Nothing Says I Love You Like a Crowded Bar and a Dark Alleyway
This was written for ladyames. She brought the song to my attention. She sent the plot killer rabbits after me. This fic happened because of her...which is fitting because it's now being presented in hopes of cheering her up after a bad day. So yeah, Ames, this is for you.
Title: Nothing Says I Love You Like a Crowded Bar and a Dark Alleyway - Part One
Author: m_buggie
Fandom: “Band of Brothers”
Pairings: mentions of past Nixon/Cathy, a smattering of Harry/Kittie, attempted Buck/anyone with a pulse, eventual Nixon/Winters
Word Count: 1,307 for Part One
Rating: R
Standard Disclaimer: This is based off performances in the HBO miniseries, not the actual soldiers. The only thing I own is the computer I wrote this on. I make no profit and mean no disrespect so please don’t sue.
Author’s Note: AU like you would not believe and unabashedly inspired by the Finger Eleven song, “Paralyzer.” Written for ladyames, because she had a bad day and deserves this.
~x~x~
Lewis Nixon was not gay.
He repeated this to himself again after splashing his face with cold water, leveling dark sepia eyes at his reflection in the cracked mirror of the men’s bathroom.
He was married…or he’d been married until about 3:10 PM that day. He had a kid. He had a dog, too, but Cathy took care of that…the bitch. He was a perfectly respectable member of the upper echelons of society, the son of a New Jersey Senator and a Columbia University professor - even if he did attend Yale just to spite her. He lived on the Upper East Side and could get into the most packed of four star restaurants with nothing more than a smile and a few choice words.
He wasn’t gay. He couldn’t be gay. He was just drunk and resentful of women and confused, that’s all. That’s all. He wasn’t gay. It was armed with this declaration, this conviction, that Nixon tugged at the edges of his rumpled black suit and marched back into the bar.
Now all he had to do is avoid those eyes and he’d be fine.
~
It seemed like a good idea at the time: meeting up with some friends of his to get shit-faced and celebrate the fact that he’d just signed his divorce papers earlier that day.
The place was called The Coral Room. It was a lounge, not a bar, so there weren’t any dartboards or pool tables to be found - which was kind of a let down for Nixon because he liked throwing sharp projectiles or hitting things with a stick when he was in a shit mood. All the place had going for it was a large dance floor, a bunch of tables and booths, and several side-rooms with couches.
It was packed to the gills - pun intended? - with young urban professionals and perpetual students of about his age who thought that by getting dressed up in expensive clothes and acting important they could fill the void in their lives that came with being alone and too smart for their own damn good. Nixon had to push and shove his way through the crowd (I don’t care if you’re dancing, get the fuck out of my way) to get to his friends at the bar.
The Coral Room did live up to its name by sporting an insanely large aquarium filled with colorful tropical fish behind the bar. The tank took up an entire wall.
“That’s a lot of fish,” Nixon commented, gazing at the wall-tank. “I bet they’re expensive.”
“On Saturday nights they get hot chicks dressed up like mermaids to swim in it,” his buddy Harry Welsh cheerfully declared.
It was a Thursday. Nixon always did have shit luck when it came to that sort of thing.
“I think she likes me,” Harry announced, grinning from ear to ear with lipstick staining his right cheek.
“Who?” Nixon asked.
Buck Compton rolled his eyes. “The bartender.”
Nixon frowned. “What?”
“She’s amazing,” Harry said, loopy smile still in place. “I think I’m in love.”
“Harry has convinced himself that one of the bartenders has a thing for him,” Buck explained.
“Which one?” Nixon asked.
“The blonde.”
Nixon craned his neck to take a look at the woman in question and grunted his approval. “Well, she’s definitely got a nice ass.”
Buck shrugged. “Tits could be bigger, though.”
“I guess, but you know a handful is really all you need. Anything more and you’re just getting greedy.”
Harry’s grin faded a little. “Hey, shut the fuck up, guys. I’m going to marry that gal.”
