Chapter Text
You had met James in sixth grade - it had been the very first day and you had gotten lost in the new building and arrived late to class. He was the only one who didn’t snicker when you crept in and squeaked out an apology to the teacher. He was in four of your seven classes and in each one he waited by the door for you after that first class, he said that if you were going to be late then he would do it with you. He was your first friend in that school and for a long time your only friend at all.
Middle school had been hard for you, hard for everyone really with all the hormones flying around, but you were in a bad place. Your parents had split after years of screaming matches and slamming doors and late, alcohol-infused nights because of you and your special mutation. You had this ability to work with mechanics, no matter how complex. If you could get your hands on them, you could do just about anything. Your father loved you for it, the mutation made you invaluable to him and his business and it gave the two of you something to bond over. Your mother, though, hated that you were different. She couldn't stand that you were special or different and that you liked it - so rather than attempt joint custody, your mother told you just what she thought of what you could do and left you broken for your father to try and fix. You were a freak, you had heard it before, but having your mother say it shattered any pride you had in your abilities. James was there to pick up the pieces.
It didn't help that you felt like a freak. None of the other girls in your school volunteered to take robotics, engineering, or workshop. The few that were in those classes did what they could to stay clean and avoid getting into the thick of the action, whereas you were always dirty and working on something. Good grades were a breeze despite the accelerated learning pace and double-advanced classes you were placed in despite your protests. You stuck out like a sore thumb, but James never tried to compare you to the other girls.
James treated you like any of his other friends, of which he had many. You worked on homework together, joked during classes, and were almost always attached at the hip between classes. To him, you were just one of the guys. Sure he was a bit rough, and you were always finding bruises from where he had punched you or jabbed his fingers into your sides, but he did that with all his guy friends. It was normal.
When your school announced that they were starting a high school, you nearly cried. You didn’t know if you could handle a big public school after three years of the relatively small private school you had grown used to. Sure they would only take twenty students from your grade, but you were guaranteed a spot between your high scores and teachers’ recommendations to keep you. James wasn’t guaranteed a spot though, and that terrified you. Desperate to not lose your best friend, you took to tutoring sessions and helping with papers and projects instead of just regular homework. You spent months helping boost his grades and getting him to take tests to get into advanced programs in other schools to entice your own school to keep him, though it meant less time at your father’s shop and helping run his business - something you had always done because of your innate ability to work with mechanics and your love for your father. Losing time working was acceptable, though, as long as you got to keep your best friend.
You clung to him in high school, relieved to have him in six of your seven classes in the first two years. The bruises were necessary now. If you didn’t have them, you didn't have him. You didn’t mind the trade-off. James was everything. Then came dual enrollment with the local college and you spent nearly every waking moment making sure James wouldn’t fail out and leave you alone. Your course load was double anyone else's at your school, but you didn’t mind. How could you when it meant that you were able to keep him around? You needed him. And if the bruises accompanied snide remarks about your weight and the cuts on your arms and legs because your mind was a maze of pitfalls and shitty mental health you didn't mind. You probably deserved it anyway. It would explain why no one else would be your friend.
Every college you applied to received two applications - one for you and one for James. Why would you go to a college, an unknown place with strange people, without your, now, boyfriend? Stanford University had accepted both of you. You flew through with flying colors, but James, no matter how much time and effort you put into helping him - writing papers, stressing over projects, emailing professors and advisors, - flunked out. You got a job to pay for the apartment since he couldn’t live on campus anymore. He stuck with you as you continued school and he started his own business, though he hated that you couldn’t spend more time with him. You deserved the bruises and cuts. Deserved the yelling and kicking because you were a terrible girlfriend. You never did finish the doctorate in electrical engineering, why would you when you had already done so much and disappointed James so severely. One doctorate and a master’s was more than enough, unnecessary even. Why did you need them when you could naturally control and manipulate anything mechanical. It was a good thing you could pay for those degrees because James shouldn’t have to pay for something so wasteful.
You lost your job. They didn’t want you anymore, they must have realized you weren’t worth much to them. James’s business, though, took off. Without school or your job in the way, you were able to spend all your time focusing on James and helping his business. You had to devote all your time pleasing him - if you didn't he would get angry, his friends would get angry, and you would be punished. Beatings, being left in the walk-in freezer surrounded by bags you didn’t want to look in and the smell of rotting flesh, and starvation became your standard. Touches you didn't want, clothes you hated because they made you feel cheap and exposed, and long nights with strange men fractured you further until you couldn’t keep the will to keep living as strong as you once had. Except, you didn't want to die...you just wanted to get out. To get as far away as you could and live a little.
Once, in seventh grade, you had seen Heathers. The movie was seriously fucked up, you hated it, but the girls you were watching it with, in an attempt to be accepted, thought the movie was brilliant. It turned out to have its uses.
You faked your suicide on your anniversary. The dining room was on the first floor and James was supposed to meet you there when he was finished with work, so you snatched the opportunity like the salvation it was. When the table was set and you had arranged everything in the way you knew he would like it, you climbed onto the table. Secure in your plan, you tied the thin rope just under your bust so it wouldn’t be obvious under the dress you wore and could be hidden by your long hair where it attached to the thicker rope you looped around your neck before you jumped and looped the other end around the chandelier and...dangled. For over an hour. James didn't bother to cut you down when he stumbled in, half-drunk with lipstick smeared on his neck and his belt still undone. You had listened as he cursed and yelled and raged on about how you made everything harder than it needed to be. About how good he had been to you, putting up with your mental problems and freaky abilities when even your mother thought you weren’t worth being around. How you should have been kissing his feet for the attention he gave you and thanking his friends for not being so disgusted that they couldn’t enjoy you. Now you were going to make him look bad to his partners, make him look like a fool for not being able to keep his bitch in line.
And then he’d left you there, muttering about how he would have to find someone to get you down because he couldn’t be bothered.
Once the door had closed, and you were sure you were alone, you had cut the rope and dropped to the table as quietly as you could, your heart in your throat. Then you had climbed out the window, snuck to the garden where you had hidden a bag with what you thought you would need and ran.
James had been looking for you ever since. You knew because you collided in Alabama nearly two months later while you were trying to get to your father. He’d nearly killed you then, only failing because you managed to run into heavy traffic and hitch a ride with a truck driver who thought you were just backpacking across the country.
That had been the last time you had seen James. You knew he had to still be looking, it was why you stuck to the woods and abandoned buildings like you had thought Clint’s house had been. You hadn’t trusted anyone since James, how could you when everything had gone so horribly?
But then you met Natasha and Clint. Yes, those first few days had been terrifying, and you had nearly run in the middle of the night more than once because Clint looked so much like James that at first, all you saw was the man that had betrayed you. Slowly, though, you began to trust them both. You just had to hope they wouldn’t turn on you too.