Notes: This two-part story is written in response to news that Mark Ruffalo, Scarlett Johansson, and Chris Hemsworth were all shooting a daylight scene in the imaginary pub, The Cormorant and Ton, in the real town of Saint Abbs on the southeastern coast of Scotland in early May of 2017 for Avengers: Infinity War. Thor: Ragnarok doesn't arrive in theaters till November 3, 2017, so this is a wishful tale of what many hope will become canon in the films. The first part, "Evening Song," is fluffy romance and the second, "Till the Wee Hours, is mature. Many, many thanks to Autumn_Froste and EmilyGracie13 for Beta-Reader, hand-holder, and cheerleader duties. Thanks to SummerSummerNights303 for help with the Russian-Bruce sounds so much smarter now. Please enjoy!
Play List: "MacCrimmon's Sweetheart" arr. by Heather Heywood; "Caledonia" by Celtic Woman; "Free Falling" by Tom Petty; "All of Me" by John Legend; and "Honeymoon"by Lana Del Rey
The "Poster"/Collage/Cover for this work is posted on my Pinterest Board: DrRJSB "My Bruce x Natasha Edits".
A Physicist/Part-Time
Gladiator and a Demi-God Walk into a Bar
Part One: Evening Song
"I don't think she's coming," Bruce said again as he looked across the table at his traveling companion and "friend from work." He almost disliked that description as much as the Big Guy did, but it was no worse than "Mighty Bros," which his alter ego did sort of like. He hated to sound this whiney, but he'd fought most of his way back across the galaxy to find her. Waiting around a local pub in a very small fishing village on the southeastern coast of Scotland as the afternoon faded into evening wasn't Bruce's idea of making much progress—not when they were this close.
Thor smiled indulgently at his sometimes comrade in arms and ran his hand through his own short-cropped hair. His fair locks were finally starting to grow back, but it was going to be a good while till they reached their former glory. "Ah, friend Bruce, patience. We've confirmed that she is employed here. The good fellow in charge of libations said she might not attend till the evening when her job starts." He leaned forward and reached across the small table to pat the physicist's arm reassuringly. "The good news is your secure phone still works, using our hidden accounts hasn't brought our enemies down upon us, and this establishment is civilized enough to have an ample supply of acceptable ale," Thor said as he counted their pieces of luck off on his solidly-built fingers.
"They also have amazingly decent Wi-Fi and no one has asked us about our odd clothes yet," Bruce added to the handful of positives as he looked around the public room with its scattering of mostly old men hunched over a chess board and a few teens to twenty-somethings playing at an online game on their laptops and sharing a basket of chips.
"Why would they question us about our garments?" the demi-god asked with a puzzled expression.
"We look a little out of place by at least two realms and a few centuries," the scientist groused as he shifted uneasily in his layered monochrome garb.
"Humph," Thor snorted, "the young lady who brought the drinks said we looked very 'authentic'."
"Maybe for Comic-Con escapees or a fire juggling act, but we're not going to blend in looking like this for long."
"Ha, then it's just as well we're laying low in a pleasant village like this in the Land of the Scotts," Thor said confidently.
"Uhuuurrr!" Bruce moaned through gritted teeth as he closed his eyes and pretended to bang his head on the table out of exasperation. In the back of his mind, the Big Guy chuckled and offered to punch the friend-formerly-called-Blondie a good one. Bruce was about ready to take him up on it. "We can't just hang around here. I told you what's happened to the team since we left. They've been torn apart and some were arrested or possibly abducted. Tony left me a message in my sub account saying to stay away from both the tower and the new Avengers facility upstate for now. We have huge things we need to tell them, too. How can you be so calm?"
Having been with Bruce for a good while now, through thick and thin and the start of the end times, the thunder god did his best not to sound patronizing. "Bruce, I simply meant that it's okay to take one step at a time. Even if we had everything planned down to the smallest detail, we don't control what our friends do or even when they arrive at their place of work. As Tony might phrase it, we have time to 'chill,' so let's look at the menu and you can tell me what a Scotch Egg is because it sounds delightful. I bet Hulk would enjoy Bangers and Mash just from how the name sounds."
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, breathed deeply, and took out his glasses to read the menu, "You're right. Food would be good. It's just been such a long time. She's probably still mad at me or thinks I'm mad at her."
"Well, are you mad at her?"
