marvel cinematic university: freshers assemble || mcu

6: Battle of Blue Block

Flat 2 was woken yet again to a ferocious banging on each of their doors, although this time their alarm was none other than...

"Up!" Nick shouted, seemingly unaware of just what a Sunday morning should comprise of- sleep. "Get up and get out there! Today is the day. We're five points down from Flat 5, but, if we work together, we can do- Why's Stark asleep in the kitchen?"

"Drinking contest," Natasha replied, having reached her door first. "I don't think you should expect much from him today."

"You had a drinking contest the night before the big finale?" Nick exclaimed, incredulously. 

"Correction," Bruce put in. "Steve and Tony had a drinking contest the afternoon before the finale." 

"So, if Tony's in the kitchen, then where's Steve?" 

Natasha shrugged: "The last I saw of him, he was drunk-dialling his ex on the flat phone."

"Bucky or Peggy?" Bruce asked, curious.

"No idea. I'm sure we'll find out when the phone bill comes in," she replied. "Hey, have any of you seen Clint this morning?"

"No," Thor said, himself emerging from his room, looking annoyingly refreshed compared to the rest of the flat. "I thought you two were-"

"We're not! And we don't 'sleepover' every night if that's what you're wondering."

Thor just shrugged. 

"If he's anywhere, he's still in bed."

Marching past him, Natasha reached Clint's door and banged on it loudly, only to find the door unlocked and ajar anyway. Cautiously, she pushed it open, recoiling as the smell of sickness wafted out. Within the darkened room, she could just make out the shape of a shivering Clint lying on the floor, his duvet wrapped several times around him and a bucket beside his head.

"Damn it, Clint," she said, rushing over to his side and pressing a hand against his burning forehead. "You and your stupid pizza deal."

"Don't- don't-" Clint gagged. "Don't mention that word... again." 

"Hey, Thor," Natasha called out, poking her head around the door. "Give me a hand moving Clint back into his bed. The idiot's given himself food poisoning. No finale for him today," she added, causing Nick to cry out in... well, in fury. 

"What do you mean no finale for him?" he shouted, storming up the corridor, his duster coat trailing out behind him. Natasha however stood firm, arms folded, acting guard outside Clint's bedroom.

"He's sick," she retorted. "Like really sick. I'm not leaving him whilst he's like this just to go and take part in some stupid make-believe pissing contest between you and Coulson." Nick twitched at that, but Natasha only raised her chin further. "Got a problem with that?"

"I expected better of you, Romanoff," he said with a snarl. "Throwing it all away, all the glory of victory, for a... for a man." 

"Victory? Don't you mean two own-brand tequila bottles from back in Steve's day and the remaining cider bottles from Flat 3? Excuse me if I don't see much glory in that." 

"Did anyone say cider?" Tony called out, emerging rather clumsily from the kitchen with a bottle of washing up liquid in one hand and the remaining vodka in another. 

"I think it'll be best if we all go outside and leave Natasha and Clint for a while," Thor said, appearing at Nick's shoulder. "They can then come out when they're ready."

Mumbling under his breath, Nick turned away, whilst Thor passed him and carefully helped Natasha carry a still-shivering Clint back into his bed,

"Hope you feel well soon, little man," Thor said, patting Clint awkwardly on the head before following the others outside.