Pretty sure every author has said something like this, but sorry for the wait. I'm currently busy with school, tests, updating another fanfic, and writing other stuff when I have no inspiration. I'm so shocked we have 113 Follows and 59 Favorites now! You guys are all so amazing.

Disclaimer: I don't make money off this stuff.


"Clint, can we go now?"

He fired another round of darts without looking up. There was a cacophony of balloons popping. So far, he hadn't missed once. "Tired of me already?"

Cat sighed once, spinning herself around on the spindly chairs. "No, I'm tired of watching you shoot balloons."

"I recall you being the one who dragged me here in the first place."

"Yes, well..." Cat looked distastefully at the booth man, who was greedily counting his bills one by one.

"This isn't fun?" Clint looked nearly hurt.

"I was excited at the beginning, but winning stuffed animals gets old after a while."

It was true. Clint was seemingly good at every game they played: tossing hoops into Coca Cola bottles, knocking the poor dunking guy in the dunk tank, knocking down things with bean bags, making baskets, pretty much every carnival game they had. And he was destroying all of the balloons. While he complained it being too easy, he'd already played it six times. Once he stood ten feet away and only shot when most people were out of the way. They had a herd of stuffed animals compiled of teddy bears, wild animals, penguins because Cat had taken a liking to them, and cartoon characters that Cat had never seen before. Clint was dragging them around in a trash bag he had managed to swipe from the cleaning guy.

"Hey, there's a prize at the end." She wasn't particularly thrilled about that, either. "Just a bit longer," Clint promised her, "Then we can go on the rides again."

They had gone on most of the roller coasters. Cat decided that she liked fast rides but she hated the steep drops. Clint had hollered and whooped on every single one like a kid. Cat was exhilarated and scared at the same time, trying not to scream girlishly. Clint had got her a few souvenirs. A pen and a penguin keychain.

After that, Cat had persuaded Clint to try some of the carnival games and now was desperately regretting that decision. It was hot and suffocating. They were sitting in the shade, but it was still humid. Sweat beads were forming on her forehead, and sliding down her face. At least while they were going on rides there was a welcome breeze.

"Can I go buy a Sprite?"

Clint dug in his pocket for change and came up with a few dollars. "Yeah, sure. Be back in a few minutes, and don't get lost."


The line for the vendor was longer than she had expected, and she got bored waiting in line. Patience was not one of her virtues. That was expected from a kid who had ADHD. After a few minutes of nothing but waiting in line, she saw a ride whiz pass. A dozen people on it were hollering and waving their hands in the air. A metaphorical light bulb lit up in her head.

She snuck a look back at Clint. He was still crouched at the booth, his sniper rifle aimed at the wall of balloons. She looked back at the ride. The line wasn't far. If she went to the line now, she'd be able to get on and get back before Clint noticed she was gone.

She turned, going to ditch the line, and accidentally slammed into a person. It was like walking into a wall. She managed to regain her balance before falling, but the other person wasn't so lucky. She heard a thump as they hit the ground.

"Hey, brat!" The angry kid who she had walked into was sitting on the ground. He was also waiting for the line. He got up, indignantly brushing the dust off his shorts. "You just stepped on my brand-new shoes!"

Cat turned and scanned him up and down slowly. He was wearing a polo shirt and khaki shorts. His hair was sleekly brushed aside with what looked like an entire tube of hair gel, but a few had fallen out of place from the fall. He was clutching a fistful of money in his hand. He was a few years older than her. She had heard stereotypes about stupid rich kids, and this boy ticketed every box.

"I stepped on your brand new shoes? I'm so sorry." Cat apologized with false sincerity, "Did you break a nail?"

He snarled, showing sharp teeth. "Shut it, little girl." He shoved her, hard.

The heat was getting to her, making her hot, tired, and irritable. She shoved him right back so hard he stumbled. "Don't tell me what to do, Jerkface."

