I am sorry for the late update. God knows how much I wanted to update but due to some distraction plus a fever and cold, it kind of stalled me a bit.

Bruce; She doesn't own us, though she wishes so. She only own her imagination. I apologise, for her behalf for any spelling or grammar mistakes. She's trying to improve herself. Enjoy your read.

Chapter 9- Lies

Bruce dabbed the blood on his lower lip with a wet cloth. He looked at the mirror. Even if he makes the blood disappear, there was still a purple bruise on his cheek and a scratch over his eyebrow. Sighing, he continued wiping the dried blood. What should he answer if his friends asked? Oh, nothing, just my alcoholic father decided to lash out his anger at me. Even in his mind, the answer sounded downright heartless and sarcastic.

Last night was another episode in the Banners' household. Bruce's father came home in a drunken haze and started to make a punching bag out of Mrs. Banner. Bruce who was in his room, selfishly studying and trying to ignore the yelling and noise from the living room –under his mom's order, cannot take it any longer. So, he stepped in to protect his mom and took the physical abuse from his father.

That was the first time he took his mom's place.

His mom never wanted him to be the target, so every time his father was home, she would ushered him to his room, and tell him to ignore every noise from outside. Once or twice, he would sneak a peek to the living room, just to witness his mom defenseless and weak, taking in every blow his father gave.

But last night, he couldn't take it. So he stepped in. And his father kept on kicking and punching, each blow with curses and mocking words. Bruce never fought back. He was afraid if he fought back, he would hurt his father more than he could hurt him. If there is something years of anger and fear could do when it was released, it was causing more damage than it had consumed.

Dabbing his lip one more time, Bruce grabbed his messenger bag and school's sneakers. In the kitchen, his mother was setting out the table for breakfast. His father was nowhere in sight. Bruce took a seat at the table, and set his messenger bag down next to his chair.

"You need a plaster for that?" Mrs. Banner asked, gesturing her thumb toward the scratch over Bruce's eyebrow. Her voice was shaky.

"It's okay, Mom," Bruce answered, munching on his scrambled eggs. Honestly, he didn't have much appetite, but his stomach was growling. "Just a scratch."

Mrs. Banner combed her son's hair with her frail fingers fondly. "I will give you a balm for the bruise. I already packed your lunch."

Bruce smiled. "Thanks, Mom."

He gave his mom a kiss on her cheek and shouldered his messenger bag. The balm and his lunch, handed by his mom, tucked in safely in his bag. He hated leaving his mom alone. His father always went home at unexpected time, and God knows what happens if Bruce wasn't home. Luckily, Mrs. Banner just got a job at the nearby diner, so she wasn't home until evening. And she reckoned Bruce to stay with her at the diner unless he had another program, because she didn't want to leave her son alone with her husband.

"Be good, Robert," his mom hugged him tightly. "I love you."

Bruce let a small smile escaped his lips. Only his mom was allowed to call him Robert, his first name. "Bye Mom. Be careful. I love you too."

He walked out of their small apartment and unlocked his bike. As he climbed on his bike, he saw his mom sat near the window of their apartment, watching him go. He gave his mother a tiny wave and began cycling. Be good. His mom had told him. His kind mom, only wanted the good for her only son. Be careful. He had told her in exchange, because he wanted his mom to be safe. She is the best part of his life, other than his friends.

He pedaled his way to SHIELD Prep, ignoring the pain that stabbed through his arm and leg. His abdomen was terribly bruised and it was quite hard to ignore. He racked his brain to make up an excuse to reason with his friends, but found none. Oh well, let's see what happen later.

"Oh my God, Bruce! What happened to you?" Pepper asked as he met her at SHIELD Prep's front building. Her fingers softly touched his bruise, with a worry that equal to a little sister's. "Are you okay?"

Bruce shrugged. "I'm fine. I just…got held up by a couple of thugs yesterday on my way back home. They took my money, otherwise I'm fine."

"You need to learn how to protect yourself," Pepper clucked her tongue. "And use a safer shortcut on your way."

"I'm okay, Pepper," Bruce assured her. He opened the door for her as they entered the building. "Where's Tony?"

Pepper nodded her thanks to Bruce. "He said, if he's bored sitting around the tower, he will come on this Thursday. His medical leave covers until next week."

"How was he?" Bruce asked. "You met him after he got discharged?"

Pepper nodded. "Monday. He came to my house, and my parents invited him to stay for dinner. He's okay."

