6934/It's Always Time for Brunch

It's Always Time for Brunch
Date of Scene:	14 July 2021
Location:	A bougie Brooklyn bar
Synopsis:	Two regular-ass people sit down for a regular-ass brunch. They definitely don't talk about HYDRA.
Cast of Characters:	Sam Wilson, Cael Becker

---

Sam Wilson has posed:
    The original text invitation Cael had sent Sam's way was declined (politely), though with an assurance that he'd figure out the chaos of his life in the next few days so that they could meet.

    Well. That's not quite what's happened, but Sam doesn't let that on when he reschedules. The bar he suggests is in Willamsburg, which is probably a good tipoff regarding what it's going to be like considering it's one of Brooklyn's most gentrified neighborhoods.

    It's also far enough away from Steve's apartment that Sam feels okay about meeting up there while still being close enough that he can zip back within moments if he straps his wingpack on. Which, yeah, is under the table, tucked into a bag at his feet.

    The Bedded Breakfast. That's what it's called, because it specializes in all-day brunch (always popular in New York City) and every kind of alcohol you could think of. The bartender has mutton chops and a crazy moustache, there are over a dozen local craft beers on tap, a walk-in wine cooler where they host tastings, the whole nine. Excessively bougie. Sam's already emptied his first glass as he sits and waits, back to the wall, where he's tucked into a corner booth. His phone's on the table in front of him and he glances at it every few moments. Which, lacking more obvious tells because Sam's not particularly physically demonstrative of his anxiety, makes how he's feeling obvious enough to anyone who knows him.

    Is that something he and Cael can say about each other? Sam's not sure. But he reached out any way.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Honestly? It's the bag under the table that catches Cael's attention as she approaches Sam's table with a smile - a pint already in her hands. She's dressed in her usual attire - a pair of casual jeans, with a simple shirt and a leather jacket on. Hidden under her jacket is a holster and her pistol, of course, because - look. We all have our security blankets, right? Sam's just happens to be huge, and unwieldy.
    "I'm glad you could make the time," she offers in greeting as she slips into a chair - nudging the bag under the table with her foot, and feeling the hard, unmoveable weight of it. She gives him a look that says 'the wings? //Really//?' "...shit going on?" she asks uncertainly before taking a sip of her drink, watching Sam for his response with a hint of genuine concern in her gaze.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    At least Sam isn't sitting here in his tactical gear. That'd be too obvious. And it's not like he's never strapped into the wingpack while wearing jeans and a t-shirt, which is what he's in right now.

    Ballcap, too. The sunglasses are hanging from the neck of his shirt, though, because there's incognito and then there's being unsubtle about trying to fly under the radar.

    The fact that it's a Dodgers cap is probably some long-standing in-joke.

    "Hey, Beck--yeah. Thanks for reaching out."

    This is when one of the waitstaff approach with another beer for Sam, and any conversation is temporarily on hold while he goes through the standard polite smalltalk that happens in those situations. Any further orders from the table are going to be added to Sam's tab, since he's the one who dragged Cael out across the Williamsburg Bridge (he assumes she's somewhat local to Tribeca and FBI headquarters).

    Actually, maybe he should ask. "Always," he says as a deflection, and then, "How was the commute?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael places an order for eggs benedict - since that's a possibility. Look - when it's possible to order eggs benedict, you always should. At least that's how she feels on the subject. She takes another sip of her beer before answering back with, "I took the subway, actually. The Corvette's a bit flash - and not always necessary," she remarks with a wry smile. "I'd never be without a car, but it's such a pain this damned city." She rolls her eyes widely as she watches Sam, her gaze flicking briefly towards the phone on the table - then back to his features.
    "How're you dealing after that shit at the park?" she asks bluntly. Some people just don't see the point in beating around the bush - though she's not sure she expects an honest answer to the question.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    When Cael puts in an order for food, Sam apparently bows to that peer pressure and spends all of five seconds looking over the menu before he adds on his own request for something called a Dutch Baby, with apples and cinnamon.

    He'd probably been considering it this whole time and was just waiting for an excuse.

