xp_logs | Nathan and Cain, Friday night

Before this log, Nathan takes Cain up on his offer of alcohol. And proceeds to get quite, quite drunk.

There was something very nice about tequila, Nathan thought a little fuzzily, studying the shot glasses lined up in front of him. Something about the way it went down. Plus, once you had enough tequila, all of your troubles waited over on the other side of the room and just occasionally gave you nasty looks, instead of ripping your guts out from the inside. It was very nice.

"You don't drink tequila?" he asked Cain.

"Nope. Drinking doesn't do much for me anyway, so if I'm gonna, I'll stick to the stuff that doesn't taste like the bottom side of a roadkilled cat." Cain pointed at his bottle of beer with a thumb and shrugged. "Now, I gotta wonder, are all those dead folks in your head drunk too?"

Nathan tilted his head to listen. The room tilted a little too, which was funny. "They're very quiet," he said, giving Cain a mock-grave look. "I think they disapprove. I'm getting a definite tsk-tsk vibe. Which is really fucking... prudish of them." He tossed back one of the three shot glasses that were still full in one gulp. "I mean," he said, his eyes watering a little, "they were all perfectly willing to talk and talk and hurt my head for hours this afternoon with Charles, but I'm not allowed to have a little fun? Fuck them."

"See, this is why I say mind-reading folks ain't to be trusted." Cain said, grimacing. "Cept you, but you don't count." He took a long swallow of his beer, and set it back down. "Buncha hypocrites. Its your head, right? And they're not paying rent, so they don't have a place to say what you can and can't drink. "

Nathan laughed, and it came out sounding way, way too bitter. "To the Askani," he said, raising the next of the shot glasses and tossing it back. "May they all wake up with hangovers." The pettiness of the sentiment sunk in, and Nathan made a face, half-pained, half-disgusted. "Screw it. I need a bottle."

For a moment, Cain considered cutting Nathan off. Moira would be -so- pissed off in the morning. Probably at both of them, though he could probably just hide out in the boathouse until she stopped screeching. Nathan wouldn't be so lucky. Then he remembered than Nathan was the guy who let dead people live in his head, and decided that he could handle Moira. Or death, either one. After a vague gesture at the bartender, a bottle of tequila arrived on the table, and another beer. "It's your funeral, Nate. " Cain said, raising his new bottle in a mock-toast.

"Oh, no," Nathan said, waggling a finger at him. "I don't get to die. That was part of the agreement, too." He tossed back the last full shot glass, then lined up the empties and filled each of them from the bottle, managing not to spill any - his hand was a little shaky, which was annoying. "They mind their manners and I try not to die. And then we're just a happy little..." He paused, frowning. "I don't even know what you'd call me anymore," he muttered, picking up a shot glass.

Cain spread his hands. "Don't look at me. Ask Hank, or Chuck. I'm sure one of the brains has got a word for having a lot of dead people in your brain." It occured to Cain that he was possible getting too used to saying that, and he should do something about it. "And that's damned fucked up. How do I know I'm talking to you anyway?" He paused. "Don't answer that. "

"You should talk to Manuel," Nathan said, nodding a little too energetically. "He could tell you that you're never talking to me. According to him, I'm not here anymore." He emptied the shot glass, then set it down again. "You know," he confided, "that could be all liberating. I mean, if I'm not here, then I can do anything I want, right? Because no one cares if the man who's not there does something, because he's not there for them to see him."

It took Cain a few minutes to process that. He knew he wasn't stupid, but the sense Nathan was making was no kind of sense at all. "Okay, bracelet boy's an ass, first off," he said, shaking his head. "You aren't gettin' out of owing me for destroying that room, if that's what you're trying to say."

Nathan stared blankly at Cain for a moment. "Room... oh. Moira's living room?" He shook his head. "Not trying to get out of that," he insisted. "I trashed the place. I owe you. And her. Have to take her shopping." He frowned at the shot glasses. "Watch, she'll say tomorrow. Just because I'm going to be hung over."

Cain shook his head. "Like I said, it's your funeral." He frowned down at his nearly empty beer, deciding that talking about mind-reading dead people was the reason he'd finished it without remembering, and tapped it on the bar in a request for another. "So, rumor has it that it wasn't just our resident monster brat pack who got all militant on Six-Pack's evil twin." he said, in what was probably a lame and desperate attempt to change the subject. Anything was better than the dead mind-reading people.

