Blame it on the gin
“I’m not going.” Quinn sat down in the living room chair in a huff.
“The dress, hair, and makeup would say otherwise.” Andi poked her playfully. The pair had spent an hour fixing Quinn up, and despite herself, Quinn had enjoyed it.
“Skip work and come with me.” Quinn pleaded. Despite her expertly curled hair and the dangerously formfitting gown she was truly not ready to go by herself to the event.
Andi shook her head. “Nope. Even if I could afford a night out, I don’t have anything to wear, I don’t think pasties and stripper heals are exactly within the dress code.”
Quinn rolled her eyes. She highly doubted that there was nothing formal in Andi’s substantial closet. She had also pleaded with Royal, but he insisted he needed to be at the bar. The prospect of going to a huge gala alone was making all of Quinn’s anxieties flair up with a vengeance. The thought of it almost made her physically sick. Her phone rang and the person on the other end informed her that the car Mr. Stark sent was waiting outside her building.
“Alright.” Quinn conceded. “I’m only going to stay for an hour, tops. I’ll donate some money, have a drink, then make my escape.”
“I wonder if Thor will be there.” Andi dreamily wondered as she ushered Quinn out the door. “If you wind up hooking up with an Avenger I want all the details!”
A sleek white car was waiting outside, Quinn didn’t recognize the make or model. She expected a chauffeur to be waiting to open her door but there was no one there. Across the street, the black car with deeply tinted windows watched her ominously and she started to feel self-conscious. Just when she had decided to turn around and go back to her apartment the door of the white car opened and a disembodied voice asked her to get in.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y?” Quinn recognized the computer program from her time spent at Avengers tower.
“Indeed Doctor Augustin.” The pleasantly lilted voice responded. “Mr. Stark sent me to pick you up.”
“Sent you?” Quinn was reeling with this news. “Do you mean this car doesn’t have an actual driver?”
“According to all calculations you are ninety percent less likely to be in a collision with Mr. Stark’s driverless technology.”
Quinn buckled her seatbelt and leaned back in the luxurious leather seat. The car took off and after a while proved that it was better than a human driver. Seemingly miraculously the car weaved between traffic and honked its horn at other drivers as needed. Stark’s driverless car was the perfect New York City driver. They finally stopped in front of a gilded age building swarming with ball gowns, suits, and reporters. There was even a red carpet for attendees to step out on.
“Can we go in a back entrance or something?” Quinn nervously eyed the throngs of people.
Instead of responding the car pulled up to the red carpet entrance and opened its doors. “Enjoy your evening. You can let the interface know when you are ready to return home.”
Quinn stared out, not ready to move her feet. A hand suddenly appeared in her field of vision.
“Hey doc!” Peter’s chipper voice instantly brought a smile to Quinn. He looked dapper in his tuxedo, but still very much a teenager in the way his hair remained tousled. “My Dads told me to wait for you in case you decided to make a run for it.”
Quinn took his hand. “I’ve never been on a red carpet before.”
“Dad loves the drama of it. He thinks the only way to do things is to do them big.” Peter waved and smiled at reporters with an ease only years of practice could afford. Quinn was once again struck by how mature he was for his age, and remembered that he had grown up in the public eye.
“Hey Peter, isn’t she a little old for you?” A young female reporter shouted over to them. Quinn read on her press badge that she was from one of those online magazines targeted at teenagers.
“This is Doctor Augustin. She saved my life, Kenzie. My Dads and I wanted to treat her to something special.” Peter easily chatted with the reporter. Quinn studied him while he worked. She had always thought of him as slightly awkward and still coming into his own, but he was unnaturally smooth in this environment. She then noticed how he tightened his jaw muscles as he talked with the reporter about his appendicitis - leaving out a few key, arachnid related details - and realized he was acting. He was doing his best to exude Tony Stark’s coolness - and was succeeding at it.
“Does that bother you?” She couldn’t resist asking as Peter escorted her into the main ballroom where the gala was taking place. She couldn’t count the number of similar events she had been forced to growing up, but this one blew them all out of the water. The walls boasted floor to ceiling silk ribbons where gymnasts dressed in sparkling costumes performed death defying stunts by wrapping themselves in the ribbon and seeming to fall nearly to the ground. There were modern sculptures on pedestals scattered throughout the room and waiters easily wound throughout the crowd offering an array of hors d’oeuvres and drinks.
