A/n: Clint adopted Wanda and Peter (yes his name is Peter because they're american and peter is the Am. Version of pietro). Cilnt is 12-15 years older than the reader who is in college and therefore above the age of consent. Hopefully that addresses most of the comments. Now, enjoy!
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You hurried into the Red Eye Café, slipping off your jacket as you came through the door. "Sorry, I'm late."

Curtis was in his usual spot behind the counter, looking more linebacker than diner owner. He looked up at your announcement before waving you off as if it wasn't important. And to him it wasn't. He and his wife Maria had opened the little diner when they were in their mid-20s. Now, they were in their fifties and had three grown boys and twice the space.

They treated you like family and that meant they weren't overly put out if you were a couple of minutes, or even a couple of hours, late. You cared more than they did, truth be told. Curtis finished topping off someone's coffee and glanced at you as he put the pot back. "Everything all right?"

You nodded as you tied on an apron. "The mailman came right as I was leaving. I stayed until he finished." You held up the large envelope clutched tightly in your hand. "They're here. All of them."

"Maria, she got the letters," Curtis called through the window to his wife. You saw her wipe her hands off on a towel before she came out of the kitchen.

"Well, let's see what you got, baby. Don't keep us in suspense," she ordered as she came to stand beside her husband. You grinned as you dumped out the envelope of mail from your father's house. His butler collected it all week and would then send it on.

You pulled out the four envelopes you'd been waiting on and laid them on the counter in front of you. When you announced at the end of your previous semester that you were dropping out of business school to pursue a degree in art, your father had cut you off completely. Well, he would in less than two weeks when the new semester started and you weren't enrolled in your business classes. These were the letters that would tell you how much financial aid you would be receiving to help with school.

The letter from the art school was first. They had their own scholarships and grant programs and you'd applied for everything you were eligible for. You unfolded the paper and ran your eyes over the text.

"We think you for your interest. Your status is below. Blah, blah, blah." Your voice trailed off and your brow furrowed as you took in the list. Denied. Denied. Not awarded. Not qualified. What the hell?

You ignored Curtis and Maria as they asked what the letter said and dropped the paper onto the counter. You grabbed the envelope for a state grant and skimmed that letter to find more of the same. As you feared, the two federal grants were no better. You licked your lips as moisture pooled in your eyes. You dropped your head into your hands.

"Not even a dime," you said, knowing your bosses were waiting for the verdict.

"What? That doesn't make any sense." Curtis snatched one of the letters off the counter to read it for himself.

You lifted your head. "I don't qualify for any sort of aid because my father makes too much money."

"But he's not helping you pay for anything," Maria argued.

"They don't care. He's capable of it, so they won't help me." Tears overflowed and ran down your cheeks.

"Don't cry, sweetheart. There's still student loans." His voice took on the soft tone he got when either you or Maria were upset.

You shook your head. "Not without him cosigning. And what's the point of an art degree if I have to pay back thousands of dollars of debt when I graduate. I'll be paying off loans until I'm eighty. Shit." You shoved the papers across the counter. "Throw those away. I can't stand to look at them anymore."

"Maybe you should try talking to your dad again. Maybe he'll see that you're serious about art school and help you out. He could loan you the money at a lower interest rate." Maria looked so hopeful you almost felt bad for snorting in disbelief.

"I wouldn't bet on it. He'd probably charge me double." It wasn't that your father disliked you or anything, but he was used to people doing as he said, you included. And he wasn't beyond doing whatever he needed to enforce that compliance. The disappointed look on Maria's face had you backtracking a little. "I'll call him as soon as my shift is over."

She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "Nonsense. This is more important. You call him now."

There was no point arguing with her. Maria always got her way. You gave a nod and pulled out your phone before heading through the kitchen and out the back door. You leaned against the building and called your father.

"Rumlow."

He always answered the phone like that. As if he were too busy for any sort of formalities or niceties. It bothered you maybe more than it should have, but you had been raised by your mother for the first ten years of your life. A more courteous, kind person had never existed. You were the product of a youthful indiscretion as your father put it. Though your parentage had been confirmed by a DNA test, you looked nothing like him. All your features came from your mother to the point you could have been mistaken for her clone. You even carried her last name.

