Avengers' Night Out

Steve wasn't sure of what to expect from this get together or, as Darcy had called, this "guys' night out". For one, he didn't really know Thor or Clark that well. Sure, he fought alongside them, they laughed together, they talked, he was aware they were good guys, but saying he knew them was an exaggeration.

And, of course, they didn't really have much in common.

Thor was the Norse God of Thunder. A thousand-year-old alien who inspired legends and myths all over Earth, the Prince of an advanced nation that supposedly kept all the Nine Realms safe since time immemorial. And Clark was Superman. Another alien from an advanced civilization, the last member of a race so powerful that Steve was pretty sure some people already believed he was even a god.

Steve was just a soldier.

A legendary super-soldier, yes, the very face of an era, but still just a man. Under all that star-spangled equipment, Steve still thought of himself as that little guy from Brooklyn who just wanted to help people, who had trouble talking to girls, who got beat up by bullies in alleys. While others might look at him and see only Captain America, the hero of WWII, Steve saw himself as just Steve.

So he had to admit that he felt a little bit overwhelmed in the company of Thor and Clark. He could only watch as the two of them talked as they walked the dark streets of New York, the words flowing so easily, and he was not so sure about how to do that. They were talking about Asgard and Krypton, remembering parts of a tournament they seemed to have participated, gossiping about someone named Sif… And no matter how much they tried to involve him in the conversation, Steve just wasn't sure what to say.

Unfortunately, this wasn't exactly uncommon. Being frozen for more than half a century wasn't a great way to keep oneself updated on the news of the world. Sure, Clark and Thor's conversation would probably baffle anyone, but the fact was Steve had trouble in maintaining any kind of conversation since he woke up, unless it was job related. He could barely follow Tony's rambles, Bruce was patient, but a lot of what he said went over his head, Clint and Natasha seemed to have a dialect of their own…

He couldn't help but remember something Natasha said to him a while ago.

"What are you doing after training?" she asked, her face drenched in sweat as she drilled him on new military tactics. "Any lucky girl you are going to surprise?"

Steve smiled, embarrassed, knowing very well she was aware that there was no "lucky girl".

"I'm going to go home, take a shower and eat a steak. Maybe catch up on some movies on my list. No girl, lucky or otherwise, I'm afraid."

She stared at him for a second. "Lucky guy then? The stories say you and Sargent Barnes were very close."

Steve choked on his water, coughing desperately for a few seconds.

"No! Jesus, no! Is this what they say?!" Steve exclaimed, barely able to put into words his surprise.

Natasha had a little smile on her face. "No. But I like to see you blush." Steve rolled his eyes, thinking that he would never get used to her sense of humor. "So no lucky girl, no lucky guy… What about a friend?"

Steve chuckled, humorless.

"Unfortunately, all my friends are either dead or in a nursing home. Somehow I think watching a movie by myself would be better."

Natasha stared at him for a long moment, no sign of her usual mirth.

"You need to try to connect, Steve," she said. "I know it's hard–"

"Oh, you know?" Steve interrupted, surprising even himself when the words came out of his mouth.

She just kept looking at him, apparently not offended by his rude manners.

"I know," she repeated after a while. "I may not have been frozen for half a century, but I grew up in a secret program that trained assassins. I had no family, no friends, no freedom… They took me as a child and made me a weapon. And for a long time that's all I was."

Steve was unable to say anything as he stared at her, shocked beyond words.

"I became so dangerous that soon I was on SHIELD's radar and they sent someone to stop me for good." She tilted her head. "Clint made a different choice and gave me a chance." Natasha walked closer, grabbing the water bottle from his hands and drinking a bit. "That's how I started to work for SHIELD."

Her eyes looked around, as if she was showing him the building around them.

"How many SHIELD agents do you think I killed before that?" she asked, suddenly. "How many innocents? Do you think they received me with open arms? That I made friends? The few people who didn't fear me, also didn't trust me. But honestly, even if they did trust me, how many life experiences did we share? I might as well have been frozen all my life, because nothing here seemed to make sense to me. Sounds familiar?"

It did, almost painfully familiar, if Steve was honest with himself. He knew Natasha had a difficult past, but this? This wasn't exactly what he had in mind.

"And how did you…" Steve whispered.

Natasha shrugged. "To be honest, I didn't even know I needed friends. I wasn't in SHIELD because of that. But one person was there for me all along."

"Clint," Steve guessed.

She nodded. "If he weren't the one who beat me and spared my life, I would've thought he was an idiot. He wasn't afraid of me. He trusted me. And even after numerous times I asked to be left alone, he ignored me. Before I realized, I'd made a friend."

Natasha looked into his eyes.

"So yes, Steve, I know it's hard. You feel like you are in a complete different world, hearing a different language, living a different culture. But trust me, if you allow yourself to hide, you are going to regret it. You lost your old life and that was awful, but the alternative was death. You have a new chance. Don't waste it by thinking too much."

Steve thought about what Natasha said for very long time. She was right, he knew that; sadly, it still didn't make things any easier.

"Steve, my friend!" Thor exclaimed, suddenly, surprising him. The big Asgardian grabbed his shoulder as they continued to walk. "Kal was just telling me that you were the leader of an elite force during your days in the army!"

"Oh! Yes, the Howling Commandos," Steve answered, imagining how the conversation got to that subject.

"My Father used to have an elite force as well!" Thor said, smiling brightly. "The Valkyries! They were disbanded years ago, but let me tell you, the stories about them are impressive."

Valkyries… Steve wasn't the best in mythology – or history, apparently – but he had heard the name before. Hard not to, when he spent so long frozen inside the bomber plane that the Red Skull named "Valkyrie"; it didn't bring good memories.

Thor didn't even notice his silence as he went on.

"I used to want to be a Valkyrie when I was younger, before I realized they were all women… Regardless, it is truly a pity that there are no Valkyries anymore." He looked at Steve. "Tell me about your Howling Commandos, Captain."

Clark was smiling. "I would like to hear about them too. My father was a huge fan."

And despite his earlier reservations, Steve started to tell them all about his brothers in arms, the words flowing as easily as when he used to talk to Bucky. It was a good feeling, he realized, as the conversation went on. Natasha was right, he needed friends.

It was just a bit weird, Steve caught himself thinking, that when he was finally feeling comfortable in a conversation, the people he was talking with happened to be two super-powered aliens who liked to fly around wearing red capes.

Well, his life was always strange.

"Three beers and a giant-sized portion of hot wings," Luke announced, putting the mugs and the plate on the table. "Anything else?"

Clark, Thor and Steve grabbed their mugs happily. Luke's bar was full that night, the loud music and the voices of the customers filling the place, even when their table was pretty much isolated from the rest of the bar, at the corner.

"We're good. Thanks, Luke," Clark said, loudly so he could be hear, smiling to the owner of the bar.

"Ahhh! Cold as Jotunheim itself!" Thor exclaimed, drinking the entire mug in one go. "ANOTHER!"

Clark grabbed Thor's hand at the very second the Asgardian tried to smash the thing against the floor, praying to whatever deity who would listen that his poker-face wouldn't show anything. Apparently, by the very wide eyes on Luke's face, he didn't succeed.

"Another beer, coming right up," Luke finally said, turning around with a sigh. Clark was sure this wasn't the first 'peculiar' client he had in that bar.

"Thor, for the love of god, don't throw things! Jane was very emphatic about that!" Clark harshly whispered.

He at least had the decency to look sheepish. "Apologies, I forgot!" Thor glanced at Luke. "Big man, that one. I fought bigger, but he is almost Asgardian sized!"

Steve nodded, sipping his beer; Clark was sure it wasn't everyday he met someone larger than him after the Super-Soldier Serum.

"Yeah, Luke is a giant," Clark agreed. "Makes me pity the people crazy enough to start something in this place."

"Do humans have brawls in taverns as well?" Thor asked, excited.

"Not today," Steve interjected, fast.

Clark thanked him silently. No, the last thing they needed that night was a brawl. Hiding Thor from the public was already a hard enough task, especially when he kept saying stuff like "Jotunheim" and trying to smash things. The cap and the glasses were working remarkably well, surprisingly, but if they actually got into a bar fight Clark was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to stop people from noticing something unusual was happening.

"Oh my god, can I have your autograph?!" a voice he knew well exclaimed.

He saw Steve's eyes widening in barely concealed surprise and Thor's expression was not unlike the face of a kid caught doing something he shouldn't; Clark sighed, pulling the chair by his side as invitation.

"Could you not?" he complained, as Jessica sat down, smirking.

"Why, is not everyday I see the famous reporter Clark Kent walking amongst mere mortals!" she countered. Then, glancing at Steve and Thor, she sighed. "I can't believe you gave glasses to the God of Thunder."

"Hey, it's working, isn't it?" Clark defended himself.

"No, it isn't! He doesn't look like any less of a god!"

"Thank you, my lady," Thor smiled, very pleased.

"I-I'm sorry, who is this?" Steve interrupted, a bit alarmed, before Clark could go on; he probably did owe him an explanation.

