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Doug has been working a lot. Busy, busy, busy — he pretty much comes back to Westchester to sleep. This morning, he's headed out the door, with his hair combed, his glasses on, his tweed blazer with the leather elbow patches and his bow tie. He looks… like a nerd, but a well put-together one, as he descends the steps to where he's got his car parked in the driveway out front. It's a nice car — a '58 Fury, since those aren't anywhere NEAR classic yet, and it's not ridiculous to have one.
*
Cannonball has his sunglasses on, which isn't necessary, and a plaid shirt, jeans, boots, and his arms crossed. The moment he spots Doug he drawls out, "Hey…you and I need ta have a chat, Ramsey…"
*
Doug can read a lot into a lot of things. Whatever he picks up off of Sam when he hears his voice stops him in his tracks. He actually tenses, just a bit—but then he stops, and his shoulders stoop, because as much as he would like to just brush it off and go… he's a stubborn fool. "…I'm listening." Which means, he's not talking, yet.
*
Cannonball approaches Douglas until he's right in front of him. Then he drops his hands to his side. "Jay said you were worried about us bein' friends. Well, ah haven't changed mah mind about that, and we are still friends. So, know that at least." Then his fingers curl into fists. "All that said, what ya thinkin'? Ahm scared ta high heaven 'bout folks findin' out and yer flappin' yer gums about it! And tryin' ta get me all wrapped up in a commitment and ahm just…ahm not there, Dougy. Ahm not sure that's gonna be anytime soon at this rate. E'ry time I think I can trust someone whose name I know…then this sorta thing happens."
*
Doug looks up at Sam, and he adjusts his glasses. "I know." is all he says. "I'm sorry." His expression is flat, his mouth a thin, compressed line. "But for the record, Sam — I wasn't talking to you about things I wanted us to do. I was talking about things *I* was thinking of doing. *I* am thinking of buying a house. *I* am thinking about *my* future. I was sharing that with you because I care about what you think. If you assumed I was talking about *we* when I meant *me*, then that was a failure to communicate on my part, wasn't it?" There's an edge of iciness, an edge of something else in how he says that. "So I'm sorry! Okay. I'm sorry."
*
Cannonball tips his chin down. "Fine. I do get it, you know. I get that you've…had some…thing about me and I'm sorry too cuz I n'er shoulda done it in tha first place. But now ah gotta explain all this shit to mah damn brother and if ya think he won't look at me diff-rent, then..yer crazy. I oughta give ya what for, for attackin' on him, but…he's got lightning, so if he took a punch, its his own damn fault."
*
"Wait…" Doug says, looking puzzled. "Brother? Jay doesn't—what brother." He looks genuinely puzzled at this. His brows draw down.
*
"Jebediah Guthrie." Sam arches his blond brows. "Our brother."
*
"…What?" Doug says. "I remember him, little kid, got into everythingwait…" Doug says. "…When did I run into Jeb." He already has a sneaking suspicion. "Fuck. It was when I went to Three-Eyed Jack's because I was feeling low, wasn't it. *Son of a bitch*." Doug sits on the step, and bites his knuckle. This time, his contrition is less tight and more contrite. "Sam, I was drunk. I went down there a couple of days in a row and I got hammered, and I must've*fuck*."
*
"…I didn't hit him, did I?" He asks. "God, the things I could do to a man if I was drunk and not holding back—" …Huh?
*
Then he pauses. "Sam, what the fuck was your little brother doing in a pisshole like Three-Eyed Jack's!?"
*
"I don't know and I don't care, that's business to fuss at him about later. But what were you doing there, babbling about…what…things we did, in the first place, Doug!" He fusses back when Doug's voice raises. Its a classic fight, right down to the hand-waving.
*
"I. Was. Drunk." Doug says, acidly. "So I don't have a good answer to that, except I was feeling low and I went to a shitty bar because when I get drunk… I start fights." Doug's voice quiets a bit. "Look, Sam. Whatever you've decided about how I feel… I'm not gonna deny, I love you — too many years, too much stuff for that to not be objectively true — but you seem to think I'm…" He flaps a hand, "Twitterpated or something! A couple of nights doesn't 'in love' make! I was upset because when I sat and thought about it I realized I was using *you*. I wanted to get laid. We clicked. And I guess I just can't do that thing some people do where they fuck the body and don't give a fuck about the person." He gets to his feet, and walks toward his car, before he says, grimly, "It's just not a talent everybody *has*, is it, Sam."
*
Cannonball spreads his hands. "We all got our talents, Dougy. It aint really about carin'…cuz yer still mah friend and that aint changed, whatever else that means. "
*
Doug looks up and raises an eyebrow. "It means you didn't make a mistake, Sam. I did. Like it or not, I was deceitful with my friend and I said the wrong thing and I hurt him… and then I got drunk and once again destiny took a… big shit on my plate. So I feel… what would you call it? Low as a hog's belly? Yeah, that's about how low I feel." He puts a hand on the roof of his car.