    "Yeah, I hear you. I travel out of state pretty regularly for work," and then Sam nudges the bag now technically between *both* of their feet under the table. "And I can technically fly out, but long distance is hell on my back, lemme tell you. At least I can park my car at the mansion and avoid paying for long-term parking."

    Hey, there have to be *some* perks to being an Avenger, right? Given how expensive NYC parking is, that's a big one in his book.

    Sam taps the screen of his phone, but there are no new alerts. He purposefully flips it facedown on the table. "I'm not," he answers, because Cael is being straightforward, and he appreciates that. It's a nice change of pace. "I can't go into details but--."

    For a few seconds, though, Sam doesn't actually know what to say. He narrows his eyes and stares off to the side, at the middle-distance, and then blinks a couple of times. "Bucky's gone. You know how he is; if he doesn't want to be found, there's nothing I can do about it." He sighs, and his left hand slips off the table so that he can lay it flat on the bench cushion, where his fingers spasm. The pain isn't reflected in his face beyond a faint tightening of his jaw. "Pretty sure this is the worst it's been since he... came back."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "I mean. How many people get to voice the statement, 'I can park my car at the mansion' with a straight face?" Cael remarks in a dryly amused tone. She takes a long pull of her drink as she listens to Sam's answer to her question - her expression slowly growing more grim in response to the man's words - concern evident on her features.
    "Well, shit," is her immediately response. She lapses into a brief silence as she mulls over this, reaching up to drag one hand through her hair. "Did he take the pup?" she asks uncertainly. That at least would be something, right? //Something// to keep the man grounded in the shitstorm that is his life.
    No wonder Sam's on edge, though.
    "Hell, man, I wish I knew how to help with //any// of that," she offers fervently. Was this why he told her to check in on Sam? Had he known he was going to pull this shit while they sat at that bar? "What an asshole," she mutters under her breath.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam's mouth opens, but then he acknowledges Cael's point with a tip of his head. "You got me there. Sometimes I forget how..." A brief pause as he looks for an appropriate word. "...unconventional my life is now." He takes a drink. "And then sometimes I'm reminded that I'm just some dude who shows up to fights with aliens and gods and super soldiers with a glorified jet engine strapped to my back."

    His glass returns to the tabletop with a measured tap. "The reminder's pretty painful usually," he adds, with a breath of laughter.

    Mention of Lili has his expression narrowing into worry, his gaze aimed downwards. "Nah. He left her with me." And if that's not a glaring red flag then Sam doesn't know what is. He presses his thumb into the divot between his brows as he squeezes his eyes shut. "I wish *I* knew how to help. Bucky's... I guess I have more insight into his issues than most people do, between my training and..."

    He's really struggling with his words here, which even internally Sam can acknowledge is unlike himself.

    "Yeah, he can be like that. He'd made a lot of progress but it's all been undone pretty swiftly, and I know that healing isn't linear, but I'm starting to worry that this isn't something he can come back from."

    But then he shakes his head. "Not because I don't think he could recover. After everything he's been through, the fact that he *was* improving tells me he could probably come back from anything. But if he stays on this path, he might end up dead before he can try." Sam swallows, visibly, over a lump of anxiety in his throat. "Or worse."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "I've been showing up with a pistol," Cael remarks dryly. "//A pistol,// Sam."
    She takes another drink from her glass - watching Sam struggle with his words, while her own expression slowly darkens into a deepening frown. This, obviously, is not what she'd wanted to hear - but it honestly doesn't surprise her, if she's being honest with herself. Hell. //Hell.//
    "He might get himself killed," she admits. "Any of us might. I mean - I feel particularly dumb running into things with the likes of him and Steve Rogers - willingly, and with- well. With relatively few second thoughts." She's silent for a moment before admitting, "I think I honestly worry more about the fact that I might lose my job over some of this shit - than I do about getting killed." And what did that say about her?
    She takes another sip before adding with a little more strength, "But like I already told Barnes - he's an idiot if he things we wouldn't always come after him - always try to pull him back. That none of us would hesitate to put our lives on the line to save him from his demons. Not sure he liked hearing that. ...I hope it didn't drive him into hiding, somehow."

