Jumper

Clint’s phone only managed to give a single ring before he scrambled and clicked accept, glancing furtively at Natasha and seeing her raise a single eyebrow as he very eloquently removed himself from his stool and made his way out the kitchen. He had little doubt that she knew who was calling - or, at least, who he thought was calling - seeing that Clint had had to explain every minute detail to her yesterday or risk being under the threat of heavy bodily harm. 

Well. 

More heavy bodily harm. 

His arm gave a little twinge, and her gaze burned into his back the entire way out the room. He only let out a small breath of relief once he’d turned the corner, internally mourning that he had yet to take even a single sip of his morning brew.

“Hello?” a tentative voice called through the line.

“Yep - I’m here! It’s me - the guy. It’s - you’re from yesterday?” Clint articulated succinctly, easily dismissing the draw towards slamming his face into the nearest available surface or simply throwing his phone out the window. As one does.

There was another seconds long pause before the teen responded again, tone somewhere between bemused and mildly entertained. “Yes…? Mr. Barton, right?” they checked.

Clint groaned even as he agreed. “Yeah, kid - call me Clint. Barton makes me sound old.”

There was another silence, this one definitely suspicious and far more telling. “Mhm,” the teen hummed noncommittally.

Clint narrowed his eyes but let it go for the moment. “And you are…?” he probed.

“Uh - I’m, uhhhh, the super-not-suicidal-teen from yesterday,” they blurted out like it was the brightest idea they’d had all day. Which it might’ve been. It was still pretty early.

“I figured as much,” Clint responded dryly. The fact that the kid was the one from yesterday, at least. Though, the part about him not being actively suicidal was seeming more and more likely as well. “I meant a name,” he clarified.

“Oh!” the kid exclaimed. “Yeah! I’ve got one of those,” he agreed

Clint waited for a moment, but they said nothing more. The seconds ticked by in slightly awkward silence until Clint let out a sigh and broke it. “Thanks,” he monotoned, deadpanning, “I hadn't realized.”

“No problem!” The teen replied blithely, moving on as if it was nothing. “So, as you can see - or, I mean, you know what I mean, hear - I’m doing completely fine - great, even!” 

“Great,” Clint echoed, an idea slotting into place in his mind.

“Yep!” the kid agreed, already sounding like he was itching to end the call.

“Glad to hear it champ,” Clint said, blatantly ignoring the kid quietly repeating ‘champ’ on the other side, and continuing, “I’ll come drop by that café again at around… five? School and clubs should be done by then, right? Right. See ya later!” he farewelled, promptly ending the call on the teen’s spluttering with an only slightly manic grin now marring his face.

“So that was the kid?” Nat asked from where she was leaning against the open door behind him.

Clint casually spun around to face her, nodding with a huff and a roll of his eyes. “He’s got no respect for his elders,” he complained, pocketing his phone and hunching his shoulders in exaggerated dejection.

Nat let out an audible breath through her nose - the equivalent of a snort for her. “His elders,” she repeated levelly, somehow still managing to imbue her doubt of the word’s accuracy within it.

“Are you suggesting I’m not older than the munchkin bean? You said you saw him yesterday,” he accused. 

Nat looked him up and down for a moment, then gave a single, slim shouldered shrug. “Physically,” she acceded. 

Clint gasped in mock offense. “How dare thee? I am as spry as a newborn and as wise as a warlock,” he asserted staunchly, slapping a hand against his chest.

Nat let her features twitch into a momentary wince, and Clint laughed, her joining in with a faint smile after a moment more.

“I’m going back to the café again to scope him out. Make sure that everything's really alright before taking a step back, ya know?” Clint finally explained.

She nodded in agreement. “Smart,” she asserted, checking her phone before glancing up at him with slightly narrowed eyes, her gaze immediately causing his spine to stiffen. “Make sure this doesn’t happen again during patrol,” she said pointedly, and he gave her a sharp solute, expression contorted into a quivering attempt at serious stillness. He’d gotten a hell of a lot more reprimanding threatened into him just yesterday, and he blamed that for his lack of brain to mouth filter now. 

“Ma’am yes Ma’am,” he called out, standing at attention.

A dagger flew past his ear with a near silent swish, brushing his side hairs back and slamming into the wall all the way up to its hilt, barely a centimeter to the right of his temple. “Call me Ma’am again,” Nat said calmly, tilting her head. “See what happens.”

Clint shot her the finger guns and preemptively leapt to the side, shoving open the door to the stairwell and loudly calling a “You got it Ma’am!” as he jumped down several flights at a time and adrenaline began to rush through his system. His back immediately broke out into a cold sweat as he took an ‘oh shit’ moment to realize what he’d just done, not taking a second to physically pause. There was an ominous prickle at the back of his neck, and Clint’s face split into an entirely too-nervous-to-be-genuine grin as he threw open a vent panel on the 32nd floor and let out a nervous giggle. 'I swear I had better preservation instincts than this - at least a little bit,' he thought wildly to himself, shimmying into the vent system like a seal out of water. Because of course he’d chosen one of the smaller ones to stuff himself into while trying to escape a certain mildly cold-blooded assassin.

A hand seized his ankle, and he let out a shrill scream.