Summary:Two tired medical types go out for a beer after a long day and run into the First Avenger. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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After a twelve hour shift - fifth running, Cain was just a wee bit tired, he was called in when another guy called off for the day. As it happened, Doc Almer /also/ finished up his day at the ER at the same time, and Cain - not feeling quite tired enough to head home invited him for a friendly beer at Cain's favorite bar - Luke's.
The trip is a fairly short one, either by Uber, or car, and soon enough the off duty doctor and EMT, the EMT still in uniform and carrying a duffel, enter the establishment. "Can you believe that last guy? He was what…SEVEN feet? Bald as an egg, and higher than a weather balloon?"
Martin is looking disheveled at best, his red hair mussed and his scrubs decidedly wrinkled. Still wearing the clogs from work, and a jacket over everything, he's even forgotten to take off his hospital ID. "I'm just glad we didn't have to deal with that shit." Because the big guy just fell over unconscious before there was trouble! Gosh, wasn't that lucky? ..More like Martin used his powers to knock the guy out. "He was heavy enough unconscious." There's a pause as the red head looks around, "Bar or table?" These decisions are too much at this hour.
A long day prepping for various upcoming missions has left Steve departing from the Triskelion wondering what on earth to do for food. Barnes had to stay later (something about training new agents, those poor unknowing saps) and the Captain promised to find a way to either snag or make dinner. Outside of the bar, his motorcycle's throaty engine can be heard to throb and then stop as the vehicle is parked. Steve wears no helmet; surely the gods of the ER are judging him for extreme risk of TBI upon impact.
When he enters the bar, the broad-shouldered blond in his shearling-lined leather jacket, jeans and boots, might look like just another bar-goer. Might. The thing is, even his aviator sunglasses against the angle of the spring sun's wane falling light don't hide the chiseled jawline or his build. These are removed from his face and clipped closed, their arm hung on the collar of the thermal shirt he wears beneath his jacket.
He brushes past Cain and Martin both, giving them a quick glance and polite smile. "Pardon me," says the Captain before he continues on to the bar. To the bartender wiping out clean glasses, he asks about a menu — can he order something to go? — sure, he doesn't mind the wait.
"Oh, hey no prob—" Cain blinks a couple of times, and then his gaze narrows just a bit. See, the thing about speedsters - one of the biggest things really - is they HAVE to be able to see REALLY clearly, and much faster than the fastest high speed cameras. Long and the short, he does indeed recognize the First Avenger. And then he turns a smile to Martin. "Table, definitely table."
Once they sit down, he drops his duffel on the floor next to him, and calls out. "Captain Rogers? Care to join a couple o'workin' stiffs for a drink? First round's on me…"
Because: Captain Frickin' America! Cain's no hero, but he can admire heroism in others, right?
Martin too notices, because really, who wouldn't, and he lifts a hand to assure the captain that it's no problem. Table. Yes, table good. Checking his pockets and finding his things, the weary medic flumps into a chair. "Oh hey, they serve food." What a miracle. He's looking over the menu that was in the middle of the table when Cain calls out. What? Oh, right! He'd kind of already forgotten the Avenger. "How about you let me get the tab?" He asks Cain, "I can afford some splurging." The menu is waved at Steve.
Receiving his menu, Steve takes a moment to look over it. When he reads one particular item in the line, he snorts to himself. Yes: absolutely, the nachos offering will do, especially if they do actually come in a volume appropriate for a garbage can lid.
Someone speaking up over the general ambiance of the bar itself has him looking over his shoulder, his eyes scanning and then locating the two gentlemen he passed by earlier in the entrance area. A quick glance to the clock hanging on the wall of the bar and he then replies across the way, "Got time for a drink, sure. One sec." Martin's menu-wave is countered by a lift of Steve's own and he turns back to give his order to the bartender returning from the kitchens. A smile for the young woman and then Steve leaves the menu on the bartop to walk over to the table.
"Working stiffs. Fit right into that category myself." A hand is offered out to both Cain and Martin in turn, each to receive a firm but friendly shake if taken, before Steve sits. "Appreciate the invitation, gentlemen."
