justsomeclintasha
Clintasha Fics
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Natasha stops in the doorway, eyeing the basket on the kitchen table. It’s purple, stuffed with an assortment of treats on top of what appears to be shreds of green paper.
“Coffee,” Clint mumbles, stepping around her. He’s unfazed by the object, and she surmises he must have put it there. Moving closer, she examines it. The smell of coffee fills the room and he sighs contentedly.
“What is this?”
“It’s your Easter basket.”
“My Easter basket.”
“The Easter Bunny must have brought it for you.”
“The Easter Bunny.” She feels like a parrot and doesn’t understand.
“He’s a big giant rabbit that sneaks into your house on Easter and brings you a basket of goodies.” She looks at him blankly and he laughs, passing her a mug of coffee and settling at the table with his own.
“Okay, I guess it sounds weird and creepy. I don’t know, it’s a spring tradition. See what you got.”
Of course he already knows what it contains, but he smiles as he watches her pull out the candy. She pokes the marshmallow chicks, then opens them, carefully biting the tip of a tail.
“Those are better stale.”
“They’re.. different.”
Next, she tries a small candy coated egg, a chocolate peanut butter roll, and eyes a package of something gummy before setting that aside. Finally she reaches for the large chocolate bunny and opens it. She breaks off an ear, laughing in surprise.
“It’s hollow.”
“Thanks.” He takes the piece she hands him and pops it in his mouth. “Easter candy usually isn’t the best, but it’s tradition.”
“Your traditions are weird.”
“Yep.” She finds the marshmallow chicks again and tries another bite. They seem to be the most interesting thing in the basket to her and she chews slowly, still unsure if she likes them or not.
“Thank you for making me an Easter basket.”
“It wasn’t me, it was the Easter Bunny.” She smiles, leaning over for a kiss.
“So I should make breakfast for the Easter Bunny and not for you?”
“Hey wait a minute!” She laughs and starts to get up from her chair. He grabs her hand, pulling her in for another soft kiss before she can move away.
“Happy Easter, Nat.”
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-Went for a drive
Clint leaves the note on the kitchen table and heads for his truck, not bothering to grab a jacket. The morning is cool, but the wind on his skin feels nice. Refreshing. He takes a deep breath and starts to drive.
A nondescript country song plays through the radio. It’s one of the few channels he can pick up in the middle of Iowa, and it’s certainly not his taste, but it’s good enough. He rolls the window down, not really listening. A cow stares at him judgmentally as he passes.
“Yeah, well, you smell bad,” he mutters. Up ahead a sign catches his eye. Green Valley Cemetery. Before he can even think about it, he’s pulling into a parking space.
He knows exactly where to find them. Both graves are covered in weeds. The name of his mother is barely visible, his father hidden by a vine. He spits on his father’s grave.
“Hey mom.”
Kneeling down in the damp grass, he begins to clean hers off. His hands are wet and his fingers are cold by the time he’s done. He stands, brushes off the dirt, and studies the stone.
“I didn’t turn out like him.” He pauses, looks around, but he’s alone. “I’m sorry that he- that I couldn’t-“ he sighs, not sure where to go with that thought.
“I met someone. Her name is Natasha. You would have liked her. She’s great, really great. She can’t cook for shit and she hogs the blankets, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me. I just… I just wanted you to know.”
XXXXX
“You look frozen.”
She cups his hands between her own, breathing warm air between her fingers. He kisses the top of her head. Her hair is messy, pieces sticking out of her braid and fuzzy from where she was laying on the pillow.
“You sleep okay?” he asks.
“Yeah. Bad dreams?”
“I’m okay. Just had to go clear my head.”
She lets go of him, moving to pour him a cup of coffee. He takes it gratefully as she passes it over. The warm mug feels good.
“I went to see my mom.” The words are out before he can take them back. “It was… I told her about you. She would have liked you.”
Natasha tilts her head curiously. He avoids her eyes as he sips his drink.
“I don’t know why, I was just driving and then I was there.”
“It’s okay.”
“I know.”
“Are you alright?” she asks gently.
“I think I needed it. The closure, sort of, but that doesn’t feel like the right word. I told her you’re a terrible cook,” he admits, a smile tugging at his lips.
“You did not!” He laughs at her offended expression. They both know it’s true. “Don’t worry, I told her good things too.”
“You better have.”
“How about I make breakfast and I’ll tell you about her?”
“I would love that,” Natasha says honestly, and Clint feels his heart skip a beat.
“Me too.”
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His arm wraps around her as she curls next to him on the couch, pulling her just a tiny bit closer.
“You’re a blanket hog,” Clint mumbles, kissing the top of her head with a smile. Still, as he says it, he’s already shifting more fabric over to her lap.
“You complaining?”
“Nah. I love it.”
“What are we watching?”
“Lava Spiders.”
“A classic.”
The opening scene plays, but her mind is already drifting. Calloused fingers rub circles in her shoulder, as if he’s not even aware he’s doing it. Could it really be so simple?
No.
Everyone wants something.
They haven’t been together very long, but she’s seen the way he looks at her. She’s caught his eyes wandering.
She knows what he wants.
And she can give it.
Slowly, she leans up to kiss his cheek, then his jaw. A sigh leaves his lips as she works lower to his neck.
“Nat?”
His lips capture hers as he tangles a hand in her hair, and she slings a leg over his lap to straddle him. This time he groans as her tongue slides into his mouth.
She knows what he wants.
And she can be good at this.
