xp_logs | Teenage Wasteland Aftermath - Doug and Wade (backdated)

Backdated to January 14th. A couple days after everyone going back to at least what passes for 'normal', Wade takes it upon himself to break into Doug's office (which he has not yet left) bearing spicy food, which Doug kind of expects, and Jack Daniels, which he doesn't.

Wade had decided doors were overrated, so he went through the window in Doug's server room-slash-office and, impressively, managed not to knock anything over at all. "I come bearing Honduran death peppers in sauce form and some chimichangas to pour said sauce over."

Doug had formulated a rather complicated bet with himself regarding who would be the first to brave the locked room that he had holed up in since everyone regaining their memories, what direction they would choose to take (window or breaking down the locked door), whether food would be involved, and if so, what type. 'Wade through the window bearing Mexican' had received fairly favorable odds, comparatively.

Doug had been locked in the room for a couple days, and he supposed he was starting to look a bit haggard from the lack of showering, as well as the several days of stubble. But he was kind of past the point of caring, too busy stewing inside his own head to make the effort to leave. And he had a fairly well-stocked minifridge and drawer of snacks, so it wasn't like he'd starved or anything.

He sighed and swiveled his chair around to face the 'intruder'. "Hey, Wade," he replied tiredly.

Taking in Doug's appearance, Wade wordlessly handed over the bag of Mexican, then reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels. "Figured burning your taste buds off might not be enough, given how long you've been hiding in here."

The Jack Daniels, Doug had to admit, was unexpected coming from Wade. He might have expected it from Wanda, or even Amanda, but he didn't do much drinking with Wade, for whatever reason. He fished out glasses and poured them each a slug. "I wish I had a fireplace in here," he mused in an apparent non sequitur holding up the glass and looking at the amber fluid. "To sixteen," he toasted roughly, then tossed back an overlarge shot.

"Or not," Wade said, picking up his glass and giving Doug a salute before downing the whole of the drink. "Let's never do that again, huh?" He'd decided not to dwell on how completely ineffective he'd been at sixteen, focusing instead on... well. Anything else. At all. "You know what you need, Ramsey? A shower. You look like a fresh zombie in the light from all your monitors..."

"Okay, dad." Doug's reply came out raw and sarcastic, filled with all the pain of getting to have his problems with his family crash back on him at once, and only after he saw Wade suppress a flinch did his brain catch up to his mouth, and remember some of the things sixteen year old Wade had let slip about his own home life during their 'sleepover'. "Shit. Shit. I'm sorry, Wade," he apologized immediately, covering his face with one hand.

Wade shrugged it off - what else was he supposed to do? He was pretty sure he'd told David where he'd grown up, which meant a more extensive background check would likely be in the works and it would definitely turn up more information than the fake one he'd had Weasel set up. Which reminded him that he could definitely run another, more thorough background check on David, whose real name was Christophe, but then why would he? "Everyone's got skeletons hidden away in closets and basements," he said, reaching for the Jack Daniels. "Don't worry about it, Ramsey. It's not your fault I told you where I'd buried a few of mine."

Doug couldn't have cared less about background checks. He knew Wade, and he knew he could trust the other man, even if he'd been misleading about some of his life. That was good enough for him. Like he'd said, they all had skeletons.

"Still, it was a shitty thing to say," he mumbled through his hand, only removing it to pour and drink another shot of Jack. "I shouldn't have. I just...shit." He swore feelingly. At least if he was swearing, he wasn't continually saying the complete wrong thing, which seemed to be par for the course at the moment.

"Stop over-thinking things and just drink," Wade said, topping off both their glasses. "And eat. Eating is good, too." He poked at the bags he'd brought through the window with him. "Despite recently being sixteen, I still don't do awkward and neither should you."

Several overlarge shots were hitting Doug pretty hard, considering all he'd had were some sodas and snacks over the past...however long he'd been there, it all sort of blurred together. He took another drink and shook his head. "No awkward turtle, right?" he asked with the sort of very careful diction a person who realized they were already on their way to getting drunk used. He set down his drink and put one hand over the other, wiggling his thumbs the way Wade had when he'd demonstrated the term. "Pound it," he demanded, shoving the 'turtle' in the other man's direction.

Wade cracked a smile at that, chuckling despite himself as he made the awkward turtle and bumped it against Doug's. "Right, dude," he said, still laughing. "Now eat a chimichanga before you fall over and I wind up having to carry you out of here in a fireman's hold or something."

Doug batted his eyelashes outrageously at Wade. "My hero," he said in a faux simper. But he did reach for the Mexican even if he just wanted to drink until he passed out and had to be carried home. The way Wade had with Marie-Ange. He'd noticed the pair heading out on the closed-circuit feed from the lobby. "How's An...Marie-Ange?" he asked, mentally cursing the way he'd almost slipped into the old nickname.

"She seems to be okay," Wade answered, taking a bag for himself and pulling out a foil-wrapped chimichanga. "The migraine's gone and if she's had any unusual headaches, I haven't been able to tell. Just the usual ones from powers use - nothing like the one right after we all got psi whammied."

"She was remembering when she and I dated," Doug said, slightly rambling as he took a chimichanga out as well. "And I tried to call my old roommate and 'best friend' who hasn't talked to me since the day I took this job." He ate somewhat mechanically. "I guess it's at least a good thing I didn't call my family for anything..."

Wade took a massive bite of his chimichanga, using a very full mouth as an excuse to not respond for several long moments. After he'd swallowed, he shrugged. "She's got a set of lungs on her - I'm pretty sure I'd like to never, ever hear her screaming again. Not exactly a pleasant way to wake up. And I guess it's a good thing I didn't try to call my dad, either - not that I would have, even at sixteen. But then he's been dead for over thirty years, so it's not like it would've really mattered."

"He sounds like he must have been a real piece of work." Wade at sixteen had been a much different person than Wade as he was now. Then again, a lot of them had been very different at sixteen, even the younger members of X-Force. After all, Doug himself had been seventy-two different kinds of awkward, and he felt like it was still spilling back over to his current mental state. "At least Remy didn't catch a case of 'sixteen', thank god for small favors." He could guess what sixteen-year-old Gambit would have been like, and it wasn't pretty.

Shaking his head, Wade could only wordlessly agree even as he reached for the bottle of Jack to refill their glasses. "I challenge you, Doug Ramsey, to a rematch of Guitar Hero. Once you've had a shower and are drunk enough that I can be fairly assured of my chances of winning."

"Everyone's a critic," Doug groused goodnaturedly, then leaned over and smelled his arm. "Okay, maybe I do need a shower." He stuck his tongue out at Wade. "You're on."