Buck's Not Used to Striking Out
Title: Nothing Says I Love You Like a Crowded Bar and a Dark Alleyway - Part Eight
Author: m_buggie
Fandom: “Band of Brothers”
Pairings: mentions of past Nixon/Cathy, a smattering of Harry/Kittie, attempted Buck/anyone with a pulse, mention of slight past Roe/Winters, eventual Nixon/Winters
Word Count: 1,775 for Part Eight
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: This is the Modern Day AU of Doom, and it is unabashedly inspired by the Finger Eleven song, “Paralyzer.” Written in honor of ladyames and with special thanks to foofighter0234, alouette_sparra, and melliyna.
~x~x~
Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
Buck Compton - blue-eyed, blond haired bastion of hot-blooded young American manhood that he was - was in danger of going home alone that night. There must have been some kind of strange planetary alignment working against him because Buck simply couldn’t manage to get a connection going with the ladies. This was a cause for disconcertment to the usual lothario.
First there was Kittie, one of the bartenders for The Coral Room. She’d humored him until Harry Welsh showed up. Buck could’ve sworn he had that one in the bag. Who would’ve ever guessed the curly topped Irishman had what it took to catch the eye of a spunky blonde bartender? Kittie had proceeded to ignore Buck like he was chopped liver once Harry was on the scene. It was a blow to Lady-killer Compton’s ego, having his buddy cockblock him like that but whatever, these things happened. It sucked but he’d get over it; and Buck knew that wasn’t the sort of thing Harry would do on purpose so all was forgiven on that front.
Besides, it wasn’t like Harry was actually going to marry Kittie. Buck didn’t care what Harry said, that kind of thing just didn’t happen in this day and age. Love at first sight? It was a myth, a fairytale. It was a delusion that all too often resulted in broken hearts and tarnished dreams. And no, Buck wasn’t resentful or still angry about anything. What would possibly give off that impression?
In any case, Buck wasn’t looking for marriage…not anymore. He would’ve been happy with a casual hook-up or a phone number. As far as Buck was concerned, he needed a new relationship like a hole in the head. So when he heard his pal Lewis Nixon had just signed the divorce papers with Ice Queen Cathy it seemed like the perfect opportunity for both of them to get their feet wet in the world of life after a break-up.
And then there was no dice with Kittie - strike one.
But again, that was cool. Harry deserved a little happiness just as much as the next guy. He was a good friend and a reliable wingman. If a nice barmaid started hearing violins and took a shot from Cupid’s arrow on his account then bully for Harry.
Buck moved on. There were more fish in the sea and a good number of them were swimming around the Coral Room…pun possibly intended. He set his sights on Abby, the pretty little carrot-topped bombshell, but as it turned out she was more interested in hearing about her big brother’s days in the Peace Corps than Buck’s days as an all-star college athlete. Which was just as well, he supposed.
She was just a kid. A kid who deserved someone better than some bitter man who still had a ring hidden in his sock drawer from the fiancée he almost had and then lost (God damn you, Amelia, why’d you have to throw it all away?). When Abby took off to hit the dance floor with her brother’s maybe-gay friends, Buck was almost relieved. It was exhausting to be around that level of optimism. It reminded him of how cynical he’d become.
No dice with Abby - strike two.
That was okay, though, it wasn’t the end of the world. He’d been around the block enough times to know that sometimes you needed to go through a fair share of “no” before you got to the one “yes” that mattered.
Now Buck was striking out with the brunette in the purple dress (who did look a little like David Webster…damn you, Nix, for ever bringing that up). Actually, no, he wasn’t striking out…but things still weren’t going right.
She went by the moniker DG and her big blue eyes were full of stars. She had, apparently, left the family farm behind in Kansas to meet up with her older sister and make it big in New York City doing…something or other. To be honest, he wasn’t paying that much attention. It wasn’t out of rudeness, or that she was uninteresting. No, Buck was just caught up in his own thoughts: too busy wondering when he started feeling old before his time and the girls started seeming younger and younger.
