AN okay I unintentionally lied about two chapters back about not needing a warning at the beginning of my chapters. BUT TO BE FAIR, that was my express intent. So now I amend it—no more warnings required for the really nasty scenes. Little stuff will be sprinkled throughout, because it simply cannot disappear overnight :T

Warning: A scene of domestic abuse.

"Dying Day"

Now I'm lost in a sea of sunken dreams
While the sound of drunken screams echos in the night
But I know all of this will come to pass
And I'll be with you at last forever by your side

How these days grow long
But I'm on my way back home
It's been hard to be away
How I miss you and I just want to kiss you
And I'm gonna love you till my dying day

Brandi Carlile

walking back home feels like shedding all of her chains. she thinks she might cry.

Natasha walked fast, buoyed up by the feeling of getting out. The ever present dread and misery had somehow gone, removed with the promise of 'I'll be there' and a squeeze of the hand. Worry was still nestled up in her chest, Natasha was certain it would take a long time before she fully got rid of that, but it didn't drag her down like before.

The feeling was so sweet she thought she might cry.

But Natasha dragged in another breath, set her features, and strolled into the boarding house for the last time. No matter what happened, she was not going back inside. She was not going back.

Walking through the building to her room was strange. She felt like there was an ember in her chest, not burning her insides away like she had tried to do so long ago, but something warm and comforting. She waited for everyone to come to her, curious and greedy, trying to take what she had.

No one flocked around her. No one shot her accusatory looks. They all ignored her, like they had agreed, and she made it to her room without breaking into a run.

As expected, Gracia was there. She was asleep up on the bed, but roused when Natasha closed the door. She offered Natasha a smile, but when she didn't return it, Gracia sat up.

"What is it?"

Natasha shook her head, unsure if she had the words to explain. Everything she knew, every sound and syllable seemed ugly and banal. But she had to try.

She dragged in a breath, pressed a hand to her forehead, and then blurted the truth.

"I'm leaving."

"What?"

"I'm leaving the boarding house. I'm getting out, I'm going somewhere else. I can't stay here anymore, I know that, I've got to go." The words were quick and low, almost a whisper. But she met Gracia's eyes, excitement stumbling into her voice. She covered her mouth, trying to stay together, trying to not give into giddy hysteria.

Gracia frowned at Natasha, confused at this sudden revelation.

"You're…leaving?" Her expression was crunched, uncertain and a little afraid.

"I have a friend, he's going to help me." Natasha knelt in front of Gracia and took her face in her hands when she saw the doubt scrawled across her features.

"How do you know…will this work?"

"I don't know," Natasha admitted. "I really don't. I can't be sure of anything."

"But what if he hurts you? What if you can't leave? The Landlord won't let you go, he's not going to—Natasha you can't do this!" Gracia said, tears forming in her eyes. Natasha grit her teeth. This was the little girl that had quietly put bandaids over Natasha's wounds after the Landlord had beat her senseless, and not let a tear loose. But now she was crying, scared and helpless and grabbing onto Natasha's hands as if that could keep her safe.

"I will make it work," Natasha said, forcing her voice to be steady. "Don't worry about it. I'll get out, I'm not going to let the Landlord stop me, not any more. I just need to get out," Natasha said, holding onto her face and letting a shaky laugh loose. "He's never brought someone back in, never chased them down. If I can just make it out the doors, I'm never coming back. I'm going some place better, any place better."

"But he won't let you even—"

"I've got to try, Gracia," she said, voice hard and pleading for the little girl to not say the truth hanging around their heads. Natasha couldn't even let the idea enter her head, else she would fail.

Gracia nodded, expression still fragile, but she let Natasha wipe her tears away. Natasha stood to start sorting through her things, then stopped. Her breath was tight when she spoke next.

"Gracia, I can't take you with me."

The little girl's expression said she expected just as much, but there was still some hurt in her eyes. Natasha grimaced, hating how the words sounded, but knowing they had to be said.

