Half an hour later, at Betty Ross's home, she brought out a bottle of wine, pouring two glasses and handing one to Thor.
"A 1982 Chateau Lafite Rothschild. Care for a drink?" she offered with a smile.
They'd walked for a while, and her earlier dizziness had faded.
Thor raised an eyebrow, smirking. "You know, when a girl invites a guy over to her place and offers him a drink… can I imagine what might happen next?"
Betty blushed and rolled her eyes. "What are you talking about? This wine's been waiting ages for me to celebrate graduation. You just got lucky. Stop overthinking it! Cheers!" She clinked glasses, steering the conversation away with a grin.
Thor chuckled and let it go. After they'd both taken a sip, he asked, "Are you the only one in your family? Where are your parents?"
A shadow crossed her face, and she spoke softly. "My mom left us a long time ago. My dad's a soldier. He was always strict with me, but I rarely saw him. Soon, I'll be joining one of his research projects…" It was clear that their relationship was distant, and she quickly changed the subject.
Perhaps from a mix of freedom and bottled-up emotions, Betty drank a bit too much that night. By the time the bottle was empty, she was fast asleep.
Thor gently carried her to her room, hesitating for a moment. She clearly didn't mind his presence, but was he the kind of guy to take advantage of the situation?
After weighing his options, Thor chose the honorable route. Though he knew Betty probably wouldn't hold it against him, he also knew that crossing that line would complicate things.
Pulling the quilt over her, Thor quietly left, closing the door behind him.
As soon as Thor stepped out and headed for his car, he was surprised to find someone waiting in the passenger seat—a familiar face dressed in a sleek black leather jacket.
"Uh… Natasha," he stammered, rubbing his forehead, "long time no see…"
Natasha Romanoff—formerly known as Natalia Romanova, a name she'd left behind with her former life—gave him a smirk that could shatter bones. "It's been ten years, dear Thor… Your Majesty."
The resentment in her voice was unmistakable, even for someone as occasionally oblivious as Thor.
"Imagine that. All these years, and the first thing you do when you're back is… recruit me for your little pickup game?" Natasha's eyes sparkled dangerously. "What a piece of work you are!"
Thor broke into a nervous sweat. He'd definitely contacted Fury—not Natasha. But knowing the man, Fury probably passed the task off, not wanting to deal with it himself.
Thor thought back to their early days. Nothing had actually happened between him and Natasha, so why did he suddenly feel so guilty, as if he'd been caught by a jealous partner?
Natasha eyed him, leaning closer. "So, how come you didn't take advantage of that perfect opportunity back there?"
Uh-oh. Thor knew this was a high-stakes question—one wrong answer and he could find himself in serious trouble.
"She was drunk. I couldn't take advantage of her!" The "gentlemanly" response;
"I only have eyes for you, no matter how beautiful someone else might be!" The "hopeless romantic" response;
"Ever since our first meeting, fate has bound us together. For ten years, no one else has crossed my mind." The classic soap opera response.
But Thor had a sudden flash of inspiration and blurted, "Its not my style"
The "deadpan" response.
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