He’s too delicate. Too careful not to pull her hair, hands cautiously staying above her clothes even as she grinds down against him.
It bothers her.
She knows what he wants.
Hell, she can feel it.
So why doesn’t he take it?
Breathless, he draws back.
“Hey, slow down, Tasha.”
She grabs his hand, pressing it against her breast, trying to ignore the way her fingers tremble. Why is she shaking?
“Nat, stop.”
He pulls his hand away and takes a deep breath. She doesn’t do the same. Her chest is too tight and her stomach is ice.
It’s just sex.
It’s just sex
She’s done this a hundred times.
“Breathe,” he says gently. “Come on. In. Out.”
She tries to move off his lap, but he stops her with a hand on each shoulder, tilting his head down to meet her eyes. She squeezes them shut. “In. Out.”
After a few rounds, she feels steady enough. This time he does let her move. Her cheeks are on fire. She moves to the far end of the couch, leaving a space between them, and he sits to face her.
“I’m fine. I’m ready.”
“You’re not. But it’s okay, neither am I. This isn’t a rush.”
“You don’t want me.”
“Of course I want you. But I want you for more than sex. I want to wake up with you in the morning, freezing cold because you stole all the blankets. I want to smell your shampoo after you shower. I want to make breakfast with you.”
“You burn the toast,” she murmurs, a hint of a smile ghosting her lips.
“I want to eat burnt toast with you. I want to take Lucky on walks and hold your hand. I want to go to the bookstore with you and watch how your eyes light up, and get coffee after, I want to fall asleep with you every night.”
She swallows, a lump in her throat. Slowly he reaches over to brush a thumb across her cheek, and she’s as surprised as he is to find tears there.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“There are so many things to love about you,” he whispers back, moving closer. His lips press lightly against her forehead. “And I’m going to show you every single one, even if it takes the rest of my life.”
#clintasha#clint barton x natasha romanoff#clintasha fanfic#this wasn’t where I expected it to go so I hope it makes sense
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“You told me it was my turn. I won fair and square.”
“And you know I didn’t mean it like this.”
Tony and Steve glance up as the spies enter the room. They’re both involved in a heated conversation.
“I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“It’s unforgivable!”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“It’s not like you-“
“Absolutely not. Argument over.”
Steve raises an eyebrow as Natasha steps in front of Clint, blocking his attempted escape.
“You do not get to run away from this Clinton Francis!”
“I should have left you in Russia, Natalia!”
“Clint!”
“Shut up Steve!” they both yell together, not breaking eye contact. The Captain looks disgruntled, but Tony just shrugs.
“You have clearly learned nothing from being in this country!”
“I learned enough to know I can divorce your sorry ass!”
“I knew it! You owe me-“
“Shut up Tony!” A knife whizzes by his ear and embeds itself in the cushion next to his head.
“Surely whatever you two are fighting about can be solved,” Steve tries again.
“I doubt it.”
“She’s impossible.”
“He doesn’t think my opinion matters.”
“Because it’s wrong.”
“People can have different viewpoints on things,” Steve interjects.
“Not like this.” Clint crosses his arms. “She won a bet and gets to order take out tonight. Her choice.”
“And?”
“And I want pizza with pineapple on it. It’s my favorite.”
“It’s an abomination,” Clint mutters. Steve looks between the two of them, trying to figure out if they’re serious. They are.
“Can’t you just.. get two pizzas?”
The spies turn to look at him, then back at each other.
“Fine. But keep that garbage away from me,” Clint warns.
“Fine. I’ll eat in here. With Steve. Who also likes pineapple on pizza.”
“Is everyone here a traitor?!” Clint exclaims, throwing his hands up in defeat. He leaves the room, and Tony turns to face Natasha with a grin.
“So, about you two being married-”
“Shut up Tony.”
#clintasha#clint barton x natasha romanoff#clintasha fanfic#steve rogers#tony stark#clint barton#natasha romanoff
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“Sit.” He shuts the door behind him and perches on the edge of the chair. Coulson regards him from behind his desk. “She’s not settling in,” he says bluntly. “She’s in holding. Mitchell is in medical with a busted lip and Stoker has a black eye. Something you care to share?”
“No, I haven’t seen her at all this morning. Are you sure-“
“She admitted to it. Attacked them unprovoked. I need you to figure this out. There are a lot of eyes on us right now. This can’t happen again.”
“What are you saying?”
“You need to convince the board that this was the right call.”
“Or what? They’ll kill her? Put her down like some kind of wild animal?”
“I didn’t say that.” Clint glares at him, and Coulson speaks again, his voice soft. “I think some time in the country might do her good. You could both use a break. Do you know a place?”
XXXXX
Gravel crunches under her sneakers as she steps out of the truck, taking in the old farmhouse. He grabs their bags from the back seat.
“Look. There are cows over there in that field.” She points, eyes a little brighter at the sight of the animals. He follows her gaze.
“Yep. That’s the nearest neighbor. Nice and quiet out here.” She moves to take her bag. He passes it over and leads them inside, giving her a brief tour of everything.
“Kind of unusual for a safe house, isn’t it?”
“It’s not a safe house.” She pauses, and he catches the tension in her stance. “It’s mine. Shield doesn’t know about it.”
“Why?” He shrugs, flicking through cover stories, then finally settles on the truth with a sigh.
“It was my house growing up. Back then it was a nightmare, but now it’s somewhere just for me to get away.”
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly, feeling like she ruined it.
“I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t want to.”