"I couldn't…it wouldn't have been right for me to ask my friend to bring you along. He is doing a lot for me, and that's a big step. I couldn't just—"

"I know," Gracia said, but Natasha could tell she really didn't. Gracia thought it was more self-preservation, Natasha ensuring she managed to get herself to safety, rather than risk it on Gracia. Natasha wanted to bring her along, she really, really did. She felt sick at the thought of leaving the little girl virtually helpless, but there was nothing else Natasha could do. Not yet. She needed Clint's help, and there was no way she could justify bringing some unknown and incredibly damaged child along and throwing her into Clint's lap.

No. She needed to get herself on steady footing, then she would fight the hell and the high water to get Gracia somewhere safe.

The logic didn't make her feel any better, though, and seeing it all on Gracia's face now made Natasha want to scream because things were never fair for them.

"I will come back for you," Natasha said. Her voice was low but firm, not one of the flighty promises so often made in the boardinghouse. Gracia gave another pathetic nod.

"I will come back for you," Natasha repeated, moving closer. "I'm not gonna leave you here. No matter what happens, I will come back and I will take you away from here."

"What about your friend?"

"Doesn't matter. I will make sure that you get out of here and you find something better. We will find something better."

Natasha set her jaw and met Gracia's eye, knowing this was true. Even if things went horribly wrong with Clint, Natasha would make sure to take Gracia with her to something better. They were done being subjected to cruel men's whims.

"Do you swear?" she asked, voice soft.

"I swear it. It will take a little while, but as soon as I can, I will get you out of here. Okay?"

"Okay. Okay. But—but how will I know? What if it's too hard, what if you don't want me later?" Panic akin to the kind Natasha had felt yesterday was punching through Gracia's voice, verging on the edge of tears. Natasha squeezed Gracia's hands, and reached into one of the cabinets.

Taking another shaky breath, Natasha pulled out the puzzle box. She opened it, and took out a few bills, then handed it and the rest of the money inside of it to Gracia.

"Here, take this," Natasha said. "It is very important to me. My father gave it to me, yes? That's all I have left of him. I want you to keep it until I come for you, alright?"

"What? No, I can't keep this!"

"Yes, you can. This is yours, until we're back together. Take it, Gracia. And don't tell anyone about the money inside of it. Okay? Okay. Alright. You know I'm coming back for you. You'll be alright, you brave, beautiful little girl. You've done so well so far, and I know it's going to be hard, but you'll have to make it just a little bit longer."

Natasha pressed her hands against Gracia's cheeks, not caring that both of them were crying. She pulled Gracia into a fierce hug, then pulled back.

"Alright. Now I need to get ready. He's going to be here at ten forty-five, I need to hurry."

"I'll help!" Gracia said, smearing her tears away, and sliding to the floor. Natasha nodded, and grabbed the bag she had used on the streets. She moved quickly, grabbing up what she thought she would need.

packing her things is a twisted relief. there is not much, and yet it feels like she is sorting through years' worth of suffering.

It was a little strange, as she and Gracia frantically packed up Natasha's life, because there was not much Natasha wanted to take. She was staring her life in the face, and yet…there was almost nothing she wanted to keep from it. Half of her shoes and clothes were completely ignored, only a handful of toiletries stowed away. Gracia diligently helped her, checking on each item she wasn't certain about. The biggest regret Natasha had was that she could not take her bed along with her. She had become attached to the pile of blankets and pillows, and she found herself stopping to look at it, mourning the comfort she was no longer allowed to have.

Gracia noticed, and finally grabbed the thinnest blanket, folded it, and pushed it into Natasha's bag.

"No, there's not enough room," Natasha protested, pulling it back out. "I can't take this along, it's not…I'm fine, really. It's just a blanket."

"It's my blanket," Gracia said. Natasha stared at her, surprised. She knew Gracia had tracked some things into Natasha's room, but it had never expected this, something so personal.

"I can't take this."

"No, do it," Gracia said, biting her lip. "It's so you remember me, too."

Natasha stared at her for a long moment, then grabbed her into another hug. It was over in a second, because they had to hurry, but Natasha was still brushing tears from her eyes as she cleaned out the vanity.

"What about these?" Gracia asked, pulling out the bag of sticky notes. Natasha hesitated at the sight of them. It had sat in the cabinet, ignored for months. The hurt of what Clint had done to her had been far too ragged for her to even look at it. And then when he had come back…

"Throw it away," she said, turning back to shuffle through her cosmetics. "I don't need it."

