Chapter 6
Charlotte wasn't sure how long she cried on Clint's shoulder. Neither of them said anything as her tears subsided but Clint kept rubbing his hand up and down her back. The gesture was soothing and comforting. Charlotte let out the last few snuffling tears before she lifted her head. She swiped her hand under her eyes quickly and hoped her water proof mascara lived up to its advertising.
If the black smears on the back of her hand were any indication she needed to find a different water proof make up.
"I'm sorry." she said to Clint.
"Don't be. It's a lot to find out." Charlotte watched Clint wipe at his own eyes. She was glad that she wasn't the only one so effected by the day’s news.
"What happens with social services now?" Clint asked.
"I'm not sure. If I don't hear from them in a few days, I'll call and tell them myself. Some of my students are foster kids so I know the system, but I have no idea what happens when something like this happens." Charlotte got up and poured herself another glass of wine. She knew she'd regret the headache when the little one woke her up super early, but she couldn't bring herself to care right now.
"Would you mind letting me know?" Clint asked. Charlotte looked up from the bottle in her hand and saw Clint staring at his hands.
"Yeah, of course." she promised.
"Thanks. My brother and I were in the system for awhile. It didn't work out too good. I don't want that happening to Elizabette."
"God that name is a mouthful isn't it?" Charlotte laughed a little.
"Yeah it is." Clint agreed and finally looked up from his hands to meet Charlotte's eyes. Charlotte carried the bottle of wine over to the couch and poured Clint another glass.
"Can we talk about anything other than the dead parents of my foster kid? I don't think I can handle that right this minute. It feels too big and she doesn't even know what's going on. It's been two weeks; their bodies have been sitting there for two weeks and no one looked for them or her. I really don't want to think about it." Charlotte asked as she sat back down.
"Sure, did I tell you I grew up in a circus?" Clint asked. Charlotte watched his hands as he moved them through the air to illustrate a story about the bearded lady who helped raise him. He was a great story teller, he glossed over what Charlotte was sure was a much darker story, of how he joined the circus but focused on the inevitable fun and chaos that came of growing up with an eccentric group of people.
Some god must have been smiling on her because Elizabette slept soundly and that gave Charlotte time to process. She didn't know when she fell asleep herself but one minute she was laughing at a story Clint told her and another minute her eyes blinked shut and didn't open again.
~&~
Clint watched as Charlotte slipped into a doze on the couch. He glanced at the clock, it was several minutes after ten. He was shocked the toddler was still asleep, but he wasn't waking her. It had been a rough day for the adults and if the kid wanted to pass out at five in the evening Clint wouldn't be the one to disturb her.
He dug his phone out of his pocket and quickly shot off a text to Tasha. Barely a moment passed before his phone vibrated in his hand.
Hero complex.
Clint laughed quietly at Natasha's text. He grabbed the wine glasses and the half full bottle off the coffee table. He found the cork sitting on the kitchen counter and quickly corked the bottle before tucking it in the fridge. He washed the wine glasses and figured he might as well do up the dishes.
He hadn't been invited to stay the night, but it felt wrong to leave. Sneaking out was for ill-advised one-night stands- not the night you found out some rather traumatic news. He had a new book on his phone anyway.
Clint grabbed the crocheted throw off the back of the couch and carefully covered Charlotte up. She shifted slightly in her sleep before nestling in deeper into the couch. Clint carefully sat on the opposite end and pulled out his phone. He opened his reading app and settled into the latest Sandra Brown book.
He liked mass produced mystery novels. The bad guys were bad. The good guys were good, and everything was neatly solved by the end of the pages. It was much simpler in books than in real life. Tasha liked terrible Harlequin romance novels, so he figured they were even in their reading choices. Soon he felt his own eyelids get heavy.
Just a few minutes, he thought to himself. Sleep seemed to pull him under quickly.
He wasn't sure how much time had passed when he felt a small hand on the side of his face. His eyes instantly opened, and he could feel the crick in his neck from sleeping in such an awkward position. He saw Elizabette on the couch next to him- one hand patting his cheek. The little girl was still dressed in her Sunday best although the dress was now wrinkled and a bit worse for the ware.
"Potty." the two-and-a-half-year-old demanded.
"Ok, hun- let's go to the potty." Clint said quietly so he wouldn't disturb the still sleeping Charlotte. He glanced at the clock over the stove and saw it flash three in the morning. He figured they were lucky the kid slept this long. He brought Elizabette to the bathroom off the bedroom. He was careful not to look around too much. A little stool sat next to the toilet and Clint knelt down to help Elizabette pull of her nice Sunday tights and climb on the toilet. Her pull up was wet which didn't surprise Clint. He quickly found the fresh pull ups in a drawer of the sink. A pair of clean looking pj's sat on the side of the sink so Clint grabbed those too.