XXXXX
He watches her from the kitchen as he stirs the pasta on the stove. They’ve been here three days and she’s finally started to relax. The porch is her favorite area, and it’s where she sits now, legs tucked under her and damp hair falling in curls around her shoulders. She reaches out to pick up a caterpillar.
The ring of his phone startles him.
“Barton.”
“Clint, we need to talk.” Coulson’s tone causes his stomach to drop. He sets the spoon aside and leans on the counter.
“What is it?”
“Stoker and Mitchell ambushed her. They pushed her into an empty office room and tried to-“
“Fuck-“
“They didn’t-“
“Fuck, Coulson, are you sure? Are you sure they didn’t?”
“I’m positive. She defended herself and left the room immediately. It’s all on video.” Outside Natasha lets the caterpillar crawl up her finger, laughing softly as it gets to the tip. “They’ve been fired, of course.”
“They deserve worse.”
“You still have two weeks. Call me with updates.” Clint huffs out a breath. She sets the caterpillar down in the grass.
XXXXX
“I promised you a safe space,” he says quietly. She tucks her fingers into the sleeves of her hoodie, watching the fireflies in the field.
“It’s not your fault.”
“I didn’t even ask.”
“I didn’t tell you.”
And they’re at a standstill. He swallows the lump in his throat. The silence drags on.
“I grew up here. After my parents died, my brother and I ran off to join the circus.”
“People don’t actually do that.”
“Seriously.” She cocks an eyebrow. “Got into a lot of bad shit back then. Coulson gave me a second chance and I was afraid to let myself have it. I fought him a lot. It was hard,” he admits. “And I wanted it to be different for you.”
She sips her tea, considering. They both watch as a deer emerges from the tree line. A fawn follows close behind.
“It is different though,” she says finally. “Because you didn’t have anyone you can trust. And I do.”
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The bell chimes as he enters the coffee shop, but he doesn’t hear it. He clears his throat, eyes darting quickly to scope out the room. Twelve adults, three children, and three.. no, four people behind the counter. The brunette walks to the register to take his order.
“Hey, can I have a black coffee?”
The man says something, but the background noise is loud, and he was too busy reaching in his wallet to catch it.
“Sorry, what?”
“I asked what size.”
“Biggest ya got. And an oatmeal raisin cookie please.”
“Out.. else?”
“I.. I didn’t catch that, sorry.” The man stares at him like he’s dumb and another woman sets a cup next to him. Cheeks flushed, he tosses a five on the counter, grabs his coffee, and rushes out the door.
XXXXX
He’s several blocks away before he takes a sip and immediately throws it in the nearest garbage. Stupid. Stupid. He must have grabbed someone else’s drink. Who puts pumpkin in coffee anyway?
“Fuck,” he mumbles miserably. The walk back to his apartment is claustrophobic, busy with the lunch crowd.
“Watch it!” A man pushes past him angrily, and he takes the shoulder shove with a sigh, not even sure of what he did wrong this time. He swallows a lump in his throat.
It’s getting worse.
His hands are shaking as he opens the door to his apartment, trying to focus on the lock, on his breathing, on-
A hand on his arm makes him jump.
Natasha holds out her hand wordlessly and he gives her the key.
XXXXX
She’s seen him cry before.
Not often.
Not like this.
And it’s fucking horrible. He’s glad to be in the comfort of his bed, the blinds drawn to hide the snot on his face and the tears on his pillow. It’s better that she can’t see him in the dark.
Her hand rubs soothing circles over his back.
“It’s getting worse, Nat, I can’t, I can’t-“
She squeezes his arm sharply and flicks on the bedside lamp.
You can, she signs. He tries to roll over but she doesn’t let him. They’re not going to judge you.
XXXXX
“What’s up birdbrain?”
The words appear in front of him as holographic text, and he swallows down a lump in his throat. Jarvis knows. Of course he knows.
Something smells like burning wires, and the metal in Tony’s hand is smoking. This was a mistake. He never should have come here.
“I just.. nevermind.”
He spins to walk away and runs straight into Natasha. She’s not impressed.
“He needs hearing aids,” she says, stepping around him. A flush creeps up into his cheeks as Tony meets his eyes.
“Subtle or loud and proud?”
“I.. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter?”
“I’ll make both,” he decides, as if it’s no big deal at all.
XXXXX
“Here. You can adjust them through the app on your phone. You might have to mess with the settings a little. And if they need tuning let me know. This is just a prototype. Well, it’s the sixth version.”
Clint turns over the tiny device in his hand. He looks to Natasha for confirmation and she nods, urging him to slip it over his ear. At first, there’s nothing, and then…
He slides the bar on the app and looks around the room. The tv is playing a baseball game in the next room. Steve boos, apparently not happy with it.
“Clint?”
Startled, he looks back at her. Her voice. It’s so clear. It’s so different, so much better than it has been in a long time. Just like he remembers. His eyes well with tears and he blinks them back.
“I can hear you.”
XXXXX
“Nice hearing aids,” Bucky comments as they step into the jet. Clint flinches, ready to defend himself. “I like the purple. Mine is all metal. Maybe I should add some color.”
He flexes his arm with a wry smile. Clint stares at him, with the sudden realization that maybe his disability isn’t a weakness, that it doesn’t define him. That he can still be useful. Bucky sees this all play out on his face. He drops in the seat next to him and motions toward the cockpit.
“Do you think she’s finally gunna let him fly?”
“Not a chance. He has no sense of direction.”
“Never did,” Bucky says with a quiet laugh. “After this I’m ordering Thai and watching bad sci-fi movies. You’re welcome to join me.”
