|Christine is thinking unflattering thoughts (ohgodno) wrote in avengers_logs,|
@ 2020-07-13 16:15:00
|Entry tags:||bucky barnes, christine palmer|
Who: Christine and Bucky
When: June 29th, 2020
Where: Some dive bar that Christine loves
What: Drinks and chatting about nothing in particular.
“You know what really grinds my gears,” Christine started, lifting her pint of whatever was on tap (at this point she had no idea what beer she was drinking) “is when people think I’m their nurse. Do you have any idea how many people ask for their doctor when they see me? Me? I invented a surgical procedure! I graduated near the top of my class! I am brilliant and they are lucky to have me as their surgeon and if I was a nurse, they’d be lucky too but that’s not the point.”
What was the point? Christine didn’t even know how they got onto this topic, although to be fair, sexism was something she was happy to argue over often as a woman in a male-domniated field. Plus, she was pretty so people automatically assumed she was dumb.
There were a lot of opinions.
“I don’t know where I was going with this...but my statement still stands,” she continued, shrugging. “Or is this where I ask you to please tell me things have at least gotten better, since y’know.” She waved a hand in his general direction. “You’re old. You’ve seen things. You’ve lived a little.”
It was true, Bucky was old. He didn’t usually have people pointing that out, however. “Don’t forget I was on ice for a good portion of my life,” he reminded, with an amused quirk of an eyebrow and a spark in electric blue eyes. And he was brainwashed too - safe to say, the advancement of women in medicine wasn’t something HYDRA cared about, so therefore neither did their top assassin.
He had a beer with him too, but was considering a Liquid Steak next - rum that might even burn the intestines of a knock-off Super Soldier, with a dash of Worcestershire sauce. It was a good place for it, this dive bar - a place customers could not simply walk into but had to be buzzed into, that featured cheap-ass drinks like PBR with whiskey, nerdy comic-themed decor, and some old movie from the 90s playing on the big screen when there wasn't karaoke.
“But, um - yeah, it’s gotten better,” he said. “Back in my day, even the first woman to win the Nobel prize for Physiology or Medicine had to share the award with men. Her husband also took credit for a lot of her work. It’s still bullshit though, I mean - sexism.”
Christine hmphed and leaned back in her chair. There was nothing more she could really say to it. Instead, she looked around the room and sighed. And then sighed again. “I can’t imagine what it’s been like to be you,” she finally said after downing her drink. Normally, she wasn’t this forward -- actually no, that was a lie. She was, but with people she knew better than Bucky. Although at this point, they’d drank together enough that she figured he recognized her bluntness for what it was.
“Or Steve.” Also weird to talk about Captain America by his first name. “Or any of you all.” Damn superheroes. “I think about this sometimes. Our lives are shaped by our experiences, and mine are …. Not yours. At all. The worst thing I’ve had to worry about are my hyper religious parents who still send me bible pamphlets in the mail. Not letters. Just the pamphlets.” She tapped the side of her glass with her nails in rhythm to the generic rock song playing in the background. “Do you feel like you can’t live your best life because you’re stuck with your worst life?”
Did that make sense? She wasn’t sure but she definitely raised a hand and ordered another beer. “Oh, and whatever he wants,” she said to the waitress. “I have room on a credit card somewhere.”
“We all have our various...traumas?” was Bucky’s response, and he wasn’t sure if that was the best way to put it - but it didn’t seem fair to compare, or play a game of who had it worst or who had to worry about the worst shit. “And yeah, I feel that all the time.”
He paused to tack on a beer to Christine’s order - he was gonna go for the liquor, but thought it best to remain sober in case she wanted to live her best life and get trashed. Bucky would ensure no one bothered her and she got home safely.
Sometimes you just had to get hammered. Waking up with a hangover that pounded with unerring accuracy on your skull was just par the course.
“I’m trying to repay the debts I owe,” he shrugged. “It’s hard. I don’t think there’s ever any catching up, at least not fully. This universe is also....weird, and I feel like I’m just a guest.” Steve kept blipping in and out, like he was on the wrong frequency, so that didn’t help. Bucky wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to settle at all.
“I feel you on that,” Christine exclaimed suddenly. “I used to ask Stephen occasionally to remind me that the original Christine here isn’t like ...displaced to some reality where there are flesh-eating bugs or something equally horrible. He kept saying I’m where I’m supposed to be, which is far too existential for me.”
“But I think at some point, we have to let go of that.” Pot, have you met kettle? She snorted a little at her own mental joke. “Just like this. This beer? This is my love life. I could down it all in one bit, choke a little, enjoy the ride, or I could actually sit down, contemplate it, savour it and realize at the end it’s not exactly what I wanted even if it was fun.” She gave him a smile. “God, look at me. All deep and making no sense. How are you even putting up with me right now?”
Okay, now he was a little lost - Bucky was an intelligent person, but drunk ramblings didn’t always register. They probably didn’t even register for the one doing the rambling either, in this case, Christine.
He chuckled a little though, because if nothing else, it was amusing. “It’s difficult to let go because we always have this need to control everything, to have the answers - we as humans, I mean. Or just - everyone.”
