Fic: Interpreter
Title: Interpreter
Fandom: Marvel Movieverse
Rating: PG
Summary: There are many things Natasha finds boring, but the first day at a new school is pretty high on the list.
Notes: Natasha and Clint debut in the Avengers High School AU universe, which I've christened Go Vikings! over at AO3. Previous ficlets in this universe are here and here. Many thanks to queenitsy for the truly ridiculous amount of encouragement, handholding, and betaing I needed for less than 1000 words of silliness. She is my hero, you guys.
“Did you explain her schedule to her?”
“How can I explain it? She doesn’t speak English!”
“Well, what are we supposed to do with her?”
Natasha watched the school secretaries argue and schooled her expression into a look of utter confusion. This was the seventh high school she’d been to in the past three years, and she was so over the whole “first day of school” thing. Pretending not to speak English wasn’t the most innovative weapon in her arsenal, but at least it made things interesting. It was definitely better than standing in front of her new homeroom and rattling off the same tired, highly-sanitized speech about who she was and where she came from.
“Don’t worry,” one of the school secretaries told Natasha. “We’ll find someone to show you to your locker. Lock-er,” she enunciated carefully, miming opening a door.
“Doorvay?” Natasha asked, frowning. “I am leavink?” She started to gather up her things.
“No! No no no, stay. You stay,” the secretary said. “Oh, isn’t there anyone we can call? Her foster father or something?”
“Oh! I know!” the other secretary said. “That Vanko boy, with the bird! He speaks Russian!”
Natasha just barely managed not to give away that she’d understood. A bird?
“Well, page him!” the first secretary said.
Before she could, though, a man pushed his way into the office, dragging a boy about Natasha’s age behind him. “…telling you, Tony asked me to move the helicopter to the roof!” the boy was saying.
“We’ll just see about that,” the man said. “Ms. Steinberg, can you please have Tony Stark come down here, please? And can someone go lock the roof access door? Again?” He pointed to the empty seat next to Natasha. “You sit there until we get this sorted out, Barton.”
The boy sat down next to Natasha and they appraised each other. He was short, maybe even as short as her, with a bulldog face and some serious shoulders. “Hi,” he said, smiling. “I’m Clint. Are you new?”
Natasha gave him an apologetic smile as she said, in Russian, “You don’t have a snowball’s chance in Hell with me, little man.”
“Give me a chance,” he replied, startling her. “I’m not so bad when you get to know me.”
Natasha blinked in surprise. The accent was atrocious, but the language was unmistakable. She glanced at the adults, who were too busy trying to sort out Clint’s mess to notice the conversation going on in front of them. “You speak Russian?” she whispered, switching to English.
Clint lowered his voice to match hers. “Da. And French, Japanese…”
In all the years she’d been bounced from school to school, Natasha had encountered a few other kids her age who spoke Russian, but they all had Russian last names and accents worn smooth with years of speaking Russian at home with their parents. No one learned Russian for fun.
More importantly, he was clearly smart enough to figure out what her game was, and he hadn’t given her away.
Maybe Natasha had found something at this school that wasn’t boring after all.
“Cool it, Babelfish Junior.” Natasha glanced at her schedule. “I have trig next period. Any reason I should stick around for it?”
“None that I can think of.”
Natasha looked at the secretaries again. One was on the phone; the other was looking at files with the angry teacher. “Okay. Let’s get out of here.”
She stood up. “Excuse,” she said loudly. “Toilet please?” She shifted her weight back and forth in the international signal for bathroom urgency.
“I’ll show her!” Clint said quickly, earning another approval point in Natasha’s books. He was no fool.
The secretary glanced at the angry teacher. They were surrounded by files and clearly couldn’t easily stop what they were doing. “Barton, I don’t want you leaving this office…” the teacher started to say.
Natasha made a pained face and shifted a little faster. “Toilet, please!” she demanded.
“…but I guess you can show her, if you come right back,” the teacher concluded.
The secretary nodded. “Natasha, Clint will take you to the, uh, toilet,” she said loudly, as if being loud would help someone who didn’t speak English understand. She pointed to Clint.
Natasha furrowed her brow, then pointed to Clint as well. “Is toilet?”
“Ah, no. Will show toilet,” Clint said. Taking Natasha by the elbow, he led her out of the office.
Once the door closed behind them, Natasha started walking normally, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. Clint trotted along beside her. “So where are we going?” he asked.
She looked sidelong at him. She was normally a loner, but she did need someone to show her around. She could do worse than this guy. “Well, I hear there’s a helicopter on the roof. That sounds a bit more interesting than trig.”
“The janitor’s locked the roof access door by now.”
“I can pick locks.”
