Chapter Text
Turns out, Clint did not get permission to steal you away.
He's actually surprised it takes as long as it does. But about five hours already back at his family house, a sleek black helo lands right in his front yard.
You had already stopped what you were doing in the kitchen when it was close enough to hear the rumble of its engine in the distance and its blades slicing through the air, Clint only tells you to stay put while he goes outside to talk with the director. Laura tells you it'll be fine when you forget to hide the worry on your face.
"What the hell were you thinking?" Fury demands as soon as the archer comes into view.
"I was thinking-"
"No you weren't. 'Cause if you were, you wouldn't have done this. I made it very clear she was not permitted off grounds," the director holds a hand up to silence Clint.
"And you did it anyway."
"It's not like you were handing out assignments or paperwork to her anyways," Barton squeezes in during the pause.
"So? Orders are orders, Barton," Fury's glare settles deeper.
"There's not a lot of damage to be done out here. It's safe," the archer tries to reason.
He's not wrong, unfortunately. And Fury knows that Clint could handle you, if need be. Even without special powers, he'd been able to go against aliens, robots and a witch. And it says a lot for the man to bring you around his family. But that doesn't mean he's off the hook, a rule had been set about your grounding and it had been broken. Though he's not sure there's really a punishment he could dish out that wouldn't be accepted too eagerly. He could ground Barton, but he'd probably like the extra family time. Paper work is also an option, but again, he'd likely not complain against doing that instead of getting shot at. There's also you he needs to consider.
He hasn't spent a lot of time around you himself, but is this going to be something you could work with or around? Fury knows for a fact you can hardly stop moving around when Natasha isn't there to anchor you to a spot.
Who knows? Maybe farm and family life would mellow you out a bit.
"I know you think it's a good idea. You don't have to tell me, I know," Clint grins, quickly getting over the fact that his ass was almost grass.
In return, he receives a harsher glare from a singular eye.
"This conversation isn't over," Fury squints.
Yes it is.
"No leaving this farm until Romanoff gets back, understood?" The director says as he boards the helicopter. Clint responds with a nonchalant nod, crossing his arms over his chest waiting for the aircraft to depart.
He's mostly surprised you weren't called out for a firm talking to as well, but he supposes this was his idea.
As the blades start to chop through the air once more, he heads back into the house where he finds you waiting with a bated expression.
"It's fine," he assures you. It's hard to believe him when you could pretty much hear the yelling from inside, but as the helo takes off and you aren't hauled off by the neck-you believe him a little more.
Laura coaxes you back to the kitchen, settling you behind a counter with vegetables and a knife or peeler for you to choose from. You don't move for a moment, waiting and watching instead. She demonstrates what to do, and being the fast learner you are, you tear into the pile and work away at the veggies. Once she's sure you have the hang of it, she steps away to work on preparing another part of the meal. It leaves a comfortable silence besides the sounds of the children and Clint laughing in the other room, occasionally followed by wood blocks falling. After a few minutes, she starts up a conversation.
"How would you describe what you're feeling?" Laura asks as you swiftly peel the potatoes. You're ready to be done with it and move on to the next task.
Clint had dropped in for a second to grab him and the kids a pre-dinner snack. And while he'd been shooed out by his wife, he caught the glazed over look in your eye. At the sound of his feet shuffling against the floor you look up and he watches how you try to blink it away. It had been a quick and wordless interaction, but you're pretty sure he figured out why you were zoning out.
Potato skin is much thinner and more flakey than human skin, but you find the method that you'd been forced to learn means you flay them just as well. And now you can say you hate peeling potatoes. Ignoring the discomfort from the starch it leaves on your hands, it reminds you too much of when you were forced to pare people when they wouldn't answer the Hydra operatives fast enough. At least potatoes don't scream and their pain stricken faces don't remain in your mind.
You're thankful for her question, it helps ground you. You're not there. You're here, assisting in dinner preparations.
"Mourning, maybe? I'm not really sure," you know you feel things, you're still not that great at naming said feelings just yet.
"No, that's a different m-word. This is what could be described as moping," Laura smiles from where she's preparing the chicken. It's still pink and fleshy, uncooked and not yet seasoned. Too similar to something else.
Hm. Maybe potatoes weren't so bad.
"Why moping?" You push aside the bag of peels, pulling the cutting board closer to you so you can begin to chop.
With the first full cut through the vegetable, you find that you prefer that much more than peeling. You're not quite practiced in the kitchen but your knife skills mean you aren't too terrible at it. And the motion of chopping the potatoes is less familiar and less terrible than your first task.
"Well, for one, you can't really mourn someone who isn't dead. And Natasha isn't gone forever, she's just off doing hero stuff," she explains.
"As for the moping part... I can't really tell yet if it's because you couldn't go with her or because she couldn't stay with you," she finishes, shrugging at the end as she thinks about it.
"Hm," you hum. It's probably both. Rather, you wish that whatever the circumstance, the two of you could stay together.
It's an odd thing to think about. For so long you weren't meant to rely on anyone, to simply obey and do as you were told. Now, you're given almost complete freedom. And with that change, you'd slowly grown to rely on Natasha. You remember in the start you tried your hardest not to. But she had grown on you. And all those times you worried it was too much, she told you it was okay to be greedy, okay to want things, okay to go to her. You think you should be somewhat embarrassed that everyone's aware of your closeness, that it's a weakness you've made much too obvious. Though, you haven't really been teased about it(excluding Pietro). So without that judgement, you find your embarrassment is all but nonexistent.
"You can talk to me, if you want. I know what it's like to not have your person around. It's tough," Laura's sweetness wraps around you again and while appreciated, you normally prefer it from someone else. But you indulge her.
