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Clint Barton was walking home from the bus stop with his older brother Barney one September day when he noticed the new next-door neighbor girl sitting outside with a small pocket knife and a stick. Well, the neighbors weren't new, but the girl was. In fact, the girl was so new that she'd just been introduced to the first grade class across the hall from Clint's own second grade classroom. Clint hadn't heard her name, but her curly red hair stuck out in a crowd.
"Hurry up Clint, I want to play Battlefield." Barney called, looking over his shoulder at Clint. Barney was in fourth grade. "And quit staring at the neighbor kid you creep."
"Shut up Barney." Clint mumbled, jogging to catch up to his brother. Clint looked back at the girl sitting on the front porch one last time before following Barney into the house.
After dinner Clint ran out to the backyard to practice with his throwing knives before it got dark. Uncle Fisher had gotten them for Clint for his 8th birthday. The girl was sitting out in the backyard now, holding one hand curled against her stomach. Clint climbed up to lean over the fence.
"Hi, I'm Clint," he shouted over the fence. The girl jumped and looked up at him in alarm for a moment before standing and walking over to the fence. In a moment she had climbed up the other side and was staring Clint in the face.
"My name is Natasha." She replied after looking over her shoulder. The girl had a very thick accent and spoke slowly, like she needed to think of every word very carefully.
"Why does your voice sound like that? Are you from another country?" Clint asked.
"I am from Russia."
"What's a Russia?" Clint asked. Natasha just stared at Clint in deadpan disbelief until he asked another question. "What happened to your hand?"
"I drop glass and cut self when I pick it up." Natasha said, looking over her shoulder at the window again. "I must go now. Goodbye Clint."
Natasha dropped off the fence and ran back inside as an older man opened the door and called for her. Clint waited until the door closed to drop off the fence, not noticing the suspicious gaze with which the neighbor man regarded him.
"Are you creeping on the neighbor girl again?" Barney asked from the back door. Clint sneered at him.
"No!" Clint said. "Shut up."
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Two weeks later Clint saw Natasha sitting on the swings at recess, by herself. He looked around to make sure that Barney wasn't anywhere nearby to make fun of Clint for talking to "the neighbor girl" at school, before he walked over to her.
"Hey Natasha," Clint said, sitting down on the swing next to her. "What's up?"
"Up? The sky is up." Natasha said, looking confused. Clint laughed.
"That's not what I meant. Is your hand better?" Clint asked. Natasha held up her hand, which was free of gauze and criss-crossed with little scabs and lines of pink skin.
"All better." Natasha said, smiling a little. Clint grinned back.
"I bet I can swing higher than you!" Clint said, pushing himself off. Natasha pushed off too.
"No, I will swing higher."
In the end, it was a tie. They both swung high enough that they flew off the swings and landed on the ground in a tangle of limbs. Clint landed on his palms and knees, while Natasha toppled right over him, catching one palm, and her back and calves on the wood chips, her curls picking up twigs as well.
While they waited for the nurse to pick out all the splinters and clean them up, Clint and Natasha talked about superheros. The conversation ended up being mostly a comparison between the American superheroes that Clint knew and the Russian ones that Natasha was familiar with.
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After the fateful swing competition, Natasha and Clint began to spend more time together. Their bedroom windows were across from each other and there was a large tree in the middle. They would talk at night and sometimes Natasha would come over after school and throw knives with Clint.
Then one night when Clint came up to his room to get into bed, Natasha was sitting on the tree branch just outside his window.
"What are you doing out there Natasha?" Clint asked, opening the window.
"I can come in?" Natasha asked, and Clint pried up the screen.
"Did you climb across from your window?" Clint asked, looking down to the ground before hastily shutting the window. Natasha was standing awkwardly in the middle of Clint's room, crossing her arms across her chest.
"Yes." Natasha let her arms drop to her sides. There were some long skinny bruises around her upper arms that were just starting to darken. "Can I see your superheros?"
"Yeah." Clint said, going over to his closet and pulling out the box of comics. "Which ones do you want to look at first?"