“Why? Because of her tits or her ass?” Nixon inquired.
“Neither. Both. Fuck you.”
“Harry, you’re being delusional,” Buck said. “She’s not going to marry you. Shit, you’ll be lucky if you can even convince her to have sex with you.”
“You guys don’t know that.”
“Well all right then, Harry, what makes you so damn sure that you’ve even got a chance with her?” Nixon prodded. “What do you know that we don’t?”
Harry tapped his lipstick-smeared cheek with one finger. “I told you, she likes me.”
“She’s a bartender, Harry, she’s paid to like you,” Buck sighed.
“No, Buck, I think you’re thinking of a whore,” Nixon commented.
“Seriously, guys, fuck off,” Harry said, narrowing his eyes while Buck and Nixon laughed. “When Kittie and I get hitched neither of you losers are invited to the wedding.”
Nixon’s jaw dropped. “Kittie? She calls herself Kittie?” He tossed his head back and laughed even harder, slapping his thigh.
Harry frowned and shook his head, turning back to his beer. “You guys suck.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Nixon replied. “Good luck chasing pussy.”
“It’s KITTIE!” Harry snapped.
“Right, whatever. Just don’t forget to put your rubber shorts on before you take the dive.”
“Assuming that you even get that far,” Buck quipped.
Harry flipped them the bird while finishing his beer.
“Okay, who’s got the next round?” Nixon inquired, noticing there was nothing but ice left in his glass.
“I think it’s lover boy’s turn,” Buck said.
“I think so.” Nixon rattled the ice in his glass. “Hey Harry, tell your future wifey to get me another Vat 69, pronto. And with less ice this time.”
Harry nodded. “Right, right, sure, sure. What do you want, Buck?”
“I’ll have a Manhattan.” Pale blue eyes scanned the vicinity and zeroed in on an approaching pretty face. “And dear God, I’d like one of those, please.”
Nixon and Harry both turned to see what Buck was ogling. Nixon gave an impressed whistle. Harry muttered, “Not bad,” before turning his attention back to Kittie.
She had a bombshell figure and wore her hair in pincurls. She had hips and she wasn’t afraid to use them. Her hair was red and her eyes were green, green, green. She looked like the nose art of a B-52 bomber come to life and Nixon couldn’t help but laugh at how Buck couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“So, what should we toast this time?” Harry asked, handing each man their beverage.
“I don’t know,” Nixon said. “You figure that out.”
“Okay, I will.” Harry cleared his throat and raised his glass. “To new beginnings.”
“To getting laid,” Buck added, still watching the pretty redhead - who was now glancing around the area, obviously looking for someone.
“To…fuck…I don’t know what,” Nixon grumbled.
“That’s good enough for me,” Harry said.
“Oh my God, she’s coming this way,” Buck announced.
It was true, the redhead was heading towards them. She even had a smile on her face. Her eyes lit up and she waved excitedly…and she walked right past them.
“There you are!” she exclaimed.
Buck grimaced and Nixon turned around just in time to see her throw her arms around a man sitting at the end of the bar.
“Tough break, Buck,” Harry remarked. “She was hot, too.”
“Think I can steal her away from the boyfriend?” Buck wondered aloud.
But Harry wasn’t listening, he’d already gone back to chatting with Kittie.
Buck turned to Nixon. “What do you think?”
Think? Nixon couldn’t think. His brain had blown a fuse and there weren’t any candles to break out. He swallowed and found that his mouth suddenly felt very dry. It was as if every cog and gear in the machinery of his brain had come to a screeching halt, accompanied with a spectacular explosion and 50 ft. flames. Those eyes...beautiful…so fucking beautiful…
He sat there: slack-jawed, one eyebrow raised, staring.
Red hair, green eyes, drop-dead gorgeous…but it wasn’t the girl.
It wasn’t the girl.
Nixon ignored Buck calling his name and made a beeline for the bathroom. He puked his guts out and then turned to himself in the cracked mirror.