Soon enough, they were done. Natasha glanced around the room, feeling empty. It didn't seem like anything had changed, but she had just ripped her life out of the only sanctuary she knew.

"Now, for you," Natasha said, turning to Gracia. She frowned at Natasha, shaking her head.

"But I'm not going, yet."

"No, but the Landlord is going to tear through here once I'm gone. He'll probably burn it all once I'm out the door. So you need to take what you can now, move it to your room while they watch me leave."

"No, I want to be there for you! I want to see you go!"

"No," Natasha said, shaking her head. She thought of all the girls kicked out of the boarding house, of her own horrendous scene. This could be so much worse. "You don't want to watch that. I don't want you watching. You take what you can to your room, hide it, and don't come down, no matter what. You'll see me soon enough."

"Okay…" Gracia submitted, frowning.

"Let's see if we can get some things for Rae, too," Natasha said, thinking about the other girl. Who knew how things would turn out for her, once Natasha left. "You'll have to take care of her—you'll have to take care of each other."

"I know," Gracia said, picking through the bed again for anything she wanted. There wasn't actually much Gracia could keep for her own use, but there were some things, like clothes, shoes, or little tools that could be traded with other girls. Anything would help her at this point.

When they finished, there was a small pile sitting on Natasha's vanity, waiting to be ferried from room to room. Natasha knew that she had better go, but she felt nervous, she didn't want to leave the little oasis of calm she was wrapped in. But Clint would be waiting.

"Alright, this is it," she breathed, reaching down to hug Gracia one last time. She kissed her hair, and tried not to cry at the way Gracia squeezed her extra tight.

"Come back quick, okay?" Gracia asked, and Natasha nodded. Her stomach was squirming around, and she couldn't quite breathe right, but she was doing this, she was going to walk down those steps and out the front door and get away.

"Are you ready?"

"Mm-hm."

"Okay. I love you, Gracia."

"I love you, Natasha. Be careful."

"And you, be safe. I'll come back as soon as I can."

"Okay."

Natasha dragged in another breath, and walked to the door. She put her hand on the knob, and looked back at Gracia.

"You won't watch, right?"

"I won't."

"Okay."

She nodded at Gracia one last time, and opened the door. Gracia's tears were the most heartbreaking thing she had ever seen.

everyone else catches wind. the landlord stops her in the lobby.

As Natasha walked down the hall, a few girls saw her. It only took a few seconds for them to notice the bags in her hands, the coat on her back, the steely determination in her eyes. They disappeared, off to whisper this to the rest of the house.

Natasha kept her back straight as she went down the stairs, and reached the main landing. Eyes had followed her the whole way, people silently following her, unsure as to what was going to happen next.

The Landlord caught up with her before she could make the door.

"Where d'you think you're goin'?" the Landlord called. His voice was like a stone thrown at her back. Natasha kept walking, trying not to change her pace, trying to appear unaffected—

"I asked you, where the hell're you going?" the Landlord snarled, grabbing her arm. Natasha gasped as he jerked her around, but she didn't let herself shrink back. She looked him in the eye, because she was done being his play thing.

"I'm leaving," she said, voice amazingly steady. He stared at her, unable to believe what she had said. He gave a bark of laughter, but didn't take his eyes off of her. They were so, so cold.

"I don't think you understand just what's goin' on here," he said, grabbing both of her arms. It felt like a cage closing around her chest. "You don't just get to go whenever you want to, remember? You go when I say."

He shoved her back, and Natasha almost lost her footing. She regained her balance, freezing the fear shrieking through her chest, the panic that was threatening to close down her lungs and make her choke. This last time, Natasha ushered the ice around her bones, and turned a bit of it turn onto him.

He smiled like it was almost a joke.

"I am leaving," she said, making sure each word was hard and clear. The Landlord hit her, making Natasha stagger again. She dragged in a breath, feeling the heat and pain pulsing through her skin, but she didn't back down.

He grabbed her by the shoulders, and shoved her back toward the stairs.

"You wanna say that again?" he snarled, big and terrible and making her want to hide. "You wanna tell me just exactly what you're plannin' on doin' out there? Didn't the streets spit you out, didn't you prove you couldn't handle it, comin' back, groveling on your damn hands and knees? You think you, Natasha, could really make it this time 'round?"