DG was probably only a few years younger than Buck but somehow the more they talked the more he felt like he was robbing a cradle. It was that same pesky feeling which had a lot to do with why, when the opportunity presented itself, Buck declined to make any further moves on DG and instead bid the young lady a fond goodnight. She stared after him as he retreated from the scene, confused and disappointed, but he told himself it was all for the better and kept walking.
So, no dice with DG - strike three.
He could almost hear her singing now, the way she used to back in the days when he still played football and she still claimed baseball was the better sport. (“…and it’s one, two, three strikes and you’re out of the old ball game…”) Amelia…
“Oh, to hell with it all,” Buck muttered.
He hadn’t come to the bar that night to get depressed, he’d come to get drunk. And more importantly, he’d come to The Coral Room to show support for Lewis Nixon.
After all, Buck thought, it’s bros before hos. Wasn’t that how the saying went?
~
Divorce papers…the words stood out in Dick Winters’ mind as though they’d been hoisted up in neon lights behind his new acquaintance’s head. Divorce papers tended to point towards women. Winters inwardly sighed at what that meant for him. Why were all the interesting men straight?
“I’m sorry to hear about your divorce,” Winters said, genuinely trying to be sympathetic despite having just had a few of his hopes dashed against the rocks of heterosexuality.
Lewis Nixon snorted. “Why? I’m not. Cathy was a bitch, I’m better off without her.”
Before Winters could form any sort of reply a buzzing in one of his pockets drew his attention. Curious as to who would have sent him a text at a time like this, Winters excused himself and found the message was from Eugene Roe. It contained “coordinates” to a particular location on the dance floor. Winters smirked softly.
“Good job, Gene,” he murmured.
Nixon, meanwhile, was trying to look over Winters’ shoulder without making it look like he was trying to read over Winters’ shoulder but ended up accomplishing nothing more than giving his eyes a strain from trying to read the cell phone’s tiny illuminated screen from where he sat.
“Would you excuse me for a moment?” Winters remarked, putting the phone back and dismounting his barstool with more grace than Nixon had seen in performances of Swan Lake. “Something just came up that I need to attend to.”
“What if I don’t want to excuse you?” Nixon countered, his voice sounding thick.
~
“But I want to go, too.” Abigail Winters’ tone of voice sounded suspiciously like a whine. “Why can’t I come with you guys?”
“Because we’ve grown really attached to being alive and would like to remain so for as long as possible,” Don Malarkey quickly responded.
Abigail wrinkled her brow. “What?”
“Your brother would have a cow,” he explained, “several of them, in fact…and possibly a litter of kittens.”
“We’d be dead men,” Skip Muck chimed in.
“Or he’d come up with a fate worse than death.”
Muck and Malarkey nodded vigorously at that, making sounds of agreement to themselves and each other.
Abigail shook her head, however, and folded her arms. “I don’t know, guys, but that doesn’t sound like Dick at all.”
“He’s a devious one: your brother,” Muck insisted, wagging his finger for good measure. “Don’t be fooled by the Sunday school demeanor or the Boy Scout charm because Dick has his own ways of making a person sorry for having ever crossed him.”
“He knows people,” Malarkey added ominously.
“Knows people?” Abigail laughed. “Oh come on, guys, what’s that supposed to mean?”
Muck and Malarkey exchanged mischievous glances.
“This isn’t fair, you two. You’re totally just yanking my chain and messing with me, I can tell.”
“Maybe we are,” Malarkey commented.
“Maybe we aren’t,” Muck said.
“But either way, that doesn’t change the fact that your brother’s roommate’s boyfriend kills people for a living.”
Abigail’s jaw hit the floor. “What?”
Amazingly enough, Muck did a double take as well. “Wait, what? Where the hell’d you hear that, Mal?”
