WHO Bucky Barnes & Grantaire WHAT Drinking their sorrows WHEN Monday afternoon WHERE A bar WARNINGS Alcohol doesn't solve problems STATUS Closed | Incomplete gdoc
When he entered the bar it was basically empty, probably because of the time of day. Not many people were sitting in Crow’s Nest drinking before lunch, even if did have great views out of the ship. The quiet suited Grantaire just fine. The morning had been...a lot. Not necessarily in a bad way. No, far from that. But he could not begin to even fathom how to process what had happened, and what it meant.
And when Grantaire didn’t want, or didn’t know how, to face something? He drank. Drinking was easy. Drinking was safe. It dulled all those niggling thoughts. All those voices telling him he was foolish to ever think this morning could happen again. That it was anything more than a mistake. Enjolras could never view him that way. Could never want that closeness with him. They were friends, now. And that was the most he could possibly hope for. The most he had a right to expect.
At least Enjolras would not find him here in a hurry. Not unless he was actively seeking him out. He didn’t look particularly kindly on his drinking, after all. He would likely scold him if he did find him. Find another reason to realise this morning had been a terrible mistake. Or worse, decide they had been naive to think being friends could ever work.
Huddled in the corner of the booth, he nursed his third glass of whisky and watched the ocean slowly passing them by. It seemed a cruel fate that the weather was so pleasant and did not match his gloomy thoughts.
Things weren't necessarily the best for Bucky right now. His first wedding anniversary had just passed with little fanfare, certainly not the sort that they should have had, and it left him feeling disconnected still. Being on a cruise, sharing a room with his wife, it should have been the perfect thing, but it wasn't. It was just a reminder of how far apart they'd gotten and he wasn't quite ready to believe that things would be alright if only he'd just let go of his fears. He just couldn't.
In an effort to avoid spreading his bad mood onto anyone else, Bucky headed for one of the bars on board. It was early enough in the day that not too many people would be enjoying their liquor indoors. He ordered a bottle of whiskey and took it and a glass to find a seat. As he perused the booths, he noticed a semi-familiar face. Someone he'd spoken to on the network once before.
"What's your poison?" he asked as he took a seat opposite him without so much as a look of requesting permission. Instead, Bucky poured himself a healthy bit of whiskey and set the bottle between them. It was reasonably good stuff. Worth drinking, whether it was in silence or not.
Grantaire was startled from his thoughts at someone dropping into the seat opposite him. He hadn’t even heard anyone approaching. Not that he made a point of paying much attention to his surroundings at the best of times. Unless, of course, Enjolras was speaking. That had always received his undivided attention. Could never miss an opportunity to argue his points, to interrupt and have that self righteous indignation focused on him, even if only temporarily. It seemed stupid and childish, thinking on it now. But maybe that was only because here, he did not have to fight for his attentions. Here he had them whenever he wanted them, it seemed. Or was that just because Enjolras had no other options?
It seemed the most likely scenario.
He finally found his voice to answer the man now sitting opposite him, sitting a little straighter in his chair. “The same as you, it seems.” It almost felt odd speaking in English again, having conversed with his friend in French all morning.
“Bucky, isn’t it?” He was the one who liked to ask probing questions that put Grantaire on the spot, and yet somehow be more honest than he might have been otherwise. It was confounding, to say the least.
He inclined his head to answer the question and then reached out to top off the guy's glass. Bucky could speak French, but he honestly didn't think of it as wrapped up as he was in his own thoughts and feelings. Just days after his wife moved to stay with her friend for a while, they woke up together. And that specific day just so happened to be the morning after their one year anniversary. He had many, many reasons to drink and would need quite a lot to get drunk.
"Did you ever figure out what to say?" he asked after he set his glass down. Bucky hadn't forgotten that conversation, even if it had been some time ago and a lot had happened since. Considering they were both currently drowning their sorrows and thoughts in whiskey, he assumed the answer was no but it was the polite thing to do, to ask.
The expression on Bucky’s face mirrored what he imagined his own face must currently look like. Albeit, far more attractive than his own. Because when he was moping, that was the sort of direction his thoughts went. “Merci.” He raised his glass in thanks when it was refilled, taking a healthy swallow. He had not always been a whisky drinker, but he found he enjoyed the warming burn of it.
The question surprised him a little, though he supposed it should not have. “To say? No. Though we uh - well. This boat has a sense of humour.” There was no lack of sarcasm in the words, and he finished what remained in his glass before setting it down. There was no other way to describe what had happened but some sort of cruel joke. The universe, it seemed, enjoyed making them at his expense. The most he could hope from the experience was to keep the memory. He wouldn’t feel much worse than he already did in that, at least.
“What brings you here at this hour?” Someone else’s woes were a far preferable subject. And since Bucky’s were written all over his face, he did not mind so much pulling at that thread.
"De rein," he replied. It seemed the dome decided to deal them both a bad hand for a supposed good thing. "Something similar," Bucky answered, though he paused to knock back the rest of his whiskey. He poured them both another glass as he considered just how much he wanted to share or if he even should. An outside opinion could potentially be helpful, especially if he could return the favor.
"I woke up in bed with my wife. Who moved out last week because of...me." He knew that their issues were mostly his, that their separation was because he couldn't face his fears of losing her or their potential future child. "The last time this happened was what started our relationship. Knowing that we'll be forced to room together for the next week, it's challenging."
Bucky didn't want to make things worse, except he felt like everything he did was the wrong thing.