Chapter Text
She hated weddings. No, that was a little harsh and not really true. What she hated was the ability of weddings to cause bad moods. Everyone gets all done up—make and all and everyone still finds something to complain about or someone to compare themselves to.
The blushing bride is smiling and thanking everyone for the gifts that she told them to get and all you can think is “god, I wonder how badly she wants a cheeseburger right now”. Or you look at the workers and think, “wow that waiter is gonna die for giving Bridezilla’s lieutenant aka Mommy one olive instead of two for her martini”. Personally, Camille always felt weddings were a waste of time but she supposed that the copious amounts of alcohol in addition to wedding goggles did distract people long enough to fool themselves into believing that the $30,000 plus they spent for one night was worth the infinite feuding between the newly combined family and their future offspring.
Ok fine…Camille was being depressing and cynical but, in her defense, she hadn’t been to one of these in 4 years and she’s never been skilled at being sociable with new people. Damn it, Peter would say she was being annoying but you know, lovingly. That was their relationship. See, when you’ve been together since 16 years old and went through adulthood together, roasting each other becomes a necessary ritual.
Well, it was, Camille thought.
Having your boyfriend/partner/best friend die at 24 years old didn’t make the smiles go round. But Camille knew Peter would be proud of her. Because he told her every day when she came home from work, “Honey, I am so proud of you”. Even when she didn’t come home when she said she would or when she was so stressed that she couldn’t even handle another human being for more than 5 minutes. Peter always said, without hesitation, “Babe, I am so proud of you and I love you. Just smile and breathe and don’t scare anyone”. Going to the FBI’s special agent trainee program straight out of undergrad and right into the FBI’s Operational Medicine Program didn’t allow for planned leisure time even weekly date nights. Even so, the relationship worked. Camille never really figured out if her and Peter stayed together because it was comfortable or because they truly couldn’t live without each other but it didn’t really matter in then end. Peter made her happy and helped Camille be the best version of herself and vice versa.
Back to the wedding and away from depressing reminiscence, Camille didn’t know anyone here; the bride had a friend who had another friend who was married to a guy from SWAT who Camille worked with on occasion. After Guy from SWAT saw no ring and no ‘Mrs.’ attached to her name, he insisted on Camille celebrating the long-awaited nuptials of his very distant friend. I’m sure he meant well.
As the reception continued into the night, Camille debated when it would be acceptable to take her leave so she could go back home and finish the reports she had been procrastinating doing when she felt a pair of eyes on her. Camille thought (objectively speaking, of course) they were beautiful eyes that perfectly complimented a handsome face and even more attractive body. All muscle and dark brown hair, said specimen was wearing a dark blue form-fitting suit with a black bowtie and a smirking boy-ish smile to match his frat boy-like persona. Sitting next to him was an equally attractive man that seemed to be more interested in the reception that his companion. Camille designated stranger as Specimen and as he continued to stare, Camille debated on him win the stare down showdown when she heard Peter’s voice in her head.
Come on, give him a chance.
Even when he was dead and gone, Peter continued to act as a meddlesome Jiminy Cricket for Camille. But optimism and taking chances was not her role in their relationship nor her strong suit. Also, she never really learned how to flirt. Her and Peter just kinda fell together and somehow it worked out. One of the Unwritten Rules of Relationships that Camille had thought up when she was drunk but still rang true when sober was once you were together for a long amount of time, you forgot how to flirt.
It’s been 6 years Camille. Flirt with someone and have some fun.
Camille defensively thought, ‘I have plenty of fun thank you very much’.
Doing what you hermit? Playing with dogs and cats at the shelters on your ONE day off? How about some human interaction? Besides, you need the practice. Even after 20 years jeez when are you gonna get your life together?
Mentally rolling her eyes and brooding, Camille thought that was ridiculous. She wasn’t planning on dating him. What if he was a creep? What if he didn’t believe in evolution? Or worse, he was a Trump supporter.
Then finally have some sex and get some tension out. It’s probably what he is looking for too.
