Chapter Text
The voice in the back of Clint’s head pleaded with him to stay with the team, to not follow the strange journalist he barely knew (save for a quick web search). If Natasha found out he was friendly with a journalist after she explicitly told to stay away from the press, she would almost certainly have his starting spot. He had every reason to leave, yet his curiosity conquered whatever the voice of reason had to say as he followed Jamie over to a taxi rank.
Hennessy bent into the passenger side window and spoke with the driver before turning around and beckoning him to follow. Clint obliged and dropped his kit bag into the back seat as Hennessy plopped down into the front seat. While they drove, Clint pulled out his phone. He had a text from Stark asking him where he went, he quickly responded saying that he had met a friend and was heading out with them which wasn’t a complete lie. After that he made sure to turn on the sound and stuffed the mobile back into his suit pants pocket. Eventually, they pulled up to the curb. Hennessy practically threw the money at the driver before jumping out of the cab. Clint followed the enthusiastic Irishwoman out of the car and found they stood in front of a very normal-looking bar. “This it?” he asked sceptically. Hennessy looked at him with a crooked smile and nodded.
Clint glanced back up to read the name on the sign. Well, he attempted to read it. “Oh An- Oh ao- What does that even say?” he asked, bewildered. Hennessy smirked and spoke a series of tumbling words and sounds that left him no better off. Seeing his confused face, she relented and pointed up. Clint found that she was nearly his own height. “Ó hAonghusa. Say oh-hane-gus-ah. It’s the Irish for Hennessy,” she elaborated. Clint laughed and folded his arms. “So, you’re drumming up business?” he said matter-of-factly. She laughed and shrugged. “I suppose so, it belongs to a cousin of mine. But I advertise with good cause, I promise. C’mon.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him through the doors after her.
Once inside, he was met by the smell of beer and a burning hearth. Warmth hit him like a punch in the face. It was as if the bar was separated into two halves. The first half was the bar itself and was incredibly narrow. He had to shuffle sideways to slide past the patrons sitting at the countertop. Most were talking amongst themselves or gazing up at a mounted television behind the bar. Hennessy waved at the barman and shouted an order over the noise as they passed through. The second half of the bar opened out into a square. The walls were lined with old leather seats that you sank into. On the right side there was a lit brick fireplace, opposite was a small stage. Squeezed into the middle of the floor was a pool table. The relatively small bar was already flooded with people. Clint allowed Hennessy to lead him to a table beside the fireplace. She motioned for him to sit down on the deep leather seat. As he lowered himself down, he savoured the relief of sinking into the seat. The aching in his legs eased to a dull sensation as he stretched them out under the table. Hennessy disappeared only to materialise seconds later with two drinks in hand.
She slid one over to Clint and kept one for herself as she dropped down onto her stool. “What’s this?” he asked, lifting a suspicious brow. Hennessy laughed. “What, you’ve never seen a hot whiskey before?” she responded. Clint shrugged and held the shallow glass to his lips. “It’s good for aching bones, trust me,” she assured him in a softer tone. He hated to admit that she was right. As he sipped, warmth spread through his body, stretching through his calves and down to his toes. “You use this trick when you played?” he asked absent-mindedly. “How do you I played?” came the reply. Clint realised that he should have kept his mouth shut.
He hazarded a slow glance upwards and was met by stern blue-green eyes and a clenched jaw. He gulped. Suddenly, Hennessy scowl broke into a grin. She began to laugh. Clint felt heat rising in his cheeks and fought it as best he could. No one made Clint Barton blush. “I may or may not have googled you…” he admitted, fighting back a broad smile. He glanced back at Jamie who was really struggling to keep it together. It took several deep breaths before she could form a coherent sentence. “No don’t worry you keep laughing,” Clint mocked. “I’ll just wait here with my free drink.” “I’m sorry. It’s just weird to think of someone googling me. But yeah, you’re right. I played once upon a time,” she told him. “You were pretty good from what I read,” he replied. She shrugged and pulled off her jacket and hoodie. “I was fine. I was a right back.” Hennessey leaned back in her seat and sipped her beer.