In rare moments, your father would really look at you and tell you how much you reminded him of her. The thread of regret in his voice always made you wonder if that was a good or bad thing. You shook your head, knowing you were only putting off the inevitable. "Hello, Dad."

There was a brief pause "Well, this is a surprise. What can I do for you?"

"I need to borrow some money." You forced the words out.

"Borrow?"

You sucked in a breath to steel your nerves. "Apparently the school doesn't care that you are refusing to pay for my classes. I don't qualify for any of the financial aid I've applied for because you make too much money. The only option left is student loans." You braced yourself, prepared to listen to his insane requirements for lending you the money.

"No."

His outright refusal took you a minute to recover from. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." He sighed when you didn't say anything. "Listen, I know you don't see it, but this is for your own good. You'll thank me in the long run."

You hummed low in your throat. "Will I though?"

"Yes, you will. With a business degree, all sorts of doors are open for you. Hell, you could work for me when you graduate. Take over the company someday."

You bit your tongue to keep from telling him that would be the last thing you'd be doing. His company was involved in too many things that didn't set right with you. Nothing illegal, but some of it was damn sure immoral. "Business doesn't interest me, dad. I gave it a shot like you asked, and it wasn't me. You know that."

"What I know is that is a choice you are making and a damned stupid one. I don't have to agree with it and I sure as hell don't have to support it." He was near shouting by the end.

"Okay. I get it." You hated fighting with him.

"No. I don't think you do. But you will. This is the last month I will be paying your rent, so I suggest you make other arrangements. I doubt you can pay it on your own with what you make at that diner." When he told you to get a job in high school, the diner was not what he had in mind. He'd offered you a job in his company mailroom and you'd decided to wait tables instead.

The line had gone silent. "Dad?"

No response.

The bastard had hung up on you.

A sob tore its way from your chest, and you did your best to suck it back down. You hated that you got like this, but you couldn't help it. Every time you fought with your dad, you cried. It was stupid but unavoidable apparently.

You swiped the tears from your cheeks and focused on breathing. You needed to calm the hell down and get back to work. Not wanting to get sucked into a lengthy conversation, you tapped out a text to your best friend Wanda.

You had met her and her twin Peter the first week of your freshman year. You all attended the same private high school. Wanda was a fellow artistic soul and the two of you quickly became inseparable. Peter was a track star who inexplicably liked hanging out with the two art nerds. When he died in a car accident your Junior year, Wanda almost faded away with him. Slowly she healed and things were as normal as they could be with part of your trio lost for good.

The two of you were supposed to look at apartments later this week so you could live together just off campus. There was no way you could afford to do that now. You weren't even going to be able to attend classes this semester. If you called, she would only argue with you, claiming she didn't need you to pay rent. And she didn't. Her father was as well off, more so than your own and that was saying something. Unlike your own, he'd actually encouraged her to attend art school, to chase after what made her happy. But you couldn't let her pay your way. You wouldn't.

Text sent, you slipped the phone into your apron and swiped at your eyes again, hoping there were no remnants of tears remaining. You stepped inside the door and were immediately wrapped in a tight hug by the petite Hispanic woman you worked for.

"I am so sorry, baby. I listened, I couldn't help it. I was worried."

You hugged her back. Honestly you didn't mind that she had eavesdropped. It kept you from having to repeat everything. Joshua, their middle son glanced over from his spot by the grill and looked you over. You gave him a little wave.

"Who made you cry? Do I need to have a word with someone?" His gruff tone had you grinning. All three of their sons treated you like a sister, including being a bit overprotective.

Maria clicked her tongue again and waved her son off. "It's just that father of hers."

He nodded and turned back to the food he was cooking. Your phone buzzed in your pocket as it rang. You ignored it, knowing it was Wanda. You didn't feel like crying again right now.

"We have a spare room. And you know you can have all the hours you want. Study between customers. Just like Jericho." Jericho was their youngest son who was in the middle of getting his law degree.

"Don't do it, Sis. It sounds nice but it's a trap," Joshua called over his shoulder, a teasing lilt to his voice.

"Oh, stop it you," his mother chastised before turning back to you. "And you get to work. This will all work out. You'll see. Just have a little faith."