"Steve, are you ready yet?" Clint Barton knocks again on the door of a small Chelsea apartment. He and Jack Daniels stand in the hallway of an old building, waiting for their friend and teammate to come out for their night on the town. Finally, the door opens and before them stands Steve Rogers, dressed impeccably and carrying a large black portfolio.

"What the...? Don't tell me you're actually planing on taking your shield with you?" Clint yells at Steve as he pushes him inside the apartment. "And I bet you've even got your costume under there." With those words Clint tears open Steve's shirt, revealing the familiar blue, white and red costume of Captain America. "I don't believe this! What's the idea? If you see a damsel in distress you're going to slip into the nearest phone booth and change into your costume?"

"Well, of course not, but I want to be prepared in case we are needed and..."

"Just relax Rogers!" Jack interrupts. "Tonight's supposed to be our night off. Tomorrow Barton and I are hopping back to the West Coast. That's why we're going out tonight in civvies. To relax for a change."

"But..."

"No buts man, Jack's right for once. Now go and take that thing off. Unless you're kinky enough to want a girl to find you in that if you should actually get lucky tonight."

"Clint! How can you even say that!" Blood rushes to Steve Rogers' face. He has faced the worst menaces this earth has to offer and never even blinked, but he still finds the way sex is treated so openly in the 90's much too awkward.

"I'm just yanking your chain Steve, but my point still stands. Get out of the union suit, now!"

"O.K., just give me a minute." Steve Rogers enters his bedroom and comes out 58 seconds later, again impeccably dressed.

"You've gotta be kidding me! You changed already?"

"I may not go around changing in phone booths, but I can still be pretty quick when it comes to switching clothes."

"Let's go then."

The three figures walk out of the apartment building and find themselves in the middle of Chelsea. It's a nice warm night and the streets are filled with people heading out for some evening enjoyment. The three Avengers begin walking, losing themselves among the crowd. Tonight they seem no different than any other group of friends out for the night.

"So, where exactly are we going?" asks Jack.

"Well, I know this place up in..." but before Clint can finish his sentence, Steve interrupts him.

"Wait a minute Clint. Last time we went out for drinks *, you got to choose the place. This time it's my turn."

(*Captain America #401, bar-hopping Alvaro)

"Don't worry," Cap states after seeing Clint's concerned expression, "I'm sure you'll like it. It's a nice bar some of my neighbors have recommended."

"Well, I'll have to see it to believe it."

Soon afterwards, they arrive at the bar Steve has led them to. As they walk down the stairs that lead to the bar's entrance, Clint notes that this may not be too bad after all. Sure, the joint is maybe a bit to "nice" for his tastes, but at least they have a pool table, a dartboard and some nice-looking waitresses. A friendly atmosphere permeates the place.

"So, tell me guys, how does it feel to be the West Coast Avengers again?" asks Steve to his two teammates after they've sat down in one of the more private tables.

"I suppose about the same as you and your gang must feel to be the East Coast Avengers."

"I guess you've got a point there Jack. After all we're all Avengers. It was that kind of separation that led to the West Coast team's disbanding last time *. Not to mention the hard feelings that sprung from that."

(*WCA #102, West Coast Alvaro)

"Well, that's all water under the bridge, right Jack? I'd say things are looking pretty good for the future of the Wackos, so why dwell on their less-than-glorious past? In fact, I would like to propose a toast," exclaims Clint while holding up his just delivered beer mug, "to the Avengers, be they East, West or even Great Lakes!"

"To the Avengers!" echo the other two and down their beverages.

"So old timer, you brought us here, so what do you propose we do to pass the time? How about a friendly game of pool?" says Clint eyeing the table that just became free.

"Sure Clint, the table seems empty right now. But I've got to warn you, I haven't played since my days in the army. Of course I was pretty good back then."

"You were hot stuff, huh? Then how about a little friendly wager to make this a little more interesting?"

"Gambling? I don't think that..."

"Don't sweat it old man. I wasn't talking about money."

