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

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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.

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[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?

[Steve stalls a moment at the 'guys who buy me dinner', but it's only a moment. It was a joke, clearly. He covers the hesitation with a laugh and a jab to Bucky's ribs at the batting. It's all just absurdly immature of them. Steve can't remember the last time he had the luxury to indulge in that.]

The way you eat? Any guy buys you dinner and they'll have lost their appetite for any pawing.

[He leans back and considers the question seriously. What would he paint?]

Flowers, maybe. Our old apartment. Trish O'Neal [The beauty of their school who not even Bucky could charm.]

Maybe, if I was bored and had some extra paint, I'd do your ugly mug as a change of pace. Maybe.

[If Bucky notices the pause, he seems to just count it as 'pulled one over on Steve' and looks all the more smug about it, before he squirms away (and does not fall off his stool, thanks very much) from the poke in the ribs.]

You don't know that. You also eat more than I do, if I remember correctly.

[Never mind that had been because Bucky had slipped rations and chocolate bars and stolen apples and whatever the hell else he could find into Steve's pack when he wasn't looking, during the war. Old habits die hard, and Bucky had learned from a young age how to sneak more onto Steve's plate without him noticing. Maybe turning him into a super-spy hadn't been that hard for HYDRA, after all.]

Trish O'Neal, [he murmurs, humming a little.] I guess maybe you do have an eye for nice things, after all. In some respects.

[He still kicks Steve again and steals his bottle for a drink.] You were always better at people than things. I mean, not that you're bad at still life, but anybody can draw flowers. Not everybody can draw a profile like you can. [It's a little more serious musing, but Bucky means it.] Besides. I've been on the cover of Time. Clearly I'll sell.

[Even if it had been for taking down the plane in Steve's absence. And again for apparently surviving it, seventy years later.]

[Steve gets the same warmth in his stomach that he'd gotten right before he and Bucky had gone after the other Winter Soldiers. The feeling of temporarily not being alone. Of someone sharing a memory with him and sharing what was on his mind. Steve kicks Bucky back, harder for the fuzzy feeling he'd been given. ]

Cover of Time. Scraping the barrel over there.

[The compliments bring color to Steve's cheeks all the same. He pulls the bottle back and sips.] I knew your profile better than anyone except maybe Ma. All those notebooks are in museums. Museums. Those doodles of cats in the alley and you flipping me off.

Well, look - I know you were hoping your whole life to make it into Ladies' Home Journal, but... [Bucky trails off, smirking as he watches Steve's face flush, and not just from the alcohol - though he's got a bit of a healthy glow going on from that, too, and it's... familiar. It's nice. It just feeds back into that warm feeling the alcohol has kindled in his gut, and this time, his foot hooks itself around the rung of Steve's stool and pulls it closer, Steve and all.]

Yeah, well - those're real works of art, [he says, balancing one elbow on the bar and resting his chin in his hand. It is weird that Steve's sketchbooks are in museums - they are back home, too - and Bucky had only been able to bring himself to look at one for about five seconds before he'd started feeling sick. But here and now, with Steve alive and well and happily drunk in front of him... it doesn't seem so upsetting, anymore.] A real shame they've probably got 'em open to the cats for display.

[Then, a moment later - a little more serious,] You could just ask for 'em back, I bet.

[Bucky couldn't - they hadn't been his. But Steve could.]

[The stool screeches forward as Bucky reels him in. The proximity isn't new but it hasn't happened for a long while. Steve meets Bucky's hazed eyes and watches his mouth form over the words he says. Watches the way his hair flops just a little. Watches his hands around their shared bottle. All of these small nuances and quirks he'd never appreciated before. He's got a second chance now to drink it all in.]

I don't know if I want them back. They're nostalgic but I'm already focused on the past enough.[Record player. War books. Spartan apartment and a deep disinterest in having someone close to him, again. He knows what it is to lose what you love and to long for it. He didn't want to feel it again.

