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

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.

[Steve is warm all over and it has nothing to do with alcohol.]

You're not in charge of me? Huh. Coulda fooled me, growing up.

[The tease is light and Steve makes it more to his bottle than his friend. His eyes burn, emotions roiling inside him. Not because of the answer itself. Just the fact that he'd gotten one.]

I wondered... During the war and after...[After he fell.]

I just wondered a lot whether you actually thought I'd made a good call. I just never asked you so I didn't think I'd ever know. [He hadn't even had the time to ask Barnes before he was frozen again. Besides, there was no saying he'd remember enough to answer honestly.

Steve lets out a throat-clearing cough and buries his emotions under another gulp from the bottle.]

You have things like that?

You did, [Bucky confirms, quiet but immediate, because if that's what Steve needs to hear, then it costs him nothing to confirm it.] You made the only call you could. You wouldn't be you, if you hadn't.

[He isn't sure if that means more or less, in light of everything here, but he hopes it means enough.

And then, of course, Steve turns it on him, and Bucky laughs, thickly.] Maybe a few.

[Had Steve hated him for going dancing instead of walking him into that recruitment center, his last night home? What would Steve think of him taking that plane down, instead of trying to land it? What had Steve thought would happen after the war, when he and Peggy got married and Bucky was the bachelor in an apartment all alone?

He's got some of the answers already, or close enough, solely based on the fact that his and Steve's histories are so much the same. It's comforting as much as it's painful, to know Steve made the same choices, given the circumstances. Went through the same things. Finally, though, he settles on,] Do you know what my kill record was, in the war?

[Being a sniper means seeing the guys you kill. It means planning it, doing it in cold blood, choosing to do it not because you're in danger, but because someone else is. It's not the same as fighting on the ground. And Bucky was good at it. Not Winter Soldier good, but he was still good. He was a fuckin' whiz with a rifle and a scope in his hand, and he was never sure he'd wanted to know what Steve might truly think of how high, how commended, that record really was. What Steve really thinks of someone like that, being Captain America now.

SHIELD had certainly kept it quiet - they couldn't erase history, and neither could the SSR, even at the time. But the numbers vary. And they're never mentioned in anything official - his awards are mentioned, his commendations and his patriotism. Not the faces of the guys whose heads he put bullets through.]

[Steve knows. Steve had held onto anything with Bucky's name as though they were pieces of his soul, scattered into the wind. He'd poured over his friend's record and felt pride all the way up to the lump in his throat. Bucky had served his country with those numbers and with everything he did. He'd saved Steve with those shots. Saved their soldiers. Saved prisoners in camps that needed freedom. Steve had never been more proud of Bucky than he had, then, holding the last year of his life and knowing that lives today owed him for each bullet spent.

But that's not what Bucky's looking for.

The question is more than a check of knowledge. It's a check of perception; Bucky is asking if Steve knows he's a killer and a good one at that. He's asking what that means for them and what it means for him. Strangely, this is a question Steve never even considered in the past. It hadn't occurred to him that way.

He was the one with the shield, after all. Bucky was the one with the gun.

He swallows almost a fourth of what is left in the bottle with one swallow. Steve nods to Bucky for him to do the same. He can feel the buzz around his face that indicates an alcohol-loosened tongue. Perfect.]

In my time, you and I had to beat Tony up pretty bad. [He holds his hand up just to stop any questions preemptively.] I watched that scene in my room a few times. And I forgot how effortless it was to fight with you.

We never really trained to fight together, Buck. We just did it. It's as natural as breathing. I just knew you'd be there and have my back. Didn't even have to think about it.

[He swallows more liquor, looking at the table.]

I know your record and I know the Winter Soldier's record. You did that all because you had to protect people. Protect me. That's what we do, you and I. And it's why we carry the shield.

We don't do what's easy but we do what we have to to protect the people who need it.

[For a moment, Bucky's not really sure how what Steve is saying has anything to do with... well, anything. But even as he's maybe about to open his mouth, Steve seems to pick up on it, and motions for him to stay silent - so he does. He lets Steve talk. And while of course he doesn't remember what Steve's talking about, because for him it hasn't happened (yet?), he does remember what it's like to fight with Steve. To run missions with Steve. To have the steady stream of expletives about Steve's choices running through the back of his head, but an eye on his friend through his scope, and the knowledge that if Steve doesn't manage to get his stupid ass killed... they're going to accomplish something amazing.