She saw his curious expression and sighed. “I was the youngest player to captain my country when I was eighteen. I moved to Arsenal Ladies when I was nineteen. I retired when I was twenty-one,” she elaborated. “What happened?” he enquired gently, knowing the fear of injuries all too well. The articles had spoken of a technically gifted, strong player akin to the current men’s Irish captain, Séamus Coleman. Hennessy clenched her jaw for real this time. She folded her arms. “I was playing for the Republic of Ireland against Germany, I think. I went up for a high ball I thought I could control with my foot. As I reached for it, a German player went to tackle me. Whatever the hell she did, she caught my standing leg and reaching leg with the studs of her boots. My right leg snapped in both bones. I fell awkwardly and fractured my ankle. And that was curtains for me…”
Clint winced at her description and the thought of all the pain. Hennessy chuckled a little. “That was my reaction, too,” she laughed. Clint grimaced into his glass as he thought of all the pins she must have in her leg. “You must be fun at airport security,” he concluded. Hennessy snorted as she struggled to swallow the sip she has just taken. “I usually get there, like, an hour earlier than anyone else,” she threw back. Clint smirked. They sat and chatted for a few minutes, before challenging each other to a game of pool while a band set up behind them. Clint handed out the battered pool cues and Hennessy gave the old pool table a discreet kick to get a free game.
While Clint and the others were out socialising, Steve went back to his hotel room. He was too tired, and his balcony was too damn nice to not appreciate while he had peace and quiet (while Tony was nowhere in the immediate vicinity). He changed into an old white t-shirt and grey sweats, grabbed his sketchbook and one of those pencils the hotel always provided. He sat down in one of the garden chairs outside and propped his feet up on another. The air was crisp and clean, the moon was full and bathed everything from graffitied walls to supercars in its light. Natasha had also decided to head back to her own room and took a long, hot shower. She found an old woollen jumper folded in the wardrobe and shrugged it on, along with her cat patterned pyjama bottoms. Without bothering to dry her damp, curly hair, she stepped out onto her balcony after grabbing a novel from her suitcase.
She leaned on the painted black railings and curled her bare toes into the fake grass on the floor. Natasha closed her eyes and relished the cold breeze that blew against her cheeks, cooling her after the oppressive humidity of the hotel bathroom after a shower. Slowly, she became aware of the scratching sound to her right. There, separated by a limp chain, was Steve. Reclining on a garden chair, he seemed to be drawing something on an old sketchbook. His brow was knitting and his lips pouting slightly as he concentrated intently on whatever he was drawing. Natasha couldn’t help but watch as he worked, paused with the pencil in his mouth, and began again. “I like to draw sometimes. It relaxes me after a game. Takes down the adrenaline.” Steve broke the silence in a soft, tired voice. Natasha gave a small nod. “I like to read,” she replied. Steve smiled and glanced at her for the first time. He was taken aback slightly by her casual appearance.
He had never seen her without at least a tidy sweater or nice jeans on, and certainly never without makeup. Yet, here she stood. Makeup free, in cat pyjamas. He almost laughed. “What’re you drawing?” she asked, craning her neck to peak over at his sketch. He smiled and set down his pencil and sketchbook. “Whatever I see,” he replied. He saw her roll her eyes and fold her arms. “Mysterious doesn’t suit you, Rogers,” she told him, turning fully toward him. Steve chuckled and took a few steps forward. “What does suit me?” he asked impishly. Natasha bit her bottom lip. She too took a few steps forward. Her eyes swept over him but this time he held her gaze. “Honesty. Honesty suits you.” Steve felt himself swell with pride and smiled down at Natasha.
