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It was two thirty seven in the fucking morning and Steve's phone was ringing. He supposed it was partially his fault for not turning the damn thing off, but come on. Who the hell was calling him at this hour? Rolling over, he blindly reached for it and swiped his finger to accept the call as he put it to his ear. His eyes remained closed, his cheek on the pillow.
"Hello?"
"Steve? Steve! Hi!"
Steve frowned and blearily glanced at the screen for a second. "Who is this?"
There was a weird sound on the other end of the line, like someone was covering the phone to shout something at someone else. He frowned and rolled onto his back, covering his face with one hand in an effort to stay as relaxed as possible.
"You don' remember me, Steve?" Whoever it was had definitely had too much to drink. Her voice was slurred and Steve figured that even if he did know her, it was going to be hard to tell-- "You used t'like when I called you late at night," she continued, her voice getting a little lower.
Oh. Shit.
"Nat? What the hell is this?"
Natasha laughed a little too much and he heard her moving around on the other end. "You do remember me!" She cheered. "Where are you? Come an' get me."
Steve removed the hand from his face. "Come at get you?" He repeated in shock. "Are you kidding me? We're not together anymore, Nat, can't you call someone else?"
"Hey, I-- I remembered your number," she hiccuped. "An' I've had way too much t'remember your number. I had like-- like six shots of bourbon."
Fucking hell, what had he done to deserve this? Hm? What was it exactly that he'd done in a previous life to deserve his drunk ex calling him at three in the morning for a pick up from some bar God only knows where?
"You gotta come get me cuz... cuz they're gonna close soon." Natasha hiccuped a little bit again and Steve sighed. "Pleeeeeeease ?"
"Fine," he muttered. "Where are you?"
Honestly, Steve was torn about seeing Natasha again. It had been ages since they'd ended things and while he'd missed her, he'd also worked really hard to get over her. Then again, he'd also wondered if getting over her was even possible considering she might be the fucking love of his life. This was either going to be a nice way to get some closure... or the biggest mistake he'd made recently.
Twenty minutes later, he was making his way into a shitty club and glancing around in the hopes that he might spot Natasha without looking too hard. When he didn't see her on the dance floor and couldn't find her near the bathrooms, he wandered up to the small crowd still gathered around the bar. There she was: the one that got away.
Reminding himself now that being nostalgic wasn't going to get him anywhere, Steve straightened his shoulders and frowned as he watched Natasha tap the bar, down a shot of tequila, and suck on a lime-- God, how much had she had already? Why hadn't they cut her off yet?
