He probably should have been back at headquarters, re-evaluating the important mission that was to take place in a few months. It was instead suggested that he return home for a last time, for it was unknown when he would last be visiting his hometown and family or if he'd even be returning at all. It was a life he picked, and it suited him nicely.

His visit to his father's ended in a disaster of awkward and strained feelings. It had been many months, maybe even a year he didn't know, since he last visited his parents. As he entered the door, he was hardly greeted with open arms. Only bombarded with questions and, although they had missed him, threats of disowning him if he wouldn't come around more often.. If things were going to be like that, he'd had rather just left on the spot. Which is exactly what he did.

It was the freezing breeze of a winter's day that would seem warm to the stone skinned Alex Mason. He stood outside Charlie's Pub in his brown winter's coat smoking his last cigarette. He thought it polite to spare the people inside from the rancid smell of smoke, although other's didn't seem to feel the same once they pulled out and finished multiple in one visit to the bar. The winter's must had hardened him, for he did not shiver once, only staring blankly into tire tracks in the muddied snow covered streets. Brown mush which was formerly snow was piled on the sides of the road, giving the feel of the city first hand to passerby's.

Once he finished, he threw the remains of his smoke to the ground, stepping on it before entering the bar. He was instantly greeted with the smell of alcohol and sweat. Each step, he felt his feet stuck to the floor from obvious spills of the sticky liquids. On the farther right wall a bar counter stuck out of the wall. Two elder looking men already sat on the stools stationed closely to the bar. Both seemed to eye the two ladies working as bartenders, scanning their bodies like the perverts they obvious were.

Even Mason wasn't oblivious to the temptations of women, no amount of mental toughness can train a man's instinct out of him. Both seemed in their mid 20's, slender with one a blonde and the other a very dark almost black brunette. He paid next to no mind, however, as he took a seat at one of the stools which were nailed to the floor. Within moments he was being served by the young brunette.

"What can I get you?"

"A beer, or whatever you got." He spoke without lifting his gaze off the wooden counter top. Within moments the woman returned with a mug full of the thick liquid, she placed it in front of him. Half of the rather large mug was downed within the first moments it arrived. She stared at him with one eyebrow cocked, she began to fill another,

"Hard day, Hun?"

"Hard life."

"Tell me about it." A look was soon shot her way by Mason, one that said "You don't know what you're talking about."

" I hope you don't plan on driving after this, just last week we let a man stroll out of here and soon enough he was on the news later having died in a car accident. I don't think I could live with myself with any more of those on my conscious."

" Wouldn't be much of a loss." He seemed to murmur under his breath that it also wouldn't be the first time he'd have the dead on his conscious. It didn't bother him, not until he arrived in heaven to have St. Peter judge him with those lists of names,

" Now now. We can't all have that way of thinking, I'm sure you have a lovely wife you ought to be getting home to." He gave a sarcastic laugh,

"I'm not one to settle down."

"What a coincidence, neither am I." For a moment their eyes locked on one another's, his green contrasting with her grey blue orbs. She smirked, before turning away to start wiping the counter with a rag,

"What's your age, sweetheart?"

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to ask a lady for their age?"

"Can I at least have a name?" She continued to smirk as she lifted her gaze back up to meet his, much to his amusement,

"Clara. And I'm twenty four." Her dark hair, fashioned into a 60's flip, bounced as she finished scrubbing the counter. She stopped for a moment to offer a hand out. Feeling compliant, he shook it, " Mason, Alex Mason."

Again, their eyes met. It was unlike her to lose her cool under situations with men, especially having grown use to the lazy drunks that hit on her every work hour, but suddenly she felt the warm blood rush to her cheeks. Maybe it was the fact that she finally noticed how very deep his… lovely green eyes were. Oh there she went again with the thoughts. What was it about him? To avoid him catching her pink flushed cheeks, she drew her hand back and looked away, pretending to occupy her hands with an unknown task.

Mason lifted his eyebrows at her, squinting his eyes as if he liked what he saw. She was far from ugly, and to say anything he was tempted by her. Her slick dark hair came past her shoulders to flip at the ends. Her banks were swooped in a fashion that was started in the 60s, but seemed all the more beautiful on her. But he was not after any sort of relationship, so the thought of her quickly fled his mind,

"You from around here?"

"Born and raised in Nome. Don't ask how I ended up here, I just did." She looked back up at him, "You seem like the suspicious type, how'd you end up here?" He gave a devilish grin,

"Why would you say that?"

"Come on, it doesn't take x-ray vision to see those scars down your arms." She mocked as she leaned in to shift his sleeve off his arm. Without thinking, he violently grabbed her wrist with his opposite hand by pure instinct as to protect himself. Her face turned to, not horror, but a mix of confusion and angry shock. He quickly let go, apologizing, " Like I said, suspicious." It was obvious that she was little bothered by the short incident, it was almost as if she somehow understood the instinct. Her father exhibited the same behavior occasionally. The hardened man shrugged it off. It would have been normal to have been somewhat embarrassed but he wouldn't let it show,

"Sorry. Anyways I was raised here in this goddamn ice town, trust me when I say that you're gonna meet a hell of a lot more shady guys than me." She cocked a suspecting eyebrow at him,

" You don't have to tell me twice. I've worked here long enough to know this city's type."

The woman leaned over the counter, positioning herself closer to him so that her projectile voice could not be heard so easily over the noise of the bar. Placing her elbows on the counter, she pointed to the distance to which the man's eyes followed the trail. It ended on a rather large old man with a long grayed beard that resembled that of the Christmas character Santa Claus. That was about all you could see of the man, for it appeared that he had passed out as he laid on the table. Mason couldn't help but let out a cold laugh of pity at the sad figure before the woman had a chance to speak,

"That old geezer comes in here every Wednesday every week. Since I've worked here. He gets the same damn think and I swear he's tried to hit on me every fucking time I serve him. He gets piss drunk, then we have to get ol'Larry over here to lug the old man out of the bar." She pointed her thumb to her right. On the wall leaned another rather large man who must have been the security,

"Lots of men get drunk every day. Honestly he's not that abnormal."

