UNKNOWN GUEST

#33 In The Bar

As I wrapped up my work for the day, I stretched my arms, feeling the satisfying pop of stiff muscles easing up after hours at the computer. Most of my colleagues had already cleared out, leaving the office quiet and dimly lit. I powered down my computer, grabbed my things, and headed out into the corridor.

There, I spotted Agent Romanoff scrolling through her phone. "Hi, ma'am!" I greeted her with a smile.

She glanced up, nodded, "Hi, Jason," and then fell silent. It's been three days since the Lemurian Star mission, and from the looks of it, the tension between my mom and dad still hadn't been resolved. Just yesterday, I overheard dad having a heated argument with Fury, and he hasn't been to work since then.

I cleared my throat, trying to keep things light, "You haven't talked to Cap yet?"

She let out a sigh, "How could I? He hasn't been to work. In fact, I'm guessing he's avoiding me. And I'm getting—" She paused suddenly, her eyes narrowing as she turned to me, "How did you know that?"

I flashed a sheepish grin, "Agent Hill might have mentioned something?"

Natasha shook her head with a slight smile, though the worry in her eyes didn't fade. "Well, I'm planning to talk to him so we can get back to normal and resume our work like damn professionals. He's getting unnecessarily worked up, and it's starting to get into my head."

We walked in silence for a bit as we neared the exit. I could sense she was frustrated but trying to stay composed. "Alright. Good night, ma'am," I said, ready to head off and let her be.

But just as I turned to leave, she called out, "Jason?"

I stopped and turned back to her, a bit puzzled. "Yeah?"

Natasha hesitated for a moment, glancing around the hallway as if weighing her words. "You don't have any plans tonight, do you?"

I raised an eyebrow, even more confused now. "Not really?"

She smirked, her demeanor shifting slightly, a mix of casual and mischievous," Good then." 

We walked past the bouncers, the rhythmic pulse of music growing louder as we entered the dimly lit bar. The atmosphere was lively but not overwhelming, with a few scattered groups of people enjoying their night out. I sighed, feeling a little out of place as I followed her in. "I'm not really into drinks, you know?" I admitted, trying to keep my voice casual.

She glanced back at me over her shoulder with a smirk, the kind that told me she knew exactly what she was doing. "It won't hurt once in a while," she said, as if this was just a casual Tuesday for her.

Reluctantly, I shook my head but kept following her to the bar. We took our seats at the counter, and almost immediately, the bartender approached us. Mom didn't waste any time. "Two Moscow Mules," she ordered, her tone confident, as if she'd done this a million times before. The bartender nodded and quickly got to work, expertly mixing the drinks. Within seconds, he placed two copper mugs in front of us, condensation already forming on the sides.

The bar wasn't overly crowded, which was a relief. The vibe was relaxed, and I figured this might turn out to be a pleasant evening after all. We raised our mugs for a toast, clinking them together with a quiet "cheers." She took a hearty sip, downing half of hers in one go. I, on the other hand, was a bit more hesitant, bringing the mug to my lips for a cautious taste.

The moment the liquid hit my taste buds, I was taken aback by the tangy kick of lime and the slight bitterness of the ginger beer. The vodka was there too, lurking beneath the surface, giving the drink an unfamiliar sting that I wasn't used to. I made a face, not entirely sure what to think. In this time, I was legally 19, so it was fine, but back in my time, my mom would have killed me if she even caught me thinking about drinking. The irony wasn't lost on me—here I was, sipping a drink that my own mom's past self had just ordered for me.