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The Laurensons put Clint in a room with a tree outside the window. In his opinion, that's a really stupid thing to do, because if they ground him there's no way they could make him stay in the house when the tree is right there. He hasn't said anything though, because he's not as stupid as they are even though he's only nine, and also because he really likes watching the branches make cool shadows on the ceiling at night. Sometimes when he can't sleep, he puts his hearing aids back in and goes to sit on the window ledge so he can listen to the wind make the leaves whisper to him. It always calms him down.
He's doing that tonight. Not because he can't sleep though, but because he doesn't want to. At dinner, Ben and Monima told him that they're going to pick up another foster kid tomorrow, and he knows what that means. Oh, they said it's because they've always had two kids at once, and he needs someone his own age to play with, but that's not how it works. The new kid won't like Clint, and Ben and Monima will prefer her so they'll get rid of Clint, and he won't see this room again. He's already got most of his things in the backpack hidden under his bed, so that when they tell him they don't want him any more, he can run away before they can pass him on to someone else.
Shivering, Clint drags his blanket tighter around himself and leans his head against the glass, staring up at the stars through the canopy of the tree until his eyes won't stay open any longer and the leaves finally sing him to sleep.
-- -- -- -- --
The next day, Monima and Ben leave straight after breakfast. They wake Clint up like normal but don't tell him off when he refuses to talk to them and doesn't eat breakfast. Normal kids would call that being cut a break. Clint figures it just means they're already fed up with him.
When they're gone, he makes himself the biggest sandwich he can fit in his mouth and then heads outside. There are trees all around the edge of the backyard, pine and apple and birch and a load of others that Clint doesn't know the names of but which have huge leaves and strong branches and are tall enough that he can see the whole of the street when he's at the top. Sometimes he uses them to swing over the fence into the orchard beyond, which is wild and overgrown and doesn't belong to anybody so he never gets shouted at for being there. Mostly he just practices getting to the top of the tall ones as quickly as possible, or tries to make it all the way around the yard without touching the ground. He hasn't managed it yet, there's a gap between the one with red berries and the pine that he's too small to make even if he jumps really far.
Today he picks one that is wider than it is tall and sits over the woodshed; it's got the best view of the driveway and the leaves are so close together that no-one will see him in it. Halfway up he settles between two big branches that could hold him forever, eats his sandwich and waits.
-- -- -- -- --
A few hours later, Clint watches them come back, eyes following their car from the top of the street until it turns into the driveway below and the engine cuts out. He keeps his eyes on the back of the car, because he's always been able to tell a lot about people by watching them and he doesn't want to miss the first look at her. If he's going to try and make her leave – which he is, because like Barney said, “You're a stubborn shit, always fighting when you should cut and run” - then he needs every bit of information he can get so he can plan his attack.
The girl who steps out of the car when Monima opens the door is not what Clint is expecting. For a start she's as tall as he is, even though he knows she's only seven, and she's got the brightest red hair he's ever seen. It looks like fire dancing around her head, and for a moment he's so distracted by it that he forgets to pay attention to her face. When he manages to look away from it, he's surprised again. She doesn't look angry or scared or sulky like he thought she would; she almost looks like a grown-up instead, which is really annoying because they're not scared off by the same tricks as kids are.
Clint frowns and crosses his arms, half-listening and half lip-reading as Ben says “We have another foster child, Clint, but we'll introduce you to him later when he's ready. He'll be around here somewhere but I can never find him.”
“Of course,” the girl says with a polite nod of her head. She turns to look at the garden and Clint sticks his tongue out at her because, hah, he's up here and she's looking completely the wrong way. Then she turns around and looks up at where he's sat. Clint knows she can't see him but he freezes anyway with his tongue stuck out and half-way through breathing in, until she looks away and lets herself be lead inside.
“Stupid girl,” Clint mutters, which is really hard to say with your tongue still out and makes spit spray all over his front. He glares as he wipes it off, and decides he definitely doesn't like her very much.
-- -- -- -- --
His plan is to try to scare her off anyway, because that's the only thing he knows how to do. He figures if he pretends that Ben and Monima like him, she won't know any different because she hasn't been here long enough, and he might be able to convince her that they won't listen to her if she tells on him. It'd work better if he had his bow and arrows, but he lost those ages ago so he'll have to settle for hiding outside the back door and jumping at her when she comes out (which he knows she will because Monima will send her out before lunch so she's not in the way while it's being cooked).
So he sneaks down from the tree and creeps around the side of the house, where he lies in wait for half an hour before he hears the clatter of pans from the kitchen. Then he rolls his sleeves up, clenches his fists, puts on his best scary face, and when the girl opens the back door and steps out, Clint leaps right in front of her.
Then his plan fails, because instead of running away from him, she looks as scary as he's trying to be and punches him in the nose.