"Mm? Oh, sure…I'll get the tip, you cover the bill, my treat next time, Doc." Cain is okay with this, not like they don't do such fairly often. When Cap agrees to join them, Cain rises to shake the man's hand. "Cain McCormick, Captain. And this is Doctor Martin Almer." He settles into his seat again. He'll wait for Marty and Cap to shake. "Whatcha want, Marty? I'll place the order…" True to his word, he hops up to get a pitcher of beer, and three full tall ones to go with it as he places the order for himself and Martin. On return he sets the beer down, and the other two gents get one each before he settles in and takes a long pull, sighing appreciation. "I never did get to like warm beer…seems wrong somehow."
Martin will certainly shake hands. "Good to meet you." He'll settle back and and give, "The ribs, with all the potatoes they'll pile on." Watching Cain go with way more energy than he himself feels, the man returns his gaze to Steve. "Hope we aren't causing trouble for you with the invite." Martin looks very average. "Shit, I'm surprised he offered." But there's a grin for it.
Steve demurs as to a food order on the gents' tab given his to-go order in the works, but he does take one of the filled pint glasses when offered one. Seated comfortably in the chair, one hand in the pocket of his coat and the other about the chilled glass, he smiles mildly.
"Not any trouble at all. Order'll be ready in a few minutes, so no reason to sit down 'nd banter for a bit. Warm beer'll grow on you if there's nothing else for it," he adds, eyes sliding to Cain. "Got to appreciating it back in England. Still, prefer it cold myself." A lift of his glass insinuates the current serving, cold enough to frost the glass. "So." Again, those attentive true-blue eyes shift between Cain and Martin. "I see scrubs. Medical field?"
"EMT." Cain replies, and he's still in uniform, though it is opened up, and he's not wearing any visible ID so it would be easy to miss. The scrubs are a strong indicator for the Doc though! Speaking of which, he rubs the back of his neck in mild embarrassment. "Sorry, Captain Rogers, that -was- a bit forward, but…hell…thanks for joining us."
A laugh. "Haven't been overseas, myself, I think the Doc has, though?" He frowns at Martin. "Iraq, right?"
Another swallow, then he runs his fingers through dark hair, and blows out a long breath towards the ceiling as he relaxes a moment. "Five 12s is one to many…" He says with a half-chuckle, half-groan.
Martin laughs a bit for warm beer, "You'd be amazed what grows on you if there's nothing else." Spoken from experience of course. There's a nod for medical, "Guilty as charged I'm afraid. Trauma physician for me. And yes." Iraq. "That was a good twenty something years though. Been a long while. Have been to England on vacation though, and was stationed in Germany for a few months, but barely in either." He shrugs and accepts his beer, which he downs quite a bit of it on the spot. "Can't say I'm a world traveler or anything. Been here in New York since 2000." So it's been a while.
"No rest for the weary," agrees Steve as to Cain's long hours. " — 'nd nothing to be apologizing for. Don't mind sharing a drink." He takes a long swig of the beer as it stands before resting the glass back on the table, hand still wrapped about it.
His attention moves to Martin, taking in his scrubs more obvious than the ones worn by Cain on the opposite half of the table. "Welcome back to the States then, Dr. Almer — I know, sentiment given better late 'n never."
A quick little smile from Steve. "Thing about New York's that it's a melting pot. Never know who you're gonna run into around here, much less where they're from. Your work's important. Thank you, both of you, for what you do, hours 'nd effort 'nd all. Owe my life more'n once to a combat medic as is stands, so…to those first to care 'nd save us so we can serve again, back on our feet, soldier or civilian."
Solemnly, the Captain salutes with his beer before ritually sipping at it again.
"Needs must." Cain murmurs about the hours. And really, would you WANT an EMT or doctor who /wasn't/ committed to what they do? Glad he didn't offend, Cain will top off people's mugs and continues to sort of sprawl in his chair. Yeah, he really is a bit tired. He's at that stage where he's plumb wore out to the point he can't sleep yet!
"Oh, sure, and really…warm beer though not as good as cold is way better'n 'no beer'." He grins to both guys.