"No, of course not," he said with a frown. "I knew why she pushed me off the ledge before I even hit the bottom of the hole. I was a little pissed off, but she knew there was no way to convince me in time. It was the right call."
"So, you think she is mad at you?"
"That's the million-credit question," Bruce said with a sigh. "To answer your earlier question, it's a hardboiled egg in a crust of meat."
"Oh, that's even better than what I was imagining," Thor said. He always found appetizers confusing since he'd ordered Buffalo wings and they turned out to be from some sort of small fowl and not from a winged bison.
"I'll get a big order of Scotch eggs and the fish and chips ought to be good here. Want anything else yet?" Bruce asked as he stood up, pocketed his glasses, and straightened his tunic jacket and all in one.
"I've not tried the cider yet."
"It's hard cider, but that's probably the way you like it," Bruce said with a grin, recovering some of his good humor.
"Ah, you know me, friend Bruce!" the warrior agreed.
Bruce made his way between the dark oak tables and approached Maeve the sandy-haired waitress, who was now behind the bar, so he could put in their order. She read it back to Bruce correctly then asked him, "You're a waitin' fer Nat, right?"
"Yah, we are," he said.
"Then I got sumit for ye," she quickly reached down below the bar and Bruce barely stopped himself from instinctively throwing his body under a table as Maeve pulled out a very large manila envelope. "Oi, yer a jumpy one," she said with a laugh as she handed the thick packet over to him. "Nattie said you were a dark-eyed cutie, too. She weren't wrong." The younger woman grinned at him and disappeared behind the kitchen door.
Bruce stood there feeling rather stunned, not because the waitress had called him a "dark-eyed cutie," but because Natasha had, which meant she had thought of him in a positive way. Oh, yes, he'd take that any day! Bruce sat back down at the table and looked at the big envelop that he now realized had more than paper in it.
"My that's a large piece of correspondence. I doubt a raven could carry that," Thor surmised.
"Or an owl," Bruce guessed. He pulled a slim dagger out of a sheath in his boot; airport security was going to love the two of them if they tried to fly anywhere. Bruce carefully cut along the top of the envelop and pulled the contents out onto the table. Most of the paperwork was intel and obviously meant to catch the two of them up, but there were also a couple of room keys from the B&B Cottage across the street/parking lot on the hillside, passports, and other necessary documents and such for both of them—all under aliases of course. As they sorted through the contents and pocketed the IDs, Thor slid a paperclipped folder over to Bruce. It had his name on it.
Bruce hesitated a moment before slipping off the clip and opening the folder. Inside were three smaller envelops: one green, one white, and one blue. He opened them and they all turned out to be birthday cards. His chest constricted, and he shut his eyes tight. Natasha always remembered. Ever since she'd read the date in his files, she'd not forgotten to give him a card on December 18th. They were usually silly or cute ones. The joke was that he didn't know when hers was—hell, she didn't know when hers really was either—so he picked the occasional random day for hers. It was a good pretext to ask her out to dinner or a movie or a show without the pressure of it being a real date. He'd bought her a few things, too. He slipped his hand inside his breast pocket and touched the small box inside it to center himself.
"Well, aren't you going to read them?" Thor asked expectantly. He was obviously more interested in providing guidance to the lovelorn than digging into the stack of depressing intel. Bruce couldn't blame him. Even his tragically pathetic love life was preferable to finding out the painful details of what had happened between their friends in their absence.
Bruce carefully slit open the envelopes with his blade and laid the cards out. There were no dates, so he had to read them to put them in order. They were all the same brand of cards she liked. One had a beach scene, another had a pair of finches, and the third was a sketch of a cabin by a lake in the woods. Along with the brief, trite verses wishing him a happy birthday that came printed in the card, she'd written in the first one, "Still waiting for a postcard from you. Hope wherever you landed that you're safe. If I don't hear from you soon, I will come looking for you!" The second one with the birds said, "I miss you, but I'm glad you're not here to see what's happened in the past year. I love you and hope you're safe. Did I say I missed you?" The final one had the most written in it: "I've thought about you every day since Sokovia, and my feelings for you haven't gone away. I'm pretty certain you're someplace where you can't leave or don't want to. Both of these options scare me shitless, but I don't want to think about the third. I would give anything just to know you're safe." All of them were signed, "Love, N." He swallowed hard and felt sick to his stomach. Damn it! Where was she?