Two minutes later, alerted by the shouts and scuffles in the yard, Ben and Monima rush out to find Natasha and Clint rolling around on the grass kicking at each other and pulling each others hair.
“They could have waited until after lunch,” Ben sighs, before they wade in to separate the tiny but strong bodies from each other. Clint and Natasha glare at each other as they mumble the apologies Ben and Monima insist on, and then spend the rest of the day avoiding each other like the plague.
At the end of the day, after Clint and Natasha have finally gone to bed, Ben and Monima sit outside while the sun sets.
“Those two are going to be difficult,” Ben predicts.
“Yes,” Monima replies. “But not in the way you think. Their problems will be with the world, not with each other.”
Ben chuckles. “Did you see something today that I didn't? Because to me they looked pretty determined to beat on each other.”
With a smile, Monima tells him, “And now they have done that, they both know something about the other that they did not know this morning. A fight is not always just a fight. Today they are enemies, so that tomorrow they can be friends.”
-- -- -- -- --
Clint is up early the next morning and has breakfast with Ben, who cooks him pancakes, lets him pour way too much syrup on them, and seems to have forgotten about yesterday. Monima and the girl aren't around, so Clint makes the most of sitting quietly with Ben for a bit before Ben heads downstairs to work on the chairs and tables and things like he always does at the weekend. Clint takes a juicebox from the fridge and goes outside to sit underneath the willow, whose drooping branches let him see out and stop other people from seeing in so easily.
They don't stop the girl from finding him when she and Monima come back though. She stands at the other end of the garden and looks around again, before her gaze settles on the willow and she walks towards him. Clint stands up and goes to stand just behind the branches, just in case she tries to come in. She doesn't try though, and she doesn't look like a grown-up today either. She looks a little bit guilty instead, which doesn't stop Clint from folding his arms across his chest and saying “Go away. This is my tree.”
“I don't want your tree,” she tells him. “I wanted to say I'm sorry.”
“You did that yesterday,” Clint says, confused but trying not to show it.
“I didn't mean it yesterday. Today I do. I hurt your nose and I got you into trouble, so I'm sorry.”
Suspciously, Clint asks, “Are you being nice to me so I'll let you have Ben and Monima?”
The girl smiles at that and looks like she's worked something out. “I think we're supposed to share them,” she tells him.
“I don't want to share,” he mutters. “Sharing never works out well.”
“We'll make it work,” she says, like it's that easy, and then seems to decide that's the end of the conversation because she turns and walks away.
“That's not how it works,” Clint calls after her, even though he's got this feeling deep down that she might know what she's talking about, and she looks like the type of person who makes things go her way. “Hey,” he shouts before she can go inside. She stops and turns around, and Clint darts out from under the willow to run half-way after her. “What's your name?” he asks.
“Natasha,” she replies.
“OK,” he says, and then feels stupid because he doesn't know what to say next. “I'm Clint,” he offers, and feels even more of an idiot when he remembers that she already knows.
She doesn't take the mickey or anything though, just says, “It's nice to meet you, Clint,” which must be a lie because so far he's hit her and told her to go away and hasn't been nice to her at all. She doesn't look like it's a lie though, so Clint mumbles the same back to her and then darts back under the willow until she's gone inside.
-- -- -- -- --
Sunday is too hot to climb anything, so Clint sits at the end of the garden beneath the pine tree and throws early pine cones into the plant pots that Monima has placed beneath the shade of the trees. It's pretty boring, so when Natasha comes outside, he throws a pine cone at her as well to get her attention. He still doesn't like her but she hasn't done anything to make Ben and Monima get rid of him yet, so he doesn't dislike her either. Besides, she's pretty interesting.
“You got new clothes,” he says when she comes over and sits down opposite him in the shade.
“Yes,” she agrees, looking down at her skirt and smoothing the wrinkles out of her red blouse. “Do you like them?”
Clint shrugs. “They're OK.” He throws another pine cone at a cat that's made its way into the yard, watching in satisfaction as it hisses and runs away.
“You're good at that,” Natasha says, sounding impressed.
Clint doesn't know how to react to that, so he just ignores it and doesn't look at her. “I have a really big bruise on my leg,” he tells her after a moment. “From where you kicked me.”
“I already said I'm sorry.”
“I know.” He looks away from the yard and at her so he can see what her reaction is when he says, “Most kids don't get into fights with me. They think I'll get hurt 'cause I'm small and I've got hearing aids.”
“That doesn't stop you hitting people really hard,” Natasha points out.
For a moment Clint just looks at her, and then he feels himself smiling. “That's what I always say!” he tells her triumphantly, pleased that she agrees with him.
“Well, you're right, so don't let anyone else tell you that you're not.”
“Thanks,” Clint mumbles, a bit embarrassed by that.
