The night out
Ellie's night out after storming off into the darkness. Warnings for questionable situations in this chapter.
Ellie stood next to the bar, sipping at the water in her glass through the black straw.
These heels were not made to stand around in, and she would sit if she could, but then she'd probably be flashing her underwear to everyone. She wasn't used to wearing this kind of thing, so she knew that she would forget to keep her knees together.
A tall brunette with dark eyes and maybe day old stubble walked close to her and leaned in a little so he could be heard over the loud music.
"Hi!" He gave her a confident smile. "My name is Brock!"
"Hi," she returned the greeting loud enough for him to hear, but didn't make any move to continue a conversation.
"You look like you're trying to forget something."
"Very astute," she commented back.
"Want some help with that?" He asked.
She sent him an almost dirty look and he shrugged innocently, gesturing to the crowd of people dancing. "We could dance!"
She was about to say no. The words 'thanks, but no thanks' were on her lips, but she stopped.
She would like to forget all about how she felt, and what was the saying? 'The best way to get over one man is to get under another?'
Not that she planned on getting under any men, it was just a figure of speech, but, dancing with this guy would be a start on not thinking about Bucky.
Ellie shrugged and took a big, long slurp from her water and set it on the bar, waving to Clint in the mirror behind the alcohol.
She followed Brock out onto the floor, dancing and actually starting to have an ok time.
The positive mood surrounding them seemed to be contagious, and Ellie could feel herself relaxing.
After a bit, Brock gestured that he was going to get them drinks, and came back with two bottles of beer. He gave one to her and touched them together before drinking deeply.
She took the bottle, but didn't drink any.
Ellie may have been relaxed, but she was not so relaxed, or stupid, that she was going to take a drink from a random guy she'd met less than half an hour ago, that had been out of both hers and Clint's sight for who knows how long.
After a bit, Brock had started trying to get her to drink. He kept making the cheers motion and taking swigs from his own drink.
Ellie put the bottle to her lips and swallowed, but kept her lips closed. It was so dark that he couldn't tell if she was actually drinking, and every so often so swung her arm through an empty space so that some of it spilled out, silently apologizing to anyone it landed on or it affected in any way.
The crowd got a little rowdy, and Ellie used it as a chance to get rid of the rest of the bottle, turning and tripping over her own shoe to stumble into a guy behind her and drop the bottle.
"'Mso sahrry," she called to him. "These shoes are so pretty! But I think I've had a bit much-! Ha!"
Brock was on her in a second, assisting her to the bar.
"You ok, honey?" He asked.
"Yeah!" She told him a little loudly, making other people look at her.
"Let's get you another drink, huh? That one's all over the floor," he told her with a friendly grin.
"Ok," she nodded, looking over to where Clint was sidling up next to them. "Water, please, bar keep!" She ordered, her hands fidgeting above the bar.
"No, come on, we're having fun! How about something mixed? Something on tap?" He suggested.
Ellie was having a hard time looking like she was agreeable and drunk when all she wanted to do was punch this asshole in the face.
She couldn't, though, since she didn't want to get kicked out, and then have to walk out to her car alone in the dark, where this creep could follow her. And Clint couldn't back her up because he'd definitely get fired if Brock didn't throw the first punch, which he was obviously too smart to do.
Clint looked from one to the other, his eyes focusing on Ellie. "You ok, miss?"
Ellie smiled the best smile she could give, laying one hand flat on the bar, giving a thumbs up with the other, and letting it sit on the first before she lifted it, repeating the motion a couple of times as she told him, "yeah! Fine! I'm great!"
Of course, she knew that Clint would pick up her real message; 'help' since after he'd gotten his hearing aids when they were young they would mess with people by having one conversation with sign language, and say something different to trick others about what was about to happen.
Clint nodded to her. "Let me get you something good to drink, bartender's special mix," he told her strolling to the other end of the bar.
Brock seemed satisfied enough with this and leaned against the bar, keeping an eye out for anyone trying to swoop in on his prey.
Because that's what Ellie felt like. She felt like he was a jackal, waiting in the shadows until his prey was at ease with him enough to corral her into a corner and make the final fight a violent and possibly deadly one, except that she was sure something had been in that beer and he was waiting for it to take effect on her. So maybe he was more like a monitor lizard; sitting back and waiting for his poison to slow his prey down enough for him to catch without much resistance.
God, she'd been watching too many documentaries with Bucky.
Ellie started patting her hand on the bar, annoyingly chanting, "drink, drink, drink, drink!"