Clint sees the invitation for what it is. A chance to talk about it if he wants to, or if he doesn’t. The jet starts to move. Natasha yells something to Steve, and after a moment the plane starts to rise. They can hear arguing from the cockpit. Bucky rolls his eyes.
“He’s such a punk.”
“And she’s just as stubborn.” He waits for a moment, then adds. “You know.. after this, a movie does sounds good.” Bucky grins, holsters his gun, and passes Clint his bow.
“Then let’s make this quick.”
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It was bad. -Maria
Clint scowls at his phone and tosses it on the coffee table.
Of course it had been bad. Because why would they send Natasha on an easy mission without him? If only he hadn’t broken his wrist last week. If only Fury believed he could still be useful with one working arm.
He could, mind you.
The sound of the lock turning pulls him from his thoughts. Natasha steps inside and drops her duffel bag on the floor. Her hair hangs in damp curls over his sweatshirt, rolled at the cuffs to fit her small frame.
“Hey. Survive here without me?”
“Barely. I’ve eaten nothing but pizza for the last three days.”
She moves to sit on the couch next to him. Dog Cops plays in the background, volume off, subtitles on. Absently, he scratches his skin near the top of the cast. It doesn’t really itch at the moment. She picks at her nails, sitting just a little too tense, movements a little too controlled.
“Stop analyzing me.”
“Sorry.”
“I’m going to make some tea.”
“I can get it for you.”
“I got it.”
“Okay.”
Quietly, she moves to the kitchen. He closes his eyes. The cupboard creaks, the metal tea canister opening, then closing as she takes out a tea bag. He can picture her reaching for the jar of honey- and then something smashes.
In an instant he’s up and moving into the kitchen. She’s frozen, staring at the broken glass on the floor.
Honey seeps slowly into the throw rug, a small cheap one they got from Walmart, she doesn’t even like it but it was good enough and now it’s sticky and ruined and that’s never going to come out and-
Her breath catches on a sob and she presses a hand over her mouth.
“Hey hey it’s okay,” he soothes, leaning down to make eye contact. She shakes her head, letting him pull her into his arms.
“I hate that carpet,” she chokes out, somewhere between laughing and crying.
“We’ll get a new one.”
“I just..” She manages a deep, shuddering breath, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “I’m just so tired.”
“Come on. You need to get some sleep.”
“Will you come with me?”
“Course I will.”
“What about…?”
“It can wait til tomorrow,” he says gently. And it doesn’t matter if he’s talking about the mess, or the conversation in their future. It can wait.
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She rolls over to look at the time on her phone, wondering what woke her. It’s raining, but the quiet pattering on the window is more soothing than unsettling. There seems to be no immediate danger. No lingering fear from a nightmare. She kicks off a corner of the blanket to cool her bare feet.
And there it is.
A whimper, soft and pained, coming from the next room over. The walls are thin. She can hear the noise of the archer tossing and turning, and she debates on waking him. She’s no stranger to bad dreams.
Is that what he would want her to do?
She doesn’t know him very well yet. On one hand, it will stop the nightmare, but she doesn’t want to embarrass him or pry too much. She rolls onto her back and stares at the ceiling.
“Stop.. stop, please…” His voice fades off and the rustling stops. She’s just starting to doze off again when a broken sob sounds from the next room. Before she even registers what she’s doing, she’s standing next to his bed.
“Clint? You alright?”
He doesn’t respond, and she reaches out to touch his shoulder. Big mistake. His eyes snap open and he throws her to the floor, scrambling across the covers and falling off the other side. Heart pounding, she crawls around the bed to get a better look.
“Clint it’s me, it’s Natasha, it’s okay.”
Wild eyes look at her from behind a knife. She’s never seen his hands shake before, but they tremble now, and he squeezes the handle tighter. His chest is heaving and his forehead is sweaty. She stares at him. He doesn’t blink.
“The fuck are you doing in my room?”
“I.. I’m sorry, I-“
“No, no, that’s not what I meant to say.” He drops the knife to the floor with a clatter and pulls his knees to his chest. Suddenly he looks very small. Unsure what to do, she leans back against the wall and watches him.
“You can go back to bed,” he says after a while. She shrugs. The floor isn’t comfortable and her back is getting stiff.
“Don’t want to.”
“Kay.” He ducks his head to wipe his eyes in privacy, but doesn’t ask her to leave. “I’m capable of doing this job.”
“What?”
“I won’t let it affect the mission.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?” he asks sharply.
“You’re not the only one who gets nightmares.” She says it casually, but it’s a small tidbit of information he didn’t have before, and it’s easier to share secrets in the dark. He sniffles.
“Sorry I woke you up.”
“It’s alright. I can make us some tea if you want?”
“Coffee.”
“It’s three o’clock in the morning. There’s still time to sleep.”
“I can sleep after coffee.” She rolls her eyes, extending a hand to help him up. “Thanks, Nat.” The nickname is unfamiliar but not unwelcome.
“That’s what partners do, right?” she offers. He squeezes her hand once before letting go, and she can’t help but return his smile.
“That’s what friends do.”
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Do you ever write something and then decide you hate the ending?
Sorry, deleting the previous post and reposting with another ending that I also don’t like but I gave up because I need to go to bed.
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Two loud knocks thunk against the door, and Natasha sets her book aside with a groan.
“Clint, I told you I was cooking tonight. We can’t keep ordering pizza.”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t.”