"Steve, Thor, this is Jessica Jones," Clark introduced, lowering his voice. "Jessica, these are Steve Rogers and Thor Odinson." He looked at Steve. "Don't worry, she is a friend. I trust her."

Apparently, that was enough for all of them.

"Good to meet another friend of Kal!" Thor said, smiling at Jessica.

"Nice to meet you, miss Jones," Steve said, politely.

Jessica snorted. "Miss Jones… Jesus. Chill out, dude. I mean, you should be good at the 'chilling' part, right, Capsicle?"

Steve didn't answer, but he did look at Clark with a blank face that was worth a thousand words.

"I swear I only mentioned it once," Clark defended himself, quickly, while Thor laughed loudly. "I thought you weren't coming."

"Nothing better to do, so I thought 'what the hell'… So, what are you kids drinking tonight?" she asked, looking at the mugs. "Beer? Seriously?"

Before any of them could answer, Luke approached the table with Thor's beer, glancing at Jessica for a moment.

"I've seen you before," he said, smiling at her. "Good to see you finally in here. I didn't know you knew Clark."

Amazingly, Jessica's quick tongue seemed to have disappeared. Clark only watched as she stared at Luke in silence.

"Jessica is my neighbor," Clark answered, when it became clear she wouldn't.

"Yeah? Nice to meet you, Jessica. Beer?" Luke asked.

"Sure," she mumbled, nodding, as Luke gave her a mug.

Clark waited for Luke to go away and smirked.

"What was that?" he needled. "Does someone have a crush?"

"Your mom has a crush!" Jessica snarled, making Clark chuckle and Steve gasp. "Fuck, I can't believe we are drinking beer. This thing is practically water!"

"Every Midgardian drink is practically water," Thor said, getting a small silver flask from his pockets. "That is why I brought this!" He lifted the flask so everybody could take a look at it. "This, my friends, has aged for a thousand years in barrels built from the wreck of Grunhill's fleet!"

Clark stared at the small flask with caution, knowing very well by now that Asgardian liquor wasn't to be trifled with.

"And what are we supposed to do with the three drops inside that tiny flask?" Jessica asked, not impressed.

"Three drops? I do not understand," Thor repeated, puzzled.

"The flask is small, Thor," Steve mentioned, glancing carefully at Jessica. "And maybe not supposed to be consumed by normal humans?"

"Hey!" Jessica complained, glaring at Steve.

"Not to worry! This flask is magically linked to the storages on Asgard!" he explained, happily. Then his eyes acquired a pained look. "My brother enchanted it for me, when we were younger."

Clark and Steve turned to look at Thor, feeling his sadness. Neither of them liked Loki, that was true, but Thor was their friend and Loki, for good or ill, was his brother; they didn't like to see him in pain.

"That Loki guy?" Jessica asked, not noticing the somber mood. "Are you sure he didn't fill it with poison?"

Thor snapped out of his bad mood in his surprise. "Oh, he did once! It made me sick for three days, I could not stop puking! But I made him fix it."

That didn't exactly reassure any of them, but Thor was already pouring the golden liquid. He stopped at Jessica's mug, frowning.

"Maybe you should stick with the Midgardian drink," he said. "This is not meant for mortals."

"Just fucking pour it in, blondie!"

The Asgardian looked at Clark, not knowing what to do. He shrugged. Jessica wasn't a normal human, as long as she didn't drink a lot there wouldn't be a problem. Or at least he hoped.

Tony was focusing every ounce of his force of will to stop himself from dozing off; it wasn't working. It wasn't his fault, his force of will was extraordinarily strong, he knew that. No, the reason Tony couldn't stay awake was simple: the meeting Pepper forced him to attend was boring as hell.

Pepper poked his ribs when his eyes closed and the pain jolted him awake for a moment. The man was still talking. How? How was that possible? Didn't he breathe? And that voice! It was almost as if he was singing lullabies instead of talking about business, the boring tone droning on without end.

Breathing deeply, hoping the extra dose of oxygen would do something against his sleepiness, Tony looked around the room. Aside from Pepper, he didn't know anyone there, not even by reputation. All self-appointed successful businessmen delivering their sales pitch; nothing against them, but Tony wasn't exactly interested in listening, not when his mind was already made.

"Okay, okay, enough talking!" he exclaimed, suddenly. There was absolute silence in the room as everybody turned to look at him. "I'm afraid I won't wake up again if this goes on."

Pepper kicked him under the table.

"Let's summarize: you people and your companies and associates are the proud owners of a large portion of the buildings in Hell's Kitchen. I want to acquire them." Everybody began to talk at the same time and Tony sighed; then, very hard, he slapped the table. There was silence again. "I'm open to negotiation, but remember: Hell's Kitchen is destroyed. It's falling apart. The only good thing I have to say about it, is that it's faring better than the portion of the city affected during the Black Zero Event. So be realistic."

Tony stood up, looking at them.

"I'll wait for an offer outside." And saying this, Tony grabbed Pepper and left the room.

"Well, no one has ever accused you of being polite," Pepper sighed, as they closed the door, glaring at him.

"Oh, come on, Pepper! Another hour there and I would have to stick an arc reactor in my chest for the sole purpose of keeping me awake! And don't give me that look, I caught you closing your eyes too."

Pepper blushed a little bit and Tony smirked at his small victory; against Pepper, they were rare indeed.

"Still, you could've been politer," she said, ending the conversation.

Of course he could've been politer, but that rarely worked anyway, Tony thought, watching as Pepper grabbed a cup of coffee; for someone who claimed he ended the meeting too abruptly, she sure was getting her fill of caffeine. He turned around when he heard steps.

"Can I help you, Mr. Stark?" the woman asked. "Is the meeting already over?"

He just stared at her. For the life of him, Tony couldn't remember the lawyer's name.

"Jeri Hogarth," she provided, tiredly, almost rolling her eyes. "You can read the name of the firm if you have problem remembering again."

Tony smirked; he liked her. "Sorry, I have a problem with names. And yes, you can help me. I have a feeling those people will stay in that room for the rest of the week if no one does anything. Can you speed things up?"

She nodded. "Let's see what I can do." Hogarth entered the conference room, stopping just a moment to greet Pepper.

"I like her," Tony announced, when Pepper approached him with a cup of coffee. "Very no-nonsense lady. How did you find her?"

Pepper rolled her eyes. "That's the fifth time you met her, Tony. She did some work for us already and she is familiar with many of the companies in Hell's Kitchen."

"Huh… Fifth time?"

"Fifth time."

"How unusual."

"No, not really, Tony. You do this all the time." Pepper finished her coffee.

"No, I don't. I just have problem remembering names. And faces. And boring situations."

"I've seen you naming every single piece and component of one of your suits. How can someone with this kind of memory not remember people's faces?"

"That's different, I like my suits. They are always in my mind. But I just can't remember people unless they are remarkable. Or do something remarkable."

Pepper rolled her eyes again. "Well, make sure you remember her next time, it's getting embarrassing already."

"Can't make promises I can't keep."

She seemed to think for a second, then leaned closer and whispered. "I caught her staring at my ass once."

Tony's eyebrows shot up. He opened a huge smile. "Well, this I won't forget!"

Pepper slapped him playfully. "Pervert."

Yes, he was, no point denying it. He looked around for a second. "Say, there is no one here right now. I know several ways we could use to spend time."

It was a joke, kind of, but he was caught between laughing and kissing Pepper when he saw the brief moment when she considered his proposition.

"Are you really thinking about it?!" he exclaimed, holding her close.

"Don't be an idiot!" she answered, but her blush said otherwise. He laughed. "Oh, shut up! And we are not alone, anyway."

Now that she mentioned it, Tony really was hearing steps approaching again. Damn it! He was sure he could've convinced Pepper if he had more time or at least it was good to fantasize. Groaning, Tony turned to see who was entering the room.

Another lawyer, or so he thought. At least he had the look of one. Well dressed in an expansive suit, a pair of glasses and a briefcase in his hands. More than that, his expression made Tony think he had something to do with lawyering business: intelligent eyes and a practiced smile.

The kind of look commonly found in lawyers and very successful criminals; sometimes they happened to be both.

"Mr. Stark, Miss Potts, I'm James Wesley," the man introduced himself, smiling.

"Do I know this one?" Tony mock-whispered to Pepper; she rolled her eyes, shaking the man's hand.

"No, neither of us know Mr. Wesley, Tony," she answered, smiling at the man.

"Oh, good, because apparently I have a problem remembering unremarkable people," he said, shaking the man's hand too. "So if we meet again, make sure to remind me."

"I certainly will, Mr. Stark," Wesley answered, not bothered at all.

"Are you looking for Hogarth? She just went in," Pepper said, pointing at the door.

"Oh, no, I'm here to see you two," Wesley said, opening his briefcase. "My employer is also very interested in the renovations in Hell's Kitchen. In fact, we had an understanding with most of the people in that room before you showed up, Mr. Stark, to acquire their buildings."

Tony smirked. "Yeah, I do that. It's amazing how quickly people can be convinced when you show them a pile of money."

"That is certainly true," Wesley agreed, looking for something inside the briefcase. He grabbed a file. "Which is why I think you will be very satisfied with this offer."

