In all the years that had passed since her . . . departure from S.H.I.E.L.D., Callie had met a number of men in bars who all wanted the same thing. Some of them were decent, and she even entertained a few. But most of them were the reason she was banned from several bars across the United States. She wasn’t afraid of someone who had been drinking a little too much, and while she was small, she was trained well.

And tonight, another ‘man’ was about to be added to that list.

Sitting alone, as usual, the brunette sipped on her whiskey, eyes on the news. She could smell his breath before he spoke, too, but even as he half-laid on the bar next to her, she ignored his rambling. She assumed it was about the sports game happening on the other television, but among the rest of the nightly buzz, along with her disinterest, his words were lost in space. The moment his hand brushed against her tee shirt, though, a hand snapped over to grab his wrist, eyes flashing over to him.

“Touch me again, and I’ll make sure the hospital misses a few bones when they’re piecing it together again.”

She knew it had been a risk wearing her outfit, but she also knew she should be able to wear what she wanted. Fishnets covered her arms, and her skirt was just barely long enough to be seen under her black tee shirt. It was laundry day, too, and she had gotten lucky that the last of her clean clothes matched. It seemed, though, that this male saw her outfit as an invitation for some messier work than she planned for the night.

“Aw, come on, sweetheart. I’m just havin’ a lil’ bitta fun.” His words were slurred, and with a beer in his other hand, it wasn’t hard to see why. Already Callie could see the bartender starting to head their way, but she didn’t dare turn her attention away from him. She knew the second she did, a hand would be creeping up her skirt, and she liked this bar.

“Oh, is that all?” A smile pulled at her lips, and she held his hand in front of his face. “In that case, you won’t mind using /this/ for your fun tonight, right? I’m sure it’ll hit all the right spots.”

Dropping his hand, Callie let her smile drop, eyes turning back to the television as she put her whiskey back to her lips. She had hoped that it would be enough of a hint for him, but clearly it wasn’t. His hand moved to push her hair behind her ear, and without hesitation, her big boot aimed to slam into his ankle. Unfortunately, due to the angle in which they were sitting, it barely hit and sounded off on the barstool instead. Her eyes flashed back to him, and her tone was far from the joking it was previously.

“Touch me one more fucking time. Go on, I’m itching for a fight.”

He laughed, hand moving to her thigh as the rage started to boil in her chest. She was ready to lose yet another favorite drinking spot, but his words were just about enough to send her into a frenzy.

“Oh, don’t worry. I like ‘em feisty. Show me what you can do with those legs~.”