InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "use the force"

Rhodey had been pretty pleased that Nebula was back, or here in the first place, or whatever you wanted to call it. So he'd offered to take her out for a beer, though not to his and Fury's and Sam's favorite place in Harlem. He didn't want her to have to deal with being a celebrity there. Midtown was a little cooler about seeing celebrities among them. (Rhodey didn't count himself as a celebrity. People might know the name of the man under the armor but he wasn't recognizable the way Tony was, or Cap or Thor.)

Nebula didn't really need help onto the barstool or anything but Rhodey waited politely until she was seated to settle onto his own stool. "We can get snacks but this place has a fantastic selection of beers. What are you in the mood for? And you can tell me what's been going on for you."

She didn’t consider herself a celebrity. The trip to the museum with Carol Danvers had involved a few stares, but then, she was blue. It was the meal at the pizza place, where some customers had commented on her ‘cosplay’ and Carol had announced that Nebula was an Avenger, that had triggered the emergence of a few more mobile phones - and photos and video while she chewed on cheese. She had been too absorbed with her food to care.

Once seated, Nebula finished scanning the room and focused on Rhodey. She had been pleased when he’d extended his invitation. Having two sets of memories was occasionally confusing, but those she had of Rhodey were positive, He had treated her like a person rather than some weird alien, with respect, humour and concern. He was very comfortable to be with and she wondered if he was aware.

Glancing at the options for beer, which were many and had fascinating names - Alewife Altered State, Brooklyn Monster, Crooked Stave Silly Cybies, Nightmare Blowing From A Gun - Nebula didn’t know where to start. Instead of choosing one at random, she opted to ask his opinion, It seemed like the right thing to do and being new to the planet, to the city, she was trying to be more considerate of her Human hosts. She was aware there were few, if any, including herself, who could have seen this day come,

“There are many choices,” she said in her usual, husky tone. Her dark eyes settled on his. “I will defer to your wisdom.”

It was hard for Rhodey, too. He had only one set of memories up until he had arrived in this New York to find everything different: no Snap, no five years of people being done and dusted and then returning to life, and most importantly to him, a Tony and a Nat, both alive. But it had to be worse for Nebula, with Gamora missing again and, well, Quill was Quill and Drax was Drax and let's not even get into Rocket and Groot. Rhodey's memories of Nebula, even if they weren't this Nebula, were positive. And undoubtedly she could use a friend.

So could Rhodey.

"I think it depends on what you want. Something light, something not too strong, maybe a wheat beer or a weisse of some kind, maybe cider--though some of that sweet stuff's got a kick like a mule. Maybe something stronger or more, uh, what's a good word--I think they call it muscular, don't know why?--maybe an IPA. That's for people who like hops, which can be an acquired taste. Something rich that pours like motor oil, maybe a stout. Or something a little different, maybe a fruit ale or a sour beer or a saison. Probably we want to stay with what's on tap. I mean they have a ton of bottles and cans, too, but that's different. Also--I hadn't really thought about this, but I guess your alcohol tolerance is through the roof? It's technically a poison, which is why we're affected, but it's generally a good effect. Until the hangover if you drink too much, anyway." Rhodey grinned ruefully at Nebula. He'd done his share of drinking and getting hung over at MIT. Work hard, play hard.

Rhodey proceeded to speak in an alien equivalent of Tongues, making a variety of recommendations using a language she didn’t fully understand. Several of the words were apparently ‘beer-speak’ and she’d left her guidebook for that at the Tower. Nebula briefly wondered if she’d just made a joke to herself, but didn’t know if it was appropriate to share and ask if it was funny.

Friends had been few and far between in her life, and she could use more of them. She counted Rhodey as a friend, though of course, she didn’t let her guard down. If it was more insult than humour, it would be better to keep it to herself.

Nebula nodded slightly, to indicate she was listening and when he was done, she said, “I have a strong constitution.” That much she could answer, “Share one of your favourites with me.” It was easier than trying to figure out the meaning of ‘weisse’, ‘IPA’, ‘stout’ or ‘saison’. “If it is poison, though, don’t drink it.”