She rolls her eyes and gets up. He’s in the kitchen. It’s impossible to tell if he’s lying from here. She turns the knob.
“Kate?” The dark haired girl leans heavily against the frame, blood tricking between her fingers from a wound in her side. “Hey, hey, what happened?”
“I.. I think.. ”
“Clint, get the first aid kit.” Her voice is calm, but urgent, and she hears him drop something in his rush to the bathroom. “Come here, you’re okay.” Taking the younger girls weight, she maneuvers her to the couch and lays her back against the cushions. Kate looks at her with unfocused eyes.
“I think I.. oh God, there’s so much blood.”
“Don’t look at that, look at me.”
“Kate what the hell?” Clint drops down on the floor behind them, pulling out an array of supplies to set on the coffee tables. His eyes flick to the injury and he gently pries her hand away.
“Oh God,” she moans. Her hand is shaking as she tries to put it back, but Natasha grabs it.
“Look at me, Kate. You’re alright. Don’t look at Clint.”
“You’re okay, kiddo. Deep breaths. Gunna sting a little.” She clenches her eyes shut, squeezing Natasha’s hand tightly as he starts to clean the wound. “This is a knife wound. You got stabbed?”
“Old lady and.. her purse, I didn’t.. I didn’t see the third guy,” she manages, her voice trembling. “Oh fuck, what was that?”
“Language, missy,” he quips back, no heat in his voice. “Stitches. Stay still.”
“Do you even know how to do stitches?!”
“Of course I do.”
“Breathe, Kate,” Natasha reminds her. She forces a deep breath, trying not to pass out as he works the needle through her skin. “Keep looking at me.”
An eternity passes before he applies a bandage and packs up the medical supplies.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
“I-“
“You could have gotten yourself killed.”
“I didn’t think-“
“You’re right, you didn’t, and-“
“Clint.” Natasha’s sharp tone stops him, and his stomach drops when he realizes the young girl is crying.
“Kate, I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he repeats, moving closer to brush a strand of hair from her forehead. “You scared me.”
“I didn’t know where else to go.”
“I know. It’s alright.”
“I’m going to make us something to eat,” Natasha decides, getting up to leave them alone. Kate wipes her eyes, staring at the ceiling for several moments while she tries to calm herself down. Finally, she looks back at Clint.
“Is she a good cook?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Maybe we should order pizza?” she offers with a shaky smile. He laughs and squeezes her shoulder, his other hand already reaching for the phone.
“That sounds like a great idea.”
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Clint finds her on the roof, snow flurries dusting bright red hair. It’s where they go when being inside is claustrophobic, when the thoughts are too big, when the pain is too much.
“Mind if I join you?” She shrugs, and he sits down on the ledge, feet swinging next to hers. “I brought you some hot chocolate. Steve is worried that you missed dinner.”
“Not hungry,” she murmurs, but accepts the thermos pressed into her hands. Cold fingers wrap around it. She doesn’t drink.
He’s content to sit with her and wait it out. It’s the unspoken rule. They don’t ask, and if they don’t want to talk, they don’t.
“Did you know I had a sister?” Her voice is soft, almost lost in the wind, and he has to scoot closer to hear.
“No,” he tells her honestly.
“Her name was Yelena.”
“Is she-“
“I don’t know.” She pauses and takes a deep breath, then another. “Her birthday would be today. She was younger than me.”
“What was she like?”
“Crazy.” The word comes out quickly, and she laughs, a puff of cold air visible at her lips. “Happy. So.. adventurous. She wanted to know everything, she.. she just…”
“I had a brother,” he says gently. “He’s gone now. He did a lot of bad things. I can’t say he was a good person. When we first joined the circus he ate so much cotton candy one night, he threw up for hours. God, I’ll never eat that shit now.”
“What happened to him?” She moves closer, head resting on his shoulder, and he slides an arm around her waist.
“He uh.. got into some shady stuff with the carnies. Stealing, lying, and eventually they got sick of it and killed him. I told him, I told him to-“ He shakes his head, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “Doesn’t matter. The past is in the past, right?”
“Yeah.” She blinks, letting a few stray tears run down her cheeks. “I still miss her,” she whispers.
“I miss him, too.” He turns, pressing a kiss to the top of her hair. “Come on. It’s freezing. We should go back inside before Steve comes outside and drags us in.”
She shivers as they stand, and he grabs her hand in his, squeezing tightly as they walk back towards the door.
“Thanks for the hot chocolate.”
“Anytime, Nat.”
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Clint drops his duffel bag on the floor with a sigh. It’s been a long day. He’s ready to melt into the couch and sleep forever.
The safe house is new. State of the art security, motion detectors, cameras, the whole nine yards. He’s not worried.
Apparently his partner is, as she ducks into each room with her gun drawn before returning to the living room. He’s already scrolling through places to deliver food. To anyone else, they would look like a couple staying for a vacation.
“It’s clear.” He hums an agreement. “You want to check?”
“You just did.” She frowns, slipping her gun back into the holster. It’s one of their first missions, and unlike him, she’s finding it hard to relax.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking at menus. Italian or Thai? Can’t decide.”
“We’re on a mission.”
“Yeah. And we’re stuck here for the night and I’m hungry, so pick something, fire up the laptop, and we can spend all night stuffing our faces and watching Mr. Creepface on the video feed.”
XXXXX
She’s been quiet for way too long now, and it’s starting to grate him. Still, he’s a sniper. He can be patient. Ignoring her, he eats another mouthful of pasta, eyes on the screen in front of them.
