A/N: Well, I seem to have opened up my computer and written an Avengers high school AU. I normally wouldn't have, but this idea was nagging me and it wouldn't go away until I wrote it down! I think I like it, so I'll probably continue it...maybe not depending on the response. Let me know what y'all think! :-)

Chapter 1: Temporary Home

Miss Fall was an art teacher. She didn't usually get a lot of brainiacs in her classes because, well, there was no Advanced Placement art class. What she did get were troublemakers, freshman who needed an arts credit, seniors who needed an arts credit, and the occasional, rare student who was actually interested in art.

Needless to say, the last were her favorite.

Unfortunately, it seemed that there was only one or two this semester that showed genuine excitement for the class. Miss Fall thought that Lizzy or Rebecca were the most likely to care, based on the way that they had showed up with full sets of every possible artistic medium that money could buy. Stephen had a bit of light in his eyes, so she had hope for him as well. Colleagues in the staffroom had told her that Carrie, Bruce, Betty, and Terrence were the kids that always tried, even if they were terrible at a subject, so that was a bit of a relief.

The rest of the class seemed pretty hopeless.

Specifically, Miss Fall was worried about the jock sitting in the last row, wearing his varsity jacket. She had heard tales about him all too often in the staff room, but had never had the actual pleasure of having him in her class. The one thing that was clear was that no teacher (other than the football coach) had ever had Clint Barton in their class and had anything positive to say about it.

So while the last few students trickled in before the warning bell, Miss Fall eyed Clint Barton and his little posse, that somehow managed to end up with the exact same schedule every year, not failing to notice that they took the seats as far away from her desk and the front of the room as possible. From the rumors she had heard, the only other serious troublemaker in the bunch was Barton's best friend, Anthony. Steven and Sharon, who were juniors and therefore one year younger than everyone else, were quiet and mostly polite; Pepper, Anthony's girlfriend, supposedly wasn't ever purposefully disruptive, but she wasn't the front-row-sitter type of student either. Judging by the name already scribbled all over Jane's brand new notebook, Miss Hall assumed that she spent most of her time dreaming about her boyfriend, who was the star quarterback of the rival football team. Or maybe it was just that this wasn't a science class and that was why Jane didn't look thrilled to be here. The last member of the highest clique on the social ladder was clinging to Barton's arm, at least an inch of make-up on her face and enough hairspray in her hair to start a fire. Bobbi was the head of the cheerleading squad and had caught Clint Barton's eye the first time she did a flip off the top of a pyramid at the game where he debuted as the new starting quarterback.

That was back when they were all freshmen.

Now, thought Miss Hall, now they're all seniors and if they actually make it to graduation we'll all breathe a sigh of relief.

The final bell echoed through the halls and classrooms, signaling the start of the first day of school. The students all stood for the Pledge of Allegiance and Miss Hall pulled out her attendance sheet.

It was going to be a long year.

It was three months into the school year when a family with a seven-year-old daughter took in a foster child. The girl was seventeen and lucky that the family wanted a built in babysitter or she probably wouldn't have been placed. She moved in with George and Carol Smith and their daughter Tina in late November. They enrolled her in the local high school, but didn't give much thought to her after that. They didn't ask what her favorite color was or if she played any sports (red and no). They didn't ask if she preferred books or movies (The answer is books) and they didn't ask if she favored cats or dogs (cats, of course). They didn't pry, just like every other family she had been with. But that was alright.

Natasha liked it that way.

"You've been through a lot of different schools lately Natasha." Principal Fury eyed the young girl in front of him. She was dressed simply in jeans and a gray sweater and her basic black backpack was sitting on the floor next to her chair along with three books (textbooks for math and science and a free read book, The Power Of One). She didn't look like one to get kicked out of schools, so Fury decided that there must be another reason for her frequent switches. He glanced back down at her file and his good eye found the words foster child. He looked back up quickly and, by the look on the girl's face, he knows that she knows that he just figured out that she is a foster child. Fury coughed to cover the awkward silence and thrusted a piece of paper at her.