“I’m not gay.”
He figured that if he told himself that enough times, he’d actually believe it.
Have fun with the crack.
(cross-posted to no_vices)
Title: Nothing Says I Love You Like a Crowded Bar and a Dark Alleyway - Part One
Author: m_buggie
Fandom: “Band of Brothers”
Pairings: mentions of past Nixon/Cathy, a smattering of Harry/Kittie, attempted Buck/anyone with a pulse, eventual Nixon/Winters
Word Count: 1,307 for Part One
Rating: R
Standard Disclaimer: This is based off performances in the HBO miniseries, not the actual soldiers. The only thing I own is the computer I wrote this on. I make no profit and mean no disrespect so please don’t sue.
Author’s Note: AU like you would not believe and unabashedly inspired by the Finger Eleven song, “Paralyzer.” Written for ladyames, because she had a bad day and deserves this.
~x~x~
Lewis Nixon was not gay.
He repeated this to himself again after splashing his face with cold water, leveling dark sepia eyes at his reflection in the cracked mirror of the men’s bathroom.
He was married…or he’d been married until about 3:10 PM that day. He had a kid. He had a dog, too, but Cathy took care of that…the bitch. He was a perfectly respectable member of the upper echelons of society, the son of a New Jersey Senator and a Columbia University professor - even if he did attend Yale just to spite her. He lived on the Upper East Side and could get into the most packed of four star restaurants with nothing more than a smile and a few choice words.
He wasn’t gay. He couldn’t be gay. He was just drunk and resentful of women and confused, that’s all. That’s all. He wasn’t gay. It was armed with this declaration, this conviction, that Nixon tugged at the edges of his rumpled black suit and marched back into the bar.
Now all he had to do is avoid those eyes and he’d be fine.
~
It seemed like a good idea at the time: meeting up with some friends of his to get shit-faced and celebrate the fact that he’d just signed his divorce papers earlier that day.
The place was called The Coral Room. It was a lounge, not a bar, so there weren’t any dartboards or pool tables to be found - which was kind of a let down for Nixon because he liked throwing sharp projectiles or hitting things with a stick when he was in a shit mood. All the place had going for it was a large dance floor, a bunch of tables and booths, and several side-rooms with couches.
It was packed to the gills - pun intended? - with young urban professionals and perpetual students of about his age who thought that by getting dressed up in expensive clothes and acting important they could fill the void in their lives that came with being alone and too smart for their own damn good. Nixon had to push and shove his way through the crowd (I don’t care if you’re dancing, get the fuck out of my way) to get to his friends at the bar.
The Coral Room did live up to its name by sporting an insanely large aquarium filled with colorful tropical fish behind the bar. The tank took up an entire wall.
“That’s a lot of fish,” Nixon commented, gazing at the wall-tank. “I bet they’re expensive.”
“On Saturday nights they get hot chicks dressed up like mermaids to swim in it,” his buddy Harry Welsh cheerfully declared.
It was a Thursday. Nixon always did have shit luck when it came to that sort of thing.
“I think she likes me,” Harry announced, grinning from ear to ear with lipstick staining his right cheek.
“Who?” Nixon asked.
Buck Compton rolled his eyes. “The bartender.”
Nixon frowned. “What?”
“She’s amazing,” Harry said, loopy smile still in place. “I think I’m in love.”
“Harry has convinced himself that one of the bartenders has a thing for him,” Buck explained.
“Which one?” Nixon asked.
“The blonde.”
Nixon craned his neck to take a look at the woman in question and grunted his approval. “Well, she’s definitely got a nice ass.”
Buck shrugged. “Tits could be bigger, though.”
“I guess, but you know a handful is really all you need. Anything more and you’re just getting greedy.”
Harry’s grin faded a little. “Hey, shut the fuck up, guys. I’m going to marry that gal.”
“Why? Because of her tits or her ass?” Nixon inquired.
“Neither. Both. Fuck you.”
