Doug/Rachel - Christmas check in (backdated)

[x-eidolon.livejournal.com]

Doug has Rachel check in on Christmas after the X-Force's latest run in with the Hellfire Club. Feelings are discussed.



The rise of the internet had done some very useful things to the spy trade. In particular, the idea of the 'dead drop' had gone digital - you were no longer limited to putting a signal to your co-conspirators in a physical place when an electronic one could work just as well. This was especially handy for someone traveling the world, like in the case of Rachel Kinross-Dayspring. So Doug, who was busy in the office on Christmas Day trying to work himself to distraction, dutifully made the slight tweak to a line of text that specifically meant 'call Doug'. Although North was officially handling Rachel's search, several of the members of X-Force had similar signals to use, on the theory that redundancy is good if one or more of them were captured or incapacitated.

The first thought that hit was that shit had gone down, and Rachel fumbled with the latest of her burner phones as she leaned back in her seat in the dingy internet café and struggled to remember the number to call. She hit the right set of numbers and slouched down in her seat, blending in with the teenage crowd around her as she casually scanned through the gaming site Doug had set up for their dead drops. Every dial tone in her ear made her nervous and the redhead succumbed to the urge to bite the collar of her shirt as she waited.

"Ramsey," was the crisp greeting from New York, as rapid keystrokes could be heard in the background. Belladonna had hit them, Doug was doing his level best to check absolutely everything all at once. And if he kept himself businesslike and 'on the job', maybe he'd be less likely to come apart at the seams with all the conflicting thoughts and feelings simmering under the surface.

“Gordon?” Damp fabric slipped free from clinging teeth even as Rachel casually scrolled through the page before moving on to the next. “It’s Tana.”

"Heh." Doug supposed he was angry enough right now to pass for the Food Network's somewhat infamous and irascible chef. Maybe more so. "Merry Christmas. How's the world traveling going?" Small talk. Don't think about the elephant in the room.

“Oh,” the redhead blinked, having expected being hit straight away by some form of urgent news. Growing up the way she had had conditioned such a response and reaction, and Rachel had to shake her head to dislodge the rising of stray memories before she replied. “Fantastic, really. Nothin’ terribly interesting has gone down but I did get to see a couple of sights that you recc’ed. Everythin’ okay back home?”

He'd been needing to put up a good front, for both the mansion residents who were better off not knowing, and for his coworkers. But it was hard to not feel at least a little responsible, what with it being Belladonna and her holing up at a branch of the Hellfire Club, and the fact that the injured numbered two ex-girlfriends and a kid he'd known before he could shave. He'd had a hard therapy session, and Dr. Grim had zeroed in on Doug's tendency to take too much blame on himself, but it was still a struggle.

He could hear the note of concern, and really, he should have expected she'd twig right away to the check in request. No sense in beating around the bush. He breathed out a long sigh, and when he spoke, he sounded extremely tired. And really, this Rachel was uniquely suited to be a sounding board at times like these. "There was a hit," he said. "Bait and switch, and then they came after the brownstone while half of us were in Europe." He knew the next question she would ask, so he answered. "No deaths, just injuries." Among the people that mattered, at least. He figured she'd understand that some assassins got killed in the process of defending their home.

"Doesn't sound too bad at all," she commented. "Nothing permanent or anything. Unless you're saying that you'll have to move or somethin'." A pause. Then, "How'd you figure it's your fault anyway?"

True, he had not said anything to that effect, but he sounded guilty, and was apparently disturbed enough by it to warrant a check in on Christmas. Given that neither Angelo nor Kurt had mentioned it, Rachel did not think it was a big deal, and the anxious knot in her stomach had rapidly dissolved.

"Fuck, am I that transparent?" Doug asked wearily, pinching his nose as he leaned forward to put an elbow on his desk. Because he -did- feel like it was his fault, whether it actually was or not. He was exceedingly good at finding a way to blame himself for things.

“Lucky guess, if it’ll make you feel better,” she said, the nonchalant rise and drop of a shoulder lost through the long distance call. “You were in Europe when it happened and couldn’t help. Some people take that more personally than they should. I spoke to West and two friends from home just a couple of hours ago who mentioned nothin’ untoward, but you wanted me to call you directly for no rhyme or reason. On Christmas, no less. Which means that you are unsettled on a personal level.” She flicked a strand of her fringe out of her eyes. “Also, you sound apologetic. Kinda. And very tired.”

“Which one of us is the one with a preternatural ability to discern patterns, again?" Doug asked, the tiredness showing even more now that Rachel had called him on it. "I feel responsible because of who was behind the hit, and because of who was hurt." Even as open as he was being, it was hard to say the names over the phone, especially when talking about Belladonna.

You didn’t need a superpower to tell certain things which could be deduced by logic, but “you do know that means nothin’ to me without a context, right?” She shifted in her seat and hacked into the facebook account of the previous user, browsing it without much thought.

Doug sighed. "I know, I know," he muttered as he leaned back in his desk chair and stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out how to frame things. He knew the line was secure, but he was still reticent. "How much do you know about Remy's ex-wife?" he asked quietly.

“Bella--?” Rachel caught herself before she mouthed off her whole codename. “Aside from the fact that she’s a psychotic bitch? Remus doesn’t talk about her much.” She had read stuff off of files, but Doug didn’t need to know that.