"Here's your schedule," he says gruffly, "My secretary, Ms. Hill, can show you to your first class."

Natasha took the piece of paper and murmured a subdued thank you before following a stern looking, brown haired lady out of the principal's office.

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The first day was always the worst. Natasha knew that, but it didn't change the fact that the first day in a new life sucked. The people gave you funny looks, you usually got lost, and it was almost a guarantee that no one nice would speak to you. At the moment though, the thing that was really bothering Natasha was the principal across the desk from her. She had seen her share of weird principals, short, fat, skinny, tall, white, black, Asian, bald, dreadlocks, you name it.

But she would admit, this was the first time that she had seen a principal with an eye patch.

Part of her wondered what had happened to warrant an eye patch, but before she could ask he glanced down at the file in front of him and looked back up, his one eye full of pity. Natasha's heart sank faster than a stone in the water. She hated that look, hated the way it filled her with embarrassment, hated the way that she felt inferior because of it, hated that there was absolutely nothing she could do about it, hated that she would deal with it her whole life. Suddenly, the principal shoved her schedule at her and she took it, trying not to leap from her chair and run to the door. She spied his secretary standing in the doorway and followed her quickly, desperate to be anywhere but here.

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"What's your first class?" The secretary, Ms. Hill, paused outside the front office and waited while Natasha looked at her schedule for the first time.

"Uh, Art 101," she replied once she finally managed to sort out the paper. The class was a blessed relief for Natasha, something familiar. She doesn't have to face a challenge right away. Ms. Hill took off without another word and Natasha was forced to scramble to catch up. The halls twisted and turned in a blur and Natasha knew that she wouldn't be able to find her way back without help, not without making a few wrong turns. Ms. Hill finally came to a halt outside a door at the end of a hallway. She gestured toward the door and walked away without waiting to see if Natasha went in or not.

Natasha took a deep breath and turned the handle, instinctively avoiding the faces of the students already seated. A slim, average height, blonde woman, whom Natasha took to be the teacher, was standing by a chalkboard when Natasha walked in. Her blue eyes swung toward the young redhead, the first kind eyes that Natasha had seen all day and it was an enormous relief. The teacher smiled warmly.

"Can I help you?"

Natasha nodded shyly and walked over to her. Somewhere in the back of the classroom someone-Anthony-gave a low wolf-whistle. Heat started to rise in Natasha's cheeks but she knew from experience that she didn't blush easily and she ignored whoever it was. The teacher, on the other hand, did not. She rounded on the offending boy, shooting him a death glare.

"Anthony Stark, if I ever hear such a noise from you again, in my classroom or not, I will have you in detention for the rest of the year, do you understand me?" A quiet yes ma'am was muttered and the teacher refocused on Natasha, smiling that same warm smile. Natasha held out her schedule for the teacher to see.

"I'm a transfer student," she explained, the same explanation she had said a dozen times over, "This is my first day here."

"I see," said the teacher, returning her schedule to her, "I am Miss Hall, the art teacher. Why don't you take the seat over there between Bruce and Carrie?" Natasha ducked her head once in compliance and turned to go to the only available seat in the room, between a scrawny boy with dark hair and pale skin and a shorter girl with light brown hair that was tied back in a ponytail.

"It's nice to have you here…?" Miss Hall trailed off, looking at the girl's retreating back expectantly. She turned around for half a second, pausing in her path to the desk.

"Natasha," she said softly.

"Well then, it's very nice to meet you Natasha." Miss Hall stepped back up to the chalkboard. "As I was saying…"

The boy and girl on either side of Natasha smiled when she sat down. The boy-Bruce, Natasha assumed-turned away almost immediately and listened to Miss Hall with rapt attention. In complete contrast the girl-Carrie-leaned over and whispered in Natasha's ear.

"You'll like Miss Hall. She's one of the best teachers here. My name's Carrie, by the way."

"Natasha," whispered Natasha back, not sure what she should say. Apparently her name was acceptable because Carrie leaned back over and they both focused in on the assignment Miss Hall was describing.