Thor finished reading the last card and looked at his friend sympathetically. "Friend Bruce, you were a captive. This long absence is not your fault. Natasha will understand this when you explain it to her." He folded the cards up and handed them back to Bruce who slipped them into their respective envelopes. "It's rather unfortunate they don't have postcards or florists or Amazon gifts on Sakaar. Darcy and Clint have both pointed out their importance to me when mending relationships. I'm sure Natasha will understand."
Bruce did bark out a dry laugh at that in spite of himself. "Another fine business opportunity squandered," he quipped dryly. He wasn't about to suggest unleashing Valentine's Day on the universe because the thunder god might just take him up on it.
Maeve the waitress arrived with their food just in time because the pub was starting to fill as the sun went down. It was a Friday night and there was going to be live music soon. Bruce had guessed right about the excellence of the fish and the number of Scotch eggs necessary for Thor's appetizer course. One of the locals recommended the Cullen Skink or smoked haddock chowder, so they had some of that with oat biscuits and butter. Thor ordered a second bowl.
Drink-wise, Bruce didn't try to keep up with his friend past one cider, so he was people watching when a man in his early thirties with shaggy brown hair brought out a couple of microphone stands and tall stools. The man placed them on the low stage that took up the far corner of the common room along with an old upright piano. The fellow disappeared out the backdoor and returned with a guitar and some other instruments Bruce couldn't identify by the shape of their cases. The physicist checked his phone for the time since his watch was still back somewhere on Sakaar along with his old Zune from the quinjet crash through the wormhole. Bruce imagined them is a junk shop in the bazar gathering dust or stashed in some Ravager's front pocket. At least his good headphones were probably still in his apartment. Anyway, Natasha should have arrived by now. He stood up and searched the room one more time before looking at Thor who shook his shorn head. "Keep an eye out. I need to go use the facilities," Bruce told him over the increasing noise and hubbub as more people drifted in, mostly locals and weekend fishing tours or hikers from the Berwickshire Coastal Path. Bruce walked down a narrow hall and waited since the restroom was occupied. The shaggy-haired guy who'd been setting up the equipment exited the men's room and grinned at him.
"Hey, Dr. Banner," he said, offering his freshly washed hand to shake. Bruce was a little startled, but shook it and looked at him closely. He was obviously an American. The man brushed his long hair back with his fingers so Bruce could see his face better. "It's Thomas Stevenson. I worked with Nat. She introduced us at one of Stark's parties four or five years ago."
"Oh, the symphony fundraiser, I do remember you," Bruce said with relief as he shook the musician's hand more firmly. "Please, just call me Bruce. It's nice to see you again, Thomas. I guess you've re- . . . oh! Um, right. So, you're playing tonight?"
"Yah, you've got it," Thomas said with relief at not having his cover completely blown. "Natasha should be here any minute. I'll see you out there."
Bruce went in, used the facilities, and quickly returned back down the hall to the main room. He could hear the small band of four instruments strike up a folk tune before he saw them. To his relief no one had brought in bagpipes, but one of the laptop gamers was on acoustic guitar, another had a hand drum, Thomas was playing the fiddle, and an older woman was playing the flute as she sat at the piano bench. Bruce still didn't see Natasha, so he picked his way through the tables back to his seat with Thor. The mighty one's blue eyes were twinkling with mischief almost as brightly as his adopted brother's. A half dozen shot glasses of the house's best Scotch were lined up on the table with three in front of Bruce's seat.
"You know I don't drink the hard stuff," Bruce said, not wanting to sit down while the alcohol was there staring him in the face.
"Except for cider," Thor noted. "Come on, you're not driving a car or flying a ship. The cottages are just up the slope. Relax. She will come when she comes. Maybe she's already here and feeling shy. Let's get you loosened up and see if you hold your liquor as well as Hulk."
That really was the wrong thing to say. "You are out of your freaking mind," Bruce told him in a low calm voice as he took his seat. "In case you don't remember, the only reason I would drink would be to get drunk, and my metabolism burns it away so fast that all I get to enjoy is the hangover."
"Come now, Bruce, you have a full belly. That should settle things out and prevent any so-called hangoveredness. You'll feel better in the long run and less tense."
"If it will shut you up," Bruce said, letting his temper get the better of him. He picked up one of the glasses and downed it in one smooth gulp. He smacked his lips. "Just like Dad used to drink. I hope you're happy now." He should have just told his friend about his father and his fear of becoming like him. He doubted Thor had read his file. Bruce decided he would tell him, but not tonight because it was just too big of a mess to explain unless they were both sober or he himself was shitfaced drunk.
