2014-01-04 - The CPS Lady Cometh

It's morning. A foot hangs over the arm of the couch in the apartment, a trenchcoat on the back, and Adam's open backpack lays haphazardly against the back of the couch.

The dog lays on the couch next to the sleeping teenager, also asleep. The apartment looks mostly the same as it did before he had a teenager to care for... boxes, mess, arrows and bits of bows everywhere. The only real additions are the small stack of textbooks on the table next to a powered-down StarkPad.

Of course the alarm (that wasn't set) was supposed to go off an hour ago. The coffee pot (that /was/ set, priorities!) is full of fresh coffee.

Clint comes down from the sleeping level, or whatever you call that thing in the loft, bare foot, in his boxers, a t-shirt and of course his purple robe with darker purple target rings on it. He does up the belt and wanders over to the kitchen stepping over spilled kibble to get to the coffee pot.

Precious caffeine in hand he dips a finger in it to make sure it's not too hot then sips direct from the pot. He was supposed to be up early for something wasn't he? Briefing about Jess? Nah. Avengers meeting? Nah not that either. Oh shit, CPS. He sets down the coffee and vaults over the kitchen island into the living room with a soft thump that wakes Lucky. "Wake up Adam, got that thing this morning."

"Mmrrghh," Adam replies from the couch, waving a hand up at Clint. "'s early."

Teenagers. Lucky looks from Clint to Adam, and begins licking Adam's face, then tugs at the shoulder of the teen's shirt.

"All right, all right, 'm up..." He sits up, bleary-eyed. "What thing?"

"CPS," Clint says as he moves a little block of C4 he'd been using to make explosive arrows into a box before crouching down to try to make a dent in the number of beer bottles by the couch. "Hit the shower first, I'll get this place cleaned up-ish."

Adam grabs his phone off the coffee table and looks at it. "...shit. You mean in like, fifteen minutes?" he asks, suddenly looking a lot more awake. He tosses the blanket aside, surveying the room really quickly. "We probably should have done this last night instead of playing cards," he points out needlessly.

Lucky lets out a whine and hops down off the couch, watching the two of them with a whuffling sigh.

"Shower. Right." and he lightly snags his backpack as he practically bolts to the bathroom, effortlessly dodging detritis on the way. "I'll grab the phoss...fewhatsit when I'm out and put it away," he calls over his shoulder as he pushes the door shut. "Duh and or hello," Clint says about playing cards. "And yeah, totally put the phosphorus away," Clint looks around the room and scratches the back of his neck "Good thing it's not the fire inspector either, eh Lucky?" he asks the dog before grabbing a box loaded with beer bottles and putting them out on the fire escape. Then he gets to work grabbing up arrows and sticking them in boxes and so on, until Adam's done in the shower or CPS shows up, whichever comes first.

About five minutes after the water turns on, it cuts off, and a minute or so later, Adam walks out in bare feet, jeans, and shirtless, toweling his hair dry. He finishes toweling off the hair (spikes? not right now, buddy, just a purple muss sticking every which way), tossing the towel onto a pile of dirty laundry.

He snags the phosphorus and a few other bits of explosive and/or flammable things for arrow making, looking around for a reasonable place to put them, and decides just to shove them into a cupboard in the kitchen.

"Did you get the beer bottles?" he asks from the kitchen area, where he has begun to shove dishes from the sink into the ancient dishwasher. "...man, I hope this isn't an inspection-inspection."

"Yeah, got the bottles can you clean up Lucky's kibble put some more in his bowl," Clint says as he bounds up the stairs to the sleeping level to get some good clothes out of the pile of stuff Jan got him for Christmas. Then he's back down the stairs and jumping into the shower. He's in there for maybe five minutes before he's back out dressed, hair equally messy as Adam's minus the purple. He's wearing a purple button down and black slacks, which looks pretty respectable except for the hole in the sock.

Adam hurridly cleans up the area around Lucky's bowl, sweeping the spilled kibble into the trash and refilling the bowl and the water bowl beside it. He straightens up whatever else he can find while Clint is still in the shower. When he's out, Adam ducks back in, grabbing his shirt-- a purple button-down that Clint had bought for him right before the hearing. He curses under his breath as he tries to hurridly button it.

The doorbell rings.

Clint picks up the phone to buzz the lady in, then checks on Adam before he moves to open the door. He waits, leaning on the door frame wearing his most winning smile. Yeah his place looked like a mess, but he was still Clint Barton, maybe he could charm his way through this thing.

