Chapter Text
Clint could tell that the pretty blonde in a red polka-dot dress was in trouble. She was sunburned, sweating, and had that desperate look in her eyes he’d seen too often. He would probably look the same if he had screaming twin two-year olds refusing to climb into their purple flying elephant.
Although he'd already been relieved of duty, he stepped back into the ride area and crouched down to eye-level with the kids. He gave them his best smile. "Hey, now! Miss Ellie the Princess Elephant wants to take you flying. Do you want to fly with her?"
The little boy and girl cried louder. Their faces were dangerously red, and it was almost a hundred degrees on this Orlando afternoon. He didn't blame them at all for not wanting to go on a giant spinning ride under the sun's full blast.
"We just waited in line for forty minutes," the mom said, her voice clogged and tears beginning to well. Around them, two dozen other riders had already mounted their vehicles and were shifting impatiently. The ride music, which Clint had to listen to for eight hours at a stretch, was absurdly loud and grating.
The girl started crying harder, and the boy kicked Ellie the Princess Elephant. Clint wished he could magically transport himself to one of the nice air-conditioned bars by the lake, drinking something cold and refreshing.
Instead he stood up and focused on the mom. "How about we all take a break in the theater, and I'll get you a return pass for later on? Front of the line privilege."
Mom hesitated, then nodded. Clint escorted them out of the ride area, through the crowds and to the back door of the theater. Inside all was cool and dim, and through the wall came the sounds of the animated film that played in steady rotation. He radioed Natasha, who brought some ice cream treats over from the gift store she managed. Ten seconds of her charm had the kids smiling through tears and the mom looking one hundred percent better.
"Thank you for helping," she said as Clint loaded a return pass on her guest bracelet. "This is our first trip since--well, since their dad died. In the army."
"I'm very sorry," Clint said sincerely. "You deserve a lot more than a pass."
Something in his tone maybe gave him away, because she looked at him in a way that suggested she was looking for his military haircut or an army tattoo.
"How about we sneak in the back and watch the movie?" Natasha suggested with a conspiratorial wink. It never took much to get Natasha to bend a rule or two, but park management loved her for the compliments visitors gave and the consistent profit she turned. As she ushered the little party inside she turned and gave Clint a stern look.
"You look like crap,” she said, “You haven't taken a day off in two weeks.”
"I'm going to," he said, raising his hands in surrender. "Still trying to get the truck fixed."
"The truck." Natasha rolled her eyes. "We'll talk about that heap of rust later."
Clint grinned and ducked back out into the park's glare, noise and heat. Truth be told, he really could use a day off. The headache that had followed him since breakfast was beginning to pulse behind his right eye, and if he didn't eat a real meal soon he was going to throw up on a customer. But bills didn’t pay themselves, and living paycheck to paycheck was a trap he didn’t see himself escaping anytime soon.
He edged past the crowds into Natasha's gift store, slipped past Darcy cheerfully ringing up a purchase, and badged his way past the door to the employee stairs and tunnel. Down below the park it was overall quieter, but constantly humming with the noise of ventilation systems, sewer and waste pipes, and electrical utilities. The wide tunnel lit by industrial fluorescent tubes led past employee break areas, costume return counters, security offices, a first aid office, and storage rooms. Employees came and went through secret entrances, on their way to clean or serve food or entertain kids. Clint stepped aside to let a golf cart pass, gave a nod to Cinderella and Snow White, and then ducked into his assigned locker room to change out of his sweat-stained khaki shorts and soaked polo shirt.
A half hour later he was on the employee bus as it glided past expensive resorts of glass and greenery. The very rich visitors there often spent more money in a day than he made in a year. Usually Clint rode all the way to the employee parking lot, but with his truck in the garage--and it was no heap of rust, despite Nat's opinion--he had to take a poorly ventilated city bus for another half hour and walk the last mile to the run-down apartment complex in Kissimmee he currently called home.
Trudging past grungy gas stations, cheap fast food outlets and a ridiculous number of knock-off gift shops, he tried hard to focus on one foot after the other. By the time he climbed the stairs to the second floor, his headache was a full throttle assault and his spirits depressingly low. The dark apartment was quiet and almost cool, but the air conditioning was never very good and today it was straining under the outdoor inferno. In the bathroom he fumbled aspirin out of the cabinet and cupped water into his mouth until the pill was down and dizziness passed.