“You didn’t clear the house.”
“You did.”
“You didn’t.”
“Because you did,” he repeats patiently, looking over. He’s not sure what she’s getting at, but she wouldn’t have brought it up if it wasn’t important.
“I’m not even cleared for solo missions yet.”
“I doubt you need me to teach you how to clear a safehouse, so why don’t you just tell me what the problem is?”
It comes out harsher than he means it, and she turns back to the video feed.
“You just.. took my word for it.”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re my partner and I trust you.” They both fall silent, something heavy sitting in the air that he can’t quite place. It’s late at night before he finally switches off the screen. “Time for bed,” he mumbles, stretching.
“I’ll wake you at six.”
“You will not.”
“I’ll make coffee first.”
“Slightly better. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“You’re not..?” She waves a hand toward the hallway, indicating the bedroom on the other end.
“One bed. You can take it. I’m fine on the couch.”
“It’s a king.”
“Lots of room for you then.”
“You’re too tall for the couch. I’m not listening to you complain all day about your back.”
“Seriously, it’s-“
“I trust you,” she blurts out. He blinks, and she takes a deep breath and tries again. “You are my partner and I trust you. I know you won’t hurt me.”
It’s a big step, and he knows it, so he’s careful to keep his voice and expression soft.
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
They change quickly and settle into bed, a comfortable distance between them, and he doesn’t want to admit it, but she’s probably right about his back.
“Hey Clint?”
“Mmm?”
“You snore and I’m pushing you off.”
He snorts out a laugh, pulling the blanket up to his shoulders.
“Same goes for you, Princess.”
He probably deserves the pillow she throws at his head.
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Clint doesn’t remember what made his father angry that night. It could have been anything or nothing at all.
He’s learned how to take a punch by now, but this time it’s worse as he’s grabbed by the throat and pummeled against the wall. Finally it stops, and his head is swimming as he’s thrown out the door into the pouring rain. He knows without trying that it’s locked.
Crawling through the mud, he makes his way to the dog house. He doesn’t know why it’s here. They never had a dog. Never will. Never could.
The world is spinning and muffled as he curls his body inside. The floorboards are rotted. He can’t tell if it’s water or blood running down the side of his face. Thunder rumbles outside, but he no longer hears it.
XXXXX
Barney tells him to shut up when the cops knock on the door. He stuffs his Captain America comic book under the cushion and peeks out through the curtains.
His brother clenches his jaw as they speak to him. He shakes his head and walks back inside.
“Pack a bag,” he tells him, and disappears into his room. Confused, Clint looks towards the officers. They explain to him that his parents are dead- drunk and wrapped around a tree. He’s relieved about his father, sad about his mother, and before he can figure it out, Barney is back and pulling him away.
“Pack,” he tells him again, shoving a gym bag in his arms. Clint doesn’t know what to take, so he finds a few outfits and his trading cards. He doesn’t know if they’ll come back and he doesn’t ask.
Riding in the police car would be better under different circumstances. The office they let them sleep in is hot and smells like cologne. A fan hums softly in the corner.
“I miss mom,” Clint says quietly. Barney huffs and rolls over to face the back of the couch.
“Don’t be a baby.”
XXXXX
Having a permanent place to stay is strange. He thought he might like it, but the bed is too soft and the room is too quiet. He slips out from under the covers and pads over to the window.
Rain trickles slowly down the glass. He presses him palm against it and sighs. A slight headache pulses at his temples. He should take his aids out and give his ears a break, but he can’t relax yet. Can’t let his guard down.
The man who brought him in, Coulson, seemed genuine, and he prides himself on his ability to read people. But what if. What if…
He turns away, slumping down on the couch with his head in his hands. It’s been three days of not sleeping and it’s starting to wear him down. He could read a book or watch some tv.
Flicking through the channels, he stops at a cartoon. A dog wearing a police hat is interrogating a fluffy white cat on the screen. He shrugs and pulls a blanket over his lap.
XXXXX
The Widow is a master of changing her disguise. He almost didn’t recognize her when she walked into the hospital, blonde and wearing a bright pink rain coat. But now, the jacket is gone and the red hair is back.
He furrows his brow as she reaches into her pocket. He watches her take a deep breath, then click something small in her hand.
Immediately, an explosion rocks the air and he ducks on instinct. It’s a block away. The hospital. The kids. It’s on fire and it’s burning and what the hell-
His eyes snap back to the alleyway. She touches her ear and says something into her comm. Rage pulses through him, and he brings up his sniper rifle before he’s even thinking.
And then he stops.
Because she throws the comm into the storm drain and falls to her knees in a puddle, arms wrapped around herself in a hug as she sobs.
And shit, he thinks, lowering the gun with a sigh.
There’s something in there worth saving.
XXXXX
He’s driving too fast and he knows it.
Rain beats heavy on his windshield, wipers going as quickly as they can and still unable to keep up. She’s probably going to yell at him when he gets there for his carelessness.
He parks outside the front of her apartment. Usually they stay at the tower, but tonight she’s here. The flower basket on her front porch swings wildly in the wind. An effort to pull his hood up is useless. He’s already drenched.
The door is unlocked and she’s curled up on the couch, watching him with wary eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re soaked.”
“You sounded like you were freaking out on the phone.”
“Do you want a towel?”
“Tasha.” Her nickname, the one no one else can call her. He kneels down in front of her on the floor. “Tell me what’s going on,” he prods gently. After a moment, she reaches into her sweatshirt and pulls out a little plastic stick with two blue lines.
