Chapter Text
It’s just another Monday afternoon at the diner. The cold and snow outside have discouraged most people from leaving the warmth and coziness of their houses, so the place is pretty desert except for the usual squadron of respectable drunkards. Tony is pretending to listen with interest to the story one of them, Mr. Jones, is telling him whilst polishing with an off-white cloth the pitchers in front of him. In fairness, the account of how this dude has been working on his Harley to maximise its average speed is actually something that has piqued his attention. The problem is, between the slurried words and the non-consequential sentences it is hard to stay focused. So, ten minutes in, Tony has switched off his brain and just mumbles a couple of ‘rights’ and ‘I sees’ every now and then. Not that the other has noticed the shift at all. The only time their eyes meet is to ask for a refill. Otherwise, his gaze lays on a non-specific point past the bartender. Tony is fine with that, like he’s fine with this soulless job. It is a means to an end, that’s all. He needs money to pay for his college tuition, because the scholarship is still in the process of being sorted out and his father has severed all his ties with him once he found out about his son’s participation in an anti-war protest. Tony hadn’t been surprised, and part of him thought - then as now - that it had been only a matter of time before something like that would happen anyway. He is kind of glad that war - and not his other not-very-well-kept secret - has been the final straw. He feels it is easier to explain ideology than to go against ‘religion’, or ‘god’. Plus, at least he still has his mother’s support, which would have probably not been the case in the other scenario.
The sound of the opening door - and the icy whiff that almost instantly reaches his ankles - brings him back to the room, and his eyes shoot a quick look at the new arrival, as they always do whenever the bar is relatively quiet. Call it a preemptive measure. Usually he can pick out troublemakers by the way they walk in. Chest puffed out and eyes surveying the room as to challenge everybody. He’s been working here for just over three months, but his attention to detail has made it possible to recognise the different kinds of regulars in just a couple of weeks. Which, coincidentally, has also impressed his employer so much that he has started leaving Tony in charge soon after his probation month was over.
“Heeellooooo? I-sked for ‘nother one” Mr. Jones’s voice suddenly goes up a notch as he repeats his request for beer number four, and Tony realises he has been kind of staring at the guy in army green who has just made his way in.
“Yes, of course, coming right up…” he nods, not worrying about an apology because it would fall on deaf ears. He grabs the empty glass and refills it, his gaze still following the newcomer. Mr. Jones doesn’t even notice. Tony slides the fresh pint in front of him before focusing his attention back on the stranger. He can’t quite point down what makes him stand out. Sure, he looks completely out of place, whatever that might mean in a downtown diner in the middle of a blizzard, but that’s not it. And it’s not that he’s probably the youngest person in the room, or that he’s dressed up in a military uniform. His whole demeanour is different - not really odd, just… unusual?
“Evening, sir…” Tony starts once the guy sits at the counter, his hand still mechanically swooshing the cloth inside the glass.
No reply. Not even a nod, or a sign of understanding. Maybe he didn’t talk loudly enough.
“Evening, sir,” he repeats, taking a couple of steps in the other’s direction so that he’s standing right in front of him. Tony can see now that he’s younger than his initial assessment, maybe not even twenty yet.
“Uh? Oh, good evening…”
Tony waits a few seconds for the order to arrive, but it never does, so he explicitly asks for it.
“What would you like?”
“Uh… Whatever he’s having,” the guy replies, nodding slightly towards Mr. Jones, who has dunked half of his new pint already.
Tony has heard this sentence before: it belongs to one of two categories of people. Number one: the over-friendly, over-confident, “I don’t care what I’m drinking because I have no preference, I just want alcohol” person. Number two: someone who has never had a drink before but has now been pushed over the fence by life. Taking a wild guess, the new customer belongs to the latter.
“Trust me, you don’t want that,” Tony giggles softly, before leaning in and lowering his voice. Not that it matters. Mr. Jones is only paying attention to the glass in his hands. “Tell you what, I’ll get you my favourite,” he offers, and without waiting for a reply he starts making a gin and tonic.
“Thanks…” the guy nods. Tony observes him as he raises the glass to his mouth and sucks in a short breath before taking that first sip and straightening up a bit as the liquor makes its way down his throat.
“No problem,” Tony smiles softly. There’s something about this young soldier that sets him apart from all the other military guys he’s met before, although he can’t point down what it is. “Say, are you waiting for someone?”
“Uh? Oh, no, not at all. I… I was waiting for my bus, but I think I must have just missed it or something, because I was at the stop for over an hour and it never came…”
“Nah, they probably just cancelled it because of the storm outside. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Oh…” The guy looks genuinely surprised to hear this, as if it was impossible for the Army to do such a thing. “Shoot, hm… Do you know how frequently they run?”
“Can’t help you with that, sorry. I think the last bus of the day is in a few hours though, one will probably show up at some point.”
The guy nods absently and looks down at his drink. There’s a veiled sadness in his gaze now, and Tony can weirdly feel it himself, for some unknown reason. It’s almost contagious.
“Say, what’s your name?,” he asks, mostly to try to cheer the other up. “I’m Tony.”
“Oh, I’m Steve,” the guy replies, stretching his hand across the counter. Tony shakes it.
“You know,” he then offers, smiling encouragingly, “I’m off in an hour and I know where we can go…”