driftfleet | Action | Who needs a gosh dang drink??

Entry tags:

Action | Who needs a gosh dang drink??

Who: Steve and everyone else who just needs to get drunk. One closed to existing CR
Broadcast: No
Action: The Iskaulit/Space Bar
When: Post Calibrations/Bombing the eff out of Marsiva

[OPEN]

Tony would probably be proud of Steve, if he were able to see him right now. He'd slap his back and welcome him back to the world of inebriation while ordering shots for everyone in the bar to commemorate the day. As it is, though, Tony isn't here and, without him, there's not a damn person who would feel proud in this entire bar. That's part of it's charm.

Steve sighs and swallows his fourth drink. It's strong and alien and somehow enough to give him a strong buzz but not enough to really get him drunk. Not yet, at least. But he's not a quitter, so bottom's up! He hisses a little at the burn of it and feels, not for the first time, like he was being a coward. He saw some stuff in those rooms, sure. But other people had it so much worse. Saw so much more. He should really be thankful, actually.

But he's not. And this is a 30's approved way of getting over trauma. There were worse ways of coping, he was sure. So for now he's just going to stay in his seat and keep ordering drinks until that elusive drunken state hits him once more.

Should only take another hour or three.

[CLOSED TO EXISTING CR]

No one could blame Steve for starting. He'd messaged his friends about fifteen minutes ago, telling them to meet him at the bar for some drinks. But just sitting here, waiting? It was done better with a drink in hand to look social, at least. And it's not like that one is going to be his last. No, after Calibrations he can imagine himself coming over here quite often. He can imagine all of them coming here quite often, in fact. But maybe tonight (today? Space was hard to judge) would help take some of the sting off. Or at least some of the awkwardness.

But it wasn't as though they <i>chose</i> to share all of that. Loki, Steve is sure, would have preferred to keep his death to himself. And Thor? I am sure half of those memories were things he'd rather not have replayed over and over again. And <i>Hux</i>. God... That was just what Steve knew of. Who knew what other people had put his friends through? What they'd been through themselves?

Steve preemptively orders another drink for whoever shows up first. Whoever it was, he's sure they won't say no. Not now.

First round is on him.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Bucky definitely needs a drink.

And if the hair on the back of his neck stands up a little when he spots the back of Steve's head... well, a drink or ten will probably help him forget about it.

So maybe he slides a little more heavily onto the stool next to Steve than he means, but hey, there's a drink right here, and he's appropriating it.]

You're sitting up straight this time, huh?

You keep that up and you can get your own drinks.

[Like he means that. Steve shakes his head, remembering their first meeting and how terrible it had been. But, also, sort of perfect. He nudges his shoulder into Bucky's and raises his glass for a toast.]

To my healed nose?

Uh-huh.

[Does Bucky sound like he doesn't believe you? How strange.

He definitely lifts up his glass for that toast, though.] I dunno. I think it looked better broken. The raccoon eyes really made you stand out.

[Steve shoves him but it's not strong. He clinks together their glasses and swallows down both the drink and nostalgia as he shares the moment with Bucky.]

How ya doing, Buck?

[No one is good but... It matters just how bad his friend is.]

[Bucky takes a drink, staring at what's left in his glass for a moment before he takes a breath, and lets it out slowly.]

This ain't enough drinks yet to tell you honestly, pal.

[Which means he flags down the bartender. Hope you're okay paying, Steve.]

[Well. That's not a good answer. Steve watches Bucky silently as he orders another drink before gesturing for a second for them both in addition to it.]

What's going on?

[Steve has many things. Patience isn't one of them.]

Someone got into your head who shouldn't have? [And, yeah. That's Steve's 'who-do-I-need-to-punch' face. Because he's ready.]

[Bucky can't help it; he laughs a little because yep, that sure is Steve's gonna punch someone face and it's...

It's not funny, but it still is.

And he's still not drunk enough for this. One glass in is not nearly enough. But he knows he can't just sit here and leave Steve in the dark until the buzz sets in, so he downs the rest of drink number one and shakes his head.] No. I actually don't think anyone ended up in there. Guess you were right - nothing to see, huh?

[But since that's not it...]

You're here. [Which he knows makes no sense, so he elaborates, hard and weird though it is, pretending his voice doesn't sound small and strangled.] My you. My Steve. He's here.

Guess it's lucky you kinda told me what I could expect.

[He doesn't sound like he feels lucky.]

[What a way to take all of the air out of a room, Buck.

Steve doesn't feel like he is breathing anymore. He hadn't been expecting this, after all. So soon, too? It's not fair to his friend to have all of this dumped on him within weeks. But when is anything regarding them fair? God, Steve wants to blow up the Marsiva all over again in retribution for what the Atroma have done, here. But that will have to wait. Right now, he has something more important.]

