"You doing anything fun Saturday night?" Natasha asked casually.
"Well, all the guys in my barbershop quartet are dead. So no, not really." Steve said bluntly. Natasha's features bore a wicked smile. Steve shook his head, knowing this look meant he was in fact doing something this Saturday night. Whether or not it could be called 'fun' remained to be seen.
"Why are we doing this again?" Steve asked as Natasha dragged him by the arm into a bar on 22nd street.
"Because we can." Natasha replied vaguely. They chose a booth in the back and Natasha disappeared for a moment to get drinks.
"How did you buy those? You left your purse here." Steve inquired, indicating the black clutch she had left on the table.
"Sure, 'cause I actually pay for drinks." Natasha said sarcastically. Steve still looked confused.
"Well you couldn't have stolen them, because one of them is a mixed drink. You can't just reach over the bar and grab a martini. You'd have to prepare it, and you weren't gone more than a minute." Steve calculated.
"You're right, I didn't steal them, but I also didn't pay for them." She prompted. When he still didn't get it, she rolled her eyes.
"Oh." Steve said, blushing at the realization. Natasha chuckled a little at his embarrassment, then handed him the beer in her right hand.
"Why didn't Clint come tonight?"
"He just got back from a mission. He needed to rest. Now, let's drink." Natasha declared, taking a sip of her martini.
"You know I can't get drunk, right?" Steve reminded her.
"Yeah, that's the point. You're enhanced and I'm Russian, so we can beat anyone here in any drinking game." Natasha explained.
"You want to challenge someone to a drinking contest?" Steve asked, shaking his head at the immaturity of the proposal. It seemed to him like something Bucky would have done, challenging a bunch of guys to a drink off.
"Not just someone, them." Natasha replied, pointing to two guys who were already on their third drink and laughing harshly at some stupid joke. She left to call them over before Steve had a chance to protest (or remind her that pointing is rude). The two men, named Bill and Mike, swaggered over with two pitchers of beer and set them on the table.
"Ok, the game is simple. Each of us has a pitcher of beer. Whichever partnership finishes their pitcher first wins," the one called Bill explained gruffly. They all nodded, and then prepared to drink. When the start was called, Natasha and Steve started gulping down their first glasses. Their competitors smirked, thinking Steve and Natasha would burn out and not be able to finish, then began to drink at steady pace. Natasha and Steve were done after about three minutes of barely taking a breath long enough to pour another glass. When there was about half a glass left, Steve took the pitcher and drained it, then raised the empty container in triumph. The losers left grumbling, and left their wager on the table. Steve hadn't known it but Natasha had bet fifty dollars on the contest.
"We have to give this back." Steve said firmly.
"Why?" Natasha asked, sipping another martini.
"I didn't know you bet on it, and I have an unfair advantage. We have to give it back." Steve repeated, starting to stand.
"No, wait. You can't just give it back. They'd be insulted, and say you won it fair and square. Let me just slip it into one of their pockets." Natasha compromised. Steve looked doubting for a second, but handed her a wad of cash. She walked up to the bar, ordered another beer for Steve and came back, expertly slipping the money into the jacket pocket of the one named Mike. Steve wouldn't have seen it if he hadn't been watching for it.
That's how the whole night went. They'd challenge a few people to a drinking contest, win easily, and then return their winnings. Steve was actually starting to enjoy himself. Around two in the morning, Natasha's eye lit up with an idea.
"Arm wrestling!" She half yelled, slurring the second word a little. Even though she had a high tolerance for alcohol, she wasn't immune to the effects of various drinks she'd been downing all night.
"What do you mean?" Steve asked apprehensively. Without a word, Natasha walked over to a very muscular man and dragged him over to Steve.
"This little lady says you could beat me in arm wrestling," the man declared skeptically.
"He definitely can." Natasha interjected before Steve could reply.
"I don't think this is a good idea." Steve replied. Natasha rolled her eyes and the brutish man huffed.
"You're just scared. You know you're going to lose. You're weak." The man spat. Natasha's green eyes widened. She hadn't prepared for a confrontation. Steve shook his head, but set his elbow on the table. The man grinned and did the same. Their hands locked and the match was on. Steve held back at the beginning, but when he was halfway to losing he started putting power into it. In a flash the challenger's hand was flat against the table under Steve's palm. Steve let go as soon as he had won. The man's face registered shock, and he looked like he was going to punch something. Sizing Steve up, he decided against it, probably because of what Steve had just done. He disappeared in a huff, leaving Steve and Natasha chuckling at his disbelief. Last call rang out and they began to gather their belongings. They stepped outside and hailed a cab.
When they reached Natasha and Clint's apartment, Steve helped her up the steps and knocked on the door. Clint opened the door tiredly.
"Did you two have fun?" Clint asked as he looped his arm around Natasha's waist for support.
"We sure did. We did drinking contests and he did arm wrestling and one guy looked like he was going to start a fight!" Natasha exclaimed. Clint shook his head at her and gave an apologetic look to Steve.
"I hope she wasn't too much trouble." Clint said to him as if Steve was the babysitter for a particularly rowdy child.
"Tonight was more fun than I've had in a long time. Maybe next Saturday, the three of us can do it again." Steve suggested.
"Sounds great, but now we really ought to get to sleep and so should you." Clint agreed before nodding once to Steve and closing the door. Steve smiled. For the first time in a long time, he had plans for next Saturday night.
The next Friday came around faster than Steve expected. He was changing out of his SHIELD gear and into civilian clothing when another agent came into the locker room. Sam Wilson was a younger agent, but still a trained paratrooper and extremely qualified operative. Steve couldn't help but smile when Sam asked a casual question.
"You doing anything fun Saturday night?"