Natasha didn't look at the Landlord. She glanced back at the people watching, hiding, and noticed the shock on their faces at her resistance. She turned back to the Landlord, chest heaving. He was now standing directly between her and the door, and she needed to get out, she needed to leave, burst through those doors and find Clint. But Gracia's words were ringing back in her head, saying that the Landlord would not let her go. Panic rose up and squeezed her heart, because maybe that was true, maybe he would drag her back, even if she made the doors. He would grab her, screaming in the street, and pull her back into the horrendous dark to die.

Natasha glanced away again, feeling the tears in her eyes, feeling the triumph in the Landlord's gaze.

"No, I didn't think that was the case. Now," he growled, "why don't we be a good li'l girl, and go back up those steps. You know where my room is."

Natasha glared back at him, hating him, hating that she was so helpless. She glanced past him to the glass doors again, and stifled a sob.

Clint. Clint was there, climbing out of his car, and heading toward the boarding house. He was there, he was coming to help her.

Natasha looked back at the Landlord, and forced herself to take a relatively normal breath. The Landlord's grip tightened on her arm when he saw something change in her eyes.

"Let me go," she said, voice soft.

"Excuse me?"

"I said let me go. I am leaving."

The Landlord was on the verge of lashing out, yelling at her and hitting her to the ground again, but the door opened. A wave of gasps and mutterings came from the people behind them as they latched onto Clint, shocked that anyone from the outside could come into their world. Natasha stared into the Landlord's eyes, triumphant in the face of all his sudden, vicious venom.

"Do we have a problem?" Clint asked, and finally, the Landlord turned around.

"This ain't any a your business," he said, voice ice cold. Clint shrugged like the Landlord wasn't a monster amongst men, like he wasn't at all afraid. Natasha dragged in another breath, and forced herself to keep from hiding herself with her hands.

"It is, a little bit." Clint glanced past the Landlord, getting a good look at Natasha. His eyes paused over the ugly red mark on her face. He met her gaze, made sure that she was alright, then slid his eyes back to the Landlord. "You keeping her here?"

Natasha pressed her lips together, because this was too much, this was too overwhelming, when had she been allowed to get this? Clint stared down the Landlord, big and proud and able to dam rivers with only his hands. And he was there, at her defense.

"She belongs here, to me," the Landlord said. His voice was a cool threat, scathing now that Clint had dared come here and interfere. At his words, though, Clint turned completely cold.

"She belongs to you?" he asked, stepping a little closer. "She doesn't belong to anybody."

"She's got debts, and she hasn't paid 'em back. She can't leave until she gives me my money."

"Yeah? Because forcing her to stay in prostitution, and then extorting every dime until she's got nothing left clearly isn't enough for room and board." Clint's eyes were controlled, but he was threatening the Landlord with every inch of his being,

"Where do you get off bein' so high and mighty, anyway?" the Landlord snarled. "What's she to you? Ain't you just another one a the people that she whores herself out to? Aren't you just a part a the problem? Unless you actually think you're gonna make things better, takin' her with you. That it? You keep a li'l pet whore for yourself, make you feel better, she's safe, off the streets, while you use her as you want. Tell me, how's that any better than me?"

"Don't talk about her that way," Clint said. His voice was calm and unimpressed on the surface, but it held a lethal edge of do not test me underneath.

"Get the hell outta here," the Landlord hissed, then turned to face Natasha. "You come with me."

"N-no, let me go!" she gasped, trying to jerk out of his grip and reach Clint. "Let me go!"

"I said move!" the Landlord hissed, jerking her so that he was right in her face. She shook her head, too scared to shift, too scared to say anything coherent. The Landlord hit her again, and it was only his vice on her arm that kept her from falling down.

"Hey!" Clint yelled, grabbing ahold of the Landlord's shoulder. "Do not make her say it again. Let her go."

The Landlord turned to sneer at him, but Clint wheeled him around, and gave him a solid punch to the jaw. Natasha gasped as his grip was wrenched away from her, and she scrambled to move away. She clamped onto Clint's arm, holding him too hard, she knew, but if she let go, she was certain unseen hands would drag her back into the boarding house, and no one would be able to save her. Clint took hold of her hand, squeezing it tight.

