Hey, hey, hey! What's up my fell fanfictioners! You'll be pleased to see we've got a long update to this little AU! And one more part to come after this one to wrap the High School AU up!
Please keep in mind that this is unbeta'd and just for fun!
"Don't look at me like that." Natasha laughed, leaning to rock into Clint's orbit as they walked down the main stretch of the town's center. She swayed back away from him just as easily and without making contact, but still, he went tense all over. "Ballet requires athleticism and precision – just like baseball and archery."
Next to her, Clint's lips had pulled into a half grin as he navigated his bike around a lamp post. He'd walked it along beside them since leaving the school. It was his way home, he'd said.
"I didn't say anything," he defended with a chuckle. "Did I say anything?"
"You didn't have to," she replied sternly, but she smiled around the words.
It had taken patience and a fair amount of one-sided chatter, but she'd finally started prying Clint out of his shell. Between their walk to the ice cream shop, eating the ice cream itself, and now their walk towards the bus stop that would take her home, he'd managed to somewhat relax into her company. Even so, she'd noticed if she strayed too far into his personal space or a stranger they passed did, his grip on the handlebars of his bike would tighten until his knuckles turned white and his shoulders would draw up into a hard line.
She chewed the inside of her lip, watching him out of the corner of her eye as they walked.
He was unlike any boy she'd ever met, and she had met quite a few. Before Bouclier, she had been in and out of boarding schools around the country. Madame B had never had a problem investing money in her prized commodity. She was adamant Natasha receive the most polished education. It made her worth more. Unfortunately for her benefactor, Natasha wasn't much for being the proper, well-bred young lady Madame B desperately wanted to turn her into.
Three expulsions later, Natasha wasn't sure what Madame B had done to secure her place at Bouclier. It did, however, kept her close to home and thereby easier to control. At least that was the hope, Natasha was sure.
She'd been expelled from two of those 'proper' schools for altercations with some guys who needed a lesson on how they ought to treat girls. Her time at the third had come to an end for no other reason than Alexei.
The boys she'd known before had been nothing like Clint Barton.
She'd heard the stories about him almost as soon as she'd stepped foot into Bouclier. Some kids whispered about brutal fist-fights, a stint juvie, and a guy in a coma. Others had told of an abusive foster home, brooding solitude, and a murderous brother.
She couldn't help but be intrigued. When she'd seen him sitting alone in homeroom, she'd felt inexplicably drawn to him, curious about what of the rumors were fact and what were fiction. She hadn't expected it to be so difficult, or him so resistant to her company.
He was fascinating, really. Nothing that she'd seen would suggest he was violent, especially not violent enough to put someone in a coma. But there was a defensiveness in his eyes, something that bled into his posture and then into the air around him – a warning to keep distance or risk consequences. But at the same time, he seemed…warm. Beneath biting sarcasm was a dry sense of humor. Behind his reticence, was someone who listened closely and attentively. Hidden under the glare, she'd seen glimpses of someone who had seen too much cruelty and just longed for kindness.
Everything she learned about him had her wanting to learn more.
"So…" she started slowly, tucking her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, "I probably should have asked this before I went anywhere alone with you but…"
"You wanna know about juvie." He said it with a sad sort of resignation, as if he'd been expecting and dreading it. She immediately wished she hadn't asked at all. His posture tightened and his gaze dropped to hover somewhere over the front tire of his bike.
"You don't have to tell me," she said.
He glanced away, across the street.
"I should get home," he finally said. "It's getting late." He hadn't looked at his watch, so she was sure he had no idea what time it was. "The bus stop is just around the block." He still didn't look at her.
In the privacy of her own mind, she swore in every language she knew. Thanks to Madame B, she knew several. She spent the next several minutes regretting her own curiosity and berating herself for sending him ducking back behind his wall of silence.
Both too soon and not quickly enough, they rounded the corner, and her bus stop came into view. He hesitated at the corner, glancing across the intersection. Clearly, he had to go another direction.
"I've got it from here," she assured. She wasn't sure if he looked relieved or disappointed but didn't let herself dwell on it. "Thanks for the ice cream. I'll see you at school." She smiled in farewell and forced herself to walk away.
She'd made it several steps before his voice stopped her.
"I almost beat a man to death with the leg of a wooden chair. He hasn't woken up and they're not sure he ever will." He made the confession quietly, but without any hesitation or a single waver in his voice. She turned back, watching him carefully. "I spent three months in juvie."