"She's a psychotic bitch with a mad-on for her ex-husband, and she likes taking it out on the people near him." Doug pondered throwing something at the ceiling to curb the impulse to punch something that talking about Belladonna always seemed to bring on.

“Doesna explain why you’re so… tetchy.”

Doug was getting used to Rachel's accent shifting like quicksilver, but the way it made him think of various people, sometimes with a twinge, still caught him off-guard. This time it was a pitch-perfect mimicry of her mother's Scottish burr.

"She's the Black Queen of the Hellfire Club, in addition to everything else. And that caused...a lot of tension." Understatement of the century. His voice dropped to a very quiet sound, completely devoid of inflection. "And she was behind the hit."

There was a long pause followed by a short sigh. “Gordon,” Rachel said, enunciating the word carefully. “I’m nae tryin’ ter be insensitive here. But we weren’t exactly best friends back home an’ I didnae actually read yer autobiography for me to be drawin’ any logical conclusions here.”

Doug grimaced and blew out a long breath. "Got a year to hit it all, then?" he asked, a note of combined amusement and sarcasm in his voice. "I'm the White Knight. And that causes a fair amount of problems, and Belladonna being Black Queen doesn't make it any easier. So that's why I'm blaming myself."

"That's just bloody ridiculous," Rachel snorted, even as she started to get an inkling as to what Doug was talking about. "Sorry, but I still don't see how it's your fault. You didn't cause the situation, nor were you in a direct position to stop it." She paused, glancing around to take a quick stock and double check that no one was listening in. "Were you?"

"The hit? No. I was with the half of the team in Spain. Belladonna being the Black Queen?" That was a much more nebulous question, and Doug sighed. "I don't know. Emma agreed to the deal, and it put Selene in the ground for good." But they'd traded one scheming Black Queen for another, and some days Doug questioned what exactly had been accomplished by it all. "It's just...a sore spot. You may have noticed I tend to feel responsible for lots of things."

“I have,” Rachel agreed, tone somewhat bland. “Well, I could call you an idiot for it, but I suspect that would achieve nothing to help you, so I’ll just reiterate that it probably isn’t something you should be feelin’ all twisted up inside for.”

People were rarely rational beings at all times, no matter how ‘enlightened’ their race claimed to be. She could not quite shake the strange feelings that had stirred up inside at the fact that this was Doug Ramsey she was talking to. “Would ask how I could help, but seein’ that I’m aaaall the way out here…”

He knew there was some awkwardness there, from however his life had turned out in her world. But still... "Just being able to talk candidly about it helps," Doug admitted. "To someone who doesn't have as much of the baggage that anyone else I could talk about it with would have."

Baggage. It was an interesting word. Rachel wisely chose not to comment on it. “You’ll be okay,” she predicted. “But in the meantime, feel free to talk candidly away. Y’know, I think bitchin’ about whoever is giving you crap can provide you with some kind of catharsis.”

Doug blew out a long breath. "Right now? Mostly it's dealing with all the issues that come when you work in the same office as ex-girlfriends." Though he and Marie-Ange were on relatively decent terms these days, it seemed like he and Jubilee were stuck in the 'can't be in the same room without blowing up at each other' that he and Marie-Ange had gone through after their breakup.

“Yeeaah, you got poor decision making skills with that,” she joked. “If you lay low, it may get better with time.” Maybe? “Of course I know nothing, really. For all I know they’re major bitches.” A pause. “Are they?”

Doug snorted a laugh that he couldn't quite fully suppress at the question. "Somehow I don't think I'm the person to ask that. Biased and all by breakups." He paused, a brief murmuring noise indicating he was thinking how to answer. "Marie-Ange and I...get on all right." He'd carefully not analyze the intricacies of his interactions with her and Wade, and any possibilities of lingering jealousy. "Jubilee..." He grunted. "Tries too hard."

“Ahhh.” Nodding sagely, like she had an epiphany, Rachel shot a mild glare at a teenager seated across from her who had looked up from his game to peer at her – clearly eavesdropping. The redhead logged out of her computer and made her way to the cashier. “Pretends you’re now like her gay best friend and is all chummy and buddy-like in a very strange, cheerful way?”

"No, like..." Doug paused, then grunted. "Actually, that's kind of accurate. It's like...she's trying to pretend nothing's changed, despite the fact that we aren't dating, and she's with Kurt, and completely ignoring all the awkwardness by trying to pretend it isn't there."

“That’s a classic coping mechanism employed more frequently than you’d think it should be,” she said, paying for her internet time and slipping out into the cold outside. Zipping up her parka, the redhead started to meander down the street. “Maybe if you give it more time… You could employ the equally classic Avoid At All Costs manoeuvre. An’ maaaaybe you should think about establishing a ‘No Dating Coworkers’ rule.”

"Oh, trust me, I'm a master at 'Avoid At All Costs'," Doug said with a sardonic self-mocking bite to his voice. "And I'm running out of eligible coworkers, anyway."

Rachel chuckled. “I’m a firm believer in the right person coming along eventually spiel. Maybe even in the most unexpected of ways and timing. You’ll be alright, Ramsey.”

"You're nice to say so, at least," Doug replied. "Not sure if I believe it, but it's nice to think so, at least." He paused. "Thanks for calling, 'Tana'."

“No prob. You have a good Christmas, Gordon. Drink some eggnog for me.”