"It's not like poison poison. I mean you could technically drink yourself into the hospital--college kids do sometimes--" Rhodey didn't think going into alcoholism was going to make sense to Nebula "--but like, an intoxicant? Makes you a little pleasantly mellow. But you drink with certain kinds of food to cut down on the aftereffects in case you get too much. Something with a little fat in is supposed to be the best."

He picked a local pilsner for her, one he thought was suitable for a novice drinker, and went with a stout for himself, thinking she could try it if she was ready to move on with something more heavy. Then he picked out a charcuterie plate for them to share. They could get sandwiches later if they were still hungry. It wasn't like Nebula was going to have to go to work afterwards. Well, he hoped they didn't.

She was starting to attract a few looks. The bartender had been dealing with Rhodey since he was doing the ordering and covering the tab, but he'd definitely noticed that he had a blue-skinned cyborg bellied up. Fortunately New Yorkers were pretty blase about celebrities; if anyone had snapped them with a smartphone, they had the shutter noise turned off. They were more likely to figure out who he was because Nebula was with him than the other way around.

I see,” she said, understanding the context properly now. Nebula knew about pleasant intoxication. It wasn’t something she indulged in very often, despite what some might think they knew regarding the lifestyle of assassins who earned well and had a private moon with a fully automated biosphere and an unprecedented collection of rare alcoholic beverages. And perhaps a pet of the fuzzy kind with indeterminate origins, She also knew about overindulgence, but that wasn’t an activity she shared. That was a private experience for very, very bad days.

“I’ve never required medical attention,” she added once Rhodey had placed their order. Not for excessive drinking, anyway. Other medical issues she usually dealt with herself. She was aware of some curiosity on the part of various patrons and likely the person who was serving the alcohol, but it didn’t bother her. Nebula was aware she looked very different from the usual customer, being blue, a cyborg and still dressed like an extra from a science fiction dystopia. As it had been with the visit to the pizza place, these people weren’t her enemies and no one had any motive to harm her or Rhodey. Though if that should change, she would certainly be able to handle it.

"I wish I could say that," Rhodey answered her comment ruefully. "We're a little more fragile than you are. The suit helps, obviously, but sometimes you get jounced around inside the suit." Or someone breaks it, he didn't say. She might remember it, but he wasn't sure and it wasn't like anyone else here did, a fact for which Rhodey was regularly grateful. "But usually getting a buzz doesn't send you to the hospital. OTC remedies--the sort you can buy in the pharmacy or the grocery store--are enough for most hangovers. Assuming you don't stop well before you'd have one."

The tender brought Nebula's drink and then Rhodey's own, each drawn from the collection of branded tap handles behind the bar. "Cheers," Rhodey said, and raised his glass.

Nebula used her right hand, which was the least altered of the two, and wrapped it tentatively around her glass. Judging by the way he held his, it wasn’t as fragile as it might look. Confident she had the pressure correct, she lifted her own glass and said, “Victory,” before taking a sip.

It was pleasant, pale in colour and quite refreshing. She licked her lips. “Very nice,” she said, a small smile touching her face. Meeting Rhodey’s eyes, she added, “So, you have been hospitalized due to overindulging in alcohol? Why would you do this to yourself?” Nebula could think of several reasons: his injury, the various battles he had experienced, or perhaps something more personal emotionally of which she wasn’t aware. Maybe working with Tony Stark was enough to encourage such a session. She had witnessed several occasions where his co-workers had certainly seemed at the ends of their wits. Or was that a witless end? She’d have to double-check that Human expression.

"Oh," Rhodey said, realizing he'd misread her words a little. "I never quite made it to the hospital for that. Though when I was young and less sure of my tolerances I woke up with plenty of headaches. I've seen people drink to that kind of excess though." He frowned. "It's a bad scene. If you've known anyone who drinks to be drunk, to blot stuff out, it makes you more careful. You have to do it for--reasons of positive emotions, I guess? Drink when you're already happy, or at least in a decent mood. Don't drink when you're upset or to drive the blues away."

