nysalogs | closed; a man walks into a bar

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closed; a man walks into a bar

Who: TJ Johansen (

stargatemedic) & Brock Rumlow (

ukase)
What: Drinking and dares (maybe)
When: Several days after their first bar meeting
Where: The Frosty Tap Cantina
Warning(s): TBD

It was easier for TJ to tell herself that she was following up on a patient than it was to admit that she'd had enough of New and Exciting™ and needed a bit of a break. Where 'following up on a patient' didn't usually entail going to a bar, she felt justified in the fact that his bones had fallen out of his body at the bar, so she could reexamine his hand at the bar.

Maybe it was better to get a drink in her before she started talking dares or anything else.

Despite it being a night out, TJ had still dressed in something resembling her former uniform; absent the pants, she'd pulled on jeans instead, but the Air Force shirt remained. Hair stayed up and she'd even brought her small medkit, just in case anything inside it was needed.

Finding a (relatively) quiet table in the corner nearest the excitement, something that hadn't clearly started up just yet, she ordered something that appeared tame and waited for her new acquaintance to arrive.

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"A lifetime of practice. I operate just as well alone as I do in a group. What about you? Seems like you appreciate a group a bit more, what with you needing patients and all that."

Rumlow had endured and lied his way through so many psyche evals in his lifetime. They were a necessary evil when working for SHIELD, especially in the line of work that he had to perform regularly. Killing people meant more often check ins, but he was a master of lying his way through them, or if he was lucky, he had a HYDRA assessor and they just shot the shit. There were very few instances where he was rattled, mostly in his younger days, and then he was sent for some quiet time and offered special treatment with a HYDRA medical facility.

"You'd be right. That's how I've lived and been trained," he said. Mostly liked. He had started out very young learning to blend into a situation. "I guess luck exists, but I don't put a lot of stock into it."

"You can be alone even in a group. Sometimes, it's easier to work alone, though, and that's something I understand. Sometimes," she added, "being the only medic on board a ship isn't a choice, it's an unhappy accident."

Eyes wide as she pointed it out, TJ sighed a little, then shook her head. "But that's a conversation for another time. Instead, I'll just agree that luck isn't something to rely on. Skill and good habits." She looked at him. "Or maybe just skill."

And, like that, she was back to teasing him.

"Depends on the number of the crew you're stuck with. I can imagine too many people would be overwhelming, but it gives you a ton of practice." He thought that she had had to handle it well if she had all of her capacities intact, or she was brilliant at hiding it all. With alcohol on board, that was definitely more difficult.

"No, good habits have a place as well," he agreed with a nod of his head. "Both set you up with success, but it doesn't account for the skill of the other person you're facing off against. Sometimes there's just that lucky shot, that one in a million chance that takes you down."

He smirked at her. "Well, I am very skilled."

"A ton of practice," she repeated, suddenly lost in a flurry of memories that she really didn't want to think about. Too many opportunities for practice, really. More experience than medical school, definitely.

Shaking herself out of the flashback, TJ cleared her throat and focused back on the conversation at hand. "I know you think you're skilled," she teased, wanting to be back at the level they'd been at. "And you probably have more skill than those good habits. Not with your missions, just in general."

Better. "Other than sleeping in snow and being a crack shot, what other skills do you have?"

That seemed to be a sore subject if the way she repeated his words and the look on her face was any indication. He watched her for a time, but he decided this might not be the time and place to go inquiring to the story behind that. It would likely to ruin the mood more than it already was cooling.

"I do have more skill than good habits," he said with a grin. "But I do still have good habits. I'm perfectly capable of surviving on my own." And he currently was. He didn't have a permanent job to be able to afford housing back in Olympia, so he was basically nomadic in a sense. He never stayed in one place long.

"That's getting awful personal, isn't it? Why do you answer your own question first and then I'll kiss and tell, hmm?"

"Personal? Is it?"

For a moment TJ thought about teasing him more - wife? girlfriend? boyfriend? maybe all three - and the decided on the heels of his 'kiss and tell' comment that it wouldn't be wise. Her story wasn't a good one to tell when it came to the military, so she figured she'd give him that bit of privacy.

"Skills? I can push a man's bones back into his body. Once a did a kidney transplant. Umm..." She trailed off, pretending to think about it, then made a 'tsk' sound. "I guess I'm boring. All my skills are medical and you know all those."

