Chapter Text
The bar was crowded when Natasha entered. After a long day of arriving in New York, getting the keys of her new apartment from her part deaf concierge, and a whole afternoon of unpacking and shopping with Wanda, the young lawyer wanted nothing more than a night out. That’s when Clint – one of her oldest friends and the only one currently living in New York – offered to take her out to this new bar close to her flat in Manhattan. Wanda was very independent and had been trained by her mother in pretty much every martial art on this earth since she was five and, therefore, Natasha wasn’t stressed about leaving her on her own for one night. But since they had just moved, Nat didn’t want to abandon her, so she decided to drop her off at the Barton’s before meeting Clint at the bar.
- So cool! Wanda said when Nat told her. I love Lila and I haven’t seen her in forever. Oh, and I’ll get to see baby Nathanael, how old is he now? One? Wanda went on, rambling.
- He was born on the 14th of February last year дорогая, you count. Natasha said while taking her daughter’s backpack.
The two of them got into her black Maserati Granturismo, a car that one of her clients gave to her after an exceptionally long and tiering case (which she won, obviously). That is how, after a little detour in Brooklyn, Natasha got down of her car in Manhattan, in front of a very nice bar, quite crowded but that’s the way she liked going out. She had decided to wear what she could find in the couple of boxes she had unpacked and, right now, that meant light black pants that floated around her legs, a dark blue satin tank top, and black high heels that added a good five centimeters to her small frame (but Natasha always felt better when she was taller). Around her neck lay a gold chain with a pendant that she inherited from her family, the only item she took with her when she left Russia. Despite all the troubles she had faced, she was and always will be a Romanov. As she elbowed her way through the crowd of drunk men, beautiful young girls, and dancing couples, looking for Clint, she found her way to the bar and sat on a stool.
“Hey, I’m here where are u?” She texted him.
- What can I get you, miss? A tattooed bartender asked her.
- I’ll have a Moscow mule, please. Natasha replied with a smile. Behind him, amongst the colorful bottles of alcohol all aligned neatly on a shelf, Natasha’s eyes spot a black and white bottle of Stolichnaya Elit. She smiled and pointed to it:
- Is that the kind of vodka you use? She asked.
- Yeah, it’s the best on the market if you ask me. I like using it in my cocktails, but it’s even better as a shot! I heard the Russians love it. The barista laughed and started preparing her cocktail.
- That we do… Natasha said to herself.
Stolichnaya was the first type of alcohol she had ever tested and it used to be her grandfather’s favorite vodka. “You know Natalia,” he once told her when she was sixteen, “the world knows us for three things: our regime, our gas and our водка (vodka). And although that is pretty reductive and rather stupid, there is a part of truth in it, and it doesn’t mean we cannot enjoy it.” He then took another shot of vodka and served her one. “Since the world doesn’t know us very well; it fears us, and it should. Do you understand Natalia? Your image is everything in this world, and you must enjoy the privileges it gives you, but it is not who you are.”
Ding
The vibration of her phone in her pocket had Natasha snap back to reality.
“Hey, got a little problem at work. I’ll be there in ten. Sorryyyy”
“Urggg seriously Clint” Natasha thought. “Great, now I’m alone in a crowded bar in the middle of a city I barely know… If I don’t get accosted by at least one asshole, New York has changed”. Natasha wanted to be mad at Clint but since he was a doctor and he saved lives every day, she believed she could forgive this one delay.
The bartender slid her cocktail across the bar to her and she started sipping it. Fresh and strong: just as she liked it. Drink in hand, Natasha scanned her surroundings, as she always did when she felt unsafe or not totally in control of a situation. That’s when a strong laugh at a table on her right attracted her attention.
Steve was sitting at his friends’ table, catching up with the drinking and laughing his heart out with Sam and Bucky.
- And theenn- and then, cause you fellas haven’t heard it all, the delivery guys says: “Is there a Tony Stank here?” Sam was very drunk but as hilarious as usual and everyone burst out laughing.
Around the table, Bucky and Sam were next to each other, and Bucky’s biconical arm (he got into a train accident when he was 21) was laying across his boyfriend’s shoulder. Opposite to them sat Steve and next to him, Thor Oddinson, a colleague from the gallery whom he had met years back in Stockholm, and his girlfriend Jane. All of them were drinking, laughing, and forgetting about everything else. “God, I needed this!” Steve thought.
- You should have seen Tony’s face I mean; it was priceless, fucking priceless!
Suddenly, Steve felt kind of observed. As an artist, he was very attentive to details and atmospheres and he was sure that somebody was staring at him from behind. He turned his head towards the bar while sipping his beer and almost choked on his drink.
Across the room, sitting at the bar, two deep green eyes pinned him on the spot. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even breathe; all he could do was stare into these eyes that felt like they were searching his soul. The music, the laughter, the voices, everything became muffled around him. The eyes belonged to a stunning woman, with fiery red hair and an assurance that showed confidence and almost arrogance. Her eyebrows shot up for a second and her eyes widened slightly, not for long, but long enough for Steve to be sure he saw it. She was hypnotizing, and it made him so curious it burned. He wanted to get up there, sit on the empty stool next to her and hear what her voice sounded like. Or maybe just stare at her… Or both. Without breaking their eye contact, Steve did something he thought was way too bold for him to ever do: he raised his beer as a “cheer” with a little smile and after a beat, she did the same.