“Harry, you’re being delusional,” Buck said. “She’s not going to marry you. Shit, you’ll be lucky if you can even convince her to have sex with you.”
“You guys don’t know that.”
“Well all right then, Harry, what makes you so damn sure that you’ve even got a chance with her?” Nixon prodded. “What do you know that we don’t?”
Harry tapped his lipstick-smeared cheek with one finger. “I told you, she likes me.”
“She’s a bartender, Harry, she’s paid to like you,” Buck sighed.
“No, Buck, I think you’re thinking of a whore,” Nixon commented.
“Seriously, guys, fuck off,” Harry said, narrowing his eyes while Buck and Nixon laughed. “When Kittie and I get hitched neither of you losers are invited to the wedding.”
Nixon’s jaw dropped. “Kittie? She calls herself Kittie?” He tossed his head back and laughed even harder, slapping his thigh.
Harry frowned and shook his head, turning back to his beer. “You guys suck.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Nixon replied. “Good luck chasing pussy.”
“It’s KITTIE!” Harry snapped.
“Right, whatever. Just don’t forget to put your rubber shorts on before you take the dive.”
“Assuming that you even get that far,” Buck quipped.
Harry flipped them the bird while finishing his beer.
“Okay, who’s got the next round?” Nixon inquired, noticing there was nothing but ice left in his glass.
“I think it’s lover boy’s turn,” Buck said.
“I think so.” Nixon rattled the ice in his glass. “Hey Harry, tell your future wifey to get me another Vat 69, pronto. And with less ice this time.”
Harry nodded. “Right, right, sure, sure. What do you want, Buck?”
“I’ll have a Manhattan.” Pale blue eyes scanned the vicinity and zeroed in on an approaching pretty face. “And dear God, I’d like one of those, please.”
Nixon and Harry both turned to see what Buck was ogling. Nixon gave an impressed whistle. Harry muttered, “Not bad,” before turning his attention back to Kittie.
She had a bombshell figure and wore her hair in pincurls. She had hips and she wasn’t afraid to use them. Her hair was red and her eyes were green, green, green. She looked like the nose art of a B-52 bomber come to life and Nixon couldn’t help but laugh at how Buck couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“So, what should we toast this time?” Harry asked, handing each man their beverage.
“I don’t know,” Nixon said. “You figure that out.”
“Okay, I will.” Harry cleared his throat and raised his glass. “To new beginnings.”
“To getting laid,” Buck added, still watching the pretty redhead - who was now glancing around the area, obviously looking for someone.
“To…fuck…I don’t know what,” Nixon grumbled.
“That’s good enough for me,” Harry said.
“Oh my God, she’s coming this way,” Buck announced.
It was true, the redhead was heading towards them. She even had a smile on her face. Her eyes lit up and she waved excitedly…and she walked right past them.
“There you are!” she exclaimed.
Buck grimaced and Nixon turned around just in time to see her throw her arms around a man sitting at the end of the bar.
“Tough break, Buck,” Harry remarked. “She was hot, too.”
“Think I can steal her away from the boyfriend?” Buck wondered aloud.
But Harry wasn’t listening, he’d already gone back to chatting with Kittie.
Buck turned to Nixon. “What do you think?”
Think? Nixon couldn’t think. His brain had blown a fuse and there weren’t any candles to break out. He swallowed and found that his mouth suddenly felt very dry. It was as if every cog and gear in the machinery of his brain had come to a screeching halt, accompanied with a spectacular explosion and 50 ft. flames. Those eyes...beautiful…so fucking beautiful…
He sat there: slack-jawed, one eyebrow raised, staring.
Red hair, green eyes, drop-dead gorgeous…but it wasn’t the girl.
It wasn’t the girl.
Nixon ignored Buck calling his name and made a beeline for the bathroom. He puked his guts out and then turned to himself in the cracked mirror.
“I’m not gay.”
He figured that if he told himself that enough times, he’d actually believe it.
Have fun with the crack.
(cross-posted to no_vices)