Jerkface looked a little taken aback, clearly not expecting that. He must've been used to people obeying his every command. He recovered quickly, and got all up in her face. "Do you know who my father is? He'll have you-"

"Yeah?" she asked aggressively, taking a step forward. She was at least seven inches shorter than him, but he was the one who took a step back.

"Hey, kiddos, break it up," a tall man called from behind. "Where're your parents, anyway?"

Cat glared. "None of your beeswax."

"Aren't you gonna apologize for ruining my shoes?" Jerkface demanded. He showed them to her. They looked perfectly fine to her. Sports shoes, even though it was clear he was too worried about keeping his hair immaculate rather than sweat on the bleachers.

"No," Cat said shortly, and then moved up the line.

Jerkface stayed quiet for a few moments. Cat guessed he was contemplating his witty comeback. When she turned around to check if he was still mad, he was nowhere in sight. The tall man who had asked where their parents were was behind her instead. He probably went to cry to his mommy.

She stood in line for another five minutes before she reached the front. She leaned forward on her tippy-toes, and told the lady she wanted a Sprite.

"Sure thing, sweetheart. Comin' right up."

Not three seconds after the woman had handed her the Sprite, Clint ran up to Cat. He'd ditched the shooting game.

"C'mon, Cat. We need to go."

The urgency in his voice told her it was not a joke. Cat looked at him, brow furrowing in concern. "What's wrong, Clint?"

"A lot of things are wrong. First, the damn man didn't give me my prize. Also, Nat is going to have my head if we're not back before she gets home," Clint informed grimly, starting off at a brisk run, "Which is probably-" He checked his watch and cursed. "-within the next ten minutes."

Cat started running after him, her short legs struggling to match up with his large strides. He wasn't even running that fast. It was one of the times she wished she was taller. "Why...didn't…..we just go earlier?" she puffed.

"Uh...I lost track of time," he answered sheepishly.

Cat half-puffed out a breath, half-scoffed. "Well of course you did."

"In my defense, I did win an entire army of stuffed animals large enough to fill your room."

Cat saw the overflowing trash bag and thought of something. "Won't Romanoff notice if we're lugging around a huge bag of stuffed animals?"

Clint stopped running so suddenly Cat nearly ran into him. His eyes grew remorseful, giving the bag a sad puppy dog face. "I've got an idea." He spotted an awfully pregnant woman holding her husband's hand. "Ma'am! Ma'am! I just noticed you have a newborn on the way and would like to say congratulations. How far along are you?"

She looked startled and a little scared. "Uh, six months."

Her husband stepped forward menacingly. "What do you want with her?" He was shorter than Clint and looked a little intimidated at the prospect of facing the bigger, more muscular man, but still fierce when it came to protecting his wife.

Clint waved him off casually. "Back off, man, I just wanted to say congrats." He gave her the bag of stuffed animals and smiled winningly. "Here are some stuffed animals for your future child. Congratulations again!"

Then Clint pulled a shell-shocked Cat out of her daze and they took off again, leaving a very confused pregnant woman in their midst.

"You just gave a random woman you've never met a trash bag filled with stuffed animals."

"As you said, Nat is gonna be suspicious."

"I didn't mean like give away the bag to a stranger!"

"Well, what would have you liked me to do?"

Cat stayed silent. Partially because she couldn't think of a counter-argument to that, and partially because she was out of breath from running. After a few beats of silence, she said, "I wanted the penguin."

"Hey," Clint voice became unusually soft, "We can get you a new penguin."

Cat became awkward because that was not what she meant at all. She didn't mean to sound like a spoiled brat. She'd expected Clint to laugh at her for being such a child, and maybe she'd follow up with a witty retort of some kind. Why couldn't he just make fun of her like a normal person, and not leave her feeling stupid and awkward? She wasn't used to people actually being genuinely kind to her. It was things like those that ruined the conversation.

"No, I don't want some stupid penguin anyway."

She saw him frown at the edge of her vision. "Okay. We don't have to."