“That's OK.” They're both quiet for a moment, and then Natasha asks, “Can I see your bruise?”
“Sure,” Clint grins, and pulls up the leg of his pants to show it off.
-- -- -- -- --
“What's your last name?” Clint asks Natasha as they trail along behind the Laurensons at the grocery store on Wednesday.
“'Romanova',” she tells him.
“'Romanova',” Clint repeats, sounding it out carefully. “That's not very American.”
“It's not. My parents were from Russia.”
“Wow,” Clint says. He imagines the map that had been on the wall of his school last year. “That's all the way on the other side of the map.”
“Not if you go the other way around it,” Natasha points out. Clint thinks about it for a moment and realises she's right, which makes him feel a bit stupid. “It's still pretty far though, I think.”
“You think? Haven't you ever been there?” She shakes her head. “Is that why you don't have an accent?” he asks curiously.
“Yes. I spoke Russian at home but English at school, so now I can speak both of them the same. It's called being bi-lingual.”
“Huh.”
Ben turns the shopping cart into the vegetable aisle so Monima can put all the healthy things in it. Clint and Natasha make disgusted faces at each other.
“What happened to your parents?” Clint asks quietly. It's not the sort of question you're supposed to ask, but he wants to know and he doesn't think Natasha will mind.
“There was an accident when I was five,” Natasha tells him. “There was a gas leak in our house, and it exploded. I was at a friend's house so I was OK, but they both died.”
“I'm sorry,” Clint says. Carefully, he reaches out and pats her shoulder, which is what they do in movies when something sad happens. Natasha doesn't look sad, but she doesn't look happy either.
“It was a long time ago,” Natasha shrugs. She waits until Monima and Ben are further down the aisle and then turns to face Clint. “I don't think it was an accident,” she tells him quietly. “I think they were murdered by the people they used to work for in Russia. There was a nasty looking man who followed us to school one day before it happened, and my parents were really nervous after that. That's why they sent me to my friend's house. One day, I'm going to find out who killed my parents, and I'm going to kill them back.”
Clint has heard kids make up stories about their parents before, usually to make them sound cooler or make excuses about why they left. The adults always said it was so the kids could make their parents' deaths 'have meaning'. He doesn't think Natasha is doing either of those things though. He thinks she's telling the truth.
“Can you kill someone?” he asks.
“I can learn,” Natasha replies.
“Then I hope you find whoever killed your parents,” Clint decides.
“Thank you.”
Monima calls them then, and Clint grabs Natasha's hand to drag her down the aisle to catch them up; after vegetables comes candy, and that's the best bit of the shopping trip.
-- -- -- -- --
After two weeks pass and Clint hasn't been told he has to leave, he relaxes a bit and takes most of his stuff out of his backpack again. Natasha is actually pretty cool. She's quiet and polite around the Laurensons, but she laughs at his silly jokes and tells him about all the interesting places she's been. They find the stack of comics on the bookcase outside Natasha's room, and lie on the floor in there while they read them and argue over who is the best superhero. It's nice.
“Don't you get lonely, not having anyone to speak Russian to?” Clint asks one day.
Tilting her head to one side, Natasha looks at him as she thinks about it. “A bit,” she says eventually. “Don't you get annoyed not being able to talk to people when you don't have your hearing aids in?”
“But I can,” Clint says. “I mean, I sort of can, if they know sign language. It's not really speaking but you can talk that way.”
Curious, Natasha asks, “What's sign language?”
“You don't know?” She shakes her head. “I'll teach you then,” Clint says, “But only if you teach me Russian.”
“Deal,” Natasha agrees, and spits into her palm. Grinning, Clint spits into his as well, and they shake on it.
-- -- -- -- --
“What're you doing?” Natasha asks, looking down at the mess of branches and string at Clint's feet.
“Trying to make a bow,” Clint replies glumly.
Careful to avoid sitting on anything that is probably more important than it looks, Natasha sits next to him. “Why?” she asks, picking up a splintered branch with string knotted around either end.
Sighing, Clint tips his head back against the tree trunk. “When my parents were still around, they wanted me and Barney out from under their feet for one summer, so we spent it up at the circus that came to town every year. One of the acts must've liked me, 'cause he showed me how to shoot a bow and arrow, and let me keep the whole lot when they left. I got pretty good at using it, but when Mom and Dad died I wasn't allowed to keep it. I figured I'd make a new one with all the wood and stuff that's lying around in the orchard, but the branches don't bend enough and the string doesn't stretch, and it just doesn't work.” Frustrated, he throws his latest effort to the ground and glares at it.
“You don't know how to make one properly,” Natasha guesses.
“Niet,” Clint sighs, which makes Natasha smile and in turns calms him a little. “I know what it should feel like,” he explains. “I think some of these branches are OK, but I don't know how to make them the right shape or what to use for the string or how to put it together.”