Ever so sweetly, she batted her eyelashes at him.

"Usually. I notice you aren't giving up any details yourself."

It seemed there was a line for their own privacy. Likely he figured they just needed more time to get to know each other and then all the dirty little secrets would come out. Right now, they had to build a certain level of trust that would be required for whatever dirt they happened to be carrying around.

"Wait, a kidney transplant? You're a surgical specialist?" He blinked at her, thinking that kind of work was very difficult and skilled. "Still, medical skills are very important. Plus you traveled to like... other times and places."

"Again, out of necessity," TJ said, holding up her hands. "It was a gamble, one that paid off. Now."

Shifting in her seat, she gave him a mock Very Serious look. "I'm concerned about this accusation of not giving out details about myself. I think I've given plenty, but I'm willing to concede that maybe I'm not as forthcoming as someone else might want."

She gave him a slow smile. "Ask me anything. Okay, ask me three things. I'll tell you three details about myself." Compromise, right?

He smirked at her, reaching out to take his water glass in hand and sipped at it as if to buy himself time. She might have a point with her accusation. He was very much used to not giving actual details about himself unless to close allies, and it was natural to not do so with casual company. He found most people liked to talk about themselves anyway.

"Hey, I told you I was handsy when I'm drunk," he pointed out, even if he had so far behaved himself. He was getting drunker by the minute anyway, hence why he was now drinking water.

Of course, he wasn't going to miss an opportunity to find out more about her, even if it meant that he would have to reciprocate. "Fine. Worst thing to happen to you. Do you have a family, and... have you ever dyed your hair a weird colour?"

"But you haven't gotten handsy yet, so I'm not sure you were being honest," TJ countered, even though she wasn't really complaining. Attempting to shove him in the snow wasn't really something she was going to try, but she wasn't counting his admission as an actual admission.

As soon as he started to ask his questions, TJ knew she'd made a mistake in letting him ask them. Still, fair was fair.

"I once thought I'd make an okay redhead. I didn't, by the way," she started, then ran her fingertip over the rim of her glass, nodding, "And I have a sister and nieces. My dad was a tailor, so I knew how to stitch before I became a medic," she said, in an attempt to lighten the mood before she crashed it, and then went with, "And, uh." She changed her mind from what she'd been about to say, and went with something else. "The worst thing to happen to me? Probably knowing I'd never get home."

"Wow," he said as he stared at her across the table. "Just wow. Are you really not going to believe me until I get my hands on someone? You realize I pay the price for that, right?" He shook his head, making the 'I thought we were friends' look at her. "I can order more drinks, but it's you who would be responsible."

Rumlow was all for doubling down when it came to proving things. That was his way, and he was masculine and arrogant enough to do just that.

He nodded his head as she answered each of his questions, thinking of her as a redhead and definitely seeing it wouldn't work. The family bit was a fun fact, and the third question... she was totally lying. It was clear she changed her story, but he didn't call her on it. That was a rather uncomfortable question after all, and he had mostly used it to see if she would back off asking after details from him. "Huh, well you answered them... so I guess you get three questions for me. Let's go."

"What're they gonna do, push you into the snow?" She quirked a grin at him. "Who knows? Maybe you'll get lucky."

And who knows, maybe a couple more drinks would be a good thing and, on that note, TJ held up two fingers toward the bar and sat back to wait.

She was a little glad to hear he didn't think she'd look good as a redhead. But she knew the moment he knew she was lying and was a little surprised that he didn't call her on it. Instead, she waited a moment and leaned closer as she looked over his face as if she could think of something to ask just by staring him down.

"Okay," she started, then took a deep breath. "Who or what is the love of your life? Something about you that I should know before this goes any further," she said and then bit her bottom lip. "Tell me the most important thing you've ever lost."

"Maybe? And I doubt they will be so kind as you to pull me back out. I'll just be a frozen drunken husk out there," he complained, waving a hand in the air dramatically. He knew she wouldn't let that happen.

He snorted when she ordered them more drinks. They clearly had had enough of a break to drink some water and sober up a little bit. On that note, he finished his water because he knew the night was going to go so poorly but at this point, he didn't particularly care. She might just thinking his drunken ravings was funny and wouldn't give too much thought to the content.

He met her gaze evenly, willing to test her on any question that she might think to ask him. He was a far better liar after all. It wasn't until she actually asked that he sat back in his chair and considered the answer, running a hand through his hair.