Buck...

[Steve grabs his shoulder and squeezes it tight. He remembers what this felt like. Of course he does. He wouldn't have wished it on anyone.]

The important thing to focus on, right now, is that he's alive. Your Steve really is alive. That means there's hope.

[His face is full of emotions, too many to even identify. In the end he tries to settle on what he hopes looks understanding.]

Have you spoken with him?

[Bucky's tense, when Steve touches him - tense, but he doesn't try to shrug Steve off. He just closes his eyes for a long moment, like maybe he's gathering himself.

He should be good at this - pretending to be fine for Steve. He's got a lifetime of practice... but then, he'd maybe fallen out of the habit, over the past two years.]

Yeah, [he says - in answer to both, really. Yes, Steve is alive. Yes, there's fucking hope, and Bucky wants to hoard it all, even at the same time he knows that's foolish.]

Yeah, [he says again, reaching for the second drink.] Yeah, we talked. If you can call it that. He wasn't thrilled to see me.

[Steve can imagine, sadly. His grip on Bucky tightens for a moment before he makes a decision and gets off his stool to stand beside his friend and give him a long hug. He knew what this felt like and what he'd felt like, afterwards. The least he can do is help Bucky through it. ]

If it makes you feel better, your first words to me were 'Who the Hell is Bucky?' before you tried to shoot me. So you're doing a little better, already.

[He lets go and looks at Bucky seriously.]

I'm not him. I know I'm not. But I'm still here and I've been where you are. He's gonna come back. You're gonna help him come back.

[Steve almost surprises him with the hug. Bucky goes a little stiff, for a second, before he decides fuck it, and relaxes into it, breathing deep for a moment. Breathing in Steve, trying to figure out what to say, but then Steve says that and he just... it's horrible. He laughs. He laughs and it's not a funny sound at all.]

He said that, too. I'm not him, [he finally says, by way of explanation, and his eyes are anywhere but Steve now.

Because this is Steve... and so is the other one. His Steve.

God. It's such a fucking tangled mess.] Fuck, Steve. He is you. You're him. You're both Steve, I don't - know how else to even say it. But I don't think he wants to be.

Shit, if this is how you feel -

[Fuck. It's awful. Steve doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve any of it. Neither of them do.]

I'm sorry, [he ends up saying, because it's the only thing he can say. To this Steve, for having to go through this, too. To his Steve, for failing him. For all of this.]

[Steve sits back on his stool but his hands stay on Bucky's shoulders. Well, until one reaches out and waves for another drink. He asks for two bottles to just be left behind and that's most of the rest of his money, but it's worth it. What else is he going to spend it on?

Besides, perversely he's pretty sure that this is giving their viewers a good show. All the Steve's and all the Bucky's are probably going to get a nice, fat check for this drama.]

They are. My Bucky...he's you. You're both him. But what he and...that Steve have been through...

[Steve wonders what this alternate universe had done to him. Had he killed Tony's parents? Shot JFK? Had he seen Bucky on the bridge and forgotten him?

It hurts. He has no idea what this other version of himself is like because he can't imagine being put through all of that. But apparently, somewhere, he had. And it broke him like it had broken Bucky.]

They need time. And so do you, to process this. If that's easier without me around...[He swallows hard.] I get it. But I swear...you and I? We're built the same. And if Bucky came back to me, Steve is gonna come back to you.

Just need some time...

[Somewhere in the back of his mind, Bucky's aware of the fact that they're basically being watched. He knows he should care more - and he does - but part of him mostly wants to say, screw 'em, let them watch, I don't even care. It's the part that wins right now, if only because he just doesn't know what else to do about it.

He makes a derisive noise, pointing to Steve's stool.] Don't you fucking dare. You sit your ass down in that stool and you get drunk with me.

[Yeah, he needs Steve around. But if Steve feels at all how Bucky feels... he needs to not be alone just as much as Bucky needs to not be alone. So he's making an executive decision. They are fucking getting through this together.

That, and what Steve says... it is maybe a little comforting.] You really believe that? [he asks, because... he kind of hopes Steve does. For himself, as much as for Bucky.] I haven't talked to... uh. To myself yet.

Maybe I should.

[Steve laughs to cover up how relieved he is. One bottle gets pushed over to Bucky and the other is in his own fist as he clinks them both together and takes an encouragingly long gulp of it. To getting drunk! To getting their friends back! To working on getting them the rest of the way back, someday! Which...yeah. Back to 'getting drunk'.

His hand stays on Bucky's shoulder. They'd been tactile. He's sure his counterpart isn't so it's a good reminder, now, that they still have someone who remembers.]