She would normally never be an asshole like that, except maybe to annoy Clint, but she was trying to be a convincing drunk, and keep people paying attention to her.
Luckily, the other bartenders knew she was Clint's cousin from the few other times she came in to annoy him, and they left her to him.
Clint was gone for a bit, until, finally, he brought a glass to her and set the drink down.
It was bubbly, clear at the bottom with a thicker red trickling through the ice cubes to make a hazy pinkish color through the middle, two cherries sitting on top, with a short black straw to stir and sip with.
Ellie smiled up at him brightly. "Finally! You were gone for forever!"
"I had to step to the back for a few ingredients," he answered, using the excuse of placating gestures and tossing his bar rag over his shoulder to ask, 'where's Bucky?'
Ellie took a drink as she shot a scowl across the room.
Brock seemed more interested in Clint, now, after looking at the drink in Ellie's hand. "Hey, she doesn't want a shirley temple, she's trying to relax! Give the lady a real drink!" He told Clint, his real feeling of agitation shining through his façade of friendly, joking banter.
"But it's her favorite drink," Clint told the man standing next to her as Ellie climbed onto a bar stool.
"What makes you think that?" Brock asked harshly.
"It is, though!" Ellie laughed.
Brock's eyebrow twitched in irritation, but he held his mask together.
"I think I'd know what my own cousin's favorite drink is," Clint snarked.
Brock looked uncertain, the first hint of his confidence breaking.
"I mean, we've only known each other for, what, twenty years? Twenty-five years? What year did I move up here?" He asked her.
Ellie shrugged. "Like, third grade?"
"Less than twenty-five, then," he commented.
Brock, seeing that he was in real danger of being figured out, quickly left without another word.
"I'm pretty sure there was something in the drink he gave me," she told him.
"Yeah, I let security know-" they both looked over at a minor scuffle in the direction of the door. "Looks like they got him."
"Good. Asshole," she commented.
"Where's Bucky?" Clint asked, taking a few empties and dealing with them.
Ellie shrugged. "Probably balls deep in the neighbor lady." She tried to keep the anger from her voice, but failed.
"And you're not happy about that," he commented.
Ellie glared at him. She missed the days when he couldn't tell tone of voice, when she'd actually stood a chance of fooling him.
"Since when do you care if your friend gets laid?" Clint asked. "Or did you finally realize that you're his stooge?"
"What?" Ellie demanded angrily.
"His stooge," he repeated. "Because you're in love with him and will do anything for him, including banishing yourself from the apartment so that you don't have to hear the man of your dreams having sex with another woman."
"Shut up, Clint," she snapped at him.
"I'm just glad you finally realized your feelings, so you can do something about it," Clint told her, wiping a glass that had water spots on it.
"Shut up, Clint," she hissed at him.
"Maybe you'll be able to move on with your-"
"I kissed Natasha," Ellie blurted, stabbing at him to make him shut his mouth.
Clint raised a brow to her. "Recently?"
"No, before you ever kissed her," she told him.
"Oh. Yeah, I know," he shrugged.
"You do?" Ellie asked.
"Yeah, she told me," he answered lazily.
Ellie glared over the bar at the reflection of his back. "Give me a real fucking drink, asshole," she demanded.
.
"You are not driving home, Ellie. I called Nat. She's going to come pick me up at your building instead of from the bar," he told her, walking out to her car with her. "You're not crashing your piece of shit car and blaming it on me. Besides, Bucky would kick the shit out of me for letting you put your life in danger like that."
"Fuck him!" Ellie yelled through the nearly empty parking lot.
"Maybe you should," Clint suggested as they walked.
"Fuck you!" She snapped at him.
"That's gross," he mock reprimanded.
Ellie just growled at him, shooting him a glare for most of the ride to her apartment.
After Clint had parked her car in its usual spot, he joined her in the lobby.
"Remember to take some aspirin-"
"Clint, I drank a fourth of a bottle of whisky," she told him. "That's only seven shots. That's it. I didn't drink anything else. I'm not even going to have a hangover tomorrow."
He ruffled her hair, despite her smacking at him, and turned to go meet Nat where she'd just pulled up.
"Yeah, that's right, go on. Get out of here," she called after him.
"Love you too, cuz," he called over his shoulder.
Ellie walked up to her and Bucky's apartment, grumbling to herself the whole way.
When she got inside, she looked over at his door, seeing the lights off under the crack.
It was about two in the morning.
He had probably already finished the show with Dianna and gone to bed.
Or back downstairs to her place.
She shook her head and went to her room, determined to not think about Bucky, and get some sleep.