“The information was given to me by a very reliable source,” Malarkey declared. “George Luz may cheat and steal but he does not lie.”
Muck laughed.
“Well, not about stuff like this, anyway,” Malarkey corrected himself.
“So what makes Luz so sure about it?” Muck asked.
“Skip, haven’t you learned by now? Luz knows everything.”
Muck nodded, conceding the point. “This is true.”
“Oh my God, this is totally unreal,” Abigail exclaimed. “So Dick’s roommate is like a secret agent or something?”
“No but apparently your brother’s roommate’s boyfriend is,” Muck answered.
“Bond, James Bond,” Malarkey quipped. “Only in this case it’s Speirs, Ronald Speirs.”
Muck snickered before inquiring, “But seriously, Mal, is there any definitive proof that he kills people for a living?”
“Not exactly, but we do know for a fact that Speirs has killed people in the past, Skip,” Malarkey replied. “He was in the military and he did work for the government.”
“Working for the government doesn’t automatically make you some kind of black operative.”
“No, but being sent to Karachi in an unmarked helicopter with a British passport and a suspicious looking metal case just might.”
“What? How do you…how does Luz…I mean…” Muck sputtered in his attempt to properly convey his disbelief and confusion.
“Luz knows everything, Skip,” Malarkey stated matter-of-factly. “Life gets a whole lot easier once you accept that and move on.” From there he rounded back to Abigail. “Which brings us back to you, missy: you’re not allowed to go to Starlight with Skip and I because if you do then Dick will get his roommate’s boyfriend to hunt us down and do unspeakable things to us. So there.”
“What if I snuck out with you?” she offered.
“Ann Abigail Winters, you will do nothing of the sort,” a weary voice promptly declared.
Abigail, Muck, and Malarkey all turned to see a more than slightly miffed Dick Winters standing next to them with his arms folded and one foot tapping.
“You squealed on us, didn’t you, Gene?” Muck hissed.
Eugene Roe whistled innocently and refused to comment.
(cross-posted to no_vices and camp_toccoa)
Author: m_buggie
Fandom: “Band of Brothers”
Pairings: mentions of past Nixon/Cathy, a smattering of Harry/Kittie, attempted Buck/anyone with a pulse, mention of slight past Roe/Winters, eventual Nixon/Winters
Word Count: 1,775 for Part Eight
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: This is the Modern Day AU of Doom, and it is unabashedly inspired by the Finger Eleven song, “Paralyzer.” Written in honor of ladyames and with special thanks to foofighter0234, alouette_sparra, and melliyna.
~x~x~
Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
Buck Compton - blue-eyed, blond haired bastion of hot-blooded young American manhood that he was - was in danger of going home alone that night. There must have been some kind of strange planetary alignment working against him because Buck simply couldn’t manage to get a connection going with the ladies. This was a cause for disconcertment to the usual lothario.
First there was Kittie, one of the bartenders for The Coral Room. She’d humored him until Harry Welsh showed up. Buck could’ve sworn he had that one in the bag. Who would’ve ever guessed the curly topped Irishman had what it took to catch the eye of a spunky blonde bartender? Kittie had proceeded to ignore Buck like he was chopped liver once Harry was on the scene. It was a blow to Lady-killer Compton’s ego, having his buddy cockblock him like that but whatever, these things happened. It sucked but he’d get over it; and Buck knew that wasn’t the sort of thing Harry would do on purpose so all was forgiven on that front.
Besides, it wasn’t like Harry was actually going to marry Kittie. Buck didn’t care what Harry said, that kind of thing just didn’t happen in this day and age. Love at first sight? It was a myth, a fairytale. It was a delusion that all too often resulted in broken hearts and tarnished dreams. And no, Buck wasn’t resentful or still angry about anything. What would possibly give off that impression?