"Natasha!" the Landlord screamed, voice ragged and terrible. He tried to grab her again, but Clint was there, shoving him back. "Natasha, the second you walk out that door's the second your life is over! When this fairytale you got goin' on falls to shit, you'll come crawlin' back, don't you dare forget it! You'd be dead without me, you'd be some nameless, mutilated whore on the street, and that's just what you'll be without me! You're gonna come sniveling back, and don't you dare think I'll let you in! Everything else will be a damn daydream compared to what I'm gonna do to you! You hear me, Natasha? You hear me? Natasha!"

Clint guided Natasha by the shoulders, hurrying her to the door as the Landlord bellowed at her from across the room. She stumbled, her feet not wanting to respond, her legs not sure how to react, but Clint was there, leading her along to somewhere where the air was clean.

She glanced back, but it was not for the Landlord. It was for a little girl that Natasha prayed was not in the crowd, but searched for, just in case. She couldn't see her, though, so Natasha turned back to face the door.

it is hard for her to get in the car.

Clint yanked open the car door for her, and Natasha hurriedly fell into the seat. He glanced back at the boarding house, one last vicious slap toward the Landlord and the things he had done to her. Natasha was gripped with the sudden urge to shove open the door and go back, to not push things any further, to go back and apologize and not risk the rest of her life on a bridge made entirely of glass.

She clenched her hands together, and pressed them against her mouth until they hurt. She closed her eyes, waiting for the Landlord to come for her, waiting for the chaos to spill to the streets, but nothing happened. The doors stayed shut, their tinted glass hiding what had happened inside. They stayed quiet, dark, and ominous, looming on the edge of her mind.

Clint finally reached his door, and yanked it open. He turned on the car, and drove them away without a word.

Natasha cupped her hands around her mouth, trying to breathe, trying to not feel like her heart was going to break her chest, trying to get her head on straight before she completely fell to pieces. She wasn't leaving the boarding house, anymore, she had left.

Natasha wasn't sure if she felt powerful or terrified.

She wanted to say something, to try expressing her heartfelt thanks, her fear, her relief and disbelief of being out. But her lips only trembled, so she didn't push herself. Clint tried to say something, as well, but he could only grit his teeth. They were both casualties of a battle they hadn't known was raging for a very long time.

Clint's knuckles were white around the steering wheel, but he otherwise seemed calm as he left the dirty fragments of her life far behind.

It suddenly all broke over Natasha, and she was instantly crying, sobbing helplessly as she realized what she had just done. She had left, she had walked through the fangs of a monster, and had been left somehow unscathed.

Clint pulled over as she heaved with tears, then reached over and grabbed her into a fierce hug. He didn't say anything for a long time as she sobbed once more into his chest, just held her enough to hurt.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—I don't know—Clint, I—I—I—Clint," she gasped, completely bemused at the onslaught of emotions tearing through her skin. She shook in his arms, but he didn't say anything, didn't tell her this or that, didn't push her off with a pat on the back and some tissues. He just stayed there, weathering her out.

"I did it," she breathed finally, once she could actually get proper thoughts together. "Clint, I—I left, I'm out! And you helped me, and I don't know how—"

"It's okay," he said, and though there were still traces of anger in his face, it was overwhelmed by the heartbroken joy spreading into his smile.

She laughed, grabbing onto his hands, kissing them, smearing them with her tears. He kissed her, taking her face with both hands, and then just pressed their foreheads together.

There were still things he wanted to say, Natasha could feel it. They were ugly questions, questions about her time in the boarding house, about the Landlord, about what she had gone through. But he didn't ask them. He stayed quiet, and ran his hand through her hair, and kissed her temple, and whispered I'm here with you, and let things be okay.

Natasha was still stammering for breath when he turned the car back on, and continued driving to his house. Natasha found that she could finally appreciate the city around her.

AN The decision to leave Gracia behind was one that I had made from the very beginning, because of the reasons outlined in the chapter. So I was sufficiently worried when practically everyone was calling for her escape along with Natasha. I would have liked her to break free as well, but it is just not conceivable at this time.

(This is where we enter the period I like to call 'too many endings', because the story could literally just stop at a dozen points from here on out. I just find that interesting)