Smiling, full of himself, Wesley held the file in front of Tony. Seconds went on as he expected him to take it.

"Oh, I don't like being handed things," he explained, not moving a finger to take the files.

Wesley smile began to drop, slowly, when Pepper took the files from him with a huff. Without saying anything, she started to peruse them, fast, her eyes moving quickly from page to page.

"That… That is certainly a very generous offer for a small quantity of broken buildings," Pepper finally said, looking from Tony to Wesley.

"My employer has history in Hell's Kitchen," Wesley explained in that proper way of talking he seemed to have. "He wants nothing more than to bring it back to what it once was before the Incident," he glanced at Tony, "took place over there. He wants to have a part in the betterment of Hell's Kitchen."

"Your employer certainly has a lot of money, if he goes around throwing it like that for sentimental reasons," Tony mentioned, glancing at the value offer in the files.

"Something you no doubt have in common," Wesley countered.

Tony smiled; it was easy for even those who didn't know him, to notice that his smile wasn't exactly sincere.

"And who is this generous man?" Tony asked, running in his mind the list of people who had the cash for something like this.

"I am not at the liberty to say," Wesley said, pushing his glasses up. "Suffice to say that you would be doing him and his associates a big favor. And he isn't the kind of man liable to forget such a thing."

He and Pepper looked at each other for a second. Well, would you look at that; the promise of gratitude and a veiled threat all wrapped into one. Ballsy, really. But who exactly would have the guts to do something like that? A criminal, no doubt, but problem was that someone with that kind of money wasn't likely to be a known criminal, so searching the database was futile. And maybe he wasn't dealing with just one person, but an entire organization or several of them.

Curious indeed. But really, in the end, it didn't matter.

"I can see here your employer is interested in this entire part of the neighborhood," Tony mentioned, glancing at the files again.

"Yes. Originally, as you know, he was interested in renovating most of Hell's Kitchen, to give the people their neighborhood back after such tragedy, but as long as he is able to at least renovate that part, he is happy."

"Hummm… So you want me to, what, remove my offer for them?" Tony asked.

"You will be more than compensated for the kindness," Wesley assured.

Tony looked at the files for a long minute, committing to his memory every single detail available. Then he looked at Pepper.

"Pepper, do me a favor, go inside and inform Hogarth of this change of plans," he said and Wesley smiled again. Tony looked at him. "We will be offering five times the previous offer, as long as this buildings over here are a part of the package." Wesley smiled disappeared. "I want to make sure Hell's Kitchen is in good hands, after all."

Pepper looked a bit worried, but nodded without saying anything and went inside the room. Tony was still staring at Wesley, no signal of his usual mirth anymore.

"This was a mistake, Mr. Stark," Wesley announced.

"Yes, I agree," Tony said. "On your part."

Wesley smiled for one last time and turned to leave. Tony kept his eyes on him until he left the building, the micro camera in his watch capturing all the relevant details so Jarvis could analyze it later. Tony grinned; It seemed Clark's neighborhood was even more exciting than he thought.

And that Wesley guy was someone Tony was sure he would remember in the future.

James Wesley was a very patient man. Those who thrived in his line of business had to be. Emotion clouded reason and those who allowed themselves to react based on feelings tended to be easily tricked.

That did not change the fact that he was fuming with anger as he left Hogarth, Chao and Benowitz.

He made a mistake. Trusting Tony Stark to act like any other man of power was an error. Stark was a genius, an entrepreneur, someone who understood business like few people did; he was also stubborn, childish and prone to rash decisions. Approaching him to make a deal was not something he should've done, especially admitting how much his associates were interested in those buildings.

Any other person would've been amenable. The promise of profit alone would turn most heads, but the implicit suggestion that saying "no" would make them enemies usually sealed the deal. Of course, Wesley realized that doing this with Tony Stark was the last thing he should've done.

Instead of replying to his offer with a calm, rational decision, Tony Stark decided to go out of his way to show just how against that he was. Childish didn't begin to cover what Wesley thought of him.

Now they had a problem. Outbidding Tony Stark was a folly. His boss and his associates had amassed an immense fortune over the years, but they were not in a position to compete against a man like Stark. Not only that, but playing that hand now would tip everyone of their intentions and that was not a good thing, especially if it brought the attention of the likes of Superman to them.

They had grown powerful in the shadows and that's where they would stay.

But even Wesley's boss had to answer to someone. It was ironic, but they had been offered pretty much the same Wesley had just offered Stark: the promise of profit or the end of a useful friendship. And different from Stark, Wesley knew what the right answer was. They had committed themselves to acquire those buildings and now they had to deliver.

Wesley entered his car and told the driver to go. Barely even acknowledging him, he grabbed his phone. Maybe they couldn't buy or threat Stark, but there were options. Hell's Kitchen belonged to them, as most of New York. Stark might've acquired the buildings, but that wouldn't mean anything if his construction crews were unable to work.

It was crass, Wesley knew, but he couldn't argue with results.

They needed to grip tighter, to squeeze Hell's Kitchen just until it became uninteresting from a business point of view. Stark's new change of heart, his sudden worry about the victims of the Incident, would pass. Soon he would forget all about his guilt and Hell's Kitchen would be abandoned once again. Until then, they needed to force his hand.

The Russians would gladly help, that was just their style. Madam Gao and Nobu could be convinced to aid them as well, this was in their best interests. And they controlled, directly or indirectly, every minor gang in New York. This was feasible. First, though, before involving them, he could try something else.

"It's me," he said, as his call connected. "There was a small setback, but don't worry, I'm handling it."

There was a tired sigh on the other side.

"I knew Stark would be a problem."

"Stark is too concerned with matters far above this," Wesley said. "He will forget about Hell's Kitchen as soon as the Avengers need to deal with some problem or another."

"Make sure not to underestimate that man. Stark might be impulsive, but that doesn't make him any less dangerous."

"I won't," Wesley assured, taking the advice seriously. "I believe I have a solution for our problem, but I'll have to make use of our… less than noble associates."

"Do what you think it's best but do not call attention to us. The last thing we need is the Avengers turning their eyes to Hell's Kitchen."

"I will make sure they are discreet, but it's not as if they don't have bigger problems to worry about. I'll keep you updated," Wesley said, hanging up. He called the driver. "Go to Hell's Kitchen."

Nodding, the driver turned the street, but Wesley wasn't paying attention anymore. Instead, he was thinking about his plan, trying to imagine every detail. It was very possible that he wouldn't even need to acquire the help from Madam Gao or Nobu, he considered; the Dogs of Hell were very efficient at what he needed done.

And, really, there weren't a lot of people who cared about Hell's Kitchen anyway. What were the chances of his thugs running into someone like Superman there?

"They were surrounded by the Asgardian gladiators, the crowd cheering, as Odin announced his sentence. 'Faora-Ul, you will stand trial by combat!' Odin said, his voice booming. 'May you find mercy amongst the Kryptonian gods, because you will find none here!' The Allfather finished."

Clark, Thor and Steve could only watch, mouths agape, as Jessica read he story on her cellphone, doing her best not to laugh.

"Superman looked at his beloved and then faced Odin. 'I will share the same fate Faora does. Our souls are entwined and our hearts beat as one.' The Asgardian King remained in silence and then nodded: 'So be it.' The gladiators advanced and the fight for Faora's life begun."

Jessica couldn't continue anymore, leaning over the table, the laughter erupting hard from her. Clark covered his face with his hands.

"Thor, friend of yours or not, I'll have a serious conversation with Darcy about this," Clark groaned, his voice muffled against his hands. "This abomination cannot go on!"

"Darcy wrote this?!" Thor exclaimed. "But why?"

"That girl that was with you?" Steve asked, looking from Clark to Thor. "The one in the tower?"

"That's the one," Clark confirmed, trying his best to ignore Jessica's laughter.

"But… But where did she get the idea that you and that psychopath were in love?" Steve asked, baffled.

"I don't think she believes in that, not really, she just… She is a very disturbed person."

Thor snorted. "I like her story!"

Clark stared at him, not amused at all. "Yes, you do like stories, don't you? Why don't you tell us the time you fought that giant, Thrym?" Thor got pale. "Tell us the strategy you used to infiltrate the camp to recover your hammer, Thor. Something to do with a dress–"

"I get your meaning!" Thor interrupted, fast.

"Good!"

"Don't you dare censor her!" Jessica joked. "She will be the next big thing in literature. And she is inspiring art! Look at the drawings her fans made about 'Faora: The Path to Atonement'."

Steve spat his beer when Jessica showed them the first picture, coughing desperately as he tried to breathe; whatever it was, Clark really didn't want to see.

"Okay, Jessica, enough!" he said, grabbing her phone, hiding it from Thor's wide eyes.

"Aww, I was just getting to the best part!" she swallowed her beer and pushed the glass to Thor. "Fill it up, blondie."

"Are you sure you hadn't enough already?" Clark asked, as Thor happily poured the drink, seeing the unusual flush on her cheeks; the easy laughs and how much she was talking were pretty good indicatives that the drink was stronger than she was used to, as well. Normal Jessica wasn't a happy drunk, she was a depressed one.

