Chapter Text
One week. One week since she had started to attend SHIELD High. And nothing had really changed. Besides the weather, and that wasn't for the better. It hadn't gotten easier either, not that it had gotten more difficult, she wasn't really trying. Why, when she would be leaving soon enough anyway? Also half the time she just didn't want to. It was still annoying to try and have to decipher what her teachers were saying. She couldn't learn much if she didn't understand what they were trying to teach her. Therefore she could not do the work they assigned. Didn't help that they had mysteriously ended up in her trash can or wrinkled at the bottom of her backpack. And the friends department...well the less said about that the better. Actually there wasn't much to say about that at all. And she really did try, after all she sat at the back of the class and glared at anyone who got too close to her. She was super determined and approachable.
And as for her home life, or rather lack there of, she wasn't really fairing much better. Unless you counted her growing addition of bruises along her back and arms. She didn't. And her head pounded slightly from a solidly landed kick to the head. And a few to her stomach. She would be more concerned about a concussion, except she wasn't. The worry was energy she didn't have to give. And if she died... she shrugged her shoulders.
Now sitting in first period she rolled her pencil back and forth on the desk, watching as it reached the end of the desk and teetered on the edge of oblivion, before she nudged it back to safety. She lay her tilted head on her hand, arm propped up on the desk. She could feel the sharp edge dig into her ribcage. Mr. Coulson sat at his desk in the front, everyone else in the class with their heads down and pencils scratching against their papers, leaving dark streaks. She glanced up at the clock from the corner of her eye. Just five more minutes.
She breathed a sigh of relief that lifted up a few strands of hair away from her face, revealing a math problem with scribbled out, attempted solutions. She wanted to stab her eyes out with the pencil, math was killing her already anyway. The distraction of hunger and the dull throb of pain in her stomach wasn't exactly helping with anything either. The last thing she remembered eating was a banana yesterday. It wasn't that good. It also now occurred to her that she may just not like bananas.
Movement from the edges of her vision informed her that class was over. She shoved the pencil in her jeans pocket, the sharp point of the graphite stabbing her in the thigh when she stood up, and her math homework to the trenches of her bag, slinging it over her shoulder as she stood up. She waited a moment to let others pass by her, giving her room to more easily navigate the rows of desks and get to the door. When she finally did she found Mr. Coulson waiting there.
Don't be for her, don't be for her, don't be for her...
He took a half step to the side, in front of the doorway, clearly having been waiting for her. Damn, she really needed some better luck. Maybe she should start worshipping Tyche.
She resisted the urge to run out the doorway, getting only four words from him before he gave her a smile, stepping aside to let her through. She did not return it. As a matter of fact her mouth was pulled down in a frown, deeper than before.
Tutoring, Session, Library, Clint.
She didn't allow herself to think much about that while she navigated the hallways to her next class. Which was good, because she almost bumped into about seven different people on the short walk. Maybe she was part of the problem.
When she finally did settle into her usual seat, with a brief moment of panic at having her never finished her homework, before she remembered that she didn't really care, she allowed herself to think on what Mr. Coulson might have said. To analyze the four words she did manage to get. (Not really though, this was Math not English.)
The first issue was the time. Skye assumed it was after school, if it was going to be at anytime of the day she assumed it would be then. The second was this Clint person. She had no idea who they were, and that did nothing to settle her growing nerves. She couldn't help the thought of a trap slipping its way into her head, worst case scenarios. What if this was a trap? Why would it be a trap though? Even if it was, there would be other people still in the library, or at the very least the librarian. That eased her nerves the slightest bit. Also she really didn't want to have to spend any extra time at school, let alone spend it having to continue stuffing her brain with things that would slowly leak their way out of her ears throughout the next few days. And how was she supposed to learn anything if she couldn't hear this Clint?
The rest of the day was spent with her anxiety monster chomping on her nerves. She wanted to hit the thing with a pan over the head. Repeatedly. Tutoring wasn't really gonna help her. She wasn't gonna get a good job. And working at a McDonald's couldn't be that bad, could it? She might be good at making fries. That would be the only thing she was good at then. Plus, free stolen food. Food always tasted better when she stole it.
By the end of the day Skye was tempted to just not show up entirely. She sat with her arms crossed, leaning back in the fairly comfortable library chair in a way that was sure to make her back hurt years from now. She felt her stomach growl slightly, contracting in pain just a moment later. At least it was tolerable. She dragged her attention back to the new sheet of math homework Mr. Fields had given them that day. She narrowed her eyes at the sheet of paper, testing to see if she might have laser eyes. She did not, in fact, have laser eyes.