"…shading techniques you will create a sketch. The sketch will fit under a specific topic. Today's topic is 'Things You Love'." Miss Hall wrote the topic on the board and underlined it. Natasha froze, panic swelling inside of her. She had learned those shading techniques ages ago, when one of her foster moms had taught her to draw. The problem she had here was with the topic. Shaking ever so slightly, Natasha raised her hand.

"Yes, Natasha?"

"What if you don't love anything?"

There were a few snickers following her question, mostly from Barton and Co., but she ignored them, eyes imploring Miss Hall, who was considering the question. If any other student had asked this, Miss Hall might have told them off. But for some reason, the great big green eyes of this new student told Miss Hall that Natasha wasn't joking.

She didn't believe that she loved anything.

"In that case," Miss Hall cleared her throat, "you may choose something that you are merely fond of."

Natasha visibly relaxed and nodded. Miss Hall waved her hand and freed the class to begin their sketching. Natasha immediately pulled out a thick sketchbook and her special shading pencils. Miss Hall bit back a smile when she caught sight of Natasha's professional materials. A general buzz of conversation settled over the room and, as much as she would like to be left out of it, Natasha found Carrie speaking to her again.

"So where did you transfer from Natasha?"

"Um, I moved here from Colorado." Her hand began moving of its own accord, separate from her brain, the transfer of graphite from pencil to paper more of an instinctive act, as it always was for her.

"That's quite a jump, Colorado to New York," commented Bruce from off to her right. Natasha nodded vaguely, focusing mostly on her sketch. She was praying that they weren't going to ask the obvious question and was almost certain that they would.

"Why did you move?" Carrie said the words that Natasha least wanted to hear as if it were the most casual thing in the world, and to her it probably was. Carrie was frowning at her paper, where the shading techniques weren't working out quite as well as on Natasha's, so she didn't see Natasha freeze up for a moment at her question.

"I…I'm a foster child," admitted Natasha, opting to rip the Band-Aid off quickly instead of prolonging her anxiety. Carrie looked up, surprised and from the corner of her eye Natasha saw Bruce sending her a sidelong glance. She maintained her focus on the sketch, pretending not to see the specks of pity in both their eyes.

"Well, I think it's lovely that you're here, don't you Bruce?" Bruce nodded and looked down at his paper and his struggling drawing of a rose. Natasha didn't reply. She knew fake words when she heard them, had heard them enough times in the past. Carrie didn't try to continue the conversation much after that, something that was perfectly okay with Natasha.

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Miss Hall was fascinated with watching the new student work. Natasha's hand moved with the skill and experience of someone much older than she was and it was clear that she was familiar with the type of work they were doing in class. She seemed to be keeping mostly to herself, although Miss Hall did notice Carrie trying to engage her in conversation. Natasha seemed to prefer to work in silence and Carrie got the hint after a few minutes. Miss Hall spent the 55 minute period staring, as indiscreetly as she could manage, at Natasha. She couldn't help a small smile at the look of concentration that slowly appeared on Natasha's face and the way that it intensified little by little. Natasha's wavy red hair slipped forward and fell over her face and onto the paper every few minutes and every few minutes Natasha reached up and tucked the rebellious strands behind her ears. Before Miss Hall even knew it, the clock was reading five minutes until the period ended. Abruptly, she stood and called for everyone to turn in their sketches. Natasha was one of the last to stand up; she continued some finishing touches while the main rush of students put their pictures in the basket. When she finally placed her sketch in the basket, Miss Hall was blown away. There was a clear display of Natasha's mastery of shading and drawing in general, but the subject of the sketch threw Miss Hall for a loop. She would never have pinned Natasha as a dancer, not with her quiet demeanor and arms full of books, but there, on a piece of cream-colored notebook paper, was a perfectly drawn pair of ballet slippers.

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Natasha packed her art supplies back in her backpack. She glanced around a little awkwardly. Everyone was in groups, chatting through the last few minutes of class. She felt a pair of eyes on her and looked up to see a light-haired boy, surrounded by other people, watching her. The all too familiar heat rose in her cheeks and she dropped her gaze as the blonde girl next to the boy tugged on his arm. Thankfully, Carrie chose that moment to come back over to Natasha's desk.