"Nah, this is good stuff! When will I be able to drink Asgardian liquor again?"

"If you die from alcohol poisoning, never."

She just ignored him, drinking the golden liquid fast.

"I'm drinking with two gods and Captain America," she said. "I'm sure I'm pretty damn safe."

"One god," Clark corrected, smiling. "If you are seeing two Gods of Thunder then I have some news for you, Jessica."

"Argh, I meant you!"

"Oh, no, don't even start with that. I already have enough problems being an alien, let's leave it at that."

"Well, from what you've told me, Thor's an alien too," Jessica retorted. "So what gives?"

"It's not the same thing," Clark explained, knowing by now that arguing with a drunken Jessica was a stupid idea. "He is a thousand years old, his people originated an entire mythology. I didn't."

"So far! Give it some years and we'll see how this will go," Jessica said, sagely.

The way she said that alarmed Clark for some reason. "What are you talking about?"

She looked at him, incredulous. "Come on, aren't you a journalist?! Don't you keep up with the news?"

"I haven't been around for the last few days, you know that!" Clark complained, his pride as a journalist harmed.

Jessica just rolled her eyes.

"Clark, people ask for help and you appear. Wherever they are, no matter how bad the situation is, they look up, shout out for Superman, and the Big Blue Boy Scout is there to save the day," Jessica said, looking at him. Steve and Thor only watched, interested. "Do you even understand how powerful this is? What this mean to people? Hell, they are even building a statue of you right in the middle of Central Park!"

She turned to face him.

"You saved the world from being obliterated and you stayed to help ever since," she continued. "Every day, every time things go bad, you are there to make things right. People can see you flying around, helping, saving lives. Little kids around the world are not praying to God anymore, they are praying to you. I guess the fact that you actually hear their prayer and do something about it makes it an easier choice about who to call."

"I don't actually hear people praying," Clark mumbled, not knowing what to say. "I hear everything, just because I have good hearing."

"Doesn't matter," Jessica summarized. "They call, you answer. What do you think will happen some years from now? When these kids grow up? Do you think they'll still search for answers hidden in old books and go pray at a church or whatever? Or do you think they'll just look up to the sky and call for Superman when they need help?"

Clark didn't know what to say in response to that. He never hid the fact that he had no idea about what he was doing, at least from the people he cared about. "Superman" wasn't something he planned. He just wanted to help people, to use his gifts for good. And now people were looking at him as if he was some kind of god. Him, the guy from Smallville, who until some time ago could barely pay his bills and wanted to be a journalist.

Awkward didn't begin to cover how Clark felt.

"It is not so bad, my friend!" Thor exclaimed, seeing Clark's worried expression. "I had a lot of fun being worshiped. Offerings, statues, beautiful women… Those were good times."

"How come people are not worshiping you anymore?" Steve asked, sipping his beer. "Or are they?"

"They are," Jessica answered.

"They are?!" Thor asked, turning to her.

"It's been all over the news since the Battle of New York. There weren't a lot of pagans left anymore, but when a guy waving a hammer and literally controlling storms appears to help fight an alien invasion, well, you can't ask for a clearer sign that they exist than that." She snapped her fingers. "About a month after, they arrested a bunch of women dancing naked in front of the Avengers Tower, doing some kind of fertility ritual for Thor."

Neither Clark nor Steve knew what to say about that, but Thor was delighted.

"I knew I still had followers! That is amazing!"

"Fertility ritual?" Steve asked, looking lost.

"He was also worshiped as the god of fertility," Clark explained.

"Oh, yes, I was!" Thor agreed, smiling brightly. Steve, wisely, didn't ask for specifics.

"There was even a debate on a news channel this week," Jessica continued. "Two nutjobs arguing, a pagan who was absolutely sure that Thor's return to Midgard was proof that the old religions were right all along and the other who was basically there to say Kal-El was more of a god than any of the Norse gods, Thor included."

"Hey!" Thor mock complained.

Clark just smiled. "Sorry. But I did kick your ass during the tournament, that is true."

"It is not! The fight was interrupted!"

"Lucky you!" Clark joked.

"So there really was a tournament?" Jessica asked, grinning in a way that made Clark nervous. "Was it like in the story I just read? The way people are telling in those stories, and those drawings, it won't be long until you are worshiped as a god of fertility too!"

Clark grimaced. He pushed his glass to Thor. "Fill it up, please."

"I still can't believe that Health Inspector closed Josie's!" Foggy exclaimed, possibly for the hundredth time, as he and Matt walked through the streets.

"Seriously? You can't believe an inspector would find anything wrong with Josie's Bar?" Matt asked, the disbelief in his face clear even behind his red glasses.

"Well, we all knew the water was dangerous," Foggy reluctantly agreed, "but I can't believe Josie's tap water was mixed with the sewage pipes! That's gotta be wrong!"

Matt smiled, his cane tapping the way in front of him as he unnecessarily held Foggy's arm so he could be guided.

"I'm not so sure the health inspector would just lie about that, Foggy."

"Maybe it's because of the Incident!" Foggy continued, barely listening to him. "I mean, Hell's Kitchen was hit pretty badly. Maybe Josie's simply got damaged in the crossfire and the pipes mixed."

He looked at Matt, proud of his theory; Matt just kept smiling.

"Fine, be like that! But that's the argument we are going to use when we defend Josie in court."

"We are defending Josie? Really?"

"That's why we became lawyers, Matt, to defend the little people!"

"I'm not so sure defending Josie's sewage water fits that description."

"Well, we'll make sure she repairs the pipes," Foggy relented. "I mean, we'll go back there at some point, so we have to do that. What do you say?"

Matt pretended to think for a second, then nodded. "Alright, but I refuse to let that be our first case, so tomorrow we have to find one."

"Yes! But enough about work. Tonight is for celebration!"

Saying this, Foggy pulled Matt towards a building, opening the door. It was a bar, he knew that even without Foggy telling him so, since he could listen to the music and the talking and smell the drinks and the food. He'd never been there before, but according to one of Foggy's many buddies, it was a pretty nice place. And since they couldn't very well go to Josie's, they could try a new place.

"Hey, it looks pretty good," Foggy said for his benefit. "It's not Josie's, but it'll do for tonight."

"Maybe we can even drink the water," Matt joked.

"Nope, I'm afraid we are on an alcohol-based diet tonight," Foggy answered, pulling his arm to guide him in. "You see, we –"

Whatever Foggy was going to say was interrupted by the massive man that appeared out of nowhere and stopped right in front of him. Matt didn't even notice him coming, distracted as he mapped the bar in his mind, and as consequence Foggy clashed against the man's back, falling to the ground as if he had crashed against a brick wall.

The man barely seemed to notice, but he couldn't help but hear Foggy falling pathetically on the floor.

"Oh! Apologies, my tiny friend!" the man boomed, grabbing Foggy and pulling him up as if his friend weighted nothing. "I was distracted with this game of pool we are playing!"

Now that he said it, Matt noticed he was indeed holding a cue stick, in the same hand he was also holding a freshly filled mug. And by the sound he could easily pinpoint where his friends were playing, a few meters from where they were standing.

"Come on, blondie, it's your turn!" a woman yelled from the table. "And try not to break anything this time! Luke it totally kicking us out if you make another hole in his wall."

A hole in the wall?! Now that she said it, Matt turned his attention to the walls; like the woman said, there it was, a hole shaped suspiciously like a billiard ball. How was that even possible? How badly – and how strongly – someone would have to miss to actually punch a hole in the wall like that?

"I have to go," the man said, smiling at them. "Why don't you play with us? I will buy you a beer as an apology!"

"No need, buddy," Foggy stammered, unusually quickly and maybe a little shy, if that was even possible. "But we would love to play! We'll be right there!"

With one last apology, the big man walked back to the pool table, his steps heavy against the bar's floor. It really was a good thing that the guy seemed to be genuinely nice, not one of those people who took advantage of his strength to intimidate others, because by his size Foggy would be doomed it he wanted to fight; and Matt couldn't very well help him without giving away the fact that he didn't need his vision to fight and fight well.

He was so distracted by the thought that he only noticed Foggy's unusual shocked silence when he was grabbed and forcibly dragged to an empty spot by the counter.

"Matt, I think we just met Thor!" he frantically whispered.

Matt really didn't know what to say in response to that.

From across the room, Clark closed his eyes and groaned.

"What do you mean you met Thor?" Matt asked, astonished.

"The guy, that big guy I just crashed against!" Foggy explained, speaking low and fast, his arms swinging madly. "That was Thor!"

As if he could actually see, Matt turned his head in the pool's table direction. There were four people there: the big guy Foggy was sure it was Thor, two other guys nearly as big and a woman.

"Oh my god…" Foggy whispered, also looking at the table. "That's Captain America!"

Clark closed his eyes again and shook his head, seeing the disguises they so carefully made crumbling before their eyes.

Again, Matt wasn't sure what to say. His enhanced senses were much better than any human's, but he was still blind. While he could certainly sense their general form, the shape of their bodies and faces, he had nothing to compare them to; he never had, after all, seen any of them on TV.