Clint smiled. “Natasha, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
Fandom: Marvel Movieverse
Rating: PG
Summary: There are many things Natasha finds boring, but the first day at a new school is pretty high on the list.
Notes: Natasha and Clint debut in the Avengers High School AU universe, which I've christened Go Vikings! over at AO3. Previous ficlets in this universe are here and here. Many thanks to queenitsy for the truly ridiculous amount of encouragement, handholding, and betaing I needed for less than 1000 words of silliness. She is my hero, you guys.
“Did you explain her schedule to her?”
“How can I explain it? She doesn’t speak English!”
“Well, what are we supposed to do with her?”
Natasha watched the school secretaries argue and schooled her expression into a look of utter confusion. This was the seventh high school she’d been to in the past three years, and she was so over the whole “first day of school” thing. Pretending not to speak English wasn’t the most innovative weapon in her arsenal, but at least it made things interesting. It was definitely better than standing in front of her new homeroom and rattling off the same tired, highly-sanitized speech about who she was and where she came from.
“Don’t worry,” one of the school secretaries told Natasha. “We’ll find someone to show you to your locker. Lock-er,” she enunciated carefully, miming opening a door.
“Doorvay?” Natasha asked, frowning. “I am leavink?” She started to gather up her things.
“No! No no no, stay. You stay,” the secretary said. “Oh, isn’t there anyone we can call? Her foster father or something?”
“Oh! I know!” the other secretary said. “That Vanko boy, with the bird! He speaks Russian!”
Natasha just barely managed not to give away that she’d understood. A bird?
“Well, page him!” the first secretary said.
Before she could, though, a man pushed his way into the office, dragging a boy about Natasha’s age behind him. “…telling you, Tony asked me to move the helicopter to the roof!” the boy was saying.
“We’ll just see about that,” the man said. “Ms. Steinberg, can you please have Tony Stark come down here, please? And can someone go lock the roof access door? Again?” He pointed to the empty seat next to Natasha. “You sit there until we get this sorted out, Barton.”
The boy sat down next to Natasha and they appraised each other. He was short, maybe even as short as her, with a bulldog face and some serious shoulders. “Hi,” he said, smiling. “I’m Clint. Are you new?”
Natasha gave him an apologetic smile as she said, in Russian, “You don’t have a snowball’s chance in Hell with me, little man.”
“Give me a chance,” he replied, startling her. “I’m not so bad when you get to know me.”
Natasha blinked in surprise. The accent was atrocious, but the language was unmistakable. She glanced at the adults, who were too busy trying to sort out Clint’s mess to notice the conversation going on in front of them. “You speak Russian?” she whispered, switching to English.
Clint lowered his voice to match hers. “Da. And French, Japanese…”
In all the years she’d been bounced from school to school, Natasha had encountered a few other kids her age who spoke Russian, but they all had Russian last names and accents worn smooth with years of speaking Russian at home with their parents. No one learned Russian for fun.
More importantly, he was clearly smart enough to figure out what her game was, and he hadn’t given her away.
Maybe Natasha had found something at this school that wasn’t boring after all.
“Cool it, Babelfish Junior.” Natasha glanced at her schedule. “I have trig next period. Any reason I should stick around for it?”
“None that I can think of.”
Natasha looked at the secretaries again. One was on the phone; the other was looking at files with the angry teacher. “Okay. Let’s get out of here.”
She stood up. “Excuse,” she said loudly. “Toilet please?” She shifted her weight back and forth in the international signal for bathroom urgency.
“I’ll show her!” Clint said quickly, earning another approval point in Natasha’s books. He was no fool.
The secretary glanced at the angry teacher. They were surrounded by files and clearly couldn’t easily stop what they were doing. “Barton, I don’t want you leaving this office…” the teacher started to say.
Natasha made a pained face and shifted a little faster. “Toilet, please!” she demanded.
“…but I guess you can show her, if you come right back,” the teacher concluded.
The secretary nodded. “Natasha, Clint will take you to the, uh, toilet,” she said loudly, as if being loud would help someone who didn’t speak English understand. She pointed to Clint.
Natasha furrowed her brow, then pointed to Clint as well. “Is toilet?”
“Ah, no. Will show toilet,” Clint said. Taking Natasha by the elbow, he led her out of the office.
Once the door closed behind them, Natasha started walking normally, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. Clint trotted along beside her. “So where are we going?” he asked.
She looked sidelong at him. She was normally a loner, but she did need someone to show her around. She could do worse than this guy. “Well, I hear there’s a helicopter on the roof. That sounds a bit more interesting than trig.”
“The janitor’s locked the roof access door by now.”
“I can pick locks.”
Clint smiled. “Natasha, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”