I haven't talked to myself either. But...where I came from, yeah. He was coming back. [And then had to freeze himself, thaw out, and disappear into ash. But yeah. We're skipping that part.] And I've always been smarter and quicker than you on the uptakes. So I figure you have less to worry about.

[He offers a grin that still looks like it's soaked in pity, but it's a start. His shoulder gets another squeeze.]

He's gonna get through this. So will you. And hey, at least neither of us are alone.

[That laugh sounds familiar - which makes things both better and worse. It's not a question at all, then, to pick up the other bottle and down a swig of his own, maybe feeling a little too much relief at the way it burns on the way down.

Or maybe the relief is from Steve's hand on his shoulder. It feels good, and Bucky guiltily doesn't try to shrug it off. If his foot ends up hooking itself around the bar of Steve's stool... it can look enough like he's just restless, just needs to fidget a little. Just needs to give Steve that silent signal: I'm here.

He is. And so is Steve. And they aren't alone.]

Shit. You think they'd talk to each other?

Sounds more likely than you being fast on any fuckin' uptake, Rogers. Don't think you can slip that ridiculous lie past me.

[Steve's smile takes up his entire face. That's his Bucky. The worst of times and he was still going to bust his chops. Steve shoves the shoulder he's holding.]

I dunno if they would even approach each other. Chances are they'd probably circle like alley cats and leave spy messages etched into the wall, somewhere. Something like that.

[The idea makes him laugh, despite it all. His own foot goes down to nudge against Bucky's calf, just to bother his friend.

Another sip of the alcohol goes down but this one is less mourning and more almost normal. The two of them in the bar, shooting the shit, being best friends.

In space.]

If you see one that says 'You're a dumb jerk, gimme my suit back', it's probably for you, though....

I think that's still talking, if you're speaking spy and assassin, [Bucky says, the chuckle under his voice there largely because if he weren't laughing, he'd be doing something worse. But at least he is able to find more humor in it than something else, and so is Steve. That's familiar, really, and comfortingly so. They always tried to laugh when the alternative was defeat.

And Steve's stupid joke does manage to make him actually laugh, out loud, even as his leg flexes and their knees bump between the stools. God, he missed this. He missed Steve. And now Steve doesn't even want to be Steve. It hurts, deep down, because Steve always knew who he was. Bucky's always measured himself by how much like Steve he could be (at least, the noble parts - not the idiotic parts). So if Steve doesn't want that anymore... then who the hell is Bucky?

But Steve is right here, too - not his Steve, but still his Steve. This is his Steve, the one he remembers - this one's been through some shit, yeah. But he almost feels more like his Steve than the one insisting they can't be friends. That there's nothing left between them. It feels like a betrayal, like a cop out, and it also feels like coming home, looking at this Steve beside him, and wanting to stay here, with him, so badly.

It just means he's not drunk enough yet; so Bucky takes another long, long swig.] Maybe we let whoever looks better in the suit keep it, huh? I think I know who'd win that contest.

[Steve can't help but think back to the memory of Bucky he had in his Calibration room. The one locked up in a box to be protected from everything else; the two of them on a roof, drinking and watching fireworks for his birthday. He'd told Nat, if he could, he'd go back to a few places. That was one of them.

And so, now, was this.]

Whoever looks better?

[He's not drunk but the alcohol leaves Steve warm. The same kind of warm you'd get from a hug or by standing in the sun. A careless grin splits his face as he leans in and bumps Bucky's shoulder between drinks of his bottle.]

Yeah. I saw you in it; it's going to be a close call. This ain't the old days when you were the top cat, hands down. I stand a shot, hm?

You seemed keen in the 40's.

Well, I haven't seen you in it, so I really can't say, [Bucky points out casually, from behind another sip. It's miles easier for him to get drunk than Steve, but he's still got to work on it. Fortunately, he knows how to put in the work, which basically just means making his bottle disappear as steadily as he can.

He does glance over, scrutinizing Steve, before reaching out and mussing his short hair up.] Dunno if the haircut's gonna go for or against you, here.

[It's still a little weird and jarring, seeing Steve with a "moden" haircut. Not that Bucky's still wearing the same hairstyle he had in the 40s, either - his is shorter, too, styled the same way most guys seem to be wearing it these days. But he's had a while to get used to fitting himself into a different era. His mental image of Steve, not as much.] And, I mean, your face is still your face, so that's a point against you.

Yeah, tell that to the dames linin' up for this mug. [Not even a joke, really. What did it matter if he didn't really want it? The point is that he's getting that point back, buddy.

He sizes Bucky up from top to bottom, slowly. Humming.]