"Are you sure?" Matt asked, still stunned, turning to Foggy. "What would Thor and Captain America be doing here?"

"I don't know! And yes, I'm sure!" Foggy said. "They are using a disguise, but it's them!"

There was a brief silence.

"Are you really sure?" Matt asked again, uncertain.

Foggy rolled his eyes. "Trust me, okay?! Thor is using a hood indoors and a pair of glasses and Captain America is using a cap, but it's them! There is no way I would get fooled by a pair of glasses!" He got closer and indicated subtly their direction to Matt. "They are playing pool with a very hot girl and another dude wearing glasses!"

If Foggy really was right and not just imagining things, then what were the Avengers even doing here? Were they in a secret mission? Undercover? But why would they send two of their most notable members? Sure, they weren't Tony Stark, but it was a little difficult to believe that two huge blond, muscled men would remains unnoticed for long, no matter what disguise they used.

And seriously, glasses? Who would be fooled by that?

Well, a lot of people, apparently, Matt admitted, since they were still playing pool instead of being mobbed by every single person in the bar. Maybe he was overthinking his own situation by using a mask that nearly covered all his face.

"We are going to play with them!" Foggy decided, suddenly.

If Matt wasn't actually worse when it came to self-preservation, he would've slapped Foggy.

"Are you sure it's a good idea, Foggy?" Matt asked. "What if they are in the middle of a dangerous mission?"

"Here?!" Foggy retorted. "Plus, he invited us! Why would he do that if it were dangerous?"

There was that, Matt admitted. Still, he wasn't sure if it really was a good idea to mix with them. The decision, however, was taken from his hands when Foggy grabbed him and advanced towards the pool table. Matt really needed to have a conversation with Foggy about safety one of these days; good guys or not, they attracted trouble and Foggy was defenseless.

The irony of his thoughts was the only thing preventing him to say anything.

This was bad, Clark thought, very, very bad. Thor and Steve had been recognized! Somehow, the guy that crashed against Thor had seen through his disguise and even noticed Captain America with them. Jessica would never let him hear the end of it… His own identity, however, remained safe and sound; if he didn't know any better, he would really think his glasses were some advanced Kryptonian cloaking device, because it was working wonders.

At least they didn't seem inclined to make a scene, that was good. Even after finding out Thor and Captain America were there, both of them were whispering and careful not to draw any attention. Maybe, just maybe, they could go on without any major trouble.

"Hey, how are you?" the blond man said, cheerfully, as he approached, guiding the blind one. "I'm Foggy, nice to meet you."

Thor smiled brightly to him and shook his hand – a little harder than he should have, by the face Foggy made – and promptly introduced himself.

"I am Th-onald! Donald Blake!" he exclaimed, correcting himself. Clark, Steve and Jessica very nearly sighed. "This is Clark, the lady over there is known as Jessica and he is…"

This time, Clark, Steve and Jessica couldn't help but to sigh; Thor obviously didn't know what to call Steve and if Foggy already didn't know who they were Clark would be very worried right now.

"James, James Barnes," Steve introduced himself, fast, also shaking Foggy's hand. "But you can call me Bucky."

"Very nice to meet you guys," Foggy answered, slowly then apparently remembered that he wasn't alone. "Oh, this one is my best friend, Matt Murdock."

"Nice to meet you," Matt said, nodding at them.

"So, how do we do this?" Foggy asked, grabbing a cue stick. "The winners play against us?"

"Really?" Jessica said. "Are you sure you want to pair up with Stevie Wonder over there? That's not gonna be much of a game, will it?"

The tasteless joke flew over Steve and Thor's heads, but Clark winced; he knew Jessica well enough to understand that her humor was dark and often very offensive, but at the same time he also understood that she didn't mean half the things she said. She was just a caustic person.

Obviously, Foggy and Matt didn't know that; to his surprise, however, both of them just smirked.

"Care to bet on that?" Matt asked, looking directly at Jessica. Well, not looking, he was blind, but Clark almost believed he was seeing her from behind those red lenses for a moment. He fished a one hundred dollars bill from his pocket. "If you are feeling confident, that is."

"Stealing money from a blind man?" Jessica pretended to think for a second, then opened a predatory smile. "I'm in!"

Of course she was, Clark sighed. Jessica wasn't one to discriminate against race, religion or disability; she was a dick to everyone equally.

Jimmy "the Bear" was a dangerous man. He was the president of the New York chapter of the Dogs of Hell, a Motorcycle Club with ties in drug trafficking, smuggling, guns trade, kidnapping, murder and every possible unsavory work one could imagine, as long as it brought profit. He was an intimidating figure, with a thick black beard, muscled arms covered in tattoos, eyes of someone well used to violence and the well-known leather jacket of the Dogs of Hell.

Somehow, all that meant absolutely nothing to the man sitting in front of him.

"I need you to be discreet," James Wesley said, touching his glasses as he looked into his eyes. "No killing, nothing flashy. The last thing we need is the wrong kind of attention upon us."

"Whose attention? The cops?" Jimmy scoffed. Those who couldn't be bought were easily intimidated. And the ones who liked to play hero? Those didn't get to live much anyway.

Wesley just shook his head. "The police is not a problem. But there are those above them that could be. You know what I'm talking about."

"We ain't afraid of anything!" Jimmy roared, understanding the needling for what it was, crushing his cigar on the table as he did it.

Wesley just watched in distaste as the cigar was turned into mush, not even a little bit intimidated; Jimmy wanted to punch him then. The man was the very opposite of everything his club represented, dressed in that immaculate suit of his, with perfect good manners and a calm demeanor. He just didn't fit with the environment around them.

The club was dark and noisy, chaotic to the core, filled with members of the Dogs of Hell. There was music, yelling, gambling. The air was thick with the smoke of the cigars and the booze flowed like water. James Wesley, on the other hand, seemed like the very picture of a prissy politician. He didn't belong there. He had no business ordering him around.

Except that Jimmy was very aware of who James Wesley answered to. And that was a man you just didn't want to cross.

"Like I said, we ain't afraid of anything," Jimmy repeated, more to convince himself than to convince Wesley. "I said we can handle things, so we'll handle things."

"Oh? The Dogs of Hell aren't afraid of anyone, is that right?" Wesley asked, raising a single eyebrow. "Because, from what I heard, your chapter here in New York apparently banned every illicit activity within a hundred miles from the city. My, you don't even carry guns here anymore!"

If Jimmy was capable of blushing, the thick beard and the dark room would probably make it impossible to notice.

"That ain't got anything to do with fear!" he denied, maybe too quickly. "Is it fear to dodge a bullet or just good sense? We can't fight that damn alien! He made that very clear to us already! So why would we commit crimes right under Superman's nose?"

And that was the real reason why Jimmy was taking orders from Wesley. The Dogs of Hell were autonomous, they could take care of themselves. Sure, they were available for hiring, but that was all it was. Superman changed that. It just wasn't possible to work with that damn alien flying over the city!

Jimmy had no idea why that alien seemed to like New York so much. Maybe it was because that clusterfuck that happened with Zod; he had to contain a shudder when he thought about Black Zero Event. Superman probably felt guilty about what happened to the city then and because of that he seemed especially concerned about New York. And that was bad for business.

So they needed an extra; Wesley's boss could provide that.

"If you fear Superman or not is not my problem," Wesley said, after a while. "But at least you have the good sense to know he is a threat. Keep doing that and you'll be fine."

Saying this, Wesley got up.

"We'll discuss new routes for your products if this works out," Wesley added. "But remember, I want Hell's Kitchen under our control."

Then, without even looking at Jimmy again, he left; not for the first time, he had to stop himself from throwing a bottle against the man. Breathing deeply, Jimmy controlled himself. They would play ball, for now. Until they could get back on their feet again, after what Superman did to their business.

But that didn't mean he had to like it.

Standing up, Jimmy kicked his chair to the middle of the club. The wooden furniture crashed against the pool table, turning into a thousand splinters; there was a sudden silence. The prissy son of a bitch wanted to grab Hell's Kitchen by the throat? Well, that he could do.

"Let's ride!" he yelled and his brothers roared in response.

"Son of a bitch!" Jessica yelled. "How did he do this? How did you do this?!"

Steve had to contain himself, for the thousandth time, so he wouldn't reprimand Jessica for that filthy mouth of hers. It was unbelievable! And he was pretty certain that this had nothing to do, once again, with the different time he was living in. Sure, women were a lot more open now, direct, even to the point where Steve was actually a little bit scared when they approached him. But this?

This was all Jessica Jones.

Weirdly enough, even though his reaction was a lot more contained, he was probably as surprised as she was by what he had just seen. Against everyone's will, Jessica had accepted the bet Matt had proposed. And after Clark and she won the last game — mostly because Thor still hadn't acclimatized his Asgardian strength to the delicate game — Foggy and Matt stepped forward to play.

To everybody's astonishment, Matt decided the game alone.

He just wouldn't miss. Before each round, Foggy would tell him where the balls were located and, blind or not, the man simply bounced the balls around the green table potting one after the other until only Clark and Jessica's were left.

Superman had just lost a game of pool to a blind man. Sure, he didn't even have the chance to play, but it was incredibly impressive.

