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Panting, Natasha slumped down onto the bar, already firmly planted in her seat when the bartender arrived, shot glass already in his right hand. The bar’s wooden surface provided a smooth comfort to her heavily bruised arms and she couldn’t help sighing out loud.
“Tough night?” His rough voice sounded like heaven in her ears, so different to the loud explosions she had just come from. She couldn’t help laughing, simply nodding as an answer to his question and motioning vaguely as an answer to him leaning the glass towards her in a silent question.
“Wanna talk about it?” He practically growled, Russian accent catching on the last word.
The required “it’s confidential” was right on the tip of her tongue, but something inside of her craved to tell him, already secure in the knowledge that SHIELD had no access to a random bar in Russia.
And so, laughing once more to his chagrin, she told him, “I had to help out in a friend’s,” she paused, thinking over the next word, “divorce.”
The bartender raised an eyebrow, eyes betraying his curiosity.
“It ended up getting messy and my girlfriend ended up being on a different side to mine. Obviously I switched but not before a messy fight broke out.”
Eyes full of a sudden sympathy blinked at her, but the bartender simply slid a drink across, stating “Gin and Tonic” before turning to the next customer. A smirk graced Natasha’s lips and she couldn’t help huffing slightly at the misunderstanding.
Bringing the drink to her lips, she let her mind roll back to the previous day, muscles relaxing at the alcoholic grace in her mouth. Even now, the memory of Wanda’s magic pulling her away from Clint caused her heart to wiggle involuntarily, pride overtaking her body.
The witch hadn’t even apologised, simply scolding Clint and continuing their battle, the archer flashing a smirk at Natasha before jumping up to join her. She could still feel the smirk she had given him on her lips as her mind supplied her with memories of Wanda walked away, heels heavy on the ground.
Even while on a war path, the redhead looked gorgeous, eyes full of pure rage once more directed at Stark.
Stark.
Natasha’s memories instantly soured, ears full of the obnoxious man’s speech about “responsibility” and “for her own safety”. At one point, she was sure that she had seen him hold back a laugh at how ridiculous he sounded and flash a loving smile at Clint.
“Мочи перхоти.” came out of her mouth against her will and she couldn’t help looking up almost guiltily as the bartender blinked and huffed out a deep, “Who’s the urine dandruff?”
“It’s confidential.”
He let out a heavy laugh and simply slid another shot to her, attention quickly getting dragged back at a customer’s yell of thirst. Green eyes followed his hand to the water tap and she took his slight distraction from her to drop a pill into the shot before her, watching it dissolve into a powdery mess.
Licking her lips twice, she downed the remains of her own and stood up to bring the fresh shot to a short man with beady, brown eyes that watched her with something akin to adoration.
Unbeknownst to him, her right hand in her jeans pocket was tightly clasped around a box cutter, orders still imprinted onto her hand.
And if later, when his blood was still shiny on the ground, she pulled out her phone and called Steve to inform him about the whereabouts of the Raft, that was no one’s business but her own.