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Clint's family was no longer surprised when Natasha would come downstairs for breakfast some mornings. There had been discussions of using doors instead of windows, but that didn't work. And the one time Mrs. Barton asked Natasha if her father knew that she was over here, the girl had replied with "Ivan is not father. Is away on business today."
Today was different. Today when Natasha followed Clint downstairs wearing an old set of his pajamas, there was something a little surprising about her.
"Natasha, sweetie, what happened to your face?" Mrs. Barton asked, crouching down so she could see better. Natasha's cheek was mottled black and blue, with a nasty cut just over her cheekbone.
"I ran into dresser. Was accident." Natasha said, turning her face away from Mrs. Barton's concerned gaze. "Does not hurt badly."
"Well let me put some ointment on that cut so it doesn't get infected." Mrs. Barton said, grabbing the first aid kit from the top of the refrigerator. Natasha clambered up to sit on the table. Once the ointment was applied, Mrs. Barton left the kids to eat their breakfast and headed upstairs to talk to her husband.
"Harold dear, Natasha is here." Matilda said.
"Okay." Harold said, tying his tie.
"I'm worried about her. She has this awful cut on her cheek. She say she got it running into a dresser."
"So, she's a tough little girl. She's always running around."
"But think about it. She's forever climbing from her window to Clint's, which is quite a feat, and then she runs into a dresser?" Matilda insisted.
"You think that Ivan's hitting her?" Harold asked, turning around to look at his wife.
"I don't know. It's beginning to seem like a possibility, but I don't want to accuse him of something so serious without being absolutely sure."
"Well, why don't you talk to Natasha about it? She's usually quite frank with us about everything."
"I'll try that." Matilda sighed. "I really hope that she's okay at home."
"I hope so too." Harold said before kissing Matilda on the cheek. "Now I have to get to work. See you this evening honey."
Matilda followed Harold to the door and waved goodbye before shooing Barney and Clint upstairs to get changed. Natasha stayed sitting at the kitchen table, pushing bits of toast and scrambled eggs around her plate with a fork.
"Natasha?" Matilda asked softly, sitting in the chair next to the girl. "How does your cheek feel? You must have run into the dresser pretty hard to hurt it that badly."
Natasha looked up at Mrs. Barton, before turning back to her food. The silence dragged on for a bit.
"Did you tell Ivan that your were coming over?"
"No. Ivan is on business trip. Will be back at end of week."
"So you're staying alone?" Natasha nodded. "Would you like to stay here for the week then? It would make me feel better if you had an adult around."
"I cannot. Ivan will not be happy if house is empty or messy when he gets back." Natasha said. Mrs. Barton sighed.
"Well, if you need an adult or any help with anything, please come over and let me or my husband or Clint or Barney know."
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It was the second week of winter break. The ground was covered in ice and snow and children of all ages were outside, playing in the glorious winter wonderland. Clint and Barney were engaged in a furious snowball fight in their front yard, which meant that they were not at all aware of their surroundings or the comings and goings of neighbors.
"Boys!" It's time to come in now." Mrs. Barton yelled. She had had to call them four times until they noticed that the call had come from their own house. Clint launched one more snowball at Barney before sprinting toward the porch, a parentally-enforced no-man's-land. Barney followed quickly, trying to catch his younger brother and push him into a snowdrift.
The boys were still shedding layers inside when there was a tentative knock on the door. Mrs. Barton shooed the boys out of the way and opened the door.
Natasha was standing on the porch in a t-shirt and pants with no shoes on. She was holding her right arm close to her chest and crying. Clint had never seen Natasha cry. Not when she fell from the tree between their windows or when she cut her hand carving her name into Clint's windowsill or the time they flown off the swings and landed in the wood chips or anything.
"What happened, Natasha?" Mrs. Barton asked, ushering the shivering, sobbing girl inside. "Clint, go grab an extra blanket from the closet. Barney go make everyone some hot chocolate."
Mrs. Barton got Natasha to sit on the couch and calm down enough to talk. She was still shivering from cold, but Natasha had stopped crying.
"What happened? Are you hurt?"
"I fell down the stairs and hurt my arm. Ivan is gone to work." Natasha said, sniffling a little. Clint handed his mom the blanket and sat down on the couch next to Natasha.