And here he is clinging to a ghost like a lifeline. Some things just can't change. ]

Besides. That would involve going back. [He's drunk enough to admit this, now. What he'd realized in Calibrations and from his talks with Vision. Steve shrugs to down play it but he still hasn't blinked.]

I kinda wanna stick around for a little bit.

[Bucky's quiet, maybe sensing that Steve's being serious, here and now. That he's being completely, unabashedly, unashamedly honest, in that way it seems like only Steve can be. The air between them feels thick and still, and the warm feeling in his gut stalls a little bit, as Steve speaks and Bucky truly, truly hears what he's saying.

Because they can't go back - not home. Not either of them. Bucky remembers what it was like, when that hit him. The idea that Steve had to feel that, too... it's like a punch to the gut, and it makes him sad and angry and so many other things, all at once. It was a horrible, horrible feeling, that aloneness.

And it's something he hasn't felt since he appeared here and ran into Steve. Since he found his best friend again - even before his Steve appeared, insisting he was anything but Bucky's best friend, tearing open a hole in his gut that he knows he's desperately trying to stuff this Steve inside... and the best and worst part of it is, it's kind of working.

He blows out a breath, the buzz faded to the background suddenly, the reality of Steve here next to him, warm and solid and real, saying he might, y'know, want to stick around for a bit.

Bucky isn't sure how he doesn't choke on his next breath, his throat feels so tight, as he watches Steve silently for a moment, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding until his lungs start to ache from it.]

I guess if you're gonna stick around... I'd better plan to do the same, [he says, quietly.] I mean. Who the hell else is gonna keep your ass out of trouble? Natasha?

[The words between the words are spoken in the language of familiarity. Steve knows Bucky heard him just as he's sure Bucky knows the same. It's a stepping point in this strange new world they're in where the goal of escape is pushed behind another, more personal objective. The details of it aren't something Steve has cleared even in his own mind. But somehow he knows that they're lined up with his friend's.

Steve smiles, blowing out the breath he'd been holding as well. He's never felt more sober in his life, right now, but it's good. Turns out being happy is almost as effective as alcohol in pushing away problems.

Someone go tell the paper.]

Nat does a good job. You'd be proud of her. She's caught on to most of my tricks at this point. Might give you a run for your money.

[Steve lets out a laugh, shaking his head. This is all insane. It's perfect and it's insane and part of it terrifies the shit out of him.]

With everything that's happened to me --to us-- it almost feels dangerous for me to want something. You know? Like the Atroma are gonna hear it and put one of us back. [The thought chokes off the last word, eyes heavenward as though praying for a small second.] I don't know about you, but I haven't had the best luck, all things considered. Not when it comes to...[His life. His homes. His friends.] me.

[The fact of the matter is, Bucky had said he'd follow Steve, and that promise hasn't changed. It won't change. Steve needs someone to watch his six, and Bucky's gotten pretty damned good at it. The fact that there are two Steves here now, trapped, in need of some watching really only reinforces the need to stay - which simply crystalizes into a real, tangible plan when Steve, here and now, says he's going to stick it out. Bucky doesn't know what good he can do here, but whatever it is... he's going to do it.]

Maybe she will, [he muses with a quirk of a smile, in a tone of voice that says he's not surprised, and maybe even pleasantly so.] I guess we'll just have to see. I'm sure one of us'll end up keeping score.

[But the rest of what Steve says drops the smile mostly off his face. He lets out a breath that isn't quite a sigh, but is pretty close, watching his friend with an expression that's definitely serious and sad underneath.] I know, [he says, softly, because - he does. Steve Rogers kind of has some of the shittiest luck... and yet at the same time, some people might argue that his luck is ridiculously good. He's survived, after all - both of him - and he's still here, but while maybe that is lucky, it feels like the price he's been made to pay along the way is unreasonably high.

Some days, some really bad days, Bucky will let himself think about his own luck... and it kind of balances out to the same, when he's being honest for five whole seconds.

He reaches out, hand falling on Steve's shoulder and staying there.] If there's one thing I've learned about you, it's that something being dumb or dangerous doesn't stop you from doing it.

