Natasha walks in the front door and hates Tony's school immediately. It's chilly inside, either flaunting the school's obvious wealth or reflecting the personalities of every adult in the building. At least, that's Tony's opinion; he sort of gets the same vibe from his bodyguard by the slight wrinkle of her nose.

The woman at the front desk looks up with an automatic plastic smile at the ready - one that fades when she sees Natasha.

"Good morning. Are you Mrs Stark?" she asks, sitting a little straighter in her office chair.

He wants Natasha to say yes, but she doesn't. "I'm his bodyguard," she answers, placing a hand on Tony's shoulder. "I'd like a visitor's pass, please."

"Bodyguard?" the woman asks with a fake little laugh, eyes widening in something like alarm. "This is a private school, Ms -"

"Romanoff," Natasha supplies.

"Ms Romanoff," the woman repeats. "There's no need for a student to have a body guard here. This is a safe campus."

"I'm afraid it's in my contract to determine whether or not I need to survey this school," says Natasha, smooth as silk. "I'm sure nothing will happen, but..." she trails off meaningfully.

"Of course," the woman agrees, wary. "Now, do you have some sort of identification, Ms Romanoff?"

"Call this number." She slips a piece of paper over the desk, what Tony recognizes as Jarvis's phone number across the desk. The office lady takes the number to a phone a short distance behind her and dials.

While she speaks to Jarvis in hushed tones, Tony sidles closer.

"Sure you can't stay with me in class?" he asks with a hint of desperation. "You'd be the only person who's nice to me."

"Is it that bad?" Natasha returns, raising an eyebrow. Tony scowls.

"I hate them all," he says darkly. Natasha makes a considering noise.

"Maybe I can push for entry to your school yard," she says consideringly, "instead of just lurking around at the gates."

Tony's mood brightens at the very thought. "That's great!" he exclaims. "Thank you!"

"Don't thank me yet," she says dryly. "I might not be allowed at all."

"You will," the boy says, utterly confident.

"And I suppose all that confidence in me is going to make it happen?" she remarks, one eyebrow raised. Her hand comes up to flatten an unruly tuft of hair to his head as he replies.

"Yup!" he says brightly. "You can do anything."

The hand pauses. Her face is tilted upwards, so Tony can't see. "Is that so?" she asks softly, so much so that Tony wonders if he was even supposed to hear it.

The secretary clears her throat behind them. Both Tony and Natasha turn to see her sliding visitor's forms across her desk. "If you'll please sign these, Ms Romanoff..."

"Certainly," says Natasha, pulling a pen from her pocket, "thank you."

The whole process takes several minutes; by the time she's got her visitor's pass, Tony is very late to class. He doesn't mind at all, though. His classes are terribly boring. He gladly takes his time showing Natasha around the school, pointing out the cafetorium and library, the four two-story buildings he has class in, the courtyard, and the schoolyard. She tries to hide her interest but somehow Tony thinks she's never seen a campus like his. It's nice to be able to share more about his life with her... even if he has to deal with a bunch of jerks when she's not looking.

He internally pouts over that for a while - why can't he have a bodyguard in class? Verbal assault is still assault, right? Doesn't that warrant Natasha's assistance.

But finally they've circled the whole school, and Tony has to say his goodbyes. Natasha stands perfectly still while he hugs her, arms at her sides. She's much better at verbal affection, he thinks, despite how little she actually gives. She doesn't really need to, is why. Tony is beginning to hear and understand what she doesn't say.

"Lunch is at 1210," he says into her shirt. "We get to the schoolyard at 1215."

"I'll see you there," she promises. He takes comfort in it.

His class is full of thirteen- to nineteen-year olds. They all either glower or ignore him as he tiptoes into the classroom, Natasha closing the door behind him. The teacher gives him a disdainful once-oved before returning to his list on the blackboard.

More congruency theorems, Tony notes with an internal groan. Again. He may die.

The hours before lunch pass surprisingly quickly, considering how much he's looking forward to it. The moment the bell rings he hops out of his chair and darts out the door. Nobody bothers him as he sprints down the hallway, a rare occurence he's extremely grateful for, but his luck runs out as he comes to a stop on the basketball court.

A few boys from his language arts class are waiting for him. As soon as he sets foot on the court their heads snap up and their bodies tense and Tony knows he's in trouble.

"Hi," he tries. The tallest one snorts.

"Hi, Stark," he returns with a scowl. "What're you doin' on the court?"

"Trying to get to the grass?" Tony suggests, slowly inching his way across the court to escape. The grass is on the other side of the wall - if Natasha's waiting for him there, she won't see him if he stays where he's at now.

The group snickers accordingly. "Try again," someone says. Tony shakes his head.

"Look," he says, biting back the fear, "I have a bodyguard now, and she won't like it if you hurt me, so -"

"She?" one says with a sneer. Tony's mind suddenly conjures up a memory/dream/image of Howard grabbing at his throat, screaming about needing women to protect him and he flinches. "You're letting a girl protect you-?"

"I don't see a bodyguard now," says the leader, exaggerating a look around the court. "But let's just play it safe and skip the parts where we call you a cheating piece of shit, little Stark, and get to the fun part." He eyes Tony's cast like a starving dog would stare at a particularly juicy piece of meat.

Tony sets off at a dead run.

Laughter follows, cries of, "where you goin', little Stark?" and, "someone grab him!" on his heel and he doesn't get far before someone yanks on his backpack. His body jerks backwards with the action and his feet go out from under him.

"Just - let me go," he yells, kicking and trying to shed the bag as he's dragged back to the group. They only laugh louder at his struggles, pulling harder and all he can think of is rough rope digging into his wrists, follow me, Stark, call your father or I'll shoot Stark, do you want to go for a swim kid? and he doesn't realize they're attacking him until the first punch lands, right on a particularly dark bruise and he cries out, curling into an instinctive ball while the memories drag him under.

Punches and kicks and guns to the head and

"Tony."

buckets of water and wires and knives

"Tony."

rope and handcuffs and hands, grabbing at his face and his arms and

"Tony!"

there's a brutal snap and he screams with it

"Tony!"

He jumps.

Natasha's got him in a bruising grip, sort of a hug but mostly a show of strength, of support, of presence. "Tony," she intones, and he heaves with another sob. "Tony, you need to breathe. Can you do that? Do what I do, okay?"

He manages a nod, staring into her face, the tightness around her eyes and the shape of her mouth as she forms words and he listens. He does what she does. He calms.

"C'mere," she murmurs, pulling him into a hug. They sit there for a long time, all alone on the basketball court as he cries quietly into her shoulder.

"I think," she says after a while, "we should go home."