In any case, Buck wasn’t looking for marriage…not anymore. He would’ve been happy with a casual hook-up or a phone number. As far as Buck was concerned, he needed a new relationship like a hole in the head. So when he heard his pal Lewis Nixon had just signed the divorce papers with Ice Queen Cathy it seemed like the perfect opportunity for both of them to get their feet wet in the world of life after a break-up.
And then there was no dice with Kittie - strike one.
But again, that was cool. Harry deserved a little happiness just as much as the next guy. He was a good friend and a reliable wingman. If a nice barmaid started hearing violins and took a shot from Cupid’s arrow on his account then bully for Harry.
Buck moved on. There were more fish in the sea and a good number of them were swimming around the Coral Room…pun possibly intended. He set his sights on Abby, the pretty little carrot-topped bombshell, but as it turned out she was more interested in hearing about her big brother’s days in the Peace Corps than Buck’s days as an all-star college athlete. Which was just as well, he supposed.
She was just a kid. A kid who deserved someone better than some bitter man who still had a ring hidden in his sock drawer from the fiancée he almost had and then lost (God damn you, Amelia, why’d you have to throw it all away?). When Abby took off to hit the dance floor with her brother’s maybe-gay friends, Buck was almost relieved. It was exhausting to be around that level of optimism. It reminded him of how cynical he’d become.
No dice with Abby - strike two.
That was okay, though, it wasn’t the end of the world. He’d been around the block enough times to know that sometimes you needed to go through a fair share of “no” before you got to the one “yes” that mattered.
Now Buck was striking out with the brunette in the purple dress (who did look a little like David Webster…damn you, Nix, for ever bringing that up). Actually, no, he wasn’t striking out…but things still weren’t going right.
She went by the moniker DG and her big blue eyes were full of stars. She had, apparently, left the family farm behind in Kansas to meet up with her older sister and make it big in New York City doing…something or other. To be honest, he wasn’t paying that much attention. It wasn’t out of rudeness, or that she was uninteresting. No, Buck was just caught up in his own thoughts: too busy wondering when he started feeling old before his time and the girls started seeming younger and younger.
DG was probably only a few years younger than Buck but somehow the more they talked the more he felt like he was robbing a cradle. It was that same pesky feeling which had a lot to do with why, when the opportunity presented itself, Buck declined to make any further moves on DG and instead bid the young lady a fond goodnight. She stared after him as he retreated from the scene, confused and disappointed, but he told himself it was all for the better and kept walking.
So, no dice with DG - strike three.
He could almost hear her singing now, the way she used to back in the days when he still played football and she still claimed baseball was the better sport. (“…and it’s one, two, three strikes and you’re out of the old ball game…”) Amelia…
“Oh, to hell with it all,” Buck muttered.
He hadn’t come to the bar that night to get depressed, he’d come to get drunk. And more importantly, he’d come to The Coral Room to show support for Lewis Nixon.
After all, Buck thought, it’s bros before hos. Wasn’t that how the saying went?
~
Divorce papers…the words stood out in Dick Winters’ mind as though they’d been hoisted up in neon lights behind his new acquaintance’s head. Divorce papers tended to point towards women. Winters inwardly sighed at what that meant for him. Why were all the interesting men straight?
“I’m sorry to hear about your divorce,” Winters said, genuinely trying to be sympathetic despite having just had a few of his hopes dashed against the rocks of heterosexuality.
Lewis Nixon snorted. “Why? I’m not. Cathy was a bitch, I’m better off without her.”
Before Winters could form any sort of reply a buzzing in one of his pockets drew his attention. Curious as to who would have sent him a text at a time like this, Winters excused himself and found the message was from Eugene Roe. It contained “coordinates” to a particular location on the dance floor. Winters smirked softly.
“Good job, Gene,” he murmured.
Nixon, meanwhile, was trying to look over Winters’ shoulder without making it look like he was trying to read over Winters’ shoulder but ended up accomplishing nothing more than giving his eyes a strain from trying to read the cell phone’s tiny illuminated screen from where he sat.
