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Clint has been gone for only two weeks, but in that time the security on the house has been upgraded. He can tell when his feet hit the weight and gait pad embedded in the deck, can tell that it registers him with a soft, barely audible click. He sighs a little. The weight and gait pad had been set up to alert if any unrecognized person walked onto the porch, which presented some challenges when your walk was altered by injury. He turns back to Natasha, who is limping behind him.
“They installed the weight-gait alarm while we were out,” he says, apologetically.
Natasha merely nods, stepping up onto the porch beside him. She puts her full weight on her injured leg as she hits the pad, though he can see her knee shake. The pad also makes a soft click of positive recognition and Clint lets out a small breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. As soon as she steps off, he wraps his arm around her shoulders to help propel her forward. Above them, the porchlight flicks on, the early December dusk finally darkening enough for it to be needed.
Clint scans his fingerprint on the reader in the door handle and the front door eases open.
“Honey!” he calls as he enters, “I’m home.” Natasha starts to pull away, but he tightens his arm more firmly around her shoulder. “I brought a guest!”
The house is warm and smells of cookies and hot cocoa. The overhead lights in the living room are off, but the tree is plugged in, its lights reflecting off of shining ornaments. Christmas music plays faintly, quiet enough that it almost sounds like it’s coming from another room.
Laura emerges from the kitchen, a smear of chocolate on her face. Cooper is balanced on her hip, gumming happily on a teether toy. “You made it,” she says, a smile breaking across her face at the sight of them.
Clint smiles back, a little sheepishly. “Two days late,” he says.
Laura waves her hand a little. “We knew it was a possibility. I mean, I did cry a little bit on Christmas day, but we can blame it on hormones. Hi Natasha. Merry Christmas!”
Natasha’s mouth twitched, like she was trying to smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. “Sorry to crash your holiday.”
“Oh please, not crashing. I told Clint to bring you home so that you weren’t stuck celebrating in some gray SHIELD room. Most depressing holidays of my life. Anyway, you could have given me more warning that you were coming, though. All I got was Coulson calling me this morning when you both were being processed. I’ve barely been able to start baking!”
“Coulson? Going against protocol?” Clint asks. Natasha shifts next to him uncomfortably and he maneuvers her so that he can get her to the couch. “That’s unlike him.”
“Mhm,” Laura hums in agreement, “I think he felt bad because, you know, baby’s first Christmas.” She bounces Cooper on her hip. “And, you know, Nat being injured.”
Natasha tilts her head back on the couch, so her eyes can meet Laura’s. She looks a little off-kilter and Clint frowns. “I’m sorry,” she says, earnestly, “I told myself I’d get him back here in time for Christmas.”
“Hey,” Laura scolds, “None of that.” She moves closer to Natasha and smooths an errant strand of hair out of her face. “We knew the op might go over. It’s not uncommon when you’re embroiled somewhere like the Ivory Coast.”
“Coulson let that slip too?” Clint asks.
Laura shoots him a look. “Just because I’m retired doesn’t mean I can’t recognize all the signs of a SHIELD op on foreign soil.”
Clint makes a face at his wife. She makes one back.
“I’m still sorry,” Natasha says. “I promised.” She closes her eyes. “Didn’t want to ruin your Christmas.”
“You didn’t ruin it,” Laura says. “I genuinely think that this is the closest both Clint and I have been home on Christmas in-” She frowns. “Three? No. Four years.”
“Four sounds right,” Clint agrees.
“Yeah, four. Two days late is practically two weeks early in the Barton household.”
Natasha closes her eyes. Laura takes the opportunity to mouth at Clint What happened? He gestured back an approximation of being shot in the leg.
“I know you’re talking about me,” Natasha says. “I can hear you miming.”
“Isn’t the point of miming that you don’t see what we’re talking about?” Clint says, but he stops his gestures. “Just giving Laura the sit-rep since you’re too grumpy to do it.”
“Hmph,” Natasha says.
“See, grumpy.” Clint turns back to Laura.
“I know what you need,” Laura informs Natasha.
“What?”
“A cookie.”
Natasha just stared at her.
“Would you like sugar or peppermint and chocolate?”
“I-what?”
“Christmas cookies. I’m trying to get you in the holiday spirit. Is it working?”
Natasha continued to look flabbergasted. Laura gave an over dramatic sigh. “Not a cookie woman, I see. Clearly you’re more of a hot cocoa person. Stay here, I’ll bring some.” She handed Cooper to Clint before heading back into the kitchen.
“Budge up,” Clint says and Natasha shifts on the couch to make room. Clint sits down in the space made. Cooper laughs delightedly and smacks his chubby little hands against Natasha’s leg. She winces and Clint moves his son away from her.
“Hey, look,” he says, “You got me back in time. It may not feel like it to you, but you’ve made our holiday. Laura wanted it to be special since it’s Cooper’s first Christmas. Us getting here today made it special.”
Natasha seems unable to meet his eyes. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing, Natasha. You were shot.”
“Yeah, well.” She picks at her sweater. “We were in the foxhole and I just looked at you and thought, ‘I’ll get him home for Christmas if it’s the last thing I do. So.” She gives a little shrug. “I got you here.”
“You did,” Clint says. “And that’s why we get to be here for Cooper’s first Christmas and hot cocoa, instead of in a foxhole or staring at the sad gray walls of the SHIELD offices.” Cooper reaches his little hands for Natasha’s injured leg again and Clint deftly stops him. “Now stop looking so glum. It’s Christmas!”
“Hm,” Natasha says. Her lip twitches. “Clint?” she asks, tentatively.
“Yeah?”
There was a long pause. Finally, Natasha sighs. “Tell your wife I like peppermint in my hot cocoa.”