December
They didn't end up talking about it.
The weeks passed slowly; most days, Natasha was fully with him, bright and eager and sharp. But then there were the days where she didn't seem to be there at all, where she took a little longer to respond and spent a lot of time staring blankly at him. Clint figured it had something to do with the hut and the week she had been missing, but he didn't know how to bring it up.
Natasha hadn't said anything, not that he really expected her to. He had thought that after she told him the truth of what was happening to her then all of the conversations after that would be easier, that they would work it out together. It hadn't happened, though. If anything, they were just getting better at ignoring their problems and it made Clint feel like a bad friend.
"What if, hypothetically, someone was getting hurt all the time?" Clint started carefully. "Would the police help them?"
Miss Breslow raised an eyebrow and put her pen down. "Is someone hurting you, Clint?"
Clint shook his head. "Nah, it's hypothetical. No one's getting hurt."
He didn't really know what he was doing, talking to Miss Breslow willingly. He had spent some time thinking it through, though, and thought that if anyone could help him help Natasha it would be the school counsellor. It wasn't something he had ever imagined himself doing, but he was more worried about Natasha than anything else.
If there was the possibility of an adult actually being able to help, then Clint was going to try. It didn't matter that he would never think of doing the same thing for himself; as far as he was concerned, what was happening to Natasha was a whole lot worse than his dad getting drunk and angry.
"Is this about your shadow?" Miss Breslow asked kindly. "Is something happening to her?"
"Natasha's my friend" Clint stressed. He didn't have to look behind him to know that she was still sitting on the chair by the door where he'd left her. She hadn't been having the best day, and had been more than happy to follow Clint along to his appointment and wait. He wasn't sure if she even realised where she was, which was concerning.
"Natalia Romanova?" Miss Breslow frowned and looked down at her paper.
"Natasha, Natalia, whatever" Clint muttered and kicked his feet. "This is stupid, don't worry about it."
"I'm sorry" Miss Breslow said. She pushed her work away from her and leant back in her chair, trying to look as casual as possible. "Let's keep going with this hypothetical situation. If someone were being hurt then of course the police would help them. That's what the police are there for."
Clint thought about it for a second. He kind of figured that the police would have to help, but he didn't know how to ask Miss Breslow if that would change if it was a kid being hurt by someone really powerful.
"Okay, what if the person that was doing the bad stuff was actually, like, really rich or something and might pay the police off?"
He tried to ignore the look on Miss Breslow's face. He was in dangerous territory, and didn't quite know if Miss Breslow would have to tell someone else about this conversation. CPS would probably stop by for a surprise check-up in the next couple of weeks.
"The police can't be payed off, Clint," she replied carefully. "If someone was being hurt, even if the abuser was someone in power, then the police would put a stop to it. If something is happening, please don't be scared to speak up about it."
Clint nodded, though he didn't believe her. "Everything's fine, Miss. I saw a movie with my brother about bad cops and just didn't know if it was real real."
Miss Breslow's smile was tight as she leant forward. "I hope you're telling the truth."
He felt anxiety bloom in the pit of his stomach but tried to shake it off for Natasha's sake. He smiled his most charming smile and hoped that his fear didn't show on his face. "Course I am. I would never lie to you."
It was ice cold by the time Natasha and Clint made it to the gravel road. They hadn't said much since leaving school, Clint busy thinking about his conversation with Miss Breslow and Natasha lost in her head again. Their breath fogged out in front of them, thick enough to momentarily distract Clint.
"Dragons!" he exclaimed. "I was gonna tell you that day, and then I forgot because ya know, everything was weird. But if you breathe out real hard in the cold it looks like you're a dragon."
Natasha glanced at him. She had forgotten her scarf and gloves, or maybe hadn't had them given to her, but now her lips were tinged blue. Clint frowned and took off his own beanie to pull over her red curls.
"What?" she snapped, jumping away from him.
He held the beanie out to her. "Put it on before you freeze to death."
He didn't know where his tone came from, but he was done watching Natasha suffer. She was his friend, his best friend, and even though they had only known each other for a few short months, he felt a kind of protectiveness over her that he had never experienced before.
She snatched the hat out of his hands and put it on herself, glaring at him. He glared back, then stuck his tongue out and pulled a face that made her smile softly.
"Drakon" Natasha said, and puffed out a breath into the icy air.
"That's an easy one" Clint laughed. "Drakon. Hey, I spoke to Miss Breslow about what would happen if we talked to the police."
Natasha's reaction was bodily. She spun to him and shoved him hard in the chest, making him stumble back to try and keep his footing. "What you mean?"
"Hey!" Clint said, and held his hands up in peace. "Just calm down a second!"
Natasha rounded on him again, her tiny fists flying out to pound against whatever flesh she could reach. Clint ducked and weaved, shouting at her as he tried to avoid her blows. They had been practising enough fighting that he knew how to dodge her, but she was still always a step ahead of him.
"Natasha!" he called, breathless and dizzy from turning in circles. He managed to wrap his hand around her wrist and yank her arm down. She froze, green eyes wide, and stared at him.
"Let me explain" he groaned, and let her go.
She stared at him for a second longer before yanking the beanie off her head and throwing it on the ground. "I trust you," she said as she began to walk away. "You tell me is secret and I trust you."
"I didn't tell her anything, Tash" Clint said quickly, trying to redeem himself. He scooped the beanie up and jogged to catch up to her. "It was hypothetical."
"I do not care," she snapped. "Is real. Now they look for me. They send me back."
