iPod. So having something that would tune the car to it would be a waste of space. Besides which, this isn't even my car, it's the Professor's, so if you're taking umbrage with its electronic systems, you should definitely talk to him about it."

"How do you not have an iPod?" Kyle asked. "Dude I have one and I'm like twenty grand in debt for student loans." He made a face, talking about his loans, he kind of hated them a lot. "And nah, it's like a thing that works with any car. You plug the thing into the iPod, and then into like the lighter socket thing and it pretends your iPod's a radio station."

"Or I can find a radio station I actually like and just listen to the music the radio personalities decide to play. I swear, it's like people in your generation have too much control over everything. Micromanagers were really, really rare back in the day. But then you guys come along with your iPods and your touch screens..." Wade shook his head.

"Wait, my generation?" Kyle asked. "The hell you talking about? You're what, not that much older than me, dude. Is this like that ironic get off my lawn thing?" He looked carefully at Wade. Nope, not even any of the grouchy old man thing Logan had going on. "And yo, if I didn't have touch screens and laptops I'd be shit out of luck. Have you seen my handwriting? It for serious looks like someone attacked the paper with malice."

Wade waved away the question of age and then chuckled. "Heh. With malice. Point being, what's the point of having a radio in the car if you're just going to plug in an iPod? You don't even use compact discs anymore, do you? See - micromanagers, the lot of you."

"Yeah, but I don't like, make a playlist for every occasion. I just listen to whatever comes up on random. It's just like having my own radio station only no commercials, and all the music is awesome." Kyle said. "I have CD's, I just do that thing where you take the CD and make iTunes turn it into computer music so I can put it on the iPod."

"Turn it into computer music," Wade said, shaking his head as he drove through what might have been called an orange light. A dark orange light. "Patience, young one. Your time will come. Just wait - one day people will have music built right into their brains or something with little microchips and things and you'll be sitting there going, 'In my day...'"

Kyle didn't verbally comment on the driving, but did kiss his own hand and knock it against the windshield as they sped through the light. "Dude, creepy. My bluetooth for my phone already freaks me out. I forget it's there, Laurie calls me and I'm like, what the hell she's right by my head wait no, she's all the way across town."

"How do you forget something you stuck in your ear?" Wade asked, half-smiling. "I'll bet it's because you're so used to all those earbuds and such. The only thing that ever goes in my ear? A comm link. Which is kinda like a blue tooth, I guess. Just fancier. Here - question. You have a fully restored 1973 Corvette - or, if you're picky, a 1969 Mustang or a 1968 Impala. Do you install the thingie for your iPod?"

"Plug it into the cigarette lighter, turn the radio to whatever station's on the thingie, hit play on the iPod." Kyle explained. "And dude, I wear an earpiece a lot, so I'm used to it. It's just sort of there." He'd left his team one in a few times even after they got back, and then found it after taking a shower or something. It was a good thing they were waterproof.

"You're missing the spirit of the question," Wade said, shaking his head sadly even as he pulled into the parking lot of the bar. "Totally missing the point. Let's hope the douchebag bartender isn't here. If he is, I have another destination in mind where we can go, but this was closest."

"I don't get the question." Kyle said. He clambered out of the car, and stretched. "Eh, if he's a total douche, there's this place in the city that like, Amanda and Doug and all go to that's not bad." He'd been to Finnegan's like, once, but it was decent enough, and they hadfries. Kyle liked fries. And thankfully, Jared'd been quiet lately, and so Kyle hadn't been -as- tempted to saran wrap the guy's head and flush it.

"Forget the question, I'm buying drinks," Wade said, heading straight for the bar. Luckily, Jared didn't seem to be working. That probably meant he was sleeping off however much alcohol he'd had last night. "What do you want? Do you have a preference? Cause if not, we're doing something straight."

"I've had, uh, scotch, and vodka and beer. That's about it, unless you count like, screwdrivers." Kyle said. "And I know, I drink like a girl. I have oversensitive tastebuds. It's like the curse that came with being you know, generally awesome." He plopped down on a bar stool and got his legs up under him so the claws wouldn't scratch up the floor or the bar. That was just rude, scratching up a bar with your feet. "So yeah, no preferences really."

