Tony Stark
Alright boys, play nice. She's sitting alone at the bar. Lucky her.
Five bucks says Sam gets shot down first.
Sam Wilson
I don't even want to win that bet. What're we doing again?
Tony Stark
We're being subtle. We're gonna find out what she is without spooking her.
Clint Barton
Subtle. With you. In a bar. At 11 PM.
Tony Stark
You're one to talk, Legolas.
The evening air was thick with the smell of cheap whiskey and old wood. A neon sign flickered overhead, buzzing like a trapped fly.
She was there. Alone. One elbow on the counter, a glass of something dark and untouched in front of her. Dark hair. Dark eyes. The kind of stillness that made Steve's jaw tighten.
Steve Rogers
That her?
Tony Stark
That's her. No reflection in photos. No digital footprint. Just—there. Like she stepped out of a century she didn't belong to.
The team had spread out across the dim-lit bar. Natasha and Yelena nursed drinks at a booth near the back, watching. Wanda sat by the window, fingers tapping a slow rhythm. Bruce had positioned himself near the emergency exit.
And Tony, ever the strategist, grinned.
Tony Stark
Alright. Initiate Operation Charm Offensive.
Sam Wilson
That's the worst name you've ever come up with.
Tony Stark
Shut up. Barton, you're up first.
Clint Barton
Why me?
Tony Stark
You're the most approachable.
Clint Barton
mutters I hate this job.
Clint shuffled off his stool, straightened his jacket, and made his way toward the bar. He slid onto the seat beside her, two stools away, then one closer.
Clint Barton
leans over Rough night?