"Seriously, I want to know how you are doing this!" Jessica insisted, staring at Matt Murdock. "How the fuck does a blind man play so well?!"

Matt, completely unbothered by her rage, just smirked.

"People always ask me this. This and how I comb my hair," Matt said, shrugging. "You just… Hope for the best."

There was a brief silence that Steve was sure it wouldn't last.

"Bullshit!" Jessica exclaimed loudly, making him wince.

"Jessica—" Clark started.

"No, I refuse to lose a hundred bucks to a blind guy, Clark! This is all your fault anyway, why did you let him go first just like that? We are playing again. Double or nothing!"

"Are you sure?" Foggy asked, his glee barely contained. "I mean, we were a pretty good team during college. That's how we paid for drinks."

"This was most impressive!" Thor agreed, his expression still surprised. "I look forward to facing you two!"

"Like you can win, mister 'I break walls'," Jessica mumbled, tossing her cue stick to him. "I need a drink."

"Jessica, you already had enough…" Clark said, quickly following the tipsy woman to counter.

"So, how do we do this?" Matt asked when they left, approaching the table. "Are we betting?"

"But of cours—" Thor began.

"No betting, let's just have fun," Steve interrupted, before the Asgardian could cost him a great deal of money. He wasn't poor anymore, but old habits did indeed die hard.

"Fine by me," Foggy chirped happily. "Let's see if I get to play this time."

Foggy and an overly enthusiastic Thor began to prepare the balls for the game as Steve readied himself to play for the second time since 1945. He couldn't help but to think about Bucky and the Howling Commandos; they loved to play every single game they could find in the pubs back then. It was weird to play a game like that without them, even weirder when he considered the fact that his partner was a Norse god.

"Are you from here?" Matt asked, suddenly, and Steve took a moment to realize he was talking to him. "Do you all come to this bar often?"

"No, no, it's my first time here," Steve answered, looking at the man's red lenses. "But I'm from New York."

"Really? Which part?"

"Brooklyn," Steve answered, remembering fondly of his old neighborhood.

"Hell's Kitchen, born and raised," Matt said back, tilting his head.

"Yeah?" Steve said, looking down for a second. "Were you here during the Battle of New York?"

Sensitive topic for the Avengers, that one, but he had to know. Steve, better than most, understood the consequences of war. It was a battle that had to be fought, everybody knew that, but that didn't make the innocent people caught in the crossfire any less important.

"I was," Matt answered, after a while, sighing. "Bad day, that one."

"Tell me about it…" Steve breathed.

"But we are dealing with it," he continued, as if he hadn't heard. "The people of this city always bounce back, no matter the circumstance."

"It's… It's good to know," Steve said, sighing.

He knew that, it was true even back in the day, but it was good to be reassured. Especially now that New York had suffered two alien attacks that claimed so many lives.

"I haven't been here for a while," Steve said, suddenly. "Living here, I mean. It's nice to know that some things remained the same."

The blind man nodded and sipped his drink, as both of them remained in silence, watching Foggy and Thor finishing preparing the table.

"All set!" Foggy exclaimed, clapping his hands. "So, the blind guy begins again?"

"Let's flip the coin!" Steve hurried to say.

"Another one?" Luke asked, grabbing Jessica's empty glass.

"Yep. Don't know what happened to all the others," Jessica answered.

He snorted; Luke had never seen a woman drink as much as she did. It was a lot of booze for such a small person.

"I've seen you around before, you know," Luke said, as Jessica sat by the counter, "but you never come inside."

She shrugged. "I buy my alcohol in bulk."

"Still, you can always come for the coffee," Luke said, smirking.

Jessica raised her eyebrows. "You serve coffee?"

"No."

He was surprised by how much he enjoyed her laugh. Jessica was a beautiful woman, but her face seemed to be frozen into a perpetual scowl for some reason; seeing her laughing, relaxing even if for just a while, made her even more beautiful. That was the reason that made him think she was dating Clark.

When he was close to her, her face relaxed just as it did now, when he made her laugh.

"Are you sure you and Clark are not dating?" he asked again, just to be certain, looking at the man in question as he went back to the pool table. He liked the guy, it wouldn't be cool to hit on his girlfriend.

Jessica groaned. "Again with this! No, we are not dating! And why the hell does it matter, anyway? You interested in him?"

Luke raised a single eyebrow. "Not him, no."

That gave her pause. It was brief, a moment of hesitation, but it happened; he imagined that she wouldn't have reacted at all if she hadn't drunk that much.

"Flirting, huh? Should've imagined," she chuckled.

"Why? You an expert in flirting?"

"Me?" she snorted. "I don't flirt. But you do. Not for sport, it's got purpose. Like getting customers to drink more, tip more."

Luke leaned closer. "What if I've flirted just because I think you're hot?"

She leaned closer too, staring at him.

"Well, you do seem to like women." She looked at him all the way from his feet to his face. "And they like you."

Jessica's face got really close from his, her eyes still staring nonstop at his, her breath tickling him. And then, suddenly, she pulled back.

"But, unfortunately for both of us, I'm sure, I've decided to give up men for a while, "Jessica said, looking at his body again. "No matter how stupid this decision seems now…"

Luke, very discretely, shook himself out of his stupor. Damn, that girl was really messing with his head, it seemed.

"Bad breakup?" he asked, trying to find a reason for the rejection. Not that Luke had never been rejected before, he had, but with the risk of sounding arrogant, he had to admit it was a rare occurrence.

The dark, tense frown was immediately back on Jessica's face.

"Something like that," she said, getting up. "Thanks for the beer."

Luke sighed, stopping himself from going after her. Well, that was great. Not only he failed to hook up with her, he also, somehow, offended her; that didn't bode well for his chances of having a "coffee" with her in the future. Shaking his head, he accompanied her with his eyes until she was back at the pool table, with her weird friends.

To be fair, not all of them were weird, Luke admitted. Clark was a pretty normal guy, he stopped at Luke's occasionally to eat a burger and talk; he liked him. The other blond guy, with the cap, was just a bit quiet and maybe too polite. The big one, however, wearing a hood and a cap in doors… That one was weird as hell. Not in a bad way, Luke knew a lot of bad people in his life and the guy didn't seem to be one. But he was weird. Maybe a foreigner?

And what to say about the two others that joined them? The blond one, that for some reason called himself Foggy, was clearly a people's person. The guy just wouldn't stop talking, to anyone that would listen, and he moved like a hamster on cocaine. But surprisingly enough, Foggy wasn't the weirdest from the bunch.

Matt Murdock, the blind man who was massacring people at the pool table, was.

How did a blind guy play so well? It was uncanny. For a moment, Luke wondered if the guy really was blind or if he was trying to make easy money, but he seemed to be. He just was unnaturally good at playing pool.

Sighing, Luke turned to take an order, taking his tray with him. These days, a blind guy who could play pool was way down in the "weird scale".

Captain America was very good at pool, Matt realized, a bit surprised. Bouncing that shield around was probably good practice, because the Super Soldier was doing unnaturally well at their game. Thor on the other hand… It was easy to see why the God of Thunder was having so much trouble: he was too strong. Maybe when he got used to the weight of the balls he would be better than Steve and even him, but right now? Right now he was the only reason they were still in the game.

"Be gentle, Tho-Donald," Clark coached. "It's all about muscle memory. Just a little bit of… too much!"

Matt winced when the cue stick clashed against the ball, the sound echoing in the closed bar. And the ball… The ball flew over the table, faster than a professional baseball player's pitch, right in the direction of Foggy's face.

Clark's hand moved almost as fast as a bullet and closed around the ball midair, right in front of Foggy's nose. There was a long silence.

"Oh my god, my life just flashed before my eyes!" Foggy breathed, seemingly frozen in place. "Thank you!"

"Don't worry about it," Clark answered, smiling, putting the ball back on the table, leaning forward to explain to Thor what he had done wrong.

"What is going on?" Matt asked, since he supposedly couldn't have known what had happened.

Foggy, of course, launched himself in a long explanation that Matt barely listened, his mind still trying to understand what had just happened. How did Clark move so fast? How did he react even before Matt or even Captain America could? How didn't he hurt his hand? It didn't make sense and now that he was actually thinking about it, nothing about this whole thing made sense.

The Avengers here, in this bar, playing pool, he could roll with it. It was unusual, but he supposed they weren't always saving the world. But who was this guy hanging out so casually with two Avengers? Who was this guy giving tips to Thor about how much strength he should hit the ball? How could a normal person possibly have any notion of how to control the amount of strength they all knew Thor had? The more Matt thought about it, the more questions he had.

Until, finally, his mind finally provided an answer: could Clark Kent be—

"Hey, Mr. Magoo, shit or get off the pot!" Jessica Jones barked, arriving at the table with a new beer mug. "It's your turn now and I still have to get my money back."

Matt sighed, looking in her direction, his line of thought completely forgotten. Now, that one was a one of a kind. Matt always wanted, expected even, to be treated normally by people. Sure, he was blind, but he, least of all, wasn't an invalid. He got his wish; Jessica treated him as badly as she treated anyone else. It was refreshing, if nothing else.