"Can I see your arm?" Mrs. Barton asked. Natasha unwrapped her uninjured arm from around herself and shakily held out her right arm. It was very obviously broken.
"That is so wrong." Barney said, setting the tray of mugs on the coffee table.
"Thank you Barnaby." Mrs. Barton said sarcastically. Barney had enough sense to look the tiniest bit ashamed. "Clint, you and Barney need to go get your shoes and coats on, and grab a book or something, including something for Natasha. Now."
Clint and Barney scurried off. Mrs. Barton had Natasha get up and sit on one of the kitchen chairs while she filled a bag with ice and wrapped it in a clean kitchen towel.
"Now I know that this won't feel nice with how cold it is outside, but I need you to hold this on your arm and try not to move too much." Mrs. Barton made sure Natasha was okay to sit for a moment before grabbing her own coat and car keys. Clint and Barney returned from their rooms and started putting coats and shoes on. Mrs. Barton picked Natasha up and carried her to the car so she wouldn't have to walk through the snow.
There wasn't a very long wait at the emergency room and Mrs. Barton gave Clint and Barney very specific instructions not to move before going in to speak with the doctors.
"Is Natasha related to you?"
"No, she's our next-door neighbor. He adoptive- well, the man who takes care of her, Ivan Petrovich, was gone, and Natasha spends a lot of time at our house. She came over to our house holding her arm and told us that she fell down the stairs and hurt it. I saw it was broken and brought her here."
"You said that she told you she fell down the stairs?" Mrs. Barton nodded. "Do you think that's what happened?"
"I don't. She is a very energetic child and she does play very rough, but she's come over before with some pretty bad injuries that don't make sense. I hadn't wanted to say anything before because I just wasn't sure.
"Ivan is gone a lot, he once left Natasha on her own for a week, and I think he may be abusing her."
"Thank you for telling me. The x-rays didn't seem to match up to a fall. We'll be contacting Child and Family Services, if you could leave us your information, they'll want to speak with you."
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A couple of days after Natasha's visit to the emergency room she was slumped on the couch in Clint's living room with her right arm in a cast, supported by a stack of pillows while she watched superhero cartoons with Clint and Barney. Ivan had been arrested and was awaiting trial while Natasha was awaiting placement in yet another foster home.
There was a knock at the door and all three kids turned to look as Mrs. Barton opened the door. Clint saw who was visiting and vaulted over the back of the couch to say hi.
"Hello Clint." Fury said, ruffling the boy's hair. "How's your friend doing?"
"We're watching TV!" Clint said. Natasha waved to Fury. Clint had taken her over to see Fury a couple of times so they could throw knives.
"Hello Natasha. How are you feeling?" Fury asked. Natasha waggled her hand in a so-so gesture.
"Well, I hope you feel better soon." Fury said before joining Matilda in the kitchen to talk.
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Clint didn't see Natasha outside of recess until the last day of school before spring break. She hadn't been taking the same bus as Clint either, but that Friday she did. Her arm was still in a splint that she could take on and off to make sure that she didn't re-break it.
"Why are you riding this bus today Nat?" Clint had been granted use of Natasha's nickname during her stay at his house, after the emergency room visit.
"I live here." Natasha replied in a 'no-duh' kind of voice. Her accent was getting less noticeable and her grammar was better after nearly a year learning English at school.
"You haven't lived here in forever." Clint said, still slightly baffled.
"Well now I do again." Natasha said, getting off the bus. Barney and Clint were the only other ones at this stop.
"How?" Clint asked, following Natasha as she walked past his house. Barney yelled at Clint to hurry up. Natasha looked at Clint with a face that practically screamed 'did your brother drop you down a flight of stairs when you were a baby?'.
"I live here now." Natasha said, jerking a thumb at the house on the corner. Clint stared for a moment until Fury waved at him from the porch.
"But how?" Clint demanded. Natasha sighed and grabbed him by the arm and dragged Clint into her new house. Fury explained over milk and cookies that he had adopted Natasha. And that night Clint stayed at Natasha's house for the first time since they had met in September.