Jessica didn't have a favorite bar. One, she generally prefered to buy in bulk. Two, her favorite bar got blown up two months ago. And three, anytime she did frequent the same bar more than a handful of times, she invariably got herself thrown out. Sometimes life just sucks like that.
After one particularly irritating case that had her following a cheating husband halfway to Canada and back again, Jessica stomped into an unpretentious dive bar a few blocks from her client's apartment in Queens. She shook the snow off and took an empty seat at the bar, near the back wall. A minute later, she had a double shot of Maker's Mark in front of her. God knows she needed it after her week.
Jessica hunched her shoulders and shot back her drink. She knocked the empty glass against the bar and signaled for another.
The second disappeared as quickly as the first. Before she could order a third, Jessica felt someone's eyes on her. She scowled, and turned to scan the room. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.
She looked again.
There it was. Now that Jessica spotted her watcher, she wasn't sure how she missed it the first time. The woman sat at the corner table, her back to the wall and her eyes fixed on Jessica.
Jessica stared back for a moment. The red-headed woman watched her, but made no move to get up and approach. Jessica shrugged and turned back to the bar, holding up her hand for another drink.
That one she nursed for a while. Jessica wasn't one to make the first move, never had been. But if the woman in the corner wanted to come say hello, well, she wouldn't necessarily turn her away.
There was only so long one drink could last, though. After about fifteen minutes, Jessica drained the final sip, put some cash down to cover her tab, and stood. The woman's seat in the corner was empty.
Well, damn. Nevermind then. Jessica thought she had seen something in the woman's gaze, but apparently not. She grabbed her jacket and headed for the bathroom. It was a long subway ride home and she didn't need all that whiskey sitting in her bladder.
When Jessica came out of the bathroom stall, the woman from before sat perched on the bathroom sink. She swung her legs idly, crossing and uncrossing them at the ankles.
"Something I can do you for?" Jessica groused. Twenty minutes ago, Jessica still had the energy to talk to people, maybe flirt a little. If the flirting went well, she could have even gone for a little romance. Now all she wanted was to go home and sleep.
"I've been watching you."
"I noticed."
The woman chuckled. "You did. Tonight. Not this afternoon when you followed your client's husband to Binghamton. Or this morning when you double-billed your hours for… eating breakfast with Malcolm? Or last week, when you got tired of waiting for the 7 and just jumped home from 34th street."
"Why the hell have you been following me?" Jessica demanded. Then she added, "and by the way, Malcolm and I were talking about our cases this morning."
"I was interested in you. Wanted to see if you'd be a good fit for the Avengers."
Jessica snorted. "That spandex boyband? No thanks." She looked over the other woman again, now with renewed interest. "You're Romanoff, then?" It didn't take much guesswork. There was only one woman working with the Avengers, and after Shield's data dump, the internet had plenty to say about the former-KGB-spy-turned-hero.
"Natasha. And we don't all wear spandex. Stark's got his gold-plated ass instead."
"Right." Jessica shoved her hands into her pockets. She hadn't washed them after coming out of the stall, but Natasha was still sitting on the sink and it seemed a bit late to say something about it now. "Well, I'm not a hero."
"Good for you. Neither am I." Natasha leaned back against the mirror. "Then again, you do run around Hell's Kitchen saving people."
"I take pictures of cheating spouses," Jessica retorted. "That doesn't do jack shit to save anybody."
"Then what was that business on the docks a couple months back?" Natasha pried. "That's what got our attention."
Jessica's face darkened. "That was personal," she growled. "Just didn't want more bystanders getting killed in the process."
Natasha shrugged with a quintessentially Russian air of dismissal. "You're closer to being a hero than I was when SHIELD recruited me. Wasn't much of a hero then, still not really one now. But we could use you, if you ever wanted to punch people not in Hell's Kitchen."
"Pass."
Natasha hopped down. She landed spryly on the balls of her feet, in just the quiet, unobtrusive way Jessica herself could never quite manage. "Your call." She started toward the door, then paused. "One more thing," she added. She reached to tuck Jessica's hair behind her ear.
Jessica didn't move. Her hands stayed planted in her pockets and her feet rooted to the floor, but her pupils dilated as her eyes fell to Natasha's lips. Natasha took that as her cue. She leaned in and kissed her tenderly, one hand cupping the side of her neck. "You seemed disappointed I didn't follow through at the bar earlier," she breathed.
Then Natasha stepped back and opened the door, letting in the sound of the bar. "You change your mind, come find me." She stepped out and let the heavy door swing shut behind her.