"Do you know where your next class is?"

Grateful for the distraction, Natasha shook her head and glanced down at the slightly crumpled paper in her hand.

"US History with Brennan." Natasha wrinkled her nose with distaste, drawing a laugh from Carrie.

"That's right next to my class. I'm in European History. I can show you."

"Thank you." Natasha was surprised; it seemed like Carrie was actually trying to be nice to her, a first for Natasha. No one really liked to hang out with the girl who was quiet and reserved and actually cared about school. The boy who had been sitting on the other side of Carrie during class padded over and smiled at Natasha.

"This is Terrence," said Carrie, a rosy color rising in her cheeks. Natasha smiled a small smile; she knew a crush when she saw one.

"Hello." Terrence blew some curls out of his eyes and the bell finally rang. Carrie started off toward a red brick building and Natasha and Terrence fell into step on either side of her. Carrie was about to say something when all of a sudden a boy with dark hair and a red and gold sweatshirt pushed right between her and Natasha, knocking them both to the ground and sending Natasha's books all over the pavement. He was closely followed by two blondes and the light haired boy from art class. Another blonde girl and a blonde boy glanced down at the two fallen girls sympathetically.

"Are you alright?" asked the boy. Natasha nodded and Carrie rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, we're fine Steve. Now go on, don't you have some friends to catch up to?" The venom in Carrie's voice surprised Natasha; the other girl had been nothing short of perfectly polite so far. Steve winced and Sharon glared at Carrie before tugging on Steve's arm. The pair rushed off after the others as Carrie and Natasha stood and dusted themselves off. Natasha gathered her books up and looked at Carrie curiously.

"What was that all about?"

"The Dream Team." Carrie and Terrence spoke in unison, both sounding disgusted.

"They're the popular kids," explained Terrence, "You know, the jocks, their girlfriends, et cetera et cetera."

"Steve and Sharon used to be alright but then he got some muscle and joined the baseball team and now he hangs out with Stark and Barton and their crowd. He pretty much abandoned us entirely." Carrie was incredibly bitter and Natasha shook her head sadly. She had known, of course, that those kids would be here. They were at every high school. But she had hoped that she wouldn't have to deal with them too much on a regular basis.

Unfortunately, it didn't seem that that was the case.

They finally reached their destination and had to part ways. Carrie and Terrence both smiled at her as they went into their European History class. Natasha took a deep breath and walked in to her second period. The first thing that she noticed was the blonde haired boy (Steve?) and the girl who had glared at Carrie sitting in the back row with the boy in the maroon sweatshirt who had pushed them down and some other people Natasha recognized from her art class. She heard the one boy whistle again, but this time the teacher couldn't hear over the hubbub of the classroom. The kids surrounding the boy snickered but Natasha forced herself to ignore them, despite her instinctive urge to strike back, and made her way to the teacher's desk to explain who she was.

The first day in a new life sucks.

She wasn't the kind of girl that Clint Barton would normally notice. He knew that right away. She was carrying textbooks and wasn't wearing any make-up and she didn't look confident when she walked in. She probably didn't play sports and the basic once over he gave her told him that, although she could be with legs like those, she wasn't a cheerleader. He wouldn't have paid her any mind, except for the question that she asked.

What if you don't love anything?

It had been a shock for him, to hear the words that echoed in his head every day said out loud. It was easy for him to pretend to love. He pretended he loved sports (He really only loved one and they didn't have it at this high school). He pretended to love Bobbi (He didn't-come on, they were only 18!). He pretended to love, but he didn't. So he studied the new girl, wondering if she was like him. But he saw her talking to Carrie and Bruce and Terrence and he snorted to himself. It didn't matter if the girl was like him, if she was going to talk to losers, then he was out. Barton looked away from the red head and wrapped an arm around Bobbi's waist, leaning in to kiss her and all thoughts of the new girl left his mind.

But what if you don't love anything?