She tilted her head thoughtfully. The way he spoke of it — not with dispassion — but rather with blunt acceptance told her he was brave enough to own his actions.
"Did he deserve it?" she finally asked. The violence didn't scare her. Most people had a capacity for violence. It was the reason behind it that mattered.
Something tightened in his expression and his eyes flared with something deeply painful. His hands were blanched around the handlebars of his bike.
"Yes."
Her eyes narrowed at the hatred in his tone, the matter-of-fact lack of regret.
She nodded slowly and made her way back towards him. There was a story there, but she wasn't going to ask about it. Not tonight. For a long moment she held his gaze and sensed he was waiting for something. The wariness in his eyes suggested that something was rejection, maybe even fear or disgust.
She let a slight smile quirk her lips, happy to disappoint him.
"Got time to walk me the around the block one more time?"
His eyes widened briefly and then, as she watched, something like relief rolled across expression.
The smile that chased it lit up the night.
"…waiting for me when I got out. He's my guardian now."
"He must really care about you," Natasha replied, frowning when they rounded the corner, and the bus stop came into view once again. Somehow, they'd lapped the block already.
Clint responded with a noncommittal shrug and followed her gaze to the bus stop bench. She hoped she wasn't imagining the disappointment that flashed across his expression. This time he walked her right up to the covered bench, hesitating like he didn't want to just leave her there to wait alone.
"You don't have to wait with me." She offered with a smile, hoping to imply that she didn't want him to leave, but wouldn't be upset if he did.
"I don't mind." He really looked like he didn't.
She smiled wider in response and let herself drift closer to him. His hands tightened a little on the handlebars of his bike, but he didn't retreat. A quiet, sad part of her wondered what it was like to live your life afraid to be touched. The more analytical part of her mind wondered if the man in the coma was the reason for that fear.
"Thanks for telling me about Mr. Coulson. He's definitely not so intimidating anymore."
Clint huffed a laugh.
"Don't tell him that."
She mimed zipping her lips closed.
He glanced at something over her shoulder, and she turned to see her bus approaching. She turned back, catching his gaze, and feeling suddenly as if the rest of the world faded away. Something magnetic passed between them and before she realized what she was doing, she'd shifted even closer. A thread of tension tightened his posture, but he didn't break eye contact or try to back away. She paused, unquestionably in his personal space, but not closing the last bit of distance. She'd spent the evening watching him avoid being touched, even by accident. She'd watched him tense and flinch and shy away from her and anyone else that got close.
So, she stopped, half a foot away, and left the choice up to him.
She was sure it was clear what she was hoping for, but because boys could be dense sometimes, she decided to leave no room for confusion.
"You can kiss me if you wan-"
He leaned in before she could finish, pressing his mouth to hers. Their noses bumped a little and their mouths slanted a little awkwardly. The pressure was at first too much and then suddenly felt like not enough as they both tried to compensate.
But something flared to life in her chest, something no kiss that came before had ever awakened. Not even with Alexi.
When he withdrew, letting out a trembling breath, Natasha realized she was smiling. For a moment they stayed close, sharing air, and locking eyes. There was something startled in his gaze, like a skittish colt, but also something alive that she hadn't seen in him before.
"I'll see you at school tomorrow," he whispered, his breath ghosting over her lips.
At a loss for words for perhaps the first time in her life, she could only nod.
Then he was gone, backing away, and turning his bike around. As he threw his leg over it and started to peddle away, he glanced over his shoulder at her.
His grin when he realized she was smiling after him, still dazed, was something she'd never seen before, and something she couldn't wait to see again.
Clint left his bike leaning against the front of the house and hurried to unlock the front door, glancing at his watch as he turned the key.
7:27
Shit.
He slid inside and quickly locked it behind him. He kicked off his shoes in the entry, carefully aligning them in their place on the wall.
"Clint?" Phil called from the kitchen.
Clint jumped and then forced himself take a breath.
"Yeah!" he shouted back, quick stepping through the living room to get to the eat in area next to the kitchen. "I'm sorry," he offered immediately. He wished his palms weren't sweating, that his heart wasn't pounding. He wished every fiber of his being wasn't urging him to run, run, run. He wished experience hadn't conditioned him to believe stepping a toe out of line meant violence was sure to follow.