Feeling called out, Camille mentally started a list: firstly, speaking to pets was a perfectly valid social interaction. They are better than people and we don’t deserve them. Secondly, she didn’t do one-night stands.
You’ve never tried. But fine, don’t have sex with him. Just talk to him, he is really cute.
Childishly, Camille wanted to shout back “Well you talk to him!” but she felt that would be weird. After seconds of careful deliberation, she decided to talk to him. She’ll scare him off and that’ll be the end of it. At least she tried.
That’s the spirit! You won’t scare him and if you do, well he’s a weakling and can’t handle your woman-ness!
‘Oh yes’, Camille thought, her woman-ness which has a permanent bitch face and personality so blunt that if you tried to cut butter with it, the butter would just slide away. Sure, that’ll knock his socks right off. Before she could abort mission and speed walk away from the table, Specimen decided to make his move and saunter his way over. Well, she couldn’t run now.
“Mind if I sit here and keep you company?” he asked. “These things can be depressing alone and misery loves company?”.
Damn it, he was even more attractive up close and had a voice liked melted chocolate to match. “Who says I’m miserable? I might be enjoying the groom’s mother’s 54th drunken rendition of ‘At Last’, she jokingly said.
Specimen laughed, “Well then allow me to join you in your merriment and get you another drink.”
Camille paused. Ok, that laugh sounded familiar she thought. Hell, now that face was looking mighty familiar. That body, that ass…oh crap. Specimen was Chris Evans, that Marvel actor that Gwen was always moaning about. Camille felt herself deflate a smidgen. What in the fresh hell was he doing here? Why is he talking to her of all people? Doesn’t he have better things to do like…well, Camille didn’t know what actors did in their free time but it couldn’t be this.
Camille, don’t be so self-deprecating and snobbish. He can do whatever he wants in his free time. And he wants to talk to you so give your name and smile before I come back from the afterlife and annoy you to death for being a recluse.
Steeling herself, she held out her hand, “Camille.” He smiled beatifically and gave his hand, “Chris.”
Looking back on this moment, Camille knew she could’ve handled this better but her social skills weren’t that good and she probably could’ve lead with small talk or something but she believed small talk was a waste of time and Specimen…Chriswasn’t that subtle with his leering at her almost impressive cleavage.
“Just so you know, I don’t hook up at weddings.”
Chris looked surprised but shockingly, not offended. He quickly recovered and in a smirking tone said, “I’m guessing you haven’t always had this rule.”
Camille smiled at that and frankly said, “It’s just so cliché, a guy looks across the crowded dance floor and sees a girl sitting alone and both of them are at this big romantic wedding and they can’t help but think ‘wow what if it works out?’. Those big romantic moments between two strangers, they’re not real.”
Chris just smiled (he smiled a lot, Camille noted) and nodded emphatically, “Exactly. Like when I saw you get that drunk cousin to the bathroom to clean the vomit out of her hair. Not gonna lie, that got me hot, I could barely control myself”.
“You should see me handle a defibrillator, you’d be utterly and completely titillated.”
“Unfortunately for you, that is not out of character for me.” Camille laughed at that nervously. Unfortunately for her, Chris noticed but thankfully moved on. “But now that I’m older I know it’s just a fantasy.”
“The Wedding Goggles Syndrome, it’s a terrible affliction”, she joked.
“Exactly. And that is why I am not flirting with you.”
Ok, Camille had to snort incredulously at that comment. He wasn’t that subtle with his intentions but in fairness, neither was she. “This isn’t your Big Move?”
“What? You think this is my Big Move? Believe me, you would know the Big Move. People ten tables away would know the Big Move.”
Alright, Camille could play this game. “That’s too bad.”, she said while groaning.
Chris nodded without saying anything and continued to stare at her. Camille was surprised, he hadn’t left yet or looked put off by her dry sense of humor and frank personality. If anything, he looked impressed. Maybe he was drunker than she thought.