Adam finishes the last of fumbling with his buttons, still barefoot (though his boots have at least been shoved against a wall near the door) when Ms. Wilcox arrives.

She is a short, overweight, grandmotherly black woman with wings of white hair at her temples, and she gives Clint a weighing and measuring look when she reaches the door. "Mr. Barton?" she asks, before her bespectacled eyes flit past him into the apartment. She shifts the thick manila file under her arm, a look of disapproval already forming on her face.

Clint steps forward extending a hand and smiling broadly, and almost honestly at the woman as he does so. "Hi, Ms?" he says waiting for a name. "I am Clint Barton, and this is Adam Turner," he says gesturing towards Adam. "Please come in, we've been looking forward to this."

Ms. Wilcox shakes his hand, her grip unsurprisingly firm. "Ms. Wilcox," she says, giving Adam a once over, before returning her attention to Clint. "I am Adam's caseworker-- I was assigned Adam's case earlier this week." She steps into the apartment, allowing the door to shut behind her, looking around at the apartment and its contents from where she stands initially only a couple of steps inside the room.

"Hmm." She opens her folder, pulling out a pen and beginning to take notes. "I understand you volunteered to foster this child?" she notes. "I, of course, will have quite a few questions for you both today." She glances from Adam's purple mussed hair down to his bare feet, and over to Clint's socked feet-- and the hole in the one. She lifts her gaze to meet Clint's, giving him the lifted eyebrow and penetrating, judging gaze that only Catholic nuns and childrens' caseworkers manage so well.

"Nice to meet you Ms Wilcox," Clint says as he steps back and lets her inside. "And of course we'll answer all your questions," he says before she gives him that look. He raises a hand to his chest and rubs the back of it with his other, an almost visceral reaction to that look born of being raised in a Catholic boys home. "Anyhow, sorry about the mess, we're transitioning to a new place, just getting things packed up and ready to go." He looks over at Adam. "Can you clear off the couch so Ms. Wilcox has a place to sit while we're talking."

Adam moves quickly to grab the blanket and pillow off the couch (and a couple Hot Pocket sleeves that had somehow made their way onto the couch), making the couch as presentable as possible.

Ms. Wilcox makes her way over to the couch, sitting down primly, her pen still in her hand, scribbling notes.

"I understand, Mr. Barton. I see that the judge allowed you a special dispensation to give you time to find suitable accomdations-- highly irregular, but I see much of this situation is irregular." She gives Adam a sharp look where he is standing, fidgiting. "Sit."

The purple haired teen immediately drops into the worn recliner.

The dog drops into a seated position beside the recliner simultaenously.

Clint smiles over at Lucky and then looks back to Ms. Wilcox. "True, but, Adam has a good place to stay in the meantime," he moves to a stack of papers on one of the boxes and pulls out a glossly broucher and brings it back to Ms. Wilcox. "The Avenger's Academy," he says. The broucher has very nicely laid out pictures of the Academy accomodations and facilities. "Adam's a student there, and so he has his own room on the campus, and I'm there most nights as well, we would have been there last night but we had this meeting this morning," he goes back to the papers on the box and grabs a folder. "And I've almost got a new place locked down, just waiting to hear back from the lawyers on it." He passes her the folder, with all the paper on the gym.

She takes a few moments to skim over the materials presented, nodding slightly. "I don't see that the Avengers Academy is an accredited academic institution, Mr. Barton. It is all well and good you want to instill heroic values in Mr. Turner, but the fact is, he is behind in his education."

"Uh, I'm homeschooling--" Adam jumps in, before Ms. Wilcox shoots him a silencing look. His eyes widen somewhat, and he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Is that true?" she asks Clint. "Who is monitoring his educational progress?"

"Yes-" Clint begins before he turns and looks at Adam as he interjects. He turns back to Wilcox. "That's where he's staying, and not where he is going to school, he is being homeschooled like he said, and I'm keeping him on his work," well most of the time. "But the actual grading and assistance is being handled by Doctor Hank Pym," he says. "He's in the Academy information, he's got like a zillion degrees, and was a professor for awhile too."

Adam nods, his hand reaching over to rub Lucky behind the ears.

Ms. Wilcox looks over the papers a bit more. "I also see here that you are an ex-convict." She gives Clint a stern look, obviously not pleased with this information. "What exactly /is/ your occupation, again, Mr. Barton?"

"Pardoned by two separate Presidents," Clint counters quickly to the ex-convict remarks. He smiles tightly. "My job? I'm an Avenger, I also do regular work for the government."