After he helped the toddler get changed he brought her back out to the living room. He hoped she'd stay quite but in the small space there wasn't anywhere else for her to play. Or at least not anywhere else where Clint didn't feel like he was invading Charlotte's privacy.
He set Elizabette on the floor of the living room and grabbed her blocks from the bag near the door. He laid them out in front of her and she seemed content to build a tower. He dug around more in the huge bag and found some notebooks and baggies of crayons.
"Wanna color honey?" He asked keeping his voice quiet. He hoped the two-and-a-half-year-old would copy him. He seemed to remember kids doing that back in the circus. Elizabette looked at him and then looked at Charlotte sleeping on the couch.
She put her finger to her lips and said "shhhhh! Sleeping."
"Yeah, she's sleeping." Clint said with a small smile on his face. Tony had said her dad worked night shift at a factory. Mom must have taught her that when Dad slept after his shift. For now, she seemed content to play with her blocks and a doll that had sat in the living room corner. Clint suspected Charlotte's Cuban neighbors church group had put a significant effort into helping find toys for the little one- there were more than he'd expect a foster mom to get so quickly.
Of course, he had to admit his experience with foster parents was not anywhere on the scale of positive.
After playing for about twenty minutes Elizabette stood up and wandered over to Clint.
"Hungry." She told him before walking over to the table and climbing into the chair. Clint got up off the floor and went to the small kitchen area. The moonlight glinted off the stove top from the small window. He opened the fridge and found some apples and a little digging in the cupboards found peanut butter and bread. He quickly made her a sandwich and sliced up an apple. With the crusts cut off and the apples cut into small, toddler sized pieces he put the plate in front of her. He found a sippy cup and filled it with water. The toddler munched on her extremely late dinner happily. Clint wasn't sure if it could be counted as dinner after midnight- maybe it was an early breakfast?
A noise from the living room caused Clint to jerk his head back toward the couch. Charlotte sat up, her carefully curled hair no longer sleek but a mess of knots around her face. Her dress seam sat at an awkward angle as it pulled the neckline to her left shoulder. What was left of her make up smeared dark lines down her high cheek bones.
Clint forced himself to ignore the fact she was quite pretty even in a state of a mess.
"Fuck." she muttered, and Clint snorted out a laugh. "You didn't have to stay. God, I look like a terrible guardian right now don't I?"
"No, you look like someone who had a really rough few weeks and is dealing with it very well." Clint told her honestly.
"Thank you. I think I needed to hear that." Charlotte stood, and Clint watched her look down at herself. "You've already done so much more than enough but would you stay long enough for me to shower quickly?"
"No problem." Clint said.
"Thanks, I typically can either have Esme watch her for a bit or just do it while she sleeps but it's gonna be a long few days getting her back on schedule." Charlotte began walking toward the master bathroom. "I'll be quick, I promise."
"Take your time. I can watch her." Clint tried to assure the young teacher. Twenty minutes went by before Charlotte came back out of the bathroom. Clint tried not to openly stare at her in her pj pants and tank top. He did, however look at the red puckered cut on her right shoulder. The stitches still showed black against her pale skin. The cut looked like it was healing though. Red scar tissue blanched as it stretched across her skin.
"When do those come out?" he heard himself ask.
Charlotte turned toward him before twisting her torso to look over her shoulder.
"As soon as my friend Claire can come over and take them out. She's a nurse over in Hells Kitchen." Charlotte answered. Her hand drifted under her arm and around her back to ghost over the raised bumps. "The hospitals are still so full. No point in trying to go there."
"I can do it for you." Clint offered without thinking. He saw Charlotte's eyes jerk up into her hair line. "We learn a lot of field medicine as agents and you know circus. It wasn't like we had health insurance." He quickly explained. Charlotte stared at him and nodded before walking over to a shelf in the living room. Clint had noticed the small sewing machine sitting there and a small sewing basket. She grabbed a tiny pair of some kind of scissors and handed them to Clint. He quickly washed the blades with soap and water in the sink while she sat at the table. Elizabette ignored the adults in the room and played with the notebooks and crayons at the living room coffee table.
"Alright, you're going to feel a bit of a tug." Clint said as he carefully clipped the stitches.
"Full service heroing- do they teach that in the circus?" Charlotte joked. Clint smiled as he carefully tugged the stitches out one by one. It took him less than ten minutes to get the 20 plus stitches out of the seven-inch gash.
"It was worse than I thought in the field." Clint commented, "You said you carried Elizabette all the way here?"
"I had to." Charlotte said simply. She thought about the scabs that still covered her feet from the blisters. She was pretty sure she'd opened a few of them in the heels she'd worn that day but that's what the band aids on her feet had been for.
Vanity kills her mother had always said, Charlotte guessed she had to be right about something.
