Montana (Dark!Steve Rogers x OC AU)

2

"We should go out tonight - without your dad's goons". Mila said as she and Montana sat in her room that evening. "What's it gonna take to give them the slip?" Now sipping on the wine that she'd helped herself to.

"A bullet in the head". Montana rolled her eyes, "he treats me like I'm still a kid".

"Probably because he doesn't want you getting hurt. I do think he cares, just has a funny way of showing it - or not in his case".

"You're right there". Montana nodded. "Oooor we could say I'm staying at yours and give the guys the slip? He seems to lighten up if he knows I'm with you". She now suggested. Her dad had always allowed her some freedom, and if she was with Mila then he was more laid back in letting her go places.

Mila grinned. "Why the hell didn't I think of that? You could just stay at mine anyway? At least then you won't have him or any of the other guys breathing down your neck".

Montana crossed the room and began to put some things into her bag. "So where did you wanna go tonight?"

"A bar? Somewhere that's not screaming 'depression'?" Her friend suggested.

"Bit hard to find a place that isn't nowadays". Montana replied, "But it's coming back up again I suppose. Things seem to be progressing".

"Yeah, but it's still gonna take years to even get to a place where it can be considered 'stable' again".

That was true. With the state everything had been in, only now were things starting to take a little bit of shape. There had been pro's - unfortunately - to the event, amongst all the cons. All Montana cared about was how to survive in a new world that you could practically compare to being post-apocalyptic.

"You know dad actually thought that Bree was still alive?"

"For a guy who appears to know everybody, he's pretty shit at remembering the ones who aren't around".

"Not unless they're associates who are now dead". Montana rolled her eyes and made her way to her closet, pushing some dresses aside and then pulling one out. "Does this say, 'fuck me' or 'buy me a drink'?" She turned and held it up to herself.

Mila smirked. "Oh it screams 'fuck me' for sure, hopefully the guys won't be as dismal, and the nightlife has been lately".

"For a start, we're going to 'The Seven Aces', older guys make for a better lay".

"Not always, some are gross".

"You know what I mean. The hot ones - and anyway, it's the only club that I won't have dad keeping tabs on me, Julian owns it so free drinks all night".

Her friend grinned at the thought of this, "Ok, forget the potentially shit candidates to go home with, you had me at the free drinks".

"Remember the drill. If I go home with a guy and dad calls the next morning, you just say I'm at yours hungover and will be home later". Montana now ran through the excuse that would be made. Not that her dad would resort to that unless she didn't text him to tell him what time she'd be home.

"I think you're definitely going home with a guy tonight wearing that little thing". Her friend eyed the dress that was now put into the bag. Montana's wardrobe had always been the subject of envy to other girls - purely because her parents had been in a position to afford it. Even now, her father was able to still get what was considered the best, even if it wasn't. She knew it had probably been stolen by him after it was imported, so as he could trade it on. She'd never asked him for new bags, shoes or anything - he simply gave to her.

It was the only form of 'love' he showed her. But the gifts were meaningless, and sometimes Montana would give them away to others who could at least sell them and make a bit of money to live.

"A good drink and a good fuck? It's all I need". Zipping up the bag, she turned to Mila. "Let's head to yours".

**

The Seven Aces was as alive as it could be considered for a Wednesday evening. Back before the snap it had been popular, and still was with those who had survived. Steve knew that the owner, Julian Tanner, was probably keeping it on top form with the illegal trade he made. In fact, the very drink he held in his hand was a prime example of imported goods.

Not that anyone cared.

Most of the custom came from those who had dealings directly with Tanner or were trading on the Black Market, however it wasn't a privately owned bar, which meant anyone could come and enjoy themselves - at their own risk.

"I haven't tasted good whiskey in years". Clint wrinkled his nose as he took a sip of the one in his hand. "Don't think I ever will again - thanks Thanos".

Steve didn't care, and instead refilled both of their glasses with the bottle that he'd had brought to the table. It was still a curse that he could never get drunk. In the days after the snap, he'd wanted nothing more than to drown his sorrows and forget.

But it would never happen.

Instead, he had to just deal with the consequences, channel his grief into building their business. Sure, it hadn't really gone how he had wanted it, but he no longer gave a shit about morality. As far as he was concerned, his had died back when he'd been a fugitive.

"You ever think about them?" Clint asked, staring into the glass.

They never spoke about their friends anymore, even the ones who had survived. Tony had all but become reclusive. As far as they knew, Natasha still roamed like a spectre at the former compound that had once been abuzz with activity.

"No". Came the firm reply.

"Yeah, me neither". Clint sat back and looked around. "If you had told me we'd have been sat here years later I'd have laughed, but now? It's just normal".

Steve's grip on his drink tightened, but not enough where he could shatter the glass with his hand. It had happened before long ago, sometimes even he forgot his own strength, and now he had certainly forgot the purpose of which he had been able to gain it. 

His eyes scanned the club from their booth, then falling on the girl who was dancing freely on the floor, drink to hand. He sat up a little more, everything about her catching his attention.

"Which one?" Clint asked, trying to see who Steve was looking at.

"Her". He subtly gestured in the girl's direction, mesmerised by her movements and just her in general.

She was beautiful.

His old self would have scolded him for thinking all the things that were running through his mind currently. Chivalry was well and truly dead, and Steve Rogers knew that. But for this woman? He wanted to be that but also not to be. There had to be a balance after all.

The old him was dead and buried in the dust that Thanos had been responsible for. Who he was now?

He was a man who would get what he wanted, regardless of the consequences.

"I want her".

Clint looked in the girl's direction and then to his friend with a smirk. "Best make your move then, otherwise another will snap her up before you get your chance".  

Steve glanced at him, mirroring the same expression. "If I have eyes on her, she's already mine".