"I see." Ms. Wilcox gives him a considering look. "So, what I am to understand is that an ex-convict-- an ex-supervillain, if I read this right-- who works for..." she checks her paperwork, "a superhero organization that is usually in the heart of most collateral damage in this city, and, from the redacted portions of this documentation, I can only guess either the CIA or SHIELD..." she shakes her head, "is capable of providing a stable home for a teenage boy and effective mentoring, as well as being an appropriate male role model?"

Adam blinks. "Whoa whoa whoa, lady, look, that sounds like you're wanting me to not be here or something."

Clint sighs. "Shh, not helping," he says to Adam before he looks back to Ms. Wilcox. "Something like that," Clint says about the work. "Anyhow, am I ideal, no, but I am taking this seriously. I do have to leave for work sometimes, but when I do he's got the Academy, the rest of the time he has me, and I'm going to make sure he has a good home and gets the skills he needs to make something of the rest of his life."

Ms. Wilcox scribbles down a few more notes. "I see," she says again. "Well, Mr. Barton, I would like to speak with a few of your... colleagues, I suppose, regarding the disposition of this child. Surely you have four allies who would speak on your behalf and consent to be interviewed?"

"Wait just a minute," Adam says. "Don't I have a say in this? I don't want to go into the system. I'm cool with Clint as a babysitter, all right?" He scowls.

Ms. Wilcox looks over at him, sighing. "Mr. Turner," she says shortly, "You don't need a 'babysitter'. You need a father. Ideally, a father and a mother," and a look is shot at Clint-- single 'parents' are harder to win in the foster system anyway-- "or two fathers or two mothers, I don't particularily care how that works."

She shakes her head. "You need discipline and structure, and I am not sure Mr. Barton can give that to you." She takes a few more notes. "But, save gross negligence, I cannot place you in a different home until the trial period Mr. Barton's lawyer managed to finagle for him is up." She looks over to Clint. "I will be here-- or, assuming your purchase goes through timely, at your new domicile-- weekly, and occasionally more often for suprise inspections," she says finally.

Clint nods. "Yep," he presents the list. It was easy really who his four would be. The names are the names of the first Avengers. Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Hank Pym, Janet Van Dyne, and Jennifer Walters. Thor would have been on the list if he you know spoke like a normal person and was in Midgard.

He puts a couple of letters on top of the list. "Also, the governor and the mayor sent these," his lawyer's work. "You know, for being a good guy and saving the city. As for the rest, you can come check out the place whenever you like, I'm not married and I'm really not likely to anytime soon, but I've got people, good people who are willing to help out here, so I think you'll see Adam is fine."

Ms. Wilcox takes the information, looking over it before tucking it into the file. "I will contact them shortly. We will be in touch." She rises to her feet.

"One week, gentlemen," she says with an admonishing finger. She gives Adam a reproving look. "And do something with your hair, Mr. Turner. Show a little pride in your appearance." With that, she begins making her way to the door.

Clint nods towards the door. "We'll see you in one week Ms. Wilcox, and my friends will make themselves available to you as time permits their busy people and taking time out of their days as a favour for me," he explains. "Also, unless CPS also licenses hair salons, I think Adam's hair is his own business. Purple was worn by the Roman emperors you know."

Her shoulders stiffen slightly, and she gives Clint that same measuring look from earlier. "I will arrange with their schedules." And she departs.

Adam lets out a breath. "Ugh. /Lame/."

Clint nods and sighs leaning against the door once it's closed. "Yeah, very lame. Anyhow we'll get this sorted out, whatever she says." He pushes off the door and goes looking for his shoes. "Anyhow we're up, let's take Lucky for his walk and hit Denny's for breakfast," he suggests. "Also, how'd it go with Kara, you get anywhere or did Peter Parker cockblock you?" he asks with a smile.

"Sounds good," Adam says, looking around for his socks, ruffling Lucky's head. "Go find your leash, boy!" The dog lets out a short, happy bark, bolting off to go find his leash. "And nah, I got nowhere. Peter was too busy geeking at her, brought down the whole mood. Nor...Noriko?" he furrows his brow. "Yeah, sounds right. Cute, blue hair? She even bailed early because of his nerditude." He sighs. "Man, though. Hot. Apparently into nerds though, because it looked like Parker /might/ have gotten somewhere, had he not shot himself in the foot."

Clint chuckles and goes to find his boots. Pulling on one he asks. "Yeah? What'd he do?" he asks before he smiles and adds "Did I ever tell you I tried to save Supergirl from a mugging once?"