They bypassed security. Clint said it would be "faster" if they climbed a fence instead. He gave her a piggyback ride, which made her uncomfortable and told her to hang on tight. He scaled the fence and dropped down to the other side in five seconds flat. They found their car parked clumsily amongst the sea of cars. Cat called shotgun and dared Clint to challenge her.

"That's not that safe," he told her.

"Neither is life," she told him, and left it at that.

"We're going to break every traffic law in the existence of traffic laws," Clint told her as they buckled up.

Getting back from Six Flags was a twenty minute drive, according to the GPS. Clint made it seven and a half. Even so, he looked at his watch. Why was he so nervous?

The way he was acting, Cat figured getting Romanoff pissed was a very bad thing. She was beginning to harbor a healthy sense of wariness of the red-haired woman herself. She had already been on guard with the woman, but seeing Clint worried was one thing that made her confused. Clint was cocky, irritable, and arrogant. In the barely-twenty-four hours she'd known him, she'd pegged him as the type who didn't get scared at anything. (And she was pretty good at reading people.)

But as worried as Clint was, he didn't seem terrified of Natasha. The way they interacted with each other, they must've been pretty close. And unless Cat had missed a very crucial lesson in kindergarten, friends didn't kill each other. So she wasn't scared-scared. Only a little scared.

"Will she be mad if we're not there?"

"No, not mad." Clint smiled a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "She'll be pissed."

"How long have you two known each other?" Cat asked.

"It seems like forever. We had a bit of a...rough beginning, you could say," Clint said with a bittersweet look in his eyes, reminiscing the past. "But now we're friends. A little more than that, maybe."

"You call her 'Nat' and 'Tasha'. You must know her really well."

"Yeah, I guess. The first time I called her Tasha, she kicked me off a ledge and I fell into a lake. It was January." He laughed. "It's kind of funny, now that I think about it."

"How did you get out?"

"I had to climb up the goddamn rock," Clint said, not looking so amused now. "But I made sure she paid for it."

"So if you know her so well, then why are you so worried that she's going to kill you?"

"Women can be dangerous creatures," Clint told her seriously, "Especially a woman like Natasha. Oh, and she won't kill me. Lightly maim, more likely."

Cat couldn't tell if he was joking or not. She felt like she didn't want to know.

Clint's phone buzzed. A text from "NR" filled the screen. Cat leaned over to see it. It read I'm home. -NR

Oh. Now she knew what Clint meant. How could two simple words trigger such a high amount of fear?

Clint glanced at the time. "Dammit. We're not going to make it."

"What do we do now?"

"This," was Clint's very reassuring response.

He suddenly veered off the road and turned ninety degrees into a gas station. Cat's entire body was thrown sideways against her will, and her face got squished against the window. She swore she heard the tires squeal as they skidded across the pavement before resting to a stop. She slammed back into the seat, shaken.

Clint looked over at her, looking apologetic but unruffled. "Are you okay?"

Her back hurt, but otherwise nothing. "Yeah."

"Sorry."

Cat squinted out the window. "Why are we at a gas station? You have seventy miles left."

Clint was already out the car when she looked back. She scrambled out of the car to follow him. He was heading to a small convenience store. Cat was confused but went in after him. The bell dinged when they pushed open the door, and the smell of junk food concealed in easy-to-open wrappers hit Cat in the face. There was a lone cashier sitting at the counter, eyes closed and nodding his head to the blasting music. He barely noticed their arrival.

"You still haven't answered my question."

"Well, we're obviously not going to make it before she does," Clint said calmly, "So I've come up with a backup plan." The way he said it sounded silly on its own. And then after he pointed at the rows of beverages inside the refrigerators like they were their saviors, Cat couldn't contain her giggle.

"Milk is your awesome backup plan?"

"Of course. Never underestimate the power of milk. Oh, and chocolate." He grabbed a few king size Hershey bars off of the counter. "Nat loves chocolate. I like to think of it as one of her few weaknesses, second only to coffee."