Incredibly annoying too.

"Jessica, stop badmouthing people!" Clark reprehended.

"Why?" she responded, sounding really confused. "Because he's blind? Are you some kind of racist?"

"Blind people are not a race," Clark defended himself.

Jessica gasped; it was so fake that not even a child would be fooled.

"I can't believe you just said that!"

Before Clark could answer her, Matt decided to interrupt. "It's okay, really. And it is my turn, she is right."

"See?" she said, smug, as he approached to play.

"You two are dating?" Foggy asked, no doubt curious about their conversation.

Clark and Jessica groaned in unison.

"I'll take that as a 'no'," Foggy added, smiling. He got up and got closer to Jessica. "So that means you're single?"

Matt couldn't see which expression Jessica made, but he could picture it in his mind by the movements her face muscles made; if he was right, Jessica was looking at Foggy not unlike anyone would look at a particularly disgusting bug.

"There is a bigger chance that I guess the winning numbers of the lotto three times in a roll than there is for us to go out on a date," Jessica said, brutally.

Foggy just stared at her, frozen; then his face almost glowed. "So you're telling me there's a chance!"

Jessica groaned again, as the rest of them laughed.

"We are neighbors," Clark explained, as Matt began to play. "We live near the bar, really."

"You are from Hell's Kitchen too?" Foggy asked, excited.

"Well, I'm from Smallville," Clark said. "I arrived in the city not too long ago."

"Yeah? What do you do?"

"I'm a journalist. Or I'm trying to be one."

"Wait a minute!" Foggy exclaimed, suddenly. "Clark Kent… You're the guy who wrote that piece about the mutant factory, aren't you?!"

That gave Matt pause. He looked at Clark, waiting for him to confirm it.

"It's him," Jessica said, before he could. "He was able to pay rent for three months with that money."

"I could've made it last a lot longer if you didn't steal my food all the time," Clark retorted.

"Man, do you know how many lives you saved?!" Foggy asked, excited, interrupting them. "That was amazing! Well, not the part about a mutant factory killing and torturing people right in the middle of New York, the part about you saving them!"

"I just did my job," Clark said, clearly embarrassed.

Matt actually agreed with Foggy, even if less enthusiastically: what he did was amazing. He couldn't believe a place like that even existed, much less in New York. To find that out, save the victims and be responsible for a bunch of arrests was no small thing, especially considering how high up in the government some of the people involved were.

Matt had no idea if his theory about Clark being Superman was correct, but in his eyes he was already a hero.

"What is a mutant factory?" Thor asked, confused, interrupting Foggy's never ending compliments.

"You, huh, don't have mutants where you're from?" Foggy asked, a little embarrassed, probably because he knew very well from where 'Donald Blake' was from.

"There are no mutants in Asg-New Mexico," Thor answered. He frowned. "As far as I know."

"They are people born with abilities," Steve explained. "No one knows why, really, but some humans are born like that. This 'factory' Clark helped close was an underground facility trying to force these mutations on ordinary humans." He stopped talking for a second. "A lot of people died there."

"That is terrible!" Thor exclaimed. "Why would they do this?"

"Mutants are feared and hated by a lot of people," Matt said, as everyone looked at him. "Not many can accept abilities that they don't understand. But a lot of people still think they are valuable as weapons."

Matt wasn't a mutant, but he was different and he knew very well what would some people think if they ever found out. He'd be a freak, dangerous even, treated badly simply for being what he was. He would defend the mutant cause simply because it was the right thing to do, but the fact that he felt so close related to them gave him an extra boost.

"Such foolishness!" Thor boomed. "In Asg-New Mexico we would never do that!"

Nobody really knew what to say about that, so they remained quiet, trying not to look at the very unconvincing Donald Blake from the apparently very pro-mutant New Mexico.

"So what do you two do?" Clark asked, probably more to refocus the attention over the squirming Thor over curiosity.

"Oh, we're lawyers!" Foggy answered, promptly. "But don't worry, we are good guys."

Jessica snorted. "Yeah, the word 'lawyer' and the words 'good guy' don't go together."

"No, really!" Foggy insisted. "Me and Matt are here to protect the little guy!"

"Which little guy?" Thor asked, confused.

"The… You know, the little people," Foggy explained, lamely.

"We only take causes of people who really need help," Matt answered, hitting another ball as he did so.

"Or we will, as soon as we take our first case!" Foggy added.

Jessica snorted again. "Yeah, good luck with that. You're probably gonna die hungry. 'Little guy' equals 'little pay'."

"Not everything is about money," Foggy defended them.

"Say that when you can't pay you electricity bill," Jessica countered.

"What do you do, Miss Jones?" Matt asked.

She groaned. "For Christ's sake, don't call me that… I'm a P.I."

"Ah, that explains why you're so cynical," Matt said. "Worked for many lawyers?"

"Enough to know exactly what they're like."

"Well, we aren't like that," Foggy said, again. "We've even quit a big lawyer firm to open our own, just so we can do what is right!"

For some reason, Jessica looked at Clark when Foggy said that.

"Yeah, stupid thing to do," she said. "But, oh, well, at least you're going to be the good kind of stupid if you can survive the winter."

From her, that was a compliment of the highest order.

"I think it's a good thing," Clark said too. "God knows how much help the little guy needs in this city."

"That's true," Steve agreed.

Foggy opened his mouth to say something back to them, but Matt wasn't listening anymore; something outside called his attention. Engines roaring, a lot of them, making the air smell of smoke. It was still too far for the ordinary human to hear, but Matt could detect them easily, running at full speed.

Running right in the direction of the bar they were at.

Clark noticed the noise way before anyone else did, but it was only when the bikes finally stopped in front of the bar that he knew something was about to happen. Too many motorcycles together, the loud voices, the laughing, the sound of heavy boots… Discretely, Clark turned towards the door, right at the moment it was opened.

The man who opened the door wasn't gentle; he pulled the door with such strength that it clashed against the wall, as he entered, looking around. A tense silence fell over the bar.

The man who entered was menacing. He had in his eyes the coldness of someone unbothered by violence and his whole appearance screamed he wasn't one to follow the law; a thick beard, tattoos on his muscled arms, biker clothes and, most importantly, a Dogs of Hell jacket.

Clark knew who they were, of course, it wasn't the first time he'd encountered them since he became Superman. The Dogs of Hell were a Motorcycle Clube or, more accurately, they were a biker gang that controlled some parts of New York's underworld. They used to traffic drugs and weapons all across the country and were famous for their brutality.

Needless to say, Clark took offense to that.

It didn't take long for him to break most of their operations, it wasn't like they had the means to face him, but he knew full well they were not beaten yet. Clark, however, wasn't omnipresent, no matter what people may think; so while they weren't flat out murdering people and bringing weapons and drugs inside New York, he could very well let the police deal with them while he took care of things the police wasn't equipped to deal with.

Or so he thought, at least, but apparently he was wrong. What were they doing here? Clark and everybody else watched as ten bikers entered, following their leader, everyone of them moving like predators. A quick x-ray scan showed they weren't carrying guns, but they were armed with knives, brass-knuckles and even chains.

This wasn't a friendly visit.

"Nice little joint you got here," the man leading the bikers said, walking slowly through the bar, the silence absolute. "How's the beer?"

Nobody said anything for a few moments, the steps of the bikers the only sound around, as they spread in all directions of the bar. Clark could smell tobacco and alcohol in their breaths.

"The beer is good," Luke's calm voice answered, from behind the counter. "But I don't think you'll appreciate the place that much."

"Oh, I disagree!" the biker answered, his voice deep and rough. "Booze, hot girls, even a pool table! It's like we're back at home!"

The other bikers laughed at the joke, still walking around, circling, like wolves surrounding their prey. None of them would pose any threat to Clark or his friends, but they were more than enough to hurt any civilian, especially when he considered the fact that they were used to violence.

Putting the tray back on the counter, Luke walked around it and went in the leader's direction. Clark could hear his breathing and heartbeat and, surprisingly, they were as calm as ever. The leader of the bikers turned to him, opening his arms as if questioning Luke.

"Still, I think you can find a place more suited to you," Luke said, stopping right in front of the biker; the man was big, but Luke still towered over him. "So I'm gonna have to ask for you to leave."

The biker smiled like a shark, approaching Luke and staring at him.

"Is that so?" he asked.

Luke met his eyes, unbothered.

"Yep," Luke answered.

There was a thick, tense silence. Clark was ready to move, his hands closing around a pool ball. Around him, he could hear Thor and Steve moving closer to the bikers as well. Jessica, non-surprisingly, also moved towards one of them. Her movement, probably because she was more than a little drunk, was noticed almost immediately by the biker.

"Hey, boss, I think we should stay!" the man said, eyeing Jessica lecherously. Clark closed his fists as the bearded man approached her. "Look at this hot chick here!"

The leader didn't look, still locked in a staring contest with Luke.

"So, what do you say, girl?" the man asked, leaning over her, unbothered by his leader's silence. "Wanna have some fun?"