“And you don't have any arrows either.”
“You're not helping,” Clint mutters.
“Are there books that tell you how to make bows and arrows?” Natasha asks.
“Probably. There's a library in town, I guess they might have some.”
“Then we should go there.”
“We?” Clint asks.
“I want to help,” Natasha tells him determinedly. “And I've never made a bow before. It sounds interesting.”
“Well, if you want to,” Clint says, trying to pretend he's not bothered even though secretly he's thinking that Barney never offered to help him, and that makes him like Natasha a whole lot more than he liked Barney. Natasha stops looking determined when he says that, and he realises that maybe she thought he was going to tell her she couldn't help. He didn't know she could be unsure about anything, but he guesses she's just a kid even though she doesn't always act like one. “You think they'd let us go look at books on weapons?” he asks doubtfully. “Grown-ups get weird about that sometimes.”
“We'll tell them we're doing homework for a school project.”
“School hasn't started yet though, and we don't even go to one at the moment. Also you're not in the same class as I am.”
“A summer school project then, that we got given at our last school before we moved here. We'd like to finish it so we've got something to show our new teachers when term starts.”
“Wow,” Clint says. “I wish I could lie like that.”
Pleased, Natasha smiles sweetly. Clint smiles back, and then smacks his hand on his thigh and says, “But how are we going to get Ben and Monima to take us to the library? We can't tell them about this either, and if they catch us with the books we'll be in big trouble.”
“Oh, that's easy. We tell them we want to borrow some story books from the library so they'll get us library cards, and ask them to take us in with them on Saturday morning when they do chores in town. They can leave us there while they do chores, we can find the books on bows, photocopy the pages we want and put them in our pockets or inside the story books that we're going to check out so Monima and Ben don't get suspicious.”
“You're amazing,” Clint says in awe.
Natasha looks a little bit embarrassed, and signs Thank you at him.
“You're welcome,” Clint replies.
“Dobro pozhalovatʹ,” Natasha tells him.
“Dobro pozhalovatʹ,” Clint repeats, and they grin.
-- -- -- -- --
“They're up to something,” Ben remarks, watching from the window as Natasha and Clint disappear into the woodshed next to the house. “Every time they've been to the library, they end up in there a couple of hours later. There's only wood and newspaper in there, and since they haven't set it on fire, I can't imagine what they're doing.”
“They've been remarkably careful not to let us notice,” Monima says. “But I agree. They are doing something they don't want us to know about.”
“Shall we go and see?” Ben asks. “Those two can probably handle whatever it is they're doing, but I'd rather know just in case.”
“That, and I'm looking forward to being able to surprise them for once,” Monima says with a smile. She opens the back door as quietly as possible, and with a laugh Ben follows her out.
-- -- -- -- --
Clint and Natasha freeze when Monima says from behind them, “Well now, what is it we've got here?”
Busted Clint signs with a grimace.
“Da,” Natasha agrees, and adds a word that Clint doesn't know but can guess what it means.
“It was my idea,” Clint says, standing up and going to stand in front of Natasha at the same time as she says, “The bow is mine,” and tries to do the same for him, which means that they bump heads and almost fall on top of the bow that they've been working so hard on.
“Careful,” Ben cautions, catching both of them by the shoulders and righting them. Clint's ready to panic by then but Natasha squeezes his hand quickly. She doesn't look worried so Clint tries not to be either. “Now then, what's this?” Ben asks, leaning down to pick up the half-finished bow. Next to him, Monima inspects the arrow that Natasha had been working on (which is why they hadn't seen Ben and Monima coming; normally Natasha keeps an eye on the window so they can wrap it in the newspaper and hide it in case they come in).
After a deep breath, Clint says, “It's a bow. I wanted to make one, so I got Natasha to help me, but it was all my idea I swear, so don't tell her off too much.”
“Is that my knife?” Ben asks, pointing at the blade on the floor.
Clint nods.
“Then the only thing you're in trouble for is using my tools without permission.”
“I... uh... huh?” He glances at Natasha, who looks as confused as he feels. “You're not mad at us for making it?”
Ben smiles. “I assume if you can make it, you know what you're doing with it,” he tells them. “If you were both a bit older I'd take you out to old Leroy's field and teach you how to shoot, but that's a way off yet. This is a good piece of work, and you should be proud of it.” He hands the bow back to Clint; Monima gives the arrow to Natasha. “Y'know, I have a whole basement of tools for woodworking in the house,” he adds. “I'm no archer but I'd bet you could get this done a whole lot easier if you used some of them. If you'd like, I could show you both how to use them.”
“Really?” Clint asks. At the same time, Natasha says “No, thank you.”