Sam Wilson has posed:
    "Well we're both a couple of dumbasses, then," is what Sam decides, and he lifts his beer into the air for a belated cheers. "Two dumbass regular humans chasing after super soldiers."

    And then, whether or not Cael lifts hers too, Sam drains the rest of his glass because, ow, some things hurt to acknowledge aloud.

    He folds his arms on the table after. "You're not wrong," he says. "It's a risk we take every time we go out there. But this is different, he's... the man's asking me to prove my identity. He's paranoid, maybe losing touch with reality, I don't know. He's never really been able to handle dealing with any of us caring about him, but this is fully off the deep end."

    Sam sighs and slowly spins his empty glass around, fingers sliding through the remaining condensation. "Not much I can do right now, though."

    He looks away. "No one would judge you if you decided to step away. You know that, right?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael does indeed lift her glass in return, and drains a good chunk of it before setting it down on the counter once more.
    "Oh, I know that," she agrees. "And, hell, it'd be a blatant and honest lie if I said I hadn't at least thought about it but I-" She lets out a heavy sigh, searching for the right words. "I told you my past," she says hesitantly. "I honestly feel if I hadn't met Barnes that day? I'd either be dead, or dead inside. You know? I'd be under a saguaro cactus of my own - or helping put other people there, with no qualms or remorse. That's the way I was headed. So how do I turn my back now? When it seems like... like Barnes might be in need of the same sort of help? And if I turn my back - aren't I proving him right? Feeding that pathology of his?"

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam nods once. "Good. Don't stop considering it." He leaves it there, the implication being that he still weighs his options too. But obviously he's always come to the end of that pros and cons list with the former holding more weight than the later.

    "There comes a point where you have to acknowledge that trying to save someone is doing more harm to you than is sustainable," he says. And privately he knows that he's walking a fine line there himself, but--maybe Sam just needs to realize that on some level he is a hypocrit.

    Even if he doesn't follow his own advice, that doesn't mean the advice is *bad*.

    That same waiter makes eye contact with Sam, but he gives a quick 'no' shake of his head. Two's enough; Sam's not going to try and fly the EXO suit drunk, if it comes down to it.

    He adds, "You're not proving him right or wrong. You're just making the best decision you can in terrible circumstances."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Yeah?" Cael answers dryly. "And how would //he// see it?" she counters. She lets out a sigh. "The whole things a mess. And I'd-" She shakes her head. "I mean, all this shit's messing with my sleep. Standing by, watching someone I care about... bleeding out. Feeling helpless to do anything about it... I did not need that shit back in my life."
    And that was just a trip to the //park//.
    "And what the hell is with the three chicks with rocks for eyes? Are there //more// or them? Just - what the hell, even? What the hell?"
    She finishes off her own beer with a long pull after that, then adds, "You know - just before everything went to shit the other day, Steve was saying something about trying to make me FBI Liaison to the Avengers. How is this even my life now? You get that, right?"

Sam Wilson has posed:
    "Pretty sure he thinks I'm a--" Sam doesn't say the word HYDRA, and he pauses to skim a narrow-eyed look across the bar, "--a spy, or a shapeshifter, or something. Point being, he's not seeing things clearly right now, so you shouldn't let that affect your decision."

    Then he holds up a hand, for a pause on the conversation.

    The waiter comes over with a couple of empty glasses and one of those fancy water pitchers with the insert for steeping fruit, watermelon and strawberry and some kind of green herb that's probably (hopefully) mint, and also announces that their food is going to be right out.

    Once they're alone again, Sam leans forward on his elbows. "I don't know. They apparently go way back, them and Bucky, maybe as far back as the war. I don't have anything against them, but... they just seem in a really great position to take advantage right now, don't they?"

    He sits back. "I was a peer counselor working at the VA office when Steve pulled me into this life. We'll tell you the story some time," he promises.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Why the fuck would he think that?" Cael asks surprise and confusion on her features - before pointing out simply, "He left you with Lili. Yeah?" Why would he leave his dog with a //Hydra agent//? She falls silent at the gesture, other than turning towards the waiter to adds, "Another one of these huh?" she taps her glass. "The IPA. Thanks."
    Her attention shifts back to Sam - her brow furrowing in puzzlement at his explination of the sisters. "They don't- seem that old, though," she protests - though without much heat or surprise to her voice. After, it would hardly be the weirdest thing at this point.
    "Honestly, I wish I understood even a fraction of what I'm getting myself into. Or how to help with it. I mean, I talked to Steve about this - but all red faces," she means the cherry red skin tone people get after cyanide poisoning, "It threw me pretty hard. That's messed up."