“My Dads tried keeping me out of the spotlight for a while, especially Pops.” Peter answered her question. “But when they saw that was pretty much impossible because of who they were they spent a lot of time teaching me what to do.”
There was a small group of teenagers in one corner of the room. A curly haired girl wearing jean shorts and a t-shirt featuring the famous portrait of Che Guevara called Peter over to them. He seemed to hesitate, torn between escorting Quinn and wanting to go to his friends.
“Go on.” Quinn eased his worry. “She’s really pretty.” She added and saw Peter’s cheeks flare up bright red before he headed over to the group. Left on her own Quinn started looking for who to give the check she had written out as a donation to. She also greedily eyed the bar across the room. A band started playing and a few people started dancing a slow waltz.
“I’m glad the dress fit.” Quinn turned around to see Steve looking at her sheepishly while Bucky nursed a beer. She doubted the bar had provided the can of Budweiser. Both men looked incredible in their black suits and Quinn briefly imagined them turning heads in their army uniforms of the 1940s.
“Don’t tell me you were a part of this too.” Quinn shook her head. “Is Tony always that insistent.”
“You have no idea.” Steve smiled fondly. “Did Peter bring you in?”
“Your son was a perfect gentleman.” Quinn assured Steve and couldn’t help but notice the sly smirk that graced Bucky’s face.
Tony walked up to them as they were talking. Well, as Steve and Quinn talked and Bucky glowered. “You missed my speech, doc. It was a good one too, full of heart wrenching appeals to save the children.”
“Sorry, I dithered for a little bit over your car. When is that going to hit the market?”
Tony looked positively triumphant. “Haven’t decided. I’m waiting to see what Tesla’s next move is so I can blow Elon out of the water just after his next big reveal.”
The band struck up a familiar chord and the singer started to croon out “A Change is Gonna Come” by Sam Cooke. The song seemed to have special significance to Steve and Tony as they almost immediately took to the dance floor, leaving Quinn and Bucky awkwardly together.
“You do look really good tonight.” Bucky offered her the compliment and she took it as gracefully as possible, still remembering his fury when he was at her apartment.
“I’m going to see how good the bartender is.” Quinn planned her route to the bar to get there fast and efficiently avoiding crowds of people. “You need a refill?”
“He’s not as good as that kid at Royal Savage, but the expensive booze Tony sprung for makes up for it.” Bucky offered her his right elbow with an ease that told Quinn it was more muscle memory than chivalry. She accepted it and let him lead them over to the bar in nearly the exact course she had mapped out for herself.
“All this top shelf stuff and you drink that?” She pointed at his now empty can while they waited to order.
“I won it in a bet.” He smirked again. “What’s your poison, doctor?”
“Gin and tonic, extra gin, with a twist of lime.” Quinn rattled off her usual drink order not expecting Bucky to order for her and then order whiskey sour for himself.
“I know girls today don’t like that.” Bucky handed her her drink and turned to face the dance floor. “Old habits are hard to break though.”
“Is this the sort of place you brought girls back then?” Quinn sipped her drink. The flavors of juniper and lime exploded in her mouth. This was definitely better than the stuff Royal purchased for his bar.
“Nah. Movie, then dancing and drinking in some smoke filled joint until Steve inevitably got into a fight and had to be dragged home.” Bucky seemed lost in his memories for a moment and somehow looked older until he finally turned to Quinn. “Real dancing too. Not this sex with your clothes on everyone does now.”
The band was now covering some song Quinn was sure she had heard on her Ella Fitzgerald Spotify list. She downed the last of her drink in one gulp. “Well then, show me.” She stood in front of Bucky and held out her hand. Maybe it was the drink that emboldened her, or maybe she wanted to prove something to him, but the move surprised both of them.
“Are you sure you can keep up?” Bucky teased but pulled her on to the dance floor just the same and wrapped one arm around her waist while placing her hands on his shoulder and one in hand. The metal of his arm was cool against her lower back and Quinn could do nothing to suppress the goosebumps that travelled up her spine. “Real dancing takes a little more technique than what I saw the other night.”