"Oh no. He has that stupid grin on his face again," remarks Jack jokingly.

"Then, what do you propose Clint?"

"How about... the winner gets to choose what the loser drinks for the rest of the evening?"

"What!? Are you insane Barton? You want to get Mr. Living Legend over here drunk?"

"Well, I think that would be a sight to see, but I would just get to decide what he drinks, not how much. So, what do you say Steve? I'll even let you go first and let you play two times in a row the first time you miss."

"Since you put it that way, how can I refuse?" answers Steve with a calm smile on his face. "And to even things out I'll let you decide what we'll play."

"Fair enough. How about eight-ball?"

"Eight-ball it is then. Rack them up Jack." With these words Steve readies his cue, puts the white ball in its spot, aims and...

PRACKK... PLUCK... PLUCK

"Two in your opening shot? I'm impressed! Must be beginner's luck."

PLUCK

PLUCK

PLUCK... PLUCK

As Steve continues to sink ball after ball, Clint's expression changes from amusement to mild concern, to disbelieve, to his jaw almost hitting the floor. Meanwhile Jack goes from amazement to amusement, to barely being able to contain his laughter. And Cap just keeps playing, seemingly oblivious to the reactions he's spawning.

"Eight-ball in the upper left pocket" announces Steve calmly, and promptly proceeds to make said prediction true.

"What...? When...? How...?" is all that Clint manages to blurt out, still refusing to believe what he has just witnessed. Jack, however is unable to contain himself a second longer and bursts out laughing at Clint's face.

"How...? HOW THE HELL DID YOU DO THAT?" Finally Clint is able to say, or rather shout, more than one word at a time. "I thought you said you hadn't played since the Army!"

"I haven't. But if you think about it, I have had a lot of training on figuring out angles and the sort since then. Or do you think that heavy thing bounces around with a mind of it's own?"

Jack's laughter is now so loud that the rest of the customers begin looking at him.

"I can't believe I just got suckered by Mr. Straight Arrow himself. I'm just glad the rest of the team isn't here to..." even as he utters those words, Clint's eyes fall upon Jack, who is now struggling to get his laughter under control. "Oh no! You wouldn't! In fact, I guarantee you you won't, if you don't want to get fired!"

"Relax Barton. I'm not going to go around making you look bad. It would be too easy. I much prefer to savor this memory privately. That way the next time you see me grinning at you, you'll know exactly why. Besides, you already make yourself look bad enough without needing my help."

Clint looks at Daniels, not knowing whether to be mad or thankful, but then decides to let it go. Instead he turns toward Steve and says: "How about a game of darts now? Now, there's a real man's game!"

"Sure Clint, but first there's the matter of our little wager."

"Bring it on Rogers! I can hold my liquor, no matter what you decide to have me drink!"

"Good to hear that Clint, because I've decided that for the rest of the night you're going to be drinking, nothing else than good, old fashioned... water!"

"WHAT?!!!!"

Jack is now laughing so hard that he has to lean on the pool table for support. And taking a look at Clint's face it's not hard to see why.

"Come on boys, the next round is on me!"

After they all sit down, and Clint begrudgingly takes the first sip of his glass of water, Jack suddenly stands up. "If you'll excuse me, I have to see a man about a horse." With those words he promptly makes a beeline toward the bathroom.

"Did he actually say a man about a horse?"

"It would seem so." They both just snicker.

"So Steve, now that we're alone maybe you can tell me what's been keeping you down this past weeks."

"What do you mean?"

"Come on! Don't try to give me that bullshit! It's me you're talking to! I know something's been bothering you badly these last few weeks."

"I'm just not sure if I want to talk about it right now. Let's just say I have been thinking about what Captain America means to the world lately. Even in this country there are persons who see me as a symbol of the enemy. Maybe it's time I took a long hard look at what wearing the red-blue-and-white means. *"

Well, any comments can be sent to alvaro.ibanez@sis.uia.mx. Death threats, trojan horses and naked pictures of Rush Limbaugh should be sent to neverbeenopened@hotmail.com. Thank you very much.