"Hey, man, look," Foggy started, approaching them carefully. "You don't have to do this. We—"

"Shut up, I'm talking to the girl!" the biker snapped, roaring at Foggy, then looking at Jessica again. He smiled. "What do you say?"

To anyone else's eyes, Jessica probably seemed frozen in fear, but Clark knew for a fact that she was anything but afraid; if anything, she was pissed because she had now, effectively, lost one hundred bucks to Matt that she would never see it again. Slowly, she lifted her hand and touched the man's chest. The fat biker laughed, his companions joining him when he turned to look at them, probably feeling very sure of himself at that moment.

Or he was, until Jessica's hand went up and closed around his beard; and she pulled.

The immense biker was simply forced down as if the sky itself had fallen over him and his head clashed directly against the table by his side. A terrible, loud noise, echoed, and the man fell down, knocked out. There was a second of silence.

"TAVERN BRAWL!" Thor boomed.

Then all hell broke loose.

Jimmy the Bear was not prepared for the kind of resistance they met in that bar; it wasn't like he was expecting any, to begin with. The plan was just stop there, drink some beers, feel up some chicks, and then wreck the place, hurting anyone who got in the way. Just a bit of fun on a very unpleasant night, with the added bonus of spreading the word that the Dogs of Hell were back and everyone wise should be very afraid, something that would help them to regain control of Hell's Kitchen.

The risk was calculated; but man, they were really bad at math.

The owner was a huge, black behemoth of a man. Nothing Jimmy hadn't faced before, but certainly an added difficulty, if the man decided to take offense about what they were going to do; and surprisingly, he did.

Jimmy was not used to being challenged and that was exactly as he took when the owner stopped right in front of him and told him to leave. Was the man crazy? Did he have a death wish? Usually Jimmy would be more than happy to comply, but he didn't want to kill anybody, that called the wrong kind of attention, so he couldn't just stick a knife in his stomach.

Well, if the man needed a lesson, he was more than happy to provide.

Both of them assessed each other, without blinking, staring at each other's eyes. And suddenly, Jimmy wasn't so sure of himself anymore. Jimmy was a scary son of a bitch, he didn't get to where he was by being nice. He fought and he killed before. But this black dude… He just didn't show any semblance of fear. It was unsettling.

He heard Fat Johnson calling him from the other side of the bar, saying something about a girl, but he didn't pay any attention, too busy staring at the owner. Someone else said something in response and Fat Johnson snapped at him; there were laughs.

And then, out of nowhere, there was a loud crash.

Turning fast, Jimmy saw Fat Johnson sprawled on the floor, passed out right in front of a tiny girl. What the fuck had happened?! What did that obese idiot do?! Whatever it was, Jimmy had no answer, because another big dude yelled:

"TAVERN BRAWL!"

The yell made everybody snap into motion. Roaring, Jimmy turned, fist already closed, and unleashed the strongest punch he could right in the owner's face, set on defeating him quickly. He certainly didn't expect feeling as if he had punched a concrete wall.

CRACK!

"ARGHHHHH!" Jimmy yelled, feeling the bones in his hand break.

He fell down to his knees, clutching his hand desperately, the pain making him scream nonstop; that was when the owner's hands grabbed him by the jacket and pulled him up. Jimmy was a big man, but he certainly didn't feel like that at the moment, when his legs were dangling desperately in the air as the owner lifted him.

But it wasn't the pain or the fact that he was being held like a toy over the owner's head that took away his voice in surprise; it was what was happening all around. It was supposed to be easy, a bar full of drunk civilians was an easy mark, he told himself. Well, what the fuck was going on then?!

His men were being beaten up like unruly children all around. He saw when the big blond man, the one who yelled and started the whole thing, launching himself against two of them, tossing them against the wall with such strength that they made the whole place tremble. He saw another blond man drop two of his bikers with simple jabs, his punches flowing fast and precise and deadly. He saw a big guy wearing glasses bitch-slap two others and fucking knock them out with that. He saw what looked to be a fucking blind man hit one of the bikers with a cue ball, right at his forehead, god only knew how. And worst of all, he saw a damn woman, a fucking woman, grab his two still standing men by their throats and simply bash their heads together, as if they were dolls.

For the first time in his very long career, Jimmy was truly afraid. Desperate, he looked down, unable to free himself from the steel like hands of the owner; Jimmy's eyes stared at his, completely wide. And then the owner tossed him down, strongly.

Jimmy the Bear didn't see anything anymore.

"FREEDOM!" the woman yelled, for the hundredth time, making him want to claw his eyes out.

Not for the first time that night, Officer Brett Mahoney was regretting having answered the emergency call for a bar fight. Bar fights were usually easy to handle, just drunk people doing stupid things, nothing he would need backup for; that was what he was thinking when he answered it. Now, however…

"It's the fucking Avengers!" he exclaimed, looking at Foggy Nelson, as he pointed to the holding cell of the precinct. "I arrested Thor and Captain America!"

"Now, now, I see why you are thinking that," Foggy said, serenely, probably to try to calm him down. "But think, Brett, why would the Avengers be involved in a bar fight? Those two are just lookalikes."

Brett looked at him with his lips pursed.

"Don't even start with this bullshit, Foggy!" he exclaimed, more than a little incensed. Normally, Brett was the picture of calm, but not today. "I arrested Captain America, Thor, a drunk girl and some mild-mannered reporter who probably just got caught up in the middle of this huge clusterfuck because the Dogs of Hell decided to pick a fight with the Avengers!"

"FREEDOM!" Jessica Jones yelled again.

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" Brett screamed back, stress oozing out of his skin.

This was terrible. He would be known forever as the police officer who arrested Captain America and Thor. At best people would laugh their asses off, at worst he could get fired. Why didn't he check their ID's? How could he be fooled by glasses, caps and hoods? Why didn't he listen when Nelson and Murdock told him that he should just call someone to take the Dogs of Hell and leave, without taking the rest of the people involved in the fight as well?

"Listen, Brett, we both know you will gain nothing doing this," Murdock said, his low voice making his nerves calmer. "You didn't book them. Couldn't even if you wanted to, we both know that. Sooner or later a SHIELD agent will appear and order you to release them anyway, but the more they stay here, the bigger the chance of other cops noticing. And when word gets out…"

"I'll be a laughingstock," Brett finished.

Matt didn't agree, but he didn't disagree either.

"The best thing for us to do is to let them go. Now, before other cops notice just who you put in that cell."

Brett looked at the holding cell, ignoring the constant yelling of "freedom" from the drunk girl; then he looked back at Nelson and Murdock. He frowned.

"And how exactly are you two involved in this?" he asked, suspiciously.

"Innocent bystanders," Foggy answered, immediately.

He continued staring at them, not buying his explanation one bit.

"Sure. You just happened to be drinking at the same bar the Avengers were and then that same bar got attacked by a biker gang."

Murdock sighed. "Believe it or not, that's exactly how it happened."

Brett didn't believe it, not for one second. The Avengers had way more important things to do than to drink at sleazy bars and fight bikers. It was probably a mission of some kind, something critical to global security. He just didn't know how Nelson and Murdock fit into that.

And if he was right, well, he was interfering with matters of planetary defense. He couldn't do that.

"The clock is ticking, Brett," Foggy remembered him.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Fine! But take them out through the back," he relented. "And if either of you talk about this to someone, if you even whisper it to someone, I will make you pay!"

Neither Foggy nor Murdock seemed threatened in the least.

"Thanks, Brett," Murdock said.

"I'll buy those cigars for Bess as a thank you!" Foggy promised.

"Stop buying cigars for my mother!"

"She'll outlive us all!"

"Well, that was an interesting night," Clark mentioned, when he, Steve, Thor and a slumbering drunk Jessica resting on his arms were far away from the precinct. "Certainly didn't think I would ever be arrested, I'll say that much."

Well, it wasn't like it was an official arrest, but still. Clark made sure Kelex had deleted each and every footage of them, not only in the precinct, but in every camera they passed by. He couldn't very well erase Matt and Foggy's minds, but their identities would remain safe from the computers at least.

Weirdly enough, he wasn't worried. Matt and Foggy seemed to be legitimately good people, he was pretty sure they wouldn't babble to the news about this. And they were, after all, the ones who got them out of jail before a SHIELD agent appeared.

He couldn't even begin to imagine all the jokes and teasing they would have to endure if Natasha appeared there. Or worse, Tony. They really did owe Matt and Foggy one.

"You have never been in the dungeons, Kal?" Thor asked, smiling brightly, way too excited about everything that had happened.

"You have?" Steve asked, also smiling for some reason.

"Dozens of times!" Thor exclaimed, as they walked the empty streets. "Father could be terribly unreasonably sometimes."

"I'm sure you had nothing to do with that, Mr. 'Tavern Brawl'," Steve countered.

It was at that moment that everything that had passed that night finally dawned on them; and for some reason, they began to laugh. Slowly at first and then, gradually, their laughing became stronger and stronger until it was almost incontrollable. Three drunk men, laughing like idiots, and a passed out drunk woman who couldn't handle Asgardian liquor.

Whatever Clark imagined his night would end, it hadn't been like this. Still, he couldn't have wished for a better one.