“Bows are too old-fashioned,” she explains when Clint turns to look at her. “I enjoyed helping you, but you can finish it with Ben.”
Monima speaks up then. “How do you feel on the subject of catapults?” she enquires with a twinkle in her eye.
All of a sudden, Natasha looks interested. “Favourable,” she replies carefully.
“I make a mean catapult,” Monima says. “How about I pass on the knowledge?”
“I'd like that. Thank you.”
“Clint, you'll come down to my workshop sometime?” Ben asks, and Clint nods dazedly in response.
“Well then, if that's all settled, we'll leave you both to the rest of your afternoon,” says Monima.
“Have fun,” Ben adds.
Silently, Clint and Natasha watch them return to the house, and don't move for a whole thirty seconds after they've gone inside.
Natasha breaks the silence by remarking, “I already know how to fire a gun.” After a few moments she adds thoughtfully, “I'm fairly sure my parents were KGB spies.”
“I think I need to sit down,” Clint says faintly, just before his knees give way and deposit him on the floor. Looking up at Natasha, he tells her, “My life is weird.”
“Not just yours,” Natasha sighs, and gracefully joins him on the floor.
-- -- -- -- --
To Clint's annoyance, it takes Monima and Natasha no time at all to build a catapult, and after the first one is done they make a whole load more that are different sizes and use different materials. Natasha won't let him use any of them so he has to watch while she fires them at the tin can range Monima set up for her in the yard. In the end she settles on three she likes the best, that Clint thinks don't fire quite as fast as a couple of the others but are more accurate. She takes to carrying them around tucked in the waistband of her skirt or pants, which looks cooler than Clint is ever going to tell her.
He loves working on his bow with Ben though, even if it does take them a while to work out the best material to use for the bow-string and how to attach it to the wood properly. When they've got it done though, and pulled so it's just the right tightness – tension, Ben says – it looks amazing and Clint can't stop grinning every time he looks at it. He has to make arrows for it before he can fire anything though, but they're not quite so hard, and Natasha comes back to help with that bit. When they're done, Monima presents him with a quiver that he can put over his back and keep his arrows in, which he loves. Then Ben gives him the case that he has somehow managed to make without Clint noticing, which is absolutely beautiful and has Clint's initials etched in one corner.
“Thank you,” Clint whispers, looking up at them both and holding back tears. He's sure it's really stupid to want to cry when he's happy, but he can't help it. Natasha slips her hand into his and squeezes; he squeezes back and holds on tight, and the tears fade away.
“There's a whole yard waiting for you to practice in,” Monima tells him with a smile.
“Go see if you can beat Natasha and her catapults,” is Ben's advice.
“I bet you can't,” Natasha tells him.
“Bet I can,” Clint shoots back, and they race outside to find out.
-- -- -- -- --
They spend a glorious two weeks outside shooting at tin cans, pine cones still on the tree, cats that stray into their yard and quickly learn not to come back. Clint tends to be more accurate but Natasha is faster and only just less accurate than he is. When they're tired of the competition, Clint helps Natasha climb the apple tree next to the fence so they can hop over and explore the long grass and dark shade of the orchard beyond. There they can be stealthy hunters gathering food for their tribe, intrepid explorers searching for new lands, brave soldiers making their way home from enemy territory, magical elves searching for a mythical dragon.
Sometimes they're just two children creeping along the side of a tiny stream trying to catch frogs and snails and butterflies, and that's just as much fun.
If you'd asked him a month ago if he would share the orchard with anyone, Clint would have replied very definitely “No”. Now he would say “Natasha isn't anyone.”
-- -- -- -- --
Ben and Monima watch as Clint loses his wary stance and fills out a bit so that his shorts stop falling off his hips quite so often, smile to see Natasha let her guard down around someone even if she's still reserved most of the time around them. They share a satisfied smile to see the two children wrestle on the grass, race each other to the end of the garden and back, grab each other by the hand when the other falls over and hold on until they're steady again.
They always knew that Clint and Natasha's needs would be different from other kids, so when the two of them hold conversations in a blur of English, sign-language and Russian, it hurts that they're excluded but at the same time it means Clint and Natasha have found what they need in each other.
“What happens when they're separated?” Ben asks one night after Clint and Natasha have gone to bed exhausted and sunburned and happy. “We're only looking after them until someone adopts them, and we can't keep them forever.”
“We hope they've learned enough to survive until they meet again,” Monima murmurs, and does not wipe away the tear that rolls down her cheek.
-- -- -- -- --
“I don't wanna go shopping,” Clint whines, putting on his most annoying voice in the hopes that if he starts now, by the time they arrive at the mall he will finally have wound Monima and Ben up so much that they come home. It's a slim chance, but a boy can hope. He's hoping really hard right now.