He can't help but blink at the thanks, such sincere thanks, from Cap. "Well, we don't face down supervillains, but it takes all kinds, right?" It is clear that the man's charisma and sincerity have made a bit of an impression, and Cain does sit up straighter, dark green eyes a bit brighter.
He grins to Martin. "Yup…you're an old old man, Doc…I was like /one/ when you got back."
Martin lifts his beer, after being refilled, in response and laughs, "Now that's fucking reason to keep going." For who isn't inspired by Captain America? While he nods about fighting supers, the medic snorts at being old. It kind of derails him from talking of villains, "No, he's the old man." Grinning as he points at Steve, "I'm merely well seasoned." His grandfather served in WW2, so that's been a while too!
A near-silent snort leaves the super-soldier. "If the Doc's well seasoned, then I'm well-preserved. Dunno about being salty though," the Captain muses very, very dryly. There must be a long-standing tease as root for that particular comment twisted to suit current slang.
He shifts in his chair to drag a boot up beneath it and otherwise extend the other leg out beneath the table to relieve a fidget or two. "Assume you both're headed back for forty winks at this point? Probably not a lot of spare time to devote to much else, I'd imagine." His tone does suggest empathy.
"Making me…what, raw meat?" Cain is laughing as he says this. A server drops off their meals, a full slab of ribs that smell like God himself made the sauce, plenty of fried potatoes on the side, and two massive plates of nachos piled high with all manner of unhealthy deliciousness, and a bottle of hot sauce already on the table. Cain smiles to the server. "Thanks." And then he sits up straight and wipes his hands, before a brief bow of his head over the plate. "Forty winks? I'm prolly good for at *least* fifty, maybe more…but knowing me something will come up twenty in." He shrugs, and then digs into the plate. "How about you, Cap? Can I /call/ you 'Cap'?" He's more mindful of propriety it would seem.
Also…VERY hungry. That Too.
"I'm sure that attempt at humor is long dead too." Martin gives to Steve about old, "And my apologies." Sure he's smiling, but he means that apology honestly. "You do have good reason to be salty if you want though." That's for sure. Food arriving means that he sits back and straightens from his slouch. "Slightly burned maybe." For Cain's age. "No one works as an EMT even a few months without getting some weathering." He will help arrange plates and hand around items if they are needed, but once he's got food, the medic digs in. So hungry! "I have a couple days off, more or less." Martin gives of his attempting to sleep. "So I'll get a late start tomorrow I'm sure, but then I want to go check out that girl who lost her family, and her arm recently. Otherwise I plan to be very lazy."
"Spring chicken," opines Steve as to the younger and bottomless pit seated at the table. "Toasted around the edges. 'nd no worries. Get the same razzing at home." He doesn't seem bothered by the whole affair, truly, though he does glance over towards the kitchens. There is curiosity about his own order and its status.
Regardless, he nods to both medical personnel. "Cap is fine, it'll garner a response if you use it. 'm bringing food home, the other half's working later than usual tonight. Nothing like sitting down with a heaping pile of nachos after a long day on your feet. Comfort food, in a way, though 'm gonna have to figure out how to get it into two side-saddlebags."
A somewhat more serious shrug from Cain now. "Oh, I've seen some stuff, sure." And has he ever! Not just EMT related either, but that's not something he is going to talk about at the dinner table. He looks a bit puzzled when he sees /two/ plates of nachos, though. "Excuse me, gents." He rises, talks to the server, and she provides him a couple to-go containers. "Sorry Cap, I only ordered one nachos, that other was yours probably assumed you were stickin' around."
He offers up the containers, a little sheepishly.
He grins then and nods. "Nachos…so good, and so bad, all at the same time." A grin to Martin then. "Late start, so what…/eight/? O-M-G!" Yes, he spelled it out.
Martin says, "Doesn't mean you have to like it." Even if you get it at home. The idea of taking nachos home on a motorcycle amuses the man a good deal. "Hope you like them super messy." Shaken, not stirred. While the take out order is dealt with, Martin inhales his dinner. His hands are getting messy for it, but he pays that little mind, excepting for not wanting to smear it everywhere. Like on his drink glass. WHich means napkins are used plenty. There's a snort about the late start, "If I'm that lucky." A roll of eyes because he probably will be up with dawn no matter what he wants.