Phil looked up from plating a piece of chicken onto one of the dishes, brow arching critically.
"Your watch working?" he asked.
Clint nodded.
"I lost track of time," he admitted honestly.
Phil hummed in response, still looking cross. He made no move around the island, though. He showed no sort of aggression. Clint willed his lungs to calm and his heart to slow. He wiped his palms against his pants and swallowed around a dry throat.
Phil wouldn't hurt him, not for something as harmless as breaking curfew, maybe not for anything. Still, he felt uneasy, like he was one sudden move away from making a break for it.
"Sit," Phil commanded, nodding at the kitchen table.
Clint obediently sat in his usual chair, watching warily as Phil brought two plates over.
"I want to talk to you."
"I won't be late again, I swear," Clint stated earnestly.
Phil waved a dismissive hand.
"Not about that. Well, not entirely about that. Don't be making a habit of it. But, no, about Natasha Romanoff."
Clint's mind flashed back to the feeling of her lips against his, to the bright green of her eyes as he'd gazed down at her after pulling away. He felt his neck reddening and pinned his gaze on the baked chicken before him. He picked up his knife and fork and prayed Phil didn't notice.
"I don't want you seeing her again."
Clint's knife scrapped awkwardly over the plate, causing a tooth grinding screech.
"What? Why?" he demanded.
"After I saw you together in the gym, I looked into her history a little more deeply. I was in meetings today, so I haven't really had a chance to really sit down with her…"
"Wait," Clint held up his fork, "you did what now?"
"I pulled her school records," Phil clarified, clearly unrepentant.
"You ran the high school equivalent of a background check?" Clint abandoned his silverware on to the table. "Seriously?"
"You're on probation, Clint. I want to be careful about who you're spending time with."
"She's not a criminal mastermind."
"No, but she has been expelled from three different schools in the last two years. She's trouble, Clint."
Clint gaped at him.
"You're being ridiculous. Do you even know why she was expelled?"
"Violent behavior," Phil replied immediately.
Clint shook his head, rubbing at his brow. That didn't fit with the girl he'd spent the last few hours with. But he imagined at first glance he didn't exactly fit with the violence in his history either.
"Her file speaks for itself, Clint. You're on probation. She is trouble waiting to happen. I want you to stay away from her." Phil decisively cut into his chicken, obviously thinking the conversation over.
Clint shook his head.
"No."
Phil looked up, startled.
"What?"
"I'm not going to stay away from her."
"Clint…"
"Should my file speak for itself?" Clint interrupted. He knew the records on him weren't pretty. They told a story of a violent, rash teenager who was prone to fights, cheating, and skipping school.
Phil rubbed at his brow.
"That's not the same."
"Why? Because you know me? Because you know that what's in my file doesn't tell the whole story?"
"Exactly."
"So maybe what's in hers doesn't tell the whole story either."
Phil let out a weary breath.
"I'm not risking your future on a 'maybe'. You step a toe out of line, and they'll take you away from me or worse, put you back in juvie."
Clint clenched his jaw and looked away.
Phil went back to his food.
Clint shook his head and stood. Arguing about it wasn't going to get them anywhere. He wouldn't change his mind, and clearly neither would Phil. Clint headed to the stairs to go up to his loft.
"Clint, you didn't eat anything."
"I'm not hungry!" he snapped over his shoulder.
He heard Phil hiss out a curse and then the clatter of cutlery being dropped onto a plate.
He hated that the sound made him flinch.
When he heard the scrape of Phil's chair sliding on the tile, Clint found his pace instinctively quickening. His palm was sweaty when it wrapped around the banister and stepped onto the first stair.
"Damn it, don't walk away from me."
Phil didn't even touch him. His voice was just closer than Clint expected. Violently trained instincts flared to life and Clint whirled defensively. His socked foot slid off the stair and he fell back hard onto the steps. The world blurred around him and something in his chest locked up.
"Clint?"
Even though he couldn't breathe, Clint managed to crab crawl backward up another few steps, putting more distance between them. Through graying vision, a distant part of his mind recognized Phil go stone still at the foot of the stairs.
"Clint, breathe!"
Yeah, obviously he needed to do that. Too bad he couldn't.
Phil advanced onto the first stair; Clint matched it with a fumbling retreat up another. Phil went still again, palms out.
"I'm not coming closer. I promise. I won't come any closer, but you have to breathe." There was something in Phil's voice, something Clint wasn't all together familiar with yet and couldn't quite identify.