In the seat next to him, Natasha looks quite pleased to be going out. Traitor he signs at her. Wimp she signs back. Clint decides to ignore her.
“You both have school next week,” Monima replies calmly. “You need hair cuts, stationery, and some clothes you haven't worn all summer and torn on trees.”
Clint feels a bit guilty about that. He knows how to sew up rips in pants now though, which is useful. “Don't wanna go to school either,” he grumbles, and lets his fringe fall across his face for the rest of the journey so he can glare at everyone through it.
They end up spending three hours at the mall, being made to try on new jeans and t-shirts and underwear. That's the bit that Clint enjoys the best because they let him pick out bright purple boxers and Natasha looks jealous when she sees them. It's mostly boring and takes way too long though, and then afterwards they have to go and buy bookbags and paper and pencils and crayons. Even Natasha gets fed up with that although she doesn't say anything.
That's not the worst bit though. The worst bit is the haircut at the end of the trip. Not because the hairdresser does a bad job. Natasha's hair looks lovely at the end of it, shorter and wavy and a bit bouncy, and she looks really pleased with it. Clint's hair though. The hairdresser cuts it short, that's fine, it looks good like that. But then she puts gel in it and makes his fringe do this thing where it sticks up at the front, and it looks ridiculous.
“I look like an idiot,” he moans when they're back in the car. He tries to flatten it down but the gel has dried and it won't budge.
“You look lovely,” Monima tells him.
“Might try it myself,” Ben says with a wink.
“It suits you,” Natasha says quietly. Promise, she signs. Clint grunts but subsides, and instead makes a fuss about the hair down his shirt that is making him itch.
-- -- -- -- --
As the week wears on, Clint gets more and more nervous about school, and doesn't understand why Natasha isn't doing the same.
“Aren't you worried?” he demands in the middle of braiding her hair, leaping to his feet and walking up and down her room because he can't sit still any longer.
“About what?” she asks, catching the braid he'd left and carrying on with it.
“School!”
“Not really. I quite like it.”
Clint stares at her in disbelief. “You like school?”
“The lessons are interesting and if you're nice to the teachers, they tell you lots that the other kids don't know.”
“But we're going to get bullied by the other kids for being new and different, and you know they'll blame it on us so we'll get told off for getting into fights. The teachers never care, they think I'm thick 'cause I'm behind from moving around so much. I'll probably end up in detention first week there. No-one will want to be friends, particularly with me, because of these.” He gestures to his ears and then clenches his fists and tries not to panic, but it's hard now that it's Saturday which means only one more day before school.
Natasha stands up, holds him by his arms and looks him in the eye. “Ben and Monima can talk to your teachers to get you caught up. If your teachers don't listen to your side of the story, we'll go find the ones that will. You can be friends with me until you find the kids who aren't idiots. And if anyone tries to bully you, they'll have me to deal with as well.”
“Really?” Clint whispers. “You'd do that, for – for me?”
“I'll shoot them in the butt with my catapult,” Natasha assures him fiercely.
Clint laughs and unclenches his fists, letting out a breath that feels like it's been trapped inside him for far too long. “Thank you,” he says. That doesn't seem like enough so he hugs her clumsily and promises, “I'll help you out, too, if you ever need me to. I can't bring my bow into school but I can still hit them really hard.”
Natasha laughs and hugs him back. “We'll be OK with each other,” she tells him. Clint believes her.
-- -- -- -- --
The first day of school isn't as bad as Clint expects, even though he doesn't see Natasha all day because he's busy talking to teachers and doing tests so they can see what he needs to catch up on. Most of them look like they're OK, and he doesn't get any hassle from the other kids, so it counts as a good start.
The second day goes much the same; he doesn't talk to many of the other kids but they don't bug him either which suits him just fine. On the third day though a group of boys from his year corner him at recess. They're all bigger than him, and he thinks he could take on a couple of them at a time but they're probably not going to be that nice to him.
He's right. One of them tries to grab his bag and gets a punch in the stomach in return, but then they all pile on and start hitting him, going for his ears because they can see that's where he's vulnerable. Clint gives as good as he gets but he's outnumbered, loses his balance, stumbles to the ground with a shout of pain.
Then one of them lets out a shocked cry even though Clint hasn't laid a finger on him, and when Clint looks up he's clutching his butt with both hands and dancing around. Natasha runs across the playground towards them, kicks the biggest one in the back of the knees so he falls down, elbows another just above where it would be really painful, and pulls Clint up from the ground. The other two back away slowly under Natasha's glare, and the ones she hit follow as soon as they get to their feet.
“Are you OK?” Natasha asks Clint, signing as well as speaking, which he appreciates.
“Yeah.” Clint nods, checking both ears, breathing a sigh of relief that both his aids are still in and working. They'd cost a fortune to replace. “Thank you. Spasibo.”