(Rhodey was talking about Tony there, not that he wanted to talk about his best friend's alcoholism in a public place. He'd seen too many good men and women go Tony's way to want to chance that kind of hard drinking himself no matter how crazy Ross made him.)

The tender brought the plate of cheese and meat and crackers and set it between Rhodey and Nebula. "This isn't meant to be a whole meal," he reminded her. "This is just a snack, or a starter. They've got sandwiches and stuff if you're actually hungry." He took one of the slices of prosciutto from the plate and rolled it up to eat on a cracker, demonstrating in case she hadn't seen anything like this. "And if you like, you can try a little of my beer too."

“Drinking for a celebration is positive,” she said. “Like now.” She took another sip of her pilsner. Setting the glass down, she added, “I’m glad you haven’t experienced that level of toxicity. You would be very vulnerable in that condition and unlikely to respond well to an emergency, should one arise.”

Nebula could imagine how pleased Thanos would have been if she had ever been incapable of responding to his wishes. Such a disappointment, he would have intoned in his understated way, then her punishments would have been -

Food arrived, an assortment of cheese, meat and crisp bread, if she recalled her previous experiences and her research correctly. She watched as Rhodey demonstrated how to eat the food and she mimicked him, choosing to pop the whole thing into her mouth and chew it leisurely. It was an interesting mixture of flavours that was quite appealing.

“Mnph,” she grunted, keeping her mouth shut but nodding to emphasize her pleasure. She reached for his glass, swallowed her mouthful and downed a healthy amount of the stout. It was dark and creamy and bitter, a very different experience from the beer he had ordered for her. Setting his glass down without thumping it on the table, Nebula said, “I approve. We should eat more.” She reached for a cracker and let her hand hover over the various cheeses offered.

"All right, we'll get sandwiches. But we take the drinking slowly, so the alcohol has time to metabolize," Rhodey explained.

"I've got an idea of what it would be like to be drunk in the armor. Or rather what sort of dumb things you could do in the armor while drunk. The alcohol releases some of your restraints and your judgment. Has to do with how the human body processes the alcohol, where the chemicals work in your brain when your body breaks them down. It slows your reflexes, which is bad when flying combat, but the disinhibition means you might try things you wouldn't otherwise. I'm a practical guy, you know that, but--imagine wanting to shoot things because you were bored. Like, throw stuff up in the air and shoot it to prove you can, with the suit. And if your aim is off--" Rhodey gestured with both hands to simulate an explosion.

Of course he'd seen this. In the real world, whatever that meant--he remembered seeing it, and not in the funny dream-processed way people talked about--and in the simulated eScape world he'd had to rescue Tony from not too long ago. At least in the dream it had only been watermelons and Tony hadn't hurt anybody.

Nebula hadn’t realized she was drinking quickly, but decided to follow his suggestion. She chose the aged gouda without knowing what it was called and placed it on a cracker before adding another piece of prosciutto. She took a delicate bite this time, which resulted in cracker crumbs drifting to the table with a few dusting the front of her outfit. She held the remaining half of the cracker between thumb and forefinger and refrained from sighing.

She swallowed. “You are practical, yes, but shooting at a target is necessary to improve your skills. I challenge myself with moving targets as well as stationary items, so your example of throwing things in the air applies as a useful source of targets.” She frowned a little. “I don’t have a suit and can’t separate myself from what I am, but I do my best not to be wasteful with my ammunition and am less likely to target someone by accident.” Pause. “Unless they were very annoying.”

A dry sense of humour. Yes, that is how she would describe it.

Which Rhodey appreciated because he cracked a grin. "If I shot everyone who was annoying, I'd have lost a lot of superior officers by now." He started to say something about REMFs but then he'd probably have to explain what all the words meant. He was pretty sure Nebula would get the Rear Echelon part but maybe not the rest.