Clint nodded. He knew a thing or two himself about doing things you had to do. The pair sat in awkward silence for a few moments before Charlotte turned to Clint.
"Thank you." she told him, "for everything. For checking on us, for helping me find out what happened to her parents. The stitches, getting us to the safe zone. Thank you."
"You're welcome. I think this is where I'm supposed to say it's all a part of the job." Clint said as he swiped his hand across the back of his neck. He missed being an assassin at times like this. He didn't have to deal with people thanking him. He didn't know how to respond.
"Well it means a lot to us. Would you like to come to dinner again? I can make about three dishes reliably and you've already had one." Charlotte asked. Clint could hear the nervous tone in her voice.
"I'd love that." he said.
"How's Tuesday sound?"
Clint nodded before shuffling his feet some more. "I better head back to the tower before Natasha sends out a search party. Can I bring anything on Tuesday?"
"Just yourself. Thank you for staying. You didn't have to, but I appreciate it."
Clint nodded again before walking to the door. Once it closed behind him he stayed in the hall until he heard the lock click into place. He began the three-flight trek down to the street before starting the 5.5 mile walk back to the tower. If he stopped a couple muggings on the way it was no one’s business but his own.
He got back to the tower as the sun finishing its first morning climb and Steve was leaving for his own morning run. They nodded to each other before Clint took the elevator up to his apartment.
This time he expected to see Natasha sleeping soundly in his bed. She opened her eyes the minute he entered the room and sat up.
"I don't want to hear it." Clint said as she opened her mouth.
"All I planned on mentioning is that it's been awhile since I saw you come home this early."
"Had a glass of wine, talked for a bit and fell asleep on the couch. Kid woke up around three and it didn't feel right to just leave." Clint explained as he started to dig for clean boxers in his drawer. He started shucking yesterday’s clothes to change. He had no intention of doing anything but going back to bed. Couches were meant to be sat on, not slept on when there was another option. Once he was in clean boxers he dug in his ears to remove his hearing aids.
"You're seeing her again." Natasha stated once he turned to face her. Her hands also flashed in ASL
"Yeah, dinner on Tuesday- or tomorrow I guess." Clint said. He knew there was no point in lying to Natasha. She'd get what she wanted one way or another and telling her the truth just cut the bull shit. Of course, he'd do the same if places were reversed so it worked out.
"Do you actually like her or is your complex coming into play?" Natasha asked as she scooted over in the bed to make room for Clint. Clint climbed under the covers as he thought carefully about the question. This time he didn't even bother to say he didn't have a hero complex.
"I like her. She kept her head in the battle and stepped up for the kid. She had a bit of a breakdown tonight but god what civilian wouldn't?" Clint answered.
"She handled herself well here today too." Natasha mentioned.
"Yeah she did." Clint lay down and fluffed the pillow until it was in the right shape. He closed his eyes intent on sleeping for a few more hours. Natasha tapped his shoulder and he cracked open one eye to look at her.
"She's pretty too." she signed with a wry grin. Clint grunted and rolled back over. His last thought before passing back out was his partner wasn't wrong.
~&~
Charlotte stared at her closing door after Clint walked out for a few minutes before she stood and locked it. Her mind struggled to catch up with the day's events, but she knew she'd deal with it. She turned to the toddler playing on the floor.
"Elizabette?" she asked. The little girl turned to look at her expectantly, "alright so we got your name at least." The clock now flashed four in the morning. "You're going to be going down for an early nap today and hopefully we can keep you up later tonight so your back on schedule." Charlotte told the two-and-a-half-year-old. The girl turned back to her coloring. Charlotte guessed adult things like naps and schedules meant jack all to the little one. She turned to the fridge and made herself a quick snack before settling back on the couch to read. She'd go to the grocery store in a few hours and hoped they could get dinner supplies before the inevitable pre-nap melt down happened. Salad and baked chicken would make a decent dinner for Tuesday and they could just order pizza tonight.
Charlotte still couldn't believe she'd invited a fucking Avenger for dinner, but she figured he'd already eaten at her house once and a meal was a good a thank you as she could offer. A card seemed too little and a thank you gift just seemed odd. What did you buy the guy who helped you rescue a toddler while aliens tried to burn a city down? Dinner might not be enough so to speak but it was something.
Besides if she was being honest with herself she liked the archer’s company. He was funny and sweet. It didn't hurt that his arms looked like Michelangelo himself had carved them but that was beside the point.
Well partially beside the point.
Since becoming a teacher a few years prior her dating life had been put on hold completely. Having a fun, attractive man around didn't hurt even if it wouldn't lead to anything. Clint was a sweet guy who worried about a kid he helped save. It didn't matter that that's as far as it would go.
She'd text Esme at a more reasonable hour and see if her neighbor wanted to come over for pizza. Maybe Claire would finish at the hospital in time to come over too. She'd deal with social services when they called.