"Oh, Really?"

To that she directed her index finger to another equally as strange figure. This time, it was a woman. Appearing to be in her latter 40's, she was short and stubby with short ratted blonde hair. One could describe her as butch with the way her face resembled that of a pit-bull terrier. The way her eyes seemed to frantically scan the bar seemed to give away that she was either extremely confused or ready to start a rather unneeded fight,

"The poor lady has come in here probably once every two or three weeks for the past year, always asking if we've seen Herbert. God knows who the fool is, but from how it looks he must have had the right idea leaving the lady. A couple screws are loose in her head."

She was ready to point to the next humorous character when the agent forced her hand down,

"Alright, we get it." She gave a satisfied look at him as if to prove that she was right, "You seem to know everyone's story so well, how about your own?" The well plastered smirk seemed to disappear from the woman's face as a less amused one took form. It wasn't that she had a bad past, but she just preferred to talk about one's more interesting than hers,

"As I said, I'm from Nome. I too was raised in this godforsaken Iceland so I'm used to the cold. I have two sisters and a father who is a war Vet. He's an old stubborn idiot, but I love him to death. That's about all I have anymore."

"No boyfriend? A cute trick like you I would've thought had a couple under her belt." A pale pink glow appeared to her cheeks and she wasn't sure why. Many men compliment her on a daily bases, sure they were drunk and she never took them seriously, but for some reason coming from this man it was different. He was different and she could tell. But she wouldn't let him see her flattery,

"And I wonder why I'm wasting my time on you, if you're just gonna keep hitting on me that makes you no better than any other brute who walks in here on a Wednesday evening." The rude comment caused Alex to slowly shift his gaze back to his half full mug. He felt like an idiot after realizing what he just said, and the embarrassment further made him realize why he never got involved with woman, " Now don't go all shy on me now, I'm used to the chauvinistic pig type." She paused, " Not that you're a chauvinistic pig or anything."

"Thanks." The words came in a voice that was all but sincere. He was bothered and had returned to his normal self submersed in thought. He took another gulp from his mug,

" Really. Besides that comment, I think you're…" It started to come off as a little too personal for having just met him. She attempted to rephrase her comment, " Listen, I wouldn't still be talking to you if I thought you were the same as any of these bastards here."

" I appreciate you trying to be the polite one, but I get that a lot from women like you."

"Women like me?" She turned her head to shoot him a look as she spoke, her body still cocked to the side, cleaning something on the opposite counter, "Oh please, like you military men have room to judge. All you do is direct your gawking eyes at the next hot..."

"Wait, how did you know…?"

"You thought I didn't notice the way you grabbed me? Sweetheart, my father used to do the exact same thing, and he's an ex Marine." She brought a finger to her lip as she turned to inspect him more closely, "Is it the Army or the Marines for you?"

At that moment he couldn't tell whether he should be impressed or slightly annoyed by her so sure attitude. If anything annoyed him it was people like himself who acted like they knew more than they did. In order to avoid anymore backlashes from the Black Widow, he decided to play it off with a mere chuckle. He bobbed his head as he spoke,

"Since when do women know about the military?" His voice hardly displayed his minimal surprise. He lifted his head to look her in the eye once more, "I'm a Captain in the Marines."

She paused, for a moment their eyes met again. How she had come to dread it. Each time brought a different feeling to the pit of her stomach that instantly rushed to her head. It was hard to explain, and she couldn't quite tell if it was a pleasant feeling or not. Either way it was her wish that it would stop. She raised her eyebrows though, finally realizing what he had said,

"That's… impressive."

"Right."

"No really, it is." It was hard to tell from his voice if he was agreeing with her or if it was in a sarcastic tone. She tried her best to appear sincere with a smile that she plastered on her lips, " From what my father used to tell me, it seemed like one hell of a job. I'm not sure how you do it."

He couldn't help but stare into her eyes as well. They were an ice blue, if ice was that shade with such a depth that you could keep admiring them without any hope of unlocking her soul. For they do they that eyes are the doors to one's true intentions. He forced a smile, if you could even consider it a smile. But something in his head kept him level. Although he was one to act on impulse, which a woman surely provides many situations where that could end in disaster, he had grown accustomed to being alone. It was drilled into his head that he would forever be alone, and to not bother with the fairer species no matter how tempting they may be. He was far from a womanizer,

"Everything you've heard is probably true." He agreed. Why was he so tempted? The idea of this being the only time that he'd ever speak with her brought a feeling of desperation to him comparable to life or death. What the fuck was this? His fingered drummed on the counter next to his mug, " So you don't have a boyfriend, you live with your father, and you're stuck working at the town's bar. What's your plan from here?"

" I don't live with Dad, for one, and to be honest I can't see past tomorrow." Once again, her eyes found themselves wandering away for fear of meeting his again. It was a horrible habit, not making eye contact when she spoke. And although she was one to be sassy and blunt with self confidence, it was difficult for her to speak to most people looking them in the eye. Let alone this man,

" How about you let me take you out then? Tomorrow?" A surge of what felt like electricity sent her mind into a whirl as her eyes frantically searched for his again. Was he really trying to ask her on a date? She didn't even know him. The moment she found that her composure was breaking she calmed herself, giving an apathetic cocked eyebrow look to him,

"Are you asking my on a date, Alex?" It was the first time she had really used his name, and it caught him a little off guard. Was it too soon? She would question, then wonder why she cared in the first place,

"Does 8 sound good?"