"I got tired of feeling alone. I played pretend, for a little while… I knew what the score really was. But I figured, what could it hurt, just to feel… something, even if I had to put it away again." He lets out a bitter snort. "Turns out a lot."
*
Sam runs a hand through his hair. "We both did the same damn thing, Doug. Well, aside from the drinkin' and babblin' about stuff. But…we wuz both pretendin' cuz its hard ta be alone all the time. Yer doin' bettern me…what with yer…fancy wife-dating and what not. You'll be fine."
*
Doug raises an eyebrow at that, and then says, "…Yeah, Sam. I'll be just fine." He opens the trunk of his car, and checks something. "I might just buy that house, by the way. Warlock can visit me there easily enough. It's not so far that I can't work out of Boston for big jobs…" He grunts, and slams the boot shut, with an "It's time to *grow up*."
*
Sam draws in a deep breath, "Doug, I'm sorry. I can't…I just can't. I'm gonna be expected ta bring me home a wife and all that, someday. I got me a limited amount of time ta…have fun, and…fallin' for people is just…not somethin' I can afford. You're ready ta grow up…and I'm tryin' ta stall for another couple years, if I can manage it."
*
Doug looks up, and raises an eyebrow. "You think I don't know that? That somehow I'm ignorant of what's expected? Sam, I'm a Mormon. Or I was. I grew up watching people believe a cup of coffee was some kind of unholy pollution of the self and that one of the most important things in life is to settle down and have about a million kids. Granted, given that I'm a coffee-swilling only child my parents were kinda lukewarm about the whole thing but I'm not *ignorant*." He crosses his arms, and then his legs at the ankles. "For what it's worth, I think you'd be a great dad, and a great husband—but only if you were happy. Unhappiness is a poisonous language, Sam. It takes everything good and turns it… bad. I don't care where you find happiness, just as long as you're *happy*. I had to learn the hard way a long time ago that caring for someone doesn't come with conditions… or… or… expectations of some kind of reciprocity. You just *do*. The same way I care about Illyana and Kitty — I knew it'd never happen… but what can you do?" He runs his fingers through his hair, messing up his coif, "Act like a vengeful little bastard because you're not gonna get some? That's not the way grown men behave, and I've seen too many people around the school who SHOULD know better fuck up their lives by not getting that point. I'm sorry I said that to your brother. You don't have to tell him. Tell him that I came onto you, and you turned me down. If I said anything ELSE while I was plastered… tell him I'm a liar. It's fine. I can live with it."
*
Sam nods a little. "For what its worth…if ya move…I think that'd be a mistake. It aint about bein' an adult, here. Its about bein' part of a team. And yer that." His manner seems to soften, in regards to thes truggling man who is in a slightly different lifestage than he is…the big, southern idiot.
*
Doug tils his head, and then says, "Oh, yeah, I'm just waiting for them to call my ticket and bring me into the X-Men. Any day now." Doug snorts, and now he actually laughs. "*You* are on the short list to get the X, Sam. I am not."
*
Cannonball holds up his hands. "I ain't joinin' it. I ain't ready for that. I got a lot of family to look out for." He insists. "Dun matter what team yer on."
*
"Your family's growing up fast, Sam," Doug says. "The reason I talked to Jay, by the way, is that somewhere along the line, I think he might've become wiser than either of us." Doug looks defeated, now. "Do you want to know what I really think, Sam? Really, really? Say no, cause you're gonna hate it."
*
"Then…no, I guess. I mean, that's like showin' someone a dead animal on a stick and saying 'this smells so gross, smell it!'." Sam's so mature that he's basically agreeing with the Jay thing.
*
Doug tries to keep a straight face at that — he does — he's so close. He fails. He cracks up, even if there's an edge of bitterness to it — he cracks up, and laughs, his shoulders shaking. "Ah, man." He brushes one eye. "Listen, Sam — happy endings, reaching the stars, grabbing the brass ring — they're for handsome princes like you. Guys who can do anything. Not for court jesters — clowns — like me." He puts his hand over one eye. "Whatever you find that makes you happy, I'll be in the front row cheering you on, okay? I promise. Go ahead and put what I said on me, if you're not ready to tell your brother yet—it's fine. I mean it."
*
Cannonball shakes his head. "Nah, I'm gonna talk to him and ah don't put my shit on other people. Ah'll deal with it, Doug. I'll…see ya around, ok?"
*
Doug looks up, and then says, looking away, "…When I see you, Sam. I think maybe I'd better lose myself in my work for awhile. …Don't beat yourself up about this anymore, okay? It takes two to tango."