Thor raised an eyebrow and gave him a respectful nod. "Hulk downed three tankards worth of something similar and all it did was mellow him out. Where is your sense of adventure, Bruce?"
"I'm waiting on her to show up right now," the scientist replied with more sass and salt than normal. He probably should have warned Mr. Odinson he could be a mean drunk, but Bruce was sick of waiting, sick of wearing clothes that reminded him of his enslavement in a distant place, sick of the fact that he'd grown used to them and so much else. He didn't want to admit he'd liked not having to think, whether he was trapped in Hulk's head or not. Had he really done all that he could to get back to her? Much of the early part was a haze. It had grown so easy just to drift and do what he was told after the crash and the capture. He really didn't want to remember what he'd done in that zombie-like state. He'd woken up broken and bleeding, praying Hulk would find a way to come despite the drugs. Tony's voice from years before echoed in his head: Really?! That's it? You just roll over, show your belly, every time somebody snarls.
Bruce rubbed the partially healed wound over his right breast where the obedience disk had been implanted. The disks caused shocking pain and sometimes delivered something that made you not care about it hurting. The arena master had used it to bring out Hulk, and the devices delivered punishment to him if he wasn't compliant. Admittedly, Hulk did enjoy the arena. He understood how to knock the crap out of things, and he quickly learned how to please the crowd while he was doing it. The irony was, the longer Hulk was out, the smarter he got and the more subversive he became in his resistance. Before long, he was shrewd enough to make peace with Bruce and learn from him. Bruce might not be best friends with Hulk, but he respected his alter ego because the Big Guy was the one who'd gotten them through the worst of it. When Bruce had given up, Hulk reminded him whom he was fighting to get back to. It was hard for Bruce to admit he'd been wrong about his alter ego for so long, but he'd learned to trust the Big Guy. Bruce could feel Hulk and understand him most of the time now. He knew Hulk would have been happy if he could be free and still fight in the arena. That was someplace he might have been content, but the Big Guy gave that dream up to help get them home.
Bruce clapped automatically when the first song ended. He should have been paying better attention. The band began to play another number with the flautist switching over to the piano. Bruce picked up the second shot glass, and Thor picked up his glass as well. "To absent friends," Bruce offered, so they clinked them together and swallowed the whiskey down. He'd been raised to ignore the burn "like a Banner," but the drink was actually pretty smooth for what it was. Bruce rubbed at his chest again. The disk's wound still throbbed with his pulse beneath his fingertips. He didn't have to see it to know the disfigurement looked like an angry purple sunburst.
He and Hulk's last act of defiance had been to rip the disk and the extensive tubes and wires that came with it out of their flesh before their tormentors could shock or drug Hulk back into submission. They both knew from past experience the massive dose needed to calm Hulk would knock Bruce comatose for days. The first time an overseer had used the sedative function, the drugging nearly killed them both. Eventually, their body began to tolerate the toxins, so when Thor showed up, the two decided to take a desperate gamble on how much pain and poison both of them could stand and keep functioning. In the end, Hulk had shielded Bruce, and Bruce got them all out.
Since then, weeks had gone by and the wound still hadn't healed normally. At least it had quit oozing orange and black fluids within the first few days, and then the shaking had mostly stopped. With the toxins out, the tissues began to knit closed, but it still looked like a mess. Bruce snorted bitterly when he thought of comparing scars with Tony. Hulk believed it would heal when they transformed, but they'd not had a chance to test this hypothesis since they escaped. Hulking out wasn't such a wise idea on a spacecraft or if you didn't want to call attention to yourself.
Bruce looked over at his friend and picked up the third shot glass. "To Love in all its forms," Thor offered philosophically and tapped his glass against Bruce's glass. Geeze, they were both getting mellow alright, but it was okay. She would be here, and it would all be okay.
"To Love," Bruce agreed and emptied the glass and set it down. It hardly burned at all now. He was feeling a little warm and slightly buzzed, but it was pleasant. The song, something historical about a battle, ended and they clapped again. He'd be sober once more in a half hour if he stopped drinking. He believed he'd stop for now. This was turning into Waiting for Godot with a folk music soundtrack. If Thor wanted to do another set of threes, he might not put up much of a fight. Damn it, Natasha. No, he'd had enough booze. He didn't want to slide from a salty mellow drunk into a sloppy one. Was that a thing?