He looks at her in shock, and for the first time in a long time he can tell she’s scared.
“Nat you’re..?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh my god.”
“Yeah.”
She presses her hands to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes, and he pulls her into his arms, both of them wet and crying, until finally he draws back to look at her.
“It’s good yeah?”
“It’s amazing,” she confirms, and that starts another whole round of crying. “You’re still soaked,” she blurts out, pushing him back. He laughs, wiping his eyes.
“So are you.”
“I love the rain,” she whispers, squeezing his hand. He squeezes back.
“Me, too.”
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Natasha steps inside, kicking off her sneakers and immediately slipping her feet into her favorite shoes. She signs contentedly.
“You know you could just take those back to the tower,” Clint remarks with a roll of his eyes. He drops both of their duffel bags in the floor and starts to unlace his boots.
“Not a chance.”
“Everyone has a pair.”
“You don’t.”
“Yeah, because I’m fashionable.” He eyes her bright pink clogs with a look of disgust.
“You have three- no, four- coffee stains on your shirt right now.”
“It’s trendy. Coffee is a fashion statement,” he says stubbornly. “Those are not.”
“You would like them if you tried them. Anyway, I can’t let our friends know I wear crocs. I’m a deadly assassin.”
“They’ve seen your cat pajamas.” She crosses her arms, a light flush spreading over her cheeks.
“My cat pajamas are cool.”
“Sure they are.”
XXXXX
Later, they’re snuggled up on the couch, sharing a pint of ice cream and watching a bad sci-fi movie.
“You really don’t like my cat pajamas?” she blurts out. Clint snorts out a laugh, but cuts it short at her offended expression.
“Of course I like them, I just meant that everyone has their thing. You don’t have to be all scary and serious all the time. It’s okay to wear silly clothes and goof around.” She licks ice cream off her spoon, not convinced.
“Look, Steve knits sweaters in his off time, Tony has a crazy hat collection, and Bucky does jigsaw puzzles with kittens on them. They’re all regular people Nat. And of course they’re also insane, but that’s because they’re our friends.”
“I still think you would like a pair of crocs if you tried them,” she mumbles, scraping out the last bit of ice cream. He just shakes his head with a smile and pulls a blanket over their laps.
#clintasha#clint barton x natasha romanoff#clintasha fanfic#welcome to my head cannon that Natasha loves crocs
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“Kate said they have a giant Ferris Wheel. We can ask to stop at the top.” Yelena pulls her ponytail a bit tighter, fiddles with the bracelets on her wrist. She’s excited for her first outing with Kate and hasn’t stopped talking about it for days.
“I got banned from playing the balloon pop game there,” Clint remarks with a grin. He wipes his hands on the towel over his shoulder, then goes back to chopping up peppers.
“I’m going to win a giant stuffed animal.”
“Bring me some cotton candy,” Natasha adds. “The pink kind, not the blue kind.”
“They taste exactly the same.”
“They do not.”
“Which one of us grew up in a carnival?” The doorbell rings, interrupting the conversation, and Kate steps inside. “You better have a jacket, missy. It’s going to be cool later.”
“It’s in the car, dad,” she says with a roll of her eyes. Natasha snorts out a laugh. “Ready, Lena?”
“Yep.”
“Here, just in case you need it.” Clint takes a few bills from his pocket and presses them into Yelena’s hand.
“We’ll be fine.”
“Have fun,” Natasha calls as they walk down the hall. The door shuts behind them, and the house is quiet except for the sausage sizzling on the stove. Just as she opens her mouth, he waves a spoon in her direction.
“Don’t say it,” he warns, but she does anyway.
“You are such a dad.”
XXXXX
“I’m so sorry.”
“For the last time, Kate, it’s fine.”
Clint looks toward Natasha, confused, then to the doorway as the girls walk in. They should still be at the fair. “Sit down, I’ll get you a change of clothes.”
Yelena disappears down the hallway and Kate slumps on the couch next to Clint, her head in her hands.
“Oh my God I ruined everything.”
“Um-“
“We got these really good corn dogs from a stand but then we went on the Ferris wheel and I freaked out cuz we were so high and I was panicking and when we finally got back on the ground I threw up in one of the trash cans.”
“Oh man.”
“She thinks I’m such an idiot.”
“Trust me, she doesn’t,” Natasha chimes in. Clint rubs a hand up and down her back in an attempt to be soothing.
“Is it okay if I stay here tonight?” she asks miserably.
“Kate, you know you’re always welcome here.” Yelena returns with an armful of blankets and a pair of pajamas, and Natasha shoots Clint a pointed look.
“Well, it’s bedtime for us. Goodnight girls.”
“Goodnight.”
XXXXX
Clint peeks his head in the living room, careful not to step on the creaky board by the doorway. Both girls are laying on the couch, sharing an oversized blanket with paw prints on it.
“I can hear you creeping,” Yelena warns. He snorts out a laugh and ducks into the kitchen.
“They all good?” Natasha asks, sipping her tea.
“All good,” he confirms. “Want to help me make breakfast?”
“Do you want the kitchen to burn down?” He rolls his eyes, pulling out a pan and a carton of eggs. “What would you guys do without me?”
Kate shuffles in just as he cracks the first egg in the pan. She leans over the stove to look.
“Aw man are you making omelettes?”
“Yep.”
“Best dad ever,” she mumbles, moving back to the living room. Clint turns toward Natasha, but it’s too late. She’s laughing so hard he throws a dish towel at her.