Clint clenched a hand in the t-shirt covering his chest and closed his eyes. His court mandated therapist had been teaching him methods to cope with panic attacks. He reached for one of those, setting one of his favorite classic rock songs on repeat in his head. He focused every ounce of himself on the song.
Slowly, his chest loosened.
Eventually, his head started to clear, and he realized he could hear the song, and not just in his head.
Forcing his eyes open, Clint found himself still huddled awkwardly on a step, hand clenched in his own t-shirt, the other keeping a death grip on the spindles of the banister. Phil was half knelt on a step, phone in hand and eyes pinned on Clint.
The phone, Clint realized, was playing the same song he'd been singing in his head.
"You were humming it," Phil explained quietly.
Clint drew in a shaking breath without responding and forced himself to peel his fingers off the spindle.
"Clint, I need you to look at me."
He really didn't want to.
"Please," Phil pleaded, voice pitched oddly gentle.
Clints swallowed thickly and forced himself to look up.
Phil hadn't moved any closer, just as he'd promised. His hands were spread in supplication and his eyes were wide and shining with unshed moisture.
"It's very important that you hear me right now. No matter how mad I am, no matter what you've done or said, I will never hurt you."
"Easy thing to say." It slipped out before he could check himself.
"Yeah, I guess it is. But it's the truth. And I will spend every day of the rest of my life proving that to you."
He wanted to believe it. Some part of him did. But another, more visceral part of him just couldn't let go of the fear. Not yet.
"Do we need to call your therapist?"
"NO!"
"Clint…"
"I'm okay." He forced himself to stand on shaky legs to prove it. "You just startled me."
Phil stared at him.
Clint stared back.
"She's not what you think she is."
He didn't know how he knew; he just did.
"You barely know her, kid." Phil deflated a little. "I just want to protect you."
Clint sank down onto the stairs, sighing deeply.
"I think I know that," he admitted quietly. "But I'm not…" he shook his head, "I'm not wrong about her."
He knew he wasn't. He could read people. He'd had to learn the skill young.
"I can't just go on your gut, Clint. Probation, remember? Do you want to go back to juvie?"
"Of course not."
"Then don't do anything that would give them an excuse."
Annoyance boiled in his chest.
"I guess I shouldn't have knocked over the fucking ice cream shop with her then."
Phil let out a long-suffering sigh.
"Clint…"
"What exactly do you think we're gonna do? Start an underground fight club? Go on a crime spree? It was a date, Phil. We got ice cream and I walked her to the bus stop."
Phil deflated a little.
"What? Not what you expected from a couple of juvenile delinquents?"
"You're putting words in my mouth."
Clint lurched up from the step, retreating up and closer to his loft.
"You're the one acting like if she invites me to be the Clyde to her Bonnie, I'm gonna jump on the chance!"
"I just don't want you getting pulled into her drama."
"You don't get it, Phil." Clint pressed a hand to his chest. "I'm the drama. I'm the one with the crazy brother. I'm the one that started fights and cut classes. I'm the one who spent three months in juvie and nearly killed someone. I'm the orphan that everybody knows spent years getting the shit beat out of them. Me, Phil! I'm the problem, not her."
Phil looked stricken.
"Clint, you're not…"
"I am. I'm ten pounds of traumatic baggage crammed into a five-pound bag. Everyone at school looks at me like I'm a ticking time bomb and they're waiting for the next explosion. No one but Steve, Tony, Bruce and Thor will even look me in the eye and even they treat me like I'm made of glass sometimes.
"But she's different. She heard all the rumors and she still sat next to me in home room. I told her about juvie and what I did to get there, and she still wanted to walk around the block one more time."
Phil sighed, rubbing at his eyes.
"Clint, this is exactly what I mean. You have enough going on without having some new variable thrown into the mix. You're still adjusting to the new status quo, and I don't want anything to derail your progress."
Clint threw up his hands and turned to scale the rest of the stairs.
"Clint, don't just walk away."
"You aren't listening," Clint said, turning to face him from the top of the steps. "You're so worried that she's gonna be a bad influence or something, that you're ignoring the scenario that's just as likely."
"And what's that?"
"That maybe she'll make things better."
Phil shook his head and let out another deep sigh.
"Just give it some time, then," Phil asked. "Stay away until you get more settled here and she gets more settled at school."
