𝐙𝐄𝐑𝐎 ☆ steve harrington³

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 : the great escape

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 : 5.7k

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

"𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐘, 𝐈 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆. 𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔?"

Owen's eyelids fell into one, slow-motion blink.

That was an excellent question now that she was thinking about it. Was she feeling anything? It was kind of hard to tell. The room had officially stopped spinning, but Owen was pretty sure she had never felt this calm, even in the comfort of her own bedroom, even when she had previously been drunk or high.

"I don't know," she answered, truthfully. "I don't think so. I just feel... super mellow."

"Yeah, I feel– I feel fine," Steve agreed with a small shrug. "I kinda feel good."

Now, this comment wasn't one of Steve's greatest comedic exploits, but something about the way he said it made an uncontrollable laugh bubble up from her chest. The burst of sound just made Steve laugh right along with her, finding himself utterly amused by the sound of her giggling.

"Yeah, I wasn't expecting it to feel good..." Owen said in disbelief.

"Yeah, no, me either," Steve quickly agreed.

"Like, this is way better than any of the shit Eddie's dealt us," she declared, only for her words to strike her moments later. Her eyes widened when she realized what she said, then forced herself to stifle the roguish grin on her lips as she turned to whisper over Steve's shoulder. "Don't tell him I said that, though."

This brought on another round of cackles from the both of them, loud and unabashed.

But when they dwindled into soft chuckles, Steve's eyebrows furrowed perplexedly and he tried to peek over his shoulder at her. "Wait... Who's Eddie?"

She didn't have time to answer before she was cut off by the door's piercing alarm, followed by the entire team of Russian soldiers pushing into the room. Owen's eyes were immediately drawn to Dr. Zharkov's collection of new, shiny tools that he brought in. She watched with bated breath as he drew each one out, admired it, and then settled it on a tray.

"Impressive line-up you got there, doc," she commented, fully thinking out loud. "How long did it take you to collect all of those?" Owen didn't know what half of the tools were for, but that alone was enough to dazzle her inebriated mind.

Dr. Zharkov didn't even acknowledge that she spoke.

"Let's try this again, yes?" The man in charge finally asked, watching Steve closely. "Who do you work for?"

"Scoops," Steve answered, easily. "Scoops Ahoy."

Owen snorted. Had the word 'scoops' always sounded that funny? The big boss man didn't seem too satisfied with that answer, though. His scowl was unwavering, like it was permanently etched into the lines of his face. Still, he tried a different question, hoping for some more clarification.

"How did you find us?"

"Totally by accident."

This time, Steve's reply and following chuckle were tinged with a little more anxiety. Even though he was telling the truth, he knew how improbable, how unlikely the 'accident' sounded. And he knew that the boss man wasn't buying it, either. This was evident by the way he pulled in a deep breath and muttered something in Russian to Dr. Zharkov. Whatever he said had the doctor plucking one of his tools — a pair of very pointy pliers — off of his tray.