Chapter 2: Out on the Town

At about ten thirty, Pietro, Clint, and Natasha piled into the back of a taxi and gave the driver the address for the club. Natasha ended up squeezed into the middle seat since she was the smallest, which ended up being a pretty bad idea since she was wear a short, skin-tight dress that rode up the minute she scooted across the sticky leather seat. She spent about half the car ride to the club trying to fix it, elbowing Pietro and Clint several times in the process.

"Jesus, Nat, cut it out," Clint complained after receiving a particularly painful jab in the ribs. "You can fix it when we get there."

"Sorry..." Natasha mumbled, folding her hands in her lap.

They arrived at the club a few minutes before eleven, paid the driver, and filed out onto the curb.

"So, uh... what exactly should I expect in there?" Pietro asked as they got in the line at the door.

"Oh shit, you've never been to a club, have you?" said Natasha.

"Well, I've never really had the occasion."

"Okay, three general rules of a club," Clint said. "One, it's gonna be hella loud, so don't bother trying to have a meaningful conversation with anyone. Two, the drinks are hella expensive so you won't have to worry about getting drunk. And three, always keep track of your wallet."

"Fourth rule," Natasha added. "Don't leave your drink unattended. Typically that's strictly female advice, but you can never be too careful, especially when you're pretty."

"You think I'm pretty?" Pietro smirked.

"Everyone thinks your pretty, hon," said Clint. "That's why you've gotta keep an eye out for creepers."

Pietro must have looked rather alarmed because Natasha chuckled.

"Don't worry, if any weirdos try and hit on you, Clint and I will save your ass," she said.

"Thanks."

They reached the bouncer and showed their IDs, then stepped inside. Clint had been right. It was extremely loud. The faint thumping of the bass that they'd heard out on the sidewalk multiplied exponentially the minute they walked through the doors. It was also hot, the air made humid from the sweat of dozens of people dancing and milling about.

"You two get a table, I'll get the drinks," said Natasha.

She walked away before either of them could respond.

"Okay, looks like we're getting a table," Clint said.

"That might be tricky..." said Pietro, glancing around at the crowded room.

"Oh wait, over there!" Clint said, pointing. "Quick, let's grab it."

"Well spotted, Hawkeye," Pietro teased.

They made their way to the table and sat down, moving their chairs to the best positions for watching the room. A minute later, Natasha found them, three beer bottles in hand. She set them on the table and sat down.

"Any sign of our friends yet?" she asked.

"Nope," said Clint, sipping his beer.

"Well, we've still got a while," Natasha said. "Might as well get comfortable."

They drank their beers slowly, making idle small talk as they scanned the room. At about eleven thirty, Clint kicked Pietro and Natasha under the table.

"Dealer just walked in," he announced quietly, his voice barely audible over the blaring music.

"Keep an eye on him," said Natasha.

"He's got himself a stool at the bar," said Clint.

Pietro took a quick glance over his shoulder to see for himself. He was rather disliking the fact that his back was to the bar, but he wasn't about to complain.

The final fifteen minutes before the meet-up time passed painfully slow. Pietro checked his watch – eleven forty-five at last – then looked back up to the door.

"Oh shit."

"What?" said Clint.

"It's her," Pietro hissed, quickly hiding his face behind his hand very unsubtly.

"Who?" said Natasha.

"The bomber! Her partner must've not been able to make it," said Pietro. "Clint, she's gonna recognize us."

"Shit, what do we do?"

"Leave this to me," said Natasha. "And Pietro, put your hood up, your hair is conspicuous."

"Excuse me?"

"Just do it."

Pietro put up his hood, still confused and more than a little panicked. Natasha stood up and went over to the bar.

"What is she doing?" Pietro asked.

"She's... ordering a drink," said Clint, looking baffled.

"What good is that gonna do?"

"Hell if I know. Your lady friend just got to the counter, she's talking to the dealer."

"She's not my lady friend," said Pietro. "What's Tasha doing?"

Clint looked, if possible, even more baffled.

"Okay. Now she's taking selfies with her drink."

"Okay then... I'm just going to assume that since it's Natasha, she knows what she's doing."

"Probably for the best," said Clint.

"Now what's happening?" Pietro asked.

"You are relentless."

"Well, I can't fucking see through the back of my head."

"Okay, okay," said Clint. "Well. Nat just spilled her drink. All over the bomber. Now she's apologizing profusely. Trying to clean her up. Aaaaand now she's just whisked her away to the ladies room."

"Seriously?" said Pietro, chancing a glance back at the bar.

"You think I'm making this shit up?"

"She bought an eight dollar drink just to take a few pictures and spill it on the woman who tried to blow us up?"

"Like you said, it's Natasha, it's best we just assume she knows what she's doing," Clint said. "Oh, she's coming back out, act casual."

"I am acting casual."

Just then, Natasha returned.

"Let's go, but don't look like you're in too much of a hurry and don't look back at the bar," she said quietly.

Pietro and Clint both stood up and followed her to the door and out onto the sidewalk.

"So please tell me this whole thing wasn't a complete flop," Clint said.

"No, it wasn't, but we're not talking about it 'til we get home," said Natasha, hailing a cab.

The taxi pulled up to the curb and they piled in.

"Avengers Tower, please," Natasha told the driver.

They pulled out onto the road and the driver glanced back at them in the rear view mirror.

"So, Avengers Tower? Which ones are you?" he asked.

"I'm Captain America," Pietro replied.

Clint snorted.

"You ain't fooling anyone, you're the least American person in this car," he said.

"It was worth a shot," Pietro said with a shrug.

Natasha rolled her eyes.

"Sorry, sir, we're on a mission, so we'd rather keep what we've been up to tonight quiet," she said. "I'm sure you understand."

"Oh yeah, of course," said the driver. "Wouldn't wanna get in the way of justice. Good luck with your mission though, ma'am."