A sudden tap on her shoulder startled her, causing her to whip her head around so fast she was sure to have gotten whiplash. Skye assumed that the boy, who looked to be around seventeen to eighteen years old with blond hair and blue eyes, was Clint. He gave her a sheepish, apologetic smile before pulling out the chair next to her and sitting down, setting down his bag on the floor next to him. Let the tutoring begin.
Clint had finished the school day, which for the record had dragged on like a snail having no place to go, and headed to the library. He was interested to see exactly who this girl was. And Phil seemed pretty serious when he had asked Clint to tutor her. And Clint wasn't exactly a model student, but he did know a thing or two about getting grades up. Even if it was only to a passing. But passing a class was still passing a class. He was going to graduate even if it killed him.
Spoiler alert: It probably would.
"Skye!" He shouted into the library, seeing if anyone would twist around to stare at him upon hearing their name.
"Shhh!" The librarian reprimanded him, glaring up at him from behind her desk, her nose stuffed in a book. He mumbled a quick apology, totally meaning it. He was real glad librarian assassins didn't exist because the school's librarian would have murdered him already. He may or may not have pulled a few stunts before pertaining to the library before.
He scanned the tables, and between the shelves upon shelves on dead trees living in other dead trees. He found who he was looking for fairly quickly. He may be deaf, but he wasn't blind. At least not yet. He wouldn't be surprised if fireworks one day caused him to be blind. Or some kind of freak accident from Wanda's lab.
When he looked back over to Skye he saw that she hadn't even turned her head to look at him when he had called her name, not even that loudly may he add (He was lying, it was fairly loud). She hadn't even given any indication that she had heard him whatsoever. He found it a little odd but with a shrug of his shoulders let it go, walking over and tapping her on the shoulder. His hand retracted fast when she whipped around to look at him, shock shining in her eyes. His own neck hurt at the whiplash she must feel.
For a second he saw a flash of red hair. A glimpse of green eyes. A face he knew very well know but not at all back then. One that said she would kick his ass if he ever tried to sneak up on her again. She always followed through.
He gave her a small, apologetic smile, shaking the similarities he saw out of his head, as he pulled the chair out next to her. His backpack slid off his shoulder and onto the floor with a solid thunk.
Throughout the session he noticed Skye continuing to zone out, needing to pull her attention back to what they were learning. It didn't seem as though she was getting the material down at all, especially when he tried to audibly teach her. And she was jumpy, she flinched every time he tapped her shoulder or bumped her foot. Clint knew this behavior. He experienced this behavior. Why hadn't Phil told him she was deaf, among other things?
Later that night, a long while after he had left the school, the sky having gone dark when he pushed the school doors open, almost slipping on a patch of ice on the stairs, he was sitting in his usual spot at the dining table, next to Nat. Who was still chuckling silently at his misfortune a few stairs down. He watched as Pietro shoveled food into his mouth, wondering when he was going to stop for a breath.
Conversation was slightly lacking tonight, which was an abnormal thing for his family. Someone was always on the verge of yelling at someone else.
"How did the tutoring session go, Clint?" Phil asked.
Clint took a bite of food, swallowing before he answered. Because he had manners. Also May was looking at him as if saying, I dare you to forget your manners. "It went okay. Why didn't you tell me she deaf though?"
"Skye's deaf?" Clint paused at the confusion ringing clear in Phil's voice, fork hovering over his plate.
Clint looked at him, one eyebrow raised in similar confusion. "Yeah?"
Any and all conversation had now screeched to a halt, everybody listening intently.
"That would explain why she didn't respond when me and Pietro tried to talk to her!" Wanda exclaimed to Pietro, smacking her brother in the arm.
"Why would it not say that on her file? It explains a lot, but why was it not on her file?" Phil wondered, more to himself than anyone else. It was already clear that he was now lost in his own thoughts, mind running through explanations.
A small glance over at Natasha, her head down, staring at the table in thought, food long forgotten. He nudged her in the side, maybe a little unnecessarily hard, with his elbow. They had a silent conversation between them, with Clint making a majority of the weird faces. Okay, all of the weird faces.
May locked eyes with Phil and they had their own silent conversation. At the same time.
Pietro just continued to shovel food into his mouth, Wanda watching in abject horror.