the breakfast club [ avengers ]

octo

By the time the clock struck one, Fury had read and reread the entirety of the Romanoff file. It was a lot more detailed than he had expected, usually the clerks at Marvel could barely be bothered to submit the scholarship forms on time, meaning that at the end of every semester, the scholarship kids had to sweat out the break to find out if they would be able to return. But this file, the file of a simple seventeen-year-old girl, was as well documented as if it had come from CIA itself. It read like a Le Carré novel. Spies, espionage, assassinations, GULAGS, whistleblowing.

Despite all the abbreviations and complex terminology that even his expertise in politics, government and international relations could not even scratch at, he had been able to understand the basics of the Romanoff girl. Her mother had worked in the KGB until she had leaked top secret information to the Americans regarding their nuclear weapons program. After this fact had been found out- by a Soviet spy within the CIA reporting back to the Motherland- the entire family had been transported to a Siberian outpost, labelled in the file as being far within the Arctic Circle. The Romanoff girl had been born in this camp before being allowed to live with her father in Kiev. Blah blah blah. The US did a spy swap, the CIA mole for the Romanoffs. Blah blah blah. The family now lived in the states.

Fury understood now how the girl was able to stay in the school despite some of her low grades in many of the required subjects- especially English Literature which she flunked every semester. The government was adamant that the girl stayed in an institution they could trust and keep an eye on. It made sense in all honesty. Fury lent back in his chair. Debating which file to read next, he settled on one which he assumed would be rather dull in comparison; ANTHONY STARK.

-

Steve sat fuming, seething. After his storming into the library, James nowhere to be seen, the other three students had left him to stew in his anger. Despite their initial remarks and Barton's obvious curiosity into what had taken place, Natasha had given him a look and kept him from investigating further. She had smiled softly at Steve, a pitying smile that he did not care to read too far into. And the Stark kid? He remained in a daze at his desk. Staring once again at the plain piece of lined paper in front of him, although from the faraway look in his eye, Steve could tell that he was somewhere else entirely.

What had even happened between him and the dark-haired boy in the corridor? One second, they seemed friendly, as though maybe they were getting to know each other, and the next they were screaming at each other about the other's obnoxiousness and flaws. He was in the right of course; Barnes had no idea how hard he worked. Sure, he had lots of friends, was a celebrated wrestler and passed most of his classes- but it hadn't always been that way. It hadn't been that way when his dad was shot to pieces in the stifling and venomous jungles of Vietnam or when his mother was unconscious on their threadbare sofa, having drank away all of her widow's pension.

It hadn't been easy when they had to sell his dad's truck to afford the rent, when he had to get a job after his thirteenth birthday to be able to eat, when the bank sent police to their home and threw them and their little belongings on the street. When his mother, on one of her sober days, navigated the subway and dropped him off at her brother-in-law Chester's house with a suitcase and rucksack, clutching a note that read "Please luck after my Stevie." It hadn't been easy when his fourteenth, fifteen, sixteenth and seventeenth birthdays passed without seeing his mother, only receiving a dollar store birthday card and a ten-dollar bill.

When was it easy?

But guilt and doubt crept up from his stomach, making him feel sick and the heavy beating of his heart feel like lead. What did he know of Barnes? He had lived behind the Iron Curtain, sure. But what did he know about what it was like there? It wasn't like he was able to vacation in London, Paris or Rome whenever he clicked his fingers, living in Sverdlovsk. He didn't even know where that was. Thinking about it, he had never seen James bring anyone in on family-orientated days. He at least had Uncle Chester, who was always eager to make his presence known at the school- where he had donated a significant sum in order to get his nephew accepted despite the poor academic achievements he had prior. James never had anyone. He'd come in of course, attendance was mandatory, but he'd always sneak away to the bleachers with a book and cigarette or to a corner of campus with his Walkman.