They were standing inches apart, her head a few inches from his chest. Somehow, her hand became wrapped in his much larger paws. She gave a gentle smile and Steve thought his heart might burst. Natasha was smiling at the sincerity of his blue eyes and the softness of his grip. Slowly, Steve bent down, and Natasha rose to her tiptoes. The kiss was soft, Steve’s hands to settle on her waist and Natasha’s hands cupped his face. She had to stretch her back up to reach him and Steve lifted her up. Time seemed to move slowly while Natasha’s mind began to move impossibly quickly. She was kissing Steve. The manager was kissing the captain. Her career could be over if anyone found out. But for once in her life, Natasha didn’t want to think about her career, she just wanted to be present in the moment. She just wanted to kiss Steve. And he just wanted to kiss her. Eventually, Natasha drew back.
Both of them held their mouths slightly open in shock. Steve clenched his jaw and stepped back, avoiding eye contact. “I’m sorry,” he uttered. Natasha swallowed and nodded before quickly spinning on her heel, grabbing her book off the table and rushing back inside her room.
“I took a lady out west one night! She had a very large appetite, she asked me to take her out to dine! I counted up my money, I had four and nine!”
Clint’s night was going very differently. It had been several rounds of drinks since the first pool game. Since then, the band had begun and ended their set and now customers were seizing the opportunity for entertainment. The bar was completely full now, with people sitting on the ledges of the leather seats – Clint and Hennessy among them. He admitted that he should have known better than to try an outdrink an Irishwoman. All stereotypes aside, Hennessy seemed to be putting alcohol away with ease. However, now it was 2.45 AM and cracks were beginning to show in her tolerance. Currently, Hennessy led the patrons in a rousing rendition of what she assured Clint was a traditional Irish song. It seemed that everyone except Clint knew the words, so the chorus had a slightly terrifying effect as a bar full of people singing acapella.
“Four and nine I still have yet! Four and nine, I’ll never forget! Don’t ever take a lady out to dine, when you have in your pocket only four and nine!” “She started off with some Oxtail soup, then stewed eels to loop the loop. 'Oysters dear', she said 'are fine', but I kept me muscles on me four and nine!”
Hennessy wasn’t a particularly gifted singer, but pure enthusiasm was getting her along way and even convinced Clint he knew the words to a song he had never in his life heard before. “Next thing she ordered was some filet of plaice, and put a chicken across her face. And as I saw it go down her spine, I said 'The Lord have mercy on me four and nine!”
Clint couldn’t stop smiling as Hennessy struggled to adjust herself on the limited space of the ledge while also trying to mind her drink at all costs. When she was ready to go again, she motioned to the whole bar.
“C’mon, lads! C’mon, belt it out to hell!” she encouraged. Her accent was so thick now that Clint had to strain himself to understand. “Altogether now!” They launched into the chorus with gusto before coming to the quiet verse. Now, Hennessy gestured for everyone to calm. She handed her drink to someone sitting at her feet and stood up on the soft leather, Clint holding her arm to steady her.
“In came the owner and he gave a shtaaaare. He placed his foot but I won’t say wheeeeeere!” She paused slightly before continuing, a cheeky smile growing on her face. She clapped in time with the quickening pace. “Aaand out through the window, I went flying! Dancin’ on the pavement with me four and nine!”
The whole bar erupted into an incoherent mess of noise and yells that passed for the final chorus. Hennessy took a bow while balanced very precariously and Clint had to pull her back to stop her from face planting. She plopped down beside him again. “Thank you,” she told him brightly. “Anytime,” he replied. They clinked their drinks and finished them before attempting to leave. Clint took a tentative few steps before helping Hennessy to step around the other people.
They shuffled around the others and pushed each other through the door. Clint pulled on his jacket and started walking. His nose was trained in the art of locating the nearest takeaway, and his sixth sense had never failed him before. “Where are you going?” Hennessy asked as she clambered into a cab. Clint swivelled around and answered her while walking backwards. “I’mma get junk food and then lie down for a month!” Hennessy hung out the window as the taxi drove past, shooting him a happy thumbs up. Clint shook his head and smiled. It was nice to meet someone who was as much a mess as he was.