[What he's saying - what he's trying to say - is that yeah. Hope is dangerous. But it's the most precious thing a guy can have. And Steve shouldn't - can't - give that up.] Let 'em hear. [He glances up, too.] We can't control it. Maybe we never will. But even when you were wearin' tights, pal, you didn't really do it for entertainment. [He'd done that for hope, too.]

[Steve's eyes shut. Years pass over him, then. Years when his optimism would give out and the sickness would ear him into a husk. When hunger had him wondering what options they had left. When the two of them would sit with nothing. Nothing but the other man in the room with him and somehow, Bucky could make that be enough. The Avengers all thought that Steve was the pillar of truth and hope. The reality was that he'd had only a handful of people he trusted to see his cracks. People who he could lean on as they both got the spackle and repaired the damage together. Peggy. Sam. Nat.

And always Bucky.

He reaches up where that hand is warm on his shoulder and gives it a short squeeze to say what words were inadequate for. After all, Steve had already said how much he missed his friend. How grateful he was for him. There was nothing else he could express that he hadn't already. And yet there was still more inside him he wished he knew how to say.]

Nah. I did it for the dames, too.

[His smile is watery along with his voice. Despite it, he looks up at Bucky, letting him see the emotion that always settled just under his skin. Letting him see the cracks, already getting filled in. Because yeah, Bucky was right. He'd done all of that for hope. And even if it was stupid, Steve had to believe in things working out. It just was who he was. Even if, sometimes, it took a lot more effort.

And a friend.]

Actually...speaking of danger... [He tries to divert, gracelessly, because otherwise he might embarrass himself even worse.] Think I should try to get all the candles on your cake, old man?

[Bucky hates and loves seeing Steve like this - seeing Steve letting someone see the cracks, because it both means he can't handle shit on his own (which, of course he can't, nobody can) and because he trusts Bucky enough to let him see, if however briefly. It hasn't happened often. And while Bucky hates the way it makes him feel every time, some small part of him is honored when Steve opens up that small part of himself, to let Bucky in. He knows it's fucking hard, and he knows what it means, when he gets that glimpse.

He knows it also means he will do anything he can to help. It's not a question. It's a foregone conclusion, and it has been ever since the day he met Steve.

But this time, what he sees in Steve - the bad, and the good - feels like it's simply a mirror image of what he's feeling, himself: the way it's so easy to fall back into this friendship, despite the fact that they, technically, were never friends - and the way that doesn't matter. The way they've found each other, in the face of what happened to their own best friends.

It's so fucking complicated, and yet so simple.]

Too bad that backfired on you, [is all he says, for a moment, just watching Steve's face. Holding his eyes with his own. Letting Steve know that Bucky can see, that Bucky understands, and that he doesn't have any solution other than the one that Steve's found. And he's willing to back that up, with everything he has.

Steve's diversion definitely isn't graceful, but Bucky's willing to give it to him. Otherwise they're going to have to get even drunker, and he's not too drunk yet to realize that.]

I dunno, [he says, looking thoughtful.] Does it mean I get a bigger cake?

[Steve shrugs his shoulder and adjusts to the new conversation. He still feels the hollow ache where his strength usually rises up to meet him but it's lesser now. Bucky is here to hold him up. He's here to add his strength to Steve's when it fails. It's enough. It's more than enough to have him standing and moving to the next task where his pain is less.]

Given the fact that I have no idea what baking ingredients I can or can't get for you, are you sure you want a bigger cake? It might have a secret, protein gel middle. Your favorite.

[Sure, they lived during the Depression but even then the food at least had flavor. Boiled potatoes and meat didn't taste great but they could be salted and given some garlic if the families next door felt like sharing. Protein gel is just...unnatural. Flavorless toothpaste that you can't even get a chew on. Steve sucks it down for calories but even then he'd almost rather starve.

He drinks long, remembering that slippery feeling. God, if he gets a sponsor drop, let it just be food.]

If you don't mind that, yeah. A nice big cake all for you, pal. And enough candles that everyone in the Fleet can see it from the sky.