"Okay, so your plan is to bribe her into not killing you?"

Clint gave her a disappointed look. "No. No, of course not. Bribery never works with Nat. That woman can sniff out lies like a bloodhound." Cat made a mental note of that. "This is our cover story. We noticed that there was no milk left in the fridge, so we graciously went out and did half of her grocery shopping for her."

"That's not a very good plan."

"Always so cynical. You just wait and see," he said confidently.

"I'll bet you twenty bucks it won't work."

"I'll take that bet."

Clint looked around. "And while we're here, grab what you like. If I were you, I'd stock up on junk food. Nat would do anything to make sure you stay healthy, and it's in my best interest as a kid-friendly adult to warn you about that."

Five minutes later, they were carrying bags of junk food and running back to the car. Cat got in first and slid in. Clint took the wheel and after making sure Cat had her seat belt on, Clint stepped on the gas pedal.

"Can you teach me how to drive?"

"Now?"

"Not now, obviously. But sometime."

Clint gave her a quick look. "You'd want me around?"

Did she just give him an invitation? She didn't really mind, she realized. "I guess I could tolerate you if you let me drive sometime."

"Not my baby," Clint said protectively, running his hands up and down the steering wheel. "But maybe sometime. When you're older."

"Then it's a deal."

Clint snorted in amusement. "Okay, let's wait and see if we survive Nat before we make deals, all right?"

"Yeah, speaking of her, you're so owing me twenty bucks on that bet," Cat muttered.


Cat could tell Natasha was onto them the moment they walked through the door. She was sprawled out on the couch, casually watching a cheesy soap opera. The woman on the TV was gasping when she turned the TV off. She stood up and leveled Clint with a terrifyingly neutral stare.

He spoke first. "We went out to buy milk." He held up the gallon. "The fridge was empty."

She looked like she was on the verge of rolling her eyes. "We have milk. Two cartons of it."

"Really?" Clint feigned confusion. "There wasn't any when we left."

"That's funny, considering you already knew there was milk because you used the very substance for your goddamn caffeinated sugar drink this morning right after you barged in the door."

"We also got some…" Clint snuck a look in their bags. "Granola bars."

"And chocolate. And ice cream." Cat added helpfully. "And soda."

Clint shot her a look that told her she was not helping. Natasha saw this and became only more suspicious.

"That doesn't answer my question, Barton. Why would you get milk?"

"Well, the more milk the better, right?" he said cheerfully, "Milk is great."

Cat coughed into her elbow to hide her laugh. Clint gave her a look. She cleared her throat and quickly changed the subject, "So, uh. Did you have fun shopping?"

"No, it was awful," Natasha said dryly. "Your new clothes are upstairs, by the way."

Cat's jaw slackened. "You went shopping for me?"

"All you had were rags and ripped clothing. Very unfashionable."

"Thanks a lot," she said, but on the inside was beaming with delight.

"But that doesn't answer my question." Natasha looked back at Clint with a determined expression. "The fact that you're not answering it, makes me think that you did go somewhere you weren't supposed to."

Behind Natasha's back, Cat, taking sympathy on Clint, mouthed 'run' and motioned at the open door. He saw his cue and took it.

"Hey, I just remembered some important paperwork I had to do! It's very very important, so I better get to it quickly. See you later, Tasha! Bye, Cat!" He ran out the door and was gone faster than Natasha could yell out a protest.

Natasha growled after his retreating back. "That moron avoids paperwork like the plague."

Cat gulped when Nat turned her fierce green eyes on her. "Um. I just remembered some important... stuff I have to do upstairs. Unpacking and such. In my room. Alone. Okay, better get to it now. Bye!"

She fled upstairs and slammed the door. And breathed a sigh of relief. She heard Natasha yell, "We're not done talking about this!" through the wooden door.

She was not looking forward to that conversation. But on the bright side, Clint officially owed her twenty bucks. She couldn't help but smile at that.