Tony wandered by, ears plugged by buds and fingers tapping on his laptop. He stopped and scowled at Clint. "Why didn't you call, idiot?"
"Last time I woke you up, you yelled for an hour," Clint pointed out.
"I forgave you eventually. Did you bring any food?"
"You know how to order delivery."
"Yeah, but I like it when other people do it for me."
Clint maneuvered around Tony to the kitchen. No one had done the dishes lately, which didn't surprise him. The garbage bin needed to be emptied. Clint opened the refrigerator with a small measure of hope, but the contents consisted mostly of old condiments, a wilted salad, and a box of pizza that was older than Clint's last paycheck.
The light from the refrigerator striped its way onto the sofa, where a lump under the blankets moved. Bruce emerged, looking tired and tousled.
"Did you bring any food?" he asked hopefully.
Clint tended to forgive Bruce's absent-minded approach to meals more easily than he did Tony’s, if only because Bruce was dedicated to improving mankind by getting his PhD and Tony's main ambition was to hack the Pentagon, or maybe the Kremlin, or probably both.
"I think it's cheap noodle night again," Clint said, and tried not to be too disappointed.
Tony snagged a beer from the vegetable bin. "I vote no on cheap noodles."
"I vote we have nothing else," Clint said wearily.
"I second that vote," Bruce added.
Footsteps pounded up the staircase and their door swung open under the hand of Thor, their fourth roommate. Although he too had just come off a long shift at one of the parks, he looked as impressively handsome as usual. Clint usually tried not to notice just how big Thor's muscles were under his tight t-shirts, but right now it was impossible to ignore the large paper bags in his hands.
"I’m starving!" Thor said. "Anyone want Chinese food?"
Bruce pulled himself up off the sofa so quickly he nearly tripped, but Tony at least managed to place his laptop safely on the counter.
"Our hero," Tony said, snatching the bags from Thor’s arms. "We love you. I hereby declare tonight movie night."
"You declare every night movie night," Bruce said.
"And yet you all find reasons not to participate," Tony said, but he didn't actually sound like he minded. He and Bruce had known each other since they were undergraduates at the University of Central Florida. Tony's matriculation had ended rather abruptly--Bruce said most students didn't get their own escort out of the campus computer labs--and the two of them had picked up Thor along the way in their online quest for cheap housing. Clint was the outsider that had answered an ad and was trying hard not to inconvenience them into asking him to leave.
His last roommates had been pretty clear that the midnight screaming was a deal-breaker, and Clint couldn't really blame them.
"No movie night," Clint said, clearing junk from the table so they could all sit down. "Eat, shower, bed. That's my plan."
"It's only five o'clock!" Tony squinted at the wall clock and then the blackout curtains that blocked out their view of the parking lot. "Is it morning or night?"
Clint was too busy eating to answer. He was working on his fourth spring roll and a large carton of vegetable foo yung when his cell phone rang. Every fibre of his being told him to ignore it, but Steve was his only friend left from the army and he owed him big-time for getting him this job.
"Feel free to say no," Steve said, his voice tight in a way Clint rarely heard, "but I'm short-staffed and we've got extended hours tonight. Can you come back for the late shift? I promise, I'll get you something inside. And overtime."
Clint closed his eyes. Just the thought of getting back on the city bus and the employee bus and back into the park made him want to bash his head against the wall and go to the emergency room instead.
Then again, he hadn't hiked across deserts and up mountains just to say no now to a few more hours of work in an amusement park, even if it was the largest park on the planet.
Plus, overtime would really help his bank account.
"Bucky's coming in, too," Steve said into Clint's silence. "He can give you a ride. He's fifteen minutes away from you."
"Okay," Clint said. Fifteen minutes would give him enough time to finish his food and take more aspirin before Steve's moody husband showed up. Maybe even take a micro nap, because any sleep was better than none. "Count me in.”
“I knew I could,” Steve said gratefully, and Clint put his head down on the table. It was going to be a long, long night.
end of part 1