His gibe spurred Quinn on. “Just try not to break a hip, old man.” She challenged and Bucky let out a small chuckle while starting them off at the same time. He was a great partner; leading her around the floor was a sense of ease and control most men just didn’t have. Quinn forgot to be sarcastic and lost herself in the dance. She allowed him to twirl her out and back into his chest and hitched her breath when he drew close to him. They circled the floor and wound up back at the bar where Bucky ordered two more drinks and then lead her up a set of stairs. Quinn was so still buzzing from her first drink and the dance that she barely registered leaving the ballroom until they were standing outside on a small balcony over looking the city.
“Sorry,” Bucky apologized. “The crowd was starting to get to me.”
“I know the feeling.” Quinn sipped on her drink and looked at the city lights all around her. Bucked started to smoke and they sat in silence for a long while.
“Why a doctor?” Bucky broke the silence.
“What?” Quinn looked up confused. She had been lost in her own thoughts.
“You were rich, probably could have done whatever you wanted and still been taken care of, so why become a doctor?”
“I wanted to help people.” Quinn shot back the automated response she had honed after years of being asked the same question.
“Bullshit.” Buck crossed his arms and leaned against the banister.
“Excuse me?”
“Bullshit.” He repeated. “At least, partial bullshit. Why did you become a doctor?” He raised and eyebrow at Quinn, daring her to give another canned answer.
“I -” Quinn started to say one thing then changed her mind. “My grandmother, my mom’s mom was a doctor. She was a nurse in World War 2 when she met my grandpa. He wasn’t able to work much after the war because he was disabled by shrapnel in his hip so grams decided to work her way through medical school at a time when almost no women were becoming doctors. She supported the two of them and their kids and was so respected no one dared question it. I guess, I just wanted to be like her. Independent.”
“Are you independent, Quinn?” Bucky had moved closer while she told her story.
“Not as much as I’d like to be.” She admitted and looked down at the fancy Louboutin heels peeking out from the hem of her dress. She felt a calloused finger lift her chin up and was startled to see Bucky staring intently at her face from just a few inches away.
“What’s stopping you?” He asked quietly but fiercely.
Quinn thought of her father, of the black cars and goons he had sent after her. She thought of the horrible lab she had worked for him in, where she thought she was helping people but was really torturing them. She didn’t have an answer, she was probably always going to be under the thumb of William Augustin.
Bucky moved his hand from her chin to the back of her neck and leaned down suddenly, forcing their lips together. It was as if a dam broke and soon they both were lost to the kiss. Quinn moved her hands under his suit jacket and felt the taught muscles of his back through his dress shirt as Buck stroked his hands up and down her sides. They finally came up for air the reality of what had just happened slammed into Quinn.
“Fuck.” She stated plainly. “How...”
Bucky’s arms were still around her and he leaned his forehead into hers. “You can always blame it on the gin.”
When he flashed her a boyish smile with kiss swollen lips Quinn launched herself at him again, desperately wanting to feel him against her even more. A slit in her evening gown allowed Bucky to hitch one of legs up around his hip while moved from her lips to kissing down her neck and back up again. Quinn wasn’t sure what it was, but something about this just clicked, it felt natural to be out on that balcony furiously making out like two kids on prom night. But at the same time.... Quinn was distracted when a memory of her red-faced father holding a gun broke through the barriers of her mind she had so carefully constructed.
She pushed against Bucky’s chest with all of her strength. He immediately took his hands off of her but looked shocked. “What’s wrong?”
“I have to go.” Quinn made a dash for the door but Bucky grabbed her wrist.
“Quinn, what happened?” He urgently asked.
“I - I can’t blame this on the gin.” She looked at him pleadingly, knowing she couldn’t wrestle her wrist from his grasp. He reluctantly let her go and she ran towards the entrance and out the building. Quinn didn’t pay much attention to what pulled up when she hailed a cab, completely forgetting about the car she came in. She couldn’t believe she had let herself slip like that, she could have gotten them both killed.
“This isn’t the way to my apartment.” Quinn looked out at the unfamiliar street around her. She maybe have been distracted but was sure she gave the cabbie her address.
“I’m not taking you home, Miss Augustin.” The driver said ominously. She was definitely in a cab, Quinn looked closer at her surroundings, the driver even had his identity card displayed. “Your father wants to have a word with you.”