"Still complaining about the car battery?"

Pepper cleared her throat. "Kind of."

And Bruce noticed a hint of blush on Pepper's cheeks. He got a feeling he wasn't the only one who was hiding things.

"Mr. Odinson?"

Loki elevated his head, meeting Mr. Coulson, SHIELD Prep's therapist/guidance counselor. Mr. Odinson, he had called Loki. Is that name even suited me? Loki wondered. He isn't an Odinson. He never was. He is not an Odinson, anymore than Mr. Coulson. Sighing, he laced his slender fingers under his chin and looked Mr. Coulson in the eyes coldly. Mr. Coulson flinched, clearly not a reaction he expected from an almost seventeen year-old boy.

"Yes sir?" Loki finally said.

Mr. Coulson sighed. "Do you know why you spend your first period here, instead of going to your English class?"

"Apparently, it is Thor's parents wish, is it not?" Loki asked. His words enunciated very carefully in his thick British accent. "And if they were so adamant to have me in here, surely you know why I am here."

"Mr. Odinson…"

"Stop," Loki held up a finger. The coldness in his voice made Mr. Coulson fluster. "I do not wish to be called Mr. Odinson. I have a name, my own name."

Mr. Coulson cleared his throat. "So Loki, I can't pretend that I don't know why you are here. But I want to hear the story from your side."

"What is the use?"

"Maybe it would explain your behavior. Your discipline record shows that from a petty prank, you have escalated to a couple acts of vandalism," Mr. Coulson riffled through the file in his hand. "I studied Psychology, Loki. I know there's trigger in everyone's sudden erratic action."

Loki smirked. "Enlighten me, then."

Mr. Coulson cleared his throat. "According to your record, your acts of vandalism started last year, around the time when you found out you was," –cough- "em…"

"You know, Mr. Coulson, you can say adopted without spontaneously combust."

"I'm aware. I'm just not sure what the word will do to you," Mr. Coulson raised an eyebrow.

Loki adjusted his seat, seeking comfort. "Wouldn't you like to try?"

"You found out you were adopted, after all these years," Mr. Coulson said. "I'm sure it left a mark."

"It doesn't. The news just provides me with a new knowledge," Loki said, quite confidently. His eyes wandered to the eagle plushie on Mr. Coulson's desk. Liar, the eagle seemed to say. Loki lied.

Mr. Coulson leaned forward. "Knowledge?"

"Information," Loki shrugged.

"How does it feel to have Thor as your big brother?"

Again, Loki shrugged. "How does it suppose to feel?"

"I don't know; he's a smart student. A popular student, kind, excellent sportsman," Mr. Coulson said, his eyes scrutinizing every inch of Loki's reaction. "How does it feel, overshadowed by him?"

"I could live with it," Loki answered, a little too quickly. Lie, you could never live under Thor's great shadow, never.

"Have you ever feel…neglected by your adoptive parents?"

Mr. Coulson had put an extra emphasis on the word adoptive. Loki flinched mentally.

Have you ever feel neglected by your adoptive parents?

Luckily, the bell rang, indicated the second period had started and the end of their session.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Coulson, your question will have to wait," Loki stood up, straightening his vest. "Until, I believe, there is a next session."

Mr. Coulson nodded. "Next Wednesday."

We need to talk –NR

Four little words that made Clint slightly shudder as he read Natasha's text early in the morning. Of course she would be asking about the kiss. They hadn't talk for more than a week, and the silence was eating on Clint as much as it was eating on her. Maybe worse. He sighed. He won't be seeing Natasha until lunch, and until then, he had quite a time to think what he should say. More like what should I lie, he scoffed.

Lying to Natasha was never easy. One look at your face and she knew you were lying. He made point to stay alert and stay away from the hallway Natasha always used. He was on his way to his third period class; AP Statistics –alone, because it was the one of the class he had alone and his friends tend to walk with Natasha.

He bowed his head the entire way to the class, avoiding the familiar green-blue eyes and red hair. That is, until he saw Natasha stood in front of him. Natasha, in the standard SHIELD Prep's uniform, hair tied neatly in a ponytail with a cold look in her eyes.

"Hello, Clint," Natasha greeted.

Clint straightened his posture, completely flustered. "Uh, hi. I've got to go –class."

"Who cares? It's not like you pay attention," Natasha fired. "We – need – to -talk."

She pulled him aside and dragged him toward the janitor closet nearby. Clint's heartbeat began to increase.

