Chapter Text
Natasha didn’t plan to throw her vodka in Clint’s face. What she did plan, however briefly, was to follow the vodka with her glass. Watching the blood drip off Clint’s chin and onto his white shirt was far more cathartic than the alcohol. Clint knew better than to ask questions; he turned and walked out the front door. The other patrons lived in eternal fear of Natasha and kept their mouths shut. Sam Wilson had no such reservations.
“What was that?”
Natasha scowled until he poured her another tumbler of vodka, and drank deeply before replying. “You didn’t hear?"
“I heard pleading followed by shouting. I don’t speak Farsi.” He reached underneath the bar and pulled out a bowl of dates, which he slid across to Natasha. She ignored them.
“He asked me out,” she said. Sam grunted, but did not look up from wiping blood and vodka off the bar. Natasha fingered the silver arrow charm on her necklace. “He wants to take me to dinner.”
“I thought you liked him?”
“Like is… the wrong word, and it’s beside the point.”
“You don’t date.”
Natasha nodded. “I don’t date.”
Sam moved away to serve other customers. Natasha drank and worried the charm between her fingers. Her mind wandered past every time Clint had asked her out, through one sticky night in Dubai, and settled in Stalingrad. She was running her thoughts over the texture of his stubble and the stupid purple shirt he wore the day they met when Sam returned.
“You want a refill?” he asked, pulling her back to the present. Natasha shook her head and put a hand over the top of her glass.
“I should go,” she said. She stood and dug a twenty out of her pocket to cover Clint’s drinks as well as her own, but before she could drop it on the bar, a black AmEx card landed in front of her.
“Sit,” said Pepper. Natasha sat.
Pepper took Clint’s recently vacated barstool and snapped her fingers at Sam. He shuffled off and started mixing two drinks that looked—
“Pink,” said Natasha.
“You need something pink,” said Pepper. Natasha turned her head towards Pepper and raised an eyebrow. Pepper shrugged. “Sam called. He won’t tell me what Clint did, but I’ve lived with Tony Stark long enough to know when a girl needs a Cosmo.”
Sam set their drinks down in front of them and hurried away. He possessed Natasha’s favorite quality in bartenders; he valued his own life more than he valued gossip.
Pepper picked up one of the dates and popped it in her mouth whole. She drank. She fiddled with the lime wedge on the edge of her glass. She did not push.
“He wants to think we can be together,” said Natasha. Pepper was quiet. “The fucked up thing is, I understand. I want it, too. But I’m the woman, so I have to put my foot down. I don’t get to think about playing video games at 3am, or taking his temperature when he gets sick, or buying his hearing aids, or sending him out for tampons, or trying that Nepalese place on the corner. I have to keep us both sane. I have to kick him out of bed at least once a week. I have to deal with his eyes, and that stupid goddamn bull’s-eye shirt he insists on wearing. And then he…” she gestured vaguely, “in Farsi. Who the hell asks someone out in Farsi? And I was so distracted I didn’t even realize it was Farsi.” She threw back her Cosmopolitan. Pepper set her hand on Natasha’s. Natasha grimaced. “I need to get laid,” she concluded.
“Not by Clint,” said Pepper.
“No, definitely not by Clint.”
“Bucky wants to sleep with you,” said Sam.
Both women turned to glare at him. The pride that had colored his face at sneaking up on Natasha was chased away by terror, and he backed away, hands up. “I mean, so did I for a while—”
“They will never find your body,” said Natasha.
“But I don’t anymore! I don’t, Nat, I swear.” She twitched at the use of the nickname. Sam pressed onwards. “He dropped a plate when I called for your order of nachos the other day, and he never shuts up about how great you were about the whole Winter Soldier thing.”
“I punched him when he came back,” said Natasha. “Steve almost had my head.”
“Exactly. He likes that you didn’t coddle him.”
Pepper chuckled. “He’s perfect for you.”
Natasha straightened up on her stool and pushed her glass away. “Shut up, both of you.”
“He’s cuter than Barton,” said Sam. Pepper stared at him. Natasha made a mental note to collect $10 from Tony. “Better abs.”
“No,” said Pepper and Natasha in unison.
“Fine. Cuter, though. And he has Steve to bitch about. Between Cap and Clint, you won’t even get around to sharing personal details until the third date.”
Natasha huffed. Pepper’s eyes lit up. “I have an idea,” she said. Sam cupped his hands around his groin, his eyes wide, and glanced between the women. Pepper laughed; Natasha snickered, but the humor never reached her eyes. Sam gulped.
“Tell Bucky we’ll be here tonight at 9,” said Pepper. “We’re starting a superhero wives’ club.”