- Stevie, are you listening to me? Bucky’s voice brought Steve’s attention back to the table but his mind was still on the beautiful redhead.
- Yeah, sorry I was – thinking of something else. What were you saying?
- Only that your phone rang twice and I think Sharon is trying to reach you.
Steve looked at the picture of Sharon on his phone and honestly, answering her was the last thing on his mind right now. Her hair was too blond, her eyes too blue and he knew that her voice would be full of scorn and reproach.
- It won’t kill her to wait until tomorrow. Steve said as he ignored the call. His friends looked at him weirdly, as if he had grown a third head.
- Did I hear this right? Thor asked with a smirk. “Steve is not going to call Sharon back immediately? Mazel tov my friend! The bearded man bellowed while giving him a strong (some would say too strong) slap on the back.
- Thank you, Thor… Can you guys – Steve was about to continue when he spotted a drunk guy, in his forties, stumbling out of the dance floor and towards his mystery woman. “God Steve, she’s not yours! You’ve never even spoken to her for heaven’s sake, stop being such a caveman!” The voice in his head told him. Still, his grip on his beer tightened.
Natasha was still breathing hard after her eye contact with the handsome guy three tables away. Who was he? “Get it together Nat for God’s sake”. But she couldn’t help it, she hadn’t felt that way in a long time and she wasn’t prepared for it. She was shaking her head to clear her mind when she felt a presence on her right.
- Hey beautiful, you’re looking a little lonely up here so I thought you might like some company if you know what I mean.
Natasha turned her head to the, now not so empty, stool on her right at the sound. The voice belonged to a guy who embodied everything she hated in a man: overconfidence, misplaced ego, the reek of alcohol, and no sense of fashion. Natasha raised her eyes and huffed “Of course, it was just too tempting”.
- Clearly, you thought wrong. Natasha replied coldly. Before she even had the time to tell him to get lost, the man put a hand on her thigh and leaned closer to her. She could feel his disgusting breath of alcohol and sweat on her face.
- Come on, don’t play hard to get! I know what girls like you, sitting alone at bars, want: you want men like me to have balls and come talk to you –
- Let me stop you right there Casanova: I’m not interested. If a stare could kill, the drunkard would have been dead on the spot. Unfortunately for Nat, he was way too drunk to get the message and continued talking to her while touching her leg.
Natasha started calculating all the ways she could knock him off his stool and hand his ass to him. One bow to his Adam’s apple, breathing interrupted, kick on the side of the stool, loss of balance and fall to the right, knee in the balls, K.O. Natasha raised her hand and was ready to strike when she felt an arm on her shoulder and smelled a man’s cologne.
- Hey hon, sorry I’m late, work was crazy today.” Nat’s breath hitched in her throat. Next to her stood the man from earlier, his blue eyes were only a few inches away from hers and he was even more handsome up close. He raised one eyebrow and his mouth curved into a little smirk that said “Play along”. Natasha’s mask of composure and calm was back on in a beat.
- That’s okay, she said with a smile and placing her hand over his, I haven’t been here long.
- Hey chill mate, the drunk guy said, I was just talking to the girl.
Natasha’s eyes narrowed “Girl? Okay, now I’m definitely tearing his throat.” Before she had time to launch at him, her mystery savior spoke:
- Now might be a good time to get lost mate. The spite in his voice surprised Natasha but, most of all, it annoyed her: “Who does he think he is, I don’t need saving! I was doing fine on my own!” Even if Natasha was not pleased with it, the ruse worked and the jerk took his hand off of her thigh and got lost.
Immediately after that, Natasha pushed the handsome man’s hand away. He laughed quietly and sat next to her.
- Hi, I’m Steve.
Natasha ignored his comment and let her wounded pride lead.
- Why did you do that?
- A “thank you” might be nice. Steve was not taking this seriously at all. "I saved you from that jerk.
- And I didn’t need saving in the first place! I was ready to kick his ass when you interrupted." He looked at her up and down like if he found it hard to believe but said nothing. Actually, he looked rather pleased with her attitude and a little astonished.
- It is true then, he said, that redheads have a hot temper.
Natasha huffed and rolled her eyes.
- And it’s also true that all hot blondies have overconfidence issues.
- You think I’m hot? He replied instantly with a smirk.
Shit. Natasha didn’t expect him to let go so easily, but she kind of liked the sport.
- I have eyes…
- I know, and quite beautiful ones at that. Before she could answer, he continued. “I didn’t get your name…
- I didn’t offer to give it. “If he wants to play, I can play,” Natasha thought. Then they just stared at each other, he sipped his beer and she finished her Moscow Mule. This man was infuriating but she couldn’t help wanting to talk to him more, she wanted to know who he was.
Nat’s phone biped.
“I’m at the corner, be there in a sec”.
This was going to be awkward: if Clint saw Steve she would never hear the end of it.
- Well, this was nice but I’ve got to go. She wasn’t running away, not at all, she was just avoiding an annoying situation. She grabbed her handbag and was ready to go when Steve took her wrist. She felt like her hand was burning under his touch.
- Will I see you around here? He looked rather honest in his want to see her again and she couldn’t help but smile devilishly.
- Maybe… A little flirting had never killed anybody and she wouldn’t see him again anyway; with 8 million people in New York, what are the chances?
She left and told Clint when she saw him that she didn’t like the bar, so they went to another one. She was happy seeing her best friend again but couldn’t quite get the image of a particular blonde guy, sitting all alone on a barstool.