"Give you a chance to watch her for any misstep, you mean?"
"I'm trying to compromise."
"No, you're trying to buy time until you can prove your point."
Phil threw up his hands.
"Fine, you know what. You're not allowed to see her at all."
Clint shook his head and stormed away from the steps. He listened for the sound of Phil following him up, but instead he heard the man retreat back to the kitchen.
Hands clenched, Clint suddenly felt trapped. He dug out an extra pair of running shoes and pulled them on. Then, he paced the loft until he heard Phil's bedroom door shut twenty minutes later.
He was at the window in three strides.
He just needed to get out, just for a while. He needed to breath, to expel the tense energy coiled in him.
Lifting the window silently, he popped the screen out and leaned it against his wall. He swung his body out onto the frame and looked around. The tree that took up most of the front yard loomed only a few feet away, its branches thick and inviting.
He jumped for the nearest one and then it was a quick descent to freedom.
Natasha chewed at her bottom lip and hesitated outside the front door.
She was late.
The bus had run behind and put her almost 30 minutes past her curfew instead of the ten it should have been.
Madame B would be furious. Punctuality was virtue all girls of this home were required to possess.
Her phone chimed in her back pocket, startling her hand away from the doorknob.
She pulled it out and looked down, a small smile curling her lips.
A text from Clint.
'I snuck out. Wanna join me?'
Biting her lip, she stared at the message and then backed away from the front door. She typed her response quickly.
'What'd you have in mind?'
She spent the few moments it took for him to reply to sneak away from the door and jog down around the corner.
'I have my bike. I'll pick you up.'
She quickly sent back the street names of the corner she was on.
'I'm at the skate park two blocks away.'
She was still debating which direction the skate park would be when he appeared around a corner and coasted towards her.
His hair was clumped with sweat and his t-shirt had dark patches on it, but his smile when he slowed to a stop before her was genuine.
"Imagine seeing you here," she teased, stepping to the edge of the curb.
"Wanna blow this joint?" he asked, holding out a hand.
She took it and he guided her to the front of the bicycle. With him holding the bike steady, she lifted herself onto the handlebars and braced her feet on the thick pegs she saw jutting out from the bike frame near the front tire.
"Good?" he asked.
"Good," she assured.
Their balance was shaky at first, but once he got some speed it was easier.
She wasn't sure where they were going but found she didn't really care. Anything was better than going back to the house and facing Madame B.
They ended up at the city park.
Clint slowed at the base of a hill and Natasha slid off the handlebars. Clint abandoned the bike on its side and started up the hill at a jog. Natasha hurried after him and looked out over the view when they reached the top.
"Wow," she mused. "It's beautiful."
"I used to come here sometimes," he said, but didn't go into any more detail.
They stared out over the small, calm lake, watching the moonlight reflect on the water.
"Phil doesn't want me to see you anymore."
Natasha whipped her head around, startled by both the words and their bluntness.
"Why?"
Clint shrugged, digging his hands into his pockets, and kicking at some grass.
"I'm on probation. Any misstep could end up with me back in juvie."
Natasha bit her lip.
"He read my file," she realized.
"Yeah."
She could tell he wanted to ask but he didn't.
"A guy raped my friend at a party. I kicked his ass. They expelled me. That was the first one."
He winced.
"At the second one, a guy acted like he was interested in this girl. He was nice and sweet and then once he got her to sleep with him, he sent everyone pictures."
"Asshole."
"Yeah. I kicked his ass too."
"Expelled again?"
She nodded and hesitated over the final story.
"I met a guy at the last one, Alexi. He and I were…together."
Clint twitched a little, but otherwise remained quiet, listening.
"It didn't end well…and he…he told some lies and got me expelled."
"Another asshole."
"Yeah," she agreed, throat tight. An asshole she'd thought she loved.
They stared out over the water in silence again.
"The guy that ran my group home used to beat the shit out of us."
Natasha glanced over at him, but he was staring at the water.
"It's why I don't like being touched."
She'd expected it was something like that.
"He's the one I put in a coma."
"Definitely deserved it then," she whispered.
"Yeah."
She wondered if she should tell him about Madame B.
"I like being around you," he admitted suddenly. She saw his neck darken as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "I don't really like being around anyone."
"I like being around you too."
A small smile curled his lips.
She leaned closer, lightly touching his wrist. He flinched, but only a little, and then turned towards her willingly.