"Excellent," Wade waved the bartender over and ordered three shots of bourbon each. "We'll get you a fruity drink in a minute."

Kyle eyed the shots dubiously. "This is gonna suck, isn't it?" But he wasn't going to be a wuss, and took half of one of the shots in a gulp, and setting the shotglass down before he could finish the rest. He couldn't help but make a face, because damn, it burned and kind of felt like swallowing gasoline. It took a few seconds before he could talk, and even the, Kyle kept making faces. "Maple flavored gasoline. Okay, that was... different."

"You've got two and a half shots left to go," Wade commented, already having downed a whole one. He had his second in his hand, contemplating the history behind Wild Turkey, but he couldn't help laughing just a little at the faces Kyle was making. "Wow, in my day we would've gotten tossed out of the bar for making faces like that. We should do rum next, just so I can say, 'Drink up, me hearty!'"

"Dude, that's like the second time you were all 'get off my lawn, you dang kid'. Dude, you're not that dang old, you're what, like Gar's age, right?" Kyle gave Wade a skeptical look and took the next shot, and the half before it in quick succession, smacking his fist on his thigh a few times until the burn subsided. "And I have like nine billion tastebuds. So yeah, I'm a wuss. I'll live with it, it came with a healing factor that keeps me from dying."

Holding up his second glass, Wade gave Kyle a slightly crooked smile. "To healing factors that keep you from dying." He knocked back the second and picked up the third. "And that keep you looking pretty way past your prime."

"Hold the phone... how old are you?" Kyle wasn't entirely unfamiliar with the idea, Logan was like a billion, or two hundred or something like that, but it was still weird. "Seriously, dude, are you actually saying you're old enough to be like, not familiar with iPods and shit?" He took the last shot, because you didn't not drink around someone if they were gonna admit to being like potentially two hundred or something. "Wait, that pirate rum thing wasn't for serious, was it? You're not that old, right?"

"I am not old enough to actually be a pirate," Wade said, laughing a little. "Though privateers were allowed during World War II. I wasn't alive for that, either. I'm turning 51 this year." And with that, he finished off his third shot. Leaning over to catch the bartender's attention, he motioned toward the rum on the shelf and got three shots of that, too.

Kyle stared. "Damn, dude. You're my dad's age. I mean, Tyler's like fifty two or something." He scratched at his head a little, and then when the bartender turned towards them with Wade's rum, ordered a screwdriver because he was so done with the drinking gasoline thing. "Seriously, you were like thirty when I was born. Geez. That's messed up, yo."

Wade sort of thought the cancer despite the healing factor was more messed up, yo, but he wasn't really going to tell people about that. "Like I said, your dad has impeccable taste in music."

"He's basically all about the classic rock, even if my mom's like grouchy about it at him." Kyle said. "Man still has a giant pile of like, -tapes- in his car, and like, bought a tape deck for the car just because he doesn't wanna have to buy all new CD's and stuff. I think I was listening to like, Van Halen and like old Met before I was like able to walk." He eyed the next shot, debated if he could just sort sneak it onto Wade's side and then decided that'd be futile, so he finished it, coughing a few times. "I'd be all like, I am my dad's kid, but he's not my biological father."

Snorting, Wade shook his head. "What kind of music do you listen to, then?"

Kyle shrugged. "All kinds. I mean, kinda punk, but not like the super screechy shit because my ears don't like it. I kinda just pick up whatever sounds good, I guess." His music purchasing habits were...complicated, since he spent a lot of time in used CD stores, but was really really picky. "I mean, if I was gonna do the hipster thing I'd say indie, but ehhh, not into PBR or looking like a trucker."

"I can respect that," Wade said, nodding before taking his first and second shots of rum in quick succession. He wrinkled his nose a little. Rum was not his favorite liquor, but really, they should try at least one of everything. "So... really, I think we should give you a better sampling of liquors and alcohol in general. How do you feel about sipping your orange juice in between the more interesting stuff?"