“Would you excuse me for a moment?” Winters remarked, putting the phone back and dismounting his barstool with more grace than Nixon had seen in performances of Swan Lake. “Something just came up that I need to attend to.”
“What if I don’t want to excuse you?” Nixon countered, his voice sounding thick.
~
“But I want to go, too.” Abigail Winters’ tone of voice sounded suspiciously like a whine. “Why can’t I come with you guys?”
“Because we’ve grown really attached to being alive and would like to remain so for as long as possible,” Don Malarkey quickly responded.
Abigail wrinkled her brow. “What?”
“Your brother would have a cow,” he explained, “several of them, in fact…and possibly a litter of kittens.”
“We’d be dead men,” Skip Muck chimed in.
“Or he’d come up with a fate worse than death.”
Muck and Malarkey nodded vigorously at that, making sounds of agreement to themselves and each other.
Abigail shook her head, however, and folded her arms. “I don’t know, guys, but that doesn’t sound like Dick at all.”
“He’s a devious one: your brother,” Muck insisted, wagging his finger for good measure. “Don’t be fooled by the Sunday school demeanor or the Boy Scout charm because Dick has his own ways of making a person sorry for having ever crossed him.”
“He knows people,” Malarkey added ominously.
“Knows people?” Abigail laughed. “Oh come on, guys, what’s that supposed to mean?”
Muck and Malarkey exchanged mischievous glances.
“This isn’t fair, you two. You’re totally just yanking my chain and messing with me, I can tell.”
“Maybe we are,” Malarkey commented.
“Maybe we aren’t,” Muck said.
“But either way, that doesn’t change the fact that your brother’s roommate’s boyfriend kills people for a living.”
Abigail’s jaw hit the floor. “What?”
Amazingly enough, Muck did a double take as well. “Wait, what? Where the hell’d you hear that, Mal?”
“The information was given to me by a very reliable source,” Malarkey declared. “George Luz may cheat and steal but he does not lie.”
Muck laughed.
“Well, not about stuff like this, anyway,” Malarkey corrected himself.
“So what makes Luz so sure about it?” Muck asked.
“Skip, haven’t you learned by now? Luz knows everything.”
Muck nodded, conceding the point. “This is true.”
“Oh my God, this is totally unreal,” Abigail exclaimed. “So Dick’s roommate is like a secret agent or something?”
“No but apparently your brother’s roommate’s boyfriend is,” Muck answered.
“Bond, James Bond,” Malarkey quipped. “Only in this case it’s Speirs, Ronald Speirs.”
Muck snickered before inquiring, “But seriously, Mal, is there any definitive proof that he kills people for a living?”
“Not exactly, but we do know for a fact that Speirs has killed people in the past, Skip,” Malarkey replied. “He was in the military and he did work for the government.”
“Working for the government doesn’t automatically make you some kind of black operative.”
“No, but being sent to Karachi in an unmarked helicopter with a British passport and a suspicious looking metal case just might.”
“What? How do you…how does Luz…I mean…” Muck sputtered in his attempt to properly convey his disbelief and confusion.
“Luz knows everything, Skip,” Malarkey stated matter-of-factly. “Life gets a whole lot easier once you accept that and move on.” From there he rounded back to Abigail. “Which brings us back to you, missy: you’re not allowed to go to Starlight with Skip and I because if you do then Dick will get his roommate’s boyfriend to hunt us down and do unspeakable things to us. So there.”
“What if I snuck out with you?” she offered.
“Ann Abigail Winters, you will do nothing of the sort,” a weary voice promptly declared.
Abigail, Muck, and Malarkey all turned to see a more than slightly miffed Dick Winters standing next to them with his arms folded and one foot tapping.
“You squealed on us, didn’t you, Gene?” Muck hissed.
Eugene Roe whistled innocently and refused to comment.
(cross-posted to no_vices and camp_toccoa)