His eyes eventually pull away from Steve, falling back onto his own bottle - and yeah, it doesn't take much to get Bucky to take another swig - or two. Even when Steve falls silent, Bucky's hands are still fiddling with his bottle, and maybe he's not looking at Steve, either, when he speaks, voice quiet because this is definitely, definitely something he's never said. Not out loud. Not to Steve, and not to anyone.]

I wanted to be the one doing the shit that wasn't easy. I wanted to keep the blood off your hands.

[He laughs, and wow, he's getting really good at laughing at things that just aren't funny.] It's so stupid, isn't it? It was a fucking war. Nothing's easy, and nobody's hands are clean.

But fighting with you was easy. Doing what I had to do. For you. Was easy.

[It didn't make picking up the shield easy, but it made it not a choice. Nothing he has done as Cap has been a choice he could possibly bear to walk away from.

And shit, Bucky thinks he might be pretty well on his way to being drunk by now, if he just actually said all that out loud.]

[Steve's hand closes over Bucky's and holds the top of it against his bottle.]

Don't work like that, pal. [And there's the accent again. Present and light as he talks softly to his friend.] You and me are a box set. What you have on your hands I get on mine. I'm not gonna have it any other way.

[Bucky might shoot but it is from Steve's plan. It's to save Steve's life or his soldiers. The two of them are tied at the hip and it's impossible to divvy up the responsibility between them. It would go back years and years (and probably end up to be Steve's fault, in the end). But it doesn't matter.

Steve squeezes Bucky's hand and doesn't let go of it.]

We protect each other. It's what we've done since kindergarten. So no, it's not stupid, but you can't do that anymore. Alright? We're in it together.

[Bucky lets out a breath that's maybe a little shakier than he means, but his eyes go to Steve and his lips twitch up into this look that's... well, honestly, it's a little hard to read, because it's really a little hard for Bucky to figure out what he's feeling. Relief, respect, that bone-deep need to both smack Steve upside the head and stand between him and anything that would try to tear him down.

A box set. We protect each other. We're in it together. He'd wanted nothing more than to hear Steve say words like those again, since the day he'd died and Bucky had known he'd never hear them again. But now here he is, hearing them, and even with the cold churning feeling in his gut, when he thinks of just how badly he's failed his Steve... Steve, who is also his Steve, so much his Steve, is sitting here and telling him exactly what he needs to hear.]

You punk, [he says, and if his voice sounds a little strangled, Steve doesn't have to know it's because his throat feels tight and thick. At least it comes out a little stronger, a second later.] You're a fuckin' idiot, but I guess I must be, too.

And I think I'm at least a little drunk now, thank God, [he adds, with a laugh.] Because what you're saying almost, almost makes sense.

Although you do know I'm not gonna stop trying to keep you from doing shit that's too stupid, right? That's how this works.

[And Bucky has maybe wondered if Steve just... didn't feel he needed Bucky, anymore, once he'd gotten the serum. If Bucky had just become unnecessary. Extraneous. But he'd made sure, instead, to be indispensable. And he doesn't plan on stopping anytime soon, here and now.]

[Steve laughs back. He's laughed more the past few weeks than he feels like he has in ages. It feels amazing for some of the weight on his shoulders to come off a little. Not just because he finally has someone to joke around with but also because it's Bucky. And he always shoulders half of Steve's burdens.

Box set. Two of a kind. The only brother he's ever known and, now that he's back, Steve wants to dig his fingers in and never let go again. He'll have to work on that feeling, he notes to himself. For now he's just going to lean into it; they both need it at the moment.]

You left for a few days and I flew the plan into the artic. Clearly I make bad decisions without you. But you did the same so... I guess I wore off?

Crap. Who's gonna help both of us, now?

[His hand is still on Bucky's so he drops it down, resting it against Bucky's knee to keep the contact. And definitely not to make sure Bucky didn't topple off his stool now. Not at all.

Steve slugs more of his bottle but half gone he's still only buzzed. Or at least he thought he was until he moved to order more and the world spun. Okay. Progress. Good.]

I mean. Lookit us: gettin' drunk like kids at a bar all over again.

You do make bad decisions - and I was just tryin' to think like you, [Bucky points out, definitely aware that he hasn't felt this way, either, in a long time... and definitely hadn't, when he'd woken up kidnapped on some strange ship.