"Works for me. Wanda gave me scotch, and I've had tequila, cause Doug made me have some on my 21st, but I'm not sure what else I've had, because it just sort of kept being bought for me." Kyle made a gesture at the last shot of rum. "Pretty sure I've had rum, but the kind you like, mix in with, um, shoot, the drink with mint and sour mix? Crap, what is that one, it's not a margarita."

"Uh... pretty sure they don't put rum in mojitos, and that's the only thing I can think of with mint at the moment. Or maybe a mint julep? Is that even a real drink or am I making it up?" Wade paused to consider that, then shrugged. "Whichever, we know for sure you don't like Wild Turkey bourbon. We shouldn't rule out all bourbons, but we'll steer clear of them for the moment. For your edification, this is coconut rum, which is definitely not my favorite, since I don't like coconuts. However, they do make mango rum and passion fruit rum, both of which are pretty tasty. We'll skip tequila, since you've had it already and move on to gin. From there, we can detour into the sweeter liquors, making a stop off at amaretto, which is cherry-based and delicious with sour mix, probably try some peach schnapps because you can get a drink called a fuzzy navel if you like peach schnapps, maybe hit up the grand mariner for a taste of orange, then some triple sec which is really only used to flavor other stuff, so far as I can tell. Of course, there's about a million other things and one day you should try absinthe, but you have to go out of the country for that. And then there's moonshine, which is illegal but still available here in the states... wow, I sound like an alcoholic. I swear I'm not - there'd be no point. I'd have to drink all that and more to actually feel a buzz..."

"Okay, I'm gonna forget half that, you know that, right? Alcohol does hit me, it just takes more and wears off faster and I just slammed like three shots and I've had like half this screwdriver." Kyle raised the glass and waved it at the bartender. "And dude made this pretty strong. So, yeah, you're the expert, you tell me what it is but don't expect me to totally remember either." He felt... buzzed, which was rapidly becoming his typical "I just drank some alcohol" feeling. "So, I like fruit. I like peaches. Hey, so can I take a phone pic of you and ask my mom if you're my bio-dad? Because I ran out of funny celebrities and I figure I'll head-fake her with someone real."

"No problem, we'll get you a fuzzy navel. And then maybe a purple nurple because they're fun to say," Wade said, quirking a smile. He shrugged when it came to the question of taking a picture of him, since he sincerely doubted there was any way he'd actually be the kid's dad. "You can if you want, but you're from where? Montana, right? I've been to Montana like once and that was definitely not twenty-one years ago." Wade paused to think about it. Oh - nice. Twenty-one years ago, give or take a few months, he was being court marshaled for killing that diplomat. Awesome. Of course, before that he'd been in Detroit for a vacation. "I'm pretty sure I was in Detroit in 1989, which is basically nowhere near Montana."

Kyle coughed up an entire mouthful of orange juice and vodka, choking on it and then swallowing it so it didn't hit the bar - or the bartender - or Wade. Well, he wasn't quite as much worried about Wade. "Dude, seriously, you're fucking with me, right? My mom was in nursing school in Detroit when she got knocked up. She moved to Montana with my dad when I was like, one or something, cause he had a line on a good job." He stared, openly. "Seriously, tell me you're kidding."

Wade blinked for a moment, then shook his head. "Nursing school?" Shit - had he met any nurses while in Detroit? "Uh - no. I'm really not fucking with you. I was in Detroit for some car shows and a music festival." He looked a little more closely at Kyle. "Are you fucking with me? Cause that would not be cool." He'd definitely slept with at least one woman while he was there, but it was a one night stand - all fun and games and then they went home.

"I would not joke about this shit." Kyle was still sort of in the 'what the fuck' place. "Aw, crap. Healing factors are inheritable. Laura, you know, brunette, cheerleader, perky, nice ass? Her dad's Logan, she got his healing factor. Mom doesn't talk about it a lot, I mean, they didn't even tell me until I was like, sixteen." He grabbed at his drink, looked at it carefully and finished it all in one long swallow. "Man, okay, now I understand when people say they don't have enough alcohol for shit. I get it now."