[Bucky definitely makes a face at that.] God, that stuff is disgusting - and I really thought I had seen it all. [Because what Steve's thinking is right - they'd eaten a lot of bad food, but at least it had been food. Protein gel is like eating toothpaste - and exactly as appealing as it sounds.] I'd pay for those damn rations they gave us near Belgium. D'you remember the ones? I think they were fuckin' left over from the Great War.

[He waves his hand a little, definitely feeling the buzz now. But he's feeling it enough that imagining a cake - one that tastes good - is easy and appealing.] Tell you what - leave out the protein gel, and maybe I won't start walking around with a fire extinguisher that I might just happen to miss the cake and get you in face with.

[He makes a soft noise, glancing back at the bottle like he might see about making the dregs disappear.] Never thought I'd need that many candles. Not once the draft started.

[Steve laughs. No one calls World War I the Great War anymore. It's nice to hear and, yeah. Yeah those rations were absolutely left over from then. They'd been horrible and Steve'd had to eat so many just to make sure he got enough food for his miserable metabolism. He would have preferred to eat the mud outside, instead.]

I'll see what I can do. But you hit me with that fire extinguisher and I'm gonna make sure everything you eat for the next week has to be in gel form. [He makes a small fist, circling it in the threat they both know is completely hot air. Still, he taps a knuckle against Bucky's jaw, light as he softens up himself with that small noise.]

I told you when your letter came: you were gonna come back or I was gonna drag you back to kill ya myself. [He didn't know it would be so literal. Nor did he really think the threat would keep his friend alive. God, he'd stayed awake for nights just staring at Bucky, wondering if these were their last days together.]

I took stock in candles. Wasn't gonna let you ruin my investment just 'cause you got your number pulled.

So, no different than usual, [Bucky comments, sounding unimpressed - and mostly pulling it off, except for the corner of his mouth that's trying to twitch up into a stupid smile.

He can't help it. Joking around with Steve like this feels almost forbidden, like something that's going to be snatched away at any second - and he's determined to enjoy every single second of it he gets.

Even as he remembers Steve saying that. As he remembers how things changed, with that letter - how everything changed.

And he can't help it; he sobers up a little, grows silent for a moment, before saying, quietly,] M'not sure whether this counts or not. [As coming back, he means. It feels a little like it, watching Steve now. He knows he's not the right Bucky for this Steve; that this Steve isn't right for him. But even then... both of their best friends have come back. They just don't seem sure whether they want to be friends at all.

It's a fucking mess.

He reaches over, puts a hand on Steve's shoulder and squeezes.] You got me, pal. 'Till he comes around.

Edited 2019-03-25 00:38 (UTC)

It counts.

[Steve sees Bucky at his side and it's still such an answered prayer that he doesn't know what to do with it. The man he'd lost all those years ago survived and is here beside him, squeezing his shoulder and smiling at him. The different universes stand between them but here? Here there's nothing that separates them. And it counts. More than counts.

He reaches up and pats on Bucky's hand before just gripping it for a squeeze of his own.]

And it's 'till the end of the line, Buck. Or did you forget?

[Bucky snorts softly; it's almost a sad sound, though he does his best at the last second to make sure it's not.]

Yeah, I remember.

[He'd just been so sure they'd already hit it. Now he knows they haven't... in so many senses of the word. And he definitely didn't expect a do-over - let alone two. It feels like the other shoe's gonna drop, and he doesn't know what will happen if - when - it does.

But right now? Fuck the other shoe. He'll deal with it when he fucking deals with it. Which is not right now.]

End of the line it is, then.

[He pokes at the bottle still on the counter between them, watching the little bit of liquid slosh inside it.] How about we get to the end of this bottle, first?

[Steve beams, the liquor making his face looser than even normal with his emotions. He picks up the bottle and takes a short sip before letting it slide back over to Bucky.

His hand stays on Bucky's knee, squeezing it.]

Whatever you say, pal.

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Action | Who needs a gosh dang drink??

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