The musicians were taking a quick break, and Thomas switched out his violin for a clàrsach or Celtic harp. He soon pulled up the microphone to speak while they got ready for the next set. "Thank you, everyone. We're The Bruce's Spider and most of you know us as the house band here at the Cormorant and Tun. We're really fortunate this week to welcome back my dear, dear friend who's not from around these parts either, but she fits right in. Never fear, she does know her way around some ballads old and new. I'm proud to introduce, Ms. Nat Roberts."
Bruce had been scanning the room for her, so he nearly jumped when a hand trailed along his arm, and she walked past him on the way to the stage, giving him a smile over her shoulder. Her hair was a few shades darker than the last time he'd seen her and flowed down past her shoulders. Thor leaned over and stage whispered, "Ha! She was behind us the whole time!"
Natasha hopped lightly up onto the low platform and took a mic. Bruce thought her legs looked amazingly long in tight black jeans, but she'd softened her look a bit with a russet sweater. "Guid evenin! It's nice to be back. Let's start this set off with something traditional. This is 'MacCrimmon's Sweetheart' and the arrangement is by Heather Heywood." The crowd applauded. Apparently, it was a favorite. He knew from experience that she had a lovely singing voice, but that didn't prepare him at all for the song.
O'er Coolin's speaks the night is creeping,
The banshee's croon is round us sweeping;
Green eyes in Duin are dim with weeping,
Since thou art gone and ne'er returnest.
No more, no more, no more returning;
In peace nor in war is he returning;
Till dawns the great day of doom and burning,
MacCrimmon is home no more returning.
Bruce hadn't moved or taken his eyes off her since she'd swept past him. The lament touched him deeply in ways he couldn't put into words. He wanted to shout he was back and he wasn't leaving till she told him he had to go.
In peace nor in war is he returning
Till dawns the great day of woe and burning,
For him, there's no more returning.
The ballad ended and he continued to stare, wanting to catch her eye, but she didn't look at him. This was torture, but deep down, he felt he'd earned some of it. Leaving had been such a mistake, yet it had been fortuitous he and Hulk had been there for Thor. Hulk and he had needed that respite to reach a truce.
Natasha smiled as the crowd clapped and shouted their approval. If Bruce had looked, he'd have seen many eyes were damp, including those of his large traveling companion. Nat took a drink from her bottle of water and cleared her throat. "Thank ya. That can be a tough one to sing when you've lost someone. Let's try a more modern song that's gotten quite popular." She looked over at Thomas who plucked out an introduction on his clàrsach that was familiar to the crowd. Someone cried out "Caledonia!" and many laughed. Natasha smiled as she started to sing.
I don't know if you can see
The changes that have come over me
These last few days I've been afraid
That I might drift away
I've been telling old stories, singing songs
That make me think about where I've come from
That's the reason why I seem
So far away today
Let me tell you that I love you
That I think about you all the time
Caledonia you're calling me
Now I'm going home
Bruce didn't know this song, so he listened closely to her words as if she was singing them just for him.
Now I have moved and I've kept on moving
Proved the points that I needed proving
Lost the friends that I needed losing
Found others on the way
I've kissed the fellas and left them crying
Stolen dreams, yes, there's no denying
I've traveled hard sometimes with conscience flying
Somewhere with the wind
Then Natasha turned her head and looked directly at him. Their eyes locked from one to another as she sang in her clear voice:
Let me tell you that I love you
That I think about you all the time
Caledonia you're calling me
Now I'm going home
But if I should become a stranger
Know that it would make me more than sad
Caledonia's been everything I've ever had
Thor leaned over again, "Friend Bruce, she is definitely not singing about Scotland."
"I know," Bruce agree and stood up. He really needed air.
Thor touched his arm, "Where are you going?"
"I can't breathe. I'm going out in the parking lot. I'll be right back." What he really wanted to do was walk up to the stage, take her in his arms, and refuse to let her go. Hulk was in complete agreement with that approach, but warned Bruce he better watch out for her elbows and knees. Thanks a lot, Big Guy, but that's probably not appropriate. Bruce looked at Natasha and she'd turned away.