See, I feel like your suit might just be a little snug, pal. Maybe if you'd worked out a little better.... [Steve squeezes Bucky's bicep, testing the muscle]

Yeah. Second-rate serum. You should really hit the gym so you can fill out my suit better. Point against you.

I will if I ever see any, [Bucky says, making a show of looking around the bar, where there is in fact a dearth of dames lining up around them. (And that's definitely for the better, right now.)

Although this time, when his leg shifts, it's so he can kick Steve in the shin with his heel.] Yeah, y'know, out of the two of us, I'm not the one who doesn't know how to hit the gym. I saw the way you were going at that bag. It was pathetic. [He grins.] Second-rate serum means I can't rely on it to keep my girlish figure. [He raises his eyebrows at Steve.] Although honestly, maybe first-rate serum doesn't mean you should, either.

[It might sound like he's being mean, but Steve will know better. The twinkle in Bucky's eyes should tell him so... and really, it's almost a relief to be able to jab at Steve like this, and try to forget - or at least not talk about - the roiling pit of guilt and worry in his stomach that's been there ever since he ran into his Steve - Rogers, he wants to be called - just before the end of calibrations.]

Besides. Your sense of fashion was always shitty. Makes a guy wonder what you wear when you don't have the luxury of stuffing yourself into something that's provided for you.

[Steve kicks right back with aim for the upper calf. If Bucky wants to start a fight he's not walking out with the bloodied nose again. You got one, pal. That's it.]

My sense of style was your hand-me-downs nine times out of ten, so what does that say?

[In reality that ended well before they hit adolescence. Eventually Bucky got too tall and too wide for a boy who'd hit his peak at a preteen size. But it's close enough to tease.

Steve pulls his fist back and punches Bucky's shoulder harder than he would for others. He can take it for making fun of his form.]

Tell you what: you help me on my fighting and fashion and I'll help you actually put some muscles on. Maybe get rid of that accent of yours. Not in Brooklyn anymore, Dorothy.

It says your fashion sense is so bad, you can look terrible even when you have the right options in front of you, [Bucky snorts, taking another swig and ignoring that kick to his calf - although then Steve reels back and punches him, and it's hard, but he wouldn't have it any other way. Bucky takes a completely fake and over-exaggerated swing at Steve's head with his bottle - the intention is to miss because said bottle definitely isn't empty yet, and he needs another swig. He's finally starting to feel warm and relaxed - at least, more than before.]

Ah, fuck you - they think it's cute, nowadays. Some of us never had to pretend to be dancing monkeys, so we got to keep the accent, [he says, laying it on even thicker than his actual accent, for a moment, before he adds,] Shit, Steve, the first time I heard you talk without it, it was weirder than seeing you the size of a house, you know that?

[A nostalgic thrill runs through Steve when Bucky deepens the accent. It's overdone but it sounds like Bucky when he's tired. When he'd come to the mattress worn out from work and trying to talk about something before just passing out on Steve.

It makes his heart beat hard.]

They trained me for so long to get rid of it. I couldn't get some words right. Coffee. Water. War. That one was hard.

[The air feels heavy all of a suddenly, then. Steve remembers watching Bucky fall off the train, carrying all the things Steve never told him. Never asked him. His second chance is here, laying before him. Steve wasn't going to but he reaches for the lowest hanging fruit without even thinking.]

Say, if you hadn't have gotten drafted and were home with me, would you have let me do the whole thing? The serum? All of it?

And one of those you had to use a lot more than the others, [Bucky says wryly, if maybe with a little bit of grim humor. But then, you can't sell war bonds in the Midwest with a Brooklyn accent. He does get it, why they changed the way Steve spoke. He was supposed to represent every man, yadda yadda yadda. It was just... well, it was like he said. Jarring. For a second, it had made it that much easier for Bucky to think he'd been dreaming, more than once.

He's honestly not expecting the question - but even though he's not, he's not about to brush it off. He blinks at Steve for a moment, but it's clear that he's thinking over his answer, not coming up with ways to not answer it.

Finally, he says,] Fuck, no. [It's quiet, maybe almost, almost a little ashamed. But it's the truth. If Steve had come to him waving this fucking crazy stupid deadly idea in his face? No. Fuck no.]

But I'm not in charge of you. I would've told you no, and you would've done it anyway, [he adds - not angrily, but just... he knows that's how it would have gone down. He can't say he would have supported it. Bucky had wanted Steve home safe, knowing he was going to bite it in the war, most likely, but at least Steve wouldn't ever know what it was like. Even if he hadn't gotten drafted... he would've had to enlist eventually. How could he stay home, when he was able-bodied? The spirit wasn't willing, but the body... He laughs a little, at how backward it all is.]

I think it would've ended up the same. And then I'dve had to enlist, anyway, to keep your ass out of trouble.

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