"Hypothetical means it's not re –"
"I know what it means," Natasha snapped. "Mudak."
"Well I still don't know what that means" Clint muttered to himself, but Natasha was still moving away from him, her feet crunching into the snow beneath them.
"I'm just worried about you" Clint shouted. He was frustrated and scared and just plain angry. He wanted to shake Natasha to see if it would make her realise. Instead he clenched his fists and worked on breathing deeply. "You don't tell me anything! You said you would and you never did, and I always get scared when I see you because what if one day it gets really bad, huh? Then what?"
Natasha stopped walking and turned to face him again. "I do not want you in way. You will get hurt."
"I don't care, Tash, okay," Clint said. "You're my only friend. The only person I can talk to bout stuff, but you're not seeing how messed up it is."
"You think I not see?" Natasha muttered, her voice dangerously low. "I am ten, what I am going to do? Ivan is big and stronger. He take me back to Russia and I never know I was even here."
Clint's stomach dropped. Natasha's blue lips where quivering, like she was trying not to cry. He wanted to reach out and touch her but thought she would probably hit him again.
"You want to know?" she continued, arms winding around her midsection like she usually did when she was scared. "On birthday he put needle in me for first time. I do not think clearly. Is fog in my brain, holes missing. I look at you and is clear."
Clint held his breath, remembering the way Natasha had moved that day in the woods and the tiny droplets of blood in the crook of her arm. She had mentioned it so briefly that Clint hadn't even paid any attention to it, but now it was real. She was being brainwashed. The force of the thought left Clint feeling winded.
"I am ten, what I am to do?" she cried, voice high and frantic. "He take me back to Russia next year. For Russian Christmas, but is lie. I come back and might not remember…"
"You're going back?" Clint whispered.
"Da," Natasha said. "For start of real training. They take away memories that do not help training. They might take you."
Clint felt shattered. Natasha was trembling, her whole body rocking. She was panting, too, as though she was about to start crying. Clint felt like crying too.
"You'll remember," he said huskily. He cleared his throat and tried again. "You will. But you gotta let me help you."
Natasha sagged into herself until she was almost bent in half. Clint reached out with shaky hands and tugged the beanie onto her head again. He gave her a moment to collect herself and stepped away.
He felt disgusted. A part of him wished he had never been dragged into this mess, but he was glad that Natasha at least had one person that cared about her. He didn't want her to go to Russia. He couldn't even imagine going back to school and not seeing her there, or not walking home with her.
"Is hard for me" she said eventually, and stood up straight. "To trust and be friends."
"The stuff with Miss Breslow was stupid" Clint admitted. "I just wanted to know if I could help you. If we could get you outta there and let you stay."
"Maybe one day" Natasha said softly. "But first I go to Russia."
Clint swallowed and nodded. It wasn't quite Christmas yet, though he didn't even know when Russian Christmas was. They still had time to play and be kids. He would make it the best weeks of her life so she couldn't possibly forget any of it, no matter how many needles they stuck in her.
"Drakon" he said, and blew out his breath in a puff of white.
Natasha smiled again. "Vy slishkom dobry. We go home now."
Clint lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling and feeling sick to his stomach.
He hadn't been able to finish his dinner, and had even gone to bed early complaining of a headache. Edith had checked his temperature and tucked him in, and Clint didn't feel embarrassed about it; he had needed the comfort of his mum and she had somehow known exactly what to do to make him feel a little better.
The curtain was open so he could see out into the yard. His hearing aids sat on the bedside table, and it was nice to be shrouded in silence. He could focus on his thoughts and feelings, even if thinking about what had happened made him feel even sicker.
A blast of cold air suddenly hit his face, and he sat up in bed to find his window open. Frowning, he was about to get up and investigate when Natasha suddenly hoisted herself over the windowpane and landed on his carpeted floor.
They stared at each other for a second. Natasha closed the window and the chill left the air almost immediately. She was only wearing short pyjamas and no shoes, and Clint could see her teeth chattering from across the room. She opened her mouth but he couldn't make out her lips in the dim lighting.
Cold? He signed and she nodded, crossing the room carefully. Without waiting for him to say anything else she pulled the covers back and climbed in beside him, curling into an impossibly small ball at his side.
Her body was freezing. Clint felt goose bumps prickle his arms as his body tried to adjust to the temperature change. He felt a little weird, having Natasha in his bed, since they hadn't even had a normal sleepover before. But she had walked to his house in the cold and dark for a reason, and he wasn't about to turn her away.
Didn't want to be alone, she signed, cramped and small in the space between their bodies.
Your uncle? Clint asked. He was so glad his dad wasn't home, or otherwise there would be trouble.
Out. Sometimes he leaves for a few days. It's fine.
Clint nodded and rolled onto his side so they were properly facing each other. He couldn't hear her breaths but felt them on his face, slow and steady. She was beginning to warm up now. Clint was glad she was so small, because otherwise there wouldn't be much room in the bed.
You okay? He asked.
Mostly, she replied, and smiled softly. Tell me it will be okay.
He didn't want to lie to her, because he didn't know if anything was going to be okay. She had been right; they were only ten, and dealing with things that were a lot bigger than the two of them. Nobody would care, not really. He didn't want to lie to her
It'll be okay, he signed instead of telling her what he really thought. She closed her eyes then, her breath still steady against his face. He wanted to stay that way forever. He kept his own eyes open for as long as possible, holding onto the moment before it wasn't okay anymore.