Well. If there's one thing he's learned, it's that life is never, ever what he expects it's going to be.]

I think we're both fucked, [he points out, and his answering grin is a little muzzy, too; he's still got a little liquid left in his bottle, but he also gets drunk a little faster than Steve. He's definitely starting to feel warm and floaty, though the big, warm hand on his leg is grounding. Good. Even if he doesn't need help staying on his stool, thanks.]

Yeah, but that's why we're here, right? I'm still impressed you can get drunk. Never thought I'd miss seeing it, but I kinda did. You always did need to learn to loosen up a little more than you could sober.

[Bucky, feeling magnanimous, pushes the rest of what little is left in his bottle toward Steve.]

It helps that the liquor isn't from Earth. [Don't ask him where it's from because he didn't care. As long as it could get him drunk and not burn out his liver it was okay in his book.] And you're more soused than me, pal.

[He abandons his bottle for Bucky's, grabbing and finishing it off in one gulp. His is different from what Steve was drinking and the burn is a little worse. He likes it. His own bottle is pushed between them, just like before.]

'member your eighteenth?

[A year before his own meant Steve couldn't go to a bar without sneaking in. He'd been getting over his February bug that year so sneaking was out. Steve instead used the money he'd been saving to get a decent bottle of brandy for his friend. It hadn't been the birthday Steve had wanted for Bucky but it was perfect looking back on it, now.]

Ma thought I'd got the flu the next morning. I was so hung over. Bad influence on me, Barnes.

Yeah, I guess it does. [And he'd think he shouldn't think too hard about that, but they're already on a goddamn spaceship, so it's really not as weird, in the end, as it could be.

He frowns a little in concentration when Steve asks the question, but... Well, yeah. Of course he remembers. At least,] I remember right before we started drinking, and then the next morning, [he points out, laughing a little.] But you were the bad influence on me. I was gonna stay in with you anyway, you thought you had to bribe me with hooch. I had to tell my ma it was something I ate.

[And Steve is still a bad influence - Bucky reaches for his bottle, to have a little of what Steve's having, soused or not.]

It was your eighteenth. What were we gonna do? Play checkers?

[He'd been so sick before. It had been one of the many times Steve hated his body for ruining something important to him. He'd had a whole plan to sneak into the bar and a pocket full of spare change to order drinks. Then he'd run a fever for a week straight. ]

Your ma knew. She never was fooled. [Mrs. Barnes had their number from five years old on. If they got away with something it was through sheer luck.]

It was your own fault. I told ya to just stay over. Like you weren't already gonna catch the cold from the bottle...

[Steve's voice slurs a little both with accent and alcohol. It won't last but it's good for now. He takes his bottle back for a quick top-off and then hands it back]

[Bucky scoffs.] Cards, at least. Come on, Steve. [Have another - sloppier - kick to the lower leg. He doesn't know what his Steve had been planning, but he knows that they had a good time nonetheless. And he hadn't missed the way Steve had been extra-prickly the entire week before; Bucky had maybe been on edge, too, because that fever had taken fucking forever to break. And every time Steve got knocked down by some bug... well, Bucky never slept right until he seemed on the mend. He'd been so antsy that his birthday had just seemed like no big deal, in comparison.] Honestly, your damn fever breaking was all I needed. That was a bad one.

[He does blow out a breath that's a little bit of a laugh, too.] She knew. I think she also knew that hangover was gonna punish me more than she ever could. [He eyes Steve.] Pretty sure your ma knew, too, pal.

[Although speaking of hangovers; Bucky reaches out and swirls what's left in the bottle, when Steve sets it down.] 'Least the serum means we get over 'em faster. [He can't drink like this and not expect one, but at least it will be abbreviated.

Then, maybe a little bolder (thanks, super-buzz), he turns to Steve and asks, seriously,] S'this all you spend your money on?

[It had been a bad one. Not one of the times he'd gotten Last Rites but bad enough that he'd lost track of a full day. Enough that they feared another bout of pneumonia which, after his last one just the month before, could have put him in the ground.

Steve can still remember what it felt like being that sick. He can remember the worried look on Bucky's face and how hard he'd try to hide it. It looks a little bit like the look he's getting now.]

's not like I can buy Dodger's tickets...