But Camille couldn’t help but be pleased by his presence. Being a workaholic or as her shrink would say ‘using work to distract her from her loneliness and cope with Peter’s passing’, didn’t make her desirable as a friend or girlfriend. 90% of her conversations with others revolved around work and it was nice to jokingly chat with someone with no expectations. She didn’t want it to end. But Camille knew herself to be a pragmatic person, this wasn’t gonna work. Her and Chris would flirt for the night and then never see each other again. He would go off and do actor things while she went back to her work as a medic. They would just be blips in each other’s radars, miniscule smudges.
But that would mean Camille could say whatever she wanted without worrying about keeping up appearances. She could be as straightforward and dry as could be and it wouldn’t matter because they would never see each other again. Besides, Chris was smiling and laughing at everything she said. She could definitely keep that up. He had a nice smile.
“Well since, as you previously stated, ‘misery loves company’, why don’t we just hang out for the rest of the night?”
His eyes brightened at that, “Interested.”
“And to preface this, we are not sleeping together tonight.”
“Less interested.”, he said but much to Camille’s surprise, his smile didn’t diminish and he didn’t attempt to angle the conversation to a goodbye.
“So the thing that shatters the illusion is the next day. Right? So let’s cut that part out. I’m here; you’re here. This is a big romantic wedding. Why don’t we just dance and talk and drink and never see other again after tonight?”
Ok, maybe Camille was being presumptuous about him wanting to know her past this night but what the hell? If he didn’t like it he could leave, she had implied that much.
Chris hadn’t said much during her tirade, but he hadn’t lost the interest in his eyes. They were pretty eyes.
“Wow…ok I’m in. But I found a flaw in your plan.”
“And what is that, pray tell?”
“You do know who I am right? And I swear, I am not saying that because I’m arrogant. It just since Captain America it seems everyone knows who I am, even if they have been living under a rock.”
“I do know who you are.”
“And you don’t care?”, he asked suspiciously.
That was a convoluted question. Did Camille care? Yes, but not in the ‘omg it’s Chris Evans I’m gonna be a total spaz about it and ask for an autograph and a picture and tell all my friends’ way. It was more in the ‘I know he likes his privacy and I don’t want him to feel uncomfortable hanging out with a girl he doesn’t want a friendship with and the paparazzi blows it out of proportion and embarrasses him’ way.
Camille gave him the short answer, “No, I don’t care. As long as you don’t care that I don’t care.”
Chris looked utterly floored by the answer. And, if possible, he looked even more interested in Camille. ‘That can’t be right’, Camille thought.
After a minute, Chris recovered and said “Ok…back to the flaw in your plan. You know my last name but I don’t know yours. I’d like to be on equal ground with you even though I’m suspecting you are way out of my league.”
Wow, even after I told him we were not gonna hook up, he was laying the charm on thick. Camille…out of his league…fucking hilarious. Seriously.
“Ok I see the merits in your observation. We should be on equal ground Chris Evans. I am Camille Straka-Reyes.”
“Oh well if we are going to be giving middle names. I am Christopher Robert Evans.”
Camille had to good-heartedly snicker at his misunderstanding, “No, my last name is hyphenated: Straka-Reyes. My mother refused to take my father’s name when they got married, the hyphen was the compromise.”
Chris belly-laughed at that. He had a contagious laugh, Camille thought. She couldn’t help but join in.
After they both recovered, Chris said “I see you inherited your mother’s gumption.”
“I don't know if she would be happy or insulted by the comment Christopher.”
They spent the next minute in silence. Just looking at each other. Camille couldn’t help but admire how attractive he was and how laughable how out-of-reach he was. Camille mentally shook herself, there was no need to get maudlin.
Have some fun.
Yeah, she was gonna have some fun. She was due for some. Right? Besides, wherever Peter was, it would make him happy that she wasn’t alone tonight.
“Ok, we are now on equal ground Mr. Evans. Let me see the Big Moves you so helpfully aforementioned.”
Chris slowly smirked.