“Dobro pozhalovatʹ.”
On Thursday, Clint gets a few jeers about the fact that he'd been rescued by a girl. He responds to by pointing out that it's fine by him because he would have lost without her, which seems to confuse everyone.
On Friday at lunch, a tiny kid comes rushing up to Clint and breathlessly tells him that Natasha is in trouble behind the bike shed. Clint takes off at a sprint and arrives to find her fighting with the same kids that had cornered him. Two of them are already groaning on the floor, but Clint helps her finish the other three off. By then the teachers arrive and it doesn't look good for Clint and Natasha until the tiny kid pushes his way forwards and tells the teachers that the bullies had tried to beat Natasha up, and had done the same to Clint before.
When all the excitement has died down, Natasha asks the boy “What's your name?”
“Liam,” he replies, drawing himself up to his full height so his messy blond hair touches Clint's upper arm. “Can I be your friend please? I know you're older than me but I promise I can behave.”
Clint and Natasha share an amused look and then Clint shrugs. “Sure, why not? Welcome to the club, Liam.” Which is how they make their first friend, and how the rest of the school learns that messing with any of them is a really bad idea.
-- -- -- -- --
It doesn't always go smoothly. Ben and Monima get called into school more than once because Clint's got into a fight, usually when he's frustrated with always being picked last for sports teams owing to his size and hearing aids, so decides to prove to everyone that he's not any weaker than anyone else. Sometimes it's Natasha who has spoken her mind very clearly and precisely and not at all tactfully to a teacher who she deems to be not worth the time she spends in their lesson, which does not go down well.
Neither of them make friends easily, although the ones they do pick up they are fiercely protective of, which leads their teachers to describe them as “anti-social” and “problematic”. The two of them will talk to Monima and Ben but only share what suits them, and they're still more likely to try and handle their own problems than ask for help from an adult. They rarely fight with each other, but when they do it's short and explosive and far more violent than it should be. Unfailingly though, they apologise and make up, and things go back to normal.
It's not perfect, but they're mostly happy, which is what Ben and Monima aim to achieve.
In November, they get a phone call from the adoption agency telling them that Natasha has relatives who wish to permanently have custody of her. Someone will be around within the week to sort out the paperwork. They should make sure Natasha is ready to leave as soon as possible.
Ben looks shaken when he puts the phone down, and turns to look out the window at where Clint and Natasha are shooting at the paper targets they've hung all over the trees. “They're going to be heartbroken,” he says quietly.
Monima takes his hand and rests her head on his shoulder. “We knew this wouldn't last forever,” she reminds him. “They know it too, they've just chosen to forget it.”
“I don't think that's going to soften the blow any.”
Monima sighs. “No.”
-- -- -- -- --
They let them have one last evening of ignorance, and tell them the next morning before breakfast. Natasha goes quietly pale and clenches her hands in her skirt. Clint stares at Ben for a moment and then shakes his head, mumbling frantically, “No, no, no, that's not right, that's not fair, it's not fair!” He launches himself at Ben, who broke the news, and beats his fists against the man's chest while he shouts and swears and rails against the world. Ben stops Clint's wild limbs from hitting any of the hard surfaces around him, and holds him up wordlessly when Clint collapses and sobs against his chest. White, Natasha seeks Monima's hand, and grips it until Clint has stopped crying.
“What do we do?” she asks helplessly, looking up at Monima.
Monima leads Natasha to Clint and kneels down, reaching out to turn Clint's head so he's looking at her and Natasha with red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. “You make the most of the time you have left,” she tells them. “You exchange letters, always make sure you have each other's addresses and, if possible, phone numbers. You remember that you lived apart before, and accept that you can do it again. You make sure that you remember every single thing you've taught each other, all the ways you've made each other stronger, so that you can use them in every day of your lives from now on. And you never, never forget each other.”
Sniffing, voice choked, Clint says, “Forgetting would make it easier.”
“Oh, sweet child, it sure would,” Monima tells him. She reaches out for him with one arm and draws him to her, puts the other around Natasha, and pulls them both to her as tightly as she possibly can. “You are the bravest souls I've ever met,” she tells them. “Be brave together now, so that you can be braver again tomorrow, and still braver the day after that.” Pressing a kiss to the top of both their heads, she pushes them together and waits until they have their arms around each other before she lets them go and stands. Quietly, she and Ben leave the room, while Natasha and Clint grip each other as tightly as their arms will let them and look as lonely as two people together can possibly be.
-- -- -- -- --
Neither of them go to school that day. They stand in the kitchen until they're stiff from being in one place for so long, which is the only reason they let go. Clint's throat feels sore from crying and his eyes hurt. Natasha looks scared and angry and helpless, which he's not used to seeing on her at all.