Steve accepts the to-go containers after he too rises, wanting to touch base with the staff and assure them that all is well, nothing to worry about, he'll get it home in these, thank you. The serving of nachos is a process to funnel away into the containers and he does laugh quietly at Martin's observation. Transferring food volume does require that he continues standing to avoid spilling meat grease or melted cheese, much less sour cream or diced green chile bits.
"Figure it'll spread the topping all the more. Not one of those folks who requires a perfect layering of ingredients. Supposed to be a nonchalant kind of meal, last I checked."
"Biorhythms..not your friend, sometimes." Cain observes drily about the wake-up times. Truth be told all three men are likely up at (or before) dawn, regardless of when they racked out. Cain sure is! And ex-military, yeah…likely the same. There's seldom much 'ex' in one's habits. Eyes of green are bright as he comments.
The staff are relieved not to have upset the good Captain. And truly, nachos to go - on a cycle? Bold choice!
"Sometimes messy is the most fun." Cain says with a rather brattacular smirk.
His own food is inhaled, and then he rises. "Guys…sorry to say, I gotta run." He thumps Martin on the shoulder, eyes bright (thus avoiding the mussed fingers!), CAP however he'll offer a hand to. "Thank you, Sir. HOnestly…great honor to drink with you, Cap."
Once the farewells are made, Cain steps outside, bag over his shoulder and digging out a phone — presumably to order an Uber, but…as soon as he's out of sight, ZOooooooooooooooooms home in a crackle of purple lightning and rushing wind.
Martin is kind of left with half his meal still, but that's okay. "See you, Cain. Don't get into any trouble." Knowing that will be ignored. As it should be ignored. But once the youth is gone, the medic wipes his hands and searches pockets. "Can I make you a strange offer?" To Steve. He finds a business card and offers it over. Just his phone number, and some general info about his credentials. "You can ignore me as you will, but ..You might say I have a ..gift for helping people recover. No charge, no questions asked. Restore limbs, regrow organs.. no exaggeration, but I know what you and yours do for us, so it's only right I offer the same." He's nervous about that of course, not having told many. After that he'll return to his meal and let Steve take food home. "Good luck with those nachos."
Thankfully, Steve has managed to snag one of the small packeted moist finger-wipes after the two to-go containers are stuffed to the plastic translucent top with nachos plus fixings. Cain gets a clean-handed shake in return. "Sure, Mister McCormick, glad to have shared a pint. Hope you rest well when you do." He stands beside the table and watches the young EMT depart.
Martin's motions of searching his clothing, however, draw the Captain's attention back to the man. His brows knit in a bemused, brief moue as he takes the card offered. Martin does end up with a keenly intrigued blue-eyed weight of consideration upon him; those super-soldier eyebrows are lifted high in what must be genuine surprise despite how weird the world's been since Steve woke up.
"'ll keep that in mind, Doc, thank you. Never a bad thing to have another resource at hand. Your secret's safe with me." Must be that super-soldier sixth sense for nerves — or maybe a world war's worth of experience in interrogating enemy soldiers — that Steve thinks to offer the reassurance. Martin's card is pocked away inside the jacket and then the Captain collects his to-go containers. "Appreciate it. They won't last long even if they end up a hodge-podge on the way home. Take it easy, Doc, rest well when you do."
Steve doesn't whomp Martin on the back, but he does offer a handshake before he too departs. It's back to the motorcycle and then to the apartment, having brought home the bacon. Er, nachos.
There's a nod from Martin for his secret, "I think I already knew that." He smiles at the other. Does make sure to clean his hand well so he doesn't smear sauce on the nice captain. After that he sits once more and finishes off his huge meal. That was much needed! Sure he's nervous now, but he'll make sure to pay for the food and beer. Sure leaves one with a lot to think about! Unlike the other two, he does have to take a cab home. No cool bike, or speed powers here.