This kiss was less clumsy. After a moment, they shifted, letting it deepen as his hand tangled into the hair at the base of her neck and her hands pressed against his spine.
When they broke apart, they were both out of breath.
"Whoa…" he breathed, eyes half lidded.
"Yeah," she agreed.
He's the one who moved this time, kissing her with more confidence now. She curled her hands into the back of his t-shirt and met his intensity with her own.
"This is me."
Clint looked up at the townhome Natasha had stopped in front of. It was nearly midnight now.
"Is that a dance studio?" he asked, looking at the glass store front next to the house.
"Yeah, she owns that too."
"Your mom?"
"She's not my mom."
Clint looked at her then and Natasha shrugged.
"You're not the only orphan in town. Madame B is just my guardian."
"I didn't know."
She shrugged again.
"I didn't tell you. There are actually six of us that she has here."
Something in Clint's gut tightened at the wording. He studied Natasha's face, but she gave nothing away.
"Thanks for walking me home," she offered with a grin. Then she tugged on the fingers she had laced with his until he stepped closer.
They were getting good at kissing.
He was definitely okay with that.
She pulled away with a content, happy grin.
"See you tomorrow?"
He nodded.
She started up the steps, only releasing his hand when she had to. He waited until she was closed behind the door before throwing his leg over the bike and turning it back in the direction of Phil's.
Phil closed his eyes in relief when he heard the upstairs window close, and footsteps lightly creak across the floor. It wasn't the first time Clint had snuck out since he'd come to live here. Sometimes it seemed like the kid couldn't breathe inside four walls. But it was the first time he'd done it after an argument. Phil had followed him once and watched him take out his energy on the local skate park with his bike. He usually came back after an hour or two.
Tonight, he'd been gone for four.
Phil listened as Clint moved around upstairs and only when the shower turned on did he ease his bedroom door closed again.
They'd talk in the morning, maybe find a way to make peace.
Natasha closed the door behind her, bracing herself.
"Pack your bag."
She started, taken off guard by the instruction.
"What?"
Madame B loomed in the entry to the common room.
"I'm done with you Natalia."
"It's Natasha."
"Your new husband will address you as Natalia."
"What?" Natasha breathed, eyes widening.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the bedroom door ease open, and Yelena's wide eyes met hers through the opening.
"I was contacted by a man with interest in one of my students. I told him of your particular personality, and he was intrigued. He seems the sort to enjoy a challenge and has chosen you as his bride. You leave tomorrow."
"But…"
She was supposed to have until she turned eighteen. She was supposed to have two more years to figure out how to get away.
"Pack your bag."
Fear gripped her and she retreated, back pressing against the door. Dmitri, Madame B's son and firm right hand, emerged from the shadows behind his mother.
Natasha latched onto the door and yanked it open, leaping down the stairs.
Clint couldn't have gone far, but a look around showed a deserted street.
She picked a direction and ran. Rounding a corner, she lunged into an alley and tried to breath through her panic. Scrambling for her phone, she saw the battery blinking at her with only 2%.
She couldn't call anyone, could maybe get out a text, but probably wouldn't be able to get one back.
She googled Phil Coulson's address.
Her phone died just as she read it. Down the block she heard Dmitri's car growl to life.
She set off at a run.
Clint scrubbed the towel through his hair and hiked his boxers up, padding across the loft towards his bed. He tossed the damp towel back towards his bathroom and picked up his jeans, feeling through the pockets for his iPod.
He jumped a mile when a soft tap came at his window.
Natasha was balanced on the nearest tree limb outside his window, a second small rock in her hand poised to toss.
She dropped the rock when she saw him notice her.
He leapt towards the window and shoved it open, leaning out to help her into the room.
"What are you doing?" he whisper-hissed.
Instead of answering, she fell into his arms, hugging her body tightly to his and burying her face in his neck. She was breathing hard, shoulders heaving, and he could feel the dampness of tears against his skin.
"What happened?" he asked, hesitating only briefly before curling his arms over her back securely.
"She's — she's gonna se-send me away."
"What? Who?"
"Madame B. She's—she's selling me."
Clint's blood ran cold.
"What?"
Natasha pulled back, wiping at her eyes with one hand, but keeping the other curled around the back of his neck. She forced some deep breaths and when she spoke again, she was steadier.
"She calls it a school. She trains us and teaches us and then sells us as brides to wealthy men back in Russia."