"Nat, this might not be a good id-,"

"Shut up," Natasha demanded coldly, her posture rigid. But after a few moments, her shoulders slumped and she looked completely miserable. "I haven't talk to you for more than a week. I miss you, I miss my best friend."

Clint was taken aback for a moment. "Well, I miss you, too."

"Then, why?"

"Why, what?"

Natasha glared at him. "Why didn't you talk to me?"

"I freaked out. I don't know what I should do, where all of this is going –"

Natasha held a finger. "Clint is this about the kiss, you should freak out."

"The hell I am. The kiss was heat of the moment, I was too happy, and it was disgustingly impulsive," the words rolled out Clint's mouth, panic.

"That's it? Heat of the moment?"

Clint waved his arms exasperatedly. "You think it was easy? It might be heat of the moment but you gave me a silent treatment, and I wonder what I had done wrong. And now, it's clear it was wrong."

"Clint, next time please say something. I can't help but over-think the situation," Natasha said. "You're my best friend, Clint. You know how I dealt with my feelings."

Of course he knew. Natasha wouldn't be known as the Black Widow if she hadn't deal with her feelings the way she did. She is highly capable of hiding her feelings, control her emotions and put on her expressionless mask. She wasn't just capable of looking ruthless, but being ruthless, too, hence the Black Widow nickname. Her reason is feelings always interjects with logic and more often than not, heart won, though the beneficial solution from our heads is obvious. Given the rarity 'using' her feelings and the sudden kiss from Clint, it probably gave roller coaster in her mind.

"I know, and I am sorry, if it gave you – you know, thoughts."

Natasha smiled, a little. "You are my best friend, Clint. I don't want to lose you. And I am sorry for giving you the silent treatment."

You are my best friend.

His heart fell a little. "I don't wanna lose you too. You're my best friend."

She gave him a soft punch to his shoulder, smirking. "Now, go to your class. You're late already."

Natasha bid him goodbye, and walked out of the janitor's room. Each click of her heels caused an inexplicable pain in his heart.

I told her I was sorry.

I explained to her why I kissed her, even though it was quite lame.

But I hadn't told her what I feel about her.

How could I? She said it herself; I am just her best friend.

Clint sighed, it was probably better to hide in the greenhouse.

"See, when a girl decides that you're her friend, you're no longer a dating option. You become this complete non-sexual entity in her eyes, like her brother, or a lamp."

Tony had said, quoting one of the romantic-comedy movie Pepper had forced him to watch with her.

Clint didn't want to be a lamp.

Her confrontation with Clint had gone…well. He'd speak to her again, so everything was fine.

But the truth was, nothing was well. Clint was holding back -she'd read it from his expression- but her judgment could be clouded. It could be guilt on his face. Leaving the janitor closet had made her more miserable than ever.

She expected a confession; they could be having a mutual feeling.

She expected a careless, hurtful, ignorant dismissive excuse.

She hadn't expected him to look guilty.

She hadn't expected him to look as nervous as her.

She hadn't expected him to be completely passive.

She hadn't expected him to think what he'd done.

"Natasha?" Pepper nudged her. "You okay? You seem distracted."

Natasha slowed down her pace to match Pepper's polite pace. "I am fine."

"How are you and Clint?" Pepper asked out of the blue. "I don't mean to pry, but I noticed you guys hadn't talked much last week."

"It's okay, we are good now," Natasha smiled. They were greeted by the sunlight as they stepped out to the courtyard for lunch. "We had a misunderstanding, but it's all good now."

"Oh, that's nice."

Nice?

For more than a week, she had isolated herself from Clint, trying to understand her own feelings. And when she confronted him, hoping that she could somehow admit it, he was distant and ridden by guilt.

"I don't wanna lose you too. You're my best friend."

It sounded so final, coming from his mouth.

They were just best friend, and there wasn't more.

"I'm in love you, you just want to be friends, and I'm totally cool living with that constant pain."

Bruce; "I hope you guys like this chapter. I am working on the next chapter, and I'm trying to update ASAP. Have a nice day. -N"

Tony; And don't forget, she's open to your ideas.

Steve; And she apologise for any mistakes.

Tony; Whoa, Loki went to see Coulson, huh? School's therapist. Way to make a grand entrance. And the best part pasrt is he can't complain, cause he asked for it. HaHA. I wonder what makes the guy so worked up.

Steve: That's story for another time :)

Enjoy your day, people !