But I'm steady thinking my way is clear
And I know what I will do tomorrow
When hands have shaken, the kisses flowed
Then I will disappear
He couldn't endure the tightness and aching in his chest any longer. He turned and made his way to the door and stepped out into the night. The wind and spray coming off the North Sea was bracing as he sucked in the cool, damp air, trying to catch his breath. He could smell and hear the waves crashing against the sea walls the village was famous for all around him. The smoky Scotch buzz had definitely burned off.
Bruce made his way across the mostly lit and paved lot and around a number of cars to a low stone retaining wall. There was also a staircase that led up the hillside, presumably to the cottages where they were staying. He sat down on the wall and put his head in his hands. His mind was clearing, and the wind cooperated so he could hear the next song starting up. It sounded a little happier. Thank God! He wasn't sure he could take anymore ballades—old, new, borrowed, blue, or otherwise. "Damn it!" he swore. She had to understand!
Bruce stood up and squared his shoulders. If he was going to do something really stupid, at least he was doing it sober and with a clear head. He checked his breast pocket like a talisman. Her voice was low and sultry like he remembered, but he nearly went green when she spoke right next to him.
"Tell me, are you my MacCrimmon come back from beyond?" Natasha asked as she stepped around him and into the circle of light he was occupying.
"That depends. Do I have to be dead for you to forgive me?" he asked more harshly than he'd intended.
"I just want you back. Back in one piece would be good," she said and retreated an uncertain step.
"Natasha, please . . ." He couldn't seem to get any other words out as he stared at her.
The spy finally smiled at him with that knowing little off-kilter smirk he loved so much playing across her face. To be fair, she looked tired with a bit of a dark circle under each eye, defying her concealer under the bright security light. He thought she looked about as tightly strung as he was. Otherwise, she seemed to be okay. He liked her hair a little longer like this. She looked good in her tight jeans and the soft brownish-red sweater.
Natasha had seen the two men arrive earlier as they hiked around the little bay from the rocky headland that sheltered the fishing village, and she knew when they entered the only public house in town. Natasha suspected Asgardian magic being involved in their tracking her down, but she could wait till later to figure that out. Right now, her eyes were for Bruce and only Bruce. His hair had gone further gray, and it was almost military short. She wanted to reach out and touch him, run her fingers through that hair and across his limbs to make certain he was all there and okay underneath the strange clothing. She could get lost in those dark eyes of his if she wasn't careful. First, she had to know. Natasha steeled herself. Bruce was the one who had left, and he needed to be the one to make the first move now that she'd had her say through the music. Fortunately, he didn't keep her waiting any longer.
"I . . . I've missed you," he stammered, "and I'm really sorry it's taken almost three years to find you again. So many things have happened. I have so much to tell you. I know this sounds like a horrible excuse, but I came back as soon as I could get here. I'm just so sorry, Nat."
Natasha saw the sincerity in those dark brown eyes and his honest, expressive features. She couldn't stay aloof. "I'm sorry, too," she blurted. Why was she finding this so difficult to say? "Please understand, Bruce, people were going to die. I had to . . ." she started to plead her case.
Bruce had stepped forward and held out his hand to touch her lips, "No, no, it's okay. I do understand. There's no need to explain. You absolutely did the right thing, Natasha. You don't need to apologize for . . ."
She closed the rest of the gap between them and settled into his warm arms. He didn't hesitate to meet her lips as they clung to each other. Soon, he was smearing her lipstick with his eager kisses, but she didn't care. Nothing else mattered. In this moment, he was her world and she was his.
Thor had given Natasha a few minutes' lead when the song had ended and she'd headed for the back door. He looked across the parking lot and spotted them in each other's arms. Ah, his work there was done for the evening. He waved and gave them a thumbs-up sign. Bruce waved him off and returned the thumbs-up gesture. The demi-god grinned broadly and headed back inside to reclaim the table. The sandy-haired waitress—Maeve, was it?—met him at the door. She had brought him something called "Toad inna Hole," which he was looking forward to trying. "I don't think my friends will be back, so just put their food and drinks on my bill."
The young woman chuckled with amusement and shook her head, "Yer a pal. I'd say they need ta get a room, but they awready ave a cootage." The demi-god just nodded with an approving smile on his face. He was certain Bruce wasn't going to need his room key. As he sat back down to enjoy the rest of the evening, the next musical group performing finished tuning their electric guitars and adjusting speakers as the drummer loosened up with a solo riff on her impressive collection of drums and percussion. The Thunderer thought this band looked like it would be fun.
End Notes: Next up is "Till the Wee Hours". Please let me know what you think and it will go up faster.
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