[He's drunk enough to forget even home he couldn't buy Dodger's tickets. Not in Brooklyn anyways. His eyebrow lifts and a smirk takes over his face. Bucky might remember that smirk from anytime Steve decided a bully in town needed to get punched. Or when Bucky told him not to do something. Anything, really.]

Callin' me a drunk?

Callin' you a punk, punk, [Bucky says, bumping the outside of his foot against Steve's. But his face stays serious, because,] Can't do that back home, and I'm guessing you don't spend your days in a bar there.

[Look. There is nothing wrong with getting falling-down drunk every once in a while. Case in point: Bucky's week. He gets it. He does. But even if the serum will handle all of it,] You need a hobby, Rogers. What about that art?

[Because don't you give him that look, Steve. Be stubborn all you want. Bucky isn't about to let you drink every cent away, even if you don't need it here.]

[The mention of home usually made Steve wistful. Right now it makes him terrified. He almost wants to slap a hand over Bucky's mouth to make sure the Atroma get no ideas about sending one of them home. Not yet. Not when he's finally getting used to having him back.

Steve's hand unconsciously reaches for Bucky's and grabs it, hard. He's always worn his emotions on his sleeve. Alcohol just rolls those sleeves up to his shoulders exposing his beating organ to all.]

I work out. And...I painted Loki a picture.

[It sounds pathetic and he knows it.]

I guess I could go to the art studio here every other day. Skip the bar a little. Can't be a stereotype.

[Bucky doesn't startle when Steve's hand takes his, even if he's maybe a little quietly surprised at the intensity of the gesture. But that's Steve - intensity personified - and one corner of Bucky's mouth twitches, as he twists his hand around to grasp Steve back, thinking that whatever he needs, Bucky's happy to give him.

Of course he laughs a little because Steve, that is kind of pathetic, pal.] You putter around in the gym and think you're working out. And if you're painting him pictures, you really need to rethink some life choices.

[He knows Steve has said Loki isn't so bad. Bucky trusts Steve, of course, but he still maybe has some doubts.]

I guess you could, [He says, looking a little pleased. Bucky's always been proud of Steve's talent, and equally impressed by it. He's always thought Steve could really do something with it, even if he understands that it isn't what Steve wanted to do with his life. It's still frustrating, seeing those beautiful things bloom out of his hands, and Steve seeming to miss the whole point of it.

Then he grins, almost wickedly.] Need a model?

[Steve holds Bucky's hand in his. There aren't calluses there where they used to be. Rough, dock-worker hands that got so many splinters they could be more wood than flesh at the end of the day. No, this hand is different and yet still the same.

Steve squeezes it lighter, thankful for too much all at the same time.]

Well, that would guarantee no one would ever buy it. Who'd want your mug on their wall? [Steve matches the grin, challenge set.] Are ya gonna pose in your suit? Or is this an anatomical study?

[The word 'anatomical' is hard when your tongue is so fat and heavy with drink. It gives his eyes time to coast down the other's body to go along with the tease. He releases his hand to instead grab at the hem of his shirt to play at peeking underneath]

Nah. Don't want people to get sick.

[It's true; Bucky's callouses now are all gun callouses, along with the weirdly placed ones that come from handling the shield. And for Bucky's part, it's still a little strange: Steve's new hands, even if they fit him just as well as the rest of what the serum did to his body. His hands haven't changed so much - they used to seem a little oversized, and they were always cold. Now they're the right size, if stronger and the knuckles less knobbly, and they're always hot - one thing he'd definitely immediately noticed about the "new" Steve, aside from his sheer size. Steve ran hot after the serum, which made him the most popular foxhole buddy possible... and Bucky may have pulled rank as second-in-command to get Steve in his foxhole more often than not. Between the two of them (and the body heat Bucky's serum throws off), it had made their wartime digs almost cozy.

Steve starts talking, though, and it pulls Bucky out of his muddy thoughts - making him snort and bat at Steve's hand a little sluggishly (the alcohol is finally, finally really hitting his system, thank God) as he grabs at Bucky's shirt.] Excuse you, that's only for guys who buy me dinner first. [He must be drunk, because that almost sounds like he'd be willing to let a guy paw at him after a date, and that's definitely not something Bucky would normally consider. Or has ever considered.

Whatever. He's drunk, and there's something more important he wanted to say.]

And even if it was, people'd pay a hell of a lot for this anatomical study on their wall. I don't know how you got to be an artist when you clearly can't appreciate true beauty. What the hell would you paint?

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