"I don't have a love of my life," he said simply. "The closest thing had likely been my mother, but that was a long time ago. I mean, I love my job, but it isn't entirely my everything, doesn't keep me thinking about it all the time." He could compartmentalize after all. "Before my world came down, I lost everything. My job, my mission, my purpose, maybe even my life. This place hadn't exactly offered much of the same, so I guess that would be it."

"Okay, then going off that, what do you mean before the whole world came down, you lost everything?"

Because she had a feeling he didn't mean this whole 'world ending' thing that the Natha were trying to sell. There was something else he was talking about and she was curious to know if he'd elaborate. And in that moment between when she asked and he had a chance to answer, their drinks were delivered and she paused at reaching for hers.

Propping her chin in her hand, she focused her gaze on his.

"What happened before your world disappeared, Brock?"

Rumlow actually didn't like to talk about it, since the story was painful but also would likely generate questions and opinions about how he operated. He looked at the table instead, running his fingers over the old scratches in the wood and formed up his thoughts into an answer that he would be happy with. This would, after all, be a balancing act of sorts.

He gestured at his face, at the faded burn scars that were around his eyes and mostly concentrated on the left side. In this light, they didn't look like much, but he knew they were there with every twitch of his expression.

"I mean a 40-floor building literally came down on me," he replied simply, his mouth twisting unhappily. "Everything I worked towards, everything that I gave myself to... came down with that building. My organization, the people I knew and respected, my life goal to see the world become something more than the shithole it was... all gone." And he would be hated if he ever went back. He'd be the enemy, reviled and despised for trying to make something better for the vast majority.

He shook his head and grabbed his newest drink, taking it like a shot. That might be the only real indication to how deep the admittance cut him.

TJ had noticed the scars, it was impossible not to. In her profession, and specifically in her line of work, she'd seen lots of men with lots of scars; his didn't draw her attention any more than usual and she certainly hadn't been about to ask about them on their first night of drinking. That she'd done so without meaning to, well. She'd feel guilt about it later. All she felt now was compassion for the fact that he'd lost everything that was important to him and she reached out with a hand to place it over his.

It was noticing how he slammed the alcohol that made the difference. He'd been so careful with every drink so far that this was the thing that bothered him the most. Giving his hand a squeeze, she leaned in.

"I'm sorry." Not for bringing it up, but for all of it being gone, like he'd said. "I can't even imagine what that would be like."

Scars were commonplace for people like them, even if they were unseen. It was a fact of the soldiering life, and he never bothered to go into the depth of the ones that he bore. So his admittance hit a little too close to the bitterness of truth even as he knew she would feel obligated to feel some kind of sympathy towards him. He hadn't told her for that, but instead, there was some catharsis telling someone.

He blinked back the sting of alcohol, wrinkling his nose.

"Yeah well, we all suffer to get here," he said almost flippantly. Dealing with his emotions wasn't entirely his strong suit. Neither was any kind of vulnerability. "I should be happy I'm alive, right? That's how this all works."

Working through emotion was difficult, especially in front of someone else, and even worse in front of someone you barely knew. TJ didn't recommend it in general but this was... a unique circumstance. She watched as he did it, but didn't say anything until he was done, quirking her mouth at the flippancy at the end.

"You aren't wrong. Worlds ended, supposedly." She tilted her head to watch him a moment longer, then picked up her glass and swallowed it much like he did before inhaling sharply. "I was pregnant." She looked over at him. "I got shot in the stomach." She made a face and shook her head. "Maybe that was the worst thing that happened to me.

Scars were commonplace and TJ had more than enough to speak for her own horrors. She absolutely understand where Rumlow was coming from.

Worlds ended, he thought with a nod of agreement. He waved over another drink for him, already feeling the effects of slamming back that last one. He was likely going to regret that, but at this point, what did it really matter? Freezing to death was basically cryostasis anyway.

He paused in his mulling at her sudden admittance, and he lifted his eyebrows. That was rather personal, meant that pause from before was likely this statement. He folded his forearms across the table and leaned forward on them. He could read between the lines on what happened. "That sounds pretty bad," he agreed, offering the limited sympathy that he could. He knew what being shot was like, but he'd never been a father. "How long ago was that?"

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closed; a man walks into a bar

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