marvel cinematic university: freshers assemble || mcu

4: Budapest Revisited

Clint went to roll over in bed and succeeded only in throwing himself out of it. With a yelp, he hit the floor hard, causing his bed partner to sit up, suddenly wide awake and with her red hair sticking up at all angles.

"Move over," he grumbled, getting back to his feet.

"Where to?" she retorted, before squishing herself up as much as she could against the wall whilst her partner climbed back into the cramped single bed. "I swear your bed is bigger."

"Everything about me is bigger," he said, earning himself an elbow to the ribs. "Ouch, damn it. Well, I like yours. Your covers smell nicer."

"That's because I wash mine," she said, pulling the said covers back up and over their heads, "and don't eat pizza in bed."

Lying together, face to face on the pillow, their bodies pressed tightly together as much for lack of space as for companionship; old feelings were beginning to return, old memories emerging.

"Budapest again," she whispered, their cramped surroundings bringing back pleasant memories of a night together in a youth hostel bed in the Hungarian capital.

"With less bedbug bites this time, I hope," he said, earning himself another dig to the ribs.

Before she could elbow him again, Clint grabbed her wrist, his thumb trailing over the arrow permanently set into it.

"Were you going to come here, before I told you I was?" he whispered, the question having plagued him since their reunion five days previously.

"Yes," she replied, and for once, he could sense her being completely honest. "I just hacked the accommodation so that I'd know who I was living with."

"You could have got us an upgrade at least." He brought her wrist to his lips and pressed them against the arrow's head.

"I wish I had," she said, with a happy murmur at his touch. "You boys are disgusting."

"Don't throw me in with the rest of them," Clint said, pretending to look deeply hurt by her comment, all sad eyes and quivering lip. "Just because Stark had to call his butler to ask him what washing up liquid was."

The two snorted at the memory, snuggling deeper under the covers. Hands were beginning to move, lips beginning to touch, but this all stopped with the sudden ringing from the alarm beside Natasha's bed.

Swearing in a mixture of Russian and English, Natasha swiped at the blasted thing, pushing herself free from Clint, rolling over him and grabbing up her dressing gown from where she had left it on the floor.

"That time already?" Clint groaned. "Five more minutes?"

"Not if you want awkward questions," came her response. "Steve wakes at nine every day for a run. Thor and Tony at twelve. Bruce..." Bruce was still sleeping off the previous few days. "Just get back to your room before any of them notice."

"You know, we are all adults," he said, rolling over. "Some more than others, I admit, but still. No one will mind us... dating. I mean, we are dating, right?"

Her answer came in the form of his jeans being thrown across the room at his head.

"Fine," he grumbled, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Bloody gratitude there." 

Natasha's dressing gown was already tied tightly around the middle. She stood, barefooted, at the door; her eyes narrowed.

"Don't let them see you," she warned, one final time before heading out and quickly closing the door behind her.

Still grumbling, Clint struggled to get his jeans on, wishing then that he had worn something a little more comfortable and loose the night before. He found his t-shirt down the side of the bed along with some items of Natasha's wardrobe from last night. Throwing her bra to one side, he looked around the rest of the room for the rest of his stuff, only then starting to realise just how... empty Natasha's room was.

Alright, his room was mostly pizza boxes and dirty clothes at the moment, but he at least had some photos and posters up. And, of course, his collection of bows and arrows- both toy and sport form. Nat rather... Nat's room had no personal touch whatsoever, even after five days of living in it. 

Her clothes were hung neatly in her wardrobe; her course books piled on her desk, but there was no lighter reading material other than for a well-thumbed Anna Karenina on her bedside table beside her alarm. Beyond that, and the floral patterned bedspread, nothing personal.

He had broached the question before, the first night he had slept in hers.

"What's the point?" had been her response, busy as she was with removing his toga. "We're only here for a year." 

Not that she had been much different in Budapest, he remembered with a small smile. Whilst other young backpackers had brought with them some memento from home, Nat's backpack had only contained necessities. She had proved to be a useful friend for Clint, who had foregone bringing anti-histamines so as to bring a bunch of photos of his dog instead. 

Still, now, the emptiness to her room was.... unsettling to say the least.

Outside in the corridor, Natasha too was unsettled, less so by her lack of belongings and more so by the unexpected behaviour of her flatmates.

Thirty minutes earlier than scheduled, Steve was in the flat's single shared bathroom, with Thor already patiently queuing outside. Busting for the toilet, Natasha stood behind him, exchanging the odd pleasantry when required. She could only hope Clint would fall back asleep in her room and make his escape later. 

Of course, she was not so lucky. A minute later, her door opened and Clint stuck his head out into the corridor, his mouth falling comically open when he spied Natasha and Thor standing outside the bathroom door.

"Morning," he said, his fake cheer evaporating quickly when he caught Natasha's dark look. "I- well, I- Your lamp's fixed now. So..." He then turned and made a hasty retreat for his room, oblivious to his underpants protruding from where he had stuffed them into his back pocket. 

Thor looked, shocked, from Clint's retreating back to Natasha and then back to Clint's closing door. Natasha, all pleasant smiles again, only turned to him, gazing up at the much taller boy. 

"You tell anyone what you just saw," she said, her green eyes all large and sweet, "and I will break you."

*************************************

Later that day, Clint came into the kitchen to raid the fridge for more pizza only to find himself facing an interrogation from the combined forces of Thor, Tony, and Steve, all otherwise pretending to be absorbed with the game on Tony's laptop.

"So... Natasha," Steve was the first to broach the subject. "How's that going?"

Clint only shrugged, although internally his mind was already at panic stations. 

"Nothing's going on," he said, removing a congealed pizza slice, before sniffing it. The others could only watch, disgusted, as he shrugged again and ate it. "We're just friends."

"Friends with sleepover benefits?" Tony asked.

Choking on the pizza in his mouth (and not because it was going off), Clint turned his accusatory gaze onto an awkward Thor, who only squirmed in his seat and mouthed: "Don't tell Nat." 

"Don't tell me what?" The four of them all jumped at once; none of them having heard Natasha enter the kitchen. She stood, arms folded and her hair up again in a wet towel, and scrutinised each of their guilty faces in turn.

"Clint," she said, finally. "Your pizzas are seriously going off. Get them off of my shelf." 

Clint nodded, struggling to swallow back the slice caught in his throat. With one final dark look at a visibly quivering Thor, Natasha turned and left the kitchen and the boys to their conversation. 

"I was going to ask about Budapest, but I think I'll leave that for the time being," said Tony, a tad shakily. "I don't know how you can do it, Barton. She might be a ten, but I'm all shrivelled up right now." 

Clint only grinned at that and reached for another slice of pepperoni.