Now he's cried all his tears, Clint doesn't know what he's supposed to do, and he doesn't think Natasha does either. “I really need to pee,” he says, which he knows is the last thing that should be on his mind right now but it's all his brain will let him say. It makes Natasha crack a smile though, which is something.
“Monima said we should make the most of while we're both still here,” Natasha says quietly. “The orchard is my favourite place; we could take the catapults and your bow out there and pretend...” She has to stop to draw in a breath and fight back tears. “Pretend I don't have to ever leave,” she finishes.
“Sounds good,” Clint agrees hoarsely.
It's turning cooler now so they take sweaters, but apart from the slight breeze and coolness, under the protective cover of the trees in the orchard it feels almost the same as all the other times they'd spent days out there playing make-believe. There are no fish in the stream but the frogs are still there, the leaves are orange instead of green but haven't fallen yet, and when they sit side by side and eat their sandwiches Clint can almost believe that this morning never happened.
It did though.
Maybe it's not quite so easy to play make-believe any more.
“What if we lose each other?” Clint asks, throwing a pebble into the stream. “You might end up back in Russia, and I'm not going to be here forever. What do we do if we can't swap addresses in time and can't find each other again?”
The stream trickles gently by and the wind rustles the leaves for a few minutes, while Natasha sits silently and doesn't answer. Clint feels his heart sink, because there's no way they'll be able to keep in touch, until Natasha lifts her head and smiles at him. “We'll always be able to find each other again,” she says.
“How?” Clint asks.
“Because we'll always remember where this house is,” she replies. “When we're eighteen, we'll be old enough to do what we want. My birthday is the second of March, so on the second of March in eleven years, we'll both come back here. It doesn't matter if we get lost along the way, because we'll know where we're supposed to be then, and we can find our way back here.”
Clint tries to imagine eleven years without seeing her. He feels like crying again. “Eleven years is a really long time,” he says, looking at the ground.
“I know,” she whispers. “But it's not as long as forever.”
When Clint looks up, she's got tears in her eyes for the first time. “You're right,” he says, and puts his arm around her shoulders to pull her close. “You're right, and on your birthday I'll be standing in the driveway out there waiting for you, all day if I have to.”
“I'll be there, too,” Natasha says. She puts her head in his shoulder and cries hot wet tears into it, while Clint buries his head in her hair and does the same.
-- -- -- -- --
It's arranged that Natasha will be picked up on Tuesday, which is too soon for any of them but does at least stop it being drawn out for too long. Natasha goes into school on Friday to say goodbye, so Clint goes with her even though it's obvious he'd rather spend the day at home with Natasha. Over the weekend he helps Natasha pack, and sneaks a pair of his purple boxer shorts into her suitcase when she's not looking; it's the only thing he knows she'll like that he has to give her.
Ben and Monima aren't cruel enough to make him go to school on Monday, so they spend the morning inside re-reading their favourite comics and the afternoon outside hanging from trees and knocking tin cans over with stones and arrows. Come the evening, they're exhausted and emotional and look more like kids than they have done since they arrived.
“Natasha's sleeping with me tonight,” Clint announces after dinner, holding her hand so Monima can't take her away. He sniffs and wipes his sleeve across his nose, which is disgusting but adorable. “We can see the trees from there, and the stars, and we can make a wish on the first one we see, and the trees will keep us safe so...” He trails off with tears in his eyes. Shoulders squared, he repeats, “She's staying with me.”
“I'm staying with Clint,” Natasha adds, moving closer to Clint and standing firm, just in case there was any doubt.
Monima nods. “Alright.”
Baths are quick affairs for once, with no complaints and no requests to play with toys. Two sleepy but determined children are delivered to one room, where they crawl under the covers and curl around each other, heads facing each other on the pillow. Ben and Monima know neither sign-language nor Russian, but they don't need to because the expressions on Natasha's and Clint's faces says everything that they're telling each other anyway. Their arms come up to circle around each other's shoulders, and they cling tightly together until their eyes drift shut and they succumb to sleep held in each others arms.
“I think they have learned that love belongs to children,” Monima murmurs, closing the door quietly. “In them it is the purest, and it is they who feel it those most and have no qualms about giving it to another.”
Ben smiles with wet eyes. “I hope they don't forget that as they grow up. I hope when they meet again, they are in a position to renew it.”
-- -- -- -- --
Eleven years is a long time to wait. One child can grow up to follow her parent's footsteps in that time, and the other can make his own path through the circus and the military. On the youngest child's eighteenth birthday, they may be on opposite sides of the world through no will and purpose of their own. They can still remember the trees though and the stars, an endless summer playing with bows and arrows and catapults, learning new languages and new confidences, being happy submersed in something that couldn't last forever even if they wished hard enough.
Love is for children, and they will always remember it.