"Yeah," Nathan said with a heavy sigh. "Kids having to kill... reminds me of home. Oh joy." Another shot glass, empty. He was beginning to feel pleasantly warm. Not even all that tired anymore. "Having to kill people with their friend's face, too. You have any idea what that mansion felt like this week? Between the ones that were tearing themselves apart and the ones that thought it was just so much fun..."

"Couple of guys in Nam, weren't too much older than the kids here, you know?" Cain said blandly. "The Vietcong didn't have anybody's friend's face, but.. " He set down his new beer with a clunk, and looked at Nathan directly. "Chuck's making sure they're all seeing that Samson guy, right? Last thing I need is any more kids setting me on fire like whatshername, the one with the fireworks."

Nathan nodded. "Everyone who's needing help's getting it," he said slowly. "Leonard's sure earning his keep this week."

"Good." Cain glanced over his shoulder, then finished off his beer before continuing. "I gotta wonder when Chuck's gonna get another doc, just for the staff." he said, deliberately casual. "Or put Harry here on retainer, I guess that might work."

"The shrink needs a staff... I mean, the staff needs a shrink?" Nathan tossed back another shot, then gave a wheezing laugh. "Oh, but we're the ones who have it all together, right? Role models for all the kids. What the young mutant can aspire to." He laughed again, then couldn't stop.

Cain snorted. Loudly. "Aspire my ass. Lessee. We've got Braddock and her ninja, Summers and the stick up his butt, Wisdom - yes, he's a role-model." He scratched his head, chuckling. "Wisdom's at least got the stones to tell the kids when they're acting like psychos."

"I tried that, after Sunday," Nathan said, filling up the empty glasses. Looked better when they were all full. More aesthetically... whatever. "That Shiro kid had a hissy fit, and Sarah..." He laughed again, a short, angry sound this time. "Well, no one can tell her anything, can they? She knows it all."

"Nothing you can do about kids like her, I don't think, except let it bite her in the ass." Cain said. "Kids like that, think they know everything, they'll fuck up sooner than later, do something dumb-assed and find themselves in a world of hurt. If -that- doesn't kick them out of it.." He shrugged. "Well, ain't none of my concern, as long as she doesn't take out the house in the process."

"When I was her age..." Nathan rested his chin on his hand, or tried to. His arm slipped, and he cursed as he nearly knocked over one of the shot glasses. "Fuck," he muttered, pushing back into the booth, away from the table before he broke something. "I didn't know anything when I was her age," he went on, picking up one of the glasses and studying the liquid inside for a long moment. "I killed when I was told and blew up shit I was told to blow up. Then I came home and trained, or sat in my room and stared at the wall..."

Cain shrugged. "Something isn't right in that girl's head. It isn't my place to try to fix it. I don't know that she'd let anyone try." He watched Nathan warily for a few moments, to make sure he wasn't going to topple over. "I sure as shit wouldn't have at that age."

"You're mellowing," Nathan told him, and downed the shot. "I'm losing count," he said, blinking at the glasses. "I think I'm past 'three-tequila', though..." His head was definitely swimming. The Askani were murmuring darkly, but not doing anything. "It's been a really long day," he heard himself say, out of nowhere. The fact that his voice shook was just really embarassing.

Cain scowled darkly at the idea he might be mellowing. At least he had a decent respect for .. "Hell, Nate. I had a hell of a lot more respect for my elders than that bunch.," he said, cutting off his own thoughts. "You hit the floor, I'm not making up reasons for why your face is bruised. " He wasn't going to cut Nathan off. If the man wanted to get stupid-drunk, it was his right.

Nathan closed his eyes for a moment, letting the noise of the bar wash over him, the 'real' and the telepathic noise both. "Respect's a funny thing," he said, opening his eyes again and picking up another glass. "Funny, funny thing..." Setting the glass back down empty, he shot Cain a bleary, yet challenging look. "Sometimes older's not wiser. Look at me. Nearly forty fucking years old, been looking after myself for most of that time, yet here I am. My life's a mess, and the shit just keeps getting deeper."