It took a moment for Wade to recognize the strange little buzzing sound in his ears. That must be the sound people described as "blood rushing through their ears" or whatever. He'd always assumed it to be generally a literal statement, but stick it together with the light-headedness he was suddenly experiencing and he figured rushing blood had to be it. Only all his blood was rushing down, somewhere to near his toes. Wade was pretty sure his toes didn't need that much blood. Flagging down the bartender, he ordered one of everything for both of them and then asked for whatever good imported beer they might have on tap, too. The bartender looked at him a little askance, but was apparently used to serving people with healing factors.

"No, seriously, the likelihood of that is like. Really low. Seriously low." Had the girl he'd slept with been a nurse? She'd had brown-ish hair that was kind of long. He remembered he'd liked it. But beyond that... it'd been twenty-one years. He couldn't recall any more details, let alone her name. "Here, have a few more shots." Wade, himself, was knocking them back as quick as the bartender put them in front of him.

There was no way he could've had a kid and not known about it. No way.

"Hey, better you than the last guy." Kyle made several shots disappear, and this time didn't choke on the burning. It was easier when he was trying to kill brain cells. "Last guy was like this hairy psycho fucker who ended up gutting me and later ripped off Garrison's arm. He got it reattached though." He fumbled in a pocket for his phone, and poked at it several times. "And... I have like no pictures of my mom at all. I suck. Uh. She's ... I dunno, like, if I didn't know better I'd say she adopted me. She's like, average, you know? Short, kinda skinny cause she works too much, she's one of those phleb... plohb... those nurses who take your blood! That kind!"

Wade felt his eye twitch. He would have discounted it, except that then it did it again. That was weird. He didn't usually twitch. Looking down at his hands, he held them about an inch over the surface of the bar. They weren't trembling, at least. It was just that his eye muscle had decided to get a mind of its own or something weird. "I don't... really remember. It was a long time ago." Rubbing at his face, the mercenary shook his head a little in an effort to clear it. "I mean, really. Minutest of chances I'm your biological father. Teeny tiny, itty bitty - next to nothing, really." His eye twitched again. Wade made grabby hands at the next two shots the bartender set in front of him.

"Cause, what like, hundreds of thousands of women in Detroit, right?" Kyle was not quite keeping up with Wade, because his throat was not really enjoying that much alcohol that quickly. "Besides, I mean, like, it's just healing factor. You don't have the fangs or anything." That had to be it. Wade wasn't feral. He just had... everything else.

"Right, and I only slept with one of them. Once." Okay, so there'd been multiple times during one twelve hour period - he'd used condoms! There, that made Wade feel a little bit better. "Although to be fair, you could have gotten the feral thing from your mom's genes." Mostly Wade was riding on a lovely cloud of rational denial. But now that the thought had occurred to him, he couldn't entirely discount it. He hadn't been paying all that much attention to the condoms. One of them might have broken. Or something.

"Okay, okay okay, they can check, I've been through this, they do a blood test." Kyle waved a hand around at the sort of direction of his arm. "It takes like, I dunno a month or some weeks or something, and dude, I am totally blaming my mom for the fangs. She's been on me for years for like, how I ruined my braces when I got all fangy." And the dentist that removed them so didn't numb Kyle's mouth up nearly enough, it hurt like a bitch.

"Right, blood tests," Wade said. Seriously, rational denial was the way to go. That, and lots of alcohol. He could manage both of those. In mass quantities.

Kyle nodded. "Yeah, they like take some of mine and some of yours and... look at dna or something. I guess." He poked at his arm with a claw for emphasis. "Which I am totally not like, doing today, because they'd get like the dna of, um... what makes, uh... " He held up an empty shot glass and looked inside it. "Whatever that was. What was that?"

"That..." Wade peered over at the shot glass and considered it, then said, "That was probably some kind of whiskey. Maybe. One day I should totally show you what really good brandy tastes like. Or port. But port's wine. Delicious in cooking. Especially over steak with bacon."

"I like steak." Which was about all Kyle could manage to think of to say. Alcohol affected him, and drinking a lot, quickly had actually gotten him to feeling pretty relaxed. "And bacon. So I like anything that goes good with those."

Laughing just a little despite himself, Wade shook his head. "Next time, maybe. We've got some beer coming up once we finish these shots."

"That goes good with steak too. Beer, I mean." Kyle liked beer too. Well, some of it anyway.