Aliens too, who knew - a lot of those from other planets hated yielding control, just ask the Kree. “But as for your love life - “ Yeah, he’d just be over here, sipping on his beer. It might have been seasonal or fruity, or both, hell if he knew. He’d drink just about anything that wasn’t literal, actual lighter fluid. “Someone’s gonna come and really sweep you off your feet. Who you’re compatible with.”
Bucky didn’t really know Strange that well, but he didn’t seem compatible with anyone.
“Sweep me off my feet, huh… like a curler!” Christine giggled. “They were nice pants. Especially Norweigans. Have you ever seen that sport? It’s ridiculous.” And now she was off on another tangent. How many beers had she had? “How about you? Enough about me! Who is sweeping you off your feet?” She gave him a nudge to the ribs.
“I mean, you’re passable, remember? Don’t break mirrors, women don’t cross the street to get away from you … just remember to wrap it up, okay? The rates of STI’s in seniors is a real thing.” There was a smirk and a grin to follow that statement. She was in a great mood.
“Thanks for the warning,” Bucky snorted - luckily he hadn’t been drinking beer at the time because he’d have either choked on it or it would have come out of his nose and that would have been embarrassing. “It’s been a real damn long time since I’ve had to worry about wrapping it.”
Seriously. Decades. He hadn’t had sex in a stupidly long time and if he actually stopped to think about exactly how long, he’d get depressed or something.
“But no, I’m not doing any sweeping and no one’s sweeping me,” he assured, glass turned ‘round and ‘round in his hands, one flesh and blood and one vibranium. “At least, not really.” He’d been out with Nebula a couple of times and liked her - but he was so goddamn rusty at this sort of thing, he had no idea what to do next.
Christine’s interest was piqued. “Not really is different from a flat out no, so now I want you to know that I am here for you and I live for gossip that I won’t share with anyone.” She gave a coy smile. “But at the same time, I respect your privacy blah blah blah but if you want to get on Tinder, please let me write your profile. I would have you laid in a few days, no problem.” This was a great distraction now.
“I’m a great wingwoman too. The best. You have no idea.”
She really wasn’t. She tended to talk too much, and overshare a ridiculous amount. It inspired people to want to get away from her but as long as they did it together (they being the friend and the new found love interest), she was golden.
Confusion was apparent, as Christine kept talking. Because...huh? “Wait, what’s a Tinder?” he asked, since Bucky wasn’t ashamed to admit that he had no idea. He barely knew what YouTube was, and the only reason he knew was because he used it to look up old timey radio shows for he and Steve to listen to.
“I think I’m good though,” he went on regardless, sipping on his beer. Maybe they should order some food to offset the alcohol, soak it up like a sponge. “I mean - I haven’t been laid in so long, maybe I should just get it over with and then not be awkward with someone I really like?” he posed the question to Christine.
Fuck. He felt like a born-again virgin or something.
“I agree with that statement,” Christine said happily. “That’s the best way to do it. It’s like being a bike -- wait … riding a bike. Being the town bike because everyone’s ridden it… oh man, I think I’ve had too much.” She giggled and gave a little hiccup which caused her to giggle some more. “And Tinder is a dating app. Hold on.”
She pulled out her phone and with a concentrated look, pulled up the app along with her profile. She scooched her chair closer to him and started to explain it very seriously. “You swipe right if you want to talk more. If they have also swiped right, then that means they also want to talk more. And by talk I mean fuck. It’s that simple. The world is a much different place now.”
“Oh - “ Blue marble eyes widened at the phone, at this whole swipe right idea. He didn’t touch Christine’s Tinder thing though, because he didn’t think he was the best judge of who she should swipe right on (and he also didn’t want her to miss out on anything), but he was intrigued. “That’s....so convenient?”
Honestly, he was also a little like ‘what the hell’ but Christine was right - the world was a much different place now. He had a lot of catching up to do.
One thing Bucky knew though, was that you needed sustenance and water when imbibing this much. “How about some food?” he suggested then, with a sheepish chuckle. “Or at the very least we’ll make the next one a shot of water.”
At the mention of food, Christine’s eyes glittered. “Oh man, is food code for pizza? Because yes. Please. All the food. And chicken. Oooh, and I bet we could find fries……” She grinned and gave him a punch on the shoulder. “See, you already know how to treat women. You won’t be single long, I guarantee it.”
She motioned for the waitress and started to pull out her wallet. “But first off, I’ll get these drinks. And you can buy food. Or I buy it. Whatever works! I’m just so happy to get out of my apartment, get out of work, and be normal for a few hours. Thanks, Bucky. You’re awesome.”
“I’ll buy food,” Bucky assured with a little laugh. He made enough as a SHIELD agent to spring for drunk delights - there were just so many options. “There’s a good spot for deep-fried chicken right around the corner. Pretty sure they have fries too.”
Maybe not pizza, but this was New York - all they had to do was walk (or stumble) a couple of blocks and they’d be there. The glory of modern day conveniences.