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“What are the odds? The character’s name and callsign is Bob. And he looks exactly just like you, Bob,” Yelena comments, deadpan, voice as flat as the Bonneville Salt Flats, but less flat than Bucky’s affect. It seems to her that every movie night is another insane night at the Watchtower uncanny valley. “This is not so fun anymore.”
“Lewis Pullman and I are cut from the same cloth. A bit panicky at times, yes, and so unlike me. But the kid has heart,” Bob beams like a proud Kurt Russell to his overachieving son, John Walker.
Yelena shrugs. “Yeah, like you’re so cool under pressure. You can barely handle a microwave without exploding like a million suns. But sure, whatever.”
“And I look like Fanboy. Don’t you think? Man, Danny Ramirez is such a sexy, sexy man.” Joaquín grins widely beside Bob, munching on popcorn. Bob squeals in delight and agreement, his squeakiness reaching 75 dB. Ava looks up from her Tumblr and stares at Bob, and then at Joaquín, gawking at him like he’s a himbo partycrasher.
“And you are?” Joaquín’s smile drops slightly, mouth full, still chewing like a gremlin.
“Oh my God, Ava. He’s Joaquín, callsign Falcon, the sexy bird man. My new best friend. And I’ve introduced him already, like two hours ago. Over dinner.” Bob sighs exasperatedly. Ava nods and returns to her little screen, muttering something about FanBob that no one understands.
“I just don’t get why you’re here and Sam’s not,” Bucky says, his voice cracking like a Victorian widow. He glares at the TV, envious of what Tom Cruise and Jennifer Connelly have, probably an off-screen copulation and late-night motorcycle back rides, with the string quartet tribute version of Danger Zone playing in the background.
“I guess…he’s busy. And you’re not?” John smirks, thanking his resolve in talking the team out of screening Big Trouble in Little China. He’s tired of being compared to his ferociously manly, pseudo-father, Snake Plissken—only to be found wanting, because of his forever constipated visage. Bucky homicidal glares at him but then resumes brooding, eyes glazed over, his entire being full of self-loathing and yearning.
“Oh my Brezhnev! Can’t we not have small talk right now? We are in the middle of the naked abs beach football training montage porn, and it is glorious! Just look at Rooster, what a hunk of a man with tantalizing pornstache!” Alexei growls, his eyes transfixed on the testosterone overflow in front of him.
“My ears! What are you, a perv?” John shouts.
Yelena rolls her eyes. “Holy shit, Dad. Why are you thirsting over those men?”
Bucky mourns, “not watching that. Naked torsos remind me of a special someone.”
“I don’t care about any of this,” Ava mutters, mentally brainstorming a FanBob smutfic idea.
“Welcome to my world, Fanboy.” Bob flashes Joaquín an apologetic smile as his teammates spiral into a full-blown verbal dogfight.
Joaquín beams back, unbothered, “I’m all in, callsign Bob.”