"Right." Cain drawled out. "You got Moira, and your precog crap's all sorted out, even if it's in the most fucked up way possible, and half the students think you're the greatest thing since sliced toast, or croissants, or whatever some of 'em eat. If you think that's shit, maybe you need to have the same talk with the sewage pipe that Ramsey did."

Nathan gave him a nettled look. "Anyone ever tell you it's not nice to interrupt someone's wallowing?" he asked with a sniff, then tossed back another shot. "Charles told me I was just tired," he said after a long moment. "Told me to get some rest. Didn't have any suggestions as to precisely how the fuck I'm supposed to sleep, though." His jaw clenched as he raised another shot glass. "I'm sick of the fucking drugs."

"What makes you think I'm trying to be nice?" Cain said, glaring. Then Nathan's words clicked, and he covered his eyes with one hand. "Shit, you're drinking tequila on pain pills. You're more of a moron than I thought." He reached out with his free hand to pull the bottle away from Nathan.

"Don't be an ass," Nathan growled, pulling the bottle back out of reach with his telekinesis. "I'm not taking the damned pain pills anymore. Haven't for a couple of days." He glowered at Cain, filling up his empty shot glasses again. The level of liquid in the bottle was definitely getting down there. "Started making me sick, and it's not like they're doing much good when I'm moving around this much."

"Too late." Cain said. Idly, he wondered if knocking Nate out would result in more or less screeching from Moira. It probably wouldn't be that difficult either, he thought. Just a light tap to the back of his head, maybe. "Tequila's not gonna make you less sick." He said, still undecided about the knocking-Nate-out business.

"I don't really care at this point, Cain, to tell you the truth." Nathan snarled.

***

"Still think you should've let me finish the bottle," Nathan slurred, floating along the driveway, Cain striding beside him. Walking was definitely out of the question, but his telekinesis was a little funky too. He kept sinking back towards the ground and having to levitate again. "And I'm bobbing," he said with a strained little laugh. "Want to hit me and see if I bob back up?"

"You -did- finish the bottle, Nathan." Cain said, trying like mad not to laugh. "Nah. If I hit you, you'd end up in the lake." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Don't rightly feel like digging a grave, and Moira's already likely to kill you."

Nathan slowed, thinking of Moira. "Cain," he said a bit dimly, "can I crash on your couch? Shouldn't be around her like this..." Why hadn't he thought of that? He'd shielded the link, but he couldn't just go back there to her, not like this. Depressed at his own thoughtlessness, he started to sink towards the ground again, and a strangled gasp escaped him as his weight came down on his broken leg. Cain grabbed him, keeping him from toppling over.

"Why the hell not?" Cain answered, half propping Nathan up. "Bet you snore less than Kermit. How that kid snores without much of a nose.." He blew out a breath in irritation and shook his head. "Sides, I'm not sure you'd make it back to main house without at least one of the kids seeing you and taking pictures."

Pain jolting through him, his breathing going ragged with it, Nathan leaned heavily on Cain, trying to get his crutch set right under his good arm. "Can't... have that," he gasped out, but then saved his breath until they reached the boathouse. Cain led him inside, lowering him down to the rather large couch with what seemed, even to his alcohol-fuzzed mind, to be exaggerated care. "I wish I didn't care," he murmured, his voice breaking as he slumped back against the cushions. Cain took the crutch from him, turning away for a moment. "Isn't that sick?" Nathan went on heavily. "Wish I could just... not see. Makes me such a fucking... hypocrite."

Cain muttered something incoherant under his breath, and pulled a blanket off the back of a truly-oversized armchair. "You know you aren't making any damn sense, right?" he finally said, after long seconds of uncomfortable silence.

"None of it makes any sense," Nathan muttered. The couch was so comfortable, but the room was at a ninety-degree angle now and he wasn't sure how that had happened. "Got all complicated on me..."

"Shit does that." Cain said. "You should know that by now." He kicked off his boots, leaving them next to his armchair, and dropped into it. Thank god for reinforced furniture. "I'd say it'd feel better tommorow, but somehow, I don't think either of us would believe that."

Nathan stared at the ceiling, thinking about what he'd said to Amanda earlier. "I just wish I knew what I was doing," he murmured almost despairingly, and closed his eyes.