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam glances at his phone, which has to his credit remained screen facing down this entire time. But now he flips it over, and his eyebrows draw together as he reads what's on the screen.

    He stops, frowns, and then after what is clearly a lot of deliberation types out what must be at least several sentences worth of a text.

    When he puts his phone back down, it's on his leg beneath the table, set to vibrate.

    "I don't know," he says, which isn't strictly the truth, so Sam sighs and tips his head back. "I have theories, but I don't want to say anything until I can speak to him in person." Which he's not sure he's going to be able to do, and that reads loud and clear in the worry on his face.

    They're interrupted again, this time for Cael's fancy eggs benedict and the massive disc of pancake-y carbs that gets set down in front of Sam. Hell yes, time to eat his feelings.

    "You realize my two best friends are both over a hundred years old, right?"

    He's busy for a while, cuz the whole butter and maple syrup thing has to happen, even if his food also came with some sort of apple cinnamon pie filling-looking thing that smells legitimately incredible. He dumps that on top too, because fuck it, carbs and sugar, that's what he needs right now. "I know. It's one thing to know empirically how deep extremism can pull someone, but it's another thing to really understand it, right? And you can't, not until you've seen it."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Yeah - but they were both varying degrees of 'on ice' for most of the centure - right?" Cael asks for confirmation. The facts of Cap's life were a little more public record than Bucky's - but she has something of a grasp of what happened to Bucky. At least, she thinks she does.
    She nods her thanks as the food is delivered, and takes a sip of her fresh beer before cutting off some of the eggs benedict. The yolk pours out everywhere - just like it should. //Perfect.// She takes a massive bite, letting out an appreciative sound while Sam deals with the syrup.
    "A heads up would have been nice, though. Walking into that room- God. What a horror show." She shakes her head. "And that's the people that had Barnes. I mean- I don't know. Puts things in perspective, and it's scary as hell."

Sam Wilson has posed:
    Sam does the little hand-wiggle gesture that means 'ehhh sort of'. More regarding Bucky's time spent thawed than Steve's, of course. He doesn't go into details because, frankly, he has so few of them.

    "Yeah, I'll admit that was a bad call on our part. I guess we've just been so... deep into this for so long now that it's hard to see it from an outside perspective. Sorry, Beck."

    He loads up his fork with enough sugar that it's going to be messing with his macros for weeks, easily. Months maybe. The rest of forever. Sam is entirely unbothered, because he can both acknowledge that stress eating isn't at all a healthy way to deal with his feelings and in the same breath totally pretend it is.

    It takes a few moments before he's done chewing, and then Sam's takes an equally long drink of water. Which is also an excuse not to reply, or think about how the torture rooms of Bucky's past have started showing up in his nightmares.

    "If it helps, I can recommend a therapist who is excellent at keeping secrets," he says quietly, an addendum to his apology.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "You guys //know// you can call me Cael, right?" she answers in a dryly amused voice. "Steve seems set on Becker too - so I guess I should be using 'Rogers' in return but..." Honestly, whatever she calls him feels weird. He's //Captain America//.
    She sips her beer for a moment, before responding with a wry, "Honestly, I have access to one of those. I mean, when I talk about my past... and being with the Bureau..." She gives a shrug of her shoulders. "I've been putting off making an appointment, telling myself I'm fine, and I can handle this, but - that's probably dumb, huh?" she asks with a small, tight smile.
    She taps her fork on the edge of her plate before asking a bit uncertainly, "Unless you therapists needed to be specifically vetted to handle this level of... shit?" she muses in a thoughtful tone. But wouldn't that send everyone to the same few therapists? Was it a good idea for one therapist to be helping multiple people from the same team, she wondered?