"Russia?"
"I was born there," she revealed. "My parents died when I was a baby and Madame B took me out of the orphanage when I was nine. I was supposed to have more time! Everyone else has always been eighteen! I thought I had time to get away, but she said—tonight, she said she'd made a deal and I had to go tomorrow."
Clint pulled her in again, hugging her tightly as his mind raced.
"Okay," he whispered. "We'll figure it out."
"I didn't know what to do. I just ran."
He understood the impulse.
When her breathing had calmed and she seemed steady, she pulled away again.
"I shouldn't have come here," she said. "I'm sorry."
"No," he shook his head. "It's okay. We'll just…" he realized then that he was wearing nothing but boxers and cleared his throat, reaching for a t-shirt. "We'll sleep. We can tell Phil tomorrow and he can help."
"He won't believe me."
Clint drew in a slow breath and let it out.
"He'll believe me."
Phil wasn't sure what he expected when he went up to wake Clint. The kid hadn't made a peep and Phil hadn't heard his alarm ever go off. He would be late if he slept much longer.
He had not expected Clint to be curled up in bed with Natasha Romanoff.
Both were clothed, but Clint was pressed against Natasha's back, arm curled around her, and nose pressed into the back of her neck.
"What the hell!"
Clint flinched, arm tightening around the girl as she too flinched awake.
"Seriously, Clint? What, did you bring her back with you just to spite me?"
"No." Clint rubbed at his eyes, clearly still trying to wake up.
"Did you have sex?"
"Jesus, Phil!"
"Did you use protection."
"Oh my God."
"After everything I said last night, you decided to just do the opposite."
"Just wait a second…"
"I'm so disappointed in you."
"Phil, just let me explain."
"No. I'm not listening to whatever excuse you're going to use to try and get out of this."
"Phil…"
"Get dressed, you're gonna be late. She better not come home with you after school."
Phil stormed down the stairs and out the front door. His briefcase was still on the kitchen counter, but he'd just do without it today.
Once he was closed in the car, he took a breath.
How had he let this happen? Not only had Clint completely ignored Phil's concerns about the Romanoff girl, but he'd gone completely to the opposite extreme. And in Phil's own house. Had he snuck her in with him when he came back last night? Had the shower been for both of them? What had they been doing out in the middle of the night in the first place?
Too many questions.
Phil would get answers, but not until he had calmed down. If he faced Clint now, he'd only end up yelling and that's not what he wanted. He wanted a calm, rational discussion.
Calm and rational would take a few hours to get here.
Phil threw the car into reverse and backed out of the driveway.
Clint sat in the bed, Natasha next to him, and stared at the stairs where Phil had disappeared.
He hadn't even let Clint explain.
"Seeing us in bed was probably a shock," Natasha rationalized.
"We were literally sleeping."
"Yeah, and he saw it with parental guardian eyes."
"Right."
"Now what? I can't go to school. She'll look for me there."
"We could go to the police."
Even as he said it, he didn't think it would work.
"They won't' believe me…not without proof…" Natasha trailed off, eyes growing thoughtful.
"Is there proof?" Clint asked, feeling adrenaline flood through him.
"There will be a contract for my...marriage. That should be enough proof of what she's doing, especially with witnesses."
"Will the other girls testify?"
"Yelena will. She's only thirteen, but she's smart enough that she knew what was going on. She'll testify if I ask her to."
Clint nodded, climbing off the bed.
"So, we need to get that contract."
"We have to be careful," Natasha warned. "She has a son, Dmitri. If he's there, he'll try to stop us."
Clint leaned to snatch his baseball bat off the floor.
"If he's there, I'll handle him. You get the contract."
"Clint," she grabbed at his arm, eyes wide. "He's big and he's strong."
Clint tightened his grip on the bat.
"So was the last guy."
So clearly things moved VERY quickly. They had to, really. As I'm trying to emulate my VPU story, I needed Clint and Nat operating on their own and Phil on the outside. So here we are. Things happened really fast. I will say, though, that sometimes you meet someone and its just easy. That's how I envision this version of Clint and Nat. With Natasha, it was easy for Clint, for the first time ever. It's why he went so deep so fast. Kind of a reverse of my VPU, in this SHE was the one that saw HIM and that meant a lot to him.
Anyway, hope you enjoyed! One last piece to this AU left!
Later!