But, since they were comfortable enough to crack wise, he added, "I suppose it could be good to do target practice while drunk, if your purpose was target practice. I mean, you do end up going into fights impaired sometimes. So maybe we'll set up drunk watermelon fighting practice sometimes. Who besides you do you think is going to hit the watermelon?"

Nebula blinked, something she didn’t do very often. She opted not to comment on Rhodey’s reference to superior officers, primarily because she never thought very much of those who claimed to be her superior officer. She had probably shot some of them, too. ”It is good to be prepared for any eventuality,” she said. “Though if you are referring to your teammates being intoxicated and trying to hit… a watermelon...”

At least she could identify the fruit. Sometimes it was useful to be unable to forget anything she had read, or at least, be able to access it when required. She just couldn’t recall why she’d been reading about watermelon. Nebula also wondered why Rhodey would suggest a situation of being intoxicated and needing to hit a watermelon, in particular, but she didn’t ask. “I think the American Captain would succeed. Predominantly because I don’t think he consumes alcohol.” She bit into another cracker and appeared thoughtful. “Natasha. She is very skilled. She would hit this fruit, drunk or not. The Archer. Yes, definitely him.” She knew the one called Hawkeye had been in this particular here before her arrival, but, like Gamora, was currently absent.

Nebula raised one eyebrow. “Do you think you would hit the watermelon while impaired?”

"Pretty sure Cap does drink since he was an Army guy, but I've never seen him drunk. Nat could do it. Clint, maybe. I've seen Tony do it with the repulsors. Me--I could do it, but my guns tend to be good for a spread." The last was said with a modest spread of the hands that Rhodey followed up with another attack on the charcuterie board. "Like I said, I wouldn't bet against you, either. Momma didn't raise no dumb boys." Which sounded like an aphorism he was quoting rather than something he'd say on his own.

“If you used something other than your guns,” Nebula countered. “A single-shot weapon rather than something which provides a spread.” She finished her cracker and had another sip of her beer before continuing. “And you are wise not to bet against me, Rhodey, as I have advantages that you do not. I would think you have been trained in many areas of combat, but I doubt it was from such an early age. You likely attended a facility with many others who experienced similar training to you and there would be competitions, arranged to improve your skills as a soldier.”

Nebula leaned closer and spoke more softly. “All I ever did was train and in an arranged combat, if I lost, I suffered extreme punishment. When I won, I was usually required to kill my opponent, if they weren’t already dead, because to let them live would mean I was weak. As an assassin, completing my assignment was all that mattered and I am good, Rhodey.” Her eyes cast down to the table and her reflection was murky in the remainder of her beer. “Aside from my augmentations, I am very, very good at what I do.”

It was a statement of fact, not a plea for pity.

"No," Rhodey agreed, sounding less shocked than sober. "They didn't train me like that."

He sat there for a little bit, processing all of that, and had another swig of his beer. "You're still very good at what you do, but you don't have to be that person anymore. It's not weak to stop before killing; sometimes it's the strongest thing you can do.

"I know it's not the same as Gamora, but you've got us now." He reached for one of Nebula's hands. She would have been able to dodge his grasp anyway, but this was a deliberate gesture to give her time to withdraw without making a fuss of it if she didn't want him to touch her.

Nebula realized that Rhodey was offering support, not pity, but she wasn’t sure how to react as his hand reached for hers. She watched it approach in her peripheral vision and her eyes slid away from her beer to his face. Being touched outside of a fight wasn’t something she usually permitted, though really, it wasn’t a situation she often had to confront. So many times when Gamora had reached out to her, she would slap her hand away. Until Ego. Their joint survival and at least some resolution of where they stood as sisters had changed everything.

You’ve got us now.

Trust. Nebula held her hand still on the table and let the touch happen.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “It would seem that I do.”

Rhodey nodded as he curled his fingers around her hand in a warm clasp. "And I'm glad we've got you."