"I never knew I'd allow myself to get close with someone," you start. "It makes me think I should've fought harder to prevent it."
"It's not really about 'allowing' yourself. It just kind of happens. And from what I hear, Nat wanted you to open up. So it wasn't just a you thing," she shrugs, pretending to mostly focus on the meat.
"But it shouldn't be like this. I should still be able to function properly. Not-- not m.... What was the word? Mopping?" You frown down at the knife in your hands.
"Moping," you think you hear Laura stifle a snort, but she's moving on before you can be too miffed by it.
"I think you're doing fine in spite of the circumstances. Sure, you could use a night or two of real sleep and a few proper meals. Other than that, you don't seem crazily dysfunctional," she looks over to you after she's set aside the meat and washes her hands.
"Then why was I brought here? I doubt it was for fun."
"Ouch," she mocks, holding a hand over her chest in pain before going on. "It's good to get away from work sometimes, you know? Sure, this probably won't be your ideal vacation but it gives you a chance to spread your wings a little. Try new things."
"Hm," is all you give in return.
When it comes time to actually sit down for dinner, you almost have to be hauled into your seat. You would've preferred taking your plate out on the porch or something but Laura and Clint decide otherwise. It's uncomfortable to say the least, seeing as how you've only just got used to eating with the Avengers. And even that only barely. It doesn't help that you don't really know how to respond to the kids.
"So are you like aunty Nat? You act silly like her. Dad, is Natty coming too?"
"Are you a hero?"
"Do you fight bad guys like daddy?"
"Alright," Clint holds a hand up to try and settle the two inquisitive eldest, "eat your dinner." The smallest of the three babbles too, but his main focus is on smashing his little fists into the food.
You don't bother answering, and thankfully after a few grumbles they turn their attention to their meals. Afterwards you try to help with the dishes, but you're shooed away. With Laura doing that and Clint entertaining the kids again, you're left on your own. With that, you quietly step outside.
There's a different kind of quiet you haven't heard in a while, the compound is usually always moving even late into the night. Here, there's the soft sounds from the family inside, crickets beginning to sing as the sun starts to set behind the trees, a few birds chirping their goodnight.
It's not entirely unpleasant, just not what you're used to.
Off beyond the closer edges of the lawn, just past the big oak tree, is a picnic table. You find your feet carrying you there almost with no thought behind it.
Running your fingertips across the wood, you can almost hear the laughter from memories that had seeped into it, just passed the prickles and threat of splinters. It reminds you of some of the movies Natasha had you watch with her, of families eating lunch at the park. Except this one was Clint's family. Real. Tangible.
Sitting down gently, trying not to disturb the warm bubble that's encompassed you today, you sigh.
Is this what comes after you retire? A house away from all the troubles in the world, with a family to call your own tucked safely inside?
It's not something you'd ever really thought of. Never been given the chance to, rather.
And actually, it seems stressful the more you think about it.
Doesn't Clint worry? While he's off doing missions with the team, all the way across the world, that something could happen? That he wouldn't be fast enough?
You shake your head, trying to dispel the horribleness. But it brings up the question of why he brought you here again. How could he, after knowing, after seeing what you could do, how could he bring you here?
"Man, I can smell the smoke from over here," an amused voice brings you back.
You don't need to look up to know who it is, but you do anyway.
"What?"
"You're thinking too hard. The gears are moving more than usual in your head and I can smell the smoke," Clint laughs as he walks over to you and the picnic table.
"Really?" You turn your nose up but you can't smell any smoke.
"It's a joke," he sighs as he sits with you. "The kids are right, you are acting like Nat."
You feel your cheeks warm, but you offer no other response.
"Well? What're you thinking?"
You take a moment to answer, wondering how to arrange your words in a way that doesn't come off hurtful. You get momentarily distracted by a coin he has in his hand, the way he moves it almost looks like it's dancing between his fingers. You don't think he even realizes he's doing it.
"Thinking about how I don't belong here," you start, "I feel like I'm going to mess everything up."
"There's nothing for you to mess up, not here," Clint assures, but you can tell he doesn't really mean that.
"You know that's not true. I'm not.... Safe, safe enough for this. You shouldn't have brought me here." You begin to rub your fingertips more harshly into the rough wood, feeling the prickling warning of splinters soon to follow.
"But I did," he smiles, rolling the coin he had been fiddling with over to you. You catch it just before it rolls off the table, wondering what you're meant to do with it.
"And you are. Safe, I mean," he looks away from you to look up at the now dark sky. Which you now notice is littered with stars. Stars you could have been looking at with-
"You haven't ever hurt anyone innocent," you open your mouth to argue but he continues, "not after you joined the team. And before you say Vision, that was because he was playing dirty and you thought he was going to hurt Nat. So, that doesn't count."
"And you're also safe safe, by that I mean I have security set up everywhere and no one can track you here. The only person who knows where this place is is Fury and the team. That's it. So long as I can help it, nothing bad is going to happen. So take a breather, before you burn up any more braincells," Clint tacks on, laughing at his own joke.
You let his words settle, unwanting and unwilling to argue with him. You take your thumb and rub the pad along the edges of the coin, again until the repetition in the ridges soothes you.
Ah. Coin instead of splinters.
"I don't know how long her mission is, but I'm sure she'll be happy to see you all rested up and well fed when she gets back," he shrugs, finally looking back to you.
"Hm."
"Well, I'm going to put the kids to bed. Whenever you're ready, the guest room is up the stairs, first door on the left. Or if you'd rather, there's a sleeping bag up in the loft of the barn. Along with a box of stuff Nat left here," he drops the little tidbit at the end as he stands.
He doesn't wait for you to respond, heading back towards the house.
But like a whisper in the wind, he hears a soft "thank you" ring in his hearing aid.