Sam Wilson has posed:
    That earns an actual laugh out of Sam, brief though it may be. "Sorry. Old habits, you know. If you want me to call you Cael, I will."

    He's not a messy eater, but he also seems to have the sense that there's some timer ticking down in the background somewhere and when it hits zero some new emergency will crop up and who knows when his next meal will come. His plate is clearing at a rapid pace without it looking like Sam is shoveling food into his mouth.

    It's a skill!

    Admittedly it's not something new, just a habit that's starting to make its way back into his life after years out of the service.

    "I mean more so that you can talk about the stuff you see when you're working with us, without it possibly coming back to bite you in the ass with your job," he says, fork paused halfway to his mouth. "The offer's open, either way. Just let me know."

    Cael can probably hear his phone buzzing, and more than once Sam sets his utensils down to stare at it and carefully type out a response text. "Sorry," he mutters at one point, knowing that it's rude of him but also... well, he can't not answer.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Oh, she doesn't work //for// the FBI," Cael remarks in amusement. "And - really. How would they expect their agents to open up and get any sort of actual useful therapy if we thought they'd be reporting back to our superiors about the shit we say in sessions," she points out. "Nah. It won't get back to the Bureau," she says in a relaxed, dismissive manner.
    Honestly, she probably should schedule a session. "God - she's going to think I've had a break with reality, though," she mutters under her breath. "//Fish people//? Come on..."
    She takes another bite of her eggs benedict - watching Sam with his phone - though she doesn't seem at all bothered by his actions. "Don't suppose it's Barnes?" she asks - before a thoughtful frown grows on her features. "Why am I defaulting to 'Steve' and 'Sam' - but keeping James as 'Barnes'? Whatever." She doesn't expect to understand her own mind, to be honest.

Sam Wilson has posed:
    "Well, that's smart on your part. Pretty sure my SHIELD therapist turned out to be an agent of--" Again, he doesn't say HYDRA, so Sam's jaw clicks shut instead. A moment later he shovels more pancake into his mouth as an excuse to continue not talking.

    He snorts at mention of those damned fish people, and shakes his head with a roll of his eyes. Yep. Tip of the iceberg, really.

    His fork and knife end up resting on the edge of his plate. Somehow Sam's worked his way halfway through that giant pancake monstrosity, though he looks like he's starting to slow down. "Yeah, it is," he says. And then, "Because he's a grown ass man who goes by 'Bucky,' like that's not something you'd use for a six year old."

    More texting.

    Sam bites his lip, looks up at his plate, and sighs. He carves off a huge bite and, okay, he has the social graces to cover his mouth as he shovels it in, before he's standing as he's--still chewing, yep--pulling his wallet from his back pocket.

    He drops more than enough cash on the table and then, ugh, yeah, still chewing, he has to stand there and really focus on not choking to death, excuse him.

    After he gets that down and guzzles most of his water, he says, "I need to go. Thanks for checking in. It's nice to pretend to have a normal life where I can meet a friend out for drinks, every once in a while." Sam goes for the bag under the table.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Feel free to tell 'Bucky' that 'Cael says yer an ass,'" she offers with a dry, slightly sad smile. "You know. Whenever it's convenient to drop that text. Because he is." She sighs, looking down at what remains of her food, then back up at Sam.
    "Look - take care of yourself, Sam. Yeah? You can call me anytime. If I don't answer for a while - I might be out on job. Two separate Cellphones, you know how it is." She shrugs her shoulders.
    "Hey, and give Lili a scritch, yeah?"

Sam Wilson has posed:
    "Oh, I will." Sam might stow that away for a while, but once he thinks Bucky's okay to hear it, he will absolutely pull it out and put it to good use. In the meantime, though, he just leans over to pat Cael on the shoulder. "Thanks, Cael," he says. "Same goes to you. Let's keep the line of communication open, alright?"

    He swings his bag up onto his shoulder. "I'll do you one better. Next puppacino she gets, I'll tell her it's from Aunt Cael, how about that?"

    Sam's smiling, even if it feels a little bit like he's just plastered it on his face, but he at least gives it a try as he says his goodbyes and heads out.

    Onto the next crisis.

    He's going to regret not eating the rest of that damn pancake, though.