#clintasha#clint barton x natasha romanoff#clintasha fanfic#yelena boleva#kate bishop#not how I usually write#very dialogue heavy#???#unsure about this one but have it anyway
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Clint closes his eyes, sinking back into the comfort of the couch. He’s tired. Tired of reading the subtitles. Tired of not being able to hear the coffee maker. Tired of having to lip read conversations he doesn’t catch most of.
Tired of feeling left out.
It’s been three days. Shield, as advanced as they are with everything else, takes forever to repair his hearing aids, and Natasha isn’t even here to keep his mind off it. She had texted him earlier to let him know her mission is over. She’ll be home tomorrow. He misses her.
Lucky pushes his head onto Clint’s lap, sensing his frustration, and he scratches the dog gently under his chin. He could just ask Tony for help.
Useless, his father scoffs. Deaf and stupid.
He swallows.
All you’ll ever be is a burden.
His throat is tight.
Lucky nudges closer, but he stands, making his way towards the lab before he can change his mind. His heart is hammering in his chest.
“Shut up,” he whispers to the voice in his head. Predictably, he doesn’t get an answer. A slight panic starts to set in as he finds Tony splicing two wires together.
Hey birdbrain. What’s up?
The text appears on a holographic screen in front of him. It bothers him more than it should.
“I need-“ He clears his throat, wonders if the volume is right. “Can you make me a pair of hearing aids?”
Tony spins his chair and reaches in the cabinet behind him. He tosses a slim purple case. Clint opens it to find a brand new set of aids already in there. He slips them in his ears. It takes a few moments of adjusting, but they’re good, better than the ones Shield gave him last time.
“Sound okay? Got a few extra sets in there if you ever need. Stuck with purple cuz I know you like it but there’s a sweet silver glitter pair for next time you have to dress up.”
Clint drops into the chair across from him, hands suddenly sweaty.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you.. you don’t have to make accommodations just for me.”
“You say it like it’s a problem. It’s not.” Tony glances up. “You’re not,” he emphasizes. He sets the wires aside, twisting a spare piece between his fingers. He can be patient when he wants to be.
“I wasn’t always deaf,” he says finally, like an admission.
“You weren’t?”
“You’ve read my file.”
“Nope.” Clint stares at him. “Never saw any reason to. Jarvis ran a background check initially and decided you passed. That’s good enough for me.”
“There is no way I would ever pass a background check.” Tony grins.
“Well, okay, he may have overlooked some stuff, but he’s a good judge of character.”
“I uh.. didn’t have a great childhood.” Clint waves him off as he opens his mouth to interrupt. “Dad was always drunk. Beat the hearing out of me when I was.. eight. Scariest thing to wake up and not be able to hear your own voice. Lots of hospitals and people asking questions. If one doctor got suspicious we bounced to another.”
“You don’t have to hide anymore.”
“Always felt like a burden.”
“You’re not.”
“I’m working on it. Just get caught up in my head sometimes,” he mumbles, awkwardly running a hand through his hair. A soft scratching noise has them both looking towards the door. “Sorry, just Lucky. He knows he’s not allowed in here.”
“Jarvis, let him in.” Lucky bounds over and sniffs Clint’s hand experimentally.
“I’m alright, buddy.” Satisfied, the dog moves to Tony, who pulls a bag of treats from the drawer and gives him two. “I knew he was gaining weight! I thought it was Steve the whole time!”
“He’s a good boy,” Tony defends. Lucky’s tail thumps loudly against the desk, and Clint can’t help but laugh.
“Yeah he is.”
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Natasha stops in the doorway, eyeing the basket on the kitchen table. It’s purple, stuffed with an assortment of treats on top of what appears to be shreds of green paper.
“Coffee,” Clint mumbles, stepping around her. He’s unfazed by the object, and she surmises he must have put it there. Moving closer, she examines it. The smell of coffee fills the room and he sighs contentedly.
“What is this?”
“It’s your Easter basket.”
“My Easter basket.”
“The Easter Bunny must have brought it for you.”
“The Easter Bunny.” She feels like a parrot and doesn’t understand.
“He’s a big giant rabbit that sneaks into your house on Easter and brings you a basket of goodies.” She looks at him blankly and he laughs, passing her a mug of coffee and settling at the table with his own.
“Okay, I guess it sounds weird and creepy. I don’t know, it’s a spring tradition. See what you got.”
Of course he already knows what it contains, but he smiles as he watches her pull out the candy. She pokes the marshmallow chicks, then opens them, carefully biting the tip of a tail.
“Those are better stale.”
“They’re.. different.”
Next, she tries a small candy coated egg, a chocolate peanut butter roll, and eyes a package of something gummy before setting that aside. Finally she reaches for the large chocolate bunny and opens it. She breaks off an ear, laughing in surprise.
“It’s hollow.”
“Thanks.” He takes the piece she hands him and pops it in his mouth. “Easter candy usually isn’t the best, but it’s tradition.”
“Your traditions are weird.”
“Yep.” She finds the marshmallow chicks again and tries another bite. They seem to be the most interesting thing in the basket to her and she chews slowly, still unsure if she likes them or not.
“Thank you for making me an Easter basket.”
“It wasn’t me, it was the Easter Bunny.” She smiles, leaning over for a kiss.
“So I should make breakfast for the Easter Bunny and not for you?”
“Hey wait a minute!” She laughs and starts to get up from her chair. He grabs her hand, pulling her in for another soft kiss before she can move away.
“Happy Easter, Nat.”
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